#who knows if it’ll see the light of day
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'cause i don't think that they'd understand || ln4 x reader (Part 1)
Summary: Lando just wants to walk down to the garage before the Miami race with you by his side. George and Carmen walked in together, Alex and Lily walked in together, so why can't you, as well? Despite your self-consciousness, you agree to walk hand-in-hand with him down to the garage right before the big race, but it's a much harder ask for you than anyone could ever realize.
Plus-size (she/her) Reader x Lando Norris
Warnings: Brief mentions of nausea/being sick, panic, reader is plus-sized and very down on herself about it, weight mentions, ect.
Characters: Lando Norris (your boyfriend) and feat Oscar Piastri as a last minute saving grace for you.
Rating: G, for now.
“I want you to walk down to the garage with me.”
You blink in surprise, Lando’s words are so sudden and so firm that it makes goosebumps raise on your skin. Walk to the garage with him? But that would mean…
“What? Why?” you ask, folding down the page in the book you’re reading, before placing it down softly on the table beside you. A slugging, churning feeling arises in your gut as you realize exactly what it is he’s asking of you.
“What do you mean ‘why’? You’re my girlfriend, I want you to walk with me into the garage.” He says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And, perhaps, for any other woman in this world it might just be.
But it isn’t for you. This is quite possibly one of the most difficult things he could ever ask you to do, and that alone makes you feel horrible. Lando deserves a normal girlfriend, who can react normally to very normal situations. Not someone who makes his life even more difficult than it already is.
You sigh heavily, knowing if you refuse you will just upset him. “I - are you sure you want to be seen with me? People will talk and they won’t be nice…”
“Babe, we’ve had this conversation before. Just one walk down to the garage with me, that’s all I’m asking.”
You frown again, daring to look up and meet his gaze. He doesn’t seem angry, but there’s a desperation in his eyes, something that tugs at your heartstrings. What Lando doesn’t realize is that the backlash won’t fall too heavily on him - but on you…?
Oh, the fans and the media will eat you up. Lando is dating a fat girl? That will decorate the tabloid headlines for days, perhaps even weeks or months. The thought alone makes you sick. But how can you say no to him when he’s so earnest, when he wants to show you off, regardless if you deserve it or not?
“Yeah, okay.” You finally reply, looking away from Lando and down to the floor. He notices this, however, and kneels down in front of you, grabbing one of your hands in both of his own. His hands are so warm and so immediately comforting, working to ease the rapid beat of your heart in your chest.
“It’ll be okay. I promise. And just think, you’ll finally be able to come see the garage and paddock!” His voice is so cheerful, so genuinely happy and excited for you to be there with him. It’s touching, to say the least, but you are loath to admit that your excitement level is not nearly on par with his. Not even slightly.
“Yeah, I know. I’ve wanted to see them for so long.” The lack of enthusiasm in your voice does dull the excitement in his eyes, but he holds steady. Admirable, really. A trait you wish you could share with him.
“It’s almost time. Why don’t you go ahead and get ready, and we can walk down in about an hour?”
An hour? Well - here’s hoping you can actually make yourself look even somewhat presentable in such a short amount of time.
“You’ll help me pick out my dress, right?” you ask.
The light immediately comes back to his eyes, and he beams at you with the very same smile that won your heart the night you met him.
“Of course! Fashion show time!”
~~
Lando ends up picking the teal colored sundress, something that suits your taste and simultaneously compliments some of your key features. It fits well, with no need for you to suck in your stomach to make it look nicer or more appealing, and hides some of your less than desirable attributes (the rolls, god, the rolls) with ease.
You feel comfortable enough, with only a light amount of makeup on your face, and your feet are settled into white flats instead of the heels you had originally picked out. Lando liked them as well, but urged you to go for something more comfortable and carefree.
You genuinely do feel okay, but the bitter taste of anxiety still stirs the acid of your stomach as you think about the amount of eyes that will be on you and Lando in a few moments.
“Hey beautiful,” Lando says, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. On instinct, you suck in your stomach to try and lessen the circumference of your belly. Lando tenses, but he doesn’t push the issue, keeping you nestled safely in his arms as he presses a kiss to the back of your neck. “You just about ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” you reply softly, leaning only a portion of your weight back against him. He doesn’t let go for a few moments, and you can feel the warmth of his breath against the shell of your ear.
“I’m proud of you. I know you’re scared, and I know you’re only doing this for me, but I hope you can manage to enjoy it as well. You may not want the world to know you’re mine, but I do.” Lando explains, nipping at your ear with gentle teeth. It sends a shiver down your spine, and you cannot help but smile at his antics.
“Well, we’ll see what all the news sources are saying in the morning. You know for a fact my issue isn’t being seen with you, it’s you being seen with me.”
“Who cares what they say? How I feel about you is what matters, not what the public thinks about a relationship they know nothing about.” Lando’s voice is firm and leaves no room for argument - likely because this IS an argument the two of you have had time and time again.
You open your mouth to respond, but Lando’s PR Agent gestures a bit frantically at you both and all of a sudden, Lando is no longer behind you but at your side, lacing your fingers together.
“Deep breath, babe. It’s go time.”
Oh.
You take a deep breath and hold it in your lungs, fearful that if you breathe at all, you might mess this up entirely. Lando’s hand is warm and firm in your own, steady while your mentality feels anything but. There’s no time to prepare yourself for the walk - Lando is moving and on instinct, you move fluidly alongside him. Your heart is racing impossibly hard in your chest and somehow only gets faster as you step out onto the grass and the sun shines down upon you and Lando like a blinding spotlight.
You hear the clicking of cameras before you see the media snapping shots of you and Lando as you walk hand-in-hand towards the McLaren garage. You can already hear the shouts of fans at home, screaming about how Lando could possibly be dating someone so fat and unattractive when he’s literally a celebrity and could have anyone he wanted. You can see the offensive articles, wondering what’s gone wrong in Lando’s head to be dating someone so average and so unathletic when all of the other drivers are dating what could be (and in some cases ARE) models.
So many eyes are on you both, and you still haven’t been able to take a breath just yet. You feel Lando’s hand squeeze yours, but you are unable to squeeze back. You just want to be at the garage and tucked back away from the eyes of the media so you can regain your bearings.
And then finally, after what feels like a marathon of a walk, you feel the grass turn to solid ground beneath your feet and the smells of the garage hit your senses like a brick wall. Everything slowly comes back into focus and you realize you’ve finally made it to the other side. Your gut is churning, but you let out the breath you have been holding since you took your first step out and it eases some of the bubbling tension in your chest.
Lando’s hand leaves yours fairly suddenly, but he immediately pops up in your line of sight, beaming at you like you’ve just handed him the sun, the moon, and all the stars. You swallow thickly, hoping to keep down the nausea that threatens you, and offer up a tight smile of your own.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He asks, pulling you in by your waist and pressing a kiss to your forehead. You are still within sight of the media cameras and you hear a few clicking somewhere off to your right, which does little to help quell the nausea.
“It was fine, yeah.” You say, and it’s incredible just how weak your own voice sounds. “Can we, uh - can we go someplace in the back for a minute? Away from the cameras?”
“Of course,” Lando says, and concern begins to blossom on his features. His eyebrows furrow, gaze focused solely on you as you still try your best to smile at him. “I have to get changed into my kit anyway.”
Lando’s hand is back in yours instantly, and he gently guides you through crew members and winding hallways until you’re far enough away from all of the commotion that you can barely hear it anymore. Your breath is shaky as you inhale, but the relief is almost immediate now that you are out of the public eye.
“Are you okay?” Lando asks after a few seconds of studying your face. “I’m sorry, that was too much, wasn’t it?”
“No, no, no.” you interrupt him, taking another deep breath and letting it out slowly. “It’s just a lot. I’m not used to these kinds of things, not like you are. And there were so many cameras…”
“You learn to ignore the cameras.” He says, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Try not to worry about them, they’re just an annoyance anyway. You’re here to watch me race, and I promise you the McLaren crew will take great care of you while you do.”
Your smile feels a bit more genuine now as the nerves begin to drift off. You know you’ll have cameras in your face likely the entire time Lando is racing, but knowing that you have the support of McLaren while you’re here helps a bit. Lando has been with these people for years now, you can only imagine they’ve grown quite close in that time.
“I’m sure they will. I - uh - is there a bathroom back here somewhere?” You look around a bit frantically, overcome by the sudden intense nausea that hits you now that the worst of the nerves have tapered off. Sweat builds on your forehead and you begin to feel a bit clammy and lightheaded, but Lando either doesn’t notice, or you’ve managed to keep yourself steady enough as to not rouse suspicion.
“Oh, yeah, I’ll take you there,” he says, looking around to gain his bearings. He circles his fingers around your wrist and leads you back towards the heart of the garage, but stops before you get to the more heavily trafficked areas. It’s a small, unassuming restroom meant for one person at a time, but it will do. “Here you are. I actually need to change, so I’ll come back for you once I’m set up, okay?”
“Sounds good.” You confirm, leaning in to kiss him when you see him do the same. He offers you a comforting smile and then takes off into the clamor of the garage to get himself ready for the race. You watch him weave through crowds of crew and media personnel, and once he’s no longer within your sight, you turn around and rush into the bathroom without a moment to spare.
The nausea is almost overpowering, and you can’t even make it to the toilet before you feel your stomach rolling. You grasp desperately at the vanity, emptying your nerves into the sink with a violent heave and a shudder. Panic is starting to claw its way up your throat now that you’ve been sick, and you grip the sides of the vanity so tightly that your knuckles turn white. The nausea, thankfully, goes away now that you’ve emptied your stomach into the sink, but a much worse feeling creeps up to take its place.
You reach forward with trembling hands and turn on the sink, cleaning out the mess you’ve just made. Thankfully, a few splashes of water around the sink (and a few swishes in your mouth) manage to clean out everything so there’s no evidence left of your struggle.
You back yourself against the wall now, feeling your heart beating faster all over again, and the sweat begins to feel cold on your forehead. Panic is no new sensation, but you can’t help but curse the timing of this attack. It makes sense - given the overstimulation and the nervousness you just fought your way through, but you had hoped deep in your heart that you would be able to handle this without a breakdown.
You could not have been more wrong.
You begin to take deep, shuddering breaths at far too rapid a pace. You know you have to get your breathing under control, or this will spiral until you’re pathetically hyperventilating alone in a McLaren bathroom. You rush forward to turn the water back on, hoping that splashing some on your face might help snap you out of it, when you hear the handle of the restroom door jiggle.
Your stomach lurches again when you realize in your haste, you forgot to lock the door.
“Yeah, mate. I’ll be back in a few.” You hear a familiar voice say, muffled slightly by the noise buzzing around the garage.
As soon as the person steps inside the restroom and your eyes meet, you feel like you could be sick again. It’s none other than Oscar Piastri, Lando’s teammate and friend at McLaren, and he’s staring at you with wide, concerned eyes.
“Hey,” he greets, and it’s so incredibly soft - as if he might be speaking to a cornered, wounded animal. “Hey, are you alright?”
You can’t reply to him just yet - your breathing is out of control and nausea is hitting you again from the depths of absolute hell. As if this day couldn’t have possibly gotten any worse, you WOULD have a mental breakdown in front of Lando’s teammate.
You simply stare back at him in shock, like he’s the most terrifying thing you could possibly see, and you finally manage to choke out a weak and pitiful, “No.”
You watch as Oscar gently locks the door behind you both - a blessing, really, to keep anyone else from walking in on you in such an embarrassing state. He keeps his expression neutral, only taking one step into the bathroom with his hands palm-up to show he means no harm.
“You need to breathe, okay? Think you can breathe with me?” Oscar asks, his voice echoing in the small space. He swallows thickly, another sound that’s easy to pick up in the confined space, but he patiently waits for you to respond.
“I don’t - I don’t know -” you reply, hands slapping against the wall as you try to find something to grip onto for balance. “I don’t know.”
“Why don’t we give it a try, at least?” Oscar tries again, looking far more concerned than you think he has any right to be. He hardly knows you, after all.
“I - I can -” but the words die on your lips as your legs give out beneath you. You fall to your knees on the tile floor and that’s when Oscar jumps quickly into action. You feel unfamiliar arms wrap around your shoulders, a cushion to keep your head from smashing against the floor, and the last thing you see are Oscar’s frightened eyes above you, the echo of your name frantically erupting from the back of his throat as your vision fades out.
#lando norris#lando norris x reader#x reader#f1 fanfic#formula 1 fanfic#x reader fanfic#f1 x reader#plus sized reader#driver x reader#hides my face under all these tags#this is my first ever x reader so be kind thanks
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three in the morning - b.d. + g.t.
Bodhi Durran x reader x Garrick Tavis
Garrick comes back from overnight watch to find both of his partners in his bed. Filth ensues.
words: 4.1k
🏷: NSFW. no book spoilers, but set during Fourth Wing. reader is afab and feminine, but no pronouns used. threesome, established poly relationship, soft dom/sub dynamics, Garrick’s first time subbing but he’s very good at it, overuse of pet names, a lot of praise, mention of oral sex (f receiving), some body worship, because who doesn’t want to kiss each one of Garrick’s ab muscles?, unprotected PIV x2, sloppy seconds / cum as lube (don’t look at me like that), lots of aftercare!!! buckle up and bring a towel and maybe some baby wipes. you’ll need them. I'm really exposing myself with this one, but I hope you like it.
Being a section leader has its perks — namely, getting a nicer room with a bigger bed — but Garrick could really do without the once-a-week overnight watch.
It wreaks havoc on his sleep schedule, staying up until two in the morning every Thursday night, only to wake back up at six for another full day of classes and flight training. Fridays are hell, but at least he has Saturday to ease things off, catching up on sleep — his personal record is eleven hours straight, before Xaden practically dragged him out of bed for a dagger drop.
You and Bodhi try to make it more pleasant, making sure he eats something before his shift starts and kissing him goodbye, spending those nights in his room, so that he can come back to fall asleep in warm sheets and soft embraces. While that’s very nice to come home to, it also somehow makes the watch even more agonizing, knowing that his partners are sleeping in his bed right now, half-dressed, a soft and loving tangle of limbs that he can’t work his way into for hours.
When the infantry leadership finally shows up to relieve him — and they’re always fucking late —, he’ll make the climb up to his room, where he usually finds you both fast asleep. He’ll use the last of his energy to shower and brush his teeth before slotting himself into bed next to you. The feeling of the mattress shifting under his weight will wake you up, and you’ll each give him a sleepy kiss and a soft welcome home before you slip back into dreamland, content to cuddle into all that plush muscle until sunrise — which is only a few hours away.
But sometimes you two don’t make it all the way to bed. There’s been more than one occasion where you’ve tried to stay up until his return, passing the time studying, only to knock out around one, slumped onto the floor with your textbooks still open in your laps, leaving Garrick to wake you up and help you change into proper pajamas before you all pile into bed together.
“I’ve told you two not to stay up for me,” he’ll remind you gently, not having it in him to properly scold you when you’re so soft and sleepy like this, all warm and pliant in his arms.
“We know,” Bodhi always replies, wrapping his body around the older boy’s. “Just missed you.”
Then you’ll hum in agreement, nuzzling your cheek into his shoulder, and it’ll only be a matter of minutes until Garrick is out like a light, completely relaxed, all his worries brushed away by your soft touches.
Tonight, as he moves to unlock the door to his room, he sees the soft glow of a mage light, but when he crosses the wards that Xaden helped him put up, he doesn’t hear the still silence that should come with the pair of you having fallen asleep. A mischievous smile spreads across his face at the familiar sounds; the wet smack of skin on skin and the soft, needy noises that always spill from your lips when someone is touching you just right.
Sure enough, Bodhi has you lying on the bed face-down, ass-up, his hands gripping your waist and pulling you back against his hips as he fucks you nice and deep.
Bodhi grins at him, and Garrick realizes that you’re facing the door — he wanted Garrick to find you two like this.
“Look who’s home, honey,” Bodhi coos.
It takes you a second to process his words, your brain already been turned to mush with how good Bodhi is making you feel, but you lift your head from the pillow you’d buried your face into, looking up. “Gare,” you breathe, your eyes widening.
He can see the little streak of fear that moves through you as you realize he’s back, that he’d caught you both red-handed, but Bodhi continues driving his hips into yours without a care in the world, showing zero signs that he’s going to stop.
That’s the difference between you two — Bodhi isn’t as afraid of Garrick as you are. It takes a lot for him to consider submitting, while you fold so easily — just the right look from either of them, being spoken to in the right tone of voice or touched in the right places, and you turn from a fearless dragon rider to a soft and pliant little toy.
Like tonight, when he’d been able to convince you to break Garrick’s rules and have some fun, just the two of you. You'd been so needy after nearly two weeks without any kind of sex, and when he’d woken you up in the middle of the night by grinding his hips against your ass and kissing your neck, your resolve started to crumble, very quickly.
It was too easy for him to lead you down that slippery slope that led to your current position — soft kisses turned into his hands all over your body, groping and squeezing… and then he’d convinced you to let him eat you out, to let him make you cum on his tongue… you don’t have to do anything, honey, just lay there and look pretty. it’ll feel so good, I promise.
It did feel good; very good, and it was only natural that it led to something more — the thorough fucking you’d both needed, been so desperate for after weeks without.
But Garrick doesn’t seem mad about this at all. He’s giving you that signature smug smile — like he’s proud that he has the both of you in his bed, and he has some devious plan in mind for you.
“How was watch?” Bodhi asks casually, starting to draw little circles on your clit with his fingertips.
“Fine,” Garrick answers. “Same old. A few first-years sneaking around and making out in the halls, but no threats to life as we know it.”
He strips off his flight jacket, draping it over the back of his desk chair like he always does. He’s wearing a tight thermal shirt underneath that hugs every muscle of his arms and torso just right, clinging to his chest.
You watch as he brings a hand down to rub and squeeze at his cock through his pants. It’s hard to see with the dim lighting of the room and the solid black fabric covering it, but you know that he’s definitely hard, ready to fuck you as soon as Bodhi’s done — they’ve always been good at sharing, at taking turns.
You shiver at the thought, wondering how Garrick is going to respond to finding you two here like this, if he’s truly not mad, or if the two of you will be in for a world of trouble in the next few minutes.
Garrick coos down at you, condescending. “You needed this so bad, didn’t you, honey? So desperate to be fucked that you couldn’t wait another hour for me to get back, that you just had to break the rules?”
