#i actually have like a whole bunch written for some of them

[fidgetspringer-art]

Olath - Aberrant familiar

#art #illustration #artists on tumblr #digital art #digital drawing #dnd #dungeons and dragons #homebrew #my art #my ocs #Setting: Heim #Olath #I love this creature actually #This is Tethry's very fucked up familiar Olath (They/it) #They started their life as a familiar as a normal housecat #some lore fuckery later and they end up like this #I have a bunch of lore written for them but i'm not gonna dump it all here #They behave and function like any other familiar #they're just.... creepy #they don't speak or make facial expressions #they only use body language and the caster/familiar bond to communicate #they come up to about Tethry's hip at the shoulders so it's a big kitty #Tethry is also incredibly embarrased by them and hasn't ever summoned them where anyone else could see #Olath is very attached to him and will drape their whole body weight over him like an oversized lap dog any time they get the chance #I already know i'll be drawing this horrible creature more cause they're very fun to draw #also can you tell i played a worrying amount of the Endless Forest as a teenager?

[demonslayedher]

Nerdy cultural details about the Hashira

Some details can be hard to pick up without context or in translation. Here's a handful for fun:

Breath names:

The "Mushi" (蟲) of "Mushibashira" (蟲柱) does not necessarily mean "insect." It's also not the more commonly used "mushi" kanji (虫). Kanji is often formed with many components compounding together to make new meanings, and 蟲 is a crowd of three 虫. While it might be tempting to simply say that this is a whole bunch of 虫, I've also heard this described as 蟲 being the more abstract idea of the concrete 虫, or that 蟲 went through a resurgence in popularity shortly before the Taisho Period. 虫 is preferred nowadays for its simplicity.

In either case, it's not necessarily "insects." Rather than being limited to six-legged creatures, "mushi" is a catch-all term for many kinds of creepy-crawlies that simply do not fit in other categories of animals, so spiders and centipedes and worms are all part of it. Actually, the term was originally used for snakes!

Next, what are picturing when you hear "Stone Hashira"? Something in your hands that you can throw? A big stone to lay on for warmth after training in a waterfall?

You could think even bigger than that, because the "stone" kanji used is "iwa" 岩. This is usually something at least as big as the boulders Himejima pushes around to train with, but it could just as well be a whole cliff.

So then how about that issue raised about how you can never refer to "Flame Breath" as "Fire Breath"? This might be a review since it gets brought up a lot, but it's worth restating because it makes a lot of sense in context.

First, we have two kanji to work with: 炎 for flames, and 火 for fire. To make a long linguistic history short, Japan adopted written pictographic characters from China, smashed and smooshed them around to fit the spoken Japanese language, and eventually many kanji wound up with multiple pronunciations. Case in point, 炎 is "hono'o" in the context of Flame Breathing (Hono'o no Kokyuu), and "en" in the context of "Flame Hashira" (En-bashira).

火 likewise has multiple pronunciations, but a common one is "hi." Another simple kanji that can be read "hi" is 日, the sun.

Therefore, even if they are written differently, "Sun Breathing" and "Fire Breathing" would sound the same, as "Hi no Kokyuu." This also makes it easy for "Hinokami" to be construed as "Fire God" instead of "Sun God." But why stop there, really? If you want to get into older Japanese, sometimes phonetic "hi" was used in simple reference to the power of gods.

Symbolism:

This is still somewhat linguistic rather than symbolic, but you know how Sound Breath is derived from Thunder Breath?

It's worth pointing out that "Kaminari" (雷) in "Kaminari no Kokyuu" is in reference to the sound, as opposed to something like "Ikazuchi no Kokyuu" for "Lightning Breath" in reference to the sight. We can get really, really nerdy about Japanese words for thunder and lightning and how they relate to Kimetsu no Yaiba, so I already did that here.

What's more interesting to me in regard to Sound Breath is that it takes the "sound" concept of thunder and pushes it--this time with a bit of a firework motif, again in a way that would stress the sound instead of the dazzling light. Both Uzui and Zenitsu have exceptional hearing and are exceptional users of their Breath techniques, so this is either curious that a discerning sense of hearing might help, or ironic that they use such loud styles with their sensitive ears.

Moving on to snakes! There's really no shortage of serpent symbolism, so we'll just focus on a handful of examples. I have already written extensively about the positive associations snakes have with riches, especially white snakes. This is ironic, given Iguro's distasteful paste driven by riches.

Some of the other positive associations with snakes are that they are a water element animal on the geomancy system borrowed from China. Makes sense that this Breath would be derived from Water Breathing! There are many shrines dedicated to snakes and their gifts of rain and clean water, however, water can also be dangerous. A common interpretation of a major legend about an eight-headed giant serpent, the Yamata-no-Orochi, is that it symbolizes the destructive power of a flooded river. But hey, at least snakes are often equated to dragons for having the same water association, so that's pretty cool.

Setting aside the water association, the serpent itself can likewise be considered in negative lights. In the centuries leading up to the Taisho Period, it became commonplace in Buddhist teachings and entertainment to compare jealous women to snakes. This association with woman also adds another layer of cruel irony to Iguro's past.

On a happier note, let's move on to cherry blossoms!

Well, not always happy, seeing as they are known to scatter tragically soon (I am shaking my fist at you, Gotouge). Cherry blossoms are also heavy with all the directions you can go in with symbolism, and I don't have any particular take on why they are part of the overall motif of the Love Hashira (see here for a little commentary on why it is "Koi" 恋 and not "Ai" 愛).

However! I do want to point out something very clever Gotouge did!

You know how Mitsuri's hand guard looks like four hearts that all meet at their pointy ends? This is actually a traditional cherry blossom motif!! Not a very common one, which is why I find it so sly.

Personal Names:

Bear with me, this section will get slightly more speculative, as names are always up to interpretation. I should know, I've done a lot of that for this series.

Remember how kanji can be read in multiple ways? Here's something simple you'd see right away in Japanese but that gets lost in translation to most other languages. Both Sanemi and Genya have 弥 as the second character in their personal name (as "mi" or "ya"). This was not the case for all their siblings, but it's cute that the two of them share it anyway.

So what does it mean? In modern kanji dictionaries, it's pretty bland: "increasingly." However, this kanji has more interesting use and associations that that. It was originally 彌, which carries more of an image of a stretched bow, or how something might go wide and disperse. As a child's name, this might include some hope that they might grow big and tall and go to great places. It is also commonly used in expressing the names of Buddhist deities in Japanese, but it is used only for the "mi" sound instead of the meaning in these cases. (Still, 弥 is one of the "Namu Amida Butsu" characters all over Himejima's haori, which also adds a little cuteness to his associations with Genya.)

So how about someone else with a name that closely matches his brother's? We get a pretty good explanation of Yuichiro (有一郎) and Muichiro (無一郎), with 有 and 無 being opposites (to exist/to not exist). While 有 might be more straightforward in wishing for Yuichiro to have all his needs met, the "mu" in "muichiro" is for "limitless/infinity/etc, etc."

But also!!

It bares distinct resemblance to a common Zen phrase, "Honraimuichimotsu" (本来無一物), with "muichimotsu" meaning "nothing exists" (and therefore, you have nothing to worry about, just be happy).

Speaking of resemblances, "Tomioka Giyuu" has two kanji in common with the name of the mangaka of Hunter x Hunter and I sometimes wonder if he was named in homage. But that is neither here nor there, and I'll just finish today by focusing on "Giyuu" (義勇).

This is pretty basic and straightforward: "loyalty/justice" and "bravery/courage." Pretty lofty. Put them back together and it's basically a set term for "heroism."

However, put it together with other terms for squads or armies, and this is the now the word for "volunteer soldier" or "volunteer army." Historically, it would continue to be used a few decades after Kimetsu no Yaiba takes place, but the decades prior, there were "Giyuutai" organized volunteer troops as well. Perhaps Giyuu had ancestors who fought as volunteer soldiers? Who knows.

#I felt like doing an info-dump #kny nerdery

[averbaldumpingground]

Life almost disappears, those summer afternoons spent reading in the park, your head half-leaning on his shoulder. Those mornings in the spring, a little late for work.

It didn't matter then, the way he took two sugars in his coffee. The way you let your hair grow out too long.

But these, the memories we keep, crammed in a shoebox full of polaroids, saved somewhere on a half-forgotten hard drive, they're what remains behind. They're what your sister finds, the weekend that she helps you pack your life.

And then it's sitting on the couch, your kitchen stuff already wrapped in paper. It's styrofoam containers, soda cans. It's wine that she's already drinking from the bottle.

And you can't figure out whose silhouette that was, who showed up to your party with a boa. And she is pretty sure her ex has kids.

But maybe that's why you and I keep postcards. Somebody's bow tie, paperclips, that bit of string.

They don't remind us of some other time, exactly. They're pieces of the people that we were, they're feelings that we'd wanted to hold on to.

#June 12 2023 #I've had 'Spin' by Lifehouse stuck in my head all day. #Is it about some girl? Is it about god? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Who the heck even knows. #I mean that's like a very large percentage of Lifehouse's musical output. #Well this one could also be about parenthood I guess. #And I'm pretty sure 'You and Me' is definitely about Jason Wade's wife and 'Hanging by a Moment' is about god per comments he's made. #But it's a fun party game isn't it? #Speaking of 'Hanging by a Moment'. Even though it came out when I was like 12 and I hadn't yet realized the whole religious thing. #I associate it most with the summer I was 25 and living with my parents for the summer for a grad school internship. #I remember driving my mom's car to work after dropping her off along the way and cranking up the radio. #Unfortunately my options were limited to the pop station (too many commercials) or the Spanish station (I don't speak Spanish) #or the Christian rock station (the one I usually listened to despite my uncomfortable relationship with religion especially at the time). #And the first time I heard them play Lifehouse I was like wtf? Why is the Christian rock station playing something I actually like? #And then I really listened to the words of 'Hanging by a Moment' and I was 'Oooooh.' #And that was how it took me like 13 years to realize a band I liked and owned cds of may or may not have written a bunch of songs about god #Which honestly would have turned 12 year old me off a lot because like it's not fun being an atheist when almost everyone's a dick about it #And I'm not sure it was the healthiest coping mechanism for the whole having my heart shattered by a religious dude when I was 25... #Actually that's not true. That year I mostly played the fuck out of Emmylou Harris's and Bob Dylan's most depressing hits. ('Gold' anyone?) #Followed by Royal Wood's divorce album when that came out. #But blasting the Christian rock station in the car? Definitely kind of intentionally masochistic. But also I really hate radio commercials. #I did listen to a lot of Lifehouse that summer. #So regardless of what the songs are actually about they all remind me of the highway and my mom's old car and carpooling to work. #Except 'Blind'. 'Blind' still makes me cry. #That was a really pointless aside because I don't feel like writing or going to sleep and will probably stay up listening to Lifehouse now. #I guess the moral of that story if it needs to have a moral is: #If you're a godless heathen and someone makes you feel like shit because they act like there's something wrong with you for it #you're much better off not wasting your time trying to understand why they think like that and living your best heathen life instead. #Or something like that. Idk.

[uglyducklingofthe2000s]

lmfaoo i just got the notification that your request are open and I just ran here. didn't even think about it. I saw you're a fan of Ollie, and I immediately thought it'll be awesome if you wrote for him!

Like how would reader react to Ollie's F1 debut or something! just her being so proud of him. Ver vey fluffy

This is F1 Baby - Oliver Bearman

Ok, so it does feel weird writing a fic for a teenager but it's just going to be a bunch of fluff as requested. Reader is going to be 18 too.

Also P7!!!!! Lewis who?? Ferrari may need to reconsider (ahahaha jk) but also like fr Ollie just beat a 7 time champ with less than an hour practice and from p11...king, you dropped this 👑

Ollie had got pole for F2 and y/n was beyond proud of her boyfriend, especially after the weekend they had last weekend. Bahrain was a weekend that Ollie wanted to forget and had written off.

But the car is feeling better.

"Mmm...good morning pole sitter." Y/n smiles as she rolls over, being woken up by the alarm Ollie had set.

"P10 today, I'll be pole tomorrow."

"Still pole in quali." Y/n smiles with a shrug since nothing can tarnish her pride in her boyfriend. "It's going to be a good weekend. I'm calling it."

"You said that last weekend."

"Ok. But this time I'm a 100% right." Y/n grins earning a hum from the Prema driver before she bursts up, slightly more of a morning person that Ollie would always like but he also appreciates her happiness to motivate her boyfriend. "Alright, come on. We have to get up. Shower, breakfast with your dad then into the paddock."

Ollie laughs following her instructions as they start the day.

"Still feels weird that it's a sprint on a Friday. Like, it's the wrong day of the week." Y/n comments as they sit down for breakfast.

"Yeah, but it's normal for the rest of the year." Ollie shrugs while David looks at the young couple in amusement. He always likes to say that they're already like a retired old couple with the way they talk, but he'd just lets them get on with it.

-

It's when they're back in the room getting ready to leave that Ollie's phone goes off making him move to pick it up.

Y/n is busy fixing her hair when she hears his voice pick up in tone.

"Yeah, yeah. Of course. I'll get there straight away." Ollie states in a rushed voice making her turn with a frown. He sounds excited so whatever is happening is good, not bad news.

He rushes out some more sentences before the call ends and he rushes to y/n beaming to a blinding degree.

"What? What is it?""

"Carlos is in hospital. I'm in a Ferrari! Y/n, I'm driving for Ferrari."

Y/n's face drops in shock, before she jumps on him in a hug and kisses him several times, squealing loudly.

"Ah, oh my gosh. Ok, you go. I'll get your dad, we'll catch up with you."

"You're right. F1 paddock. Don't go to the F2 paddock." Ollie nods kissing her again before taking off with his phone already blowing up.

Y/n meanwhile takes a moment, not quite sure this is real. She should've got Ollie to pinch her. Though it quickly dawns on her that she needs to move and get David before he appears questioning where his son has got to.

"David! David! News! Big news!" Y/n exclaims banging on his hotel door. "David!"

"Alright, kiddo. What's the rush?" David chuckles before being jumped on in a hug.

"Ollie is driving for Ferrari-in F1. He's driving in Ferrari in F1." Y/n states breathlessly, now feeling how real it is. "Carlos is in hospital. I don't know why I just know they need Ollie. He's already left, we need to move. Come on. We need to hurry."

-

Y/n and David remain glued together through the whole experience, only catching glimpses of Ollie before he's in the garage for FP3. His only practice before he's out for qualifying and then in the race tomorrow.

Y/n might just be sick with nerves. Though David's radiating with distress as well.

Neither of them say anything the whole time, David does come over to give y/n a one armed hold around her shoulder before moving back to pace.

The red flag actually has y/n realising she's sweaty from the emotions of watching Ollie live out the dream, even if it's only momentary. One race weekend is going to stay with him forever, especially with it being with Ferrari.

When he gets out the car he's talking to the team but he does give her a chance to speak to him.

"You are born for that car, baby." Y/n grins as he moves to her after hugging David, Ollie grins picking her up from the ground in one of his iconic "bear" hugs as she laughs feeling herself tear up. Slightly overwhelmed with her emotions of pride in him.

"Y/n...Don't cry." Ollie laughs, sensing her tears before he places her down and gently cups her face to wipe away the stray tears. "Happy tears?"

"So beyond happy tears."

One of the engineers calls for Ollie's attention and with a quick kiss he takes off.

They don't really speak to him between then and qualifying where y/n actually does have to swallow back some sick watching Ollie get way too close to the wall.

"Jesus Ollie." Y/n murmurs to herself before sighing as she tries to relax her tensed muscles. She definitely feels her muscles feeling stiff from the tension.

In truth, with his compromised qualifying sim run in FP3 because of the red flag. No one is expect pole. Q2 is pushing it really. But when he gets out of Q1, y/n doesn't even bother to hide her tears.

He does get knocked out of Q2 by less than a tenth and just behind Lewis Hamilton.

"He's going to be disappointed." Y/n mumbles as David moves towards her getting her in a hug that is really more to comfort the two of them and to have their own congratulations towards each other.

Again they catch Ollie after he's weighed in but there's hardly more than a hug before he's taken away for media duties.

"There's so many people around him." Y/n mumbles as David relinks their hand actually she really feels like a child who is at risk of getting lost in the crowds of people everywhere.

By the time Ollie is done with his debrief, he seems to want hold of y/n as much as she wants hold of him. Just some safety in each other's touch.

"God, when you get your seat properly. I hope I get to see you a bit more and it's not so...crazy." Y/n murmurs while hugging him, just relieved to have some attention from him. "I missed you, even if I spent my whole day watching you like my life depended on it."

"I saw...so many tears, still happy tears?"

"The happiest tears...and maybe some of serious distress." Y/n laughs then sighing heavily with a smile. "I think your dad looked more panicked than me. I was just happy and slightly scared. He looked like he might need a heavy drink when we're at the hotel."

"Probably does."

-

Y/n had initially had trouble sleeping but eventually drifted off, leaving her excitedly nervous boyfriend to just try and focus on her to distract his mind from the impending race.

Then he really begins to think about y/n.

They've been together for years, childhood sweethearts really. He feels like she's been in his life as long as his family and he's always known she's been a crucial part of his support system in his racing career.

She's never missed a race, never done anything but remain by his side. Her love and support has been unconditional.

He's going to have to treat her to something special after Melbourne. She really deserves it and he's got a big enough break between races that there's plenty of time to plan something that doesn't interfere with racing.

Caught up in his thoughts Ollie does manage to fall asleep holding y/n quite tightly.

Morning rolls around and passes with the two sleeping to midday thanks to the race being at night. Neither of them were welcoming to the sound of the alarm that wakes them up, but it takes a matter of seconds before he remembers what today is and the excitement sets a buss into his bones.

"Ollie, you're squeezing me." Y/n laughs before she sighs looking at him. "Are you ready?"

"I'm more than ready. You're going to watch me take points today."

"I know I will. Not just squeezing in those points either." Y/n grins leaning forward and kissing him softly. "Come on then. Up, washed, dressed and ready to get in that car and prove that you don't need half the practice time to be amazing."

Further proof he really needs to treat her like the best person on the planet that he could ever wish to know.

Arriving in the paddock with David, there is no less attention on Ollie than there was yesterday. The media are hounding him, fans in the paddock are jumping on him. He's trying to keep composure and do everything he's expected to do.

"I'll see you guys later." Ollie states hugging his day before hugging y/n, lifting her off her feet as he always does and kissing her softly. "Don't look so nervous."

"I'm not...but I will be waiting to see you before the race. One last good luck kiss if you can squeeze it in." Y/n smiles earning a grin. Though he's been smiling like she's never seen before the whole time they've been walking through the paddock.

"I promise. I don't think I could do a race without one."

Ollie takes off with some instructions to David to take care of y/n for him. So she finds herself quite in the toddler position, led around by holding his hand before they are in the Ferrari garage.

