#sobbing at the tiny interview | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starkwlkr · 1 year

Text

the perfect dad | lewis hamilton

warnings: child loss, depression, online hate (if these topics are sensitive to you, please don’t read, your health is much more important!!)

The day Y/n and Lewis met, it felt magical, those were her exact words. It was 2008, a year after his F1 debut. Y/n, at the time, didn’t know anything about the sport other than the cars go really fast and there’s a world champion every year. She worked as a presenter alongside Natalie Pinkham. It took one interview for Lewis Hamilton to fall in love with Y/n L/n. After their interview, Lewis asked her out and from then on, they were named the paddock’s it couple.

Their relationship was made public after Lewis won his first championship and kissed Y/n on live tv. It became a regular occurrence for them. After every race win, Lewis would be interviewed by his girlfriend and interrupt her for a kiss.

The year was 2011 and after three years of dating, Lewis had proposed to Y/n and of course she said yes. The wedding was small with only close family and friends attending. Their perfect family was slowly forming and that’s all they could ever hope for.

Five months after the wedding, Y/n and Lewis found out the incredible news. They were going to be parents to a little boy or girl. Lewis immediately started buying baby related items and asked his father and brother for help on the nursery even if Y/n had no visible bump yet.

“We’re going to be parents!” Lewis kissed Y/n’s lips as he held the pregnancy test in his hands.

“The baby is going to be so loved.” Y/n smiled.

Everything was going perfectly fine. Y/n and Lewis went to all the checkups, Y/n read any books in order to prepare while Lewis dealt with baby proofing their entire house. They were more than ready for Baby Hamilton.

When the day finally came, Y/n was scared. She held onto Lewis’ hand tightly as the doctors and nurses motivated her to push. Her body ached and sweat began to form on her face.

“You can do this, love, you’re the strongest woman I know. Think about our little baby. They’ll be here soon.” Lewis whispered in her ear then gave her a kiss.

“Lew, I’m tired.” Y/n replied, breathing heavily.

“I know and I’m so sorry I can’t take your pain away. You can do this, Y/n, just a few more pushes.” Lewis said.

It felt like forever, but Baby Hamilton had finally arrived, the only problem was that neither Y/n or Lewis heard any baby cries. Y/n looked over at Lewis, who was just as confused as his wife.

“Where’s our baby, Lewis? I can’t hear them.” Y/n started to sit up, but the nurses told her calm down and sit back down. “No, I want my baby. Where are you taking them?”

Lewis instantly knew what had happened. Baby Hamilton didn’t even take their first breath. Lewis took his wife into his arms and let her cry as the doctors took their baby away.

“Our baby. . .” Y/n sobbed as Lewis held her. His heart had broken into millions of pieces. Why did it have to happen to him and Y/n?

For six months, Y/n stayed in her and Lewis’ room. She became a stranger. She skipped out races making the media believe that her and Lewis had divorced. Everytime a friend or family member reached out to her, she would push them away. Lewis tried his hardest to talk to her, but she would either kick him out of their room or leave the house then return an hour later.

It was supposed to be Baby Hamilton’s seventh month when Lewis finally got Y/n out of the house. Y/n had apologized to her husband for pushing him away when they were both grieving the loss of their baby.

“Baby Hamilton is with us always.” Lewis showed Y/n a tattoo that he had recently gotten last weekend. It was Baby Hamilton’s birth date along with a tiny heart. The tattoo was on his wrist so whenever he missed his child, which was often, he looked down at the ink and remember them.

“I love you, Lewis.”

After their talk, Y/n and Lewis got changed and dressed to go out to a restaurant to eat. It wasn’t one of those fancy ones that Lewis took Y/n whenever it was an birthday or anniversary or just because he felt like it. It was a small restaurant that sold vegan food that both Lewis and Y/n loved so much.

“Taste this,” Y/n held up her sandwich for Lewis to taste. He took one bite and stole the sandwich from Y/n’s hands. “Hey! You ordered the wrap!”

“But this one tastes good too! I’ll order you another one, love.” Lewis got up and walked to the counter to order another sandwich. While he was gone, Y/n could hear camera clicks and saw flashing lights from the corner of her eye. Paparazzi had found them. Of course every celebrity hated paparazzi, but Y/n absolutely despised them.

She felt uncomfortable as her body had obviously changed from the pregnancy and from her not taking good care of it after. She tried to ignore it, but soon some paparazzi had yelled out her name. It was impossible to ignore now.

“Y/n! You look different! Tell Lewis to order you more food, you look skinny!”

That was all it took for her to start crying.

When Lewis returned, he saw the paparazzi outside. “Let’s go home, come on.” He said and took off his hoodie. He gave the hoodie to Y/n and as she put it on, he asked a waiter for boxes to take their food home. “Ignore them, we’ll be home soon.”

As they left the restaurant, the paparazzi got more pictures of Y/n hiding her face from the camera. It was clear that she had lost tons of weight after the pregnancy. As Lewis opened the car door for her, a man called out for Y/n once again.

“Mate, fuck off.” Lewis said and walked to his side of the car. On their way home, Y/n ranted to Lewis about how the paparazzi makes her feel and him being the best husband, he listened to every word she had to say.

When they arrived home, Y/n walked into the house, Lewis slowly followed her. He was picturing them coming home from lunch of dinner with Baby Hamilton in a stroller. That was his version of a great day.

“It’s too quiet here, Lew. I don’t like it.” Y/n sighed.

“I know, I’m sorry.” Lewis grabbed her hand and together they walked to their shared bedroom. Baby Hamilton’s nursery was right across from their bedroom. It remained untouched ever since Lewis and his father finished painting the walls and installing the furniture.

“We are going to get through this, Lewis Hamilton. I know we are.” Y/n faced her husband.

A new year came and so did new changes. Y/n still remained with returned back to work with Sky Sports F1 and Lewis was still with Mercerdes. After every race, Lewis would look down at his wrist and see the date that belonged to Baby Hamilton.

“Well Lewis, it’s been a hectic week for you, where to start, but firstly I want to ask about something the fans noticed you’ve been doing at every race and that is you kiss your wrist before getting into your car. Is there any meaning behind that?” A lady from ESPN asked him during the Monza Grand Prix.

“There is a meaning and it’s something only my wife and I know about. It’s something to represent that my child, who is now looking down at me, is always with me. It’s to represent that no matter what, I’m always going to be their dad.” Lewis proudly stated.

Y/n watched from a tv inside the Mercedes hospitality as her husband was being interviewed. The couple had talked about announcing Baby Hamilton before since during the pregnancy, no one other than close friends and family knew. Lewis wanted to make sure Y/n was okay with announcing it before anything else.

After Lewis was done with his interview, the tv changed to another interview happening live. Y/n knew it would be a while before Lewis returned so she went onto twitter to distract her mind, which was the wrong move.

Her name was trending after the paparazzi photos of her and Lewis were finally posted. Mean twitter users were pointing out how skinny and tired she looked.

formula1facts this is hamilton’s wife?😂

paddockinsider someone give her a burger

lolurnotmichaelschumacher Lewis finds her attractive?? get this man glasses or something

Her mentions were all about her body. Every single one of them were how she had changed. Without thinking, she went to her settings and pressed the ‘delete account’ option.

Y/n and Lewis continued with their lives, occasionally having breakdowns when they remembered how their child was taken from them too soon. But that didn’t mean Y/n and Lewis stopped calling themselves parents. They were still a mom and a dad, their child was just waiting for them in the sky.

One day, Lewis had the bright idea to bring up a solution to the quietness in their house. A dog. The couple was laying in bed in a hotel since the Singapore Grand Prix was just a few days away.

“A dog? Are you sure we’re ready to have a dog? We travel like crazy and who would take care of them when you and I can’t?” Y/n asked.

“Dad could or we could just bring them on the road with us. Everyone loves dogs.” Lewis said.

“Something tells me you already have one in mind. Did you adopt a dog and didn’t tell me?” Y/n chuckled.

“Not really. But I can ask around.”

Lewis did just that. Eventually he did find the perfect dog for him and his wife. After the 2013 season ended, Lewis took a well needed vacation with Y/n where he would surprise her with their dog. When Y/n met the dog, she was in love.

“What their name?” Y/n asked as she scratched the dog’s belly.

“Roscoe.”

Roscoe became a family member. He wasn’t ‘just a dog’. He traveled with Lewis and Y/n, ate with them, slept on their bed. He was their second child. A few months after adopting Roscoe, Coco came into their lives. Both Y/n and Lewis treated the dogs as if they were their own kids because in a way, they were.

Often Lewis would show Roscoe and Coco the ultrasound pictures of Baby Hamilton and would tell them how excited he was to be a dad. Y/n would smile so much as how Lewis talked to their dogs. It didn’t matter if they were a dog or an actual baby, Lewis Hamilton was the perfect dad.

#formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #f1 x you #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton one shot #lewis hamilton #lh44 #mercedes amg petronas #f1 #dad!lewis hamilton

2K notes · View notes

xiao-come-home · 4 days

Note

Giggling, kicking my feet, spinning in circles over Boothill...

Just imagine, S/O in a creative field, and they've been preparing for an event where they get to show off their work..

Except, they've been doing it in secret because they don't feel confident and they're unsure if people would stop by for them..

So cue S/O's surprise when they suddenly bump into Boothill at said event—maybe even burst into (happy) tears if he praises their work.. I just know this man's the sweetest for his S/O ;;;-;;;

YUEESS anyway this got kinda long but take it 🫡

You knew the day was coming - the day so, so important in your career that could possibly shift everyone's opinion about you and your hard work. Day after day, more preparations were made, and people who assisted you kept patting your shoulder as you walked by, already congratulating you.

Yet, amongst all of the joy - your hesitation was certainly present. No one close to you knew about the event - not even the closest people, not even Boothill himself, who was your significant other. Even though so many already praised you - just what meaning does it hold if no one actually shows up to the event itself?

The lack of confidence and worrying were the only ones that bothered you to no end - which, Boothill noticed immediately as it was not your usual behavior. Not only were you constantly busy and away from home when he finally got back, but you were constantly stressed out. He tried not to pressure the matter as you were unwilling to talk, but that's Boothill we're talking about - which means - time for Boothill to snoop around and find out himself.

Today is the day. The day you anticipated so much, but also dreaded to finally have it happen. You hop onto the stage, and gasp at the amount of people below. You can't count the amount of eyes that gaze at you, and people seem to be genuinely impressed at your work - applauding loudly, causing you to tear up on stage.

That's a shame you haven't noticed the familiar cyborg who's been watching you the whole time, smiling widely to himself.

Once the official part is over and the festivities begin, people swarm around you to ask you more about your work or actual interviews, but you gently excuse yourself for now under the excuse of being tired. Surprisingly, the crowd goes away, but they'll surely be back...

You breathe in and out, shaking your head from all the attention, but suddenly, you bump hard against something and your hands automatically cover your poor nose; the pain makes you cry under your nose a tiny "oww," just what the hell is that pole here? Was there one before?!

"Ouch! 'm sorry sweetheart! Thought ya would finally notice me, but not that kinda way..." Boothill's voice reaches your ears and you open your eyes in the span of seconds, "I can't believe ya didn't tell me about all of this! A god dang event just for you, and those little motherfudgers that barely let me in, let alone get closer to ya—"

Boothill takes your hands off your face in his, pressing a soft kiss on your nose, "I didn't know my sweet pea was so smart," his voice gets softer and quieter, eyes gazing into yours, "I'm so proud of ya. I really wish you've told me about this, so we could be properly celebratin' this together."

You no longer could fight your tears and let them run down your cheeks, "I'm sorry, I didn't— I didn't think anyone would even show up," you sobbed, "I didn't even know if I could get through this if—" your sentence gets cut off by Boothill's fingers pushing your chin up and staring at you with ungodly amounts of love in his eyes.

"Silly you," he wiped off the tears with his hand, "of course they'd come. They did. So many people are here just for you, admirin' yer work and almost fightin' to say a word to ya. I know ya often doubt yourself, but, as you can see," Boothill looks behind you and see people fawning over your projects, "there's no need for it. You deserve all of this, sweetheart, even if I can't understand a single fudgin' word. You put yer entire heart into this - I see it, love."

Boothill's words only make you cry harder, wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him tightly - but this time, your tears are those of joy.

After calming down, you sit nearby with Boothill next to you. Sparing him a glance, you confusingly mention the new hat he's wearing, "Ha! Took ya long enough to see! It worked as intended - ya didn't know it was me back there, in the crowd!" He exclaimed proudly, sending you a smug grin.

#honkai star rail #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #boothill #boothill hsr #boothill x reader #.anon thirst

216 notes · View notes

skyfullofpods · 7 months

Text

Hello fans of Re: Dracula who were introduced to fiction podcasts through the updates from our good friend Jonathan Harker! Now that the story's over (sob!), would you like some recommendations for some other audio dramas that you might enjoy, made by some of the folks who worked on the podcast?

Jonathan Sims, who played our local phonograph enthusiast, is the writer of the hugely popular horror podcast, The Magnus Archives. The Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute records statements made by members of the public, detailing strange encounters with the supernatural. What soon becomes clear is that these statements do not describe separate and unrelated events, and a bigger and horrific picture begins to emerge. Also appearing as recurring characters in this series are both Sasha Sienna and Alasdair Stuart.