Your cheeks burn with embarrassment, but you find yourself nodding, agreeing with him. “Yes,” you whimper, “m’sorry, I just — ah — know you’re tired from watch, and you do so much for us already… didn’t want to bother you…”
He feels a twinge of guilt as he realizes that you have a point. It’s been much longer than it should have since he’d last fucked you properly— he’s always so busy with watch and third-year classes and section leader stuff, and trying to keep the rest of you alive… he’s exhausted at the end of every day, and you’d been too concerned for his health to ask him to do anything else on top of it all.
“Shh, honey,” he soothes, stroking your hair gently. “I’m not mad. S’ really fucking hot seeing you two like this in my bed. And I don’t care how tired I am, I’ll never be too tired to take care of my loves when they’re needy.”
You have that cute little concentrated look on your face as you look up at him, your eyebrows furrowed, holding your breath… he realizes that you’re trying not to cum until he gives you permission. So you do still care about his rules after all— or maybe this is just an attempt at damage control.
“It’s okay, honey. You can cum for us,” he coos.
You stop fighting it, letting the motion of Bodhi’s fingertips on your clit and the relentless thrust of his hips into yours push you toward the edge. A few seconds tick by, and you break, sobbing out Bodhi’s name and babbling incoherently as he continues to fuck you through your climax.
“Fuck,” Bodhi pants, his head tipping back. “You get so fucking tight when you cum, honey, gods…” He moves his fingers away from your clit, but continues railing into you, the head of his cock nudging against that special spot with every stroke.
You let your head drop back into the pillow, muffling your little squeaks and cries at the overwhelming sensation.
Adorable. And really fucking hot.
Garrick undoes the buttons of his pants, sighing in relief as the pressure on his crotch decreases. Having a hard-on in flight pants is never comfortable — the fabric is too stiff and restraining. He kicks off his boots, stripping down to just his underwear, and leaving the clothes in a pile on the floor that he’ll clean up later. Right now, he has more important things to do.
You continue to whine helplessly into the cushion, completely limp; Bodhi’s hands on your hips are the only thing keeping your body raised off the bed. He isn’t far behind you, if his panting breaths and soft moans are any indication.
“Oh, are you close, baby?”
“Uh-huh,” Bodhi stammers, struggling to keep eye contact with Garrick — another one of his rules; he always wants to see those pretty eyes of yours when he makes you fall apart. Unless he has you laid face-down, of course.
“Go ahead, then.”
He continues the movements for a few seconds before you hear a gorgeous little moan, and his pace slows to a lazy drag, riding it out.
“Holy shit,” he pants, stroking his hands over your hips appreciatively before he pulls out.
Garrick sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing your back for a moment. “You okay, honey?”
You hum in affirmation, moving your head to rest against his thigh, nuzzling your cheek into the soft muscle as you regain your strength.
“This is new,” he muses, brushing a knuckle over the strap of the little tank top you’re wearing; rider’s black, of course, but soft and lacy and completely impractical for anything other than sleeping, in both senses of the word. It’s just thin enough for him to see the outline of your nipples through it, hardened in the chill of the room.
Bodhi must have been truly desperate if he kept your shirt on. He normally loves taking his sweet time with you, sucking on your nipples and teasing them with his fingertips, groping at the softness of your chest. He could spend hours just doing that, and he has before, on multiple occasions.
Garrick brings his hands down to smooth over your shoulders, admiring the softness of your body. “Think you can go again, lovie?”
You make a happy sound of affirmation, eager to feel his body against yours after so long, but you’re still a little worried about him, and the fact that he’s been awake for nearly twenty-four hours already.
“You’re sure you’re not too tired?” you ask softly, looking up at him. How cute.
He just smiles. “Oh, I’m fucking exhausted. Which is why you two are gonna be doing all the work.”
Bodhi grins at him, having caught his breath. “Yes, sir.”
Garrick’s jaw flexes at the response, and he raises an eyebrow in warning.
The two of you had learned the hard way that Garrick is a little bit of an authoritarian. He likes to be in charge in the bedroom, and doesn’t tolerate any sort of sarcasm or backtalk out of either of you; a bit ironic, but if you were to bring that up, you’d quickly find yourself in a rather compromising position — though not an unpleasant one.
You decide to take this a little farther, boldened by the conspiratorial look on Bodhi’s face.
“Our section leader works so hard,” you coo, rising onto your knees. “All these long night shifts, keeping us safe… The least we can do is thank him for his service, and help him relax.”
Bodhi knows where you’re going with this, eager to follow along. “It’s for the good of the quadrant, really. Got to keep morale high.”
“Well then,” Garrick says smugly, liking the way this is headed. “Get on with it.”
He doesn’t need to tell you twice. You work in easy synchrony — you sit up straighter to kiss him, Bodhi dipping his head down to kiss his neck, his hands smoothing over the broad expanse of Garrick’s chest and shoulders.
Garrick rests a hand on the back of your neck to keep you close, kissing back lazily and sighing against your lips — he'd needed this more than he’d thought.
Bodhi is still working diligently, kissing every muscle of his stomach one by one, pulling down the waistband of Garrick’s boxers just enough to kiss each of his hipbones, brushing his nose along the defined ridges of muscle.
You guide Garrick back to sit against the wall, putting a pillow behind him to lean back on — you know his entire body must be aching right now. Maybe you’ll offer to give him a massage tomorrow night, after dinner; he could use a tension-reliever, and it’s a nice opportunity for you to admire his back muscles and rub your hands all over them.
“Thank you, baby.”
You hum in response, kissing at his neck softly and cuddling into his side, laying a hand on his chest, right over his heart. His pulse jumps as Bodhi’s hand wraps around his cock, gliding up and down slowly.
“What do you want us to do, Gare?” you ask softly, dropping the ‘sir’ title — you all know that this isn’t the time to get into all of that, not when you all should really be getting to sleep, but also because it’s been so long; you just want to be soft with him, gentle, to remind him how much you love him and make him feel nice and relaxed after that nearly twenty-hour day.
“You too tired to ride me, baby?”
You shake your head no, sitting up to straddle him. As you spread your legs, a thick glob of what can only be Bodhi’s cum drips out of you — landing on Garrick’s thigh.
Oh.
You burn with embarrassment, but Garrick doesn’t look grossed out at all — amused, rather. “No need for lube, I guess.”
Your jaw drops as you watch him bring a hand down to scoop it up with two fingers, using it to slick up his cock for you. Bodhi looks equally stunned, but also very turned on.
You recover from your shock quickly, shifting your hips down to help him guide himself into you. You’d been well-prepared, but there’s still a bit of discomfort as you start to sink down onto Garrick’s lap, your body working to accommodate the thickness of him.
“Easy, baby,” he soothes, muscled forearms settling under the backs of your thighs to support your weight and keep you from taking him deeper. “Don’t want you hurtin’ yourself.”
Your heart swells at the softness in his voice, another reminder of why you love him so much; he may look scary, but he’s really just a gentle giant. You dip your head down to kiss him, cradling his jaw with one hand and stroking your thumb over his cheek — he could use a shave come morning, but you’re secretly very eager to see what he’d look like with more than just a day’s worth of stubble.
Bodhi’s hand slips between your bodies, circling the pad of a finger over your clit. You make a soft, pleased sound into Garrick’s mouth, lifting your hips ever so slightly and lowering them slowly, bobbing up and down on the first few inches. He likes that, if the soft swear he lets out is any indication.
Bodhi continues the gentle movements, lips still smearing over the thick muscle of Garrick’s neck, down to his collarbone, kissing and nibbling and sucking at the pale skin. That’s definitely going to leave marks later, but you know Garrick doesn’t mind in the slightest. He always wears the hickies as proudly as he does the patches on his uniform, as a sign of achievement and a signal to anyone else that he’s spoken for — doubly spoken for.
Garrick moves his hands up to slip underneath your shirt, wanting to grope at your chest, and you take your chance; you sink all the way down until you’re sitting in his lap, your thighs pressed into his.
He nearly chokes, his fingers digging into the softness of your waist. “Fuck, baby,” he breathes, “are you okay?”
You hum in contentment, starting to rock your hips against his. “Never better.”
You’ve never taken him this deep before. It’s delicious, feeling his cock filling you completely and nudging against that special little spot with every bounce of your hips, the wet slide of your bodies against each other, aided by Bodhi’s spend that continues to leak out onto your thighs.
It feels and even sounds obscene, wet and messy, definitely going to require a change of sheets tomorrow, but it’s clear that everyone involved is absolutely loving it — Garrick especially.
“Gods,” he pants, “takin’ me so fucking deep, baby, so warm n’ wet n’ tight, can’t — can’t even think, s’so good…”
They say sleep deprivation can be equivalent to intoxication after a certain point; that it starts to cloud your mind and slur your words, make you feel all soft and hazy and dizzy, loose-lipped and borderline incoherent. He certainly feels inebriated right now, his head spinning as he realizes that his exhaustion is making every sensation more intense, dialing everything up to eleven.
You’ve never seen him like this before, so glassy-eyed and flushed and completely gone. It’s always been you and Bodhi under his spell, at his beck and call, whimpering incoherently while you’re held down by his strong hands and used as he sees fit — and you all love that, but this is just as good, if not better.
“We should have done this earlier,” Bodhi says teasingly, brushing a hand over the other boy’s stomach and admiring the way his abs muscles flex as he tenses and squirms underneath you.
Garrick gasps out an agreement, his hold on your hips tightening.
“Relax for us, baby,” Bodhi coaxes, bringing a hand up to guide the other boy’s head toward him. Garrick swallows, nodding obediently and letting Bodhi pull him into a soft kiss that deepens quickly, Garrick tugging Bodhi closer with one hand and making a soft, desperate noise against his lips.
You rub a hand up and down the muscle of his arm slowly, attempting to relax him, and his grip starts to loosen. “There we go,” you soothe. “Such a good boy.”
Garrick whimpers at the praise, the prettiest little sound you’ve ever heard him make — and you want to hear it again.
“Oh?” you ask, teasing. “You like being called a good boy, Gare? Like being told how pretty you are, how good you feel inside me?”
He pulls his lips away from Bodhi’s to answer you. “Yes,” he pants, flushed and out of breath — a definite sign that he’s almost there. Usually it takes a while longer for you to get him this close, but you suspect that he’s too tired to care, and that he’s enjoying being taken care of much more than he thought he would; he isn’t holding back anymore.
Bodhi takes his turn to coo praises at him. “You’ve been such a good boy for us, Gare, letting us take care of you… I know that this is new for you, but you’re doing so well.”
Another soft whimper, his breathing ragged and uneven.
You’re a little out of breath yourself, your thighs starting to ache from the exertion, but you’re determined to get him there, and your words definitely seem to be helping. “You have such a nice body, baby. So strong, so nice to look at, to touch… Feels so good, too. Love feeling full of this perfect cock.”
You grind your hips down a little harder, and Garrick gasps, his eyes rolling back. “So good,” he breathes, “fuck, baby, please don’t stop, need to — need to cum, please, s’so good…”
“Shh, sweet boy, it’s okay,” you soothe. “I’m not going to stop. You can cum when you’re ready. Just want you to feel good, okay?”
“Thank you, oh, fuck, cumming!” he gasps, gripping your waist and keeping you seated in his lap as he spills into you, thrusting his hips up into yours with a few lovely little moans. He pants into your neck, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug to keep you close.
You can feel his heart racing, his thighs trembling underneath yours — that must have been pretty intense. “You okay, baby?” you ask softly, bringing a hand up to play with the damp curls at the back of his neck.
“Uh-huh,” he breathes, “just a little… little dizzy...”
Bodhi shushes him quietly, pressing a few soft kisses to his bicep and laying his head against the boy’s shoulder, rubbing his back. “Deep breaths,” he coaxes, the way Garrick usually does for the two of you after he’s fucked you senseless like this.
“Did so good for us, Gare,” you praise, kissing the top of his head. “We love you so much, baby.”
“Love you too,” he mumbles into your shoulder, exhausted. His breaths have evened, his pulse slowing, but he still clings to you, keeping your body pressed to his.
You stay like that for a moment, just holding each other, letting him come down slowly. You press little kisses to his head every so often, rubbing your palms over his shoulders to release the tension there.
“Let's get you cleaned up and in bed, big guy,” Bodhi coaxes.
“We’re already in bed,” Garrick responds in a soft mumble, not wanting to get up. It’s comforting to know that he’s still cognizant enough to be a smartass.
You laugh. “C’mon, lovie. There’s only a few hours until formation.”
He whines softly, burying his face deeper into your neck -- knowing that as soon as he goes to sleep, it’ll be time to wake up and start another exhaustingly long day, and wanting to stay like this forever, soft and safe and free of the school’s expectations of him.
Bodhi has given up on getting him to shower, and instead holds out a pair of sweats. “You can be the middle spoon, and we can cuddle until breakfast,” he offers, “but you need sleep.”
Garrick sighs, knowing Bodhi is right. He loosens his grip enough for you to get up, and you regret it immediately upon feeling the wetness running down your leg, a mix of each of you. You wince, but Bodhi is quick to hand you a scrap of fabric from the drawer of Garrick’s nightstand for you to clean yourself up with.
All three of you are going to need showers in the morning, along with multiple cups of coffee at breakfast and an early night in, but none of you regret this in the slightest.
With a quick change of underwear from the overnight bags you and Bodhi had packed for your little sleepover, you all pile back into bed, with Garrick in the middle — your usual arrangement, since he takes up the most space, but also because you want to keep showing him how much you love him, that you’re there for him.
“Love you,” Garrick says through a yawn, settling under the covers. “M’sorry for neglecting you.”
“We love you too, Gare. And you didn’t neglect us. You were just busy. We understand,” Bodhi soothes.
“F’ that ever happens again, jus’ tie me to the headboard n’ have your way with me,” he mumbles.
You laugh. “I can’t tell if you’re joking or not, love.”
He doesn’t respond — he’s already fallen asleep, tucked safely between his partners in a soft, warm bed. You each press a kiss to his cheek, snuggling into his side.
“G’night,” you murmur.
“Night,” Bodhi replies, nearing sleep himself. “Love you.”
You reach across Garrick’s chest, intertwining your fingers. “Love you, too.”
#bodhi durran#garrick tavis#fourth wing#bodhi durran x reader#garrick tavis x reader#fourth wing x reader#mine#18+#smut
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heya, so i've read your fic "it's about magic eyeball biology" right when it came out on AO3 but i just saw it's not online anymore. is there a way you'd be willing to send me the file? I REALLY like it and I was reading it basically every day for a few days because it made me laugh
i pulled it because i was getting comments about it on other fics and that was super annoying. but i guess i don't have a problem reposting it to tumblr. some notes:
this is an AU based on a bunch of jokes in this tag (chronological order)
someone asked about how weird it would be to be an SI and find out about the eyeball symbionts, so i wrote about tori finding out. this fic is a joke. it is not "canon." no one in plasticity, mutagenicity, or any other fic of mine has eyeball symbionts. i do not find it interesting, amusing, or fun to explore this concept in other fics. i do not want comments or questions about it. please respect this
the word i chose to use is "symbiont," which in my experience is the more common term used by people who study symbiosis. "symbiote" is from marvel.
Tori was successful in not vomiting the first time she watched an autopsy. Her stomach churned uncomfortably, but she ignored it, watching Keizo’s hands and pointedly not looking at the face of their latest victim. If she just focused on the steady removal of organs from the abdomen and not the face, she could pretend they weren’t from a person.
Then Keizo moved on to the head, and she had to look. He pried open the eyelids, and her stomach rolled.
“The eyes aren’t so bad,” Keizo narrated, voice gruff and bored. He held the lids open with one hand while he cut away with the other. “I like to use curved scissors to-- pay attention-- cut through the fascial sheath, and then you can cut away the orbital muscles and it’ll pop right out. Orochimaru-sama isn’t going to let you touch anyone with a doujutsu, so don’t worry about damaging the…”
Tori frowned, barely listening to Keizo, as the victim’s eye did pop right out. It was smooth, almost a perfect sphere, with the dark brown iris raised ever so slightly. Pink viscera clung to it in Keizo’s hand.
“Hold on,” Tori interrupted, twisting her neck to try and look at the back of the eyeball. “Where’s the… you know, the optic nerve?”
She was pretty sure the optic nerve was, like, huge. It was a bundle of over a million nerve fibers or something insane like that, if she remembered the human anatomy unit correctly. Her teacher had called it a “bridge cable.”
Then again, that unit was from an advanced high school class, and Keizo was looking at her like she was particularly stupid. Even if he was mean, violent, and uncooperative, he definitely knew more about cutting out eyeballs than Tori.
“Is it smaller than it looks in cartoons?” she tried.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Keizo sneered. “Here, you do the second eye.”
That was the good thing about eyes, Tori supposed. You got two for the price of one.
He passed her the curved scissors, which were slick with whatever goo lined an eye socket, and Tori hesitantly put down the notebook she’d been writing in. Feeling very light-headed, she copied Keizo’s movements, gently separating the victim’s eyelids and praying something would happen to intervene in what she was about to do. A fire alarm going off, or a earthquake, or fuck-- she’d take the hideout being actively attacked over this.
No act of god stopped her. Her hands were shaking so hard that she accidentally punctured the sclera and transparent, goopy vitreous started leaking out.
The eye did pop right out, though. There was no nerve at the back, and no evidence of one in the back of the pink socket.
Looking into the face of dead, eyeless person, she could either feel the horror at what she’d done seeping into her very bones, or she could wonder: What the fuck?
xXx
She asked for an anatomy book.
“I don’t see what the point is,” Kabuto told her. “You’re getting hands-on experience.”
“I want to know how things work when they’re still alive,” Tori replied.
“Well…” Kabuto rolled his chair back from his desk towards a narrow bookstand of books and scrolls he kept in his clinic. “I suppose Orochimaru would approve. Here, you can look through this while we wait for that drug to kick in.”
He handed her what was clearly a picture book meant for children, a deeply condescending smile on his face. Tori pressed her lips together to prevent herself from saying something disrespectful, then forced her face into a polite smile.
There was a chapter on different senses, and she slowly flipped through the chapter on chakra networks in mild interest, before she found the two-page spread covering sight.
Mother of Christ, Tori thought.
She hadn’t found an optic nerve because there wasn’t one.
xXx
Part of Tori’s argument for why she shouldn’t be dissected like a frog was that there was no reason to think there was much special about her biologically, including her own anatomy. She thought it would be safer to simply not say anything.
But now she knew. She knew every person in this world was a walking sin against logic, and that knowledge, sitting in the Oto clinic with Kabuto, was a horrible, heavy burden that made it hard to breathe.
