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fleurriee · 1 year

Text

— change in plans ; neteyam sully

pairing ; neteyam sully x fem!reader

synopsis ; you and neteyam had been mates for a short while now. when you start to feel ill, suspicion starts to cleave your mind, and you can’t help but worry about your mates reaction.

word count ; 2.4k

themes ; fluff, slight angst, established relationship (mates)

warnings ; mentions of being sick, worrying thoughts of not being a good enough mate, use of y/n

author’s note ; starting a dad!neteyam series bc this man is all i want in life and he’d be the perfect dad if he was only given the chance :(( screw u, james. lol this was originally going to be a drabble series but when i checked the wc for this & saw over 2k, i just thought fuck it. so, this series is gonna have a different wc every time 🤙🏻

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dad!neteyam series masterlist main masterlist request a fic!

Groggily opening your eyes, attempting to blink away the sleep that was still lingering there, you take a deep breath in, grumbling noiselessly to yourself. Fresh air and morning sunlight filtered in through the gaps until they surrounded your sleepy figure. You feel around on the bed next to you for the familiar presence that has been a comfort to you for around several months now. When your hands only come in contact with the bed mat beneath you, you turn your head in the same direction, heart sinking at the emptiness of the space.

You knew Neteyam was important to your clan — he was next in line for Olo’eykyan, after all — but sometimes you wished he wasn’t. Without the title weighing down heavily on his shoulders, you’d be able to spend a lot more time together, planning out your days and getting ready for your future. Instead, you awoke more often than not alone, your homely tent slowly start to turn isolated and desolate.

Of course, you’d never tell your mate of your thoughts — Neteyam was already guilt-ridden enough whenever he eventually made his way back into your arms after such a long and strenuous day, apologising profusely for not having spent enough time with you. In those times, you do nothing but comfort him, reassure him that you’re okay and that you understand.

But, that doesn’t mean it isn’t hard.

Stretching out your limbs to get some life back into them, you slowly start to climb up off the mat, looking around your hut for some breakfast. Your tent that you shared with your loving mate was a place you treasured deeply, one you considered to be your very own safe-haven. Not too long after your official mating with Neteyam, he had secretly been sneaking off whenever he had the spare time — which, admittedly, wasn't that often — to built a home for the two of you. Initially, you hadn't really thought of his disappearances that much, but when he started sending you sneaky glances out the corner of his eye, subtle smiles directed only at you, you began to get your suspicions.

He had taken you away from his family, covering your eyes and carefully walking you in a random direction, before revealing the surprise. Your heart had melted into a pool of warmth, surrounding you completely and utterly. You were a blubbering mess — whilst this was something you knew would be happening soon for the two of you, you were never expecting it to feel such a way for you.

It felt official.

Now, your home was filled to the brim with memories and personal memorabilia. Beads and feathers you had collected all your life that represented a different moment in your relationship; personalised weapons and clothes that you had made for one another during your courting ceremony, and one corner that smelt entirely of the two of you from where you sleep, where you come together as one soul each night and show one another how much your love means.

In another corner of the tent lies two baskets — one filled with fruit, and the other filled with meat. When you’d first mated with Neteyam, he had insisted on collecting all the foods the two of you would need for your home. You had found the offer loving, your heart fluttering in your chest as his desire to provide for you, but declined. You were to be mates, which meant you wanted to provide for him, too. So, after several long discussions, you’d compromised that Neteyam would hunt the meat, and you would forage the fruit.

It was a routine that worked quite well, taking note of the good amount of the ratio as you looked down in the baskets. Giving yourself a moment to contemplate what you wished to eat on that particular morning, moments away from reaching down and grabbing to your heart’s desire, a funny feeling started to tingle in your stomach.

Taking in another deep breath, you told yourself that it was nothing, that it would disappear, but it only seemed to grow worse. With one hand on your stomach, the other covering your mouth, you rushed over to the entrance of your tent, opening the flap and spewing up last night’s meal into the empty bucket outside.

You took a moment to breath afterwards, catching your breath and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You looked around at the clan surrounding you, wondering if anyone had taken notice of you — as far as you were aware, no one had. So, walking back inside your tent, you went over to the fresh water yourself and Neteyam kept stocked and washed your hands.

Looking back over at the basket of fruits and meats, you decided you’d skip that morning’s breakfast.

“And then what happened?”

You were out in the lush forests of Pandora, taking a walk with Kiri as she used even her spare to time to prepare for her healing work with her grandmother. The two of you walked side by side, the day’s sun basking down its warmth on your retreating figures.

When you’d originally met up with Kiri earlier that morning, you had expected her to be her usual self — bright and excited to explore more of what Ewya offered her children. Instead, you had been met with a much angrier version of your sister-in-law.

Before you’d even started walking together, she was reciting her own morning back to you. Apparently, Lo’ak had believed it to be funny to scare Kiri whilst her back was turned away from him, causing the paste she was making to jump out of her hands and become ruined.

You couldn’t help but stifle a giggle out her crazy morning antics.

“And, then,” Kiri started, grumbling at her situation as she bent down to pluck a small part of a plant away, placing it delicately into her pouch, “father grounded me.”

You turn your head towards her, furrowed eyes on display, showing off your confusion. “What? Why?”

As Kiri stood back up, her anger dissipated and a smirk played on her lips. “Because I punched him in the face.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that completely tumbled from your mouth, loud and clear as any other creature within the forests. Grabbing at your stomach in an attempt to cease the laughing, your sister beside you only making your enthusiasm worse by joining in and exclaiming that he had it coming!, you felt elated, until your happiness turned into queasiness.

There was a split second where you knew what was going to happen before it actually did, but you weren’t given enough time to react. Your only option was to bend low, throwing up once again, although this time you had no idea where the contents had come from, considering you hadn’t eaten since last night and had already thrown up earlier that morning.

Coughing and clutching at your stomach, you felt Kiri’s gentle hand against your back, smoothly rubbing your skin to calm you down. Once you felt that was everything, you stood back up straighter, head groggy and eyes glazed over — you had never felt more worse in your life.

“Oh, y/n, you look terrible!” she chastised you, her eyes moving fervently over your figure, shaking her head in disbelief that you had gone from one emotion to another so drastically. “Is this the first time it’s happened?”

Breathing deeply, you shake your head. “No,” you swallow, pulling a disgusted face at the taste lingering in your mouth, before running a hand over your face from the exhaustion of it all. “It happened this morning, too.”

“And, you haven’t been to see grandmother?” Kiri’s voice was slowly beginning to raise, her obvious annoyance at your stubbornness beginning to effect her clearly. “Come, I will take you to her now.”

Immediately, you tried to refuse. “No, Kiri, I’m fine—“

But, your sister was relentless, adamant. “I’m not taking no for an answer, not when you could be ill.”

As she starts to pull you arm back in the direction of home, you look back over your shoulder at where you had reluctantly left the mark of your presence. “But, what about—“

“I will clean it up later. Come.”

From the moment you had arrived in the Tsahik’s tent, skin becoming clammy, sweat beading along your forehead and dry heaving into your hand, you were sure she knew what was wrong with you.

The woman who was like your own grandmother had gestured you closer to her awaiting figure, moving forwards and leaving Kiri hovering worriedly by the entrance to the tent. Mo’at gently grabbed your chin, looking so intently at you, all you wanted was to cower away, but you stood your ground, knowing the woman would only get annoyed.

When she was satisfied with what she saw, she gently grasped at your arms, guiding you down onto the floor in front of her. You started to feel just slightly better when you were no longer standing, swaying and feeling like you were going to fall any second. Mo’at moved back over to her shelves that held an assortment of healing herbs and ailments for those in need, coming back to you. She moved behind you, prodded at your back gently and pressing her ears against your spine, before moving back around and doing the same to your stomach.

You looked over at Kiri worriedly, hoping to find some sort of semblance hidden within her gaze, but her expression only mirrored your own. She, too, had no idea what was wrong with you — she was only training to be like her grandmother, and she clearly hadn’t gotten to this part of her lessons just yet.

“You are pregnant, my child.”

Your head snapped in her direction, not fast enough, those particular words reverberating within your mind, bouncing from one corner of the walls to another until you were sure you hadn’t imagined what the woman in front of you had said. You could feel your ears subconsciously fall against your head, your tail solemnly wrapping around your figure protectively, although, you were unsure what you were protecting yourself from.

You were pregnant.

Tears started to form within your eyes, pleading desperately within yourself to not let them fall. Your breathing started to pick up in pace a little, too, but you will it to calm. Looking down at your stomach, you placed a gentle hand against it, like you were caressing your unborn child.

Your unborn child.

You and Neteyam had had conversations about having a family — any pair of mates would — but your plans were to wait a little longer, to live your lives as you were supposed to before delving deeper into that chapter. It was all too much — you were unsure what to think. Should you be happy that you were having your firstborn child, or should you be worried of your mates reaction, scared he’d resent you for not waiting longer like you’d originally planned?

No words left your lips, throat too parched and nerves too calculated to form a barely coherent response, but you found that you didn’t have the time to. In that moment, Neteyam burst through his grandmother’s tent, eyes wide, ears alert and tail pointed tensely in the air. Someone had clearly seen you enter the Tsahik’s tent with Kiri, looking pale and unwell.

Looking up at him, you could only feel more tears consume your eyes until your vision started to become blurry. He rushed over to you, crouching down next to you, cupping your face in his hands and inspecting every inch of your body. When he couldn’t find anything external, he began to panic, confused. “What is it, ma muntxa (my mate)?”

Your eyes trailed both of his own, looking deeply into them and seeing nothing but pure love and adoration. From next to you, you could see Mo’at and Kiri silently leave the two of you alone in the quiet of the tent, giving you the space you needed.

Hands still stroking softly against your stomach, you looked down, then back up at him, hoping he would understand what you were trying to say without you having to utter the words. His eyes followed to where your hands lay, widening in surprise, his tail beginning to flick back and forth rhythmically.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, almost inaudible. A tear falls down your cheek, cascading to the bottom of your chin.

Neteyam continues to hold your face in his hands, eyes never once leaving your own as his thumb wipes your emotions away. A breathless laugh tumbles from his lips, smile wide and unable to disappear once it’s made its presence known. “What could you possibly be sorry for?”

Despite the loving features Neteyam was bearing only to you, you couldn’t help the guilt still continuing to eat away at you. “We didn’t plan for this,” you pause licking your lips in contemplation, “we were going to wait a little longer...”

“Listen to me,” Neteyam starts, voice firm. He shuffles closer to your figure, practically pulling you on top of him, leaving your face in the palms of his hands. “Sometimes plans change, and there’s nothing wrong with that.” One of his hands leaves your face to place it lovingly against your stomach. “Especially when the change involves something like this.”

You can’t look away from, too scared that if you do, he might suddenly change his mind. So, you don’t, and he doesn’t.

Your tears are now winning over, falling onto your face tumultuously, but this time, they’re happy tears, joyful tears. You laugh along with Neteyam, disbelieving to have been so lucky with this blessing from Ewya — both being Neteyam, and your unborn child.

He brings your faces together now, foreheads touching as he rubs your noses together. “I cannot wait to start this new life together with you, ma muntxa (my mate).” You nudge against his nose out of love, causing him to chuckle at your affections. “I will protect you both with my life — and I will care for you both, always.”

Placing a gentle kiss upon your lips, you feel his hands return to the flat of your stomach — this time, his thumbs are running smoothly against the skin there. When he pulls away from your face, you lean closer, desperate for more of him, but you feel your heart ache fondly when you watch him lower himself down, pressing such a feather-like kiss to your stomach that you barely feel it.

“I love you, ma’eveng (my child).”

#𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐔𝐑𝐑’s work ── ✎#neteyam #neteyam sully #avatar #avatar 2 #neteyam fluff #neteyam smut #neteyam x reader #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam x you #neteyam sully x you #neteyam x female reader #neteyam x fem reader #dad neteyam series <3

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ohmyeyesmyeyes · 5 months

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change my mind - ln4

summary: inspired by 1D's song of the same title - are we friends or are we more?

warnings: f!reader, hints at anxiety and insomnia, that vegas crash, angst, miscommunication (it gets solved dw), swearing, maybe a little bit of awkwardness, fluff. also feel like it drops off towards the end so i might have to come back and edit it at some point

word count: 9.7k

Since the crash it felt as though you’d been holding your breath. Right from when the camera on the straight seemed to jolt from an unexpected impact; on the way to the medical centre; in the car to the hospital. In fact, it only felt like you’d released that breath when Lando had given you the key to his hotel room and you’d shut it behind you.

Then, and only then, it felt like you could breathe.

Your head thudded against the door, the view of The Strip visible even from where you were stood – the neon lights were difficult to miss in the night, even more so when the entire room was still shrouded in darkness. You inhaled through your nose, ensuring to fill your lungs with some much needed air, before breathing it out through your mouth.

Your heart was still racing, something squeezing in your chest, and the exhaustion seemed to blanket you in that very moment, your brain constantly replaying the sounds and the mangled sight of his car. It seemed intent, however, on showing you flickers of his face as he’d climbed out of the Medical Car, trying not to wince at the ache in his bones as his Dad pressed him into a hug or as any part of him made contact with the hospital bed.

In all honesty, you didn’t think you’d ever been so anxious before. Those paralysing seconds where the only thing heard on the radio was static just seemed to have occurred so long ago, but that one moment seemed to cement the dread poured into your chest from then on.

Until now, until he’d given you the key to his room, until your eyes seemed to find all the McLaren paraphernalia and kit thrown carelessly over the back of chairs, on hooks, folded neatly inside a suitcase. Then all of the tension you’d harboured, not wanting to overstep or interrupt the medical exams just to ask him if he was okay, to hold his hand – you weren’t even sure if the latter was for his sake or yours.

You sighed, pushing yourself off the door and flicking on the lights. The mess was even worse in the light, and it wasn’t just limited to McLaren merch – there were undies and socks (it was unclear if they were clean, and you weren’t about to figure that out) scattered about, random pairings of t-shirts and joggers near the open suitcase, but not in it.

You rolled your eyes, putting your bag on the desk, and reaching for the TV remote to switch on the F1 TV channel as background noise. You didn’t really know why he’d given you his key, but you supposed it could have had something to do with the look on your face, or how your hands had been a little shaky, or how you’d barely spoken a word to him – not for lack of him trying or anything: Lando had actively tried to ask you questions, but with all the medical staff and McLaren members surrounding him, that task had been a little difficult.

And the first thing that had sprung to mind when you’d stepped into the lift up to his room was to run him a bath because after that rather bruising session, it was probably the best soother, but now that you’d been faced with this absolute calamity (you’d seen teenage boys’ rooms tidier than this), you weren’t entirely sure how you could not at least help him pack – to an extent.

Clearing the space off the floors and making sure he slept in a bed not made out of his own clothes was a start.

You shrugged off your jacket and hung it on the back of the door before stepping over some clothes and opening the bathroom door. You’d prepared to be met with more remnants of a burgled wardrobe, but contrary to the living space, there was nothing in the bathroom except a Spider-Man wash bag – potions and lotions neatly stacked inside.

There were some bottles in the corner shelf in the tub, the hotel logo branded on the front, and after running the tap until the water started to get warmer, you put in the plug and poured in some foam before returning back to the living space.

Your eyes immediately seemed to zip to the TV above the desk, Ted Kravitz wandering down the paddock talking to someone holding a framed photo of…Valterri’s bum. You blinked, automatically moving to the kettle and flicking the switch on.

Coffee was a must for you to stay awake longer.

And it was then that you started to pick up some clothing off his floor, collating the articles on top of his bed and you’d made it through three quarters of the entire pile when the buzzer for the lock on the door went off.

It was Lando. Decked in a jacket definitely not his own, with the way it seemed to dwarf him: the sleeves had been haphazardly pushed up his forearms, probably to make use of his hands, and the body of the jacket hung past his hips.

When he turned to face the room after locking the door behind him, his eyes seemed to stick first on the empty floor before trailing to you, something soft. He had bags under his eyes, and you could tell he’d been wearing headphones in the meeting because his hair had flattened slightly in the middle.

You didn’t move from where you’d sat, but from the unreadable expression on his face and the way he seemed to hesitate, it had you questioning whether he’d intended for you to still be in his room when he came back – but then he wouldn’t have given you the key, surely?

His lips twitched, and that second-guessing seemed to vanish completely at his lame attempt to smile for you – even though it was clearly forced with the entire whirlwind of the entire race, but there was a hint of authenticity because of the softness in his eyes, and without even meaning to, you felt a smile begin to creep on your own face.

At that, he seemed to gain movement in his legs, and made his way to the desk, head snapping up to the TV for a brief second, before shedding the jacket and putting his key down.

It was his sluggish movements that seemed to have that knot of anxiety punching its way through your stomach once more (it had dwindled somewhat when he’d walked through the door), and you inhaled somewhat sharply, “Are you okay?”

It was the first word you’d spoken out loud, and the roughness of your voice seemed to shock both of you, because you blinked, and he spun on his heel, eyebrows raising. You felt yourself wince, and you swallowed out of instinct–

“Just a bit achy–Can you stand up a second, I just–” He sighed, cutting himself off and stepping forwards.

You furrowed your brows, placing the shirt in your hands on the bed, and doing as he said, and it was barely a second when–

Oh.

He’d almost instantly tugged you into him, his arms settling across your shoulders, his chin tucked against your temple. He was warm and soft, even despite the hard ridges you knew existed under his fireproof shirt. Something felt off, though, and it was with a hurried hum that you realised you hadn’t reciprocated it.

It was a bit of a shock, being hugged by Lando so tightly, so close. Even more so because neither of you had ever really touched before; there’d been the odd shoulder brush when you’d been standing next to each other, the odd purposeful hand touch when one of you had slapped the other’s out of the way – but it had never been this: his chin touching your temple and his hands strong across your back and shoulders, pulling you as close to him as he could manage.

And then you seemed to regain sense in your arms because you automatically seemed to reach one arm across his back and the other slung across his waist, head tilting a little upwards to somewhat nestle itself into the crook of his neck.

If you were being honest, hugs weren’t usually your kind of thing, but you could tolerate (a tad of an understatement) it from Lando, even in his post-three-lap-stint and slight stench of sweat.

You stayed like that for a while, the knot in your chest easing gradually now you’d got your hands on him, and by the time he spoke up, disrupting the peace that you’d managed to find, you felt like you had to blink yourself awake, “Feel better now. I’m sorry I ruined your first race.” He mumbled, stomach tensing as he spoke.

You took a moment, “You didn’t ruin it–”

“I did.”

You pulled yourself away from him, but almost like he’d practised it, his hands clasped onto yours, preventing you from moving too far away, and he brought them up to around shoulder height between you both, his fingers twiddling with yours to distract himself, “Well, then, I forgive you.” You shrugged.

His hands were slightly rough to touch, and a little colder than yours, and you tried not to let the absentminded way he was playing with your hands cloud your brain because it was distracting, especially with the way his thumb seemed intent on stroking repetitive patterns across the back of your hand. Not to mention the way his eyes seemed to flit between your mouth and your eyes, as though he wanted to watch you speak and commit it to his memory, as you spoke.

It sent your blood thrumming a little.

He nodded slowly, as though he was digesting your words, but he took too long to say something else so you said the other thing that had been on the tip of your tongue, “I’d have lost interest in it anyway, ‘cos you weren’t driving.”

He smirked at that, “No you wouldn’t have.”

He was right – to an extent. The only positive about the Vegas track was that the drivers were racing in the Championship and sport you’d been following closely for years. But other than the investment in the championship, that was about where your interest in that specific race ended – with Lando’s crash.

