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scuderiahoney · 4 months

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Always Walk Me Home

Max Verstappen x Reader // Strawberry Wine Pt I

Strawberry Wine Series

Masterlist

Summary: You and Max are keeping things casual. Sooo casual. You can be casual. Right?

Word Count: 4.3k

a/n: Heeeeere we go, his number is in my bio for a reason, it’s my other favorite boy! This one is heavily inspired by some of the prompts on this list. anyways enjoy!

Warnings: alcohol/mild intoxication, mild sexual references, google translated Dutch

Things with Max are… brand new. Everything is still fresh. Everything he does gives you butterflies, makes your heart skip a beat. It’s the honeymoon phase, as everyone calls it.

It’s so brand new that nobody knows. Nothing is… official, yet. You’ve just been on a few dates, had a few movie nights. You’ve stayed at his place a couple times, waking up with his arm around your waist and Jimmy and Sassy curled up next to you. It’s casual. You’re keeping things casual. Max seems content to feel things out, to keep seeing you without labeling it. You’re trying so hard to be casual about it that it’s almost embarrassing.

You feel like everyone sees straight through you. On top of spending time alone together, you and Max are friends, so you see each other at group outings and clubs and dinners with your other friends. Max acts the same there as he always has- kind, courteous, and friendly. You won’t lie, sometimes you wish he’d hold your hand or pull your chair out for you or something, anything to show you that you’re not the only one feeling less than casual. But you’re scared of scaring him away, so you keep your mouth shut.

…..

You’re out to dinner with friends, somehow ending up sitting next to him. It’s nice, really nice. You can smell his cologne, can feel the warmth radiating off of him at the packed table. You have to fight the urge to nudge his foot with yours, to press your knee against his. That wouldn’t be very casual of you. You can do this, you can be normal.

He’s saying something to the person next to him, laughing and leaning towards them. You want to be the reason he’s laughing, want to be in on the jokes. You keep your mouth shut and look at the menu instead.

“What are you going to get?” Max asks.

He’s suddenly in your space. He’s leaning close, his shoulder brushing against yours. Be normal. You shrug, sliding your finger down the menu.

“Probably the shrimp scampi,” you say, pointing at the item.

Max nods. “You love seafood.”

You blink, breath caught in your chest. He’s right, but you didn’t know he knew that. Let alone for him to say it as fact. It’s not like he’s whispering either- someone else could hear. It’s silly, because it’s such a small thing, but you’re overanalyzing everything about it.

“I do,” you agree, turning and smiling at him.

“I remember things,” he says, a soft smile on his face, and now your face is growing hot.

Someone draws his attention away, and you look back to the menu. You nearly yelp in shock when something brushes your knee, but- it’s Max, you realize with a start, his hand searching for something. You hold your breath. His fingers find yours, and he interlaces your hands, palm to palm. He keeps them resting on your leg.

You try to take even breaths. He’s holding your hand in public, with your friends right next to you. Sure, it’s under the table, but this is the most you’ve gotten from him in a setting like this. He’s held your hand on dates, done much more in the privacy of his home, but here it feels overwhelming. His thumb brushes over the back of your hand, and you resist the urge to hold on so tightly to him that he can’t let go.

Eventually the food comes, and you both let go so you can eat. But it was nice while it lasted.

…..

Max’s apartment is spacious and cozy, despite the fact that he’s gone from it so often. There’s a warmth here, an aura that just screams Max. His cats roam freely, though while you’re there they have a tendency to follow you around.

“They are traitors,” Max accuses as Jimmy and Sassy weave around your ankles in the kitchen.

“Maybe I’m just better than you,” you say.

“Oh, you are,” he says, sending up a swirl of butterflies in your stomach. “But I feed them. So they are traitors.”

You laugh, leaning down to pet the cats. They nudge their heads against your hands and legs, paw at your socks, and when you walk into the living room, they follow after. Max just watches with disappointment.

By the time he joins you in the living room, drinks in hand, both of them are curled up in your lap. He lets out a huff and sets the drinks on the table. Then he’s nudging at the cats, and you cry out when he pushes them both off your lap.

“Max!” You say, appalled.

He laughs, lays down on the couch, and promptly placed his head exactly where the two cats had been. He stares up at you with a wide grin, eyes squeezed nearly shut.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” you answer.

He reaches for one of your hands. He squeezes your fingers softly before bringing your hand up to his hair. You laugh and take the hint, start running your fingers through the blonde strands. He lets his eyes fall shut. Then you watch as he brings his hand up, purses his lips, and points at them.

You take that hint too, lean over and plant a kiss on his lips. When you try to pull away, he wraps a hand around the back of your neck and keeps you there. He deepens the kiss, fingers slipping into the hair at the nape of your neck to hold you there. It’s not the best angle, but it’s nice, always nice to kiss him.

He finally lets you go and collapses back into your lap, a satisfied smile on his reddened lips.

…..

“I can’t open it!” You squeak. “What the fuck, how do they make it look so easy?”

You’re holding a bottle of champagne in your friend’s apartment, trying to get the cork out. It doesn’t help that you’re scared- one too many horror stories about someone getting a cork to the eye, or breaking a window. You huff and try again, gently. No use.

“Lando slams it on the ground,” your friend suggests, her eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, and he also shattered one of Max’s trophies,” you say. “So maybe not the best example.”

You hear familiar laughter, then, and you drop one hand to your side, still holding the bottle in front of you with the other. Max makes his way through the kitchen, a smile on his lips that paints his whole face. You hold it out to him, pouting.

“No, no,” he says. “I’ll show you.”

He wraps his hand around yours, around the bottle. You can’t lie, your mind goes somewhere else for a second, but you tamp those thoughts down and try to focus.

“See, you put this hand on the cork,” he instructs, “and this hand on the bottom.”

His hands are warm over yours. Your face feels hot. Does he feel the sparks when his skin touches yours, too? Or is this normal for him? Is it just a friend helping another friend? You wish you knew, wish he’d say something to quell your worries and calm your racing heart.

“-and then you twist, like this,” he demonstrates.

The bottle hisses, and you jump, but there’s no dramatic pop, no shooting of the cork. You just pull it out, and you stare at the bottle with wide eyes. Oh. That was-

“Easy, right?” He says. “You are already a pro.”

You laugh, shake your head, and hold out the bottle to your friends, standing there with their empty glasses. You want to study their faces, ask them if they noticed anything. You want to ask if they saw the sparks, too. Someone takes the bottle, and your hands fall to your side, the cork still between your fingers.

Your knuckles brush against something- when you look, it’s Max’s hand. He’s still standing there, watching as everyone passes the bottle around. You swallow tightly, bump your hand into his. Deliberately. You want to look up at his face, want to gauge his reaction, but you resist the urge.

Max reaches his pinky out and hooks it with yours. For just a moment, standing in the kitchen, surrounded by your friends, you’re linked. The sparks run from his finger, up your wrist and arm and straight to your heart. Your chest fizzes like the champagne, bubbly and overflowing.

…..

You weren’t even planning on seeing Max tonight. It’s a girls night, one that’s been suggested over and over, each of you being too busy to make it happen until tonight. You’re at your favorite bar, bass thudding in your chest, your friends all around you.

And then, there’s a tingling feeling in your spine. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Someone is watching you. You turn over your shoulder and lock eyes with Max.

He’s leaning against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other. He has a black t-shirt on that’s always been one of your favorites- it hugs his upper arms and his chest so perfectly. He’s watching you, a soft smirk on his lips, a drink in his hand. Everyone is moving around you, but you’re stuck on him.

You smile, wave, and force yourself to turn back to your friends. You like him, you want to spend time with him, but you’ve been neglecting your friendships because of it. Your friends have been teasing you all night about how you’ve been too busy, how you keep checking your phone, how there must be a guy. You’ve denied it at every turn. You can’t leave them now. Ditching your friends for the guy who isn’t even your boyfriend would be the opposite of casual. You force yourself not to look at him, but you swear you can still feel him staring.

Ten minutes later, a bartender appears with a tray of shots and lime wedges. “For you,” she says, pointing at you, and your friends squeal in excitement. She points behind you, then. “From him.”

You turn over your shoulder again. Max is watching, and waving this time. You laugh and wave back, and your friends all do the same. He’s far away, too far to make it in time as you each grab a shot and throw them back in unison. You put the lime between your lips and turn to look at him again, raising your brows. He laughs, eyes lit up so bright you can see the blue even across the room, you swear. Then he juts his chin in the direction of the hallway when nobody else is looking. A message just for you.

You find him out there ten minutes later, trying not to make it obvious and taking the time to come up with an excuse- you fake a phone call. The hall is empty when you walk out, and you wonder if he’s given up on you- you know you saw him walk out. Then he pops his head out from around a corner and waves you over frantically.

He’s leaning against the wall, the same way he was in the club. You stand against the wall on the other side of the hallway and stare at him.

“I’m not leaving right now,” you say. “I promised I’d stay out late.”

“I know,” he says. “Just wanted to see you.”

You tilt your head. “Yeah? Seeing me across the bar wasn’t enough?”

The tequila running in your veins has you feeling braver than usual. It doesn’t seem to scare Max. He just grins wider, brow quirked.

“No, it wasn’t,” he says. “You’re pretty from far away, but even prettier up close.”

Your face feels hot. He pushes off from the wall, leans towards you. He could box you in if he wanted, could pin you right there, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes your hand in his and pulls you away from the wall, too. The kiss he sweeps you into is sweet. He wraps his arm around you, and you sling yours around the back of his neck. One of his hands cradles the side of your face as he deepens the kiss. Out of all of it, you’re much more focused on the feeling of his thumb on your cheek than the feeling of his lips on yours. It’s strangely intimate, strangely soft, the way he holds you as he kisses you in the hallway of a bar. The way his nose nudges against your cheek, the way he pulls you closer and closer like he can’t get enough.

He pulls away, leaves you gasping for air.

“You taste like lime,” he says.

You nod, dumbfounded.

“You should go back to your friends,” he suggests, kissing your temple. “If I keep kissing you I won’t want to let you go.”

You breathe out a laugh and slap his shoulder. “If you keep staring at me in the club I won’t be able to focus on anything else.”

He laughs. “I know,” he says. “That’s what makes it fun. Besides, you’re fun to watch.”

…..

Three days later, Max is holding your purse. He’d taken it from you when you were all standing in the lobby of the restaurant and your friend dragged you into the bathroom. He’d promised to keep it safe. Now you’re back, your friends are gathering their things and saying goodbyes, getting ready to go home. You’re watching him.