The picture book Kabuto had loaned her had explained vision to her the way Tori thought an alien who’d never even seen a human and also who didn’t have sight themselves might explain it: special cells at the back of the eye reacted to light, and then that information was transferred directly into the brain via a complex network of chakra, and this was not even the worst part.
The worst part was that eyeballs were an entirely separate organism. A mutualistic creature that colonized newborn baby eye sockets and then metamorphosed into basically a giant eyeball that fed visual information into the brain in exchange for protection and nutrients.
“During pregnancy,” the book had explained in a little Did you know? box, “a mommy’s body makes special hormones, which tell the visual symbiont to make babies too! The babies are called larvae, which have lots of little tentacles to help them move around. They like to stay with mommy, though, and so they find the baby when she holds it. Sometimes, when there’s a problem with mommy and she can’t donate larvae to her baby, a doctor can help daddy’s eyes make babies, or sometimes another mommy will donate!”
Tori was going insane. She was going to hyperventilate. What the FUCK!
“This is the worst thing I ever read,” she muttered to herself, eyes stuck on the book. Whatever drug Kabuto had given her was making her dizzy, but she felt like her vision was laser-focused and perfectly taking in the bright cartoon of two eyeball symbiont creatures. “Is this a joke? This has to be a joke.”
She was vaguely aware of Kabuto frowning at her. “A joke?”
“Visual symbionts?” Tori squeaked out, sounding and feeling hysterical.
“Yes…?” Kabuto repeated.
“No,” Tori argued. “No way.”
Bemused, Kabuto dug out more textbooks, these ones meant for actual medical professionals. He flipped through passages on syndromes related to host-symbiont genetic incompatibilities, being colonized by more than one symbiont, symbiont maldevelopment and absenteeism, chakra incompatibilities, if the symbiont spontaneously regrew its tentacles and left your head in order to start its sexual reproductive cycle.
“Is this…” Tori felt like she couldn’t breathe. She felt more apt to vomit than she did when she’d fucked up trying to cut out someone’s eye. “Is this a genjutsu…?”
“Did you really not know about them?” Kabuto asked. “I thought you had biological training.”
Tori had to work very hard not to break down into hysterics.
xXx
The good news was that “I have a special nerve that connects my eyeball to my brain and lets me see” sounded exactly as insane to both Kabuto and Orochimaru as “eyeball symbiont creature” did to Tori.
Well, no, that wasn’t really good news. But she felt vindicated at both their absolutely baffled looks.
She had to explain it three times– dropping words like “optic chiasma” and “retinal blind spot” before Kabuto believed her enough to press his fingers to her temple and send chakra into her eyes.
“There is something there,” he said, sounding deeply perplexed, and Orochimaru perked up like a child receiving a Christmas gift. “I think-- yes, it’s a nerve.”
“I think you should be able to see it,” Tori said, “if you shine a light into the pupil.”
They did. Tori did indeed have a white spot at the back of her eye, right where her optic nerve entered her eye.
“You’re like a cephalopod,” Orochimaru informed her, sounding like a dog owner telling their pet they were a very good girl. “This is how their eyes are arranged, an absolutely beautiful evolution. Oh, but the approach of the nerve is different. How fascinating.”
The examination ended with Orochimaru gleefully jabbing a needle into both Tori’s eyes. This was uncomfortable and painful, and he talked about how the presence of an optic nerve might be part of her future vision.
At least this backs up my story, Tori thought as Orochimaru’s cool hand held her face down.
xXx
Orochimaru strolled into lab the next day and pulled Tori aside to go over the results of her test with her. He took her down the hall to an office, which was surprisingly homey, all things considered. Orochimaru’s office was lined with bookshelves, and had a nice wood desk and a comfortable looking chair behind it. There was an ornamental lamp, which along with the desk chair, were the closest to “creature comforts” that Tori had seen in Oto so far.
She sat opposite to Orochimaru, in a much less comfortable chair. He spread a scroll out on the desk in front of her.
“Do you know how to read the results of a DNA test?” he asked.
“Uh,” Tori answered. “Not like whatever you’re about to show me.”
He hummed back at her, not at all bothered. “Ah, your otherworldly science. You should tell me about that later. For now…”
He explained how he’d compared the DNA extracted from her eye to DNA extracted from the hair he’d ripped off of her previously. They had matched exactly. He’d also ran her eye DNA against several visual symbionts they had on file, across many vertebrate taxa, and found no match at all.
“Your eyes are one-hundred percent Tori,” he said. “It’s amazing.”
“...thanks?” Tori tried. As a joke she added, “I grew them myself.”
“Hmm,” he answered. “I wish I had more of you, and more of other animals from your world. I’d like to study how they evolved.”
“I don’t understand how they didn’t evolve here,” Tori told him honestly. They had a special socket and everything! “I think… do other animals have eyes here? I’m pretty sure eyes evolved more than once. In my world, I mean.”
Orochimaru leaned back in his seat, eyeing her indulgently, a smile tugging at his lips. “The leading theory is that the symbiont started as a flesh-eating parasite that attacked proto-eyes in vertebrates, and then evolved with us until it simply replaced our eyes. Most babies are born with soft tissue in their sockets, to feed potential symbionts, and some think that growth is left over from millions of years ago when our ancestors had their own eyes.”
“Oh,” Tori said, unsure how to respond to that. She’d been taught parasitism and mutualism were opposite sides of the same symbiotic spectrum, so moving from one end to the other made sense. “Well, that happens sometimes.”
Orochimaru laughed.
They chatted. Orochimaru was good at answering questions thoroughly and without making Tori feel like she was stupid the way other Oto residents did, and he nodded along to her talking about whatever eyeball-related thing that came to her mind. Red-green colorblindness being a sex-linked trait, for example, was an extremely interesting topic for Orochimaru.
“So do you not have the genes for photoreceptors at all?” Tori asked curiously.
Instead of answering her immediately, Orochimaru had started writing down notes to himself. With the exception of occasionally labeling a tube or sample, Tori had never actually seen him write anything down before, and he scribbled with a sort of fervent focus.
“I’ve never looked,” he said eventually. “There’s evidence for photosensitivity in those without symbionts, but… It would be interesting to use your genome to search for any analogous loci…”
Because the conversation flowed easily, Tori eventually felt bold enough to ask:
“So is this why you can just pass sharingan around like hot potatoes?”
Orochimaru paused in the middle of writing, blinking at her.
“Hot potatoes?”
Tori blushed, and then backpedaled. “I know you… uh, Sasuke is going to get into a fight with Danzo at some point.”
She gestured at her forearm, and Orochimaru let a loud, rasping laugh.
“I don’t think Danzo can see particularly well with those,” he said, eyes mirthful. “But I suppose eye transplants would be quite difficult with a nerve to connect, wouldn’t they?”
Tori nodded. She was pretty sure they weren’t even possible. There were… a lot of problems, there. But if the eyeball was supposed to be an external creature, it had to be easier to pass them around.
“They have quite a high success rate here,” he answered, tone flippant as he played with the pen in his hand. “Unfortunately, an eye transplanted into a non-related host can rarely be coaxed into reproducing.”
“Huh,” Tori answered. “Why?”
Orochimaru’s lips quirked up into a smirk. “Perhaps that can be your next project.”
xXx
It didn’t get to be Tori’s next project, because Oto ended up going up in flames.
She didn’t even have time or energy to think about how everyone in this world was running around with symbiont eyeballs instead of regular eyes until months later, sitting in Sasori’s workshop and carefully stirring some foul-smelling concoction while he excavated someone’s insides so he could hide weapons inside or something.
“You know, you guys should really invent magnetic stir-bars,” Tori said, eyeing the beaker of slowly bubbling sludge and wondering if the fumes could hurt her.
Apparently Sasori was in a bad mood today, because he put the horrifying… scooping tool… down and turned to her fully.
Like carving a pumpkin, Tori thought against her will, eyes fixated on the… organ scooper?
“What stupid thing are you rambling about now?” Sasori asked her, voice harsh. “You’re distracting me. If you make a single mistake with that poison--”
Tori was trying very hard to pay attention to Sasori’s threats and not think about all the horrible squelching noises of the organs she’d removed herself. It was better to listen to Sasori, really. Probably increased her chance of survival, even.
There was movement behind Sasori. Tori squeaked in surprise. Sasori clicked his tongue in annoyance, picked up the organ scooper, and then used it to catch something right out of the air with the ease of a professional lacrosse player.
“Oh, disgusting,” he said, staring down at it in evident annoyance.
Something else plopped to the floor with an audible, vaguely wet thud. It rolled across the concrete floor, and Sasori trapped it against the floor with a firm sandal. Tori leaned over the bench to see what was going on, and saw the transparent ooze of viscera across the cement and gray tentacles trashing against the floor and the sides of Sasori’s sandals.
“Is that an eyeball symbiont?” Tori asked, suddenly excited. She leapt to her feet and came to stand beside him, peering into the shell of the organ scooper.
Sure enough, an eyeball with a halo of tentacles was rolling back and forth, desperately trying to escape.
Holy shit, Tori thought. That was… that was amazing, actually.
“It’s sort of cute,” she said.
Sasori looked at her like she was insane. This was, apparently, such a bizarre statement that he didn’t immediately react to the eyeball finally lurching itself forward and out of the scoop. Tori caught it easily in one hand as it fell.
“Don’t touch it,” Sasori hissed, grabbing her wrist. “Are you insane? It’ll induce your eyes too.”
“...what?” Tori asked, blinking back at him. “Oh, because the tentacles mean it’s trying to have sex?”
She stared down at the thing in her hand. The tentacles wriggled between her fingers. Kinky little bastards, weren’t they?
Sasori was looking at her with… awe wasn’t really the word. More like: What the fuck, I have never seen someone this carelessly insane before, and I am horrified that humanity could reach these depth.
Which was kind of rude, actually, because they lived with Hidan.
“What do you mean by ‘induce’?” Toi asked.
“Do you not know how eyeballs work?” Sasori asked, sounding just shy of hysterical.
Apparently, handling an eyeball symbiont in its sexual reproduction mode could induce a symbiont in a host to also leave the head and revert to its sexual cycle, so they could both run off and hopefully have an eyeball orgy with as many symbionts as possible. Tori guessed that made sense. The symbiont reproduced mainly asexually, but most things did occasionally run off to have sex. That was just life.
Sasori was absolutely disgusted by the entire process. His symbionts were the only living part of him, and he was personally horrified by the idea of them crawling out of his head to make babies.
He also seemed to be viscerally repulsed by the threat of a loose symbiont in someone’s living quarters, not because it might affect his housemates, but because he didn’t like the idea of more tentacled symbionts flopping around.
“Is this like… an ongoing societal problem?” Tori wondered. Did people kill them on sight, or was this considered a beautiful miracle of life?
She didn’t get to find out, because her question triggered a rant from Sasori about how much he hated them, and that they should just stay in people’s heads and look pretty like they were meant to.
“Is it common to leave a dead host like this?” Tori asked when he calmed down. They couldn’t really move on their own unless they went into sex mode, after all…
“Why are you still holding it?” Sasori demanded. His own disgust was the only thing keeping him from prying it out of her hand himself.
“Oh, I don’t have a visual symbiont,” Tori said, blinking at Sasori. “I just grew my own eyes. Uh. Like an octopus.”
Sasori very slowly let go of her wrist. He stared at her, perplexed.
The symbiont in her hand wriggled some more. Her own eyeballs stayed firmly in place.
“...pick up the one on the floor,” Sasori said eventually.
He wanted to keep them. He liked saving his puppet’s original eyes. Usually, when they left the host, he had to kill them and then isolate them for a week to be sure the hormones that could induce his own symbionts dissipated. That meant, once he was able to safely handle them, they were not in pristine condition. This, perhaps, contributed to why he hated them so much. They were frustrating art material.
Tori thought, based on what she’d read about things doctors did, he was being a bit paranoid, the way some people didn’t like touching raw meat.
“You’ll have to kill them and preserve them for me,” Sasori said, having fully accepted that Tori was a weird freak faster than she would have anticipated.
Tori felt bad when she killed them, slipping a scalpel into their backs where Sasori indicated.
“You’ll see more live ones,” Sasori sniffed when she complained. “This happens with about a quarter of my bodies.”
Fascinating, Tori thought. She’d never had one of her failed surgery… patients… do this. Maybe what they did in Oto also killed the symbiont?
“And you don’t use all those bodies for full puppets, right?” Tori asked. “You won’t need every symbiont.”
“You can’t keep it as a pet,” Sasori sneered.
Obviously she didn’t want a pet. She wanted to run some experiments. This was really interesting, after all!
Instead of earnestly explaining this to Sasori, who seemed a bit on edge and likely to yell at her, she went for jokes at other people’s expense. He loved those.
“I want to see if Jashin protects Hidan from them,” Tori told him, and he snorted. “Or see if we can get one to colonize Deidara’s mouth-hand.”
“He will kill you,” Sasori said, not without a hint of bemusement. “You’ll cut off all their tentacles next. I like to use curved scissors…”
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“It’s always been you.”
K. Baji — Tokyo Revengers.
Synopsis : Being somewhat affiliated with gang because you like one of its members; leaves you feeling strung along. Although, if it all fells, it’ll end well. Right?
Content Warnings!
contains the following ; unestablished relationship(s) , light angst to fluff and comfort, sweet nothings and sweet sorrows! ——— very much SFW!
As always, A/N! : My content is for those who wish to read it, though it is heavily recommended that you are 18+. I have no control over what you read, nor is it my business. Read at your own discretion. I’m not holding your hand.
WC; 2.3K !
Viewer Discretion Advised. <3
7:32pm.
The sun had cast a bright orange-yellow through the sheer white curtains of your bay windows, praising its rays on you as you decided it was time to crash in for the night. It was Friday, so there was nowhere to go. All your homework and upcoming assignments had been done, so you were basically just… here.
You settle in your bed with a book, letting the sun set in on you, and watching you read the book (it's more like reading the words and not retaining the information).
You needed help figuring out why you weren't interested in the book. It fits your taste; it was on your "To read!' list, so what was the problem? Unbeknownst to you, the deep-rooted desire to text your situationship was brewing, and it annoyed you.
You tossed the book to your side and picked up your phone, looking at the time and date on the home screen, though there was no notification from the guy you were looking for.
Keisuke.
You didn't like to accept the fact that he ghosted you every now and again, mainly because he always dragged his sorry ass to see you before anything was said and done. You still couldn't hold that over his head because he had a gang, family, mom, and school to cater to.
He wasn't your boyfriend, and you weren't his girlfriend; at least, that's what it comes out to be after you do the mental gymnastics.
You laid your phone on your chest and stared at the ceiling, the ridges in it doing imaginary dances to entertain your brain and distract you from the impending silence. Eventually, your eyes grew shrouded, and you fell asleep.
--
2:43am.
The light taps of rocks hitting your window roused you awake and caused you to sit up and glance at your phone.
The time read 2:43, and the day was a new day. The only thing different was a couple of missed notifications: various calls and text messages, Instagram, TikTok, etc. But the one that stuck out to you was from your ravenette.
3 new messages and 2 missed calls from 'Baji <3."
It was weird; you didn't even know you had fallen asleep, exhausted and missing everything lively before the world went quiet.
You were pulled out of your stirring thoughts by another pebble thrown at your window, forcing you to pull yourself out of your bed and head to the window. You pulled the curtain back a little, only giving you a view of the ground below it without being seen, and there he was.
Baji, standing in his toman uniform and leaning against his motorcycle, tossed another pebble in his hand, almost nearing to look like he was about to throw it before he glanced at you and put his hand down.
You drew the curtain back and made a questioning face at him, which only caused him to throw his hand up, insinuating for you to open the window.
You grabbed the crank of the middle bay window, the biggest of the three, and turned it until it was open enough to talk with him.
"What are you doing here?!" You whispered-yelled to the boy below you, who only displayed a shit-faced smirk as he saw you.
You were wearing a fitting tank top, nylon shorts, and a bright pink bonnet—a scene that was way too familiar for Baji. It brought him clarity as he saw that, for the first time in a couple of days, you were facing bright even though your expression was dark as you looked at him quizzically.
"I just wanted to see you. I thought you were with Hina or Emma for a while. You really are a heavy sleeper," he answered, kicking the gravel as he chuckled out his response. His hair was in his all-knowing fighting-style ponytail, blood that may or may not be his, and a snark attitude just for you at this unearthing hour.
You rubbed your eyes and fetched your glasses to get a better look at him. Once you returned, you leaned on your window sill and spoke.
"Yeah, well.. when you have basically nothing to look forward to, what's the point of sleeping light?" you asked, head propped up in your palm.
Baji stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at you with a slight tilt to his head, a light pout to his lips. He looked around, trying to find an answer to lighten the mood.
The streets were empty, with the occasional car passing through. People were either on their way or coming back home from work. Bright orange streetlights shadowed the midnight sky, giving Baji a talking point.
"You normally never miss my calls; if you do, you call me straight back. What up with you, babydoll?" he asked honestly, wanting to understand the scarcity of your two moments.
This sent a countdown in your brain, counting the seconds you were about to have a meltdown or self-implode. What's up with you? More like, what the hell is up with him? Who just randomly ghosts people you claim to be infatuated with? But you digressed.
"What's up with me? Nothing is up with me, Keisuke. It's you. I should be asking that question, considering you act like you don't know what phone or a response is." You answered in a quiet yet tired tone, still putting heavy emphasis on his name.
Being woken up from her sleep was warranted, though her calling him by his name caught him off guard.
You could see the look on his face after you called him his name and not his last name or a pet name, slight appalment, and the look of being taken aback. He couldn't lie; it hurt a little, but his pride was too big to show it.
"First name basis, huh…" he muttered back before standing back up straight and opening his mouth to speak again. "I understand. But can you put off being mad at me for a tad bit longer? We can talk it out, yeah?" he asked, feather-light pleading and a somewhat sincere smile on his face.
"And what makes you think I want to do that?" you asked back, deadpan and with a smirk of sarcasm.
Baji looked back at his motorcycle and then back up at you, clicking his teeth as he insinuated a joyride on it.
“Uhn uhn.. uhn uhnnnnn Baji, no. It's too late, and my mom would kill me if she found out I left to go on a joyride. Especially with you." You gritted through your retainer-ridden teeth.
His bike, Ol' Alessia, was almost as old as Baji. You looked at his bike just about two or three feet from behind him, the memories of your shared laughs, your tears, his sweat and blood, and long conversations flooding your senses.
"Come on, I won't keep you out long—just long enough to fill in the missing time." He begged, a slight smirk on his face, his mischief fang, as you like to call it, on display.
