#then they talk with him and he sounds like he has a whole box of screws loose with the way he rambles on
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He has a feeling that the new girl running the front desk at the gym is going to be a problem—a distraction disguised in a gym uniform polo and khaki pants.
It starts with you smiling too brightly as he walks in one morning, all teeth and that little twinkle in your eye that feels like trouble when you scan his membership card.
“Good morning, Mr. Riley.”
“It’s just Simon,” he tells you as he takes his card off the counter.
The following day, it’s the same, except Johnny is there to make it worse.
He nudges Simon with his elbow. “She’s kinda pretty, huh?”
“Say it any louder, and she’ll hear you, mate,” he grumbles.
Simon’s not blind; of course, he knows you’re pretty, but he doesn’t have time to commit to anything outside of work—even if you smile at him like you’re happy to see him and how he’ll think about it later: on missions, at his desk, during morning runs. His head is nothing short of woven webs with thoughts of you stuck in the middle.
Honestly, it’s that you—
(You try to make small talk with him every morning, and Simon is starting to think it’s just for him because on the days he doesn’t come alone, you merely scan his card and go back to reading the open paperback book on the desk.)
It’s weird because it’s almost like you—
(He bumps into you at the supermarket and makes a dumb joke about carrots that makes you laugh. It makes him a little tongue-tied and awkward afterward because he realizes he hasn’t talked to a woman outside of only wanting a quick fuck in a really long time, but more importantly, he wants to hear it again.
Instead, he tosses potatoes in his cart and walks away.)
He tells himself it means nothing, or not how Simon wants it to.
You’re just…he’s not even sure; acquaintances? Maybe more than that, but less than friends. Somewhere in that odd in-between phase where he only knows bits and pieces but not the whole picture.
Sometimes, he wishes—
(Simon doesn’t know what he’s doing the first time he invites you to meet the guys from work on a night out. He’s dated around a few times and had his fair share of hook-ups, but this isn’t like that. His palms are sweaty, more than usual, and no amount of wiping them on the thighs of his jeans keeps them dry.
Then you walk into the bar in a dress that’s probably too light for early spring in London—even though he stares appreciatively at the long expanse of your legs as you walk up to the table—and he wishes he wasn’t introducing you as his friend.)
But you—
(A new development happens after you slip him your phone number on one of the gym’s business cards—it’s weird that we don’t have each other’s numbers, so message me sometime or whatever—and he messages you ‘hey’ right before he leaves for a mission a few days later.
It slowly shifts and changes over time.
You start sending him texts in the morning. Never an actual good morning text, but of the dogs you take on walks, the sunrise, the new flower box in your window. Somehow, it’s better.)
You really are—
(His house feels too hot, and he’s distracted from the movie by how close you are, how your leg drapes over his under the blanket, fingers fisting into his sweater at his stomach that clenches. An ache that grows, throbbing, spreading from his abdomen to his groin.
It feels monumental—something more than the gentle touch to the elbow to squeeze by each other in his entryway earlier or giving you his jacket that night at the bar—a tilt of the axis that makes the messy pieces fall neatly into place.
He must be staring because you glance up at him, smiling, and the sound from the TV turns into white noise in the background.
“Can I…would you—fucking hell,” Simon runs a hand through his hair. “Can I kiss you?”
When your lips press against his, and his hands are pulling you onto his lap, where you settle hotly against his dick tenting in his jeans, he wonders why neither of you has done this before. Just kissing—him licking the seam of your mouth, and you panting his name.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” you mumble, lips brushing his.
“Me too,” and he fists his hand into the hair at your nape and pulls you back to his mouth.)
“I knew you’d be trouble,” he tells you one day, glaring at the bloke further down the bar who tried making a swipe at your ass before Simon showed up, towering over his shoulder with your fruity cocktail in hand.
“Oh, yeah?” you giggle, leaning into his side.
“Yeah,” the corners of his mouth quirk, though he hides it when he presses a kiss against your temple. “A real pain in my ass, love.”
“But yours.”
This time, he does smile. “Yes, but mine.”
Masterlist
#simon riley imagine#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#ghost x you#ghost imagine#simon riley fluff#cod imagine#cod x reader#cod fic#mw2 x reader#mw2 imagine#.things i write
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it isn't really complicated, but i still can't tell my grandma about it. my girlfriend is also my boyfriend and i'm her girlboyfriend and there are a lot of days this feels like smoothing sheets over a good mattress. it feels like getting a cup of good hot chocolate. we paint our nails lesbian flag pink, and i watch her eyelashes make shadows on her cheeks. she wants to kiss me because i am really good at baking, and i want to kiss her because when i am freaked out about how i spilled coffee, she just hands me extra napkins and helps me clean. he is so handsome i want to eat my fist. they once just winked at me and i couldn't talk for like the next fifteen minutes.
i haven't seen the L word and i was raised catholic. my earliest experiences with queer relationships were through harrowing conversations and hushed questions and blood on the ground. i didn't like boys soon enough. what, are you gay? asked to a 6th grader, almost like a demand.
when she is asleep next to me and i can feel the dreams run up and down her body, i pretend we are both somewhere in the stars. i like to picture a future full of fruit trees, and writing him poetry. sometimes she wakes up, has a whole conversation with me, goes back to sleep, and utterly forgets that we ever even spoke. she is always kind to me, even in that liminal half-there ghost. i like the croaked, raw way her voice sounds in the very-early morning, the way she always seems surprised i'm still here, and home.
on the internet, there are a lot of people who would be annoyed by both of us, and how labels must be pruned into orchids. a box has to hold and define the insides. people must be organized.
we went on a date last night, and the host said, oh, table for 2 nice ladies? neither of us are ladies, but also we are very much 2 nice ladies. i have been wearing her sweater nonstop. he has frequently been forced into wearing my taylor swift official merch quarter-zip because i was worried about him catching a chill, and you simply cannot be cool in an official taylor swift quarter-zip. do not worry: they listen to better music than i do, and their voice sounds like leaves falling.
i wear the skirts and makeup and i am better with spackle and know how to drive stick. recently someone commented on my work - you're just a man trying to reappropriate lesbian spaces. sometimes i feel like she is a clementine to me, and sometimes i feel like he is a german shepherd and sometimes i feel they are a bird. i like watching his hands over a guitar. can i write this poem, even? how can you be a lesbian if you're sometimes with a man? or you are the man?
how can i, huh. you know, our first date lasted 3 days. we'd been flirting for over a year before i finally asked her out. i'd already written her into poetry. she'd already written me into songs.
last night, in the late night, when they woke up again, confused about where they were, they said - oh, thank god. this is your arm. there's just something so precious to me about the specifics, the denotation that the arm was (thank god!) mine. i really liked that definition. i liked the obvious relief because i understand it.
i say yeah, i have a partner. i mean - oh. thank god. it's your arm.
#writeblr#warm up#on gender politics lol#inkskinned try not to have feelings for someone challenge#time of death: they put my earring in their ear. they were wearing an unbuttoned black buttondown and a necklace with my name on it#you can just send me the coffin i was ready to crawl in
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Sleep well, amour Pt. 2
Parings: Alastor x reader
Summary: After falling asleep to his voice, you wake up and get confronted by Alastor. Later, you walk in on him sleeping.
Word count: 1523
Warnings: Mention of Alastor eating and k*lling a deer
part one
A/N: PART TWO IS HERE!!! I had SO many options wracking my brain on where to take this, but I picked this one! I hope you all enjoy it :’) let me know if you have any feedback, I’d love to hear it. Also, I’m currently working on all the requests I got :) as well as part 2 to that-no-good-first-man-on-earth
You wake up, blinking and looking around. Momentarily forgetting where you are.
Shit. You fell asleep in Alastor’s recording room. Thankfully, he isn’t here right now.
Before you could get up, you notice a purple blanket on you. It seems to be the one that was on his coat hanger. Did Alastor put this on you..? The thought has you smiling and your cheeks reddening.
Alastor’s voice sure does have an effect on you. You look outside to see what time it is, but remember that it’s Hell and the sky is always the same shade of red. You’re going to have to get used to that.
Getting up, you put the blanket back on the hanger and look around some more. It feels some-what intimate right now to be in his space when he’s not around. You wonder how long you’ve been asleep for.
You walk over to his table and notice a red “play” button on his radio equipment and are tempted to press it. It surely won’t cause any harm to hear what he was talking about when you were asleep. You press it and listen.
“Haha! For any sinner, I know it’s a tempting question. But I-“ The recording fast forwards. “Nevertheless, I find it quite amusing that this technology box thinks he is on any sort of level to me! Call me crazy but the sinners have been taaallkinggg, and they think he sounds quite obsessed.” He laughs, knowing Vox is probably listening.
You smile at his voice and find it funny how he is a bit of a drama queen when it comes to his radio broadcasts. You know deep down he doesn’t actually care about the whole situation with Vox, but it’s still funny how he entertains it.
Looking to your right, you see a mug that has “Oh Deer” written on it. There seems to be a bit of black coffee still left in the mug. The “deer” reference made you giggle. You’ve always wondered about his past and how exactly he is part deer anyhow. Oh well, It’ll reveal itself with time.
You’re looking at all the other buttons on his equipment, wondering what they do, when all of a sudden you hear light footsteps on the other side of the door. It’s most likely Alastor. Nobody would willingly go to his room without permission.
The door opens slowly and in steps Alastor. You notice how he opened the door quietly, to not make make much noise. As he still assumed you were asleep. You smiled at that.
He looks ahead and sees you, immediately smiling. “Ah! My dear. You’re awake!” He claps his hands together, his cane leaning on his side.
“Hey Al. Um.. about what happened I-“ You start.
“Ah, ah! No need to explain yourself, sweetheart! Don’t go giving yourself a headache.” He cuts in and laughs.
He looks down at you and says, “you just find comfort in my voice, don’t you?” He asks, with a smug smile.
Your eyes go wide and you stutter. Of course it wasn’t the most secretive thing. Still, you didn’t think he actually knew.
“U-um. Well..” You say.
He tilts his head to side as if saying, “Go on…”
There’s really no getting out of this. Plus, you don’t think Alastor would actually care. He’d probably just find it funny.
“Yeah, I do.” You admit. “I find comfort in your voice, of course I do! I just.. I don’t know.”
You aren’t sure what to say, it’s a tad embarrassing.
Alastor begins to laugh.
“I certainly could tell! I find it quite amusing if I do say so myself.” He says.
He definitely doesn’t mind it, he has a soft spot for you. But he’s also a bit confused on why you even do. He knows his radio voice is unique, but nobody ever commented on it bringing them comfort. They usually scream and run away when they hear him. You’ve been there long enough to see him kill and do so many things that people describe as “horrible, satanic, terrifying” but you still find comfort in him nevertheless? He thinks it’s absolutely adorable!
“Amusing?” You ask.
He nods and says, “Amusing, darling! I mean.. you know who I am, do you not?” He laughs and continues. “Though you still find comfort.. now that’s an interesting fact, don’t you think?”
You shy away, looking anywhere but him. You’re comfortable around him, of course, but you’re a tiny but embarrassed of this whole situation. You know he is definitely loving his though.
He places a finger on your jaw and guides your head back to look at him.
“Uh, uh, dear. There’s no need to feel shy! I never said it was a bad thing. I’m truly honoured!” He says, smiling down at you.
You and him have been getting to know each other for a while now and you’ve just been going deeply and deeply more interested in him. You almost laugh at yourself because you sometimes act as if you did when you alive, how you obsessed over fictional characters and “fan fiction.”
You look at him and say, “Well, that’s good then.” You chuckle.
“Mm, it is isn’t it?” He says.
He thinks you’re absolutely pathetic, but in a good way. He wouldn’t let anything hurt you, this new sensation is something he never wants to get rid of.
———————————————————————
Later that day, Charlie wanted you to pass a message on to Alastor about the hotel reservations. You knew he was in his room because he mentioned that if you needed him, he’d be in there having some dinner (aka, deer). Which he has in his half room half forest. You really wonder how on earth he even did that. The wonders of being a radio demon!
You’re at his door, lightly knocking. You wait a few seconds but you don’t hear anything from the other side.
“Al?” You question while knocking again.
“Hm.” You think.
You aren’t sure if you should go in or not. Sure, the thing Charlie told you about could wait but you also wanted to make sure he was okay. What if he.. choked or something? You’re sure the radio demon could handle that but you just want to make sure.
“Al, I’m coming in.. okay?” You say while knocking once more.
You slowly twist the knob and push the door open. Peaking in, you see him on the other side of the room, in a chair.
“Alastor, are you alr-“ You stop yourself when you notice his eyes are closed.
Closing the door behind you, you walk up to him.
He’s currently sitting in the chair, his arm on the table and his head resting on his hand. He looks so peaceful. His mouth isn’t smiling and his face just looks so.. relaxed. You’ve never saw him like this before. He mumbles occasionally and his ears twitch every so often as he sleeps. You aren’t sure how he finds this position comfortable, but you smile at it nonetheless.
You don’t want to disturb him so you leave, now relaxed that you know he’s okay.
Right before you grab the knob of the door, you hear, “Y/n?”
You whip your head back and you see him standing up, looking at you with his smile.
“Did you need something, dear?” He asks, as if he wasn’t just dead asleep a second ago.
Of course, it makes sense he is a light sleeper.
“O-oh, no. Charlie just wanted me to tell you that the renovations went well and that the guys who inspect the place will be here tomorrow!” You say. “Sorry if I disturbed you.”
“Ahh, alright! And nonsense! You couldn’t disturb me.” He says.
You look at him and smile.
“You know, you could join me if you want! I was just resting and then going to have some dinner.” He offers.
You perk up but then remember that Husk assigned you a task of picking up crates of whiskey for the bar.
“Shit, sorry. I can’t. I have to go get more alcohol for the bar.” You say with a frown.
“More? If I remember correctly, we just got new shipments in.. last week?” He says with a laugh. “Though I’m not surprised we ran out again. Husker is a busy man. Well, my dear. Some other time, then!”
You notice him looking back into the forest, eyeing a deer.
“Yeah, some other time.” You smile. “Have a good dinner, Alastor!”
He smiles back at you says, “Oh I will.” He chuckles, his radio eyes making an appearance as he looks back the deer.
“You have yourself a lovely day, sweetheart!” He says with a wave.
“You too!” Waving back, you then open the door and leave. Once you leave you hear shrieking on the other side of the door, definitely the deer that Al was eyeing.
You’re excited to have more encounters with him, and even take him up on the dinner offer! You remember him mentioning he wanted to introduce you to his friend, Rosie. You’re looking forward to it.
#my works#alastor#alastor hazbin hotel#the radio demon#alastor x reader#alastor hazbin hotel x reader#alastor x reader hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#alastor altruist#alastor imagine#hazbin hotel imagine#alastor x you#alastor the radio demon#alastor the radio demon x reader#hazbin hotel fan fiction#:alastor
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Hi, I’m so sorry, I searched for request guidelines and must be missing them so if this isn’t something you write I apologize-
Flower prompt heliotrope with Spencer where reader sacrifices herself/or gets shot to save Maeve so Spencer can be happy, even though she’s hopelessly in love with him. 🥹
Little angst, little fluff. You can decide if reader fully sacrifices or just gets really badly hurt and how Spencer reacts.
my dear!! there are no rules yet- i have things i won't fill but thus far the onus has been on me to clarify. i had so much fun writing this- thank you for requesting it!!! requests r open :^) wc: 1.1k
“Is Maeve okay?”
It’s the first thing she says when she wakes up from her hospital bed. Spencer’s shaking, a little woozy too. It turns out that they have the same blood type, and she lost a whole fucking lot of it. He’d been happy to give it to her, although ‘happy’feels like the wrong word to use in this situation.
She had internal bleeding, and collapsed harshly from the gunshot, scuffing her forehead so badly she needed stitches. Comparatively, it’s the least of her worries, but still- Spencer can’t stop staring at it. She’s literally marred by the choice she made to protect him.
Maeve is okay. She’s in the same hospital, but Spencer’s spent about ten minutes with her- the rest of the last 12 hours of his life were spent oscillating between donating blood and praying to a deity he’s not sure exists.
She’d survived. They’d both survived. He should feel relieved- why doesn’t he feel relieved?
It’s a stupid question that he keeps asking himself. Two of the most important people in his life are alive, but still in the moment, her blood spilling over him- the gasp of her breath when the bullet hit her- He’s going to remember the sound of it forever, what it sounded like for her to almost die for someone else. He hates that she’s the type of person to do it. To jump in front of a loaded gun for a woman she’s never met before.
He’s mad at her. He has no right to be- he gets a chance with Maeve now, and that’s all due to the choice she made. And yet- he’s so, so angry at her. Because she could be dead right now. He could never, ever talk to her again. She made a choice that meant that he might have never been able to hear her voice, do a magic trick for her, ever, ever be near her again. How the fuck could she do that to him?
“Yes,” he replies, “she’s okay.”
She nods agreeably, before wincing at what appeared to be an intense ache at her temples.
“My head hurts,” she says, her voice low and endearing, and his heart roars with protectiveness. “Do you think I could have a juice box?”
She’s so sweet- he wants to laugh, in a sad desperate kind of way. This is his favorite person in the world, sitting up shakily and asking for juice, clearly groggy and so endearing. He almost lost her.
“You’re okay too,” he says, “If you’re wondering. You scared us. You had internal bleeding and a concussion. You lost a lot of blood.”
It’s only then she frowns.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she pouts, trying to sit up and speak to him. “But it all worked out, Spence. She’s okay.”
“It didn’t all work out!” Her eyes widen at his outburst, and he feels like scum. Yelling at her when she’s in a hospital bed, taking a bullet so he’d have a chance at romance.
“You said she’s okay,” she says back, slowly. “I don’t understand.”
“You lost blood. You almost died. That is not it working out. You have to tell me you understand that.” He doesn’t know why he’s being so harsh, but he also doesn’t know why he has to explain this to her.
“I know,” she sighs, “I know. But this is the job, and I didn’t have time to get a vest on!”
“Then you wait. You wait. You don’t just burst in-“
“And you would’ve lost the love of your life!”
“What makes you think she’s the love of my life?”
A nurse shuffles by the room and Spencer takes a deep breath. He doesn’t want to be kicked out of her room, and on some level he knows how crazy it is to be yelling at a gunshot victim. He pinches his nose, eyes winced in frustration.
She’s been his favorite person by a wide margin for an incredibly long time. She joined the team as a consultant and he remembers the first time he did a card trick for her- the first time he’d fallen asleep on her shoulder. He was so grateful to know her. Still is. In this moment, knowing feels like time slipping out from an hourglass- like it was almost numbered. Their time was almost finished.
Maeve was lovely. Maeve listened and she was kind and Spencer really did like her. He’s glad she’s safe, now. But his best friend, his coworker and favorite person- Spencer thought everyone could tell that he’s been in love with the team consultant since the first week he knew her.
Everything he liked about Maeve reminded him of her.
And she’d jumped in front of a bullet for someone she thought he was in love with. And fuck, maybe he did love her in some way- but whatever ‘in love’ meant with Maeve, this sorrow, the pain of knowing she’d almost been someone he’d have to remember was far, far deeper.
“You’ve never mentioned anyone to me romantically. I’ve known you for years, Spencer. She’s important to you.”
Maeve is. She was. It’s all so confusing now. He has liked someone for years, though. He couldn’t tell her, though. Maeve was a welcome distraction from a love he thought was wholly impractical and impossible to love him back— a love that now he has to witness languish in a hospital bed.
Morgan knew. Morgan would tease him every time Spencer drew a smiley face in purple marker on her coffee cup. He would tell him to just ask her out, and it had always felt so improbable. She’d never go for someone as lanky and uncharismatic as him.
“You’re important to me.”
She has no idea how much.
Her eyes soften at that, and not for the first time, he wants to curl into her arms. He wants to lay next to her in the hospital bed, and feel her pulse beat against bare skin. Feel her pulse and with every beat know that she is alive.
“I know that, Spence,” she breathes out.
Even though it’s not kosher, not necessarily the right thing to do when your not-girlfriend/girl you went on one date with is in the same hospital, but when his best friend opens up her arms for a hug, he ends up doing exactly what he wanted.
The team finds her asleep in her hospital bed, with Spencer asleep in her arms. It feels voyeuristic to look at, but Spencer really, really couldn’t care.