“Well, I’d have rather gone with you than sit in your garage without you on-site.” You admitted, honesty dripping from every word, “Especially because I probably wouldn’t have known if you were okay if I stayed.”

He swallowed, your eyes unconsciously watching his throat bob, “How come?”

You pulled your joined hands down, shrugging and avoiding eye contact in order to actually gain the courage to say what had immediately come to mind.

Why was it so difficult for you to actually say what you felt? God forbid you actually want to let him know what he meant.

“You’re important and I care about you.” You rushed out, chewing the inside of your cheek nervously.

When he didn’t say anything you pulled your hands out of his and were about to change the entire conversation back to the bath you’d run him when his eyes crinkled out of the corner of your eyes. He had one of those cheeky smiles on his face, like he was aware he probably shouldn’t have been smiling like that at that moment in time, but thinking that only seemed to make him worse. And when you fully turned to look at him again, you were struck with the thought that you’d never known anyone to smile with their entire being like Lando Norris seemed to do unfailingly and everyday.

His happiness was just so infectious that it was part of the reason you liked him so much – but it also made you want to…protect it, you guessed. And when he stopped smiling earlier, after you’d been told to meet him in the medical centre, the world seemed to shake, because he was very rarely ever smiling.

He didn’t stop smiling, even when you looked straight at him, not impressed with his silence in the slightest and huffing to let him know.

“What?” You asked, one eyebrow raised and slightly self-conscious of what you were doing and wearing and what you probably looked like after the day you’d had.

He shrugged, shaking his head, smile never drooping one bit, “You care about me.”

It wasn’t a question, more so a statement of shock – repetition to drill it into his head.

You nodded, swallowing, slightly embarrassed at having to say it again, “Yeah.”

He nodded this time, pushing himself onto his tiptoes for a second, “I care about you too. You’re important to me.”

You won’t deny that your heart did a little skip at his words, or that your cheeks threatened to blossom with heat, or that hearing him say those words to you didn’t send your pulse spiralling a little out of control.

It was an unfamiliar feeling, being this vulnerable to someone not related to you. It was weird, but because of who it was and because of the circumstances, it felt oddly right.

“That’s nice.” You muttered, crossing your arms and avoiding looking at him.

You didn’t know what to do with yourself. It wasn’t as though he’d confessed his undying love for you or anything, but it was nice to hear. You knew where you stood with him.

“It is.” He agreed.

There was a beat of silence, and you took the liberty of changing the subject before it could get too awkward too quickly, “I ran you a hot bath, by the way. It felt like the right thing to do after….”

“Thank you.” His tone was a little sombre, but still every bit sincere. A cloud seemed to hang over the both of you for a second, “Sorry I didn’t get to talk to you when everything went–”

“You don’t have to keep apologising.” You breathed, sitting back down on the edge of the bed and resuming some folding to give yourself something to do.

“But I do–”

“Shut the fuck up.” You laughed a little, immediately dropping your expression to correct yourself, “With respect.”

Lando smiled a little at that, “If you insist, but–” You groaned, rolling your eyes, “I just want to check in and make sure I didn’t scare you, y’know, would you still come to another race?”

You blinked, “Course I would.”

There wasn’t really a doubt about it. The scare of the day had worn off in the span of your conversation, it was just that period of not knowing, and the fact that a TV screen didn’t do the cars justice in the speed. They went so much faster than you initially expected.

“Good.” Then, “Are you okay, though?”

“Yeah, it was just a lot, that’s all. Like, the impact, the broken car, then you were talking about everything that hurt but somehow you weren’t injured? I don’t know.” You sighed in resignation, “Do you ever get scared in the car?”

He seemed to think about it for a moment, “The day I get scared is the day I stop driving. Fear in the car makes you crazy.”

“What about when you lose control and you know you’re gonna crash out?”

You watched him closely as his throat bobbed and he slowly stepped over to the bathroom doorframe, leaning against it to look at you thoughtfully, “There’s definitely a moment where my heart sort of skips a beat, kind of like when you miss a step on the stairs, but the adrenalin doesn’t really let me get scared at that moment. It’s scary when I watch it back and realise if I’d have been a metre or so closer I might not be here. But I don’t like thinking about it if it doesn’t happen.”

You paused the folding, “When you said your heart does that skip, can you think or is your mind just blank?”

“Blank. It happens so fast. I know I have to move my hands, though, but I think that’s partly just instinct driven into us from when we were kids. I don’t really have to think about that, but–” He pulled a face, running a hand over his chest and huffing a laugh, “If it’s fast I’m thinking ‘fuck, this is gonna hurt’.”

That made you laugh.

Then he looked over his shoulder and you stood up, taking the hint.

“Wai–What’re you doing?” He stood up straight, watching as you made your way over to the desk to pick up your bag.

You pulled a face, pointing to the door, “I’m gonna go, and you’re gonna have a bath.”

“No.” He shook his head defiantly, walking over to you with a frown on his face.

You blinked, “Yes.”

“No.”

“I didn’t realise that when bathtime was mentioned that you’d stomp your foot and pout at me.” You smothered a smile behind your hand, eyes sparkling with amusement as Lando went to defend himself, only to realise that he had in fact reverted to pouting (as far as an adult man could when sulking).

“No.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I thought you might stay over tonight?”

You froze. Then promptly unfroze, “Why?”

“For a sleepover, I don’t know.” He shrugged.

“I don’t think—” You halted, taking in the way his face seemed to fall slightly, “Do you want me to stay?”

You didn’t not want to. You’d admit that much to yourself. The idea of sharing a bed with someone you trusted platonically and had a crush on was about as appealing as the guaranteed night of uninterrupted sleep (that didn’t run the risk of being crushed, someone breathing heavily in your ear, or someone talking in their sleep).

The corner of his mouth twitched as he tilted his head, “I’d like for you to stay, but I want you to say you want to stay because you want to, not just because I want you to and you feel obligated to stay.”

You took another step forward, about to say yes, before he interrupted again.

“Um–” His voice was slightly high in pitch, a sure sign that he’d begun to panic slightly, but before you let him succumb to (clear) disappointment (it did wonders for your ego) and potentially embarrass himself, you cut over him.

“I’m gonna go get my PJ’s–” he grinned, “and then I’ll come back here–” began taking off the legs of his racing suit, “for a sleepover, or whatever, sound good?”

“Sounds incredible, darling.” He winked, throwing you a charming smirk that had you standing in the doorway (for longer than what was probably deemed appropriate to gather yourself), and he turned into the bathroom, disappearing from sight.

***

Walking back into Lando’s room with wet hair, a clean face, the PJ’s you’d packed (not expecting a sleepover), your current book, and a hotel robe, all felt very intimate. It might have had something to do with the fact that you knew he’d also be freshly washed with wet hair and wearing his PJ’s and in bed — waiting for you.

And when you rounded the corner after buzzing yourself in, Lando was sitting against the headboard, one arm slung over the top of his head and his other hand clutching his phone. He must have been anticipating your arrival if the way he threw his phone further down the covers was any indication, and the way he smiled at you, dimples on show and everything, had you turning to avoid looking at him and hanging the robe over the back of the bathroom door.

The boy is too cute.

“Fancy seeing you here.” He grinned, unconsciously rubbing a palm down his arm and still maintaining a mischievous smile.

“It’s almost like we planned it.” You threw over your shoulder before climbing onto the bed.

He breathed a laugh, “Almost. Cute PJ’s, by the way.” He trailed his eyes meaningfully down your figure as you threw the duvet over yourself, getting comfy.

You’d not packed sexy PJ’s by any means. In fact, you hardly owned a proper pair of pyjamas, and rather just threw on a random t-shirt with whatever bottoms were comfiest and warmest, hence the fact you’d packed a pair of faux-boxer shorts and were wearing a Quadrant Bleach tee that Ria had given you a while ago.

“Rumour has it you couldn’t decide what merch to give me so Ria took it into her own hands.” You gestured to your shirt, smiling rather pointedly in his direction. He squirmed a little, and it was then, as he curled in on himself slightly, that the duvet fell around his torso from where it had been pulled right up to his chin to keep a draught out.

He was fucking shirtless. And when that seemed to register in your head and through your eyes, you were squirming. His pecs, bronze skin and moles were on view and you suddenly had no clue how to act.

Luckily for you, Lando seemed to have the same problem for whatever reason.

“Yeah. I had one of pretty much everything lined up for you, but it wouldn’t have been ‘financially viable’ apparently.”

Oh. You felt your brows shoot up in pleasant surprise.

“I didn’t know that.”

“That was the point.” Lando said, rather self-deprecating, “It looks good on you, though.”

A ‘thank you’ was on the tip of your tongue, but before it could slip out, your brain seemed to take on another direction, one much bolder than what was characteristic of you, “I don’t know, I think LN4 stuff’d look nicer.”

It shocked him as much as it shocked you — that much you could tell by the way that his eyebrows seemed to disappear under the damp curls that had hung across his forehead from where he’d clearly initially combed them backwards. His mouth seemed to drop a little, and his cheeks reddened.

But you barely had time to school your own face into one of confidence to fully own what you just said before he was spurting words out himself.

“Wanna test that theory?”

And he was climbing out of bed before you could even utter a word of protest.

You’d never been so thankful that he didn’t have eyes at the back of his head because when he took a step away from the bed, clad in nothing but black boxer briefs that clung almost maddeningly to his thighs, you practically had a heart attack. It was hard to rip your eyes away, if you were being honest.

But the very second he turned back to face you, throwing a long-sleeved tee in your direction, you somehow managed to look at him without even a smidge of blush on your face or without wearing an expression that assembled one of sheer awe.

Then you blinked and the t-shirt was hitting you in the face. It was a black 100 Race one.

A new one.

And because it hit you in the face the first thing you noticed was the smell. Now, Lando Norris was not a smelly person, at all. In fact, that t-shirt smelled so unfairly divine that you wanted to eat it. Melt it into a smoothie and drink it. In a normal way.

You had it in your hands and were looking pointedly at Lando for about seven seconds until he got the hint to turn around and close his eyes.

In return for his previous goodwill, you threw the Quadrant shirt at his back and climbed out of bed to assess it in the mirror. It was a slightly smaller fit than the other t-shirt, so it didn’t hang past your hips, or over your hands like you’d expected.

Oddly enough, it was almost a perfect fit.

Lando walked into the background of the mirror, catching your eye as he nodded appreciatively.

“Better than Bleach?” You asked, pushing the sleeves up to your elbow before climbing back under the covers.

His answer was him folding the Bleach t-shirt neatly and placing it on the desk.

“Way better.”

There wasn’t anything said for a while after that. Lando got back under the covers, snuggling down into his pillow and browsing through his phone, while you opened your book and kept your bedside light on to read for a while.

Until Lando seemingly couldn’t take the silence and turned his phone off, rolling towards the middle of the bed on his front and looking up at you.

He was content on letting you read for a while, eyes fluttering shut every now and again as though he was trying to fight sleep, when he muttered something under his breath.

“Sorry?” You bent your head, finishing reading the sentence before turning to see him blinking slowly, lashes kissing his cheeks as he rested his face against his elbow.

“Do you read every night?” He repeated, not in the least bit offended you weren’t paying him attention.

You hummed, nodding, slouching further into the mattress.

“How come?” He asked, fingers stretching to gently twiddle a small section of your hair before dropping it.

“I have trouble sleeping sometimes, and reading helps.”

“How?”

You shrugged, “It gets my brain to shut up.”

“Does anything else help?” He mumbled, eyebrow twitching.

You wanted to say yes. That some other things could help, but for one, you didn’t have the results to back up that claim, and two, you weren’t about to suggest trying it to Lando.

“I don’t think so.”

Lando hummed and didn’t say anything else, giving you the opportunity to switch off your bedside lamp, shrouding the whole room in darkness. Despite the coolness of the Vegas nights, the heat of another body under a duvet was enough to send your skin tingling with goosebumps and bury yourself deeper under the covers.

A gentle tugging on your hair once you’d settled was what had your eyes opening.

You hadn’t really been trying to sleep, per se, but Lando hadn’t so much as moved a muscle since you’d switched off the light, and his silence had you assuming he’d been trying to sleep, at least until his fingers had delicately begun twisting your damp hair.

If you hadn’t found it so shocking, it would have been soothing.

It took a while for your eyes to adjust, but once they did, all you could make out was the faint outline of Lando’s head and the gleam of his eyes from the light from The Strip.

Your eyes immediately scrunched shut, unable to tell if he thought you were asleep.

Then—“pretty” he breathed, your heart stuttering wildly in your chest.

He thought you were sleeping.

And he stopped twirling your hair, nestling his cheek into the pillow.

***

You woke up early and with Lando’s arm slung lazily across your waist, one of his legs stuck across yours. You froze momentarily, not having any recollection of exactly when you’d both ended up with him half draped over you, but considering you couldn’t remember much after hearing his whisper, you assumed you must have just gone right to sleep.

Which meant this happened in the night.

You tilted your head fractionally, eyes slipping over to where Lando was now on his stomach, cheek squished right into the pillow and a crease between his brows.

And then that short moment was interrupted by something uncomfortably occurring in your chest.

Your free hand (the other was sandwiched between your hip and Lando’s, nicely toasty of you did say so yourself) blindly reached for your bedside table, scrabbling at an uncomfortable angle until you found your phone. It took a while to manage to slide it across the wood for you to pick it up, and you groaned at the time displayed on the screen.

08:31.

You didn’t need to leave for the airport for another twelve hours, and had already mostly packed in your room. The only issue apart from your current predicament was the rumbling of your stomach, prompting some encouragement to get out of bed.

Which you absolutely did not want to do.

It was warm and you were being cuddled by a sleepy Lando, you weren’t about to risk waking him up. Even though it was your first race, you knew how exhausted he usually was the day after.

So you opted for scrolling on your phone, not before removing your hand from between you both and instead using it to hold the forearm he’d thrown over your waist.

The hotel corridors started to get a little noisier, doors shutting and opening, footsteps thumping, at around half nine/ten o’clock.

It must have been the neighbouring slam of the door that had Lando jolting awake — jumping as though he’d been thrown down the stairs in a dream. You stifled a laugh, trying not to smile at his rapid blinking, until his eyes settled on you, brows accusatory when he realised you were on the brink of laughing at him.

He groaned, slamming his face back onto the pillow and yawning, his arm briefly tensing as he stretched.

“How long have you been awake?” He mumbled, tilting his head so as to not muffle his words against the pillow.

“About an hour.”

He frowned, removing his arm from your hold and flipping himself onto his back, yawning, “How come you didn’t wake me up?”

You blinked, “Because it was half eight and you were asleep.”

He nodded, scratching the back of his head, “You hungry?”

“Yeah. You want to get breakfast downstairs, or–”

“Room service is good with me.”

Lando turned to hide his smile as he reached for the phone. Selfishly he wanted to stay in bed longer – the outside world was chilly – and there was the added bonus that you were there. Obviously he’d want more time with just the two of you, because outside this room, you guys barely got time for a conversation without being interrupted.

That was excluding the scheduled takeaways you both had every time he was back in town (it had started out as a joke because you were both so busy and no one seemed to be able to decide on specific dates, so you’d taken it into your own hands and…here you were), and he suspected that was when the more serious feelings started.

So, no, he’d rather not go downstairs where other people would interrupt and he’d barely get to talk to you.

“D’you know what you–What’re you doing?” He furrowed his brows,, about to hand you the menu when he stopped short of everything and watched you wander over to the front of the room.

Out of bed. Wearing his shirt.

Looking fucking incredible.

And he was thinking he could probably get used to this.

But his brain was going haywire because he didn’t want you to leave.

You said nothing, which did virtually nothing to ease his sense of panic, until you held up the TV remote, running a tired hand through your hair before tiptoeing back to the bed and sliding back under the covers like you belonged there.

“No.” You hummed, taking the menu from him and simultaneously flicking through the TV guide for something to watch.

“Did you sleep okay last night?” He found himself asking, noting the still-sleepy look about you – but not necessarily the bad kind of sleepy. You looked well-rested with rosy cheeks and bright eyes.

Pretty.

“Yeah. It was cosy.” You flashed him a warm smile, eye contact brief before going back to the menu, “What about you?”

“I’ll probably just have pancakes–”

“No,” you breathed a laugh, “Did you sleep well?”

Oh. He could feel his cheeks redden at the mistake, and nodded. In truth, he didn’t think he’d ever slept so well, even despite being a small bundle of nerves from the mere knowledge that you’d actually changed your mind and said yes to a sleepover, and the fact that you were less than three feet away. That was ignoring when he’d woken up to find out you’d been awake for so long and not wanted to wake him up or move him from where he’d (rather sheepishly) managed to hug you in his sleep.

“Cosy.” Was all he said, taking the menu back from you, “What’ll it be for you?”

“Pancakes, too, please.” You grinned at him, turning back to the TV.

He nodded, numbly reaching for the phone on his bedside table and rattling off the order, making sure to add in a glasses of milk and orange juice to accompany it.

When he’d finished and turned back to the TV, to you, there was a question written on your face as you pointed to the TV.

The Hangover.

“When in Vegas, right?” You asked, raising a brow and awaiting his answer.

He’d seen that movie a million times, had even watched it on Thursday (he’d never tell you that), but there was something about the hope and excitement written on your face that had him nodding along, not wanting to disappoint you this early in the morning.

God, he felt so bad when he crashed yesterday.

Not only had he ruined the race experience for you, but he’d worried you. You hadn’t even needed to say anything after the whole debacle (he hadn’t actually given you a real answer when you’d asked him why he wanted you to come with him to the hospital and whatever) for him to read it on your face.

He’d had every intention of whispering reassurances and holding your hand or doing something to have you closer than the edges of a constant small crowd, but he’d been strapped down and people had been talking over each other, and he just hadn’t had the chance.

Until the car ride back to the paddock. Sure, Jon was sitting next to him, but he’d kindly and rather respectfully chosen to ring Zak and give him an update, and then Lando took that brief moment of opportunity to hold your hand. He didn’t say anything, but almost as soon as his hand had touched yours he felt better – lighter. And he noticed that the weight on your shoulders and the crease between your brow lessened.

He sighed wistfully, tuning back into the film, but it was barely five minutes later when there was a knock on the door.

Room service.

He stopped you from moving, taking it upon himself to answer the door (he couldn’t tell if he was imagining it or not, but he swore he could feel your eyes on him as he walked past the end of the bed).

He cracked the door open, eyes on the floor where he expected the tray to be, only to look down and see a pair of trainers that most definitely belonged to Max.

His eyes shot up, and he hid himself behind the door, careful of you back around the corner, but wanting to shield himself from any passerbyers in the corridor – a photo of him answering the door in nothing but his undies would be pretty embarrassing – and glared at his friend, confusion clearly evident on his face.

Max was grinning like a madman, trying and failing to sneak a look behind Lando, “So?” He whispered, and Lando felt himself already getting irritated at the clear insinuation of that one singular word.

“No.” He answered, closing his eyes briefly and resting his temple against the door.

Max was quiet, “No.” He repeated, an element of disbelief etched on his face.

“No.” Lando groaned quietly, “Is that all?”

“No.” Max hissed, “Why not?”

Lando felt himself shrug, “Didn’t come up.”

Max blinked, rather frustrated, “You were supposed to make it come up.”

“Well I didn’t.”

“Clearly.” Max folded his arms across his chest and Lando rolled his eyes, “How come you’re only wearing your boxers?”

Lando looked down, brows furrowing, “What’s wrong with boxers?”

“The lack of other clothes? You always wear PJ’s.” Lando watched as the penny dropped in Max’s head, his eyes widening and his mouth forming an ‘o’ shape. Then he frowned, “Show off.”