After some thought, you caved and rolled your eyes, strolling to your already shut bedroom door and locking it. A slight prayer to hope for an easy in and out slipped past your lips as you put on your robe and house slippers and came back to the window.
"20 minutes?"
"20 minutes."
You sighed once more and climbed out the window, using the tree next to it as your way down. Once you got on your feet, you avoided Baji and went straight to his bike, putting on the helmet he kept for you.
He got on the bike, pulled it out of its idle stance, and revved it to warm it up. You got on right behind him, your body immediately going to backpack him as he pushed off and started to ride down the street.
The light breeze brought a sense of security that you haven't felt since you've last been with Keisuke. You used to reflect on your non-situation-relationship with him in times like these. Sometimes, he'd be with and around you like a lovesick puppy; others, he'd go with so much without a slight acknowledgment toward you.
You laid your cheek on his back as he made precise turns in your neighborhood, fighting the urge to break the stiff silence between you both. He found you being deep in thought cute, but since it was he who was on your mind, he had stirred the conclusion that it was probably a bad thing.
"I'll give ya a penny for that thought.." he spoke up a while after a mindless 7-8 minutes.
"You can keep your penny. I'm just thinkin'," you responded, perching your chin on his shoulder.
"About?"
"You, me, something I'd normally call us," you mumbled, paying attention to orange-hued streetlights. "It doesn't really feel like it's been that recently, y'know?" you urged.
Rueful silence racked through the air as your question surfaced, and Baji's hand was forced to speed the bike up a little.
"Yeah.. but you know I have good reasons, right?" he wondered, also wanting to see where you stood in understanding.
"No, Kei, I don't." you started, leaning up to sit up straight, "I don't know that you do because you don't communicate that."
He hung his head a little, sucking in his bottom lip. He knew he wasn't (and still isn't) the best at communicating. He wholeheartedly felt awful after Mitsuya and Chifuyu dogged him about it.
He guessed being together and not committed drew a fine line between his girl and his gang. He was together with you, but committed to his gang; thus causing a painful realization. After that brief realization, he got slightly startled out by feeling your hand creep up to his and guide Alessia back onto the road.
"Yeah, I guess I do owe you a lot more than I give you, huh?" he asked, feeling the hell-ridden embarrassment creep up his neck and rest on his cheeks.
"Yeah. I'd like to think so. I mean, for god's sake, Kei. I know we aren't in a relationship, but you can at least have some decency and acknowledge that you treat me more than just somebody. You and I have both admitted that." She ranted, pausing occasionally to push down the urge to cry.
"I don't ask for so much as a 'why, what are you doing, run this by me'… just something. Don't even let me get started because it makes me feel like I'm talking in circles, then I'm wasting my brea-"
"Hey! Hey! It's alright. I hear you." He cut you off, looking over his shoulder at you.
You bit your bottom lip, sniffling a little as you finally caught wind of your word vomit. You shook your head, not knowing what more to say. The silence was filling the space you two as he turned back onto your street, the light cruise bringing you back to a level head.
"Look, it's always and has been about you. I just need to work some things out before I can officially say I'm all yours, yeah?" he murmured, pulling up back under your window.
As much as you wanted to scream and hit him and tell him it was not fair, you understood he wanted to go through the troubles to get rid of them before being with you. And for that, you had to commend him.
"Okay, Baji. I guess I can't argue with that." You answered, taking off your helmet and getting off the bike.
It had been exactly 17 minutes since you left, and you still had 3 minutes to return to your window. Baji had gotten off his bike and came for a hug, wrapping his arms around your neck and bending down to kiss your forehead.
"I'm sorry, ma. I am immensely sorry for not making you feel like a priority, not holding myself up to a higher standard, and leaving you in the mud. It's not so manly and Toman code of me." He spoke, etching his apology into your forehead.
You grinned a little at his formality and apology, hugging him back. You pulled back, looking at his pale brown hue, smooshing his cheeks in your hand.
"I understand. I'll forgive you when I see you change and hold yourself up to what you say. But as for now, come on. I'm not letting you drive back home this late," you confided, motioning for him to help you into the window.
He nodded, boosting you into the open pane, allowing you to climb in and make sure everything was in order. Baji turned off his motorcycle and climbed into your window himself. He looked around, feeling the sense of familiarity creep up on him.
"Hey, while you stand there, close the window." You whispered,-demanded, already back into your tanktop and shorts.
He playfully rolled his eyes as he shut your room off from the outside world, removed his uniform, changed into basketball shorts and socks, and prepared to climb into bed with you.
He followed suit, climbing back into your plush sheets, big-spooning you to give you a tinge of protectiveness. You curled up into his caged arms; his faint cologne that wafted on his wrists seeped into your nose and started to lull you into brief, deep sleep. At least not before you got your final words out for the night.
"Kei?"
He grunted politely.
"Just promise me you won't keep me waiting."
"I won't keep you waiting, n/n. I promise. I want nothing but you. I want your past, your present, and your future." He answered, holding you tight and secure.
You smiled, keeping his promise close to you as he kissed the crown of your head.
And with that, you fell asleep.
silly little a/n!🤭: hey guys! second fic, how we feeling about it? Keisuke Baji is my man so there DEFINITELY will be a lot of fics about him as i write more. Feel free to drop suggestions. i’m open to just about any fandom i’m familiar with. as always, im open feedback and critiques! (though do be nice.). and as per usual; divider by @benkeibear:). reposts are highly appreciated ;).
#baji#tokyo revengers baji#tokyo rev x you#tokyo rev x y/n#tokyo rev x reader#tokyo rev fluff#baji keisuke#baji x black!reader#baji x reader#baji x y/n#toman baji#tokyo revengers#tr fluff#tr fanfic
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Doodles based on an ask @i-like-anything-water left me a while back 🫶
#shinomitsu#otp: lovebugs#demon slayer#kimetsu no yaiba#kny#demon slayer kimetsu no yaiba#鬼滅の刃#kanroji mitsuri#mitsuri kanroji#kochou shinobu#shinobu kochou#mitsuri x shinobu#shinobu x mitsuri#甘露寺蜜璃#胡蝶しのぶ#AU#got more art of them in my wips#who knows if it’ll see the light of day#I wanna make a Shinomitsu standee… I even drafted it…
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sometimes i really wish y’all could see mine and @charlie-theangelwrites messages while we flesh out this svech fic more and more
oops my hand slipped—
#just saying they’re really not for the faint of heart#this could have been a one shot but the way we came up with a whole series based on one thing i told her djsjskdkd#who knows when it’ll see the light of day but it’s pretty fucking great and all i’ve been thinking about since may honestly!!!!!#🍟
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See my problem is like . I wanna have side blogs and post to them frequently, especially a lot of reblogs I wanna spread around the art I like. But I also love having something to say abt the art. I gotta tag it with something silly or niceys bc as an artist myself that’s like. The only reason I ever post my shit publicly. Is for the funny little comments :3 if you ever put a funny little comment or nice thing on smthn I made, I have that shit saved in a document, I’m serious.
But anyway. If I don’t have anything to say in the moment the post just sits in my drafts, and I really don’t wanna just have my organizational tag on that shit, that’s so lame. And you know maybe I shouldn’t be saying anything maybe these other artists don’t wanna hear shit from me ! Idk man that’s just my mentality. I feel like I’ve gotta leave a little comment ok??
And then I have the issue of the post being in drafts for months, when I finally post it if it’s a reblog it seems like it came outta nowhere. reblogger gotta be getting that notif like “I posted that four months ago, what?” or whatever.
#my thoughts and feelings for today;;#like my failed mlp blog has crazy drafts#I was just too nervous to post that shit#I gotta stop being scared about being weird on the weirdo website fr#don’t tell but I got a tf2 blog in the works rn it’s gonna go crazy if I get over this shit#I get worried people are thinking a lot abt my tags and whatever#cos that’s what I do with tags I get I think abt them#WHATEVERRR#Brother I NEED 2 fix up my bio forreal#if you were here for the httyd phase you’re real asf#you have no idea how many drafts I have from that phase#the fandom fucking sucked so that def contributed#but like I was so nervous to just say my thoughts on it#I’m still probably not gonna say my thoughts unless prompted tho#less bc I’m nervous and more bc I just can’t be bothered#like I have that fnc post (actually it’s multiple posts) drafted but who knows if it’ll ever see the light of day#ik people wanna see it but it’s scary to interact with fandom people#sometimes they normal most of the time they are Not#I’m not saying normal we just a different weird#alright I’m making breakfast now bye
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my onboarding has been a complete and total fucking mess it’s so stressful i want to just explode. lol
#purrs#finally got on payroll but can’t submit my time sheet bc my last student / intern timesheet WHICH SHOULDNT EVEN BE THERE bc i was in my#transitional position!! is still in my timesheet center and i already filled out a docusign time sheet for that pay period so i shouldn’t ha#have to worry abt it but i can’t submit any timesheets until that blank one gets removed by someone in payroll but a lot of ppl are on#vacation so im like wtf lol. im now on the first day of my 4th week and still haven’t gotten the email to sign up for benefits which iwwas s#supposed to get in my 2nd or 3rd week and i literally need to make appointments and figure out what im paying for counseling. still haven’t#found a carpool bc that fucking asshole wants to charge me $100 for a months worth of rides which i think is overpriced personally and also#he creeps me out but i can’t search for another carpool bc there isn’t a group for staff / faculty to like ask questions and this guy was#supposed to be my connection to helping me find staff / faculty in Columbia but instead he just inserted himself and it’s like i kinda hate#you and don’t want to ride with you but i literaly don’t think i have a choice. and then ofc my supervisor decides to leave RIGHT NOW so its#like i have to go out and find a ‘cultural contact’ who can get me acclimated to staff life bc she was supposed to do it and now she’s#fucking off to ****** so i have to replace her while ALSO taking her place w a whole bunch of work stuff AND being on the search committee w#which is launching this week. and im just about to punch something. this process has been so turbulent and frustrating i just want to be#settled in and instead km hitting roadblocks every step of the way and ppl including my close colleagues are still tagging me in my student#email when they don’t have to and they KNOW i hate it and want to have my staff email show up as much as possible. lol. ughhhhhh#i keep telling myself it’s like stars. my student star has gone out but the light takes time to travel to earth and it’s gonna keep hitting#for a while and im gonna have to deal w that. but in a couple months time god willing it’ll feel better. meanwhile i have completely paused#my quest to earn my permit and find a place to live bc i just can’t handle it rn and also im isolating myself again lolllll. so things are n#not good and im scared my counselor is only gonna give me 30 minutes like last time and spend most of it talking… we’ll see. i have more#thoughts but if i don’t go now i will be late for work lol 😃✌️
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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ BURNER ACCOUNTS — GOJO SATORU.
contents. fem! reader, loser ex-boyfriend! satoru, exes to lovers, college! au, satoru making burners to watch your stories, miscommunications—satoru is not perfect but he’s trying okay?, gossip icons shoko & suguru <3, i had a silly idea and it turned into 2.6k words my bad
there’s a peculiar account watching your instagram stories—@user273582838, to be exact. you don’t think it’s a very well timed coincidence seeing as you and satoru have just broken up—so you decide to do some digging.
which of course, means enlisting the help of shoko.
“i think satoru is stalking me,” you mumble, making her pause in the middle of sipping on her energy drink—for a med student, her habits don’t seem every healthy. this is her third one of the day.
“okay,” she nods, “i wouldn’t put it past him, but what makes you say that?”
“look,” you turn your phone to face her, the blank, anonymous instagram account right there on the list of users who have viewed your story. she crinkles her brows, blinking for a moment before humming.
“that definitely seems like something he’d do,” she nods—and then, “i have an idea.”
“okay,” you brighten, nodding enthusiastically, “what’s the plan?”
“try and log in with that user.”
“shoko,” you look at her like she’s grown two heads. maybe the lack of sleep is finally getting to her—no amount of energy drinks can save her at this point. “we don’t have the password—”
“—and that, dummy,” she rolls her eyes, making you scowl at the name, “is why we click forgot my password and see the last four digits of the phone number that registered the account. if it’s satoru’s number, we’ll know.”
okay—you take it back. shoko is a genius and a full-blown brilliant mastermind that you could never hope to come close to. you’re glad you chose her to help—you’re even more glad she agreed because you would not have thought of that. this is fantastic. a fool-proof plan.
you grin wide, eyes lighting up as you gasp, “shoko! you’re so smart, that’s a great idea!”
“i know,” she grumbles, “took you long enough to notice.”
ignoring her, you quickly pull out your phone and try to log onto the account, typing user273582838 into the username box and clicking forgot my password. shoko is hovering over your shoulder, and your breath is held as you wait for the page to load and the number to pop up. within just a few seconds, the first few digits are censored with asterisks, but the last four show, and—
yeah. it’s satoru’s fucking number. just as you suspected—you and shoko scoff together at the same time, rolling your eyes.
“well,” you look at her, lips pursed in irritation—of course, satoru refuses to give you space and leave you alone after your break up (which was his fault, might you add), “what now?”
“send the verification code to his number,” she presses, “it’ll definitely spook him when he sees.”
she’s so good at what she does, you think in awe, staring at her with heart-eyes. nodding quickly, you press send code.
hopefully, that’ll give satoru the heart attack you want it to.
———
satoru stares at his screen in abject horror—who could be trying to log into his burner account? the only person who should possibly stumble across it is you, but surely you’re not closely inspecting your story viewers, are you? so then, who could be trying to log onto the instagram account of @user273582838?
“suguru,” he says in a trance, “are you trying to log onto the burner?”
“are you bringing that shit up again?” suguru grumbles, controller in hand as he pays attention to the screen, “i told you that was a stupid idea. a pathetic one too—”
“well, i didn’t want to keep waiting for you to send screenshots to see the stories—”
“you’re a fucking loser, do you know that? pathetic,” suguru reiterates. “move on.”
“no,” satoru hisses in disbelief, “why would i do that? now, was that you or not? you’re the only other person who knows the user.”
“as if i care to log onto your loser burner account,” suguru snorts, shaking his head in amusement. he beats satoru’s high score, turning to give him a sly grin as he adds, “i wasn’t removed, so i can view the stories all i want.”
“you’re a jerk, you know that?” satoru grunts, crossing his arms and pouting, “i’m having the worst heartbreak of my life, and you—”
“who’s fault is it that you’re dumped?”
satoru deflates.
okay, so he supposedly hasn’t been the best boyfriend. it’s not that satoru isn’t helplessly committed to you—he’s so sickeningly obsessed with you, it’s actually a bit unhealthy. suguru says so, at least. but satoru is…well, satoru, and he doesn’t always seem to take things as seriously as most people would hope.
evidently, that includes your relationship—though, he does insist on disagreeing on that. according to you, he doesn’t take you on dates often enough, and sometimes he flirts back with random strangers. that’s not true—he’s simply a bit of a tease and enjoys it when you’re jealous, but he doesn’t flirt back. that’s outrageous. you’ve even claimed he’s mean about it and makes a joke out of it all—satoru would never be mean on purpose; he only teases because the banter is always endearing.
but, unfortunately, you don’t seem to see it the way he does, and now he’s woefully single and cold and alone in bed. no cuddles, no goodnight kisses, and no head scratches.
life is so cruel sometimes.
“suguru,” he says in distress, “i’m serious. someone’s trying to hack my burner—who could it be?”
“hmm, i don’t know…maybe the one and only person who would notice the account in the first place?”
“but why try and log in if the password is unknown?”
suguru looks at satoru like he’s stupid—apparently, he is because he’s not putting two and two together.
“maybe because sending a verification code shows the last four digits of the registered phone number? you’ve probably been caught, you idiot.”
satoru pales at that—he didn’t think about that. it slipped his mind completely. fuck, he should’ve used a burner email instead. he stares down at his phone numbly—yeah, he thinks, he’s screwed.
———
after two days of continuous log in attempts into satoru’s burner account—it’s only just to spook him extra—you finally decide to confront him.
we need to talk. is all you send him.
the three bubbles appear on his end multiple times before disappearing—you and shoko get a good cackle out of that and laugh at him for a bit before he finally answers.
miss me already? knew it ;)
wow. what a dickhead.
so, because you can be equally as much of a prick, you send him a screenshot of his phone number on the log in page followed by a message that says: no. it’s so you can explain this.
the three dots show up again for a few minutes before he finally responds with: okay. you caught me. when do you wanna meet?
well, that was easy. satoru is the type to not go down without a fight no matter how cornered he is—he’s stubborn and annoying like that. you turn to shoko for help.
“meet him now,” shoko crosses her arms, “don’t give him time to come up with some ridiculous excuse.”
“what excuse could he possibly come up with?” you snort, “that he was possessed and the evil spirit in his mind made him stalk his ex like a loser?”
“true,” she concedes, taking a sip from her energy drink—seriously, how many of these does this girl drink in a day? “i just want to know what happens,” she shrugs, “so do it now.”
of course, as on brand as ever, shoko is merely in it for the drama. you roll your eyes before sighing and nodding.
“okay,” you huff.
meet me at my place. now.
on my way, he sends back almost instantly.
“he’s probably just excited to see you,” shoko snorts, “like the loser he is.”
“you’re probably right,” you purse your lips in exasperation. in all your time knowing him, you’ve definitely realized that satoru is definitely…well, a case.
———
“hey,” shoko whispers to suguru through the phone, walking out your door so you can prepare to confront satoru. “did you know satoru’s been stalking—”
“—on a burner account? yeah, i know.”
okay, she frowns to herself, that was no fun at all. suguru is already aware of the drama. but that’s no matter—surely, he can’t possibly already know that satoru has been invited over to be scolded.
“yeah, well,” she says smugly, “did you know he’s actually on his way over to—”
“—get yelled at? yeah, i’m aware. he called me panicked. what a fucking loser.”
“okay, well since you’re up to speed,” shoko grumbles bitterly, rolling her eyes. she was supposed to be the knight in shining armor with the juicy updates—but evidently, satoru is pathetic enough to already cry to suguru about his dilemma. “wanna meet up and get sushi nearby? i bet they’ll get back together in twenty minutes.”
“i bet ten. loser pays for the food?”
“you’ve got yourself a deal.”
———
satoru sits on your couch in shame, bouncing his leg nervously as you sit on the opposite end with your arms crossed and brow raised.
it’s quiet. he doesn’t have the guts to say anything, waiting for you to break the silence. maybe you’re not that mad.
“so,” you start, “it’s nice to finally meet you, user273582838.”
he rubs his neck awkwardly, chuckling through his nerves as he mumbles, “oh, hey there! it’s a small world, huh?”