Karim Kronfli is a prolific voice actor, and while he might be best known for his roles in both Re: Dracula and The Magnus Archives, he has voiced a wide range of characters in many different fiction podcasts. Out of all the ones he's appeared in, I would personally recommend urban fantasy anthology series, Unseen. The unseen world exists alongside ours, but only a few humans can see it. It's a world where magic and magical creatures exists, and Karim's character tells his story in episode 7, titled We Ourselves.

Beth Eyre and Felix Trench played twins Antigone and Rudyard Funn in Wooden Overcoats, a British sitcom set on the tiny fictional island of Piffling, in the English Channel. The twins run a funeral parlor together, the only one on the island, until a newcomer arrives. Eric Chapman (played by Tom Crowley) sets up a much more successful funeral parlor, and the story is narrated by the Funns' house mouse, Madeline.

Alan Burgon plays the Interviewer in The Amelia Project. The Amelia Project is a secret organisation, and clients come to them looking for their help in faking their deaths. The Interviewer listens to each client's story, before concocting unique and often elaborate ways in which they will stage their deaths, before being reborn into a new identity.

David Ault is also a very recognisable voice to anyone who spends a considerate amount of time listening to fiction podcasts, and The Kingmaker Histories feels like an appropriate choice here. A weird steampunk series set in the Valorian Socialist Republic in 1911 , this story involves found family, its own intriguing magic system, and being gay and doing crime.

Our favourite cowboy, Giancarlo Herrera, plays one of the protagonists in sci-fi action/thriller, Primordial Deep. Spinner is part of a team which is sent deep beneath the sea to investigate the resurgence of creatures thought to be long-extinct. There's plenty of horror to be had here, as something ancient is stirring in the depths of the ocean.

As for the crew? Tal Minear works on so many podcasts, and if you like fantasy stories, I would recommend the delightfully lighthearted Sidequesting, which follows new adventurer Rion, as they help people on their travels. If you would like some more horror, there's their spoiler-driven anthology series, Someone Dies in This Elevator.

Hannah Wright's Inn Between is a fantasy series based on D&D. Each episode follows a party as they meet in the Goblin's Inn, in between adventures, as the tavern follows them around wherever they go.

Stephen Indrisano's upcoming docu-horror Shelterwood promises to be a series which explores the horror of suburbia, as it follows one man's quest to find his missing sister. Until this is released, I would recommend Do You Copy, in which Stephen plays one of the protagonists. This found footage horror series follows the events which unfold after the closure of Red Tail National Park, and the people who were left inside the park, after its mysterious closure.

Ella Watts is regarded as a walking encyclopedia of all things audio fiction, and has worked on several high-profile projects, including directing both Doctor Who: Redacted and Marvel Move. Her upcoming Camlann is a post-apocalyptic series due to be released next year, inspired by Arthurian legends and British folklore. She is also the executive producer of Tin Can Audio's (who are also producing Camlann) beautiful experimental series, The Tower. The protagonist of this story, Kiri, leaves her life behind to climb an impossibly high tower, making phonecalls along the way.

Newt Schottelkotte's Where The Stars Fell is a supernatural fantasy set in the town of Jerusalem, Oregon. Cryptozoologist Dr Edison Tucker arrives in the town to carry out some research, and meets her roommate, author Lucille Kensington. There's so much more to this strange town than first meets the eye, with a huge revelation at the end of season one.

If you're new to fiction podcasts, welcome! I hope this short (ish!) and very much non-comprehensive list gave you some ideas of what to listen to next!

#Re: Dracula #audio fiction #audio drama #podcasts #podcast recommendations #podcast recs #the mortifying ordeal of being known WELP #me yeeting this list into the void and then disappearing for the forseeable future

477 notes · View notes

kopilot-pop · 8 months

Text

[New Jeans x Oldest Member! Reader] - #1

-imagine.

Summary: You’re the oldest member in NJ. With that title comes alot of responsibilities, from being the support beam for your (not so official) leader to protecting your maknae from rude interviewers. (This is just a bunch of moments of a very protective/warm Y/n.)

Warnings: sickness, fighting(?), protectiveness, cursing, rude people, etc.

A/N: Hey, it’s been a while. So sorry for disappearing for like… 20 days..? I’m back with another NJ fic because alot of people liked the bodyguard one haha. It’s mostly platonic love from Y/n btw. Oh, and lil background info; Y/n's is a 03(a year older than Hanni/Minji) and used to be a dancer before being casted by Hybe.

———————————————————————

“What do you mean she has to come?!”

‘Oh god..’

Minji is furious to say the least.

You’re currently holding a sick Haerin in your arms, rocking her back and forth. The poor girl has been feeling off for a few days at this point and on the day of an important performance, her fever had become unbearable.

Last night, Minji woke up to Haerin crying in pain and woke you up in a panic. Since then, 3 hours has passed and the girl’s fever doesn’t seem to want to go down. Minji quickly went to call the manager to adjust the schedule while you decided to keep watch on Haerin.

“She can’t even stand straight oppa! You seriously can’t expect her to-”

“Listen Minji. This is an important schedule and the producers aren’t gonna be happy if the whole team doesn’t show up. As much as I want to help, it’s just not possible!”

“Ugh!”

Due to all the yelling, the younger girl stirred awake. She stayed quiet, but it was clear to you that she was listening to the conversation.

“Unnie-”

“No. You’re not going to the festival.” You cut her off before she could say anything.

“I.. I can go..! It’s fi-” Haerin fell back into your arms in a coughing fit. After a stern look from you, she finally sighed and snuggled into your chest. Soon after Minji came in - grumbling in frustration.

“I can’t believe him! He-“

“Hey, sweetie, calm down first.” You put Haerin back down on her bed, tucking her in.

“How do you expect me to be calm?! They’re forcing Haerin to perform in this condition! To make things worse, the performance is in the morning, the weather forecast even says it could rain, and, and-” Haerin sat up in the bed, covering herself in the thick blankets. Her wide eyes looked back and forward you and Minji worriedly.

“WOAH, woah, Min, you need to calm down. You’re stressing out Haerin here.”

“Speaking of Haerin- you! Why would you hide the fact that you were sick?! If you told us sooner we could’ve-”

“Kim Minji.”

The moment you saw Haerin’s eyes become watery you decided to shut everything down. Minji, realising her mistake, immediately stopped talking and looked away. You decided to grab her arm and pull her out of the room to talk.

After a few moments of silence, she decided to talk.

“Unnie… I’m sorry…”

“You don’t need to be sorry to me. Minji. I know you’re stressed out from all the schedules and practices, and I understand you’re just worried for Haerin. However, that doesn’t mean you can let your frustrations out onto your members.”

“…”

“I know you’re just trying your best and I really appreciate it, but you need to calm down.”

“I just… I’m just worried….” The shorter girl slowly came up to you. You hold her in a tight hug as she sobs quietly into your shoulder.

“Hey, I know, it’s gonna be okay. I’ll give the producers a call, okay? Go get some sleep with Haerin.”

“Mmph..” You wipe away her tears with your sleeve and give her a smile. Minji decides to give you a final hug and go back to her shared room with Haerin.

———————————————————————

“Nope.”

“Y/N!!”

You’re currently in a tiny meeting with the producer of a well known music show. Since you’ve been in the entertainment business for a while, you recognized alot of their faces - including the fuming man you’ve been arguing with for about 20 minutes now.

“Hyein’s 15. I’m not letting you put her in that and that’s final.”

“It’s just a damn skirt-”

“Nope.”

“The fans would want-”

“Nope.”

“We’ve had other idols-“

“Nope.”

“For gods sake! This isn’t about you! The stylists already prepared everything and we aren’t going to change things just because YOU think ‘the skirt’s too short’.”

This whole debacle started with a slight comment from Hyein. She’s preparing for a solo special stage on Music Bank, and you decided to tag along for support..

(1 Hour Ago)

“Hey! You really came!!”

Hyein - in her tall glory - came running towards you, capturing you in a tight hug.

“Oof- Hey bub, good to see you too.”

You give her a slight pat on her head, holding her tightly to your body.

“Hehe, oh-! Have you seen my makeup for today?! It’s really pretty, with jewels, and…”

You watched as the younger girl went on and on about her excitement. It was her first ever stage alone, and you knew the amount of practice and effort she put on just for this moment.

“- and, and the jacket! It’s pink and so cute! Everything’s amazing - well, there is the skirt - but the dancers are just amazing!!”

“Whoah- what? What about the skirt?”

(1 Hour Later)

So you’re now in the waiting room, arguing, while Hyein is practicing in a different room with dancers.

You are extremely protective over your members, and everybody in the building probably knew that. A video of you almost physically fighting with a rude staff (that decided it was okay to threaten Hanni) went viral in the past, so the staffs were looking between you and the producer nervously.

It didn’t help that your face was gradually becoming more sour as the man went on about ‘pleasing the crowd’.

“What do you mean this isn’t about me? That’s your excuse? Hyein’s my teammate, she’s our maknae, and you’re trying to put her in and outfit she’s clearly uncomfortable in - for what? To appeal to disgusting perverts sitting in the crowd just waiting for a wardrobe malfunction?!”

“Of course n-”

“Listen. I’m not telling you to completely change everything in the crowd, all I’m telling you, is to let our stylist change the skirt to the pants she already prepared just in case. I genuinely don't see a single problem with that."

"I-.."

"Unless you're one of the 'perverts in the crowd'."

"How dare y-!"

"I'll take that as a no."

You quickly pushed past the fumbling man - bowing to the stressed staff members - and let out a deep sigh to calm yourself.

You promised to help Hyein rehearse after all.

———————————————————————

There is no doubt in your mind that Danielle is one of the sweetest human beings in the world - and you hate it.

Not that you hate Danielle, god no, it's just that you absolutely hate the people around her that try to take advantage of her sweet personality.

Thankfully, she has scary dog privileges (you).

"Um...haha.. really...?"

You were getting drinks for the group at the vending machine when you faintly heard the younger girls voice from the hallway. In your mind she was supposed to be with the makeup artist, so why was she here?

"Yes! I really, really like you Danielle!"

You dropped the drinks in your hands and sped to where the conversation was.

Near the bathroom you could see Dani gripping onto your jacket(she was cold), nervously smiling at another idol practically cornering her and... confessing his love..?

"I took a long time trying to build up the courage to ask you.. and I was hoping that maybe we could go on a date some time?"

"I'm really flattered... but.. um.."

You could tell she was uncomfortable. She was stuttering, trying her best to form a refusal, but you knew your Dani hated saying no - especially when she knew the other person would be heartbroken by it.

You hesitated choosing between stepping in and just watching until either Dani says something or the boy leaves, but that was all thrown out the window when he decided to grab her before she could back away.

"Hey."

The young boy visibly froze up at your deep voice.

He was tall for his age, but still alot shorter than you. He nervously turned around and the moment he saw your face he could tell you were not happy.

"Oh! Um hello su-"

"We need to prepare for the stage Dani. Come on."

You lightly slapped his arm way and pulled her into yours, quickly making your way to your group's waiting room.

As soon as the door shut, you were finally able to check on her.

"You okay? He didn't do anything did he?"

"I'm fine unnie! Thank you so much.. I just didn't know how to tell him I wasn't looking to date anyone... He's one of my new friends, and I didn't really want to lose him, and I didn't want him to feel bad - oh no! I just left him there! Oh, maybe I should go back-" The younger girl started to ramble her worries, making you slightly panic.

"Hey! It's okay! He's gonna be fine.. And Dani! You can't always say y-........ nevermind.." You sighed.

You definitely hate how her puppy eyes make you weak, too.

———————————————————————

It's a casual day off at the New Jeans house.

Just like any other break day, you decided to take a long nap on the couch. Quiet, peaceful, and not a single soul wanting to bother y-

"Nevermind..." You sighed.

That thought was shattered into pieces when you woke up on the couch with Hanni on top of you.

You have a warm body in general and all the girls usually used you like a heater whenever they were cold, huddling into you like baby penguins surrounding their mother.

That included cuddling into your arms whenever they caught you taking a nap on the couch.

So when you stirred awake, you weren't surprised to find Hanni (Y/n Heater's #1 fan) lying on top of you, spread like a flying squirrel.

'Ah, who cares.'

You decided to just go back to sleep, right hand holding the younger steady just in case she falls like last time.

You woke back up abut 30 minutes later to find that your chest has gotten heavier.

You tiredly opened one eye to see that another body - Hyein - has been added to your napping form. You were honestly used to this by now, and decided go back to sleep - already expecting at least one more addition to the pile when you wake back up.

"Unnie..."

'There it is.'

20 minutes later, you woke back up to the sound of a soft voice calling for you.

You lazily opened your eyes to see Danielle standing next to you awkwardly.

"Hmm? Need somethin' sunshine?"

"...Can I join..?"

You stared at her in disbelief before letting out a soft chuckle.

"Yeah sure, might be a tight squeeze though- oof!"

The moment you approved she rammed into your side, squeezing next to Hanni. She was slightly hanging off the edge, so in a second you held on tight to her arms - just in case.

You let out content sigh while falling back asleep.

It was 4 hours after you started you nap when you awoke for the 4th time.

You opened your eyes to see two lumps on the floor next to the couch. Minji was awake, watching the TV on a low volume, while Haerin was lying on the floor with her head in Minji's lap - lightly snoring.

"She's practically purring, huh?"

Minji - slightly jumped by your voice - let out a quiet laugh.

"Yeah, she seemed tired."

"Hmm... aren't you?"

"I just enjoy seeing you guys like this."

"This? This is basically going to the gym. Have you ever carried 3 bodies on your chest?"

She let out a giggle.