He resolved to tell her that he loves her as soon as she’s healed. With the way Morgan side eyes him every time he ‘helps’ her walk across a room by holding her waist, he’s not sure he’ll last that long.
#spencer reid#spencer Reid fluff#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x fem!reader#criminal minds#criminal minds x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#criminal minds fanfic
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goal // hockey!chris
summary: your boyfriend gets in a fight during his hockey game
part two
“SHIT!” I scream as the opposing team launches the puck into the goal. With some miracle, it’s pulled to the side goalpost, keeping the score at 2-2.
I relax in my seat with my best friend sitting next to me, her tension releasing just as much as mine, maybe more, considering her boyfriend is the goalie.
I watch as my boyfriend skates back onto the ice, tapping his stick three times to get my attention.
I love you.
I smile at him, watching as he races across the ice and steals the puck from his opponent.
In retaliation, that player slams Chris into the boards in front of me. My eyes widen at the sound of the impact, but my boyfriend skates backwards unscathed.
“We still on for dinner tonight?” he asks me in the middle of his game.
I nod, trying my best not to distract him.
We met when my best friend took me to her boyfriend's hockey banquet. It was hard not to be captivated by Chris. He checked all the right boxes and captured my attention with ease. I wanted to know everything about him.
We talked the whole night, then hung out in groups until we finally had the courage to go on a proper date. He kissed my cheek when he dropped me off at my apartment across our college campus, a complete sweetheart in the palm of my hands.
We started dating after a few months, taking everything really slow, especially with the chaos of our own college schedules and him having to travel for his games.
Chris skates next to his brothers, Sturniolo stitched into three jerseys standing next to each other as their coach speaks with them during their timeout.
I look at Chris’ hand, sticking out behind him. He has his hand out with his middle and ring finger down, signing I love you.
“You guys are just too cute, aren’t you?” my best friend teases me.
My cheeks burn red, a smile on my face that I can’t shake off.
A power play is set up right next to where we’re sitting. I always find this so interesting. I can hear everything the players say to each other.
“Who’s little girlfriend is there in the green?” someone says.
I know they’re talking about me, so I immediately scan Chris’ face to see what he says. He doesn’t respond, but his jaw is locked and his eyes are burning into the other player.
I watch Chris’ brother, Matt, charge into our view, stealing the puck away and attempting to shoot. It’s another lost cause. This goalie has saved the last 10 shots.
“Oh, Jesus,” my friend groans. “Look at Chris.”
I scan the ice for my boyfriend, finding the number 3 and following his every move. He follows the player with the last name Hart like a shark. I can’t hear anything, but I can see the anger on Chris’ face, and the humor on Hart’s. Finally, I watch Chris hit his breaking point.
With seven minutes left in the game, Chris races across the ice to Hart, despite the fact that his other brother, Nick, is already playing defense on him. Chris slides in front of his brother, cross-checking Hart.
“Are you kidding me?!” I hear a shout from behind me.
Eventually, the area around us erupts in cheers. Students from our school rise on their feet, jumping up and down, cheering on Chris as he picks a fight.
Sticks are thrown, and the referees stand in shock as Chris lays sprawled on top of Hart, regaining his balance before throwing punches at his helmet.
My heart is pounding, but I know better than to react and embarrass him. He knows how to be safe on the ice, and he knows his limits way better than I do. Not to mention, everyone loves Chris. Our school gathers just for him and his brothers, cheering them on at every game. The last thing I want is to embarrass him or his reputation.
“I’LL KILL YOU!” Chris roars, and at that, the referees finally get involved. It’s useless. While two referees hold onto him, another player from the opposing team runs up to defend Hart, throwing a punch at Chris’ jaw.
“Hey!” I find myself jumping up and yelling. I watch as the blood starts to pour from Chris’ nose, and now that there’s blood involved, I feel every bit of anxiety bubbling up in my chest. “Someone do something!”
Chris continues to get nailed, slurring out profanities as he expresses his anger.
“Do NOT talk about her!” he screams one last time as he’s dragged off the ice, his brothers eyeing down everyone else in case it’s their turn to throw a punch.
“Christopher Sturniolo, five minute penalty for fighting,” an announcer says over the speaker, repeating the same spiel for Hart.
I grab my bag and stand from the bleachers. “I’m gonna go meet him outside the locker room.”
I say goodbye to everyone and head to the locker room, wanting to know more about this fight, but more importantly, that he’s okay.
About 20 minutes later I see Chris walking with his coach, his nose mixed with some fresh and some dried blood. When his coach notices me standing outside of the locker room, picking at my fingers, he says, “I’ll see you tomorrow at practice.”
Chris nods, walking right past me and into the locker room. I’ve already seen everyone else leave, so I know it’s safe to go in, but seeing that he completely ignored me, I don’t think a few guys in there would be enough to keep me from entering.
“So you’re just picking fights and ignoring me now?” I scoff.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbles, tearing his padding off and shoving it into his hockey bag.
I watch as he pulls his shirt off, his toned back facing me.
I find myself becoming embarrassingly distracted and forgetting what I’m actually in here for.
“Do you still want dinner?” I ask quietly, my voice timid.
Chris sighs and places his hands on the sides of his locker, the muscles in his back tensing. “Where do you want to go?”
I shrug even though I know he can’t see me. It’s like I’m too nervous to say anything in case he gets mad at me over something that happened during the game.
When I don’t answer, he turns around, finding nothing but concern painted all over my face.
He sighs again, this time one that tells me that he’s sorry without actually saying it. His arms wrap around me, his bare chest bracing my clothed one. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles into my hair as he kisses my head.
“What happened?”
He breathes out a laugh, tossing his shirt into his locker. “Johnny Hart happened, that piece of shit.”
I don’t ask for more information. The dam has now broken and I know the water carrying the information is going to come flooding in.
“He’s known for being a top tier trash talker, but it takes it way too fucking far,” he tells me. “I mean, talking about my family, my girlfriend–Fuck!”
I flinch at the sound of him shouting. “What did he say about me?”
He shakes his head.
“Tell me,” I plead.
“No!” he shouts again. “God, just– Go wait outside. I’ll be out in a minute and we can go get something to eat.”
“I want to know what he said!”
“He’s a dick! Go wait outside,” he demands, but my feet are planted to the floor. I refuse to back down. “Are you seriously going to do this?”
“Yes!” I argue.
“Fine!” he gives in. He takes a deep breath. “He was just saying disgusting things about you the whole time. Talking about your legs, how he wanted to see what you had under your pants.” I watch as his jaw tightens again. “He said he wanted to see if he could make you wetter than I can. That he would take you after the game and pin you against his car… Is that enough for you?”
I can see his face turning red, his anger bleeding out of him. It’s at this moment that I can also see that his face is still a bloody mess, and that matters more to me than what some idiot on the other team has to say about me.
Without a word, I walk to the sinks, grab a rag that has been folded up and get it damp with warm water. I motion for Chris to sit down on a bench in front of his locker, and when he does, I start gently dabbing his mouth with the rag.
He gives me a soft smile, and as cute as that is, my focus is on his bloody teeth.
“Oh, baby,” I mumble. I find a bottle of water buried in his bag so he can rinse his mouth, and continue cleaning his face. “Are your hands okay?”
“Mhm,” he hums. “Had my gloves on.”
I nod, remaining silent as I wipe the blood from his mouth and give him somewhere to spit the bloody water.
“Coach is pissed,” he laughs lightly.
“I’m not surprised.”
“He was already getting on me about my grades, and with this… I gotta get it together or he’s benching me.”
We both know that his coach will fight anyone to make sure Chris stays on the starting team. He’s the best player this college has seen in years.
“I can tutor you again,” I offer. “I have time before work on Friday’s.”
He shakes his head at me. “I don’t want to put that on you.”
“I wouldn’t have offered if it would have been an inconvenience.”
He nods, then rests his hands on my waist, eventually pulling my wrists down to remove my hands from his face.
“I’m sorry,” he says sincerely.
“I know.”
“I just…” his voice trails off. “I can’t stand it when they do that shit. I know you’re a catch because… come on,” he motions his hands at me, making me laugh. “I just can’t sit there and pretend like I’m not bothered by it.”
“I get it,” I assure him, trying to relieve the part of him that feels like he’s letting people down. “Let’s just get those grades up and try to tone back on the fighting, okay?”
He nods, this time smiling with a lot less blood in his teeth. He pulls me down to his level, resting me on his lap before holding my cheeks and kissing me gently. “I love you.”
A smile grows on my face. “I love you more.”
His eyes go wide. “Enough to fight Hart’s girlfriend for me?”
I let out a short laugh. “Let’s go get something to eat.”
#sturniolo triplets#nicolas sturniolo#sturniolo x reader#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo smut#nick sturniolo#matt sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#chris sturniolo#chris sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo x reader
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look at me a little more | dbf!joel miller x f!reader
A/N: first of all, SMUTTT so much smut up ahead. holy crap this is the longest thing i've ever written (pathetic, i know, blame the commitment issues) enjoy lovies!! also lmk if you want a part 2 maybe possibly!?
m!dni | requests open.
summary: dbf!neighbor!joel accidentally drenches you (virgin!reader) while washing his car and you can’t help but notice the way he eyes you up. it’s only once he’s in your bedroom, fixing your closet door as an apology, that you realize the best person to rid you of your virginity and teach you precisely how to please yourself and others had been right in front of you the whole time; it's getting joel on board with the whole idea that's the hard part.
word count: 5.5k
tags/warnings: SMUTTTT, virgin!reader, dbf!neighbor!joel faces moral conflicts (to fuck or not to fuck!?!?), porn with plot, sooo much tension, dirty talk, use of pet names, blowjobs, handjobs, cumplay, reader eats joel's cum, grinding, making out, oral sex, no!outbreak au, reader's innocent in the sense that she doesn't really know how to do a lot of things when it comes to sex but still has a ton of desires
masterlist
There was a certain shame that came with being infatuated with your dad’s best friend.
You were sitting around on the porch on a hot summer afternoon, wearing your shortest cotton shorts as you sipped the juice box brand you had loved since you were a little girl. Legs crossed, foot tapping the air, and most importantly, eyes absolutely trained on the ripple of Joel Miller’s biceps as he washed his car.
You didn’t know why you liked to stare at him so much. But you did know it was wrong. Immoral. Eyeing up someone in their forties? What was wrong with you? That was your dad’s best f—
“Hey, Mr. Miller!” You called over, shutting down every ounce of doubt in your mind.
He turned around without hesitation, and when he did, you waved. The first time you’d done that, he had to work a little harder to figure out the source of the voice, eyes searching in random directions before finally settling on you. But now, it was like he knew exactly where to look—And, well, that was all it took for you to decide you would be spending the next hour washing a car if it meant spending time with Joel.
So you settled your juice box down on the wooden floor of the porch and skipped over to his house. He must not have heard your footsteps behind him over the sound of the hose, so your simple tap on his shoulder resulted in him whipping around, hose in hand, as he consequently drenched you.
You yelped, breaking out into nervous laughter both from shock and how cold the water was. Joel fumbled to turn off the hose as he began profusely apologizing. “Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry—”
Then he properly saw you. From Joel’s perspective, your clothes were reduced to translucency, practically melting into your skin.
But you didn’t know that. You never fully grasped just how vulnerable you had become from his accident, so when you caught him averting his gaze as quickly as he could, you were a little confused.
“You—Uh—I,” Joel stumbled before clearing his throat, “There’s clothes. Inside. Sarah’s. You can, um, you can go and… y’know. Change into them. Walkin’ all the way back to your house doesn’t seem like a… viable… option.”
By then, a blush had already risen to your cheeks just from how delicately Joel was treating you. As if you were something he had to be careful with, like if he didn’t think long and hard about every word coming out of his mouth, there would be consequences.
“Lead the way.”
Joel gave you a firm smile before swallowing the lump in his throat and motioning for you to follow him as he walked. Once he had the front door open, he let you go in first. Even as you carefully walked past him, you could feel his eyes staring at you.
“Up there,” Joel gestured, “Um, first door on the left. I’ll… be outside.”
As he explained, you subconsciously scanned over the planes of his body—probably a habit you picked up from the multiple weeks of watching him work. But then he was turning to leave, and you could tell he was still really tense. You didn’t know why a simple accident had him so tripped up, but you had the urge to alleviate his worry.
“Hey,” You called, arms wrapped around yourself in an effort to stave off the cold. He turned around, concerned until he saw your soft smile and relaxed a little, “On a scale of one to ten, how sick and tired are you of washing that truck?”
There was only one way to break Joel out of his nervous state; you had to make the situation lighthearted; you learned that from years of watching him hang out with your dad.
He searched your eyes for a beat, eyes completely unwavering, before muttering, “Like a fifty.”
You both breathed a laugh at that. For the briefest moment, you thought you noticed Joel’s gaze flitting to your chest. Your breath caught in your throat, but before you could do a double take, his eyes were glued to yours again.
“So then,” You started, regathering yourself and pushing away whatever your brain was conjuring up, “How do you feel about replacing one lousy chore with another?”
“What kinda chore we talkin’?”
“Well, my closet door’s all screwed up. And you know, instead of apologizing for soaking me by way of expensive concert tickets and a brand new car, like how I know you were planning on doing—”
“—Oh, of course,” Joel sarcastically remarked, playing along as you quickly noticed the worry on his face faded into a crooked grin.
“Well, I really think I can just settle for the closet door fix. Go ahead and save the brand new car for when you break my toaster.”
“Okay, okay,” Joel laughed, “I get it. Go change, then you can lead me to this broken closet door.”
-
Sarah’s clothes definitely belonged to a fourteen-year-old. Not your taste, but then again, if you were fourteen like her, you probably would’ve dressed like that too.
You couldn’t settle on a top, all of them were either too small or bore a graphic design too childish for you. You did find a pair of stretchier shorts that fit alright though, so you decided you’d just pick up one of Joel’s shirts from the pile of clean laundry you saw sitting atop the washing machine downstairs.
When you made it out the front door, the hose was away and his toolbox was resting on the ground by his feet. Joel was drying up his car with a cloth, and when he heard you hop down the steps and subsequently turned your way, you weren’t exactly expecting him to completely stumble at the sight of you in his shirt.
“Oh—You, uh, I thought you were gettin’ Sarah’s clothes?”
“I was, none of her tops fit so I grabbed one of yours from the laundry downstairs.” You absorbed Joel’s cryptic reaction and began to worry. “I’m sorry, Mr. Miller, I really should’ve asked—”
“—No, no, it’s fine. Really. Doesn't matter.”
Joel picked up his toolbox, then the both of you began walking over to your house. It wasn’t that far away at all, probably a couple of hundred feet at most, but he opted into small talk anyway.
“Um,” Joel began, “What’d you come over for in the first place? Didn’t really get a chance to ask ‘cause of this whole… debacle.”
You giggled at his old man vocabulary. Debacle.
“I wanted to help with your car, but looks like those plans got derailed.”
He breathed a polite laugh. “Yeah, well. Guess it turned out that way.”
Before an awkward silence could fall upon the both of you, your brain settled on something to bring up.
“Hey, my dad’s having that July 4th barbecue the day after tomorrow. You’re coming right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it, honey.”
Honey? Honey. Honey honey honey honey—
He cleared his throat. “Where is your dad, anyway?”
You were both standing on your porch now, Joel’s eyes raking you over as you fumbled with the front door.
“Um, I think he’s out working.”
“Great.”
Great?
Before you could ask him what he meant, Joel realized what he had said. “Wait, no, not great. I don’t—I don’t know why I said that. Sorry. I’m sorry.”
You pushed the door open. “Hey,” You brought a hand up to his chest and patted it, “You’ll give yourself a heart attack if you keep assuming all your mistakes are colossal and worthy of that much panic.”
His shoulders seemed to relax a little at that—you weren’t sure if it was your hand or your words that did it.
Eventually, you both found yourselves in your bedroom. You were sitting on the edge of your bed as you watched Joel work. Kneeling on one knee with a screwdriver in hand, he fumbled with one of the closet door’s hinges as he muttered little things to himself under his breath.
“Thanks for this, Mr. Miller.”
He turned to you, nodding as he seemed to process that he was in your bedroom. Your bedroom.
“So,” Joel began, as he dug through his toolbox, “Is your boyfriend visiting too? Or, y’know, girlfriend. Three months is a long ti—”
You softly smiled. “I don’t have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend.”
He turned to look at you again as he turned a screwdriver, this time scanning you over. “Hm, I don’t believe you. Sweet thing like you? Single?”
“Oh, stop,” You blushed, shooing him off.
Joel stood to his feet, dusting his hands off on his thighs. “All fixed. Next time you ne—”
“—I’ve never been in a relationship before. Actually.”
Joel stared at you for a moment before diverting his gaze to the ground. “I, um…”
“Sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. You don’t wanna know about my completely nonexistent dating history,” You lightly smacked your forehead, “Wait, it’s existent if we count the boy I dated for a week in fourth grade.”
Joel laughed, sitting down next to you on your bed. “It’s okay. I haven’t really dated anybody since Sarah’s mom, either. Long-term, anyways.”
“Yeah, well at least you’re not a virgin.”
Joel seemed to tense at that, and you immediately regretted saying it.
“Oh gosh,” You cringed, hands gripping your head, “I really just say anything, don’t I?”
Joel chuckled, head hung between his shoulders with his eyes squinted shut. You eventually laughed, too, simply because—and you realized it sounded stupid—Joel’s laughter was contagious.
“Alright, alright,” Joel beckoned, “Lemme be serious for a second. C’mere.”
You slumped down next to him, staring up at the ceiling before turning to make eye contact.
“That’s not something you have to worry about. You got time, honey, you’re in college. All that crap about late blooming isn’t real. It’s about whenever you’re ready, and whenever you find the right person to do it with.”
You smiled up at him softly. “Thanks, Mr. Miller.”
“Joel. Just Joel.”
You couldn’t bring yourself to look away from him. So you stayed like that, searching his eyes for something you didn’t have the courage to say out loud.
“Joel,” You echoed, repeating his name back to him, bottom lip caught between your teeth.
“I, uh…” Joel trailed off, his gaze flitting down to your lips. “I…” He tried again, but it went nowhere.
You exhaled, and almost immediately, his hands cupped your face as he leaned forward and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to your lips.
It was warm, and gentle, and amazing, and you didn’t know if you could ever let him stop kissing you with how delightful the scruff of his beard felt against your skin.
He did break the kiss after a few seconds, though, and it left you breathless. “Joel…”
His muscles seemed to visibly tense as he mistook your speechless state for confusion. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I don’t know why—”
“—No. No, I liked it,” You smiled softly at him, “I, um, you know. Wouldn’t mind if you kissed me… again.”
With reassurance that you weren’t absolutely appalled, his limbs relaxed. He leaned forward again until he was kissing you. Slow at first, languid. But then it turned fervent and desperate, breaths being exchanged into one another's mouths as lips slotted together like fingers intertwined—so perfect, as if they were biologically designed to do so.
It wasn’t long until he had your back flat against your bed, and you felt his growing hardness dig into your hip.
“Y’know what that is, don’t you?”
You nodded hesitantly.
“You know why it’s there?”
You shrugged.
He gripped the fabric of your—no, his—shirt as his voice rumbled, “You prancin’ around in my shirt did that.”
Without a second thought, you clumsily palmed him there through the thick fabric of his jeans and reveled in the consequential shuddering moan he let out
“Joel, I don’t… I don’t think I know what I’m doing.”
“That’s okay, honey, I’ll teach you.”
Propping himself up with his elbow, he placed his hand atop your own and guided the movements of your open palm. Things like pressing your hand further into him so as to increase the pressure between his legs, and encouraging back-and-forth motions that had his hips rutting and his breath hitching.
Once you got the hang of it, he removed his hand from your own. You felt his hand snake down your neck, then the side of your torso.
“I trust you,” You whispered, fingers playing with the happy trail peaking Joel’s pants, hoping to absolve him of any guilt or doubt.
But the second Joel’s fingertips grazed the waistband of your shorts, he froze. He was staring off somewhere to the right, so you followed his gaze until you found what he was so disturbed by.
A framed photo on your nightstand, one of you standing next to your dad on vacation in Maui.
You understood immediately; that picture was an astute reminder of exactly who’s daughter Joel was about to debauch.
Your hand fell away from his crotch as he leaned back on his haunches and ran his hands through his hair with worried eyes.
“Joel?” You whispered, but then he was completely backing off of you as he muttered curses under his breath. “Hey, no, come back. What’s wrong?”