“satoru.”
yeah, never mind. you seem pretty mad.
“okay, look,” he begins, “you can’t blame me. you dumped me, your sweet, loving, and unsuspecting boyfriend out of nowhere! i was heartbroken and shattered—and then you didn’t even give me a chance to work it out! i was not in the right headspace to make wise decisions so…so this is basically not my fault.”
that doesn’t seem to help his case—in fact, it only makes it worse.
“so it’s my fault?”
“wha—no!” he says quickly, “no, definitely not.”
you sigh, rubbing your forehead in defeat as you mumble, “satoru, we are broken up for a reason. you can’t overstep and—”
“it’s a pretty stupid reason,” he grumbles under his breath, crossing his arms and frowning. you glare at him from the side as you scoff in disbelief.
“of course,” you chuckle dryly, “of course you would say that. nothing is ever serious enough to you—”
“it’s pretty fucking serious to me,” he spits, shooting you a look that tells you he’s just as shocked as you, “that’s obviously why i’m the one who’s still not moved on as easily as you. how seriously did you really take it?”
“that’s not fair,” you grit, “you made it abundantly clear you didn’t care enough, so why should i—”
“i fucking cared a shit ton,” he says incredulously, “that’s bullshit, and you know it—”
“don’t curse at me, satoru—”
“well, don’t accuse me of not caring when i clearly—”
“oh, yeah cause you cared so much when you were laughing with that waitress as she hit on you,” you seethe, throwing a pillow from your couch at him. he can catch it easily—you know this for sure, but he lets it hit him out of what you’re sure is at least a little consideration to your feelings.
“i wasn’t laughing because i enjoyed it,” he crinkles his brows as if you’ve said the most ridiculous thing ever, “it was just funny because she was trying so hard. and you looked all cute when you got mad.”
“what kind of boyfriend enjoys watching his girlfriend get mad—”
“the kind of boyfriend who thinks his girlfriend is adorable when she’s mad—”
“yeah, well your idea of a date is going to the mall with shoko and suguru. what kind of date is that—”
“okay, i was a bit clueless sometimes, but you could’ve said something instead of just dumping me like i was some random guy in your dm’s—”
“you need to grow the fuck up, satoru—”
“now look at who's cursing!”
it’s silent—both you and him have your arms crossed and lips curled into scowls as you both glare at each other. you’re stubbornly convinced satoru doesn’t care as much as you do, and he’s firmly committed to the idea that you’re twisting him into some douche who doesn’t give two shits.
it’s quiet like that for a bit before he deflates and slumps against the couch, rubbing his face as he groans.
“look,” he starts, “i’m sorry. i never meant to make it seem like i enjoy attention from other girls, and i didn’t realize you wanted more dates. i’d have done things differently if you told me how you felt.”
he sounds sincere. and he’s looking at you with those eyes of his—god, those stupid little eyes that are so wide and blue and deep and full of love. even after that whole argument, satoru is clearly as painfully in love as ever.
you sigh before playing with a loose thread on your sweatpants.
“i…guess i could’ve talked it out first. i probably shouldn’t have skipped straight to breaking up,” you mutter, not meeting his eyes.
satoru stares glumly at you from the corner of his eyes before he adds bitterly, “you don’t seem to miss me. not even a little.”
“toru,” you pinch your nose, “of course i miss you. i was not gonna be mopey on instagram, though—”
“doesn’t seem like it,” he huffs. he’s a bit hurt—you can tell because he’s not meeting your eyes, and he’s not got that playful little upward curl of his lips.
you’re a bit weak, you realize—but you suppose you always have been for satoru, because you’re shuffling to his end of the couch and poking his cheek gently.
“i miss you tons, y’know,” you murmur—you smile a little at his pout before adding, “i want more dates this time around. and stop letting girls get away with being shameless flirts.”
he finally meets your eyes—it’s like a child on christmas, the way his face lights up and his lips curl into an excited grin.
“you mean i get to be your boyfriend again?”
it’s cute—the way he asks to be your boyfriend and not if you’ll be his girlfriend. maybe you’ve been a bit unfair, maybe satoru has always cared deeply in his dumb little clueless way of his own.
“fine,” you pretend to roll your eyes. he looks hopelessly excited as he wraps an arm around you and pulls you into his side, tucking you under his chin as he rests his cheek on your head.
“you should really talk to me more,” he murmurs, “i’m…things fly over my head sometimes. i’m sorry.”
“i’m sorry too,” you admit, “i’ll talk to you—but you better listen to me if i do. don’t turn it into jokes.”
“i never turn things into jokes,” he grumbles petulantly, huffing to the side as you shoot him an unimpressed raise of your brow. “does this mean i can follow you again?”
“yes,” you snort.
“and you’ll follow back, right?”
“yes, satoru,” you sigh, shaking your head in amusement. he’s already back to being a handful—but you can admit you might have missed it just a bit. “but for the love of god, please delete that burner.”
“fine,” he pouts, tugging you closer.
you giggle, he grins, and then you’re kissing—and everything feels as it should be.
———
“they’re back together,” shoko says in disbelief, staring at your text. suguru groans, pausing mid bite as he rubs over his forehead in defeat.
of course, you and satoru just have to make up in exactly fifteen minutes. not ten. not twenty. exactly fifteen.
how considerate of you both.
“are you kidding?” suguru grumbles, “so neither of us win.”
“guess not,” she says sourly, rolling her eyes.
woefully, they both agree to split the check.
suguru and shoko are so me and my friend every time our other friend argues with her boyfriend we deadass be making bets over when they make up and loser has to pay for boba LMAO
#teepods.writings#drabbles.#gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo fluff#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk fluff#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru fluff#gojo satoru x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen fluff
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How’d they act if you called them pretty upon getting catch looking at them…
Dan Heng: blushes. Hard.
He’s not use to someone complimenting his looks as it’s not something he finds important.
‘Are you really that shameless to say such things aloud?’ He’d say while avoiding eye contact with you.
Dan Heng would act as though you just shouted this out loud in front a hoard of people, even though you didn’t.
He’s awkward when it comes to taking compliments aimed his way but his reaction is too fucking cute to ignore and will warrant another compliment his way, which will only serve in making his face brunt redder.
‘Shut up, please.’ He’d plead as he covers a hand over your eyes, feeling as though they’ve stared deeply into his soul and actually see him as a whole person and more. ‘You talk too much about things you don’t understand the first thing of.’
He’s probably going to get teased by March 7th after this and it’ll be used as blackmail, probably.
Give him a moment to breath and calm down before complimenting on how pretty he is because he will combust from how flustered he is.
Argenti: would probably start a compliment war in all honesty because how can you say he’s pretty without admitting that you are also quite a sight for sore eyes.
If you were to compliment his hair, he’d resort back with how even the stars put on their best performance within your presence.
He’s got such a way with words that can easily leave one flustered without even trying. He’d even wax poetry on the spot about how the light catches your eyes in a way similar to that of a kaleidoscope, bright, vibrant and above all breathtaking.
Argenti doesn’t hold back, will not hold back, and will not back down from letting you know just how ethereal you look to him.
He can do this all day, you however could not do this all day seeing how this man has unlimited ammunition when it came to complimenting the beauty of pretty much everything.
(I mean this is the same dude who complimented a plant. 🪴 I bet that plant blushed, we just didn’t see it bc who wouldn’t blush if a chivalrous red head complimented them?)
Welt: smiles softly as a light blush coated his cheeks.
He’s well kept for someone who’s in his 60/70/80’s And he deserves to be told as such!
(all I know is that he’s grandpa age from other ppl)
So when you do compliment him and call him pretty, this old man is going to thank you for such kind words and probably give you head pats as a reward.
He appreciates a kind compliment now and then.
‘Why thank you, I try my best to keep in good shape if I’m meant to keep up with all of you.’ He would say in response followed by a chuckle.
Welt is young at heart and knows that his body isn’t how it once was but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s a restless spirit within an old man’s body. So when you compliment him, it only makes him feel good and warm on the inside.
Blade: doesn’t know how to take compliments.
He’s not use to it and doesn’t know how to react to it other than saying something along the lines of;
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘Flattery will get you nowhere.’
Or just straight up. ‘No.’
And all the while his face is like this: 😐 or this 😒
It’s never one or the other, blade just doesn’t view himself worth the compliment, when the only things about him that people see most is that he’s a bad dude in a bad group doing bad things.
He doesn’t see why you’re wasting a kind, genuine compliment on someone whose entire body is riddled in ugly scars.
Blade is the type of person where you’d have to prove that your compliment is genuine or else he just won’t believe it.
Sampo: his ego is boosted to the max.
Well done you’ve made him even more insufferable.
He will smile that Cheshire smile of his and ask to hear what else about him you find appealing besides his pretty face.
You: your exposed hips, you slut-
However behind his cocky persona, he’s a giggly bitch who’s mentally kicking his feet and writing this interaction in his bubblegum pink diary with a glitter pen.
Sampo is deeply invested in what you thought about the rest of him but won’t let it show as he would consider it ‘out of character’ for himself. So he’ll continue to act the cocky and confident fool like he always does.
He’ll be the type to tease you about potentially killing him while internally screaming himself and telling other people that you find him pretty, much to your embarrassment.
‘You see them over there? Yeah they called ol’ Sampo pretty!’ He’d say to a random person while pointing towards you as you try to hide yourself behind a trash can…only for the trash can to grow arms and legs and walk off elsewhere.
Why were the arms and legs buff as fuck? What was their workout routine? You must know. now.
Sunday: takes the compliment in kind.
He looks like the type to get called handsome or pretty on the daily, so it’s nothing new to him but he’ll take the compliment nonetheless.
He’s probably the most calm out of the bunch when being called pretty, besides from maybe Welt.
He’s not bashful, he’s not overtly arrogant and he’s not in denial about it either. He just takes the compliment as it is and goes on about his day like any other.
Though people would take note on how he’s smiling brighter than usual. Your compliment would stay with him the entire day, as it serves as a reminder of his place within your heart and he’s secretly scheming on ways on how to stay within your heart.
Permanently.
#hsr fanfic#hsr imagines#hsr imagine#hsr x reader#hsr blade x reader#hsr blade x you#hsr x you#blade x reader#blade imagines#blade imagine#welt yang x reader#welt Yang imagines#welt Yang imagine#sampo x reader#sampo x you#sampo imagines#dan heng x reader#Dan heng imagines#Dan heng imagine#sunday x reader#Sunday imagine#Sunday imagines#argenti x reader#Argenti imagines#argenti x you#argenti imagine#honkai star rail#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail x you#Honkai star rail imagines
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Mmmmm yessss I think I will delete that art after I sleep….. yessssssss
#sry I’m allergic to posting my art and keeping it up#posting less furau has been both better and worse for me mentally. lol#blah blah I feel like I’m cringe it’s that old shtick again#So like. be a freak and save it if you bother bc who knows if it’ll see the light out Day again!!#yada yada I need to focus on things that actually get me money. And this is def not one👍#This isn’t me begging for praise or anything I think I might actually block someone if#they tried to encourage me to do more furau past a point#like Really Actually. makes me feel like a fucking clown. lol#christ! Do I ever shut up!!
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OBSESSED: ITADORI
A/N: Quarterback Itadori with #20 on his jersey realizes he has a little (big) problem with a certain cheerleader turned Chem tutor (who also happens to be just a little bit older 🤭). Anon this one is for you! I hope you enjoy 💋
S/N: I’ve never giggled so much writing a piece. This one was so funny to me.
C/W: Aged up characters (19+), college AU, Mature, 18+
“ITADORI!”
Oh for fucks sake.
Yuji can’t drag away from the pyramid of cheerleaders right of center field.
“Coach?”
“IF YOU WANT TO WEAR A SKIRT AND BACKFLIP FOR THE BOYS THEN JUST SAY THAT?!”
His teammates erupt in a chorus of laughter. Coach Yaga is an ass.
Fact.
But he is also living, breathing, comedic relief.
“I would coach, but they aren’t my type!”
Yuji yells back, eyes still lasered to your back. He knows it’ll sear Yaga’s skin right off the bone.
Whatever.
What’s a few more seconds, right?
You are just so…hot.
In a mind-bending kinda way. An optical illusion. Or desert mirage.
A fresh water oasis in a destitute wasteland. Always just a few more steps away. No matter how long he’s been crawling on his knees.
His knees.
He’d kill to be on his knees for you. Diving head first into—
“SHUT THE HELL UP AND GET BACK ON THE FIELD. PINK TOP IDIOT!!”
“Yes sir!” Times up.
“Dude, she’s a smoke show.”
The team’s starting running back (#14) rests his arm on Yuji’s shoulder. Just as four bodies fling you so far against gravity it is questionable whether you’ll come down.
“She’s perfect.”
“And a junior.” #14 reminds him, tugging his helmet back over his head.
“So?”
“Okay, freshmeat. Someone’s got mommy issues.”
Yuji bursts into full belly laughter. Stealing one last glance at you before pulling his helmet on.
His teammates never fail to remind him that he’s the only freshman in Tokyo University history to make starting lineup.
Not to mention quarterback.
“#14, #20 IF YOU DONT STOP RUBBING DICKS ILL WEAR BOTH OF YOUR ASSES TO THE BONE THIS AFTERNOON.”
Yuji promptly takes position at center field. He knows better than to push his luck. Two-a-days are already brutal enough, he has no intention of making his life harder than it is.
But you do.
You are setting flames to the hoops Yuji has to jump through to get through study hall and afternoon practice.
Why else would you wear those yoga pants?
They’re a second skin, for Christ’s sake.
Might as well be body paint. Outlining every tantalizing, serpentine curve. Pretty, full hips. Plump, tight ass. The mouthwatering, puffy rose between your legs just begging to be watered. By his tongue.
Yuji’s palm digs into his crotch. Trying to force his pulsating length from tenting up into the table. Cursing himself for changing out of his compression shorts.
“Hello? Yuji?”
Your dulcet voice echoes between his ears and curls around his dick. Jerking him back down to earth.
“Y-yeah? Hi.”
Yuji forces an acknowledgement through the sharp edges of his voice box. Sitting fully erect in his seat. Scrambling to find the pencil that was supposed to be mirroring your work on the whiteboard.
Because not only are you a perfect 10 on and off the field; you are a prodigy when it comes to chemistry.
And currently in the middle of trying to diffuse some of your excess knowledge into his very deficient head.
You toss your head back. Your laughter is definitely why tales of fishermen being lost at sea exists.
Light.
Breathy.
Soprano crescendo that’s rutting against the few folds in his brain.
“Why are you so distracted today, Yu?”
“Distracted?” His voice cracks.
“Ha—no, I’m not distracted. Sorry, walk me through it again.”
But before Yuji can retreat back into his daydream, you catch him in the Venus fly trap of your gaze. Tilting your head slightly.
Yuji swallows thickly. Frozen in place. Hand pushing down on his cock with all his might. As if you could see through the table.
Did you know he was staring at your ass? Can you tell how hard he is? Is there drool on his face? Shit, there must—
“Woah, the way the sun is catching your eyes right now, Yu.”
You take a half step to the side, allowing the full beam of light to caress Yuji’s already hot face.
A shaky hand swipes along the back of his neck.
“H-huh?”
“Your eyes are so pretty. Warm. Like hot chocolate with cinnamon.”
Your full lips curl into a soft smile. And Yuji bites down a pitiful whine.
“I—thanks.” You don’t hear him. Because he whispers through a wired shut jaw.
Yuji lets his erection tent up, grazing the table. He fists his base through his athletic pants. Ears fiery hot with embarrassment. His hand glides up and down his clothed cock without his permission.
Did you know?
That you snapped his self-control in half?
And shoved him into the darkest recesses of his mind?
Where his most depraved thoughts (and the King of Curses) lives?
Because all Yuji can see is the way your ass ripples and bounces while you scribble hieroglyphics on the whiteboard.
His mind’s eye is currently picturing him fucking you dumber than he is.
Fist full of hair in one hand. Both of your wrists behind your back in another. Mesmerized by the way your plump, fleshy mounds slam against his hips.
Maybe he’ll fuck you in front of a mirror?
So he can make you repeat how pretty you think his eyes are while he brands the shape of his cock into you.
Then he’ll tell you how pretty you are. Creaming all around his length. Drool raining down from your lips in sync with his thrusts.
Maybe he’ll stick a dildo on the mirror so he can watch your mouth get stuffed while he violates your insides?
You’ll look so pretty. When he fills you up with something warm. A little thicker than ‘hot chocolate with cinnamon.’
“Yu? Are you okay?” Genuine concern knocks his lust-drunk thoughts loose.
Yuji blinks himself back to this dimension. Chest heaving. Cramps blooming from his fingertips to his biceps from grasping his sex so hard. He doesn’t need a mirror to know he’s stained blood red. From chin to hairline.
“I-uh. Sick. I’m—I feel sick. Be right back.” He takes off to the male locker room at inhuman speed.
Yuji nearly doubles over the porcelain sink, glaring at his blown out pupils. Olive skin flushed like he just finished a marathon.
He can’t believe he was just groping himself like that in public. In plain sight.
All because you complimented his eyes?!
Who the hell is he?
“Sukuna, give it a rest.”
Yuji hisses poison at his curse. Because he surely wasnt responsible for those lewd actions.
“Oh, I’ll rest you PERMANENTLY you asinine little b—“
“I’m serious. Quit it.”
Yuji darts around the empty locker room. Accidentally raising his voice.
“Quit what, brat?”
“Quit…making me think..things like that.”
Sukuna’s bellowing laughter sounds like nails on a chalkboard. Deafening between Yuji’s ears.
“That’s all you kid. I’m only 10 fingers in. Don’t have that power…yet.”
Sukuna retreats to Yuji’s subconscious. Leaving him stunned. Disbelief crashing into him like tornado winds.
Yuji has never been a pervert.
Sure, he’s had crushes. But he knows how to control his impulses.
He might be dumb like one, but he’s not an actual dog…right?
Wrong.
Yuji dives into an empty stall while his teammates file in. Study hall is complete and afternoon warm-ups are starting soon.
And his neglected, weeping sex is clamoring for attention.
Missing it’s muse — your soft, curvy frame and the ways he wants to fill you.
One hand clamps over his mouth. While the other one tugs his pants down. Thick, heavy length springing free. Sticky and slick with his precum.
His head meets the cool wall. Hips thrusting against his fist. Broken whimpers pushing through the web spaces of his fingers that are digging into his cheek. Choking himself quiet so no one hears his pathetic hormone driven state.
“Mnnhgh f—fuck.” Muffled curses slip past his hand.