"No, but what I meant is that I enjoy seeing you guys happy like this."

"Hah."

"Don't laugh! I mean it."

She lightly leaned back for her head to rest on your shoulder.

"It's peaceful. And I love it."

———————————————————————

A/N: Thanks for reading. Love y'all <3

808 notes · View notes

bluerthanvelvet444 · 2 months

Text

ᯓ★⋆˚🅰🅿🆁🅸🅲🅸🆃🆈⋆｡˚ ⁀➷

(Peter Maximoff x fem!reader)

tags: smut with plot and a bit of fluff in the end.

warnings: subby!Peter, restraints, handjob, fingering, riding, p in v, denied orgasm, praise, mentions of abuse, mentions of alcohol, mentions of fight, swearing.

summary: Peter gets captured by the villains. This fic takes place after x-men apocalypse and before x-men dark phoenix.

character count: 19k.

full fic under the cut ↓

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

Memoir. What’s its provenance? What is it?

According to scientists, memories are “formed as a result of connections between neurons in the brain”. The poet Sylvia Plath, instead, “sardonically embraced the most horrific and vulgar fragments from the storehouse of collective memory”. The great philosopher Aristotle believed that “memory is like a writing that remains etched in wax, and whose inscriptions remain more or less durable”.

Although you continually researched and seeked in books for the perfect depiction, you weren’t able to find anything that could comply with your personal belief. You were staunch that memories are, in fact, the mirror of our being. Disgraceful memories, glorious ones…they’re both needed to construct the way we act, the way we think, and the way we are. You had always been involved in memoir personally, because of your quirk. You had the marvelous capacity of intruding into one’s memories. You couldn’t directly change or interact with them, instead, you could see, reproduce, assimilate and mimic them. Phenomenal, isn’t it? You may think it is but, your biggest gift to you was, in fact, your biggest ruin. Your life started its downgrade the exact moment you found out about it. You remembered it all.

You were standing small in front of your mother, who had either fallen asleep or passed out. The bottle of cheap tequila in her hands made both answers valid. You were just a kid but you knew it wasn’t easy. Your father had left when you were just a fetus in your mother’s womb. Since then, she had never been the same. All the bills, the rent, expenses were on her. Her job exhausted her and the little time she had left, she spent drowning her worries in alcohol. She didn’t need any more problems, so you never told her about that awkward energy growing inside of you. That particular day you felt it bigger than ever, the need to find out what it led to even stronger. So you put your tiny fingers on her temples, as the little voice in your head told you to, and you started seeing. All of your mother's life was flashing in front of your eyes quickly. You stopped at one particular memory, you inspected it. Your mother stood pregnant in front of a man that kept yelling at her. You put the pieces of the puzzles together. It was clear, and the new knowledge of the situation triggered something inside of you, inside of your power. You kept replaying and replaying the scene, tears in your eyes, as the man’s words dissolved from the memory and came directly out of your mouth. That woke your mother up, she was holding her head as the same image kept banging in her mind, and as the man’s voice spit those known words harshly from your little mouth. She yelled for you to stop, and you lowkey wish you never did. As soon as you stopped, she grabbed you and threw you inside of-what you playfully called-the dark room, your basement.

“I-I’m sorry…I can’t-you’re him…I-I see him-” Her words came out broken from her mouth, her sobs stopping her mid-sentence as she locked you inside.

That became a habit since then. You grew up in the “dark room”, hardly ever going outside if not to eat and respond to natural calls. Your main activity was watching TV and day-dreaming about the outside world. You knew it was better than what you were living, it had to be. Especially because you found out that you weren’t crazy or evil but that you simply belonged to a different species. They called them mutants.And apparently, there was a school for kids just like you, the interviews of the famous Charles Xavier were the ones you liked watching the most on TV. As the years went by, your urge to run away grew more and more, and so you did. One day in the early 70s, you grabbed all of your things and left, taking advantage of your mom’s blackout. You took different taxis and avoided the questions about your young age, and you were finally standing in front of Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters. Although, it seemed different from what you saw on TV: it looked abandoned, the plate with the name on it rusty and absentmindedly resting on the ground, and the gates closed. You tried peeking inside, before being startled by an unfamiliar voice behind you.

“Don’t waste your time. They can’t help you anymore, but we can.”

This is how you found yourself with a group of mutants who had the exact same hopes you had, before they were broken by the closure of the school. You were guided by The Captain-that is how he wanted to be called-that was trying to create a new safe place for young mutants. And his plan seemed to work, kid mutants were actually starting to come…before Xavier’s school opened again. At this point, your group desperately found itself in front of the school’s gate again. You were dismissed,though, by a blue beast mutant.

“We’re sorry, the school only accepts young kids between 5 and 17-” He told you before turning his back.

“You can try and talk to Charles though, I’m sure he will find some space for y-'' He stopped seeing you had all left.

This is why The Captain’s plan was ever created in the first place. He believed that Charles Xavier was a man only drawn by his personal needs, and that he only used the young mutants to gain popularity and be idolized by the US government.

“This is why we were rejected. Our powers aren’t conventionally pleasing. No human kid would ever desire our powers. So if he believes our gifts can’t be used for good, we won’t use them for good.” He spoke firmly to you all.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

Your flow of memories was interrupted by The Captain.

“We’ve captured one. You will watch him while we take care of the others. Do your thing on him and find out his weakness.” He spoke with a deep voice.

You nodded and began making your way downstairs before he gripped your wrist.

“Don’t disappoint me, Y/N.” You felt his piercing gaze in your eyes.

“I won’t.” You gulped and quickly left the room.

When you opened the door you scanned your surroundings. The room was all white, with petty furniture. No windows, a table, a chair, a small closet, and a bed which had a figure laying down on it. You inched closer and scanned the boy. His eyes closed, he was probably knocked out, a few bruises on his skin, his hands and legs restrained by the strong collars around them… he looked your age, his hair was silver with some goggles resting on them. He had a pleasant face to look at, if the circumstances had been different you could’ve even admitted that he was pretty attractive. He was wearing a black protective suit, probably X-men’s equipment, you guessed. The more you observed him, the more you were confused. You expected them to capture the great Mystique, the glorious Magneto…not a newbie. You sighed and started walking towards the desk, ramaging in your bag for a sleeping pill so that you could do your magic without being interrupted.

Peter slowly opened his eyes, he could feel his body sore from the previous fight. He started to panic as he didn’t recognize his surroundings. He tilted his head forwards, noticing the person standing in front of the desk.

“H-hey…! Ppsttttt…Lady! Yes! You! Lady!” You heard his desperate calls.

You walked towards him and stopped at the side of the bed.

“Hi! So there’s a bunch of bad people who captured me and probably want to beat my ass-” You stopped him mid-sentence.

“I know.” You replied with a monotone voice.

“You-you know?! Don’t tell me you’re one of ‘em- oh shit! You’re one of ‘em! C’mon you have to be kiddin’ me…you’re too pretty to be mean! Hey! C’mon help me!” He rushed, his hands and legs squirming at high speeds against the restraints. You didn’t budge at his compliment, instead, you were focused on his movements.

“A speedster, huh.” You mumbled.

“A speed…A speedster?! Babe I'm not a speedster- I’m the speedster! Quicksilver! Peter Maximoff! The one and only!” He replied cockily, almost as if he was offended by your lack of knowledge. You raised your eyebrow, clearly having no clue of who he was.

“Aah babe you’ve got to be kiddin’ me! I’m Quicksilver! The one who beated Apocalypse’s ass! I did it all myself heh- I’m basically a hero, everyone loves me. Don’t ya watch TV or what?” Even though you had no idea who this guy was and what he did to be part of the X-men, you could sense the exaggeration in his words.

“I prefer books.” You shrugged before turning your back and making your way to the desk again.

“Hey! Hey! Where ya goin’?! Are ya a mutant too? Hey, yer not gonna hurt me aren’t ya?! What’s your power? C’mon tell me…What’s your power? Whaddaya do?!”

You rolled your eyes as his continuous questions started to annoy you.

“Will you shut up and let me do what I need to do?!” You snapped while holding between your thumb and index the sleeping pill. His pupils dilated.

“Whoa-whoa…let’s chill down a bit, yea? No need to use that, babe. Ya just gotta ask and I'll do whatever you want me to do.” He said with a smirk forming on his face. You sighed.

“Close your eyes and stay still.” You began pressing your fingers against his temples.

“...Will it hurt?” He said with a nervous smile, big brown eyes looking up at you.

“It doesn’t have to.”

Just like that you were thrown into Peter’s memories. You saw his child self, his mom, his sister…his first time using his powers…Magneto…many memories about Magneto, weird. You decided to dig a little deeper. You replayed the memory where he found out that…

“Magneto is your father?!” You exclaimed, visibly surprised.

“Hehe, I guess…so that’s your power?” He said with a tiny chuckle.

You kept thinking about what you just saw. You never saw a direct contact between Peter and Magneto, so you supposed he didn’t know about his son. That could’ve easily been used against him, you had to tell The Captain. You walked towards the table and gathered your bag.

“That’s a cool power…I’ve never heard ‘bout it. Actually, I’ve never heard ‘bout ya either…do ya have a supervillain name? Why didn’t ya fight with the others?” The words fell rapidly out of his lips. You gulped.

“Just Y/N. I don’t fight with the others. My powers weren’t made for physical combat.” That’s true, they hardly ever let you come with them on missions. You were useless for superheroes as much as you were for supervillains.

“Pffffttt…that’s bullshit! Ya can do those cool things with yer mind! Ya totally have to meet Charles, he’s gott-”

“Charles? Charles’s a selfish man who puts his needs first. I don’t want anything from him.” You scoffed.

“Wha-what? Are ya out of yer mind? Have ya ever even met Charles? He’s the coolest. I was literally a loser who lived in his mom’s basement before meeting him. Always been cool though.” His words made your blood boil, hearing that he didn’t hesitate to help him but discarded you immediately. You told Peter your story, how you truly believed Charles was gonna save you but ended up breaking your inner child’s heart. Your eyes started to water as memories flooded in front of your eyes.

“Hey-I-I’m sorry that happened to ya but- hey- if I get outta here alive, I promise I will take you to the school. The professor will help ya, he always does.” You looked at him, a tiny glimmer of hope appearing in your eyes even though you knew that you couldn’t leave.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

You spent all your day talking to him. He was funny, you had to admit. The nicest company you had ever had. He told you about his family, how he joined the X-men, everything. And before you knew it, the night came.

“Oh uhm. You should get some sleep, you’re probably exhausted.” You said while getting up, ready to leave.

“Wait- uhhh…I can’t really sleep with this armor thingy on. It’s uncomfy.” He complained.

“Oh. Right, I can bring you some clothes. But I…can’t untie you. It’s the rules.” You shrugged.

“No need to. I usually sleep naked.” He winked at you.

“...” You contorted your face, not really knowing how to respond.

“HA! Gotcha. Just kidding. I sleep in my boxers.” He said with a proud grin on his lips.

“...I’ll bring you clothes.” You said before being interrupted again.

“No! Seriously, I just need to take my clothes off.”

You raised your eyebrow.

“...Not because I’m a creep. Simply because my speed speeds my body’s functions, and by speeding it highs my temperature so I get hot.” He spoke as if it was obvious.

“...Right.” You sighed and sat on the edge of the bed.

“How does this thing open?”

“W-whoa whoa…you-are you gonn- wait-” He stuttered as his cheeks slightly reddened.

“You said you wanted your clothes off, and I’m not gonna risk getting scolded by The Captain by freeing you.” You sighed. He gulped and pointed where his zipper was.

C’mon Peter…ya can do this, buddy. Ya just need to focus, yea? Don’t let a fine chick undressing ya speed yer speedy hormones, mh? Peter thought to himself. Your hands gripped the zipper and started pulling it down. Stay focused soldier. His broad chest was revealed as you slowly undressed him. You stopped at his abs to hop on the bed and take his shoes off. As you leaned to pull his boots, your arm slightly brushed his crotch. Holy fucking mother of all the fucking mutants, fuck. She barely touched ya and yer already growing hard, Peter? Must be tha speedy genes, yea, has to be. Totally not has nothing to do with ya being a virgin in your 20s. Nuh-uh. Goddamn you, Peter!

You threw his shoes on the floor, and started pulling his suit down again. You let your gaze linger as he was half-naked in front of you. He was wearing boxers with lightning bolts on them, a tiny chuckle escaped your mouth at that.

“Someone’s excited.” You said with a playful grin on your lips as you pointed at the prominent bulge in his boxers.

“Hey! Not my fault ya got all handsy- how did ya expect me to react?” He said with a tiny blush on his cheeks, he was so cute.

“...And it’s the speedster genes, by tha way. They call me Quickie for a reason.” He replied, annoyed because of how embarrassed he got.

“Do you need help?” You suggested. It may have been wrong, since you were “enemies” and you barely knew each other but…when are you gonna have another cute speedster all for you again?

“DoIneedawhat-” He blurted out, not believing what he just heard.

Your lips curled up in a smirk, and before he could process anything, your fingers grazed his crotch through his underwear.

“Oh- fuck- yea…yes-” He moaned, you giggled.

“So eager, mh?” You teased him by pulling his waistband up and then leaving it smack against his skin. He groaned and nodded, he was so worked up by nothing. You undressed him of his boxers too, his shaft springing free against his stomach, leaving him naked on the bed. His hips bucked up in search of friction. You grinned and gently took his dick in your hand, slowly pumping it.

“Aaah…f-f-yes…please…faster…” He whined.