Lando shook his head, “And what about it? I just wanted to be sure.”

“And are you?”

Lando chose not to say anything, just threw a cautious look behind his shoulder – one which prompted Max to jump to his reassurances.

“She does, okay?” He whispered softly, a pitiful look on his face, “I know that because of the way she looks at you when you’re not looking. She cares about you, man.” There was a pause, and Lando was too nervous to even look straight at Max, so he chose to focus on a spot above his head, completely missing the way Max hesitated, “She told P.”

Lando felt his neck practically snap to look at Max, nervousness completely abolished. His heart started thrumming with anticipation and the only thing he was capable of doing was staring so hard at Max the man’s skin prickled, “What?” Lando breathed, hoping he hadn’t just heard things in a mad craze.

Max screwed his eyes shut, shaking his head, “I shouldn’t be telling you this–”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Hagrid, but the situation is kinda dire here.” Lando cut in.

Max rolled his eyes, “Yeah, it’s kinda hard not to notice you’re a fucking chicken.”

“I’m on the brink of an anxiety attack.”

“Get a grip.” Max glared, half wanting to smack some sense into Lando and the other half wanting to laugh at the petrified look on his face.

“I can’t.” Lando threw the door open a little further out of frustration, hands going to grip Max’s shoulders in desperation.

Max breathed. He blinked. And then Lando thought he made an expression that looked as though he’d just suffered the most painful bout of trapped gas, “Don’t tell anyone–”

“Oh, thank fuck.”

“But P told me that they had a girls night with Ria, and they got to talking about guys, and P asked her if she had her eye on anyone and she got all blushy–”

“Get on with it.” Lando clenched his jaw, eyes darting down the corridor.

“I’m getting to it. Can she hear us? Actually, it doesn’t matter – but she got blushy and quiet and it turns out she’s liked you since we all went out for dinner the day after Silverstone, y’know, because she couldn’t go to the race, and you guys sat next to each other and she just liked you.”

(You could hear every word of what was being said.)

Lando felt his lips part in shock. Silverstone was towards the start of the season and there was one race left of the season.

July, August, September, October, November. You’d liked him for five months and hidden it from him that well? Since July? You guys could have been together-together since July?

Lando could feel his brain start to explode. His thoughts were getting louder–since July?–and Max’s face wasn’t doing anything to help it. If anything his big eyes were making it worse.

“Yeah, I know, it’s hard to believe.” Max muttered, and it seemed to snap Lando out of his shock-induced reverie.

“Oi.” Lando defended, “Did she say what made her like me?” He slowly took his hands off his friends shoulders.

Max nodded, “You talked to her the whole night. You were kind, funny, endearing, cute, nice to the waiter. Apparently she felt kind of bad you didn’t talk much to anyone else–”

“I didn’t talk to anyone else because I really liked her already.” Lando whispered, trying not to smile.

Max smirked, “Well, you need to tell her that, not me.”

Lando nodded, “Yeah. Bye.” And shut the door in Max’s face, taking a second to breathe and plant a small, non-suspicious-granting smile on his face before bounding around the corner to his side of the bed, flashing you a wider grin as he threw himself on the bed.

You swallowed, anxiety twirling in your stomach. You knew that telling P that stuff was likely to get back to Max, and then there was a chance that Max had told Lando – but you were shocked to find that Max had just chosen to hold onto that information out of loyalty to you. It warmed you, knowing you’d got a friend in Max, but it was also a little frustrating because you’d specifically been counting on P telling Max telling Lando. Maybe put a few feelers out.

And there was nothing reported back, so you just assumed Lando didn’t like you like that.

But he apparently did?

It was a tough thing to accept (a good thing to accept, you guessed), but not at all what you expected. You’d been planning for heartbreak (not that you'd planned to tell him), but now within the span of a two minute conversation, you had liberty to not expect disappointment.

And that was a little intimidating.

But Lando hadn’t stopped smiling since he’d put himself back on the bed, not bothering to get back under the covers considering it had been Max at the door, not room service–

“Who was it?” You asked, wanting to keep up the pretence of not having heard every word of their private conversation.

Lando hummed, one arm draped over his hair as he ripped his eyes away from the screen, “Sorry?”

He was looking at your mouth when you spoke, “Who was at the door?”

Then his eyes zipped to yours, “Just Max, he wanted to know if we were having breakfast downstairs. Sent him on his way.”

You nodded.

You could mention what you just heard, ask him if he remembered the dinner out. No, not subtle enough. He’d clock onto it immediately.

But you couldn’t just not say something.

Your hands darted out to fiddle with the edge of the duvet, where it was tucked around your torso. You weren’t even paying attention to the film anymore. You don’t know how long you let your mind run rings around your anxiety, but it was Lando’s hand creeping closer towards yours out of the corner of your eyes that had your head quietening. You watched him push his hand across the covers until it got within a centimetre of yours.

You could feel the warmth from his hand radiating on your skin, and his hesitation was clearly an opportunity for you to pull your hand away.

So you placed your palm on top of his upturned one. And he closed his fingers over your knuckles.

“You okay?” He asked softly.

You couldn’t look at him, but you could feel his concerned gaze burn against your cheek, “Yeah, just thinking.” You took a breath, looking up at him, “Do you ever wish we could have met earlier?”

He was nodding before you’d even finished talking, his entire face sincere in a way you didn’t think you’d ever seen, “All the time. I think meeting you earlier would have just made my life a lot easier.”

You tilted your head, squeezing his hand as you felt some colour rush to your cheeks, “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, “You make me feel calm, like, I look at you and I just feel better.”

He was looking at you like he was expecting you to say something back immediately, but your mind had gone blank.

So blank.

And then you felt his hand slowly slipping from your grip, his shoulders moving back to the centre of the bed from he’d leaned across to hold your hand, and you squeezed his hand, not wanting him to move away. You just needed a second to gather your thoughts.

“I need t–”

A knock at the door sounded.

Lando’s eyes darted from you to the door, back and forth, clearly torn. It wasn’t exactly a secret that you were about to say something serious – something that would change the entire dynamic of your relationship – but the interruption…

And at the thought of cold food after your stomach had been growling for the past hour, you made the decision for him. You unlaced your hands, pushing yourself off the bed and opening the door before you could change your mind or look at his face.

Neither of you said anything for the rest of breakfast, and nothing but an awkward, tense silence seemed to envelope the room.

The next time you saw him was when the group had decided to go for a last minute stroll, one of the stops being the shopping centre in the Venetian. Lando was walking with Max,;Ria with you behind them, and the rest of the group were trailing behind, occasionally laughing loudly. They were pretty raucous, and you and Ria were far enough behind Max and Lando that they couldn’t hear what you were talking about.

Ria had linked your arms, a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she pulled you closer after Lando had thrown another anxious glance over his shoulder to check on you, “Lando keeps checking you out.” She whispered.

You shook your head, momentarily biting the inside of your cheek, “He’s making sure I don’t run off.”

She frowned, looking back at Lando, who seemed to spin quickly after getting caught, “Why would you run off?”

You shrugged, trying not to think too much about it, “I overheard him and Max talking this morning about him liking me, and then Max told him about that night when we slept over at P’s place–”

“Yeah, because you wanted P to tell Max to tell Lando–” Ria nodded along.

“Exactly. Anyway, it turns out Max never told Lando, so since July, Lando’s been clueless about it all, and we had sort of a chat when he came back, and I was going to tell him–” Ria shot you a look, “I was, because if i didn’t tell him then, I never would’ve.” You groaned, “But then room service came and we haven’t talked since. But I think he knew I was going to say something, but–I don’t know.”

Ria seemed to think about it for a second, “He probably thinks you changed your mind.” She muttered.

You nodded, “I know, that’s the thing. I chickened out of telling him and then I thought he’d think I changed my mind, and then my brain seems to want to tell me that because he thinks I don’t like him anymore he won’t like me anymore, even though he’s not like that. At all. But now I can’t tell him because there’s people everywhere.”

Ria patted your arm, pulling out her phone, “Do you know what you’re gonna say to him?”

“No, I’m hoping it’ll come to me in the moment.” Even the thought of it sent a knot of anxiety plummeting in your stomach.

“Okay, this is what’s gonna happen: when we get to the shopping centre, everyone will want to go to the craziest shop they see first, okay? You say you want to get a drink first, and Max’ll get Lando to go with you.”

You nodded, “Okay.”

“I’ll text Max. You have to promise you’ll do it, though. Everyone needs to be put out of their misery.”

You raised a sceptical brow, “Everyone?”

She nodded, “Neither of you are subtle.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

As it happened, Ria’s theory was right. About seven people made an immediate beeline for the nearest shop with lights in the front and an array of weird things in the window (in all honesty, you were too nervous to even pay attention to what it was, it could have just been any high street shop).

You turned to Ria, “I’m gonna go get a coffee, I’ll meet you back here?”

She nodded, finding Max, who seemed to be on the lookout for her, and winked.

You took a deep breath, already beginning to walk away from the group. You’d all craned over a map on the way in so you knew vaguely which direction you were heading in, and when a hurried pair of footsteps jogged closer, your nerves seemed to only get worse.

Then Lando stepped next to you, and oddly enough, the anxiety you’d been holding onto all morning seemed to evaporate. And then it seemed to come crashing back in when you actually took in the expression on his face.

There was a slight downwards curve to his mouth, and his eyes were wide, brows furrowed. He looked a little frantic. And sad.

You wanted to drag your hand down his face and wipe it off.

In fact, you hated it so much that you stopped mid-step and grabbed his forearm without even thinking about it, “Is everything oka–”

“Are we still friends?” He breathed, eyes darting around your face.

You blinked, mouth parting at the loaded question. If you said yes you’d basically be rejecting him and that was the last thing you wanted to do; if you said no, you didn’t know what would happen. He could take it the wrong way and assume you didn’t want to be anything at all, but you were going to tell him – you had to, you promised Ria.

Even if it meant breaking his heart a little bit first, it’d have the best outcome.

You turned back around briefly, eyes scanning for a more private alcove, and dragged him to the nearest corridor, out of any possible stray eyes. It was a bit busy today, with the race last night–

You pushed him against the wall gently, hands wringing together. He slumped, clearly trying not to get too defeated by your silence after he’d spoken. But then his eyes dropped to your hands and he straightened, something unreadable on his face.

“I don’t want to still be friends.” You said, sighing and crossing your arms.

It was his turn to speak now. You seemed incapable of saying anything else at that moment.

He swallowed, brows furrowing. His face looked less despondent, so you took that as a win. He seemed to have been expecting you to say something like that (that was why he phrased the question in such a way!) because he pushed himself off the wall a little, “In what way?”

You rolled your eyes, “In an I like you way.”

“Romantically?” He took another step closer, a cheeky smile starting to curve at his mouth, and you said nothing at him.

Only this time it was of your own will.

He huffed a laugh, “I just need to hear you say it.”

“Romantically.”

It felt like a relief getting those words off your chest to the person you needed to say them to.

He seemed to think so too, because he grinned. Wider than he had before – like he had done last night, when he’d smiled with his entire being. His eyes crinkled in that way you adored, and his smile seemed ot reach his ears, “Thank fuck.” He breathed.

Then that was all he said.

You raised your brow, “Dude.” You encouraged, gesturing to him to go on.

He pulled a face, “Don’t ‘dude’ me.”

“You haven’t given me a reason not to ‘dude’ you.”

“I like you too, dickhead.” He grumbled, “A little less than before you called me ‘dude’, though.”

“I’m liking you less by the second.” You stated, trying not to laugh at the situation, “Romantically?” You checked, echoing his earlier question and also mocking it slightly.

“Romantically.” He clarified.

You both went silent, just drinking each other up in a way you hadn’t been able to five minutes ago. He looked gorgeous, as per usual. His hair was a little messier than it usually would be, probably a combination of the last-second plans and the fact that he wasn’t going to be showing his face on international TV. His face looked less restrained, like because he knew he didn’t have to hold back from looking at you everywhere, it was a weight lifted from his chest. His eyes were still smiling, glimmering a little, and his smile was softer – more secretive. His hands were flexing at his sides, as though he didn’t know what to do with them.

His hoodie hugged his shoulders, practically begging you to run your hands over them – but you didn’t. He looked snug, again, and before you could restrain yourself, you reached out and took one of his hands. His response was immediate, clasping his hand around yours and looking at you with a burning intensity. Only, you used your other hand to pull up his sleeve.

His forearm was tanned beautifully, veins completely visible. You’d never been allowed to just twist his arm around to your desire and simply look. You swallowed, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip and he caught it with his teeth.

You nudged your head closer, his nose softly bumping against your cheek.

Blood seemed to pump through your veins even faster than it already was. You could feel where you’d both stepped into each other, where his legs were pressed against yours, where your hands were still gripping, your other hand slipping off his forearm.

You could feel his breath tickle your cheek and your eyes fluttered shut briefly before snapping open. He was still looking at you, and in that split second he used the leverage of your conjoined hands to pull you even closer. You stumbled a little into him, tripping over his trainers, chests colliding. Your free hand slapped out to stop your falling, landing directly on top of his shoulder to brace yourself.

If anything, his little pull seemed to work because you were closer than before. All you had to do was lean closer–

“I want to kiss you but I want to take you on a date first.” He whispered, sucking the inside of his cheek nervously.

You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes, “Because you’re a gentleman.”

He nodded, leaning closer despite his words. His eyes seemed to be zeroed in on your lips, and your mouth curved into a smile almost instantly at that observation. Then he smiled, nodding, your foreheads touching, “Yeah.”

“What kind of gentleman would you be if I wanted you to kiss me but you said no?” You breathed.

“Not a very good one.”

Lando’s lips were softer than you imagined, but there was a soul-crushing desperation behind it – a need, maybe the thought that someone could walk past the end of the corridor at any second and ruin this little pocket of relief, so he needed to make it last. You were eager, meeting him with an equal force that seemed to knock the air out of your lungs and weaken your knees – but his hold on you, he was touching you everywhere: one hand was on your cheek and laced in your hair, the other holding your back and pushing him against you – and you were practically leaning on him.

You didn’t know if it was the culmination of pent up feeling being released, or the fact that you were kissing him, but it felt euphoric; the way you seemed to move together was almost as if it had been rehearsed – which was insane, if you really thought about it. But you couldn’t, because he was practically kissing the breath out of your lungs, and you don’t know when it happened but you were pressing against him roughly, one hand on the back of his neck and the other wound in his hair.

And then you pulled away, breathing heavily. Your pulse was hammering and your blood was singing. You knew your cheeks would be red and your lips would be swollen, hair messy, but in that moment you couldn’t honestly find it within yourself to care.

And then he smirked, taking in your appearance.

His hair was practically everywhere. It looked like he’d just rolled out of bed after a deep sleep on one side of his face, and his cheeks were flushed, as were the tips of his ears and the slither of chest you could see from where his hoodie had slipped and been tugged.

Then you smacked him on the arm – not very hard. More of a light tap. He hissed nonetheless, smirk dropping but eyes still glazed over and watching you with what you now knew was lovesick intrigue.

“You’re a fucking chicken.” You pointed at him, “We could have been doing that last night.”

His expression dropped, eyes refocusing, “No, we could have been doing that since July.”

You tilted your head, “Maybe August, because I would have had to actually make sure I liked you.”

His expression dropped a little, an inquisitive smile still on his face, “Did you hear that entire conversation with Max?”

“It was hard to miss.”

“Oh.” He nodded, a smile on his face as he looped one hand around your shoulder, pulling you closer. You thought he was pulling you in for another kiss, your hand pressed comfortably against his chest, and he was an eyelash-length away from it when he stopped.

You were about to groan.

“What do you mean you had to make sure you liked me?” His brow was arched, but his tone wasn’t malicious or suspicious in any way. If anything it was coated with a thinly veiled layer of curiosity.

You shrugged, “Crushes go away. This kind of seemed to stick.”

“Lucky for me.” He kissed you, hands pressed against your cheeks in a display of faux passion and drama, before letting you go, hands not leaving you or letting you stray too far.

“So you never said when you started to like me.” You murmured, just loud enough for him to hear.

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head and avoiding eye contact.

“Now is not the time to get shy on me.” You breathed, a hand going to hold his sleeve.

“I’m not shy, I just—” He shook his head, self-deprecation evident, “If I had to say, probably May.”

You stalled, not able to say much, “Monaco?”

“Yeah.”

Then something warm seemed to bloom in your chest and you felt your eyes soften and a small smile creep in your face at the admission, “When we met?”

He inhaled sharply, “Pretty much. I think the crush started when you offered to help me take my helmet photos.”

You laughed, “Those photos were pretty funny.”

He nodded, eyes darting again to the end of the corridor, “We can talk about all that later—”

“Agreed—”

“But I just wanna kiss you again.”

You just pulled him in.

#lando norris oneshot #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine

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nihilo-sensei · 2 months

Text

The Infamous Chuuya-SSKK Car Ride

Two. Fucking. Hours.

Akutagawa and Atsushi have been arguing for two hours almost non-stop and there's still an hour to go in the trip. If you had asked Chuuya before he climbed into this four-wheeled prison what the most annoying thing on Earth was, he would've said without hesitation that it was dealing with Dazai. That was a more innocent time, a time before life had decided to punish him for his every felony, misdemeanor, and wasted gallon of milk. He wasn't sure if these apparently nuclear-powered bickering machines being confined to the backseat was better or worse for him. Probably better; at least one half of the invective wasn't being spewed directly into his left ear.

As much as he wanted to blame a member of the Armed Detective Agency for all of his misery, he was disappointed to say that it had been his subordinate and fellow mafioso who started this. Granted it hadn't taken much to get the weretiger to dive down to Akutagawa's level, but he was just trying to make conversation, asking if Chuuya listened to much music. Honestly, the gravity manipulator would've been delighted to spend a three-hour car ride talking about music, even with an ADA member. It was kind of nice that the kid had reached for some common ground between them. Akutagawa really hadn't needed to cut Chuuya off before he had a chance to answer by saying, "No one cares, weretiger." That one admittedly rude remark had sealed Chuuya's fate for the rest of the ride out to the countryside. Thanks, Aku.

"You better not get in my way when we get there, weretiger. The Port Mafia doesn't need Least Beneath the Moonlight."

"I guess I'll leave the job to Brash-ōmon, then. Get over yourself."

How are they still coming up with new insults? Chuuya hadn't even had the energy to tell them to shut the fuck up passed the 35-minute mark, about 25 minutes after his throat started to hurt from trying to match their combined volume. It was like they didn't even hear him. They were in their own little world together.

That was what he'd been warned about, though, wasn't it? Akutagawa and the tiger boy had… tension. He had heard about it from Dazai, but hadn't given it much thought. After all, why would he bother listening to anything that mummy's asshole says off the battlefield? He would happily throw Dazai off a building if he wasn't sure it would make that freak even happier than it would make Chuuya. Something about this train of thought makes Chuuya feel like a hypocrite for some reason. Where was he?

"At least I don't dip my bangs in Wite-Out!"

"Your impoverished ass could only afford one bang!"

Oh right, this thick fog of something making itself at home in Chuuya's backseat and inside his pounding skull. He had thought it was just a joke or an exaggeration, but this much passion for each other? Could all of that really just be simple hate? No, this doesn't really feel like hate. But if they don't hate each other why tell themselves that they do? That's so self-destructive. They should just confront their feelings like adults. Even if those feelings aren't romantic they could still find themselves good friends, they have a lot in common. At least they'd stop making their sexual tension or whatever everyone else's problem.