His cock is red and engorged. Angry from his abuse. But his hips can’t stop rutting into his hand. Picturing abusing your pretty, swollen cunt.
A hot tear rolls along his cheek, between his fingers. Salty on his tongue.
Curtains start to shade his vision and Yuji’s hands move to cup his bulbous tip. His muscular core tenses and strings of warm, thick seed fills his hands.
The world slowly starts to piece together. His heart rattling in its cage comes to a normal pace. Choppy, incomplete breaths gradually replaced with deep, relaxed ones.
Shit.
He’s in trouble.
Because he needs to pass chemistry to play football. And he needs you to pass.
But he can’t ever look you in the eye again after this display.
After one measly compliment.
How will he act if you bend over in front of him?
Or lean over a little too far?
God forbid you touch his arms or brush against him.?
Then a lightbulb goes off.
Yuji has the perfect solution.
He scrambles to clean up. Putting on his street clothes. Ignoring the quizzical looks from his teammates. He’s going to fix his little problem.
“Coach Yaga?” Yuji is met with an open office door and his coach’s nostrils flaring. Vein along his temple pulsing.
He draws in a steadying breath.
“I can’t play football anymore coach. I quit.”
“….YOU WHAT?!?!”
#jjk fanfic#jjk smut#yuji itadori#jjk itadori#itadori x reader#yuji itadori x reader#jujutsu itadori#itadori smut#itadori x you#itadori fluff#yuji smut#yuji x reader#jjk yuji#jjk x reader#itadori yuuji#jjk yuuji#yuuji x reader#yuuji smut#jujutsu kaisen yuuji#yuuji fluff#yuuji x you#jjk#jjk x you#jjk fluff#jjk gojo#jjk x y/n#anime smut#jjk imagines#jjk headcanons#jjk spoilers
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What autocorrect helped me type:
What I actually typed:
#I call myself a writer but#autocorrect my beloved without you it would take 100 hours to write a paragraph#I even messed up typing half the words in this post#almond rambles#anyway starting a new wip who knows if it’ll ever see the light of day
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Stuffing Stockings
Pairing: Wife!Reader x Husband!Spencer
Description: Spencer and you have been married for ten years with a beautiful six year old daughter. Whenever she gives you her Christmas list, you notice something new on the list and bring it up to your husband.
Content/Warnings: Dad!Spencer, discussions of expanding family, interest in being pregnant/wanting another baby, breeding kink, oral sex (f rec), penetrative sex, mention of failed test and disappointment, happy ending.
Word Count: 3.5K
Merry Christmas, my sweeties! Santa T is giving you a present because of how much I love you all!
“Mama, I have my Christmas list ready!” Matilda announced, a bright smile on her face revealing the front tooth that the tooth fairy had recently come to take. She was a spitting image of Spencer, beautiful honey colored irises and soft brunette curls that framed her face, not to mention her intellect and her determination that no doubt her father had an influence on.
“Your Christmas list? You’re early,” You smiled fondly as you looked over at the flower filled calendar on the wall closest to the stove, your coffee cup held comfortably between your hands. “Let me hear it, come on!” You urge on, an excited grin on your face.
You always loved Christmas, however having Matilda just made the holidays so much better. Nothing compared to seeing her excitement whenever you’d place wrapped gifts under your Christmas tree, or when you’d ask her to help you make Christmas treats that her and Spencer would end up eating just days after they were made.
You wouldn’t trade it for anything.
“Well. I would like an American Girl doll, Rebecca Rubin to be exact.” Not a surprise. She loved dolls, her father spoiling her with any accessory or set she asked for. “And then I would like some light up sneakers, please. Sam has some at school and I think they are so cool!” She continued. The rest of the things she lifted were usual for a little girl. Until she got to the last thing on that list.
“And then I want a little brother or sister.” She concluded, a wide grin on your face. The mere suggestion had you nearly choking on the mouthful of coffee, your eyes widening some. “Uncle Luke and aunt Penny said that I have to write it in my list so it happens!”
Penelope and Luke. Classic.
“A baby brother or sister?” You repeated, watching those beautiful curls bounce as the kindergartner nodded her head. “You do know that they won’t be here in time for Christmas if that happens, right?” You asked, wanting to break it gently to her that even if she got what she wanted, it would be well past Christmas before she got a sibling.
“Oh. I know. Babies grow in mommy’s bellies for nine whole months. Which seems like a long time but I think it’ll go by fast! Oh please, mama?! A baby would be cute and cuddly, even whenever they are cranky!”
The begging was tugging at your heart. She really wanted this, didn’t she? You and Spencer were financially stable enough for you to stay home while he worked with the BAU, not to mention that you both could definitely handle Matilda and a new baby. “You know I have to talk to daddy about this before we make a decision.”
After that, the idea of another baby was stuck in your mind. Your first pregnancy was rough, however you still really did enjoy the process of growing a future scholar who would change the world. Just thinking about it had you reminiscing, especially when it came to being pregnant. You could remember every appointment, the announcement to your friends and families, all the excitement that you and Spencer felt with every heartbeat and every little kick.
Your husband had gotten home relatively early on a Saturday evening after a long case in Tampa, Florida. He was toeing his shoes off by the front door in an effort to surprise you and Matilda, the two of you unaware he was even coming home today. You were in the kitchen making dinner while your shared daughter was at the table, happily coloring in her new coloring book.
It was a blissful sight, the domesticity of it all bringing normalcy to Spencer’s busy and sometimes abnormal feeling life. “You two look peaceful,” He decided to speak up, Matilda quickly turning in her chair to look at her father. With a wide smile and teary eyes, she was quickly leaping from the chair to run into your husband’s expecting arms. “Hi!” He chuckled fondly while kissing her cheek sweetly.
“I missed you!” She whined out, keeping a tight hold on her father. “I thought you weren’t gonna home until after Christmas!” She added on, making Spencer’s heart drop. He loved his job but he hated being away for what could’ve been weeks at a time. That was the hardest part.
“Hey, I’m home now and I’m gonna be here for Christmas. I promise. In fact,” He was picking up Matilda while resting her on his hip. “I need to see your Christmas list!” He grinned while bouncing his daughter. “Mama, where’s the list?” Spencer then asked as he turned his attention to you.
“Oh, mama needs to talk to you about that!” The six year old in his arms perked up, making Spencer look at you with an amused, yet questionable look.
“Talk to me? About what? Don’t tell me that Tilly wants to get a car or something already.” Spencer teased. A car might’ve been easier convincing depending on how he felt about expanding the family.
“Not exactly a car,” You laughed a bit while grabbing the list that had been neatly folded and stuck to the fridge with a magnet. “She wants a new American girl doll, a new accessory set to go with said doll, light up sneakers, a dollhouse,” You paused while reading over the last item. “And a baby brother or sister.”
Spencer felt like the items on the list were easy enough. A doll, some accessories, a dollhouse and sneakers. He could knock that out with just one shopping trip. However whenever he heard the last item, his eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “A new brother or sister, huh?” He asked slowly, glancing at the little girl who smiled widely.
“I know the baby won’t be here for Christmas, daddy.” Matilda just knew by the look in his eyes that he didn’t wanna break the news she’d have to wait for that. Her reassurance had him taking in a breath of relief though. That little girl was too smart for her own good.
“Well. That’s a big decision. You think you’re ready to be a big sister? Cause babies are a lot of work.” Spencer asked, a smile on his face at her sheer excitement he was entertaining the idea. “They cry a lot. Plus, they always need a lot of attention. That’ll mean that sometimes mama and daddy will be busy with the baby.” He said softly while rubbing her back.
“I know and it’s okay! Babies need more help because they can’t really eat on their own or go potty in the bathroom, so that’s why you and mommy will need to pay extra attention sometimes. But babies are small and cute! And they always want cuddles!” Now that sounded like something Penelope Garcia would say of course she’d gotten to Matilda about the idea. She was just saying at the office that she was wanting another baby around.
You offered a smile. “Well, it sounds like you’ve put a lot of thought into it, Tilly! You know that me and dad have to talk about it though, as grownups.” You added, although judging by your husband’s wide smile and the twinkle in his eye, he was already sold on the entire Christmas list. Well, maybe this was easier to convince than a new car.
After dinner and baths were in order, it wasn’t long before you and Spencer were tucking Matilda into bed for the night. Gently closing the door behind you both, Spencer finally turned his attention to you. “A new baby. Wow..” He brought up the idea immediately, his arms gently wrapping around your waist. “How do you feel about the idea?”
You smiled, body leaning back against his as you let out a soft hum of content. “Well, at first I was wary. Then the more I thought about it.. The more I really wanted it.” You said softly, head tilting up to face him more. “I mean, I think we’ve got this parenting thing down. Plus, I miss being pregnant and having a baby around. I feel like it’s going to be a positive change for us. Parents of two.”
That was all Spencer needed to hear to have him sold completely. “I agree. We are pretty good at this.” He chuckled a bit while moving to press a kiss to the top of your head. “It’s always fun trying too, huh? Maybe All our practicing will pay off.” He teased, making you laugh as you were playfully hitting his arm. “Hey! I’m just saying what we are both thinking!” He laughed in return.
The both of you had retired to your bedroom for the night, gently closing the door behind you both. “It’s so good to have you home. I’ve missed you.” You sighed, offering a smile as you were heading over to sit on the edge of your shared bed. “It’s just not the same without you home but I know you have to save the world.” You smiled fondly, watching as your husband was shedding from his clothes.
“I know, honey. I miss being home with you and Tilly more than anything when I have to be gone.” Spencer expressed his own feelings before heading over to you, kneeling in front of you with a soft smile. “But I’m glad to be home now,” He began, pressing kisses to your legs while getting settled between them. His hands were working on the button of your shorts before tugging them down your legs. “Besides, I’m gonna be here for the holidays and I even took the time off to make sure of it.” He hummed, his kisses moving to your inner thighs.
“Working on the list early, I see.” You teased, brushing the mop of brunette curls from your husband’s face as he was playfully nipping on your plush inner thigh, lifting his head.
“Guilty. I feel like this is the most expensive present Tilly is getting.” He teased, the both of you sharing a little giggle before he was going right back to where he started.
Those kisses ended with your hips being tugged close to the end of the bed, his tongue lapping over your clothed clit. “God, I’ve missed you.” He murmured, hands working to tug your panties down your legs. Spencer was absolutely pleased with the sight of your glistening pussy, mouth salivating at the sight. It had been far too long for his liking.
“Pretty girl. You look like you’ve missed me too.” He purred, tongue moving to flick over your throbbing bud, only chuckling as you were already clutching his hair. He didn’t make an effort to tease you long, tongue already delving into the warmth of your cunt as he was so focused on drinking every ounce of your essence, taking whatever you had to give him.
“Spencer, fuck.” You squeaked, legs practically locking around his head to keep him in place as he was too drunk on lapping and sucking at your desperate pussy. The thought of a new baby excited him in more ways than one.
There was the calm and innocent way that just had him thrilled to have a new baby and expand your beautiful family. Then there was the dirty and not so innocent side of him that knew there would be a lot of nights where he was stuffing your pussy just in an effort to get that positive test. Just the thought of his cum dripping down your trembling thighs was enough to have him hard as a rock, his cock begging for attention while he was so focused on giving you all of his.
While his tongue feverishly lapped at your wetness, his hands were gripping your hips just a little tighter. Truth be told, Spencer could get off merely from cunnilingus alone. He fed off of your pleasure, the way you would shove his head more into your weeping cunt for more was enough to make his cock twitch in his boxers right now.
Although even through all the excitement, he was soon pulling away from your pussy much to both of your dissatisfaction. “I feel like I’m gonna cum in my boxers and I’m not wasting what I could be giving you,” He added on, breathing labored as he was quickly getting up to shed his boxers while you were quick to do away with your clothes on your torso, shirt and bra thrown somewhere out of sight and out of mind.
With one hand tugging at his cock, the other was quickly helping you scoot back on your bed, knowing you’d end up flying off if he dared pull you even just an inch closer from your current spot.
“Comfortable?” He asked, watching you simply grab his arm to pull him on top of you. You didn’t even mind the feeling of his body crushing you for a split second, you knew that you needed him, now. Spencer was adjusting himself into a more comfortable position on top of you, his hand sliding between your thighs. He collected some of your arousal on his fingers before holding them up to show them off to you.
You knew what was coming next, your mouth now open as you were waiting for the intrusion of his fingers. He learned it was the easiest way to keep you quiet when you needed to be. As you took the digits in your mouth, you were sucking on his fingers. “There we go.” Spencer praised as he was shifting, now pushing his leaking cock into your pussy with a soft groan.
“I love you.” He breathed, letting his hips slowly snap against yours just to build you up for what was to come. Your face was contorted in pleasure as you muffled an ‘I love you’ around his fingers in return.
The thought of you being pregnant was bringing out an animalistic side of your normal gentle husband. He loved seeing you pregnant with your first, it made him feel like he was finally contributing to society in the aspect of bringing another potential genius into the world who would do amazing things. The way you looked swollen with his child filled him with pride.
It was also a bragging right. Yes, he had your hand in marriage but he also cemented the fact you were his. You were getting filled with his cum, begging him to ravage you the way you deserved. He was the only one who could make you feel good.
The thought of you being pregnant with his second child was enough to make his thrusts get harder and faster. It was the ultimate act of love to carry his child, to raise a family with him. The ultimate act of intimacy of allowing him to know the pleasures of a family and a successful marriage.
You were squirming underneath him, eyes rolling to the back of your head as Spencer was all too focused on the images flooding his mind. “I’m gonna cum.” He panted. “You want me to fill you up? Give you a baby? Fuck.” Cursing was pretty rare for Spencer but just the mere slip of a curse word had your pussy clenching around his cock, signaling you were ready as well.
With a few more sloppy snaps of his thrusts, you could feel the warmth of his spent flooding your cunt, your legs trembling as the sensation was enough to have you reaching your climax. “Fuck.” You panted, your husband’s fingers now being pulled out of your mouth.
His face was flushed, brunette curls plastered to his sweaty forehead as he looked down at you. “You know, I wish we had this idea before. Christmas is coming up so soon, we won’t even be able to get a positive test for her in time for the holiday if we get lucky after this time.”
“I think that Tilly is gonna be happy either way, to be fairly honest. You should’ve seen the way she looked at me when she was asking for a new sibling. She was so excited.” You recalled, smiling in content as you were slowly, but surely, catching your breath.
With soft eyes, Spencer leaned down to press a sweet kiss against your lips. “I’m really happy she brought it up first. I’ve been wanting another baby for a while but I didn’t want you to feel obligated.” The confession had your hand lightly swatting at your husband’s chest.
“Why didn’t you talk to me before?! I never would’ve felt obligated. I’ve always wanted a big family, you know that.”
The reassurance had your husband chuckling fondly. “I know, I know. I promise that for the next little Reid, I’ll get to you before our daughter.” He teased, nose nuzzling into your cheek before he was pushing himself out of bed. “Let’s go get you cleaned up, mama.”
—--
It was currently the third week of January, Matilda freshly back in school for the second semester. It was after you dropped Tilly off at school that you were feeling off. You’d been sick the past week or so, mostly just chalking it up to be a bug Matilda seemingly brought home. The more awful you felt, the more you were worrying. Being pregnant wasn’t a problem at all, however the way you would get your hopes up would be.
You’d pushed the idea back for a while, it wasn’t until you were sick for the fifth time that you figured that the test would be better than nothing. You’d only gotten one negative, however with the brain of your husband and his facts about conception, he still gave you some hope.
The sound of the timer going off in the bathroom snapped you out of your thoughts. It was now or never. As you approached the bathroom, you could feel your heart begin to race. If you were pregnant, that would be the best little surprise for your little family. If not, well, you’d at least get to be heartbroken in peace.
Taking in a deep breath and mustering up all of your courage, you were lifting the test from the sink. You felt like you were going to be sick from a mixture of your ailment as well as the nerves. You exhaled the breath you took in seconds before, eyes fixed on the test.
Pregnant.
You nearly fainted, free hand covering your mouth from the surprise. Pregnant, you’re pregnant. Pregnant!!!!
You were thrilled, the test being tucked away in its box before you were hiding it away. You were going to have to show Spencer and Matilda when they got home. You didn’t have the strength to keep it a huge secret and put a surprise together, they needed to know as soon as possible.
Spencer had gotten to go home early in order to pick up Matilda, something rare that Emily gave him the chance to do considering he was away so much as is. If only those two knew what they were coming home to.
You were just getting finished with a snack for your daughter whenever you heard the sound of keys jingling in the door. It’s now or never!
“We are home!” The little voice called from the living room, the child taking off her coat and backpack before making sure to hang them up.
“Hi you two.” You offered a smile, pressing a kiss to your daughter’s cheek, followed by a quick peck on your husband’s lips. “Tilly, I have you a snack.” She hummed fondly, watching the little brunette hurry to the table. “You might wanna sit down as well,” You informed your husband, who raised an eyebrow.
Without question, he’d approached the table before sitting himself down. “Are we in trouble?” He teased, making you roll your eyes fondly.
“No. I just have something I need to tell you both.” You hummed, grabbing the wrapped box from the counter before placing it on the table. “I found this in the closet. It was addressed to you two, I think we forgot it around Christmas.”
“Forgot it? Mama, we never forget presents.” Matilda spoke around a mouthful of apple slices, although her curiosity was piqued as she leaned against the table. “Open it, daddy!” She urged.
As the colorful wrapping paper was peeled away, the male was opening the box. He knew what it was, however he wanted Matilda to have the first big reaction. The minute that the stick was on the table, you could practically see Matilda’s eyes pop out of their sockets from surprise. “Does that say pregnant?!” She asked, looking at her mother with a wide smile. “There’s a baby?!”
Her excitement made you want to cry your eyes out. “There’s a baby!” You gushed happily. “Now, I still have to go to the doctor because I don’t have specifics just yet,” You began, although your daughter was all too happy to quickly run into your body, arms wrapped around your torso.
“We are gonna have a baby!!!!”
#spencer reid#criminal minds fandom#spencer reid fandom#criminal minds fic#criminal minds fanfic#spencer reid fic#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fanfic#doctor spencer reid#spencer reid smut#dr spencer reid#spencer reid fluff#dad!spencer
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I just know you would receive “gifts” from Katsuki all the time. They’d be little things to make your life easier that you didn’t even know you needed.
You like to read at night to unwind, but sometimes it’ll be a really good book so you want to stay up reading it. The thing is you don’t wanna bother Katsuki cuz you know he has a strict bedtime. This means often times you’ll stay a little longer in the living room reading as to not bother him.