You giggled and leaned in to kiss his lips gently, muffling his pleas. You started speeding your movements, and he deepened the kiss as his moans rolled off his tongue. As you made out, you could hear the sound of his hands desperately squirming against the restraints.

“Please…let me touch you…” He whimpered, big puppy eyes gazing up at you.

“Mh…sorry, can’t do, baby. It’s the rules.” You smirked and leaned in to peck his lips again. You stopped and sat up to pull off your shirt. He groaned at the sight. You took him in your hands again and fasted your pace even more.

“O-oh..f-fuck...gonna…gonna cum babe…c-cant hold it in…ahh..” You giggled and sped up even more, your mouth working hungrily against his, eating up his moans. He came with a loud groan, muffled by your lips. He kept whining after that.

“Pleasepleaseplease…wanna please ya too…lemme…I’m good at it- I promise…I’m basically a human vibrator-long lasting rose toy- please…” You giggled and nodded, pecking his lips. You took off your pants, before untying one of his hands. He groaned and immediately pulled you closer, his hand making its way under your panties. He suppressed a moan by biting his lip as he felt your slick with his fingers. He gently started circling your clit, and after he heard a few moans of confirmation from you, he began buzzing his fingers against it.

“Ooh…f-fuck…just like that, baby, don’t stop…” You moaned, he answered with a cute whine. He looked up at you, his middle finger gently pushing at your entrance, not fully sliding in. You nodded and bit your lip to suppress any more unholy sound coming out of you as his fingers started to fuck you slowly.

“F-fuck…” You threw your head back. He was gazing up at you with parted lips, as if he had never seen something so breathtaking. He kept picking up the pace, until you stopped his wrist and tied it up again.

“Wha-Wait-Why..? Y-you didn’t like it?” He said with his silver brows furrowed, he was lost and scared of what your answer could’ve been.

“Oh, it was fucking awesome, baby. But I wanna use something else to come, yea? Will you let me do that?” You said in a cooing voice, clearly driving his mind crazy.

“Mhm…yesplease…” He nodded, his gaze not daring to leave your body.

You undid your bra, his eyes widening, and straddled his hips. Your entrance just above his cock. He groaned at the sight, his shaft fully hardening again. You smiled and slowly sinked in, until your hips met his.

“Aaah…w-warm…so warm n’tight…mppph…” He moaned loudly.

You grinned and started slowly sliding your hips up and down repeatedly, reaching a stable pace. You moaned as you started speeding up, yet it wasn’t enough to satisfy you fully.

“Mhh…baby…mind helping me a little?” You said looking down at him.

He moaned and nodded. He started superspeeding his hips to meet yours as you bounced on his cock. The new sensation making you moan loudly.

“Ohhh! Fuck! Just like that, baby…such a good boy…” You groaned as you felt yourself closer. He let out a tiny whimper as he heard your praise and kept speeding up, his wrists and legs straining against the collars, forming tiny red lines.

“Fuckfuckfuck…can i cum? P-please-ah…?” He whined.

“Mhhh...not yet- baby…let me finish first…” You smirked.

He groaned and sped up even more, trying desperately to bring you to the edge. He hissed as he felt that knot in his stomach urging to snap. It didn’t take much for you to come undone. You cried out as you were still jumping up and down at lightning speed. As soon as he felt you clenching around him, he moaned loudly, as he was just about to cum. You quickly pulled him out of you and allowed him to spatter his fluid on your body. He panted heavily, droplets of sweat sinking from his forehead to the mattress. You waited a few moments before grabbing a towel and cleaning you both. You laid down on the bed with him, moving his head on your chest as you ran your fingers in his silver locks, whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

“You're my apricity.” You said while caressing his hair and pecking his temple. His eyes were closed, and he was clearly drifting off to sleep.

“Mh?” He mumbled, not moving one single part of his body, still restrained.

“Apricity. I read that in a book.” You chuckled.

“In simpler words?” He mumbled.

“The warmth of the sun in winter.”

“In even simpler words?” He muttered, his voice coming muffled by your chest.

“My life is the winter, you are the warmth.” You admitted. He didn't answer to that. You weren't sure if he actually understood the concept or even just your words, but one thing you were a hundred percent sure of.

He fell asleep smiling.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

taglist: @cxndiedvi0lets @angeldollw @marchsfreakshow @newwavesylviaplath @happy74827 @evpeters87

a/n: raaaahh!!! I'm honestly so proud of this, the fic came out just like i imagined. Anyways, hope you like it, love you all🤍🤍

join my taglist!!

259 notes · View notes

hitlikehammers · 4 months

Text

on the radio

rating: t ♥️ cw: criminal-levels of softness, love beyond the boundaries of what it even meant to love before the spring of ‘86 ♥️ tags: established relationship, rockstar!eddie, teacher!steve, rockstar husbands, tour dates coincide with summer vacation because Eddie can't sleep without his Stevie thank you for your cooperation with this policy, soul-deep love, slice of life, softness

for @steddielovemonth day fourteen: Love is being late to work because you can’t ever say goodbye in a reasonable amount of time (@sharpbutsoft)

more codependent rockstar!husbands of the je ne regrette rien variety, you say? oh, well, I mean: I guess ♥️

Steve can fucking taste freedom, he swears.

He looks at the list of student records he needs to close out to transfer to the high school before he can pack away the last of his office and sign the hell off for the school year—and start the summer tour cycle with his husband through the Midwest, up and down the East Coast, and then they’re fucking breaking Europe, got signed on to a couple festivals, and Steve is goddamn vibrating with excitement and shit, just: are there parts of your heart that like, fit together? Like bones where they connect and shit, or is it all just one piece?

Steve thinks is more like one piece, but he is gonna go with that it’s more like stitched together or something, just so he can fucking say exactly what he feels, which is that his whole goddamn chest—heart and ribs and lungs and all the other fucking bones and shit there—all of it’s seriously bursting at the seams just with so much fucking pride, okay, because his Eddie’s goddamn made it. This dream of his isn’t just gold records; it’s a plane across an ocean to play for tens of thousands of people who don’t even all speak their language and that’s…that’s just like…

Steve’s so goddamn proud he’s split between wanting to scream about it from the top of the school and maybe sob about it with all kinds of sappy declarations peppered in as he messy-cries, so: bursting at the seams. Heart in his chest so full it’s primed to just explode like a goddamn confetti cannon.

Though time has kind of served as testament to the fact that that sensation’s less exclusively about Eddie’s music, or his success, and more just about Eddie.

Eddie, and loving him beyond the boundaries of any understanding Steve ever had about what it meant to love before the spring of ‘86.

He’s almost through the ‘V’s at the end of his alphabet of names when he notes the time—shit, he almost missed it.

He reaches for tiny radio in the corner of his desk that literally just lives there for the purpose of Eddie and the boys doing interviews on local stations every so often, and tunes it in 93.9.

…elcome to most of the infamous lords of midwestern metal, Corroded Coffin, the DJ’s introducing and good, Steve sighs and flips through his…fifth-to-last folder—just in time, he can listen to the interview the guys are squeezing in before hitting the road, then he can get home while the band’s getting their flight to the first venue in Chicago, they’ve got a couple of days there and he and Eddie are planning to look at some houses; Erica’s out of high school they’re ready to make the leap, and Steve will take the 6:10 flight and head straight to the show like the often do, it should work perfect; it’s great to have you guys back but Jeff, I gotta ask, the maybe most…colorful?

You can say obnoxious, Lenny, if anyone knows, we do, Jeff’s shooting playfully, and Steve snickers, distracted by closer folder-number-five and flipping open number-four.

I would never, the DJ gasps theatrically to laughter, and Gareth’s muted holler almost like he’s here! and then he continues on; that does open the line of inquiry, though: where’s your notorious frontman, Mr. Munson?

Steve’s hand slips on the folder; he barely catches it before it falls to the floor.

Eddie…Eddie’s not, not there?

Steve tries to talk down the adrenaline response that’s never wholly died at the idea of the love of his fucking life gone missing, and worse, the idea of something happening to him while unaccounted for: Jeff was playful. Gareth was teasing. They have to at least have known somethingabout Eddie’s absence, Steve talks down his racing heart to something just a little anxious as he listens for clues, and doesn’t have to mine little hints or anything even, it’s clear and plain:

Eddie’s got a sore throat, so like the diva he is, he’s resting it before showtime, Dougie chiming in and yeah, two points to that: one, the only reason Eddie’d have a sore throat would have been fine by sun-up, yeah, and it was, because Eddie was all sunshine and manic energy when they parted ways that morning, and then two: Steve actually knows these guys well enough to be able to tell when they’re talking out their asses.

And Doug is maybe the worst liar of the three on-air.

Steve’s chewing hard on his Bic, trying hard to keep a level head about this: if anything drastic had happened, he’d have heard, they all have his office number, they all know where he is, it would—

Steve startles when he hears rubber squeaking down the hall outside the office; as far as he knows, though, he’s the only person here—everyone else takes at least a week free from this place after classes end, but Steve has a timeline, and a flight to catch, so y’know: sacrifices must be made and whatnot.

He barely gets to turn in his chair to consider getting up to check when the culprit and his perpetually-trashed Reeboks skids to a halt in the doorway.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie beams at him, a little breathless, hair a fucking mess but smiling so big, those dimples popped so deep: shit, if Steve’s heart hadn’t been quick already, that’d fucking do the trick.

“Eddie,” Steve stands, and meets him in the middle where Eddie’s already crossing to him, kissing him immediately and hungrier than the maybe-five-hours since the saw each other really fucking merits. “What, you, why aren’t you at the station?”

Eddie’s eyes flick to the radio as he clocks the question and of all the reactions Steve could predict from him, the fake-sheepish grin with the glimmering fucking eyes?

Probably could have guessed that one.

“I forgot something.”

“You forgot something?”

“Yeah, something important,” he nods fervently and Steve frowns.

‘Babe, you could have called, I’m meeting you at the arena, I could drop it with security if needed to,” he offers, argues: but not really, and not like it fucking matters, because here Eddie is, and the boys were planning to run straight to the airport from the interview, both of which are in the city but Steve’s not, and Eddie’s gonna have to be fucking quick, here, if he doesn’t want to be late for his goddamn flight; did he already swing by the house for whatever it is he needs, it—

“Nope,” Eddie pops the denial like a bubble; “can’t leave it with security.”

Steve squints at him, because now it’s a puzzle. Now it’s Eddie being…kind of a little shit.

And Steve doesn’t even begrudge him the momentary panic before; he’s too adorable. Steve’s too fucking in love.

And now he’s curious.

“You kissed me goodbye.”

“Oh, always,” Eddies almost offended by the suggestion he could have forgotten that. As in: ever.

“Said you loved me.”

“Bigger than the universe,” Eddie says exactly what he came up with that morning, like he does every morning, some new outlandish way to describe the scope of his affections and Steve rolls his eyes but eats it up every fucking time; “and the universe is always expanding so I love you bigger than what it’s expanded to since this morning, too.”

Steve can’t help but kiss him for that, because; well.

Because.

“What the hell else then?” Steve asks, because Eddie has a fucking timeline here and then his husband’s grin stretches slow, and sly, and then he’s drawing Steve in, and kissing him deep, licking as far as he can reach and wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist tight, knocking him a little off balance by design and Steve goes with it, because he fucking loves it, and then—

“Goddamnit, Edward,” Steve growls between them into Eddie’s shit-eating fucking grin as he smacks Steve’s ass, again, and keeps his hand there to squeeze while he pecks at Steve’s lips with feeling.

“It’s good luck, baby, for the journey!” Eddie protests between kisses. “It would curse the whole shebang if I left without showing the appreciation duly accorded to a goddamn masterpiece,” and then he leans in and goes deep one more time, draws a moan out and drags it slow from Steve’s lips before breaking away to declare emphatically:

“Unthinkable.”

And Steve…Steve fucking loves this man bigger than the whole expanding fucking universe or whatever, so he kisses him back until Eddie’s the one moaning, then pushes him away, kinda hard.

“Get out of here, you fucking lunatic,” but then he’s quick to drag Eddie back for one last kiss to mouth against him: “have a safe flight, I’ll see you tonight.”

And Eddie smiles against him, and makes to actually listen, but.

Not before Steve slaps that ass as it makes its way out the door.

Turnabout’s fair play.

Or whatever.

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

divider credit here

115 notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 6 months

Note

Hey! I recently discovered your blog and I love your writing! I’m having a stressful time with schoolwork at the moment and it’s really comforting for me. I was wondering if you’ll take my request of the mauraders comforting y/n after she doesn’t get into the university she loves (Cambridge)? My interview’s in a few days and I’m feeling nervous about the result if it goes badly. Or anything along those lines really!! Thank you for your work! <33

Hi babe, I'm glad you like them! Good luck if you haven't done your interview yet, and please try to keep in mind (I know it's not easy, I was shit at it when I was applying to universities) that it'll all be okay regardless! I never would have imagined I'd end up at the school I did, but I've had an amazing time here, so I think it really is what you make it <3

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

Your heartbreak is intermittent. Your boyfriends have affixed you with everything you need, from your heaviest blanket to your favorite treats from the corner store, but even with the distraction of your comfort movie on the TV in front of you, James keeps catching the occasional sluggish tear rolling down your face. It seems like you’re only able to slip free of your grief for a few minutes at a time before you remember it, tiny sounds of anguish slipping past your lips as your eyes fill with tears all over again.

He reaches over you now as a silent sob jerks your shoulders, tucking you under his arm. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispers feebly. The words feel emptier with each repetition.

