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joycrispy · 8 months

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One thing I love about Crowley --never stated, but consistently shown-- is that he is, at heart, an engineer.

I have a few different things to say about that. Let's unpack them.

As the Unnamed Angel, we see his designs for the Pillars of Creation are millions of pages long, comprised of cramped text, footnotes, diagrams, schematics, etc. It's very...Renaissance polymath, in the way it implies a particular intersection of artist and inventor.

Also: in the naked romanticism with which he views his stars.

We already knew he made stars, but in s2 we learn that he did NOT sculpt each of them by hand. He designed a nebula ("a star factory," he says) that will form several thousand young stars and proto-planets, and all --aside from getting the 'factory' running-- without him lifting a finger. We also learn that these young stars and proto-planets stand in contrast to those made by other angels, which are going to come 'pre-aged.'

...I'm reminded of Hastur and Ligur's approach to temptations. Damning one human soul at a time, devoting singular attention to it over the course of years or decades, and how that stands in contrast to Crowley's reliance on, quote, 'knock-on effects.'

Ligur: It's not exactly...craftsmanship. Crowley: Head office don't seem to mind. They love me down there.

Hm.

I'm also reminded of the M25.

The M25 may not be as grand as a nebula (sentences you only say in GOmens fandom...), but LIKE his nebula it's an intricate, self-sustaining engine that does Crowley's work for him, many times over. Again.

That's some pretty neat characterization --and so is the indication towards Crowley's disinterest in victimizing anyone tempting individual people. It takes a considerable amount of planning and effort (and creeping about in wellies), but in accordance with his design the M25 generates a constant stream of low-grade evil on a gigantic scale.

Cumulatively gigantic, that is. Individually? Negligible.

But no other demon understands human nature well enough to parse that one million ticked-off motorists are not, in any meaningful way, actually equivalent to one dictator, or one mass-murderer, or even one little influential regressive. That's the trick of it. Crowley gets Hell's approval (which he NEEDS to survive, and to maintain the degree of freedom he's eked out for himself), and at the same time ensures that any actual ~Evil Influence~ is spread nice and thin.

It's some clever machinery. And he knows it, too:

The Unnamed Angel and Crowley are both proud of their ideas.

(musings on professional pride, Leonardo da Vinci, the crank handle, and 'the point to which Crowley loves Aziraphale' under the cut)

In the 1970's Crowley gives a presentation on the M25, projector and all, to a room full of increasingly impatient demons. Maybe the presentation was work-ordered; the 'can I hear a WAHOO?' definitely wasn't.

Before the Beginning, the Unnamed Angel can barely contain his excitement about his nebula. Aziraphale manages a baffled-but-polite, "....That's nice... :)"

11 years ago, Hastur and Ligur want to 'tell the deeds of the day,' and Crowley smiles to himself because (according to the script-book) he knows he has 'the best one.'

(Naturally, his 'deed' has nothing to do with tempting anybody, and everything to do with setting up a human-powered Rube-Goldberg machine of petty annoyance. Oodles of 'Evil' generated; very little harm done.)

Hastur and Ligur don't get it, of course. That's also consistent.

Nobody ever knows what the hell he's talking about.

It didn't make it on-screen, but, in both the novel AND the script-book, Crowley was friends with Leonardo da Vinci. The quintessential Renaissance polymath. That's where he got his drawing of the Mona Lisa --they're getting very drunk together, and Crowley picks up the 'most beautiful' of the preliminary sketches. He wants to buy it. Leonardo agrees almost off-the-cuff, very casual, because they're friends, and because he has bigger fish to fry than haggling over a doodle:

He goes, "Now, explain this helicopter thingie again, will you?" Because he's an engineer, too.

(It is 1519 at the latest, in this scene. Why the FUCK would Crowley know about helicopters, and be able to explain them, comprehensively, to Leonardo da Vinci?

...Well. I choose to believe he got bored one day and worked it out. Look, if you know how to build a nebula, you can probably handle aerodynamics. And anyway, I think it's telling that this is his idea of shooting the shit. 'A drunken mind speaks a sober heart,' and all. He probably babbled about Aziraphale long enough to make poor Leo sick)

Apart from Aziraphale, Leonardo da Vinci is the only person Crowley has any keepsakes or mementos of.

Think about that, though. Aziraphale's bookshop is bursting with letters, paintings, busts, and personalized signatures memorializing all the humans he's known and befriended over 6000 years (indeed: Aziraphale has living human friends up and down Whickber Street. He's part of a community).

Crowley doesn't have any of that. It's just the stone albatross from the Church (for pining), the infamous gay sex statue (for spicy pining), the houseplants (for roleplaying his deepest trauma over and over, as one does), and this one piece of artwork, inscribed, "To my friend Anthony from your friend Leo da V."

To me, at least, that suggests a level of attachment that seems to be rare for Crowley.

...Maybe he liked having someone to talk shop with? Someone who was interested? Someone engaged enough to ask questions when they didn't immediately understand?

...Anyway.

There's also the matter of the crank handle.

This thing:

This is one of the subtler changes from the book. In the book, Crowley knows Satan is coming and, desperate, arms himself with a tire iron. It's the best he can do. He's not Aziraphale; he wasn't made to wield a flaming sword.

The show, IMO, improves on this considerably. Now he, like Aziraphale, gets to face annihilation with what he was made for in his hand. And it's not a weapon, not even an improvised one like the tire iron.

He made stars with it.

[both gifs by @fuckyeahgoodomens]

If you Google 'crank handle,' you'll get variations on this:

Crank handles have been around for centuries. Consisting of a mechanical arm that's connected to a perpendicular rotating shaft, they are designed to convert circular motion into rotary or reciprocating motion.

Which is to say they're one of the 'simple machines,' like a lever or a pulley; the bread and butter of engineering. You'll also get a list of uses for a crank handle, archaic and modern. Among them: cranking up the engine of an old-fashioned car... say, a 1933 Bentley. That's what Crowley has been using his for, lately. But he's had it since he was an angel and he's still, it seems, very capable of it's angelic applications.

Stopping time. For instance.

(This is conjecture on my part, but, I like to imagine that Crowley has the ability to stop time for the same reason I can --and should-- unplug my computer before I perform maintenance on it. Time and Space are a matched set, after all, and in his designs in particular, one feeds into the other.)

I know everyone has already said this, but: I REALLY LIKE that when he needs to channel the heights of his power, he does so not with a weapon but with a tool. Practically with a little handheld metaphor for ingenuity. One from long-lost days when he made beautiful things.

(And he loved it. Still loves it --he incorporated that metaphor into the Bentley, didn't he?)

Let Aziraphale rock up to the apocalypse with a weapon: he has his own compelling thematic reasons to do exactly that. Crowley's story is different, and fighting isn't the only way to express defiance. And if you've been condemned as a demon and assumed to be destructive by your very nature, what better way than this?

He made stars. They didn't manage to take that from him.

Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale are fighters, really --they have no intention of fighting in any war. They'll annoy everyone until there's no war to fight in, for a start. But between the two, if one must be, then that one is Aziraphale. Principality of the Earth, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, Wielder of the Flaming Sword... all that stuff. Even if he'd prefer not to, it's very clear that Aziraphale can rise to the occasion, if he must.

Crowley was never that kind of angel. He wasn't a Principality. He doesn't have a sword.

...And yet.

It's Crowley who protects. He's the one who paces, who stands guard, who circles Aziraphale and glares out at the world, just daring anyone else to come near.

In light of everything else I've said here, I think that's interesting.

Obviously part of it is that Aziraphale enjoys it and, you know, good for him. He's living his best life, no doubt no doubt no doubt. But what about Crowley? What's driving that behavior, really?

Have you heard the phrase, 'loved to the point of invention'? Well, what if 'the point of invention' was where you started? What if where you end up involves glaring out at the world, just daring anyone else to come near? What is that, in relation to the bright-eyed thing you used to be?

What do we name the point to which Crowley loves Aziraphale?

...Thinking about how an excitable angel with three million pages of star design he wants to tell you all about...becomes a guard dog. Is all.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #Crowley #Aziraphale #good omens 2 #good omens meta #unfortunately I do not have trains of thought #only long meandering strolls of thought #sorry about it #anyway tl;dr Crowley is a nerd #also I have a strange emotional attachment to the idea of 1500's Crowley...#...facedown in a pile of Mona Lisa sketches; drunkenly info-dumping about Aziraphale #and Da Vinci is just like. 'Ahhhh mio amico Antonio. You fucking simp.'

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ugh-yoongi · 9 months

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a yoongi soft thought i have been having recently: streamer!yoongs with an also streamer reader, they both work independently but the fans know about their relationship and love it so much! i was thinking about them deciding to do a stream together where the reader does his makeup and they talk to the public, very cliche very soft lol

hope you like the idea, luv your writing ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

omggg you have no idea how much i SQUEALED reading this message. thank u so much for sending it i am now overwhelmed with soft yoongi feels 😭

i have never actually watched a twitch stream??? so i hope i did this justice & you enjoy! <3

stream is starting

pairing: yoongi x reader (no pronouns used) genre: est. relationship, streamer au; fluff warnings: fluff overload. reader does yoongi's nails and makeup. they kiss a lot. idk what to say they're just very in love!! i don't think i said even ONE curse word in this that's how soft it is. unedited. rating: e for everyone wordcount: 1.6k listen to: carly rae jepsen - run away with me; jungkook - seven (nightfall mix)

It starts, as most things do with Yoongi, after a night out.

He’d gone out with Hoseok. Wanted to blow off some steam after a long week for both of them. You’d sent him off with a kiss, a text me if you need a ride that was met with an affectionate roll of his eyes, and finally a have fun, love you that he returned with a smile and a kiss to your forehead.

Now, it’s nearing two a.m., and you’re in bed with a facemask on, staring down at your phone.

Yoongi had sent you a picture. It’s blurry and unfocused, clearly taken on a whim, but those are undoubtedly Hoseok’s hands. You’d know those slender fingers anywhere, but it’s the nail art that tips you off. Each finger is painted black except for his pinkies, which are decorated with smiley face stickers, sealed with an extra-shiny clear coat. Beneath the photo, two texts from your boyfriend:

Is this hard to do They’re cute

You snort, typing out a quick reply.

No, it’s not hard Why, you want me to do your nails?

You expect him to say no. Not because of some toxic masculinity bullshit, he just does too much with his hands. Chip a nail playing guitar? The acetone would be out immediately. Smudge the polish? His pout would be overwhelming.

So you’re surprised, then, when he says yes; when he sends you a few pictures he plucked off of Pinterest, accompanied only with a half-dozen question marks.

Yeah, I can do that, you send him.

Even more surprising:

Maybe on stream? We haven’t done one together yet You can finally do my makeup too

You shouldn’t be surprised by the numbers, considering Yoongi has been hyping it up for weeks.

Kept posting teasers. Had a countdown timer on screen during his usual streams. Acted all coy and shy whenever his chat would ask him about it. Could barely swallow his smile when they demanded to know if you were finally making an appearance. Couldn’t hide the way his cheeks grew pink at all, and that tiny crumb was enough to send the internet into a frenzy.

So, no, you shouldn’t be surprised, but the view count on Yoongi’s screen seems too big to be real.

Yoongi is as shocked as you, but there’s pride simmering beneath the surface. Not once has he turned down an opportunity to show you off. Refuses to keep you hidden despite how private he insists on being otherwise. Doesn’t want you to feel like you’re a secret; wants everyone to know how much he adores you.

You’re certainly feeling adored now. “Does that say thirty thousand?”

“Sure does. Think you can perform under that kind of pressure?”

You snort. Pinch playfully at his side. Yoongi squeals, twists away from you, but he’s more serious when he comes back around. Reaches for you as he settles, hands on your hips, thumb brushing the warm skin beneath your sweatshirt. “Thanks for doing this with me,” he says, and you know Yoongi means it the same way you say I love you.

All you can do is smile, suddenly overwhelmed by how fond you are of him. How it feels like your heart grows three sizes every time he flashes you one of those gummy smiles of his own.

“Of course,” you say, because there’s only—“Five minutes. You ready?”

He pulls a face. Asks you to sit for a quick light test. Spends a few seconds fussing over it even though you think it looks fine. Makes sure all your supplies are organized and at the ready—you decided to let Yoongi’s stream decide all the colors and stickers, so there’s stuff everywhere, and you can see how stressed he is.

So you reach out, smooth over the furrow between his brows. “Relax, baby.”

He huffs. “I’m trying, it’s just—”

“You’ve done this a million times.”

“Yeah, by myself. Not with you. Not in front of… Jesus, there’s even more of them now.”

You roll your lips to hide the smile that’s creeping up. “C’mere,” you say, sliding your fingers through his belt loops. “Everything is going to be fine, okay? This is just for fun. Deep breaths.”

Yoongi listens. Closes his eyes, sucks in a breath. Holds it for a few seconds before he exhales, and it probably doesn’t do anything to dampen the buzz, but at least he looks glued back together. “I know.” Another inhale, another slow exhale. “I just want this to go well.”

“It will.”

He looks like he wants to argue. Push back on it. But Yoongi knows you just like you know him, and he trusts you implicitly. He wants to argue. Instead, he says, “Okay,” presses a soft kiss to your lips, and that’s the end of that.

“What color did they decide on?”

Admittedly, you might’ve gone overboard. Surely you didn’t need to bring over every eyeshadow palette you own, but you wanted options, and now those options are coming back to bite you in the rear. There are too many.

Yoongi huffs. “I don’t know. I can’t scroll through the chat because you made me put my hands in this ridiculous thing.”

“It’s a UV lamp. You don’t want your nails to chip, do you? After I just spent all that time and effort—”

“Okay, okay,” Yoongi relents, and a familiar blush creeps up his neck. Over his shoulder, you can see his chat explode with messages. “You see what I have to put up with?” he asks them.

“Yeah, it’s awful,” you agree, leaning in closer to the monitor. “Hi, guys. What color eye makeup should we do?” The chat erupts again. Messages come in faster than you can keep up with. “Wow, there are a lot of you. Of course I’m going to do eyeliner. Oh—I’m seeing a lot of requests for purple. That okay with you, babe?”

“Sure. Give the people what they want.”

With a smile, you pat his cheek with a gentle hand, cooing at him. “So accommodating. Isn’t he the best, chat?” Yoongi rolls his eyes, blush deepening. You think he’d hide behind his hands if they weren’t still drying. “Okay, nails are all done. Want to show them how they turned out?”

Like most things with Yoongi are, it’s easy.

He sits patiently while you prime his skin, commenting on how nice it is, and he makes small talk with his chat. Tells them how the two of you met, how disastrous your first date had been, how Yoongi thought he’d blown it for good. He’s told all of these stories before, but it still warms your heart to hear them again—to hear the way he speaks each word with such care, such affection.

“Show them how beautiful you look with your eye makeup done.”

He rolls his eyes, but does as you request anyway. Once again, the chat explodes, and the amount of emotes whirring by nearly makes you go crosseyed. COUPLE GOALS!!!! stands out amongst the chaos, and you know Yoongi has read it because another slow, gummy smile takes over his face.

You do his foundation next even though he doesn’t need any. Even though the chat demands he drop his skincare routine and he admits he doesn’t have one. “It is so unfair that you have this skin and can barely remember to moisturize.” You pretend to boo him. “God truly has favorites.”

“Yeah, you,” Yoongi says, and it’s so quick, so automatic, that it catches you off guard. Has you spraying the setting spray before you can tell him to close his eyes. “Aish, what was that—”

“Sorry!”

“I’m blind,” he wails. “You’ve blinded me!”

“I did not—”

But you’re up and off anyway, disappearing into the bathroom for a wet washcloth. You can hear Yoongi’s raspy laughter from the hall, know he’s not grievously injured and is just playing it up for laughs, and you don’t mind. Loving Yoongi means seeing all of his parts, and you know he’s got a darkness in him just like everyone else, that sometimes he finds it hard to escape it, so you want him to be this carefree and joyous always. Want to hear that laughter all the time.

You’re hovering in the doorway when he says, “Do you think this is what they meant when they said love is blind?”

And you’re… struck. You can feel how much Yoongi loves you in everything he does; can hear it in every word he says whenever he speaks about you. He handpicks each one, wraps it in the care it deserves. Not because they’re fragile, but because he wants to, and that kind of love feels a little overwhelming. Has you blinking back tears.

You’re not going to cry on stream, so you take a second to get yourself together before you walk back in the room. Say, “Are you done being dramatic yet?” because it’s easier to joke, and Yoongi shoots you a smile that says he knows.

“Of course,” he answers. “Please continue. The chat is patiently waiting to see the final product.”

You make a show of looking over his shoulder again, at pretending to read all the comments. You press a kiss to his temple just because you’re there. “Oh, they are, are they?”

One catches your eye: is anyone else painfully aware of how single they are rn.

#yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fluff #yoongi fic #yoongi imagine #yoongi scenarios #yoongi x you #bts x reader #bts x you #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts fic #jewel writes

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cowgurrrl · 4 months

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It Ain't Me Babe

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Author’s note: A holiday present from me to you ❣️

Summary: Ellie’s first art club meeting [2.8k]

Warnings: creative insecurity, mentions of financial instability, teacher things, Ellie talking about Sarah, more flirty flirt, I think that’s it??

Nothing has ever been as annoying or guilt-inducing as an unfinished piece of art. Sure, every artist— no matter the medium— has felt like an uncreative, unoriginal hack, but it still feels just as new as it did the first time. Moonlight streams through your window as you glare at the canvas, hoping for an idea or stroke of genius. It's late. You should be in bed, especially since it's a Sunday night and you spent your weekend working at the bar down the street. But you're holding a paintbrush between stained fingers and praying for a miracle. It's been eight months since you last sold a piece for a whopping $200, chump change when it comes to living in Austin these days. Even with two jobs and doing commission work, you're living paycheck to paycheck. Maybe that's why it's so hard to create? That has to be the reason. You don't remember it being this hard when you were younger.

Creating art was the only thing that brought you solace during your teenage years. It didn't matter if it was drawing, pottery, painting, sculpting. All that mattered was that you were doing it and you were good. You won awards, scholarships, and attention. Your art teacher, Ms. Henry, was a godsend. Grey-haired, glasses-wearing, colorful Ms. Henry glided through lessons and projects like it was second nature. She always had pencils in her hair, a mug in her hands, and a kind word on her lips when you entered her classroom. She's the one who pushed you to go to your artsy liberal arts college full of people richer and better than you. Even with her love and support, you struggled and almost dropped out after that first semester.

"There's always someone better," she told you when you ended up crying across from her in a coffee shop. "But there's nobody in the world who can make what you will because there is and never will be another you. I mean, God, what a gift. I'd hate to see you waste it." That sobered you enough to keep going and eventually pursue a teaching certification. Ms. Henry has since retired to the Pacific Northwest with her wife, Mable, and sends you a postcard every once in a while because she believes smartphones will be the downfall of civilization. After so many years in education, you're ready to agree with her.