One night you’re getting ready for bed when you see a box next to your bed.
“Hey Kat, is this yours?”, you say loud enough for him to hear you in the bathroom.
He peaks his head out the door and says, “No, I ordered it for you.” And then goes back to what he was doing.
You sit on the edge of the bed and open it up. It’s a reading light with a dampener so you can adjust the brightness.
He comes dragging his little slippered feet towards his side of the bed.
“Now you can keep your ass in bed. Tired of waking up and you being asleep on the couch. I’m an old man, I can’t keep carrying you to bed.”
You look at him with a bright smile on your face.
“You know you can just say, you like me being in the bed with you while you’re sleeping. You know, because I’m your big bad protector and I make you feel safe.”
“There is no talking to you sometimes you know that?”
It’s winter time and you always have your gloves on because you HATE your fingers being cold. The only problem is of course you have to remove said gloves to use your phone when you’re out and that SUCKS.
You’re out with him one day and you’ve been texting back and forth with Mina because her and her girlfriend are in an argument and she of course comes to you about it.
You are always there for your friend so you’ve been removing and putting on your gloves over and over again until Katsuki can’t stand it anymore.
You’re outside on a bench waiting for him while he runs into some shop when he comes back out he snatches your phone out of your hand.
“What the hell? I’m usin-“ you start shouting at him.
“ give me those shitty gloves and put these on. I’m sick of watching you struggle.”
When you look down you see a pair of gloves in your favorite color.
“How are these any different from the ones I have now, Mr. Know-it-all”
He smirks at you, “These gloves are thicker than those thin ones you use AND they work on smart phones.. so yea. I do know it all.”
“Oh…. Well thanks I guess” you murmur lowly.
“Now you can talk Racoon eyes through her mental breakdowns without getting frost bite in your fingers.”he says then hands you back your phone. “She deserve better than that idiot anyways. Don’t why she keeps putting up with it.”
Katsuki is leaving for a mission today and you’ve been so gloomy. He gonna be gone at least 3 days, maybe even the whole week.
You’re been wrapped around him like ivy since you woke up this morning.
“Listen woman, I have to go. You do this every time.”he says with his arms wrapped around you waist pulling you even more flush against him.
“You should clone yourself or something. Who am I gonna cuddle with now?? And who is gonna cook for me?? I’ll die of starvation before you get back. Is that what you want. To come home to a dead girlfriend???”
“You are so damn dramatic. Cuddle with the damn plethor of plushies you have in my goddamn bed. And as far as food… you won’t starve. You’ll just eat out everyday and I’ll come back to you complaining you’ve gained weight when you look the exact same.”
“I do not.”, you start to object.
“Yes you do. Which is why I made a few meals and froze them.” He says all smug, cuz he knows that would surprise you.
“You what??” You ask looking up at him with wide eyes.
“There’s a pot pie and dumplings. I even stored a lasagna in there.” Then his phone buzzes letting him know his ride is downstairs.
“Ok I gotta go. I love you.” And he bends down to give you a deep kiss. “Be safe. Call Eiji if you need anything and try not to burn the house down before I get back.”
“I love you too. Come back to me in one piece please.”
He smiles at you, “always”
He kisses you one more time and then heads to the car.
You go directly to the fridge to see the frozen meals he left you. And not only are the packages all neatly but he’s left the heating instructions on top for you.
To say there were tears shed would be an understatement.
Katsuki Masterlist
Tags: @dreamcastgirl99 @xxvendettaxx @justbepeace @moonpieshawdy @theloveofnagiseishiroslife @mintsbubbletea @darkstarlight82 @anon-mouse223 @b134ch-m4h-ey3z @i-literally-cant-with-this @flowerbedbaby @kit-katsukii @blaize-hewwo @sweetblueworm @tippy-toes @superlegend216
Let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list in the comments💕
#imagine#bakugou x reader#mha fanfiction#bakugou katsuki#bakugou katsuki x reader#bakugou drabble#drabble#katsuki bakugo mha#bakugo headcanons#fluff#katsuki bakugou x reader#bnha katsuki#bakugo katuski#bakugo katsuki#katsuki bakugo#katsukibakugou#katsuki bakugou#katsuki#bnha bakugou#kacchan bakugou#bakugo
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In From The Rain
Oscar Piastri x plant nerd!reader
Masterlist
Summary: Oscar’s looking for an easy to care for houseplant. You have just the solution. Check out the moodboard here!
Word Count: 7.1k
Warnings: none
The greenhouse is quiet in the early morning. It’s one of your favorite things. Before the customers come in, looking for flowers for their porch or vegetable plants for their gardens, it’s just you and the plants and the sun streaming in through the glass. So when somebody interrupts your morning solitude, you’re not exactly happy about it.
Sure, you’re technically open, but nobody ever gets here this early. You’re watering plants in your rain boots, a mug of coffee in your hand, when the front door swings open. You turn to look, the noise startling you.
The man who walks in looks sheepish when his eyes meet yours. He ducks under a hanging basket, nearly trips over your garden hose. His cheeks flush red. You’d be more irritated with his presence if he wasn’t being so cute about it.
“Sorry, the- the sign said open,” he says, backing towards the door.
“You’re fine. We are open,” you affirm, flicking off the sprayer before you drown the petunias in front of you. “I was just surprised to see someone in here so early.”
He laughs. It’s a nice sound. Almost as nice a sound as his voice, with an Australian accent. He stops backing away. You should probably point out that he’s standing in a puddle, but you’re not sure if that’s really your place.
“Can I help you find something?” You ask.
He takes a step forward. A thick band of sunlight shines down on the top of his head, like a halo. He brushes his floppy hair from his face.
“No, that’s okay. You’re busy, I’ll just have a look around,” he says.
You nod. “Let me know if you have any questions.”
You turn back to the flower trays in front of you. They’ll need pruning, soon. And some of the hanging baskets are getting a bit unruly- it’ll likely be time to put them on sale in the next few days, to open up space for new plants. You can hear the man walking around behind you, peering at the plants. His footsteps are hesitant, and when you look, he has his hands held behind his back. He leans close to read the signs, brows tightly wound.
He obviously has no idea what he’s looking for.
You put the hose away and set your nearly empty coffee down at your workstation in the back of the greenhouse. Then you make your way back up to the front, where he’s standing near the succulents.
“Sure you don’t want help?” You ask.
He looks up with a sheepish grin. “Is it that obvious that I’ve got no idea what I’m doing?”
“A bit,” you say, and he laughs again. “That’s okay, though. It’s what I’m here for. What are you looking for?”
He stands up straight, eyes dancing over the greenhouse. “So. I’ve been told my apartment is boring. A friend suggested a plant to liven up the space.”
You nod. A tale as old as time. He’ll either kill the plant within a week or fill his whole place with them.
“But I’m gone a lot for work,” he says. “Like, a lot. So I need something that won’t wilt the second I’m gone, you know?”
You nod. “Does your apartment get good light?”
He laughs. “I don’t know what good light means.”
“Which direction do your windows face?”
“South,” he says, confidently. “Google said that was good. Right?”
You fight a laugh. He’s a bit adorable. Trying very hard to get it right. Like this is a test with right and wrong answers.
“Yeah, south facing is great.” You gesture towards the succulents. “You could get a succulent. They can go weeks without watering, but they need lots of light.”
He nods in understanding and purses his lips. “I thought these were cactuses. Or cacti?”
“Close,” you tell him, and he smiles again. “Cacti are the ones with the spikes.”
He nods in understanding. He crouches down, then, eye levels with the little plants. Your heart is melting. You scuff one of your rain boots against the ground. You could stand here and watch the way his long eyelashes flutter as he blinks all day, but that would be creepy and you have a job you’re supposed to be doing.
“How do I know which one to get?” He says, quietly. “Like… there are so many different kinds.”
Your face breaks out into a huge grin. He’s so endearing. “I think you’ll know when you see it.”
He appears at the front cash register ten minutes later, a succulent in hand. It’s a little one, the perfect starter plant. He’s eyeing the decorative pots next to you, brows furrowed again.
“Those are too big for that plant,” you tell him, and he breathes out a sigh. “There are smaller ones on the other side of the display.”
He moves to look. You hear him shuffling, hear him pick up pots and then set them down. Then he appears again, a little pot with black and white checkerboard print on it in his other hand.
“Perfect,” you say softly. “Have you got potting soil?”
He clears his throat. “Um. No, but I’ve got a courtyard at my apartment with a garden… but I’m sensing from the look on your face that that won’t do.”
You roll your eyes playfully. Then you reach under the counter and grab one of the small sample bags of potting soil you keep on hand.
“Here. On the house.” You say. “So you can put that plant in the pot.”
“Wow. Thanks,” he says. He sets the other items down on the counter. “Thanks for all your help, actually.”
“Just doing my job,” you say with a shrug.
You bag the items carefully, making sure the plant won’t be squished. You put a care instruction sheet in the bag, too. Then you slide it to him with a smile.
“There’s a care sheet in there that should help. Enjoy your new plant,” you say. “I hope it works out.”
“Me too,” he says.
He leaves, then, and you’re left with your quiet greenhouse once again. It’s odd. Usually you breathe a sigh of relief after a customer leaves. But this time, you almost want him to come back.
…..
Two weeks later, you’re back at your workstation re-potting a sad looking philodendron. You look up from it when you hear the bell over the front door ring. The watering is already done, the hose put away, so there’s nothing for the man to trip over this time. But it is the same guy, and he ducks under the hanging basket the same way. You should maybe move it, but he seems to be the only one who’s had an issue with it. You stand up, wiping the dirt from your hands on your apron.
“You didn’t kill that succulent already, did you?” You call out.
His eyes dart to meet yours, and he laughs. “No! Promise.”
“Good. That would be a new record,” you laugh.
You let him wander the store on his own for a few minutes as you get the philodendron correctly in the new pot. Then you give it some water and take it with you to set it back out on the shelf. He’s still the only other person in the store, and he’s currently eyeing the flats of flowering plants.
“It’s actually going really well,” he says as you walk by. “He has a new leaf.”
That’s when you know the guy is hooked. He has a new leaf. The plant is no longer just a plant to him. Absent-mindedly, you wonder if he’s the type to name his plants. You set the one in your hands down on the table in front of you, your back to him so he doesn’t see your wide grin. When you turn around, you tone it down.
“That’s great,” you say encouragingly. “So I’m guessing you want another one?”
He nods, rubbing his finger over the leaf of a fiddle leaf fig. “Yeah, but I’m thinking something different this time. Something bigger.”
“You don’t want that one,” you say, and he backs away from the fig tree slightly. “Fiddle leafs are notoriously dramatic. If you left her for a week she’d drop all her leaves.”
He sighs and stands up. “What would you suggest?”
You wave him over to another area of the store. He follows eagerly, footsteps splashing in the leftover puddles from the morning watering. You lead him to a section of spiky, tall plants.
“Snake plant,” you say, pointing at them.
He’s standing next to you, and your shoulders just barely brush. A shiver runs down your spine. You try to hide it.
“Snake plant,” he repeats. “The name makes sense.”
“People also call them mother in law’s tongue,” you add. You fight the urge to check his ring finger. “But if you’ve got a mother in law I’d suggest avoiding that name.”
He laughs, and his shoulder bumps into your again. “I don’t. But snake plant sounds cooler.”
You nod in agreement. “They do well with very little water. And, they can do okay in pretty low light, too. So if you’ve got a darker area that needs a plant, it would be a good fit.”
He’s up at the register ten minutes later, plant and a pot in hand. This one is plain terracotta. You like that he’s the type of person to buy the pots, too. Some people just leave them in the boring plastic, and it makes you sad to think about. All plants deserve a nice home. You say that to him as you ring him up, and he laughs. He’s also grabbed a small bag of potting soil this time.
Your repeat the process, same as last time, and hand him the bag. He takes it, and then he hesitates.
“Thanks again,” he says, juggling the bag until it’s held in one arm. He sticks his hand out to you. “I’m Oscar, by the way.”
You tell him your name, though you’re sure he could read it off your nametag, too. When you shake his hand, you swear the warmth of it runs all the way up your arm. He thanks you again, and then he disappears out the door once again. That ache is back in your chest. You find yourself hoping he’ll be back soon.
…..
He does come back. Multiple times. He buys more succulents on one trip, asking you to help him choose between them, and then he ends up buying all three instead. Another morning he comes in and you show him a ZZ plant you’ve just gotten in that you think will be perfect for him- you don’t tell him you’ve been saving it for him at your work station. It’s just… you know it’ll look great next to the snake plant he bought.
Each time he comes to the store, he hangs around a little longer. You chat about the weather, about the plants in the store, about his plants at home. You tell him funny stories about other customers and complain to him about the rude ones. In return, he tells you about his coworkers, specifically one named Lando who he seems to get into a lot of mischief with. He hasn’t said what he does for work. You field weird about asking, so you don’t.
The 4th time he stops by, you suggest a pothos. He eyed the leaves and vines skeptically.
“The other ones looked tough, you know? Like they’d survive even if I fucked up.” He tugs at one of the vines. “Are you sure about this one?”
You nod encouragingly. “You can handle it. I promise. Plus, the cool thing about these is you can cut parts of the vines, like this,” you say, holding up one you’d taken from the workstation. “And then you stick it in water for a bit, it grows roots, and you’ve got a whole new plant.”
He raises his eyebrows. “That’s cool.”
“I know,” you laugh.
He joins you up at the front to buy the plant. You go through the same routine. This time, he’s picked out a pretty blue ceramic pot for it. It compliments the leaves well. Then he leans on the counter and the two of you start chatting. You’d had a shipment that came in last week with a bunch of dead plants, so you regale him with the story of trying to deal with the company’s customer service. In turn, he tells you a story about his family back home- one of his sisters had a dance recital, his mother tried to videotape it for him, he received a video of his mother’s face as she watched the recital. You don’t realize how long the two of you have been talking until Jane, the next person on the schedule, walks in.
You stand up straight, face growing hot suddenly. “Hi, Jane!”
“Hi, hun,” she says, walking past the two of you. “Sorry I’m late. Bet you’re dying for your lunch break.”
She’s late? You and Oscar must’ve been talking for… forever. It had felt like only minutes. He smiles sheepishly and pushes away from the counter.
“Well, I should be going,” he says, taking the bag in his arms. “Thanks again!”
You watch him walk out the front door, unsure why it feels like you’ve been caught. It reminds you of the feeling you’d gotten years ago, when your teacher found you and the boy you had a crush on in the hallway alone. You hadn’t been doing anything wrong, but it still makes you feel strange.
“Friend of yours?” Jane asks when you walk past her to take your break.
You blink, shrugging. “I think he might be.”
…..
Oscar always comes in on Tuesdays. You avoid taking Tuesdays off and won’t admit to yourself that he’s the reason why. But when you wake up with a raging fever and a pounding head, you know you have to call in. Jane, always a sweetheart, takes your shift. When you see her two days later, it’s after you’ve already done the opening shift.
“Did you see your plant?” She asks as she breezes through the greenhouse.
You shut off the hose you’d been using to water a particularly thirsty chrysanthemum. “What plant?”
“The one your friend brought,” she says, and you only feel more confused. “He dropped it off Tuesday, said he was looking for you. It’s on the desk.”
You walk over to the workstation. Sure enough, in a tiny plastic pot- likely one from one of the succulents he’d bought-there’s a small pothos vine growing. You pick up the little plant, knocking over the piece of paper propped up on it in the process. You reach for it, finding a note written in rushed, messy scrawl.
I know you’ve probably got tons, but it felt right that you would have my very first propagation. Learned that word from the internet. Feel better soon! -Oscar
You turn to look at Jane. She’s at the register, not paying you any attention. You cradle the tiny plant close to your chest and do the same with the note. Then you tuck the paper away for safekeeping.
The plant, however, you carry with you all day. You place it in a sunbeam at the front register. When it catches your eye every so often, you feel a warmth in your chest.
…..
The next time Oscar comes in, he eyes the little plant at the register. You’ve stuck a little stake in it and tied a bow on top. He smiles softly and turns back to the display of pots. He chooses a tiny one with checkerboard print, the same as his very first purchase. You ring him up for all his items, but when you go to put that one in the bag, he grabs it and shakes his head. He slides it towards your tiny vine.
“For your plant,” he says, smiling softly.
You break into a face splitting grin. “You’re too sweet.”
His fingers brush against yours when you take it from him. You swear you feel sparks. You wonder if the red cheeks he sports as he leaves the store means he felt it, too.
…..
Another man comes into the shop early in the morning. It’s a Wednesday this time. You know it won’t be Oscar because of that, but you still look up eagerly. The guy nods, waving politely. You smile and go back to your watering. He walks the aisles, looking at the plants and never picking them up.
“Excuse me?” He says, after you’ve put the hose away. You turn, trying to hide your surprise at his American accent. “Um. Could you tell me where the succulents are?”
You grin and nod, walking over towards the area. You point them out.
“These right here,” you say. “Anything I can help you with?”
He stares at the tiny plants. “I have no idea what I’m doing. My friend, he’s gotten really into plants, and he talks about this shop all the time. Figured I’d see what the hype was all about.”
You tilt your head. He’s probably not, but it almost sounds like he’s talking about Oscar. You try and shake the idea from your head. Oscar is just a customer, he’s not going around and telling his friends about the greenhouse he goes to. He’s definitely not telling them about you.
“Succulents are a good place to start,” you say.
He sighs. “I don’t have much of a green thumb. I don’t think I’ll be very good at this.”
“Well, it’s worth a try.” You say with a shrug. “You might surprise yourself.”
He ends up picking out a little succulent. He doesn’t go for a decorative pot. He seems wholly unconfident in his ability to keep it alive for more than a few days. Still, he smiles as he’s leaving. He pauses in the doorway.
“You know, I thought Oscar was exaggerating when he told me about you,” he says. “But I get it now.”
He’s out the door before you can even form a syllable, let alone a word or a sentence. You think about chasing after him and asking what the hell that even means, but you stay rooted there. Oscar talks about you. To his friends. You swear your heartbeat doesn’t slow all morning, and the heat in your cheeks stays there all day.
…..
Oscar comes rushing into the shop the next Tuesday. He has a brown paper bag in his arms, and his eyes are wide. He’s breathing heavily, like he’s been running. You stand up, setting the garden hose down. He nearly slips on a puddle as he rushes over to you, and you reach out to steady him.
“I just got home last night,” he rushes, “and something’s wrong with- with Greg.”
“Greg?” You ask, leaning to peer into the bag.