"Y/n." Ollie calls rushes towards her before breathlessly smiling. "Good luck kiss?"

"Oh-oh, yeah." She nods smiling when he kisses her then moving to give her dad another hug and rush off.

Y/n spends the next 90 minutes feeling her heart doing a good job at giving her lungs a good beating and really being put to the test of what it can handle before it really gives up.

The last few laps feel like the longest of her life and it's not till the last two laps that she feels confident that Lando and Lewis really aren't getting past him.

When he crosses the line y/n doesn't jump with joy, instead she ends up crouching down, hands over her mouth as she takes a few deep breaths just needing a moment. then she's on her feet hugging David with about a million tears a second spilling out.

"He got P7. Oh my god." Y/n laughs sniffling as the man hugs her patting her back before he places her down. "Come on, come on. I want to catch him before he's doing media."

And like that. Y/n is dragging David out of the garage and to the door outside the weigh bridge.

David catches his son first but after a long hug and exchanged words, y/n finds herself tossed up and hugged impossibly tightly.

"Oliver Bearman, you are incredible. I am so proud." Y/n hiccups still completely overwhelmed by her boyfriend's achievement. "You're so sweaty."

"I know. It was hot. I have to get moving but I'm going to see you." Ollie states making her nod and smile, managing to steal one more kiss. "I love you."

"I love you too." Y/n smiles before he takes off led by the media staff.

David ends up pulling y/n around following Ollie around the paddock and both of them watching them with overflowing pride.

-

Getting back to the hotel, Ollie is visibly exhausted but manages a hot shower to try and soothe the ache of his body.

They'd gone for a celebratory dinner and y/n could do anything but remain silent just in awe of him.

"You've hardly said a word since the end of the race." Ollie comments lying in bed while she removes what residue of make up she hadn't cried off.

"You have me wordless. I just...I got to see a glimpse of your future and I can't explain how amazing it was." Y/n smiles then speeding up the process as quickly as she can before she climb into bed beside him.

"I don't deserve you sometimes." Ollie whispers with a smile, still even exhausted he hasn't been able to shake the happiness from his expression.

"What do you mean?"

"You've been with me every step, never ever stopped supporting me. I think I owe you. But I'm going to make it a surprise."

"Well I'm not going to turn that down. Shall be throw something on the tv and sleep for the next three days?"

"Yes." Ollie confirms earning a small laugh before he kisses her several times then wrapping his arms around her and hugging her tightly even if it makes his aching muscles burn a little.

Taglist: @namgification @hiireadstuff @jsjcue @geniusalpaca @itsjustkhaos @llando4norris @partyinpitlane @lpab @xoscar03

#f1 #fanfic #formula 1 #f2 #f2 x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #oliver bearman #oliver bearman x reader #oliver bearman imagine #oliver bearman one shot #ollie bearman #ollie bearman one shot #ollie bearman x reader #ollie bearman fluff #oliver bearman fluff #ollie bearman imagine #f2 imagine #f2 one shot #f1 one shot #f1 fluff #formula 1 imagine #f1 fanfiction #ob38 #ob3

[chubs-deuce]

(^it's his turn with the child but he has an overlod meeting so this is how he shows up)

I brainstormed a bunch with some friends on a server for how Dawn came to be and we had many fun ideas, some of which I'll elaborate on under the cut for anyone who wants to hear :D

Dawn was kind of created by accident! With Lute in charge of the exterminations now, Sera trying to hide Sir Pentious' redemption and her eyes opened towards heaven's doings, Emily wants to make good on her promise to help Charlie's efforts in hell. She learns through Remiel that heaven has been safekeeping Lucifer's old grimoire since he fell and decides that Charlie as his rightful heir should have it, hoping something in it would help her defend the hotel. It's written in the ancient language of the angels though, and while Charlie is able to translate it, she's by no means fluent in the language, but they find a ritual for the creation of an infinitely powerful weapon! Alastor of course is intrigued when she tells him of this and so he leverages his status as her work partner (and a powerful mage in his own right no less) to convince her to let him help attempt it. They figure out the components needed to fufil the ritual and perform it perfectly and create... a child. (this is because the definition of "weapon" can differ greatly depending on who you ask - it can be a sword, it can be ruthlessness, or it can be words, courage, hope and kindness. The ritual would therefore merely provide a blank slate for them to mold into whatever they need it to be! Charlie mistranslated slightly, since the word used in the ritual would translate more to "tool".)

Charlie and Alastor aren't (yet) romantically involved when Dawn gets created, though she does pull them together out of necessity over time. Alastor is very apprehensive about the concept and insists something must've gone wrong, but ultimately he absolutely recognizes that no matter the intended outcome, he's got a responsibility now, and decides he's at least got to be a better parent than his own father was, so he stubbornly still does what he can to raise this kid. Charlie is overwhelmed with the sudden responsibility they've both been burdened with at first - especially because she already has so many other things to worry about and take care of - but her infamous bleeding heart of course can't deny following its calling. I actually don't think her innate maternal instincts are particularly strong? Ultimately neither of them asked to be a parent and the upheaval of their personal lives that came with it, but they quickly learn to love their newest resident and how it ends up redefining and redrawing their own relationship to each other as well >:D

The newly shared responsibility for a literal child is what finally gets Alastor to cave into agreeing to acquire a phone with a camera - if only to soothe Charlie's nerves whenever she can't be there herself.

A friend from the server even wrote up a whole detailed ritual for me to visualize this whole thing and offered to help with insight on like. Heaven lore(?) and adding onto this concept if need be and I'm honestly having a blast with figuring out the details of this plot, so I might attempt writing a fic out fo this if I can solidify it all a bit better?

Either way, this is kind of escalating into a Whole Thing but I hope y'all are enjoying it nonetheless :'D

#charlastor #radiobelle #charlastor fankid #hazbin hotel #alastor #the radio demon #Alastor is the girldad of all time change my mind #hazbin hotel oc #chubs ocs #dawn morningstar #digital fanart #digital art #fanart #art #my art

[theovalentine]

can you write Jake webber reader and Johnny in a Walmart video and some guy comes up and tries to hit on Y/n and jake gets all mad and there’s a fight?:)

Candle Isle

Summary: Jake texts you telling you, him, and Johnnie are going to Walmart for a valentines themed video and then you get there this guy starts hitting on you.

Pairing: Jake Webber x reader

Tw: violence, blood, random dude being a creep, Jake and Johnnie jokes (if this counts), cussing.

2k+ words

A/N: please note that i haven't written fanfic in a while so this writing might be a little bad but thank you so much for the request!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Jake had texted you two hours ago asking for you to film a video and Johnnie. He said you guys would go to Walmart and just fuck around and buy a bunch of random stuff for another video for Johnnie’s channel. 

You and Jake had been dating for a few months now so of course you had made small appearances in some videos and filmed for them every now and then but you haven't done a full video with them yet. You were excited and nervous at the same time. More nervous than anything but Jake assured you that he would make sure you were fine the whole time. 

Your phone buzzed “I'm here” 

You gathered your things you needed to leave the house, locked the door, then walked down the stairs of the apartment building and saw Jake waiting for you at the door. Jake hears the door close so he turns around with a smile on his face

“Hey” you say and walk over to him looking up at him slightly. 

“Hey you look good” he puts his hand on your waist and leans down for a quick kiss and you smile into it. He starts leading you to the car holding your hand.

“Sorry we’re a little late Johnnie took forever to get ready” you simply nod and laugh a little bit

Jake walks around the car to the passenger side and opens the door for you and you quickly slide into the seat

“Hey Johnnie what's up” you say as Jake walks around the car to get in the car.

You have known Johnnie for quite a while now just from filming videos with a few of his friends and eventually he became really close with Jake and introduced you guys to each other about six months ago.

Jake gets in the car and we all agree to film an intro in the car at Walmart to be more discreet  because Walmart doesn't necessarily like people filming in the store. 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Jake eventually finds a parking spot and sets up the camera on the dash. 

“Everyone ready” he puts thumbs up and turns around slightly in his seat to see Johnnie in the back seat.

You and Johnnie both nod and let Jake press record. 

“We are here at Walmart and we are going to look around and eventually I'm gonna get my lady something from the valentine's section” 

“Aww that's sweet” you say and look at jake

“My lady being this hot babe in the back seat” jake pointed at johnnie

“Hell yeah get fucked” johnnie looked at you with your jaw dropped and you laughed

“No but for real this is my valentine next to me and I'm just getting johnnie whatever he wants because he is lonely” Jake joked.

“Dude what the- let's get out of here” johnnie heads to get out.

You all get out of the car and head inside and on the way to the entrance while the cameras weren't rolling Jake turned to you and asked if you were comfortable. You simply smiled and nodded.

Entering the store Jake pulls out his phone to start filming again “okay guys do we want a cart?”

“Can I ride in it?” Johnnie says to the camera

“I know something you could ride” Jake jokes back at him and smirks

“Jake your girlfriend is here take it easy” he slightly whispers 

Jake pans the camera to you and you're just standing there staring at them. They both laugh at you and you just smile while grabbing a cart.

“Hop in” You tell Johnnie 

“Wait actually?” he hops in and you try to push the cart but struggle a little bit

Jake laughs at your struggle “Johnnie i think she's struggling a bit there buddy” Johnnie laughs and hops out the cart 

“Here y/n get in” Johnnie then lets you get in and starts pushing the cart while Jake films. 

Eventually you guys make your way to the candle section

“This is where i lose all my money to y/n” jake looks at you

“Let me get out, I love candles” you hop out of the cart and start looking at candles. Jake and Johnnie are on the other side of the aisle looking at other candles and cracking up over jokes.

“Yall I'm not gonna lie I'm going to piss my pants if i don't go to the bathroom right now” Jake says 

“Okay go we will wait here” Johnnie said 

Jake left quickly and you laughed at his dramatic urgency. Johnnie is only halfway down the aisle from you now, both of you just looking at candles silently.

You are bent down looking at the bottom shelf when you hear two guys behind you laughing. You weren't sure if it was at you but you were not taking that chance so you took your candles that you picked out to put in the cart and then walked over to Johnnie telling him you were slightly uncomfortable. 

You and Johnnie headed to the next aisle over so you weren't too far from where Jake would try to find you. You guys were looking at simple stuff on the shelves when two guys came up to you. You assumed it was the guys laughing just before. 

“Hey Sweetheart” one of these guys came up to you with his friend not too far behind him. He looked to be about college age or maybe just graduated but definitely still had the frat vibe. 

“Uhm Hi” You looked at him confused then turned to look at Johnnie with a weirded out look. He was already on his phone texting Jake about the situation. 

“Is this your boyfriend?” he looked around you to look at Johnnie waving his fingers as if he was  saying hi

“No but-” you tried to say your actual boyfriend was here but he had cut you off

“Oh so you're single” he gave you the most disgusting grin. You turned to Johnnie who had a slightly scared look on his face. You could tell that Johnnie wanted to do or say something about this but you also could tell that he had never been in a fight in his life and was scared to get beat up. You couldn't blame him.

“Well-” he had cut you off again. 

“Because me and my friend here think you're super cute and he bet me that I wouldn't be able to get your number” He pointed at his friend behind him. 

Before you could think of an answer you felt an arm around your shoulder. Looking over you saw it was Jake and his hand was cold from where he had just washed them. Not only did his cold hand calm you but him just showing back up filled you with relief. 

“Yeah she is pretty cute but sadly for you and happily for me she's taken” jake looked at him and tried to lighten the mood

“And you are?” He straightened his posture to ‘intimidate’ Jake but Jake wasn't having it. 

“Her boyfriend. Did you not pick that up from the ‘shes taken’ comment” Jake looked at this guy like he was the most stupid person in the world and removed his arm from around your shoulder. 

“Are you calling me dumb?” The guy cocked his head at Jake.

“Not necessarily but you must be if you didn't pick up on the fact that she didn't want you from how uncomfortable she is” Jake quickly shot back at this guy. 

“Come on she wasn't uncomfortable until you showed up” The guy rolled his at jake

“Hm, Really?” Jake turned to you and you looked down “No i think i know my girlfriend enough to say she was definitely uncomfortable”

“Lets ask her then” this guy leans over and tries to look at your face “huh love are you uncomfortable” you simply try to back up

“Bro don't get in her face like that” Jake pushes his shoulder lightly just to back him up a little bit.

“Hey don't touch me” The guy got angry and Jake steps in front of you to try and seem intimidating. 

“Maybe stop bothering us then” Jake grabs your hand and turns around and you guys try to leave

“Yeah, follow your owner like a pet.” This comment not only upset you but as soon as Jake saw the look on your face he immediately turned around.

Everything was happening so fast that by the time you felt Jake let go of your hand you turned around to see his fist hitting the creeps face. Immediately gasping you try to go and stop him but you feel Johnnie’s hand grab your arm. He didn't want you to get hurt as well.

“JAKE!” you try to stop him but by the time you got to him the other guys friend had already grabbed him and told him they needed to run before the cops got there.

You grab Jake's arm and he is breathing heavily, you turn him around quickly to look at him. 

“Oh my god, Jake you're bleeding” you grab his face lightly not wanting to hurt him

“Oh” he touches his face lightly to see the blood on his fingers

“Come on put your hood on we are leaving” you told him you pull his hood on for him and you guys just leave the cart behind. 

Johnnie follows quietly as you guys make your way out the store to the car. 

“I'm driving okay I'm not letting your drive after that you get that right?” you tell jake and he understands. You all get in the car and you realize he's been pretty quiet. “You good?” you turn to him asking softly and he nods. 

“God jake you have the longest fucking legs in existence” struggling to adjust the car seat. Everyone slightly laughs realizing you're trying to lighten the mood. 

“It's not my fault you're short�� he comments back at you.

“I'm not that short” you roll your eyes

ੈ✩‧₊˚

You guys end up at the boys house and everyone gets out and walks in and Johnnie goes to his room. 

“Come on let's get you cleaned up” you put your bag down and grab Jake's hand dragging him towards the bathroom.

You both enter the bathroom and shut the door behind you as he leans against the counter and you walk over to him.

“Where do you want me?” he asks lowly and you could tell he feels bad.

“Well if you stand there i won't be able to reach you” you smile at him and shake your head lightly.

Jake puts his hands on your waist and turns you around and lifts you up onto the counter. 

“Better?” he asks and you think you might lose your mind. 

“Better.” you stare at him analyzing his face and injuries. He has a split eyebrow with dried blood running down his face, he also has a split lip. “Your lip hurt?” you look up at him with caring eyes because of his fresh piercings. 

“Oh yeah I'm not gonna lie I feel like it's gonna fall off” you laugh at him looking at it more deeply.

“Get the first aid kit and I'll clean it up to see if we need to remove the piercing” he immediately leans over to get the first aid kit from under the bathroom counter. As he does this you turn your body to wash your hands. He hands it to you and you set it on the counter next to you pulling out an alcohol wipe. You open it, wrapping it around your finger lightly tapping his eyebrow. After cleaning up his eyebrow you put a butterfly bandage on it. 

“Now the hard part” you pull his lip down lightly and he winces softly. “I think you should take the piercing out just in case” he groans and throws his head back. He had just got another put in because he swallowed the last one. “I know i know but i wouldn't want it to get infected and make your lip fall off, how would i kiss you then??” 

“Okay fine but I'm making you take it out you have smaller fingers.” you take out his lip piercing and clean it up.

“If it wasn't already swollen before it definitely is now” you joke a little “there isn't another injury on the lip he must have just hit the piercing and it got agitated” he puts his hand on your hips and squeezes a little trying not to hurt you. You clean it up a little more and put some ointment on it for now.  

“Are you mad?” he looks down at your lap. You put your hands on his chest in a comforting way 

“A little but also not at all. If that makes sense? I don't really like violence but I also really love a boyfriend who sticks up for me and cares about my comfort.” you rub your hand against his shoulder and tilt your head at him. He looks at you and nods. 

“Okay” he goes quiet for a second “how long until we can kiss again?” you press a light kiss against the corner of his mouth without the ointment. 

“Just a little because I'm not kissing your ointment lip sorry” you smile at him and he groans but then laughs brushing it off. 

