#but still! no one is coming. and no one is coming to save me!

[yinyuedijun]

translation

Aventurine doesn't like being understood, but he does like understanding other people. It is essential for manipulation, for scheming, for control. And he likes controlling you especially—for keeping you close but your heart a comfortable distance away, for opening your legs when he wants the pleasure of your body, for playing your emotions however he needs. And the day will come when that skill will be invaluable—the day when he must die without shattering you. (Or: You are the only person in the universe who understands Aventurine in his mother tongue. He often regrets teaching it to you.)

5k words. gender neutral reader, established relationship, angst, non-graphic sex (reader bottoms, anatomy neutral), themes of cultural loss, references to slavery, aventurine’s canonically implied desire to die. MDNI.

Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin.

Deception does not come easily to him in his mother tongue. His command of it is too weak—and too kind. The universe was a different place in the days when his life was coloured by the warble of Avgin dialect. It felt simpler, partly because he was a child and partly because Sigonia was yet untouched by outsiders. There were no corporations, no casinos, no commodity codes. His entire world was sand, desert, mother, sister, father (or more often—ghost), goddess, tent, wagon, luck, sin, rain, blessing, Avgin.

Katican.

Aventurine is sure that he knew more than just those words. He was fluent as a child. He had conversations with his sister that were complex enough to make his heart hurt, though perhaps his heart was just constantly aching anyway. But the rest of his early words escapes him. He could maybe dredge them up if he thinks long enough, but he also isn't sure if his tongue and lips could form the shape of them anymore. Sometimes he still counts in Avgin, memorises phone numbers in it, but he doesn’t remember the last time he actually strung together a full sentence in the language.

When Aventurine was first stolen into slavery (a word that he had not known as a child, and still doesn't know in Avgin), he wasn’t given a Synesthesia Beacon. He had to rely on his ears and his wits, deciphering the harsh edges of the Katican dialect and then the strange garble of Interastral Standard Language. By the time he had a Beacon installed, it was already translating all speech into Standard—his dominant language.

Sometimes he feels a little aggrieved by it, but at least it wasn't Katican. He'd have blown out his brains if it were.

But it is easy to console himself: Avgin is not a useful language anyway. Dead languages have no value, and the Avgin dialect was killed along with its people. You can’t perform commerce in a dead language, can't negotiate contracts, can't enter a gambling den and use your silver tongue to rob people blind. You can't use a dead language to fell governments and extract resources; you can't use a dead language to bring an entire planet to its knees. You can’t use a dead language to gamble your life; you can't use it to save yourself from the gallows.

You cannot deceive people in a language that is defined by sand, sister, goddess, ghost.

Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin. His command of it is too weak, and there is no one left to which he can lie, anyway.

When you ask Aventurine to teach you his first language, he gives you an amused look.

“Why Avgin?” he asks. “No one speaks it anymore. I can teach you Common Sigonian if you’d like. Or we could learn Xianzhounese together. Maybe Intellitron code? I know a little.”

“You speak Avgin,” you argue.

“Not often,” he says. “And badly when I do.”

“But it's still your language. And I want to understand you.”

Aventurine has to stop himself from laughing. Understand him? He hates being understood. When people understand him, it makes him predictable. And unlikeable. Hardly a position from which he can manipulate people in.

You understand him well enough to know that.

“You'll have to give me a better reason than that,” he says neatly. “Make it worth my while. Reward me.”

You look at him as you ponder, your eyes lingering on his. Perhaps trying to read him, though he prefers to think you're just enjoying the sight of them.

“I’ll teach you my language as well?”

“You mean—you'll reward my hard labour with more work?” he says, lighthearted.

You frown at him despite the joke. “You don't want to understand me better than what a Synesthesia Beacon would allow?” He blinks, pausing. “It’ll be convenient too. We can talk shit about other people in public and no one will understand us.”

Aventurine considers you. He doesn't like being understood, but he does like understanding other people. It is essential for manipulation, for scheming, for control. And he likes controlling you especially—for keeping you close but your heart a comfortable distance away, for opening your legs when he wants the pleasure of your body, for playing your emotions however he needs. And the day will come when that skill will be invaluable—the day when he must die without shattering you.

He also likes the idea of talking shit in public.

“I'm listening,” he says, voice lilting. You lean in, smiling. Sweet. It makes his heart feel something he isn't used to. Something addictive. Something disgusting. He scrambles to cover it with one of the usual tools: humour or distraction or maybe just plain old lying—his most reliable weapon.

“I'll throw in a kiss?” you try.

He hums. “Just one?”

“One per day.”

“Three.”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“Well, I am a businessman.”

You snort, but he knows you're endeared. You have very noticeable tells when you’re flustered.

“Okay,” you say. “Three kisses on days you teach me.”

“Deal.”

Aventurine remembers more Avgin than he thought he would.

It comes to him slowly, painstakingly. You aren't interested in structured lessons, and he wouldn't be able to provide them anyway. He has a nonexistent grasp of grammar aside from this sounds right and that sounds strange, and Avgin dialect is both so niche and so dead that no textbooks are available. The scholars have abandoned the language as much as the politicians abandoned its people. Aventurine only has you, his fragmented memory, and whatever questions come to mind as you live out your days with him.

Mostly, you ask him about basic vocabulary. Sometimes you ask him to repeat sentences from your conversations in Avgin, like he’s some kind of multilingual parrot. Each prompt forces him to wade through the fog in his mind, the one that’s been shrouding his childhood memories until now. He's startled at how naturally the old words roll off his tongue: One, two, three, four. Good morning. Good evening. Good night. Sweet dreams. Five, six, seven, eight. You're lying to me. Why do you always lie to me? I don't know what you're talking about. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Welcome home. Have you eaten? Have some bread. I made you stew. Twenty, thirty, forty, fifty. That was dangerous. I thought you wouldn't make it back to me. Sometimes I think you want to die. One hundred, one thousand, one million, one billion. I'm sorry. Come here. Let me kiss you. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.

When you say, How do I ask you to let me hold you, he answers easily. He'd heard the words so often as a child: Let me hold you, Kakavasha. Let Mama hold you. His mouth forms the sounds without conscious thought.

He regrets it almost immediately.

When Aventurine hears it from you—stilted, halting, but no less gentle—he stops breathing. Let me hold you. You say it all the time in Standard, but it feels different in Avgin. More painful. A strange sense of panic closes in on him when he's wrapped up in you, thinking in Avgin, thinking sand, sister, goddess, ghost. He holds you tightly, like the rags cut from his father’s shirt, or his mother’s locket won back from the shell-slashers, or a bag of poker chips beneath a card table, clutched within his trembling grip.

“Aventurine, is something wrong?” you ask in Avgin, and he replies in Standard with his usual smile.

“Hm? No. What could be wrong if I have you here?”

Lying is one of his greatest tools. Sex is another one. So he says, “I think I'd like my reward now,” and he runs his lips along your jaw, your pulse, the spot over your heart (there's a word for that in Avgin but not Standard, he tells you), until you're laughing. I thought you wanted three kisses, you tease, and he replies, Who said I wanted to kiss you on the mouth?

But he coaxes open your thighs, and once he's inside you, he collects his payment properly. He kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you—and you swallow his lies whole.

There are some things that Aventurine doesn't teach you. Mostly, they’re things that he can’t teach you.

There are countless gaps in his Avgin. His speech is painfully childish—probably more childish than it was when he actually stopped speaking it. He doesn't know how to swear (something that disappoints you) and he doesn't know how to flirt (something that devastates you). He doesn’t know any words that would be useful for work either: commercialization, governance, stakes, winnings, profit. When you ask him what his job title is in Avgin (“Was senior management even a thing in Avgin society?”), he laughs and gives you the word for gambler.

Then there are the words that he remembers—has remembered his whole life—but never says. Not to you, and not to himself. He doesn't teach you any prayers. He doesn't teach you any blessings. He doesn't teach you about Mama Fenge, or the Kakava Festival, or how the rain fell when he was born. When you ask him, What holidays did you celebrate when you were little? he shrugs and says, We didn't have any. Sigonia’s too bleak to do any partying.

Then you ask him one day, while your bodies are spent in the afterglow of sex, sticky with sweat and sweetness, how to say I love you. And he goes quiet.

Love is a cheap word in Interastral Standard. In the language of globalisation and trade, love has been commercialised, commodified, capitalised for power. You say it to him in many contexts: I love this, I love that, I love you. He hardly ever reacts, and he's never said it back. It would feel unnecessary and also cruel if he did: Aventurine has only ever said the words himself as either a joke or a manipulation.

But love feels different in Avgin than in Interastral Standard, doesn't sound like a thing that can be traded or bought. Kakavasha only ever said the word love to his mother, to his sister, to his father's grave. Love in his mother tongue feels priceless.

When Aventurine thinks about you saying it—I love you, Kakavasha, in clumsy, earnest Avgin—something so painful swells in his throat that he can hardly breathe.

“There is no word for love in my language,” he tells you.

You blink. “Okay, then what's an idiom for it?”

“There is none. There’s no word or phrase expressing love.”

You raise a brow. “That’s hard to believe.”

“Is it?” He smiles. “There’s no Avgin in the known universe who cares about love. Only scheming, thieving, and treachery—and you can't do those things when love is involved.”

You look at him in alarm. “Why are you saying that?” You're practically squirming in your discomfort. “I don't know why you think I'd believe such a racist stereotype.”

“It’s not a stereotype,” he says. “I'm not talking about the Avgin culture. I'm talking about myself.”

After all, he is the only Avgin left.

It is an unfair thing to say. A cruel thing to say. After all the laughing and kissing and crying and fucking, after all the tender eyes and gentle words from you—it is probably the worst pain imaginable: I don't give a shit about you. He waits for you to cry.

But you only stare at him calmly, studying him. You brush the hair out of his eyes, seeing them clearly.

“If you lie to me all the time,” you say in Avgin, “eventually I'll stop believing anything you say.”

Aventurine is speechless. His heart does that addictive, disgusting thing again. He thinks about leaving, but then you say, Let me hold you, and he can't do anything other than obey.

Avgin dialect was once included in the Synesthesia Beacon list of functions. The Intelligentsia Guild added it before the Second Katica-Avgin Extinction Event, when the IPC was trying to get a political foothold on Sigonia via the Avgin people. The language was alive then, with enough value to be included into the Synesthesia LLM by the linguists.

But since the Extinction Event—since Kakavasha ran away from home—the Synesthesia data on Avgin has been stagnant, a fossil. Aventurine knows because he's subscribed to software updates for certain languages (Avgin Sigonian, Common Sigonian, Interastral Standard, and now your mother tongue). He gets pinged every time there's a new addition for slang, for neologisms—but there hasn't been a ping for the Avgin dialect since he had the Beacon installed. The live translation function hasn't even been available since the previous Amber Era. When he checks its page on his Synesthesia app, it's very clear why—

SIGONIAN, AVGIN DIALECT SPEAKERS: 0 STATUS: Extinct END OF SERVICE: 2156 AE

The complete death of the language has led to an irritating dilemma for you and Aventurine. You keep running into words that he doesn't know—this time not because of his childlike speech, but because they never existed in his language to begin with. Ocean, tropical, rainforest. Starskiff, accelerator, space fleet. Stock market, shortselling, mutual funds. Black hole, event horizon, spaghettification. All things that never came up for Kakavasha, but now come up for Aventurine, and the language has not evolved to include it.

He always wants to switch to Standard to discuss these things, but you're insistent on speaking in Avgin as much as possible. He doesn't know why, but he doesn't mind humouring you—partly because he likes to indulge you, and partly because he’s grown used to hearing the honeyed timbre of Avgin dialect in your household. The place would feel strange without it.

So you start filling the gaps with other languages, filtering them through the lyricism of Avgin. Loanwords, he thinks they’re called. You take ocean, tropical, rainforest from Amazian; starskiff, accelerator, space fleet from Xianzhounese; stock market, shortselling, mutual funds from Interastral Standard. For the astrophysics terms, you try directly translating them—with limited success.

“Can't I literally just say ‘black hole’?” you ask in Avgin, and he nearly spits out his coffee.

“Please don't. That's a dirty word.” He can't bring himself to say what it means, but from the way you’re laughing, you can clearly guess.

“I thought you said you didn't know how to swear.”

“You've just reminded me how.”

“You're welcome.” You look on the verge of cackling. Aventurine finishes his coffee and wonders when you're going to surprise him with your newfound vulgarity.

“Let's just do the space terms based on Standard,” he says. Begs.

“No, that's so boring.”

“Then let's do your language.”

You open your mouth. Close it. Give him a blank look.

“You don't know how to say those words in your mother tongue either, do you,” he intuits.

“Well, ‘spaghettification’ doesn't really come up in everyday conversation, does it?”

“Then maybe we don't need it.” He smiles, senses an opportunity. Smells blood. “How about ‘love’? I'd much rather know how you say that. I bet it sounds beautiful.”

You give him a long look. Your eyes are vulnerable when you share it: Love. I love you. He’s fascinated by the sound of it. Your voice is never that fragile when you say it in Standard. It's never so earnest. He repeats it, staring at you, and your gaze falls to the ground. His mouth curls.

“I like it,” he says. “Let's use that. It'll sound nice in Avgin.”

You try to recover. “Sure. That works. But back to ‘black hole’—”

And the two of you continue like that for days, weeks, months. It feels like a complete bastardization of his mother tongue on some days, in some conversations. Almost unrecognisable. But it doesn't feel bad. It’s all he has, it's all you have, and when he walks into your home, he starts speaking it without thinking: your bastard, patchwork language. The Avgin dialect that exists only in your house. A tongue that can only be understood by a liar.

And then, one lazy Sunday morning, he gets a familiar ping. He expects it to be Interastral Standard, as usual. The language balloons with each planet that the IPC colonises.

But instead, he opens his screen and freezes.

SIGONIAN, AVGIN DIALECT SPEAKERS: 2 STATUS: Endangered. SERVICE RESUMED: 2157 AE NEW UPDATES: 103 loanwords and 5 neologisms added.

He can't stop looking at the status. Endangered. Endangered, which means dying, but alive. The Avgin dialect is alive again. The Intelligentsia Guild determined it, so it must be true. But Aventurine can't agree: there are no Avgin speakers in the known universe other than the two of you, and what you speak isn't real Avgin. The Avgin spoken by his mother and father and sister is dead; the Avgin spoken by Kakavasha is dead. The festivals are gone; the deserts have been terraformed. There are no wagons; there are no dances; there are no prayers. There are no blessings, and he has no home—

As long as you are alive, the blood of the Avgin will never run dry.

His throat locks up.

“Aventurine?” you ask. Your voice is drowsy, but concerned. “Is something wrong?”

He looks at you from his phone, a polished smile on his face.

“No.” His syllables are plain and efficient in the noise of Interastral Standard: “Just looking at details for a new assignment. It’ll be a long one.”

“Oh.” You frown. “Will you be away from home for a long time, then?”

He stops himself from swallowing. “Yes, I'll be away from the house. For several months, probably.”

“Okay.” Your voice is small. “Take care of yourself, okay? I'll miss you.”

Each word you speak resonates with heartbreak. It always does in these conversations, even in Standard—but the sorrow is amplified in Avgin. His mother tongue has an inherently sad quality to it, he's noticed. His people have lost so much over their history—their language is one of loss. It's his language of loss. Kakavasha did all his grieving in Avgin; Aventurine has never felt sorrow in Standard. When the language died, so did Kakavasha—and all his regrets with it.

“You'll come home to me, right?” you ask. It's a beautiful sentence in Avgin. A heartrending one. He feels something that he hasn't known since he was a child.

It's a feeling he has to kill.

“Yes,” he says in Standard. “Of course I'll come back.”

This is not the first time that Aventurine has been mistaken for dead, but this is the longest time.

The latest world to join the IPC network was a tough acquisition. It had been ruled by a despot who wreaked havoc on both the people and the planet, and who was too stupid and reckless to resolve conflicts with his trade partners. He probably would have blown up the whole star system had he been left to his own devices. Aventurine had no qualms about bringing him to ruin, nor did he have qualms about nearly dying in the process.

If things had gone his way, he'd either be dead or missing. This would have been the perfect opportunity to do the latter, actually—to be freed from the IPC. Free to drift alone, speaking with strangers in strange, unfamiliar tongues. No connection to his past, to the cruel history of his luck, to his commodity code. No tether to his inherently unjust destiny. But instead he's back in your house, pockets heavy with his borrowed wealth, speaking to you in his bastardised, childish Avgin. I'm sorry. Come here. Let me kiss you. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.

Your Avgin is—shockingly fluent. He doesn't know how. He can't think about it right now. All he can process is the wounded animal noise of your speech as you yell at him, as you cry. Like an injured songbird, or a weeping child. Why did you leave, why did you lie, why do you always lie to me, why don't you give a shit about me, you spit. Why do you want to die, why do you want to die, why do you want to die, you keep saying. Sand, sister, goddess, ghost, he keeps hearing. Sand, sister, goddess, ghost. Don't leave me, big sister. People will die. Why do you have to go?

“I’m sorry,” he tries again, this time in your language. “I'm so sorry. Come here. Let me hold you.”

You collapse into your mother tongue. Aventurine is both relieved and horrified. Relieved that he doesn't need to hear the language of his grief—horrified that he needs to hear yours. He's never heard you cry like this. He's never heard you break like this. These must have been the words you used when the soldiers found you hiding in your closet, when they dragged you out of your home. You were just a child.

Aventurine doesn't know the words you are using—you've never taught them—but he still understands them.

You're very malleable when you’re sad; even more so when you're hysterical. Aventurine understands this about you, and he understands how to calm you—this time in your native tongue—and he understands how to kiss you. He understands that you need to feel close to him. He understands that there are ways to accomplish this other than sex. A normal person would talk it out, have an honest conversation, come to a mutual understanding, and maybe even stop trying to kill himself. They wouldn't fuck you into the mattress while your face is still wet with tears.

But Aventurine is not a normal person. He doesn't know how to have an honest conversation, and he doesn't want to be understood. Lying is his greatest weapon, and sex is a close second. So he kisses you until you’re too breathless to cry, fucks you until you can't think, and makes you come so hard that you’re in too much bliss to grieve. And maybe it's horrible of him, but he enjoys it. He enjoys the way your body takes him in so easily, the way your nails dig into his back, the way you tighten around him when you climax, so wet and needy for him. The way you beg for him in your language for liars as he spends himself inside you: I love you, Aventurine, I love you, I love you, I love you—

Only because it feels good. This is all only because he enjoys fucking you. This is all only because you enjoy fucking him. This is all it'll ever be, and it'll be this way until he gets to meet his end.

(Some months ago, Aventurine started dreaming in Avgin.

It surprised him when he first noticed it. The last time he remembers having a dream in his native tongue, he was twelve years old and still in chains. And even then, it had become a sporadic, strange thing. Awful to wake up from. One minute he was with his mother and sister on a cool, rainy day, speaking fluently in Avgin as he laughed and played—and the next minute, he was being shaken awake in his cage, hearing the cruel lash of Katican.

But ever since he's started speaking Avgin with you, he's been dreaming in it. Vividly. Sometimes he's a child in these dreams, and sometimes he's grown. He's always back in the Sigonian desert, among the tents and the campfires and his family wagons. His mother and sister are alive. Sometimes his father is too. The skies roar with thunder and the stellar winds are always harsh, but they always keep him cocooned up in their arms. He's always warm.

Sometimes Aventurine dreams of nicer days. Clear skies, warm sun, cool breeze—all blessings from the Mother Goddess. On these days, he tends to be an adult, and you tend to be there with him. Your Avgin is fluent but strange, filled with funny loanwords and peculiar slang. His father likes the neologisms and starts using them—but only in wrong ways. His sister finds it embarrassing and keeps apologising to you.