Why does Chuuya feel like a hypocrite again?

—

Chuuya stares into the rear-view mirror. The new Double Black had practically passed out five minutes into the drive to Yokohama. Not surprising after the mission had turned out to be far more complicated then they had anticipated. He wasn't complaining, he really couldn't deal with another three hours of angry sound waves bouncing around an enclosed space. Truthfully, they'd earned the rest. Even when the situation was going to shit they'd worked well together. Atsushi kept Akutagawa's mind on the civilians while Akutagawa's support kept Atsushi calm and focused. Chuuya sees now why Dazai put them together, not that Chuuya would ever openly tell the man he was right.

So he'd let the pair sleep, only debating whether he should wake them up after the blessedly silent car had crossed the Yokohama city limit. He had glanced into the mirror and caught sight of something that made him suddenly redirect as much attention as he safely could to it. The Sun had set halfway through the drive so he had had to wait for the car to pass the next street light to get a good look at it, and sure enough he saw exactly what he thought he had. At some point in the drive Atsushi and Akutagawa had leaned into each other while they slept. Atsushi's head was now resting on Akutagawa's shoulder while the mafioso's head rested on top of the weretiger's. Chuuya smiled. Definitely not hate.

As the car nears the ADA office, where Atsushi was to be dropped off, Chuuya pulls into a gas station with a new mission in mind. After he puts the car in park he takes out his phone and hopes that fatigue keeps the pair asleep and unaware while he does what needs to be done. He gambles on using the flash and wins a nice, clear picture that's going to absolutely make his fucking day the next time Akutagawa decides to make him sit through another "that goddamn foolish weretiger" rant. But was it really fair to make just Akutagawa suffer when Atsushi was about as responsible for Chuuya's three-hour ordeal earlier? No. And isn't the ADA all about that justice shit?

Chuuya opens his text thread with Dazai, taps his thumbs to the screen a few times, and hands down Atsushi's sentence with the push of 'Send'. He only has to wait a few seconds before the weretiger's irritating superior responds.

Mackerel (21:04): Oh my god, thank you so much for this! How useful my dog is becoming!

You (21:04): I seriously can't do this with you right now, Dazai. Those little bastards almost wiped me out on the way to the mission. They argued the entire time. I'm fucking tired.

Mackerel (21:05): Impressive, isn't it?

"Impressive" was one way of putting it. "Never gonna happen again" was another.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months

Text

Dirty Work 42

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: I've had a headache every day this week. I swear I want one good day.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You sit on the sofa, the bird still firmly perched on your shoulder. Bragi shows you the twelve-string, strumming lightly between stories about his travel abroad. Laufeyson glowers as he sits in the high-backed chair recently cleared of its clutter. The stout blond is quite talkative, it makes you wonder why your boss even brought you here.

"I'll be playing at Walpurgisnacht, so you will see me tomorrow," Bragi stands and places the guitar in a stand among several other stringed instruments, "perhaps Fossegrim will come too... he likes to sneak into my bag."

The bird squawks and tilts up and down.

"Likes you too," Bragi remarks. "Not as fond as your companion, I'm afraid."

Laufeyson shifts with a huff, "shall we continue to ramble? I did come for a reason."

"I nearly forgot," Bragi declares, "you requested it so long ago I nearly forgot."

"Yes, well, I left in a hurry my last visit and could not drop by, my apologies," Laufeyson rises and dusts off his trousers.

"Right, up in my office."

They leave you without much regard. You set aside your empty cup as Fossegrim rests his beak against your hair. He is rather big, your shoulder is sore from his weight, and yet he is comforting. You sit straight and hold out your fingers shyly. He bends to touch them and dips his head. You pet his feathers, uncertain what to do with yourself.

You hear a thump from above and a grunt. You look up as the bird hops down to the cushion. You rub your hands together and stay as you are. You don't want to intrude, besides, the place is so crowded, there isn't much space to move.

At last, you hear the stairs creak and the men's voices precede their reappearance. Laufeyson holds a wrapped parcel under his arm as a shank of hair hangs past his ear, dangling along his cheek before he sweeps it back. You wonder what happened.

"Sorry about the rug," Bragi chuckles as he scratches his neck.

"Yes, not to worry," Laufeyson dismisses, "as it were," he looks at his watch, "my mother will be less impressed with our delay."

"You will send my regards," Bragi smirks crookedly.

"I will let her know we saw you," he retorts, "let us be off."

He waves you over. You say goodbye to Bragi as you cross the room and the parrot wings over your head, rustling your hair as he lands on the banister post once more. He lets out a chitter and receives a hush from his owner.

"Best go before he grows more obnoxious."

You offer a tight smile as Mr. Laufeyson opens the door and you step outside. It's dark and the moon beams down brightly. You silently descend the steps and near the car. He doesn't say a word as he unlocks the door and you climb in opposite him.

He starts the car and steers onto the street without a word. You feel as if you've done something terribly wrong. You look at your lap and drag your sweat palms over your skirt.

"We need to be very clear about things, pet," he begins as the leather squeaks beneath his grip, "tomorrow, you must stay close to me. No more breaking the rules."

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson. I'm sorry--"

"Do you remember the rules? That I asked you to be honest with me," he hisses, "yes? I know you recall, you are brighter than you look, aren't you?" He slaps the wheel, "if you need... time, or anything, you can tell me. You must tell me otherwise... otherwise how can our arrangement work? If I am ignorant of what you require, how can I provide it? You cannot be upset that I do not know."

"I... I'm not upset," you murmur.

"Yes, but if you were upset," he exhales heavily, "then I would like to know the reason for it. I--" He stops himself and shakes his head at the road, "I am only saying, if there is some issue between us, you cannot merely run away and hide."

"I didn't--"

"Yes, yes, you were reading," he cuts in, "I do hope you enjoyed your little story."

"It won't happen again, Mr. Laufeyson," you avow.

He takes a deep breath, "that's all?"

"I... I'm not upset, I said, I only..." you mull the words on your tongue, wondering if they'll even matter. "I've never been far from home."

He nods as he slows, idling at a sign, "very well."

You accept his response as he accepts yours. Tension lingers but neither of you wants to add to the boiling stew. So you look out the window and he glares out the windshield, driving on in repressed agitation.

✨

Mr. Laufeyson leaves you alone that night, bidding you to keep the door locked and nothing else. You know for certain he's unhappy with you. You've already put a damper Walpurgisnacht and it's not even begun.

You sit in the small cone of light cast by the lamp and try to read but find the task impossible. So you tuck away Jane and her troubles and lay down to sink into your own. You don't see the next day going well at all. No better than any that have come before.

Perhaps it might be better if you found a reason not to be there. You could keep the white dress on the hanger and just stay inside where you can't do anything wrong. No one would miss you very much.

It's Frigga's celebration and you aren't an Odinson, no one would know any better. Mr. Laufeyson would be free to enjoy himself and not worry about you irritating him. That's all you seem to do.

Your eyes close heavily and you tumble down into a turbulent sleep. Dread colours your dreams and wakes you several times in the grim hues of the moonlight. The fitful night drags on into a dull morning, shining over you until it sears through your eyelids.

Walpurgisnacht. April 30th. A day that feels like a page turning.

You sit up and sift slowly through the early hours as if wading through sand. You wash and ready in the bathroom, ignoring the memories of two nights ago, the echoes of your whines, and the coiling of his touch. Now, he won't even use you. This could be it. When you leave this place, you may also be departing this life. It might just be for the better.

The event doesn't begin until the afternoon. Frigga said as much before. So you pull on a pair of tan pants and a peachy shirt. You near the door but don't flip back the lock. You should wait for a cue. For permission.

You stand at the window and watch the day bloom. The dew gleams on the leaves and petals and the air is fragrant with spring. Oddly, it does feel refreshing.

There's a soft tap, one you're not certain you heard. You turn and lean on the window ledge and hug yourself. It comes again followed by your name. Mr. Laufeyson's voice is just as even-keeled as the night before. Empty of any expression. That's worse to you than anger.

You emerge, head down, and bid him a good morning. You're met by a curt 'morning' and he ushers you down the hall. You smell bacon as you descend and the crackle of grease hisses in a pan. You walk side-by-side with Laufeyson out onto the veranda.

Odin sits, stirring a cup of coffee with a silver spoon.

"Ah, good morning," he chimes, "Joyous Walpurgisnacht!"

"Yes, happy day," Laufeyson intones and sits. You take the seat at his shoulder.

Your attention is drawn by men in work clothes out in the yard. They must be setting up for the celebration. You wonder how you should ask to excuse yourself from the event. You might pretend to be unwell. You don't entirely feel great.

"Happy Walpurgisnacht!" A thunderous boom makes you jump and grab Laufeyson's arm. He merely groans as Thor approaches and drags out a chair, dropping down with a sigh, "father, brother... lady, isn't it a wonderful morning?"

"Son," Odin squints at his son's open shirt, his chest shamelessly bare to the sunlight.

"Mmm, coffee," Thor pours from the carafe then adds a handful of sugar cubs to his cup. Laufeyson helps himself to tea before offering you some with a twitch of the spout. You accept with a nod and a please.

"Coffeeeeee," an echo drawls in the air as Hela strides in, chewing a strip of bacon absconded from the kitchen.

"Ghostly as ever, sister," Thor guffaws.

"Ugh, must you?" She snarls as she slumps into a chair, "ew, do those buttons not work?"

Thor smiles as he looks down at his torso, "it's warm."

"Or maybe it's the hot air stuck in your head," she retorts.

"Children," Odin rebuffs, "please, it is a holiday. Let's try to get along."

Laufeyson says nothing as he sips from his tea. You peek at him, finding his eyes narrowly set on his father. Another twinge pinches in your chest. You hope you haven't made things worse between them.

"Oh, we are all here already," Frigga flutters in, canary fabric swishing around her, "wonderful."

"Wife," Odin outstretches an arm and she goes to give him a kiss on the cheek.

"Mother," the siblings murmur in unison as you eke out her name.

"We will begin breakfast soon, I just checked with the staff, it is almost ready, but first," she pokes her elegant nail in the air, "there is one matter I need attend to. It won't take very long at all."

She smiles at Odin as he returns the sweet expression, then her eyes meet yours. Her cheeks pinken just a little. She sweeps away and disappears through the open doors. You hear her trill as she speaks to the staff.

"She is up to something," Hela slithers.

Laufeyson hums in agreement.

"Father," Thor peers over at Odin as he brushes his fingertips over his beard.

Odin shrugs, "I haven't any idea."

"Liar," Hela accuses, "you are not so sly as you think."

"I swear--"

"He definitely knows," Thor insists, "Loki, doesn't he? You see it, can't you?"

"I suppose..." Laufeyson squints and lets his voice dissolve into nothing.

"Here we go..." you hear Frigga chime before she appears again, "happy birthday to you..."

The song begins as two maids carry between them a double-tiered cake decorated with perfect white dollops of icing topped with raspberries. Your stomach gurgles and your chest racks as you sit up, caught in headlights as Thor and Odin join in on the melody but Hela and Laufeyson merely lean forward curiously. You gulp and look down at your lap.

As Frigga leads the chorus into your name, your shoulders slope and you turn your face away, tears stinging your eyes. How could she know? As nice as it all is, it's too much. You don't deserve any of this.

"Birthday..." you hear Laufeyson whisper quizzically.

You brace the armrests and push yourself to your feet as the song ends and the cakes placed before you. Your lips tremble as you look around the table. You can barely squeak out your apology before you flee, Frigga's hand glancing off yours as she tries to stop you.

You hurry away from the veranda, hurtling up the path blindly. You plunge into the brush and around the curving trails, retracing the same route Odin led you the day before. You clamour up to the gazebo and hide within, collapsing onto a bench as you fold over and shield your head.

Why would she do it? You don't matter! It's all too much. You don't want to pretend anymore. You don't want to act like you belong. You want them to let you go. You want Laufeyson to just do it already and throw you away.

You sit, bent over, weak and shaking, just breathing, paralysed. You hunch amid the songs of birds and the rippling of water. You can't move. You just want to stay and never come out.

A scuff makes you flinch. You lift your head to look over as a shadow steps into the archway. You raise yourself up straight and face Mr. Laufeyson.

"I didn't know it's your birthday," he says.

You don't say anything. Why would you tell him? Why would he care?

He lowers his chin, sliding his hands into his pockets as he steps into the stone structure, "if I'd known--"

"It doesn't matter," you say, "it's just another day."

"Mm, well..." he begins in a fragile tone, "I wouldn't agree. Birthdays are special..."

"Not mine," you pout.

His cheek ticks and bows his head, nodding as he thinks, "but... my mother did try to make it special..." he chews on his lip as he looks at you, "she's worried."

"She shouldn't care so much. She isn't my mother."

"But she is a good mother," he argues, "and she only wanted to include you."

"And I'm just as ungrateful as my father said," you sniff, "I'm sure you'd agree."

"I don't."

"Sure. It's why you left me alone all night. It's why you were so mad that I dare read a book. I know, Mr. Laufeyson, I know."

"Know what?"

You huff and cross your arms.

"I know better," you stand and jut your chin out. "I broke the rules again, I'm sorry."

"The rules... that isn't-- why are you being like this?"

"Like what?" You challenge.

"Please, I didn't come to lecture me--"

"I know the rules. I remember. I will be good," you drop your arms and force your spine straight, "I will apologise to Frigga and thank her. You're right. You're always right. I was wrong."

You go to step past him and he catches your arm, pulling you to face him, "stop."

"Mr. Laufeyson, is that not what you want? For me to be good? I'm sorry I made you look bad. I only... was surprised," you carefully measure your voice and force a smile, "tell me what to do, Mr. Laufeyson and I will obey."

His brows slant and he swallows tightly. He squeezes your wrist then releases you, "apologise," he breathes, "say thank you."

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson," you reply and march through the door, "whatever you wish."

You keep your gait steady and set. He follows behind you and catches up. You return to the veranda in curdling silence. As the rest look up at you, you gather what's left of your strength.

"I'm sorry," you say, "I was only surprised and I... panicked."

"Dear, it's okay, I should've warned you," Frigga coos.

"I really appreciate it," you sit as Laufeyson pulls out your chair, "really..." you look at the pink cake, "I never had a birthday cake before."

As the words escape, you clamp your lips shut. It's only the silence that makes you realise how pathetic that must sound. You put your chin down and try to hide your embarrassment.

"Of course, dear," Frigga fills the dead air, "would you like to cut the first piece?”

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #maid au #series #dirty work #mcu #marvel #avengers #thor

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teacheesee · 7 months

Text

leg day (zoro x reader) smut- mdni

warnings: thigh riding. sex. unprotected sex. thigh riding. g/n fem bodied reader. thigh riding. thigh riding. thigh riding. thigh riding.

enjoy.

Watching Zoro work out was something you had gotten used to, given how much time you spent in each other’s presence. Normally you’d sit on a bench in the crow’s nest, reading or drawing or mindlessly looking out over the cool blue ocean. Today was an exception, your mind blankly spacing out as you watched him intently.

It was the way he did it, not just the actions themselves. The way he would hold in quiet sounds as he lifted or heaved or thrusted. The way he would tuck his bottom lip under his teeth, or peek his tongue out in concentration. The way he would run his hands across his thighs after finishing his rep.

His thighs. After watching him work out, you just couldn’t shake the image of them out of your head. The tan of his skin accentuating the movement of the muscle, the hard work behind them. The worst was the knowledge that you had them at your disposal all this time and had done nothing about it.

“Hello?” He waved a hand over your face as you snapped back into reality. He laughed as you tried to pull yourself together, gaze still tracing his defined leg muscles. Something about them was really making you feel…

“Is something wrong? You’re spacing out on me here,” Zoro chuckled, shaking his head at you.

“No, I just can’t seem to stop looking at your legs I don’t know what’s up,” you laughed. You sat up from where you rested against the bed, crawling over to where Zoro sat on the end of it.

“My legs?” You nodded, reaching your arm towards his thigh to trace the muscles outlined there. Your approach made Zoro shift where he sat, caught off guard by you. You squeezed his thigh and he jumped, eyes searching your body, trying to read your next move. You crawled to straddle him, weight supported by those strong legs you spent all day staring at.

“What’s gotten into you today,” Zoro muttered, looking at your lips before you brought them closer to meet his. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders and hands wound into his hair, your fingers reveling in the dull buzz of it at his nape. One of his hands cradled the small of your back while the other pressed you fervently closer to him. This could’ve gone on for hours if your body didn’t give you away so easily, making you rock back and forth subconsciously against him.

Zoro lifted you wordlessly to place you square on one of his thighs, graciously giving you the surface you needed as you continued to push down onto him. He leaned back, hands still on your lower back and guiding you as you chased friction against the skin of his thigh.

“Hold on,” you said, getting up and hastily beginning to unbuckle your shorts. Zoro helped you as you stepped out of them, climbing back to your position on his lap. He had discarded his shorts as well, leaving only a tantilizingly thin layer between you. You started back with the rhythm you had chased before, his lips capturing yours as they had been. The thickness of his legs alone had gotten you this far, your breath heaving with the air stolen from your lungs. You rested your head in the crook of his neck, now focused solely on the sensation his leg was bringing you.

“Come on,” you whispered, your pace desperate as you dragged your core against him, the feeling of his muscle grazing your clit inching you further, “come on.”

Zoro groaned as he felt your arousal growing, and he lifted his leg with your rhythm, sliding you down quicker and harder than you had been able to do yourself.

“Little more,” you mumbled, taking note of how hard he had grown under his boxers, the brief touches of your body pulling a sharp inhale from him as he continued to shift you back and forth across his leg.

“More,” you groaned, more definitively this time, and finally making a move to get rid of everything separating you two. Your legs were burning from all the effort, but the look of satisfaction gracing Zoro’s features made it worth it. He loved knowing that his hard work was paying off, really paying off. He watched as you pulled his shorts away, your underwear following suit, and he shuffled towards the head of the bed, bringing you with him as you sat straddling above him. You leaned over, placing a kiss to the corner of his lips, dragging your core over his leaking tip.

The sensation made his eyes close, using all his power to hold back the sounds you were pulling from him.

Maybe it was the way you’d been holding back, or the blatant body worship you’d been giving him all night, but Zoro was finding it hard to hold back and keep with your torturous pace. You continued to drag yourself back and forth over him, savoring the delicate sensation, occasionally teasing him by sinking slightly down.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

As you teased, lowering slightly down onto him, the grip he had on your hips tightened, pushing you down to bottom out inside you. The surprise caught you off guard, completely overwhelmed at the feeling of him stretching you out all at once and so quickly. He sighed, feeling satisfied at the warmth finally surrounding him after what felt like forever.

After you recovered, a stubborn resolve marked its way onto your face, taking the time to lean down and whisper in his ear.

“Don’t move.” You nipped at his ear lobe, gently tugging one of his gold earring as you pulled back. You took back your position on top of him, resting your hands across his chest as you started to rock back and forth. Zoro’s eyebrows scrunched in compliance with your command, a testament to his strength, the sensation you were eliciting was driving him crazy. It took everything in him to not reach out, to run his hands along your body, to touch where he know you would want him to. Instead, his hands stayed glued to your side, neither pushing or pulling you as you tried to keep up your pace.

“So good for me, Zoro,” a sheen of sweat starting to appear on your forehead, “so good, all mine.” With your slowing pace and faltering resolve, Zoro let his hands take action, lifting you back up and down, back and forth, hitting all the sweet places inside you relentlessly. You became putty in his hands, your body exhausted and ready to reach the reward you worked for, the one you deserved. The tension inside of you was building to an insurmountable pressure as you finally let go with a shudder, Zoro thrusting you through it. The unwinding of such intense pressure brought Zoro there just after you, his strength finally failing him as he let go the praises he’d been holding back.