ੈ✩‧₊˚

#jake webber x reader #jake webber #johnnie guilbert #x reader #jake webber fluff

[honeytonedhottie]

HONEYS RESOURCE BUNDLE⋆.ೃ࿔*:･💶

a gift from me to you for the new year, to help give tips that can help u succeed 🫶🏽 a post filled with resources, and advice to help u guys improve in every aspect 💗 i love and appreciate u all and i hope u find it helpful.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ physical movement and activity

find something that u like and thats fitted for ur needs. for me, all of the workouts that i do come from youtube. a girlblogger that always has a lot of workouts to try is @4theitgirls-workouts. to motivate urself to move ur body i recommend buying something cute to workout in because it always makes me feel good. i rly like to do pilates, so since i enjoy pilates -> i'll wanna do it more.

so dont be afraid to try different things and see what u enjoy the most and stick with that bcuz u dont wanna be forcing urself to do something that u won't enjoy/that won't give u the results that u want. if working out in general isn't rly ur cup of tea at all, thats totally okay! try going for walks or start running. maybe try out for a sport or start a style of dance. the whole point of this category is to get urself moving bcuz its rly rly good for ur physical and ur mental health, and it'll serve u in the long run. another youtuber i rly recommend for pilates workouts is madeline abeid.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ self improvement youtubers that i love and watch regularly

the wizard liz

simonesquared

sammy ingram

simmonesimmo

hailey gamba

the freezia

persephonesmind

₊˚⊹ ᰔ law of assumption

of course if u wanna learn about and practice the law of assumption then u can learn and apply thru my advice, experiences, ideas and more. neville goddard is like, the guru of manifesting and hes written a bunch of books, here are neville goddard's books online for FREE so that that then u can learn and see it HIS way bcuz the thing with manifesting is u gotta figure out how it works for you cuz its your reality.

if u like subliminals this is my favorite subliminal maker on youtube. their subliminals r amazing and i enjoy them bcuz they dont have music layered onto it (i like subliminals that have soothing sounds like rain or water or anything asmr). last but not least my absolute favorite manifesting coach/teacher on the whole internet, sammy ingram - literally the best manifesting guide. she rly simplifies things and her channel is full of helpful advice, success stories, challenges and her perspective on manifesting is brilliant so i rly recommend her.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ mental health

journalling is honestly the best thing that i have ever done for my mental health, the ROI that i get from it is actually incredible so i highly highly recommend it. if ur someone who doesn't rly like to write a lot, use ur notes app or whatever just get the thoughts out of ur mind and onto a piece of paper/notes. i understand that sometimes when ur mental health isn't doing too well and u dont feel motivated rly to do anything (like u feel lethargic and stuff) forcing urself to do things ISNT always the answer. i rly recommend having alternate routines cuz we ask a lot from ourselves sometimes so some days, ask a little less.

give urself the break that u deserve. when u feel like crying, CRY. even if its for no reason, the body holds onto pent up emotions so when u cry u gotta CRY. with time you'll find the things that help u feel better. for everyone its different. for me, when my mental health is in a slump what helps me is : 1. doing one thing differently (i'll go for a walk maybe) 2. get ready (take a quick shower, or if i dont even have the motivation to do that i'll do a sink shower) 3. drink a cold cup of water and make myself a meal. dont ever have zero days. always give at least 1% or do at least one thing.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ hygiene

hygiene is so instrumental in mental health cuz like i've said before looking good -> feeling good. i make sure to get ready everyday even if im going nowhere. just bcuz the process of getting ready gives me so much momentum. smelling good gives me so much confidence bcuz im the type of person thats rly rly scared of smelling bad. im a hygiene JUNKY so im always buying soaps and fragrances. when u make self care a daily thing it'll feel so natural. dont neglect ur oral health, invest in quality products that are suited for your needs. be meticulous when it comes to ur hygiene cuz a solid routine is lowkey comforting. i rly recommend korean skincare, indian haircare, african body care, and arabic perfumes and fragrances. some of my favorite hygiene based youtube channels are : SARA BEQELE and anna renns world

₊˚⊹ ᰔ school

TAKE. SCHOOL. SERIOUSLY. the feeling that u get when u get a good score on an assignment or test is unmatched. at the end of the day ur responsible for ur education. it's not hot to be a loser. if ur someone who struggles to stay on top of assignments, write down the assignment as soon as its assigned and at the next possible chance do it. as soon as u get home from school. reward urself for good grades and for ur accomplishments cuz ur AMAZING. study effectively instead of excessively.

pursue excellence always. find ways to motivate urself throughout the school day (for me, i always try and incorporate girliness into school cuz that motivates me) all my pens and pencils and folders are pink and i get myself ready everyday before school. cuz when i FEEL good -> i perform well. if u ever dont wanna study remind urself that studying>failing. advocate for urself, dont be afraid to ask questions cuz ur responsible for ur grade if u need accommodations or longer time to take a test (even if u dont) always set urself up to have the most time possible and the most resources. the resources that u have USE THEM. the goal of studying isn't to "mostly" know the material its to know for SURE. when u can explain something thoroughly, thats when you can know if you've studied enough.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ organization + planning

of course for the new year and for life in general, organization is rly helpful. manage urself mindfully and intentionally. even if ur a messy person, organizing isn't difficult if u do it in a way thats right for you. for me, notion - is literally the best organizational tool. i have an agenda, calendars, school pages, and so much more.

with notion i rly organized my life on a whole other level. aside from notion, the notes app on ur phone is rly useful, when it comes to organizing ur day to day life, i think its important bcuz it helps u to maximize ur time. for planning out ur year, if u find it difficult to stay "on task" or achieve the goals that u set for urself, try this : dont see the year as 365 days, instead separate the year into 4 quarters (90 days each) and in each of those quarters choose one aspect to focus on and pour into. make sure to log and track ur progress on those goals. the idea to this is breaking things down. break down big goals -> to more digestible goals so that then its more believable for u. remember, your limitless.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ nutrition

if ur someone who has bad nutrition, or unhealthy eating habits in general and u wanna change that my biggest advice would be to NOT BE EXTREME. bcuz i feel like if u go fully extreme so quickly then the change isn't sustainable. take it slow. start off by introducing a fruit into breakfast and having a vegetable at dinner, then eating fruit with ur breakfast and having fruit as a snack, and eating veggies with lunch and dinner. ik it sounds repetitive and overdone but u need to be consuming ur fruits and veggies. if ur not eating it with ur meals then maybe have it in a smoothie if that works for u. take supplements for things that u dont rly incorporate into ur diet, and the key to a good diet is BALANCE. dont deny urself food that u love. life is WAY to short to be scared to eat the burger that u so desperately want. its okay to eat what ppl might consider "junk food" but everything in BALANCE and moderation. keep the 80/20 principal in ur mind. 80% of what u eat should be good for u and 20% of what u eat should be whatever u crave. DRINK WATER, dont go on extreme diets if ur not an adult and haven't consulted a doctor it does u more harm than good.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ informative

learn every single day. even if ur not in school anymore. a way to help learn and sharpen ur mind every single day is picking up a hobby that can help u do so. for me, the hobby i have is reading, reading keeps my brain sharp, it keeps me entertained, and when i read nonfiction it keeps me informed. so the hobby of reading has a high ROI. whenever u get an idea of any sort, ACT on it. u dont have to wait a billion years before acting on an idea. when u get ideas, its for a reason, ur mind is brilliant and imagine how many ideas that u wasted. thats why i recommend having a creative outlet of some sort. for me, my creative outlet is my blog where i can come and talk with you guys 🫶🏽 but ur creative outlet can be ur notes app or ur journal or ur sketchbook. just a way to get the ideas in ur brain -> onto paper.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ stuff i wish i knew

ur never ever tied down to one version of urself, u can always change ur mind/opinion, u can create a new version of urself whenever the heck u want. remember that u have free will and that ur always in control. bcuz it is your life it revolves around you and it is your responsibility. its not something to mess around with. take responsibility for urself, ur actions, ur reactions etc.

1% of progress is better than 0%, a little is always better than nothing. ur social anxiety or ur fear of being perceived is HOLDING U BACK. forgive urself for ur mistakes, everything that ur embarrassed of in ur past let it go and LET YOURSELF LIVE. become ur own project, ur own muse and if all else fails (which it won't, you'll be fine and everything will work itself out for u even better than u could've ever imagined) love yourself unconditionally.

#law of assumption #advice #self concept #it girl #self love #that girl #becoming that girl #self care #honeytonedhottie #it girl energy #dream girl tips #dream girl #dream life #new year #2024 #manifesting tips #manifestation #self development #self improvement #self growth #self healing #resources #girly #girlblogging #just girly things #girl blogging #girl blog #wellness girlie #leveling up #pink pilates princess

[nyssasorbit]

.

#this is just gonna be a lot of tag rambling for a bit here #so #I wonder would anyone be interested in a series of short stories about grief/death? #because my family is really insistent that I publish a book of short stories before I try to publish my novel #because my short stories are undoubtedly stronger #but most of the ones that I've written/enjoy the most/are the strongest involve... #well #people dying or grieving #lmao #so what if I just...rolled with that theme? #made a book of fictional/fantasy stories involving grief? #I feel like that wouldn't be very popular but #making unpopular things is literally my whole shtick even if I don't want it to be lol #not all of the stories are doom and gloom though #in fact some of them actually have happy endings where they get through the grieving process and are able to move forward in life #I /would/ just pick a theme and write a bunch of stories for it #like any other person would do #but tbh #most of the time if I set up a plan to do that #my work just feels...dishonest #it feels forced #I guess I could keep a theme vaguely in mind and #if something doesn't fit it I just remove it and try again but still #also I just...really like writing about grief/death for some reason #it's just a theme that shows up a lot and I don't know why.. #but well #just some thoughts #maybe other psychopaths like me would enjoy it idk

[allieebobo]

Do you have any if recommendation?

Ooh! I have really, really bad memory(!!) but these are current faves that I have played/replayed recently that I can think of. A lot of the authors are also THE BEST HUMAN BEINGS EVER. So, double recommendation.

I probably missed a bunch out, so take this as a non-exhaustive list! In no particular order:

(Edit: Added some descriptions but yeah I got a little unhinged so I'm sorry nothing makes sense or if the quality of the write-up went down over time/did not actually give you any useful info)

WIPs with demos

Citadel, @bouncyballcitadel (I think of all the IFs on this list, this one makes me sweat the most. And I've said it once and I'll say it again: the dialogue is so snappy and well-written, and characters are SO DAMNED LOVEABLE.)

Infamous, @infamous-if (I've been manifesting Band/Musician IFs for the longest time, and then this popped up! I've even played Choice of a Rockstar, that's how desperate I was... Anyway, this is legions better than that. Angsty ex routes are my kryptonite, and Seven is just. Inevitable.)

Defiled Hearts: The Barbarian, @defiledheartsblog (I went into this wanting something juicy and fun/historical—and it's all of those things, but I didn't expect it to be so damned funny, too. The ROs are all impeccable.)

Raiders of the Caravan and Apartment 3-3, @leftski-if (A'ight listen, fantasy slice-of-life is my fave genre, and these are IT. Like, everything I never knew I needed in my life, and SO cozy/wholesome, with a cast of characters that I want to befriend in real life.)

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes: An Affair of the Heart @doriana-gray-games (First off, the customization in this game is INSANE, and the branching too. I've replayed a couple of times and the little variations I discover each time just blows my mind. Secondly, it's so funny and written so well. Ngl I'm not a Sherlock fan but that's just testament to how amazing this IF is.)

When Life Gives You Lemons, @when-life-gives-you-lemonssss (Modern slice-of-life with an adorable kid, a bunch of hot ROs, CC. Hill's humor, what can I say?)

Golden @milaswriting (Really interesting world-building, one of the coolest fictional cities I've read in an IF, AND I'm obsessed with the ROs, in particular K de la Renta. Also Mila is such an awesome writer, I'm beyond excited for @beyondthegame.)

A Tale of Crowns @ataleofcrowns (This game is beautiful, polished, and SO exciting. Honestly, it looks like the kind of game created by a whole-ass game studio and would cost $50 to buy, it's that good. I really got swept up by this IF—probably played it all in one go.)

Rougi @rougi-if (Again, another game with scrumptious visuals/UI and also is just so well-crafted. I love the premise too, it's so original and fresh.)

Scout: An Apocalypse Story @anya-dev (Unfortunately this one might be on hiatus but I am/was really, really obsessed.)

Wayfarer @idrellegames (Love the game mechanics of this one, and the visuals. Probably controversial, but I like the D&D / random dice effect. And I also like the fact that it feels like an old-school RPG.)

Chop shop @losergames (The premise is all I needed to be sold, really—I'd always wanted to buy GTA as a kid but my parents were like NO WAY. Anyway, this IF did not disappoint, and let me live all my childhood dreams.)

Edit: AHH! How could I forget, one of my recent faves, Folksaga @folksaga-if (Lush atmospheric writing, super unique premise—norse mythology, plus I'm head over heels for Katla).

Completed IFs

Butterfly Soup 1 and 2 @brianna-lei (these are completed and I will never not promote them. Honestly the most adorable, wholesome, funny sports/coming-of-age IF I've read)

Elsinore: After Hamlet @lapinlunairegames (Insanely cool premise, insanely cool execution)

The Thick Table Tavern @manonamora-if (I love bar/tavern games, and this one actually lets you mix drinks! Instant fave.)

Other HGs/COGs I love: Slammed, Tin Star, Fallen Hero, If it pleases the court, A Player's Heart (these last two are so underrated, though I guess cause it's mainly wlw)

#asks #if #IF recommendations #other IFs #interactive fiction

[granaidh]

Hi! I hope you're doing well, and thank you for writing! Could you please write a little something for Lando where the reader is also a driver (but not his teammate) and she got into a big accident at the last gp of the year and it's taken her quite some time (like a few months) to get better, so she has to miss out on the whole next season of racing. A bunch of the drivers have visited her, but Lando hasnt , bc they had a fight before the last gp and also they were both unsure of what kind of relationship they had (like kind of friends but with soft touches, longing gazes, but no guts to make a move). And he finally decides to visit her while she's away on a retreat for her mental health or smth. I long for angst, but it can go and end in which ever way you'd imagine. Thank you!

mistakes — lando norris

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

summary: lando doesn't think before he speaks, and it quickly becomes apparent that he might be too scared to fix it.

warnings: serious injury to reader but not heavily described, casual sexism from lando, bit of angst

a/n: i'm actually proud of this at 2am but I'm sure when I reread it i'll be ashamed

The smell of flowers began to become sickly after a while. You’d never known that before. But as the small private hospital room overflowed, your senses were under constant assault to the point your head began to spin, and your nostrils burned day in and day out. You tried to push the frustration away, noting the flowers were from your friends and coworkers, with beautiful cards stacked up on the sterilised table next to you.

You sighed gently; you really were overreacting; they helped the room feel alive through your recovery, even if it left a bitter taste in your mouth. The orchids from George created a beautiful arch with their stem resting next to Alex’s arrangement of blue hydrangeas; you suspect Logan snuck his name on the bottom of the card, allowing yourself a light exhalation of air in humour at the flustered American, not wanting to overstep your very casual relationship. Lewis’s bouquet of peonies made your lip quiver lightly, while Fernando’s succulent calmed you down and reminded you of the practical nature of the Spanish man who taught you so much.

All the arrangements from coworkers you greeted so often, even if you weren’t close, made the tears well in your bottom lashes, fighting to keep the emotions at bay as you read the card definitely written by Susie from both herself and Toto wishing you all the best in your speedy recovery and return the track in the following season.

If you wanted to take one good thing from your crash, at least it was at the last race, your job fulfilled for the season, allowing you plenty of time to rot away in a hospital bed in Switzerland, far away from Milton Keynes and the extensive expectations placed on you. 

Your phone flashed, a text from your teammate affectionately named in your phone ‘max v’ not to be confused with ‘max f’ or the mysterious just ‘max’ who you couldn't remember ever having in your phone. The photo was of himself, Daniel, Yuki and Christian dressed to the nines at the factory dinner. The accompanying text made you giggle, as most things from your Dutch teammate did.

“Don’t let my smile fool you, and I’m so close to ruining every sponsor this team has out of pure rage; I’ll take the blame if we have no seat next year. This suit is too tight, and if one more person asks me where you are thinking that I’m gonna give a scoop. I’m going to strangle them the way I should’ve strangled Ocon when I got the chance all those years ago. Even Daniel can’t make me feel better; I miss you being here. You would’ve judged people with me, gtg Christian barking orders again.”

You were glad Max was dealing with the dinner and not you. You last saw him a couple days ago. He dropped in with Daniel, completing your collection of flowers before forcing you to be sandwiched between them on your bed to watch a movie, finally allowing yourself to be reminded of everyday life as the two bickered and fought for a remote over your body. You didn’t stay awake for long. 

The final delivery of flowers had been delivered by a charming Sebastian Vettel, who dropped in cuts of native flowers that he had brought specifically for you on his property, tied together with a repurposed ribbon from a gift you had given him years ago. However, there was a noticeable absence in the gifts surrounding you. 

George arrived with Alex first, Logan trailing behind them, adding seeing you in a hospital bed to the third conversation you’d had outside of greetings. Then Bottas and Zhou with an accompanying Lewis. Fernando arrived with Oscar, allegedly heading back to the UK together afterwards. Toto dropped his flowers off at reception as you were asleep, and Yuki came with Pierre, followed by Lance and Esteban, and then Charles, who insisted on staying and catching up. Then Carlos, strangely followed by the dads of the grid, Nico and Kevin, who were far more concerned about your injuries than you expected. However, one substantial absence stood out to you.

Lando.

You knew you hadn’t left on the best of terms, but you didn’t expect him to not visit you at all. You had been in rehab, both physical and mental, for nearly two weeks now, with everyone managing to check in on you despite their busy schedules except Lando. Your crash hadn’t been pretty sure; slamming into a tire wall at 60g, passing out in the car, and getting hauled out of the upside-down chassis before getting rushed to the hospital wasn’t the best final display following your argument, but not enough to ignore you. He hadn’t even caused the crash. It was a racing incident between you and Carlos; neither of you could have avoided it; you just copped the heavier burden. 

You underwent a battery of medical examinations, each a journey into uncertainty. In the X-ray room, the stark images of fractured bones mirrored the ache you felt, tangible evidence of the crash's impact. Inside the MRI chamber, the steady hum enveloped you, the machine's relentless probing revealing the hidden aftermath of the collision. It seemed to echo the pounding of your heart, a nervous symphony amidst the mechanical rhythms. Doctors' questions were like peeling layers, seeking not just physical wounds but the unseen injuries etched within. Each test marked a step toward understanding, painting a complex picture of recovery where visible injuries and unseen scars intertwined. Each evaluation was a mix of relief and apprehension, providing answers that formed a path to healing, a trail marked by uncertainty yet holding the promise of recovery.

The specialists' meticulous evaluations probed deeper into the fractures, soft tissue damage, and the corridors of your mind. Psychologists gently unravelled the knots of emotional trauma, exploring the depths of your psyche, where the crash had left its indelible mark. Their questions felt like delicate hands reaching into the recesses of your thoughts, seeking to mend the fragments of your peace. The psychological assessments uncovered the whispers of anxiety and the haunting spectre of post-traumatic stress, remnants of the crash that lingered within you. Every test result felt like a double-edged sword—confirmation of injuries and a roadmap toward recovery. The prognosis painted a journey marked by rehabilitation, a marathon of physical therapy, and a parallel track of counselling to tend to the unseen wounds.

Yet amidst the medical jargon and clinical assessments, a flicker of hope persisted—the assurance that eventually Lando would show up, flash that smile and quell all the horrible things you had both said before the race start. You grimaced at the memory.

The bustling paddock echoed with the symphony of mechanics preparing the cars, but amidst the controlled chaos, you and Lando engaged in your usual banter. Your race suits wrapped around your waists, both slowly hydrating before race preparation fully began. Your words, initially playful, began to bear the weight of deep insecurities.

“You seem pretty nervous, worried you’re not going to see the finish line again?” He smiled, his head tilted, eyelashes fluttering, not afraid to push your buttons at any given chance.

However, his teasing smirk faltered as your words struck a raw nerve. "At least I'm consistent, unlike someone. Your results have been all over the place all season, let alone your qualifying.”

The playful atmosphere shifted, an undercurrent of frustration tainting Lando's response. "Consistently average, you mean? You talk a lot for someone who hasn't even seen a world championship title in the absolute rockets Redbull have been building; your teammate will always outperform you.."

Your smile wavered, stung by the barb. "You're one to talk, Mr. 'Lando NoWins’' every season. Maybe if you stopped focusing on social media and YouTube content, you'd actually win something."

The words hung in the air, a charged silence enveloping them. Then, in a moment of unchecked frustration, Lando's retort cut through the atmosphere like a blade, "Maybe you should listen to the folks who say women don't belong in F1."

Your eyes widened in disbelief, hurt etching lines across your features. A heavy silence engulfed you both, the weight of Lando's words causing an irreparable breach in your banter. The unintentional insult lingered, an unexpected wound that pierced deeper than you initially intended.