His mother loves you. She loves you so much it hurts. This is how I know you're blessed, Kakavasha, she says, glowing. You’re so lucky to have found such a kind person.

Kakavasha knows this. He knows he's lucky, and in his dreams, that isn't a bad thing. In his dreams, his luck means that his home is not violently excised from his heart: his father never dies; his mother never dies; his sister never dies. The tents are not burned; the wagons are not destroyed. He is never forced to forget his people's dishes, their songs, their language, their joy. And in his dreams, his luck means that he meets you anyway, without all the loss and the chains and the lying.

In his dreams, he is able to bring you to the desert. He is able to teach you the Avgin he spoke as a child, to cook all the meals his mother used to make, to share with you their coffee and their tea. He teaches you prayers. He teaches you blessings. He tells you about Mama Fenge, about how the rain fell when he was born. He takes you to the Kakava Festival, shows you how to dance, sings to you all the Avgin songs until you're singing back. He presses his palm to yours in prayer; he kisses you in devotion, not avoidance.

Sometimes the two of you still fight, the same fights that you have in real life, but he handles them with honesty. He listens to you. He apologises to you. He tells you that he’ll change, and he means it—because this world is a kind one, and he has no need to be so cruel to you.

In this kind world, when you lay in bed with his arms tight around you, you smile at him and say, I love you, Kakavasha. You say it in Avgin—real Avgin, not the dialect born from genocide and deceit—and when he responds, there's not even a little bit of insincerity in his voice. Because Kakavasha never became Aventurine in these dreams, so he has no Interastral Standard in which he can lie to you, no silver tongue with which he can manipulate you, no commodity code that inspires his fear of being controlled by you. Kakavasha only knows Avgin, and he only has his sand, his family, his goddess, his home.

And he has you. Finally, he has you.

He kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you—and then he tells you the truth.)

.

.

.

Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin.

You noticed this very early on: whenever he lies to you, he always switches to Interastral Standard. Probably he wouldn't be able to do it in his mother tongue. His command of it is too weak, and the words he knows are all too kind. He speaks with the innocence of a child, and children cannot deceive people in the way that adults can. Children cannot perform commerce or negotiate contracts. They cannot use a silver tongue to rob people blind. They cannot save themselves from the gallows.

So Aventurine’s Avgin is defenceless. Vulnerable. So vulnerable it hurts. You are not so vulnerable in your first language because your captors spoke it on occasion, and you learned to lie in it to gain their pity. You told Aventurine that knowing it would help him understand you, but this was a deception. Aventurine’s mother tongue was a language of trust, but yours is a dialect of abuse.

The Avgin language died before Aventurine could be gutted by it; this is why it disarms him so completely. This is why he’s so indulgent and so warm when you use it with him, why he yields to all your requests. Not requests for money or gifts—you’re certain those are meaningless to him—but for affection. Let me hold you. Let me touch you. Let me kiss you. He can never say no.

This is also why he loves hearing you speak his mother tongue, you think—it makes him feel at home, it makes him feel safe. Maybe it even makes him feel loved. He never seems so at peace speaking any other language, so you try to use Avgin as much as possible. You like seeing him happy. You like it even if it means you need to teach him your own native language in exchange, even when it means you need to hear him say all the things your captors used to say. You don't mind it if it's him. You never mind the harm he inflicts on you, especially not when it brings you closer to him.

It is convenient that he cannot lie in Avgin. You only wanted to learn it in the first place because he talks in his sleep—mostly in Standard, but sometimes in his native tongue. And now that you know he cannot lie in Avgin, you also know he's always being honest in his dreams. Honest when he throws his arms around you in his sleep. Honest when he grabs you so tightly that you bruise. Honest when he buries his face into your neck and whispers prayers into your skin.

Most of the words he says are common ones, the earliest vocabulary that he taught you. But there are some things he's withheld from you—and to learn those things, you had to track down linguists from the Intelligentsia Guild, bribe them with your dirty money, have them give you all their deprecated, extinct data. It felt two-faced, and it was violating, but it was the only way. You already know that Aventurine would rather die than translate his feelings for you, would never want this part of himself understood.

I'm sorry for always leaving you.

I'm sorry for making you cry.

I can't bear the thought of losing you.

Freedom would be too lonely without you.

I don't want to hurt you anymore.

I don't want to lie to you anymore.

I missed you.

I want you.

I need you.

I love you.

end

afterword

#aventurine x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #x reader #hsr smut #aventurine smut #lol it isnt really smut but it is nsft i suppose #nsft #yueshuo.fics

[lordprettyflackotara]

if u think i’m pretty || chris sturniolo

SMUT. 18+. Minors DNI. tw: hate fucking. lots of it. bickering while fucking? idk you get the gist. finally got around to writing about chris. can you believe i scrapped like 5 fics? 🥴 yeah me either! also, sequel with matt if yall want it ;)

“Christopher fucking Sturniolo!”

Your words were laced with venom, the staircase rumbling beneath you as you stomped upstairs. Faintly you could hear Matt call out for you, your mind too filled with rage to hear him properly.

Pornographic moans flooded your eardrums as you reached Chris’s room, your eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head. Your closed fist rattled his door, the dramatic moans coming to a screeching halt.

“Open the fucking door dickwad!” You screamed. Impatiently you tapped your foot, deciding he was taking too long. You grabbed the door handle, (surprised to find it unlocked), and swung the door open.

It was almost comical watching Chris and a girl you didn’t know scramble to get themselves dressed.

“What the fuck are you doing in here? Get the fuck out! Haven’t you ever heard of privacy?” Chris spat, shoving his gray sweatpants on. For a brief moment you felt bad for the girl, her waterline filling with tears. She was just one of many you had seen this week. You grabbed a shirt you presumed to be hers, handing it to her. You took a deep breath, containing your anger as you looked at her.

“Please get dressed and for the love of God, find someone better to fuck,” You sighed. The blonde was gone in a flash, practically sprinting out of Chris’s room. You crossed your arms, shooting lasers out of your eyes as you glared at the brunette across from you. Oh, only if looks could kill.

“I’m not believing my phone magically teleported into the dishwasher of all places,” You snarled. Your phone had been missing for six hours straight, your iphones location still saying it was at the triplets house. You had dragged Matt and Nick all around their house, searching from the ceiling to the floor. When you had finally accepted defeat, you had opened the dishwasher to grab a bowl to make a snack.

And to your displeasure, your phone was sopping wet, sitting in plain sight on the rack.

“You have zero proof I did that, literally zero,” Chris argued. Your eyes briefly flickered to his exposed chest, the amount of skin throwing you off. You shook your head, showing Chris your ruined phone. “Really? Because I can’t recall the last time you did dishes but you magically did them last night,” You snapped. Chris shrugged nonchalantly, a cocky smirk creeping across his lips.

“What can I say? I figured i’d help out the household,”

That’s it.

You chucked your phone at him, the brunette dodging the attack by seconds. It was ruined away, even the rice method was unable to save your phone. It smacked against the wall, the sound making Chris jump. “Maybe your phone wouldn’t be ruined if you weren’t having very LOUD phone sex with your boyfriend!” Chris yelled. You threw your hands up in the air, completely dumbfounded. “What are you talking about? Why would I ever-” You began arguing, before it clicked.

You weren’t having phone sex with anyone, that was for sure. But you stayed over at the Sturniolo household frequently, to the point where you were there more often than you were home. As much as Chris drove you insane, you couldn’t deny how attractive he was. The concept of the attraction being forbidden, soured by years and years of bickering, did something inside of you.

You could feel heat rushing to your cheeks, even though you didn’t want it to. Chris snickered at your loss of words, shooting you a genuine smile. “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” He teased. In a swift motion you dashed across the room, your palm connecting with his cheek. Your tension with Chris had never gone beyond yelling. He had never crawled under your skin so much before, embarrassment seeping over you as you thought about the whole house hearing what he said.

A long pause silenced the room, the sound of the slap echoing through out your ears. Chris took a moment to process what you had just done, before his sharp gaze meant yours. His hand flew to your throat, gripping the sides as he threw you against the nearest wall. The air was knocked out of your lungs, your body in fight or flight mode. He easily towered over you, his sharp blue eyes filled with rage.

“You’re such a fucking whore,” Chris grumbled. He squeezed the sides of your neck harder, a whimper escaping your lips. His grip loosened, his attention fully dedicated to the sound you had made. The brunette tilted his head to the side curiously, as if he hadn’t believed what he just heard. “Did you just whimper?” He questioned. You shook your head no, Chris’s knee spreading your legs apart. Testing the waters, he brought his face closer to yours.

“You know, your little stunt prevented me from finishing earlier. Perhaps you’d like to help me out,” Chris purred, the glint of lust in your eyes telling him everything he needed to know. You rolled your eyes, your heart beginning to race as his body pressed against yours. “If you’re going to kiss me get on with it before I change my mind,” You said plainly. Chris’s grip on your throat tightened, your airway becoming restricted.

“You’ve always been a mouthy one,” He muttered, roughly bringing his lips to yours.

Chris hated how good you tasted, how good you smelled. He hated how your skin always looked so soft, your lips so plump. He despised how confident you were, always charging into everything in your life head first. What Chris actually liked, was that you challenged him. He knew that his infatuation with you wasn’t actually feelings, just raw and untamed lust. But fuck, with your lips against his, it made him want to change his mind.

The two of you clawed off each other’s clothes, discarding the clothing to the floor. Chris’s tongue swiped across your lower lip, before sliding inside. His kisses were rough and sloppy, your body addicted to the electricity he made run down your spine. You pushed him harshly against the bed, his back hitting the soft mattress underneath him.

You straddled him quickly, attempting to take control of the situation. Ever so slowly you grinded your wet cunt against his exposed shaft, a groan escaping his lips. Chris cockily put his hands behind his head, admiring you. “Go ahead, get yourself off just by grinding on me. You can do it pretty girl,” Chris instructed. You felt heat dash across your cheeks at the sound of his praise, your hips moving seemingly on their own.

Curses left your lips as you threw your head back. “Making me get myself off since you can’t do it? Figures,” You managed to say, your movements becoming more desperate. Chris leaned forward on his elbows, watching your cunt slide up and down his shift. “I’d watch your words ma, i’ll overstimulate you until you’re nothing but a cock craving whore,” Chris warned. His warning felt real, the threat in it seeking genuinely true. Even if you didn’t want to believe it.

Chris bit his bottom lip as you shamelessly grinded against him, every little movement providing pleasure to your clit. “You really think i’d fuck as many girls as I do if I couldn’t make them cum? I thought you were supposed to be smart,” Chris said coldly, mockingly tilting his head to the side. Your gaze landed back on the man beneath you, ignoring his cock in between your folds. “Yeah? I thought I was supposed to be overstimulated by now. What happened to that?” You challenged.

He was quick to change positions, your back landing against the mattress before you could think. He roughly spread your thighs apart, shoving two fingers into your cunt. A gasp of surprise was ripped from your throat, his spare hand resuming its place as your personal collar. Chris’s name spilled off of your lips as his fingers curled inside of you, his name becoming a sinful mantra. “What happened? Not so cocky now are we?” Chris taunted, watching you fall apart on his fingers.

The sight of you was enough to make his cock throb, his body craving attention. Chris remained focused, determined to corrupt you. “Open your fucking mouth slut,” Chris ordered. You so without a second thought, flattening your tongue across your bottom lip. He gripped your face harshly, leaning over and spitting into your mouth. “Swallow it,” He growled, watching you intently. You did as you were told, swallowing his saliva. You felt humiliated as it slid down your throat, the feeling euphoric.

“Thats a good girl, now why don’t you cum on my fingers for me? Hmm?” Chris asked. His words of praise made the rope inside of you snap, your orgasm washing over you without warning. Your vision went white, your thighs trembling as Chris removed his fingers from your aching cunt. You watched as he sucked them clean, maintaining eye contact with you as he did so.

Still coming down from your high, you put every last bit of energy into rolling your eyes. “Are you going to fuck me or just stare?” You asked. Chris’s cocky smile fell, replaced with a frown. “Nothings ever good enough for you, is it?” He replied, crawling on top of you. He brushed the tip of his cock up and down your folds teasingly, enjoying hearing you audibly whine for him. “Why’d you destroy my phone?” You asked, your coherent thoughts interrupted by him shoving himself inside of you.

You both moaned in unison, the unholy sounds vibrating off of the walls. “Why’d you decide to have phone sex in my house?” Chris gritted out, sliding himself further into you. He had more girth than you expected, your walls struggling to accommodate his size. “I asked you first dipshit,” You spat, fighting back a groan as he slid in further. Chris could feel your walls spasming around his cock, the sensation enough to make him cum right then and there. But he knew you’d never let him live it down.

“Yeah? Well I asked you second,” Chris replied, bottoming out inside of you. The tip of his shaft brushed against your g spot, the slightest movement of his hips making you whimper. “If you must know I wasn’t having phone sex, dumbass,” You said honestly. Chris pulled his hips back at a teasing rate, entertaining the argument. “Yeah? So what were you doing?” He questioned, doubting what you were saying. His hips bucked back into yours, hitting your g spot purposefully slow. He was drawing his thrust out, enjoying the sight of you squirming beneath him.

“I-I was thinking of you, alright? Now are you going to fuck me or what?” You rambled, embarrassed by your confession. Chris paused for a moment, soaking in your words. He leaned forward, his breath hot against your ear. “Is that so? Well, I destroyed your phone because I got jealous. You belong under me, just like this, taking my cock,” Chris purred, ignoring the embarrassment of his own confession. He pulled back slightly, allowing the two of you to make eye contact.

Out of breath and desperate, both of you panted as you stared into each other’s eyes. “Well, in that case, you better get on with it,” You said weakly. The same cocky smile that you hated plastered across his lips, his hips bucking into yours quickly. Your nails dug into his back as his hips continued to slam into yours, his cock buried inside of your cunt. Chris couldn’t hold back his own groans, your walls milking his cock dry.

With glazed eyes he met your gaze, relishing in the sound of your groans, chanting his name. “Open your mouth for me,” He ordered, his cock abusing your cervix. Chris enjoyed that you didn’t hesitate, obeying him without a second thought. He put two fingers into your mouth, shoving them as far back as he could. “Now fucking suck them slut,” He growled. With each degrading word you squeezed him harder, your body snitching on your hidden desire.

“You look so pretty like this, when you aren’t yapping that mouth of yours,” He huffed. A painful whine came from his lips, your nails purposefully digging deeper into his back. You pathetically bobbed your head up and down on his fingers, concealing your smirk as you heard him in audible pain. Chris slithered his spare hand down to your cunt, drawing fast and sloppy circles around your clit.

“Go on, cum for me. Cum on my cock like the good girl you are for me,” Chris panted. The extra sensation was enough to make you throw your head back, Chris’s fingers still lodged in your mouth. Your warning of your orgasm was muffled, your thighs shaking violently under him. The sight was going to be burned into Chris’s memory forever, the feeling of your cunt spasming around him giving him an undeniable ego boost. He fucked you through your orgasm, becoming preoccupied with chasing his own.

His fingers roughly grabbed your waist, fucking you rougher. “Shit, i’m gonna cum,” He admitted. Chris watched, mesmerized as his cock slid in and out of your cunt. “Where do you want it?” He asked, his hips beginning to stutter. You grabbed him by his throat, dragging him towards you. You put your mouth next to his ear, smirking as you told him, “Inside of me.”

You filthy fuck. For the first time your name fell from Chris’s lips as he came, his warm seed flooding your cunt. In unison you both tried to catch your breath, Chris carefully slipping out of you. The room was silent, besides desperate breathing, a knock came from Chris’s door.

“Yeah?”

“Your uh, doordash is here dude,” Matt said awkwardly. You could hear him place a bag in front of his bedroom door. “Thanks,” Chris replied, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

“Hey Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time maybe fuck a little quieter, Nicks pretty pissed.”

You exchanged glances with Chris, watching as he shoved on a shirt.

“You heard him, be quiet next time,”

“Next time? There won’t be a next time. Mr.I lasted thirty seconds.”

The sound of you two bickering made Matt roll his eyes, causing him to walk away. He wondered if you both would ever get married, or if you both would hate fuck forever. He shrugged at the idea, heading back downstairs. All Matt knew for sure, was that your moans made him cum the hardest he ever had. And that, was enough for him.

#chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x y/n #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut

[sjyluv]

in another life, i would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you

genres! fluff?, angst, celebrity x celebrity, ex-lovers

word count! 1380

warnings! mention of breakup, heartbreak

synopsis! in another life, you and park sunghoon are lovers, just not in this one

mimi’s note! this fic was inspired by a quote from the movie ‘everything everywhere all at once’ also I'm not very good at writing angst because I hate it but I did my best

“Congrats, big shot,” a familiar voice says from behind you, and you can hear the teasing smile in his tone, “actress of the year award, you're in the big leagues now.”

You turn around to face Park Sunghoon, a renowned figure skater and your ex-boyfriend. You haven't seen each other in almost a year but the sight of him still has the same effect on you it did all those years ago.

He's hauntingly beautiful and you're a house of horrors.

You offer a polite smile, but it's bittersweet as if you were greeting death itself.

“Congratulations to you too, you're becoming a bit of an A-list yourself since you won the Olympics.” you quip, and you both know what kind of game you're going to play tonight.

It’s the same one you always play, the one where he pretends you didn’t break his heart and you pretend everything is fine.

Sunghoon smiles at you too, like you're everything he's ever had and everything he's ever lost.

“Maybe we should exchange autographs like middle schoolers trade Pokémon cards,” he says, and you both chuckle.

“Hmm, I have a feeling mines will be more valuable.”

He playfully puts a hand over his heart. “That’s hurtful, y/n, but I can’t deny that it’s also true.”

The gala was still roaring with life when you stepped out for some fresh air, you sat on concrete stairs, not caring if you got your 20,000-dollar dress dirty. You couldn't care about a lot of things lately.

You and Sunghoon had long parted ways, the conversation only lasted about five minutes before you were seated at your respective tables, you didn't see him again after that.

You’ve gotten everything you ever dreamed of at this point in your career, and you accomplished all your goals, in the beginning, it all seemed so impossible, but now that you're here and you've done it, you’re not so sure what's left anymore.

The sound of the door opening catches your attention, a tall, pale figure steps out, dressed in a purely black suit, and you recognize him instantly.

“Following me?” you prop your chin in your palm as your elbow rests on your knee, carrying the weight of your head as you tilt it playfully.

He’s not startled by the suddenness of your voice, which tells you, yes, he was looking for you.

He smiled. “Maybe.”

He sat next to you on the stairs, not caring if his 5,000-dollar suit got dirty, though it wasn't actually because he didn't care about the suit, but because he just wanted to be close to you.

You're both silent for a while, simply appreciating being in each other's presence after so long.

Or maybe it's because you don't know what to say and he has too much to say, so you settle for the piercing silence of unsaid words.

Sunghoon has been silent his whole life, but he promised himself tonight he wouldn't be.

“Was it worth it?”

Ah. There it is.

You think as the corners of your lips curl upward, you knew this question was coming, you sensed it the moment you saw him again.

If he had asked you that a year ago you would’ve said yes, no hesitation, no second thoughts, just a straight-up yes, and you would have meant it too.

Suddenly the silk fabric of your dress starts to itch your skin, your diamond embroidered heels start to hurt your feet, and your pearl jewelry feels too heavy.

In only a single minute, Park Sunghoon has stripped you of your persona, called you out for the fraud you are, and seen the real you.

And he accepted you.

You lie to save your pride, it's a habit of yours that he knows all too well.

He doesn't think you're perfect, but you would never have to be for him to love you.