You clearly don’t believe him, sniffling and pulling your legs closer to your chest.

Your boyfriends share in your agony, Remus keeping his stare determinedly on the movie despite the worried set to his brows while Sirius’ eyes keep flitting to you, continually looking like he’s about to say something and then deciding against it.

Something must happen in that head of yours, because suddenly your crying worsens, awful, wracking sobs tearing out of you despite how hard you’re clearly trying to suppress them.

Remus turns around in his seat, crestfallen. “Dovey, come on,” he pleads, grabbing the remote to pause the movie. Your ragged breaths sound worse in the new silence. “You’re okay, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry,” you say miserably. You press a hand to your mouth to quiet yourself.

“No, don’t be sorry.” James scrubs a hand up and down your shoulder. “Let it out if you need to, angel.”

You won’t, face growing blotchier by the second, but you do lean into his side as a compromise.

“I know you’re disappointed,” Remus says tentatively, “but I really do think it’ll all work out in the end. In a year this won’t seem nearly as important. Probably sooner.”

You don’t respond; you don’t believe him, either.

On your other side, Sirius makes a soft sound. “What’s going through your head, sweetness?”

“Just—” you sniff, wiping a hand under one eye too roughly for James’ liking. He intercepts it, thumbing the tears from your other cheek far more tenderly. “I’m so d—disappointed in myself.” You break halfway through, covering your mouth with your hand as sobs jostle their way out of you.

“Don’t say that.” Sirius is practically begging. “You worked so hard, there wasn’t anything more you could have done.”

“You—you can’t know that. I could have tried harder.”

“Darling, these are pointless thoughts,” Remus says gently. “There’s no use in thinking about what might have been different. You did work very hard, maybe as hard as you could, but it’s done now.”

Your only response is a soft, half-repressed keening sound, and Remus gets out of his seat, moving to sit on the coffee table in front of you. His knees bump the couch as he reaches forward to grasp your ankles.

“What do you want for yourself—say, a year from now?”

Your eyebrows scrunch while James’ rise. He’s not sure this is the line of thought Remus should be leading you down right now; up until a couple hours ago, the answer had hinged on the university you’ve just been rejected from. Sirius looks similarly dubious, gray eyes moving between you and Remus warily.

“Take your time,” Remus urges. One of his palms slides up the line of your calf and back down again. “Think about it.”

“I want…I want good friends at my school,” you say, eyes downcast as you think. “I want to like where I live—to feel at home—and to like my classes too.” You look up at him and your eyes have gone glossy. “I just want to be happy,” you whimper.

There’s heartache in the crease of Remus’ brows, but he rubs your shin consolingly. “You will be happy, sweetheart. None of the things you just said are exclusive to any one school.” He rests both hands on your knees, giving them a little squeeze. “I know it might not feel like it right now, but that wasn’t your only path to happiness. You might even make better friends, or take more interesting classes, or feel more at home wherever you end up than you ever would have at that place.” A tear dribbles down to your chin, and Remus’ eyebrows scrunch concernedly. “Do you get what I’m saying?”

“I do. Thanks. Just, I can’t—” You suck in a breath, trying to keep more tears at bay. “I can’t think about that right now.”

“I know.” He rubs your calf, lips pursed. “I know you’re not ready to think about what’s next just yet, darling, but just know you’re going to be alright. We’ll talk about it when you’re ready.”

“Do you want to wallow for a bit?” Sirius asks, cozying up to you and needling his arms under yours to hug you from the side. You sniff, and he takes it for agreement, setting his chin on your shoulder. “Perfect.” He plants a kiss on your cheek. “Wallowing is my specialty, sweetpea. If you wanna cuddle for the next twelve to eighteen hours, I’m your man.”

“You do have work in the morning,” Remus reminds him idly.

“Priorities, Moony. Our beautiful genius sweetheart is sad, if I have to shirk all my responsibilities for the next two weeks to cuddle her, then that’s a small price to pay.”

His scheme works, and a tiny smile worms its way onto your lips. James can practically feel Sirius’ internal fist-pump.

“What?” he goads you, giving your jaw another quick kiss. “You don’t think I’ll do it? No sacrifice is too much for my girl, you know.”

“This is not wallowing,” you point out, and he pouts at you.

“Fine, you’ve caught me.” He dips his head to nip at the ticklish spot on your neck, a near desperate move in James’ opinion, and grins when you giggle unwillingly. “I only like it when I wallow. I want you smiling, without a single unpleasant thought going through that lovely head of yours, all day long. But alas,” he sighs exaggeratedly, resting the side of his head on your shoulder, “we can mope, if that’s what you want.”

You don’t reject his offer, placing your head atop his, but James notices that some of the heaviness has waned from your countenance. He leans over and presses his lips to your temple.

287 notes · View notes

paper-crab · 7 months

Text

3 times

summary: 3 times Matt helped you, and 1 time you helped Matt

warnings: exhausted college students, lots of crying, sleep deprivation, mentions of not eating, basically the college experience.

wc: 2291

for a chris girl i sure can’t seem to write anything about him

If you were to go back to the beginning, it’d make this an incredibly long story. In your sophomore year of college, you had decided living in an off-campus apartment would be a good idea; financially speaking. You were determined to get out of your parents basement and live your life for the most minimal price possible.

That’s how you ended up with Matt, in a homey 2 room apartment.

Matt was an environmental science major whose brothers had dropped out of college, leading him to finding a new place with one less room and with a new roommate to cut down on costs: you. It was convenient, and out of the candidates he’d interviewed, him and his brothers liked you the most.

He was a quiet roommate, and that made it easy to study without getting overwhelmed with your surroundings. The only time he made noise was when he invited his brothers over, and he was always sure to ask.

In turn, he expected the same of you. Environmental science isn’t an easy route to take, so calm work conditions were appreciated.

Despite your best efforts at improving each other's study time, things happen. You’re human; sometimes you get overwhelmed.

Three times Matt helped you, and one time that you helped him.

One

It was a random Tuesday evening of your first semester. You were stacked with homework for a music class; a required elective credit that was far too demanding. You were juggling an essay on the history of jazz, a report on a classical concert the college orchestra had done, and a small quiz on musical notation.

To put it simply, you felt fucked.

You were itching to take a break, feeling the tears flood your eyes, but you just opened the next tab- opting to finish your jazz essay rather than prioritize your well being. It’s funny how college does that to you.

You start typing, the clacking of the keys feeling entirely too loud. They were sticking in odd places, and the words just wouldn’t flow smoothly.

When you reread what you’d typed, it just felt wrong; like when you trip over a tiny pebble instead of smoothly kicking it to the side.

You switch tabs, to the concert report. A minimum of 3 pages accepted, and you have half of a page. Seriously, what are you even supposed to say? You only have so many ways to describe the resonance of the string section before it becomes entirely too repetitive and meaningless to your report. Now it’s not just the keys that are wrong, the brightness of the screen is beginning to bother you, but if you turn it down you can’t seem to see well enough.

It felt wrong; like when you see a perfect pile of leaves and go to step on them, but rather than hearing the satisfying crunch of leaves, you’re left with some wet mush stuck to the bottom of your boots.

You switch tabs, the tears threatening to spill out. Your vision blurs slightly as you open the quiz and begin reading the questions.

What the hell does this even mean?

Still, you trudge through, clicking random answers and praying to some god that you get about 80%.

When you finish with only 10 of the 15 questions being right, you’re a push away from breaking down.

“Can I come in?” Matt knocks. You want to nod, not trusting your voice to carry your words, but he can’t see you. “Yeah.” You say, voice slightly cracking. He opens the door, not expecting what he sees; you, sitting at your desk, an abundance of tears about to tip over.

Surprised, he hesitates, then asks, “What’s wrong?” in the softest voice you’ve ever heard. That’s all it takes for the sobs to begin, while you choke out some form of an explanation.

“Everything’s just… not right. I’m overwhelmed, I don’t understand my assignments; I’m lost.”

He listens attentively, stepping closer to you as you pour out your feelings, offering a comforting presence. “I’m sorry,” You say, too upset to be embarrassed to be seen in this state.

“It’s okay,” He says soothingly, placing a hand on your shoulder. “We can figure this out together. What class is it for?”

When you tell him, his eyes light up. “I think Chris took that one before he dropped out! Let me ask him to send over some of the work.”

“You don’t have to do that,” You start to say, but when he sees the tears get a little lighter, he decides it’s worth it. “I want to help.” His expression softens more, as if that’s possible. “Now relax a bit, we can do this.”

Two

The second time he helps you, you’re cramming a week before midterms. Realistically, you know you have time before it becomes a critical do or die situation, but that doesn’t do much to quell the panic rising in your chest.

You’ve done the required work, you know, so you should pass your midterms without a hitch. You reflect on the work you’ve done, hoping it’d help you gain some confidence, but it manages to do the opposite.

‘Maybe I should have done more?’ You think, self doubt and anxiety begin to creep into your head. Your hands start to feel clammy, and the pages of the textbook stick together a bit; it makes it that much more difficult to read.

You just feel stuck, like a jammed zipper in your favorite hoodie.

“Hey,” Matt walks in, not looking up. “We’re ordering Wingstop, you want something?”

“No.” You sniffle, expecting him to turn around and leave.

“What’s wrong? Talk to me.” He says, sweetly, pocketing his phone. You wipe away a little tear, trying your best to chuckle and lighten the mood. “Stressed over midterms. You know how it is.”

“Yeah, I get it. You’ve got time for a break though, right? Choose your favorite flavor, my treat, and come watch a movie with us, okay?”

You stand up from your squeaky desk chair and shoot him a smile. “That sounds nice. I could use a break, thanks Matt.”

“Of course.” He tells you, outstretching his arms. “Any time.”

The gesture makes your heart melt, and you feel overwhelming gratitude. “I appreciate it. Let’s make it a movie night then.”

Three

The third time Matt helps you is the one you hold closest to your heart.

You’re struggling with a group project for a business class you took; regrettably. You’ve messaged the group chat you made at least three times to no avail.

“There’s a frat party tonight, can’t make it” or “I’m not feeling well today, won’t be there.”

All you’re trying to do is get the group together so you don’t have to assign work to them like a kindergarten teacher. So, on top of your regular coursework, you’re stuck dealing with 3 other adults acting like 5 year olds.

You’re ready to rip out your hair.

Making one last ditch effort to save your sanity, you send out another, more pushy, text to the group this time. When you’re left on read by all 3 members, you groan loudly. You check over the assignment and do the work of putting it into parts, allocating each member of your group a task.

You give yourself the hardest part, because obviously, these people are incompetent. You shake your head, drafting a second message to the group chat that informs them of their role.

Suddenly, the two week deadline doesn’t feel like it’s closing in as quickly. You allow yourself to relax, receiving some thumbs up from your group members.

A week and a half later, you feel ready to assemble each part into a final project. It could be postponed, but if everyone was done, why not turn it in early? You send a message asking for everyone’s part of the assignment, and only one person responds, sending her part of the assignment.

You try not to stress about it, reasoning that there are 3 more days until it’s due. Maybe they’re just a little behind; so, you ask the next day, and the next, with no replies.

The night before it’s due, you realize you’re going to have to do the 2 slackers parts yourself. You text the other girl who did her part, asking if she can do an extra one. When she tells you she doesn’t have time, you want to explode.

“I don’t have time either jackass!” You say out loud, resisting the urge to type out a strongly worded text.

Your professor is known for being ruthless, especially when it comes to group projects, and you can’t afford anything lower than a C+ on it without your overall grade being tanked.

You break out in a cold sweat, opening several tabs on your computer as you begin to work on the missing pieces of your homework. There’s a reason you were given 3 weeks and not just one day to finish the work, and that was as a group.

You can’t help but begin bawling, still trying to see through the screen. The words were all fuzzy through the hazy mist of tears veiled over your eyes.

Your sobs aren’t even choked at this point, the familiar feeling of being overburdened taking over again.

Matt can hear, and feel, your frustration from his spot on the living room couch. He immediately stands up, concernedly making his way to your room.

He offers three quick knocks. “It’s me,”

“Come in.” You tell him, your voice quiet and strained.

Matt enters with a tender look. “How can I help?” He asks, not even questioning your distressed state.

“Don’t worry about it, I don’t need to make your life harder too.” You try to sound confident in your decision, but your voice falters.

“Just tell me what’s going on, I’m positive that I can help you. That’s what friends are for,” He offers a gentle smile, stepping closer to you. When you explain the situation, he feels angry for you. “That’s dicked,”

“Tell me about it. Now I’m stuck doing it all, and it’s so much work.”

“Let me do half of it.”

“Matt, I really can’t ask you to do that. I’m sure you’ve got something better to do.”

“Nothing better to do than help you.” He says, grabbing one of your hands. “Let’s get comfy and finish this shit.”

Matt stayed up with you until 3 in the morning to finish that god forsaken assignment. When you were done with the work, you turned it in and cuddled into Matt, falling asleep quickly.

“Thank you,” You whispered

“Of course.”

One

To put it lightly, Matt was stressed. He was juggling his regular coursework, along with the added pressure of finding applicable internships. His dark circles were getting worse, making his lack of sleep apparent. His hair was messier than usual, and he was sure his clothes were beginning to stink. He had been glued to his bed, several textbooks scattered on the surface.

His laptop was open, overflowing with tabs containing internship applications, and the smell of coffee and abundance of energy drink cans was not helping to clear his mind.

You didn’t know what to do to help him.