The little black bag looks even smaller in his hands. His fingers are wrapped around the clutch, thumb rubbing back and forth across one of the stitches the same way it had on your skin the night before. He’s talking to someone else, but when there’s a break in the conversation, you nudge him.

“I can take that back,” you say, holding your hand out.

He tilts his head, blinks softly. “That’s okay. I’ll carry it.”

You’re sure you’re staring at him like a deer in the headlights. “Okay, but I’m leaving, so I need my purse.”

He nods. “I thought maybe I could walk you home. If you wanted.”

You nod in response, feeling a bit dumbfounded. The two of you exit the restaurant, waving goodbye to your friends. He takes your hand the second you’re outside, your purse still in his other one. Your fingers knit together like second nature, now. You could predict the pattern of the brush of his thumb against your skin like clockwork.

Your apartment isn’t far, but you find yourself walking slow on purpose, prolonging the moment. You pass people on the street and you know that to them, the two of you look like a real, actual couple. It’s nice to pretend. You lean into his shoulder, and he stumbles and laughs and keeps both of you upright. The two of you talk the whole way there, about everything and nothing and all the stuff in between.

When you reach the apartment building, he finally holds your purse out to you. You open the clutch, digging through it to find your keys and the front door access card. He watches in amusement as your fingers fumble through the bag.

“D’you wanna come up?” You ask. “I have some of that wine you like.”

You pull the card triumphantly from your bag. You look up at him, and he’s smiling softly, something sparkling in his eyes that makes your breath hitch. Makes the champagne bubble in your chest all over again.

“That’s okay,” he says, softly. “I’ve got to get back to the cats. But can I take you to breakfast tomorrow?”

You blink, card still pinched between your fingers. “Yeah, sure.”

He tilts his head at you. “Maybe brunch. You are going to need sleep. How about you text me when you wake up and we’ll go from there?”

You nod. He nods back. Then he reaches up, cups the side of your face in his hand. He’s so gentle about it, more so than he normally is. When he presses his lips to yours, he tastes like gin and he kisses like… like he cares for you. Like this isn’t leading somewhere else, like he’s not going to pull you into his lap and start trailing kisses down your neck. He kisses you just to kiss you, just to say goodnight.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says when he pulls away. “Goodnight, liefje.”

You smile up at him. “Goodnight, Max.”

He smiles back. Then he leans forward and presses his lips to your forehead softly. You swear you’re melting into the sidewalk. You must be a puddle under his feet. You want to press yourself into his chest, tell him to wrap his arms around you, ask him to never let you go.

But you’re trying so hard to be so good at being casual, so you kiss his cheek, turn around, and walk inside. You take the elevator up, leaning against the wall and covering your giddy smile with your hand. When you get into your apartment, kick off your heels, and drop your bag on the counter, your phone buzzes. It’s a call. You look at the screen and see Max’s face.

“Hello?” You answer.

“Did you get in alright?” He asks.

Your heart squeezes fiercely in your chest. He sounds so soft, asking it. You walk over to the window, peel back the curtains, hoping you’re right about what you think you’ll see. There he is, still standing in front of the entrance, phone to his ear. He’s staring up at your window. When he sees you, he waves.

“Yeah,” you say. “You didn’t have to wait, you know.”

But I’m so glad you did.

“Yes I did,” he says, voice soft and scratchy from the night out. “Had to make sure you were safe.”

“Okay,” you breathe. “Let me know when you get home, okay?”

“I will,” he says. You watch as he waves again, smiling up at you. “Goodnight.”

…..

He picks you up for brunch the next day. By the time you’re in his car, it’s nearly 10:30. He drives with his hand on your knee, like always, fingers dancing across your exposed skin below the hem of your sundress. You like watching him drive, like being here with him. He pulls up to the restaurant and runs around to open your door for you, leaving you laughing. He hands the keys to the valet. Then he slips his arm around your waist and leads you inside.

You’ve been on dates with him, but none this fancy, none where you feel a little out of your element. Max seems comfortable, though- it’s moments like these where you’re reminded he’s not just your-friend-Max. He’s F1-world-champion-Max-Verstappen. Of course he can get a reservation here with such short notice. They’re honored to have him here.

A waiter leads you to a booth in the back. The restaurant is bright and airy, fresh flowers on every table. Max asks for a pitcher of water and orange juice before the waiter leaves. He pulls your chair out for you, pushes it in when you sit down. Your palms are sweating, heart beating rapidly. It’s just- this is the closest you’ve come to feeling like you’re actually dating him. Suddenly, it’s terrifying.

You ask him what’s good on the menu. He points out his favorites- the French toast, the eggs Benedict, the omelettes. He tells you he’s going to order a fruit sampler for the two of you to share, and you smile softly.

“They always have the best strawberries,” he tells you, eyes lit up. “You love strawberries.”

“I do,” you tell him, warmth filling your cheeks. “You do too.”

You’d bonded over that, when you first became friends. A strawberry wine that nobody else wanted to drink. Too sweet. You’d split the bottle with Max and went to bed with a sugar rush, your lips still tasting like strawberry. Ever since, for every special occasion, the two of you have gifted each other that same strawberry wine. It’s a running joke, among your friends- you’ll open the bottle, ask if anyone wants a glass. They’ll ignore you, but Max will come running.

He opens his mouth to say something, but over his shoulder, you spot something that makes your blood run cold.

“Shit,” you mutter.

He looks at you in concern. “What is it?”

“Nothing, just-“ you sigh. “Your coworker is here.”

Charles Leclerc has just walked in the door, a girl on his arm. The waiter is pointing in your general direction, towards an open table a little ways away. There goes your whole morning. He’s going to want to leave now.

Max turns to look, brows raised. “Oh. At least it’s one I like.”

You can’t help the laugh. “Should we go?”

Max turns back to you, perplexed. “What, get up to say hi? I don’t like him that much. He’ll come over here when he sees us.”

Us. You wish he meant it how you want him to.

“No, like-“ you sigh, gaze flickering down to the table. “You don’t want people to know, so-“

“What?” He asks, wide eyed. “What do you mean, I don’t want-“

“You didn’t want to tell anyone,” you say, quietly. You can’t look at him. “We haven’t even really talked about this, and… I figured you…”

You trail off, because you can feel him staring at you. He reaches over and tucks his finger under your chin. He tilts your face upwards towards his. His gaze is soft, a small smile on his face.

“Schatje, you have to be joking,” he says, and you stare back at him. “Of course I want to tell people. I have wanted to tell the whole world since I kissed you the first time.”

You blink. “But you- you didn’t want to put a label on it. You never…”

“We never talked about it,” he says. “I was giving you time. I’m a lot. Dating me is a lot. You are… I was following your lead.”

“Oh my god,” you blurt out, a giddy feeling in your chest. “Oh my god, I’m so dumb.”

The two of you just stare at each other for a moment. His eyes are bright and sparkling, his smile spreading across his whole face. You’re so done being casual.

Charles appears at the end of your table seconds later, smiling at the two of you. “Max, hi, good to see you. And I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met,” he adds, turning to you.

“Charles, this is my girlfriend,” Max says, reaching across the table to take your hand.

When you greet Charles, you can’t wipe the giddy grin from your face. It stays there the whole rest of the day- through breakfast, through a walk through a park, through a late lunch at Max’s with the cats winding around your ankles. Every time it starts to fade you think of Max, bright blue eyes, his finger under your chin. You fall asleep still smiling. You’re pretty sure it’ll be there when you wake up.

…..

The next time you go out with your friends, Max carries your bag the whole night. He also keeps his hand on the small of your back nearly constantly. He orders and pays for all of your drinks, includes you in all the conversations, and brushes his lips against your temple every time there’s a lull in the talking.

Nobody questions it. None of your friends even bat an eye. You find out why when you end up in the bathroom with the girls, a tradition as old as time itself.

It turns out they all already knew.

“Max told us all the day after he kissed you the first time,” someone tells you. “And then he told us we all had to act like nothing was different, because he didn’t want to scare you off.”

You collapse into a fit of laughter, bracing yourself against the sink. All this time, you were worried about it, and he’d told everyone right away. You’d thought you were the one struggling to be casual. God, you’d have saved yourself so much trouble if you’d only asked. If you’d only told him straightforward what you wanted. If you’d only been up front.

You’re giddy with it, then. You can feel it coursing through your veins and buzzing in your fingertips. You won’t call it love yet, at least not out loud. It’s too soon, right? It can’t be love. But it’s something, and now you want him next to you. You want his lips on yours again. You’re missing him even though he’s just through the door, waiting for you, your bag in his hand.

When you return to his side, you lean up to press a kiss to his cheek. You watch his smile grow and his cheeks turn red. You place your hand on his shoulder and put your lips against his ear.

“You should take me home,” you tell him.

His cheeks get even redder, and he turns to you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say with a nod. “You’ll walk me home, right?”

“Always,” he agrees.

He takes your hand, squeezes lightly. You feel like you’re glowing brighter than the neon lights above your head.

…..

You slip up over your morning cup of coffee three days later. The cats are in your lap. There’s the perfect amount of cream and sugar in the mug, he’s made it exactly right. The sun is shining through the windows, bouncing off his hair and painting his skin in golden light. You weren’t going to say it out loud, you really weren’t, but it slips past your lips anyways.

“I love you,” you say.

Max laughs, takes the mug from your hands, and kisses you.

Then he says it right back.

read the prequel/ sequel, Someone Sane

okay, now I’ve got my three favorite boys in the masterlist! thanks for reading! come say hi, or check out more of my writing here. drop an ask or a dm to be added to the tag list!

taglist: @4-mula1

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fic #formula one fic #formula 1 fic #formula 1 x reader #f1 fanfic #max Verstappen #fanfic #max verstappen fluff #fluff #honeywrites #mv1 #strawberry wine verse

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thesoftestpunk · 1 year

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I want you, Baby I need you

Summary: your friend tells you someone may like you and so stupidly, you begin to think about them a little differently

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Word count: 5.2k

A/N: I feel like my brain fog made the pacing weird :/

Warnings: bullying, girls being mean :(, lots of fluff and pining!!

Main Masterlist

Pt.2

“Guess what?” One of your teammates, Christina, asks the second you place your tray down on the table, looking too smug for your liking. Before you can even ask, she’s talking over you. “The freak has a crush on you.”

“Who?” You genuinely forget who she’s referring to for a second, but her scoff seems to jog your memory. “Oh. Eddie Munson?”

“Who else?” She sneers, and everyone else around you laughs like it’s some huge joke, but you’re certain she isn’t joking. “God, how embarrassing.”

Your cheeks burn as they laugh even harder. You let out a weak chuckle, feeling the world around you shrink and become suffocating.

“Yeah,” you let out, trying to play along. “Could you imagine? Me and him?”