“My succulent,” he says. His cheeks have gone red. “I name my plants. Is that weird?”
You laugh. “No, it’s not.”
You don’t tell him you’ve named your tiny pothos vine after him. You take the bag from his arms and walk to the back of the store, towards the work station. You reach in and pull out the succulent. It’s a little withered, a bit droopy. It’s also doubled in size since he bought it.
“I’ve been watering him when the soil gets dry,” he says, “and he’s still getting sunlight. I’ve tried everything- I left music playing for them when I left, so-“
Your eyes flicker up to him. He plays music for his plants. He’s the cutest man you’ve ever met. You want to take his face in your hands and kiss his forehead. Or his lips. He has these cute little freckles and moles- you’d like to draw constellations between them. Your face feels hot again. You direct your attention back to the plant as he rambles on. You frown, tugging slightly to see the roots.
“Osc, babe,” you interrupt, and he stops and stares at you. “He’s just a little root bound.”
You don’t dwell on the fact that you’ve just called him babe. It’s too late now.
“What’s that mean?” He asks, the panicky tone still in his voice.
“It means,” you start, nudging his side softly with your elbow, “that you’ve taken such good care of him that he’s outgrown this pot. He needs more soil. More room to spread out.”
His shoulders drop. The panic melts off his face. “Oh.”
You laugh. “God, I can’t believe when you came in here the first time you had no idea what a succulent even was. And now here you are, all panicked over a little wilting. You’ve become a true plant nerd, haven’t you?”
He shrugs sheepishly. “Maybe.”
“It’s cute,” you tell him, just to watch the blush creep up on his cheeks again. “Come on, let’s get him a new pot and some fresh soil.”
You lead him up to the front. He starts to pick through the display, holding the succulent up to the different options until he finds the right one. It’s a light orange.
You nod in approval. “Now you’ve got an empty pot,” you say, pointing at the original pot for the succulent. “Which means if you want, you have an excuse to buy another plant.”
“You’re so smart,” he says, eyes wide.
He rushes over to the display of succulents. While he’s picking one out, you carefully re-pot the plant into its new home. He takes his time, like always, indecisive to the very end. When he makes it up to the counter, he grins widely at the sight of the plant in its new pot.
“Thanks,” he says, softly. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”
…..
When Oscar comes into the shop on a particularly rainy Tuesday, you’re trying hastily to hide your tears. He doesn’t come in every week, but it’s just your luck that he’s here today of all days. You wave and turn your back to him, sticking to the workstation. You hear the soft fall of his tennis shoes, though, even over the sound of the rain against the greenhouse roof, and you know he’s making his way towards you.
“Everything okay?” He asks, voice low.
You turn and find him with his hands in his jeans pockets. You wipe at your cheeks hastily, hoping he can’t tell how upset you are, but knowing you look a wreck. Your hair is soaked in rainwater, and your eyes likely red rimmed and puffy. It’s confirmed when his soft smile drops into a frown.
“I’ve had a shit morning,” you tell him with a sigh.
He pulls one hand from his pocket. “You, uh. You have dirt on your cheek.”
You groan and try to brush it away. Oscar chews on his lower lip. Then he reaches out, his fingertips sweeping against the skin of your face. His hand is warm, despite the chill in the air. Tiny sparks seem to spread across your skin, following the trail of his touch. Your face grows hot.
“There,” he says.
“Thanks,” you reply.
He nods. “What’s going on? If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to, but…”
You sigh and turn away slightly, back to the plant in the pot in front of you. His gaze is so warm that you can’t stand to look at him, afraid you might start crying all over again.
“Just. Woke up late, so I was in a rush. And then I locked my car key in the car because I forgot something in the flat, and my mum has the spare key and she’s not even awake yet, so I had to walk here in the rain. And I couldn’t find my umbrella.” You brush a wet piece of hair away from your forehead. “And I slept like shit, and haven’t had any caffeine because I was late. So, yeah.”
“Shit morning,” Oscar agrees.
You nod. You finally turn to look at him again. There’s a soft look on his face, one you can’t quite place. He reaches out, places his hand flat on the counter next to yours. If you shifted your thumb just slightly, you could touch his. You want to, but you don’t.
“Sorry, I- Can I help you find anything?” You ask, blinking at him.
“You don’t need to be sorry, I asked,” he says. He rocks back on his heels and pulls his hand back. “I actually just remembered, I’m- I have to- I’ll be right back.”
He turns around and walks quickly to the front of the store. The bell dings as he walks out through the front door. You stare at the spot where his hand had been for just a moment and feel your heart shatter in your chest. You’d gone and over shared with your favorite customer, the one you thought might actually be your friend, and now you’ve scared him off. Yet another tally to add to the shit morning. You collapse into the chair behind the counter and rest your head in your hands, trying to will the tears away.
You’re not sure how long goes by before you hear the bell over the door again. And really, nobody comes in this early, so why are they choosing today of all days? You hastily wipe your face on the sleeve of your sweatshirt and stand up, plastering a smile onto your lips to greet whoever is in the store.
Your heart stutters in your chest. It’s… Oscar. He’s walking towards you, though he’s not looking at you. He has three takeout coffee cups balanced precariously in his hands. His hair matches yours now, soaking wet and hanging over his forehead. You burst into laughter as he sets them down.
“Oh my god, I thought I scared you off,” you say, brushing a stray tear from the corner of your eye.
“No,” he says, eyes wide. “You said you needed caffeine. There’s a coffee shop just down the road.”
You laugh and press your hands to the counter, leaning towards the cups. “Three cups?”
He smiled sheepishly. “I got you coffee, but I didn’t know if you wanted cream or sugar. So,” he points at the smallest of the three cups, “this is cream,” he says while digging in his pockets. Then he places an assortment of sugar packets on the counter. “And here’s sugar. The other cup is mine.”
You grin at him, shaking your head. “I knew you were my favorite customer for a reason.”
The smile he gives you in return is bright enough to make up for the lack of sun, to wash away the rain clouds, to warm your cold hands. You open the lid to the coffee and pour a bit of cream in, and then add two sugars. Oscar watches, nodding.
“I’ll know for next time,” he says.
Your heart flutters in your chest. Next time. You like the sound of that. You wrap your hands around the paper cup and let the warmth seep into your fingers before you take a sip. You sigh happily, meeting his eyes over the lid. The cup in his hand has something written on it in messy pen. You wonder if the barista tried to give him their number, and you fight back the jealous feeling at the thought.
“Thank you,” you say, softly.
“It’s no biggie,” he insists. “I owed you anyway, for saving Greg.”
He hangs out for a while that morning, leaning on your counter and chatting. You re-pot some plants and then bring them out to the displays, and he follows along. There’s something about his presence alone that warms you up from the inside out. By the time he looks at his watch and curses, muttering about having a meeting, you’re feeling much better. His hand brushes your shoulder before he leaves. You call after him to thank him again for the coffee.
He stops in the doorway, rain falling on his arm that’s extended to hold the door open. “I’ll see you soon!”
Then he disappears into the storm.
…..
You don’t see him soon. It’s not abnormal for Oscar to go a couple weeks without stopping in, so at first you don’t think much of it. Each Tuesday, though, you look up eagerly when the bell over the door rings, and your heart sinks when it’s not him. Maybe you really did over share, maybe he did get scared off. You try not to think about it.
It’s just… he was cute, and kind, and fun to talk to. He brought you coffee. You wonder how his plants are doing, if he’s still playing music for them while he’s gone. You have fleeting images in your brain of him watering the plants, taking the time to look for new leaves and check the roots. You almost wish he’d have another plant emergency, just to give him a reason to stop back in.
Eventually, after a month goes by and he hasn’t been back, you give up almost entirely. You’ll move on eventually, find a new favorite customer. You couldn’t have expected him to keep coming around forever, after all. To him, you were just another retail worker.
You do end up seeing his American friend one more time. He comes in on a Wednesday morning, just like before. He doesn’t stop and look at any of the plants, instead beelining for you. You’re working on bagging some potting soil and watch him with wide eyes.
“Hi,” you say. “Can I help you find something?”
“No, I just-“ he cuts himself off, shaking his head. “I super killed that succulent.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re Oscar’s friend, right? He didn’t help you?”
The guy shakes his head. “He made fun of me, though. Said I overwatered it.”
“How is he, anyways?” You ask.
Logan frowns. “He’s good.”
You nod. “Well, d’you want to try again?”
“No, that’s not why I-“ he sighs, rubbing his temples. “He won’t shut up about you, you know.”
You cross your arms over your chest. “Find that hard to believe, since he hasn’t been here for almost a month.”
Which is maybe a little mean spirited. And probably not something you should be saying to his friend. You wince.
Now it’s his turn to blink wildly. “So you miss him too?”
You squint at him. “Why are we having this conversation? I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Logan,” he says. “You haven’t like… reached out to him or anything?”
“How would I?” You ask. “I don’t even know his last name, let alone his phone number.”
“His last name’s Piastri.”
“That feels like information you shouldn’t be giving away to strangers.”
He’s not listening, though. Something seems to have clicked in his head. His eyes go wide and he starts to back away.
“I have to go,” he says. “Thanks!”
You’ve had a lot of strange interactions while working retail, but that one comes in pretty high on the list. And it leaves you wondering about Oscar, which is something you’re trying desperately not to do. All in all, not a great day.
…..
Two weeks later, you clock out of your Tuesday shift around lunchtime and head down the street. It’s raining again, but at least this time you’re armed with a raincoat and an umbrella. Your car is parked nearby, but you’re in the mood for coffee and warm food, so you head to the cafe nearby. You try not to think about the time Oscar had brought you coffee from there. You can’t help picturing his soft smile, eyes trained on the cups balanced precariously in his hands.
You make it halfway to the cafe before a gust of wind hits your umbrella at just the right angle and snaps the metal supports. Then, as if the universe is playing a cruel trick on you, a car speeds by on the road next to you, hits a puddle, and sprays you with muddy water. It soaks through your clothes and onto your skin nearly immediately. You fight the urge to ball your hands into fists and yell dramatically at the sky.
“Shit,” someone says, and the sound of his voice makes your breath catch in your chest. Then he says your name.
You turn, coming face to face with Oscar. Well. Okay. He’s studying you with a pained look on his face and standing under an umbrella.
“Yeah, shit,” you mutter, shaking water from your hands. “Oh my God. Hi, by the way. It’s been a bit.”
“It has,” he agrees, shuffling closer to hold the umbrella over you. “Here. Um. You okay?”
You shrug. “S’just water. I won’t melt.”
Oscar laughs- god, you’ve missed that sound- and nudges your shoulder. “You’ve got bad luck with rainstorms, huh?”
You nod. You’re trying not to freak out at the fact that he’s here. Oscar is standing next to you, holding his umbrella over your head. He’s here and he’s talking to you and he’s feeling sympathetic, which maybe means he doesn’t think you’re completely crazy.
“S’what I get for trying to go get coffee,” you say over the sound of raindrops on the umbrella. “And lunch. Now I’ve got to drive home like this.”
Oscar frowns, his whole face crumpling with it. “Hey, you know… I live just a block down. If you want, you could come and change into some dry clothes.”
Your mother would kill you for even considering it. You can practically hear her yelling in your head. But god, it’s Oscar. It’s Oscar and you haven’t seen him in a month and you might never see him again. There’s something about the soft look on his face that makes you trust him.
“Okay,” you say, quietly. “That would be… really nice. But only if you’re sure.”
“Of course,” he says.
Your shoulders brush as you walk, the umbrella over both of your heads. The two of you are nearly silent on the walk there. It’s like neither of you quite know what to say. You know you don’t. You worry he’s regretting inviting you to his place. But he lets you in the front door, leads you to the elevator, and all the way up to flat. When he opens the door, warm air pours over you like a river. You step in and toe off your boots, wincing at the squish of your wet socks.
Oscar winces, too. “Here, the bathroom’s right there,” he says, pointing at a partially open door. “I’ll go grab you some dry clothes. There’s towels in there too.”
You nod and step into the room. So far, the little bit of his apartment that you’ve seen matches up with what he’s told you. There are no shoes sitting out in the entryway. The bathroom is nearly spotless, which makes you feel a bit guilty about the dirty rainwater you’re dripping onto the floor. Oscar’s only gone long enough for you to take off your jacket.
He knocks on the door. “I’ve got clothes for you.”
You open the door, and he’s standing there, eyes squeezed shut. The clothes are held out in midair, like he’s trying to keep his distance. You laugh and take them, murmuring out a thanks. As you go to change, you hear him walk away.
You shuck your wet clothes off and drop them in the tub, shivering when the air hits your bare skin. You wipe the rainwater from your skin. Then you pull on the clothes he gave you- a t-shirt, a hoodie, and a pair of sweatpants. Plus a pair of thick, warm looking socks. All of them are baggy on you, but luckily the pants have a drawstring so you can pull them tight around your hips. You wring the water out of your hair with the towel and then wrap it around your shoulders before you step out into the hallway.
You can hear him moving around in the next room, so you head there. He’s standing at the kitchen island, which is open to the living room. He looks up when he hears you walk in, and a soft smile spreads across his face. His living room is neat and tidy, too. His plants are all lined up on the windowsill. You recognize them all from your store, and you smile.
“D’you have a plastic bag I can put my clothes in?” You ask, and he tilts his head at you. “I don’t wanna get more rainwater on your floor. Or in my car, really.”
“I mean, sure,” he says with a shrug. “Or… you could throw them in the washer. Hang out for a bit.”
He’s not looking at you anymore. You’re glad, because you’re sure you have a dumbfounded look on your face. It’s then that you notice the coffee machine running on the counter behind him, and the snacks out on the counter. Your mind is racing. He hasn’t stopped by the shop in nearly a month, but now…
“I don’t want to be a bother,” you say, unsure what else there is to possibly say.
He shakes his head, still not looking up. “You’re not.”
You cast your eyes to the window. It’s raining harder now. And god, you’ve missed him. You didn’t realize just how much until you were standing here.
“It’s been a while,” he says, turning his back to you when the coffee maker beeps. “We have some catching up to do.”
You think about letting it go. Maybe it’s enough to be here. Maybe you just shouldn’t bring it up. But really, you’re confused about the fact that he stopped coming to the store.
You tilt your head at him. “Yeah, you stopped coming in.”
“Well, you never texted me,” he says. “So I figured I’d freaked you out or something. But then Logan said he stopped by and you asked about me-“
You stare at the back of his head, bewildered, and you break in. “Oscar, I don’t have your number.”
He freezes, hand in midair, reaching for a coffee mug. He turns his head over his shoulder, and his eyes meet your again. He looks just as confused as you feel. Suddenly, your heart is racing in your chest.
“I wrote it on the coffee cup,” he says, voice quiet.
You stare at him, wide eyed. “There was nothing on my coffee cup.” He shakes his head, opens his mouth, but you keep talking. “I’m sure of it. But there was writing on yours. I know because I wondered if the barista was trying to give you her number.”
Oscar just stares at you for a moment, his lips barely parted. “Shit. I gave you the wrong cup.”
Shit, you repeat in your head. He tried to give you his number. He thought he gave you his number, and then you never texted him. He thought you rejected him. No wonder he stopped coming in.
“You could’ve just asked me for my number, you know,” you tell him.
“Yeah, but this was cuter,” he says. “It was- it was my number and this cheesy ass pickup line that Logan helped me think of and I- I really thought you just didn’t…”
“Pickup line?”
“Looking back it sounds stupid,” he admits. “But yeah. I was trying to ask you out on a date. And so when you didn’t text me…”
You cross the room, walking right up in front of him. His hands have fallen to his sides. His eyes trace your face as you smile up at him. He’s chewing on the inside of his cheek, brows slightly furrowed. You can smell the coffee now- it reminds you of when he brought you the coffee weeks ago.
“You should ask me now,” you tell him, smiling brightly.
He nods. “Without the pickup line, though.”
You pout up at him. He grins. One of his hands comes up to the side of your face, fingers cupping your jaw. His thumb prods at your cheek.
“Will you go on a date with me?” He asks, voice low.
You pretend to think about it. Pretend it doesn’t make your heart melt just to hear him say it. “Hm. When?”
He shrugs, looks around. “How about now?”
“It’s raining,” you remind him.
“We can have a stay at home date,” he suggests. “Coffee, lunch, a movie, maybe.”
You tilt your head. “Sounds nice.”
“Yeah?” He says, sounding a bit like he doesn’t quite believe you.
“Yeah,” you agree. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me out since the day we met.”
Oscar laughs and leans closer. “I’ve got a lot of time to make up for, then.”
He presses his lips to yours, and your eyes slip closed. You reach up and tangle your fingers in his hair to keep him close. He tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear- it’s still wet from the rain, and both of you giggle into the kiss. His hands drop to your hips, shoving the sweatshirt out of the way to hold onto you. You could kiss him for hours, you think. It’s all you’ve wanted for months now.
The coffee is growing cold on the counter. Suddenly, though, you don’t need caffeine.
He pulls away slightly, looks you up and down. “You look cute in my clothes, you know.”
You giggle and tug on the sweatshirt, pointing at the orange logo on the chest. “Thanks. Big McLaren guy, are you?”
Oscar laughs and brushes his lips against your temple. “You don’t even know the half of it.”
Then he goes back to kissing you. You’re not complaining. You’ve got all the time in the world to learn all about him.
…..
Weeks later, you corner Logan at the British Grand Prix. Oscar’s distracted by interviews, but Logan’s not busy.
“What was the pickup line he wrote?” You ask, arms crossed over your chest.
Surprisingly, he needs very little convincing. He just laughs, eyes darting to where Oscar stands behind you in the media pen. His gaze is full of amusement.
“I be-leaf we’re meant to be,” he says in a teasing tone. “He was down bad.”
You laugh and turn over your shoulder to look at your boyfriend. He’s grinning watching the two of you talk. Later, you tease him for the cheesy line, for hiding behind coffee cups and scribbled pen when he could’ve just told you. He teases you for the same, for not telling him how you felt, for not making a move. And then you look at him, knowing your gaze is terribly soft.
“I believe it, too,” you tell him.
When he kisses you, you draw constellations between the freckles on his face with your thumb. Outside, it starts to rain.
a/n: can you tell I am a big plant nerd? anyways live laugh love oscar piastri I want to help him pick out plants :)
taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me
#oscar piastri oneshot#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri fanfic#formula one oneshot#formula one fanfic#formula 1 fanfic#f1 fanfic#formula 1 oneshot#formula 1 x reader#oscar piastri#honeywrites#op81#if you’ve made it this far in the tags somehow hi
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