“Sometimes,” you say.

You don't bother lying, he’ll know.

You had always been a good liar until Sunghoon came into your life.

He gently nods in understanding at your response, “Do you ever think about it? About us?”

With a chuckle, you reply, “Of course I do.”

It's true that sometimes leaving him is worth the life you're living now, but there are fragments of times when you imagine what your life could've been with him.

In another life, you never left Sunghoon, you got married, bought a home together, adopted a dog, and had a child.

On the surface that sounds nice, but in another life, you are a housewife with broken dreams, you bought a home together but it wasn't the one you always dreamed of because you had to compromise with Sunghoon, you adopted a dog but you were never really an animal person, and you had a child but motherhood was never for you.

In another life, you are happy to be a housewife, you and Sunghoon bought your dream home together, you adopted a dog that you both love, you had a child and you are the most loving mother.

In another life, you are not a housewife, you and Sunghoon bought a home even better than your dream home, you adopted a dog but you're more of a cat person, and you never had a child but you always wanted to be a mother.

In another life, you and Sunghoon work from home, you bought a decent home together, and although it's not your dream one, it's good enough, you adopted a cat, and you never had a child but because that's the way you liked things.

In another life, you and Sunghoon are divorced, the home you bought together is just walls and a roof with painful memories, you don't adopt any pets, and you never had a child.

In another life, Sunghoon is a househusband, you don't care about having a dream home because any place is home with him, you adopted a dog and a cat, and you had a child who has everything they could ever want.

In another life, you and Sunghoon are teenagers again falling in love for the very first time, and you have no idea what the future holds for you.

In another life, you and Sunghoon are just a little bit younger than you are now, in the kitchen of your shared apartment, and you are trying to figure out how to do laundry so all your clothes don’t turn blue again and how to properly calculate your taxes so you don’t go to prison for tax fraud.

In another life, you and Sunghoon have grown old together, and you are experts at doing laundry and taxes.

In another life, you are the bottles of salt and pepper on the table of a random diner and things are entirely less complicated.

In another life, you never meet Park Sunghoon.

The possibilities are endless, and the truth is, you never know what will happen in your life, and that's scary, but you hope in another life you learn to accept the bad just as easily as you accept the good.

“What does it look like?” he asks.

“Laundry and taxes,” you shrug.

You both laugh at that.

“What about you?” you ask.

“Taxes and laundry,” he smiles.

You both laugh again.

The party inside is completely forgotten about as you and Sunghoon spend what feels like hours just sitting and talking, until the realization that it’s time to go home dawns on you.

Sunghoon gets up first, holding his hand out for you to take, and you do, but when he helps you to your feet he doesn't let go just yet, instead, he looks into your eyes and you feel his thumb caress your knuckles.

“It was nice to see you again, y/n.”

“It was good to see you again too, Sunghoon.”

He finally lets you go and you already miss his warmth.

He almost walks away but turns to face you one last time.

With a hint of a smile on his lips, he says, “You know, in another life, I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.”

And then Park Sunghoon walks out of your life forever, and you let him.

In another life, things didn't end that way.

© 2024 sjyluv, all rights reserved | do not repost, translate, or plagiarize

#park sunghoon #sunghoon scenarios #sunghoon oneshots #sunghoon enhypen #sunghoon x you #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon soft hours #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon fanfic #sunghoon angst #sunghoon #enhypen imagines #enhypen fluff #enhypen fic #enhypen scenarios #enhypen soft hours #enhypen x reader #enhypen x y/n #enhypen drabbles #enhypen blurbs #enhypen angst #sunghoon x y/n #sunghoon x female reader #enhypen x female reader #enhypen x you

[hotchfiles]

— help me hold onto you • aaron hotchner

fem!reader, unprotected vaginal sex, a bit of angst.

he knew he would be in trouble whenever he turned those keys. what he wasn’t expecting was how big the trouble would be. he had no idea he would open the door to three bags full of clothes and other things he left at your place as the months passed, waiting for him.

“darling? what–what are these?” he asks even though he knows the answer, hoping you want to at least talk about it before making any harsh decisions. you’ve been in a relationship for almost a year now and it works. it always worked.

normally you wouldn’t drink before an argument, still when he gets to the kitchen he sees you calmly sipping on a tall glass of wine, fingers tapping on the table, hair up, face clean but red, you were in your pajamas already, nothing like you probably looked hours before.

“what’s the only thing i asked of you, aaron?” you don’t move, don’t glance up at him, eyes focused solely on how the purplish red liquid moved in your glass, taking a big sip right after.

aaron sighs in frustration, he didn’t want this to become a fight. he was so tired. “i know, i’m sorry–”

“answer the question, please.”

“don’t make promises i can’t keep.” he takes his tie off quickly, suddenly feeling suffocated by the fabric surrounding his neck. that’s why your relationship worked, you knew he was busy and his schedule was unpredictable, so very early on you accepted it as it was, saying you wouldn’t be mad at him as long as he didn’t break any promises. if you’re not sure, don’t promise me you will be able to make it.

first months he wouldn’t promise you anything, too afraid to break it, to disappoint you.

he watches as you take the wine in a mouthful and refills the glass, the bottle now empty and starts getting frustrated, you’re a loud drunk and you’re surely already getting tipsy.

this was the first time he slipped up, it didn’t need to be such a big deal, it didn’t avail to having his things right at the door as if he was getting kicked out. all the other times he promised he could take time off, he did it. just–teens were getting kidnapped, the team needed him.

“we saved two girls today.” low blow. but it was true, he wasn’t back in time because of that, he got on the jet instead of staying back to do that. to save two thirteen year old girls. not some futile reason. it had to count for something.

“i’m proud of you for that, aaron. are you proud of me? for the promotion we were supposed to celebrate with my boss? or are our accomplishments only worth it when it’s about saving someone?” you raise your voice only slightly, the alcohol from the sweet wine getting to you slowly and then all at once.

you always tried your best to keep your voice down when arguing with him, simply because he never raised his, and it could be an endearing feature if it didn’t look like he did it to look like the rational one, the right one.

“that’s not what i said–”

“i know what you said. you want to make the fact you let me down okay because you did a wonderful thing someplace else. that’s not how it works.” you open the second bottle of wine of the night, feeling his eyes on your back. “i want you to leave.”

“you know this is ridiculous, you’re acting like a child.” sore spot. you were a few years younger and that had never been a problem. but he couldn’t go back now, he could see the anger darkening your eyes, your knuckles turning white by the strength you’re using to grip on the edge of the table.

“how am i a child?” you begin slowly and keeping your voice down, you get up finally from the chair you had been sitting, facing him directly, his instincts make him try to touch your arms, but you dodge it quickly. “we had an agreement. you broke it. am i a child for not giving you permission to hurt me again?”

he knows you’re about to snap, your chest coming up and down in rapid breaths, and he doesn’t feel particularly in the right, he knows he screwed up and he’s sorry, but your reaction is out of proportion to him, an exaggeration made to make him feel more guilty than he already does. “i said you’re acting like a child. the one time things don’t go your way and you’re packing me out?” aaron almost feels the sharpness of a slap but he’s quick enough to grab your wrist. “see? proving my point.”

“how many times do i have to accept you screwing up so i can be seen as mature?” you yank your arm out of his grip and go back to your drink, “same times as haley? how many times did she forgive you so you could go around and do it all again?”

lower blow.

hotch feels it right in his core and he’s angry at you for bringing up but more so angry at himself because you were right. still, it is anger nonetheless that guides his next actions, quickly and firmly walking up to you, caging you against the table in sudden movements.

your breath hitches from the surprise, and your attempt to move is stopped by his roughed hands on your chin, firm but never close to hurting. “i’m not leaving.” you wince, not in fear of him, but of how easy he can make your mind go blank when he’s that close.

his eyes go from your eyes to your lips, he notices your failed attempt to conceal the way you licked your lips, he glances at your chest, heavy breathing under your thin pajama shirt, nipples hardening against the fabric.

damn you for choosing wine.

hotch reads your mind almost, but his smirk doesn’t last too long displayed on his lips, your hands pulling him by the neck, a low groan followed by a “fuck this” leaving your wine tasting lips just mere seconds before gluing to his.

eager to get your forgiveness, he is quick to follow your lead, both hands sneaking under your clothes, one down the waistband of your shorts, grabbing hard on the flesh of your ass, the other drawing soft circles on your nipple.

you melt into the kiss, his lips, his hands, his scent, him. and you have no time to feel bad about it, pulled up to sit on the table, legs around his waist, you can feel how hard he is against your wetness.

a pained whimper leaves his lips when you use the new position to grind onto him, needing something, anything against your clit at this point.

aaron sinks his teeth into your bottom lip to get your full attention, earning a loud moan in response, his hands travel your thighs and you pull his shirt out his pants so you can feel his skin under your fingertips, not bothering to unbutton them and working with what you got under it.

his lips travel your neck and your collarbone, “i love you, so, so much”. his declaration comes in between kisses and the sucking of your skin, “please don’t make me leave after this.” it comes in a whisper now, but he doesn’t stop, pushing your shorts down and sliding it down till it drops to the floor with your help.

“just shut up and take your pants off.”

“you know i can only do one of those.” it makes you laugh and you sink your nails to the bit of fat on his side, the tiniest bit of annoyance at how easy he had you in the palm of his hand and how he didn’t even seem to know it truly.

on the edge of the table sliding his hard cock into your folds was an easy feat, pants, shoes and his boxers long gone, his socks stayed on almost making him lose balance as he feels just how wet you are. he drops his head, forehead on your shoulder

“fuck—oh my god, you are so wet, you’re always so wet for me.” it isn’t arrogant, it’s appreciative almost, you move his head so you can look at him, hot, sweaty already, cheeks so red as his eyes were glassy, the mix of lust and love and regret clear in his dark caramel irises.

you kiss him once more, sweet, forgiving and he takes this as his sign to continue, pushing you down the table, hotch holds your thighs for support, plunging his cock into your wet cunt with ease, bottoming out at the first thrust. you enjoyed the stretching pain and you never had the patience to wait.

lower lips between your teeth, you slide one of your hands to your clit, two fingers working your arousal, quickly replaced by aaron’s calloused fingers. you arch your back and moan loudly, “fuck, yes, and move.”

it feels like an order and for hotch it is one, he is delighted to oblige, maintaining the same finger moves on your clit and beginning to fuck your pussy, strong, firm and precise at first.

“honey, fuck—please…” his begging is meant to warn you that if you keep clenching around him he won’t be able to control himself, you almost don’t listen, fingers working on your own nipples enjoying the high he is always able to get you in.

“aaron—i’m… fuck, don’t stop, you’re so good.”

the praising, the guidance, the reassurance, it makes the moans leaving his lips seem like whining, he enjoys it too much.

“yeah? like this?” the way your hands try to grab him is enough answer to him, along with how tight your pussy is throbbing against him, you’re almost there, he can feel it.

his movements on your clit get sloppier, the sight and sound of your wetness against his digits making him go insane. your back arches once more and your whole body begin to squirm, the tight coil in your lower belly finally ripping, “yes, fuck—“ you’re breathless, weak, but you still have it in you to edge him in, “aaron, baby, cum for me, please.”

he would be crazy to do anything but, so quickly you ask him and his hands are hoisting both your legs over his shoulders, getting a new, deeper position, it doesn’t take long for you to feel him filling you up, “i can’t live without you, you’re so, so good for me” his lasts broken words before letting himself go.

you don’t move and neither does he, his dick softening inside you, his hands caging you in the table and his head dropped to his chest, both just trying to recover.

“aaron?”

“yes, sweetheart?”

“you can stay.” he looks at you with nothing but love and happiness and gratitude, “but if you screw up again do not try fucking me into forgiving you, i’ll chop your dick off.”

“you like it too much to do that.” his grin is sincere, feeling finally free to joke around you, he gets out of you and you whine at the loss. “see?”

“bite me.”

“gladly.”

#lari writes sometimes #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner smut #hotch smut

[dazednmatthews]

(crazy how) this love thing seems unfair~ m. sturniolo

short mini fic cause i lurve this song so bad. angsty asf w a semi-happy ending. enjoy my loves <3333

“mattttttt,” her voice is coated in sleep. “come back to bed.” matt is standing at his closet door, rubbing his own tired eyes. it’s about nine in the morning, much too early to be doing anything other than laying in bed with her.

“you know that i can’t, sweetheart. i have to go work with the guys.” he finally picks a top, a soft, white sweatshirt that’s semi-cropped.

“boooooooo.” she sits up, pushing the curls that escaped her bun away from her face. the look on her face almost makes matt want to say fuck it and stay right here.

after he puts on his shoes and cologne, he walks to the side of the bed and sits. she sinks into him, body melting into his touch. they sit there for a moment, no sound in the room except their breathing. it’s peaceful.

she leans up in his arm and places a kiss at the shell of matt’s ear, making the boy groan softly. “don’t do that. it makes me want to stay right here.”

another kiss, this time under his jaw. “that’s the idea.”

one of matt’s hands are kneading the flesh of her thigh, pausing momentarily to rub circles with his thumb. the other hand is planted gently on her waist. he grips a little tighter when she kisses the corner of his mouth.

“stop touching me like that if you’re leaving.” she whines, pulling away slightly. “so not fair.”

he pulls her back. “give me a real kiss.”

she shakes her head. “ew, no. morning breath, hello.”

matt gives her a flat look. “i put my literal tongue inside of you twenty four seven and you think i give a fuck about morning breath?”

she shoves his shoulder with an incredulous laugh. “it is nine in the morning, matthew!” her eyes are sparkling now. “tone it down.”

matt shrugs. “i’m just saying.”

there’s a brief moment where they lock eyes, and suddenly it’s like all the air in the room has been sucked out. matt moves his hand up, feeling the thrum of her heart beating rhythmically. it’s one of his favorite sounds.

she moves into his lap, his hands coming to the swell of her ass to steady her. her arms loop around his neck, face close.

she pulls him in, gently connecting their lips. the way the interlock is something out of matt’s wildest dreams, serenity coating him from head to toe. he’s tugging and grasping with all his might, always needing her closer.

he can feel her lashes on his cheek, can feel her nails on the nape of his neck, can feel her love through every swipe of her tongue. he never wants to be anywhere but here.

there’s a knock at the door. “matt, we gotta go!” it’s chris. “y’all are too quiet in there so i’m staying my ass out here.”

she breaks the kiss with a giggle. “duty calls.”

he groans, resting his head on her shoulder. “so not fair.”

though it’s a fight, from matt mostly, she untangles herself and stands. she extends a hand to pull matt up, giving him a chaste kiss. “it’s okay, matty, go. i’ll be right here when you get back. always.”

***

turns out that always didn’t mean forever.

there’s a low static sound coming from the t.v, but matt pays it no mind. he’s been sat there for what feels like hours, staring into the distance. he has no idea where his brothers are, something about a friends house or something.

it’s been a couple months since the two split. since matt’s entire world shifted off its axis. he hasn’t seen you since you came to drop off the box of stuff that was filling your apartment. still hurts like the first day though.

matt fights with the same urge he gets every night at about this time. during the day is easier. he’s either asleep or so busy with work that he doesn’t really think about the you-shaped hole in his life. doesn’t really think about the absence of your toothbrush in his bathroom, or the lack of your perfume on his sheets. yeah, the day is infinitely easier.

it’s at night, when he cracks. when he turns in bed and there’s no one there. when he can’t hear the sink running because you’re doing your ridiculous sixteen-step skincare routine. when he walks to his bed just fine because there’s no ill placed bag in the middle of the floor to trip over. it feels like walking into a room and immediately forgetting what you were meant to be doing. he knows something is missing, but he doesn’t know how to get it back.

he wants to call you. wants to talk. to sort through all the communication that wasn’t handled well. it wasn’t a messy breakup, or even a hostile one. and somehow, matt thinks that’s worse. he’d prefer yelling and arguing and just knowing you weren’t right for each other anymore.

but it wasn’t that. instead it was distance and tears and feeling like right now there just wasn’t enough space in each others lives for one another.

he didn’t want this. at all. he wondered if you felt the same. he’d stared at the phone countless night willing himself to dial the number. to draft a text. he’d spent just as many willing you to do the same. it never came though.

matt knows tonight is different. the hum of the ac is lulling the anxious feelings in his stomach. he knows by the way his shaky hands grab his phone that this time is going to be the one.

he doesn’t know what to say, nor how to get it out. he wants to pour his heart out, but he also can’t do that without looking at you. without seeing you and feeling the rush of unwavering love he always got whenever his eyes met yours. it wouldn’t be fair.

so he starts off light and hopes for the best. you always did used to say that he had a way of knowing you better than anyone else.

he hopes to god that’s still true.

a/n: i’m tewwwwww good to y’all fr. jus sumn lite bc i love that damn song soooo bad and it came on this morning and a giant ass cartoon lightbulb went off in my head. anyway number neighbor part five & six later today cause ik that’s what u guys really want 😭 i hope u guys like this okie bye i love you all sooooo bad!!!

TAGLIST:

@sturnioloco @peachmels @sugrhigh @tastesousweet @rootbeerworshiper @hollandsangel @sturnolio-luvs @mattsobvimyfav @misscocodiorsblog @ilovechrisssturniolo @pepsiboyy @braindead4l @mxqdii @fawnchives @hearts4chriss @certifiednatelover @nmegamett20 @imaslut4kehlani @dominicfikue @wovenribbons @streamermattsgf @pr1ncessmatt @pinksturniolo @yourfavoritefangirl @nickmillersn1gf @freshxsturniolo @sturniolobltch @mattspolitank @lookingformyromeo @alorsxsturn @imwetforyourmom @kiarastromboli @sleepysturnss @mattscoquette @sturncakez @inkyray @simply-a-simper @lanas-doll @wh0resstuff @giannasturn @iluvmattsbeard @mattsmad @bambi-slxt

(also if i add tags based on requests and on comments so if u ever want to be taken off let me know!!!! jus send me an ask or a message and it’s no problem <3333)

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo x reader #matt stuniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo texts #chris sturniolo headcanon #matt sturniolo headcanon #Spotify

[nomazee]

Hello, congratulations on your milestone! 🎉

May I have (for the mix-and-match 😚) Dr.Ratio and the word-concept "bathtub"? 🫢

Take your time! ❤️❤️

this one was fun to write too (as per usual with ratio) i've written for dr ratio so much in the last two weeks i think i am becoming him.... Im slowly morphing into veritas ratio please save me... THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING this was lovely :3

my 1k event!

—°+..｡ﾟ｡ﾟ+.*.｡.—

“No way. You take bubble baths with a rubber duck?” 

Veritas freezes for no longer than a millisecond before whipping his head around to see you in the doorway of the bathroom. He’d been relaxing just moments ago, sinking into the hot water with his eyes closed, and yes there was a rubber duck in the bath with him but that was not by choice. It just happened to be there when he ran the bath, and he opens his mouth to argue but is quickly cut off by your endless rambling. 

“Anyways, I came to wash your hair. One of your assistants told me you just left in the middle of your usual work hours, and I thought, ‘wow, how odd, the Ratio I know would never do that!’ And then I thought, what better way to cheer my dear friend up than keep him company and wash his hair! It did look a little greasy today.” 

“I am not your dear friend,” he argues mockingly, but the bite in his voice falls short when you circle around the bath and set down your paraphernalia on the tiles next to you (a microfiber hair towel, shampoo, conditioner, some miscellaneous hair foams and sprays that he really does not trust you with). “You are the most insufferable person I have ever had the displeasure of knowing. Get out of my bathroom.” 

“This is our bathroom now, Ratio. We’re a community, you and me.” 

“It’s ‘you and I.’”