“Hey, I’m going out. Can I bring you anything back?” You ask, eyes roaming his face and body.

“No, I’m good.” He says, not even stopping to look up at you. You frown.

“Okay…” You say skeptically, dragging out the ‘y’. You leave the house, still struggling to get Matt’s pitiful appearance out of your mind. Your friends can tell you’re far off, in another world. You’re distracted, thinking of what you can do to help alleviate some of the weight on Matt’s shoulders; like he always does for you.

“I’m gonna head out,” You tell your friend, offering her a sympathetic look. Normally, she’d stop to argue with you, but you’ve been off. On your way home, you stop by Matt’s favorite restaurant, taking extra care to order his meal exactly the way he likes it.

When you get back, he’s in the exact same position as he was earlier, give or take a few new energy drink cans. He looks miserable, and you’re willing to bet he feels even worse.

“I got you some food,” You say in a sing-song tone, trying to get him to acknowledge you.

“Great.” He says, nose still buried in one of his many text books. He still doesn’t look up.

You place the food on his nightstand, leaving the room to grab a trash bag so you can pick up his litter. He doesn’t even notice that you entered the room.

“Matt, you need to eat. It’s going to get cold.”

“Can’t.” He mumbles, voice weak with exhaustion.

You throw the trash bag out of the room, turning back to face Matt.

“Matt, please? When was the last time you ate, or slept, or moved from this spot.” You ask, concern shining through. When he finally looks up, you notice how bloodshot his eyes are, as they begin to fill with tears. “I don’t know,”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” You say, crawling over to him, careful not to mess up his organized chaos. He buries his head in your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist as he audibly begins to cry.

“It’s okay, Matt. Take a break, you need to eat and drink some water, and take a nap.” You tell him, “You’re not a failure for needing to pause and take care of yourself.”

“I don’t have time,” He tells you, lifting his heavy head from your neck. “I can’t.”

“You do have time, Matt. Let me help you like you help me.”

#matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matthew sturniolo x reader

351 notes · View notes

tteokdoroki · 2 years

Note

bakugo's first kid is a gremlin, but what about a soft little baby of the family? I proper little girly girl who hides behind her dad

omg so i like hc bakugou’s first kid is a daughter then a son, so this baby girl really is the BABY of the family

she’s so tiny and well behaved, a good natured baby so unlike her father it’s insane. bakugou puts her down for a nap and literally forgets where he put her because she’s so quiet when she sleeps— only really cries when she’s super hungry or separated from her daddy too long.

let’s bakugou dress her up in the cutest outfits all her life, tiny bows for different days and little skirts sobs, ALWAYS uses her manners because daddy taught her so well— refuses snacks from strangers and lets her older siblings have them bc “papa says they’re bad fwor my teef!”

dry heaves and the world absolutely eats her up bc she’s so tiny and cute— well behaved girlie. bakugou takes her to hero events in her adorable little dresses and she just clings onto his pinky, or tucks her face into his shoulder whenever the camera flashes become too much.

if the interviewers are lucky, she’ll peek out from katsuki’s chest just enough to answer when they ask who her favourite hero is.

“m-my papa, ‘cause he’s big ‘n stwong ‘n keeps us all safe.”

#dry heaves #bakugou fluff #bakugou hcs #🍵. user mint #🖇. moots #💌. you’ve got mail

1K notes · View notes

itsmealaiah · 6 months

Text

Why me?

A/n: TW: eating disorder. I don't have much experience writing about these types of things, but I do want you to know you aren't alone. I'm sorry in advance if this is in any way offensive.

You're in your hotel room, getting changed for an interview including Tokio Hotel. They've been your best friends since forever, and you loved supporting them.

You always had a positive attitude, well at least in front of the boys. Truth was, you liked Tom, maybe even more than liked. But it brought you down to see him flirting with other women, more perfect than yourself. Perfect hair, skin, body, voice, everything looking impossible for you to compete with.

You sighed, pinching at your skin, almost in tears. "Why am I not perfect?" you questioned, poking at your stomach. It wasn't flat like the girls Tom seemed to enjoy his nights with.

"Y/n!" A voice yelled. It must've been Georg. "You coming?" He called. "Yeah!" you wiped the small tears off your face, plastering on a smile. "I'm so excited" You grinned, putting what just happened in your room in the back of your mind.

You both rushed into the tour bus, panting. "Hi" you said, gasping for air, looking at Tom, Bill, and Gustav. They waved, and Tom motioned for you to sit next to him. "I'm exhausted" you complained, leaning on Tom's shoulder. He laughed, chest shaking. His laugh made you so happy, it brightened up your day almost every time.

They arrived at the interview and sat down on the couch. You watched from backstage, seeing a woman with impossible features, she looked so put together. Tom warmed right up to her, and your heart slowly broke. Sure, you knew he flirts with every woman on the planet, but it still hurt.

She kept adjusting her shirt, throwing her hair over her shoulder so Tom would look down. Each time he did, a lump appeared in your throat. You decided you had enough and walked back to the bus.

Every night, he had some girl in his room. Whether it be from the club, an interview, or a concert, he would just pick them up and give them a semi-good time. You craved that, wanting to be that close to him, but you knew deep down it'd never happen.

Thirty minutes went by, and they came back in the bus, Tom was bragging about giving the woman his number. He sat by you again, noticing something was slightly wrong. "Y/n? Is everything okay?" He whispered so the others wouldn't hear. They were too busy discussing songs for a new album anyway. "Mhm," You beamed, trying to reassure him. "Alright," He said in a wary voice, turning away to talk to the rest of the band. You mentally sighed with relief.

Back at the hotel, it was late, and you had locked yourself in your room, telling everyone you just weren't hungry. You slowly sobbed, clenching the sheets, turning up the TV a little loud so no one would try to check on you. You hated yourself for being like this, so desperate, so ugly, knowing you'd never, ever get Tom's full attention. It made you cry harder. You couldn't quite sleep, as the woman from the interview was in Tom's room, yelling, moaning, and gasping.

You heard her shrill voice from the tiny walls separating the rooms. "Tom! Oh God! I need you!" she screeched. You buried your head in your pillows, trying to drown out the noise. Did she have to be so loud, especially at this time of night? You thought to yourself.

The next week you cast yourself away from them, growing more and more tired, having almost little to no energy. Your problem only got worse. You knew doing this wasn't healthy, but you couldn't stand to see Tom.

Every day, they tried to get you to come out. You had never acted like this before, and they knew something was up, despite your "I'm just tired" and "I ate something already, don't worry".

A few more days went by, and you heard a knock at your door. "Y/n, it's Georg, can I come in?" He sighed. You opened the door, just a shrivel. "Can I help you?" He saw your eyes, how dark they were, the circles so prominent you could spot them in pitch darkness.

He forcefully pushed the door open, looking at your pale, small frame. "Y/n.. why?" He looked up at you, tears forming in his eyes.

"Why do you care?" You snapped, angered. "It's not a big deal" You crossed your arms over your chest. "It is a big deal." He says, eyes blazing. "You haven't gone anywhere for nearly two weeks and I check up on you to see you like this" He gestures to your body. "Please, we all miss you, tom's been miserable"

"Why should he care, he's the one who started all this" You mumble under your breath, but Georg hears you. "What do you mean?" He asks, confused. "He brought home the girl from the interview, the one with the perfect body, perfect features, and I couldn't sleep all night. I'm sick of it, Georg" You sighed, biting your lip to keep yourself from crying.

"Please, just hang out with us again." He pleads. "You don't have to talk to Tom, I'll make sure of it" His eyes begged you to agree. "Fine" You scoff, pushing him out. "I'm going to bed."

You slowly began to hang out with the band more and in your room less, avoiding Tom at all costs.

One day, Tom knocked on your door. "Who is it?" You questioned. "Can I come in?" You recognized the voice, it was him. You opened the door, and he hugged you immediately. "I've missed you so much," He said, voice wavering. You shoved him off of you. "Bull, you haven't said anything to me, Georg was the only one man enough to care"

His eyes began to water, and he apologized. "You're right, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brushed you off, how about I make it up to you by hanging out with you tonight, just us" He asked softly, rubbing my arm. I nodded my head in agreement, and he smiled. "Great, I'll get snacks, we'll relax, it'll be perfect" You froze at that word, but quickly brushed it off.

I walked to the living room to see a bountiful amount of snacks, drinks, and candy. It made my heart slowly race, as I sat down next to Tom. He put on some movie, it looked like it was made in the nineties. "this is my favorite movie, I hope you enjoy it as much as I do" He beamed at me. He pulled me onto him so my back was lying on his chest. I felt his heartbeat, pacing slowly. It felt...strangely nice. He popped some Skittles into his mouth, offering me some. I shook my head in refusal, pushing it back. His eyebrows furrowed but shrugged and ate the rest.

The movie finished and he asked me why I hadn't eaten a single thing. I could sense his concern, and I tried to deflect as much as I could. "Oh I uhm, I'm just not in the mood for sweets" I smiled sheepishly. He shook his head and said "You never eat anything, I see you, everyone else always eats but you. Why?" His eyes gazed into mine as I slowly began to cry. He hugged me tightly and whispered sweet things in my ear, but he didn't stop pressing on why I didn't eat. "y/n, do you have something you need to talk about?" He gently questioned, arms holding me in place.

"You're always hanging out with the most beautiful women ever, they're so perfect, so extraordinary, and I'm just...me" I laughed softly before continuing. "They never look bad, never have a bad day, always perfection. They made me feel awful Tom, and seeing them with you broke my heart. I slowly began eating less and less, thinking I could match them, be a clone, so you'd like me. But it didn't work obviously, because I'm still ugly, and paler than ever" I said laughing before breaking into sobs. He watched me, before going to squeeze the living daylights out of me. I felt a soft liquid drip onto my shoulder, and I wrapped my arms around his back.

"I didn't know I made you feel like that my dear" My heart nearly skipped a beat when he called me that. I felt like somebody, for the first time in a while. "I'm sorry Tom" I whispered through heavy cries. His eyes widened, looking deep into mine. Those deep, gorgeous brown eyes were going to be my Roman empire. "Do not apologize, it's my fault" He said, wiping his tears. We stayed like that for the rest of the night. Bill, Gustav, and Georg walk in, taking pictures of us sleeping.

Bill's POV:

"They look so peaceful together, I knew they were meant for each other" I whispered to Gustav, who nodded, smiling at the two

The End

A/n: Please talk to someone if you're experiencing this, not a single soul, no matter who, should EVER have to go through this.

#tokio hotel #tokio hotel x reader #tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz imagines #tom kaulitz angst #tom kaulitz

100 notes · View notes

thenextdawn-temporarilyclosed · 1 year

Text

Miracle

Word count: 1.6K

Summary: you were in a tragic car accident, you were supposedly dead… until you weren’t.

Warnings: tiny bit of angst

Pairing: Jenna Ortega X Fem!Reader

This Idea came to mind last night! I hope you like it 🤍✨

———

It was all so quick. The premiere, then the Car, the truck, the crash. Luckily you and your girlfriend Jenna were in different cars when it happened, this was probably the only thing you were grateful for… and maybe the last, too. When you got to the hospital you were already half dead. Head trauma, broken bones, paralyzed from the waist down and brain damaged. You were too far gone to be saved. When Jenna heard about the accident she was the first to come to the hospital and her heart immediately shattered at the sight of you like that. You didn’t even look like yourself and she was on the ground in tears, with the rest if the Wednesday cast by her side to support her. It wasn’t fair, nothing was fair about this.

Jenna came everyday to visit you at the hospital and each day she’d talk to you, hold your hand, take care of you but you had already slipped away. Then the day everyone dreaded came. She had to pull the plug. You were in pain and only kept alive by the machines. She didn’t want you to live like this, she had to do it for you, as much as that hurt. She wanted to be alone with you that day, she wanted that the last thing you felt was her presence, so she laid in bed with you hugging your lifeless body as the nurse pulled the plug. “I’m so sorry baby. But you won’t be in pain anymore. You’ll be at peace” Jenna whispered as she cried and held your hand tightly. “Please watch over me” she cried out and sobbed as she heard you take your last breaths.

She left right after time of death was announced and went home, to her family. They had also grown to love you so it was a great loss for them too. She didn’t plan a funeral for you because she knew you didn’t want it so she just let you be at peace. Little did Jenna know that you hadn’t died that day. You woke up just as she left. Brain damaged and paralyzed you definitely needed rehab but you were alive. God only knows how many times doctors tried calling Jenna, but she had shut off everything and never called back. Being convinced that you were dead, she went on with her life. Sure it was hard. She wasn’t the girl everybody knew anymore. Usually you would see her smile during interviews or even in the bloopers of her works but now she was as serious as her new character, Wednesday. Sure she tried smiling for the sake of her fans, but everyone knew she was hurting and that it was the greatest pain of her life.