You sigh, feeling your motivation fluttering away with your breath, and plop your paintbrush down in the cup engraved with the words "DO NOT DRINK" in bold. The canvas doesn't look like much of anything right now— just a mass of colors and shapes that could potentially pass as an abstract version of a landscape. It looks like the other painting you left at the school to work on when you have time. And the painting before that. And the one before that. You curse at exactly the same time your phone buzzes with a text.

You awake?

You don't bother responding and go straight to FaceTiming her. She picks up on the second ring, her beautiful, round face greeting you with a smile. You met Andie during high school, and her effortlessly cool attitude and bulky violin kit quickly became a part of your heart. You two were inseparable all four years of high school, dividing your time between rehearsals and time spent in the studio, but college took you to art school and her to a prestigious orchestra program in Vienna. She's been there ever since graduation, playing for diplomats and royals alike, but she comes home for holidays, and you've been trying to save money to go see her. Being so far from her is hard, but you make it work.

"Why are you awake?" You ask by way of a greeting, more than accustomed to your seven-hour time difference and her early riser habits. She laughs, and you hear a tea kettle whistle in the background.

"Well, hello to you, too," she says. "I have rehearsals all day today, so I got an early start. Why are you awake?"

"I'm staring at my waking nightmare."

"Oh, God, are you having another spiral?"

"I'm a hack."

"You're an artist."

"I got rejected again this weekend," you say as if to prove your point, and she sucks her teeth. "They said my art didn't fit their vision for their exhibition, but to feel free and submit another time."

"Well, they must not know great art when they see it. There will be another exhibition and another chance for you to show off your amazing skills. And when you get accepted, which I know you will, I'll fly in, and we'll drink fancy champagne and talk shit the entire opening night." She says, and you sigh. Her persistent optimism is one of the things you love about her, but sometimes, all you want to do is sulk.

"Or I could fly to you when your first composition gets performed, and we could do all those things in Austria instead of this shithole."

"Hey, some of us like that shithole."

"Some of us haven't lived in the shithole in ten years."

"Touche," she concedes. "But I'm serious about what I said. You're a good artist, just going through a little bump in the road. One day, we'll be really sexy and successful, and we'll look back at this and laugh with our rich spouses while drinking expensive wine."

"One day," you say, smiling. "How are rehearsals going?" She groans at the question, and you laugh. Whenever you talk to her, she's working on a new show or with a new conductor and always has something to say. There are many things you could call your best friend, but lazy is not one of them.

"I feel like we're stuck on this one part, but the conductor won't listen to me. He says he knows better than I do, which might be true, but also, if he just listened to me, then we can move on. I don't know. I'm sure if I poke him enough, he'll have to listen to me."

"Sounds reasonable."

"That's what I'm saying," she says as she shuffles her coffee mug and breakfast to her dining room table before checking the time. "It's midnight there. Don't you have school tomorrow?" She asks, and you sigh.

"And an early morning staff meeting and art club after school."

"Sometimes, I worry about your mental health." She says, and you laugh a little too deliriously to prove her wrong. You stay up talking with her for a while before finally getting hit with a wave of fatigue and crashing into bed.

The next day is not any less hectic than your weekend was. The staff meeting early in the morning is mind-numbing and completely unnecessary. The printer in the teacher's lounge breaks halfway through a heavy-duty print job, and you're left scrambling for new activities and lessons. Not only that, but your students were more out of control than usual, prompting a veteran teacher to come in and scold your class on your behalf. It would be kind if it didn't make you feel two inches tall and your students didn't look at you like you betrayed them. You spend your planning period indulging in the silence of your empty classroom and fighting off a migraine.

The second the final bell sounds, your art club kids are knocking down your door, more than ready to work on their projects for the winter showcase. The winter showcase is hosted by a local art gallery that opens for submissions from students every fall. If a student's work is taken, it gets shown in the gallery, and they get entered into a prize to win money and a chance to paint a mural downtown. It's a big deal. So far, you haven't had a student win first place, but you've had them get very close. You always assure them you're proud of them no matter what, which is especially true when Ellie slinks into your classroom with a shy smile.

"Hey! We're just setting up supplies to work on stuff for the showcase. Do you have something to work on?" You ask, gesturing to the students working around the room in a buzz.

"I think so. Are you gonna play music?"

"Who do you think I am?" You make a face, and she laughs. "Why don't you find a spot and get comfortable while I queue up a playlist?" She hesitates for a second before she takes a deep breath and musters up the courage to approach another student to ask if she can sit with them. They start chatting easily, and her shoulders relax as she gets more and more comfortable with all the new people. You put on a random playlist and move around the room to answer any questions about colors or give an opinion when asked for one. Over the course of an hour, Ellie makes her own little group of friends, and they all talk as if they've known each other forever as they work. She seems so in her own element, and you can't fight the pride beaming in your chest. Okay, so maybe your job can be pretty cool sometimes. Not fame and fortune cool or traveling overseas cool, but cool nevertheless.

Students gradually start packing up their things and leaving when they get texts from impatient parents in the parking lot or close to dinner time, but Ellie stays behind, bobbing her head to a beat or bouncing her knee under the table. She's the only one left in the classroom when you start packing your stuff and preparing the room for the next day. "You've got a ride home, honey?" You ask, and she glances nervously between you and her phone.

"Yeah. My dad should be here soon." She says.

"Alright, well, I've gotta lock up here, but I'll wait outside with you until he gets here."

"Oh, you don't have to do that."

"It'd make me feel better knowing you weren't left behind. Plus, I'm the adult responsible for you until he picks you up, so it's kinda illegal for me to just leave you here." You say, and she looks hesitant again but nods. Together, you walk out of the classroom and through the empty hallways until you get out to the scorching September afternoon. You stand outside in silence for a few seconds, taking in the sunset, before you turn to look at her.

"How'd you like the club?" You ask.

"It was fun! I met lots of cool people."

"I told you, kid. You just needed to give it a chance."

"I know, I know," she rolls her eyes, and you smile. "Thank you for pushing me to go. I don't think I would've gone without you." She's so genuine and kind in her tone that it throws you off-kilter. You're used to being berated by students, staff, and parents. To be told you actually had an impact on someone is not commonplace, to say the least.

"I'm sure you would've found your way there without me."

"Maybe, but you helped me get there a lot sooner than I would've on my own." She says, and you take a deep breath. It feels nice to be acknowledged, especially after the day you've had, and Ellie seems to sense it. You're looking for something to say when she looks down at her shoes and kicks a stray rock. "Just take the compliment and move on. Don't make it a thing."

"Alright." You say, laughing, and she cracks a smile, too. Traffic will be horrible on the way home, and you have nothing to eat for dinner, but it's okay. You did one good thing today. That's all you need.

"Sorry, my dad is taking so long." She changes the subject, a touch of anxiety creeping in, and you shake your head.

"Does he always work late?" You ask, and she shrugs.

"Sometimes. Dad and Uncle Tommy have been picking up jobs to send money to my sister in Boston. "

"What's in Boston for your sister?"

"Medical school. She's about to go into her internship at a hospital there."

"That's a big deal." You say, and she hums.

"Yeah. She'll probably save the world or something one day." There's a hint of something nostalgic in her voice, and you decide to push just a little.

"Do you miss her?"

"A lot," she says. "She's my best friend."

"She's lucky to have you." You say. She smiles but doesn't say anything. You want to ask more about her family, but a rickety, greenish pickup truck comes rumbling through the parking lot before you can. Ellie shifts her backpack on her shoulder as her dad and uncle come into view, and you smile at them. Joel, however, looks frantic.

He's unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the driver's side door before the car can even finish moving. There's dirt on his pants and a little bit of a sunburn across his arms, the muscles straining across the black fabric. He politely pulls the ball cap off his head to reveal sweaty curls as he approaches you, jerking his head toward the truck at Ellie. "Why don't you wait in the truck with Uncle Tommy? He's got a snack for you." He says, and Ellie lights up at the mention of food. When you're alone, he tucks his hands in his pockets and gives you an apologetic look.

"'M so sorry. We got caught up at work and lost track of time. It won't happen again." He says, wringing his hands like he's waiting to be scolded, but you wave him off.

"It's okay. Things happen, and I'm just glad she's got someone picking her up." You say.

"How'd she do today?"

"Really good. I think she fits right in."

"She make some friends?"

"I can't give away all my secrets. What else are y'all gonna talk about at the dinner table?" You tease.

"I guess that's right," he says as he stares at you, a muscle in his jaw jumping. "Thanks for waitin' with her."

"It was my pleasure." You say. You stand awkwardly for a few seconds, rocking back and forth on your feet. His eyes are locked in yours, and there's a silent competition to see who's gonna blink first. "Well, I should let you get home. Have a good night."

"Uh," he starts, stopping you before you can even fully take a step. "I wanted to apologize for the other night. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"You didn't make me uncomfortable," you say a little too quickly, and he smirks. "I was very flattered. Besides, it's not the first time."

"Beautiful woman like you, I'm sure you've got 'em linin' the block for a chance with you." He says. You're dancing a delicate dance here. You're not not flirting, and you're not not interested in him, but if your principal finds out, it could cause a whole new world of problems. Still, it's nice to be wanted after so long of being on your own. You're not a saint, but you're also not doing anything inherently wrong, right?

"The teacher thing usually freaks 'em out before they can get very far."

"That's a damn shame." He's quick with it, and you have to resist the urge to roll your eyes at the line. A buzz in your bag reminds you of the time and why you're still at school, and you find your footing again.

"Uh, I usually give out my contact information to the parents of my art club kids in case they need anything or need to contact me quickly. Since Ellie's an official part of that, I figured I should give you my phone number in case anything comes up. If that's alright?" You say, and he pulls his cracked phone from his back pocket.

"Yeah, yeah. That's more than alright." He says, handing it to you to punch in your information.

"It's for emergency purposes only."

"What d'you consider an emergency?"

"Mr. Miller-"

"Joel." He corrects, and you give him a look as you pass his phone back.

"Don't abuse it. I'd hate to have to put you in a group chat with all the PTA moms."

"You're evil." He groans, and you laugh. Tommy, leaning over and honking the truck horn, interrupts your conversation, and he shoots daggers through the back window.

"I'll see you next week, Joel." You say, dismissing him, and he hesitates for another second before nodding.

"See you next week." He says and turns on his heels to get back in his truck. You think you vaguely catch Joel scolding Tommy for being impatient, but you ignore his deep voice and the engine sputtering as you walk to your own car with a little more pep in your step than this morning.

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 (look at how many of you there are!)

#joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fic #the last of us x reader #joel tlou #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #the last of us fic #the last of us au #joel the last of us #ellie the last of us #joel au #joel miller fluff #joel miller au #tlou hbo #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction

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mavrintarou · 5 months

Text

[Daddies in December] Haitani Rindou

I feel like I make these Tokoyo Rev baddies into softies...

Warning: soft Rindou, smut

Aside from getting blood splatter on his nice and expensive as hell suits, the next thing that Rindou hated was when Y/n was upset with him and her cold shoulders.

The first time she was upset with him and gave him cold shoulders (which implied no sex and no talking, he couldn’t even hold her hand) he nearly went mad. He never had an issue wooing a woman back after making her mad but Y/n held her fucken ground. She would not forgive him until he explained how he learned from the lesson and how he was going to do better.

The damage he took to his pride just for her forgiveness.

Since then, in their two-year relationship, he ensured that if it was a mistake on his behalf, he would own up to it and apologize immediately.

Earlier that day he was fine, his day was going well but it wasn’t until he received a text message from her asking what he wanted for dinner and he responded, it’s up to you.

His fucken thumb tapped the send button too fast before his brain could register that she did not like that response.

“Well if it was up to me, I wouldn’t be asking you in the first place?”

Her reply was received five minutes later, okay.

Okay.

Rindou exhaled deeply, her reply sat heavily on his mind. It was neither good nor bad but he couldn’t tell by her tone if she was upset and annoyed at his response.

His palm was sweaty as he gripped the large and obnoxious bouquet and headed home. He wasn’t even sure why he was nervous, he just knew something was different about Y/n and he hated that he couldn’t figure it out. With her, she was always keeping him on his toes.

Her emotions were all over the place now that she was pregnant.

One minute she’s happy he is home and the next minute she’s mad because the kitchen shears aren’t sharp enough and the next minute, she’s sad with tears streaming down her cheeks about the squirrels being cold in the middle of winter.

He knew very little about pregnant women, had to purchase two books, and educated himself when he was at work.

“Are you… fucken reading?” Ran burst out laughing when he entered the board room and found Rindou engrossed in a book. When his younger brother didn’t bother to jab him back with a snarky response, he picked up the second book and his eyes widened. “Y/n is pregnant?”

“Yes,” Rindou murmurs, “maybe you should also read too, I saw a book on how to be an uncle.”

Their apartment was quiet and that upped Rindou’s nervousness.

“Baby?” he called softly, toeing off his shoes. “Y/n? Love? Where are you?”

“In the kitchen.”

His long legs took him straight into the kitchen where he presented his bouquet. He opened his mouth, like a child ready to present a present to their mom but when he saw her tear-streaked face, he tossed the bouquet on the table in front of her and was immediately at her side. “What happened? Who do I need to kill?”

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand but Rindou was faster, reaching to wipe her tears away.

“It’s not that…” she muttered.

“What made you and baby sad then?” he rephrased, one hand cupping her cheek while the other rubbed her belly which was just beginning to show.

Instead of answering, Y/n turned to point at the counter a few feet away. He stood up and face contorted. “Onions?”

“I was trying to make dinner but accidentally cut off the butt of it and couldn’t finish chopping the onions before I started crying.” She continued to wipe her eyes, “goodness that fucken stings.”

Rindou’s lips tremble before he laughs wholeheartedly.

Y/n shoulders shook as she joined him, laughing hysterically.

“God, I love you.” He kissed her softly, “never a dull moment with you.” Y/n moans against his mouth, her hand quickly undoing the buttons of his dress shirt and he chuckled. “Needy?”

“Just a little…” she pulled away, glancing at his swollen lips she just hungrily nipped at. “I had a dream about you.”

Rindou stood up, pulling her up and tugging her along as he led them to the couch. He pulled her down his lap, “do tell me, what was it about?”

Y/n’s hand rests over his heart, feeling the beats beneath her palm. “You were fucking me…”

“Hmm?” he urged her to continue.

“You… were holding me, your strong arms,” she touched his muscular bicep, “supporting my weight and pounding hard into me while I hold on to your shoulders…”

Rindou’s eyes darken as he nods his head, “ah, is that so?”

Y/n nodded, she reached to brush his lower lip with her thumb. “I’ve been thinking about it all day…”

Rindou nipped her thumb before soothing it with his tongue, “what should I do about it?”

She looks up at him, “I think you should fuck me like how you did in my dream?”

“You would like for me to turn it into a reality?”

“Yes please,” she whispered.

He nodded his head with a small smirk, “anything you want.” He pinched her chin between his finger and thumb, bringing her face closer until he could kiss her again.

Without breaking their kiss, he guided her to straddle his lap, his hands slipping underneath her shirt, feeling the warmth of her naked skin. He cupped her breast through her bra before they slid behind to undo the claps. Rindou pulled away from their heated kiss, to tug her clothing off.

His lips pressed against her collarbone, tongue running up to her throat. “You want my cock? Then take me out then.”

Her hand reached for his pants, tugging at his belt and button before pulling the zipper painfully slow. His cock was already erect, bulging against the materials of his boxers. Her hand slid inside, stroking his cock.

Rindou's head rests against her chest as he groans already underneath the touch of her hand. “Faster, baby…”

Her hand fastened until he felt himself ready to combust. He gripped her wrist, “hurry and strip so I can fuck you like your dreams.”

Y/n quickly scrambles to stand, pushing down her jeans and underwear.

Rindou leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her small bulging belly. “You look so fucken sexy pregnant.”

Her fingers threaded through his neatly combed hair, “even when I become bigger?”

“Hmm,” he agreed, standing up to push his pants and boxers down.

In one swift movement, he picked her up, her legs and arms locking around his body. “Let’s make your dream come true, ‘eh?” He lowered her and thrust into her at the same.

Y/n hugged him close, legs tightening around his waist. Her breath shook as she clamped around his cock. “Feels – feels just like my dream…”

Readjusting his arms, he hooked them behind her knees and began to slowly rock her on his cock.

“Rin…” Y/n moaned, her clit rubbing against his patch of trimmed public hair. Rolling her hips, she took him deeper doing so, “yes… yes, Rin!”

Rindou grunted, thrusting harder that their living room was filled with the sound of slapping skin.

Y/n’s back arched as she tightened around him, cumming.

Groaning, Rindou thrust a few more times before he came. He can feel his cock tugging with each spurt of cum. He maneuvered his arms to support her weight. “Bath?”

She nodded, her head still buried against the curve of his neck.

Kicking their clothes aside, he slowly walked towards the hall down to their room. With each step, he felt her clamp around him, making him flinch.

“If you keep squeezing me like that, I’m going to get hard again.”

. . .

>>> @queenelleee @mfreedomstuff @erintaro @callmeraider @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wolffmaiden @cloud-lyy

#tokyo manji gang #tokyo revenger #tokyo rev #tokyo revenger smut #tokyo revenger rindou #tokyo revenger x y/n #tokyo revenger x reader #rindou haitani #rindou smut #rindou fluff #rindou x y/n #rindou x reader

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starryeyedjanai · 7 months

Text

pedal to the metal of your heart

kinktober prompt: olfactophilia | 6.5k | explicit part one here | camboy alpha steve series tags: omegaverse, alpha steve, omega eddie, camboy steve, scent kink

read on ao3

Steve's freaking out.

That's the only real way to put it.

Robin is no help, as she watches him pacing a dent in the floor and listens to him talk himself in circles about what happened.

It's been days since it happened. Since he innocently opened up a package on his live stream and had it send him into a fucking pseudo-rut.

He can't explain it. He just knows he was doing a silly little thing for his followers and all of a sudden, he's knotting his fist on camera.

He quickly had to get it together enough to end the stream, but it didn't stop there. His dick remained stubbornly hard and he knotted his fist probably three more times during the next day like he was going through puberty again and knotting up during his first rut.

He was out of commission for a few days, first during his unexpected pseudo-rut - not quite as intense or as long as a regular rut, but still - and then the aftermath of being thoroughly unprepared for it. He was dehydrated and grumpy and his dick hurt and he was in a fugue state for another couple of days contemplating what happened.

In his fugue state with his brain still fuzzy, he found the package again - the garments sealed tight in a scent-proof box - and tried to see if he could find whoever sent him the package.

Because having someone's scent send you into rut, even pseudo-rut, is kind of, it's- it means something, right? It has to mean something.