You blatantly refuse to call him a freak. Since moving into town two years ago, you quickly learned city life and small town life were completely different worlds. Despite falling in with the semi-popular crowd by joining the swimming team, you understood the struggle Eddie and his friends had to go through. You weren’t freak status back home, but you weren’t popular either. Not always well known, but always well liked, and your new friends teasing him about the rumor makes you worry about it spreading. For your sake and not his. You don’t want to deal with any sort of teasing from anyone.

Guilt crawls up your throat as you steal a glance toward his table, catching his eye as he curiously looks on at the boisterous scene going on around you. You give a quick smile, which probably comes off as more of a wince, and turn back around. In all honesty, he hasn’t been on your radar. You don’t know much about him other than the fact that he’s loud, labeled The Freak of Hawkins High, and has made a scene or two in class.

“Oh god,” Christina sighs out, wiping nonexistent tears from her eyes. “Pathetic.”

Humming half heartedly, you focus on shoving your shitty school food around your tray instead of eating it, a sudden pit sitting heavy in your stomach. Because Eddie having a crush on you actually felt flattering.

You choose to sit next to him in English, even give a small smile when you sit. There’s still time before the bell rings, and you find yourself glancing over at him. You open and close your mouth, uncertain of what to say until the words suddenly come tumbling out.

“How many tattoos do you have?”

For a second he doesn’t realize you’re talking to him until the silence makes him look up and realize you’re staring straight at him, expectantly. He points to himself as if asking ‘me?’ eyebrows raised and his already wide doe eyes getting even wider. And you nod while fighting off a smile.

“Why d’you wanna know?” He eyes you suspiciously, certain that whatever information you’re about to get out of him is going to get back to your friends and fuel the constant fire over his head.

“I dunno,” you shrug a shoulder, but you’re honest. What the fuck were you supposed to say to Eddie Munson anyway? He was intimidating as hell because he put himself in the spotlight like it was nothing. It isn’t like you hate attention, but too much makes you nauseous. “Thinking about getting one, I guess?”

“You guess?” His head tilts, causing his hair to cascade over his shoulder. Of course he would be defensive. Christina was just making fun of him less than an hour ago.

“It’s- forget it,” you shake your head. You can’t believe you would trust your nasty, mean friends when they said he had a crush on you.

Turning back to the front of the classroom, you wait painfully for the bell to ring, and once it does, the room fills quickly with slightly out of breath students. A couple of your teammates wave at you until you finally break and they gesture wildly, asking ‘what the fuck are you doing sitting next to him?’ All you can do is give an apologetic shrug and decide you’ll lie to them later and say it was the only seat you could find. They just roll their eyes and pull out their textbooks.

“Five.” Eddie’s voice surprises you.

Turning your head, you hope no one sees when you ask. “Did they hurt?”

“No, ‘course not.” He bites back a smile, trying to act all tough.

“Liar.” Your nose scrunches and it makes him laugh at how cute it is.

You don’t mean to, truly, but now you look out for Eddie in the halls, stare at him during class, and hope for one more conversation. One that’s less embarrassing, but you do hope. Despite your friend's relentless teasing after English class the other day, you give a small wave back anytime he gives you one. You never initiate first, too shy and afraid it’ll lead to more teasing. This way you can just say you’re being polite when you wave back and they see, but more often than not, they’re too caught up in their own little worlds. Even though you’re scared they’ll tease, you keep an eye out for him and you learn more than you ever knew before. He’s polite. He lets the cheerleaders walk ahead if they bump into each other at a corner in the hall. One arm is tucked behind his back as he sweeps the other out and he bows a little. They give him weird looks respectively, but he just smiles and moves on. He might joke around with his friends, but if you listen closely, you can hear the kindness and compliments hidden underneath the meaning of his words. The group is small, but he holds the same amount of care for each and every one of them. Including his ‘little sheepies’ which you don’t fully understand, but he used a lot of words you don’t understand, and you thought you were smart. After a little investigating, you learn some of them are made up, but you seem to like the fact that he’s nerdy and into this series called Lord of the Rings.

You’re starting to like Eddie.

“Oh my God,” Christina moves in your line of sight, in front of him. You’d positioned yourself at the cafeteria table so you didn’t have to turn around to subtly watch him anymore. “Are you staring at the freaks?”

“Stop calling them that,” you roll your eyes. “You know I hate that.”

She crosses her arms defensively. “Just, you know, being honest. What’s so interesting about them anyway?”

“Nothing.” You mutter, going back to nibbling on the shitty cardboard pizza they served today.

She turns around and gets the biggest shit eating grin you’ve ever seen from her when her eyes connect with Eddie’s.

“Holy shit. You’ve got a crush on The freak!”

“Christina!” You swat at her, but it’s too late. Everyone else at your table already heard and is staring at you incredulously. “I- I do not.”

“Puh-lease. You’ve been making googly eyes at him for weeks at this point!”

“It hasn’t been weeks,” you mutter under your breath.

“Ew!” Another one of the girls scrunches her nose and jabs a thumb in his direction. “Him?”

“Better be careful, Y/N,” another taunts. “Don’t wanna find you in the woods. I heard he, like, sacrificed a girl out there last year. No one’s heard from her since.”

“Oh my god, me too!” Christina pretends to look concerned. “You think that’s what happened to Nancy’s friend too? What was her name? Bev?”

“Didn’t he like…” the girl to your left leans in and stage whispers, but she could be heard from across the room if you listened hard enough. None of them understood the concept of speaking at a normal volume. “Bite a bat's head off?”

“That was actually Ozzy Ozbourne!” Eddie leans so far back in the chair that the two front legs don’t touch the ground, one of his legs lifted so the bottom of his dirty Reebok’s supports his weight against the table.

You’re mortified at the idea that Eddie has heard every single word, but he was at the other end of the long table today.

“Ugh,” Christina rolls her eyes again before turning to face him. “As if we know that freak either!”

“Tina,” you hiss, not wanting to start a scene over this nonsense.

“Whatever. You don’t have a crush.” She fully faces the table again and starts talking about the party at Jason’s after the game on Friday.

You go to throw an apologetic look at Eddie, but find him missing from the table, and a couple of his friends send glares your way, making you shrink in shame.

Eddie isn’t in English, or History, and you find out through the grapevine he skips the rest of the day entirely. It wasn’t uncommon for him to do, but you feel like it’s your fault. The days leading up to the party, he seems to avoid you, eyes darting away quickly and showing up late enough to class that it’s guaranteed there’s no free seats around you. Christina seems to take notice of your sour mood, but only asks once. You lie and say you’re fine, but you feel sick to your stomach. You never actively partook in the bullying, but you never stopped it either.

The day of the game finally rolls around, filled with school spirit and a pep rally, but once again Eddie is nowhere to be found. Not that he’d ever attended a pep rally in his whole high school career, but you at least expected to spot him at lunch. He’s even absent from your shared classes. After school, you hang around in the parking lot, wasting time before you all have to go home and get ready for the game. You frown as you observe his friends, chatting away aimlessly and occasionally throwing candy around. They hang around what you think is Eddie’s van, but if he skipped all day, why would he be here now?

“Hey,” Christina’s voice surprises you, quiet and genuine. “Just us girls… you have a crush on Munson?”

“I…” you trail off, surprised she isn’t faking her valley girl voice, and you feel like you can trust her once again since you met her two years ago. She wasn’t your first friend in Hawkins, but you had been close when you first joined the team. “I dunno. He’s actually kinda sweet. Maybe?”

“Seriously?” And then she guffaws, catching you off guard once more. “Ugh, grody! Guys, Y/N actually has a crush on Munson!”

“I- I didn’t say that!” You can’t believe Christina would do something like that. As you watch them all laugh and tease, you wonder when they all got so mean and why you started letting them get away with it.

“You said maybe. That’s, like, totally a yes!”

“Like it’s such a bad thing to have a crush on me?”

Everyone quiets as you slowly turn around to find Eddie standing there, hands shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket.

“Eddie, I…” you aren’t even sure what to say as he glares down at you.

“I wouldn’t be caught dead hanging around you, Munson.” Christina’s voice makes you squeeze your eyes shut in frustrated embarrassment. “Even your parents couldn’t stand to stay around. Must be hard having a cultist son. Fucking embarrassing.”

The lot gets so quiet, you can hear the grinding of his teeth as he sets his jaw. He doesn’t even dignify her with a response, turning and walking away before anyone can see the red staining his cheeks.

“Tina… that was major harsh.” One of the girls breaks the silence.

“Oh, eat my shorts, Janice. Are we getting ready at my house or not?”

Everyone seems to hesitate but Christina was captain of the team. No one was going to say no. Well, no one but you.

“I’ve, um, got a thing. I’ll meet you guys at the game.” You glance over toward Eddie, watching as he harshly shoves his shoulder back to avoid one of his friends' hands.

You shouldn’t go to the game, but you do.

Janice called you from Christina’s house, sounding hopeful. You promised to be there, despite your whole body screaming at you to just stay home. Janice promises the whole thing will blow over by Monday, and something else will come along. But it won’t just blow over with Eddie. You know that. He had looked so hurt when you turned around to face him. In all the years of getting bullied, that was the first time he showed anyone what their words did to him. And it was your fault.

You had promised Janice you’d be there, but when you stand outside the gymnasium, you can’t make yourself go in. Can’t make yourself face who you thought were your friends. So, you walk down a path between the large building and the school and take out a key. The pool was somewhat separated, but you could still hear the muffled band playing when you entered the echoey room. You keep a spare swimsuit in your locker for this exact situation. The sport helped clear your mind and you needed to get rid of the image of Eddie’s broken look.

You swim even after the cheering and the band stops. You swim until you feel like your limbs are going to fall off, and even though you don’t want to, you shower off the chlorine. As you step out into the somewhat cool autumn air, a double door bursts open, and the kids that come spilling out make you stop.

His little sheepies. Which means…

Fuck.

Eddie is the last one out, smile so wide you can’t help but wonder if it hurts. They all talk over each other, but Eddie just seems to watch over in pride. You take a step back into the shadows, hoping your bright multicolored windbreaker doesn’t give you away.

“Hey!” Is that… Steve Harrington? “You guys were supposed to be done an hour ago.”

“The campaign ends when it ends, Steve!” One of them retorts back.

“Yeah, well, I don’t have all night Henderson. Let’s go!”

All three freshmen rush to Steve’s BMW and scramble inside. He and Eddie share a nod before he gets in and peels out of the lot, and you can still hear all of them shouting in excitement. The other three seniors exchange goodbyes before parting ways, but Eddie sticks behind. Neither of you move until all the cars are gone except for his van and yours. Why the fuck hasn’t he moved?