Dealing with grief has always been hard for everyone. Everyone was so sensitive on it, but not the journalists and interviewer. At times Jenna would find herself being asked questions about you, and at first she’d refuse to reply but slowly it became easier. After two years she had recovered. She had recently been going out for more interviews and today happened to be the second anniversary of your “death”. Sure she was alright, but this day will always haunt her, and it didn’t help her that she had to do an interview. Everything was doing okay so far. “So, Jenna how are you holding up?” The woman interviewing her asked. “Well, today’s the second anniversary of (Y/N)’s death so my mind is somewhere else. But I’m fine, considering” she gave an uncomfortable smile to her and the public. “How are you dealing with it?” Of course Jenna had expected intrusive questions “it’s hard. But I’m dealing with it and my friends are helping me, it’s really nice”

Little did Jenna know that you were slowly recovering in the hospital. You now might be wondering “how did people not find out that you were alive?” Easy. Your doctors never told anyone anything, knowing that if they did, journalists could come and stress you out even more then you could handle. You had to learn how to talk again, how to move your body, well your upper body, at the start. Luckily the damaged part of your brain wasn’t the one with the memories, so you still remembered everything, luckily. Your team of doctors was just amazing, they did whatever they could to keep you happy and the work they did on you was constant. You would have periodical visits to see if there was any chance you could get the use of your legs again, but nothing ever came up, until one day.

You felt something tickle your feet, and you immediately called the doctors who visited you once again and what came out was that with a very expensive surgery and a lot of rehab, you would finally get to walk again. Maybe someday act again, too. Luckily you had the money so you paid for it and got it the next day. The first period walking was complete torture. You weren’t used to it anymore. Your body from the waist down hurt like hell because your bones weren’t used anymore to the weight. At first doctors would help you up and with another year of rehab, you were finally out of the hospital, even if with crutches and a wheelchair, but those won’t last much longer.

It was now almost Christmas and you couldn’t stop thinking of Jenna. You had seen her interviews and noticed how hurt she was. You could tell just from her eyes. You had both grown and she looked even prettier than the last time you saw her, at the premiere. So you decided to surprise her and go pay her a visit, at her family house on Christmas day. You lived in another state so you had to fly to California. Luckily no one had recognized you (it had been three years after all, no one thought of you anymore). When you arrived you called a taxi that would take you to her house. You had brought your crutches because traveling with a wheelchair was uncomfortable, luckily the crutches were enough.

You walked up at her doorstep and rang the bell. You heard chattering inside. “Did we forget about someone?” You heard Jenna’s mother say, as she got up and went to open the door. When she saw you she gasped and smiled at you, tears coming up in her eyes as you smiled brightly at her. “Hi, is Jenna there?” You asked whispering, not wanting Jen to hear you. The woman tried to suppress the tears as she called for her daughter and you leaned your weight on the crutches. “Jenna honey there’s someone at the door for you!” You heard Jenna groan in annoyance in the other room, which made you smile brightly. “Mom if it’s fans just send them away! It’s Christmas after all” “it’s not fans, come here and hurry up” the woman insisted and invited you in the meanwhile.

Jenna soon came at the door and when she saw you she froze in her spot. Tears making their way up to her eyes “H-how is it possible? I-I watched you die, I was there-“ she said as she began sobbing and you made your way over to her. “Hi my love” you told her as you helped yourself with the crutches. “Are you real?” She said as she brought a hand up to your cheek, you could feel how she was shaking as she hesitantly began rubbing your cheek. “Yes I am. It took me three years to recover but I’m here, skin and bones” you smiled and then she broke, hugging you tightly as she cried. You wanted to hug her back but at the moment you couldn’t because you needed to hold yourself up with the crutches, so you moved to the couch. Once you were both sitting down you hugged her back tightly, and she only cried more. She couldn’t believe you were there in her arms again when she watched you die, it felt like a dream.

“I-I’m not dreaming right?” She said in between sobs when she pulled back from the hug, looking at you with tears in her eyes as you moved up your hand to her cheek to caress it and wipe her tears. “You’re not. I’m actually here, you’re actually hugging me and I didn’t die” you said as you moved some hair out of her face. “But I was there when they pulled the plug, how-“ she couldn’t understand. “I woke up shortly after you left. Doctors tried calling you on your phone but you had shut off everything. I don’t blame you for that, I want to make that clear. These years I asked them not to call you, because I didn’t want to worry you, I didn’t want you to focus on me” you said and watched as she continued on crying, while you kept on wiping her tears. “I had to learn how to talk again and I was supposedly paralyzed until I wasn’t and here I am”

Her whole family had listened too and everything clicked, they all understood why you did it. “I’m sorry if I hurt you” you whispered to Jenna as tears came to your eyes too. She shook her head and she leaned in to kiss you, god had both of you missed that feeling.

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x fem!reader #wednesday #wednesday x y/n #wednesday x you #wednesday x reader #wednesday adams #wednesday adams x reader #wednesday addams #wednesday addams x y/n #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams x reader

720 notes · View notes

bubbleswrld · 6 months

Text

Damian Priest Imagine

TW: Damian Priest X Shy! Wrestler! Reader, reader is POC (black), reader has anxiety, legal age-gap between reader and Damian, platonic! Rhea X reader

Y/N paced back and forth as she waited for her music to hit. She had a promo with Rhea Ripley and although they rehearsed it, she had stage fright. Rhea was already in the ring, talking a big game about how everyone was below her since no one had beater her for her belt. Y/N's music hit and she shook away her jitters before grabbing a mic and sauntering onto the ramp. "You're only at the top because you're hound dogs always protect you." Y/N cut off the raven hair woman. She climbed mat and stepped under the second rope. "With or without them, I can still beat your ass, Y/N." Rhea chuckled. "So why you duckin' my fade, mami?" Y/N asked as she smirked but the words came out shaky; she just hoped the fans didn't pick up on it.

"If you couldn't handle a simple interview, what makes you think you can beat me for MY title?" Rhea got in Y/N's face, albeit, she had to crane her neck to Y/N's short height. Rhea picked up on her shortened breaths and hoped being close to the girl calmed her a bit.

"Cause unlike y-you, I won't need back up when I'm whoopin' that ass!"

Y/N dropped the mic and threw the first punch; that was supposed to stun her opponent and knock her off her feet but the most it did was make her stumble two feet. Rhea tried to sell the move as best as she could by sliding down the buckles and rolling out the ring. Y/N climbed the buckles and struck her pose. She quickly got out of the ring and tried to get up the ramp whilst holding in tears knowing she fucked up the spot. Fans were cheering for her and tapping her as she passed, even holding out their phones for pictures.

The water works started before she could even leave the ramp but she had to turn and hit her final mark. Y/N wiped her eyes quickly and turned to face the crowd before scurrying backstage.

/////

Rhea had went on a search for her friend to see what had went wrong but nobody had seen Y/N since the promo. Damian was supposed to be on his way to the hotel earlier that night but after seeing the prom, he too was looking for the younger girl. "Randy, have you seen Y/N?!" Damian asked as he spotted the fellow wrestler coming up the hallway. "I think she was headed to medics--"

Damian and Rhea reached medics at the same time where they found Y/N huddled up on a gurney, struggling to breathe. Adam Pearce was beside her trying his best to calm her down but that just seemed to be making it worst. Y/N had been stressed out for the past few weeks dealing with training, back to back shows and personal issues pertaining to her family. It was a miracle that she had lasted that long without an anxiety/ panic attack. "C'mon bunny, ya gotta breathe. Follow my breathing." Y/N quickly clung to Damian as the loudest sob echoed through her tiny body.

"I f-fucked up b-bad."

She could barely get out her words.

"Nobody is mad at you, hon."

Rhea tried to console the girl.

The young girl was wheezing, grasping at her chest and throat. The medic finally came with a dose of meds to sedate the girl.

"Mi amor. I'm so sorry I wasn't there earlier." Damian kissed his girl's head and laid her on the gurney as she mellowed out. "What happened out there, Rhea?" Adam asked. He was fond of the girl; although she was a shy one, she brought light to everyone's day. He needed to know what triggered her.

"She was antsy before the promo, she did okay with it up until the spot... I saw her start to break."

Damian swiped her braids out of her face and ran his hand across her cheeks as if to let her know he was still there. "She mentioned something about family issues the other day." Dominik popped up. Damian muttered a quiet "Fuck."

"Take her back to the hotel; if she isn't better by Wednesday, I'm gonna pull her from the house show and from next week." Adam stated as he began to pace back and forth. "I need to be here for Rhea." Y/N slurred. "Bunny, you need to rest; the match will be here when you get back." Damian picked her up and left the room. He took her back to the hotel and got her cleaned up before tucking her in.

That was an abrupt ending... yikes. I might rewrite it later.

#damian priest #damian priest x reader #tjd #the judgement day #wwe #wwe x reader #rhea x reader

60 notes · View notes

ceruleanwind · 2 months

Text

Another Extreme

Lestappen | Explicit | 2.8k | Read on AO3

“Going somewhere?” Max grins at him. He’s so fucking cocky. Charles nods, feeling jerky and frantic. “Yeah. Really—ah, really have to pee.” He twists to cross his thighs over one another, glancing up at Max and resenting how his eyes gleam. Charles knows that look—he’s quite accustomed to it—and every time it doesn’t end well. “I don’t think so,” Max finally says, using his hold on Charles’ bicep to lead him down the hallway. “If you really had to go, you’d have done it by now.” Or: Charles gets desperate during a race. Max takes a particular interest in it.

It’s no secret that Charles has a tiny bladder.

In fact, he’s rather open about it most of the time; he’s talked about his experiences in interviews on numerous occasions and he knows full well that videos of him high-tailing it to the bathroom regularly circulate online. The exact reason why, Charles isn’t sure, but he sees no point in being ashamed of something everyone does.

He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t been ashamed before, though.

He’s had accidents in the past, of course. One Charles remembers vividly was in one of his feeder series races, when the race got red-flagged and he had no opportunity to pee before the race started up again. He remembers the way he sobbed as his muscles gave way despite the clench of his thighs together in the tiny space; he’ll never forget how it pooled at his ass and spread into the thick fabric of his race suit. Oh, did it feel good at the time, but Charles would rather die than relive the moment where he had to climb out of his car, red-faced, and explain to his mechanics what happened, tear tracks drying on his cheeks.

Even that, oh God, even that level of desperation doesn’t match up to how Charles is feeling right now.

The parallels are shocking, in fact. Charles currently sits in his car, thighs jammed together as he waits out the red flag. Jesus, it’s been, what—half an hour now? The race would have ended by now, easily—there are only a few laps to go, and Charles could have been in the bathroom already, chasing the sweet relief of emptying his overfilled bladder. “Are you sure there isn’t time for me to go pee?” Charles asks his race engineer for what has to be the fifth time now, his voice coming out a lot whinier than he intended.

“No, Charles. Race control says five minutes.”

“Didn’t they say that fifteen minutes—fuck, I don’t care.” Charles switches off his radio and groans, soon dissolving into a desperate whine. He manages to twist and turn enough to press one hand into his crotch, squeezing at his cock through his race suit. Time seems to pass unbearably slowly; Charles tries occupying his mind with other things—what is he going to have for dinner? Might he win this race from third place? What was that TV show he was watching this morning?—but not even his racing thoughts seem to mitigate the pressure in his bladder, the seatbelt cutting into his lower stomach and making him shiver.

Finally, oh-so-finally, the cars get clearance to line up on the grid again. Charles pulls into position, biting hard on his bottom lip every time his car jerks or bumps the tiniest bit. The metallic tang of blood explodes across his tongue as he navigates his car through the laps, panting with the effort of straining every muscle in his lower half to keep the flood at bay. He can’t pee himself in his car now that he’s made it to Formula One. He can’t. Charles winces as he imagines getting up on the podium with a soaked race suit, the wet patch blooming dark and obvious on the red fabric. The whole world would point and laugh and call him pathetic—he’s sure of it.

The adrenaline of overtaking Lando in the last lap and crossing the chequered flag in second place does momentarily suppress his overwhelming need to pee, he’ll admit. Once in parc fermé, Charles hops out of his car and congratulates Lando with a handshake, before turning to Max and doing the same. He hopes Max doesn’t notice how desperate he is—his teeth still catch on his bottom lip under his balaclava—but Max knows him scarily well. It’s a high hope.

Podium celebrations come first, of course, and then he can go, Charles promises himself, tugging off his helmet with a wince. It feels nicer to be stretched to his full height on solid ground as opposed to being pressed into his car, seatbelt pulled taut against his swollen bladder. The cooldown room is air-conditioned and has enough distraction for Charles to forget about his predicament—that is, until Max picks up an ice-cold water bottle, sweating with condensation, and lifts it to his lips, catching Charles’ eye. Charles watches, transfixed, as Max swallows down the water; he notices how a little of it runs down Max’s damp throat and it makes him turn away, pressing a hand over his mouth to keep quiet. All the painful pressure comes rushing back all at once and it nearly makes Charles sob, a shudder wracking his desperate body.

Charles doesn’t think he’s ever been this close to losing it in front of tens of thousands of people. On the podium, right next to Max, Charles squeezes his thighs together and receives his trophy with the last shred of self-control and decency he still holds. He holds it high to the sky and resolutely ignores the way his bladder throbs, a cold sweat breaking out across his skin under his clothes. The subsequent sticky spray of the champagne all over him nearly makes him lose it right then and there, but he holds out, drawing blood from his lip for the second time today.

His heart soars when the officials usher all three of them back inside. Glancing around, Charles prepares to take off for the nearest bathroom, but he’s stopped in his tracks by a firm hand wrapped around his bicep.

“Going somewhere?” Max grins at him. He’s so fucking cocky.

Charles nods, feeling jerky and frantic. “Yeah. Really—ah, really have to pee.” He twists to cross his thighs over one another, glancing up at Max and resenting how his eyes gleam. Charles knows that look—he’s quite accustomed to it—and every time it doesn’t end well.

“I don’t think so,” Max finally says, using his hold on Charles’ bicep to lead him down the hallway. “If you really had to go, you’d have done it by now.”