You shuddered a last time as you got up, laying down next to him for a moment to catch your breath. You turned to him and smiled.

“I love leg day.”

A/N: i’m sorry guys i just had to write about zoros absolutely delish yummy scrumptious legs i thought abt them for one second and then got possessed by some kind of thigh smut demon. lmk if i should write abt sanji with this prompt next. i’ll do it, just dare me.

okay bye now kitties meow *.•

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marlynnofmany · 30 days

Text

Squishy Cybernetics

“Hello!” I said. “Where would you like this?” I waved an arm at the large pallet of boxes, bags, and miscellaneous other packaging. It was on one of our biggest hoversleds, and accompanied by some of the biggest crewmates.

The Waterwill at the loading gate burbled thoughtfully, sounding like a water jug given sentience. She extended what passed for an arm of her own and pointed indoors. “You’d better bring it all the way in. Over here.” She glided inward, moving in that mysterious way I’d never figured out. Someone shaped like a column of jello had no business scooting forward that quickly, no matter how much their lower end rippled against the floor.

But I didn’t have time for galaxy-gazing; I had to help steer the hoversled. Regulations said we needed someone on all four sides for a load this big, just in case of antigrav mishaps. Didn’t want it slamming into something breakable at this client’s facility — or slamming into anything at all, really, but this place was some sort of high-tech manufacturing plant, and I didn’t want to think about what kind of damage a crash could do.

No mishaps today, though. The Frillian twins paced along on either side, all muscles and tight clothes (they’d left the flowy silks behind today; a solid choice). I couldn’t see Zhee in the back, but I heard the quiet click of his bug feet. My own feet were silent in proper Earth shoes as I tugged the steering handle and followed the Waterwill.

I thought we’d just take the thing to the far side of the big loading dock, unload it in an out-of-the-way spot to be unpacked later. But the Waterwill kept going. We passed hovercars and wheeled carts, storage cabinets and bins, along with a baffling arrangement of pipes along one wall. Windows showed glimpses of the busy manufacturing facility. I had no idea what they were making. Maybe I’d get a better look on the way back out.

Oh hey, a human, I thought in surprise as I passed a bigger window. With a Strongarm on his back? What in the world are they making together? I was already moving past, and could only speculate about intricate manufacturing projects that needed hands and tentacles at the same time.

I was still wondering why the Strongarm hadn’t just pulled up a chair next to the human when the Waterwill signalled me to stop. “Stopping,” I announced for Zhee’s benefit. We all came to a halt, and nobody crashed into anything. Hallelujah.

“Here, please,” the Waterwill said. She stretched her arm out into a long tendril to pick up a scrap of something blue that had fallen on the floor, and pointed at an empty space near several foam-topped tables. “I’m needed out front. Heeme, can you oversee?”

“Sure thing,” said a voice from nowhere, then a Strongarm climbed out from under one of the tables. “Found the last of the broken bits, by the way.” Two of his tentacles were curled around pieces of the same blue stuff the Waterwill had picked up. The blue stood out against the dark red of his skin, but not as much as the four mismatched tentacles on other side did. They were a transparent blue-green much like the Waterwill’s own tendrils. I tried not to stare, and failed.

“Thank you,” the Waterwill said. “I’ll be back in a bit.” She set her broken piece of whatever on the nearest table, then scooted through a door that was apparently soundproofed, because a cacophony of whirs and whooshes filled the air until it closed.

“Right,” I said. “Over here, then.” I steered the hoversled into position, then we all worked together to guide the detachable gravity platform onto the ground. That part always made me nervous, since it looked like the giant pallet that could crush me was floating through the air with just a touch of technological magic to make it go. I understand other models of industrial-sized hoversleds have more mechanical-looking gravity platforms, or regular forklift arms. Ours was the glowy magic kind, and it deposited the giant stack of objects with all the precision of the best fairytale enchantment.

“Perfect,” said the Strongarm. “We’ll unpack it from here. Thanks.”

“Our pleasure,” I said.

Zhee, finally able to see over the hoversled, got a good look at who I was talking to. “Oh, I’m sure you’re fast at unpacking,” he said, pointing with his pincher arm. “Does that model form into blades?”

“Sure does!” the Strongarm said, holding up a see-through tentacle that instantly flattened into a shape like a steak knife. “Good for packaging, stubborn latches, and all manner of other things.”

“And stabbing!” Blop put in, to be immediately shushed by his sister.

“No stabbing on the job,” she told him.

The Strongarm laughed. “Yeah, just respectable tool use. They don’t give these out to anyone who’s going to do violence with them.”

I asked, “Is that Waterwill tech? I haven’t seen one before.”

“Yup.” He turned the knife back into a tentacle, then into a variety of other shapes. “One of the perks of working here, for sure. They’re cagey about sharing tech. This is the best prosthesis I’ve ever encountered.”

I thought of the hard metal-and-plastic replacement limbs that were standard on Earth. They would be wildly out of place on this guy’s squishy octopus body. And no amount of interchangeable attachments would be able to beat this kind of easy shapeshifting. I said, “That looks really useful.”

“It is!”

The loud door opened to admit a wall of sound, along with the human-and-Strongarm pair. Which I realized with a start was actually just a human wearing more transparent tentacles on his back.

“Here’s the new set,” he said to the Strongarm, placing a clear box on the table that was full of a stack of more flat blue things. They appeared to be cut into very specific shapes. I might have been curious about what they were for if not for the much more interesting thing to be curious about.

“Hello,” I said. “Does everyone who works here get extra limbs?”

The tan human grinned. “If they want ‘em! And they pass the screening, of course. But you’ve got to leave them here each day if they’re the bonus kind, as opposed to replacements.”

The Strongarm wiggled his tentacles in a taunting manner. “I can open packages and slice food so easily at home.”

The human made a face and wiggled the tentacles on his back. “Yeah yeah, we’re all jealous. Someday I’ll convince the bosses that there’s an actual market for these, and I’ll be the first in line to buy my own.”

“They think there isn’t?” I asked in shock. “Those look so useful! I can’t list the number of times I’ve wished for more hands. Using teeth and feet only goes so far.”

Zhee made a disparaging hiss. “You have that many fingers, and still want more? Greedy.”

“I’m just saying that re-weaving a cargo net would go much faster if I could hold all of the fibers at once,” I told him, then turned to the Frillians. “Back me up. Two arms just isn’t enough sometimes, right?”

Blip and Blop looked at each other and shrugged. “I guess?” Blip said. “But that’s just when it’s time to get another person to help.”

Zhee clicked a pincher. “Exactly so. Or approach the problem differently.”

The human told me, “I’ve had this conversation more than once. Apparently not all species grow up imagining what it’s like to have bird wings or monkey tails or whatnot.”

“Surely other people want to fly,” I said. The expressions around me were dishearteningly blank. “Surely!”

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” the human said. “See why I couldn’t convince the bosses?”

“But even on a practicality standpoint!” I exclaimed. “They have you using them here; why wouldn’t they think you’d want to use them at home?”

He shrugged, moving the tentacles in a graceful wave as he did. “Alien brains. I’ve given up trying to fully understand.”

The Strongarm spoke up. “If there are actually a large number of humans who would buy these, then it couldn’t hurt to put together a request from outside sources. The bosses don’t listen to random employees who are probably biased, but they might take an interest in actual buyers.”

I shook my head slowly. “Our courier ship isn’t going to be that kind of buyer, especially not at the scale they’d probably need.”

“What about big human ships?” Blip asked. “We could suggest it to the next one we meet.”

“Or human colonies,” Blop said. “Or large groups at space stations.”

Zhee said, “I heard Captain Sunlight talking about a delivery to Basal Station soon. There are plenty of humans there. You could suggest it to them, if you think this is really that widespread an interest.”

“It couldn’t hurt,” I said, thinking. There was indeed a significant human population on that space station, which might even include the crew I’d met from the droid jousting ship Hold My Beer. They were definitely the type to appreciate some extra arms. Both for working on finicky electronics and general slapfight shenanigans.

“Here, we should have something with the contact information,” said the Strongarm. “Jon, is there a notepad over there?”

“Yeah, got it.” The human leaned over a table and used his tentacles to lift a stack of books so he could pull out the small notepad at the bottom. That may have been showing off. “Here you go!” He handed it to me with his regular hand.

“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll see if I can find the right ears to whisper into.”

“Best of luck!” he said. “My partner has asked me no less than half a dozen times if I could sneak my set home to play around with, but I’m not gonna risk the job.”

I laughed, hoping I wasn’t blushing. “Oh man, I wasn’t even going to mention the bedroom applications.”

Of course Zhee had to ask, tilting his head with faceted eyes shining. “The what?”

“Remember how most humans find tentacles a little creepy?” I asked him, pocketing the notepad.

“I recall. It makes this insistence all the stranger.”

“Well, some humans aren’t creeped out at all. Kind of the opposite. They like them a lot. In a, uh, private fashion.”

Jon the human spelled it out for him. “Mating rituals.”

Zhee’s antennae did a complicated dance, then settled in something that looked like disgust. “I was about to ask why, but I’ve decided I don’t want to know.”

“Yeah, best not to,” I agreed. “Anyway! Very useful extra arms. Good for a wide variety of activities. Other humans will likely be interested.”

“Very likely,” Jon agreed.

I activated the hovercart with a nod, and we said our goodbyes. The employees wished me luck. They returned to work while we headed back toward our ship.

Zhee grumbled disparaging things about my species the whole way, but that was nothing new.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

PS: the story with the good ship Hold My Beer is here, if you're wondering about that. It's fun.

#my writing #The Token Human #I probably should have thought up a prank-related story for today #given what day this getting posted #but it didn't occur to me and I already had this idea #plus that might feel like a repeat of 'What’s a Minor Heart Attack Between Friends?'#which I'm going to reblog next just for funsies #anyways the location for this story is partly based on my old workplace #though the noise is on the wrong side of the door #humans are weird #haso #hfy #eiad #humans are space orcs #humans are space bards #and other such tags #tentacles #prosthetics #in spaaace

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lonelym00n · 1 year

Text

Just Friends

Part four of The Devil Likes the Pirate Series

Tara Carpenter x Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: Things are weird between you and Tara. Can you really be just friends with the girl you're in love with?

A/N: It's 5 am. The birds are chirping. I stayed up all night for this and I would gladly do it again.

It had been a week since Tara had unknowingly crushed your heart in her small hands. You felt defeated, but more so embarrassed that you had given so much of yourself to Tara so quickly. The pieces of you that were left behind were almost nonexistent, squashed to bits at the words of her rejection.

You hadn’t talked to any of your friends, not because they hadn’t tried to contact you, but because you were choosing to avoid them. It wasn’t a deliberate choice to ignore their messages at first. Part of you had wanted to respond, but when you glanced at the messages, you were just too emotionally drained to do so. This pattern repeated day after day and even though their messages became more insistent over the passing time, your energy still remained at an all time low.

You were admittedly ashamed by your actions, but realistically what were you supposed to do? You were tired and it felt like every last bit of hope you had for your life finally becoming worth something was stripped away completely. The thought of facing your friends, of facing her-

It was just too much to bear at the moment. You couldn’t see her, you couldn’t see any of them, not when you were so sure that you resembled a flower that had withered up at the first sign of the dry season.

So you kept your distance. You went to class, took meals to go from the dining halls, and holed up in your room. It was an okay routine, but it didn’t measure up to the one that had been constantly filled with laughter and bliss.

You sighed heavily, tossed your backpack onto its spot on your chair, and climbed up into your bed. With the covers pulled firmly up to your chin, you will yourself to fall into a dreamless sleep.

It comes to you, luckily. But as fast as your peace arrives, it drifts away as someone knocks repeatedly on your door.

Groggily, you drag yourself out of bed and towards the door, mentally cursing your roommate. This hadn’t been the first time she’d woken you up from a nap because she’d forgotten her keys.

You fling the door open, an annoyed look on your face. Your eyes widen in shock as they fall upon someone who is most definitely not your roommate.

Mindy frowns at you, a mix of anger and concern in her expression.

“Wow, you actually are alive.” She stalks into the room, turning around to face you when she hears that you’ve shut the door. “Y’know, people don’t normally ignore their friends to the point where it’s unclear if they’re still breathing.”

You feel small under Mindy’s scrutinizing temperament.

“Sorry,” you mumble weakly.

She examines you for a few long seconds, before sweeping her gaze along the messy state of your room. You’re not sure what exactly it is that she notices, but she drops her interrogative act and takes on a softer approach.

“Why haven’t you answered any of our texts?”

You shrug, “I dunno. I guess I needed some space.”

Mindy sinks down to take a seat on your bed. You remain standing, awkwardly folding your arms around your waist.

“Is it because of what Tara told you? Do you not want to be around us anymore because of the whole…” She mimes a stabbing gesture.

Your heart aches at the thought of the group mistaking your absence for your fear of what they’d gone through. “No, no no. Mindy, it's not because of that.”

You take a seat next to her on the mattress.

“Then why?”

“I- it’s just,” you pause and bashfully rub your shoulder. “Tara didn’t tell you what she said? After she told me about the whole Woodsboro thing, I mean.”

Mindy’s brow furrows and she shakes her head.

“Oh.” You feel a bit deflated at Mindy’s unawareness. You gnaw at your bottom lip and try to stop your overthinking nature from taking over. Was it weird that she hadn’t told anyone? Should you be happy about it?

You flinch harshly as Mindy places a comforting hand on your shoulder. Only now do you notice that you’ve been quiet for far too long.

“What happened? What did she say to you?”

“Uhh,” your chest is swirling with emotions. You’d yet to talk about this with anyone and it has been eating you up for the past week. “She said she’s not ready for a relationship. She only wants to be friends.”

You find a spot on the ceiling and stare at it.

“She does? But I thought she liked you.”

You huff and flatly meet Mindy’s eyes. “So did I.”

“Look, I think I know what must’ve happened. I’ll talk to her and-”

“No!” You rush out the words, “Don’t talk to her about it please. I completely get why she’s not ready for a relationship.”

Mindy shakes her head and laughs slightly, “But I can tell she likes you and she doesn’t want to be just friends. She probably just got scared after talking about everything.”

“I don’t know. But she made her decision and I’m okay with that. You don’t have to say anything to her about it, it’s fine.”

Mindy looks like she has more to say, but she holds herself back. The two of you sit in silence.

Unfortunately, the silence does nothing to cover up the sniffle you so desperately try to hold back.

Mindy looks up swiftly at the sound. She’s met with the slow drip of tears down your cheeks.

You’re swept into a hug before you know it. She waits a beat, before speaking, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

And because you’ve been emotionally vulnerable this whole week with no one to talk to, you break and tell her everything. You tell her how you aren’t even upset at the fact that Tara isn’t ready for a relationship, but are more heartbroken by the feeling of being led on. How you had held and kissed her so intimately just to be told that the two of you could only be friends. How you can’t get the softness of her lips against yours off your mind, and how you’re not sure you ever will. Lastly, you tell her how strongly you felt for Tara, how you think you’d fallen in love with her after that day in the diner, and how you don’t think you can pretend that she doesn’t mean everything in the world to you.

Mindy, though she denies any allegations of being a hopeless romantic, feels her heart break for the agony that you’ve revealed to her. She knew you’d had feelings for Tara (everyone did, it was nearly impossible not to notice), but she wouldn’t have guessed that they went this far. She lets you cry out all your woes and gently comforts you throughout.

When you’ve finally cried yourself into a state of emptiness, Mindy shifts the two of you into a lying position. She plucks your laptop out of your bag and props it up on her lap, perusing Netflix’s horror movie section before selecting one she doesn’t find completely abominable.

The rest of the day is filled with sarcastic comments and relentless critiques for any moment she deems unhorror-like. Mindy does such a good job distracting you that you nearly forget all about the heavy weight that has been plaguing your mind.

You fall asleep that night more at ease than you’d been for a long while.

The next few days are filled with Mindy’s bright presence. She somehow learned your schedule and picked you up from each of your classes. You compare her to a very welcome thorn in your side.

She helps build you back up, and you slowly start feeling like a normal person again. It’s nice to be in her company and you feel so thankful to have a friend like her.

One day, when the two of you are grabbing lunch, she abruptly stops retelling a story from her shared childhood with Chad.

She’s looking over your shoulder at something that you can’t see.

“Earth to Mindy,” your hand waves in front of her face, to which she still doesn’t respond.

“Fuck,” she curses quietly. She turns to you quickly, “Tara and Anika are coming over here.”

A panicky feeling fills your chest. Sure you were doing better, but you were definitely not ready to see her. Sucking in a breath, you prepare yourself for the interaction, knowing you have no choice but to face her now.

“Hey guys!” You missed Anika’s cheery nature and you nearly smile at how smitten Mindy looks when Anika plants a kiss on her cheek.

Tara wordlessly takes the empty seat next to you.

“Y/N, how are you?” Anika innocently acts.

You ignore the feeling of Tara’s eyes burning into you as you speak, “Eh, pretty good. My chem class is giving me a lot of trouble.”

Mindy, ever your savior, changes the subject, “T, have you tried that new latte the coffee shop has? Y/N and I tried it this morning.”

It’s your turn to watch Tara while she’s distracted. She’s as pretty as ever, her soft brown hair laying perfectly on her shoulders. You missed drinking in the sight of her, but you mentally chastise yourself for the thought, reminding yourself that you’re not supposed to be looking at her that way anymore.

You sink into your chair at the remembrance.

“You and Y/N tried it?” You don’t see the flash of fire in her eyes, too busy picking at your food.

“Yeah, after her English Lit class.” Mindy turns towards Anika, “You should go with Tara to try it sometime.”

Anika hums softly in response, “Sounds good.”

The conversation dwindles in and out from that point on. You don’t participate much, only offering the occasional offhand comment when you’re mentioned. Tara keeps glancing at you, but your gaze remains firmly on your plate.

Checking the time on your phone, you stand up and gather your trash. “Well, I have calc so I have to go.”

You mutter out a goodbye to the small group and scurry away before Mindy can call you out on your lie. You don’t have calc for another two hours, you just needed an excuse to get away from the table. As you head towards the library, you idly wonder if things will always be so awkward between you and Tara.

Your answer comes sooner than you expect. It’s Friday after classes, and Mindy is dragging you to a pizza place to hangout with the rest of the group.

She pulls you through the doorway and all but shoves you into the seat to her right. Anika sits to her left, followed by Tara. Chad sits beside her and Ethan sits beside you. You couldn’t be more grateful to be sat as far away from her as possible.

The night actually doesn’t go too terribly. You’re able to talk to everyone without feeling weird, and you internally sigh in relief at how easy it is to avoid a direct conversation with Tara.

As the night continues on, you indulge in Ethan’s rambling about this new mobile game he downloaded. You peek over his shoulder while he plays and explains how it works. Once you get the hang of it, he passes the phone to you and leans in closer to watch. Unbeknownst to you, Tara has been silently watching the exchange.

You and Ethan are now playing a game of tug of war with his phone, laughing like children as you refuse to let him have a turn.

It’s then that Tara calls for everyone’s attention. “Sam and I are throwing a movie night at the apartment tomorrow. You’re all invited, obviously.”

The group cheers at the news. Apparently Carpenter sister movie nights were a big deal. Your eye twitches at the thought of being trapped in Tara’s house for hours. And you’d have to finally meet Sam.

Your chair scrapes loudly as you stand, “I’m just gonna go to the bathroom.”

You walk away and enter the bathroom.