“Is it just you?” Eddie finally speaks, turning toward your piss poor excuse of a hiding spot. “Or is the rest of the team waiting somewhere?”

“I’m- I’m alone.” It scares you once you realize you’re the only two on the property. Probably the only two within a few miles at this point. “Look, I’m really sorry about them. Christina especially. I don’t know when she got so…”

“Bitchy?”

That makes you breathe out a laugh, not realizing you were holding your breath. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

It’s quiet for a moment as he shifts his weight to his other leg, observing you and the whole situation.

“Do you want to sit by the pool and talk?” It’s starting to feel pretty creepy outside, and the cold night wasn’t helping your wet hair.

“I thought it was locked after hours.”

You hold up the bronze key, but offer up an explanation anyway. “My uncle is actually the coach. He got me into swimming competitively in the first place. Technically I’m not allowed to bring friends in but…”

“Good thing I’m not really a friend.” He walks past you and you’re a bit frozen in place, not believing he accepted.

You’re nervous as you unlock the door once more and wave him inside like he would but you give an awkward curtsy. As he’s turning in a small circle to take in how the water reflects off the walls and ceiling, you slip off your shoes and roll up your jeans as far as you can go. He begins to do the same when he sees you sticking your feet in the water.

“Jesus Chri-! That’s cold!” His voice bounces off the walls, and your laughter follows.

“Well, yeah, most pools are.” You tuck your hands underneath your thighs and move your right leg around in small circles, disrupting the water. “Didn’t see you at the game.”

“That kind of stuff is bullshit. Forced conformity.” Before he goes on a rant, he looks at the sly smile on your face, as if you were going to enjoy this topic of conversation. But he knew you’d react either of two ways if he kept on. Confused, or freaked out. So he leans back on his palms and tries to act casual. “And if I’m guessing right, you weren’t there either.”

“Didn’t feel like it.” You give a halfhearted shrug. “Christina really… what she said about your parents— I just don’t see her the same anymore. I don’t know how it happened, but she just got so mean, and everyone’s too scared to say anything because she's the captain. Sorry, I’m- ranting.”

“Christina wasn’t far off.”

The admission bounces around as you look at him.

“Eddie…”

“It was forever ago.” He kicks the water, causing a small splash. “Aren’t you co-captain anyway?”

“Yeah? So?” You didn’t think he would know that, and it makes you feel all mushy inside that he knows something so simple about you.

“So don’t you have us much say as her?”

“With her tyrannical rule? No way.”

“No shame in running, but sometimes you gotta be the hero.”

“Yeah,” you scoff. “I’m sure getting to Mordor would be easier than standing up to Christina.”

“You’ve read…?”

“No.” That’s a half lie. “Well, sorta. I haven’t gotten very far. I don’t know if it’s my thing, but you talk about it so much, I wanted to check out all the hype.”

Eddie looks taken aback, mouth hung open.

“Is that what dungeons and dragons is?” You ask curiously, which seems to take him back even more. “I mean everybody says it’s bad, but it’s just nerd shit, right? Sorry, I didn’t mean—“

“It is nerd shit.” He straightens his back at the new topic of conversation. “All it is, is tabletop fantasy role play. Doesn’t have to be like Lord of the Rings. You could have a whole western fantasy campaign. Maybe even in space.” He’s ranting, and god does he know it, but you lean in instead of awkwardly looking away like everyone else does.

“Campaign…?”

“Well, it’s…” Eddie thinks for a moment before explaining in the most simple of terms how a campaign works. You nod along, enthralled by every detail, even when he derails and starts rambling about character class and stats. He rambles on about their current campaign to help explain better, and he uses silly voices and moves animatedly. You laugh, but not at him. He continues to tease, loving your laugh and that you aren’t making fun of him. His arms flail a bit and he gives a few teasing nudges, but in his excitement he forgets his strength.

“Wait, Eddie-!” You fall in the water, grabbing on to him in an attempt to stop, but end up pulling him down with you. The both of you come up spluttering, but you end up laughing at the mop of hair on his head.

“Shit,” he laughs nervously. “It’s deep.”

“Wait. Can you swim?”

“Well, I’m no athlete, but yeah. I can swim.”

“Well…” you swim forward, a sly smile creeping its way onto your face. “Might as well, right? We’re already in here. You’ll want your jacket off, though. It’s gonna be too much dead weight.”

“Right, I’ll uh…”

“Here, I’ll keep us afloat while you get it off.”

Before he can understand what’s happening, you wrap your arms around his waist, your face entirely too close to his. With what little space you have, you can see freckles splashing across his face, and you chew on the inside of your cheek to keep your composure. He avoids eye contact as he struggles out of the leather, the tip of his tongue making a surprise appearance, before tossing the jacket aside and it lands with a loud wet slap.

“Cool. Now good luck catching me!” You splash him a little harsher than you had intended, but you make a dash to escape.

“You’re gonna regret that!”

You’re a lot better at swimming than he is, almost too fast to be caught, but you slow down after awhile on purpose. As his hand wraps around your ankle, making you squeal, you tell yourself you did it to not wear him out and frustrate him. That you didn’t want to anger him, as he’s pulling you into him and dunking both of you under water. You struggle against his arms, but he’s strong. You can feel the unexpected muscle against your hands, but he lets you go too soon and you both come up gasping for air.

“Told ya.” water sprays a bit from his mouth as his chest heaves.

“You cheated.”

“I never cheat, sweetheart.” He wades toward you slowly, dropping down just until his mouth sinks into the water.

“Eddie Munson, don’t you dare,” you warn but your tone is too light. “You dunk me again, I’ll- I’ll make sure you smell like chlorine for a week.”

He doesn’t listen, and you swim backward until your back crashes into the tiled wall. The cold sends a shiver down your spine. Definitely not the way Eddie comes back up, water dripping from his chin and his arms blocking you in on either side of you. His eyes drop to your lips and you find yourself breathing heavily for a completely different reason, your chest brushing against his with every inhale. Neither of you make a move, just admiring every detail you can while breathing each other's air. Just when you think he might, a loud bang comes from one of the locker rooms, making you both jump and look around frantically. You find yourself gripping one of his forearms tightly in shock.

“We should- we should probably get out.” No one else had access to the pool except your uncle, but you doubted he would come by at midnight. He trusted you to not fool around, and you really hadn’t let him down until now. “I swear the locker rooms are haunted.”

Still, you don’t move until he does, and swim to the nearest ladder to get out. The only sound is the water from your clothes dripping on the floor, and suddenly you feel exhausted. Your clothes feel heavy as they cling to your skin. Without discussing it, you both start peeling your clothes off, slightly turned away to give each other privacy. As you’re wringing out your shirt, you can’t help but glance over your shoulder at Eddie, and catch the way his shoulder blades move while he does the same. His eyes catch yours and you smile sheepishly before turning back around. You’re both down to your underwear, unsure of how to proceed.

“We should shower. Alone I mean. You can go to the boys’. There’s towels.” You speed walk away, too self conscious to hang around too long.

“Wait!” He follows you quickly, careful not to slip. “You’re just gonna drop the fact that the locker rooms are haunted and then leave me alone to fend for myself?”

Your footsteps slow, and you let out a small huff because you know you know you’ll feel guilty until the end of time if you do that to him.

“There’s going to be rules, Munson.”

“Oh, of course.” He agrees quietly.

“We go in at the same time and undress fully in our own shower. You’re not to come out until I have, and even then, you’re not to look anywhere but your own shower. When I say it’s okay, you can leave, got it?”

“I think you forgot the part about the towels.”

“Do not make me regret this.”

You’ve never been so self conscious showering until now. Even with a zero percent chance of Eddie seeing you naked, you worry, but you also think about the fact that he’s in the same exact state you’re in right now. That somehow makes the whole thing feel way too intimate, and you can’t believe the first time you got to hang out with your -possible- crush, you both end up naked. If that basic, no detailed rumor got out, you’d surely die of embarrassment. Turning around, you place your face underneath the stream of water, trying so hard to not think about the small glimpse of his torso that you got. The dark patch of hair sneaking underneath his boxers that clung to his thighs from the water.

“So, are you from Hawkins?” His voice brings you out of your wandering thoughts. You quickly turn the knob from hot to cold in hopes that it keeps you calm.

“My parents are.” Looking down, you watch the water swirl around at your feet. “My grandmother got sick and my uncle couldn’t take care of her by himself. So, we packed up and moved back here, but I can tell my parents are happy to be back home. It’s less demanding than the city.”

“The uncle being coach thing makes a lot more sense now.”

“Not a lot of people know actually.” You turn the water off completely, and wrap your arms around your torso self consciously. “I’m getting out now.”

It isn’t the easiest topic of conversation, but when she had first gotten sick two years ago, your mother went to stay with her for the three months she had been told she would live. When it was clear she was going to hang on longer than expected, they decided it would just be better to move permanently and the old lady was still sticking around. Despite being so sick, you liked hanging out with her most afternoons. Even if she forgot who you were.

You carefully walk out of the shower, towel wrapped around yourself tightly, and as you pass by the stall that Eddie is in, you catch a glimpse in the crack between the curtain and wall. All you manage to catch is the back of his head, arms extended upward to wash out whatever shampoo you’d let him borrow. He begins to turn and you look away with your cheeks burning. You attempt to dry your hair underneath one of the hand dryers, and it isn't long when Eddie comes out, damp boxers back on and using the towel you gave him to rub his hair dry. He pauses seeing you kneeled down, holding the towel to your chest so that nothing gets exposed and he realizes he forgot to wait for your okay, but you don’t seem to mind as you give a soft smile.

“I’ll grab our clothes.” He says when the dryer finally turns off and leaves you to get somewhat decent.

He’s suddenly so quiet as he hands over your clothes, no witty comment or joke as the two of you get dressed. All there is between you are stolen glances and nervous smiles. Once fully clothed again, you walk beside him, feeling a little stiff. Not from how your cold clothes stick to you, but from nerves. The soft lights from the pool make his face glow, and your stomach drops in the best way possible. He gets the door for you, and waits with his hands stuffed in his jacket as you lock up. The grass crunches underneath your footsteps, dry from the temperature and lack of rain. Neither of you speak, until you hit the parking lot, cars too far from each other to continue walking together.

“Were they right?” You ask before he gets a chance to escape, arms anxiously crossed over your chest. “My friends. ‘Cause if they were… I think I have one too.”

“Have what?”

Shit. You were too vague.

“A crush, dummy.”