You felt the sting of Lando's words like a visceral blow, the hurt and frustration twisting inside you. You turned on your heel, striding back toward your team garage without a comment. Your footsteps echoed loudly against the paddock floor, a resolute rhythm that matched the pounding of your heart, blood rushing to your ears. Ignoring the concerned glances of your crew, you brushed past, focus singular—preparing for the race ahead. The air hummed with an electric intensity as you suited up, the layers of protective gear around your face against the emotional turmoil swirling within, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

There was a steely determination etched on your face as you tightened the straps of your helmet, shutting yourself into a cocoon of concentration. The roar of the engines outside became your anchor, drowning out the echoes of the hurtful exchange. Silent and resolute, you climbed into the car, the cockpit becoming a sanctuary. Your jaw set in determination, you flicked switches and adjusted controls with precision, shutting out the world beyond the confines of the racing machine. Your eyes, usually bright with laughter, now held a fierce resolve as you rolled out of the garage, the determination to deliver a race that would drown out the hurt, speaking louder than any words you could utter. You sighed raggedly, the memory taunting you as you shakily stood up to make your way to your therapist's office, looking forward to speaking about how everything had played out.

"You know, doc, I thought I had it all figured out. I thought I could handle the pressure, the banter, the camaraderie. But that day, everything shattered. Every hurtful word was a crack in the facade I'd built. I thought I was tougher, stronger, but it turns out I'm just… human."

You sat in the therapist's office, the weight of Lando's words still heavy on your heart. The echo of that conversation on the track had ricocheted into every corner of your mind, leaving a maze of emotions you struggled to navigate.

"I wanted to prove him wrong, to prove everyone wrong. But those words... they cut so deep. It wasn't just a simple jab. It was everything I've fought against, the doubts, the stereotypes, all laid bare in a single sentence by someone I trusted."

Your therapist, a comforting presence amidst the storm within, listened attentively, offering a reassuring nod.

"I geared up for the race, determined to drown out the pain, to prove I was more than what he said. But as I sat there, strapped into the car, I realized I wasn't racing against the others anymore. I was racing against myself, against those doubts that suddenly felt louder than the roaring engines."

Tears welled in your eyes, a mix of frustration and vulnerability, emotions you'd kept at bay for too long now threatening to spill over.

"I wanted to prove that I could compartmentalize, that I could shove aside the hurt and focus on the race. But I couldn't, and it scared me. It was like I was driving blind, my mind clouded by everything he said."

The therapist's gentle gaze conveyed empathy, a silent encouragement to continue pouring out the tangled emotions.

"And now, they won't clear me. They say I'm not in the right headspace, that I need another week. But what if a week isn't enough? What if I can't shake off these doubts? What if I'm not strong enough to brush off those words and just race?"

The vulnerability in admitting these fears felt raw and exposed. The therapist's reassuring words offered a lifeline, a beacon of hope amidst the storm.

"I just... I want to race, to prove I belong here. But right now, I don't even know if I believe it myself."

The confines of his Monaco apartment felt suffocating, the glossy exterior a facade that failed to shield him from the turmoil. Lando's fingers drummed an erratic rhythm on the polished surface, a restless manifestation of his internal conflict.

The memory of their heated exchange replayed in his mind like a relentless loop, each word a shard that pierced through the armour of his racing persona. He had always navigated the paddock with ease, charming smiles and quick wit masking the tumult of emotions that roiled beneath the surface. But with your absence, the mask had slipped, revealing a vulnerability he hadn't reckoned with.

Regret clawed at him, a persistent ache in the pit of his stomach. "I should've been there," he muttered, the weight of those words heavy on his conscience. The realisation of not being by your side during your most vulnerable moments gnawed at him, a pang of gnawing guilt that begged for resolution. The retreat, whispered about in hushed tones among the racing circles, stood as a sanctuary amidst the chaos—a refuge where you sought solace for your fractured spirit. It beckoned to Lando like a beacon, a chance for redemption in the quiet comfort of nature.

The decision simmered within him, a tumultuous blend of apprehension and resolve. It wasn't solely about seeking forgiveness but an acknowledgment—a reckoning with the depth of his feelings that he'd buried beneath layers of uncertainty. As the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting hues of amber across the harbour, Lando made a choice. He would seek you out, traverse the distance to where you had found peace, and confront the storm he'd helped brew.

The journey to the retreat felt like a pilgrimage, each mile an introspective passage into the recesses of his own heart. With each passing mile, the layers of bravado peeled away, revealing a vulnerability he'd long kept shielded. The serene setting of the retreat, a stark contrast to the adrenaline-fueled tracks you had both grown accustomed to, seemed to mirror the quiet turmoil within him. The rustling leaves whispered of a chance for redemption, a fragile hope that clung to the edges of his conflicted heart.

Steeling himself, Lando walked the pathways to where you were staying. Each step felt like an echo of his hesitation, a testament to the emotional weight he carried. The consequence of his absence, the depth of his regret, and the burgeoning realisation of his feelings surged within him, propelling him forward.

The serene sanctuary of the retreat wrapped around you like a comforting shroud, nature’s symphony a balm to the chaotic discord within yourself. The sun dipped low on the horizon, painting the sky with strokes of soft pinks and fiery oranges, casting a serene hue over the landscape. Into this tranquil setting stepped an unexpected interruption—Lando. His sudden appearance punctured the peaceful bubble, jolting a concoction of emotions within you—shock mixed with uncertainty and a flicker of hesitant hope. As your eyes met, the unspoken weight of past conversations seemed to hang thick in the air.

"Hey," Lando's voice, typically confident, now bore a tremor of hesitation, an attempt to break through the thick blanket of silence.

"Hi," your response carried a symphony of emotions—guarded hope woven with the remnants of hurt and unresolved tension. The atmosphere crackled with an awkwardness so palpable it felt suffocating, a thick fog between you two. It was as if the tranquillity of the retreat intensified the discomfort, amplifying the awkwardness to an almost unbearable level.

"I... I'm sorry," Lando's words stumbled out, laden with regret. "For what I said. It was out of line. I was... I was frustrated, but that's no excuse." His apology seemed to echo in the quietude, each word a jarring note in the serene backdrop—a fragile bridge amidst the uncomfortable silence.

"It hurt," you confessed, the echoes of his words still ringing painfully. "It felt like everything I've fought against in my career was thrown back at me in that moment by the person I trusted the most." Lando's composure softened his admission, a mixture of regret and helplessness. 

"I didn't mean it. I let my own insecurities cloud my judgment. And I should've been there for you, especially when you needed support." The admission felt like a rock lifting off your chest, yet the tension remained, wrapped tight around every word.

"I know. It's been tough, not just physically, but emotionally too," you admitted each syllable a struggle against the thickening tension. "I wanted you here but didn't know if I was ready to confront this." The confession lingered in the air, a painful echo amidst nature's serenity—a tentative step in the sad dance of awkwardness and unresolved emotions you were both partaking in. In the peaceful surroundings, amidst the beauty of nature's embrace, a strained encounter unfolded—a painfully awkward ballet of discomfort and unease, each word thick with the weight of past hurt and unspoken feelings.

Amidst the exchange, a gentle breeze rustled through the trees as if nature sought to alleviate the tension between you both. Now, a mere sliver above the horizon, the sun cast elongated shadows that danced across the landscape. You invited him in, allowing him to sit on the lounge. Lando's gaze softened, a silent plea evident in his eyes. "I've regretted my words since they left my mouth. They were careless, thoughtless..."

Your heart clenched at his vulnerability, his voice's rawness echoing your internal struggle. "I know," you replied softly, the hardness in your tone softening. "But it's not just about those words. The silence followed the absence when I needed someone." The weight of unspoken apologies hung between you, heavy yet fragile. It was as though the air crackled with the energy of unresolved emotions seeking solace in the tranquillity of the retreat.

"I should've been there," Lando confessed, his voice tinged with regret. "I let my own doubts cloud my judgment, and I failed you."

The admission was a tiny fissure in the wall of tension, a sliver of understanding breaking through the emotional barrier. "It's been hard," you admitted, the vulnerability of the moment embracing you. "I needed you, not just physically, but emotionally." The words lingered, suspended in the air, a fragile bridge attempting to span the chasm that had grown between you. The sun dipped further, casting a golden glow that seemed to infuse the charged atmosphere with a faint sense of hope. As the silence stretched, the symphony of nature resumed its soothing melody, offering a backdrop to the tentative reconciliation taking root amid the serene setting—a delicate beginning to healing wounds that ran deep.

Lando shifted, his features etched with a blend of remorse and determination. "I want to make it right, if you'll let me," he implored, the vulnerability in his words echoing the sincerity in his eyes.

Your heart wavered, torn between the ache of past hurt and the flicker of a desire for resolution. "I don't know if I can just forget everything," you admitted, the weight of uncertainty evident in your voice. The rustling leaves provided a natural rhythm to the conversation, a gentle reminder that even in discomfort, a cadence existed to life's complexities.

"I don't expect you to forget," Lando responded earnestly, a note of conviction underlying his words. "But I hope, in time, I can earn your forgiveness." The sincerity in his plea was palpable, a fragile bridge extending across the chasm of hurt. You searched his eyes, seeking reassurance, a sign that the rift between you could be bridged.

"I need time," you whispered the words, a plea for patience and understanding. A tentative truce hung between you—a silent agreement to navigate the path towards healing, acknowledging the wounds but willing to embark on the journey toward reconciliation. The symphony of nature continued, a reminder that harmonies were waiting to be rediscovered amidst life's dissonance. 

The air hung heavy with even more unspoken words, the weight of past hurt and hesitation thickening the silence between you both. But amidst the tranquillity of the retreat, a fragile shift began to unfold—a faint glimmer of understanding breaking through the cloud of discomfort. Lando's gaze continued to soften, a silent plea for forgiveness and reconciliation mirrored in his eyes. "I want to make it right more than anything."

The tension seemed to dissolve, the air clearing as you felt the walls around your heart soften. "I... I want to try, too."

He closed the distance with hesitant steps, each movement tentative yet resolute. The warmth of his embrace enveloped you, pulling you into an embrace that felt like a homecoming—a silent promise of healing and renewal. "Forgive me," Lando's voice was a whisper against your ear, each word carrying the weight of his sincerity.

Tears threatened to spill as you buried your face in his chest, a mix of relief and vulnerability flooding over you. "I want to, Lando. I really do." In that moment, amidst the tranquil backdrop of the retreat, the barriers crumbled, leaving behind an outpouring of emotions too long-suppressed. 

"I love you," he confessed, the words a melody of earnestness and devotion. "More than I ever knew was possible." The confession was a key, unlocking the floodgates of your own feelings.

"I love you too," you admitted each syllable, an echo of admiration and affection. "More than words could ever express." In a tender embrace, you found solace—a silent understanding that transcended the hurtful past. The kiss that followed was an affirmation, a sweet promise of starting anew—a union of hearts, mended and strengthened amidst the serenity of the retreat. 

Lando made your food as you sat on the counter in the secluded haven of the retreat, time seeming to slow as you stood facing each other, a tapestry of emotions woven into the fabric of your comfortable shared silence. The fading sunlight casts a golden hue over the landscape, mirroring the warmth blossoming within you.

"I've missed this," Lando confessed softly, his voice hinting at vulnerability.

Your heart ached with longing as you met his gaze. "I've missed you too, Lando."

Your hesitance dissipated as Lando closed the distance, drawn to you by an invisible thread of shared history and unspoken promises. The tranquillity of the retreat cradled your tentative reunion, an embrace of renewal amidst the quietude of nature. "I've been a fool," Lando murmured, his regret palpable in the softness of his touch along your thighs.

Your defences continued to soften, a flicker of hope kindling within you. "I've been waiting for you." Your embrace deepened, a mutual understanding evolving with each shared breath. It was a moment of reconciliation, of letting go of past grievances and embracing the promise of a future together.

"I've loved you endlessly," Lando's admission was fervent, filled with a determination to make amends. Tears glistened in your eyes, a testament to the depth of your emotions. "I've never stopped loving you."

Your lips met in a tender kiss—a blend of forgiveness, yearning, and a silent vow to rewrite your story. It was a kiss that spoke of redemption, a reunion that promised to rewrite the script of their relationship. In the quiet whispers and the gentle caresses, you found solace—a shared resolve to nurture the love you’d reignited amidst the serene embrace of your retreat. As the tranquillity enveloped you both, the surroundings bore witness to your heartfelt reconciliation—a canvas painted with promises of love rekindled, crafted with unwavering devotion and the resilience to begin anew.

#f1 #fanfic #formula 1 #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x y/n #lando x reader #lando #norris #lando imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fic #lando norris fluff #lando norris x you #ln4 one shot #ln4 #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #ln4 fluff #ln4 fic #mclaren #mclaren f1 #mclaren formula 1 #ln4 fanfic #fluff #mclaren racing

[dailyadventureprompts]

Homebrew Mechanic: Meaningful Research

Being careful about when you deliver information to your party is one of the most difficult challenges a dungeonmaster may face, a balancing act that we constantly have to tweak as it affects the pacing of our campaigns.

That said, unlike a novel or movie or videogame where the writers can carefully mete out exposition at just the right time, we dungeonmasters have to deal with the fact that at any time (though usually not without prompting) our players are going to want answers about what's ACTUALLY going on, and they're going to take steps to find out.

To that end I'm going to offer up a few solutions to a problem I've seen pop up time and time again, where the heroes have gone to all the trouble to get themselves into a great repository of knowledge and end up rolling what seems like endless knowledge checks to find out what they probably already know. This has been largely inspired by my own experience but may have been influenced by watching what felt like several episodes worth of the critical role gang hitting the books and getting nothing in return.

I've got a whole write up on loredumps, and the best way to dripfeed information to the party, but this post is specifically for the point where a party has gained access to a supposed repository of lore and are then left twiddling their thumbs while the dm decides how much of the metaplot they're going to parcel out.

When the party gets to the library you need to ask yourself: Is the information there to be found?

No, I don't want them to know yet: Welcome them into the library and then save everyone some time by saying that after a few days of searching it’s become obvious the answers they seek aren’t here. Most vitally, you then either need to give them a new lead on where the information might be found, or present the development of another plot thread (new or old) so they can jump on something else without losing momentum.

No, I want them to have to work for it:  your players have suddenly given you a free “insert plothook here” opportunity. Send them in whichever direction you like, so long as they have to overcome great challenge to get there. This is technically just kicking the can down the road, but you can use that time to have important plot/character beats happen.

Yes, but I don’t want to give away the whole picture just yet:  The great thing about libraries is that they’re full of books, which are written by people,  who are famously bad at keeping their facts straight. Today we live in a world of objective or at least peer reviewed information but the facts in any texts your party are going to stumble across are going to be distorted by bias. This gives you the chance to give them the awnsers they want mixed in with a bunch of red herrings and misdirections. ( See the section below for ideas)

Yes, they just need to dig for it:  This is the option to pick if you're willing to give your party information upfront while at the same time making it SEEM like they're overcoming the odds . Consider having an encounter, or using my minigame system to represent their efforts at looking for needles in the lithographic haystack. Failure at this system results in one of the previous two options ( mixed information, or the need to go elsewhere), where as success gets them the info dump they so clearly crave.

The Art of obscuring knowledge AKA Plato’s allegory of the cave, but in reverse

One of the handiest tools in learning to deliver the right information at the right time is a sort of “slow release exposition” where you wrap a fragment lore the party vitally needs to know in a coating of irrelevant information,  which forces them to conjecture on possibilities and draw their own conclusions.  Once they have two or more pieces on the same subject they can begin to compare and contrast, forming an understanding that is merely the shadow of the truth but strong enough to operate off of. 

As someone who majored in history let me share some of my favourite ways I’ve had to dig for information, in the hopes that you’ll be able to use it to function your players.

A highly personal record in the relevant information is interpreted through a personal lens to the point where they can only see the information in question 

Important information cameos in the background of an unrelated historical account

The information can only be inferred from dry as hell accounts or census information. Cross reference with accounts of major historical events to get a better picture, but everything we need to know has been flattened into datapoints useful to the bureaucracy and needs to be re-extrapolated.

The original work was lost, and we only have this work alluding to it. Bonus points if the existent work is notably parodying the original, or is an attempt to discredit it.

Part of a larger chain of correspondence, referring to something the writers both experienced first hand and so had no reason to describe in detail. 

The storage medium (scroll, tablet, arcane data crystal) is damaged in some way, leading to only bits of information being known. 

Original witnesses Didn’t have the words to describe the thing or events in question and so used references from their own environment and culture. Alternatively, they had specific words but those have been bastardized by rough translations. 

Tremendously based towards a historical figure/ideology/religion to the point that all facts in the piece are questionable.  Bonus points if its part of a treatise on an observably untrue fact IE the flatness of earth

#homebrew mechanic #d&d mechanics #research #tableskills #tabletop inspiration #dm tip #dm advice #exposition

[roosterforme]

Always Ever Only You Part 14 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley's notebook reads like poetry to your soul, and some inexplicable part of you feels like it's healing. He takes the time to give you the care and attention you need, and you do the same for him. After a weekend where you let yourself live in a cozy bubble with him, work on Monday jarred you back to reality.

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fluff, smut

Length: 6000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Always Ever Only You masterlist. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

Bradley was home. He'd been craving this comfort since he left, but the uncertainty of how you and he would react when you saw each other had been adding to his anxiety after the mission. He wanted to tell you all about it, but it just didn't seem as important as being near you. 

He knew you had dinner ready to reheat, and he wanted to sit with you snuggled up on his lap and share a plate of food. But first he carried you from the laundry room, both of you in your underwear, and into the bedroom with Tramp in hot pursuit. "I think both of you missed me," Bradley whispered, kissing your cheek when he set you down. 

"We did," you promised, and he dropped down to the floor to play with the dog for a few minutes. There was no way Tramp would calm down until he'd been given a little bit of attention. And then Bradley could focus on you for the rest of the night. For the rest of the weekend. Forever.

"Roo?" you asked quietly, and Bradley looked up at you as you showed him the notebook. "What is this?"

You must have taken it out of his duffle bag as you were unpacking his dirty clothes for him. When he looked up into your eyes, they looked guarded. You were apprehensive. He hated that he ever made you feel like you couldn't be exactly who you were around him. And while he never meant to share those words with you or anyone else, he found that the idea of you reading them didn't feel wrong to him. 

He was on his feet right away. "You can look at it, Sweetheart. It's just some things I wrote down while I was away. Bob kind of got me hooked on keeping a journal."

You skimmed through the pages again before you met his eyes. "The whole notebook is almost filled," you said. "And you wrote my name in here a lot."

Bradley cupped your cheeks in his hands and kissed you softly. "That's because you're on my mind more than anything else." He watched you smile, and then he added, "It's a notebook about you. About us. About how I'm going to be exactly what you need."

He kissed your forehead as you whispered, "Will you let me read it?"

Very gently, he took it from your hand and set it down on the bed. "Yes. But I need to eat dinner first. I'm starving. You know carrier food tastes like cardboard, and I've been dreaming about you sitting on my lap at our table."

When you nodded and took him by the hand, Bradley stuck to you as you led him into the kitchen and over to the refrigerator. He reached down one plate and didn't leave your side as you heated up the food. When you spun in his arms to face him, he could feel the slightly raised goosebumps on your arms; neither of you actually put any additional clothing on when you were in the bedroom. 