Back at the table, Mindy and Anika share a knowing glance. Mindy goes to follow you when Tara stands.

“I’ll go.” She softly announces, and turns towards the bathroom. Everyone shares a look, well, everyone except Ethan.

“What’s all that about?”

Anika reaches over to lightly shove him in the shoulder, “Keep up.”

You’re standing in front of the mirror, staring at yourself as you internally struggle to find an excuse to skip out on the movie night.

The door pushes open and your thoughts halt at the sight of Tara.

“Hi.”

“Hi Tara,” you mumble back.

You both stare at each other for a second.

She breaks the silence, “Look I know what you’re thinking. But please just come, it won’t be weird if you do.”

This is the first time the tension between the two of you has been acknowledged. Your heart leaps into your throat. You sigh and reach up to scratch the back of your neck.

“I dunno…”

You make the mistake of allowing yourself to meet her eye. She’s staring up at you, a petulant pout spread across her dimpled cheeks.

“Please? I want you to come. And Sam really wants to meet you. We both want you there, and so does everyone else.”

You open your mouth to spew an excuse but nothing comes out.

“Alright,” you relent. “I’ll come.”

She smiles and the familiar flutter of your heart returns.

You return to the rest of the group, Tara following closely behind you. She fills everyone in on the details of the plan. The night ends shortly after.

The next day, Mindy and Anika meet you outside of your dorm room for the trip to the Carpenter’s apartment. They chatter the whole way over, reassuring you that Sam’s hard exterior was mostly just a front.

You are incredibly nervous as the three of you approach the door. Tara opens it shortly after and ushers the three of you in, urging you to make yourselves comfortable. You take a seat on the couch, trying to stave off the anxiousness that has built up in your chest.

Tara returns from her trip to the kitchen with Sam and a redheaded girl. You assume her to be Quinn, Tara had mentioned her to you before.

“Y/N, this is my sister, Sam, and our roommate Quinn.”

You stand up to greet them, wiping your palms on your pants. “Hi, it’s so nice to finally meet you both.”

Quinn smiles brightly at you while Sam sweeps her gaze across you, likely determining how much of a threat you are.

Tara elbows Sam in the side, receiving a noise of displeasure in return.

“Tara talks a lot about you, it’s nice to formally meet you too.”

You nod at her and try to disregard the first part of her comment.

Quinn speaks next, “With how often she talks about you, you’d think she’d have mentioned how cute you are.”

She teasingly runs a finger up your arm and you feel a blush rise up your cheeks. Mindy snorts behind you.

“Thank you Quinn.”

She hums, “Anytime.”

Ethan and Chad arrive just after her reply. Ethan flops down next to Anika while Chad moves to greet Sam with a hug. You sit down next to Mindy.

Soon enough, the remaining members move to make themselves comfortable on the couch. Tara eyes the empty spot next to you, but Quinn slides in before she can make a move towards it.

You turn to greet her and she gives you a smile that is anything but innocent in return. Sam commandeers the remote, flicking on the first movie for the night.

Your efforts to pay attention are thwarted by little touches from Quinn. She drags her finger up your arm again and traces along your collarbone. Once she gets bored of that, she twirls a stray piece of your hair around the same finger.

You find that you don’t really mind the innocent touches, so you allow her to do as she pleases.

The movie finishes sooner than you expect. You look over at the rest of the group to find Anika, Mindy, and Ethan all fast asleep, slightly tangled up on the couch. Sam wordlessly puts on the next movie.

About halfway through, Quinn decides to go to bed, but not before sending a flirty wink your way. When the movie finishes, you notice that Tara and Chad are now asleep too.

Sam stands up and pads into the kitchen. You hesitate a moment before deciding to follow her. You make sure she hears you as you do so, so you don’t catch her off guard by accident.

“Do you want anything to drink?” She offers.

“Sure, water would be great.”

She hands you a glass and the two of you stand in the kitchen in silence.

After a short internal debate, you speak, “I just want to say that I really admire you. Tara’s really lucky to have a sister like you.”

Sam seems surprised at your comment, “Thanks.”

You nod in response.

She glances up at you, “I’m sorry about the whole barging into the diner thing. I know I put you into an awkward situation. I was just kind of in a panic and didn’t stop to think.”

“Oh no it’s fine,” you quickly reassure. “I can understand why you were so upset. I guess I’m sorry for the part that I played in that too. It’s my fault Tara didn’t answer you.”

Her hard exterior softens slightly at your apology. “Don’t be sorry, you had no idea.”

You two share a smile, and your eyes drift to Tara’s sleeping form on the couch. Sam looks over her shoulder to see what you’re looking at before turning back to face you again.

“You like her, don’t you?” She asks softly.

Your heart burns in your chest. You wish things were easier enough for you to say yes, but you couldn’t. It wasn’t what Tara wanted.

“I care about her,” you clarify. “We’re friends.”

If Sam notices how choked up you sound, she doesn’t say anything. You sigh.

“I should probably get back before it gets dark.”

She nods in understanding but places a firm hand on your shoulder before you can move to retrieve your belongings. “It was really nice to meet you. For what it’s worth, I think you’d be good for her.”

Tears spring into your eyes but you hold them back fiercely. You choose not to comment on Sam’s words.

“Thank you for having me over. I understand how much trust this takes.”

You turn and make your way over to the living room to grab your jacket and keys, silently slipping out of the apartment so as not to wake anyone. Only once the door is firmly shut behind you do you let the tears fall.

You return safely back to your dorm and fall asleep with the thoughts of what it’d be like to be happily in love with Tara firmly on your mind.

Ironically, she texts you the next morning, asking you to return back to the apartment so the two of you could talk. You knew eventually that you’d have to hash out the tension that remained between you and her, but you didn’t think it’d be so soon.

After a quick shower and a bite to eat from the dining hall, you head back to the Carpenter sisters’ apartment.

You arrive shortly after and knock gently on the door. Quinn opens it with a smirk.

She calls out over her shoulder, “Tara! Y/N’s here!”

Tara appears and gently wraps her fingers around your wrist to tug you into the apartment, heading swiftly in the direction of what must be her bedroom. You barely have enough time to notice that the group of friends is still occupying the apartment, biding a brisk hello to them as you are pulled past.

Once you are inside the room, she clicks the door shut.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Of course,” you smile gently, trying to hide your nervousness, but very obviously failing.

Tara bites her lip, “I hate that you’re nervous around me now. I ruined things, didn’t I?”

You are shocked at her words and you blink a few times before responding, giving her a soft look, “Tara, no. You didn’t ruin things. I’m sorry I’ve been acting weird, but don’t blame yourself. You aren’t ready for something and I get that.”

She paces around the room for a minute, seemingly deep in contemplation. You take a seat on the edge of her bed, waiting patiently.

She turns towards you, “What if I am ready?”

You look at her stupidly. “What?”

She runs her fingers through her hair, “It’s just… I can’t stop thinking about you. And the other day with Ethan and god yesterday with Quinn, I can’t stand the thought of you being with someone else.”

You’re in a complete stupor, it’s hard to believe you aren’t dreaming right now. “Tara, I don’t understand.”

She sits next to you and grabs your hand. The air is charged and you feel like you could faint.

Tara licks her lips, “Let me tell you a different way.”

You lose yourself in her eyes as she leans in, unable to think about anything other than the shortening proximity. You can feel her breath on yours and just before your lips can touch, Anika barges into the room, a frantic expression on her face.

“You’ve got to come see this.”

You and Tara scramble up and rush into the living room. Everyone’s eyes are glued on the TV.

Your heart sinks as you read the headline. Beside you, Tara trembles.

Mindy’s the one to break the silence, her tone full of anguish and fear.

“It’s happening again.”

***

A/N: ooh things are about to go downhill!! I think the next part is going to be the finale and it's gonna be a wild ride! I messed up the timeline last chapter (scream vi is a full year after scream v, not a few months) but there's not really a way I can fix my mistake without things getting even more messed up. So either just ignore that Tara said it was a few months ago and pretend that this is a full year later or don't, the story still works either way. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Taglist: @thenextdawn @dreifhraniquo29

guys im horrible at taglists, plz forgive me if I accidentally forgot anyone I'm trying to rush this out so I can go to sleep before the sun rises

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x y/n #devil likes the pirate series #lonelym00n fic

622 notes · View notes

penvisions · 6 months

Text

garnish {chapter 3}

Pairing: Chef! Joel Miller x Bartender! Reader

Summary: Thoughts about Joel Miller have you desperate for something you hadn't sought out in quite a while: human touch. So when your friends suggest a girls' night out, you readily agree. It's just your luck that the very man plaguing your thoughts happens to be at the bar picked out for the night.

Word Count: 6.5k

Warning: alcohol consumption, drunken interactions, creepy flirthing, unwanted attention, fighting, bar fights, nonconsensual touching (not joel), protective joel, injuries, blood, degrading talk, power dynamics, abuse of power, restaurant lingo, triggers associated with the food industry, smoking, cigarettes, joel miller is a conflicted man, kissing, drunk makeout session

A/N: this story is literally keeping me from climbing the walls in my apartment, i've applied to over 20 jobs the last few days and made even more calls to see if places were hiring. the issue isn't finding something, it's finding something willing to pay me for my experience and skill set. but i found out a local coffee shop is opening a new location and i should be getting a call back with interview times for that today, they need cooks and bakers and i can definitely do that

ao3 || series masterlist || main masterlist

It was Wednesday, your normal day off for the week, but Joel had scheduled you two hours of prep, the shift reminder notification early that morning. It had woken you up, having allowed yourself to sleep in after the rather busy shift the night before. It had been a record-breaking sales day, the concert downtown only blocks away bringing increased foot traffic. It had been a week and a half since that terrible Sunday shift where you had finally given into hunger and had ordered food only to be told you had messed up. You had gone hungry that night, nothing in your kitchen at home.

You hadn’t spoken to Joel beyond confirming that dishes were ready to go out and helping to take updated pars out to the servers’ board for them to be aware of throughout services. Lists were left atop the sandwich prep station, and you completed it every shift you had before making your way toward the bar. They were in his writing, some things new with recipe page numbers for the guidebook stored on the expo line.

You had completed a few things on your list and were moving onto the next thing when his booming voice sounded from the walk in.

“Where are the rest of the yellow onions?”

Everyone in the kitchen looked over their stations, including you. The yellow onions you had chopped up for the red lentil soup were sitting in the pot you had atop a portable burner on the left side of your station. Cutting board beside it as you chopped the carrots that were to be added next.

“Whose used yellow onions today?” His brow was furrowed, lips downturned as he gazed around the kitchen. The three confirmations of ‘here, chef’ had him moving intimidatingly through the space, the first two seemed to come out of their interaction unscathed. But you felt like you weren’t about to be so lucky.

“When did you start the prep for these? They look nearly caramelized already.” He stirred the wooden spoon resting in the deep pot, getting a feel on the state of the onions cooking inside. You had stepped aside, hands behind your back as you let him inspect your station. He turned to watch as you answered, professional air about you as you briefly met his eyes with your own. You spoke in an even tone, worried about how he was going to react. He had already proven himself comfortable with cutting you off and denying you food that you had paid with your own money. And that was when you hadn’t actually done anything to warrant that type of reaction.

“I started this half an hour ago, gathered them from the walk in as I gathered everything else, chef.”

“Did you happen to notice that you grabbed the last ones? There are none in the box, left empty on the shelf. That you too? Don’t understand the way things work here, do ya?” He turned with a sharpie held tight between his fingers and he jutted it at the dray erase board beside the walk-in door where things low in stock were to be written down. “In case anyone is unclear on how this kitchen operates: things low in stock are to be written on that board there BEFORE we run out. Boxes or containers that are emptied while grabbing items are to be discarded or put into dish, not left on the shelf for the next person to find.”

“Yes, chef!” The chorus rang out evenly throughout the room.

He turned back to the portable burner and clicked it off, turning the nob off and the whoosh of gas going out was loud in the slight hum of busy work that the kitchen returned to once he had finished speaking.

“Why don’t you go clock yourself out.”

“Chef, there-“ You tried to talk to him, let him know that you had left nearly three pounds of onions left in the box. It wasn’t empty when you left the walk-in. You had been too wrapped up in your work to notice who else had gone in afterwards, though you wouldn’t have sold them out to begin with.

“Go. Clock out, now.”

“Yes, chef.” You wouldn’t raise your face to meet his look. Trying to keep your anger in check lest you give him a real reason to go off on you. Instead, you moved to grab your sharpie laid out over the recipe binder. The small field notes pad of paper beside it with the notations for a double batch written neatly on the page it was open to. Joel blocked your movement with a sidestep, his broad figure blocking your reaching hand.

“Now means now.”

“My-“

“Is now mine. Go.”

Your eyes flicked up and you tried your best not to pin him with the annoyance that was humming through your very blood. This man was nothing but a nuisance, you had only agreed to come into the kitchen because they were short staffed. But it was degrading work, to be around this man who deemed nearly everything below par and had extreme standards for the way things were to be done. The two instances of common decency he had offered you had to have been a fluke, maybe he had been extra tired and worn out those days, didn’t mean to let his guard down. Either way, you were quickly getting over the fluctuating temperatures of his attitude. At first it had been jarring, but you weren’t about to let it get to you any longer. You were determined to face it head on or dish it back out in what ways you could safely do so without risking your job.

You were lagging outside of the back door, standing with the bar back, whose name was Millie and a server who were both on break. You each had a cigarette in hand, swapping stories about the worst pick up lines that you had been approached with. You had removed your apron, it was folded carefully in your crossbody bag to be washed when you got home, simple black long sleeve Henley along with it. That left you in your black denim with that kitschy cute heart belt buckle and a dark green racerback. You had left your hair up in its normal fashion of low buns on either side of your head, short black beanie atop your head.

“You gotta admit,” Your laughter ringing through the air accompanied by the giggles of the two girls in front of you. “He was honest, what better way to start a conversation, though I could’ve done without the-“

All the laughter cut off as the backdoor opened and Joel appeared with a bag of trash. The two younger girls snubbed out their waning cigarettes and scurried inside, deeming breaktime over with his sudden arrival. You watched as Joel tossed the bag over the lip of the nearby dumpster before removing his gloves and tossed them in as well. He removed a pack of his own cigarettes from the breast pocket of his chef’s coat, and you could see the spiral wiring of your notebook peeking out over the top of it. His eyes took in the way your lips moved as you took a long drag from your own, bringing your phone out to ignore him.

The snick snick snick of his lighter resulted in a deep grunt, and you looked at him out of the corner of your eye. The cigarette he had pulled out was between his plush lips and his dead lighter was being pushed back into the pocket of his chef’s pants. When his eyes flicked to you, your attention snapped back to your phone. He cleared his throat, and you cocked an eyebrow up at the sound, turning to give him the barest hint of attention. He was leaning heavily against the side of the building, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he regarded you.

“Do you-

“Nope.” You took the last drag before snuffing out your own cigarette and tossed the butt into the pail beside the door. You started walking toward the parking lot, your truck beeping with a press of the control in your hand. The strap of your bag over your shoulder caught the man’s eye as you began to move away.

“You’re just gonna walk off from your shift?”

“Today’s my day off, chef.” You didn’t look back at him but could tell that your words had affected him.

“Shit, I-“ He straightened up and moved away from the wall, taking a step toward you, his hands coming out from his pockets to take the unlit cigarette from between his lips.

“Don’t worry about it. Now you don’t have to worry me using up all your inventory, right?” You pulled another cigarette out from the pack still in your hand along with your phone and brought a lighter out from your own front pocket. You took a long drag and blew the smoke in his direction over your shoulder, aware of his gaze on your back and you hopped into the cab of the truck.

The next day, everything that was on your prep list had been completed and the one for today had instructions on where to find the mise for each recipe. Everything was already prepared for you and were just combining and finishing the last few steps of each one.

“Hi there, what can I get started for you?” You placed a coaster down on the bar top before a glass of water, eyes coming up as you smiled at the new guest. Your smile faltered a little when the face of your biological evolution professor beamed back at you, but you didn’t let your surprise show other than that.

“I heard a rumor that the bartender here made the best whisky drinks. Here to test out that theory.” His voice was smooth, something you had often spoken aloud to your friends that made the class lectures rather easy. His baritone deep and the ways in which he spoke with such passion and interest in his material was an added bonus to understanding the class subject matter than most.

“Let’s get to testin’, what your preferred whiskey?” You busied yourself making the drinks that had been rung up the last couple of minutes, the man having sat to the side of the well in the last seat along the right side of the bar.

“I’m a Bullet man, myself. But I’m up for whatever you think is best.”

“Oh, well, of course the one I think is best is our top shelf.” You tossed the man a playful smirk, aware that it was a possible line being crossed. But neither of you were on campus, you were at work, and he was one of your bar guests. His laugh was beautiful as he knocked his head back, the line of his throat catching shadows from the strong lights over the bar.

“I actually prefer Woodford, it’s not too expensive but its leagues above some of the stuff on the shelves like Evan Williams.”

He was funny, quick-witted. Matching your jokes as fast as he could. Bringing up documentaries he had recently seen.

“No, but like that’s the thing! There’s been no discovery of this caliber ever before, its unprecedented in nearly every aspect.” You were making a round of lemon drops for a group of girls on the other end of the bar, loading up the shaker and then securing the smaller component over it before lifting your hand and shaking it. As you did so, you reached over to grab the coup glasses you would need for the pour. A figure appeared at the well, taller than the servers and barback, who had gone on break a few minutes ago.

You glanced over at Joel, the man had his hands atop the plastic mats, eyes taking in the organized garnish container and the jars of small straws and picks for the servers to complete their drinks. You nodded at him to let him know you saw him and would be with him as soon as possible before you held the shaker tight in one hand and used the heel of your palm to knock the smaller part loose. Your hand was steady as you parted the two components enough to strain the bright pink liquid from the ice, not looking up from it.

“To actually have fossil evidence of not just any Hominid species, but of a newly discovered hominid species, with a crafted tool in their fuckin’ hand! Like, I got chills, and I was pretty sure my attention was plastered to the screen. Didn’t even touch the food I made that night. I immediately started just taking notes throughout the whole thing.”

“To be fair, it was just as intriguing to find out that the child’s body had been in the cavern wall, not even properly buried like the rest of the bodies in the Dinaledi chamber.”

“Oh my gosh, I know! That opens a whole plethora of questions about what that child was even doing, was he the one carving those symbols into the wall, was he alone- hold on one moment.” You moved over to the other side of the bar, two coup glasses cradled carefully in each hand, and you took the four of them over to the girls who had been watching you make them. They were all bright smiles and excited giggles as you told them you used Meyer lemons for a sweeter drink and added a bit of cherry juice for the color.

“She’s a busy one, guests seem to love her.” Your professor smiled over at Joel, who was watching you flit around behind the bar much like he had been admiring all night. Joel’s eyes snapped to the man beside him and he just nodded, crossing his arms over his chest.

“She knows what she’s doing.”

“Not much of a talker in class, but her papers are beyond wonders. The way her mind makes connections is amazing. And the way she uses her words so carefully, so eloquently.”

“You go to school with her?” Joel questioned, mind going over the small interactions he’s had with you recently. You tended to stutter over your words around him, as if you were hesitant to speak in the first place. He didn’t like the comparison, now, seeing you in your element and recalling the way you had always been professional around him. But this, you behind the bar and completely enthralling as you entertained so many people and mixed drinks like it was second nature. Firing back jokes and conversation as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Your laughter ringing through the space of the dining room. He felt the pull of a frown, not liking the shift he was causing in you lately.