Realization dawns on his face as he absorbs your confession. He can’t believe it, and the worst smallest part of him thinks you’ve done this whole thing as a joke, and someone is going to pop out with a camera to capture how big of an idiot he’s been. All that happens is you chew on your bottom lip, anxiously waiting for an answer, and he's leaving your heart out in the open for too long.

“Yes, yeah, they were right.” He watches how you smile and takes a mental image to last forever. “I’m not really quiet about anything.”

“I just never expected…” you shake your head and look at your feet. “You. You’ve just so suddenly become this big thing in my life.”

Eddie barely has to take a step to be close enough to take your face in his hands and lift your head up to pull you into a searing kiss. It’s so unexpected that you laugh in surprise against his lips, but he smiles at the sound. When you’ve settled down, you move your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, eager to feel his heartbeat slow to match the rhythm of your own. He kisses you so sweetly, you really do think he’s a gentleman. A quick slip of his tongue doesn’t change your mind either.

“If you don’t stop me,” he gets out between kisses. “We’ll be here all night sweetheart.”

“I like that idea,” you tease as his lips move along your jawline, and down your neck. Your eyelids flutter closed, and you focus on every feeling.

Eddie pulls back, showing some self restraint and you almost whine at the loss of contact.

“You’re gonna get a cold if you stay out here.”

“So will you!”

“I’m going to walk you to your car, and you’re going to go home and get all snuggled in bed, okay?” He traces your bottom lip with his thumb, the ghost of a smile ever present.

“Fine.”

Eddie takes your hand, intertwining your fingers together, and walks the short distance to your car. You make no move to enter, back pressed against the driver side door, and grab him by his jacket. He braces himself with one arm, looking down at you, his other hand stroking your cheek with the back of his pointer finger. The featherlight touch makes you shiver, and you find yourself getting lost in his almost pitch black eyes. Those eyes that are so beautiful and full of lashes, that a cow would be jealous. You pull him in for another kiss, arms wrapping underneath his jacket and around his small waist. He groans into your mouth, not wanting to leave if you were going to kiss him slowly like that.

“I’m personally thanking Christina on Monday.” He gives your knuckles a quick kiss before taking a few steps backwards, not wanting to look away, and turning for his own vehicle.

Christina’s head almost explodes when he does exactly that and plants a kiss on your lips in the cafeteria, but you just act innocent when you take his outstretched hand and move to sit with him at his table. It felt good, and it felt even better when you give her the finger when she wouldn’t stop staring.

#eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #my writing.

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kalims · 2 years

Text

kiss your best friend | savanaclaw

kiss your best friend and see how they react!

parts. one, two, three, four, five, six, seven

characters. leona, ruggie, jack.

includes. gn reader who can be seen as either yuu or another alternative universe.

cw. kissing? mutual pining, crack.

note. my life is legit depressing and I'm still out here posting 🤞

leona kingscholar

is immediately awake when he feels the peck on his lips, and the accompanied lingering scent he can't seem to forget. did you think he was asleep?

holds this above your head for the longest time. oh prefect.. how could you kiss someone who couldn't have been aware of what you've done? it would've been messy if he was actually asleep and never witnessed this.

if you try to run away out of embarrassment he's not gonna let you, by the way. you gotta own up to your actions, no point in being a coward..

huffs silently at the audacity but his ears are obviously twitching in delight. as if to further non-verbally tell you that he's secretly happy you're not sure that even he is aware of the tail tangling around your limb.

does not let go, ever.

"remember when you kissed me when I was 'asleep'?'" "stop."

ruggie bucchi

torn between being mortified and confused.

mortified because his best friend kissed him, and confused because his best friend kissed him. honestly his feelings are 100% understandable because I'd be a ruggie too if this happened to be.

looks way too cheeky for someone who considers himself to be 'torn between mortified'. plus.. he laughed so you can't label him in that kind of spectrum.

to be honest only his close family actually had kissed him but it was only on the cheek so you bet he's a little.. curious? it was practically only a half second thing but he can't tell why he's feeling hungry again.. didn't be just eat a while ago?

"ahh... can you do that again? gotta make sure to rub it in leona's face."

"ruggie what."

"what? it's only a few times I get to have something he doesn't."

jack howl

never skipped leg day.

wait that doesn't have any relation to the post.. anyways jack in comparison, is actually the most flustered and bewildered out of everyone here. kinda ironic since he's definitely the.. buffiest?

you'd expect him to be a little indifferent which only is shown in his expression. struggling to keep his face straight and slowly turning pink despite the flabbergasted look on his face.

for reference: (ㆆ_ㆆ)

"you do know we're best friends.. right?"

"I thought we were dating." you joke.

"... we are?"

you forever scarred him.. were you guys actually dating this whole time?

#ㅤ◜◡◝ . . signed !#twst x reader #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland scenarios #savanaclaw #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar #ruggie bucchi x reader #ruggie bucchi #jack howl x reader #jack howl #x gn reader #x reader

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so-long-soldier-writes · 1 year

Text

He’s Like A Puppy

kai parker x reader

summary: an argument starts up when damon and bonnie return to the boarding house to find you and kai spending time together. it goes south when you start to defend kai against your friends' remarks.

≪ originally publishes on ao3: 2/24/23 ≫

tags: discussion of murder, cupcakes, small biblical references, fluff

word count: 967

“Don’t you see that he’s dangerous? You’re insane to think otherwise,” Bonnie scolds you, pointing at Kai in the corner.

Kai, who, at this very moment, is sitting on a stool with a cupcake, a bit of the frosting on his nose.

“Very dangerous,” you comment, holding back a chuckle.

She rolls her eyes, “you didn’t see him in the prison world. You don’t know what he’s done.”

“Killed some people? Doesn’t everyone do that around here?”

“So you think it’s okay?”

“I mean, no, it’s not okay, but if we’re gonna declare Kai evil because he killed a couple folks, then everyone else here is, too. I mean, hell. Stefan’s been a ripper, Damon’s… Damon, Elena’s famous for turning off her humanity, Caroline’s temperamental.”

“Y/N, he massacred his family, there’s a difference.”

“Is there? Killing your family, or killing strangers who had lives and families that you know nothing about? And for all we know, maybe it was a Menedez’ brothers situation.”

“Okay, yes, I see your point about the strangers. But are you implying it’s okay to kill your family if they hurt you a teensy bit?”

“May I just say it was more than a teensy bit?” Kai interrupts.

“Shut up-”

“You shut up, Damon, I’m trying to hear all sides of this story.”

“Y/N, you’re talking crazy right now! He’s a liar. A manipulative, sociopathic liar. Besides, his name’s Malachai, for heaven’s sake! He said it himself, ‘it’s like his parents expected him to be evil’.”

You chuckle.

“What’s so funny about that?” Damon’s eyes narrow.

“You do know that ‘Malachai’ literally means ‘angel’, right? In fact, it’s a Biblical name. Malachai was a prophet of… y’know that actually doesn’t matter. Regardless, you can’t tell that someone’s evil based on their name. Unless that name is literally, like, Lilith. Or Lucifer.”

“Whatever. You can’t trust someone based on their name, either,” she counters.

“Didn’t say I trust him off his name. Just said we should treat him as we do everyone else in this massive fucking house that’s killed a bunch of people. And how do we treat them? Oh yeah - with understanding, and reason.”

“He stabbed me in the gut, Y/N.”

“So has Damon.”

“Yeah, but I have the right to kill her because we’re friends.”

“Do you even hear yourself when you speak, or is it white noise in your head while a little mouse plays scrabble with sentences?”

“Uncalled for.”

“Was it?”

They’re left at a standstill. No one is sure what to say next.

“Okay,” you carefully start, “whether or not you trust Kai, he’s here. And, for reasons I don’t know but I also don’t care, he’s been staying here, at the boarding house. Now, since I’m your out-of-town friend, I am also staying here, at the boarding house. So what’s wrong with us hanging out since we’re quite often, literally the only two people here?”

They, again, see the point in your statement, but continue to bicker about it anyway.

“He could hurt you.”

“Could, yeah. But we were chilling for two hours before you guys came back. Nothing happened.”

“Except he’s eating the cupcakes that Elena specifically made for the party tonight.”

“Maybe you shoulda labeled them ‘no touching’ or something.”

“Are you defending him over this now?”

“Well now I’m just pointing out the obvious.”

“I just… Elena’s going to be pissed when she finds her cupcakes gone.”

“Only one’s gone, she’ll barely notice.”

“I’ll tell her he stole it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, what’s she gonna do? Make him throw it back up?”

“One, gross. Two… maybe I’ll just let her finally kill him. That would solve a lot of our problems.”

You can’t help but smirk, “and we’ve come full circle. House of killers.”

Damon’s eyes widen as he realizes, “wait. No, wait. But it’s, ack, you suck. Fine. She won’t kill him. Just get him out of the kitchen.”

You shrug and make your way over to Kai, who’s now licking icing off his fingers. “Wanna go watch a movie?”

“Sure.” The answer is hesitant, but his excitement is given away with a sparkle in his eyes.

“What? This was the original problem, Damon! They can’t be alone together! What if he snaps again?”

“Bonnie,” you take a deep breath, “he’s not going to hurt me.”

“How do you know that?”

“Look at him - he’s like a puppy. Just needs a friend and he’ll be okay. I’ll be fine. We’re gonna go get out of your hair, get out of your cupcakes, and watch a movie.” You state, taking his hand.

“Call if you need anything,” Bonnie just rolls her eyes.

“Might need a grocery store run, but I won’t need help.”

“Whatever.”

◇◇◇◇

Halfway up the stairs, Kai looks behind him to face you, “why’d you call me a puppy?”

“Because you are one. Y’know, I mean what I said. I trust you, and you’re safe with me. You just need some company, Kai. It couldn’t have been easy being isolated for eighteen years.”

“So… you’re gonna be my company?”

“Is that okay?”

He smiles, his dimples showing on the sides of his face, “mhm.”

“Good. But two things… one, if you’re ever feeling angry or uneasy, come to me first, okay? I don’t want them to hurt you, so give me a chance to help you through it.”

“Okay.”

“And two, let’s not eat any more of Elena’s cupcakes. I know, pissing her off is fun sometimes, and they’re really good cupcakes. But we can make our own so Damon doesn’t kill us.”

“Fine, I won’t eat hers.”

“Sounds good. Thank you, Kai.”

“Thank you, actually. Um, for defending me earlier, and being a friend.”

“Of course. Now, let’s go watch a movie. I have Oreos in my room.”

#malachai parker x reader #kai parker x reader #kai parker #the vampire diaries #tvd fanfiction

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 5 months

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AITA for cooking non-kosher food on purpose so that my Jewish roommate can't eat any of it?