It was a dumb question. You knew what was wrong. Even though you were well beyond legal, it seemed to mean little in the situation—the facts were, if he touched you, it was betrayal.
“This is…” Joel panted, standing to his feet and raking his hands through his hair, “I shouldn’t have… Fuck. Fuck. I have to go.”
And just like that, he was gone.
-
That night, your lights stayed on and you didn’t close your curtains.
You stripped yourself of Joel’s shirt first, going excruciatingly slow in case Joel happened to be watching through his neighboring window. You occasionally shot glances at his window on the off chance that the window illuminated, but you quickly realized if the two of you made eye contact that wouldn’t be good either. You’d gotten all the way down to your underwear before you spotted his light flick on from the corner of your eye.
So you did the first thing that came to mind; You turned your back to your window. Panties halfway down your legs, torso bent with your knees straightened as you slowly shed your clothing. Hoping. Hoping for him to avert his attention ever so slightly and accidentally catch you like this. Hoping he would think of it every time he talked to you.
Without ever making eye contact, you would never know if Joel actually saw anything, and he would never know you hadn’t actually “forgotten” to close your curtains.
No pressure on either of you.
You went to sleep with a hand shoved down the front of your panties as you thought of all the things you wanted Joel to do to you.
-
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Jesus. What time was it? You stretched until sleep left you and opened your eyes as wide as you could (not very wide at all). From what you could gather, the sun was definitely up. You, however, did not have the willpower required to read off of your phone screen 5 seconds after waking up, so you answered the phone without reading the contact.
“Hello?” You groaned, voice gruff from sleep.
“Oh, I’m sorry, did I wake you?”
You knew that voice anywhere. Almost immediately, you shot upright and cleared your throat as you rubbed your eyes. “Oh, hey Mr. Mill—uh, I mean, Joel,” You breathed a nervous laugh before remembering his question, “No. No, it’s okay I was like, basically awake already, um, so… what’s up? Why’d you—Why’d you call?”
“Right, so just to preface, I understand things are not... ideal... between us right now. But to be honest, you’re the only person available who I trust with this, and… let me just explain. I got called into work unexpectedly and Sarah’s gonna be home alone. Lately, she’s been getting into these rebellious fits, and I just don’t want to risk another situation where she sneaks out at night to meet up with her boyfriend again.”
“Sarah and rebellious fits? Really?”
“Yes, believe it or not. So do you think you could just hang around my place for, to be honest, a long while? It’s looking like I’m gonna be home really late tonight. Oh, and I can pay you.”
“Oh, shut up, you’re not paying me.”
Joel exhaled appreciatively through the phone. “Okay, well I’m home right now if you wanna come by and eat some breakfast. Least I could do. I gotta leave in like thirty minutes by the way, so. Take your time but also don’t take your time?”
You smiled, hoping he could hear it in your voice. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon.”
“Thanks, honey.”
Oh god. There it was again. You thought you might actually pass out, but you quickly turned off your racing brain enough to mutter a small “mhm” before abruptly hanging up.
Okay. Joel Miller. Your dad’s best friend, who was this close to absolving you of every ounce of innocence in your body… just asked you to watch his daughter. What could go wrong?
When you got to his house, he had left already (you definitely took too long in the shower). He did leave out a plate of food, though, along with the message, “Thanks again. Enjoy the pancakes,” scratched out on a post-it note.
And boy did it turn out to be a long day. Sarah wasn’t that much of a handful, she mostly took care of herself. The hard part was lunch.
You attempted to cook something for the two of you, but it only ended in disaster when you left the quiches in the oven for too long. Then you decided Penne a la Vodka couldn’t be that hard, and you couldn't be more wrong. A whole box of pasta was ruined because Sarah didn’t realize the pasta went in after the water boiled, not before. Eventually, you both just accepted defeat and ordered Panera Bread.
Later, Sarah popped into the living room to let you know she was going up to her room to take a nap, and you figured you’d do the same on the couch.
The last thing you read was the time on the cable box; 7:37.
-
Metal clanking. The turn of a key. The creaking of a door. The blaring siren of an alarm system.
“Jesus—Fuck. I thought I told her to turn off the alarm at 8.”
And Joel’s voice.
You jolted awake, blinking wide as you moved to sit upright on the couch. The time on the cable box was 11:50.
Soon, the alarm stopped, and not long after, Joel’s figure came into view. He was wearing a denim button-up with work pants and work boots.
“Hey,” Joel called, setting his things down next to the kitchen island.
“Hi,” You replied, “How was work?”
Joel gave you a polite smile before pulling open the refrigerator door to retrieve a beer. With his head still poked inside the fridge, he replied, “The usual.”
“Well, what was the usual li—”
“—Were you asleep?”
“Uh…" You cleared your throat in an effort to stall as you debated whether or not you would lie. "Yeah, I was. Sorry.”
Joel took a swig of his beer, staring at you from across the room for a minute before blurting out, “The usual is busy. Extremely busy and tedious. But, um, how was Sarah? Hope you weren’t asleep too long.”
“Nope,” You lied, “I Wasn’t asleep long at all. Sarah was great. We had a bit of trouble with lunch, but everything ended up fine.”
“Good. Good. Well you can head out now, thanks for taking care of her.”
No. You did not want to "head out." You rose to your feet. “Joel?”
He looked around as he swallowed his beer. “Uh, yeah?”
“I actually wanted to talk to you. About yesterday.”
He peered down at the ground, swishing around the bottle in his hand. “That’s—That’s okay, honey. I think it’s best we forget that happened.”
“What? But why?”
Joel crossed the room and sat down next to you, leaning back against the couch while you sat back down on the edge with your elbows resting on your knees.
“Come on,” He started, “Don’t act like you don’t know exactly why we’re… this… is impossible.”
“Joel, I—”
“—I’m sorry. You should get home now.”
You turned around to face him. “Joel. No one has to know.”
“As I said, I’m sorry. I handled yesterday… terribly. There were a million different ways to go about that, and I somehow chose the worst one. But we don't work. We can't work.”
You felt your eyes begin to water, but you tried to push the feeling down.
“Hey, hey,” He lulled, the hardness of his attitude falling away as he noticed the sad shine in your eyes, “Don’t cry.” He pulled you against him, rubbing your shoulder firmly.
“Joel,” You mumbled in a small voice, sniffling against his denim shirt with a frown.
He swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to justify what he was quickly realizing was inevitable. You were an adult, somebody else independent of your father. It was your choice who to get involved with, just like it was his. This was mutual.
He knew he would regret it later, but your innocence and desperation allured him to the point of no return.
“It’s late,” Joel began, voice gentle as he offered you one last out, “You should go home. You need sleep, you’re not thinking straight. I’ll call you in the morning.”
“No,” You replied, removing yourself from his body so you could look him in the eye. “I don’t want to leave. I want you to… I want you to do what you said you’d do.”
Knowing exactly what you were talking about, he redundantly asked in a whisper, “And what’s that?”
You wiped a stray tear as you clumsily moved to straddle his lap. Almost automatically, his hands found their way to your hips, his thumbs rubbing circles into the slivers of skin peeking between your cami tank top and the waistband of your shorts. But it seemed at some point his consciousness realized what he was doing because his hands suddenly dropped to his sides. And, well, you just wouldn’t have that, so you grabbed hold of his wrists and returned them to where they were settled on your hips before you rested your own hands on Joel’s chest.
“You remember, don’t you?” You shifted in his lap, “You said you’d teach me.”
“How to have sex.” He said it more like a confirmation rather than a question.
You blushed at his blatant use of the word. It was like every fifth thing coming out of his mouth was sending your brain spiraling. You cleared your throat. “Yeah. Yeah, sex. Blowjobs, orgasms, literal sex. All of it.”
Silence for a beat. “I have one condition,” Joel warned.
“Yeah, what is it?”
“The second I suspect your dad is onto us, that’s it. It’s over. No more messing around, none of it. I can’t lose my best friend.”
You nodded. You probably shouldn’t have agreed so easily, but you didn’t actually think you and Joel would ever get caught.
“Okay, then,” Joel whispered. “Good. What do you wanna do first? Start off easy.”
You looked around the room nervously, careful not to make eye contact as you spoke. “Like. I dunno. Maybe for right now, I could just… touch you. Touch it, I mean.”
Joel nodded, and when your breathing began to grow the slightest bit uneven from nervousness, he noticed and rubbed your upper arm reassuringly. “Hey. Relax. Climb down and sit right there on the ground between my legs, and I’ll show you where to start.”
And so you did. Joel peered down at you with heavy lids as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, and thus began your first lesson.
“Unbuckle my pants.”
With shaky hands, you removed his belt and undid his fly. You couldn’t explain why, but as soon as you caught sight of the bulge in his boxers, your mouth watered.
“What…” You began, “What now?”
“Whatever feels comfortable.”
With a light, feathery touch, you delicately traced a singular finger along the outline of his cock. Joel shivered at the contact, hands shooting to grip the sofa. Touching it felt different this time, more intense because you could feel every ridge and vein; you blamed it on the much thinner fabric dividing your fingers and his cock.
Your breath shuddered before speaking, “Can I take it ou—”
“—Yes, God, yes.”
You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, pulling downwards until his cock sprang free. It was thick, long, and wet at the tip, and you found yourself instinctively leaning further into it.
“Okay,” Joel sighed shakily, “Now just form a circle with your fingers and stroke it.”
You did as Joel said, and when your fingers finally made contact with his cock, you sighed at how velvety the skin was there. Soft and smooth, except for the trimmed hair surrounding the base. You stroked him steadily, biting your lip as you watched the wetness leaking from his tip spread down his shaft.
“Twist at the tip, honey, twist at the—Yeah, just like that. So good, you’re doing so good.” You couldn’t help but smile when Joel tilted his head back from the pleasure of it all.
With Joel still reeling from the contact of your hand, you took his momentary refusal to look down at you as an opportunity to surprise him a little.
You leaned forward and kitten-licked his tip, and it had him finally making eye contact with you as he whispered, “Oh, do that again.”
And so you did, adoring the look of pleasure strewn across Joel’s face.
Joel offered you a quick, crooked grin. “How’s it feel?” He asked, brushing his thumb along your bottom lip as your tongue played with his tip.
You pulled away for a moment to respond, “How’s what feel?”
“Licking a man’s cock.”
You let the spit that had gathered in your mouth drip down onto his length. “I have the urge to do more with it.”
“Like what?”
“Like put it all the way in my mouth.”
And so kitten licks turned into long stripes up his shift, which turned into eager suckling on his tip, which turned into forcing his cock down as far as it could go without making you gag.
Joel’s hand gripped the back of your head, but he never pushed you down. Whenever you did accidentally end up gagging, he petted your hair, mumbling encouragements as best he could through the blinding pleasure. Things like, “Yeah, honey, doing so good. That’s it. Just a little more. Mhm.” And his affectionate nature, his gentleness, his reassuring words—he was exactly how you hoped he would be like. Not to mention, the general hotness of it all had your hips canting down against nothing, in desperate search of relief.
“M’close, sweetheart. Take it—Take it out.”
“I don’t wanna,” You replied in a hoarse voice as you jacked him off.
“You’re not ready for that, honey, just take it out. Take it out.”
You reluctantly complied, removing him from the tight heat of your mouth, drool dripping down your chin as you stroked him rapidly.
“Joel, I… I think I’m wet.”
He moaned a curse at that, his chest rising and falling in rapid breaths as his orgasm approached him. “Jesus f-fuckin’… Tell me more.”
“I need you to touch it for me next time. Please. Maybe you could… Maybe you could put your mouth on it like how I put my mouth on you.”
“Yes, yes, oh fuck, I’m cumming, don’t stop stroking it,” Joel moaned, hot white spurts shooting up and all over your hand as you stroked him through it.
With his breathing still labored, he panted out in a high voice, “You’re lying. You’re f-fucking lying. Tell me the truth.”
“About what?”
“This isn’t—You’ve done this before. No way you made me cum this hard and it’s your first time.”
“Well,” You breathed a nervous laugh, “That’s flattering. But you’re my first. Trust me.”
When his orgasm fully subsided, Joel lay slumped against the sofa with his legs spread wide. You remained between them with your head resting on his thigh as you just stared at his cock. Took it all in, every curve, every vein, and inevitably, the cum that spurted itself over the surrounding area.
“What are you doing?” Joel chuckled, petting your hair as you smiled.
“I’m… I don’t know really. I just can’t stop looking at it.”
But then curiosity got the best of you, and you began to drag your fingers through the mess at his base. It caught Joel off-guard, his entire body stiffening as he watched you.
“What does it taste like?” You asked quietly as you examined the cum on your fingers.
“Oh my god,” Joel groaned through his labored breathing, “I swear, if you do what I think you’re about to do, I’ll be hard again in five seconds.”
“I’ll take my chances,” You joked, bringing your finger to your mouth and licking it clean, ultimately wincing at the taste. “It’s like, bitter. And salty. And kinda sweet. But mostly bitter and salty. To be honest, it’s kinda nasty but I can see myself getting used to it.”
“Wow,” Joel sighed, “You just really know how to set the mood. Make things real romantic.”
“Oh, shut it,” You huffed, playfully swatting his thigh before getting up and plopping down next to him on the sofa as he got to work stuffing himself back into his pants despite the mess he made—that was a problem for future Joel.
“Gonna miss you, little Joel,” You joked to his crotch.
“Oh my god, you’re the worst,” Joel chuckled painfully with his fists in his eyes. “I’m never letting you near ‘little Joel’ again.”
“Mm, no, because I just made you cum so hard you thought I was lying about being a virgin.”
He sighed at that. “You got me there.”
“I did, didn’t I?”
You both laughed at that; In fact, you both were laughing a lot. And at everything. In your head, you blamed it on the ecstatic high of being in each other’s presence this way.
When the mutual laughter died down, Joel looked at you for a moment, admiring you. Then, slow and hesitant as ever, he leaned in to kiss you.
“Do you taste it?” You whispered, breaking the kiss as you fought another giggle.
“Yes, actually. Wait, don’t say it please, this is actually a nice moment—”
“—Your cum!” You loud-whispered.
Another sigh. “My cum.”
You eagerly kissed him back after that, swearing off mood-breaking jokes for the rest of the night. Eventually, you even became too tired to kiss, simply letting your forehead rest against his. Your eyes fluttered shut as his hand snaked up your leg and inched under the leg of your shorts, using force to push your legs open wider.
“Need me to take care of this?” He asked into your mouth before letting his kisses travel down to your neck.
“Joel,” You breathed, breaths beginning to come out in rapid succession as your hips gyrated in response to how dangerously close Joel’s hand was to your pussy. “I… I’m tired.”
“Sweetheart, you don’t have to do a thing,” Joel breathed, removing his hand from beneath your shorts in order to pull down the waistband. “It’s a yes or no question. Just give me a yes or a no.”
Your breath hitched as you opened your eyes and stared at the little bit of empty space left between you and Joel. The throbbing between your legs was bad, but it was something about the delayed gratification of saving things for later that stopped you from saying yes. “No, I… I think that’s it for tonight.”
Joel withdrew his hand, reassuringly cracking a brief smile. “Hey, uh, spend the night. It’s way too late, I’ll sleep on the couch.”
You shrugged. “Yeah, but what about Sarah?”
“I came home super late, you fell asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you.”
You thought about it for a second before agreeing. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Thank you. But I’m taking the couch.”
“What? No—”
“—Joel. I’m taking the couch.”
He looked at you skeptically but then agreed. “If you change your mind just let me know.”
“I will. Goodnight.”
Joel squeezed your leg before getting up and making his way to the stairs. “Goodnight.”
masterlist
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this how i think bts would be if they was your husband
namjoon:
you’d have your own rooftop garden together; like he’d get someone to get it setup architecturally the way he has it envisioned in his head and to give like advice on the types of plants that are good for this set up but y’all would do all the seeding and watering and weed pulling yourselves
evening walks together around sunset through the park or around the river hand in hand where you just soak up nature and talk about any and everything
you both like the idea of having a pet but know that you're too busy to keep one regularly so you end up getting fish; he gets a cute little 20 gallon tank and like five fish but he actually does a lot of research on which fish live the best together, which food and treats they like best, the best plants and knick knacks to put inside, how to clean it, etc.; all in all takes the whole situation way more seriously than you'd thought he would; it was supposed to be sumn light for the summer time but you'd think he's filming an episode of tanked for all the time and effort he pours into it
sits side by side with you rubbing circles into your lower back whenever you need to rant about something
loves it when you get desperate for him so sometimes around the time you're ovulating he teases you; will walk around the house in nothing but his briefs with his glasses on talking in his deep voice; will invade your space like if you're in the kitchen making food or something he's gonna come up behind you and wrap that strong arm around your middle kissing up on you asking meaningless questions about what you're doing until you finally snap and drag him to the bedroom
consistently opens every door for you and pulls out your chair at restaurants even if it's five, ten years down the line
the type to never know where anything is; it's not even that you switch things up a lot it's just that he never forgot the muscle memory of where things were when he lived alone; so he's constantly calling out to you asking where something is; half the time what he looking for be in very obvious locations but his mind is just so all over the place that he overlooks it
uses you as his sounding board when he has a situation he needs handled; will just sit there and think out loud to you for minutes and hours; you don't even be saying that much really like occasionally he'll ask what you think but he appreciates having a listening ear more than anything and you're happy to be there for him even if his incessant rambling makes you wanna strangle yourself sometimes
would learn to help you take out your box braids; it makes you nervous when he first offers to help because he can be a bit rough sometimes but he's oddly gentle and diligent with the task; once he's gotten good with that you convince him to wash your hair too; and take down/wash day is less dreadful because of it
you two become a package deal; like it could be a boys night or a girl's night and you're always gonna try to bring the other with and most of the time y'alls friends don't mind like you're one of the boys and he's one of the girls so it's fine; even if he like invites some friends over the house and you stay in the room to give them some space at some point he's gonna go and check up on you; you'll just be laying in bed on your laptop or phone, watching tv or something and he's gonna lay beside you and ask what you doing make sure you're okay next thing you know 30 minutes gon go by and you'll have to remind him that he has guests over; then he's gonna convince you to come out with him and stay tucked up under his arm until his friends leave or pass out
seokjin:
draws you a bath when he knows you’ve had a long day; it’d be really nice too; he'd light your favorite candle and set it on the counter; add a fragrant moisturizing bath bomb and sprinkle in some flower petals; once you settle in he'll put down one of them over the tub trays and hand you a glass of wine and your laptop so you can watch whatever you want or stream music while you’re in the tub
loves referring to you as 'his wife'; like y'all will be with a group of your friends that knew you from the get go and they'll ask him where he got his jacket from and he'll be like "oh my wife bought it for me" and they'll be like "🥴 boi we knew her long before she was ever worried about you just say her name" aksksksk
every couple months y’all will go on cooking dates with his celebrity chef friends and their wives; which is basically them in the kitchen being loud cooking a meal he specifically chose for you and you and the wife not too far away watching them while being wined and dined
not particularly handy but he feels like as a man there’s just certain things he should be able to do; so if your sink is leaking or there’s a problem with your car battery or something he’s gonna hop on youtube and figure out how to solve it first; calls an actual repairman to deal with it if he can’t fix it without being moderately inconvenienced
insists on getting a pool installed even tho you tell him you would barely use it bc you hate having to redo your hair more than you like to swim; you actually do end up using it all the time bc he orders one of those giant canopy floats and y'all just lay up there and take naps or talk; the whole outdoor area is actually bomb tbh like there's an entire sheltered outdoor kitchen and grill patio area with fans on the ceiling for when it gets hot and a fully loaded bar; y'all honestly spend more time outside during the summer than inside and get scolded for not entertaining people more often
if you reeeaaalllyyy want him to go shopping with you he will but he’d rather just give you his card and you gather up some of your girls and y’all can go nuts together
tries to butter you up when he knows he's in trouble but it's never with anything good like he'll stop at the convenience store on the way home and pick up some things to try to sway you; he get home and you're waiting for him slightly ticked off and he's like "i know you're mad but look at what i got you and it's a cosmic brownie, sour gummy worms (his favorite candy mind you), some wet wipes, and an arizona tea
official driver of the relationship; lets you be the passenger princess of your dreams like whenever you need to get from point a to point b he’s getting you there all you gotta do is sit down and look pretty (and play decent music while he’s driving)
even if you’re not a certified Gamer Girl™️ when there’s like a new mario game or something along those lines that doesn’t require a ton of skill and know how to play you’ll no life it together; like will straight up play for like 16 hours a day until you beat it; you still force him to eat and shower however but you’re not allowed to touch the controller until he returns bc he’d be afraid you’ll lose all your lives
the type to get super close with your family; like you look over one day and see yo mama calling him and you listen to him and they're literally just catching up???; he goes out on bros days with your dad and brothers; all your cousins follow him on instagram and be sending him memes; and you just sit there tryna figure out how he singlehandedly replaced you in your family bc they be treating him better than they treat you
yoongi:
after hearing you talk about wanting a detached claw foot jacuzzi tub for the 1000th time he decides to just go ahead and get your dream house built from the ground up; gives his input in every step of the process since he has so many opinions on architecture, furniture, finishes, and overall aesthetics; sometimes there’s little disagreements when your design styles clash but in the end he makes sure that you definitely get everything you’ve ever wanted included
warms your car up for you in the morning during winter months; unimportant but i just know he would go out in a sweatshirt and some slides like barefoot toes out in 20° weather shuffling out to make sure your car is nice and cozy and the frost is off the windshield
every now and again you’ll just be chilling at home and then he’ll be like “yah go get dressed we’re going out” and then he’ll genuinely take you on one of the best dates ever; it may not be over the top every time but somehow it’s always exactly what you needed; acts nonchalant about it when you’re gushing over how great of a time you’re having; “ah it’s nothing” but he’s secretly super self satisfied bc he knows he’s killing it
sometimes he’ll be sprawled out on the couch watching basketball and you’ll be tryna tell him something but he’s so engrossed that he won’t hear a word you say so you gotta throw a pillow at him to get his attention
untangles your necklaces for you; sweeps the hair from the back of your neck and clasps it together once he's got it free
likes leaning on your shoulder when you’re in bed on the computer; not really nosy about what it is that you’re doing whether it’s work or whatever but just likes to listen to the sound of your typing as his own personal asmr; also loves it when you get your nails done like will happily pay for a new set every other week because of the tippity tapping that accompanies everything you do
sets up a joint bank account for you two like immediately bc he doesn't have anything to hide and what's his is yours; but also sets you up a separate savings account that he funnels money into biweekly bc he wants you to be okay always even if one day it has to be without him
if you're both up late and you're feeling peckish he'll whip up a quick late night snack for y'all to munch on
never really comments when your hormones throw your body system out of wack; like if you randomly had night sweats for a couple days and sweat through your clothes and blanket he'd just nudge you awake so you can dry off and turn the ac on
is extra physically affectionate whenever you start getting irritated even if he’s the source of your irritation; will grab your hand and pull you into him planting kisses on top of your head and rubbing up and down your back until you’re sufficiently pacified
hoseok:
all his numeric passcodes are related to you; like it’s either your birthday or your anniversary, the day y’all met, first date, etc.