So he examined the necklace he was still wearing and looked up the band on it and he thinks he found the guy, found Eddie.

He messaged him two days ago and he still hasn't heard anything and it's making him so anxious, he's biting his nails again - a habit he kicked a while ago.

"Rob, it's been too long. It's either not him or he doesn't, he doesn't want me or whatever." The thought that his - whoever Eddie is to him - the thought that he doesn't want Steve makes his heart thump loud and sad in his chest.

Robin barely looks up from the magazine they're flipping through and says, "You don't know that. He might not have even seen the message. Or he could be embarrassed that he accidentally made you knot up on camera. You don't know what he's thinking, so you should stop killing yourself over it."

He knows she's right. He knew she was right the first hundred times she's said it to him over the last couple of days, but he's so nervous. He feels like he might have found something that most people don't find, and he doesn't want to start using words like mate, but it's special still, finding someone who can evoke that kind of response in you.

He throws himself onto his bed dramatically and says, "That doesn't actually help. I know you're right, but I'm still anxious about it."

Robin looks at him and pats him on the thigh. "It's going to be okay, you know? No matter what happens, you'll be fine. Just breathe and wait it out. If he doesn't answer in another couple days, maybe it's not him. I can try to help you find whoever it was."

He nods and gets closer. She opens her arms and he buries his face in her hair as she cuddles him. "Thanks, Robbie. You're right. Maybe I was too out of it when I was searching. I was really going through it."

"Oh I know. I have the texts to prove it."

He pulls back and glares at them. "You cannot use those against me."

"I would never," she says, shoving him away. "I just came five times in a row, Rob, send help," she mocks.

He groans, burying his face in his hands this time. "It was so brutal. I never want to go through a rut alone ever again, even a pseudo one. It's never been like that before."

"Poor lil' guy," Robin says, patting his head.

"It's not little, Rob, you've seen it."

"Ough," Robin says. "Don't remind me. Never remind me."

Steve shakes his head, but still says, "Thanks, though, for sending food. The situation was dire and I could not think."

Robin preens at him. "Of course. What kind of best friend would I be if I didn't?"

Eddie doesn't get back to him for another couple of days and by then Steve thinks it's a lost cause. The guy either isn't the right person, or he's gun shy about all of this. Steve can't even blame him, really. A lot of people are weird about things like this. Some people don't believe mates exist, so maybe this guy thinks Steve's reaction was fabricated for the views.

He doesn't want to dwell on it, but it sucks. He thinks he maybe found- it doesn't matter, he tells himself.

It'll all be fine. He'll be fine, either way this turns out.

Of course, all of that is utter bullshit because the relief he feels when he sees that Eddie messaged him back is palpable. It's gut deep, like he hasn't been able to relax since he hit send and suddenly all of his muscles are able to relax and stop clenching.

He's in class, bored out of his mind, when he compulsively checks and has to stop himself from outwardly showing a reaction to it. He can't read it in class. He feels like if it's a rejection, Eddie probably wouldn't have even bothered, but if it is, he doesn't want to be in class when it happens.

He immediately gathers up his stuff and leaves the room ten minutes before the lecture ends and makes a beeline for his car. He can read it there. At least then, he'll be able to decide if he needs to go home and wallow or if he needs to treat Robin to lunch to celebrate.

He drops his bag on the passenger seat and pulls out his phone again, surprised he was actually able to hold off on reading it until now.

He takes a deep breath before opening the message.

Hi Stevie, It was my package. I've been kind of freaking out about it since it happened and didn't check to see if I had any messages here. Sorry for taking so long to get back to you. If you need, I can send proof that it's me? I'd love to talk if you still want to. You can message me here or we can take it offline. I promise to check my messages sooner than last time now that I know you'll be messaging me. Hope to talk to you soon, x Eddie

Okay.

Okay, so. So it's him. Probably. It's got to be him because he offered to send proof. He'll probably ask to see the proof anyway because one can never be too sure, but he thinks it's him.

Steve doesn't know what to do next.

He's freaking out too and they haven't even really talked yet. He wants to know everything about him. He wants to know who Eddie is and see him and talk to him and he's absolutely getting ahead of himself, but he can't help it. He's wanted to have this since he was a kid, since he first learned about mates and what they meant. Someone who won't leave.

He wants it so bad he can taste it.

He remembers Eddie's smell, has smelled it probably everyday since, opening up the second scent-proof package that had his shirt in it and smelling it, scenting it in his bed, rubbing his face over the soft material, breathing in Eddie's scent.

He needs to calm down, he realizes, and he loosens the death grip he has on his phone.

He texts Robin, tells them that his- that Eddie sent him a message and that he's freaking out a little bit.

She texts back and talking to her helps calm him down.

He does end up treating them to lunch off campus at a fancy little Italian restaurant.

"You absolutely need to see proof it's him," she tells him when he reads her the message.

"I know. He's got to have pictures with his band logo or something. I'll get proof," he says. "This feels so surreal."

"I bet. Lemme know if you need help crafting a message to him. I know you're going to be spiraling either way, but if I can help-" she says.

"I know, Rob. I'll be fine, I think. I'll let you know."

"Good. And I want to meet this guy. If you're gonna be talking to him or video chatting, I want to vet him."

"You cannot scare him away," he says, looking at her seriously.

She puts her hands up. "I won't! But if he's not good enough for you, I don't give a damn about mates. No one gets to talk to my best friend any kind of way."

His expression softens. They're so protective of him.

"If he's really my mate, he won't just be 'talking to me any kind of way'. He'll be kind," he says, hoping it's the truth.

She hums and they both stop talking as their food arrives.

Later that afternoon, laying on his bed, he crafts a message back to Eddie, asking for a picture of him with his band logo as proof.

He's seen pictures of the band in his quest to find him, but he doesn't know which one is him because he didn't let himself look for too long once he found them.

He asks Eddie to send a picture to his email since the site messaging doesn't allow pictures and his phone dings with an email notification not five minutes later.

He opens up the image and it's a picture of the guy from the band with the long hair, wearing a Corroded Coffin shirt, same logo and everything.

He's cute.

He's really fucking cute.

He breathes out a breath of relief that it's actually him and emails him back with his phone number so they can text. Well, he sends him his Google phone number because Robin's right - he needs to be sure this guy isn't a complete asshole before giving him his real phone number. As much as he wants to jump in feet first, he needs to slow down a little.

Eddie texts him almost immediately after he hits send, just a tentative hi, it's eddie and Steve is hitting the call button before he realizes what he's doing. So much for taking it slow.

"Hello?" Eddie's voice says down the line and Steve tries so hard not to roll over and start kicking his feet.

"Hi Eddie," he breathes out.

"Hi Stevie," Eddie says back and Steve is so fucking glad he was stupid and used his real government name on his Only Fans account if it means he gets to have Eddie saying his name like that.

"So I kind of hit call before I knew what I was going to say. Full disclosure," he says because he doesn't have a plan for how this is going to go.

Eddie laughs. "I figured, considering you called me like thirty seconds after I sent you a text."

Steve pouts a little. "Yeah, that kind of gave it away, didn't it?"

"It's fine. Seeing my picture and then my very unoriginal little hi it's me text and still wanting to talk to me right away is kind of doing something for my ego," Eddie says and Steve just knows he's grinning as he says it.

"I mean, you did send me that text like thirty seconds after I emailed you back, so."

"So we're both a little excited," he says.

Steve sighs. "Yeah, tell me about it. Your scent sent me into pseudo-rut, you know?"

He hears the breath that Eddie sucks in. He says, "Yeah? I- I wasn't sure if it was just the, you know, knot-popping on camera."

"Yeah, that plus some. It was kind of intense," he says, breathing out deeply.

"I bet," Eddie says and Steve shivers a little.

His dick is not going to get hard because of Eddie's voice. It's not.

After talking to him for another handful of minutes, asking first date kind of questions and answering Eddie's question in return, Eddie unfortunately has to get back to work because Steve messaged him during his break and he spent the last twenty minutes of it finding a picture to send and then talking to him.

Steve's heart flutters in his chest as they hang up, with promises to talk again soon.

He wants to text him again already, ask to facetime him and see him as soon as he gets off work. He wants to see his mannerisms as he talks - hearing his voice wasn't enough. He wants- he just wants.

But he doesn't want to scare him off by asking for too much too soon.

He wants to know Eddie on his own terms. He doesn't want to make him feel like Steve is pressuring him or moving too fast.

For someone who chronically goes all in too soon in every aspect of his life, that's going to be a challenge.

They talk a few more times over the phone and they text a lot. Like a lot.

They exchange snapchats and Steve gets little glimpses into what Eddie's life is like. He sends back similar things - his coffee cup showing off what he typically orders, his lunches from the caf, his dinners out with Robin, the drinks he gets him and Robin when they go out on the weekend.

Steve gets all these feelings in his chest when he sees Eddie's name pop up on his phone screen and he's trying so hard not to be too much, to text too much or call too much.

Eddie tunes in when he streams and he feels butterflies in his stomach when he sees his username pop up, just a bunch of heart eyes emojis whenever Steve does something that he particularly likes. (If he tries to isolate what those things are and replicate them so that he sees Eddie's username more, that's his business.)

They've been talking for over three weeks when he suggests what he's been wanting to suggest since the first time they talked.

They've been chatting on the phone a few times a week, usually later at night when Eddie's out of band practice or off work.

Steve's yawning towards the end of their call that night and knows he has to hang up soon if he wants to wake up on time for his class tomorrow, but the idea is in his head again and won't leave.

So he says, "I had an idea. I could send you something of mine, maybe? So we'd know if we're- if it was a fluke, when I went into pseudo-rut." He bites his lip nervously. He doesn't want it to be a fluke, he wants it to have meant something.

He hears Eddie breathe out and he says quietly, "Yeah, Stevie, I think they would be fine. I'll send you my address."

Steve sighs in relief and after they say their goodbyes, he thinks about what he's going to send to Eddie. He already bought the scent-proof bag to send to Eddie - after their first fucking conversation because he's incapable of being chill - so he just needs to pick what he wants to send.

Immediately, his cock starts aching. Thinking about spreading his come on the now, frankly, disgusting pair of panties Eddie sent him and sending it back to him all packaged up and scent-proofed so that when Eddie opens it, he's hit with the smell of their scents tangling together.

The way Steve has been hit with the scent every time he lifts the shirt Eddie sent along with it up to his face when he's getting himself off, their scents mingling in his nose, making him whine and cry out and want.

Is that too much?

Maybe that's too much. Maybe he should just send his own pair of underwear, smothered in his scent, to Eddie. He feels like that would be a little bit less unhinged of him. He doesn't want to come on too strong. He already feels like he wants too much from someone he barely knows.

But his skin buzzes at the prospect of Eddie opening the package from him and having it send him into a pseudo-heat like it did with Steve's pseudo-rut.

God, he needs to find something to come on so that he can jerk off and then send it covered in his come to Eddie.

He finds a clean pair of panties and then wonders if it might be better to just come into the underwear he's been wearing today. They'd smell more like him than laundry detergent. He contemplates for a minute because the underwear he put on today aren't anything special, just black briefs, but he thinks Eddie might appreciate it more if he can smell Steve's scent fully - the smell of his come mixed with the scent he naturally radiates.

He says, "Fuck it," and lays back on his bed and starts stroking himself through his briefs. He'll send Eddie a shirt too, one that he wears often, maybe his sleep shirt, so he can get the full experience.

He lets himself think about it again, about Eddie opening his package and groaning, burying his face in the very briefs he's touching himself through right now. He thinks about Eddie leaking slick, needing to pull out his toys because he needs something inside him after he smells Steve's scent.

He thinks about his slick hole, needing to be filled, over and over until it hurts almost. He thinks about Eddie's undoubtedly pretty cock and how he'd tug on it desperately. He'd come so many times with Steve's briefs pressed up under his nose just like Steve had.

Steve pulls his cock out of his underwear and strokes himself in earnest, twisting his wrist to stimulate the head on every other stroke. He thumbs at the sensitive head and thinks about burying his cock in Eddie's wet hole, thinks about how snug and warm it would be.

He'd fuck Eddie until neither of them could move, exhausted and spent and dripping. He'd fall asleep with his cock still inside Eddie's hole because neither of them could bear to part. He'd love it, waking up hard and still inside him.

He'd take it slow in the morning because they'd be worn out and sore from the day before. He'd fuck him so good and slow, feel his hole spasm around him as he came again, his cock barely spitting out any come. He'd fill him up, press his cock deep inside him and leave him feeling sated and sticky and like he could melt into the bed.

He wants to take care of him, he thinks, speeding up his hand. He wants to worship him, wants to do whatever Eddie wants him to do. He wants Eddie to take what he wants from him, wants him to hold Steve right where he wants him and take his pleasure any way he wants.

He wants Eddie on top of him, pinning him down as he sinks down on his cock. He wants Eddie to whisper in his ear exactly what he's going to do to Steve and how he's going to do it. He wants to feel taken care of, wants to feel held down and caught, weighed down by Eddie's weight on top of him.

His hips hitch up and he knows he's going to come soon, thinking about Eddie telling him what he wants and then taking it.

He shoves his cock back into his briefs so he can come all over the inside of them. He shudders through it, whining because he wants so many things with Eddie. He has to be his mate, he has to be, right? Steve wouldn't want him this much if he wasn't. He has to be.

He comes down slowly, breath evening out. He feels so sticky and gross. He peels his underwear down and immediately puts them in the scent-proof bag he bought.

He lays back down feeling kind of vulnerable. He wants this so bad, probably more than he's wanted most things. Because he's never had a relationship turn out good and he just wants something to be right for the first time.

So if he's found his, his mate - his true mate or perfect match or whatever people are calling it nowadays - he wants to know, so bad.

The anticipation is going to kill him, he thinks.

He sends the package out in the mail the next morning and tries not to think about doing something crazy like driving the three hours it would take to get from Chicago to Indianapolis. That'd be weird, right? Him showing up at the address Eddie sent to him, at noon on a Monday. That would definitely be too much, too soon.

He knows he's in deep when the rationale for not doing it that wins him over is that Eddie might be working and might not be at home in the middle of a work day.

He facepalms and tries to keep it together.

He goes to his classes and ignores the looks Robin gives him when they meet him in the library after class.

It's fine. Everything is fine.

Eddie will get the package in a few days and they'll probably know if it was a fluke or not. (Steve already knows it wasn't a fluke. He knows it like he knows he's an alpha, it's in his bones, deep. He's never sure about anything, but he feels sure about this. He feels something when he texts Eddie, when he hears his voice. That can't be a fluke.)

He just needs to chill out and not scare Eddie away before they confirm it.

He just always wants a lot and usually too fast. So he's trying to slow down, now that this could be the real deal. The big one, the one everyone's always waiting for and writing songs about and yearning for. He doesn't want to scare him away before he even gets to know him.

How embarrassing would that be? He can't imagine having to tell Robin that his mate, his actual mate, wants nothing to do with him because he's too overbearing.

So he can't be overbearing. He won't be. He'll keep it together and he won't do anything weird. Should be easy, right?

He texts Eddie that he mailed the package to him and sends him the tracking number.

The morning of his first midterm, Eddie texts him that the package is arriving later today and Steve somehow manages to find enough focus to not completely bomb his midterm.

He's buzzing with anticipation the entire day, waiting for Eddie to text or call and say that he has the package.

It's still light out when Eddie's name flashes on his screen.

Got it is all it says and Steve frowns.

He hits the call button.

Eddie picks up after a couple rings and says, "Hi, Steve," but he sounds weird. Oh no.

Oh no, oh no, oh no. It's not- they're not. Are they not-?

He swallows and tries to hold back the anxiety that's seeping into his body.

"Hi Eddie," he says back, trying not to freak out.

"I got the package," Eddie says, which doesn't give him anything to go off of.

"Yeah, I got your text. Did you open it?" he asks impatiently.

"Not yet," Eddie says, voice smaller than usual. "I'm kind of nervous to open it. I- maybe it's a weird thing to say, but I want this so badly. Like, I want it to send me into pseudo-heat. I want the whole mate thing to be true for us."

Some of the tension evaporates from his body. Oh.

"I want that too," he says, breathlessly.

"You do?" Eddie asks, hope in his voice, and maybe Steve hasn't been letting on just how much he's been anticipating this moment - for fear of being too much.

"Yes!" he says. "I've been tearing my hair out over here waiting for your text. I could barely focus on my midterm this morning."

"Oh fuck, you did say you had midterms this week. Should we wait-?"

"No!" he says, cutting him off. "I will literally die if we wait any longer. I've been waiting for this and hoping for so long now."

Eddie laughs. "Okay, okay! I'll open it. Do you want to maybe FaceTime while I open it?"

They haven't video chatted at all since they started talking. The only time Eddie's seen him has been on his streams and in the snapchats he sends him. Steve hasn't seen Eddie at all apart from the sleepy snapchats he sometimes sends him when he wakes up.

"Yeah, we should- uh. If it sends you into pseudo-heat, we could stay on the line if you want," he says, his cheeks heating up at the thought of seeing Eddie like that, desperate to come, desperate for something inside him. "Do you have supplies ready? You shouldn't open it if you aren't prepared."

"Oh trust me, big boy, I am plenty prepared. I've got a case of water and some snacks to get me through it," Eddie says and Steve's phone vibrates in his hand.

He pulls it away from his ear and accepts the FaceTime request.

"Hi," Eddie says.

"Hi," Steve says back shyly, looking at Eddie's pretty face.

"So I don't have a tripod or anything, so this'll have to do," Eddie says, holding his phone out to show Steve the package in his lap.

"Yeah, that's fine. I wasn't expecting, like, a show or anything. This is more than fine," he says, moving to his bedroom. He sits down on his bed with his back against the headboard and watches as Eddie one-handedly tears into the package.

It would be much easier to just put the phone down and open the package with two hands, but watching Eddie struggle is kind of cute, so he doesn't say anything.

Eddie gets the package open and pulls out the scent-proof bags Steve put his folded shirt and come stained briefs in.

The thoughts he's been trying to push out of his mind since he mailed the package come rushing back to the surface. Eddie's about to scent him and his dick is twitching about it.

His heart is beating so fucking fast.

"So, uh, this is it, I guess. The moment of truth," Eddie says, lifting the bag up to his mouth and using his teeth to tear through it.

There's something so unbearably hot about him literally tearing the package open with his teeth that Steve almost misses the quiet sound Eddie makes when the bag rips open.

It's this little punched out noise that's barely anything at all, but Steve knows that noise - he knows it because he made almost the exact same noise when he first got a whiff of Eddie's scent.

He looks at Eddie, as he takes out the briefs Steve came onto just days ago and buries his nose in them.

His cock twitches in his pants and he rushes to get them open.

"Talk to me, Eddie," he says, watching Eddie's face go a little slack, his eyes hazy as he opens them.