For reference we're all in our 20s, and all some level of neurodivergent.

So I live with a few other people, and for the most part it's been chill so far. The only real problem I've had is with one of my roommates, we'll call them C. C was very sheltered as a kid, and we helped him move in with us mostly so that we could help him get out of a bad situation. The trouble is that because of the aforementioned sheltering he has a very bad habit of stepping on people's toes. He's loud when other people are sleeping, he spent the better part of our first year living together trying to avoid paying for rent or utilities, and he tends to dominate a conversation whenever he joins by doing the typical "wait for you to finish so I can say what I care about" shtick.

Well, we've had a recurring problem with C being grabby about other people's food. When we first moved in together he was constantly taking other people's groceries and using them for himself without asking, and not just small stuff, but like using my noodles, my sauce, and my meat to make spaghetti or something of the like. We all buy groceries separately except for a few core things that we all use like milk, eggs, flour, etc, so he was basically taking this stuff for free.

None of us are wealthy, we're all working retail and food service jobs, so it's not like it was a small blow to be losing food like that.

Well we discussed that and he's stopped, thankfully, but now he tries to like...beg for scraps? If you cook ANYTHING or are even in the kitchen, he'll come around and ask if it's "just for you, or for everyone". Understandably, this gets very annoying. My thing is that if you want to eat food I've made, you should contribute. Either by helping pay for ingredients or doing the dishes, or something like that. Basically, if you want to eat, help out. C never wants to help out or contribute to ingredients. Plus, if you tell him no, he'll whine about it? Like if you say that he can't have some of whatever you're cooking he'll be like "That food smells so good, even though you won't let me have any."

On the other hand, I know that C doesn't have a lot of money, and I would never want anyone to go hungry. But he won't use the communal stuff to cook himself anything, he'll just complain about not having a lot of money. I've tried to yelp him get more hours at the job we share, but he's unwilling to work certain shifts so there's a limit on how much I can do.

Anyways, to get to the point, sometimes I make dishes specifically with pork or other non-kosher ingredients so that he won't be able to constantly ask for some. I would never intentionally let him eat anything non kosher, and label all the foods I make for everyone so that he can check the ingredients and see if it's something he can have. I just don't want to be a jerk I guess, because I know that the economy is god-awful and believe strongly in helping your fellow man.

So, AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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shelbygraces · 10 months

Note

Yoo! Saw the update in pronouns on Twitter and wanted to say glad you felt comfortable enough to do that!!!! Me and my online friends are collectively freaking out (in the good way, don’t worry) We’re just a big bunch of gay people who are obsessed with nature wives so I just wanted to say on behalf of everyone, You mean the world to us and congrats on the pronouns thing!

yeah i didn't want to make a big thing of it! it's not a statement or coming out with a new label or anything, just saying i'm comfy with 'they' too, but 'she' is still my first preferred. i don't want people to go overboard or feel they need to change how they refer to me in anyway at all! i always liked they as the universal gender neutral way of referring either to many people or one singular person, despite people who try to say it's for referring to groups only...

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yaekiss · 10 months

Note

#MailroomOpen! hi hi my darling qi this is the promised letter to my Special Little Guy!! letter delivery for yandere tartaglia with a nsfw reply back and also a meme reference for number 25 if it's alright? pet names are a-ok, encouraged even. ok here goes, thank you so much for doing this!!! i am cringe but i am free ♡

(The letter that arrives is black with gold borders and purple ink, with a purple lipstick kiss mark on the back of it. There are doodles of stars, moons, skulls, and hearts in the margins. The penmanship is neat and playful, every i and j dotted with either stars or hearts, depending on the subject matter. A small box of the same color as the letter comes with it, inside is an ocean-blue collar with a tag that says "My Ajax". It looks expensive.)

My lovely Ajax,

It's only been a few weeks since you left, but in my opinion, any time away from you is too long. I miss your presence, your conversation, your cooking, and some more...intimate things. I'm sure you feel the same. I really wish you didn't have to leave so often, sometimes I think you might care for your Tsaritsa more than me~ Hehe, I'm only joking, of course. I know you're very loyal, and love me very much... (There's a furious scribble over the next words, but you can just barely make out that it says "maybe more than you should") Anyway, moving on, this letter should arrive with a collar. I picked them out special just for you; blue like your eyes! There's a matching leash, but I kept it with me so we can use it when you get back, hehe ♡. Make sure to show me how pretty you look with it on, okay puppy~? ...And come back safe. I'll be patiently awaiting your return, hopefully soon.

~Your darling

꩜ Letter Content: Dom! GN! Reader x Yan! Sub! Tartaglia, no gendered terms for reader, Tartaglia calls you "dearest exalted", mentions of blood, unhealthy and obsessive relationship from Tartaglia, worshipping (reader receiving), collar and leash (used on Tartaglia), masochistic Tartaglia, mentions of mirror sex, Tartaglia calls himself puppy once, lmk if I missed out anything ! ꩜ Delivery Notes: Weird, as soon as he handed his parcel to me, he started booking it to your address, like damn it's not a race?! ꩜ Wanna write a love letter yourself? Check out it out here!

A medium-sized parcel finds its way into your possession, placed in front of your doorstep. The box is made of smooth varnished timber and the intricate details are inlaid with gems and shards that match the stunning shade of your eyes. Judging by all the elaborate carvings and the overall quality of the trunk, it must have cost him a pretty penny, especially if it was commissioned just for you.

Flipping the lid of the box open at its hinge, your eyes are greeted by the sight of the sheer amount of items he sent to you. Ajax is nothing but a generous lover and it's definitely evident with all the gifts he prepared for you this time. Starting out, there are a few neatly packed food containers imbued with a charm that helped to preserve their contents perfectly over the lengthy delivery trip. Each one is labelled with the name of the dish it holds and after looking through the various containers, you realise they’re all your favourite dishes, lovingly made from scratch by Ajax.

To a side, there’s a hefty drawstring pouch. Tugging the bag open, a large pile of mora shimmers back at you. You should’ve known he would spoil you like this even if he were away. Tucked underneath the bag of mora, is his letter.

The envelope is a version of the one typically used for fatui matters, except this one is a lot gaudier than usual. …It’s the kind used for letters addressed exclusively to Her Royal Highness, the Tsaritsa. Just the look of it is expensive: A frosted gold border lines the front of the envelope and his wax stamp seals the letter shut at the back, away from prying eyes. Surely using an envelope reserved for the Tsaritsa for you is more than a bit… blasphemous. Nonetheless, you try not to think too much about it and gingerly open the letter up to read his reply.

His handwriting is scrawling and slightly messy as always but you know that it’s just from the eagerness that he seems to constantly have while around you, like some sort of oversized puppy. Present is a tangible tenderness in all his words and you can just about picture the silly little smile he had on his face while he wrote this letter to you. Additionally, there are hearts blotchily drawn in a rusty red around in the margins to match your love letter sent to him. His response reads:

“To my highest divinity, my owner,

It’s so so so good to hear from you, dearest exalted! Ah, I can’t believe you’d miss me, I’m swooning, at least now I know I’m not the only one left longing. I saw you mention that you missed my cooking so to remedy that, I prepared some of your favourite dishes, I didn’t quite know which one would be the best to send to you, so I just sent all of them, haha. Please let me know if they’re to your liking, dearest exalted. Regarding missing my presence… there’s only 1 solution for that which you’ll see soon enough!

I saw your scribbled-out words. ‘Maybe more than you should.’ My reverence for you must not be enough, and that’s why you still doubt me, doubt my love for you, right, dearest exalted? Although the Tsaritsa may be important to me, however, even the loyalty I have for her cannot hold a candle to the utmost adoration that I have for you. Far, far, far from it. What you see right now is but a mere glimpse of my endless devotion and love for you, dearest exalted. There is so much more that I would do for you. Just say the word, that’s all you’ll ever need to do, and I’ll carry out any of your orders till the end of my days. Even in death, I’d still be yours to command. Beyond the grave, that’s how much you deserved to be loved, dearest exalted. (His paragraph drips with festering lovesickness in the way the ink looks to be redder than the one in his inkwell.)

Ahem, moving on! Thank you for the collar, it sits wonderfully around my neck and fits like a glove. Really brings out my eyes too, was that intentional? And the tag… oh, the tag. I must confess, I’ve imagined what it would be like, to have you attach the leash to it and tug me in front of the mirror, making me watch through the reflection as you have your way with me. I would let out all the sounds you said you liked hearing from me, my moans or whines or screams, I’d give you anything you want. You could be as rough as you’d like to too, pulling harshly on the leash as you take your frustrations out on me, you know I love whatever you grace me with, dearest exalted.

I’ll end my letter here, my remaining words can be relayed when I’m back soonest, I promise! Remember to tell me if anyone has wronged you, I’ll gladly rid you of them, dearest exalted. Can’t wait to be under you again!

Your most devoted puppy,

- Your Ajax -”

That’s certainly… a reply worthy of your contemplation, to say the least. Inserting his reply back into the envelope, you wonder what else he could’ve left unsaid in a letter that’s already chock full of the rawest form of veneration towards you. Sitting in pensive silence, your mind reels. Fortunately for you (or perhaps it’s the contrary), your answer arrives frighteningly fast, disrupting the stillness.

There’s a knock at your door, a familiar keening whine bleeding through the wood.