sometimes he likes to sit on the toilet when you're in the shower and talk to you; will periodically poke his head in to check your progress depending on how long you're in there; ooos and aahs and waggles his eyebrows every time he does so
some people think you’re some kind of dictator bc his response to every proposal he receives is “let me check with my wife first”; you’re not tho he just likes running things by you bc he’s only ever okay if y’all are on the same page; sometimes you really are his scapegoat if he doesn’t wanna do something tho and you’re fine with being his excuse! you love spending time with your man!!
y’all draw lots over who has to kill the bugs in the house; he tries his best to overcome his fear for you he really does but sometimes he look at the bug and the bug look at him and his heart can’t take it; generally tho there’s less fear of y’all conquer it together
at least once a month he books a couples spa day appointment for you two; deep tissue massages, facials, manicures, pedicures, the works like you just get absolutely spoiled; his motto is that if you feel good and look good then you can be good and be good to each other; unrelated but he get a kick out of eating the cucumbers that are supposed to help soothe around your eyes
you get so used to the sound effects he makes all the time that when he’s not around you have to have some kind of background sounds whether it’s music or white noise just something to fill the air.
you both like plushies, funko pops, action figures and all that so there's a dedicated toy room in your home; all the toys that you actually care about are placed higher up and in cases to keep in good condition but things that you don't mind having some use are accessible; the whole room is carpeted and there are some fluffy rugs too; there's a 65 inch tv on one wall and a computer area for gaming as well; the whole room is illuminated via led lights; needless to say all the kids you know love when y'all babysit them; they stay in that one room the entire time except when they want a snack bc there's no eating in the toy room; jungkook also loves to randomly come and hangout in the toy room by himself
wouldn't tolerate any kind of disrespect toward you; say you went out to a restaurant and the server was being rude to you, he'd clock it so fast he'd be talking to a manager having your server swapped out and dessert on the house before you even realized what they said
y'all try new hobbies together; it's never anything you have experience or are good at which makes it even more fun as you're doing it; like you'll get one of those woobles crochet kits and spend like a month trying to figure it out in your free time and make whatever little creature you bought
never actually stops dating you; will still have an active folder with activities and restaurants he wants the both of you to go to; even if you both lack the time and energy to actually go out on a date he's lighting a candle and pulling out the fine china for you it doesn't matter that you're wearing loungewear and sitting on the floor in front of the tv; he wants you to feel special always
jimin:
intimacy between you two go crazy; you’re as close as close can be like if there were such a thing as soulmates you two would be it; you’re consistently trapped within your own bubble and even if you’re out and about it’s still almost as if no one else existed; like say y’all went out to a club music is thumping people are everywhere it’s a generally Loud environment if you softly called his name from beside him he would turn to you immediately; or someone could brush past him and it’d be whatever but if you ghosted your hand up his arm he would get goosebumps; you’re just insanely in tuned to each other
would love if you had a softer build bc he likes the way you feel like heaven when he lays on you; also he just likes squeezing at your squishy bits; he finds it equal parts amusing and satisfying; like he'll squeeze at your boob when you're half asleep in bed just to annoy you; you'll be turned on your side and his arm will be slung across your waist and he'll just inch his hand up until he reaches your boob and squeezes; giggles evilly every time you smack his hand away and won't stop until you're whining and kicking at him to leave you alone and let you sleep
sometimes you’ll build a giant fort in the living room when he’s getting overwhelmed by life complete with fairy lights strung up overhead and pillows and more blankets covering the floor to make it extra comfy; you spend all day together in there playing games and talking nonsense and eating snacks and end the night cuddled up his arm wrapped around your shoulders, your head tucked into his neck watching movies until you’re sure his head is free from all his worries
loves to be fed, literally; like when dinner time comes he will make one big plate and pull up with a fork and a knife and a waiting attitude; if you don't play along immediately he's gonna put his hands over yours and make you feed him bites until you take over; likes to feed you as well; just always sharing his food with you and expects you to do the same
he gets obsessive when you don't answer his calls; like if he knows you're not busy and he calls you and you don't answer it drives him up a wall and he will spam you with texts and at least a dozen more calls until you pick up; not even because he has anything urgent to tell you he just always craves your attention; bonus: ends every conversation by saying i love you like you could be on the phone for 15 seconds just confirming something really quickly and he's gonna make sure he's told you he loves you before you click end call
doesn’t say anything when he finds you crying just pulls you into him and lets you get it all out; once you start calming down a bit he’ll pull back slightly, gently cupping your face in his hands and swipe away all your tears; only when he’s sure the tears have come to a complete stop does he softly ask “what’s going on?”
still gets shy and flustered around you; it doesn’t stop him from being himself around you whatsoever but it’s very obvious when you have the upper hand in a situation
you can't just tell him you need an item from the store bc half the time he'll go and come back with the wrong thing; you gotta send him a picture of it and that don't even work all the time; most of his solo ventures to the store at your request end in him facetimeing you bc he swears up and down they don't have what you asked for but then you end up finding it for him and you not even there
knows you admire his art skills so he leaves little doodles on post it notes around the house; is really proud when you display the ones you find really cute in your phone case
the type to put his life in your hands; when y'all go out to eat he tells you to order for him bc "you know what i like"; will let you dress him/style his hair however bc "you know what looks good on me"; he just literally trusts and defers to your judgement as much as possible
taehyung:
the type to tighten all the jars when you’re upset with him so you’re forced to ask him for help and talk to him anyway
would try to set up a really romantic dinner for you complete with rose petals and candles and champagne on ice but he'd be so focused on creating the right ambience that he forgets to order the food and one thing bout tae is he ain't a chef and even if he was he wouldn't have enough time before you showed up so you'd end up having a pb&j and cup noodles
sometimes if he has a lot of energy but you’re asleep he’ll poke at you until you’re awake and then he’ll ask if you’re asleep and when you say yes he’ll keep messing with you until he’s able to drag you out to play with him
knows how to tie a tie but claims it looks better when you tie it so whenever he wears a suit he gets you to finish off his look; really he just likes to be manhandled by you and the grip you have around his neck does something for him
if you get him riled up in the morning he just lives there all day; partially aware of what's going on around him but undoubtedly distracted, thinking about you, wanting you; hands and eyes are glued to the phone at all times hoping you'll message him or something even if it is just you teasing him some more; he's putty in your hands and he knows it but when the day is over and y'all are both home you're his
you have to come to major compromises when it comes to decorations; like you let him have his accent wall that he puts his paintings of his basquiat-esque faces but the weird cyber bug and person shark statues and the butt chair have to go
you do majority of the cooking so he takes dish duty very seriously; will swat you away if you try to help most times; however there’s a special place in his heart for the times you ignore him and help anyway by drying the dishes and it’s you him and some music playing and you’re singing and dancing around the kitchen together
there's a legitimate argument about your use of a body pillow; he genuinely gets offended bc is he not enough for you? why can't you just cuddle him? why would you go and put the great wall of china in between you two? what's with the distance? was he too much for you? like the situation blows completely out of proportion for no reason skslklsks the argument ends when you force him to cuddle it and he instantly understands the hype behind it; that doesn't curb his jealousy towards the object however and you're only allowed to use it when he's not in bed with you
a whiny baby when he's sick; you'd think he had tuberculosis in the 12th century instead of a common cold the way he be acting; a piece of tissue stuck in his nose, piled under three blankets, shivering every five minutes on cue; you give him a good day of dealing with the dramatics after that you leave him in the room with a bottle of dayquil and a packet of vitamin c until he decides to get on with his life like a normal human being
loves planning weekend getaways for the two of you; like every other month you guys are out of town for like 3-4 days in the spirit of “rekindling”; he always rents a really nice and cozy cabin type joint and most of the trips are spent just enjoying each others company and the scenery, walking around the town latched onto his arm and eating good food; you come back from each outing refreshed and more in love than you already were
jungkook:
every sunday he checks your car to make sure it has a full tank and if it doesn’t he fills it up for you
you two have separate rooms bc you both like to have space to just exist as an individual from time to time (also it’s really nice to have a place to storm away to when you’re in a fight) but you end up cuddled up next to each other every night anyway
has a very strict laundry schedule and routine; gets annoyed if you don't do it how he likes when he's unable to
watches you while you’re getting ready; he’ll be sitting at the edge of the bed while you walk around from your closet to the dressers circling the room trying to find something to wear; you’ll be having a conversation with him the whole time and after you walk past him for the 4th time his clinginess gets the best of him and he catches you by the waist before you can fully bypass him; he pulls you in between his legs and just hugs you to him for a few moments while you run your hands through his hair
follows you around the house with his mic serenading you like three times a week
comes behind you when you’re cooking or washing dishes or something and just pats at your butt for a while and by a while i mean he won’t stop until you elbow him and threaten to cut his hands off; he just laughs and gets one more grope in before backing off
traces the contours of your face and murmurs all kinds of cute and lovely and cheesy stuff about you when you’re both in bed and he thinks you’re sleep
if you made him a good meal you’d hear about it constantly for the next week; like every other sentence is a “seriously, it was so good” and he won’t stop until you make it again; sometimes he’ll try making it himself to see if he could do better but it always tastes best coming from you
an absolute menace in the grocery store; will spend the first 15-20 minutes behaving as he grabs whatever he needs personally and once that's done he's acting a fool; doing that thing that kids do when they use the cart as a skateboard like push off on it and then hop on to ride out the wave; grabbing all kinds of junk that neither of you need; touching everything even when he has no intention of buying it; you have to grab his ear and threaten him with celibacy to get him to calm down
whenever you’re sitting next to each other could be on the couch out at dinner in bed etc he likes to play with your hand and fiddle with your ring; will often slide it off and try to fit the ring on his fingers; then he’ll put it back on and kiss your fingertips for safekeeping
a/n: i worked on this for months and months and now it’s finally here lemme know what u thought 😩🙏
#bts#bts fanfic#bts fanfction#namjoon x reader#namjoon fanfic#rm fic#seokjin x reader#seokjin fanfic#jin fanfic#yoongi x reader#yoongi fanfic#suga x reader#suga fanfic#j hope x reader#hobi x reader#hoseok x reader#hoseok fanfic#jimin fanfic#jimin x reader#jimin x you#taehyung x reader#kim taehyung x reader#taehyung fanfic#jungkook x reader#jungkook fanfic#jeon jungkook x reader#jeon jungkook fanfic
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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬
Satoru Gojo
[Chapter 21] The Right Decision
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Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader
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The rest of your trip runs smoothly. Thankfully, Satoru didn’t try to pull another stunt that made you want to gouge his eyes out. Ren is over the moon by going to the beach daily, going to new places to explore, trying new delicious food, and what matters the most, spending time with his mother and father. Sadly, his vacation can’t last forever.
Ren is gloomy the day before you’re supposed to leave, begging you and his father to stay a little longer. Satoru wants to say yes, and he would in a heartbeat if he didn’t have to work. As much as it pains him, he can’t give up everything to be a father. The next best solution is wait for Ren to leave you alone for a minute just to ask,
“How about I extend your vacation for another week? I’ll leave, and Sayo probably won’t stay either. Just you and Ren.” And it’s tempting. You really want to say yes, but you also want to go back and resolve other issues. Plus, Ren is getting accustomed to getting whatever he wants, and you’re worried that he might become more like his father which is something that you definitely don’t want.
“We can come back some other time. It’s about time I go home.” You answer, and he nods in response. And as selfish as it sounds, Satoru is happy that you declined because he hates the idea of spending a week without seeing his son. It’s crazy to think that he lived a whole life before Ren, and the moment the little boy came into his life, Ren became everything to Satoru.
“Alright… Guess we have to make the most out of today so Ren cheers up.” Satoru says, glancing at his baby boy who’s plopped down on the couch, lamenting himself because he has to leave soon. Unluckily for everyone, it’s a rainy day outside.
“There’s really not much we can do.” You tell him, and Satoru sighs. He wishes there was something he could do to make the sun come out, but no amount of money can control that. Satoru ponders, wondering what he can do to cheer his son up.
“I got it.” His eyes light up, and he runs upstairs. You furrow your brows in confusion before walking over to sit beside Ren. Your hand runs up and down his back, attempting to soothe him.
“I don’t wanna go home. I like it here.” He kicks his feet into the couch, and you make sure to keep your distance. Ren doesn’t want to go home, he likes it here. He’s with both of you the entire day, and you’re giving him all of your attention, how can he not like it? He knows the moment you go back, things will go back to normal. He’s gotten used to this, he doesn’t want to go back to normal.
“We have to, Ren. Your granny and grammy miss you, and I have to get back to my job.” You tell him, hoping that mentioning his grandmothers will make him reconsider. He loves them with all his heart, but truthfully, he prefers spending the entire day with you.
“I want to stay!” He yells, and a sigh escapes your lips as you pinch the bridge of your nose. He needs to let it out, you know he’s upset. But he shouldn’t be using his voice like that.
“We’re not coming back if you keep throwing a tantrum.” You warn him before standing up and going to your bedroom. You don’t want to yell at him, so removing yourself from the situation is the best thing to do. Ren is still going to throw his tantrum, and you can only talk about the situation after.
“I’m here!” You hear Satoru yell from the living room. You’re going to leave him to handle it, not making an effort to get up from bed. Until Satoru calls out your name, and you groan before getting up and walking over to the living room. You smile, seeing how Ren’s demeanor has changed, kneeling down on the floor in front of the coffee table, waiting for his father to open up the box that he brought down. “I remembered I had a board game here.”
“Is this the home you used to come to as a kid?” You ask, wondering why he has the board game with him. Satoru nods in response, sitting down beside the coffee table to open the old box.
He used to play this game with his dad after getting home from the beach. It’s a game that’s more fun when played with more than two people, but Satoru didn’t really have that option. Regardless, he still had fun with his dad. Growing up, the only time that Satoru actually spent with his parents was the little vacations that they had yearly. He has very fond memories of this place, and of the board game that he opens.
“I haven’t played this in years, I have to read the rules again.” Satoru can’t help but laugh as he takes out every piece. He remembers every time being so excited to tell you about the game, begging his father to take the game back home or buy a new one for his house so he could play with you, but both of them always forgot. Luckily, he gets to play with you for the first time, and with your son as well.
“Take all the time you need.” You answer. Your eyes fall on your son, noting his somewhat puffy eyes. You ask him, “Are you better, Ren?”
“I am.” He nods. Pulling out the game completely changed his attitude. You can’t get too mad at him, he just got into this world. He’s just figuring things out, slowly learning that he can’t get everything even if his father wants to give him the world.
Like father, like son. Both are sore losers. After losing to you, both have pouty faces and you swear Ren is on the verge of tears. Ren doesn’t nap anymore, but you decide that after all his crying, you’ll put him to bed. You cuddle with him until Ren falls asleep, and once you’re sure he’s dreaming, you get up from bed and leave your bedroom.
Satoru’s in the living room, going through his phone. You don’t want to be alone with him so you hope that going to the kitchen and getting yourself a glass of water will give him the hint. He can go to his bedroom and scroll through his phone there. However, when he hears you, he says, “Come join me!”
You sigh, but you still walk over to the couch and take a seat on the other end. You pull out your phone, while he turns his off. It’s completely silent for a minute before he clears his throat and asks, “Are you still talking to Suguru?”
“Does it concern you?” You quickly reply. It’s not his business, especially when he doesn’t tell you what’s going on with him and Sayo.
“I want to know if he’s the possible stepfather to my son.” Satoru answers, and you furrow your eyebrows. You put your phone down and look at him before tilting your head to the side.
“What about you and Sayo? She’s the stepmother to my son and you have yet to tell me a thing about your relationship with her.” You respond, and he purses his lips together. You’re right, you’re absolutely right, but this isn’t about him. “I have no idea about your arrangement with her either… The one that she mentioned.”
“We don’t have an arrangement.” Satoru scratches the back of his neck, clearly nervous about the question. He’s not with her out of love, he’s made that clear. Yet… Why is he denying it?
“The same way Suguru and I have nothing going on.” You answer, hoping that’ll make him speak. Although you aren’t lying, you feel as if you have nothing going on with Suguru right now. You’re avoiding his calls and texts, you definitely don’t have a future together after this. “Look, Satoru. I just want the truth, an explanation to everything. Maybe some closure.”
The man takes a deep breath, and you know that he’s about to tell you the truth. You can read him like a book. Satoru bites down his lip before confessing, “I didn’t marry her out of love but out of convenience.”
That’s certainly a start, although you aren’t too shocked. Maybe you are a bit surprised since you assumed they fell out of love instead of straight up thinking it was arranged. He takes another deep breath before he says,
“When my father died, my mom knew that I wouldn’t be trusted with his spot… Since I was considered too immature. Also for other business purposes, merging the company that Sayo’s family owns with our own.” He begins, and you feel a pain that you haven’t felt in years. A sudden pain that consumes your body in a matter of seconds, and it only gets worse with his words. “There was another promising candidate that would’ve handled the job while I finished my studies, and my mom was scared that we would lose control. I’ve never been too well liked by them.”
You look down at the couch, feeling your eyes getting glossy as he speaks. You thought you were over this, you really were. He continues speaking, “Getting married to Sayo was my mom’s great solution… Getting married to a woman with status would show how mature I was, ready to take the spot.”
“And… I agreed. We would get married and stay like that until I had my job. I could show that I was great at what I was entrusted to do, and then I would get a divorce.” He explains, and you exhale. Your nails dig into the fabric of your pants, trying your best not to cry… This is why he did it. Money. Money was more important to him than your relationship.
He changed his number and completely blocked you out of his life. He treated you like he always did when you weren’t convenient to him. With contempt and superiority. As he speaks, you realize that you will never manage to be together without some kind of issue.