"It's- I. I feel like I'm going into heat," Eddie says, tilting his phone down so Steve can see his hard dick in his shorts. Fuck. Fuck.

"Yeah?" he asks, tilting his phone down too, so Eddie can see how hard he is too.

"Fuck, Stevie, want that in me," Eddie whines, falling back onto his bed. The phone in his hand is pointing up so all Steve sees is the ceiling as Eddie moans.

"Show me what you're doing?" he asks, desperate to see him again.

Eddie's kicked off his shorts in the two seconds his camera was pointed away apparently because the next thing Steve sees is his dripping cock. And-

Jesus christ. He's big. His cock- wow.

Steve takes his own cock in his hand and strokes it, watching Eddie's cock twitch as he smells Steve's scent.

"I need something inside me," Eddie says, dropping the phone onto the bed and Steve whines.

He wants to see him, but the phone is face down on his bed so Steve sees nothing. He hears Eddie rummaging around and stops his hand on himself because he only wants to touch when Eddie can see him.

He waits for another few moments as Eddie gets what he needs and then picks up the phone again.

"Steve, I'm so fucking hot right now," Eddie says, his face flushed. He's sweating a little already and Steve wants to bury his face in Eddie's neck, scent him right from the source.

Instead he grabs Eddie's shirt from under his pillow - the scent is so faint now, but it's still lingering. Steve shucks the shirt he was wearing off and tugs Eddie's shirt on.

He hears Eddie groan and he looks at his phone. Eddie's looking back at him, his eyes wild.

"You're wearing my shirt," he says, his eyes wide as he looks at him.

"I keep it under my pillow," Steve confesses. "It's losing its scent, but it still smells like you a little."

Eddie does something outside of the camera frame that makes him moan, and Steve sorely wishes Eddie did have a tripod or something so he could see all of him, could see how he's making himself feel good.

Eddie says, "I'll send you another one. This one." He tugs at the shirt he's wearing, fumbling as he takes it off.

With his clothes off now, he sets his phone on his bedside table, pointed at him. The angle is a little wonky, but Steve can see him, see what he's doing.

He squeezes his cock as Eddie kneels on the bed facing his phone and reaches back to grip the dildo inside him and pull it out a little. Fuck, when had he even gotten that inside him?

He grabs Steve's briefs and brings them up to his nose again, his moan long and drawn out as he sinks down onto the dildo with Steve's scent in his nose again.

He holds the dildo steady with one hand as he bounces up and down on it and Steve can't stop himself from planting his feet on his bed and fucking up into his fist at the same speed, wishing he was there, wishing he was sinking into Eddie's hole instead of his fist.

Eddie's dick bounces on every thrust down and Steve wants it in his mouth.

Steve moans, thinking of Eddie's hands in his hair, holding his head still as he fucks his face with his unfairly big cock. He doesn't know any other omega with a cock that big, jesus christ. He wants to swallow it, wants to choke on it, wants to taste Eddie's come on his tongue. He wants Eddie to come in his mouth and then make Steve eat him out, rub his wet hole all over Steve's face. He wants it, he wants it, he wants it.

And he says it, less afraid of admitting everything he wants now that Eddie seems to have had a similar reaction to his scent.

He tells him he wants to choke on his cock and taste him and listens as Eddie's moans get louder and louder.

It spurs him on.

He says, "I want to bury my cock in you. Wanna come inside you and lick it out. Please. Would you let me?"

Eddie shivers and nods as he fucks himself on the dildo. He says, "I would ride you into the goddamn bed. Make you knot up inside him and then when it goes down, sit on your face as your come drips out of me."

Steve wants to knot him so bad. He's- oh fuck. He's gonna knot his fist again.

This shouldn't be happening. Eddie's scent only had that initial reaction because of the newness of it - he's been smelling his shirt every night and hasn't knotted apart from the pseudo-rut. His knot shouldn't be forming right now.

"I'm gonna knot, holy shit. I'm-" he groans as his cock pulses in his grip, his knot expanding as he squeezes it. He tilts his phone down so Eddie can see it, see him knotting up for him again.

The look on Eddie's face as he comes is something Steve isn't going to ever forget. He trembles as he sinks down on the dildo, pressing the button on the base of the dildo to expand the knot.

Steve watches with rapt attention as Eddie's cock starts to spurt, untouched. His come arcs out of him, splattering the bed and his thighs with come as he grinds down onto the knotted dildo.

Steve grips his knot tight and he comes, looking at Eddie shuddering through the waves of it, his hole probably like a vice on that knotting dildo. It should be him.

Fuck.

He squeezes his hand tighter around his knot, dropping his phone on his chest to stroke himself through his orgasm. He whimpers as the come floods out of him, his knot aching.

"Stevie, fuck. Wanna see you," Eddie says, so Steve pulls his hand away and grabs his phone again. Fuck, he's so messy right now.

He brings his phone back up and the first thing he sees is Eddie stroking his still hard cock with Steve's briefs and Steve's eyes roll back, his cock kicking out another glob of come.

God, the way Eddie's room must smell right now. Like the two of them, the way Steve's room smelled for days after his pseudo-rut. He could barely go back into his room without his dick getting hard about it. He wants him so intensely that he fucking knotted his fist without meaning to.

"You look so fucking good in my shirt, Steve. Want you to smell like me," Eddie says, which does nothing to sate the way he wants so viscerally to be with him right now.

He's still stroking himself with Steve's briefs and it's making Steve's dick twitch, his knot hot in his fist.

"Can't believe you knotted for me," Eddie says, jerking himself faster, like the heat that waned when he came is back with a vengeance.

"You gonna come again?" Steve asks, his voice shaky.

"Yeah," Eddie moans. "Gonna come all over your fucking underwear. Make it smell like us."

Steve whines. Eddie seems to have his number already, knows exactly what to say to make his knot pulse in his grip, more come dribbling out of the slit of his cock.

Eddie curses and groans again, shaking as he comes again, his come shooting out onto the fabric of Steve's briefs.

How the hell is Steve gonna survive meeting him in person if he can't even control himself at the thought of their scents mingling in person?

"You'll survive, sweetheart," Eddie says and Steve was completely unaware he'd even said anything out loud, so completely out of it apparently.

"I'm not so sure about that," he says, squeezing his knot.

Eddie hums and grabs the phone from the nightstand, collapsing back onto the bed. "I think you'll be fine once you get your knot in me."

"Fuck, Eddie. You can't just say that," he groans.

"Why not?" he asks, grinning.

"Because my knots not gonna go down and I'm gonna die."

"You're even more dramatic than me. I love it," Eddie says, sitting up and grabbing a water bottle to drink from.

"I'm not that dramatic, Mr. Dungeon Master," he says with a pout.

"Ooh, call me master again and I might come," Eddie says, leering at him.

Steve rolls his eyes.

The chatter stops momentarily as Eddie drinks from his water bottle and curls back up in bed.

Steve watches as he wraps himself up in his blankets and once again wishes he was there.

He says, "You look so cozy right now."

Eddie grins at him again. "I am. My bed is very comfy. You should come see for yourself."

"I wish I could," he says, honestly.

"I don't think I could do a real heat right now though, unfortunately," Eddie says with a groan. "This pseudo-heat is gonna wear me out, I can already tell, and I've got shows to do with my band and work and stuff. But I'd love to meet up with you in a few weeks. Or maybe once the semester is over?"

Steve smiles at him. "Yeah, I'd like that. We can figure out when later. It's probably better to let this marinate a little anyway. Not everything all at once." See? He can take it slow.

The thought of getting to see him in person, getting to know him in person, real and in front of him, is making Steve's heart race.

"Yeah, I typically dive head first into things, so taking a breather is probably a good idea," Eddie says. He looks at Steve through the camera and says, "But that doesn't mean I want to stop talking, got it? I still want to text and I want you to call."

Steve appreciates the clarity. "I'm glad. I don't want to stop talking either."

"Good. Just making sure," Eddie says, reaching over and grabbing the shirt Steve sent from the package and pillowing it under his head.

That reminds him. "I think if you sent me another shirt, it would help tide me over until we meet, though," he says and Eddie laughs. Steve aches again, wanting to- just wanting him.

Eddie says, "I can do that. I'll have to swing an extra shift to cover the shipping though."

Steve rolls his eyes. "Literally give me your Venmo. I'm the one asking for it, so I should be the one to pay for it."

Eddie looks like he's going to protest, but he says. "Okay, if you're sure."

"I'm sure. I want to scent you so bad right now."

"Me too," Eddie says. "You smell nice, by the way. Like, your shirt smells amazing." He buries his face in Steve's shirt, breathing deeply.

"So do you. Earthy. It's nice," he says. He loosens his grip on himself, his knot starting to go down. "How many more rounds do you think you'll have to do tonight?"

Eddie thinks for a second, then says, "At least another few orgasms before I get ready for bed. I have to eat dinner at some point, I guess. I'll probably wake up a few times during the night and need to be knotted again."

"I'll stay on the line however long it takes," he says.

Eddie brightens up and says, "Yeah? You sure you wanna babysit me into the wee hours of the morning?"

"Yeah," Steve says. "I wanna take care of you. I can't be there in person, but I can be here, you know?"

Eddie looks a little taken aback at the sincerity, but he smiles at him shyly. "In that case, I'm looking forward to it."

Yeah, so is Steve.

#steddie #stranger things #omegaverse #eddie munson #steve harrington #st fic #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #steveddie #steddie fanfic #janai.doc

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dmercer91 · 8 months

Note

hey e!!!!!!

i was wondering if you could write something angsty about matthew knies? maybe reader is having a rough time while he’s in toronto and she’s still in Minnesota? or maybe they get into a little argument before a roadie? or whatever angst you’d want to write!

feel free to write it whenever ! love u❤️‍🩹!

mother aryne accidentally fixes everything because she just emanates those vibes

also matty is a complete dickhead in this blurb pls dump your boyfriends if they treat you like this thank you

also, hi!! i love u too 🫶

unbearable emotions, mk23

“i miss you, matty,” you murmured into the phone, a deep sigh coming in through the other end.

“did you even listen to a thing i said,” he sounded angry, and you furrowed your eyebrows, you hadn’t known you’d done something wrong.

“sorry, matt,” your tone was sincere, and you frowned to yourself when he stayed silent. we’re you not allowed to miss him?

“usually when you need to vent about hockey you just want me to listen, i didn’t realize-“ you were cut off by a groan, your heart beating quicker. did he not want the distance anymore? was he finding his out?

“i’m just fucking sick of hearing you complain about it. i’ve got enough going on, y/n, i don’t need to be reminded of how i’m burdening you by having a job,” your lips parted in shock at his words, your original comment coming from sentiment and not disdain.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean for it to come off like that. i was just-“ his voice lapped over yours, so you stopped talking, not wanting to anger him further

“whatever. i’ve gotta go, bye,”

“i love you, matty,” you whispered, the line doing dead without a response from your boyfriend.

tears streamed down your face as soon as you turned your phone off, confusion and shock prominent and your stomach churning from heartache

he never texted the next day, never called, so neither did you. it went on for about a week and a half, and then aryne reached out to you and asked if you wanted tickets to the game at the wild.

you agreed, still wanting to support him despite his recent mood with you.

you sat with aryne and the tavares kids throughout the game, and she’d invited you to come back with her to wait after the game was over

she’d mentioned that matt didn’t know you were there, and that she thought it’d be a nice surprise for him to see you

despite his recent coldness towards you- she claimed that he always spoke about how much he missed you.

he came out of the room with a glum look on his face, even though the team had won.

he turned, saw you, and his face fell even further.

you frowned, but walked over, wrapping your arms around his torso and burying your head into his neck.

he stiffened and then quickly returned the favour, hand going to your head and scrunching your hair in the process.

he kept you held close, nose smooshed against your hairline.

“i’m sorry, baby. i’m so sorry,” he whispered, rocking the two of you back and forth and closing his eyes.

“i didn’t deserve that.” you mumbled, looking up at him and tilting his head down, his eyes opening.

“i was having a rough day, and i wanted you to be there, and it sucked being reminded that you weren’t. i was a prick, and m’ sorry,” he confessed, giving you a begging look

“please, can we talk,” he whispered, your heart aching in your chest.

you simply nodded, putting your head back on his chest. you were mad, but for now you just needed to soak in the time you were given with him.

“i love you, y/n/n,” he gave you a squeeze, his cheek pressing to your forehead.

#e’s 500 celly!#e’s blurbs!#matthew knies #matthew knies x reader #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #toronto maple leafs

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toxic3mmy · 11 days

Note

being like all bratty ( i think that’s the word) and all to Quackity and he ends up fucking the shit out of you?

ummm yes??? this sounds sooooo hot teehee, thx for the request!!

[it turned out a little more loving than rough sex.. oops??]

prompt: you and alex have a project due and he keeps slacking off until he’s had enough of your bratty attitude

warnings: nsfw! smut smutty smuttt!

it was finally 7:30 pm. alex said he would meet you at the college library to finish up your project after work and you had been waiting on him there for almost an hour now. the good thing was that you were alone and had time to focus on your part of the slideshow.

you had about two slides left when you heard a huge thud on the table you were sat at. you looked up and saw alex smiling sheepishly at you.

“sup nerd, you almost done with our project?” he said as he sat back in his chair and kicked his feet up to rest on the table

you rolled your eyes and said with an annoyed face,

“yeah right, come on let’s get this over with already” you grumbled

“actually, shit… i forgot my laptop” alex said while looking through his backpack. he looked up at you and asked

“mind if i go get it? i’m pretty sure i left it at my house and it’s not far from here” he didn’t even wait for me to respond, already collecting his things to go

“wait, maybe we should just do the project at yours… they close the library in thirty minutes anyways” you said, feeling even more annoyed than before because now you were going to be forced to be alone with alex

“cool, let’s go” he walked out of the school and to his car in the parking lot

you felt a bit uncomfortable and nervous as you got into his passenger seat. you weren’t sure why but his very existence got so deep under your skin that it really pissed you off. maybe it was his arrogant personality or maybe it was the way every girl at your college drooled over him, or maybe it was both. the truth is, you also felt an attraction for alex but you refused to be like every other brainless bimbo at school. you liked to think that you actually had taste when it came to guys.

your thoughts were interrupted by alex parking his car and getting out, having you follow him. he unlocked the door to his house and let you in. he got comfortable and led you into an office like room where you assumed he did his homework and probably his streaming. he had a huge desk with a pc setup as well as note taking materials next to the pc. there was also a small couch and that’s where you decided to put your backpack.

“here, i’ll go get a chair for you to sit next to me” alex broke the silence between you too. you nodded silently and took all your notes out to finally finish this project.

“sit” he said as he placed another office chair next to his fancy gamer chair

you chuckled to yourself

“what?” he asked, genuinely confused

“oh nothing… just realized you have a gamer chair.. it’s so uwu of you” you teased him and laughed even louder

“says the one that dresses like an e girl with all those fishnets and eyeliner” he said mockingly

“don’t even! i know you’re not judging my clothing choices when you legit always look like adam sandler plus that stupid beanie you never take off”

“can you shut up? we have a project to work on” alex said in a sarcastic manner

you didn’t say anything in response to him. instead, you went over what you had finished with your part of the project. you then kept talking about some ways for alex to tie his part into yours so that it would all flow seamlessly. you were pointing out certain topics in your textbook when you look up to see alex typing away on his phone.

“dude… are you serious? i was over here talking to the fucking wall i guess! were you seriously not listening to me?”

he simply put a finger up as if telling you to wait for him to finish texting. you waited impatiently and after a few minutes, he finally put down his phone.

“my bad, i have this thing i’ve been working on with team members for our twitch.. but uh yeah of course i heard everything you said.” he lied and it made anger begin to boil up inside of you.

“how much do you even have done?” you asked, trying to calm yourself down

“oh uh.. i have all my pictures set up in the powerpoint” he said as if it were something to be proud about

you grit your teeth together as you realized what he meant by that

“you haven’t even started on your section?? i cannot believe you…” you groaned really annoyed now

“yes i have started! it’s not my fault that i need to do work stuff in my free time” he said as he messed with a pen on his desk

“ohhh, you have a twitch event that you’ve been working on for weeks? aw thats so cool, yeah i seriously don’t give a fuck. you had all semester and you don’t even care! it’s our senior year and uni is something that we need to take seriously i mean this counts towards our final! i don’t want to have to fucking repeat this class just because you’re a careless arrogant selfish piece of shit!”

“woah woah, what the fuck is your issue?!” he began to lose his cool, sitting up and facing towards you as he raised his voice

“you’re my problem! like dude i get that you play your little video games on stream and that seems to be what you worry about most but i actually want to get a good career and i actually care about my grades! unlike you! you think that just because everyone likes you, you’ll get everything handed to you. well sorry to burst your bubble but clicking and clacking on your keyboard all day long isn’t going to prepare you for the real world!”

“who the fuck do you think you are? you have no right to say any of this to me, are you kidding?” alex was now standing up and towering over you

“look… i just had a bad day okay? i worked really early this morning and i honestly would much rather be in bed right now than arguing with you i mean, we’re not even getting any work done! god this is pointless..” you sighed, running your hands through your hair as you felt afraid to look alex in his eyes

“i worked today too, ya know. but you don’t see me being so prissy and uptight about a damn project that won’t even matter in a year.”

“yeah well im sure my work was way more productive and hard than you playing dumb computer games all day”

“listen you little brat, you have no right to tell me anything about my career choices. and for the record, my dumb little twitch job is making me more money each month than youd ever see after years of whatever boring fucking corporate job you get into” alex said, holding you tightly by your t shirt

“yeah fucking right. you’re just a lazy idiot! all you had to do was finish a few slides and we’d be through here and you can’t even do that. i’m leaving, thanks for nothing” you spit out angrily as you hastily began to pack your things to leave

alex was silently in deep thought. as you reached the door, he tugged your backpack back and off of your shoulder. he grabbed you rather harshly and your back was pushed up against his bedroom door.

“you’re not going anywhere. you think you can just walk out of here after insulting me and being a shitty little brat?!”

“what?..” you asked quietly

“you heard me y/n, you’re being a fucking brat.. and brats should be treated the way they deserve” he spoke hotly against your lips before leaning forward and kissing you

you weren’t prepared for him to kiss you so sweetly. you practically melted against his lips. you kissed back until he whimpered and brought you back to reality.

“ugh! get off of me, asshole!” you pushed his chest roughly but before you could make any other move, he caught your arm

“i know you want me y/n, i see the way you look at me. you and every other girl at school are just so thirsty for me huh? look at these tiny skirts you always wear.. you’re just asking for it” he smirked as his fingers danced up your thigh and touched your skirt

“ha! i don’t want you. unlike the girls at school, i have a brain and i sure as fuck would never touch you” you lied to his face

you gasped and felt your face go red as his hand was now touching the fabric of your panties

“then why are you soaking wet for me?” he chuckled as he pulled your panties aside and played with your wet folds

he walked you towards his bed, sitting you down as he hovered over you.