“Exactly! You and I, a community. You’re getting the hang of it now.” 

Veritas sighs, surrendering any potential of a relaxing evening to your whims. This is, unfortunately, how it usually goes, and he has yet to make a real effort to stop it. A voice in the back of his head taunts him because at his core, he has zero desire to stop it at all. 

“Come on,” you keep babbling, threading your fingers roughly through his already-damp hair. It’s not a pleasant sensation at all, and he winces and holds back a pained yelp. “It’s kind of like going to a spa, or whatever. I’m trying to pamper you. Be grateful!” 

“There’s nothing to be grateful about when you’re trying to scalp me,” he could push your hands away easily, bat you off and make you leave. Instead, though, he gives you a minute to tame your inelegant movements into something gentler. He hears the sound of a bottle uncapping, and then your hands are back on his scalp, lathering honey-scented shampoo into the layers of his hair. 

“Is this better?” you ask cheekily, tracing circles in his hair, digging your fingertips in and scratching just a little bit, hard enough to feel it but light enough that it’s still soothing. Veritas sighs through his nose, deep and heavy and sinking back into the water. There’s no mocking retorts, no quips, no sarcastic tone, just the even cycle of his breathing and the rhythm of his heartbeat thudding in his ears. If he tries hard enough, focuses enough, he can hear yours too, but it makes his stomach twist with an uncomfortable, unnameable feeling. 

In your bundle of things that you brought, there’s an empty plastic cup, and you use it to scoop water from the tub and rinse the foam from his hair. Veritas feels wholly exposed, for obvious reasons among others, and the urge to kick you out still sits heavy in his chest. Right next to it is a warmth, though, something holding his sensibility hostage, something that finds this more comforting than it would be if he’d sat in the bath until the water went cold, all alone, without your hands washing his hair clean of oil and grime and the weight of his research. 

You break him of his reverie, but the sudden sound of your voice isn’t as intrusive as he anticipated. “You know, you should start using this oil thing for your hair, I got it from one of my coworkers,” by now, his hair is completely rid of any remaining shampoo, and your hands are rubbing a thin layer of conditioner into the ends of each strand, “and it’s supposed to help your hair grow. I think you’d look great with long hair, Veritas, don’t you agree?” 

“What, do you think about that often?” It’s supposed to be something snarky, something to shut you down before you dig too deep, but you never catch the hint—it’s your best and worst quality. 

“Maybe,” you admit, heft in your words, a density that needs to be cut open and examined. He’s good at that—good at looking and prying, but he’s the worst if he’s next to you. You’re nowhere near as thorough of a researcher as him, but he thinks (with a sense of embarrassment) that when the subject is him, you’re the most qualified person around. “Wouldn’t it be nice? With your hair all down to your shoulders, maybe. And if you really think it’s a hassle to take care of, I’ll just do it for you.” 

He’s perfectly capable of taking care of his own hair, thank you very much, but the idea of having you wash it for him, brush out the tangles in it every other day is appealing to a starving man like Veritas. He aches, and the skin at the nape of his neck itches. 

“You’re saying nonsense,” he says, and he can feel the way his brow has tightened and he instinctively goes to chew at the dead skin on his lips. “My hair is perfectly fine the way it is.” 

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” you respond, “just giving you options.” Your hands finally leave his hair, and suddenly the water in the bathtub feels frigid and icy, and Veritas represses a shiver. “Your hair is squeaky clean. Now, get out of the bathroom! It’s my turn to hang out with the rubber duck.” 

“Would you—?!” Veritas turns to glare at you, but the impish grin on your face makes him falter. You’re incorrigible. “The duck isn’t mine! And you have your own bathroom. Stop invading my space.” 

“Sigh,” you say aloud, because you’re corny and theatrics are written into every part of your personality. “Oh, grandest Ratio, I really did think we were friends, but you wound me so deeply! All this time has meant nothing to you! All this new shampoo that I bought just for you, gone to waste…” 

“For gods’ sake,” he mutters, reaching for a set of pajamas that you’d so conveniently taken from his own dressers and brought with you while on your mission to wash his hair. “Turn around so I can get dressed and then you can use the bathroom. So annoying.” 

“Not annoying enough to kick me out, though,” you say, and you’re completely right, and Veritas will admit that one day, but certainly not today.

—°+..｡ﾟ｡ﾟ+.*.｡.—

gen taglist: @tragedy-of-commons @lasiancunin @hanyi-writes

#nora hits 1k #veritas ratio x reader #dr ratio x reader #ratio x reader #dr. ratio x reader #hsr x reader #honkai x reader #honkai star rail x reader #veritas x reader #oh veritas my beautiful annoying obnoxious scholarly man

[moon-rivr]

so real

part three of congratulations series masterlist

pairing: miguel o’hara x fem reader

contents: more angst 👹👹, depressive thoughts, use of a vape, drug addiction (rapture)

synopsis: miguel’s boss, tyler stone, offers him an.. alternative route to deal with his grief

author’s note: CAN I TALK MY SHIT AGAIN 🗣️‼️ anyways i’m sure you all knew by now but none of this is 100% canon :3

word count: 6.3k

Church bells echoed through his head time and time again, the relentless sound practically playing on cassette in his head. The sound was accompanied by the sounds of Tempest's screaming, screams of anger and fear combined. Screams that would engrave themselves into his very being, reminding him of his failures.  Why didn't you save me? I trusted you!

He patted the spot where you'd laid to him next to him, finding it empty. That was enough to wake him up from his restless slumber. He scrambled up to his feet, his mouth open to call out for you but nothing came out. All that was running through his head was the worst possible outcome, of finding you seriously injured or possibly even unconscious. The only thing he could do was listen as you called out to him: Miguel. Miguel. Miguel.

"Miguel."

"Miguel," his eyes snapped up open, realizing that was just another dream. He looked down to see that you were laying down next to him, your face grimacing as you wiggled. Oh shock. He'd clung on to you too tightly, practically almost squeezing you against his body. His grip immediately loosened, your body immediately relaxing. The loss of contact was evident even if you'd only moved a couple inches away from him.

His very being craved to be next to you, as selfish as it was. Your comfort was the only thing that he needed now, more than the very oxygen he inhaled.

"I'm sorry about that," he muttered, his voice hoarse from sleep and from all the crying he'd done just a couple hours prior. "It's okay, just go to sleep," you mumbled groggily, still half asleep. You rubbed your eyes, looking over your shoulder at him through half lidded eyes. You'd never seen him look so.. miserable. And yet, you had no idea who he couldn't save. You had no idea how to help, all that you could really do in this position was stay where you were and offer him your presence.

Sleep did not come back to him after that, despite how comfortable your body felt next to him. Every time he shut his eyes, the image of Tempest's rotting corpse came to the forefront of his mind. How no matter how hard he'd tried, he had nothing to account for that in the end. All that he had to account for the amount of effort that he'd put in was the amount of guilt within himself, the amount of blame that he placed upon himself for not doing more. Even if the rational part of his brain tried to convince him that he did the most he could.

He looked over at you, entranced by the small fall and rise of your chest as you slept comfortably next to him. The way your mouth slightly parted to let out a couple snores. Silently admiring all the little things he took for granted in the few times that he had you in his bed. Probably would be the last time that he got to see you in such a vulnerable position. "I love you too, chiquita. It's always been you," he whispered, kissing the top of your head before closing his eyes once more.

He was tempted to pull you back into his chest once he saw you stirring awake, a yawn escaping from your lips. "Morning," he spoke up as he saw you get up from the couch, stretching your arms out. You looked restless, probably from the uncomfortable position you'd been forced in. "Morning," you didn't even bother looking back at him, going over to the kitchen to get started on making a fresh pot of coffee.

Miguel leaned against your kitchen counter, his attention solely focused on every single one of your movements. The coffee pod that you'd chosen to put in the machine- a vanilla espresso. The amount of sugars and creamers that you'd set down on the counter. The slight curve of your body as you leaned against the counter, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. The way that you tried to avoid his not so subtle staring, your eyes flickering to all the small surfaces around.

"Why'd you come to me last night?" you decided to bite the bullet and ask the question that'd been rummaging through your brain all night long. For claiming to have nothing 'serious' with you, he was sure comfortable coming to your apartment at wee hours of the night. Not that you discouraged that activity by any means, though. Maybe you were more responsible than you would've liked to admit.

"Because I needed you."

"You can't do this to me. Treat me as if I'm nothing to you and then seek me out when you're at your lowest."

"I never treated you as if you were nothing to me."

"And yet, we were nothing serious? Or are you going to deny saying that?" You were expecting for him to have some kind of comeback to that, but he stared down at his coffee like it was single-handedly the most interesting thing in the world. The silence almost suffocating, you could almost see the gears turning in that big head of his.

"Look I don't know what happened but serio-"

"Tempest.. passed away last night and I couldn't save her. No matter how much I tried to."

Now that had stunned you into staying quiet, an apology at the tip of your tongue. For what, exactly? For making assumptions or to offer your condolences? Both, most likely. But before you even got the chance to open your mouth, he was already speaking again. "The engagement was a farce. She needed access to insurance and she only managed to get that through being with me."

"And you felt as though you couldn't be honest with me? I know that we've slept together and I don't know about you, but I've spent longer than that loving you," you told him, setting your coffee mug down on the kitchen counter. A stupid mug that he'd gotten for you, World's Best Girlfriend Situationship.

"Look Miguel, I get that you're going through a lot but you can't expect for me to be here only when you want me to be around. I think I deserve more than that by this point."

You were so right. The words were at the tip of his tongue, but how could he say that when he'd treated you just the way you described ever since you came back? Even if he said so, he knew that his words wouldn't be enough to convince you otherwise. He stared at you in silently, his face conveying the pain that he wouldn't dare to voice out loud. Don't fall for it. Don't. As much as you wanted to comfort him, as much as a part of you couldn't bear to see him so upset, you needed to put your own needs above his own for once.

"Finish up your coffee and grab your clothes from the drier. I'll be here when you're ready to treat me like I mean something to you, but up until that point, I don't want to see you."

Miguel tried to prolong the couple sips of coffee he had, taking a few drops every two minutes. Anything that would give him the excuse to be around you longer than he should've. "I'm sorry," he spoke up, watching as you paused in cleaning your mug before resuming. "What's the point of saying sorry if you haven't done anything to change it yet?" your words came out so hushed, his ears practically perking up. If you'd noticed that he wasn't finishing up his coffee, you hadn't bothered to say anything just yet.

Miguel lost track of how many times he'd passed the sponge by the mug, lost in his own thought. How is it possible that he lost two of the people he cared about in less than 24 hours? He could practically see his own reflection in the mug by the time he decided to put the sponge down, rinsing the suds away. He walked over to the laundry room, grabbing his clothes before making his way out of your apartment. "Bye," his words were barely audible, unable to look at you or talk to you after how the last exchange had gone.

This time around, Miguel drove with extreme caution. Almost as a way to overcompensate for his rash behavior last night. He didn't even bother slamming his hand against the wheel when a car merged onto his lane without using their turn signal. At least he didn't have to go into work until Monday, leaving him enough time to seep into his self loathing. And to think about the fact that despite the fact he'd dreamed about the day you'd move back to Nueva York to be with you, it was starting to become more and more unattainable.

He was tempted on calling out on work when Monday rolled around, saying that he needed some time to grieve. But all that he'd been doing at home was look up at the ceiling and think about different alternatives. Alternatives where he wasn't a screw up. Alternatives where his efforts actually counted towards something, where he was actually saving people. A different alternative where you didn't hate him, where he was less of an idiot to prove to you just how much you actually meant to him.

Sleep didn't come to him that easily either. He'd spend hours counting sheep and listening to white noise only to find himself groaning into his pillow. Every position proving to be futile in his restless nights, the image of seeing Tempest in that hospital practically tattooed at the back of his eyelids every time he closed them. His eyes burned from how long he’d kept them open, his head pounding as it urged for him to take at least a nap. Not that he would listen.

Awake or not, his life was starting to become a continuous torment. Every day was the same miserable cycle, though he wasn't making any effort to change it either. Maybe he deserved to feel the way he did right now. It's what he told himself anytime that he was starting to feel the numbness get overwhelming. That he didn't deserve to have some relief from this grief. The days blurred onto one another to the point where he couldn't tell the distinction between them until he looked down at his phone to check the date.

Get up. Drink coffee. Eat two bites of an overpriced sandwich he'd buy at Alchemax. Work. Close eyes. Repeat until exhaustion.

Upon grabbing a fresh lab coat from his closet, he caught a glimpse of the suit he was supposed to wear for the wedding. The wedding ceremony that would've happened tomorrow. Instead, it would now be his funeral suit. He pushed the suit to the back of his closet, pulling his dress shirts over it to conceal the fact. Just looking at it had proved to be an eyesore. He grabbed the first pair of socks that he found, not even bothering to check that they were the same pair before putting his shoes on. Spoiler alert: One was bright red and the other one was a dull purple.

He ran a hand through his messy hair, the action doing completely nothing to aid the bird's nest in his hair. Hairs stuck out from every end and there had even accumulated a gloop of dry hair gel on his scalp. He was a mess in every sense of the word. If that was even a strong enough word to describe his current state. He wasn't even sure when he bothered to take more than a five minute shower, maybe a week ago? Though he told himself that a couple days ago so he wasn't truly sure how much time had really passed.

"Puta madre," he grumbled, a couple of the comb's teeth falling from the sheer force that he'd exuded into just trying to run it through a couple strands. Miguel tugged on the comb with a bit more force, though it wouldn't go through no matter how much he wanted it to. He set down the black comb, rummaging through his cabinets to find a new one. He'd be lying if he said that the sight of seeing Tempest's stuff mixed in with his didn't make a couple tears run down his cheeks. From the halfway finished hair products to the new perfume that she was wanting to try out.

After breaking a couple more brushes, Miguel decided to give up on the effort to fix up his appearance. Not that he even needed to put that much effort, much of the interns didn't even bother to put on deodorant before they showed up. He'd completely forgotten about the work meeting that was set up for today, stepping into the room about ten minutes later. The attention of the room went to him immediately, the loud slam of the door behind him doing nothing to aid the situation. He muttered a half ass sorry before going to sit down.

Gloved fingers snapped in front of him, disrupting whatever little train of thought was coursing through his head. Miguel couldn't even bother to hide the irritation in his face as he turned to look at Aaron, raising his eyebrows as he waited for the shorter man to speak. He was almost tempted to laugh at the way that Aaron had to huff out his chest to put on an intimidating facade. Trying so very hard to present the small bit of authority that Tyler Stone had placed upon him. And failing, truthfully.

"Get your head out your ass and listen closely. Mr. Stone can't handle any mistakes in this project," Aaron's voice seemed so far away, so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Nothing that he did mattered, anyways. He couldn't keep the girl. He couldn't save anyone. Aaron's voice faded out into a low hum, a garble of technical nonsense. How the project at hand could put human lives at stake if done incorrectly and of how it could improve lives if it actually worked. Nonsense he's heard time and time again.

He didn't even realize he was dozing off, his body slumped against the rolling chair behind him. "Wake the hell up or you're fired in the next five seconds! Mr. Stone requested to see you in his office," that same damn voice that sounded like nails on a chalkboard broke him out of his slumber, a large palm slamming on the desk in front of him. Miguel grumbled as he rubbed his eyes, willing himself to wake up before getting up from his chair. He ignored the small snickers that followed after he departed the room.

Miguel took the opportunity to step into one of the bathrooms, taking the opportunity to look over himself before he appeared in front of Mr. Stone. He didn't need to receive a lecture on unprofessionalism on top of the lecture he was probably going to receive already. Not that he cared all that much, but he wasn't sure just how much more yelling he could take with the steady pounding in his head. Rumors floated around people getting fired for even looking at Mr. Stone in a way that they shouldn't have, his ruling over the company an iron fist.

He splashed some cold water on his face, rubbing his eyes to get rid of the last remnants of sleep that lingered behind. The water did nothing to aid with the redness in his eyes, the sleep deprivation apparent to anyone who would spare a second glance. Luckily enough for him, Mr. Stone couldn't care less if his mental health was deteriorating. He grabbed a bottle of eye drops from his coat pocket, squirting some of the substance into his eyes before making his way over to Mr. Stone's office.

Miguel brought his hand up to the large wooden door, knocking on it twice. He looked up to see the camera hanging above the door now pointed towards his direction, the stare from it lasting for a couple seconds than what was necessary. A loud buzz came through the large doors before they opened to reveal the space that was Mr. Stone's office. If it could even called that. While interns were forced to work downstairs in cubicles with a half-functioning air conditioner, Mr. Stone had a tiger rug placed in the center of the room.

Miguel almost felt bad for getting the floor dirty, his eyes shifting to what else the office had to offer. Large windows that went from the top of the wall down to the floor, presenting a perfect view of the Nueva York skyline. The sunlight coming through the windows reflected onto the gold podiums that he had set up, the sight almost painful to look at. Mr. Stone turned around in the rolling chair he was on in a villainous fashion. Miguel was almost surprised that he didn't have a white cat on his lap to finish up the touch.

"O'Hara, right?" While Aaron tried so hard to exude power he didn't have, all Mr. Stone had to do was speak. He could almost feel the temperature drop a couple degrees from the sheer coldness of his voice. "That's me, sir. I heard you wanted to see me," Miguel spoke up, clearing his throat. He stood at a distance, not making the slightest attempt to move closer unless Mr. Stone asked for him to do so. Mr. Stone stayed quiet for a couple seconds, analyzing him carefully from head to toe before speaking,

"We're testing out a new drug at the facility. It's completely safe for consumption and I believe it's what you need to get over this grieving period."

"Excuse me?" It was the first time that Miguel had heard of an employer actually promoting the usage of drugs, though it was no secret that a majority of Wall Street in Nueva York was high off cocaine just to get through business meetings. He expected Mr. Stone to tell him that it was a test, to see if he would take the bait but all he got in return was more silence from the man. Suddenly, he stood up and dusted off his suit. A suit that probably cost more than his apartment building if he had to guess. "Please, follow me. I have something to show you."

Tyler unlocked a steel door with his ID badge, the temperature inside the room enough to make Miguel shiver underneath the thin white lab coat he had on. He wanted to turn around, tell Tyler that he wasn't interested in this anymore but a green vial was placed in the palm of his hand. "Look, I'm not telling you that you need to take it but just know that we have the resources here to help you," Tyler really was trying to amp up this caring persona up to the max with his soft way of talking.

"Just think about it, okay? You have full access to this center of the facility from now on in case you do end up taking it," Tyler finished up as the two of them stepped out of the room, leaving Miguel with a decision to make. A decision that had he been in the right state of mind wouldn't even be up for debate at all. And yet, here he was actually considering going through with what Mr. Stone had told him. By the time that Miguel came back to the conference office, he found the room void of anything other than the things he left behind. He stuffed the vial deep into his pocket before going to pick up his things.

Miguel held the vial between his thumb and pointer finger, analyzing what he could about the drug. From what he could discern from the bottle, the drug didn't seem too different from over the counter pain prescriptions. But he's seen things over the months, seen the way that Alchemax deliberately failed to mention certain ingredients just to get FDA approval. The way that they put human safety at the bottom of their priority list, funding for research at the top. Of the experiments locked away in the basement begging for some kind of mercy, for the chemicals to stop making every breath impossible.

And yet, with that doubt in his mind, he injected the drug into the first vein that he could find on his arm. The pounding in his head dissipated to a low hum, the pressure from his body relieved. He felt the best he had in days, the exhaustion from his body was something of the past. He felt like he was on top of the world, like he was able to run a marathon and win first place. Everything seemed much easier now, making him even wonder what he was even depressed about. There was truly nothing else that could replicate the blissful feeling inside of him.