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

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kaladinkholins · 3 months

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i know I've mentioned my interpretation of mizu's gender a million times on here but i don't think i ever fully elaborated on it.

so on that note i just wanna ramble about that for a bit. basically, it's my reading of the show that mizu is nonbinary, so let me dig into that.

putting the rest under the cut because it ended being pretty long lol. also here have a cute mizu pic of her being happy and most at ease with herself, symbolised by her letting her hair down. <3 ok let's proceed.

okay note that nonbinary is an umbrella term, and applies to a vast range of gender identities, but it's my personal preference to use it as is, simply because i'm not a fan of microlabels. more power to you if you are though, but anyway.

essentially when i refer to mizu as nonbinary it means that i interpret mizu as a woman, but not ONLY a woman. not strictly a woman. she is also a man. she is also neither of these things, she is something in between, while at the same time she is none of these at all. i've said as much many times, but i just don't want people to think that by nonbinary it inherently means a "third androgynous gender" that essentially turns the gender binary into a gender trinary. not only is that going against what the term nonbinary was crafted for (to go against rigid boxes and categorisation of gender identities), but also, not all nonbinary people fall under that category or definition, and that's definitely not the way i interpret mizu.

also, before anyone fights me on this, let me clarify further that gender means something different to everyone. it's not your biological sex or physical characteristics. but at the same time, gender is not mere presentation. you can be a trans woman and still present masculine—either because you're closeted and forced to, or because you just want to—and either way, that doesn't take away from your identity as a woman. same goes for trans men. if you're a trans man but you wear skirts and don't bind or don't get top surgery, that doesn't make you any less of a man. because gender non-conformity exists, and does not only apply to cis people! some lesbians are nonbinary and prefer using he/him pronouns while dressing masculinely, but that doesn't mean they're a man, or that they're any less of a lesbian. neither does this mean that they're a cis woman.

the thing about queer identities in general is that, like i said, they mean something different to everyone, because how you identify—regardless of your biological attributes and fashion or pronouns—is an extremely personal experience. so a nonbinary person and a gnc cis woman's experiences might have plenty of overlap, but what distinguishes between the two is up to the individual. there's no set requirements to distinguish you as one or the other, but it's up to you to decide what you identify as, based on what you feel. either way, by simply identifying yourself as anything under the LGBTQ+ umbrella, you are already communicating to the world that you are not what a conservative, cisheteronormative society wants you to be.

which is why i find all this queer infighting on labels to be so ridiculous. because we're all fighting the same fight; the common enemy is a societal structure that divides us into set roles and expectations purely based on our biological parts. that's why biological essentialism in the queer community is a fucking disease. because by arguing that women are inherently weak and fragile and soft and gentle and must be protected from evil ugly men, while men are inherently strong and angry and violent and exploitative of women, these people are advocating for the same fucked up system that marginalises and abuses women as well as effeminate and/or gay men.

anyway. i'm going on a tangent. this was meant to be a blue eye samurai post. so yeah back to that— the point i'm trying to make is that there's no one way to identify as anything, and everyone views gender in a specific way.

so with that being said, yes you can definitely interpret mizu as a gnc cis woman and that's a totally valid reading. however, interpreting her as nonbinary or transmasc also doesn't take away from her experiences with misogyny and female oppression, because nonbinary and transmasc folks also experience these things.

me, personally, i view her as nonbinary but not necessarily or always transmasc because i still believe femininity and womanhood is an inherent part of who mizu is. for example, from what we've seen, she does not like binding. it does not give her gender euphoria, but is instead very uncomfortable for her both physically and mentally, and represents her suppressing her true self. which is why when she "invites the whole" of herself, she stands completely bare in front of the fire, breasts unbound and hair untied. when she is on the ship heading to a new land in the ending scene, she is no longer hiding her neck and the lack of an adam's apple. we can thus infer that mizu does not have body dysmorphia. she is, in fact, comfortable in her body, and relies on it extremely, because her body is a weapon. instead, what mizu hates about herself is her face—her blue eyes. she hates herself for her hybridised identity, hates herself for being a racial Other. hates that she has no home in her homeland. these are not queer or feminist themes, but postcolonial ones.*

* and as a tiny aside on this subject, i really do wish more of the fandom discussion would talk about this more. it's just such an essential part to reading her character. like someone who's read homi k bhabha's location of culture and has watched this show, PLEASE talk to me so we can ramble all about how the show is all about home and alienation from community. please. okay anyway—

nevertheless, queer and feminist themes (which are not mutually exclusive by the way!) are still prevalent in her story, though they are not the main issue that she is struggling with. but she does struggle with it to some extent, and we see this especially during her marriage with mikio, where we see her struggle in women's domestic spaces.

on the other hand, though, she finds no trouble or discomfort in being a man or being around other men—even naked ones—and does not seem stifled by living as one, does not seem all that bothered or uncomfortable navigating through men's spaces. contrast this to something like disney's mulan (1998), where we do see mulan struggle in navigating through men's spaces, as she feels uncomfortable being around so many men, always feeling like she doesn't belong and that she's inherently different from them. mizu has no such experiences like this, as her very personality and approach to life is what can be categorised as typically "masculine". she is straightforward and blunt. her first meeting with mikio, she tells him straight to his face that he's old while frowning and raising a brow at him. she approaches problems with her muscles and fists (or swords), rather than with her words or mind. compare this with mulan, who, while well-trained by the end of the movie, still uses her sharp wits rather than brute strength. this is a typically "feminine" approach. it's also the approach akemi relies on throughout the show—through her intelligence and persuasive tongue, she navigates the brothel with ease. mizu, in contrast to someone like mulan and akemi, struggles with womanhood and femininity, and feels detached from it.

thus, in my opinion, mizu is not simply a man, nor is she simply a woman. she is both. man and woman. masculine and feminine. she has to accept both, rather than suppress one or the other. her name means water. fluid.

as a side note, while i do believe mizu is nonbinary, i also primarily use she/her pronouns but this is a personal preference. i find it's easier, plus it's what the creators use, and because, in general, being nonbinary simply doesn't necessitate the use of they/them pronouns. nonbinary is not just a third gender. it's about breaking the binary, in any which way, and that's exactly what mizu does.

also, i'd also like to mention that one of show's head of story even referred to her with the term "nonbinary", rather than simply "androgynous" (see pic below). and it's possible this could be a slip up on his part, in which he believes the terms are interchangeable (they're not btw), but regardless i find it a very interesting word choice, and one that supports my stance.

so anyway yeah that's my incredibly long rambling post.

TL;DR nonbinary mizu rights 👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻 congrats if you reached the end of this btw. also ily. unless you're a TERF in which case fuck off. ok i'm done.

#mizu blue eye samurai #mizu bes #blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai meta #sorry if this is redundant btw i just cant stop thinking thoughts :3 #btw i am a mixed* southeast asian who is also nonbinary. just in case that's important context #by mixed* i mean i'm asian+asian but diff ethnicities lol. i dont have a white bone in my body god bless<3 #my whiteness is purely learned thru cultural osmosis + bcs my parents taught me english as a first language (boooo 🍅🍅🍅)#also i live in the global south so i think EYE know a thing or two about being gnc in a society of rigid awful gender roles‼️#so likeee i think its ridiculous that its an either-or thing #mizu can be nonbinary while still being a woman of colour ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#also ummm as much as i love queer themes and gay people i wish people would talk more about the racial otherness / community aspect #as mentioned in the post above #you don't need to read bhabha's whole book btw but just take a look at some of his ideas and you'll get what im talking about #like the fact that the fandom mostly ignores those themes in the story makes me feel like :( :/#cuz to me THATS the thing that spoke to me most and its a shame that its just not talked about enough #i mean i know why thats likely the case. but still.#whoops im rambling again 🤪#fandom.rtf #shut up haydar #meta dissertations.pdf

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whencartoonsruletheworld · 6 months

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wait so curious cause i like your interpretations of the lore, what do you think is up with all the emphasis on “the one you should not have killed” from ucn¿¿¿¿

i really do think it's michael, haunting his dad over sending him down into the bunker to die. william knew the funtimes wanted to kill him and sent michael anyway cause he cared more about his research/elizabeth than him. in doing this, william created a walking corpse chasing him down for years upon years for the sole purpose of setting him on fire. he lured michael down there by saying he could save elizabeth-- a promise of his dead siblings coming back, and of redemption for, y'know, shoving crying child into an animatronic. instead, he let michael die, and michael wasn't gonna let him get away with that

just labelling the spirit "the one you should not have killed" only makes sense from the standpoint of "THIS death is the one that fucked up your plan." because, like, he shouldn't have killed anyone in general, especially not fuckin kids, so "the one you should not have killed" can't refer to, like, a victim he was morally in the wrong for. he was morally in the wrong for everything he ever did in his life. with that in mind, the kids were too confused and scattered into pieces to do much other than haunt the animatronics and try to bite any adult that came near them. elizabeth was an accident and she was trying to help her dad at the end. charlie is confirmed to to not be the vengeful spirit by her saying "i don't hate you, but you need to stay out of my way." michael, however, spent years tracking down his dad, and, again, set him on fire twice (assuming you believe he's the fnaf3 protag).

when he says henry "tried to release US," he's referring to fnaf6, but that he's not letting his father go when he still has unfinished business with him. and that unfinished business is fucking with him over and over and over. this is only actively harming michael, though; while, yes, willie-boy is being tortured, michael is just forcing himself to stick around his abusive dad's spirit forever, making him replay michael's own nightmare experiences. ("this is how it feels, and you get to experience it over and over.") watching it might feel gratifying for a while but when you hear the one animatronic say "is this a prison for you or for me? perhaps both," i think that's implying that all the golden freddy symbolism is michael's torment; he feels like he belongs here still for killing his brother.

when omc tells the spirit to "leave the demon to his demons," he is telling him that he does not need to be here, that he does not deserve damnation for a mistake he made as a kid, and that if he just lets his vengeance quest go and moves on, he can be at peace. i honestly really like leaving it open-ended there, of whether michael will continue haunting his dad for his own sense of revenge, or forgive himself and move on. either way william's getting tormented in hell, it's just a matter on if michael accepts that he himself doesn't have to be there with him.

idk if i answered ur question there i just like to ramble. anyway ask @birdsareblooming for her thoughts she's the one that convinced me

#fnaf

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lesbian-cannibals · 3 months

Text

NBC’s Hannibal changed my life here’s why :3

(moderate spoilers you have been warned)

Overtly gay

So many shows have amazing queer characters but many of them refuse to make this explicit and only lightly imply it. First of all there are two women in this show who “straight” up get together. Hannibal and Will never actually kiss, however there are so many extremely homoerotic scenes between them that it doesn't make much difference. Will even directly asks Hannibal's therapist Bedelia if Hannibal is in love with him. Other characters in the show also joke about their relationship, referring to them as “murder husbands” or referring to Will as the bride of frankenstein. Another crazy line is when Will says he and Hannibal have “begun to blur” and he doesn’t know if they will survive separation. Will and Hannibal also have this thing where they are drawn to each other even to their own detriment, Will keeps coming back to Hannibal even when he should know not to. After all, you don’t go back to your best friend after they keep trying to kill and eat you.

Insanely cinematic

The whole show is just extremely beautiful. The transitions are amazing, and there are gorgeous shots of everything. The music is also a masterpiece and adds so much to the show. Hannibal is a cannibal, but he is also a very fancy cook which creates many moments where you know he’s cooking people, but the food is mouthwatering anyway. I cannot stress how cool the food in this show is, not only the finished dishes but you also get amazing shots of Hannibal cooking and serving the meals. And do NOT even get me started on the gore, it is simultaneously disgusting, showing just about everything in detail, and beautiful because of the strange and artistic presentations of the bodies. Additionally the show HEAVILY uses metaphors, especially to refer to Hannibal and Wills relationship and they both often speak in metaphors themselves which is a bit confusing but overall works very well.