“i fucking hate you!” you angrily smashed your lips to his.

your tongue slid across his lips, asking for entrance. alex greedily let your tongue slide against his. your hands tangled in his hair and tugged harshly as he continued to touch you.

“i hate you too, you fucking brat. now be a good girl and taked this top off for me” his lips connected with yours as you shakily unbuttoned your school top and threw it aside.

you reached out and began to unzip his pants just enough to release his hardened cock. he moaned at the contact and continued to play with your slick heat as you started to move your hands up and down his dick.

he pulled away from the kiss and pulled your hair in a ponytail with one hand and held your palm upwards with his other.

“spit” he demanded and you did what he asked

he then moved your wet hand to his cock and let go of your hair. he went back to rubbing your throbbing clit. you moved your hand and he was practically thrusting into your touch.

“alex… please” you whispered and tried to lead his leaking dick to your pussy but alex stopped you

“aw come on y/n, you can do better than that. you just love to yap and insult me, don’t you, you little brat? why don’t you put that pretty little mouth of yours to good use and beg for me. beg me to fuck you”

at this point, you needed him so badly and you didn’t care how desperate you looked as you complied with his demands.

“please alex, i need you so badly. please just fuck me and i promise to be nicer to you. im so wet for you..” you moaned out as his fingers finally stopped teasing you and entered your quivering hole

“tell me you want me.. tell me y/n” he said in a lustful voice, his fingers curling deeper into you. his lips attached to one of your hard nipples, deliciously tracing circles with the tip of his tongue

“oh fuck.. i n-need you, i want you alex! i’ve wanted you since i first saw you! i hate you so much but i want you to fuck me, please!” you were rutting against his hand needing more

he laughed as he was amused and feeling very satisfied with your response. he stopped touching you completely and undressed himself. he then reached out and stripped you of your shirt and panties, leaving the two of you completely naked.

“you’re so fucking sexy” he said, looking at you hungrily

“get on your hands and knees, show me that pretty ass”

you did what he asked needing him inside of you now. he groaned at the sight of your round ass on view for him. as he pushed himself inside of you, you arched your back from pleasure. he began to move slowly as you adjusted to the stretch. the second you started moaning, he grabbed your hips and mercilessly pounded into you.

“fuck! you’re so tight y/n” his hand made harsh contact with a loud smack on your ass

you fucked back onto his cock, feeling so overcome with pleasure

“a-alex, ‘m so close” you whimpered

he stopped fucking into you and sat up in his bed. he gently tugged you towards him, motioning to sit on his lap

“come ride me, sweetheart” he said huskily and of course, you obliged

you sat on his dick, feeling every inch of him fill you up. you were in complete bliss as you began to ride him slowly. alex leaned forward and hugged you to his body as he kissed your lips. you fought his tongue with yours for dominance as the two of you rocked together in a sweet rhythm.

“you feel so good… so so good alexis” you whispered in broken sobs

“yeah, baby girl? aw just look at you. you’re so needy for me aren’t you?”

you rocked your hips, grinding his cock into you. he was so deep inside of you and you couldn’t help but want more. he hit just the right spot inside of your needy cunt and you moaned loudly. your back arched as you threw your head back in pure bliss. alex kissed up your neck as he had full access. he pulled you closer to him, tucking your hair behind your ear gently

“you’re so beautiful y/n, i could do this forever. would you like that? would you like to be my fuck toy? i could use you whenever i please, yeah? tell me how good i feel, hermosa” he said as he looked into your eyes.

“you feel incredible.. you’re making me feel things i’ve never felt before.. please use me whenever” you said breathlessly

“such a good girl” alex praised, kissing you ever so gently as you continued to move at the same pace together

“a-alex, i’m so close”

“cum with me y/n, cum with me” he whimpered, letting out the sweetest whines and speeding his hips to meet yours

he held your hips still as he fucked into you faster and faster, chasing both of your highs

with loud gasps and moan, you both climax together.

alex slows his pace to a stop and you both catch your breath.

“y/n…?”

“yeah?” you breathe out, finally getting off of alex and laying down next to him

“i finished my part of the project yesterday, i just wanted to mess with you” he grinned and you smacked him playfully

“alex! you ass!”

“hey.. it worked out well for us didn’t it?” he smiled innocently

“come on, let’s shower. im all sweaty” alex says, pulling you up and towards his shower

#alex quackity #alexis quackity #quackity #quackity x reader

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jarofstyles · 1 year

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Teacher’s Pet III

A/N: the moment you have been waiting for is here. a fan favorite has made a return. It’s been a year? maybe more? I hope it was worth the wait!! planning a part 4 finale for this, promise it will not take a year this time hehe - n + d

send us feedback and requests here

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masterlist

pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

warning: smut, daddy kink, overstimulation

word count: 3.9k

Harry was hooked, effectively fucked.

He was spending a ridiculous amount on her streams and paying extra for sessions to speak to her. He couldn’t get enough, not when he knew he could have her so easily. Oddly enough, she had began to text him outside of the hours allotted and he didn’t mind at all. She was quite bright.

Was it wrong of him to do this? To take on the fact that his student was doing wonderful sex work and then help her tutor every week? Yeah. Probably. But no one had quite gotten him off like she had. She was so needy and so willing to give in to him, the pleading tone of her voice making his cock grow heavy with need. Y/N was able to so easy give up all her inhibitions and connect– and that was truly something he hadn’t experienced before. His ego grew every time she sent him a message, especially when he knew he’d been the object of her affection. She was in class when it happened the first time. His phone buzzed in his pocket, only for him to check when the movie had started that she had texted him she was wet. His spirit became brighter after that day.

When she had texted him a simple hello? He responded promptly. It was a Tuesday night, nothing special.

‘Hello, princess. May I help you?’ He responded.

Was it wrong for her to pay special attention to a guy from her streams? He was paying her for every conversation, sitting in on every stream. God, how did he even have the money to stay for as long as he did? She truly didn’t know, but it was hot. Really hot.

His body was stuck in her mind, every time she got off she thought about him and him making a total and complete mess of her. It excited her, his words edging her on. Of course, she was a sucker for whatever he gave her... she desperately wanted to hear him too. She had heard his moans, but she wanted to hear more.

Y/N was definitely buttering him up, texting him whenever she felt like it had been a few days and she felt like she could. They were forming quite the friendship. She hated to think that the reason she got so wet over this daddyh character was because he in a way reminded her of her professor.

‘yes please 🥺’

‘Sorry if this is a lot but I’m feeling really needy today’

Y/N had to meet with her professor tomorrow and she was desperate for some relief so she wouldn’t accidentally do something when he tutored her tomorrow. She just wanted to live in that little fantasy while she could.

‘That’s perfectly fine, sweetheart.’

‘Actually, it does please me quite a bit to know I’m the one you’re coming to.’

He had double texted and felt his stomach warm at the fact that she had chosen him. She had decided that he was the one she wanted to talk to while she was being needy, that she was in need and want to speak to. Their conversations weren’t always sexual— they’d spoken about a plethora of things. But there was always that... tension. And more often than not, she would hint that she was all alone in bed and it would spiral at that.

‘What can I do for you, baby? How can I help...’

He was wanting so badly to know how he could help her. If she wanted just more attention, or if she wanted something else. Money, too. He would give her anything she desired.

Y/N felt her stomach warm up, genuinely pleased at the fact that he was more than happy with her sending him messages like this. She didn’t want to seem clingy or like she was trying to get money from him, she genuinely enjoyed talking to him and he was a very good and loyal viewer of hers so why not.

‘awe good 🥰’

‘I’m happy to hear that’

Not only was he good at keeping conversation but he had proven time and time again that he was caring and it made her heart swell. Y/N wasn’t one to fall for people just like that, but he was slowly ticking off her boxes and she was so so needy for something to get her mind off of her professor. When he asked what he could do for her? She decided to be a little bold.

‘I was thinking maybe we could do a call?’

‘Free of charge of course! Really, I just thought it would be nice to actually get to talk to you and stuff :)’

Harry didn’t see an issue. Voices over the phone sounded distorted and if he spoke lowly in his throat, then he didn’t see the problem. Especially because he really, really would like it.

He decided to call instead of responding. Maybe he was a bit bold in that, but it didn’t matter. He was more than happy to speak to her and wanted to hear her voice in real time. He was praying that she was going to use that cute voice she did when she spoke to his username on the live stream.

“Hello, love.” He said when she answered. His voice was more gravelly and deeper, laying back on his bed. “Why are you feelin’ needy?”

“Hiii” A whine left from her lips once she heard him speak. “You didn’t tell me you had an accent....” Y/N was a pool in her panties. His voice was so deep and low, her pussy was already throbbing. “Daddy, you.... I love your voice.” She said shyly, feeling like he was really just her wet dream.

“I had an okay day today, I was studying and stuff but I just get really frustrated sometimes... my professor is really nice about it though.” Y/N’s Professor also happened to be British so this wasn’t making things any easier on her.

It was insane to hear her arousal. She had whined at his voice. He loved how she said Daddy so naturally, so eager to talk to him. The way she brought him up too— he was curious.

“M’sorry I didn’t, sweet girl. I forget I have an accent.” He wasn’t lying either— he really did forget often that he had an accent and that it was different than hers. Lack is awareness maybe. He’d been living in the states for a while now.

“Thank you for the compliment. And I understand being frustrating, studying must be hard. But you’re such a good girl for doing it anyway.” He was taunting a little bit, slipping the good girl in there without a second thought. “I’m also glad to hear your professor is nice. Good teachers are always an asset to the learning of students.” He murmured, stretching out on the bed. He could hear shuffling on the other side and chuckled.

Y/N was lapping this up. She swore hearing him just like that wasn’t enough, she wished she put on headphones so she could hear him as if he was right there with her but this would do. Instead, she decided to put him on speaker stripping out of the clothes she had left so she could just be naked.

“Y’alright? Moving quite a bit over there.”

“Yeah— sorry, I just got really hot so I took of my shirt.” Y/N told him, “We don’t have to do stuff right now either, I just wanted to talk to you and hear your voice.” She felt the warmth in her cheeks rising like crazy, knowing that maybe it was a bit much to say to someone who was merely a supporter of hers but she meant it.

“How was your day? What did you do?” Y/N wanted to know. She could just listen to his voice and touch herself and he wouldn’t know, gently caressing her breasts and hips and ass. Y/N was tough starved, hungry for it. Quite desperate too.

“Hm... well; I ate a good breakfast. Went to work, stayed a bit longer than normal. It was a fairly normal day, I suppose. Had some food and came home.” He was talking to a shirtless Y/N on the phone and he knew damn well there wasn’t anything innocent going on in her mind.

“Tell me why you feel so needy.” He questioned. “S’it something you feel often? Or is it a new thing?” Harry wanted to be the one she was needy for. It seemed like he was though; just by how often they communicated and how sweet she was to him. Both at classes and over the phone.

Y/N hummed at his answer, closing her eyes and fully letting herself sink into that deep throaty tone that he had. He sounded so damn sexy she felt like she could cum just listening to him talk about anything. “I’m glad you had a good day.” She cooed, letting out a sigh without realizing it.

“Yeah... pretty often..” Y/N spoke and then thought about how to word this properly. “You know how I said I had a really nice professor?... He reminds me of you...” She explained, hoping that it didn’t make him feel weird. He did say he liked it when she wore the school girl outfit the other day on live so maybe it was a kink of his too? “Then I just think about you and I get so wet and I don’t want to be a bother... but thinking about you always makes me feel so good and I wish you could be here helping me...” Y/N’s tone was breathy as she started to play with her clit.

“Oh, baby. I already know that you’ve been touching at yourself this whole time.” He smirked to himself, hand holding his length in his briefs. God, she was perfection. “Get wet thinking about getting fucked by a professor, hm? You’re quite the naughty girl. Know that you get extra slick in your videos whenever I say something like that.” Oh, he noticed. “Wear that tiny little skirt in the uniform, I love it. I very much wish I was there to help you. I know that your little clit is probably all swollen. Probably feels really good to touch, yeah?”

Y/N let out another audible whine, hearing him talk dirty the way he texted? It was a whole different level of arousal she couldn’t even begin to explain how her body felt. She wanted more, she needed more. “I’m sorry, daddy, I can’t help it... you just sounds so good, it makes my pussy ache... I want more! Please let me touch more, please!”

“Fuck me... it aches, does it princess? M’sorry I’m not there to fix it.” He cooed, cock jumping at the thought. He was fucking aroused, wanting her cunt so badly he could punch something. His briefs were thrown to the side, Harry spitting thickly into his palm before wrapping it around his cock, stroking slowly.

Of course if he was going to pull her kinks out she would use his against him. It would only make him get a bit more heated, make his voice that much darker and deeper. “It feels so nice to touch...” Y/N let out another whimper like moan. “Are you touching yourself too daddy? Did I get your cock swelling for me?”

“Mm. Course I am, you always get me hot. You’re just... so fucking dirty. But you keep it relatively tame on your lives.” He muttered. “Know there’s a dirtier girl. Filthy. The way you talk to just me... know it.” He bit down on his lip at her next phrase, hearing her impatience and need for his touch and cock. That’s what made him feel even better.

She felt her breathing pick up, deciding she wanted to get her vibrator out because she knew she could tease herself and make this last much longer than she could with just her fingers.

“All I want is to be stuffed full of your cock!”

“You’re so impatient, princess. Already touching all over your parts and begging for cock. Can’t help yourself.”

“Please daddy...” Y/N whimpered, bucking her hips up against her vibrator, having it set on the lowest setting but it was already doing a lot. “Want to feel you— fuck.. feel you stretch me out.” She was teasing her entrance, he had gifted her a dildo and sent it to her PO Box. It was the only one she used now.

“I want photos.” He snapped at her. “Sitting there wasting such a nice sight, not letting Daddy see? That isn’t what I want.” He could hear her. “Your little cunt is soaked and I can hear it. What are you using, hm? Your fingers? A nice toy? Let me see.” He was demanding photos and maybe that was out of line but he knew she liked being bossed around in bed and would love to please him.

Y/N swore he brought the filth out of her. She knew she could be dirtier than most on her streams but with him she turned into a proper animal. It was mostly because he called to everything she wanted when it came to a sexual partner, fulfilled her fantasies.

“Told you I was needy, Daddy!” Y/N whined, “want you to come here and fuck me, make me scream— Ah! Mmm, make me beg and cry for your to let me cum. Want you to force it out of me, over and over! Want you to use me..”

“So what you’re saying... you want to be daddy’s little fuckdoll?” He murmured darkly. “Want me to take what I want from you and make your pussy cum over and over until you’re a drooling mess?” He rubbed his thumb over the tip of his cock. “Are you being a good little slut and taking photos for daddy? I want to see your pussy spread open.”

Y/N let out a whine, knowing that she would have to stop what she was doing just to take pictures and she was wondering if maybe turning on her camera would be better. She set up her phone, the way she usually did if she was doing these sessions to take photos and turned her video on so he could see.

“Look daddy..” Y/N whimpered, knowing she wouldn’t be able to see him but that was fine. As long as she could hear him, that’s all that matters. She sat back with her back against her pillows, spreading her legs and showing him what was going on.

His own private show. It was all for him after all. Y/N giggled a little bit when she heard his reaction, setting the dildo that he bought her in front of the camera before leaning down and starting to suck in it as if it were his cock, looking up at the camera.

“Fuck, baby. That’s my little slut.” He growled, watching her give him the best gift. She was shameless and he loved for it. The way she just simply gave him everything, spread legs and looking right at the cane for him... he was incredibly turned on.

“Suck that cock. S’what your mouth is made for, isn’t it? To suck your daddy off, make me cum in your slutty mouth.” He was so aroused, watching her take it deeper into her throat. It was torture that she wasn’t really sucking him. “Your little pussy aches so badly all the time, doesn’t it? S’cause you were meant to be stuff full of my cock all the damn time. Spread your legs a bit more for me, baby. That’s what I want.” He was stroking himself steadily, spitting on the hand every so often.

Y/N smiled when she pulled off of the cock, slapping it on her flat tongue a bit before pulling back and spreading her legs for him the way he had asked. Being a cam girl really came in handy, she really knew all the right angles and knew just what to say. She was horny too, hearing him praise and humiliate her all at once. It was the perfect mixture of what she loved.

“Daddy... did you buy me this cause it’s big like you?” She asked curiously, bringing the dildo up to her mouth once more so she could lick up the base of it. Y/N watched the camera curiously, knowing she wouldn’t see his face, but knowing he could get the pleasure in knowing she was looking right at him. Her hands moved to bring the dildo to her core again, starting to push it into her slowly but surely. Her head fell back as she moaned in excitement, “Wish it was you! Fuck! Daddy!” Y/N was a whining mess, grabbing at her breasts to ease some tension.

“Mm. I’m a little bigger than that.” He wasn’t lying either. But he was too focused on the view he had. “Fuck me, look at it stretch your open. Got such a tiny cunt, swollen and pink. You use it so much, get yourself to cum so many times. Have all those filthy fucking perverts watching your sweet little body. Wishing they could have a taste. Like a little tempting candy.” He watched her slide it in and out of her pussy.

“Push it all the way in. That’s it. All the way.” He instructed. Her mouth fell open as she struggled a little to take it but he watched it settle in all the way. “Press on your tummy. You feel that? Feel how full you are? S’what I could do for you. Make you even more full than that.” He admitted.

“Of course you wish it was me. You want a hand on your throat and fingers in your mouth. You want to be held down and used like the precious little cunt you are.”

Y/N was close to throwing a tantrum. She wanted it! She wanted him. Every little push of the dildo inside of her was sending her, the combination of his voice and just how deep it was inside her? Y/N swore she was ready to risk it all. If she didn’t know any better she would give him her address and tell him to come over now but she wasn’t that stupid. She didn’t really know him as much as she thought she might have.

“Daddy!” Y/N whimpered, taking a sharp harsh breath. “It’s so deep...” Her voice was quiet as she leaned her head back and closed her eyes, thinking about the scenario he had just told her about. She shuddered in response, letting out another loud whine before starting to thrust it in and out of her at a rapid pace. “I want it to be you...” Y/N moaned out, “please— I want it to be you, please.” She was wondering where he was from in that moment, if it would be easy for him to get here. She couldn’t stop thinking about his body, now she had a voice to match it. Y/N just knew he had to be attractive.

“I love hearing you beg. You’re filthy. I love that shit, you know that princess? I love hearing you beg for my cock. I’m just watching you fuck yourself and thinking about it being me... you’re going crazy.” He chuckled. “Fuck, you’re so wet too. Christ sake, you messy bitch. Look at the mess you’ve made on your sheets. Look at the little puddle.” He grit his teeth.