"You want me to go grab you one of my shirts or something?" he asked, rubbing his big hands along your arms. 

"I thought you were going to keep me warm. Are you all talk now?" Your raised eyebrow was playful, but it was time for Bradley to get serious about what was going on here. 

"Talk and action, Baby Girl. When you want me to keep you warm, I'll keep you warm. And you can read my notebook. And then we can spend the weekend working on us."

You relaxed into his touch as he soothed your goosebumps away with his hands, and soon you were perched on his lap at the dining room table. One bite of the Marry Me Rooster, and Bradley just knew he was going to gain five pounds this weekend. It was that fucking good. And it felt incredible to have you with him. He even tossed a small piece of chicken to Tramp. 

"So Jake and Cat?" he asked, kissing your bare shoulder as you took a bite of dinner. "Sounds like I missed a lot."

"Oh, you did, Roo." Then you filled him in on everything you could think of. He had to laugh at the idea of Hondo at his house, because all Bradley could imagine was the man yelling at him to do push ups in his own living room. When you mentioned Jeremiah, Bradley didn't feel as desperate as maybe he would have a few months ago. It would be nice, but he didn't need it. He needed you. 

"And you're feeling good?" he asked, pulling you a little closer as you ate the last bite of food. "You look beautiful."

"Yeah," you replied, snuggling up against his chest and shoulder, tracing his scars and tattoo with your fingers. "I feel good. I told Dr. Genevieve that I want to fix this, not throw it away. There's too much between us that's perfect."

And that was it. Bradley wasn't perfect. Neither were you, but you were much closer than he was. But somehow when the two of you mixed together, it worked beautifully until he had lost sight of making sure you were happy and taken care of. 

"Perfect," he agreed softly. "I want to be with you more than I want anything else. I need you at this point. When I realized how much I hurt you after your promotion banquet and before I left on deployment, it felt like I'd never be able to breathe correctly again." He tilted your chin up so you were looking at him as your warm hand grazed his paper airplane tattoo. "You're my wife, and you deserve my respect. And I want to take care of you. And maybe we'll have a kid someday. And maybe not. But the stress isn't what we need, Sweetheart. I'm sorry."

You scrambled around in his lap so your arms were wrapped tight around his neck. Bradley had missed this feeling. And if he was being honest, it was longer ago than the start of his two month deployment that he felt this good. But now you were crying. 

"I'm sorry I let myself hurt so much inside before I told someone about it," you sobbed. 

He squeezed you tighter until he could feel your heartbeat against his chest. "Don't apologize for that. Please. I know you're strong. I know you want to be strong. I know you were focused on getting pregnant. But we don't need that. Like I said before, I'd be lucky to get to spend the rest of my life with you. Just you. And I'll make sure you know it."

Your voice broke as you cried, and Bradley just kept holding you. He had no idea how much time passed, but eventually your breathing evened out and your heart rate slowed, and he found himself wiping tears from his own eyes. You kissed his ear and whispered, "You're enough for me, too."

And that sounded beautiful to him.

-----------------------------

When you finally climbed off of Bradley's lap, you missed the warmth of his body immediately, and he looked like he felt the same way. He jumped up, and when you reached for the dirty dish, he took your hand in his instead. "I'll clean up if you want to take a bath," he whispered. 

You tugged him closer, and he abandoned the table, soft brown eyes on yours. "Come with me?"

"Yes," he responded immediately. 

Both of you were already stripped down to your underwear, and you undressed completely as Bradley started to fill the tub. Then he stripped out of his boxer briefs and got two fluffy, yellow towels ready for when you were done. You tested the water with your toes, and then he held your hand as you climbed in. You realized you hadn't taken a single bath while he had been away. You preferred taking them with him.

"I'll be right back," he told you with a quick kiss to your forehead. And you tried to settle back against the tub, but the edge was cold against your shoulders. And the overhead light was too bright. And he was taking too long. 

But when he returned with his phone and an opened bottle of the pink champagne you had tucked away in the back of the refrigerator, you immediately felt better. His phone was softly playing a song from the ten hour long playlist he made for you when he was deployed while you were dating, and he propped it up near the towels as he handed you the bottle. Then he turned off the light, leaving only the soft orange glow from the bedroom filtering in through the door. 

"Roo," you whispered, and then he was there, easing himself into the water. With a soft grunt, he settled against the tub and pulled you close so your back rested against his chest. "You opened champagne?"

"Yeah. Being home is something to celebrate." His arms snaked around your waist and his voice was deep, chest rumbling when he spoke. And you took a sip of it. And your senses were overwhelmed. There were so many things happening at once that you loved and hadn't let yourself enjoy for such a long time. 

His voice, the bubbles on your tongue, a song you loved, the scent of your bubble bath. You felt like you'd deprived yourself for an age. "I love this," you whispered before taking another sip, and then Bradley's mustache was on your neck. 

Your eyes fluttered closed as you reached back with the bottle, offering it to him. "Nah, you have some more," he replied. "My hands are full." His arms were wrapped around your middle like he was trying to remember the exact feel of you. His knees were bent, and your body was pressed intimately to his, but all he did was kiss your neck and hold you. He sang along softly to whichever song was playing, eventually accepting the bottle of champagne when you offered it again and taking a sip. 

"I hope you don't deploy again for a long time," you whispered when you let him finish off the bottle. "Because I want to do this with you every night. Well, minus the expensive champagne."

Bradley chuckled against the curve of your neck as he adjusted himself in the tub. The slosh of water across your shoulders had you shivering as the water had cooled. "You want expensive champagne every day? I'll buy it by the case."

"I just want you."

"I'm yours." His lips were pressed to your spine. "We'll do this all the time."

A few minutes later,  you reluctantly climbed out of the tub as you shivered, and you wrapped yourself up in one of the fluffy towels. Bradley headed back into the bedroom after he brushed his teeth and kissed your cheek. As you brushed yours and removed your contacts, you thought perhaps calling it an early night was just what you needed. 

When you joined him in the bedroom, Bradley was dressed in clean underwear, and he had his worn UVA shirt on your pillow waiting for you. You slipped it on and adjusted your glasses as he pulled the covers back for you. And that's when you noticed the notebook on his nightstand. 

"You can read what you want to," he said, reaching for it and handing it over. "I'm not trying to hide anything from you. But some of this was hard for me to write. So keep that in mind."

"Okay," you whispered, opening it to the first page which you had skimmed earlier, as he gathered you against his side. And you sat there with him, leaning against the headboard as his warm hand kept you anchored as you read silently.

Baby Girl, when I think about you, I think about the rest of my life spread out in front of me. And it's not exactly like a map, because I don't know where we are going or where we will end up. But I feel safe when I'm with you. Even though so much is unknown. 

I never thought I could be enough for someone else. Enough that they would want me around or want to get to know me. I didn't know I could be important enough to be in a long relationship with someone or get married. And it makes me ache whenever your self doubt is something that I caused, because you do the opposite for me. You make me feel like I'm good enough for you. You gave me a fucking purpose. You're the reason I dropped every other bad habit I had in exchange for just the hope that you might look at me. 

"Oh, Roo," you gasped, tears rapidly filling your eyes as you dropped the notebook onto his abs and wrapped your arms around his neck. 

"You didn't even make it to the end of the first page without crying," he whispered as your tears wet his cheek. "Want me to put it away?"

"No," you said, voice shaking. "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever read."

-----------------------

Once Bradley was able to wipe away most of your tears with his thumbs, your eyes were bright and focused on him. "Will you read it to me?" you asked so softly that he probably wouldn't have been able to hear you except that your lips were brushing his. He nodded gently and gathered you against his side again. When he picked up the notebook, he felt himself flushing from embarrassment. 

It was so personal. It was one thing when you were reading it to yourself, but hearing himself say the words that he had written? Out loud? He gently cleared his throat and took a deep breath, picking up where you left off. As soon as he spoke, your arm tightened across his chest.

"And then you did look at me. Like I was someone who was worth your time. And you spoke to me like my words could be important to you. And you touched me like you'd be careful with me. And you kissed me like you didn't want it to stop. And then I started to feel different, like maybe I appreciated myself a little bit more. 

I wanted to kiss you that first night at the Hard Deck after I bumped your stool. I wanted to do a lot more than that. Sometimes I wonder what you would have done if I had tried it. I couldn't stop thinking about you after that. For days, weeks. Fuck, I still think about that night. I still can't stop thinking about you. If I could just kiss you right now and feel the weight of your hands on my body, then I would be fine. My problems would feel manageable, because I would be with you. 

You deserve to have a husband who takes the pressure off of you, not one who adds more. And if you'll just give me one more chance to show that I understand that, I won't waste your time.

You've always been different. You've always been what I wanted whether I deserve you or not."

He stopped at the end of the first page and set the notebook aside. That was enough for one night. He was exhausted, and you were crying again. And he wasn't exactly sure if they were good tears or the worrying kind. 

"Baby Girl, are you alright?" he asked, rubbing his hand along your back as you nodded into his neck.

"Yeah," you whispered, sniffing as you tried to speak. "I just never heard you talk about me so.... matter of factly."

Bradley laughed softly. "That's because the notebook was really supposed to be for me."

"I like it too much," you said, rubbing your forehead against his cheek. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he promised as you snuggled in for the night. He pulled the blanket up higher over both of you, and before he actually turned the light out, he picked up the notebook one more time. "Close your eyes. There's one more page I want to read to you right now. But you have to promise you'll go to sleep right afterwards, because I'm already a little embarrassed just thinking about it."

"Okay."

Bradley licked his lips as he located the correct page in the middle of the notebook and scanned it before he started reading very softly. 

"My life feels like a dream. Like an actual goddamn dream. The kind I started to have shortly after my mom died. The ones where she was there, and I could feel her touching my hair and holding my hand. I was missing that kind of touch that kept me grounded, because I felt so out of control in my own skin too much of the time. 

I didn't think I was starving for attention or affection. The surface kind wasn't hard to come by. I just didn't know there could be more. And then I met my wife, and maybe I always knew she was going to be my wife someday. The way I stuttered and couldn't walk correctly when she looked at me. The way her smile and the curve of her cheek made me think about touching her. The way her voice filled my mind when I was alone. Fuck. I didn't know. I had no idea. I was absolutely starving for this kind of affection."

You were asleep, your breathing even and calm. And Bradley felt like he could sleep now, too. Once the light was turned off, he very carefully took your hand and laced his fingers with yours. "Roo," you murmured in your sleep, wrapping your leg around his a little tighter. 

"I love you." He kissed your knuckles and your rings, and then he dozed off, too.

-------------------------

Bradley was beautiful in the morning light. His cheeks were a little rosy from sleep, and his lips were gently parted, face turned toward you. When you stroked his mustache gently with your thumb, a soft smile appeared on his lips. Something had helped heal part of you overnight. Maybe it was the notebook. Or the bath. Or just having him with you after weeks of feeling so uncertain. But you felt lighter. You had slept so soundly. 

When you tried to roll away and let him sleep longer, his arm tightened around you like a vice, and you squeaked. "Stay with me," he rasped. That voice went right through you and made your body stand at attention. Your nipples were tight peaks, and you had to squeeze your thighs around his left leg where your bare core was rubbing him like you had no control of yourself. 

You whimpered. You couldn't help it. He was looking up at you, his brown eyes wide and suddenly alert. "Sorry," you gasped, your thighs tightening around him again. You ducked your head in embarrassment, but Bradley took your hand in his and kissed your palm before sliding it down his warm body underneath the blanket. He leaned up to kiss your lips as your fingers skimmed along the front of his boxer briefs. He was hard, and now you had no idea why you were apologizing to him. You dipped your hand inside the elastic and whispered, "I want you," as you wrapped your fingers around his heavy erection. 

Wordlessly, he rolled you onto your back, keeping his left thigh wedged in place where you were wet now. He kissed your lips gently, tucking his fingers behind your neck and letting them tangle with your necklace chain. "I need you," he swore. "Need."

You nodded your head slowly and arched your back so he could push the soft tee shirt up a little higher. You knew how good it could be with him, and it had been so long since he'd been this tender. He kept that one big hand at the back of your neck while the other roamed your body, and he took the time to touch you everywhere. Sometimes his lips were on yours. Sometimes he was just watching your face as you made soft noises just for him. 

When his gaze traveled down your belly, you felt him trace your dainty, single line rooster tattoo with the tip of one finger. He traced it over and over again, the sensation just on the verge of being ticklish. But all he was doing was stoking your desire for him. He leaned down and kissed you just below your belly button. "We belong together," he whispered, worshipping your belly and hips with his mouth. "And I want to hear you say it."

You took a ragged breath as he kissed your thigh and dragged his mustache along your pussy. When you bucked off the bed for him, he grunted and kissed his way up until he was nudging the shirt over your breasts, exposing your taut nipples. 

"We belong together, Bradley," you moaned as his lips wrapped around your nipple. His fingertips felt rough on your other breast, but his touch was still tender. And you didn't care that you were rubbing your core along his thigh, nudging his length over and over again. Because he was grunting your name and licking long stripes across your breasts. 

When he looked up at you with the warmest eyes, you took his face gently in your hands, and guided him to your lips for a kiss. "Please," you whispered. "Oh, Roo. Please forgive me for the last time we had sex. I should have never treated you or us like an obligation."

His lips mashed against yours with a need that took your breath away. He wasn't an obligation. Your husband was as urgent and crucial as your own heartbeat. He was a necessity. He was something you needed to cherish. "I love you. I love you." 

"I'll never stop," he promised as you reached down, bumping his cheek with your nose, and eased the waistband of his underwear down. When you nodded, he didn't hesitate. Bradley guided himself inside you, stretching you and filling you. The slow, intentional roll of his hips left you smiling as you raked your fingers through his hair. This felt the way it used to. And Bradley was smiling, too. Kiss after incredible kiss. And there was no rush. No expectations. Just sweet morning sex with your husband after eight weeks apart. 

And he knew what to do, because he knew every inch of your body and every noise you made. He made you cum as you ground up against him, your fingers tight in his hair. "Oh god!" you whined, that gorgeous clenching feeling rocking through your core. His thrusts grew shallow as he tipped his head to hold eye contact with you as he came. 

He whispered a ragged, "I love you, Baby Girl," before he tucked his face against your neck while you held him. It was perfect. He gave you exactly what you needed like a wrapped gift you wanted to keep opening. 

"Can we... could we just be like this again?" you asked him after a moment. 

There was no hesitation to his response. "Yes."

You traced his scars with your fingers and kissed his forehead until you thought maybe he had fallen asleep with his cock still cradled inside your body. But he ran his hand along your arm and whispered, "I'm happy I'm home with you. I'll make your coffee." 

And two sweet kisses later, he gently withdrew himself and climbed out of bed. You watched him pull his boxer briefs back up, and then he smiled at you before Tramp followed him out of the room. You gave yourself a minute alone in bed. The passages in that notebook made you feel like Bradley had set you down on a pedestal. You felt like a priority again. And he seemed more than willing to listen to you and talk to you about the things that needed to change. Dr. Genevieve was going to be so pleased when you spoke with her again. 

When you walked into the kitchen in your tee shirt with Bradley's sticky cum on your thighs, you gasped. "What did you do?"

Your French press was broken on the counter, and Bradley was cleaning up spilled coffee with paper towels. "You weren't supposed to come out here yet," he said, wincing. "I got one good cup out of it before I broke it. Your breakfast is on the table." 

You walked into the dining room to find a plate with two pieces of burnt toast and jelly along with one mug of steaming coffee. You laughed and called him in with you. "Just let me make lunch, okay?" 

"Yeah," he agreed as you pushed him down onto the chair and climbed onto his lap. You fed him a bite of very crunchy toast as he added, "I ordered you a new French press already. Stainless steel this time. My hands were always a little too big for this one. And I can't even believe I like this fancy shit." He took a sip from the mug. "And sorry this toast is disgusting."

You couldn't stop laughing at how normal this felt. "Like I said, I'll make lunch." He let you finish the rest of the coffee as he traced a little pattern along your bare thigh. 

"What are we doing today?" he asked, looking at you with one raised eyebrow.

You just shrugged. "I mean... I didn't really have anything planned, because I was just so anxious for you to get home. But if you want to go out, I'll have to clean all your cum off my legs."

He just shook his head. "Let's stay in all weekend until we have to go to work on Monday morning. And you can just keep my cum anywhere you feel like."

You giggled as you stuffed the last bite of toast into his mouth, and it looked like he was going to cry. Then you just sat in the dining room with him and played with his hair for a while. Having no plans and nothing to do would hopefully give you both the opportunity to talk through some more things, but when you yawned, Bradley scooped you up and carried you back to the bedroom. 

"Let's take a nap," he whispered, like it was a secret you should keep from the rest of the world. And you supposed it was as he wrapped you up in his arms. You fell asleep with his hands tucked up inside your shirt and his lips on your neck. 

----------------------------

Bradley knew there was still a lot to talk about. Every time you asked him for more details about his deployment, he was hesitant to mention Slayer or Admiral Dean or anything that happened. This reunion weekend was everything he had hoped it could be. A lazy Saturday lunch out on the back patio. Sex in the shower. Cuddling on the couch. And Bradley reading to you from the notebook. 

Sometimes you cried, sometimes you held him. Once you gave him a blowjob while he was reading it to you. No, this weekend felt like you and he were getting back to basics, and he didn't want to ruin it with deployment talk. That shit didn't matter now that he was with you again. 

"Will you read another page to me?" you asked after lunch on Sunday, leading him back to the bedroom. "And then you can tell me more about your deployment?"

"Anything you want," he promised, pulling you down into bed with him. He found the bookmarked spot and opened up to that page, and as you kissed his cheek, he started to read.

And the words meant something important to you. He could tell. Even though it was hard to do, he kept working his way through the notebook. You already had some favorite passages that he dog-eared for you. He'd read the same thing to you as you fell asleep on Friday night and on Saturday night. And you kept telling him that you loved him. 

After he finished reading and set the notebook aside, he kissed the tears away from your cheeks and rolled you onto your back. You bit your lip as you looked up at him and said, "You know how you told me that you'd be okay with just us? Just me and you? If I never get pregnant?"

"Yes," he replied easily. While he knew this topic had been just below the surface, he honestly hadn't given it too much thought all weekend. He felt like he was back in honeymoon mode, just trying to make you smile. 

"You meant it?"

"Yes. I'd rather be happy here with you than have anything else any day of the week."

You seemed to accept his answer as you raked your fingers through his hair. "Roo, I... don't think I want to stop trying. But I don't want to have to focus all of my energy on it. I don't want to constantly think about my cycles and my fertility like before."

"I agree," he replied. "I want us to have sex when we want to, just like we've been doing all weekend. Because it's fun, and I love it. And I love you. And if you get pregnant, then we'll figure it out. And if you don't, then we'll still be perfect. Or we can talk to a doctor together at some point. Or not. We don't have to decide that yet. We can be just us, Sweetheart."