“I– I’m sorry.” He says, as his hand goes to your hand, but you jerk it out. It’s no surprise that he didn’t want to tell you, he’s right for not telling you. You almost would’ve preferred to hear that he left you because of love for someone else.
You try not to let a single tear slip even though your heart breaks again. You would’ve left anything and everything behind for him, yet he didn’t even think twice before leaving you. And Satoru feels speechless as you’re on the verge of tears. He tells you, “It was a dumb decision, and given the option again, I would leave everything behind for you and for Ren.”
You stand up from the couch. You suddenly feel suffocated in the room. He wouldn’t choose you if he had the option, he’s only do it for Ren, and that realization makes it hard for you to breathe. But you’re glad he did it. It wasn’t his first time, just this time you realized you would never be his first option.
“No, you made the right decision.” You try to smile at him, attempting to hide the fact that tears are streaming down your cheeks. “Thank you for picking right.”
#[changes]#gojo saturo#satoru gojo#gojou satoru x you#jjk satoru#gojou satoru x reader#jujutsu kaisen gojo#jjk gojo#gojo angst#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#gojo satoru#jujutsu gojo#gojo x reader#gojo fanfic
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Jude misses his spanish class, and that somehow ends with the both of you stuck in a dark elevator, legs tangled and annoying each other till help comes
Word count - 3.5K+
Watch it - ur trapped in an elevator with jude, lights go out, you accidentally sock him, fluff tho hehehe
a/n - shout out to my bff best plooki for sending me the last jude pic, its what inspired this whole thing. nmout 3lik kho
—--
Jude is late to spanish class (again) so he's forced to sit for the staff ones instead. his mom will kill him if he misses any more, and his teammates will only tease him more. With the amount of promotional content and youtube videos he has to film soon, he literally doesn’t have the time to skip another class.
The only open seat is by you in the far corner, so he slides in as discreetly as he can. Which turns out isn’t all that discrete when all eyes are on him from the moment he steps into the room but it’s whatever. He'll live.
He pulls out his ipad and takes notes like the good student he is and pretends not to notice your gaze on him. He sits like such a teenage boy, legs spread and arms dangling over the table.
You haven’t been with Madrid all that long, you came along as an intern, eager to find your footing. Having one of the players all up next to you during class was not something you saw coming, you’ve met maybe one or two of them, after you got lost and ended up in the training facilities and they so graciously led the way out of the maze.
You’ve honestly been so busy with just getting settled you completely forgot the players existed. And here Jude is.
You stick your head back to your notes and hunker down for the hour left of spanish. You don't miss his stray gazes that land on you.
-----
Jude is a quiet guy you learn. He chews his bottom lip and blinks a little harshly at times. He's a pretty standard run of the mill guy and you try to treat him as such. He leaves you be, letting you have your space and pays attention to whatever the professor is saying in favor of talking to anyone.
When class is over you gather your things, slipping out from behind him and head to the elevator. Why the class is on the top floor you have yet to figure out. You like this elevator anyway, it's down the hall from the main big one that everyone crowds into, usually empty. Even though it lacks the big windows that overlook the pitches.
You see Jude jog to the elevator, you slide your hand out ,holding the doors open for him and he smiles at you in thanks, you smile back. It's silent save the hum of the elevator moving down.
Until it screeches to a halt, jolting the both of you so fast you land on the floor, legs tangled, things strewn all over the floor. Jude looks away while he picks himself up, helping track down your pens that roll across the floor. When you smooth your clothes down and find your footing, another jolt rocks the small metal box you're in.
Jude instinctively reaches out to steady himself, his hand landing on the railing beside you. You lurch forward and almost land right on him again. But you manage to keep your composure, and footing. Thank god.
"What in the world?" Jude asks, brows furrowing.
"I... I'm not sure," you reply, your heart still racing from the amusement park ride you never signed up for. Does Madrid not keep their elevators up to date on what is going on.
You both glance around the elevator, trying to assess the situation, and half waiting for another lurch. It's eerily quiet, and you notice the emergency button panel is dimly lit.
"Should we... press the emergency button?" you suggest tentatively, eyeing the panel.
"Probably our best bet" Jude agrees, reaching out to press the button. After a moment, a crackly voice comes through the intercom,
"Hello? Is someone in need of assistance?" a nasally voice comes to life. She sounds like your aunt kinda.
"Yeah, the elevator stopped suddenly, and we're not sure what's going on," Jude explains.
“Ah okay, which elevator? There should be a number and letter over the doors.”
“2C.” you real aloud.
"Perfect thank you. We’ll have people get to you as soon as we can. Please remain calm and stay where you are," the voice responds before the intercom falls silent again.
You exchange a look with Jude, both of you silently hoping that help arrives soon. The minutes tick by slowly, and the silence in the elevator becomes almost suffocating.
"So... Do you have any plans for after this?" Jude asks, breaking the silence. Even if its a little awkward.
You shake your head, grateful for the distraction. "Not really. Just some studying, I guess. What about you?"
Jude shrugs. "Probably just head back to my place if they don't need me. Training was pretty intense this morning."
You nod, "Sounds hectic."
"Yeah, it can be," Jude admits, scratching the back of his neck. "But it comes with the territory, I guess.
You fall into a silence again, playing with the hem of your shirt. Jude tucks his ipad under his arm and sighs deeply. Now that you take a good look at him, it looks like he booked it right from training. Slides and socks on, madrid shirt and shorts. Interesting.
You move to push the button again after what feels like ages, but this time the voice doesn't answer.
“What the..” you mumble. You reach for your phone but as luck would have it there is no connection.
Jude slides to the floor, sitting criss-cross applesauce and trying his luck on his phone.
“No signal either huh.” he grumbles.
“Nope, we really just have to wait on them then.”
“I hope they hurry it up, no offense.”
You shrug, ”none taken.” sliding to take a seat on the floor opposite to him.
Little do you know you're about to spend the next 4 hours in this elevator together.
—-
It turns out there is only so much small talk you can make in an hour with a total stranger. Trust, you know.
After telling your life story, and him his, you’ve both run out of things to say. So you sit, drumming against the metal walls, taking turns pressing the help button and being greeted with the sweet sound of silence each time.
“What the actual hell are they doing.” Jude groans.
“Ignoring us.”
You just might lose your mind. Your legs are starting to go numb, and you watch Jude grow more agitated as time presses on. Thankfully there's been no more lurches downward, a win is a win. You get up periodically to stretch your legs out, checking your phone, reorganizing your bag, playing rock paper scissors, telling each other stories.
Jude is a silly guy, very competitive even after your 10th round of tic tac toe.
“I win again.” He cackles.
You wave him off, “Yeah yeah it’s just luck.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he smiles.
He goes back to the red button, and once again there’s no answer. You’re half way to losing your mind. How do they just forget about you here? You try texting people, and nothing goes through. Jude walks around the little space, arm raised and pointing his phone up in hopes of catching a signal.
“Oh wait I think- never mind. Not even one bar will hold in here.” He slumps back down against the wall.
“I actually can’t believe they’re not answering.” You groan, head in your hands.
“Me neither. “
You resort to looking through your phone for any games to pass the time. But you need a signal for just about all of them. Might as well clear out your photos right? Jude joins, scooting next to you.
“Don't mind if I watch?”
You shake you head, “nah, just getting rid of old pictures.”
He nods.
Now you just have to be triple careful of not accidentally swiping through any embarrassing pictures. You don't thankfully, instead your room back home pops up, after you redecorated it. Zidane jersey hanging off your wall.
Jude perks up at this, “Zidane fan?”
“Very big one.”
He smiles, “me too.”
“I've heard. What's he like?”
“Zidane? Hm, he's well, elegant. Classy. He's a calm guy.”
You nod, tucking your phone back inside your pocket, turning to face him, “have you seen him play in a charity match with ronaldo?”
He laughs ,”yeah the one with that insane title, fat old ronaldo does hat trick.”
You giggle, “that's the one.”
He hums, leaning his head back on the wall and you fall into silence again.
More time passes and you don’t think you have it in you to reorganize your bag for another time.
“I have an idea.” you declare as you move into the second hour.
Jude raises a brow.
“Might as well do our Spanish homework right?”
“I might die.” he dead pans.
You roll your eyes, “its better than doing nothing.”
“Nu uh, no way. I choose nothing.”
“Suit yourself,” you shrug.
10 minutes later Jude sits down next to, pulling his ipad out and getting to work. You smile, “see, I told you.”
“Yeah yeah,” he grumbles, “can you help me on number 4?”
You do, leaning against him and walking him through the conjugation of each word, your fingers brush against the iPad screen and you hope he doesn't notice how you blush.
Hours in an elevator with Jude bellingham what is this a bad fanfic plot?
You end up finish the pages of homework side by side and Jude smiles
“That wasn't half bad actually, thanks for the help.”
“No problem. We make a pretty good team huh?” you tease.
He snorts, “I guess so.”
It turns out Jude is really bad at staying in once place, he does anything but keep still, throwing his slides at the buttons periodically, and one even hits the help button, this time the voice answers.
“Hello?” it's a completely different voice his time, male.
“Thank god hello.” Jude scrambles to get up properly, and you follow suit, leaning closer to the little speaker.
“I'm sorry?”
“We've been in this elevator for what, 2 hours now and no ones been answering the call button? Fucking ridiculous.”
“I apologize for the inconvenience, we've been short staffed and I clocked in a few minutes ago.”
“For fucks sake, thats great and all but can you get us out?”
There's a pause, and for a second you think they're going to hang up and there will be no hope. You will die in this elevator.
Luckily for you the voice comes to life again, “would you like us to call the fire department?”
“What do you think?” Jude dead pans.
“We will keep you updated, but for now it's looking like a wait time of 45 minutes to an hour. “
Both of you groan, dramatically falling to the floor.
“You'd think Madrid would have better staffing,” he rubs his eyes.
“You think.” you agree.
“Im so gonna complain about this.” he squints his eyes at the buttons, almost like he's threatening them.
“Hey it could be worse, you could have missed a game.”
“Very true.”
He chews his lip before turning to you, a glint in his eyes, “Wanna play hot hands?” he tries.
“Sure why not.”
You shuffle so you're facing him once again, You're up first, palms up while Jude hovers his hands palm down over yours, and wow are his hands huge, completely covering your own. The name of the game is to manage to slap his hands faster than he can move them away.
And so it begins.
Unsurprisingly, Jude has keen reflexes, and you only shake your head at him.
“I'm at an unfair disadvantage, whereas VAR.”
He giggles, “VAR or no var, you're losing,” he shrugs.
It's just enough of a distraction to get you your first win.
“Lets gooo.” you celebrate.
“VAR immediately, time wasting, yellow card, red card, extra time.”
You smile, “you're just mad I won.”
“Yeah you won unfairly. “He sulks.
“Yeah yeah, your turn.”
He sighs dramatically, but puts his palms up regardless.
You're too focused on his hands, skittering at any movement, so much so you end up jumping and throwing your hands out so fast you slap him. Uh oh.
“Oh my god i'm so sorry, are you okay.” you reach out and cradle his face, a little red but nothing too bad thank god. You almost took out Madrid's star boy, you're just an intern, you do NOT have the money to fund any legal cases.
You don't even notice he's laughing, giggles bursting from his lips while you watch on. His eyes are big, oh my god, he's got those big brown beautiful eyes. People weren't kidding. He's even more handsome in person. You want to kiss him. Oh yeah you're holding his face, you drop your hands away and roll your eyes, trying to play off the blush that's spanning your face.
“I'm fine, don't worry. You got a mean arm, ever think of being a goalie?” he teases.
“I'm going to be Barcas goalie. How about that.” you shoot back, though there's no real bite to your words.
He only laughs harder, “hot hands really makes you competitive huh.”
“It wasn't my fault okay, you moved too fast.”
He only shakes his head, “I think you're the sore loser.”
“No but seriously, are you good?”
He waves you off, “nah i'm good seriously, you're fine.”
You sigh in relief.
He snorts, “no more hot hands for you.”
You squint at him, “I'm going to sleep.”
You make a pillow out of your bag and try to nap. Might as well at this point. Jude seems to share a similar idea as he lays down opposite to you, tucking his arms under him and screwing his eyes shut.
It turns out sleeping on the floor on an elevator is extremely uncomfortable, and you get about 5 minutes of shut eye before Jude somehow has his legs rolled into yours.
“ ‘M Sorry,” he mumbles. But you don't say anything, wiggling your feet back under his and trying to get some shut eye.
—--
At the turning of the third hour you get woken up by the crackle of the magic voice in the wall, “the wait is up about an hour to an hour and a half.”
“What's taking so long,” you huff, eyes still blurry from your sleep.
“We apologize for the delay but there's a back up in call logs and-”
“Yeah we get it you're understaffed whatever. Just please hurry up.” Jude bites back, nearing closer and closer to you.
The voice fizzles away and the sleep has worn off you, enough so to realize he's almost spooning you. You sit up, but Jude remains as he is, breathing soundly as he uses his hands to cover the harsh elevator lights that beat down on him. You're surprised the lights haven't-
You spoke too soon. Way way too soon. The lights go out within an instant and you almost scream, jolting against Jude.
This stirs him awake again, and he's oh so confused at the lack of lights. The secondary elevators are great, but there are no windows. Just solid metal on all ends. Leaving the two of you in complete darkness.
“Jude?’
You hear shuffling, “Yeah, I'm right here don't worry. “
“This is kinda freaky now.” you trail off.
“Hey, we'll be fine. Look on the bright side, it's easier to sleep.”
You snort, “Yeah guess so,” But the ease doesn't wear off of you.
“Here,” you feel Jude’s hands reach for yours. Feeling for them in the darkness till they're laced together. “Now it's not so bad right?”
You can feel your face heat up,“Not bad at all.”
“How sick would hot hands in the dark be? Just think-”
“Absolutely not.” you sigh.
He giggles again, teasing you is surprisingly very very fun for him. This is the most fun he's had all day. Every time you turn away while you blush only fuels him to tease you more. Out of all the people to be stuck in here with, he thinks he got pretty lucky with it being you.
But as sweet as you are, the situation only seems to get worse. He uses his free hand to feel for the button again, and the voice comes back.
“The lights just went off. I hope they're on their way.“ Jude speaks.
“The wait is about an hour.” the speaker says.
“My fucking god.” he sighs.
“Were supposed to wait in the dark, for an hour?” you can't believe it.
The voice mumbles another apology and Jude only tells them to go away if they’re going to be completely and utterly useless. And alone you two go.
—-
You start singing by the fourth hour. You're completely tangled in Jude’s legs, unable to even see what's in front of you in the pitch black darkness, but you can feel him. And it keeps you grounded, keeps away the panic. He pats your back while he sings stupid songs, trying to cheer you up and mind off of the situation as much as he can. The teasing doesn't stop, and you're starting to like it. (You liked it from the beginning).
If someone told you you'd be cuddling Jude Bellingham on the floor of an elevator in the darkness after class, you're pretty sure you'd call the nearest psych ward. But here you are. You think you’re sitting sideways on his lap, while he sits back to the wall, your arms tangled. You've started to trace shapes on his arms.
Who knew an elevator would be the perfect place to bond.
“You smell nice.” Jude mumbles into the crook of your neck.
You hum,” thank you.”
“You know, this is pretty nice. You're a good cuddler.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. my rooms a better spot though.”
You try not to freeze up too much, but you're sure he can feel you go rigid next to him.
“I bet it is,” you mumble into his shoulder
He laughs, easy and light, “You’re pretty cute too.”
“You cant even see me it's literally pitch black in here.”
“So?”
“You're silly Jude.”
“So i've been told”
You get comfy again, sliding a hand to his back and scratching lightly.
He melts within an instant, “that actually feels really nice…” he trails off, leaning against your shoulder.
“You’re like an overgrown puppy, “ you laugh.
He only snorts, leaning forward to allow you better access to his back.
—--
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the voice comes to life, and Jude is not in the mood.
“What is it?”
“The wait is now 10 to 15 minutes, please step back from the doors and do not be alarmed when the fire department needs to possibly force the doors open.”
“Finally.” You sigh, squishing your face into his neck.
“Finally.” He confirms.
After a few minutes. You hear the sound of footsteps outside the elevator and voices chattering.
“Alright guys, sit tight, should be a few minutes and you’ll be outta here.” A voice says on the other end.
“Alright.” Jude replies, gently getting up and separating from you.
“We’re gonna need you guys to step back.”
You do as much, trying to feel for your bag to kick it away from the door.
Jude rests a hand on your hip and you smile, even if you can't see it you bet he's doing the same.
The doors are manually pried open, and you're greeted by the sweet sweet faces of firemen and security.
"Are you two okay?" the fireman asks, helping you both out of the elevator.
"Yeah, we're fine. Just glad to be out of there," you say with a sigh of relief.
As you step out into the hallway, you and Jude exchange grateful smiles. Unsurprisingly people crowd to him and make sure he's all good. He waves them off instead pointing them in your direction. You insist you're all good, no injuries. After thanking everyone you slip away and begin walking down the hall. After all, you don't expect him to actually mean anything there. You just got stuck together for a while, and got comfortable. That's all.
You think this is the 4th floor? Down the stairs you go.
The man is full of surprises. He catches up to you, shouting your name and closing the door to the stairs behind him.
“Had enough of me?”
“Eh four hours seems like enough.” you shrug.
He rolls his eyes, “so you don't give me your number then if i ask?”
“Only if you ask nicely. And I don't even have a Spanish number yet, I'll have to get yours.”
(you want his number sooo bad you might explode, this can't be real.)
“Would you like to get my number then?” he scratches the back of his neck, suddenly shy, ‘only if you want you know you don't have to just because the whole elevator thing i mean-”
You cut him off with a kiss to the check, “I'd love to get your number Jude. And thanks for being so nice in there.”
He looks to the ground, playing with his hands, “yeah anytime.”
You hand him your phone and he takes a contact picture right there, with the most obnoxious contact name to match.
‘the best elevator buddy Jude <3’
You smile, “I'll text you when I can, yeah?”
He hums, waving you off, slipping the door open with his foot and setting off in the opposite direction. What a day huh?
#jude x you#jude bellingham#jude x reader#jude x y/n#jude bellingham x reader#jude bellingham fanfic#jude bellingham imagine#jude fluff#jude bellingham x you#jude bellingham blurb#jude bellingham fluff#jude bellingham fic#football headcanon#football imagine#football fanfic#footy fic#i missed doing longer fics this is fun#bahr footy#footballer x y/n#footballer x reader#footballer x you
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I humbly request more monster!141 if that’s okay? Maybe one where the reader is actually in danger or taken hostage by another group and they go nearly feral trying to find them? Meanwhile reader is just making the other group’s life hell because I mean they work with monsters, this is nothing.
Of course, you even said humbly, I love how cute you are. I give you Hunter being a menace to the Shadow Company.
Hostage Situation
He doesn’t know where it went wrong, how everything went tits-up within seconds. At first, they were treading through a somber and thick forest, using their NVG to guide them in the dark; then they were ambushed, pushed to their own corner with the number of resurfacing Shadows, thralls without their master; and lastly, in those panicked minutes, you were taken, whisked away by the vampire thralls.
They grew frantic when they regrouped, seeing you missing and unresponsive to any calls. The first thing they did was plan for your rescue, standing around the table with Laswell on screen, voices being thrown around with their own opinions and thoughts. It didn’t help Price’s anxiety, only adding to his fear and anger. His tailed whipped and his wing jerked behind him, smoke leaving his mouth in slow, small clouds, but he knew you were capable, able to hold your own with a group of monsters and hybrids without much trouble like you did with them.
“Hunter’s smart, resourceful, tricky, able,” Price sighed, pressing his whole weight on the table. “I’m sure they know what to do with monsters.”
“Much like us, aye?”
“Very.”
With everything set and a plan made, they shipped out to the protected base, grey boxes built on cemented ground in a lush forest. It was unusually barren, with only a few guards patrolling the perimeter and a tense atmosphere. It was suspicious the way they acted and the jerky manner of guarding, back too straight and limbs too tightly wound. They did quick work of them, spraying their blood on the floor and moving forward, head clear and bodies taunt with caution.
They heard bickering, a familiar voice ringing around them and another more masculine one, this one sounding sad and sobbing. They were talking about something, vampiric in essence with a touch of sadness and trauma to it. They approached the source, an open door with a yellow glow lighting the surrounding areas of the wide entrance. The closer they got, the clearer the discussion was, it wasn’t between two people, it was between you and a whole mass of vampire thralls.