“Want that on my sheets. If I was there I would shove that pretty face in that stain and fuck your cunt open. Keep it held down there. Maybe I’d make you lick it up too. Depends how mean m’feeling.” His pace of his hand quickened.

Y/N couldn’t believe the words that were coming from his mouth. She wanted it to be real, the whine that left her mouth was primal. She was so so close and his words only edged her on, Y/N couldn’t formulate words she was just babbling at this point and she didn’t care.

“Daddyiwan— oh mhm, fuck!” A high pitched squeal hit when she added the vibrator back into the mix. Within seconds she was properly dripping on the bed, her thighs and ass slick and glistening from the light she had in her room. It didn’t much longer for her to cum. Her body shaking at the release, she screamed out for him, resisting the urge to call him by Professor Styles’ name. All she could picture was his face on this man’s body. Y/N was shaking and squealing as she left the vibrator on her sensitive clit, visibly clenching around the fake cock that was inside of her.

“Please, please, please, please!” She was begging, but she wasn't sure what for. Her body felt hot, muscles tensing at the delicious feeling.

“Don’t move it, princess.” Harry hummed, “You can give me another won’t you?” He was close to his on release, prepared to milk his cock entirely for her. Every shaky breath and plead that came from her only pushed him closer and closer to the edge. “So good baby, give me another one, I know you want to…”

"Fuck!” Y/N squeaked, the sensitivity made her legs twitch. It hurt so good, the feeling was like a drug to her. Every pulse of the vibrator against her clit had her mewling, heat spreading throughout her body in waves, her breathing becoming heavy once again.

“That’s it… just like that, cream all over that cock like you would mine.” Harry spoke through his clenched teeth. She was utterly perfect, he couldn’t take his eyes off the screen. Y/N had been doing this all for him, of course she didn’t know it was him, but it was him none the less. The eyes they gave each other during class, the teasing during her streams, Harry wanted to feel her in the flesh. He imagined his hands all over her, coaxing more and more orgasms out of her with both his hands and the toys. For now this would do, watching her body begin to thrash due to the force behind the orgasm.

“You look beautiful…” Harry thought out loud, seconds before he himself felt his orgasm ripping through him. The sound of low groans and the slick of his hand against his cock filled the room, his eyes never leaving her body on the screen. So sweet and laid out for him on her bed, how he wished he could be there to lap up every bit of cum she had given him.

“Did so good for me, bunny.” He hummed, swallowing thickly as he started coming to his senses again. He cleared his throat and watched as she beamed, sitting up to grab the phone from its spot. How on earth was he ever going to let her go knowing she was so close to him?

“Go take a shower and rest up for me, yeah? I’ll see you tomorrow.” He spoke without a second thought about their class tomorrow. Surely, that wouldn’t be where her mind went.

But it did.

#harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #professor!harry #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurbs #harry styles series #jarofstyles

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yxami · 9 months

Note

Can you do a request for Malakai having reader break up with/ moving out on him?

-🌌

Got it! Hope you enjoyed!!

description: roommate yandere x gn reader, yandere behavior, scenarios, themes, yandere roommate, moving out, toxic themes, drama and angst? I was going to do a break up but I think a break/moving out would make more sense, malakai isn’t the type to allow a breakup no matter what.

“Hah, you have to be kidding right?” The familiar voice scoffed, undeniably the only one you wanted to silence and never hear again. You stayed silent and kept throwing clothes in your duffel bag, a frenzied attempt to escape even if it was messy, it would be happening now and only now.

No way would you stay for more of his messes, tantrums, and more you would likely find out about if you fucked around.

“Cmon, stop getting mad, you know I don’t mean to act this way” Malakai frowned, getting worried that you were being serious now. You weren’t right? Please don’t say it, please don’t.

“I’m serious Malakai. You can’t expect me to stay when you act this way, when you talk this way” You huffed, moving your hair out of your face, you were getting heated from this fight and the temperature in your room. You didn’t want to think about which one was pissing you off more.

The quick sounds of clothes being thrown in your suitcase spanning over a minute made his leg shake up and down as he continued to sit on the bed thinking about what he could be doing. Should he beg you to stay? Give you the space? How long were you going to leave?

All the questions that ran in his mind were repeated out loud just as fast, if not quicker.

“I don’t know okay Mal? I don’t know” You groaned, zipping up your bag, slinking it around your shoulder before looking at Malakai. “You need to focus on yourself, maybe this trip will help you more than me” Those were your last few words before you slammed your own room door.

You had to leave before the realization fully sunk in, knowing him he’d likely have a few moments of disbelief before freaking out. And that’s what exactly happened.

Another crash against the wooden floor seemed to echo across the room, the shattered glass failed to calm him down just like the other dozen have. Only your touch could soothe his stressed mind. Why did you have to leave? Why did he act this way?

He could help but grow jealous over coworkers, over anyone associating themselves with you, whether that be about being your friend or simply just an acquaintance, it pissed him off.

The angry tears streaming down his face blurred his vision while he sent another message to you, you’ve read the last few messages but no response, he needed you to at least acknowledge him. A simple ‘read’ wasn’t enough.

Malakai sobbed as he sunk against the wall, throwing a vase he managed to grab, a little soothing because of the louder crash but not even close to the amount he required. He wanted to follow you, he wanted to chase you down and stop you from leaving but he wasn’t that stupid.

He knew you’d just blow up, becoming more livid than before, probably spanning this break even longer than intended. So he obediently stayed in the apartment, growing more anxious with the fleeting messages he sent that continued to be dismissed.

All the messages had a similar desperate and pleading tone. Words like “please I swear” “I’m sorry” “I won’t do it again” were repeated often but the words seemed like empty promises rather than something you could trust.

The only thing you could trust was time. Time that could allow the two of you to grow and flourish before finally being able to be together. It could be a month or two, maybe shorter if he worked everything out. You weren’t sure, but you were sure that you had to text him back every few hours or else he’d come looking for you.

The responses you made turned his mood around with a sappy smile on his face even if it was just for a moment. He’d need to work on himself, he knew that. He needed to be the best him for you or else he’d never deserve you.

#yandere #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #male yandere #yandere imagines #pls request #yandere scenarios #gn reader #soft yandere #gender neutral reader #yandere oc #yandere ocs #yandere with angst #toxic themes #yandere toxicity #yandere roommate #yandere roommate oc #roommate yandere #malakaimyoc

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feyhunter78 · 10 months

Text

Pink Pastels Pt 21

Description: After your almost disastrous encounter in the O'Hara household, you spend some time debriefing with Janey, and Miguel asks for a second date.

Pt 22

So, you what, jumped out a window?” Janey drawls, her expression both intrigued and unamused, her image freezing for a second as she moves to a part of her apartment with better Wi-Fi.

“No, I hid in his bathroom until he’d convinced Gabi to go play in her room, then sprinted into my own. Janey, it was so embarrassing, I looked like a fucking toaster strudel.”

Janey chokes on her drink. “Not a toaster strudel…”

You bury your face in your hands. “I seriously have a problem, like I need to stay away from him. That cannot happen again, it just can’t.”

A text pops up on your phone, making it vibrate.

Mr. O’Hara: Hey, I’ve been thinking about yesterday and I acted inappropriately, could I take you to dinner tonight, to make up for it? I know a place, it’s a bit out of the way, but there’s no chance anyone from Gabi’s school will see us.

You changed his name back from Miguel to Mr. O’Hara, wanting to remind yourself of the professional boundaries.

“Y/N?” Janey asks, waving her hand, trying to catch your attention.

“Yeah, sorry, anyways, I need to get a handle on myself, I swear I haven’t been this…ya know…in ages.”

Mr. O’Hara: My treat, obviously. I think I make three times what you make.

Mr. O’Hara: Shit, sorry that was rude.

Mr. O’Hara: Anyways let me know.

“I mean, technically there’s nothing in the rules that say you can’t date a parent, it’s just frowned upon.”

Y/N: I’d love to pick me up at six?

Mr. O’Hara: Absolutely, I’ll see you then.

“Yeah, but still.” You glance at the clock, it’s five ten, you definitely need to start getting ready. You pick up your phone and move into your bathroom, continuing to chat with Janey as you get ready.

Six o’clock on the dot, Miguel is at your door. He’s dressed casually, which is a relief because so are you.

He hands you a bouquet of flowers, roses, a bit basic, but beautiful. “Again, my apologies, and I’m glad you’re letting me take you out, I really do like you, y/n, as cheesy as that sounds.”

You take the flowers and quickly put them in a vase before following Miguel down to the parking garage.

It’s a long drive, maybe an hour from your place, but once you arrive you understand.

It’s a small restaurant out of the city, a bit run down, but the neon sign is bright, and you can already smell food.

“This is the best Mexican food in Neuva York and the surrounding area, my mother used to take my brother and I here on our birthdays.” He explains as he opens the door for you.

The restaurant is beautiful, hand painted murals, wood carved booths, warm lighting, and soft music streaming through the speakers hidden amongst the beams that hold up the ceiling.

Once you’re seated and the waitress takes your order, you sip on your water awkwardly. It’s been a while since you’ve been on an actual date.

“Do you like Mexican food?” Miguel asks, looking at the drink menu, his eyes darting to your face every other second.

“Yeah, yeah, my mom is actually from Texas, so we’d get Tex-Mex every time we went to visit her family. I know it’s not the same thing, but…”

“Gabi said your mom has lived in Nueva York her whole life?” Miguel’s eyebrows furrow and you bite your lip.

“Oh umm, so my mother, was born and raised in Nueva York, but my stepmom is from Texas. She married my dad when I was a baby, she’s basically the only mom I’ve actually had. My bio mother sued for joint custody when I was a kid, but I…I didn’t want to live with her. Scheduled visits were enough for me.” You explain, cursing yourself for even mentioning your biological mother to Gabi.

It was a rough day for her, after you learned about her mom from Melissa. You only told her to make her feel better, to let her know she wasn’t alone, but now you were kind of regretting it…

“I don’t talk about her much, she’s—she’s just a lot.” You wave your hand in the air dismissively and plaster on a smile.

“I thought my stepfather was my dad until I went to high school.” Miguel admits, setting down the drink menu.

“Oh?” You’re a little shocked, but hey, you’ve almost fucked multiple times, you’re close enough to share childhood traumas.

“My boss is my father, my mother had an affair with him, I have a half-sister, Monica who is a notorious gossip, but might be my best friend, maybe my only friend? I’ve got coworkers I occasionally get drinks with but…”

You giggle, half at the way he says it, half out of nerves. “Sorry, sorry, please go on.”

He gives you a sheepish smile. “It’s pathetic, I know, a grown man whose best friend is his sister.”

“No, no, I think it’s sweet.” You reassure him.

“And what about you? Siblings? Friends?” Miguel scoops some salsa onto a chip.

“I’ve got a younger brother, he’s a pilot, never around, always sending photos from exotic places, and then Janey, she teaches with me, and she’s my best friend.” You stir the queso in front of you with the spoon provided, watching as the jalapeños sink into the cheese.

Miguel nods. “The tiny black woman with the brightly colored outfits?”

“Everyone is tiny compared to you. But yes, she is short.” You defend Janey playfully, knowing Miguel doesn’t mean anything by it.

“It’s not my fault I was blessed with the stature of a Greek god.” Miguel shrugs, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.

You roll your eyes. “It must be so difficult for you.”

“It is, actually, do you know how many old ladies hit on me?”

You laugh at that, picturing giant, buff Miguel running from grandmothers chasing him down with their canes and walkers. “I am so sorry for your struggle.”

He laughs as well. “I appreciate it.”

“Is your mom still in Neuva York?” You ask, taking a bite of a queso covered chip.

“Yeah, I have her set up in this nice apartment, it’s quiet, she can get her groceries delivered to her if she wants, there’s a pool she and Gabi go swimming in, and she’s on the building’s HOA which is always entertaining.”

“I can’t imagine the stories apartment HOAs have to tell.”

Miguel pitches up his voice, laying on a thick Mexican accent. “Mijo you will never guess, the man upstairs, with the little dogs, a killer, the police came today, took him away. Dios nos salve a todos.”

“That means like God save us, right?” You ask, trying to remember what that Catholic dude from Law and Order: SVU used to say.

“Close, God save us all.” Miguel smiles at you, then the waitress when she sets your food down.

Your waitress’ face tints red, and you feel a wave of jealousy wash over you. You wait until she’s gone, then continue the conversation. “Wait, was he actually a murderer?”

Miguel chuckles. “No, his dogs have been killing birds, squirrels, and other small animals outside the building. He’s been cleaning them up, but apparently disposing of them in the wrong dumpster. Maintenance in the building just wanted to show him the right one to use.”

“Ah, I see.”

“My mother has a wild imagination; I think she gets bored sometimes.” Miguel says. “I should take Gabi to visit her more often but…”

“Being a secret superhero takes up a lot of time?” You joke in a hushed voice, looking around to make sure no one is paying attention.

“Exactly.” He takes a bite of his food, carnitas.

“Sure, keeps you out late, on the street, rooftops, balconies…” You trail off, taking a bite of your quesadilla.

Miguel swallows hard. “I like keeping people safe.”

You nod. “And you’re good at it, I’m glad to have a superhero living in my building.”

“Thank you.” He says softly.

For a moment, you wonder if anyone ever thanks Miguel for what he does. You’re sure people thank him when he saves them, but outside of that? When he’s just patrolling, watching over the city?

“Last time I talked to my mom, she was complaining about my dad keeps the house too cold, and that there’s nothing good on TV anymore.”

“She’s right, there’s nothing good on TV anymore.”

“There’s some good movie though, like that one that came out a bit ago, based on a comic book?” You wrack your brain, but can’t remember what it’s called.

“I only see the movies Gabi wants to see.” Miguel admits sheepishly.

“Well, good thing she’s got good taste.”

You both walk back to Miguel’s car, hands brushing against each other, pinkies almost linking then shying away at the last second.

“Thank you for this, it was nice.” You say, looking up at him, the moon a halo behind his head, dousing him in an ethereal glow.

“No, thank you, I know we’ve kind of gone about things backwards, and that you’re Gabi’s teacher, but I…I really do like you, y/n. I enjoy spending time with you, I like hearing your stories, and telling you mine…”

You take the plunge and link your hand with his. “I like spending time with you too Miguel.”

His fingers interlace with yours. “My work is having a gala in a few weeks, would you come with me? As my date?”

Janey is never going to let you live this down.

“Yeah, sure, sounds like fun.” You tell him, heart skipping a beat when he lifts your hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss to it.

“I’ll give you more details as I get them, but I promise it will be a night to remember, even if all you remember is my coworkers getting drunk off their asses.”

You thank him when he opens the car door for you, then he slides into the driver’s seat.

Miguel walks you to your door, lingering in its frame as you hold each other’s gaze, silly lovesick smiles on your faces.

“I should go to bed.” You say, making no attempt to break away from his gaze.

“Me too.” Miguel echoes, also not moving an inch.

“Thank you, again, for dinner.”

“It’s no problem, I’d like to do it again if you’d let me?” He tilts his head to the side, a soft smile on his face.

“I’d like that.” You tell him before you finally take a step back and into your apartment. “Goodnight Miguel.”

He grabs your wrist, gently, reverently, and presses his lips to your palm, the warmth of his face feels nice of your cold hand, the slight stubble tickles your skin, and his lips are soft. “Goodnight y/n.” Then he releases you and turns to go into his own apartment.

You shut your door, face burning. How was it, that out of everything Miguel’s done, that’s what makes your head spin a thousand miles in every direction imaginable?

He really is something else, huh?

Tag list: @miggyoharaswife, @badbishsblog, @wanderlustingcastaway, @lynn-9703, @sleepyamaya, @erensbbg, @sweetea85, @ilovemiguelohara, @natthernandez, @stxrrielle, @ihateuguys, @jenniferdixon05207, @blep-23, @minimari415, @emerald-09, @violet-19999, @kenchosaikuo, @groovycass, @youcantseem3, @lovefks, @nightshxdex, @dusstory, @munsonssecretblog, @kirke-is-my-name, @starbearieee, @chatoicboy, @needsleep3000, @witchy-lizard, @cxmeiloorun7, @justrandomlolidk, @chimpkinnuggies, @alicefallsintotherabbithole, @loser-alert, @wwwellacom, @ryantryan6969, @lollipopin, @blakeaha, @a-cult-leader, @verexi, @purpleskiesandroses, @they2luv1naia, @sophiaj650, @idolautism, @rheannajrs, @merakiq, @rexs-wife, @sukaretto-n, @twilight-loveer, @f1shb0nez, @callsign-blue , @marcelineormars

#meg's writing #miguel’s pastels #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x you #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #cute date night!!!#the stepmom is my TX girlies rep

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rallamajoop · 8 months

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Neil Newbon's Heisenberg Playlist

So I watched this great interview with Neil Newbon ‒ the VA and motion actor for Heisenberg, terrifically talented guy. With encouragement from the text chat, he shared a few of the tracks on the playlist he created for Heisenberg ‒ something he apparently likes to do for a lot of the characters he plays.

One track, called simply "John", was by a band called the Cold Stares (in Neil's words: hard fucking rock, very gritty, very dirty, with a country edge).

youtube

John won’t you dig that grave, John won’t you dig that grave, John won’t you dig that grave, Gonna bury you in that hole someday.

On paper, it's a song about a man tracking down the grave digger (John) that his wife is having an affair with, but just taking the sound and that chorus line? Oh boy, can I hear it!

But the other song Neil singled out from his playlist? "I Can't Make You Love Me" by Bonnie Raitt.

youtube

'Cause I can't make you love me if you don't You can't make your heart feel something it won't Here in the dark, in these final hours I will lay down my heart and I'll feel the power But you won't, no you won't 'Cause I can't make you love me, if you don't

And I mean... damn. I guess you could maybe find a way to spin it as about parental love (or lack thereof) between Heisenberg and Miranda, but that sure ain't where my mind went... XD

There's plenty more great stuff in that full interview ‒ a lot about how much he loves doing performance capture, as a medium where he gets to play so many different characters he'd never be cast as in live action. When cast as Heisenberg, he was apparently told only mid-Atlantic accent, which is a hell of a feature to emphasise.

He talks a bit about his work as Astarion from Baldur's Gate 3 too (because, y'know, it's not enough that this guy is Heisenberg, he's also the whole damn Internet's new elf-vampire-boyfriend too), as the game was already in early access by then, even if it was still years short of release. The full interview is a two-hour stream, but well worth a listen.

But the one last related detail I'd like to share here is one other track by the Cold Stares which I found in their discography while looking for "John", and which I have to say strikes me as another terrific Heisenberg track ‒ Dig my grave with a silver spade... Six foot in the ground and I can't get away.