Funny to think about how he'd gotten on his brother for having a vape a few years back. A 'Very Juicy Mango Pod' that was on the market for lasting longer than normal vapes. Half the school had been indulging in those substances just to get through the day, something that he hadn't dabbled in and quite frankly would never dabble in. He hated that feeling, the feeling of having no control over his body. Of only being susceptible to that temporary euphoria. The feeling of only having relief with one hit of those things.

"You know that stuff's gonna fuck up your lungs, right?" His tone was condescending, only because he truly did care about Gabriel. He wafted the thick smoke blown at his face, his eyes narrowing slightly upon seeing the stupid grin on Gabriel's face. "That's just a rumor, hermanito. You can't really say anything until you try it out," Gabriel retorted, dangling the small bar in front of him. Miguel took the vape from his hands after what seemed to the forth dangle, hesitantly bringing it to his lips. He inhaled, the smoke traveling down to his lungs immediately.

He coughed, his body immediately rejecting the substance. How anyone liked that stuff was beyond him. He practically tossed it back to Gabriel, the touch of the bar almost enough to disgust him. "Just.. don't get hooked on that stuff, I care about you too much to lose you," Miguel told Gabriel, sitting down next to him. It was one of the couple times where he expressed love for his brother verbally rather than letting his actions do the talking. "I know and I won't, I promise," Gabriel's voice was full of determination, an arm slung around Miguel's shoulders.

The next morning when he woke up to go to school, he found Gabriel's small stash of pods and bars tossed in the depths of trash can. Some of which he'd barely bought at an outrageously high price from a plug. Though when Miguel had asked him about it, Gabriel simply shrugged it off like it was nothing. "I don't want to give you reasons to worry about me. You do that enough as it is," Gabriel assured him, letting him know that he'd done him a favor. "I know it was hard but thank you," Miguel told him, the two going out for lunch after school that day.

The low hit him harder than he could've expected. It hit him when he was at home, watching the news on TV. The reporter was babbling about some robbery that happened on 54th Avenue, but all he could think about was when he would be able to get his next fix of the damned drug. His mouth practically salivated at the idea of having it in his system once more. Within that need however, there also resided a deep feeling of guilt. A guilt that was clawing him from the inside out, yelling at him to stop what he was doing. That Tempest, his mother, Gabriel, and you would all be disappointed in what he was doing.

"Shut up, shut up!" He yelled at nothing in particular, tossing his remote control at the TV with more force than necessary. The TV changed into an array of colors before shifting into black and white, the remote almost cracking the screen upon further inspection. He paced around his living room floor, the pounding in his heart difficult to ignore. Sweat dripped down from his forehead despite the fact that he turned the AC to the lowest he could without freezing to death, his body begging for just one more hit. Just one.

The urge to have more of that small green vial overwhelmed every sense of his being. Just five minutes without the drug made him feel like he was drowning. He thought he felt pathetic before but this was a new low even for him. Sitting down on his bathroom floor, injecting a fresh vial of Rapture just so he wouldn't feel like he was completely losing his mind. It didn't even feel pleasurable as it did the first time, but it did help with bringing back his body to stable levels. It helped him to forget the small voice in his head that was screaming at him to be rational.

The red beaming light from the camera placed on the steel ceilings of the laboratory seemed to mock him every time that he approached the storage room. Despite how many cameras were placed across the laboratory, he couldn't help but feel that this one was zeroing in on every movement he made. On every new vial that he grabbed. Almost as if Mr. Stone was checking up on him, checking to see if he fell for his carefully woven trap. And he did. His pockets were stuffed full of vials, trying to assure that he wouldn't have to go without them.

He was starting to become a brainless zombie. Coming into work with the illusion that he'd be able sneak in a couple vials of Rapture during his lunch break without capturing anyone's attention. Though, rumors had been starting to circulate. Hushed whispers about how the one with the most promise at Alchemax was now a drug addicted fiend. Not that anyone would ever said that to say his face, the whispers died down every time he was in close proximity.

“Hey, have you talked to Miguel recently? He hasn’t been answering my calls and that’s just not like him, y’know?” Gabriel called to ask you around three in the morning. Clearly the brothers had a taste for waking you up at the ass crack of dawn. “No, I haven’t. I haven’t talked to him in like three weeks, I wanna say. Let me know if you hear from him though,” you responded, rubbing your eyes as you tried to stay awake for Gabriel’s sake. “I will, thank you. And please, don’t give up on him. I know he’s an idiot but his heart’s in the right place.”

You looked down at Miguel’s contact information, wondering if you should call him. You did tell him to leave you alone if he wasn’t willing to prove himself to you. And if he hasn’t answered his own brother’s phone calls, then why should he answer yours? After letting the thought seep in, you decided to dial his number. You were hoping for some kind of miracle, that you’d be the one he would make an exception for. “Please leave your message after the beep. BEEP!” Was the only response you received though.

“Hey, I know I said I wasn’t going to talk to you but please call me or Gabriel. Just let us know you’re alive, please. He’s really worried about you. Okay, well I hope you’re taking care of yourself. Bye.”

Calls from Gabriel went unanswered along with the thousand voice messages that he'd left, asking him how he was and expressing concern for him. "Llámame cabron, que estoy preocupado por ti.” I've asked around and no one's heard from you in a couple days. For your sake, I hope you're not dead in a ditch," was what the last message had transcribed to, Gabriel's voice a pitch higher. Usually, Miguel wouldn't have let his brother worry this much about him but he couldn't feign being sober to save his life.

He couldn't take it anymore. The urge that he had to feel that high, even for a couple seconds only to end up feeling like complete crap after he'd taken it. The lows were what got him to get up and inject that poison into his system, the thoughts in his head too much to bear. If he thought that it was bad before the drugs, it was much more worse now. The images of Tempest were much more vivid now, he could practically feel her cold fingers on his skin as she pleaded him for something. He couldn't make out what that something was, it was just an endless string of 'please.'

He was taking the drug more so out of obligation. His body goes cold after a few minutes of sobriety, trembling as his grip on reality starts to waver. The drug offered him shorter periods of relief with every new vial that he inserted into his body, but it offered him some kind of relief. Even if it was just fifteen minutes of letting him forget about the misery that his life was. It wasn't until he looked at his reflection in the mirror that he realized how truly screwed he was, how much he'd been disregarding his own health.

Miguel could hardly recognize the man staring back at him in the mirror. He let out a small gasp when he stuck his hand out, his reflection meeting him halfway. Was this what he had become? His eyes lacked any signs of energy, dark circles ringing underneath. He wasn't even sure when was the last time he managed to sleep more than twenty minutes at a time. His stubble was in patches, a couple splotches of red skin from the scratching he had been doing. He couldn't take looking at this stranger anymore. He punched the mirror out of fury, the pieces shattering below him.

What haunted him the most about looking down at those pieces is that he still saw the reflection of that stranger looking back at him.

After doing some extensive research on all the chemicals that Rapture contained, he came to a conclusion that he already knew at the back of his head. There was no way to break the addiction, not without death involved at least. The drug was unlike any others that he'd seen, the chemical components much higher than some of the hardcore drugs on the market. It changed his genetic makeup to the point where he needed the drug as much as he needed oxygen to breathe. Even slow withdrawals from the drug was a guaranteed death. Every treatment was futile against said drug.

Miguel didn't even want to think about what Mr. Stone was capable of doing if he caught whiff that he was trying to break loose from the viscous cycle he was in. He seemed so eager to get Miguel to take the drug, surely he must've known what effects the drug would take on his body. All the research that he did was on a private network in the safety of his apartment, where he could keep the information safe. He'd come up with one final conclusion, that he needed to change his genetic component back to what it was before getting hooked on Rapture.

Maybe he shouldn't have been so cocky in his own abilities. He really should've done more research on what the dangers of altering his DNA would be. Though, anything would be a relief from the constant nagging in his head for more. More. More. More. The straps on the side of the capsule he was standing in secured him into place, a low hum from the machine next to him indicating that it was ready to start. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, all while hoping for the best and expecting the worst. Though, anything would be better than what he was going through right now.

Aaron truly didn't expect anyone else to be at the lab at this hour, even the workaholics at the lab had their limits. He was there to pick up a couple files that he needed for one of the reports Mr. Stone had asked for, but how could he possibly miss out on this opportunity that just presented to him so perfectly? Even through the green rays of the machine, he could see Miguel O'Hara standing there in his full glory. Attempting not to grimace from the burning sensation coursing through his very veins. Oh, how'd he dreamed of this moment.

All the times Miguel poked fun at him, the times that he'd belittled his work, and all the times that he'd managed to outshine him were the perfect motivation for Aaron to code spider DNA into the system. See how he likes that. The studies on animal DNA altering humans wasn't promising, a 99.999% mortality rate as of yet. He didn't care. Nobody would find out about what he'd done, he knew Mr. Stone would remove all the security footage if it came to that point. He amped up the machine to the max, staring at the capsule eagerly.

Agonizing screams followed soon after Aaron departed from the scene, a traitorous laugh escaping from his throat upon realizing what he'd done. "AARON!" Miguel's yells echoed into the steel hallways, bouncing off the walls though Aaron was less the wiser. It was truthfully the best melody that Aaron had heard in his life, hearing one of the men he hated the most cry out for help without actually receiving any aid. "WHAT DID YOU DO?!" Miguel's voice was raw from the screaming he'd been doing. The machine beeped loudly, indicating that the genetic splicing was now finished.

Miguel stepped out of the chamber, wobbling and stumbling through the laboratory floor before touching what he assumed was a table. He gripped the edges of the table, blinking rapidly to ease the blurriness that clouded his vision. Everything felt odd. His body didn't feel like it belonged to him, it felt like it belonged to some monster. Long claws protruded from his fingers, scratching the table the harder he tried to hold onto. He ran his tongue through his teeth, letting out a small groan upon feeling a sharp sensation on the side.

Fangs..? No, he must be daydreaming. Some after effect of long term exposure to Rapture. And yet, no matter how hard he tried to wake up from this torment, he remained still. Footsteps pattered in the hallways, a reminder that someone else had been witness to this situation. Miguel ran faster than he was ever able to, tackling Aaron onto the ground in a matter of mere seconds. Miguel gripped Aaron's arms above his head, paying no attention to the sound of ripping flesh. All that Miguel knew is that he needed answers and he needed them now.

"What the hell did you put in me?!" The accusation didn't come out the way he expected it to, a lisp in his words. Aaron winced in pain from the prickles that Miguel was inducing with his claws, a self satisfied smirk on his face at seeing what he'd managed to reduce the man to nonetheless. "ANSWER ME!" Miguel's voice boomed through the empty hallways, echoing throughout the dead of night. He swore that the vein throbbing in his forehead was about to pop the second that he saw Aaron laughing.

Miguel tossed Aaron to the side without any regard to where he landed, going back to the lab to look for any hints of what Aaron had coded into the system. He went back to the previous code, seeing that some form of spider DNA had been entered into the system. He shouldn't even be alive right now. Not when all the other people who'd gone through this procedure morphed into a version of the creature before ultimately exploding. His head was spinning with the realization, not even bothering to notice the fact that he didn't need the drug anymore.

He looked down at his phone, his finger hovering above your contact name as he debated on whether or not he should call you. Before he got the chance to make a decision though, police sirens blared loudly out of the building. The sound seemed to rattle his head, his ears all too sensitive to the sound. Miguel got down on his knees, pressing his hands to his ears in hopes that it would alleviate with the pain. It did not. All he could do was hope that the sound would soon go away while he curled up into a ball.

"NYPD! Come outside with your hands up!" A man's voice boomed through a loudspeaker. Miguel looked around, trying to find a way out of the facility. He could hear the boot stomps from the first floor, every possible exit blockaded by the police. So he did the most logical thing he could think of. He jumped out of the window and swung? Wait, what? Sure enough, he looked down at his wrists to see a small pocket shooting out white webs. Though, he really should've been paying more attention to the sights in front of him.

THUMP

He crashed face first into a building, a measly web falling from his wrist next to him.

taglist 🫶🏼: @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @lazyjellyfish300 @pxtched @nympholove @ifiwasaguybrickedup @nixinluv02 @hislastbimbogff @lizaistewdelulu @swiftiegirliepop @1800-get-alife @cl3stevu @mvlanchqly @tomalymme @boringpersonality @laysmt @scaryplanetdestroyer @crimin4llyins4ne @cheerrioeoz @peachey-pie @scaleniusrm @simpinonyouz @lauraolar14 @nediks @ayamaiis @iheartlinds (unsure if y’all still wanted to be tagged again so i just did. but pls lmk if you wanna b removed 🙏🏼)

#moon-rivr #Spotify #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara angst #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara au #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel o’hara fanfic #miguel o’hara fanfiction #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 smut #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 atsv #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel ohara fic #miguel ohara smut #miguel ohara angst #miguel o’hara spiderverse #miguel o’hara self insert #miguel o’hara spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel spider man 2099 #miguel spiderman #miguel o’hara across the spider verse #angst

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Hear ye, hear ye! I come with a spicy request most worthy of a several year sentence in Horny jail! XD

Bottom villain x top hero, where the two are in an enemies with benefits kinda situationship, and this time seems like it’s gonna be no different (rough and kinda mean). But then, gasp, it’s revealed the villain was recently injured, and the hero gets pretty concerned. The villain insists on things continuing as normal, but the hero, not wanting to hurt their nemesis, changes things up, and does em sweet, slow, and gentle <3

“Ready?” All it took was this one word to activate the villain’s entire nervous system.

Usually, the hero didn’t lose many words over this. It was quick and rough. For the most part, that made it desirable. Sleeping with the enemy was thrilling and more or less like an adrenaline kick for the villain. It was a luxury they could afford. It didn’t mean anything. It didn’t have to either.

The hero was proficient and smart. They had figured out what the villain liked and what they didn’t like in the first few hookups they had spent together. If it hadn’t been for their stupid righteousness and their sense of justice that would never be just, they would’ve probably made a great partner. In bed at least.

Admittedly, the villain had thought about that a few times. Would the hero be a good lover? Someone who was willing to save everyone if they could? Someone who would put others before themselves constantly? Someone who may choose a city over a person?

After all, probably not. And even if they were, who would want the villain? Someone rotten, someone broken, someone—

“You’re distracted.”

“Oh, yes. Yeah, sorry.” The hero’s hand ran along the villain’s inner thigh and even though the stitches should have been good enough, the villain was nervous.

How on earth was anyone supposed to stitch the back of their thigh anyway?

They grabbed the hero’s muscly shoulders and tried to steady themselves.

“Alright.” The hero’s hand travelled down the villain’s thigh until they reached their knee. From there, they grabbed the hollow of the villain’s knee. “I have a meeting in an hour, so I’ll need to be quick today.”

“Yes, of course,” the villain said. They watched as the hero handled their leg and put it on their own shoulder. Cold air hit their shin but they knew in a few seconds, they wouldn’t even need the blanket anymore. The villain swallowed and prayed the hero wouldn’t notice the stitches.

Although they pressed a soft kiss to the villain’s thigh, they barely broke eye contact. Immediately, the villain felt the blood rush to their head.

Sometimes they really needed the hero.

After a few more kisses, the hero leaned forward until the villain’s thigh was pressed between their naked chests. They were close again, close enough to kiss but the villain knew their nemesis never really did that. Kissing their body? Sure. Kissing the villain? On good days, maybe.

The villain found the position familiar and yet, their wound made it nearly impossible to enjoy it.

Eventually they pulled the hero closer, waiting for them to push themselves into them.

However. The thread snapped and the villain could feel how the wound ripped open again.

They let out an involuntary sigh and held onto the villain’s back. Accidentally, they left scratch marks on their enemy’s skin.

“Wait, I haven’t even…”

“No, it’s fine, sorry. Continue. Please,” the villain choked out between clenched teeth.

“Oh…wait, holy shit.” The hero looked down and all the villain had to see was smeared blood on the hero’s hand. “Was that me!?”

“Nononono, I’m so sorry. That was yesterday.”

“I’m gonna get a towel.”

“No.” The villain grabbed them before they could go. “I look forward to this day every week. Let’s just finish this quickly, the bleeding isn’t even that bad.”

“Listen, I know you’re strong but…” The hero put their hand on the cut to stop the bleeding. It wasn’t too bad but the pain was still excruciating. “…having sex while bleeding is counterproductive.”

“We’re already naked and you don’t have much time left.”

“I can cancel my meeting.”

“Please, let’s just—”

“As stubborn as ever, I suppose.” The hero made an expression close to a warm smile and at first, the villain didn’t quite understand. However, when the hero pushed the blanket against the wound and themselves into the villain at the same time, the villain couldn’t help but moan happily.

The hero’s fingers were gentler and their movements slower than usual. As if the villain was something very delicate.

“This is stupid,” the hero whispered. “Tell me if anything’s wrong.”

But the villain could barely listen. Despite the pulsating wound in their leg, they could only concentrate on the sweet pleasure the hero was giving them. It felt better than expected.

And then the hero leaned over, pressure still on the wound, to kiss them.

The villain had never felt this desired in their entire life. Their heart was pounding in their chest when they felt the hero’s tongue in their mouth.

They didn’t demand anything, they didn’t take anything. It was simple and raw pleasure that the hero gave them. As if they’d been waiting for this.

“You’re so stupid, do you know that?” the hero whispered against the villain’s skin when they had to catch new air.

“Oh, I—” The villain couldn’t even form a sentence. Their enemy was hitting good spots constantly. Instinctively, they reached for the hero’s neck to pull them closer.

“Promise me to tell me next time, got it?” the hero asked. They planted a trail of kisses down the villain’s throat and sucked on their skin softly.

“If you treat me like this again,” the villain answered between moans. They couldn’t think anymore. It felt better than it should have.

It felt good enough to fall in love.

The villain wanted to hate them for it. For their gentleness and their sweet voice but all the villain had on their mind was their nemesis on top of them.

“Every night, if you want to,” the hero promised. They smiled against the villain’s skin.

“I love you,” the villain mumbled. They hadn’t realised it. They wouldn’t even remember it.

But the hero would remember. And it was all they could think about for the next few months.

#your mouth is moving a lot like a rat. yappa yappa yappa #writing snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroxvillain snippet #heroes and villains #hero #villain #hero x villain #heroxvillain #an answer for an ask #request #suggestive #whump #h/c

[disneyprincemuke]

wasted like all my potential * fem!driver

jury's out: everything officially fucking sucks

pairings: liam lawson x fem!driver, oscar piastri x fem!driver, logan sargeant x fem!driver

notes: again i apologise for this taking so long apparently now that I'm kinda mentally no longer struggling with a 12k assignment, I've lost all feels to hurt rocky but no woRRIES IT'S COMING TO AN END SOON

(series masterlist) | (📂 2025: fall from grace)

(prev)

just another day listening to her team explaining another change to the car and another day where she hopes that it all works out in her favour.

she glances out the window of the meeting room, finding the usual corner that’s typically occupied by matt, still empty. she sinks in her seat and folds her arms over her chest as she desperately tries to dial herself back into the meeting.

she catches liam’s eye across the table, the kiwi lifting his eyebrows with a small nod to acknowledge her. she smiles tiredly at him before sucking in a deep breath and returning her gaze to the empty table in front of her.

it’s just another weekend where she tries to save both her and the team’s faces. how long can she keep up the act of having things together in front of the media?

something’s gotta give.

when the meeting ends, she simply picks herself up and is the first one out of the room. sebastian, who’d been sitting next to her, simply sighed to himself as she walked out.

it’s been so difficult to get a grasp of her lately. it’s not just something only he’s noticed, it’s happening to everybody else in the team. since they’d touched down at the airport for the race weekend, it’s even a miracle to get her attention for 5 minutes.

she’s always reserved or simply preferred her own company.

it’s apparent with every single person she interacts with. the girl used to be able to uphold a conversation by her talking alone, but now everything’s minimal. conversations never last more than a minute and she’s always found in her driver’s room by herself.

at first, he concluded that she was unhappy with him. which, would be perfectly fine, seeing the current state of her race weekends. he’s more shocked that she hasn’t blown up in front of him yet.

not a single scream, an utter of frustration… not even a tear shed in half a year and truthfully, it’s almost worrying.