“Are you kidding me?” Price heard you scoffed, he imagined you had your arms crossed, a frown adorning your loving face while you stared them down, the mass of thralls lost without their master. “I know you cared about him and all, but he’s dead. He has no control over your minds and bodies, and you know what that means?”
“We’re lost?” The voice was hesitant, seemingly scared of you.
“Fuck’s sake! No! What are you? A lost puppy? Mindless without his master?” You hissed at them, he heard you shift, your boots thumping on the ground as you landed. “What do you want to do? What have you wanted to do before being under his control? Eternal servitude until he throws you away? To serve until you die from a hunter - what were they called… paladins?”
He listened to you berate the group, shaming them about their decisions, acting on the accords of a dead master. Without his influence or his control, being enthralled into doing something he wants or orders, they were lost, much like a puppy without his mother or caretaker. Some had been under him for decades, mind empty apart from Graves’ whims and plans, while others were much, much younger, serving under him only for a few years without much plans outside of the Shadow Company. Those left and thought for themselves, finding something to put their minds on like Mace or Roze.
When the group started murmuring, sharing words between them at your questions, the decided to move in, pushing past the entrance and aiming their rifles at the vampires. They froze, red eyes staring widely at them in what Price would perceive as fear or surprise, none moved, standing or sitting still, but you moved, face broken in a wide smile and eyes gleaming joyfully. You ran to his arms, wrapping them around his waist, being careful not to grab onto his wing.
“Don’t worry about them, I beat them down enough,” you shot him an innocent smile, as if you had no hand in making them all cower and shake hours ago. “Let’s go, hmm?”
Price wanted to scoff, he wanted to laugh and he also wanted to smile and hold you in his arms (he did, wrapping his thick arms around your waist and gripping onto your gear with his clawed fingers, talons threatening to dig into the cloth), but he had to get you home and the thralls disposed off in any way: dead, disappeared, gone or cutting ties with the Shadows.
“C’mon, love.”
Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @yeetusspagheetus @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973
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Welcome to My Collection of Random Thoughts during my nth* rewatch of Good Omens Season 2
*only amazon prime knows the exact number at this point but I’m fairly certain it’s in the double digits
Episode 1: Gabriel’s fly lurking in the box when Aziraphale first takes it inside 👀
Crowley’s promise of “two minutes” basically means that he’s been homeless and living in his car for the past 4 years strictly so that he can be within 2 driving minutes of Aziraphale at all times in case his angel needs him I’m not crying you are
So here I think the key word is “fragile,” Crowley knows they are ostensibly safe from their respective sides but that could change at any moment so he’s basically spent the last 4 years in anxiety-ridden terror hovering as close to Aziraphale as he can to try and protect him from heaven, hell, and anyone else that would want to bring him harm after all that business they pulled in season 1 with stopping Armageddon
Episode 2: I just happened to pause the episode while Aziraphale is lying to the angels about his miracle and LOL Michael really outdid himself here (Sheen, not the Archangel)
Gabriel trying to swat flies and almost smashing the repository of every single one of his memories
I’m cAckling
So if Good Omens exists in Good Omens, does that mean Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett exist in Good Omens?? Do you think they based their Aziraphale and Crowley characters on Aziraphale and Crowley??
Episode 3: So I’m trying to find any hints or foreshadowing of the Gabriel Beelzebub thing bc tbh I did kind of feel like it came out of nowhere which is really the only issue I have with them. I found this one scene where Beelzebub almost ?? seems to be concerned about Gabriel ?? But it’s blink and you miss it and there could be lots of other reasons why Beelzebub doesn’t want to fail in locating Gabriel (pressure from/leverage over heaven, etc) so idk
More Foreshadowing Fly content 🪰
Episode 4: So here we’ve seen that Shax can just appear inside the Bentley bc she did it earlier to talk to Crowley. Shax only pretended to be a hitchhiker so she could be invited in because Azirpahale was driving so technically she needed permission to cross the threshold of an angel 👀
This scene will never not destroy me the 1941 flashback is the absolute sOFTEST thing ever to happen on this show
We really need more context here I need to see the Crowley-Furfur Monkey Rides
Episode 5: ahahaha thank you google translate for absolutely destroying my sanity this evening
POP goes the Ziraphale
Okay I know you can’t hear it in the gif but just before Nina takes Maggie’s hand, there’s a very quiet miracle noise, like Azirpahale literally MADE Nina dance with Maggie, he said I’m writing a Mina Jane-Austen-Ball-AU and my otp will KISS godDAMMIT
Azirpahale seems lowkey kind of manic this whole scene tho, he’s controlling literally everyone to force Nina and Maggie together and whenever Crowley says anything that pokes holes in Aziraphale’s Magical Jane Austen Ball Fairytale, Aziraphale just straight up denies it. He wants Nina and Maggie to dance and he wants him and Crowley to dance and he refuses to acknowledge anything beyond that.
Is this just Shax insulting Crowley for how much of a nuisance he’s been or a reference to his former status as an angel ???
They’re both completely dismissive of each other when they’re trying to say something important and that’s the main issue they’ve been having this entire season tbh
Episode 6: I think it’s funny that Crowley describes the angels as bees here because in the book, Neil/Terry describe humans the same way. Guess we have more in common than we thought huh?
So the metatron was the one who originally decided Gabriel would be memory wiped and not sent to hell, and he was also the one that decided not to sound an alarm about Gabriel for some reason and said ‘just go find him yourself’ instead. The metatron has definitely got his own agenda and you can bet he doesn’t want Aziraphale up there in heaven because he’s a “leader” and he’s “honest” like that’s exactly what Gabriel was and look where it got him 👀
There’s just something I can’t quite put my finger on about the metatron bringing Aziraphale a coffee from “give me coffee or give me death” and then asking Aziraphale if he’s going to take the coffee he’s giving him…
I have not seen a single person talk about this since s2 came out but Nina literally calls Maggie “angel” because that’s the term of endearment they hear Crowley using for Aziraphale !!!! I’m still going fERAL over this and I can’t believe no one else is eitHER
Something about this part of The Final Fifteen compared to this scene from the first episode is so representative of the entire season. Azirpahale keeps saying “my way or get out” and Crowley finally hits a wall and can follow Aziraphale no further. So he does just that. He goes.
I’m sure a lot of us by now have seen this post that brings up how Aziraphale literally pushes the remains of Crowley into his mouth and swallows and it’s the only thing I see when I watch this now
We still don’t know for certain if Crowley queued up this song to play on their way to the Ritz or if the Bentley started playing it all on its own and it’s driving me insane
Basically how I am doing after my Truly-Alarming-Number-th watch of this traumatizing episode/season. WELP hope you enjoyed this garbage dump of my thoughts and feelings time to go cry for a bit again BYE
#good omens#good omens 2#good omens season 2#my season 2 rewatch aka: I Went Insane#i am unwell#I haven't slept properly in 44 days and counting#ineffable husbands#aziraphale#crowley#angel#demon#armageddidnt-blog#armageddidnt-gifset#armageddidnt-screaming#armageddidnt-pain#good omens 2x06
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Oscar Piastri x reader // in motion pt 2
hockey au part 2: a lil backstory, Max Verstappen’s Pizza Theory, breakfast for dinner, and the beginnings of a physics study club. 5.7k words
warnings: mentions of sports related injuries, alcohol, and a creepy guy at a party.
You met Lando your freshman year, in an intro level writing class. Lando Norris may be great at hockey, but he was and still is absolutely atrocious at writing, which you discovered quickly when you’d been paired up with him for a partner project. He was the most talkative person in the whole class, and also the most likely to fall asleep. You couldn't blame him. It was an 8 am class, and from what you could tell, he had early morning hockey practices nearly every day.
He’d noticed the Timberwolves Soccer sticker on your laptop case, the one you’d been picking at the edges of at any available moment, trying to peel it off. It wouldn’t budge. He’d tried to use that as a common interest, a way to make a connection. He hadn’t known how much of a touchy subject it was. How could he have? The two of you barely knew each other's names.
You’d been angry at the world, at the time. Fresh off a life changing injury, still dealing with the physical therapy afterwards and stuck feeling like it was all so painfully obvious due to the knee brace on your leg. You’d only come to the stupid school to play on the soccer team, anyways. A month into your freshman year, injured and off the roster, with your chances of ever playing again looking bleak, you’d had a hard time trying to find a new reason to be there.
Before you met Lando, the soccer team had been your main source of friends. When you got injured, it all went to shit. At first, you hadn’t blamed them for the distance. You were dealing with something none of them even wanted to think about. But when you had to have surgery and none of them even bothered to text and check in, you’d begun to feel bitter. It had felt so lonely, in a town where you knew nobody, and the few people you’d connected with had slipped away. Lando had helped change that. His team had helped change that.
By the time you had to have a second surgery during winter semester, you’d been fully adopted by the entire Timberwolves Hockey team. They’d sent cards and flowers that filled up the room. Lando had visited every day, at least one of his teammates in tow. Max hadn’t been team captain at the time, but he’d taken the lead on getting a schedule set up to have people help carry your things to class for you while you were on crutches. You’d found a family, a reason to stay at the school, even without your beloved sport. You’d never be able to thank them enough for it.
Now you’re in your junior year of college and sitting in the stands at a hockey game instead of on the field at a soccer game, but the people on the ice are all your best friends. They’re losing, quite terribly, if you’re being honest. The stands are half empty. They’re just… off, today, in the second game of the week. Not quite in sync. You can see the frustration on all of them even from all the way up in the stands. Charles and Carlos are bickering on the bench. Max is skating messily. Lando looks lost on the ice, like his skates have a mind of their own. Even Oscar is struggling.
When the buzzer sounds for the end of the game, you stand up from your seat and head outside. Lily’s not here tonight- she has to work- so you’re on your own as you head toward the house. You text Max and ask if you should order pizza. He replies with an enthusiastic yes, a list of requests, and $100 on Venmo.
You have the pizza waiting, along with paper plates and Gatorade, by the time the first one of them walks into the house. It’s Oscar. He shuffles into the kitchen and looks at the pizza boxes with a wrinkled nose.
“Are you guys having a party?” He asks.
You sort of hate the way he says it. You guys. Like it’s not his house. Like it’s not his team. You know the feeling, really, of sort of just drifting along with nothing to cling onto. You tilt your head at him and slide a bottle of Gatorade across the counter towards him.
“No,” you say, and his shoulders relax slightly. “Usually after a tough game, Max likes to do some sort of team bonding. So. Pizza. He didn’t tell you?”
Oscar shrugs. “He probably did. Dunno. I was kind of out of it, and I snuck out as soon as the coaches were done yelling.”
You wince and nod in understanding. “I used to be the same way after bad games.”
You don’t even realize what you’ve hinted at until his head jerks up from where he’s been staring at the bottle in front of him. “You play sports?”
You chew on the inside of your cheek. You suppose he’ll hear the story eventually, but maybe now isn’t the best time. Maybe he doesn’t need your pity party while he’s trying to have his own. Maybe it’s nice that he doesn’t feel bad for you, just confused by you and your constant presence around the hockey team.
“Used to,” you say. When his face flickers with confusion, you hand him a paper plate. “Have some pizza. Captain’s orders.”
He stands there, staring, looking so unsure.
“You can take it up to your room if you really want, I won’t tattle” you say, and he twists his mouth. “Honestly, though? I hate to watch you guys lose, but sometimes these nights are some of the best. You should stick around.”
He pulls a piece of pepperoni pizza from the box and sets it on the plate. Then he takes a seat at one of the kitchen island barstools. You hope he doesn’t hear your sigh of relief.
An hour later, the kitchen, dining room, and back deck are full of people, and they’re all complaining about the game. Charles and Carlos are at the table, no longer angry with each other, instead complaining about a defenseman on the other team. Lando’s draped over Alex’s shoulder, loudly fake crying over god knows what. Oscar’s on Alex’s other side, laughing loudly at Lando’s dramatics.
You’re pouring drinks for the three of them- you’d offered when you noticed the empty cups. It’s not a party, but the alcohol helps numb the bitter feeling of a bad game. Max is standing nearby, looking proud. He elbows you.
“Pizza theory,” he says, raising his eyebrows.
You laugh. “Yeah, Max. Another one for the pizza theory.”
He’s had this running… experiment, of sorts, for a couple years now. It started after a string of bad games your freshman year, his sophomore year. He’d pointed out that when the team had pizza together after a loss, the next game was always a win. So he’d begun trying things out and writing down the results- you’ve seen the Google document, now co-organized by Charles. Pizza leads to wins almost 95% of the time. Chinese sits at a healthy 70%. They tried Subway one time and all got so sick off of it they nearly had to cancel the next game, so they never tried again.
You’ve told him before that you don’t think it’s really about the pizza- it’s about the time spent together, and the space to be just teammates again. It’s not like they’re apologizing or talking strategy, but put a bunch of greasy food in front of them and they’ll start to unwind. Mend bridges. Build new ones, even, you think, as you watch Oscar and Alex chat, heads leaned close together.
They win the next game by one point. It’s an away game, but you watch it from your apartment with Lily and a couple other friends, grinning the whole way through. You have pizza in honor of Max’s theory. Charles nearly tackles Oscar onto the ice when he scores. When the camera zooms in on the smiles on both of their faces, your heart melts. Lando howls like a wolf at the end of the game, which is simultaneously endearing and cringe inducing. When they get back to the hotel, he FaceTimes you from the elevator. It’s full of hockey boys with big grins on their faces. Max, hair still dripping wet from the shower, his arm slung around Lando, is smiling brightest of them all.
“Pizza theory!” he yells, and you can’t fight a grin in return.
“Pizza theory indeed,” you reply.
Oscar’s head pops up on the screen. You can only see his eyes and forehead, and he seems to know, because he wiggles his brows. It makes you laugh.
“What’s pizza theory?” He asks.
“You have much to learn, young grasshopper,” Lando quips.
“We’ll show you the Google doc later,” Charles promises. “Right now, we are going to the pool.”
…..
Oscar doesn’t join in the game afterparties for weeks. You don’t take it personally, but you do wonder why he doesn’t want to celebrate with his team. You even ask Lando to make sure he knows he’s invited. Your friend just looks at you like you’re crazy, which you suppose you are.
In the end, the party he does show up at isn’t even one after a game. It’s a bye week, and Seb gives them Saturday night off of practice, so they throw what starts out as a hangout and quickly morphs into a full on party. There are people spilling out into the lawn. Lando’s in charge of the music and taking it very seriously. And Oscar is in the kitchen, chatting with Alex over their red plastic cups. It’s an odd sight, but a welcome one. You’re trying not to stare.
Instead, you’re standing nearby, listening to Charles and Carlos argue. It’s over something stupid, you’re pretty sure- it almost always is. Max is standing next to you, hiding his amusement behind his own plastic cup. The three of them have a weird dynamic. Charles and Carlos have known each other for a while- they played together on a team before they started college. Max and Charles go farther back, though. They’re childhood rivals turned captain and alternate captain. They’re all oddly competitive over who likes who more or less. It’s entertaining, to say the least.
You’re really only half listening, using them to take appropriate breaks from watching Oscar. You’d tried to convince yourself you were just keeping an eye on him at first, that you were making sure he was okay and having fun. Now, two drinks deep, you’ve stopped making excuses in your own head. You just like the way he looks in the glow of Lando’s cheesy LED light strips. They’re purple tonight. Oscar’s cheekbones are painted purple because of it. You know there are freckles there, dotting his skin. You wish you were close enough to see them.
Eventually, you leave the guys to their arguing, tear your eyes from Oscar, and start to wander the party. There’s a lot going on, and there are a lot of people in the house that you’ve never met before. That happens, at these sort of events, you’ve found. The unplanned ones end up being an odd mix of people. So when you find yourself leaning against a wall and a guy you don’t recognize comes up to talk to you, you’re not exactly surprised. When he plants his hand next to your head on the wall, though, that does surprise you.
“I hear they call you Bunny,” he says, leering over you.
You hate the way he uses the nickname, the way it sounds on his lips. He leans close, caging you in. You swallow tightly, trying to peer over his shoulder and spot any one of your friends. It’s no use. He’s tall and broad and blocking your view. You say a silent prayer to whoever might be listening that one of your friends notices your absence.
“My friends do, yeah,” you say, hoping he takes the hint. “Actually, I have to go find-“
He cuts you off when he leans closer. You press yourself back against the wall. You can smell the cheap beer on his breath. Your heart pounds in your chest. Fight or flight or freeze, time to choose.
“Come on, sweetie,” the guy says. “Be a good bunny and-“
Someone’s hand clamps down on his shoulder. That’s all you see before he’s ripped away from you. It’s like you can breathe again, suddenly, relief flashing through your brain like the purple lights in the kitchen. It’s followed quickly by concern, though, when you catch sight of what’s going on.
Oscar has him pinned against the wall, one hand on his shoulder, his other fist cocked back, elbow bent, ready to throw a punch. There’s fury on his face. You’ve never seen him like this. Oscar doesn’t really fight. Not now, not at his previous team, not before then, either. You know it because Lando mentioned it when talking about how levelheaded he was. Plus, there are no helmets or pads to protect him here. Just him and his apparent anger.
“Mate,” Max says, carefully, appearing almost out of thin air. “Cool down, yeah?”
Oscar grits his teeth and clenches his jaw. You blink widely at the sight in front of you. Max’s eyes flicker to you, to the way you’re huddled against the wall, and understanding washes over his face.
“Piastri,” Max says, which seems to clear a bit of the fog from Oscar's head. The younger teammate turns to look at his captain and falters slightly. “I think you’ve proved your point.”
Oscar takes it for what it is- a thinly veiled command. Fighting on the rink is one thing. Fighting at a party they’re definitely not supposed to be having is another. Once they’re in motion, fights are difficult to stop, even harder to control, really. It'll get out of hand, so, so quickly. Seb would have their heads on a silver platter, and Max is always responsible for the actions of the team- it comes with being captain. He drops his fist and backs away slightly. Max nods.
The guy sneers at you, then Oscar, and then he spits on the floor near your feet. “Dumb bitch-“
In the blink of an eye, he’s pinned back to the wall, this time by Max, both hands on each of his shoulders. He tosses a look over his shoulder at Oscar.
“Get her out of here?” He says, and Oscar nods frantically.
He takes your hand, gentle as ever. You follow along nearly blindly as tears begin to well up in your eyes. Oscar weaves through the crowd, a man on a mission, and heads for the stairs. You dodge a couple who are making out on the top step, and he makes his way to his bedroom. They keep the rooms locked during parties- he punches his code in and ushers you inside. You nearly laugh through your tears when you see number 44, Lewis Hamilton, staring down from the poster on the wall. You wonder if Oscar knows he and Lando have matching ones.
He sits you down on the bed, reaching to turn on the lamp. He moves around the room quickly, and he tosses you a hoodie from his drawer, which you pull over your head gratefully. You hadn’t noticed until then how you had your own arms wrapped around your body, like you were hiding. You shake your hands out, flexing your fingers, trying to get the feeling back in them.
He sighs and reaches for the door. “Okay. You’re okay. Just- I’ll close the door behind me and-“
“Where are you going?” You ask, suddenly feeling panicky. You think it’s clear just from the sound of your voice, too.
“To get Lando,” he says, freezing in place, hand on the doorknob as he looks at you.
You sniffle. “Max will find him. Could you- can you- I don’t want to be alone, really, so-“
“Fuck. Shit. Sorry,” Oscar says.
Then he does the last thing you’d have expected. He sits down on the bed next to you, close enough to touch, and then wraps an arm around your shoulders. You gasp at the feeling, but lean into it, feeling a bit of relief running down your spine. His hand covers your whole shoulder.
“Is this okay?” He whispers, and you nod. “Okay. Sorry. I didn’t really think about it.”
“It’s okay,” you answer, unsure what he’s even apologizing for- almost leaving or touching you. Either way, it’s fine.
The two of you sit there in the relative quiet for a minute or two. Downstairs, the music is loud as ever. Oscar’s hand is heavy on your shoulder, and you’re still a bit stuck in fight or flight mode. Maybe you’re just frozen, really. You can still smell the beer on the other guy’s breath, can still see the anger on Oscar’s face, can still feel the panic when he was about to leave you. Your chest is tight, fingertips still buzzing.