"Just us," you reiterated. 

"And Tramp."

"Well, obviously," you said, turning to look where he was lounging on his little bed. You were smiling when you looked back at Bradley. "Let me feed you leftovers for dinner."

"Thank you for not making me eat any more toast of my own making," he whispered.

You laughed. "I love you too much for that."

After another shared plate of dinner and dozens of kisses, Bradley coaxed you into the living room to watch a movie. He put on one of your favorites and smirked as you shimmied out of your shorts and underwear before joining him on the couch. "What are you doing?" he rasped, lounging along the length of the couch. He tucked his hands back behind his head and let you untie his gray sweatpants and pull them down to his knees. He had skipped underwear at your insistence, and now he was twitching for you.

You carefully straddled his waist, and Bradley's erection was tapping you eagerly on your ass. "Warming your cock?" you asked so innocently, leaning down to kiss his nose. "Is that okay?"

Bradley groaned and said, "Hell yes." He slowly slipped his cock into your pussy, and he closed his eyes and counted to ten as you wigged around before settling chest to chest with him. You seemed half focused on the movie, preferring to press gentle kisses to his face and neck instead as you held hands. The soft clenching of your pussy around him as you loved on him was almost too much. But he didn't want it to stop. He focused all of his energy and attention on you while the movie played.

"You're making me feel so good, Baby Girl," he crooned, stroking your cheek while you kissed and licked along the scars on the side of his neck. "I love this body," he added, squeezing a nice handful of your ass. 

You moaned softly, and he enjoyed the fluttering feeling of your arousal as you told him how much you missed him. You rolled your hips with the occasional soft thrust, and Bradley just remained rock hard and ready for you to take this wherever you wanted to. You were soaking wet and warm and inviting. And when the movie ended you started to fuck him, your eyes closing as you came after a few strokes. 

You started shivering in Bradley's arms as you said, "You felt too good. I couldn't go any longer."

He held you in place and thrust up into you. "My only goal is to make you feel good in every way." But then he was panting, and he only lasted a few more strokes too, after spending so long inside you. And your fingers were in his hair and your lips were on his cheek, and he didn't know how he was supposed to help himself when you loved him like this.

When you started to shift, Bradley grabbed your hips. "Don't move, don't move," he begged. "Just let me stay like this. For a minute." 

Your cheek came to rest on his chest as you traced his paper airplane tattoo and sighed. And all he wanted to do was skip work all week and keep this going.

-------------------------------

Monday morning was an obnoxious wake up call after the weekend spent with Bradley. You'd taken a few minutes to call your parents so they could talk to Bradley. Then another bath rounded out Sunday night, followed by listening to him read another two pages from his notebook. His words were poetry, and when you told him that, he laughed. But they were the most beautiful thing you'd ever heard in your life, so you thought it was actually a pretty good description of what he had written. 

The two of you got dressed in your uniforms in the morning, and Bradley apologized again for the broken French press and placed a Starbucks pickup order for you to grab on your way to work. And then the two of you made out in the living room. You just made out with your husband with no further expectations than simply enjoying his lips on yours and his hands on your butt and the little sound of your nametag tapping his pins. 

"We need to leave," he whispered before sucking on your bottom lip. Your fingers had messed up his tidy hair, and you were going to work with puffy lips now. 

"I can be a little late," you told him, making him laugh. So he backed you up against the wall and kissed along your neck until you were giggling from the prickle of his mustache. 

You eventually made it to work with your fancy coffee and a smile on your face. Bradley hadn't mentioned anything about your cycle all weekend long. You felt a brand new energy humming through your body. Cat laughed when she saw you, and you wanted to ask if she'd talked to Jake. You also wanted to see your friends at lunch, but there was honestly too much to get done. Tomorrow would be another day. Today you'd get as much of your work done as you could and then go home to Bradley. 

You worked straight through until almost three o'clock when you were sitting in the lab, finalizing some math before it was submitted. Your computer pinged with an email from your boss's boss's boss. You almost never heard from Admiral Yates directly. You tapped it open and your blood ran cold. This had to be some sort of mistake as you skimmed down to the second paragraph.

I need the audio communication pulled from the special mission on the USS Theodore Roosevelt from April 21st, and I need the coding to be verified on everything before it is submitted. Have it ready by midnight tonight. This is for the court-martial of ADM. BECKETT DEAN and LT. HARRIS "Slayer" HAINES (docket MT47489). This is regarding the incident involving LT. NATASHA "Phoenix" TRACE, LT. ROBERT "Bob" FLOYD, LCDR. BRADLEY "Rooster" BRADSHAW....

There were more names, but you couldn't read them. You almost fell out of your seat after you saw your husband's name listed as part of a group involved in some sort of incident. Something bad enough that comms needed to be verified. And then it occurred to you that as many times as you had asked Bradley for details about his deployment, he had given you none. The perfect bubble of the weekend felt like it just popped in your face. You thought you might throw up as you dug your phone out of your pocket.

------------------------------

I feel like Roo and BG can breathe again! But maybe he should have taken the time to talk about his deployment. Oh, Bradley. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 15

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#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #rooster bradshaw fic #rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #roosterforme #always ever only you

[oddballwriter]

The Sticky Note Game

꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

Summary: You have a silly little game that you, Jake, and Steven play. But someone accidentally messes it up and ends up finding out about said game.

Warnings: None that I actually know of. “Y/N” is used two times.

Author’s Snip: Just a cute thought I had and wanted to write about.

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

  It was a game that was originally between you and Jake. It worked like tag where someone was it and they had to make the other person it. But instead of running around the flat and making a bunch of ruckus you would write on a piece for sticky note and hide it where the other would see it. You weren’t sure when this started but it was a thing the two of you did together and was actually really fun when it came down to watching and waiting for the other to see the note and then be it. Well, it was between just you and Jake till Steven found the sticky note that was meant to get Jake. 

  He was looking through the fridge to see if there were any items that would expire soon. Jake had some beer bottles on one of the shelves that he placed next to the oat milk which he was going to check until he noticed the sticky note attached to one of the bottles that had “You’re it >:)” written on it. He took it off and asked you why it was there.

  You laughed for a bit and told the even more confused Steven about this game you played with Jake. Steven nodded in understanding before looking back at the sticky note and then asking “So, what? Does this mean I’m it now?”.

  After that, you and Jake had changed the rules to make the game fair. You needed to write who its to, who it was making the tag, no double tags, and you couldn’t say if you knew where a sticky note was. Oh, and co-fronting when a sticky note was being made was cheating because the two alters could tag each other and if you are co-fronting when your tagging note was found by another it counts because you technically saw it.

  This game of three went on for a long while too. 

  Till there was a bit of an issue...

  It had been two whole months, and no new sticky note was found and you were starting to get suspicious. You were it and had made a note that would tag Steven by putting the note on the back of one of his books. But Steven made no sign that he saw it. Which didn’t make sense since the book moved spots. So he had to have seen it and had made a sticky note to tag someone else. But none appeared. You even went looking for a note, regardless of it would make you it again. 

  Out of all of the players to possibly cheat, Steven seemed like he would never. But you shouldn’t put it past him, Steven can be a bastard if he wants to be. 

  But it turns out that all three of you were silently eyeing each other up since there was no sign of and new tags. Soon Steven decided to go looking for a new sticky note in case it was just that well hidden.

  “Steven,” Marc said as he watched Steven looking through the whole flat for something from a nearby refection. “What the hell are you doing? Did you drop something?” he asked. “No. I’m looking for a sticky note, mate.” Steven responded. Marc jerked an eyebrow in confusion. “A sticky note? Wouldn’t that be where you put all your sticky notes?” he asked. 

  “No. It’s not any sticky note, Marc. It’s a specific one.” Steven clarified and he moved to a different spot to check. “Well, what’s it for?” Marc asked as he followed Steven with a new reflective surface. Steven sighed before speaking. “Okay. Don’t laugh. But me, Y/N, and Jake play this tag game using sticky notes and we put them places for us to find. But it’s been a while and no one’s found the bloody thing.” Steven explained. “I wanna make sure no one’s went on and cheated.” Steven says. 

  “Who was it last?” Marc asked. “I don’t know, mate. That’s the point.” Steven responded. “I think that would be Y/N.” Marc said out of the blue. “There was a sticky note on the back of one of your books from them to you but it just had a smiley face on it.” Marc confessed. Steven almost banged his head on the bottom of the table he was looking under. “What did you do with it?” Steven asked as if it were life and death. “Which one is it, Marc?” he said looking right at the surface Marc was on. “The green one. I killed a spider with it and saw it on the back.” Marc explained, “I took it off though cause I killed the spider using the back and it got on the sticky note.” he admitted. 

  “Finally!” Steven exclaimed as he went towards his desk to write on a sticky note to tag someone.

  “How long have you three been doing this.” Marc questioned. “Oh, I’ve been playing for while but the other two were the ones playing it originally, I just sort of walked into it and they let me be a part of it.” Steven explained as he took the note off of he pad and placing it in Jake’s hat. “Don’t tell Jake that’s there.” he said to Marc. 

  “Okay?” Marc said before standing there in the reflection for a moment. “Do you want to join? Seems kind of rude to tell you about the game and not let you participate.” Steven offered. Marc shrugged with a “Sure.”. 

  A week had passed, during which you heard Jake shout “Son of a bitch!” when he found the note Steven left. 

  You had woken up in the morning a few days after that and were getting ready to take your morning shower till you noticed a sticky note addressed to you on one of your shampoo bottles saying,

  “I’m playing the game now. You’re it. 

                                                 - Marc”

#moon knight #moonknight #moonknight x reader #moon knight x reader #steven grant #steven grant x reader #marc spector #marc spector x reader #jake lockley #jake lockley x reader

[from-the-clouds]

bad liars (savior complex ii) - joel miller x f!reader

part one | masterlist | song inspo |

Baby, you're a vampire You want blood and I promised...

summary: It's been a month since Joel has last seen you, fully healed since your last interaction. But you haven't spoken...at all. Your radio silence becomes cause for concern when he hears about an outbreak of Infected at the hospital where you work. There's enough explanation in this part that you could read it on it's own, probably, but I'd highly recommend reading part one first to get the full experience. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 7.9k warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. (porn w/ plot, unprotected sex, oral, rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink, age gap. dom/sub dynamics.) Heavy angst, multiple POVs, implied drug abuse, alcohol use, canon-typical suffering! Blood mention. Both reader/Joel are insanely emotionally unavailable, and love to lie to themselves and each other! (please dm for specifics if you have any questions). a/n: Ya'll loved savior complex and I'm so happy! Literally don't think I've had a fic get that many notes before, i had so many requests for a part two and because it felt like i left things open-ended enough, this came to me pretty easily! It might be the horniest thing I've ever written and also very angsty (what's new?)....but I think you'll like the ending <3 Special to @ay0nha for letting me yell at you about my writing and to @zbeez-outlet for the wonderful idea.

Joel exhales and runs his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair – the tips of which were frozen together from standing outside for so long. It had gotten cold out. Very cold. Boston always did this time of year, and because of it, people stayed in, and crime in the QZ dropped, making it a safer place - though that wasn’t saying much. 

Of course, the cold didn’t stop him from dealing. It did make his job a hell of a lot more difficult, since FEDRA was bored, out looking for trouble, and didn’t have more pressing matters to attend to. Although today, he must’ve been in luck, because the only sign of FEDRA had been helicopters and tanks that were clearly on a mission, driving to the opposite side of the QZ. Good, he had thought. A distraction. 

Joel leans back against the brick wall of the alleyway, pulling the hood of his jacket up over his ears, stares at the ice in the cracks of the pavement. When he hears the crunch of gravel underfoot, he straightens.

The man approaching looks nervously over his shoulder, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his flimsy sweatshirt. Dave, a customer of his for some time. 

“You’re late,” Joel doesn’t bother with a proper greeting.

“I know, I know, I got held up on my way here,” Dave answers, immediately beginning his excuse. “They cleared out the hospital because of an outbreak, that whole area was locked down so I had to take the long way.”

“Outbreak?” Joel tilts his head.

“Infected. I guess a bunch of hospital staff got bit. FEDRA had to go in and put them all down.” 

Joel feels a distant pang of concern somewhere in the back of his head. “How many?”

Dave shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know, man, that’s all I know. It’s not like they’ll ever tell anyone what actually happened.”

Joel can’t help but think of you. He knows a couple people who work at the hospital, most of them through smuggling, but you’re the only one who he’s really able to bring to mind at the moment.

“So, can we, uh…”

Joel pulls the plastic baggie out from his pockets, fishing out the pills. On his end, Dave produces a wad of credits, his shoulders sagging in relief once they’ve made the trade and the drugs are in his hand. He takes one immediately, shoves the rest in his pocket. “Thanks man, I’ll see you next week?”

Leaning back against the wall, he nods, and watches his customer disappear down the alleyway. 

The second Dave is out of sight, Joel’s chest tightens, and he takes a deep breath. There’s no reason why news of Infected at the hospital should concern him. If FEDRA had been called in – they would’ve gunned down anything that moved until it was under control. He knew, better than anyone, that they would do unspeakable things in the name of keeping order. Innocent people probably died, but the dead can’t get infected.

It had been about a month since Joel had last seen you, after he’d gotten beaten within an inch of his life and ended up on your doorstep, and you were the only person that could help. It hadn’t gone at all how he expected it would – at the end of the day, he had been surprised by your tenderness. 

Still, despite that you’d let him take you on the edge of your bed, legs wrapped around him, bouncing on his cock, he wouldn’t really say that it changed anything about your relationship. He had actually been kind of afraid that it would, that your attitude towards him would shift to something more amicable.

But you hadn’t spoken to him in a month. Joel had told you he owed you one after you stitched him up, and had anticipated that you’d take him up on his offer pretty quickly. There were so many things he could do for you to make your situation better. Maybe you’d need credits…. Medicine…. Food…. Booze… Pills, something, but you haven’t reached out. You could just be biding your time until you really need the favor.

Still, the radio silence takes him aback. He should be relieved that you aren’t talking to him. But nothing? Even if it’s not about a favor…he wants some kind of confirmation that you’d both made a mistake. After all that, did you really expect nothing from him?

It dawns on him there’s now a chance you’ll never speak to him again, because you’re one of the ones that FEDRA killed. Or worse….you had gotten bit. 

Joel passes by the hospital, taking the long way home. Everything is locked down, taped off. There’s a crowd around the place – family members, he assumes, pleading with FEDRA agents for information and getting nothing in return.

“Go home. I’m sure they’ll turn up,” he hears one of them say to a weeping woman. It’s useless to ask for an honest answer, for one of them to actually care. 

Joel could go home. He could crush a couple pills, snort them, and quell the burn with a couple drinks. He could fall into restless sleep and wake up the next day as he always did, go about his business as usual. Survive. One day at a time. 

Would he ever get confirmation that you’re alive? Because at this rate, he’s not sure he’ll ever know either way. 

The feeling is going to linger. He hates it. Were you gone? If you are, he can handle knowing. Its somehow worse not to. 

He tries to justify it to himself. You’re one of his solid connections to the hospital, you’d traded with him for medical supplies before. This is business, really, if he thinks about it that way. If you’re dead, he and Tess need to find someone else to work with. 

Joel decides to take a detour on the way back to his place.

It’s past curfew when he arrives at your apartment, the sun has long since dipped below the horizon and with that comes an even harsher cold. Boston winters, he thinks to himself. If he is capable of missing anything, he’d say he missed Texas. Before all this, the last place he’d be caught dead was on the East Coast. 

Joel raps on your front door. He forgets how shitty your building is, that you sleep here alone every night, listening to your neighbors arguing through the thin walls, shady characters slinking out of shadows in the dimly-lit hallway,

A few seconds pass. When he hears nothing behind your door, he knocks again, a little louder. 

More time passes. He knocks again, louder. Maybe you didn’t hear him. 

Nothing. He does it again. Could you be asleep? His jaw clenches.

Still nothing, and Joel knocks even louder. Maybe you’re not even here, and you work nights, and he’s just missed you as you head out for another shift. But he knows that’s unlikely. Since he’s known you, you’ve never worked nights. So where the fuck were you?

Joel’s pounds on your door, yells your name into its chipping paint. He listens for something, anything, on the other side, and there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, but he keeps going The side of his fist starts to hurt, but he can’t stop himself. He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until he hears one of your neighbors yelling from the end of the hallway. 

‘Shut the fuck up!’

Joel doesn’t hear exactly where the voice comes from, but it’s enough to snap him out of it. He halts his movements, his forehead falling against hollow wood, and in the silence, hears his heart pounding in his ears. 

“Fuck!” he kicks the wall just outside the frame of your door so hard the drywall gives, leaving a hole behind. “Fuck.”

He stares at the result of his outburst for an undetermined amount of time. You were all alone. To his knowledge, you had no immediate family to inform. Who would be around to remember you? He’d never really know for sure what had happened. 

“Joel?”

He looks up, his hands still clenched tightly into fists. When he sees that it’s you, standing at the end of the hallway, they loosen. 

You look horrible - haggard, tired, your hair tangled and matted. As you move closer to him, he doesn’t miss the way your shoulders are hunched underneath the weight of your backpack. But once you’re standing in front of him, you straighten, lift your chin. 

“What is this?” you ask. “What are you doing here?”

There’s no animosity in your tone, he thinks. You might be trying to put some in there, but you don’t have the energy to do so, so it just comes out sounding very flat.

Joel realizes, suddenly, that he doesn’t have a reason. A real reason that wouldn’t….give him away. He puts his hands on his hips, thinks desperately. You do nothing to help.

When he settles in silence, offers you nothing, you just sigh and shake your head. Your teeth are chattering, lips cracked from the cold, and you seem desperate to get into shelter, twisting your key into your lock and opening the front door. Once you step inside, you flick on the lights. He follows you, closes the door behind you both, and locks it.

“Oh, yeah, come on in, I guess,” you say over your shoulder. 

Joel crosses his arms, standing in your kitchen. 

“What, am I in trouble or something?” you ask. “Because if I am, you’re gonna have to wait until I’ve showered.”

“It can wait,” Joel says, and sits at one of your kitchen chairs. 

You shrug off of your backpack and leave it on a chair, then unbutton your coat, tossing it on top. Joel swallows hard when he sees the damage it’s been hiding. Your scrubs are dirty, tattered in some places, one of the sleeves hanging, partially ripped off. And they’re covered in dried blood. It’s smeared on your arms, on the back of your neck. Not yours, he hopes. 

What the fuck happened to you? You don’t turn to see his reaction, don’t look over your shoulder to see if he’s going to ask about it. It’s almost like he’s not even there, and you clearly wish he isn’t. 

He realizes then, that he has the confirmation he’s looking for. You made it out alive. He doesn’t actually need anything else from you. And you’ve given him a perfect out. He can leave while you’re in the shower. 