“you’ve got to tell her before she finds out from elsewhere,” sebastian mutters, patting liam on the back as they leave the room. “she’ll be even angrier if it doesn’t come from you.”

“have you spoken to her lately? i don’t think i’ll even get a reaction out of her,” liam whispers back, pointing at the girl walking up the stairs by herself with her head hung low. “do you have any idea how difficult it is to speak to her?”

“yes,” sebastian says with a scowl, “i literally talk to her every weekend.”

liam gives him a knowing stare. “then you should know how unreachable she is nowadays.” he pushes sebastian in the direction of the stairs. “maybe you should speak with her first before i go in there.”

sebastian scoffs, stumbling forward. he turns around and stands next to liam again. “no way. you’re not sending me in there to fight a war by myself.”

“do i really have to? can’t she just find out like everybody else if it goes through?” liam scowls with a sarcastic laugh when sebastian nods.

sebastian pushes him forward. “go and tell her before the media gets a hold of these things and leaks it before you get the chance to break the news yourself,” sebastian says. “let’s not cause a commotion where it’s not needed.”

“fine,” liam mutters, stomping a foot on the ground. he fixes his team shirt and sucks in a deep breath, trying to rehearse his lines in his head. it’s one thing to get the courage to speak to her nowadays, but being the bearer of somewhat bad news is an entirely different situation.

he takes a step forward and looks back at sebastian, throwing him a mean glare. meanwhile, the older man just flashes him a bright smile and an encouraging nod.

he runs up the stairs and calls out to her. the girl stops and turns around. her straight face almost makes liam jump back, not expecting to be greeted so suddenly.

“yes?”

“i uh,” liam huffs and straightens his shirt, “i need to talk to you.”

she tilts her head, “is everything okay?”

liam smiles. seems like he’s caught her at a great time, which should make this slightly easier. “of course. i just need to tell you something; it’s important.”

“oh,” she raises her eyebrows and points down the hallway, “do you want to sit down and talk about it? that serious?”

he shakes his head. he just doesn’t want her to burst out at him. especially that he’s not one to know how to handle her if she breaks. “i can just tell you now,” he shrugs, making his way up the steps to meet her at the top. “but i want you to know that it’s nothing personal.”

nothing personal. so it has something to do with her? she feels her heart start to race in her chest and the room starts to spin. she bites down on her lip and starts to pick at the skin around her nails. “did i do something?”

“no,” liam shakes his head. “what? no, you didn’t do anything. is everything okay?”

she blinks, “yeah, why?”

liam sucks in a deep breath and eventually decides to brush it off. “well, i wanted to let you know that i’m getting offers from other teams for next season.”

he watches her expression change, contorting into an expression he’s not quite sure how to decipher it. so he quickly tries to undo it. “i haven’t signed anything yet. but you know… with the year we’re having, i want to keep my options open. i’ll tell you if something catches my eye.”

he stumbles back, not even realising that she’d made her way down to him, throwing her arms around him. “i’m so happy for you, liam. you deserve to have options.”

he looks down at her body, tightly clinging onto him. “really?”

“of course.” she takes a step back and pats his chest. “you’re the best teammate ever. any team would be lucky to have you as their driver.”

she climbs out of her car with a grumble, half annoyed and half amused. amused that her luck has continued its plummet with every weekend she spends in on a track.

she snarls down at her car as she tears her helmet off her head. “you’re a stupid car,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “you’ll never be anything like last year’s car. you suck.”

she is fully aware of how crazy she sounds, and looks, telling an inanimate object off. but as of late, it seems those are the only things she can vent to that won’t turn its back on her. the only thing that won’t retaliate when she needs to scream at it.

“if i could kick you, i would,” she mutters with a scowl. “i’d break you apart like a fucking lego set if it wouldn’t get me fired.”

she feels a tap on her shoulder, whirling around to find sebastian smiling at her and her phone held in the air.

“matt’s calling you.” she nods and reaches out for her phone but he pulls it back at the last second. “are you okay? i know quali wasn’t as good as we hoped for, but they’re looking into it to make the car better for tomorrow.”

“seb,” she sighs, shaking her head with a disappointed frown, “you say that every weekend we’re in here. are you not sick of saying that?”

he drops his hand. “well, one of us needs to keep our head up with this season we’re having.” he smiles slightly and offers her the ringing phone. “you shouldn’t let it get to you — you’re still a great driver.”

“that’s not what it feels like lately,” she mutters, grabbing her phone from sebastian. “i should be able to make a car work. it shouldn’t matter if it’s good or bad.” she glances down at her buzzing phone, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. she presses the decline button. “i’ll be at the media pen if you need me.”

she watches from the window in her driver’s room, her friends all gathered up, walking towards the gantries to exit the paddocks. they’re leaving to head for dinner without her after she’d refused their offer again.

oscar had approached her in the media pen to invite her out for dinner with them but she’d just not been feeling it. which would make this the 5th invitation that she’s rejected in 11 race weekends. oscar didn’t force her anymore; just simply shrugged and took her ‘no’ as it is.

which somehow made her feel even worse. which is even funnier, considering that just 2 races ago, she’d been wishing for her friends to invite her out after days in the paddocks. but there was something about her best friend taking her answer point blank without another word.

it feels so… isolating.

what if they’ve finally gotten tired of her rejection? what if they’re tired of her?

she whirls around to face her room. it’s messier than she’d usually keep it, her team shirts are lazily hung on the back of her chair and the sofa, her makeup is sprawled messily all over the table with a half-empty coffee cup that she had silently with sebastian for a strategy meeting.

the framed picture of her and sebastian is up on the wall again, with some attempt from sebastian to help her put it up again. she wishes that he’d never offered to help her put it back up. every time she looks at it, she remembers all her former glory and how far she’s fallen now.

and by meeting, she means that he spoke the entire time while she sat there nodding and smiling politely while thinking about how bad the car would be once she got in it.

and liam is leaving. well, he’s not technically leaving yet but seeing how their year keeps going down, it’s likely that he would. and she’s got a contract for another 3 years — where the hell is she going to go? nowhere because she has to stay here.

but everyone seems to be leaving her after her behaviour. but it’s hard to stop feeling this way.

how can she not feel this way?

if liam’s finished in the top 5 in the race and she’s out of the points, what does that mean for her? she’s just half the driver she was, she thinks.

she finds herself in the bar after feeling the need to be here. liam now holds the record for the highest finish for her team this season, after all. and she’s not about to be labelled a sore loser by not being here at all.

though she could almost predict being the talk of the town with her tucking herself in the corner of the club half the time they spent in there. people always find a way to vilify her actions anyway.

but in a way, she shouldn’t have come out of her hotel room. she shouldn’t have gone anywhere knowing her state of mind. she hasn’t had a drop of liquor in her system for a hot minute, but the minute she was reminded of its glorious taste, she couldn’t hold herself back.

she’s on her knees in the back alley of the club they’d dragged her to, hands planted on the gravel as she struggles to hold herself over the drainage. she takes deep breaths to steady herself, blinking in desperation to steady herself.

“fuck.” she shuts her eyes momentarily, taking another deep breath as she feels a sob and another urge to vomit. moreover, her chest hurts. could it be from drinking too much too fast or is it something deeper than that? she can never tell.

“hey, you’ve been– rocky?”

“don’t,” she sobs, holding a hand up quickly to stop whatever else could have come out of the man’s mouth. she balls her hands against the gravel, the pain of dragging her skin against the rough material doesn’t register, but it does cut into her skin. “whatever you’re going to say, keep it to yourself.”

she feels a warm hand rubbing circles on her back and suddenly there’s someone kneeling on the ground next to her. she feels her hair getting brushed back, held into a makeshift ponytail. “i won’t,” liam mutters, slouching slightly. “what do you need? a glass of water? do you need me to take you back to the hotel?”

she shakes her head as another heavy sigh passes her lips. “i don’t know.”

“i’m going to get you a glass of water from the club, okay?” liam hums, squeezing her hand. “please don’t go anywhere. i’ll only be away for a second, stay conscious.”

she nods through staggered breaths. her hair falls past her shoulders to cover her face and the warm hand on her back is replaced by the cold wind.

she grabs liam’s arm just before he gets up. “don’t tell anyone about this.” she turns slightly. her red eyes and puffed cheeks almost made liam want to stay and cradle her until she felt better then and there. “please.”

there’s something about seeing someone — her, specifically — get wasted. she’s always prided herself as someone who can take her liquor, so this was a whole new look that, honestly, he didn’t want to get used to.

how exactly do you try and relight the spark in someone who seems to dwindle away with every weekend that passes?

he doesn’t ever speak up, but he spends the most time with her out of everyone at this point in their lives. he knows; he notices. it’s hard not to when the tension in the air always seems so heavy.

liam nods. “of course.”

“i’m going to miss you,” she says with a frown, resting on her knees. she unzips the pet carrier and she cups kidnapper’s cheeks and tenderly pets his head. “i just need some time but i can’t take care of you right now.”

the cat simply tilts his head and tenderly lifts its head to rub the top of his head on her cheek. she wraps her arms around kidnapper and sighs.

she knew the day would come, sooner or later, that she couldn’t really take care of kidnapper. sure, he makes her apartment feel less isolated but it’s slowly becoming harder to take care of herself and the cat alike.

there are hours when it feels like a task to get herself out of bed for herself. much less for a cat that depends on her to be taken care of.

so she zips up the carrier and wipes her tears off her face. she composes herself before she forces herself to her feet. she knocks on the door and waits for an answer.

“must be someone we know if you’re not barking!” she hears logan laugh, followed by footsteps and then stubby’s loud footsteps against the hardwood flooring of his apartment.

the door opens, revealing logan in his pyjamas with a small grin. right by his feet is stubby, wagging his tail happily at her with a large smile and hopping on the spot at her sight and scent. “rocky,” he says in surprise with a small grin.

he wouldn’t have been so surprised if she’d been easier to reach lately. but in the passing weeks, it seems that she’s started to pull away from him and oscar.

it’s always a nice surprise when she shows up to his apartment unannounced. but with the familiar carrier by her feet, it makes him wonder what really brings her here. especially considering that she’s practically gone off the grid every single time they’re not in the paddocks for a race weekend.

she completely ignores their messages.

“what are you doing here?”

she had a whole speech prepared the entire time she walked over to his apartment building. a lie about needing him to take care of kidnapper for her while she spent the next couple of weeks in the states with matt.

but she ends up with, “i need someone to take care of kidnapper.”

“of course,” logan grins, tilting his head. “is everything okay? have you been crying?”

“watched a sad movie before coming here,” she forces a laugh out of herself, pointing at the carrier. “you don’t mind, do you? just a couple of weeks — i’m going out of town.”

she wasn’t expecting to make conversation with logan. in fact, that’s the entire reason she’d planned a speech prior to coming here with her cat in tow.

“we don’t mind,” he smiles. “arkansas with matt’s family, i suppose?”

she nods, “yeah.”

how exactly do you talk to your best friend who feels like she’s always a thousand miles away? “well, um,” logan hums, “do you want to come in for a drink? maybe a snack?”

she should accept the offer. “i’m leaving tonight, actually. i still have a lot of packing to do,” she feigns a frown, “maybe after i get back?”

logan nods with a grin. “sure. take care, dude, and have fun.”

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @vellicora @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @33-81 @darleneslane @nikfigueiredo @happy-nico @namgification @localwhoore @c-losur3 @notawc @sadg3 @kazuha-pista-badam @mellowarcadefun @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @woozarts @meadhbhcavanagh @2bormaybenot @a-disturbing-self-reflection @mclarengf @xoscar03 @nomie-11 @green-thots @tinyhrry @inejismywife @love4lando @louvrepool

#sebastian vettel x reader #logan sargeant x reader #liam lawson x reader #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 grid x reader #f1 female driver #formula one x reader #fem!driver #f1 fem!driver #female driver #disneyprincemuke vr #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1 #vettel reincarnate

[songsbygumi]

Don’t sit down ‘cause I moved your chair

| Megumi x reader

Summary- "Expect the unexpected; Kugisaki and Panda are on a mission to get Megumi and you together. The two times, Nobara and Panda set you two up, and the one time they didn't need to do it."

Warnings - reader use a skirt, use of Y/N one time, poor english, one mention of the pronoun her I think its just once I can change it tho.

A/N- This is part of the universe of 'Suck It and See' inspired by Arctic Monkeys' album and Alex Turner's 'Submarine' EP.

Panda didn’t mean to snoop on Maki. I mean, come on, he was just chilling in the classroom waiting for the class to start when Maki barged in, shouting something like, “At this point, we should lock her with Fushiguro in a closet and hope she makes a move.” It took Panda less than five seconds to figure out that the 'her' Maki was talking about was you. He watched Maki leave the room, still clueless about his presence, chatting away with who he thought was Yuta on the phone.

Panda didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but now that he knows, he has to tell Kugisaki, right?

“I think Y/n likes Fushiguro,” Kugisaki eyes widening as she connected the dots in her head. Everything suddenly made sense: how you get all flustered around him, how you always save him the last juice he loves at breakfast and give it to Inumaki to put it in Fushiguro's usual spot, how your face slightly drops when he mentions the date he had with the girl from the coffee shop, your eyes going soft when he talks, and Maki always trying to pair you two up for training. “I think they'd be a great match,” Panda adds, and they both grinned.

I

You have been waiting for an hour now outside the cinema. Fantastic Beasts is about to start, and Panda isn’t responding to his phone. You were supposed to meet here after spending your day at the shopping center.

“Hey Panda, I am at the entrance. The movie starts in fifteen minutes; you should hurry.” This is the fifth voice message you have left him. With a sigh, you turn your head to the street to see if you can catch him making his way to the theater, and that’s when you feel a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey,” you froze. It couldn’t be. You turned to face him. “Hi,” you blurted out, realizing Megumi Fushiguro stood before you, looking as gorgeous as always, his school uniform replaced by jeans and a hoodie. “Panda told me to let you know he couldn’t make it, but we can still go in if you want,” he offered.

You nodded following him inside, feeling like a little kid. “Ye...ah, cool, fuck Panda” you muttered behind him.

Did Panda invite him without telling you? Does Panda know about you liking him? You couldn’t say for sure.

“I didn’t know you were into Harry Potter,” he remarked, waiting for you. “Yeah... I’m kinda obsessed,” you admitted, blushing a bit, earning a chuckle from Megumi. “I'm kinda obsessed too,” he revealed, grabbing the tickets. You smiled, appreciating his easygoing vibe.

“I’m paying you, just let me know how much I owe you,” you say as the employee hands him the tickets.

“Don’t worry, Gojo sensei gave me enough to buy this whole place,” he says, brushing it off. “Do you want something to eat?”

“Yeah, uhm sure,” you said, swallowing hard, gathering the courage to keep talking.

“You like Harry Potter too, movies or books?” you wonder, not daring to look at his eyes.

His smile made your heart skip a beat. “Are you kidding? Books, of course,” he replied, and you couldn’t help but smile proudly. “Which book is your favorite?”

After a moment of thinking it, he responded, “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.”

“Incorrect” you said playfully, grabbing the popcorn and moving away. “What do you mean incorrect?” he asked, looking amused. “Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban is right there” you argued, making him laugh.

You held the popcorn a bit too tightly, struggling to focus on the movie. You knew you were doing a bad job because by the end of it, you couldn’t remember a single thing besides Megumi's profile in the light.

As you walked back to school, chatting and feeling more comfortable, you found yourself agreeing with every single opinion of Megumi, encourage him to keep talking about it just because you didn’t have a single clue about what happened; you’ll have to see it again.

Later in your bed, you can’t help but think that maybe talking to Megumi Fushiguro wouldn’t be as difficult as you thought. Maybe you should keep doing it because talking with him was better than just staring at him from afar.

II

"Maybe you two should go together," Kugisaki suggested, smiling at her idea. Maki raised an eyebrow as she looked at you “It’s fine,” you said aloud. “I mean, yeah, I wouldn’t mind, of course, if you want, Fushiguro?”

Panda managed to hide a satisfied smile from you, but Maki's suspicious look caught him. “Sure thing, I’m down for it. It'd be nice not to deal with a crybaby while hunting for books." he remarked mockingly. “I’m not a cry baby!” Kugisaki protested, and you chuckled at the argument unfolding in front of you.

The library turned out to be smaller than expected, but your eyes lit up at the sight of shelves filled to the brim with books. The soft lighting and the background music of an Arctic Monkeys song made the atmosphere cozy; you could move here in a heartbeat.

“You weren’t lying when you said it was pretty,” you commented, turning to see Megumi standing casually, hands in his pockets, shrugging with a smile. He had a smile that could melt hearts. God, someone needs to make him stop smiling like that at you; he’ll kill you one of these days.

“You haven’t seen the best part” he said, taking your hand and leading you upstairs, making your heart race.

The second floor was packed with even more books, stacked everywhere, and inviting chairs that looked perfect for long reading sessions. It was like stepping into a book lover's dream. “This is amazing,” you whispered, caught up in the moment. Megumi wore a proud smile, happy to share this hidden gem with someone who appreciated it as much as he did. He kept holding your hand for a moment longer, feeling a warmth spread in his chest, before letting go, leaving the pleasant sensation behind.

“Oh my god, look at this Pride and Prejudice edition,” you said, admiring the gold engravings on the cover. “Oh, is that Heartstoppers?” you exclaimed, passing the book you previously held to Megumi.

"If you asked Kugisaki or Panda, they’d say they had never seen Fushiguro smile so much before. He was admiring you from behind, helping you hold the books you picked and reaching the higher manga shelves without complaining. "Looks like it’s going well.” Panda said a bit too loudly, breaking the calm atmosphere. Fushiguro's head turned, and they held the books they were 'reading' higher to cover their faces. “Shut up,” Kugisaki scolded him.

You didn’t notice, too busy looking at all the books, but seriously, did they think Fushiguro Megumi was that stupid to not notice Panda? Whatever they were planning, he will make them spill it, but for now, he had to hold your books.

“Look, that’s one of my favorites,” he pointed with his head at The Song of Achilles, getting into your little bubble again. You took it without questioning him or the book, adding it to the pile.

III

You’ve been craving Matcha for a week now, and you’ve been begging Maki to accompany you to the coffee shop for days. and still every time she answers with "Not all of us are first-grade sorcerers, and yet you still need to practice for the exchange event, which is literally tomorrow."

She’s been relentless; dragging you out for early morning runs at five in the morning so you can practice your hand-to-hand combat skills before seven, insisting, “Your curse technique outperforms at long distance, but what if they get up close? You need to be ready.”

Despite your intense training, all you wanted was a relaxed afternoon sipping on a cold Matcha. Yuta would have easily convinced Maki, you thought, missing your best friend dearly.

“What’s with the long face?” Kugisaki interjected, sitting next to you on the benches, watching Maki kick Panda's butt. “Nobody wants to get Matcha with me,” you pouted. Kugisaki’s brain starts working, but before she can offer to go with you, a male voice interrupts, “I'll go with you,” Fushiguro beats her to it.

"Really? You don't have to," you replied.

“Nonsense, we're friends, right? I enjoy spending time with you; you're better company than all these clowns,” he says, and you barely caught the rest after "friends."