“Were you actually going to punch him?” You ask, breaking the silence in the room, trying to find something to distract yourself.
Oscar huffs. “The first time, probably not. But when he called you a…” he shrugs. “If Max hadn’t been there…”
You turn to look at him. “Why?”
He blinks, almost taken aback that you’d even ask. “You know. Take care of the team and all.”
You sniffle. “But I’m not on the team.”
“Might as well be, all the time you spend here.”
“Yeah, but…” you trail off. “You don’t… you don’t care about me. You- why would you get into a fight for me?”
He’s quiet for a moment. You’re waiting for the canned answer. Because nobody else was around. Because I knew it’d earn me brownie points with the rest of the team. Because-
“I’m sorry,” he says again. “For making you feel like I didn’t care.”
You squeeze your eyes shut. His hand squeezes your shoulder. Your heart squeezes in your chest. You hadn’t meant for this to go this direction, and now your face is hot and your throat hurts and there are tears welling up behind your closed eyelids.
“I just… I showed up here, and everyone already has their friend groups and buddies and-“ he huffs again, and realization starts to dawn on you. “And they all love you, and they’re super protective of you. And I’ve been so busy trying to find my place here and not step on any toes, I guess I forgot to try and make friends, too, you know?”
You sigh. “I don’t bite, you know. I’m very easy to be friends with. I can be low maintenance if that’s what you need. Or- what’s Lando call it? Low frequency?”
Oscar laughs. “I know.”
You turn to look up at him, and your breath hitches when he reaches up and wipes a couple tears from your cheeks. An hour ago, you thought he couldn’t care less about you. Now you’re sitting in his room, and he’s wiping away tears with a tender touch that makes your stomach ache. His eyes trace your face, like he’s looking for injury, for a source of the pain. It’s overwhelming.
“Okay. So stop ignoring me in class? And in general?” You say, trying to redirect things.
He groans, dropping his chin to his chest. “That was- it wasn’t even on purpose, I just didn’t notice and then when I did it felt too late to say anything, so-“
You break off into a fit of giggles. He drops his arm from around your shoulder, and you miss the warmth immediately. You try not to let it show as he drags his hands over his face and echoes your laughter with his own. When you lean against his shoulder, your side pressed to his, he stays steady and lets you do it.
“It’s okay,” you say, nudging him with your elbow. “Fresh start, yeah?”
He nods. You stick your hand out to him. He laughs and wraps his own around yours, shaking firmly.
“Awesome. Because I have a feeling you’re smart,” you say. “And I’m seriously going to fail our physics class unless you help me.”
Oscar laughs, and the way it takes over his whole body makes you smile. His head bumps against yours, but you can’t even find it in you to mind. It’s enough that he’s laughing around you.
“Okay, but you have to help me, too,” he says, hand still wrapped with yours, and he squeezes it. “I wanna fit in here. I mean, I’m not even from this continent, you know. So trying to find my place has been…”
Your heart aches for him. Suddenly it all makes sense. You know the feeling of being an outsider all too well. So you smile and nod and shake his hand again. “Deal.”
Lando comes and finds the two of you only a few minutes later. He knocks on the door, and Oscar opens it just a crack before he lets his teammate in. He leaves the two of you with a quick nod, seeming to understand that his job here is done. Lando takes you back to his room a few minutes later, his arm around your waist and his head knocking against yours. You pass Max in the hallway, who exchanges a look with Lando and reaches out to squeeze your arm. You’re sure he’ll interrogate you tomorrow to make sure you’re feeling okay.
Lando doesn’t even question the fact that Oscar was the one to take care of you- you suppose to him, it just makes sense. Teammates looking out for teammates, or in this case, their teammate’s friend. He just checks in on you, cleans up the last few tears from your face, and then suggests you stay the night. You don’t exactly want to go back downstairs and through the party, so you agree. You change into a pair of his shorts and a t-shirt, though you keep Oscar’s sweatshirt and put it back on, too. Lando gives you the bed and pulls out the air mattress that he keeps on hand for this, and the two of you fall asleep to the sound of the bass shaking the walls of the house.
…..
The family dinner the next day is loosely breakfast themed. The guys are all dead in the morning, so you take it upon yourself to go do the shopping. And for that, you drag along your trusty assistant, Logan Sargeant. He’s one of few people on the team with his driver’s license, since so many of them are international students and never bothered getting one, and he has a car. Besides that, he’s a rookie, and he’s contractually obligated -meaning Max has politely asked him- to help you whenever you ask. He picks you up in his tiny Toyota, and then you’re off to the grocery store.
He carries the list while you stroll the aisles. “I’ve never heard of literally half the stuff on this list,” he says.
You roll your eyes. “That’s because you’re uncultured.”
You reach up on one of the shelves, snagging a jar with a yellow lid and label. He checks it off the list, brow furrowed.
“I thought this was breakfast for dinner night,” he adds, scrunching his nose up.
You turn to him, giving him an exasperated sigh. “It is. There’s just… a secondary theme. Don’t worry, my American boy, you’ll get your omelette.”
“Omelettes are French!” He cries out, huffing as you start to walk down the aisle, away from him. “The word is literally French!”
“Whatever you say, Miami,” you tease. “What’s next on the list?”
You buy Logan a coffee from a local place on your way back as a thank you for his help. In return, he tells you he forgives you for your comments about him being American. When you pull up to the house, you can see Lando and Charles in the living room. They come outside quickly, ready to help carry the bags in.
You head for the kitchen, one very specific bag in hand. When you walk in, you find Oscar, perched on a barstool, head pressed against his fist as his elbow rests on the counter. Max is on the phone in the dining area, chatting away loudly in another language. You can tell Oscar has a headache, just from the look on his face.
“You’re just the guy I was looking for,” you say, brightly but not too loud.
He blinks a couple times, then points at himself. “I’m an awful cook, if that’s what you’re implying.
You laugh and shake your head. “No, no- not that. But it’s breakfast night, right? So-“ you pull a jar of Vegemite out of the bag and set it down on the counter. “I got this. And then I went a little crazy in the international aisle of the grocery store. Oh, and I got sprinkles? The internet said something about fairy bread and I’m intrigued-“
You pause when he reaches for the jar, and his fingers brush yours. When you look up, there’s a look on his face you don’t quite recognize. It’s almost unbearably soft. You pull your hand out from under his so he can take the jar.
“You got Australian snacks,” he says, so quietly and almost reverently. “You…”
You shrug. “We talked about finding your place. One of the best ways I’ve found to do that is to tell people a little bit about yourself. It doesn’t have to be deep, could just be…”
He leans up and peeks in the bag, and his eyes go wide as he gasps, “TimTams!”
You laugh. “Yeah, could just be TimTams.”
He grins up at you, big and wide and so, so endeared. It’s a whole different side of him. You feel unbelievably proud of yourself for the idea.
Lando comes into the kitchen, hands full of bags. “Yeah, thanks, guys, we don’t need help.”
Charles is right behind him. “It’s fine, actually- hey, you bought Oscar cookies?”
Oscar hugs the package to his chest, suddenly possessive. You laugh and reach into one of the bags Lando is holding. In your hand is another package of TimTams.
“I got two of everything,” you tell Oscar. “To share and to keep.”
He smiles again, and lets the TimTams fall from his chest. “You all have to try one.”
Max gets off the phone and helps unpack things, setting out the stuff he’ll need for dinner tonight. You watch on with a fond smile as Oscar introduces all the snacks to anyone who’s willing to listen. Lando, Logan, and Charles sit with rapt attention as Oscar tells them childhood stories about all the snacks. Meanwhile, Max starts making pancake batter, and you start prepping the other ingredients.
Max elbows you lightly as the other guys laugh together. “You did good.”
You smile at him, shrugging. “We had a nice talk last night.”
Max cocks his head, smiling softly. “Before or after he tried to punch a guy out for you?”
Your face heats up at the comment, and you look away from Max and back to the food in front of you. “Last I remember, you had that guy pinned to the wall.”
Max makes a noncommittal noise. “I should’ve let Oscar punch him.”
You want to argue. To tell him that you’re not worth the trouble of that, and that he was right to tell Oscar to back off and send both of you away. But when you look up at him, the look on his face is a mixture of concern and determination. You blink, and he nudges his shoulder against yours.
“He deserved to be punched,” Max says, and you shrug. “And if you ever see him again, you call one of us. And maybe at the next party, you-“
“I’m fine,” you insist, picking up a plate and heading for the dining table. “Promise.”
More and more teammates file in, and now Lando’s the one forcing them to try TimTams, and encouraging Oscar to tell a story about being 5 and eating them in a pool, or something along those lines. You listen, even with your back turned, and hope that this helps Oscar feel a little bit more at home.
Later, after dinner, while everyone else is cleaning up, Oscar finds you in the living room. He holds out a plate. On top of it, laid out perfectly and carefully, are three TimTams.
“You didn’t try any earlier,” he says. He shifts on his feet when you take the plate. “I wanted to say thank you. Again.”
You smile up at him, laying your book on your chest. “Not a problem, Piastri. It was the least I could do, after you helped me last night.”
He frowns slightly, nose wrinkling up in mild disgust. “You know you don’t owe me for that, right?”
You nod as you pick up a TimTam off the plate. “But I can still say thank you. So. Thank you, again.”
He nods, and his face goes soft when you take a bite of the cookie and look up at him. It’s like he’s waiting with bated breath, desperate to know if you like them or not. You break out into a wide grin at the taste and nod eagerly up at him.
“Yeah, okay,” you say, eyeing the cookies on the plate. “I get the obsession.”
He laughs, nodding in agreement. One of your arms is resting on the back of the couch, and as if on reflex, he brushes his hand against yours. His skin is warm and soft. Your breath catches in your chest.
He backs away to disappear upstairs, then, with a soft “Goodnight,” that you echo, but not before you catch the tinge of red on his cheeks.
…..
In physics class on Monday, you watch Oscar waver in the doorway. He takes a stilted step towards the seat he normally sits in, across the lecture hall, and then he stops. You blink in confusion, taking a sip of coffee from your travel mug. He seems to take a breath, and then he turns- you pretend you’re not watching as he walks towards you instead. You pretend your heart isn’t racing as he walks up next to you. It shouldn’t be racing. Why is your heart racing?
“Is this seat taken?” He asks, politely, quietly, like it’s the first day of class.
You bite back a laugh when you look up at him, because his cheeks are red and he looks so, so proud of himself. “It’s open,” you say, smiling up at him.
He nods, sets his bag down on the desk, and then collapses into the chair next to you. He stares at your travel mug enviously as he slips his laptop from his bag, and you do laugh at that, at the tight furrow in his brow, at the pout on his lips. He glares at you, then, and then it all dissolves into a yawn. Something about it makes your chest ache- maybe it’s the way he pulls his hands into his hoodie sleeves. He looks like he could curl up right there and fall asleep.
“Early practice?” You ask, smiling sympathetically.
“So early,” he says, rubbing his eyes blearily. “I hate Seb.” Then he frowns, and shakes his head. “No, I don’t. But I do love sleep.”
You laugh and elbow him lightly. “I’ll bring you coffee on Wednesday. As long as you make good on your promise to help me study for this exam.”
His eyes light up, and he elbows you back, smiling brightly. “Easy trade. We’re going to get you an A+.”
You roll your eyes. Before you can respond, the professor calls the class to order, and you both open your laptops. But Oscar’s there, and he’s agreed to help you study, and when you lose your place in the notes halfway through the lecture he helps you get back on track with a sweet smile. It definitely doesn’t make butterflies swirl in your stomach.
Two days later, you walk into the kitchen, paper bag in hand, and you’re greeted with bright smiles and eager hands. Lando grabs for the bag, and Alex isn’t far behind him. Even Max, who’s cooking something on the stovetop, seems to perk up.
“Hey, hey,” you scold, snatching the bag out of their reach. “Not for you.”
Lando furrows his brows. “You’re my best friend, you show up at my house, and you have food that’s not for me?”
You shrug. “It’s for my study group,” you explain, holding the bag high above your head as you walk towards the dining room.
Oscar pops his head through the doorway and smiles at you. He takes the bag from your hand. “Hi. Ready?”
Lando blinks at the two of you in bewilderment. “Um?”
“We’re gonna get an A+ in physics,” Oscar says to Lando, drumming his free hand on the doorframe.
You scoff. “I’m unsure if that’s possible, at this point. But I’m hoping to at least pass.”
You head for the dining table and sit down. Oscar already has all his study materials spread out, so you do the same. When you look up, Lando is having some sort of almost silent conversation with Oscar, talking in hushed tones and facial expressions that do very little to tell you what’s going on. You see Oscar shake his head, then nod, then shake his head again. Max is watching them, too, in amusement. You exchange a glance with the team captain, and he shrugs. His food is burning on the stove- you can smell it. Alex’s far too calm announcement of that fact breaks up whatever was happening between Oscar and Lando.
Oscar turns back to you, brows raised. “Ready?”
Behind him, Max opens the kitchen window and waves smoke out of it.
You nod. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
You unpack Chinese takeout containers and dish out food on plates. Oscar’s teammates wander through occasionally, sticking their heads into the dining areas to say hi and ask how things are going, but for a while, it’s just the two of you. You find that Oscar’s a great study partner. He’s kind when you ask questions, willing to explain things in a way that you understand. And, when you get bored, you have him to look at. The serious look on his face, the little furrow in his brow, the soft curve of his lips when you answer a question correctly. He’s nice to look at, that’s all.
You walk home later that night feeling better about your odds on the physics exam, and better about the whole situation with Oscar. You think you might finally be winning him over. Halfway to your apartment, you pause on the sidewalk, overlooking the campus park. It would be shorter to just cut through the park. Take the more direct route. You study it for a few moments in the hazy blue post sunset light. Then you turn down the sidewalk and continue on your original route home.
Read Part 3, Losing The Dream!
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crossed out blogs are ones i was unable to tag!!
#oscar piastri fic#oscar piastri fanfic#oscar piastri friends to lovers#oscar piastri x you#Oscar Piastri x reader#Oscar Piastri series#Oscar Piastri fanfiction#oscar piastri imagine#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 x you#formula 1 au#Oscar Piastri au#hockey au#formula 1 fic#formula 1 fanfic#formula 1 fanfiction#formula 1 series#formula one fanfic#f1 fanfic#f1 x reader#formula one x reader#x reader#honeywrites#op81
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fluff :p gn!reader, reader has a quirk, kissing cringe, not entirely proofread, lmk if there are other warnings
the first time that bakugou katsuki was teased by the students of class 1-a, midoriya was shocked to his core. baffled. taken aback. astounded.
so imagine his shock when the bakugou katsuki chases after someone, rather than the other way around.
oh, midoriya is floored because when they were in middle school, the explosive blond would (literally) blow up any love confessions he received, ruining the beautifully decorated cards, and crumpling any boxes of chocolates that people would gift him. his reputation around school with romance was not great, but that did not seem to deter people. he had a good quirk, good looks, and good grades, a big three of requirements for a love interest, apparently.
even though bakugou did not know how to interact with anyone rather than giving them the stink eye.
it got to the point that bakugou seemed to not have an ounce of compassion or romantic urge within him, too in love with the grind to adore another.
then, you came along.
beautiful, powerful, talented you. graceful with your quirk, competent in the field, and loved by your classmates, it seemed like you had bakugou charmed too.
midoriya noticed when the small things began happening, such as bakugou addressing you by your name rather than a ridiculous nickname, complimenting you- albeit gruffly, but nevertheless complimenting you, or even catching him looking at you during class. since you were seated across the room, it did not take a genius to know that bakugou was distracted from his studies, specifically because of you.
then, towards the end of first year, you officially become (dare i say) friends.
but the purely platonic vibe is never really there. you piss bakugou off to the point that he’s chasing you around campus, giggling at his empty threats as he catches you by the waist, holding you for a little too long.
bakugou takes the initiative to be as close to you as possible; always settling for the seat beside you on the couch, tugging you by your shirt towards him when he deems you’ve strayed too far away, and letting you be the taste-tester for his meals.
you take the time to talk him through his temper tantrums, calming him with ease despite performing a task that midoriya thought was impossible. you’re patient with bakugou, mindful to give him space whilst not treating him like a child that has been banned from the candy jar. you handle him at his worse, despite all the metaphorical explosives in your face.
bakugou works you through your struggles. your quirk is not cooperating with you? he offers you solutions. struggling with classwork? just ask bakugou and he’s telling you to sit your ass down so he can explain to you what is happening. although, unlike how he treats kirishima, he bides and explains everything to you civilly until you understand, even when you’re frustrated by your own shortcomings.
bakugou’s chasing after you and he’s running, sprinting as fast as his legs might allow.
he asks his friends for advice, they all come up with nothing worthy of you, and he was not going to confess to you like those pussy ass middle schoolers.
no, because where they looked at him like he was some sort of eye-candy; a prize to be won, he looks at you as if you’re his fucking limited edition all might card that he so desperately wanted signed. as materialistic as that sounds, that (stupidly cool) card is something he treasures, carefully laminated in a memory book where the card itself takes up a whole page of its own.
he too looks at you with soft gazes, and a desire to keep you with him as long as you’ll allow.
bakugou’s chasing after you and he’s using his explosions to increase his speed, wanting to close the distance in between.
but he skids to a halt one night. when the heart palpitations cease his rate completely, all the air is drained from his lungs, and the quivering of his limbs just stop, because you have just kissed him, on the balcony of his dorm, with the sun setting in the background.
he chases after you, knowing nothing but you, beautiful, powerful, talented you, as bakugou pulls you into a breathtaking kiss.
his heart is now revived, yearning for nothing but you, the air has returned for him to share with you the magnitude of his adorations, and his limbs are frantically holding onto your face.
he realises now that this chase has never been one-sided, and that you have been running to meet him in the middle after all this time.
midoriya is a little less shocked when he receives the news that you and bakugou katsuki are now dating.
#i had an idea#and i attempted!#somebody take bakugou blurbs away from me#bakugo x reader#bakugou x reader#bakugou x you#bakugo katsuki x reader#bakugo katuski x reader#mha x reader#bnha x reader#mha fluff#bnha fluff#bakugou fluff#bakugo fluff#bakugou imagine#bakugo imagine#my hero academia x reader#boku no hero academia x reader
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New Addition
Platonic!Yandere Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham w/ Child!Reader
You knocked on the door of the large house Hannibal had picked out for him and Will to live in. It was out of the way from the town, so it was odd to receive a knock. Luckily, it was Will that answered rather than Hannibal. The other kids in town said the men who lived in this house liked to kidnap badly behaving girls and boys and eat them up like the witch in Hansel and Gretel. But this man didn’t seem scary. He seemed nice as he scolded their dogs for running out of the house.
“Hello, mister, I’m selling chocolate-covered pretzel sticks for my school and wanted to see if you would like to buy one?” You asked, trying to sound confident but sounding shaky instead. He didn’t seem to mind; he seemed happy you were there. “I happen to love chocolate-covered pretzels, but my husband thinks they are too simple to be a good treat. Let’s see what flavors you have.” He begins looking through the flavors you brought when his husband, Hannibal, silently walks up behind the other man. “Who is this?” He asks Will.
“Oh, this is… uh…” You stop him and introduce yourself and again explain why you are there. “This is quite a ways away from the town; surely you did not walk all the way here.” Hannibal questions. “No, sir, I rode my bike. I knew there were a few houses out this way, and I was determined to visit.”
Your determination pleases Hannibal but slightly concerns him. You’re an innocent child. You can’t be out riding your bike on these secluded roads. Will quits digging in the pretzel box, “I have to go get dog food anyway; I could bring you back to town. We will take the whole box of your pretzels since you came all this way out here.” Hannibal seems mildly annoyed by this. You remember that Will said Hannibal thinks they are too simple. Will leaves you alone with Hannibal to grab some cash. “Would you like to step inside? You’ll get sick out there.” Hannibal asks. You gratefully step in. “Your home is pretty.” You observe, earning a soft approving smile from Hannibal.
“Thank you, not many people your age appreciate style. Though you don’t seem like many people your age.” After he finishes talking, you try to stay quiet, and finally, Will returns, giving you the money for your entire box of pretzels. “Now I’m heading into town; would you like a ride?” Will offers. “Yes, please.” You tell him.