Hannibal Lecter

All the characters in this show are amazing and have great development and stories but I will mostly focus on Will and Hannibal (shocker i know). Hannibal Lecter is a serial killer and cannibal for pleasure, he is labeled a sociopath but it is explained that this is somewhat inaccurate as he has no trouble socializing, and experiences empathy. However he isn’t really a psychopath either as he also experiences regret. We know that Hannibal ate his sister as a child but he says he did not kill her which is interesting (we aren’t shown much detail in this area). Hannibal looks down upon most people seeing them as being beneath him, although amusing, but he has no trouble killing them if he considers them rude. Will Graham is a rare exception to this as Hannibal is very interested in him and his mind. Will fears that he enjoys killing people and confides in Hannibal (who is his psychiatrist) about it which interests Hannibal. He still wants to cannibalize Will though because he doesn’t know how to be normal about his feelings.

Will Graham

Will has a lot of stuff going on, he mainly shows signs of being autistic, and he has an empathy disorder which causes him to be able to solve murders through heavily empathizing with the killers. His ability to empathize so heavily causes him severe mental distress when he spends too much time thinking like killers. He has nightmares and hallucinations, often about the “stag man” which is exactly what it sounds like. Also in addition it turns out he has encephalitis which makes this worse. The stag man is a wendigo which is an evil spirit originating from Algonquian folklore that causes people to have the desire to kill and eat other people. Here the wendigo likely represents Hannibal or Hannibal and Will's relationship, Will starts seeing it after the first murder by the Chesapeake ripper (Hannibal) which is a body mounted on antlers. Will likes Hannibal because he appeals to his darker side, and Hannibal won’t judge him for desiring brutal things. Also Hannibal is pretty manipulative and Will makes the mistake of letting him inside his head.

It’s basically a silly romcom

While it may not really be anything like a romcom, it is if you squint hard enough. Hannibal and Will's relationship is obviously very romantic in its own way. Also it’s best not to take the show too seriously all the time because it tends to be a little silly at times. The cannibal jokes are really funny.

#nbc hannibal #hannibal #did I just write an essay #enjoy this #if I messed up the details lmk #will graham #hannibal lecter #hannigram

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star-girl69 · 10 months

Text

Ultraviolence

Natalie Scatorccio x Fem!Reader

—-

a/n: i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: mentions of hypothermia, mentions of death, swearing, tell me if i missed anything!!

Chapter Twenty Seven - Looking Over My Shoulder

—-

2021-

“I’m getting really worried that you’re not calling me back.”

Misty has been trying to get in contact with Taissa ever since this forsaken car ride started. You’re heading up north, to the purple people, and all you can think about is how much money Walter must be spending on gas right now.

“Either of you. Don’t make me come looking for you,” she chuckles, but you can see her worried reflection in the mirror. “I already found Y/N!”

“Hi!” you shout over her shoulder, and Misty nods, as if Taissa could see it.

“Anyways. Call me back.”

She clicks a button and sets her phone down, sighing softly, her face twisted into worry. She turns to you and Walter.

“If Taissa and Shauna have both been kidnapped, I am going to be very, very annoyed.”

“I’m sure they’re just busy,” Walter comforts, looking back and forth between her and the road.

“Yeah, Misty. The last thing they would wanna do it worry you,” you say, pretending to itch your nose to hide your smile.

“They’re all lucky to have you,” Walter continues, nodding. “It’s pretty rare to have a friend who’s relentlessly got your back.”

Misty smiles.

“Thank you,” she says, a little awkwardly, adjusting her glasses and she faces forward again. You watch, silent, as Walter looks at her. His eyes not anywhere near the road.

“Here,” he says after a moment, digging through the center console and taking something out, putting it in Misty’s lap. “This is actually for you. While you wait for your friend’s imminent replies.”

She opens the box, and you look over her shoulder, finding rows and rows of cassettes marked and labeled neatly.

“You can choose the music for the rest of the trip, and I won’t complain at all.”

When you look at Misty’s reflection, she’s shocked. You can’t help but wonder when’s the last time she felt loved and appreciated like this.

“Well…” she says. “It all makes sense now.”

“Huh?” you say, her face quickly turning annoyed.

“What?” Walter asks.

“Why you sought me out,” she hisses. “Why you’re helping me- us. You certainly did your homework.”

“W-what are you talking about?”

“You can drop the whole thing now, okay? You’re one of those Yellowjackets obsessives.”

You gasp and hit the back of his seat. “Walter!”

“And I’m honored that I seem to be your favorite Yellowjacket. But, I am not gonna tell you anything about what happened out there. So, you can just drop us off at the next town.”

“So much for a free vacation,” you mutter, and Misty gestures towards you, nodding, glaring at Walter.

“Woah, woah. That is not what’s happening here. It’s like I told you. I sought you out from Citizen Detective because I wanted to work with the brilliant, investigative mind that is Agent AfricanGrey. And, because you dropped a Sweeney Todd reference in one of your posts. I-I don’t care. Um, no offense. Because I’m sure it was a significant trauma, but… I don’t care that you’re a Yellowjacket. That either of you are. That was like 30 years ago,” he shrugs.

“Twenty-five,” Misty whispers.

“And, that’s the least interesting thing about you.”

“So, you just… happen… to love musicals?” she says after a moment, flipping through the cassettes, a little more defensive now, but you can still tell she’s still a little flustered. “And it has nothing to do with me?”

“Yep.”

“Well, I don’t really care about musicals. Or what we play.”

“Oh,” Walker shrugs, leaning over and grabbing one. “So then you won’t be bothered if I put on…” he shows her the label.

“Oh, let’s tell the story of Cinderella, except every characters a train? Ugh, enough already,” she says, and puts in her own choice.

She sends him one final glare.

“People of Europe! I send you the Rainbow of Argentina.”

And you swear you’ve heard this song before, but you can’t seem to remember where.

—-

1996-

After Y/N leaves, her words in the air, Natalie slowly pulls on her clothes. Her arms ache from being shoved into the cold water, from banging the axe through the ice so many times she thought her arm would just be stuck in the motion forever. Then… trying to hold on. And failing.

She can hear the door open, a shuffle that sounds distinctively panicked, and she can’t help but bitterly think that, of course, Lottie has brought something back. Not her. Not when she’s been trying so hard.

She steps outside, still zipping up her jacket, only the find the girls clustered around a frozen Lottie. She’s still alive, but her face is twisted into pain, her palm is cut, and she’s turning blue.

No food in sight. But Natalie can’t even bring herself to care.

“Get her back here,” she says, her voice hoarse. Y/N turns around from where she was kneeling in front of Lottie. “We can get her to the tub.”

Y/N looks at her for a moment longer before nodding, getting to her feet, dragging Lottie up with her.

“Come on, let’s get her back there,” Shauna encourages, and Natalie just watches as they all practically drag Lottie to the back, help her get undressed, take a small step into the still-hot tub.

“It’s gonna get better,” Nat says, because she knows the cold Lottie’s feeling right now. She looks up towards Y/N, in the doorway, Lottie’s clothes bundled up in her hands.

Mari and Akilah wait behind her, anxiously looking in on Lottie, and after a moment, Y/N takes a step back.

“Let them have a minute,” she says to Lottie’s followers, and Nat heard the door click shut as she grabs a strip of cloth to wrap around Lottie’s bleeding palm.

She sits at the stool next to the tub, and Lottie holds her hand out, the blood mostly washed away by now.

It’s hard to find her voice. But she’s changed in the wilderness. She’s always been able to speak her mind, call out someone on their shit, but it’s hard to admit that she was the stupid one.

And if they’re going to survive out here, at least for a little longer, they all need to change. And it seems stupid, but they need to be a team.

“This is all my fault.” She wraps the cloth around her cut. “I’m really sorry.”

“Good game,” Lottie says, still shaking slightly. “You fucking loser,” she smiles.

“You talking shit?” Natalie can’t help but laugh, shaking her head. “You little bitch. You ended up with nil. Same as me.”

She lets Lottie’s hand fall, the bandage wrapped tightly around her palm.

“But, fine.”

She sticks out her hand. “Good game.”

Lottie looks up at her and grabs her hand.

—-

These nights, the simple ones, when you can just sit next to the fire and rest your head on Natalie’s shoulder are the easiest.

Doing nothing never hurt anyone.

“Nat,” you murmur, and the cabin is quiet enough that even your whisper seems too loud. “You know… you know that it’s not all on you, right? Just ‘cause you’re the best shot and shit? I… I just want you to know that it’s okay if you’re, like, not the best, I guess.”

“Yeah,” she whispers after a moment. “I know.”

“Okay,” you murmur, not sure if you believe her, too tired to pry.

“We’re a team.”

You lift your head up and look at her, and after a moment, she looks away from the fire. Her eyes soften and she smiles at you the way she always does. The way that makes you feel like the entire world is on fire, except for you and her.

You lean forward and kiss her softly, still scared from seeing her in the water, still so inexplicably intwined with her.

You smile against her lips.

The door slams open, too many footsteps, and swears, sounds of disbelief all spill from the girls.

“No. That’s impossible.” You look over at Shauna, and she’s staring at the door.

And when you turn, Javi stands in the doorway like like a scared deer, his eyes wide, wrapped in a blanket, his lips chapped and slightly blue.

“Javi,” you breathe, as everyone gathers around him.

Travis steps forward, and you share a look with Natalie.

“How the hell are you alive?” Travis asks, before bringing his brother into a tight hug.

How is he alive? How did he survive?

You see the look in his eyes.

What did he survive?

When Travis pulls away, Javi doesn’t speak, just stares at him- through him- unmoving.

“Javi,” Travis says softly. “Hey. It’s me. It’s your brother.”

When Javi doesn’t speak, and no one else does, Travis looks away from his brother and towards you and Natalie. You look away, and she stands up, walking to the other side of the cabin, where the light of the fire can’t reach.

“This means Lottie was right,” Mari says, smiling brightly, newfound belief shining through her. “She’s the one who said Javi was alive.”

Lottie looks shocked and slightly horrified.

“Three cheers for Lottie!” Misty shouts. “Hip, hip-”

Everyone glares at her, and her smile falls and her voice trails off.

“Lottie knew he was alive,” Van pants, pointing towards where two people sit, “But Taissa knew where he was.”

“No,” Tai says, a frown on her face, knees pulled up to her chest. Van kneels in front of her.

“No, Taissa. You can’t deny it anymore,” she breathes. “There is something inside of you that is connected to all of this.”

She stares at Van, confused and scared, to Javi and Travis hugging again. Javi still just stares, not speaking, his eyes wide open.

He survived. The cold, the hunger.

But as he stares blankly forward you know something else happened in the woods.

—-

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