Okay, that hurt a little. Your mind raced with a flurry of thoughts as you studied Megumi's expression. Of course, he doesn’t see you as more than a friend; he's so cool, and you're... well, just you. Why is he staring? Why is no one talking? Oh yeah, right, “Sorry, yes, we are. So, see you at five at the entrance?” you blurted out, snatching your backpack filled with clothes and some of Maki's weapons before rushing off, "Bye."

...

“What if I don’t go?” you contemplated twenty minutes before your scheduled friends date with Fushiguro.

“He didn’t do anything wrong. How is he supposed to know you want more than friendship?” Maki questioned, resting on your bed.

"Whose side are you on?" you retorted.

"Yours, but let's be real, you're being a tad irrational. Slip on the blue skirt and just go."

Megumi Fushiguro wasn't quite sure why he arrived early, but he felt an inexplicable urge to see you sooner; waiting longer was out of the question. And it was worth it, seeing you in that blue mini skirt and oversized sweater, a shy smile gracing your face as you spotted him. You looked even cuter than usual, he considered.

“Ready?" he questioned.

"Yeah, let's go," you affirmed, beginning to walk alongside him towards the coffee shop.

The café bustled with activity; it seemed like everyone had the same Matcha cravings as you did. Navigating through the crowd to reach the cashier proved challenging, but you preferred the subtle movements over pushing people or raising your voice to get through.

You were focus on not inconveniencing anyone when two hands settled comfortably on your waist, guiding you forward and providing a shield against the bustling bodies.

You held your breath; even through the layers of your sweater, you could feel the warmth emanating from Megumi’s hands. Finally reaching the cashier, he removed one hand, leaving the other on your lower back. "Hey there, what can I get you?" the cashier's words snap you back to reality.

“Uhm...” damn it, did you forget how to talk?

"One Matcha latte and one black coffee to go, please" Megumi says watching you struggling.

"Sure thing, regular milk?" you shook your head in disagreement. "Almond milk, please," you requested. The cashier nodded, and before Megumi could reach his wallet, you’ve already paid.

“That’s not fair,” he complains; you had to get your eyes checked because you thought you saw him pout.

“It’s fine, don’t worry; you always pay” you reassured him, moving towards the other end of the counter, Megumi's hand still lingering on your back.

"Hey, Megumi," a girl called out from the opposite side of the counter. She was strikingly pretty, flashing a wide smile at Megumi, her attention fully captivated by him until she noticed you a moment later. "Oh, sorry, hi," she acknowledged you, then shifted her gaze back to Megumi, noting his proximity to you, and her smile faltered slightly.

"Hey, Katsuki" he greeted back.

"You haven’t been around lately as usual" Katsuki remarked.

“Yeah, been busy with school stuff," he explained, his free hand casually brushing his neck.

"You haven’t replied to my texts either" you felt like an intruder in a conversation you shouldn’t be in.

“Sorry, it has been crazy lately,” he apologizes. Another employee calls for your names, and you swiftly grabbed your drinks, offering him his coffee.

"I'll wait outside if you need a moment," you informed him.

"No, it’s fine," he says to you, moving his hand to find yours. "Sorry, Katsuki, I swear I’ll text you back tonight. Take care," he says, guiding you through the crowd.

Outside the café, silence lingered for a moment. "A bit overwhelming with the crowd for you, huh? Feeling overstimulated?" he teases, smiling, to which you nodded. "Let’s go, I know a spot you'll love." He took your hand again, and a surge of electricity seemed to buzz between your palms. If he felt it, he didn’t mention it.

It had been week’s full of mixed emotions; you had countless questions swirling in your mind, but for now, you chose to give in the comforting and welcoming presence of Megumi Fushiguro.

#Suck it and see series #moonswrites #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #reader x jjk #jjk drabbles #jjk fanfic #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #megumi fushiguro imagine #megumi fushiguro #megumi x you #fushiguro megumi #jujutsu megumi #megumi fluff #fushiguro

[qrrieterisunnq]

Luke Hughes- Young and Beautiful by Lana please!!

thank you so much for requesting this my love!! I hope you'll like it!! 🫶🏽🤍

Sitting on a couch, your legs swing over Luke’s lap as he draws small patterns on them, watching the first Canucks playoff game. Jack and their parents are sitting on the other couch, commenting on the game and every other while complimenting Quinn on how good he’s doing or how amazing a save he just made.

You thought that maybe Luke would be commenting too but he’s weirdly quiet today. “What’s going on, Lu? You’re weirdly quiet today.” You look up at him, placing a hand over his to get his whole attention.

“It’s nothing my love, just a stupid thing.” He sends you a half smile, hoping you would leave the topic, but you know him really well and you can say when something is bothering him.

“Well then tell me. You know I’m for any stupid thing, so tell me.” You nudge his shoulder as you whisper to him, your head cocked to the side with a smile on your lips.

“It’s just, uh, it’s really stupid. I’m just thinking…” he trails himself off, his eyes glutted on the tv as he lets out a breath. “Will you still love me, when I’m no longer young and beautiful?”

You look at him with an amused smile on your lips. You have to admit it is a really stupid question. Of course, you would love him. There’s no way you would never love this handsome face. This curls that are falling in his face at every opportunity. The strong hands that hold you firmly before you drift to sleep.

“Oh, my love,” you laugh shaking your head at his thoughts. “I have a question too. Would you still love me if I were a worm?” his expression changes as he’s trying to hold in his laughter. “Then your answer to my question is the same as my question to yours.” You smile at him reaching your hand to his cheek to press a delicate kiss to his lips.

“Yeah, I would.” He laughs shaking his head at his stupid questions and his stupid thoughts. “Thank you. I love you so much, Y/n,” he whispers in her lips, kissing her more deeply.

“I love you too, Luke.”

“Oh come on, leave it for the night!” Jack groans when he looks over his shoulder at his brother and his girlfriend. He loves teasing them about their PDA, but he’s so happy for his little brother to finally have someone who loves him more than themselves. He can see how much Y/n loves him. She would do anything for him, just like would Luke do.

“Oh, fuck off,” Luke flips him off, his attention on his beautiful girl as she’s laughing together with his parents. “You’re just jealous because you have no one to cuddle up with.”

#luke hughes #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes fluff #lh43 #nj devils #rez's 200 celly #ask rez 🫶🏼 #nhl imagine #nhl hockey

[listles-s]

man laios and toshiro's/shuro's dynamic is incredibly compelling to me on multiple levels

when you look at them, you can see the cultural and personal barriers that drive almost every single aspect of their relationship, both positively and negatively. laios is incredibly outspoken and driven by his passions, which he expresses freely even in the face of annoyance and/or criticism- he's allowed to be as authentically himself as he pleases, and it's this drive that allows him and the others to survive as long as they have, especially due to the fact that these passions and interests are intertwined with his skills as a dungeon diver. toshiro, in contrast, is incredibly reserved, not only due to his eastern upbringing but also his status as nobility- a combo of cultures that both demand that one save face, to avoid conflict at any cost, even at the expense of one's own feelings and individuality. this, in turn, has made toshiro the perfect samurai, as he's politely-spoken, agreeable, and an honorable, skilled man. both are also incredibly devoted to falin on different levels, having come to accomplish the same mission of her rescue despite drifting apart from the party.

on the flipside, it's these same strengths that cause them to clash- laios is outspoken but unable to truly decipher the emotions of others, leading to a lot of false assumptions and frustration from those who interact with him. toshiro is stoic but to the point of complacency, leading to a aggressively neutral disposition that's ushered by the needs and wants of others, rather than himself. neither man truly knows where they stand with the people important to them in their lives, and hold the ones that they do know how they feel with a fierce admiration expressed in ways that aren't always traditional.

in the end, they both share a growing feeling of isolation from other people that comes to a head when they meet again in the depths of the dungeon, and they both have different ways of coping with the frustrations that arise, seeing the other as only the things they have seen face to face.

it's laios' ability to express himself emotionally without consequence that sparks jealousy in toshiro, leading to a physical fight born out of miscommunication and envy. while toshiro is a driving force in the conflict, it should be noted that the actual fight is started by laios, breaking the dam of indirect communication through force. nothing is more direct than a slap to the face, and it's only after they start hitting each other that toshiro's true feelings come to light.

however, at the end of it all, toshiro is the one who stops torturing himself, listening to laios and giving him the bell, allowing laios and his party entrance into his homeland should they need it, and ultimately giving him support in his mission to defeat the dungeon mage, albeit in his own way. despite it all, they're still good friends with a conflict that boiled over, but came out the other end with a slightly better understanding of each other. the fight was painful for both of them, but it was a necessity for their dynamic to improve, and for them to be made aware of their faults and improve as individuals as well.

but also, if you think about it, their dynamic is literally just this

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #laios touden #laios dungeon meshi #toshiro nakamoto #shuro #shuro dungeon meshi #character analysis #anyways toshiro haters with surface level takes get the hell off my lawn boy #i hope you know this entire character analysis was born out of the realization that i'd seen this dynamic before in a different light #and i thought. man. what is the funniest comparison i could make here rn. and i'm still right abt it btw #oh yeah also of course the autism read is still there #as an autistic person myself they don't read at all like neurotypical v autism. they read a LOT more like autism v autism #you know how people with autism either get along REALLY well with other people with autism or repel each other with a force #yeah they're basically that. to me #reading toshiro as autistic with the immigrant lens btw makes him even more compelling to read that way #but that is an analysis for another time #man i missed writing these #dungeon meshi spoilers

[nicksbestie]

i know it won't work - C. Sturniolo

Summary : "part of me wants you back, but i know it won't work like that"

Warnings : very angsty. crying, heartbreak, yk the drill. nothing triggering though!

Word Count : 1000

Pairing : Chris Sturniolo/Reader (past romantic)

A/N : i was listening to this song in the car this morning, and boom here comes this fic idea!

You regretted ever moving to Boston.

You hated the city, hated who it reminded you of. You couldn’t leave your house without feeling trapped in the space that you had once adored to travel with the person you had loved with your entire heart. If you had the money, you would have moved far away by now. All you could do was be so grateful that the two of you hadn’t moved in together, because you would have actually had to leave. As much as you hated that you were still here, leaving would have torn the pieces you were already in right into shreds. 

You sat in front of the empty closet in your guest room, tears rolling down your face as you processed that it would stay empty for a long time. You couldn’t bring yourself to fill it, wanting it to stay empty just on the off chance that he came back, that he needed someone, somewhere to stay, somewhere to put his things. If he needed space that he could only find in your home, you would have space for him. He could inhabit that space for as long as he wanted, as he inhabited your heart still, living in it despite how tightly it was clenching in pain, as if to squeeze him out.

You couldn’t bear the thought that he might never come back, that you really may never see him again, that you might not get to love him again like you used to. How could you bring yourself to deal with the idea that this might be it? Your number wasn’t blocked, but it seemed like he couldn’t find a way to softly tell you that there was no chance he was coming back, so he simply left all of your texts on delivered. Despite how heartbroken you were, you knew there was no way that you could go back to loving him in a non romantic way. There were two ends of the spectrum, and you knew that you would either love him endlessly, or hate him relentlessly. You hoped it never came to be the latter.

Chris knew you were still waiting on him. He knew you were hoping he would change his mind, that he would turn around and run back to him, and the breakup was killing him as well. He couldn’t lie to himself like he could to you, he had thought about going back. He had thought about claiming it was all a lapse in judgment, that he still loved you with everything in him, but he worried that he wasn’t worth all of the hope you were saving for him. He’d paced around his room so much that he had nearly worn holes in the floor, and even his brothers had begged him to fix things, but he just couldn’t do it. He really did believe that this was the best move for the both of you, but he couldn’t deny the doubt creeping into the back of his mind. After all, it had been a long relationship, one spanning just over five years. How could he just let that go?

You’d run into each other in a store, and you’d both seen your face on the other person’s. The dark under eye circles, the bloodshot eyes, the signs of sadness sinking into your bones. Neither of you could speak to the other one, simply staring before Chris broke the eye contact, walking away. It killed you to look into his eyes knowing that he clearly didn’t want you back, an opinion so different from how you felt. You didn’t know that he did want you back, desperately, but was trying to make it easier for you by cutting things off. He wished that you would find someone else, that you’d put yourself out there, because seeing you with someone else might help him snap back into reality, help him get over it as well. 

He was torn. He knew you were still holding on to him, and part of him wanted you to let go, wanted you to move on, to love someone who wasn’t him, but the other part of him wanted to shrivel up and die at just the thought of your arms around anyone who wasn’t him, your lips on anyone else’s skin. But it would make it easier for him to realize that you really weren’t his anymore, and maybe that was just what he needed. Maybe. He had broken up with you in person, knowing that he owed you at least that, but the call to you to ask when he could come pick up his things from your place had been one of the hardest calls you’d ever received. The ghost of your relationship being inside your apartment had made the entire building feel haunted.

He knew he was being an idiot, but he wanted to think that his heart was in the right place. Both of his brothers knew he was being an idiot, to the point that Nick showed up to talk to you, and Matt was talking to Chris, desperately trying to fix things between the two of you. The conversation between you and Nick just ended up with you sobbing in his arms, him trying to convince you that it would be okay, that Chris loved you, that he would realize and he would come back. The one between Matt and Chris wasn’t going much better, Chris having angry tears streaming down his face, trying to convince Matt and himself that it was for the best.

“It isn’t going to work.” 

“Make it work.” 

You were in Nick’s arms, silent, enjoying the comfort but hating why you needed it, when your phone dinged from behind you. Nick picked it up, checking who it was before nudging you.

“Here. You want to read this.” 

Chris <3 : I know I tried to cut all ties but you’ve never left my mind. Can we make this work?

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#chris x y/n #chris sturniolo headcanon #christopher sturniolo x y/n #christopher owen sturniolo #christopher sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo imagine #chris #fanfic #boyfriend chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo x you #sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fluff #sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo age regression

[wolfish-trickster]

You made your choice

Gojo x fem!reader

Part 2

Previous part

Word count: 2.4K

Summary: you asked Gojo who is more important to him, you or his bestfriend. He indirectly chose and now he's experiencing consequences of his own action (probably for the first time in his life).

Warnings: bad grammar (possibly), typos, angst, very little comfort

Taglist: @ilovebattinson @catobsessedlady @abcdefghijklmmopqrstuvwxyz @nanao4k

A/N: I recomend listening to this song while reading (was listening to it while coming up with the story, the song and the story aren't exact copies of eachother but the vibe is about the same) and to those who know me THE LINK IS SAFE TO CLICK I DIDN'T LINK IT WITH WHAT YOU THINK I SWEAR. Enjoy the reading 😊

"Hey, can I come over?"

"Dude, you were just here!"

"I know, I know. But I need a shoulder to cry on."

"Damn, that bad? What happened? You and Y/N had a fight or...?"

"Can I just come over?"

"Yeah, sure. I'll leave the door unlocked."

Geto Suguru has had a lot of weird moments with his best friend, but that phone call certainly was...something. No explanation, no joking around, just straight to the point.

About fifteen minutes later he heard his front door open.

"Satoru, did you learn how to teleport or something? We live an hour away from eachother," Geto joked before he could even turn around and see the state his friend was in. Disheveled hair, dry lips, red eyes. Something terrible must've happened.

"It's Y/N," was all Gojo said before he sat down at the dining table.

"Figured that much," replied Geto and took a seat next to him and waited. He knew Gojo. That man can't shut his mouth to save his own life. He'll spill everything sooner or later.

Gojo let his head fall on top of Geto's and sighed. Geto patted his fluffy white hair and kept on waiting. Good thing was they both sat right across a big window. Geto could count pine cones on the nearby trees while he waited for Gojo to open up.

It didn't take long.

"Y/N left."

"WHAT?!" Geto pushed the white head off of his shoulder and took Gojo by the shoulders. "What happened? What did you do?" He stared him in the eye.

Gojo just blinked. "I don't know! I don't think I did anything wrong," he looked oit the window again. A squirell jumped from one branch to another.

Geto rolled his eyes and turned Gojo's face back to his. "Satoru, people don't just up and leave. You must've done or said something that hurt her feelings. What did I tell you about comunication being-"

"Being the cornerstone of a good relationship, I remember," he put his hands on Geto's cupping his face. "We did talk. And I thought we came to a mutual understanding. Then I offered to cuddle with her and went to shower but once I walked out she was gone. All her things too..."

"Wow," Geto let go of his friend's face, "what a bitch."

"Right?" Gojo agreed and leaned back on his chair so far it was threatening to fall. "I don't understand. She never complained before, never said anything, then all of a sudden she pulls a stunt like that, throws a scene, slips into her selfhating thing again-"

"Wait, she what?" Geto asked confused. He has met you enough times to know you were very cheerful and life-loving person. What was Gojo talking about? Selfhatred?

"She has these moments,"he explained, "thinks she's too fat, then not curvy enough, thinks she's too basic to be with a guy like me, so on. When it happened the first few times i comforted her but even after all those years she still thinks of herself as less than and I'm too damn tired of it. I thought all of those negative thoughts would go away the first time I assured her I love her no matter what," he crossed his arms on his chest and looked out the window again. "I'm starting to feel like she's doing it for attention."

"Listen Satoru, maybe she's just extremely selfconscious and people like her need reassurance like that. Besides if she was really doing that for attention she wouldn't leave withoit a word. She would leave hints for you to find her and come beg her on your knees or something."

Gojo chuckled. "Suguru, you've got to stop watching Shoko's telenovelas."

"I'm a slut for drama."

A phone rang.

In a speed of light Gojo pulled out his phone hoping to see your lovely face. The screen was black.

Geto pulled out his ringing phone and picked up. "Well well, speak of the devil," he smiled.

Gojo couldn't hear what him and Shoko were talking about. He could only take hints from Geto's facial expressions and his occasional answers.

"What do you mean you have to cancel it? Oh. Okay. I understand. And did she tell you what-" his eyes got wide. "But wait, that's not- I didn't- Actually he's right next to me."

Gojo tried to get closer to hear what they were talking about but Geto jumped up and walked across the room.

"Okay. Okay, i'll ask him. No, that's fine. Alright. Take care, both of you. Bye," he hung up. Then slowly turned around to face Gojo now standing opposite him.

"Now you'll tell me exactly what had happened between you two. You said she caused a scene, what was it about?"

His mouth turned into neutral line, just like when you started this whole mess. "She asked me to stop seeing you. Can you believe that? Trust me, if I told her to stop seeing her friends all hell would break lose."

"Isn't that what happened when she asked you?" Geto pointed out the obvious double standard but Gojo wasn't listening.

"Didn't you hear what I just said? She wanted me to spend more time with her. Like, what does she want me to do? Make me and her morph into one being?"

"It is true that you've been spending a lot of time with me," Geto held his chin between his fingers in a thought. "But I don't get one thing. If you being away from her this often was a problem for her then she must've shown signs, not encourage you to come and spend time with me when she was too busy herself."

"About that," Gojo nervously played with his shades. "I might've over-exagarated that."

"Don't tell me..." Geto pinched the bridge of his nose.

"She wasn't always busy when I came here."

"Satoru!" He half shouted. "You always told me she was too busy and couldn't come! Why would you lie?"

"Because i felt trapped!" He yelled back. "I felt like I couldn't even breathe. Yes, being around has brought me so much joy but I missed the thrill of being free. Just being with you and Shoko and doing whatever. Now I just feel like I'm chained to something that I kinda want away from but also not," the entire time he spoke he was pacing back and forth. "I just wanted to feel like the old times."

"So in other words you miss the feeling of being single but you also like the benefits relationship gives you," Geto concluded. "I thought you were better than this."

"And I thought you would understand," Gojo turned his anger against his best friend who was calmly standing in the living room. "But wait, I forgot, you have no one," he mocked.