Neil doesn't mention it himself, but I wouldn't be at all surprised if it's in his playlist somewhere. It's called "Headstone Blues".

youtube

I woke up this morning, with the headstone blues She's gonna kill me, gonna cut me loose Tied my tie in a pretty noose I can't win, she can't lose

I ain't the first, no, I ain't the first to leave you Oh but I know, I may be the last

Dig my grave with a silver spade Find a weeping willow to give me shade Bring me flowers on a summer day Six foot in the ground and I can't get away

I ain't the first, no, I ain't the first to leave you Oh but I know, I may be the last

#wintersberg #Karl Heisenberg #Neil Newbon #Resident Evil Village #The Cold Stares #Bonnie Raitt #Youtube

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rezeulaz · 6 months

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3- don’t take me for a fool

➢ OLD MONEY

➢ kamisato ayato x fem!reader | genshin smau

➢ PLOT: both coming from the two noble families of inazuma, your fate of being married to someone was bound to happen centuries ago. in order to honor the clan, you had the obligation to marry a kamisato, not just any kamisato. the head of the kamisato clan—kamisato ayato.

masterlist | previous | next

A/N: sorry for the long ass break 😭 been so busy with everything and just didn’t have any motivation to write </3

after rotting in your bed for some days, contemplating what to say to xiao for standing him up, you finally decided to just suck it up and go to him. what’s the worst thing that could happen?

you happen to stop by a small shop and buy xiao his favourite food, almond tofu. as a way of compensating for your mistake, you think to yourself. but you know xiao; you know him more than anyone. you’ve been friends with him since you were in diapers. if there’s anything to know about xiao, is that he does not forgive easily. but who knows? maybe he will; it’s you after all.

finally arriving at his apartment, you go on to knock on his door, and after what seemed like an eternity, he finally answers. he then looked like he was expecting something else—maybe a package? the stunned look on his face when he saw you. after processing that it was, in fact, you standing in front of him, he tried to close the door again. you finally spoke.

“xiao, wait—please, please just hear me out," you plead to him, holding the door to prevent him from closing it.

“fine.” he opened the door, gesturing for you to come inside.

“talk. make it quick," he said with a bland tone.

you quickly tried to summarize what had happened to xiao and why you weren’t able to answer his texts or his phone calls.

the look on xiao’s face clearly showed he was better off without hearing that or what you had to say.

“i suggest you go now, y/n," he responded.

“what? but—"before you could even finish, xiao did it for you.

“i have loved you; i have loved you at times where you couldn’t even love yourself. at times where you couldn’t even look at yourself in the mirror because all you could see was a carbon copy of your sister that you once loathed.”

“and you expect me—you expect me to be okay after telling me that you weren’t able to attend because of a meeting that you’re going to be arranging with someone else? you must take me for a fool, y/n."

“i don’t know if you’re dumb or just dense, y/n. i have loved you ever since i could remember. you’ve hurt me enough, so please, get out.”

he finally finished, and in xiao’s mind, he’s giving himself a pat on the back for not crying after he let go of those words.

“xiao, i assu-“ you tried to make a logical reasoning, but it was just cut short by xiao.

“please. just stop.” that—that was your cue to leave.

ironically enough, as soon as you left his apartment, it started raining. finally arriving at your car, with tears still streaming down your cheeks, you went to grab your phone and hurriedly text someone.

taglist (open): @ivermouth @cypressmoons @xerafr @aixaingela @ayatoq @siasseltzers @qwnelisa

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waywardmillennial · 7 days

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watchergate & where we go from here...

To start at the end, I purchased my annual Watcher TV subscription on April 20th because I wanted to support them when it felt like so many others were not. I'm cancelling another subscription to make this work with my budget, and I'm very happy with this!

Watcher has always made high quality, entertaining content that I love, and I'm happy to support them as they try to grow like they've always wanted to so they can bring on more creators and give us more diverse art.

So, moving forward, I'm going to be posting about Watcher TV when it comes out - spoiler parties with the sexy moots! - and I'll be blocking any and all haters I see. 💜💜💜

(read more bc ofc this got long)

To walk this back and give a little history/context, *ahem* [sotto Byron voice]

April 12, 2024: Watcher announced they had a surprise coming for us in a week's time. The news came in the form of a very spirited ad-read in the Mystery Files s2 finale. And afterwards there were a few blogs posting about it, but I commented to a friend that my dash had been devoid of Watcher posts (oh, how that sweet summer child would grow to long for a day such as that).

There were some corkboard theories, and I broke down the new logo design, but nothing big happened until the following Thursday.

April 18, 2024: I saw the leak for the announcement. It was on reddit and a sock tumblr blog was made sending the link out to people. I didn't post it or share it because it wasn't my news to share. I wanted to wait to see how they were going to explain it.

Maybe I should have said at the time (but it's fine if you don't believe me now I guess) but I was hoping Watcher TV would become like their enhanced Patreon replacement, where the new shows like "Puppet History Karaoke" and "Road Files" would be exclusive, and some other perks like early access. [note: if Apollo is laughing at him right now, I'd kindly request he stuff that red ball somewhere Helios doesn't shine]

I imagined some people would be mad at the streaming news but it didn't prepare me for how bad it would get...

April 19, 2024: Most of us know what happened. The announcement was not well received. Watcher's silence right after wasn't helping, but I don't think many people were willing to give them any grace for their pre-planned trip to the UK and instead demanded answers immediately.

Do I think maybe their announcement could have been timed better? Or maybe given a different tone? Perhaps. But either way what they were trying to communicate was not what people chose to hear, and the response from many viewers was, to choose a very formal phrase here, absolute bonker banana balls insane.

The main anti-streamer "arguments" I saw basically boiled down into these categories:

"high production tv quality content is what they want to make, but we don't want that - we only want them to sit in a blank room and talk to each other with blue and yellow text like the bfu days!!"

"Steven's the one behind all this bc he's rich and greedy and only eats gold"

"they already make enough money off their patreon why are they doing this?? they should have consulted [insert other yt-er here]"

"they've become the capitalist elite that we swore to destroy! so we have to tear them down from their thrones!!"

Even now, feeling better than I have in days, I don't have the energy to say why each of those takes completely misses the point of who they are as a company, as creators, and as human beings. But there are some eloquent posts in my #watchergate tag, or my other post, if you're interested.

April 22, 2024: We got the Watcher update - giving people access to all videos after a month on the new streamer - and that seemed to placate a lot of viewers and those on the fence. But it was also the day I learned about that horrible petition against Steven, and I'd been following all this drama for several days (foregoing some self-care) and so I had a little meltdown...

Even though the new setup is closer to what I'd hoped for like 10 days ago, I hate how we arrived at it. It's shown people that they can bully creators to get them to compromise on their company. In fact, I've seen accounts celebrating this.

Opinions like this have given me trust issues when it comes to the Watcher fandom at large now. As many of my beloved mutuals have said, I'm going to be wary of accounts that follow me and be applying that blocking feature liberally.

I can also only imagine how things like this must have broken some of the trust that the Watcher crew feels for us - fightingfuries really said it best. If they do start distancing themselves on socials and things, I wouldn't really blame them.

I don't have more to say, other than I'm going to support them as much as I can, for as long as they continue to make content. I'm going to send the team a care package. And I hope in time we'll earn back their trust.

Now I'll let Ryan Bergara play me out...

As for the question of why we decided to launch our own platform, when we started Watcher in 2020, we wanted to create shows that we were proud of, that we had ownership over, and that would provide you the caliber of content that we felt you deserved. However, we were finding it harder and harder to stay relevant to advertisers and the constantly changing YouTube landscape. We faced some incredibly challenging decisions. We didn't want to compromise our content to ensure they met advertising requirements. And we definitely did not want to lay people off that have brought Watcher to life behind the scenes. And we didn't want to bring Watcher to a close, which would have happened if we stayed solely on YouTube. - An Update, April 22, 2024

#watchergate #I needed to wrap up some feelings #but closing the tag now #onto posting about happier things!#and I have a little idea/project I want to work on next for any of you who are watcher tv members #vi rants #we now return to my normally scheduled queue

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lillylvjy · 1 year

Text

We’ll be (alright)

A/n// hi, so this came to me when me and Connor were talking, so all credits to Connor! But um, it’s very self indulgent, and very sad, and I hope you all like it. Enjoy!

Warnings// crying, Wilbur being a shit person/father, swearing, this is just all angst and maybe some fluff?? (Like it’s barely there), if I missed anything please tell me!

P.s. maybe a part 2 if people like this….

Edited: very little

wc: 1.8k

‘Sorry love, tour seems to be going on a little longer than expected. Be home as soon as I can. ly.’

The text Wilbur sent a couple days prior to this night. You were expecting him home then, until you got the dreadful text at 11 at night, your daughter sobbing her eyes out in your arms as she cried out for her dad.

You always thought Wilbur would’ve been the best father ever. But as time went on and he got busier with his music, he started to show clearly that he wasn’t. And you know that he can’t be perfect. But he could be better.

He was rarely there. He rarely saw her. It wasn’t always like this though! When she was just a small little bean who wanted nothing more than to sleep, he would sing to her and be with her all the time! That’s all he wanted. He wanted to be the one to put her down for a nap. Wanted to feed her. Wanted to just, hold her and keep her there. And he wanted to be with you, capture the sweet moments of you and her, hold both of you in his arms as he admired the both of you and how lucky he was to have you both.

But, once she got a bit older and didn’t need as much attention as she used to and you could take care of her by yourself, he just. Left. He didn’t come home till 2-3 am in the mornings. Some times he got drunk and came in the house, giggling and yelling about how much fun he had and you trying to shush him to not wake up the sleeping child, yet failing to do so as she ran out of her room to see her dad giggling on the couch as you placed a blanket over top of him. But he has his days where he stayed home and watched her and held her as she slept, like he used to. Showed he still loved and cared about her. He just kind of ignored you. Then, once the band started to get more popular and listens started to sky rocket, he was never there. He was too busy making and recording music, too busy helping Tommy and other with videos and streaming. Just too busy for his partner and his daughter. The two people that he was supposed to care about and for more than anyone else.

So when he finally came home around midnight from the tour he was doing around Europe, you immediately got up from the couch; have been waiting for him to come home to talk while your daughter was sleeping.

“Hey love. I’m so sorry for being home so la-“

“Wil we need to talk.” You wiped your nose as you sniffed, eyes red and swollen from crying and contemplating what you were going to say and the outcome of this conversation. You wrapped your arms around your torso, suddenly aware of how you look. So disheveled and tired.

“Oh?” Wilbur asked, eyebrows drawn together as he set his bags down.

“What’s happening? What’s- What’s going on with you?!” You whispered out harshly to him as you held back tears.

Wilbur scoffed and shook his head. “What do you mean ‘going on with me?’ Nothings going on. What happened?” Wilbur asked, worriedly as he tried to reach out and grab your hand. You stepped away from him before he could grab ahold of you, afraid that once he touched you and got ahold of you, you wouldn’t be able to let him go.

“Nothing- nothing happened. It’s just, you’re barely home Wilbur. You apparently don’t have enough time for your daughter anymore. The daughter that looks up to you and cries for you every time she has a nightmare because she wants her daddy to sing her a song. The daughter that you used to read to and admire every goddamn day. The daughter you used to love unconditionally. Now- I can barely tell if you even know her, let alone care for her. You’re too busy with whatever the fuck you’re doing, being an irresponsible person, and a terrible father to this beautiful little girl that just wants her fathers love and validation. Wil- i don’t even care if you love me or just plan out hate me right now, but our daughter needs her father, more than I need my husband.” You started to slowly raise your voice as you voiced out your anger towards the man in front of you, who now sported a frown and glossy eyes.

“And I’m sorry about that. But- you know how important this band and music is to me. It’s been my dream since college a-and I’m getting so close to touring the entire world! And when I do, I’ll take you both with me so we won’t have to be apart and it’ll be so fun and great-“

“No. No, Wilbur this is what I mean!” You gritted out through your teeth. You took a deep breathe before continuing, dead set on not losing your composure and making the situation worse. “You can’t be this rockstar and never be home for your daughter and wife. It’s like you’re obsessed with getting famous and pleasing your fans more than loving and caring about your family.” You whimper out the last part as you sigh out a breathe. “You have to choose Wilbur. And I may be being selfish or inconsiderate, but I need to know if the person I fell in love with and married is still in the person infront of me. The guy who would do anything to spend time with me. The guy who would make silly little skits in front of the tv whenever I was sad because he loved me so much, he’d make a fool out of himself for me. The guy- the guy that held both me and his daughter in his arms once we came home from the hospital and whispered promises in my ear that night we went to bed about always being here for us and always loving us. I need to know that the Wilbur I know, my Wilbur, is still in there.” You whispered out as tears streamed silently down your face. Wilbur stared at you with a blank face, but guilt and regret sitting behind his stare.

You stepped towards him, making sure to maintain eye contact the whole time.

“Wil. Us.. or them?”

Wilbur was caught off guard by the question you asked. Were you really making him choose between the two things he loves most? It took him a minute to fully register what you were asking.

“What?! Love you can’t be se-“

“William. Us, or them.”

Wilbur’s breathe got stuck in his throat. He didn’t want to choose. He didn’t want to be stuck in this situation. But he knew it too. Knew he was barely there for you both anymore. Knew he couldn’t provide the father his daughter needed. Knew he wasn’t the person you married. And he wanted to fix all of it, yes! He wanted to be the father he knew he could be, not wanting to be his own father. He wanted to be a loving and supportive husband for you. But he also wanted this. He wanted to feel he adrenaline of after shows. Wanted to hear people screaming his lyrics and name. He wanted nothing more than to make music for people to relate and scream to.

He couldn’t possibly choose right?

The fact he had to think about his answer, made the choice he chose clear as day to you.

You placed a hand over your mouth to stop the sob crawling up your throat, eyes watery and back turnt to him as you broke down.

“Y/n please, let me ex-“

“No. No you don’t get to explain. Your answer explains it all. I mean- I wouldn’t have cared if you didn’t give a damn about me, but the fact you would choose music over your own child-“ you whimpered as you continued to hold back tears and sobs of anger and pain. “And you cannot say you ‘don’t have time’ because I know damn well you spent all that time drinking and partying with your friends, when you could’ve been with me and her. When you could’ve been a father.”

Once you could get a grip on yourself, you sighed out a breathe and looked him in the eye. “You can stay, for tonight. But once she’s at my moms, and you’ve said you’re goodbye, you’re gone. If you don’t want to care for us, or show any sort of support, then your are not aloud to be in this family. And yeah. Maybe in the future you can have a second chance. But right now you just fucked it all up for yourself.” You shakily voiced out as you looked at him with so much emotion.

Anger? Disgust? Disappointment? Love? You didn’t know. All you knew is no matter what, you would still love him. And you knew your daughter would too. But if he doesn’t want to put in the effort and time, then he won’t get ours. And when the time comes he wants to come back, we’ll let him back with open arms, no matter how much hurt he gave us.

“I’m so sorry.” Wilbur whimpered out, as his bottom lip started to wobble. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I-“ He started but quickly cut himself off before he made it worse for himself.

“I know. But things don’t go the way we want them sometimes. And we have to deal with the consequences.” You turned your back to him to start making your way back your guy’s- your bedroom. “The couch is open, unless you want to join me. Either way, I don’t mind.” You avoid eye contact the whole time as you spoke to him, not wanting to make the hurt evident.

“I love you, y/n. I love you and our daughter so much.” He whispered out in the dreadful silence of the house.

You sighed out as you turned to him. “I know. We know. And we love you too. You just need a break to find out what you really want and that’s ok. And when you decide, I’ll be all ears.” You sent him a sad and weak smile, eyes glossy and hands shaking as you held them.

He nodded at you as you made your way to he bedroom, closing the door and finally breaking down. Sobs pushed their way out of your body as your crouched in front of the door, trying to stifle your whines and whimpers with your hand.

As much as you hate him, he needed this. You all needed this. As much as it hurt.

But we’ll find out what he wants. He always does.

Right?

Taglist: @deadphantomsociety @jadeissues @sixofshadowandbone @ezzylikesdabee @bird-shack @z0vamp @gaytoadwithapopsicle @art3m1s-adelia @mcr-pr-fob @romancingdaffodils @swevenne @maarriiii @ella-fella-bo-bella (if you want to be added onto the tag list, just send me a message and I’ll gladly add you!)