But he doesn’t. Not when he hears the shower start, or the screech of the curtain across the metal rod, the sound of water hitting the basin. He stays there, motionless, until you duck out of the bathroom with your arms wrapped around yourself, wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants, hair damp and teeth chattering. 

You pad with bare feet onto the tiled area of the kitchen, brushing past him. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” he asks. 

You finally look at him, like you’re surprised he spoke up, or even asked the question. A choked, bitter laugh leaves you, and you shift your attention away from him, reaching into your cabinet for a bottle of bourbon. “Pass.”

You pour yourself a whiskey, and Joel watches you throw it back in one go, your nose scrunching up, your hand clasping into a fist as you take the shot. The taste doesn’t stop you from pouring another drink and gulping that one down, too, without as much of a reaction as the first. It’s only when you start pouring the third that he intervenes, standing and crossing the room to cover the glass with his hand before you can grab it. 

“Slow down,” he says.

“I know you’re not telling me what to do in my own home.” Your mouth opens as you look up at him, incredulous. 

Joel looks past you, shakes his head. He supposes your right, but it doesn’t make it any easier to watch the self-destructive behavior, which is funny considering how often he engages in it himself. He gives in, removes his hand from your glass. “At least…pour me one. You shouldn’t drink alone.”

Your expression softens slightly, and he’s able to see all the pain you’re hiding, just for a flash, before you turn to retrieve a second glass from your cabinet. 

Once you hand him the whiskey, he sits in the middle of the tiny loveseat you’ve got in your front room, expecting you to sit in the armchair across from it. Instead, you approach with your own drink, nudge his knee with your own, and Joel slides over to make room so you can fall onto the couch beside him. Much closer than he’d expected. 

It’s surprisingly good bourbon, and he wonders how many times you’d wasted it by downing it like you just had, instead of taking your time, savoring. He waits for you to get settled before he speaks again.

“What happened to you?” he tries once more, a little softer this time. 

There’s some contemplation on your end, you look at him for a moment, then at your glass, then back up at him again. He can almost see you trying to figure out how much you’re going to share, but he wants to know everything.

“There was an accident at the hospital,” you answer, finally. 

Joel slings his arm over the back of the couch, angles his body towards where you’re curled up, legs tucked underneath you. I’m listening.

Your voice stays even, blase. “A guard at the border broke protocol…and someone who was infected was brought in. By the time we realized, it was too late….”

“Were you hurt?” 

“Almost.” you say. “I mean, yes, actually, I’m a little scratched up, but…it’s not as bad as it could’ve been.”

Your teeth start chattering again. Joel wonders if it’s because of the cold, or your nerves. Figures it’s probably both.

“My coworker turned and I uhm….I had to…” you say into your glass, your free hand flexing like it’s trying to shake off some unpleasant muscle memory. “I had no choice.”

“I understand,” For whatever reason, he spares you from telling the story. To him, taking down Infected was nothing. But to you…“What else?” he presses.

You shrug, avoiding his eyes, one of your arms coming to grip at your opposite shoulder. “I can’t really remember. A bunch of people died. FEDRA came in and just started gunning everything down….” you shook your head, and straightened up.

“I heard about that,” Joel offers.

“Wait…you knew about this?”

“Yeah.”

“So then why are you here, asking m-” the rest of your sentence drops off, your lips parted slightly. The look on your face shifts, slowly. Your eyes narrow. Remorse turns into something more neutral, then into curiosity. “Oh my god….you were worried about me.”

“No.”

“Yes, you fucking were,” your lips curl slightly, it’s not quite a smile, but it’s something close to amusement. 

“No,” Joel defends himself. “I wanted to hear what happened from someone–”

“No you didn’t,” you interject, but he raises his voice to finish his thought.

“–who actually works there, not FEDRA’s propaganda.”

“No you did not. You’re checking up on me. You came over here after curfew to see if I was–”

“Enough,” Joel growls with enough conviction that it shuts you up, and he’s grateful, but its not enough to wipe the self-satisfied look on your face, because it doesn’t.

“What are we, like, friends now?”

He doesn’t answer, and slugs back the rest of his whiskey.

“Or would that be too much for you?” You don’t wait long for him to give you an answer, probably because you know he won’t respond. “I mean, if we’re both being honest–” He definitely wasn’t being honest. “–Today was really fucked up.”

You’re leaning forward now, some of the space between you is gone. And though you’re trying to give the impression that you’re unphased by everything, your hand is clenched tightly around your glass, and you avoid his eyes. It’s painful to watch you resist the urge to trust him. Not that he’s ever given you a good enough reason to – he knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he wants it anyways.

“It’s funny…” you say after a while. “I remember thinking that I didn’t want to die. At least… not like that. I’ve never felt that before…That’s something, isn’t it?” you ask him. 

Joel looks at you, and is surprised at the vulnerability in your expression, sees you looking for some kind of validation from him. “....It is.” 

You finish off your drink, and put the empty glass on the coffee table, shift closer to him.

“It looks like you healed up okay,” you say, after a spell. “How’s your shoulder?”

“A little sore, nothing I can’t handle.”

“Did you take those antibiotics?”

“Yes.”

“Good. And I can’t even tell you had a black eye.”

“I’m fine,” Joel asserts. 

Another shiver wracks your body, and he can tell this one is actually from the chill – your apartment is cold as fuck, it even is starting to bother him. 

“Don’t you have a heater?”

“Kinda,” you glance over at the radiator in the corner. “Sometimes it works.”

“What do you do when it’s colder than this?” It was only November, things would only get worse. 

You shrug. “I don’t know….just be colder, I guess.”

Joel imagines you curled up in your bed alone, wrapped in a thin comforter, shaking in front of him like you are now. He winces. 

“How long are you going to stay?” you ask, changing the subject.

“I should probably go now.”

You nod, scoot closer. “But maybe…” you trail off, contemplating. 

Joel sits up straighter, prompting you when you don’t speak again. “Maybe what?”

“Maybe you could stick around for a little while longer.” There’s a warm hand, yours, that lands on his thigh, and he recoils like you’ve touched him with a fire iron. He rises to his feet. 

“Hey,” you stand along with him, step in front of him to block the pathway to the door. He could easily get past you, obviously, but it’s not as simple as that. 

Of course he’s fucking thought about what happened the last time he was here – his arms around your waist, his mouth on your neck, your chest, your hands on his shoulders, whining his name. A freak accident, a glitch in the matrix, a statistically improbable thing. 

“What?” he asks as you step forward, the fingers on your free hand sliding into the belt loops of his pants. He feels blood rush to his cheeks, to other places. And you’re still fucking shivering. You look so fucking miserable, he wants to yell at you to put on a coat, to wrap yourself in a blanket, in his arms. 

“Joel,” you say his name softly, tilting your head up, leaning close. And then your hand is on the side of his face, and he realizes you’re fucking pleading with him. He knows what you want, but he has a feeling this isn’t just about sex. You’re looking for comfort, as if he’s capable of giving it. 

“We made a mistake…once,” he tells you. “We’re not going to make it again.”

He says it to hurt you, but it doesn’t work. It’s like you knew it was coming all along. “I knew what I was doing,” you answer, earnest. “Didn’t you?”

Yes. You glance down at his hands, which are squeezed into fists so tightly, his knuckles are white. If he’s not rigid, he’s not sure how he’ll be able to resist. He wants you. God, he wants you. He never thought he’d be able to have you again. 

“I could help you loosen up.”

Joel’s walking on the edge of a one-thousand foot cliff and hoping his foot slips. He wants to surrender. The only thing he thinks might save him is to say the meanest thing he can. Maybe you’d get turned off.

“Listen to yourself,” he says, finding the strength to meet your eyes. “You want me so bad, you sound pathetic.”

“Asshole,” you step closer, your mouth twitches, your lips are inches apart. “Do you think I care what you think about me?”

Joel realizes his plan has backfired. But he really only has himself to blame, he should’ve known better. With you, he’s never in as much control as he wants to be, and deep down, he likes it. 

“Go lie down on the bed.”

It’s the only thing that seems to shock you. “What?” 

“I won’t ask you again,” Joel steps backwards, crosses his arms. “Go lie down.” 

──────

If you told yourself a couple months ago that one day you’d find yourself pinned down by Joel Miller, you’d think it’d be because he was about to kill you. Maybe because you cheated him out of something, maybe because you did something else to piss him off – it didn’t really matter. Regardless of how fucked up it was, that idea would seem more dignified than what was happening now. 

Your back is being pressed deeper into the lumpy old mattress, and he’s on you. His mouth is warm, hot, wet, and dragging down your neck, nipping, sucking, licking. Your hands are itching to reach out, to skate down his torso, trace along his jawline, tug at his hair, but you can’t because he’s got them pinned above you with only one of his own. Anytime you try to fight him, his grip only grows stronger. 

It was shameful, really, but you had asked for this – begged for it, basically. There were a number of reasons why – one of which was to blow off some steam after a near death experience, the other because you’d fucked him before and it had been good, much to your dismay. There was also a third reason that you weren’t interested in acknowledging now. 

After the night Joel had gotten jumped, and you’d taken care of him, everything has changed. It’s a cliche, but true. You’d known what you were doing when it happened, and had no regrets. But it was probably not supposed to happen again, and you tried to keep it that way, more for his sake than anyone else’s. But….he was the one who showed up tonight after he’d heard what had happened. It wasn’t nothing.

Joel pulls away from you so abruptly that you gasp, shivering in the wake of his impossible warmth. 

“Sit up,” he instructs, and you turn to find him at the end of the bed, arms crossed. 

You obey, mostly just for the view. You hope to admire him, fresh from kissing you – flush skin, wet lips, tousled hair. Only he’s frustratingly stoic, unsullied – like he hadn’t been touching you at all. 

“Look at me,” he says, and you do. 

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

“It’s nothing,” you agree. 

“I won’t be gentle.”

“I don’t want you to be gentle.”

“Good,” you watch his shoulders loosen, just a little, and he takes one step backwards, his eyes tracing down your body and then back up. “Strip for me….” 

You aren’t dressed sexy at all, you remember, a sweatshirt and sweatpants. If you had thought this through a little more, you might’ve tried to make it nicer for him. “....Okay.”

“Start with your shirt,” he says, and you grab at the hem, but he snaps at you. “Ah-ah….slower.”

You swallow, nod, and carefully lift the fabric, dragging it up over your stomach, over the swell of your breasts, revealing your tight, thin white tank top. 

“That’s it, nice and slow.” 

Joel’s voice is soft but stern, a low rasp that makes your cunt clench around nothing, and he’s not even touching you. The sweatshirt is pulled over your head, falling somewhere on the crumpled bedspread. 

Languidly, you lean back, shifting your weight to get off the mattress, and Joel palms himself through his jeans. You can see where he’s straining against the denim, and you find it hard to tear your gaze away as you go to pull off your sweatpants. Joel stops you again. 

“Turn around.”

You do, and you’re sure he has a nice view of your ass as you slide them over your hips, bending over to let the fleece pool around your ankles. Slowly, you rise back up, looking at him over your shoulder for approval. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs. Your stomach flips. A month ago, you would’ve done anything to get him to stay away from you, and now, you’re terrified to disappoint him. 

That’s the problem. You’d spent most of the day fighting for your life — literally. But even after standing behind a barricade of heavily-armed FEDRA soldiers outside the hospital, you didn���t feel as safe as you did when you saw Joel at your door. You need him. For now, at least.

“Now the shirt,” he tilts his head towards the mattress, nodding encouragingly.

You get back on the bed, sitting back on your heels, and begin to pull the tank top up. It’s your last layer up top, you’re not wearing a bra, and you’re feeling a little vulnerable with him just watching you, fully clothed and composed, your gaze falling down to look at the threadbare linens. 

“Eyes up,” he instructs. “Look at me.”

Taking in a shaky inhale, you do. It’s not easy. Everything about him looks dark, animalistic. A coiled ball of energy, waiting to pounce.

But, even when you’re bare before him, he doesn’t. 

“Lie back, close your eyes.”

Of course, you don’t refuse, settling your head against the pillows. 

There’s a sound of a belt – his belt, unbuckling, the snap of a button, the dip of the bed where he kneels when he comes to hover over you. Two hands land on top of your thighs, pressing the backs against his denim-clad knees, thumbs pushing your legs further apart. 

And then…nothing. He’s still. He’s still for so long, that you actually think that something’s wrong. When you open your eyes, you’re met with a view of the underside of his jaw. You can just make out the pinched expression he’s wearing as he looks down upon you. Disdain, maybe…but it’s not meant for you, it’s for someone else….him.

“Joel,” you murmur. Instinctually, you reach for his hand.

The second it makes contact, he smacks your hand away so hard your whole body jolts. “I told you to close your eyes.”

“Sorry,” you mumble quickly, closing them again. 

You are well aware that he’s actively working through shit, probably doing some kind of mental gymnastics to rationalize why it’s okay to fuck you again, which, when you really think about it is kind of….pathetic. It’s the only thing that makes you feel any sort of power in a situation where you’ll surrender everything else. It’s a fair exchange. 

Maybe, on a different day, you would want it softer. You’d like to think he’s capable of that, even though he seems determined he isn’t. Luckily, you don’t want it softer. After today, you want to be so far gone you can’t think. 

Joel answers by leaning down and catching you in a bruising kiss. Finally. You press yourself against him cause you’re freezing and he’s so warm, and you frantically begin to unbutton the flannel he’s wearing, making it about halfway down before he pins your hands above you again.

“Slow down.”

You whine, a little frustrated because all you want to do is touch him. The fingers on his free hand hook around the elastic of your underwear, and he starts to drag them over the curve of your ass. 

He’s got to be joking with how deliberately he’s moving, anticipation only building underneath his featherlight touches.

When he’s got your panties around your ankles, you slide your legs together so he can pull them off entirely, keeping them closed as his weight shifts, and your thighs are pulled back apart.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he doesn’t need to feel you to see it clear as day, with you spread open in front of him. “So fucking desperate.”

He’s all-but glaring at you, like you’ve done something wrong, and for a minute, your eyes flick away, just for a second of relief from the tension.

“What, are you embarrassed?” he asks. 

“N-no,” you stammer, though it was supposed to sound confident. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t press you, his head dipping down to press his lips to your knee, then an inch higher, then an inch higher, then higher – keeping his eyes locked on yours the whole time, an arm winding around your thigh.

“I wanted to do this last time.” A confession. 

“Yeah?” you sigh, trembling. It’s maybe the nicest thing he’s said to you, but you can’t even acknowledge it, because you’re buzzing.

He turns his face, his beard scraping along sensitive skin. “Mhm,” his deep rasp vibrates directly to your cunt, and when his head dips down, you close your eyes – it might just be better to focus on only one sensation at a time, you’re not sure you can handle seeing what he’s about to do.

Joel’s mouth is on you the second you do, and you gasp. He licks up the seam of your lips, mouth latching around your clit, swirling with his tongue, and back down – firm, determined, practiced. You try to buck up, but he has an arm locked around your hips. 

He removes himself from you just enough to utter two words. “Stay still.”

You want to protest, but you realize that he’s let go of your hands, and it gives you the opportunity to thread your fingers into his hair, while you dig your heels into the broad expanse of his back, and he groans, tongue curling into you. 

“I’ve thought about this,” you gasp, answering his earlier admission.

“When?”

“At night. More than once.”

“Fuck,” Joel growls, and you wheeze when he works one finger into you, forcing you to take it along with his next words. “You know how fuckin’ bad that is? Dreamin’ about a man nearly twice your age?”

“I d-don’t care, I want you anyway. Y-you can do whatever you want to me,” It’s too early to be past the point of speaking coherently, it really is, but you’re already there. 

“F-fuck,” Joel repeats himself, and pushes another finger inside you next to the first, the stretch almost uncomfortable, but quickly fading to pleasure. “I’m going to.”

You’re not the going to tell him, though, that he’s the first man whose ever gone down on you, because you’re a little fucking scared for some reason. It’s intimate, very intimate, more than you expected. 

The truth is, you weren’t actually very experienced at all. You could count on one hand the number of partners you’d had, and still not use all of your fingers. While some of them were good enough, they all paled in comparison to Joel. There had never been anyone like Joel. 

His fingers curl as his tongue swirls around your clit and you cry out, inhale sharply. Minute by minute, you’re getting wetter and wetter – can hear yourself with each twist of his fingers inside you, bearing down on him. 

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he grunts, and your eyes flutter open just for a second, just to see his forehead, dark eyes staring back at you, and his hips dipping, rutting against the mattress. God he’s getting himself off to this. As hot as it is, the thought of not getting to feel him inside you causes a rush of anger. 

“F-feels so good,” you’re right there, already, and it’s pitiful.

“I know, baby, I know,” he says. “You’re already so close, aren’t you?”

Instead of answering, you just nod, gasping. Joel works you right up to the precipice, hands tightening in his hair, hips lifting off the bed – and then he slows a little –  just enough – to pull you back off the edge, and you let out a humiliating sob.

“Shhh!” he hisses with his mouth still on you, resuming the steady pace he had going. A little sigh of relief when you feel your release approaching again. He just lost his rhythm for a moment, it was nothing.

Again, he’s got you right there, you’re so close, hips jerking, breathing in short, sharp pants, something molten working its way up your spine. “Joel, that’s it, please I-”

He falters again – just enough. And it’s gone again.

You realize, with dismay, that he knows exactly what he’s doing. He hadn’t lost his rhythm. He’s doing this on purpose. 

If someone asked – not that anyone would – you wouldn’t be able to recall how long he keeps you in that state, being dragged and dangled, but denied the privilege of falling. It’s torture. 

And at first, you try to be patient. You figure he’ll grow tired, desperate, and eventually want to move on. But apparently, he doesn’t want to move on. He’s content to keep you this way for as long as he sees fit, and you can’t handle it any longer. It’s starting to hurt.

“Please, Joel, let me-” you gasp.

“Let you what?” he pulls back from you, frustratingly too soon, once again.

“Let me come, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, please, please-”

“Just a little longer,” he dismisses you.

All you can do is pant and writhe, completely at his mercy. He keeps going like that, and you’ve stopped trying to filter yourself, the sounds he makes as he laves at you are obscene, you can see yourself glistening on his chin, and can feel the sheets damp beneath you. At this point, he’s enjoying this more than you are.

“Joel,” you plead with him again. “It’s too much, I c-can’t. Just, please I really need-”

“You wanna come for me, baby?” he asks. You nod ferociously. 

“Yes, please, please,” 

“You’re so fucking sweet when you beg, you know that? ” he murmurs. “Wish you were like this all the time.”

“Fuck off,” you manage, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. You should do this to me more often. 

Joel chuckles, and it vibrates just right, his fingers curling again and you moan, hands tightening in his hair. He’s focused now, you can tell because the constant stream of filth he’s been whispering has finally stopped. He’s persistent.