"Damn right I don't. Which makes me even more pissed off when I see how you treat your own relationship! Have you got any idea how much I envied you for having someone waiting for you at home and welcome you after a long day? Or just someone to be there for you in general?"

Gojo got silent. He didn't know. Geto never showed it.

Geto took it as his chance to try speak some sense into Gojo. "Listen, you only feel like this because you've never been in a relationship. Feeling trapped is normal, I think. What's important is that you love her and you're capable of changing to get her back, right?"

Gojo was just looking at him.

"Right?" Geto said a bit more panicked.

"I don't know!" Gojo exclaimed and Geto facepalmed. "I don't know how to choose between her and you."

"Is that what she asked? For you to choose between her and me?"

Gojo shook his head. "No, I think she just wanted me to spend less time with you."

"So she didn't out right prohibit you from hanging out with me, she only asked for you to stay with her more often," Geto was slowly but surely getting the whole picture.

"Something like that," Gojo shrugged.

Geto sighed. "You royally fucked up Gojo Satoru."

"No, really?" sarcasm dripped from his words. "I still think I did nothing wrong. She has no right to aks me to spend less time with you."

"She does actually. She's your girlfriend of what, three years?"

Gojo nodded.

"Three years and yet you place her beneath a best friend. How would you feel like if she had to choose between her best friend and you and she went for the friend?"

Suddenly, Gojo looked like it finally hit him. "I'd feel...terrible," he sat down on the chair. "But... but I didn't tell her I would choose you. Both of you mean so much to me."

"On the same level or a different one? Satoru, understand that the love for a friend and a love for a lover are two separate kinds of love. You not being able to distinguish between them caused you to be in this mess."

Geto walked over to where Gojo sat and towere over him. He put a reassuring hand on his wide back. "Let me ask you this: what do you want right now? To be with her?"

Gojo stayed silent. He didn' know what he wanted. He hated the fact that he can't have both a friend and a lover. Choosing one would mean losing the other in Gojo's eyes. He can't afford that. Not when both of his most treasured people made him so happy.

Geto took his silence as a no. "You know what I think? You didn't want to have her. You just wanted others to see you have her."

His words cut like a knife. Why? Why do his loved ones have to be this cruel? He only looked up from the floor to his best friends almost black eyes. His own baby blues were watery. A lump took place in his throat. With a horror he realised how weak he feels. One half of him already packed her things and walked away, he can't let the other half do the same.

"Do you hate me now?" He whispered, affraid if he will speak any louder he would cry.

Geto took a while. Then shook his head. "No Satoru, just dissapointed."

Gojo nodded and looked back down to the floor.

Few minutes passed. None of them said anything. After Gojo was completely sure he won't fall apart he spoke up. "Do you think I can fix this?"

"Hmm," Geto hummed and pulled out a chair to sit opposite him. "Fixing means returning to its original state. I don't think things will go back to normal."

"But, I don't want to lose her. I know I don't!"

"Then you must set your priorities straight."

"But-" Gojo looked into Geto's eyes again. "That would mean I will loose you and that's equally as bad."

Geto shook his head. "You won't loose me. I'll still be here. You can still come over and we can still hang out. It just won't be like before."

"And that's what I don't want," Gojo mumbled and crossed his arms again while leaning into the backrest.

"Truthfully, if I had a girlfriend as amazing as Y/N I would spend a lot of time with her and not you."

Gojo swore he could feel his heart crack. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs, "that it's only natural to pick your lover over your friends. Not always, of course, but often enough."

Geto lifted his head to see his friend pale as a ghost, his skintone could now rival with his hair. He immediatelly regreted what he said. "But as I said, even if that was the case, even if you chose her as your top priority, which you should've as a good boyfriend, then it wouldn't mean I would cease to exist. And if I get someone in the future and I do the same you won't cease to exist to me either. You are my best friend, Satoru," he placed a hand on Gojo's shoulder, "and no girl will ever change that."

Gojo's ocean blue eyes let some tears slipped. He realized that his best friend is right, as always. Geto will always be there. And sure, even after he gets busy in his own life and won't have time for Gojo and his antics anymore, that wouldn't mean they would change into strangers to one another.

Gojo quickly wiped his tears and nodded. He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I don't want tk fix this. I want to evolve this. I want her back. I want to learn to love her again. Properly this time."

"You sure about that?"

Gojo nodded.

"Even after she won't forgive you?"

"Why wouldn't she? She's smart. She will understand. Besides, how can you rehect the best man in the world?" He forced out a chuckle.

Geto shook his head. "Arrogant and full of yourself as always."

"Yeah, what can you do..."

Geto's phone buzzed again. But this time nkt from a phone call but a message. Geto took out his phone, gave it a short glance and put it back into his pocket.

"Was it Shoko?"

Geto shook his head. "Just my reminder. Me and Shoko planned to go see a movie."

"Oh, is that what you talked about canceling?"

Geto nodded. "Y/N knocked on her door and asked to stay a few days. From what Shoko told me she was a mess."

Gojo slumped forward on his chair and hid his face in his hands. "I never wanted any of this to happen."

Geto hummed. "Do you know what this is callled? Consequences. Hurts, doesn't it?"

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk gojo x reader #gojo satoru angst #gojo angst #jjk fanfic

[eyelessfaces]

uncalled for

summary: you get quite upset when poe "saves" your assigned mission by giving orders to your teams without consulting you; poe is determined to fix his mistake.

warnings: (public) arguing, talks of the future; family and having kids

tags: gn!reader, angst, being parents to bb8, fluff, this ends up being real sweet tbh

word count: 1.7k

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

(uh yeah I'm back if you even noticed I was gone lol. I might just post this and disappear again for a little longer idk but anyways I'll explain the reason whenever I'm back for good; I'm okay don't worry, and I'm still gonna post fics don't worry it's nothing too serious fr)

It causes a disruption when you both barge into the hangar; despite the constant clattering and whirring of tools and material there, both your bitter shoutings have been overlapping the sounds ever since Poe started following you closely, right from the moment you hastily jumped out of your x wing to try to forget about the awful management of your mission that would probably cost you to never get to lead one again. 

“It was my call, not yours” you affirm bitterly, voice dripping with resentment, your steps heavy and hurried as you try to shake Poe off but he is anything if not persevering, so it only manages to piss you off even more and fuel your frustration. “I didn’t need you to save my mission or whatever,” you exclaim, causing heads to turn as you walk across the large room, barely minding what is going on around you. 

“I did because I knew it would work!” Poe tries to explain, still heeling you closely. “I wouldn’t have done it if I wasn’t sure it would be successful” he declares louder than he needs to, thrown off when you suddenly stop in your steps, turning to him.

“So you think you can make decisions for me? You think I can’t do it, can’t command a mission correctly?” you rhetorically ask, revolted, sighing a profanity under your breath before you storm off again, your steps resonating with frustration. Poe sighs and winces before he follows you again, taking a hold of your arm.

“Babe come on you know that’s not–”

You stop again, your patience running short. “You had no right to encroach on my orders, I knew what I had to do, and you stepping in with your own instructions could have blown the whole mission up!” you call out, pressing a finger to his chest. 

It’s when you finally take a moment to take a look at his face that you realize it, what is going on; you are being the center of attention, the little show everyone stopped their current task to sit and watch, your every word carefully awaited by your unwanted audience. 

You sigh softly, taking a moment to step back from the situation. “Now leave me alone before we embarrass ourselves further or before I tell you things I don’t really mean just because I’m angry and don’t wanna talk to you” you hiss softly before leaving Poe in the middle of the busy room where he watches you walk away, helplessly standing there. 

When he looks around him, most people turn away and avert their gazes to pretend they haven’t witnessed anything, and Poe is well too aware of the tension still lingering in the air even as you exit the room.

When Jessika climbs down from her ladder after watching the scene from her cockpit, BB-8 rolls over to her and chirps sadly, having observed yours and Poe’s argument from afar just like most of the hangar after his master went running after you. She kneels down to the droid’s level, giving him a sympathetic smile.

“That’s gonna be fine Beebs, they always end up figuring it out somehow” she affirms as the droid’s upper part sinks in distress accompanied by saddened beeps. Jessika can’t help but smile fondly at him and his obvious concern, at the fact that he quite literally acts like you are his parents.

—

A few hours have passed when Poe joins you again; you don't notice him at first, having made sure to get focused enough on your paperwork to forget about the whole situation and try to ease the frustration within you. It's only when you put your datapad down that you see him leaning against the door frame.

“You're so pretty when you're focused” he smiles gently when your eyes meet his figure, causing you to roll your eyes and reluctantly smile at his words despite your lingering frustration. 

“I’m still mad at you,” you sigh softly as you try to hide your slight smirk, gaze darting back down to enter numbers into your datapad.

He acknowledges your feelings with a nod, his lips pressed together in a tight line. “I know.” he admits, stepping into the room. “That’s why I’m here” You look back up at him, taking a deep breath as you set your datapad aside; despite the fact that everything he did since you wrapped your mission up got on your nerves, deep down you only wish for this to situation to get figured out and eventually be behind the both of you. You join him in front of your desk, leaning against it.

“I knew what I was doing. I was handling it” you affirm before he even gets the chance to do so much as open his mouth.

He holds a hand up to slow you down. “I know,” he nods understandingly. “I shouldn’t have redirected the plan, I should have trusted you. I was just afraid things would go wrong considering how it was all starting to go down so quickly” he explains. “I know I could have fucked it all up, everything you put in place so the mission could go right” you slightly tilt your head to the side in agreement. 

“And I know my move was probably a lot more dangerous than the plan you had in mind to make everything right but you know I would never put you or our teams in danger, only myself” he declares with a concerned nod, causing your expression to soften. “You, never. I would never risk it, no matter what” there’s a soft frown over his face as his eyes flicker with sincerity, his confession making your heart ache as it hangs in the air before he talks again. “And I never doubted your ability to command a mission.” 

You nod with a heavy sigh, acknowledging his apology. “I should apologize too. I shouldn't have lashed out on you like that either.” you admit and nod sheepishly, reflecting on your impulsive behavior. “I really wanted this mission to go right”

“For what it’s worth,” he starts with a small smile, trying to dissimulate a bigger one. “I talked about it with Leia and she thinks you did pretty good” his declaration doesn’t fail to draw an appreciative smile from you, one that makes him mirror your action. “And she thinks we would work great together”

“And I agree,” you reply, finally feeling a weight lift off your shoulders as the tension between you begins to dissipate. “We do make a good team.”

Poe’s smile widens, relieved to see you loosen up a bit. “Yeah, we do” he agrees with a small huff, stepping closer to you. “I just hate seeing you so worked up.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “I hate getting worked up,” you scoff. 

“I’ll try to think about it twice next time,” Poe promises, reaching out to gently take your hand in his. “I don’t want to step on your toes or make you feel like I don’t trust you or your judgment.”

Your fingers intertwine with his, the warmth of his touch calming you further. “Well I’ll try not to snap at you,” you promise in return, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze as you let your head rest against his chest with a small, barely audible sigh. “Especially not in front of everyone,” you mutter, earning an amused chuckle from him. You melt into his touch as he leans to press a gentle kiss over your forehead, his hand that is not holding yours coming to wrap around you.

It is only after you pull away from his embrace and leave a chaste kiss to his lips that the corner of your eye notices a sort of spy in the corner of the door frame.

“What’s he doing here” 

Poe frowns before he turns around, huffing out a laugh when he notices BB-8 peeking out the door. “How long have you been here?” he jokingly scolds his droid that fully reveals himself now that he has been caught. “You know he doesn’t like when we fight” he softly sighs turning back to you, a mix of amusement and concern in his eyes before he looks at BB rolling over the both of you.

You shake your head, unable to suppress your smile at BB-8’s presence. “Very sweet of him to be looking out for us,” you start, reaching out to pat the droid’s dome affectionately. “But maybe he should learn not to eavesdrop.”

BB-8 chirps playfully, obviously pleased with the attention, seemingly eager to be a part of the reconciliation.

Poe chuckles, kneeling down to scratch behind BB-8’s sensor with a fond smile. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll work on that,” he says before glancing back at you with a soft smile. “He's our kid, he’s been worried sick about us, weren't you?” he turns to BB, who's beeping frantically in agreement.

You glance at him, then back at Poe, a softness settling in your chest at the sight of them together, your little family. “Our first kid, yeah” you smile softly, heart fluttering inside your chest.

“First? Meaning there's gonna be more?” Poe asks with a playful smile, getting back on his feet. He raises his eyebrows as he awaits your response, and you both laugh at the sudden change of atmosphere as Poe wraps a hand around you before pressing a kiss to your temple.

You huff out a laugh at his quick jump to conclusion, “I don't know, you're a pretty good dad to this one,” you shrug.

“A couple hours ago I was dead to you and now we're talking having kids” he laughs into your hair, a teasing tone in his voice. 

“You weren’t even close to being dead to me, you’re so dramatic Poe” you declare with a small scoff, poking his chest lightly. “That’s the reason Beebs loves you so much” you tease, making him huff out a laugh. “I’d say we should focus on surviving one parenting experience first,” you chuckle looking down at BB-8, nudging Poe playfully. “But who knows what the future holds?”

Poe grins, his eyes sparkling with excitement as his arm grasps tighter around his hold on you. “As long as I have you by my side, I'm up for anything babe.”

—

reblogs and feedback are extremely (I cannot stress this enough) appreciated!!

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#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron fic #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x y/n #poe dameron fanfic #poe dameron fluff #star wars #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters #poe dameron angst

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

Brand New One Shot - First Preview

It’s time for a new one shot! I promise I will finish “Dress Up” in the very near future but I wanted to get a jumpstart on this! No active warnings for this preview, but there is a very very subtle hint to something naughty if you squint lol

You remember first meeting the King of Hell on the day you checked yourself into the Hazbin Hotel. And you remember thinking that Lucifer looked nothing like you had pictured. Of course he was beautiful, that wasn’t shocking, but he was so…unimposing. Not only that, he was kind, albeit a bit dorky as well. Not that it was off putting to you, it was endearing if anything!

Although, you hadn’t spoken to him all that much since the time you’d moved in. Lucifer seemed so nonchalant and relaxed with everyone else in the hotel, save for Alastor, who you noticed always managed to get under the fallen angel’s skin one way or another. Even you knew the radio demon was playing with fire; probably wasn’t the smartest idea to piss off the most powerful being in Hell. Regardless, how he acted around you was a little odd to say the least. It seemed like Lucifer was always trying to avoid you for some unknown reason. Did he not like you?

When you had first spoken to him all those month ago, you could tell he was tense. He rambled, a lot. And he somehow managed to fumble every other word that left his mouth. He quickly left after your initial meet, and ever since then it was nearly impossible to get in more than five words at a time. He had an impossibly perfect disappearing act, what with his portaging abilities. One time you greeted him from across the lobby and his only response was “O-Oh! H-Hey you! Uhh, I just, umm…welp, gotta run!” and took off before you could even say goodbye. Truly bizarre.

You eventually went to Charlie, telling her that her dad was seemingly very distant towards you. “Oh, don’t worry about that!” Charlie explained. “He’s a pretty busy guy, so he’s usually popping in and out of here pretty frequently. And he’s told me on multiple occasions that he’s glad you joined the hotel! He can come off as a bit scatterbrained, but rest assured he’s more than happy to have you here! And so am I!”

You smiled and thanked her. From the few months that you’ve known her, Charlie was never one to lie, so you decided to take her words at face value. For now, at least. For some reason, you still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was up with Lucifer. You needed to find out.

A few nights had passed and you found yourself wandering through the lobby. It was late, way later than you should be awake. Even Husk was asleep, the bar sat devoid of any life. It was difficult to sleep most night, you were still grappling with the fact that you were, in fact, in Hell. You thought you were a decent person in life. Never religious but you tried your best to while you were alive. But that didn’t seem to matter. Perhaps you should have attended church with your family more often, or donated to more charities, or not cut that one person off at that traffic light. Laying awake in your bed wasn’t helping these thoughts, but getting up and walking around usually helped just a tad.

You glanced over to the fire place, noticing the flames dancing against the walls. That was strange, considering no one ever used the fire place, or at least not that you’ve seen. But then you noticed one of the large chairs in front of it wasn’t empty. A white sleeve laid across the arm rest. You walked over out of pure curiosity, just to see who was awake at this ungodly hour like you. You craned your neck to see Lucifer sitting there frozen, his head down and eyes closed with his free hand pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked troubled. Before you could speak up, you heard him mumble under his breath.

“What the hell am I going to do…”

Worried, you outstretched your hand, but stopped short of touching his arm. “Sir?”

Lucifer’s eyes shot open instantly, turning his head to see you towering over him. He leapt from his chair completely startled and began stumbling backwards towards the fire pit.

“Watch out!” you warned, gripping his hand and pulling him towards you. Lucifer held his breath, trying to process what just happened. His head ended up flush against your chest, your face now feeling as hot as the flames in the pit. You let go of his hand and stepped away from him as fast as you could. Lucifer remained motionless. “I-I’m so sorry, your majesty! I didn’t mean for you to…I’m sorry!”

You finally heard Lucifer exhale. He stood up straight and fixed his wrinkled jacket, making every effort to not look you in the eyes.

“It’s alright, m-my dear,” he spoke softly, “no harm done. A-And please, call me Lucifer.”

“Okay. Lucifer,” you started, “I didn’t mean to startle you. I saw you over here and I heard what you said and…is everything alright?”

Lucifer was tense again. You noticed him clench his fists. “How much did you hear?”

“Not much,” you admitted. “you just sounded worried about something.”

The king let out a sigh, letting his hands relax. “Thank you for your concern, I-I appreciate it. It’s nothing…nothing that you need to trouble yourself with. It’ll be fine.” Lucifer waved his hand, a portal now swirling open behind him, leading to his bedroom. “I think we should both get some sleep now. And t-thank you for catching me. Although, fire can’t harm me…b-but I appreciate the rescue nonetheless!” He was about to step through the portal when you caught his hand once more.

“Wait,” you said quietly. Lucifer looked down at the ground, still refusing to meet your gaze. You frowned. “Sir-I mean Lucifer…I wanted to ask you something. I need to know.” You felt his hand squeeze yours; he was tense again. “I-I’ve been feeling like I’m not welcome here by you.” Lucifer finally lifted his head, his eyes almost piercing your soul. He looked distraught at your words. You never noticed how beautiful his eyes truly were, the soft yellow complimented his pure white skin nicely. You blushed slightly, but shook your head and tried to remember what you were saying. “I-I just mean, you seem to avoid me every time I’m near. If I’ve done something to upset you, I’m very sorry. And if you’d rather I’d not stay here, then…”

“NO!” he shouted, now gripping your hand with both of his. “I-I mean, no. You haven’t done anything wrong! Please…Please don’t leave. I should be the one apologizing if that’s truly how you’ve been feeling. I never want you to feel unwelcome here, especially not from me. It…It’s just that…I…” Before he could finish his explanation, his eyes dropped for just a split second before returning to yours. His gaze had somehow shifted into a more panicked expression. He let go of your hands immediately and stepped through his portal in a hurry. “I-I have to go, I’m sorry!” You couldn’t get another word out before his portal disappeared from view.

You stood alone in the parlor, alone and confused. The fire had died out, and you felt a shiver down your spine at the realization of how cold it had gotten without it. But you couldn’t let the conversation end there. You needed to know what was going on with him. You wouldn’t sleep until you did. Luckily, Lucifer’s room at the hotel was very easy to find.

#hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #lucifer x reader #lucifer smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #my writing #preview #oh where could this be leading :) #if you know the prompt this was based on you know exactly where it’s leading haha