#lilly writes #wilbur soot #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot imagine #wilbur x reader #wilbur x y/n #wilbur dream smp #wilbur mcyt #dsmp x reader #mcyt x reader #x reader

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leclerced · 30 days

Note

rehearsal crush + jelly = broken up

angst please ?

landoscar whose gf breaks up with them because she can’t handle the distance and they kinda are just like sick about it but oscar’s “if it’s meant to be it’ll be” attitude takes over lando too so they just don’t do anything about it and let her leave and it makes her even more upset that they didn’t TRY and fight for her

but happy ending

-🪼🪼🪼

jelly im so sorry ): if u wanna talk about it or rant, feel free to dm me 🫶🏻 im here for u if u need anything. i did Not Know how to end this im so sorry sjdkdmd im at work rn i hope this helps in some way ):

the only time it feels like she’s in a relationship is when they come to town between races. when they leave, she has to go back to real life and missing them. she hides it well, puts a smile on her face while she kisses them goodbye, then breaks down once they've walked out the door. there’s a weight on her chest that is only lifted when they’re around. they’ve never told her they feel the same, she thinks it’s because they still have each other so it’s not as bad. it makes her feel like she can’t tell them how badly she misses them, how crushing it is to see them go and know it’ll be a month until she sees them again.

she’s always been a physical person, she craves their touch more than anything. she misses the forehead kisses, having someone to hold hands with, a kiss and goodbye, i love you's when she's leaving for work. she wants to walk into a room and be able to crawl into her boyfriend's lap. to lay on oscar while she's binging her favorite shows. go on hikes with lando. it’s worse missing both of them. she misses waking up because oscar’s laying on top of her and lando’s asleep but still trying to pull her closer to him while oscar holds her in place underneath him, only to grumble and roll over so he’s on top of her too. she’d complain about the weight and the heat, but its so rare that she savors it. forces herself to stay awake as long as possible to relish in the feeling of them surrounding her. most of the time, she wakes up because she's cold and alone.

she feels pathetic when she gets jealous watching streams, she's envious of the press and drivers who see them every day. random people get to talk to her boyfriends more than she does. she's jealous of them every time they send her photos and videos together, whether it’s an innocent selfie or something meant to be watched alone and with headphones. she hates that it feels like she’s a girlfriend for one weekend a month and the rest of it, they’re boyfriends and she's someone they send a couple of texts to.

she starts thinking about breaking up when one of her friends gives her a hug and she breaks down because her shampoo smells like oscar’s and she wishes she could hug him. it's almost like hugging oscar, except she can't tuck her face into his neck and lean into him, his hands aren't pulling her closer, rubbing her back or petting her hair. there's no soft sigh as he rests his cheek on her head and no kiss on the top of her head when she pulls away. it feels like she's already been broken up with. like all the things she's missing, she's never going to experience again.

she tries to think about how it could work out. how they could see each other more. maybe they could all live together, and then there’d be less travel. if when they went home between races, she was home. she thinks about it, if she could pick up here life and move it. could she find another job in her field? what about her friends and family, here at home? would monaco feel like home when her boyfriends still aren't there most of the year? she'd lose what support system she has, have to build a new one. she would have to give up everything just to see them a few more times a year. she hasn't even been dating them for that long, not long enough to make plans for the future. they've been doing things a month at a time, planning dates where they can. she fell hard and fast, too fast now that she thinks about it. she shouldn't be contemplating flipping her life upside down just because of a boyfriend or two.

she doesn’t want to keep feeling like she’s drowning without them. she thinks she’ll get over them faster than she’ll be okay with missing them all the time. that in a few months, she could be over them and seeing someone new. someone who lives in her city, so she can see them regularly. have someone to text when she's lonely and have them come over and hold her. sure, it’s fun when they’re on break, and can spend all of their free time with her. when she can take off work to go on vacation with them. but it’s not so fun when she’s spending every night wishing they were back in bed with her, counting down the days until they would be. it takes her a week to draft the text in her notes. editing it every day, sending it to her closest friends to check.

i'm really sorry, but i can't do this anymore. the distance is too much, it doesn't feel like i'm in a relationship when you're always across the world on a different time zone. i can count the words we've spoken this week, and it's not even like, real talking. we had a few texts. good morning, good night, i love you. i need more than that. i shouldn't be doing this over text, i know, and i'm sorry for that, but there's no other way to do it. it's easier this way.

she tried adding more, explaining why, the hurt she feels. how she's thrown up from missing them, cried herself to sleep, she couldn't put it into words without feeling like she was trying to hurt them. she reads it back to herself and imagines oscar or lando sending her the same text and nearly throws up. deletes all the rough bits so they won't imagine her keeling over the toilet every morning, crying to her friends, crying alone in bed clutching a hoodie lando left behind. it feels unemotional after that. she can't even type out the words, to say i'm breaking up with you. to say goodbye.

lando sees the text first. he always reaches for his phone first thing in the morning, their groupchat is almost always still open when he unlocks it. he always sends a sweet message for their girl to wake up to or see the next time she checks her phone, if she's up already. this time, there's a text waiting. his hands start shaking instantly, he forgets how to breathe, everything hurts in a way he didn't know it could.

she sent it in the groupchat, an hour after their goodnight, i love you's. he shakes oscar awake after reading it two or three times, not believing the words are real until he's closed the app and reopened it only to see it's still there. he doesn't know what to do, what to think, what to say. it's been hours since she sent the text. it feels too late to respond, like it's done. oscar's confused and disoriented, he's never woken up like this before. lando's shaking him and crying and blubbering at him when he starts regaining consciousness. he thinks someone died. he can't understand lando's gasping, "she- fuck, oscar- i don't know what to do- oscar- what do we do?" he's acting like oscar should already know what he's talking about.

he sits up and grabs lando's cheeks in his hands, "breathe. calm down. what are you going on about?" a phone is pressed into his chest, a corner of it hits his sternum and he winces as he drops a hand to take it. it's lando's, unlocked with their group chat open. he reads the text with a blank face before collapsing back on the bed. bad dream. this is a nightmare. this isn't real. he pinches himself again and again. squeezes his eyes shut and reopens them, holds the phone in front of his face and the text is still there. he can't bring himself to check his own phone and read it there. it remains unread, unready to face the realization.

lando chokes out a sob next to him and collapses on top of him, "'s too late, osc. it's too late. we can't do anything- she's so far away. osc, i-i can't- i don't know what to do- please oscar." he clenches his jaw, tells himself he can't break down, lando needs him to be strong. he drops the phone, rather, throws it to a far corner of the bed, and wraps both arms around lando. "it'll be okay, i promise. if it's meant to be, it'll be." lando whines at his words, says something into his chest that oscar can't make out. he just squeezes lando tighter and pushes down the urge to scream, to break something. to book a flight and fly across the world and beg her not to do this.

it's already done. the text is too articulated. she planned this out. it wasn't one bad night. it was a string of bad nights, that she never told them about. they can't help her if she won't tell them something is wrong, if they don't know she needs help. he doesn't know if he believes his own words. he thinks it's meant to be, but he doesn't know how. he thinks about the stupid saying, if you love something, let it go. if it comes back to you, it's yours forever. if it doesn't, it was never meant to be. it keeps him from texting back and begging for her. she'll come back when she's ready. maybe if he doesn't respond, she'll take it back.

she expects them to fight for her. realistically, she knows she waited until they went to sleep, but still. maybe they couldn't fall asleep, they'd see it and talk her down instantly. she expects them to wake up and text back, begging her not to do this. offer to visit more, to fly her out more. to do anything to close the distance. she lets herself delude herself into thinking maybe they aren't responding because they took the first flight out to see her. the entire day, she waits for her phone to beep at her or to hear a knock on her door, but there's nothing.

she makes the mistake of checking a live broadcast the next day, media day. they look fine. no bags under their eyes, no tear splotchy cheeks. it could be makeup, but they laugh and joke with each other and other drivers. she tells herself it’s the right decision. they aren't even upset about it. they're just going about their days. part of her she wishes she could take it back. she wishes she didn't know this is how they felt, that she really was just a quick fuck between races. they couldn't even be bothered to respond and say, hey! it was fun while it lasted. she doesn't let herself watch anymore after that and deletes every app so she won't have to see the mclaren content her algorithms are so used to pumping her feed with.

in the days after, she feels lied to. like all of these months was nothing, every night they flew in to see her was just because they wanted something else to fuck. her friends tell her it's not true, that they're probably just being respectful and giving her space. one of them says if she'd gotten that text, she wouldn't have replied either. she knows she wouldn't either when she rereads it to herself. she wants to ask, why didn't any of you tell me not to send it? why were they all so supportive of me blowing up my relationship?

after a few weeks of thinking like that, she breaks and looks at the championship rankings, looks at their scores for the last races. she feels a pang in her stomach when they're not having a great season, sometimes finishing in the points but not getting into the top five in any race since. she gets curious, wonders if it's the car or the driver. makes the mistake of watching post race interviews and hearing them talk about how the car was doing great but they couldn't get the full potential out of it. lando's beating himself up too much about it, oscar's giving him sad looks constantly. maybe it is bothering them and they're just showing it differently. she bans herself from checking again. it's none of her business. they're not her boyfriends anymore.

she comes to realize she didn't mind the distance. she misses the few texts they shared, misses watching races and cheering on her boys. the short phone calls after where she congratulates them. waiting around until they made it back to their hotel even if it meant she would only get a few hours of sleep before work. she misses them coming in once a month to see her.

she feels stupid for not telling them how she felt sooner. she wishes she'd worded the text differently, that she'd told them how she felt and they listened and helped. she thinks about reaching out, to apologize, to say she wasn't thinking right, ask for another chance. she doesn't deserve one.

summer break rolls around and though she's still sad about it, she's not crying anymore. she's given up any idea of ever seeing them again and resigns herself to telling her grandkids about the time she dated two racecar drivers. she's just cleaned and rearranged her entire apartment to make herself feel something. the living room is flipped around, she bought a new tv stand and some new pictures to hang. got some funky lamps for mood lighting. she redoes her bedroom too, gets a new bedroom set at an antique sale and pays the seller's sons to move it because she doesn't have a truck. they even help carry out her old furniture and set up the new. even the dining room is redone, a friend got a new dining table and she swapped her friend's old one out for her own. it didn't fit anything else in her apartment and she'd had it since college, it was time to go.

she's almost feeling good. it's a little weird walking into her apartment and feeling like she walked into the wrong one, but in a good way. it feels like a fresh start in a way. she doesn't walk in and imagine lando and oscar on her sofa because the tv is in the place they used to sit. they've never been in her "new" bedroom, never sat on the new mattress she ordered. never showered under her new showerhead. she hid all of their gifts and the things they'd left behind in a box in her guest room closet, so the reminders of them are gone.

they're gone, until she wakes up to banging on her door in the middle of the night. she thinks someone is breaking in at first, when the banging stops suddenly. the silence is deafening, she's waiting to hear someone trying to open it, pick the lock or break a window to get in. instead, her phone buzzes on her night stand. she picks it up and feels her stomach drop.

oscar: i'm sorry it's late. i hope you haven't moved, because i've been banging on your door for five minutes.

why is he here? is lando here too? where is he? why isn't he here? what's happening? what do i do? a million questions run through her head at once and she freezes up. she thinks about pretending to be asleep. that she moved, that the knocking didn't wake her and she never saw the text. maybe she changed her number and moved. she could pretend. it would be easier, probably.

she thinks about it for too long, then realizes oscar's probably left. the text was sent six minutes ago. the thought sends her into a panic. she can't lose him again. she slips in her rush to get out of bed, curses herself for not buying a new rug to match her new bedding yet when her socks hit slippery hard wood floors and she slips, barely catching herself on the bed. she scrambles out of her bedroom, down the hall, barly skidding to a stop before she fumbles for the deadbolt and swings the door open.

he's still there. hands stuffed in his pocket, hair mussed from travel, probably. she can see his adams apple bob when he swallows and they both freeze, like they're on stage and both forgot their lines. she can smell his cologne and it makes her dizzy. it's like walking by a display in a store and knowing you smelled that smell on your third grade field trip to the local science museum. it's been so long that it feels foreign but you can place it exactly. they both stand there, staring, like they can't believe they're really seeing each other.

he opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. he lets out a sigh, "can i come in?"

she blinks, twice, before stepping aside and nodding. she watches his face as he steps inside and looks around. he takes his time taking everything in, his eyes scanning through the archway into the living room. she left her lamps on, so the room is lit by hot pink in one corner, lime green in the next, and blue in the next. it lights his face up in a pretty way, like the lights at the track do, or in a club. she's not sure what to do, so she offers a drink to give herself something to do. "cocoa?" the word feels weird in her mouth. it's only two syllables but her tongue feels thick and even that is hard. he doesn't look at her or say anything, just gives a nod. his hair flutters and she longs to run her hands through it. he does it, pushing the hair off his forehead. it makes her want to do it even more.

she side steps him and is grateful when she doesn't hear his footsteps follow her into the kitchen. would you blame her if she took as long as possible to make the drinks? she could do it faster. she's mastered the art of making hot chocolate every way possible. she has the powder mix for when she's lazy, and knows how to make it taste just as rich as the real thing. she also has expensive chocolate that will take longer to melt down than a powder will take to stir into milk. it's been her guilty pleasure since she broke things off, it feels chopping it up to give to oscar. it helped her though, so maybe it'll help now.

she wonders what he's doing, if he's still standing there or if he moved. if he sat on the couch in it's new spot, or if he's looking at the new wall hangings. if he can hear her chopping on the cutting board, setting things on the stove, getting the mugs out. she wonders if he's grateful for the time to think, too. she needs it considering she didn't know he was showing up. she didn't have time to prepare, but that's better, she would have overthought everything. she runs her fingers through her hair a few times to comb out any tangles and splashes some water on her face to clear her head a bit.

she's going to make the best hot chocolate he's ever had. she's going to put more effort into this mug of hot chocolate than any other. she believes melting the chocolate before adding it to the milk makes it better, so she sets up a double boiler on one burner and milk on another to melt the chocolate while the milk warms. once the chocolate is silky smooth and the milk is at an even 180 degrees, she mixes them. she takes her time whisking it together, occasionally swiping a finger across the whisk to taste it.

she's just biding her time. she chose what she's pretty sure is oscar's favorite mug, an orange one with a kangaroo inside. she bought it at a thrift store long before they met. when you finish your drink, there's a sculpted kangaroo sitting inside, like a little surprise. she likes serving people drinks in it and seeing their confusion, thinking something is in their drink before she says it's part of the mug. they finish their drink and coo at what's inside. oscar's reaction was her favorite; he asked where she got it and said he had to have one. she had no clue where it was from and offered it to him on the spot, and he sheepishly shook his head, "no, just use it when 'm here."

she hid it at the back of the cabinet, every morning she'd reach for it out of habit then get sad when she remembered oscar liked it. hiding it meant she didn't reach for it and get sad. tonight, she had to push all her other mugs out of the way and check it for dust so oscar could use it. at one point, she wished he'd taken it so she wouldn't have to see the reminder. now, she's glad she still has it so she has some common ground to latch onto.

she finds him in the living room, tucked into end corner of the couch, right next to the pink light. "sorry it took so long, i used the good chocolate." she mutters as she offers him the mug and sits in the middle of the couch, a safe distance away. she sets her own mug down on the table, a light blue one with a duck on the outside. she wants to crawl into his lap, say she's sorry, she's so happy to see him. that's not her place anymore, and she doesn't know why he's here. maybe he just wants their hoodies back.

he stares at the mug, wraps both his hands around it and she wishes he'd set it down and tuck his hands under her shirt to warm them like she used to. she can't read his expression when he counters, "i would have taken swiss miss." she doesn't know how to take that. is he saying she shouldn't have put in the effort, or he would be happy with anything she gives him?

she quirks a smile, "i thought you deserved the good stuff."

he hums, and lifts the mug up, "will i burn my mouth if i try to drink this now?" she blinks. he trusts her not to hurt him.

"i wouldn't. i just took it off the burner, i bet you'd see steam if the marshmallows weren't blocking it." his lips turn up in the smallest smile for just a moment and he sets it down next to hers. she keeps her eyes on the mugs as he sits back and suddenly shifts the conversation, "i'm sorry for just showing up. i was going to text but i was scared you would tell me not to."

she tries not to make a face but she winces. "you have nothing to apologize for, you haven't done anything wrong. and for what it's worth, i'm glad you showed up." she hopes it’s the right thing to say. she isn’t sure why she’s here and she doesn’t want to get her hopes up.

there's a soft touch on her arm and she almost flinches before she remember it's just oscar. his voice is soft just as soft as his touch, "you haven't either." his hand curls around her bicep and he tugs lightly. she immediately scoots closer and he pulls her into his side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “we should have reached out, should have shown up sooner. there's not-" he lets out a sigh, she feels him shift her and he squeezes her softly. “the distance, it's hard. we've been doing this a long time, we're used to not seeing our family more than one week a year. you haven't had that, never done this before. you don't know how to deal with it, but if you don't tell us you're struggling, we can't help."

he squeezes her shoulder and she leans into him, "i know. i just- it didn't feel like it would do any good. not like i could text you and you'd be here in an hour."

he shakes his head in the corner of her eye and grumbles, "no, but we would have found time to call you, found a way to come see you sooner. hell, if you could get off work we'd fly you out. fuck, that's not even the problem. why didn't you feel like you could tell us how you were feeling?"

there's a burning sensation that signals tears are coming, and her throat is tightening. she pushes the tears back and forces the words out, "i was scared, that i was the only one feeling like this. you have each other, why would you miss me? i don't have anyone."

oscar lets out a weak sound and pulls her closer, not close enough for her. she wants to be pressed against him in every way. "i'm sorry we made you feel that way. we have each other, yeah, but half the time, all we do is talk about you. missing you. i made lando buy the same shampoo so he’d smell like you. practically had to wash my drool out of his hair every morning.” as if for emphasis, he presses his cheek to her head and sniffs. “could pick you out from a blind test.”

she can't help the breathy laugh that escapes her, "really? you missed me that much? why didn't you tell me?"

oscar nods, "i didn't know you needed to hear it. i thought we were fine. i don't know if there were signs we missed or maybe, you kept it to yourself. it's not an excuse, but we're used to missing people, we can't change that, so we look forward to the next time we see you. sometimes, we're so busy, we don't have time to think about how much it hurts.”

she huffs, "i had too much time to think about how much it hurts."

oscar squeezes her to his side again, then huffs, "take a hint would you? get closer."

her heart thuds in her chest, "closer?"

he laughs a little, the air hits her cheek. "yes, closer. been trying to hold you, but you won't move."

immediately, she throws herself onto his lap, wedging a leg between his and the arm of her sofa so she can straddle him. it feels so good just to have someone close, and oscar feels like coming home. his cologne is the same, she can tell it’s been hours since he applied it, likely just before shoving it in his suitcase, but it lingers on him. he smells a bit like the airport, too, and she wonders how long it took him to get here. where he flew from, when he booked the ticket. it doesn’t really matter.

he’s filled out more through the season, his body is hard under her and she can’t tell if he’s tense or if it’s just hard muscle from lots of training. “i’m really sorry you were hurting. do you think, we could try this again? could you tell us, before it gets too much?”

she curls a hand around his bicep and sighs, "yes, god, i missed you so much. i'm really sorry, i should have said something. i- i would have taken it back, if you had said something, neither of you reached out. i didn't think you wanted me to.”

she can feel the rumbling in his chest against hers when he replies, it tingles her cheek where it’s pressed against his throat. "we didn't think you wanted us to. it felt planned out, i figured you wanted space. i thought you’d come to us when you were ready. lando tried to- i stopped him.” her heart almost shatters. she squeezes her eyes shut and forces back the tears. she can’t cry on him right now. “i was scared too, didn’t want him to find out he was blocked or something. i couldn’t- i didn’t know what to do. i didn’t want him to get hurt again.”

"space is the last thing i wanted." she whispers against his neck. at the mention of him hurting, her stomach twists into tight knots. she'd assumed they were fine. "is lando okay? why isn't he here?"

oscar stiffens under for, just for a moment, before relaxing, "yeah, he'll be okay, if we're gonna be okay. he’s in a hotel, didn't think you'd want to see him. didn't want to face the rejection."

a whimper slips out, "i didn't mean to make him feel like that. all i want is to see him. i should have said something sooner, before it was too much. i'm sorry."

oscar rubs her back softly, and, “we’re sorry too. we’ll do better this time, find more time to see you. reach out more. you gotta do the same, though. and let us know when you need us to be there for you.”

she nods against him, “i promise, i will. can you-“

“we’ll do the same. i’ll text you when i make lando wash his hair with your shampoo, and when i wake up because he’s talking in his sleep and he’s dreaming about you. make lando text you too. he’ll probably complain that i sleep on him when he smells like you and he prefers being the big spoon.”

she lets out a breath of air, almost a laugh but not quite, “i was gonna say, can you call lando? thank you for that though, it means a lot.”

oscar presses his face into her hair, mumbling, “you could call him, y’know? he’d probably love that.”

#ask #🪼 anon #tbh would have done more but i dont have time 😭#sorrrryyy baby #ln4/op81 #hope this is ok #havent fully proof read it n i skipped around a lot so sry for typos or anything confusing i didn’t rly edit

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