“Oh no, school is way behind me. I’m her professor.” The grunt Joel made seemed to display his trepidation at the revelation and the man was quick to jump into defense mode. “It’s not what it looks like, she’s at work and I’m just here on a friend’s word that it’s a good place. Didn’t even know she was here until I sat down.”

“Sure.” Joel said in a tone that said he didn’t buy a word the man was saying.

You were back with them by the well, professional smile in place as you addressed Joel. You were busy tucking a receipt and some bills of money into your server’s book, secured underneath the counter and atop a cooler beside the drink station.

“Yes, chef?”

“Bourbon for the steak sauce. And whatever amber you have on tap.” He tried to muster up the courage to lighten up his face from a frown, but the way your eyes flashed away from him told him it didn’t work.

“Heard, chef.”

You busied yourself with retrieving the bottle of bourbon he had asked you to tack onto your order. He hadn’t wanted to deal with the liquor vendors himself and sure you would find a better deal than him anyway.

“It’s gonna be a 6.7 percent amber, it’s smooth and the notes of pecan to cut the malt. Only one I have on tap at the moment, that okay?” You talked over your shoulder, picking up on the waves and attention from the other patrons of the bar top, reaching to get more than the one glass needed for just Joel’s request. You poured two blondes, an IPA, and a stout and placing them in front of those who had been nursing them all night before going to pull the tap for the amber. It poured for maybe two seconds before it sputtered and compressed air forced itself out of the spicket.

“I told Millie to change out the keg last night, I’m sorry, chef. It’s gonna take me a minute before I can step away and replace it.” Your brows were furrowed in a worried expression, not wanting this to be something he used against you. You were really hoping to get something to go later, needing to finish a paper that was due tomorrow before class. He must’ve clocked the rising panic in your eyes because he squared his shoulders before shoving off the drink station.

“I gotcha, which label am I looking for?”

“Oh, um, Riverbank Red.”

“Heard.” He turned to move toward the small walk-in just behind the bar, the heavy door opening easily underneath his hands. You could hear him rustling around inside, the hiss of him removing the empty keg and then the clunk of him placing the new one in its place. The two knocks on the wall alerted you that it was all set and you pulled the tap, compressed air working its way through the hook up before foam began to stream. Letting it run for a few seconds, you turned around and grabbed a fresh pint glass for Joel’s drink. You used the previous one and filled it, cutting off the tap and took a long pull from it.

When you lowered the glass after your drink, you found two pairs of eyes on you. You looked between your professor and Joel, both on each side of the corner of the bar. Some of the foam from the outside of the glass when the tap died out had run down your chin and settled on your chest. The cut of your shirt was a little low, your simple, silver chain necklace catching the soft glow of the bar lights much like the foam.

You avoided meeting either of their gazes as you poured a second pint for Joel and walked it over. Before you could place it atop the drink station beside the bottle of bourbon already waiting, he reached out for it and his thick fingers brushed yours. His beautiful, brown eyes flashed down and caught yours, full of something you didn’t recognize, prompting you to pull your hand away as you struggled to catch your breath.

His teeth clicked with the clenching of his jaw, his hands tightening around items he came over for and he turned to make his way back to the kitchen.

“He’s not much of a charmer, is he?”

“He just has an asshole voice, don’t mind him.” With a somewhat fake smile plastered on your face, you turned back to your professor and started making him another drink as more rang through the printer. “Now, what were the most concrete dates we had archived for allusions to tool use?”

The alcohol in your system was washing your stress and anxieties away. Moving your body along to the song that was bumping from the speakers of the bar that held a small dance floor. Your friends’ bodies were moving alongside you, along with you, tangling with your own in a heady and exciting way. It was such a relief to not have any worries at the moment, only blipping thoughts of ‘oooh this is a good song’ and ‘another drink, yes please’.

You were taking a break, downing a glass of water and ordering a round of shots for everyone. There were five of you altogether and they huddled around you as you passed one to each of them, smiling widely at the bartender across from you. He just chuckled with a shake of his head and moved on down the bar to help out two waiting men. If you had been paying attention, you would’ve recognized one in a particular. But you were too preoccupied with the rather loud cheers the girls were trying to agree on before someone finally just shouted, ‘drink up, bitches!’ and you were downing the shot along with them.

The burn of it down your throat was anticipated and you gathered the empty glasses from them while they sputtered and coughed, not able to handle it as well as they normally could with already being more than tipsy. You were leaning over the bar a little, on your tip toes to place them atop the washer on the plastic pad you knew the bartender liked to gather used cups before loading them up.

A large hand found the exposed small of your back, your crop tank top allowing for the skin to be on display. It was dangerously close to the waist of your skirt, and you jerked back with a start, face contorting into one of anger.

“Hey, who the fuck do you think you are?” You settled back on your heels, the height of them making you a little taller than normal. Your eyes swept over the crowd around the bar and found that your friends had returned to the dance floor, leaving you to deal with this on your own. Not that you couldn’t, but it would’ve been nice to have a witness. The man in question was rather tall, blonde, nice suit, but his forwardness left little to be desired.

“Just helpin’ to hold ya steady, looked like you were about to flip over the bar, little lady.”

“Keep your hands to yourself.”

“Didn’t mean to offend-“

“Yeah, well, ya did. Don’t fuckin’ touch me, got it?”

“C’mon now. You were gettin’ all close and personal with your friends, maybe I wanted a feel for myself.”

The man stepped closer to you, and you could smell the alcohol on his breath, cheap and cloying as it wafter over into your personal space. His hands were coming up as if he were going to wrap them around your hips and pull you to him. His eyes were raking slowly up and down your body, taking in the short skirt and crop tank top you had deemed appropriate for the night. The cleavage peeking out of the top of your shirt glistening with the glitter body spray you had used before leaving your apartment.

“Leave me the fuck alone.” You spat, stepping away from the man only to collide with another’s back who had been passing by.

“Watch where-“ Joel of all people turned around, a scowl on his face. You felt like a deer caught in headlights, totally caught off guard that your boss was here in the same bar. The beer in his grip had sloshed over his fingers when you slammed into him and it was dripping to the already sticky floor. There was another man beside him, similar height and build. He had the same brown eyes and you realized they must be related.

Joel’s eyes took in the slightly panicked air about you, gaze moving behind you to see the man you had been fleeing from in such a haste.

“He touch you?”

“Don’t know if that’s any of your business, old man.” The man stepped forward and hooked a finger on the strap of your crossbody, pulling you backwards and you stumbled at the bold move. “We’re just two friends having an intimate-“

You maneuvered your stumble into a pivot and raised your clenched fist to deck the guy across the face, cutting off his words. You felt the crack of his nose beneath your knuckles, the action splitting two of them open. There was a gasp and a bark of laughter from behind you.

“I said, don’t fuckin’ touch me.” You sneered, anger lighting you up from the inside out. You didn’t pay the dull ache of your new injury any mind as you brought your arm back closer to your body, but you did flinch when the man’s hands shot out and his nails scratched along your neck where he had tried to grab you.

Joel was moving with a grunt of effort before you could fully register that the man had lunged at you.

Body slamming into his and pinning him face down against the bar with a hand tight on the back of his neck. His forehead had cracked against it, and he had shouted out weakly at the pain the action must’ve caused. His arms were twisted behind up, Joel’s right one holding them tight by the wrists. As he did so, the man with Joel had pulled you away from the confrontation, hands far more gentle with you than the man now pinned to the bar.

“You okay?” Joel looked back at you, his eyes hard and his expression schooled into one of control despite the way he had just cracked that man’s head on the top of the bar. When you didn’t answer, he looked to the man who had pulled you further out of harms way. “Tommy, she okay?”

There was no time to answer him, the bartender was out from behind the bar in a second, security that checked identification alongside him and they were forcefully guiding the man toward the door. He was putting up a rather good effort, but the two men were stronger than him. He turned with one last look over his shoulder and spat at you. The spray of it startled you and the tears that formed were angry, wet, ugly things.

Suddenly, the girls were swarming you, all talking at the same time and guiding you toward the bathroom to help get you somewhere safe to gather yourself. You let them guide you away from Joel and what you assumed was his brother, not glancing over at them lest they see more of the tears than they already had.

The bathroom muffled the booming music enough to hear your own thoughts, the lights a little brighter to help you process what had just happened. The girls were dabbing wet paper towels underneath your eyes to wipe your smeared makeup, to sooth the scratch marks on your throat. They plopped you down on one of the chairs off in the corner, removing your bag from around your body and just allowed you to take however long a moment you needed. Someone fetched a bottle of water from somewhere and you gulped down half of it without taking a breath. Your hands were shaking and you lifted your hand up to inspect the damage on your knuckles.

Someone gasped and it startled you, making you jump in your seat and then the bartender was there with a first aid kit.

“Me’n my boyfriend kicked him out, some cops were walking down the way and he taken to the station.”

He said as he kneeled in front of you, tearing open a package of sterile gauze. He dabbed some disinfectant on it before gently taking your hand and patting it across the top of your hand.

You found yourself back up at the bar, seated in a stool with your bag laid over the back of it. Your friends had checked on you again and pouted at your insistence of not going to another place with them. They wished you a good rest of the night and told you to check in with them when you got home, you returned their kind words.

You downed the last dregs of your cocktail, a vodka something, and gathered your keys from your purse.

Heels heavy, you stumbled over your own feet as your head swam and the lights of the bar flared. You reached out for the back of the stool but ended up grabbing onto a man’s arm. It was warm and strong and white-hot desire raced down your spine at the contact. Bringing your face up to apologize, it was lost in your throat as you realized it was none other than Joel Miller you were holding onto. You stepped back, turning from him to properly retrieve your bag this time.

“You’re not the boss of me here, lemme go.” You struggled against the hold he had on your upper arm, where he had turned you to face him. He seemed to realize you were uncomfortable and he dropped his hand, allowing you to turn back to face the bar. Jerry looked from your annoyed expression to the man behind you, taking in the situation and trying to determine how best to deal with it.

“Hey, man, good on you and your brother for helping us get that guy earlier, but I don’t think she likes the attention.”

“She’s drunk, you really gonna let her leave alone?”

“She comes here a lot, knows her limits and she’s got me to look out after her.”

“She’s drunker ‘n you think.”

“I am not.”

“Darlin-“

“I am not your anything, Mr. Miller.” You turned back on him with such a glare he was surprised you could hold the look in your state. He could see the way your head was lolling with every turn, your movements loose and uncoordinated. “This is a public space, I am not your prep cook and you are not my boss. You can’t lord over me and refuse me food here like at work. And I want…I want French fries.”

You stumbled as you turned around to face him again with heat behind your words. Eyes flaring in anger as he tried to reach for you again. Your body sung where one of his arms wrapped around the small of your back, helping you to keep upright as your balance faltered. The heels weren’t helping. You wished you had just stayed home, the sting of being ditched by your friends, the sting of his treatment at work and the workload of your classes, all of it was a lot and tonight was supposed to help you get out of your head, not make things worse.

“You-“ You swayed on your feet, leaning back from him slightly. The length of his forearm supporting you as you did so and stabbed a finger into his chest to emphasize your next words. Ignoring the way that his chest was firm and hot through the fabric of his shirt, he would probably have chest hair and it would be as peppered as his scruff… “You’re mean.”

His brother was doing his best to smother his laughter behind a hand, but you could hear it and you pouted even more.

“Your little brother is laughing at me and you’re a meanie.” You shoved away from him again, the warmth of his arm gone from your back as you turned around to retrieve your bag from the back of your stool. “I’m leaving.”

“The hell you are, you can’t walk, let alone drive.”

“Don’t need help. I’ve been on my own for as long as I can remember.”

“Sweetheart, you-“ Tommy tried to step in, hoping that maybe he could help out the situation. It was clear they were both worried but you were just being so stubborn. Jerry was right, you didn’t like the attention, you didn’t like getting felt up and your boss had been there to witness the aftermath. That he was still there and seeing you in such a way.

“I’m not your sweetheart.” Your voice held more bite than you thought you were capable of in your current state. Tommy stepped back with his hands held up in surrender. His brows furrowed as he shared a look with his brother.

“Lemme call you a cab, please.”

“No, I don’t need anything from you. You made it clear how you feel about me, barking at me all day when I’m helping you with your kitchen because the staff don’t wanna show up and deal with you.”

“Oof, that’s a hard hit, brother.” Tommy reached over to help you drape your purse strap over your shoulder, the crossbody secure over your form and he stepped away as you pushed at his hands much like you had done with Joel. “You really did a number on her.”

“Lemme just, please, lemme take you home. Need to make sure you get home okay.” His voice was pitched quiet, leaning a little into your space with an open expression. His hands were at his sides, not reaching out to touch you again, his fists clenched at his sides. Your eyes lingered on the way his mouth formed around the words and you swallowed the harsh ones you were about to fire back at him. All you could manage was a small nod.

That’s how you found yourself in the passenger side of his own truck, waiting in a short line of a drive through.

Once your fries, and some for him too, had been passed through the window, he was following the spoken instructions to your house. Watching the way you watched things pass by the window as you munched on the salty treat in your lap out of the corner of his eye. The dried blood on your split knuckles making his stomach lurch as he thought of that man putting his hands on you and the look on your face when you tried to flee. The look on your face when you had run into him, eyes wide and panicked.

You had calmed down, now in a lazy mood after the adrenaline packed events of the night.

“You do know what you’re doin’, just don’t think I’ve ever said it out loud ‘fore now.”

“Hmm?” You rolled your head along the back of the seat to face him, bringing a fry up to the seal of your mouth as you did so. He had to look away from the sight, your entire body and demeanor relaxed. Your expression was so open and curious, eyes soft as you looked over at him. Containing none of the animosity and worry he seemed to pull from you at work as you looked him over. He was in a pair of dark wash jeans that his thighs looked good in as he drove, a simple white Henley for a shirt. It allowed for the tan of his skin to pop, the grays that speckled his hair looking good in the lights of passing cars and lamps.

“You-uh-you, nevermind.” Joel’s deep voice wavered before he cut off, not being able to handle the earnest gaze you had pinned him with, his hands tightened on the steering wheel.

“Mkay, whatever you say.” You turned back to look out with window, letting him know that your complex was around the corner.

He parked along the curb beside the gate that opened up into the parking lot. Watching him as he hopped out of the cab and toward your side of the vehicle, his expression hard to read. He was opening the door and leaning into the can to undo your seatbelt. Not wanting to risk you trying to do it and spill your fries, knowing you would probably tear up at the mishap should it occur. He said as much under his breath when you asked him what he was doing and you couldn’t help the giggles that bubbled up from your chest as you agreed with him, it would be tragic.

Once unbuckled, he reached for the fries in your hand and put them back in the bag they came in, tucking it into your purse that was still across your body.

“Will you let me help you step down?”

At your nod, his hands came around your waist, the wideness of them allowing his fingers to span across your back in a tantalizing way. He lifted you a little, holding most of your weight as you hopped down from the cab. His arms tensed around you as you felt yourself wobble, forgetting you were in heels for the entirety of the drive. Another round of giggles bubbled up and you found yourself leaning more into Joel’s space. His body was warm where you were pressed up against his front, the scent of cedar stronger tonight than it had been all those nights ago when he insisted on making you food to take home.

“I wish you liked me.” You spoke quietly into his neck, lips brushing against the skin there as you did so.

You felt his fingers twitch where they held onto you before you were pulled back a little so he could look down at you.

“Darlin’, I do like you, that’s the problem.”

“Doesn’t have to be.” You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, pulling yourself closer to him.

“You’re not in the right state to be talkin’ about this right no-“

Surging up, you smothered the words from his lips with your own. His arms tightened around you, pulling you flush against him as he kissed you back. As if he was unable to stop himself despite the words he had just been ushering. It was all teeth and tongue, sparking heat that pooled low in your middle. A whimper sounded in the air, Joel swallowing it as he licked into your mouth. Your nails dug into the curls at the base of his neck and you pulled.

A deep groan rumbled through his chest and you pulled away to catch your breath, looking at the face of the man who had been consuming your thoughts for weeks now.

He looked back at you, took in the way your eyes were blown out and dilated, the puffiness of your swollen lips, the quick breaths you were taking to recover from his mouth on yours, the heat that he was causing was all consuming and you knew that he could feel through your skin underneath his hands. He was swooping back down to capture your lips, his hands moving up to cradle your face in his hands as he did so and you melted at the action.

Consciousness hit you like a jolt and you were shooting up from your bed. The covers fell from you to pool around your waist, and you looked around the room, nothing looked out of place but something felt off, so incredibly off. Your bag was on the bedside table, an empty greasy bag crumpled beside it and your lips were tingling with the memory of pressing them against someone else’s.

“Oh, fuck.”

You had drunkenly kissed your boss.

And he had kissed you back.

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ironstrange1991 · 5 months

Text

Surprise!

Pairing: Doctor!Strange x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: It's Stephen's birthday and Y/n decides to give him a especial surprise.

Word Count: 1,2k

Warnings: None, just fluff.

A/N: I wrote this in 20 minutes and didn't have the time to edit, so if you see some typos or grammar mistakes pretend you didn't see them ;)

"Is everything ready?" You asked America and she nodded, but then ran to the dining room to make sure and came back stating

"Everyone is ready."

The girl was even more excited than you and you didn't think that could be possible. However, her happiness when listening to your ideas and throughout the process of arranging everything was palpable and contagious. In fact, America was always contagious. In a good way. She had a lightness that was her own.

You smiled excitedly. "I'll go get him then. Make sure everyone stays in their seats and doesn't make any noises so he doesn't suspect anything."

At that moment Cloaky came flying towards you, it twirled in the air a few times demonstrating how excited it was and making America giggle.

"Okay. Wait in the dining room. You too, Cloaky. We don't want him to suspect us, right?"

Cloaky shook its collar and then flew back where it came from and America followed.

The room was dark when you slipped in. The curtains were drawn to block out the light and Stephen was sleeping heavily on his stomach hugging his pillow and totally unaware of anything.

You allowed yourself to admire him for a few seconds. Safe and sound at home after another difficult mission that left him away for almost two weeks. He had just returned. He arrived in the middle of the night, injured, and you helped him take a shower and took care of his injuries before he throwed himself on the bed and slept for almost twelve hours straight.

You had been planning to do something for his birthday for weeks, but you had given up because you thought he wouldn't be back in time, but when he showed up, you made a point of calling everyone and prepared everything in the morning with America, Peter and MJ’s help.

He deserved it, even if he wasn't a big fan of his own birthday, you knew that Stephen deserved to celebrate another year of life surrounded by people who loved him.

However, convincing him to get out of bed wouldn't be an easy task when he was sleeping so heavily, but you accepted the challenge and climbed into bed, squeezed yourself into the little space he left on the mattress for you and started stroking his hair, calling him softly.

"Stephen, wake up love. You've already slept a lot. I need a little attention."

He hummed and mumbled something you couldn't understand and continued sleeping. You smiled to yourself and started to shake his shoulder. "Stephen… Stephen... Steeepheeeen, I'm not leaving until you wake up and you know I'm very persistent."

He opened one eye to look at you.

"And very annoying." He mumbled, closing his eye again.

You chuckled "Well, in this we are equals. Now please look at me. I know you are awake."

He sighed, finally turning onto his back and stretching and letting out a long yawn. "What time is it?"

You combed his hair with your fingers affectionately "Almost 2pm. You slept for twelve hours."

"Why don't you lay here with me and let me sleep a little longer?" He suggested, stretching out his arm and waiting for you to snuggle close to him, but you were well aware that there were people waiting for you downstairs, so you just bent down to give him a quick kiss on the lips and stood up.

"Where are you going?" He complained watching you get up. "I thought you wanted attention."