You’re unable to stay quiet, continuing to whimper just like that and please don’t stop over and over. And then all at once, every muscle in your body grows tense and you cry out, cunt pulsing around him so tightly that his fingers slow. “There you go, pretty girl, that’s it.” 

You whisper his name as he continues to fuck his fingers into you, riding you through your orgasm and licking up the mess you’ve made. 

At some point in the aftermath, Joel withdraws from you, and you hear the sting of his zipper. It takes a moment, but you’re able to see him through heavily lidded eyes, kneeling in front of you with his shirt unbuttoned all the way, pants around his ankles, jerking himself slowly in his hand. God he’s fucking huge, how had you forgotten about that? He’s a vision, beard still wet with you, looking down, watching your chest rise and fall. In that moment you realize two things. One, even though you’ve already come, you somehow want him even more than you had before, and two, you’ve never wanted to suck a dick so bad in your life. 

So you sit up, crawl towards him, and reach out with one hand to take him in your palm. He lets you, sighing, closing down his eyes. First, you have to kiss him, so you rise to your knees, and he pulls you into his arms, one of them winding around your waist, the other coming to rest at the small of your back. “You take such good care of me,” you whisper. 

He grimaces at the words like they’re an insult. You expect him to retaliate, to tell you that you shouldn’t say that sort of thing, but he never does. So you kiss him, gently, bringing your free hand to the side of his face. Once again, he lets you, and you taste yourself when his tongue presses into you mouth. You run your thumb over the head of his cock, and he hums against your touch, almost contentedly.

You’re doing whatever you want to him, and you’re shocked he hasn’t put a stop to it. It could be satisfying enough, you think, just to keep kissing him like this. Still, you sink back towards the bed to test things further. You’re about to wrap your mouth around him, but he pulls you off by your hair, so quickly, so hard that you yelp.

“No.” he says firmly. “Lie back.”

“But I just wanted to-”  

“No.” 

You consider trying to reason with him, but decide it won’t be worth whatever he’d do if you continue to argue.

Joel braces himself with one hand above your shoulder, the other wrapped around his cock, slowly teasing you by rubbing himself up and down a few times, before he gives in, finally pushing into you.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp at the stretch, reaching out grasp at his bicep, arching your back. He’d prepped you, and it was still too much. 

“You can take it,” he says, pressing deeper into you. His hips are all the way flush with yours, he’s to the hilt, and he still snaps them even further, once, holding you there, so deep, you feel like you’re choking on him. “See? There you go.”

It seems like you can’t quite catch your breath, and you squirm underneath him for some kind of friction, some kind of relief from how intense it all is. You can feel him throbbing inside you, feel how badly his own body is begging him to move, but he doesn’t. 

“Joel,” you cradle the back of his head, look him in the eyes. “Move, please.”

He doesn’t answer, he just brings his hand to grip your jaw, his thumb and forefinger pressing into the soft flesh of your cheeks. 

“Please?” you murmur again, and his thumb slips into your mouth, silencing you. You suck on it obediently, and after you do, he finally gives you what you want.

──────

Joel told you he wouldn’t be gentle, and he isn’t. 

He hadn’t been able to do this last time. Taste you, spread you open, fuck you properly. His hips snap against yours – ferociously, unrelenting, over and over. You’ve been going at it for awhile now, and he actually wants you to break. He wants you to tell him to slow down, to be a little more tender, not press into you so deep, so hard, so that if he listens, it wouldn’t mean he’s breaking his own promise. He’s got to be rough with you, because he’s afraid of what could happen if he’s not.

But you don’t break. You fucking take it, take him, each time, again and again, your nails digging into arms, your legs locked around his hips. Each time he delves into you, you’re getting wetter and wetter, and yet, you’re still so fucking tight. He doesn’t understand it. It’s been a long fucking time since he’s been with a woman like you – and you might be the best he’s ever had. 

You’re not even making any noise – you’re just panting, gasping in Joel’s ear as you cling to him, and that’s all. He can’t even look you in the eyes. If he does, he knows you’ll see everything that’s wrong with him, and still beg for him to give you more. 

Two hands land on either side of his face, turning his head so you can kiss him. Despite how he’s treating you, you keep trying to connect, to ground yourself. For as much as he wants to refuse, it feels too cruel to deny you. He lets you lock your lips with his own, feels your cunt clutch him even tighter. It’s impossible for you to kiss for more than a few seconds at a time without it getting broken up by a whimper here and there. You’re getting close again, he’s started to get better at recognizing it.

“You’re fucking so perfect on me, baby, you feel that?” he asks, and you nod, breathless. “Taking me so well, such a good fucking girl-”

A gasp from you cuts him off, your eyes squeezing shut as you are taken over by your climax. Joel groans and does everything he can not to come when you start pulsing around him, holding him closer, since there’s nothing else to do. It’s way too intimate…because it’s missionary, and he should’ve known better than to start off like this. 

Pulling out of you is the hardest thing he’s had to do in a while, and he ignores your noises of protest now that he’s left you empty. Then, he flips you onto your stomach. He takes a moment to admire the curve of your ass, how it dips into your waist….to him, your body is perfect, and you’re young, your skin still supple and smooth. There are still places he hasn’t gotten his mouth on, and it’s a shame, he thinks, but tonight his patience is wearing thin. Joel pulls you back until you’re on your knees, and slides back inside. There’s a little resistance, you whimper, but it’s easier than the first time. He wraps an arm around your waist, the other across your chest, and starts to jerk his hips upwards, into you. 

“Oh fuck, Joel,” you sigh in relief.

“I know, I know.”

You drop your head back until it falls against his shoulder, winding your arm back so you can pull at his hair, which kind of fucking hurts, but he likes it. 

Ultimately, you’re pretty easy to please, and it’s not long before he feels the telltale flutter of your walls as you drip down over him, soaking his lap. 

“You’re making a fucking mess, baby. You gonna come for me again?”

All you can do is plead with him. “I can’t, Joel. I can’t do it again, please just-”

“Yes, you can,” he interjects. “I know you can, baby, don’t worry…I’ll help you.”

“O-okay.’ 

He slows the roll of his hips just a little, focuses on deeper, longer strokes, and lets the hand that’s currently squeezing one of your tits fall to where your bodies are joined, finding your clit immediately.

You whine, arching back against him, the swell of your ass packed against his lower stomach. He sees a single tear leaking from the corner of your eye and feels a little guilty for what he’s doing to you. Only a little, though. 

Without any warning, for the third time, you’re coming around him – easier than the last time, like always – and he uses the feeling of you throbbing around him to chase his own release, his hand clapping over your mouth to muffle your moans as he becomes increasingly frantic. 

He turns his head, rakes his teeth along your exposed neck, and sinks them into your pulse point with a groan. Your breath is hot against him when you whimper in response. 

“Just a little more, honey.” He’s so close. You bob your head, though you’ve nearly gone limp in his arms.

Like last time, Joel knows it’s a bad idea, but he’s not going to pull out. The thought of deliberately coming inside you is actually what sends him over the edge, and he’s cursing and moaning your name. You whine at the feeling of him pulsing inside of you, arching back for more, even though he can tell you’re exhausted. 

It’s fucking freezing in your apartment, and yet, his skin is damp with sweat when he finally regains some awareness of his surroundings. He’s panting, you’re sniffling, a weak smile on your face as you catch your breath. Before he can stop himself, he presses his lips to your cheek. 

Joel tilts you both forward – very tentatively, keeping an arm wrapped around your waist. At some point, your hand settled over top of his, and you threaded your fingers between his own, holding his hand across your stomach. You keep it there, even after you’ve settled onto the bed.  

It takes a few minutes before either of you move, but it’s you who gives in first, wriggling out from where he’s got you trapped partially underneath him. 

You retreat to the bathroom, like you did last time. Somewhere during your coupling the linens have slid down the bed, and Joel settles back against the pillows, throwing an arm behind his head.  Now that he’s stopped sweating, he’s just cold, and he reaches to pull the bedspread over him. He should leave, he thinks, before you come out and ask him to. Beat you to the punch. Maybe while you’re still in the bathroom. 

A few minutes later, and you return from the bathroom, dressed again in sweats. He hears you pour yourself a glass of water, gulping it down. You flick off the lamp on your bedside table, and fall into bed next to him, lying rigidly on your back. He should reach out, pull you against him, let you settle in his arms. Instead, Joel rolls over on his side. 

It’s terrible how beautiful you are, he thinks, watching you stare up at the ceiling, hugging yourself. So beautiful, and fucking smart. You’re strong, too, but not as strong as he wishes you were. Of course, no one could ever be that strong.

He whispers your name. You turn your head, pupils still blown wide with lingering lust.

“You need to learn to defend yourself, to shoot a gun, to fight,” he says. “After today.”

“What?” you roll to face him. 

“You said you didn’t want to die,” Joel continues. “So you need to learn. ‘Case something like that happens again.”

“Oh yeah? Lemme guess, you’re gonna teach me?” your voice is a little hoarse after what he’d done to you, and you smirk at him.

“Yes.” It sobers you up, that he’s not fucking with you, or giving you a hard time. “I owe you, remember?” 

“You do.” 

“So…. I’ll teach you.” 

“....Okay.” 

“Alright.”

Joel rolls over to his opposite side, and you’re left staring at his back. Arms wrapped around 

himself in a tight hug, he waits for you to tell him to go.

You never do. 

Instead, he feels the heat of your body as you curl up against him, slotting one of your legs between his own. Your hand grazes up his ribs, over his bicep – a gentle, quick massage – before you tuck your arm underneath his own, your palm flat against his heart. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, frozen at how tender the embrace is. It’s a foreign feeling, he can’t remember the last time someone touched him like this. 

The tip of your nose hits the nape of his neck, and he can feel your shuddery exhale.

“I’m cold,” you say, like it’s obvious, lips brushing featherlight against his skin. “And if you’re staying, you might as well make yourself useful.”

He can’t roll over and wrap his arms around you. He can’t kiss your forehead or play with your hair or murmur into your ear. He can’t offer you anything in return. Joel decides, though, if he’s going to accept comfort from anyone, it’s going to be from you.

──────

taglist (basically if you asked for a pt 2 on the last part i tagged you): @bbyanarchist @dlwrish @imaginewrites24 @captain-yellow-96 @daisyintheskyewithdiamonds @sludgec0r33 @c0wb0ym3nace

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #the last of us #the last of us writing #the last of us fanfiction #tlou #tlou hbo #tlou fic #joel miller angst #writing

[norrisleclercf1]

First of all amazing writing for the poly max and charles. It was perfectly written since I can see Charles giving the silent treatment for something like that, and for max to react that way omg it hurt but its such a max thing to do.

And since you said you need a few ideas here are some.

- Does the reader have to get involved and force the boys to talk to each other and its a whole bunch of fluff with maybe charles making it up to max by taking max and reader on a cute karting date at a track they rented out and we get a happy ending

- Or does the tension keep going because the boys avoid each other and the problem and it carries on into a race weekend and Charles feels the need to prove himself and does some reckless driving and has a really big crash that leaves him unconscious and his car in shambles. And he gets taken to the hospital. Where the reader and max are going crazy not knowing whats happening. And then we get the fluff of max and charles making up and everyone being happy

Just a suggestion to maybe jump start some ideas

Hope you have an amazing day!

A/N: These are both such good ideas but we all know that I went with the second one

Warnings: Angst, Hospital, wrecking, etc.

The tension has been thick. You so much couldn't even start a conversation without he two of them turning it into a huge fight. Max was furious that Charles wasn't talking to him. Charles was furious that Max simply couldn't understand or sympathize with what he's going through.

It doesn't help either that Max and Charles have been trashing each other in the media. Max has been a wreck, staying with Daniel or Christian as much as possible. He couldn't be home.

Charles was with his mother and brothers, refusing to come home because he didn't want to run into Max and cause another argument. You have been left alone in your large bed with both the men you love gone.

You actually texted them one night, alone and tired of this.

If you two can't fix this, then we're ending this

You know they both read these because they both texted you saying not to do this, and that they're sorry. You don't answer them, not until they talked to each other first.

A new race was coming up, and while you normally spent it spending time with the boys and calming them down. You stayed away and spoke to them with curt replies, simply letting them know you would be at the race.

You hated to do this, but you couldn't be near Charles at the moment, so when you entered the paddock, you walked right past Ferrari and went to Red Bull. Newey was the first to see you, he was well aware of your relationship with both drivers.

"Y/n, how are you?" A wobbly smile is what you give him, unsure how to answer the question. "Newey, have they," You look around, stepping in closer so no one else hears the words. "Have they spoken to each other at all? I know they had the interviews together." Newey sighs, rubbing a hand over his head.

"You didn't watch them?" This has your stomach dropping, hands buzz from the anxiety you have been feeling all day. "No," "Don't." Someone calls Newey's name which has him kissing your cheek and walking off.

Max rounds the corner, stopping when he sees you flexing your hands. He hates that this is the first time he's seen you almost 3 weeks. Max never should have left home, his home with you and Charles.

The feeling of eyes on you causes you to look up, Max's blue ones skate over your body seeing if anything is wrong. "Baby." in 3 strides he's by your side, grabbing your hands. He knew that your anxiety was making them feel funny.

"Have you spoken to him?" Pulling your hands away you keep a small distance between one another. "Y/n," Sighing in anger you knew he hasn't. "Max, you make him speak to you. I'm not going to be the referee in this one." Wiggling your fingers you spin on your heel, leaving Max to stare at your back.

Charles noticed you right away, how could he not. He's done nothing but stare at yours and Max's pictures since he left. "Nemo." Seeing Charles, face drawn tight, eyes sunken with skin pale as snow has your heart burn.

Nemo, he was the only one to call you that. The first movie you 3 watched together as a couple. You love that movie. "Charles." His lips tip down, hearing how cold your voice is. "I'm sorry." You don't react, you can't.

"If you're sorry, then apologize to Max. He's done nothing wrong." Charles's sadness quickly becomes anger at those words. "Nothing wrong? He's the cause of it all." Licking your lips you look down, the numbness in your hands growing. "Charles, if you keep this is, you'll be the one to break us." He says nothing as he turns and walks off, dissolving into the sea of red.

------------------------------

"The fuck is he doing?" Flinching you watch as Charles moves the Ferrari at angles and speeds no one, not even Schumacher or Max would do. He was being reckless, trying to get around Max. "Charles, stop." You plead to no one but yourself.

"He's going to fast into that corner, OH GOD!" One of the commentator's voice fill your ears as you watch the red Ferrari flip endlessly and slam into the barriers. "No." Knees weak, someone catches you helping you into a chair. You say nothing, the numbness all over your body.

The roar of the engines doesn't shake you from your daze. Not the scared voice of Max, his shaking hands, or the frantic yelling of everyone around you.

"He's not moving." Max whips his head down, dropping to your level. "It's okay, he's going to be okay." Max doesn't know who he's trying to comfort, you or him. "Go, they're taking him to the hospital." Max nods at Newey who tells him he'll make an excuse as to why the two of you are gone.

--------------------------------

Max just stares at the sleeping body of Charles, your own is curled up into his chest. Max fixes your position kissing the top of your head, keeping a close eye on Charles's heartbeat. For 10 hours, they didn't know what was wrong with Charles, or even if he was alive.

You had tired yourself out from crying and multiple anxiety attacks later, you were fast asleep. Max was numb to it all, having just stared and mumbled few words. The soft beeps of Charles heart spike, Max shooting out of the chair.

"Max?" He's next to side in an instant running his hands over his bruised and cut up face. "You fool, you fucking fool." Max hisses, pissed beyond years. "Don't," Charles whispers, hand moving to cover one of Max's.

"You almost died, died to just pull some fucking dangerous move. I wouldn't even do that, Red. Why?" Choking on the words, Max screws his eyes shut. "My own selfish pride. I hated that you kept winning, hated everything." Max presses his head against Charles's kissing his cheek.

"Red, Charles. You should've told me. We could've talked about this." Charles makes a pained expression, the pain medication fading away. "I'm sorry, I hate feeling this way. I love you and to feel like this, has torn me to shreds." Max sighs, placing another kiss on Charles's bruised cheek.

"Don't go," "I'm not, I'm waking up Y/n." Charles relaxes, Max whispering soft words into your ear. Sitting up you blink away the sleep, looking into Charles's eyes. "Charles?" He smiles moving his arm slightly. "Charles." Whimpering you move laying yourself next to Charles.

"Easy." Max hushes helping you two lay next to one another. "Join us." Chuckling, Max fixes Charles's messy hair. "No, I'm staying awake. You two sleep." Max pulls the chair closer, holding Charles's hand.

Max couldn't help but watch the two of you sleep, and to listen to the steady beeps from the machine

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 fandom #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 imagine #formula one #f1 scenario #f1 fluff #f1 angst #f1 blurb #f1 oneshot #f1 one shot #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc imagines #charles x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen angst #max verstappen blurb #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x charles leclerc

[gartenofbanny]

Ever since the first season of Hazbin Hotel ended, I've seen people excuse the reason why Hazbin Hotel is rushed the way it is because of the episode count and the runtime of each episode.

Hazbin Hotel has 8 episodes, with each one being about 24 to 25 minutes long, and while that is really short of a runtime compared to other Amazon shows like Invincible, I don't believe it's an excuse for the bad pacing of the show overall. The writers had 8 episodes to make a coherent and well-paced story, but instead, they chose to just stuff as many things as they could within those 8 episodes, which leaves out a bunch events in the story poorly written or entirely unnecessary.

An example of this is Velvette. Throughout the third episode of Hazbin, she kept preaching about wanting to fight back against the Angels now that they're aware that they can get killed.

But she doesn't even do that. Instead she's just fucking chilling in her home while watching the main cast doing the thing she was preaching about prior. What was even the point of her inclusion in episode 3 or even in the first season as a whole when she wasn't even going to do what she preached afterwards?

And this show having too much shit in it also messes up the main premise of the show itself that being redemption. In episode 4, Angel Dust is at his lowest point, as shown in the series. He continues to do drugs and drink alcohol despite being at the Hazbin Hotel the longest.

However, in episode 6, it's revealed that Angel Dust has been taking a break from drugs, has formed a bond with the rest of the main cast, and has even stood up to Valentino for the first time. In short, he's actually made progress at the Hotel and has developed as a character.

But bad news, all that shit was off-screen. We never got to see Angel Dust actually develop as a character and form relationships outside of Husk, Charlie, and Vaggie. And it's simply because this show has some really horrid pacing and writing.

This show wants to cover like two seasons worth of plot in eight episodes, and I blame the writers for this. Stuffing your show with too many plots just results in them all not having the time necessary to grow. I get wanting to show your audiences as many things as you can, but some sacrifices have to be made for good writing.

Also, the fact that after episode two that each episode is like a month apart from each other is hilariously bad that it puts shonen timeskips to shame.

#vivziepop critical #vivziepop #vivziepop criticism #vivienne medrano #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel critique