The ride back is quiet until he begins to talk. “Most kids avoid our house for their fundraisers. Do you know why?” You glance nervously, “I think it’s just too far.” It’s an obvious lie. “You don’t have to worry about being polite. I know there’s probably a crazy rumor about Hannibal and me.” You stay silent, but the silence is too loud to handle, “All the kids think you and Dr. Lecter like to kidnap and girls and boys and eat them up like the witch in Hansel and Gretel.”
“Well, maybe that’s why I needed all those sweet pretzels, so Dr. Lecter and I could finish building our cottage made of candy.” He seems a little sad at the revelation of this rumor. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have said anything.” He smiles and says, “Don’t worry about it. You could make it up to me by telling me how this rumor got started.”
“One of the boys that graduated high school last year told his little brother that he broke into your home on a dare and found human meat in the freezer, but he couldn’t go to the police because he was trespassing and he was high.” You finish explaining. Will smiles a bit, but it has a nervous edge this time, “Do you think we eat bad girls and boys?” You think about it, “no, because you had a bunch of times where you could have killed and eaten me.”
“Are you a bad kid?” Will asks teasingly. “I don’t know. I get in trouble sometimes. My house is in town away, in a trailer park.” Will knew which trailer park. It was “the bad part of town” he knew because he saw the crime statistics for that area and the number of times the cops are called out there. He had seen them the few times he and Hannibal helped with the local law. Hannibal had gotten close with the town’s political figures, and Will had basically been made into an honorary detective with the law enforcement. This town was corrupt to its core, but it was away from the prying eyes of the FBI, and it’s the only place Hannibal and Will could agree on geographically. Will’s only stipulation was that there were good places to fish.
Eventually, you make it to the trailer. Will waits until you make it inside. He cannot help but think about Abigail. He could have had a potential family with Hannibal if things had gone correctly. He was happy with Hannibal and the dogs, but something about you made him want more.
Weeks pass, and he does not bring the topic up to Hannibal. Little did he know Hannibal had been keeping an extra close eye on you. He did it under the guise of getting more pretzels for Will and then special ordering one of the unique flavors that you did not have so he could come back around to "check on the order." Will finds this all out when you see him in the store and give him the order Hannibal had placed.
"That kid from the other day gave me the order you placed," Will says placing the box on the table. "I thought you hated junk food."
"I do; they were a surprise for you. You seem to have taken a liking to the child." Hannibal observes. "They're a good kid. They kind of remind me of Abigail." The room becomes silent for a second too long. Hannibal hates it when Will brings up Abigail. "You seem to like the kid too. You went out of your way to find them to order the pretzels when there were plenty of easier options to order from." Hannibal knows he has been caught.
"They're a well-behaved child, very polite. Like Abigail." Hannibal says somewhat pointedly. "Have you thought about us expanding our family? Not with another dog, but with a human?" Hannibal asks before Will has time to respond to the first statement.
"I hadn't, and then that kid came knocking at the door, and since then, it is all I can think about. But I don't want any kid. Our kid from the trailer park seems to be the best fit; it has to be them." Will explains, hoping that Hannibal will understand.
"Then so be it; they will be our child for us to protect," Hannibal says as if this is a normal conversation.
As the two men begin to work on a plan to add you to their family, their fatherly love for you grows more into fatherly obsession. You're their kid; no one gets to hurt you. Once you're safe and comfortable in their home, no one but them will get to be around you until they know you love them just as much. Hannibal wastes no time putting your room together with all of your favorite things. They were going to make your room the same way it is in the trailer until Hannibal saw the state of your room and became disgusted by the idea of that kind of room being in his expensive house.
Will tries to make a plan to make your transition to their house easier. He finds all kinds of games and activities you are sure to love, even the ones that Hannibal is convinced are bad for your growing brain.
#yandere platonic#platonic yandere#platonic#yandere family#yandere will graham#yandere hannibal lecter#hannibal x will#platonic will graham#platonic hannibal lecter#child!reader#gender neutral reader#fem!reader#male!reader#yandere will graham and hannibal lecter#father and child#yandere dad#yandere parents#soft yandere
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stop looking at me like that - roy kent x reader
pairing: roy kent x reader
word count: 2.5k
warnings: a lot of language, of course, and some very slight allusions to smut
a/n: and we're right back with a roy version! i didn't intend to write both, but the lovely @ironmanmagnetfridge sent in an ask to try a roy version of 'saved you a seat' and i couldn't refuse. i loved writing this, so thank you endlessly for the request and my ask box is currently very open for more roy or jamie requests in particular! <3
---
“We saw a windmill!” Jamie announces loudly, to which the whole coach cheers, yourself included. It was nice to see him so happy as he bounded down the aisle high-fiving everyone in sight. Roy may have sounded as grumpy as ever when he’d boarded the coach moments beforehand, but when he sank into the seat next to you near the back, you could definitely see the hint of a smirk on his face that he’d never admit to.
“Good night?” you asked him teasingly, only to hear him growl as he turned to you.
“Thought I said not to fucking ask?”
“I’m not asking, I’m inferring,” you hummed, undeterred by the attitude you’d become so used to, “You don’t have to confirm or deny anything. I’m glad you had a good time.”
“You’re very fucking presumptuous, has anyone ever told you that?”
“You have. Many times,” you supply, grinning up at him and grateful for the fondness in the eye roll that you just managed to catch, “You like windmills?”
He doesn’t speak for a moment, and when he does, his voice is even lower, gruffer than before somehow.
“Fucking love ‘em.”
You nod, satisfied, and settle back into your seat to watch the boys fool about. They manage to get a song going, and you join in quietly albeit happily. When the same song dissolves into a chant that Dani seems to be leading in Spanish, you bow out and instead pull out your laptop to catch up on the vital emails you knew you’d missed during your time abroad.
“Do you ever stop fucking working?”
“Hey, you chose this seat,” you reminded him, still unsure why he’d chosen to sit next to you when there were a few empty seats he’d passed on the way. The thought made you a little too nervous to dwell on it though, “You should have known better than to sit next to the workaholic.”
“If I hadn’t sat here, I couldn’t do this,” he said simply, gently taking your laptop from your lap despite your protests and attempts to snatch it back. He held it over his head to the seat behind him and Rebecca caught on quick, taking it from him without a word. You pouted at him, then turned to glare at her through the gap between your seats.
“Rebecca! You know preventing the director of your charity foundation from working is probably a pretty shit idea?”
“I literally brought you with us for you to take a mandatory break,” she said firmly, “So fucking take it!”
She muttered something about you being a nuisance then went back into the dreamy trance she’d been in since she entered the coach, your laptop safely tucked away behind her. You sat back in your seat with an exaggerated huff.
“Being childish won’t help anything,” Roy reminded you, although he was definitely teasing you now if the light in his eyes was any indicator. You turned your glare on him, but soon relented, sinking back into your seat.
“You’re a bastard,” you say instead of replying.
“Yes, and…?”
You hesitate. He’s so annoying when he’s right. You’ve always hated him for it, particularly how effortlessly attractive he looked when he was gloating.
“And thank you. Happy now, you prick?”
“Very happy. Now we can talk on a coach journey like civilised fucking people rather than you having your fucking head buried in work every second.”
That one hit more of a nerve. Funnily enough, Roy had also found the seat next to yours on the coach from Richmond to Amsterdam, but you really had been preoccupied by your laptop then. Possibly the only time you’d spoken to him was to ask to squeeze by to get to the shitty bus bathroom. You had the decency to look embarrassed.
“I wasn’t the best seatmate last time, was I?” you said, “I am sorry about that, actually. When I’m planning these school visits, they often get a little all-consuming.”
“Don’t fucking apologise for all the fucking good work you do. Christ, that would make me a proper bastard. I saw some of the stuff you were doing on our way out and it’s important. Doesn’t mean you can’t take a fucking break, you know?”
You so want to take his obvious compliment in a cool, effortless way but you can already feel yourself getting hot.
“You were spying on my work?”
“Course I was. It’s a boring fucking bus and my seatmate wasn’t fucking talking to me,” he said, although this time he nudged you gently to let you know he wasn’t really annoyed, “I meant to say, put me down for the next school visit, will you? I know you’ve probably got enough, but…”
He doesn’t finish his sentence. You’re always surprised by how often Roy wants to be involved in what you do, but you shouldn’t be. He’s such a thoroughly good man wrapped up an unsuspecting exterior. You hadn’t asked him because he’d done the last four visits, but maybe you should have.
“I would put your name down, but some prick stole my laptop,” you said, teasing him this time. You finally managed to get a smile out of him, however brief, as he shook his head at you, “I’m kidding. Thank you. I should have asked, but I didn’t want to bother you. I’ll make sure you know about them from now on.”
“Good,” he confirmed, a single nod of his head, and then a few moments later - “You don’t fucking bother me by the way.”
“Not even when I’m trying to work on my mandatory holiday?” you joke, and he just grunts, so you’re forced to continue more sincerely even though it isn’t in your nature, “I’m guessing that might be why you chose to sit with me yet again even though I proved to be shit last time. Tell me if not, or I’ll end up being flattered.”
Yes, you loved bantering back and forth with Roy, but there was some hidden truth, some vulnerability behind your words. You were desperate to know why Roy had chosen to sit with you not once but twice, when he had plenty of people on this coach that he was close to. The two of you had become firm friends, you liked to think, over the past year or so, but there was a spot next to Isaac he could have taken, or with Ted, Beard and Rebecca at the very back. Part of you needed to hear what exactly had driven him to sit next to you, so you could eliminate the tiny hope at the back of your mind that maybe he thought about you as much as you thought about him.
“I don’t fucking know,” he started, but you knew him well enough to know that was his typical response when he was trying to work out what to say, “You’re…you know. We’re…fuck.”
And he stopped there. For some reason, you were speaking before you thought about it.
“We’re fucking, did you just say? Could’ve let me know.”
You didn’t know what made you say it, but the way Roy’s eyes almost bugged out of his head, you decided it was worth whatever awkwardness it might create in him. You burst out laughing at his expression, biting your lip to try to curtail it but not succeeding. At your reaction, he seemed to calm a little, and there was even a little huff that sounded almost like a laugh from him.
“You’re fucking awful, you are. I was trying to say something fucking nice about you and you fucking ruined it.”
He was kidding, but you could tell he also wasn’t. Matching his energy, you leaned in to him and gave him your best puppy dog eyes.
“No, don’t let me ruin it! Go on, say it anyway,” you almost begged, wondering if any of this was working or if he’d get up and walk away from you to another seat any minute. You vaguely realised how vigorously your heart was beating, “Say it!”
“Fucking hell, fine! Stop looking at me like that,” he insisted lowly, and you made a point of schooling your face into a serious expression, “Sometimes, you’re…fun to fucking be around, I guess. I like being wi- around you.”
You caught his slip. He liked being with you. If you ran away with what that one might mean, you might not recover.
“High praise. I like being around you too. You know that’s a normal thing to say to your friends, right? It shouldn’t be quite that hard.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re fucking great at all this emotional stuff though aren’t you? You run a fucking charity, Y/N. Some of us have to…work at it.”
He was being serious, so you turned down the teasing. If he was willing to work on being a bit more emotional with you, you’d do anything to keep that going. He’d also just complimented you again and you hadn’t complimented him back once, which wouldn’t do at all.
“Yeah, I know. You’re actually fucking killing in that department recently, and you know it, so give yourself some credit,” you insist, watching a shadow of surprise cross his face. He nods, but you get the feeling he’s still trying to convince himself.
“Got you to fucking thank for that. You’re a good influence. On fucking all of us.”
“You keep saying all these nice things about me, Kent, and I’m going to be really fucking flattered,” you say, trying to downplay the impact you might have had on him, on the team, “You know it’s that cowboy back there doing the real heavy lifting.”
“Yeah, he’s fucking insufferable with it, isn’t he?” Roy agreed, “But me specifically then. The last year or so, I’ve been fucking better, and Ted’s been here three years.”
He wasn’t lying. He had been getting better and better with his emotions, with talking to people, with ensuring the people in his life that mattered knew just how much they mattered. This was about the third time in a month that Roy had suddenly gone a spree of complimenting you, and although it made you significantly uncomfortable, you couldn’t pretend you weren’t over the moon about it.
“You’ve made me more assertive, I think. So let’s call it even.”
“No.”
“No?” you questioned.
“No. You were fucking assertive before, you’re just trying to fucking deflect,” he said firmly, in the typical Roy Kent brand of caring in an angry tone, “I”m thanking you, so just fucking say you’re welcome and we can stop talking about this.”
You hesitated, but finally got up the courage to reach over and squeeze his hand as you replied.
“You’re welcome, then.”
You didn’t let your hand linger, no matter how much you wanted to, bringing it back into your lap and trying to ignore the sparks that slid across your fingers and flickered in the pit of your stomach. You watched Roy’s hand flex where you’d just held it, but he was staring straight ahead.
There were a few tension-filled moments of silence before he spoke up again, still staring at the seat in front of him like he was scared to look at you.
“Would you like to go to dinner when we get back?” he asked, in a voice that sounded like he had rehearsed the syllables. Your heart rate spiked, but you forced it to come back to earth again. He could just be anticipating how hungry he’ll be when you’re back, wanting some friendly company for the evening.
“Uh, sure, I love dinner,” you say, then want to smack yourself for how stupid that sounded, “What do you fancy?”
He growls, looking like he’s about to tear his hair out and you wonder what you’ve said wrong.
“You, alright? I fucking fancy you.”
You pause. Staring at him while he refuses to look at you. Your voice comes out breathy and disbelieving.
“For dinner?”
“No, I don’t want you for-” he growls and punches the seat in front of him, hard. Colin yelps but then starts a train of it, punching the seat in front of him with a laugh until it travels all the way down the bus. You would giggle if you weren’t worried about the man beside you. He takes a deep breath, then speaks:
“I’m inviting you to dinner because I like you. The dinner is the least fucking important thing in this scenario. I can’t have another fucking conversation with you where I’m fucking hinting every two seconds that I like you, and you’re sat there just looking at me like you do, fucking oblivious. It’s fine if you don’t want to, but I do. Want to. And want you.”
You stare at him in delighted shock. Yes, Rebecca had told you that the man wanted to ‘shag the bloody daylights out of you’ and that you should ‘just look at the way he looks at you, for fuck’s sake’, but you’d never believed her. And even if you could wrap your mind around Roy being attracted to you, you could never have predicted him actually wanting to take you for dinner. It made him infinitely more attractive as you stared up at him.
“I’m done now,” he said, voice a little strangled, “Your fucking turn. Please.”
“Yes,” you said, taking a leaf out of his book. You were elated when he finally looked at you, confused. He was breathing like he’d just run a marathon.
“Yes?”
“Yes to dinner. And to the rest of it,” you grin and have never appreciated one of his rare grins more when it’s fully focused on you. Still, there’s no way you can leave this as a serious moment alone, so you put on your best Roy Kent voice and narrow your eyes, “I fucking fancy you too.”
He actually laughs, a proper one, shaking his head as he chuckles. You join him in it, of course, ignoring the shocked look that Jamie was giving you from a few seats ahead at the sound of Roy’s laugh. When you’d finished laughing, not knowing what to do with yourself, you punch his arm lightly. It’s giddy and genuine.
You think he’ll punch you back, but instead he grabs your fist and maneuvres your hands until your fingers are intertwined and your hands rest on the seat between the two of you. It only makes your grin wider, and you know you’re staring at him again even though he’s back to refusing to look at you. You think it’s because he’s trying to hide his smile, but you can see it. It’s all you can see.
“Stop fucking looking at me like that,” he says gruffly and you laugh as you turn to stare out of the window instead, grinning out at the landscape whizzing by.
Roy squeezes your hand. You squeeze back.
#roy kent x reader#ted lasso x reader#ted lasso#roy kent#roy kent imagine#roy kent fanfiction#roy kent x you
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Lunch Box SingleDad!Miguel O´Hara x Reader
I think i'm going to make a small serie of SingleDad Miguel. Its going to have small fics, drabbles and headcanons. This is the second one I make, but is not a sequel so can read it any order you want.
You have been dating Miguel for awhile now and everything was perfect. Gaby and you got along quite fast, a little too fast. But she loves you and you love her.
Her favorite thing is the weekend, that means that you would stay at their house, so she has you and her dad for two whole days. She knows that Miguel has a time consuming job yours was a little more flexible but still.
Miguel loved how things were going, he was really happy but he couldn't help to feel a little bit jealous about the little bond you made with her daughter. Don't get him wrong, he loves you both, of course his type of love is different from one to another. He loves how you care for Gabriela and how she loves to spend time with you, but sometimes he feels that he's left outside. He just couldn't help it, he wants to have that communication that you have with her daughter, she tells you things that probably she would never tell him about, on the other side, he wants to have your full undivided attention only for him. There are days when he doesn't want to share his daughter and others when he doesn't want to share you.
You knew about it, he gets all grumpy when he hears you talking low in Gaby's room when you have your "girls night". He has tried to walk "by accident" in the middle of your chat only to get a "it's nothing" in response and then a few giggles when he leaves the room. Gaby and you use this to bother him.
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It had just past one of those weekends, and now it was monday, your day off, so you didn´t left.
Miguel heard his alarm sound, he turn it off with a groan and turn his boby to reach you, but he felt your bed space empty he got up quickly from his place looking for you, you were nowhere in the bedroom, all lights where out except for the little light that came out under the door meaning someone was on the kitchen or living room.
Against his will he got up, he felt cold without your presence. He rubbed his sleepines off his face with his hands. He didn´t want to get up yet, he would dragg you back to bed and sleep late until he had to "call sick" so he can spend more time with you.
When he arrived to the kitchen he saw you there, looking for something in the freezer, you were still in pijamas wich was pretty much some shorts and a shirt courtesy of Miguel's closet. He can hear the sizzle of the pans on the stove and the smell of whatever you were cooking.
"What are you doing up? It´s 6:15 am" His voice was low and groggy.
You gave a little jump, you didn´t expected to see him awake you turn to see him with a hand in her chest. "Dios mío Miguel, give me a warning." He just kept looking at her waiting for an answer. "Oh, I´m making a lunch box for Gabriela"
"Why? She eats at school" He look at you more confused
"Oh, well hehe, she told me that last week there was an insect on her smash potatoes"
"Why I didn´t knew about this?" An insect on his daugther´s food!? That was unacceptable, he would definitely change her from school.
"Because she didn´t want to worry you, besides i´m more than happy to cook for her, its not the first time I make her a lunch box, I usually made them in my apartment and bring them to her school in my luch hour" You star packing everything in her lunch box - funny thing: it was from Spiderman-
His eyes never left you, he followed every movement you made until his stomach rumbled in the middle of the silences. You looked at him. "I´m going to start breakfast. Go get ready."
He gave one last look to the lunch box then he turn to you standing in the middle just like a small kid. "Hmmm... Love? Can i get..." he lower his voice.
You turn to see him "You can get what?"
"I said if I could get..." Again. He wisper
"Mi amor habla más fuerte, no te entiendo. ¿Qué necesitas?"
"Que si puedo tener una yo también" He exchange looks between the lunch box and you.
"A lunch box? You want me to make one for you?"
"Yes please"
You couldn't keep yourself from smiling "Claro que si mi amorcito, I can make you one" You grab his face "Go get ready for work"
Minutes later everyone had finished eating Gabi clean the table while Miguel was getting his stuff in the trunk once he was done he told Gabriela to get in the car and wait for him.
He ran back to the kitchen to grab his lunch box in the counter.
"Wait Miguel, you forgot your dessert" You handle him a small box similar to the bigger one which contains the main food only that this one was cold. "Keep it cold until dessert time my love, its a surprise"
"Gracias"
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He can´t concentrate in work, he was constantly looking to the small freezer that he kept in his office, far from Hobie - he tend to stole his food- checking allmost every minute his watch hoping time moves faster so lunch time could arrive and finaly eat whatever you made him.
Finally lunch time arrived and he enjoy every single bite of his food, he felt like a kid again, eating home food in peace. Once hi finished his food he began to clean everything until he found the small box, he was full but he didn´t care it was his dessert, made by his lovly girlfirend, of course he´s going to eat it.
He opened the box, it took him a while to process what was happening, he grabbed what was inside lifting it up to get a better look. It was a strawberry, a blue one, with something red on it. Once he took a better look he almost let a squeal scape his lips, they were straberries covered in blue chocolate with some marks made with red chocoalte pretending to be his Spiderman mask.
He was definitely going to hide them from Hobie.
#miguel o'hara#spiderman#spiderman 2099#across the spiderverse#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara fluff#miguel o'hara fanfiction
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