Charles’ stomach twists. He tries to wrench his arm free from Max’s grasp, but to no avail; he gives up and lets Max take him somewhere private instead. “That’s not—that’s—Max, I have to go,” he whines before gasping as a hot gush of liquid heat escapes his cock and soaks into his boxers. “Please, I—”

Max glances around, tugging Charles into a secluded section of hallway, shielded from any searching eyes. “Like I said,” he says, voice low and sweet as honey, “you’d have done it right now if you did.” He pushes at Charles’ shoulder, forcing him to his knees.

Tears form in Charles’ pretty green eyes as he slowly sinks to his knees in front of Max. He knows what he’s here to do—of course he does—but he doesn’t think he can stomach the inevitable embarrassment of peeing himself in front of Max, especially not after a race. His fingers work expertly at Max’s race suit, tugging it down to his hips before freeing his cock from his fireproofs. Charles gets a hand between his own thighs, twisting to squeeze at his desperate cock. Oh, he hates how stupid he gets when he’s on his knees. Max always gets a hand in his hair and brushes his thumb across his cheek and Charles is so far gone, blissfully obedient in every way.

“That’s it, baby, there you go,” Max hums appreciatively once Charles takes the head of his cock into his mouth. Charles moans around it, feeling fuzzy from the praise, only to gasp and whine when he relaxes too much and another wash of liquid heat soaks into his fireproofs.

“Max,” Charles begs once he pulls his mouth off Max’s cock, “please, I’m going to—”

Max merely grabs a handful of Charles’ hair and forces his head back down. “No you’re not,” he says, his voice level.

Oh, but he is. Charles sobs around Max’s cock as he lets more of it slide into his mouth, enveloping it in slick wet heat. Kneeling like this has Charles’ knees pushed right into the swell of his bladder and with how he’s shivering and how his muscles are twitching to try and hold it in, he knows he can’t last much longer. He’s really about to do this, isn’t he? He’s about to piss his race suit in front of Max, his cock halfway down his throat, and even just the thought has Charles nearly wanting to cry out of embarrassment. He takes Max’s cock until he chokes with it, tears spilling out onto blood-hot cheeks as he does what he’s made to do.

The desperation sets into each and every one of Charles’ nerves. It’s a warm, achy, tingling feeling that almost has him gasping as it coils hot and needy right in his cock. He can feel it creeping up on him like a massive wave, threatening to drown him.

It only takes a few more seconds of kneeling in that position before Charles’ depleted muscles give out and he floods his clothes, a dizzying, full-body shiver ripping through him as a result. That flow of wet, delicious heat washes continuously over his crotch and spreads across the tops of his thighs, forming a dark wet patch on the cherry red fabric. Charles whimpers, high and loud and pathetic around Max’s cock, squirming with discomfort as he soaks his clothes practically from waist to toe.

“Oh,” Max says, an air of condescension surrounding him as he looks down at Charles, watches him wet himself like a pathetic little kid. “Guess you did have to go.” His hand in Charles’ hair doesn’t let up; in fact, he only squeezes tighter, fucking forward into the delicious slick heat of Charles’ mouth. Charles whines in response, pretty tears streaming down his cheeks, and Max can’t get enough of it. “Isn’t that pretty? Wet little thing.”

Charles thinks he might be okay with sinking into the floor and never looking Max in the eyes ever again. He can’t stop fucking peeing, either, and soon enough the fabric of his boxers and fireproofs becomes so soaked that it drags over the head of his oversensitive cock with every tiny move he makes, making him twitch and whine and clench his hands into fists. It’s so much. It’s too much. He’s kneeling in his own mess; his piss pools at his ass and soaks up into the hem of his fireproof shirt, that dripping wet warmth setting his nerves on fire.

At last, the flow tapers off, and Charles’ cock rapidly hardens in wake of the overwhelming relief. He lets Max fuck into his mouth, dragging his hot tongue up the sensitive underside of it and trying in vain to smile around it when he hears Max groan. Charles gets a hand between his thighs again, rubbing absently at his cock through his clothes and moaning at how fucking sensitive he is; the drag of his soaked clothes against his flushed, twitching cock is downright heavenly.

“Fuck, come on,” Max groans before using his hold on Charles’ hair to pull his mouth off his cock. Max finishes the job himself, stroking himself to completion and coming all over Charles’ face. His cockhead spurts hot and thick over Charles’ lips and cheeks and some of it pools on Charles’ beautifully pink tongue. He catches it all like a good little slut, gazing up at Max and silently pleading to swallow his prize.

Despite recovering from his orgasm, Max would never give up a sight like this; he nods, running gentle fingers through Charles’ ruffled hair as he watches him swallow down the come that isn’t streaked across his flushed cheeks. Pearls of Max’s come even catch in Charles’ wet, clumpy eyelashes, mixing delightfully with his unshed tears. “Oh, baby, you’re so good,” Max praises easily, the words flowing off his tongue. “Come on, get up. Get your back to me.”

Charles chokes out a pathetic little sob, feeling ruined. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve, wincing at the large drooly wet spot he’d made, just like he’s a common whore. He’d be nothing if he wasn’t exceedingly obedient, so he struggles to his feet, whining at the friction against his sensitive, untouched cock, before turning around and facing away from Max. Charles isn’t sure what to expect at this stage, but he knows whatever it is will have him wrecked beyond belief.

Max presses up against Charles’ back, feeling how wet his lower half is. He reaches around to unzip Charles’ race suit, urging him to work it down to his waist. “So hard,” he observes, voice a low murmur right in Charles’ ear, his breath warm against the shell of it, once he gets a hand between Charles’ thighs, fingers grazing against Charles’ soaked boxers. “You like embarrassing yourself a little?”

What a horrible thing to ask, Charles thinks, squeezing his eyes shut in shame and feeling his face flush a pretty pink. No—but yes—but no, but only if it’s Max. Unable to form words, Charles settles for a shake of his head. No. He doesn’t like it. In fact, he’d rather die than have anyone else know about it. Impatiently, he shifts his hips into Max’s touch, desperate for something, anything.

“You wouldn’t be hard if you didn’t,” Max goes on, and this time his hand does dip into Charles’ boxers, wrapping around Charles’ cock. Charles keens, hips instinctively twitching forward for more, and a hot shiver races up his spine when Max gives it to him, fast and rough and all at once.

“Okay,” Charles cries, his voice coming out shaky and wrecked, “I—I do. I like it.” He nearly wants to cry. He lets his head fall back against Max’s shoulder, his legs threatening to give out. He’s never needed to come this badly in his life.

Max brings his free hand up from where it was holding Charles’ chest to wrap delicately around his exposed throat. Charles moans again, his cock twitching in Max’s hand, and that’s all the encouragement Max needs to squeeze, fingertips digging into the soft, vulnerable skin of Charles’ neck, sure to leave bruises for the next day. “I thought so,” Max goes on, dragging his thumb roughly over the tip of Charles’ cock and making him cry out, all broken and strangled. “It was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

Charles’ hazy mind takes a few long moments to process Max’s words, but the praise rips through him in an instant and he’s coming pathetically all in his clothes and over Max’s fingers. Max strokes him roughly through his orgasm, and his hand on Charles’ throat doesn’t let up until Charles squirms away, whining out a pained, overstimulated “ah, ah, ah” that nearly has Max’s cock twitching again. Charles forces himself free and collapses against Max’s side, exhausted and wrecked and soaked, his mind so clouded he can’t even form words.

Finally, everything stops. Max holds Charles close as his chest heaves, coming down from his high. He wipes his hands on a dry section of Charles’ race suit before leaning in to kiss at his face, his lips grazing the tender spot on the side of Charles’ jaw.

“You’re such a—a prick,” Charles finally groans, but Max can spot the smile playing across his face.

Max shrugs, pulling back to take a good look at Charles’ flushed, pretty face. “Maybe. But you liked every bit of it.”

Charles aims a weak punch at Max’s shoulder, movements sluggish and tired, and Max ducks away, laughing.

“Hey,” Max goes on, “we still have press conferences to do.”

“Fuck,” Charles sighs, and at last he becomes blissfully aware of how his bladder feels now that it’s been emptied. “Yeah. I need a change of clothes.”

Max gets one hand around Charles’ waist and guides him out of the corridor, shielding him from any prying eyes. His eyes are bright when he teases, “Or you could go out there and show everyone.”

Charles looks at him as if he’s just been shot. “No,” he says quickly. He flushes the prettiest shade of pink and he glances down at the floor before mumbling, “You’re the only person that gets to see.”

Max brings his arm up to wrap around Charles’ shoulders instead. “I definitely like the sound of that,” he says as they walk down the hallway, back towards Charles’ driver’s room. “So what you’re saying is there’s a next time, huh?”

“Shut up,” groans Charles, playfully swatting at Max. “I didn’t say that.”

Despite his words, Charles’ cock involuntarily twitches in his soaked clothes. There’ll certainly be a next time.

#f1 fanfic #f1 rpf #lestappen #3316 #1633 #f1blr #the charles leclerc pissbaby agenda Must be written for.#it is predestined... i am but the messenger #my fics

23 notes · View notes

annaofaza · 1 year

Text

Inspired by this lovely fanvid by @uynumeotp <3

He wakes up on a white couch.

Vash's first instinct is bury his head in his hands. He can't go through this. Not again.

But when he looks up, it's... different. The orphanage is bustling, as it is now, with the shouts of children playing tag; he can even hear Miss Melanie scolding someone for not helping sweep the yard. A grove of trees surrounds them, laden with tiny white flowers.

And when he blinks, there's a table, absurdly set for two, draped in a white cloth with all the things Vash loves: a box full of doughnuts, a plate heaped with spaghetti, pint glasses bubbling over with foam. He's seated in one of the rickety folding chairs that they drag out of the closet for visitors, underneath the umbrella he's had close on his hand more than once.

And in the middle of the table, a bottle, with a familiar label...

"Tongari."

Vash closes his eyes.

"It's impolite to ignore someone right in front of you, spikey."

Slowly, slowly, he opens his eyes, and sees Wolfwood seated across from him.

There's no blood on his suit, no feverish gleam in his eyes, no sweat on his brow, no cross in sight—he looks as neat and pressed as he's always infuriatingly been in the middle of nowhere. Vash drinks him in, going back to the little details he'd already forgotten: the way his buttons have been stitched and restitched on, the tiny crosses standing out stark white on his wrist like cufflinks, the almost delicate way he holds a cigarette between his fingers.

"Tongari," Wolfwood repeats, "I guess I can't call you blondie now, can I?"

"No" is all he can say. His eyes go to Wolfwood's—and stay there. He's not wearing his sunglasses, now, and that, of all things, makes his throat close up.

"I hardly recognize you without your coat, either. What did you do with that thing?"

"I... put it away," Vash manages. He remembers Meryl giving a song and dance at not having it for tonight's show, the exclusive interview, Vash shoving her away, laughing, when she (half) jokingly told him to strip to make up for it. You'll ruin me! They'll get us for false advertising! and him howling, You shouldn't have made promises you couldn't keep! and her shrieking, Milly! Milly! Hold him down!

"Your glasses, too?"

No more hiding, he'd told them. Everyone knows who I am anyway. Nai wore them, sometimes, with his cloak. Sometimes Vash would get the shivers, looking at him, his twin a ghost from long ago.

Vash watches as Wolfwood takes another drag, smoke escaping from his lips. "After all this time," he finds himself saying, "you haven't stopped smoking?"

Wolfwood chuckles. "It's not like it'll do anything here."

Vash's eyes fill with tears.

"Come now," Wolfwood says, more gently. "I've missed your smile. I never did get to see it one last time."

"You were dying," Vash retorts, before he can think, Wolfwood even now knowing how to push his buttons. "Did you want me to stand up and cheer, too?"

Wolfwood's eyes soften. He really does look different without his glasses; Vash wishes he could have seen more of his eyes. "It was bound to happen at some point, tongari. I'm surprised I made it that long, frankly."

"You should have—" Vash chokes; he's thought this over countless nights, alternatively raging and breaking down into sobs, even once destroying a hotel's box fan. It wasn't fair, it wasn't, it had been the only thing he'd asked whoever was up there, whoever Rem believed in; he wouldn't have even asked Wolfwood to stay by his side. If he could have just been, without having to have so much on his shoulders, had the blank ticket all his life. But because of Vash... "I should have—"

"Ah, tongari," Wolfwood says regretfully, "have you been carrying this around all this time? If anything, I shouldn't have left you. But I thought it was my mess, my burden, and... so many things, really." He takes another puff, breathes it out, reaches for a shot glass.

"If I had been there..."

Wolfwood shakes his head. "You don't know that, and we can't change it." He downs his drink in one gulp, slams the glass down. "Tongari, you've saved the universe. You did what I didn't think was possible: making peace with Knives. And I think without having to run all the time... You're just getting started."

Tears are blurring his vision, now. "But I don't..."

"Tongari. You promised Meryl. Milly is there, Livio is there, you have so many damn people who love you, spikey, for a good reason." He smiles. In the distance, white petals begin falling from the trees. "I'm not going to be mad at you for living. You'll see me again, in time."

He's right, damn him. Vash wipes his eyes, trying to hold in Wolfwood's image for as long as he can, to erase the warmth of blood soaking through his coat and the sound of dirt thudding on a too-still body.

"Nicholas..." he whispers.

Across the table, Wolfwood places a hand on his, squeezing gently, and Vash knows there's nothing more to say.

#vashwood #trigun #trigun spoilers #my fic

143 notes · View notes