You smirked "There's something down there I need you to see."

Stephen raised an eyebrow and you wondered if he was suspecting something, so you decided to go deeper into the lie. Anything that would make him get up and go down stairs.

"I think I broke one of your relics."

This caught his attention. He sat on the bed running his hands through his hair.

"What happened? Which relic?"

You had to try hard to hide a smirk as he immediately got up and put on the sweatpants you left folded on the bedside table.

"You'll see. But first..." You walked around the bed and went to him, standing on your tiptoes to give him a small kiss on his lips. "I want a good morning kiss."

He smiled cupping your cheeks and kissing you properly.

"Now go brush your teeth and fix your hair. The relic can wait a few minutes."

He gave a suspicious look. "Why do I get the feeling you're hiding something from me?"

You shrugged your shoulders feigning innocence, and he went to the bathroom to do what you asked. When he returned, you handed him a tee that he barely had time to put on before you grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the room.

"Sweetheart, no matter what happened to the relic..." He started to say as you practically dragged him down the stairs and strode towards the dining room. "I'm sure we can find a way..."

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!"

Everyone shouted in unison. The dining room was decorated with balloons, there was a huge cake filled with small candles and a pile of gifts on the table and all of his Avengers friends were there, including Tony, Pepper, Natasha, Clint, Steve, Sam, Bruce and Thor. Peter and MJ were also there, alongside Wong and America wearing birthday hats and whistling and clapping.

Stephen barely had the chance to react and Cloaky flew towards him, happily clinging to his shoulders.

Stephen finally allowed himself to look at you, his expressions were a mix of surprise, disbelief, but most of all, he looked happy. An open smile was on his face.

"There is no broken relic." He deduced.

You shook your head smiling and wrapping him in a tight hug. "Everything is fine and you are safe at home surrounded by people who love you, the way you deserve." You said giving him a little kiss on the cheek. "Happy birthday, love."

Stephen held you in his arms and buried his face in your neck. “Thank you, sweetheart, for everything. I love you.” He cooed giving you a kiss on the forehead.

"Happy birthday, Stephen." America said happily and he turned to hug her tightly.

"Happy birthday, sir" Peter said approaching and Stephen smirked.

"I think we agreed that you don't need to call me sir, Peter."

Peter smiled "Happy birthday, Stephen."

Stephen chuckled pulling Peter into a tight hug. "Thanks, kid."

He finally allowed himself to look around at everyone in the room.

"I can't believe you guys are here because of me." He admitted still with that silly smile on his lips.

"It wasn't like we had a choice." Tony teased, approaching. "But you deserve it, man." Tony raised his hand in a high five gesture and Stephen grimaced.

"Come on!" Tony pressed.

"I said we're not going to do this anymore."

Tony pretended not to hear and continued waiting.

"It'll be easier if you give in." You spoke softly in his ear and sighing Stephen hit Tony's hand who exclaimed happily "Awesome facial hair bros!!"

"Argh, I hate you" Stephen exclaimed and everyone laughed…

Reblog please! Leave a comment if you liked it. Interact! I will love to read all of your comments and opinions. It inspires me to keep writing ;)

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honeygrahambitch · 8 months

Text

Hannibal is humming softly while sitting at his piano. From time to time he scribbles something on his sheets, replacing a musical note or adding a few more.

Will is eying him from the sofa, trying to anchor his whole self to that one image which is beautifully happening in front of his eyes.

Three weeks exactly had passed since they had jumped off the cliff. Their wounds were slowly healing. Even the wounds they didn't know they had were starting to ache less.

Will was happy Hannibal had finally built up the energy to play the piano. It wasn't a big one and some chords couldn't be properly tuned anymore but to Will it made no difference. Out of the two of them, Hannibal's condition had been worse. A few broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder and a bad cold which had turned into pneumonia. His coughs hadn't allowed any of them to rest.

Will is wearing one of Hannibal's sweaters. The fabric is soft against his stiffened body which is slowly communicating him to brace for the worst.

He had tried his best to hide his sudden panic attacks from Hannibal. After all, he had been in the worst possible shape, Will's whines would have been futile to both of them.

Will guessed the panic attacks had started because of the post-traumatic stress caused by their fall. They had almost drowned. He had almost lost Hannibal after just gaining him back.

No. These thoughts were exactly the wormhole he shouldn't fall into. Most of them happen during the night so hiding them is not hard but now he feels his whole body impossible to move off the sofa.

Hannibal's song suddenly stops which only sends Will into more spiraling. He feels lost for a second. He wants to dissociate and just disappear for a few minutes.

"Will?"

"Yeah?" He replies while trying to mask his despair.

"Are you alright?"

"Absolutely." He says and realizes instantly how forced it sounds as the cold sweat is only sending him further away.

Hannibal gets up from the piano and sits on the floor right next to the sofa. Will knows he can't fool him.

"For how long has this been going on?"

"A while."

His voice quivers.

"But I'm fine, it's not-"

He realizes his whole body is shaking only when Hannibal takes his right hand into his. His skin is warm against his cold sweaty hand.

"Will, I am here. And I need you to be sincere. Are you more comfortable with going through this on your own or do you want me here?"

Will swallows as hot tears threaten to spill out. He is frustrated at his own inability to just calm himself. He had no reason to go through that. He almost misses Hannibal's question as it rings somewhere at the back of his mind.

He appreciates the way he is always careful about his personal space. He never intends to invade Will's intimacy more than he allows him to.

"Stay here." He says and Hannibal tightens his grip on his hand.

"Will you let me hold you?" Hannibal asks, his eyes consumed by concern. His Will is slowly fading away and he wants to help. He hopes Will would allow him to help.

Will nods. He needs to ground himself. He needs an anchor. And Hannibal knows he would never ask for cuddles. He climbs on the sofa next to him and wraps his arms around Will's body, putting as much pressure as he can.

One of his hands brushes away Will's wet curls as Will's head is resting on his shoulder. Will is unaware of the way his own arms are desperately holding onto Hannibal as if he is his lifeboat.

"I can't breath." He says as he can't feel the air in his lungs anymore. He feels his chest heavy, filled by the ice cold water of the ocean.

Hannibal cups his face and their foreheads meet. "Breath with me. I am right here. I am real."

Will nods. With his last bits of energy, he leans in and their lips meet eagerly. Hannibal is a bit hesitant as he doesn't want to push Will into anything when he is in that kind of state but at the same time he knows that it will help him ground himself.

It was not their first kiss. The previous weeks have given them plenty of time to explore each other. But it was certainly one of their most different kisses.

He feels Hannibal's hand gripping the back of his head and pushing him more into himself. Will melts into him as his mind is no longer spiraling over the appearent lack of air.

When he moans it's because of the relief and because of the way his body is slowly relaxing. It feels as if he finally dropped a brick he had been carrying.

When he pulls his head back, it feels as if he had run ten miles.

"Don't you dare leave." Will whispers and Hannibal knows he is not talking only about that very moment.

"I could never, dearest." He says as he leans in to kiss Will's forehead. "I don't want you to go through this on your own again."

"You weren't doing great either. I didn't want you to worry."

"It looks like neither of us was doing great. That didn't stop you from watching over me during every night while I was sick." He says softly. "Let me watch over you, Will."

For the first time in his life, Will accepts. He wants and needs Hannibal to watch over him. He needs his golden gaze, his warm hands and his silky voice. He needs his touch and his words.

He needs his love.

#hannibal #hannigram #hannibal lecter #will graham #hannibal nbc #hannibal series #hannibal fanfiction

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qwymarkii · 15 days

Text

(in)dependent

wc: 1.4k

tw: angst, mentions of intercourse, hardships, mentions of self-harm, miscommunication, crying, boyfriend!mark x fem!reader

a/n: not proofread. sorryy

not everything works.

some things can't be salvaged.

that's what mark told himself. what he's felt for the past year of how this relationship of yours wasn't his fault neither yours, that it had to come to an end. mark missed you. the week break the students were given was getting closer to the day you'd all have to return.

mark knocked upon the wooden door, which was immediately met by a giddy you, engulfing your boyfriend. mark of course smiled as he breathed in your scent. mark stepped inside your dorm, removing his shoes and placing his bag down. "what's got you so happy today? we have to go back tomorrow?" he questioned.

you laughed pulling him by the wrist to sit him onto your bed. you climbed on top of his lap kissing against his neck and jawline, beginning to speak, "nothing, i just missed. . . you. i was thinking we could—" mark then cut you off.

"no, no yn i think. . . we – we need to talk." he stated trying to push you off of him. it's like you were obsessed. not that there's a problem with that, he's your boyfriend after all but you were too obsessed. overzealously craving him.

mark was serious, you attempted to nip at his neck more, whining softly. but mark only pushed you completely off of him now standing in front of you. "don't do this mark, don't—baby don't leave me." you cried pulling at his shirt. "i need you close to me."

frustrated, mark put his hands up to his face to block his emotions. if without context, it'd seem like you were a creepy, fanatical person over your lover. but deep down you were just someone who wasn't given attention as an adolescent and now had someone to cling to, to grasp that attention from. you felt as if you needed to please mark, he was your boyfriend if you wanted him to stay, that would get the job done.

you thought that sex could be the glue to all your problems, make it seem like you were more appealing to love, just to show how devoted you were to mark. you'd hope in that case, mark would reciprocate. "no. what do we need to talk about? are you hurt? is something wrong?" if there was something wrong with your boyfriend that'd only make it 10 times worse for you.

mark sat down next to you, placing his hands on your thighs to soothe you. "baby, im fine i just need you to talk to me in this moment. okay?" mark circled his thumb against your exposed skin, bringing himself closer to you. "i just wonder." he trailed off, hesitant to ask. "have you ever thought of other ways to display your affection?"

your heart skipped a beat. "what do you not like when we —" your words frantically spilling out.

"no, no, no that's not it yn. its just." mark sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose "i-i just need some space you know? there's just a lot of the time where we — i don't want to be pleased in that way?" he said, pressing his lips in a thin line to reject his emotions.

"so no more. . ." you quietly asked, voice breaking. mark let his head slightly fall, "no yn im not saying no more. but a break wouldn't hurt... you know." he finished, you wrapped your arms around him, placing your head into the crook of his neck.

"i just love you so much. i-i need you, you're so perfect and i don't want you to leave me. i just want to show you how much you mean to me." you confessed. mark sighed it didn't seem like you were one-hundredly getting the message.

"im not going to leave you yn, im not going anywhere." mark reassured you, rubbing your tears away with his thumbs. "you- we just need to find a healthier way to cope with your needs towards me. okay?" tears continued to fall down your cheeks as mark continued. though he didn't completely intend for it to come off as you were being obsessive, he needed you to know that.

you shook your head trying to prevent more tears from falling, but it only intensified. "it's just.. mark~ i can't help it. it makes my skin itch i just want to touch you, even if we're out with friends. i just hate standing there not being able to let everyone see how much i love you. how much i appreciate you. mark i love you. i really do." you pleaded, biting the dead skin off your lips. mark cupped your chin bringing your gaze towards his.

"babe i know. . i know you hate it, but sometimes it can be too much for me. you don't have to please me in sexual ways to show that you love me. . ." your tears flowed like a river, constantly pouring down your face as you tried to understand where your lover was coming from.

"but, but i don't get to see you that often, especially with our dorms being split by gender. and we don't have any classes together, so i just want to make you feel good. i feel closer to you when we do." you explained, hoping he'd get where you were coming from. you thought maybe he brought this up because you'd been two had been at your friends alot more recently due to something they'd been going through.

"we've been sleeping in the same bed for a few nights now at karina's. yn promise me we're close." mark placed a kiss upon your forehead.

you brought your face slightly back up, kissing mark's neck, but he jerked back. "yn, stop." he places his hands on your shoulders to restrain you. he hates that he had to be this stern with you, seeing how easily it broke you down. but the conversation you just had telling you not to do that exact thing. he needed to tell you.

"why?"

"because. because yn i just kindly asked for you to give me some space! i love you yn i really do but i need the space. im so fucking exhausted you don't get it..." mark finally raised his voice out you for the first time ever.

he didn't like what he'd done but it had to been done. of course he'd know it wouldn't end well, you were too sensitive to be spoken to in that tone, but the action you were partaking in had to be addressed sooner or later.

you sat up and immediately got off of your boyfriend, feeling nauseous. it might've seemed dramatic but you detested the way it felt when people raised their voice to you. especially, when this was the one person you loved and adored most.

mark ran after you, unfortunately not quick enough before he was met with a slammed door. he'd never seen you react this quick to a situation like this and it brought panic to himself. mark knocked at the door, "yn, don't do this. . ." all that could be heard was your soft cries on the opposite side.

"yn. please i didn't mean to upset you like this.."

"go away mark!" you yelled back.

"no. im not going away til you open this door."

"i thought. . . you wanted your space. well look now you've gotten it. all the fucking space you could ever want." you spewed out, through tears and a broken voice. "baby..." silence was returned. mark called once more but only was met with the same silence.

"don't hurt yourself. please don't tell me you're hurting yourself..." mark cried, this whole situation seemed completely fucked.

"im not. mark just leave me be please."

"yn don't do this again, i'm here for you, i love you. i love the affection you give me, it's a bit excessive but i still love you. and i will no matter what. it was wrong of me to shove you off me like that and raise my voice...please don't hurt yourself." he pleaded, the last thing he need was you hurting yourself in any way.

"i'm not."

"good. can you come out then?"

"no! i want you, i just don't want to talk" you slowly opened the door and as per usual you clung onto him right away. "just hold me, i'm sorry for pushing you to do things, but please let me be close."

mark guided you over to your bed and lied down with you still in his arms. "i can do that, it's alright"

"just please don't yell at me again" you mumbled.

although the problem was never resolved, it had it one step closer to being fixed. that being realization of the problem. mark could fix you. he would fix you.

#kpop x reader #kpop fanfic #kpop au #college au #kpop bg #nct angst #mark x reader #mark lee #mark nct #nct x reader #kpop x y/n #angst with a happy ending #depressing shit #im so so so sorry #nct 127 #nct dream

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the-guilty-writer · 1 year

Text

Big Day, Huh?

Request from anon: Can you do a Spencer daughter reader where she has autism, like she always needs his help (can she be young like kid age)?

Spencer Reid x daughter!reader (child)

Summary: Spencer's autistic daughter has an eventful morning at the BAU.

A/N: Thank you for the request! I've never written a young child before so I hope this is okay.

CW: autistic reader going non verbal, eating habits, overwhelmed

---

You sat under your dad's desk, off in your own little world, as you tried to take apart one of his pens in a manner that would let you put it back together.

You had the day off school, but your usual nanny was away on vacation so you got to spend the day with your dad at the office.

You took the metro every day with him to get you to school, but the ride to Quantico was about twice as long as your ride to school. Spencer had told you that ahead of time so you could keep track on your wrist watch. He was thankful that watching the clock go by had kept you occupied and calm at the same time. When your normal schedule was disrupted you didn't like it, but making things as predictable as possible in unpredictable situations helped you cope.

Just like your dad, you liked numbers. He told you how many metro stops it would be (12), how many blocks you'd have to walk (3), how many security checks you'd go through (2- the metal detector for you and a search of your bag), and how many floors the elevator old climb (6) to get to the BAU.

The bullpen was already busy by the time the two of you arrived, Spencer holding your hand so you stayed close. To get away from the busy visual of the office, you'd found refuge under his desk.

“You can tap my knee if you need anything, okay?”

Too overwhelmed to speak, you nodded in response. He helped you pull out your noise canceling headphones and then one of your stuffed animals- the kind with beads in it so you could play with the way the weight changed depending on how you placed it. You started with balancing it on your head, and then in your hand, and eventually your dad's shoe.

At the time that you would normally switch from reading time to math class you had asked your dad for something new to do.

“What about this puzzle?” He pulled a small sliding puzzle from your bag.

“No. Teacher gives us things not from our bag to do.”

Spencer hadn't considered this before, but it was true. During reading time you got something from your bag and during math time the teacher gave you handouts. So he'd given you a sheet of paper with some simple equations and a pen, purposefully making the problems easy so you wouldn't get frustrated.

After you had “turned in your work” your dad let you keep the pen. You'd always liked to take things apart and then put them back together and pens were no different. Spencer secretly hoped one day it would be something more cool, like a spectroscopy machine or a space shuttle, but pens were a good place to start.

Once you had taken the cap off the top, the spring easily fell out and then the ink. You were careful to line each of the pieces up on the floor to keep them orderly. Once you put the pen back together you clicked it a few times just to make sure it was working correctly before starting the process over again.

You checked your watch- it was nearly time for lunch. You tapped your dad on the knee. He scooted his chair back so he could look at you under the desk.

“Hey, what is it?” he asked.

“It’s lunch time,” you told him.

Spencer thought quickly- technically his lunch break wasn’t for another two hours, but it wasn’t worth waiting if it meant you’d have a stomach ache later which could possibly lead to a meltdown.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go eat lunch.”

You took your lunch box out of your bag and crawled out from underneath the desk. It was even busier now than it was this morning. You started to grind your teeth and clench your fists, feeling something you couldn’t quite pinpoint boil inside you. Your dad noticed immediately.

“(Y/N),” he cooed. “Can I carry you to the lunch room?”

You nodded and Spencer picked you up. As soon as you were in his arms, he wrapped his limbs around you tightly, providing you with a calming pressure. You buried your head in his shoulder and closed your eyes, reducing the amount of visual input your brain was receiving. The familiar smell of your dad’s shirt was calming and you balled your fists in the fabric, holding onto him tight as he carried you to the conference room.

Once the two of you were inside, he shut the door. Unless there was a case, the room would be empty other than the two of you. He helped you climb up into one of the chairs and unpack your lunch. You ate the same thing every day- a bag of apple slices, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with the crust cut off, banana chips, and some crackers. Everything was perfectly portioned as always. You ate each of them one at a time, never switching between foods but always finishing one before starting on another.

Spencer worked on files as you ate, keeping any crime scene photos carefully concealed from your line of vision. He knew after this it would be your normal rest time, and since change always made you tired, he hoped you might even take a nap.

Once you were finished eating, Spencer helped you clean up your lunch area. He closed up the files he was working on and thought about where you could possibly have rest time. You asked him to carry you back through the bullpen, to which he gladly obliged, and put your lunchbox away in your bag.

You yawned, clearly tired and a bit overwhelmed. “Rest time,” you told your dad.

“Do you want me to carry you again?” he asked.

You lifted your arms towards him, asking to be picked up. He carried you down the hall towards JJ’s office. There was a large leather chair in the corner of her office that you could curl up in for a little while, but by the time he reached her office door, you were already fast asleep in his arms.

“JJ?” Spencer said softly so he didn’t wake you.

“Hey, Spence,” JJ replied. She smiled when she saw you asleep in his arms. “Big day, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Do you mind if we sit in the chair for a little bit? Just so she can get some rest?”

“Of course. Make yourself at home.”

Spencer walked over to the chair and sat down on it carefully. You stirred a bit in his arms but didn’t wake up. JJ closed the door to reduce the amount of sound in the room. Spencer kept you cradled in his grasp, feeling the softness of your breath against his shoulder and the gentle rise and fall of your tiny diaphragm against his body.

“You’re a great dad, Spence,” JJ told him. “She’s lucky to have you.”

Spencer smiled a bit. “She’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

He began to feel himself relax. You were in a deep sleep now and the room was quiet other than the soft scratching of JJ’s pen against paper. He closed his eyes, telling himself that it would only be a minute, but before he knew it he was asleep too.

#criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x daughter!reader #spencer reid x child!reader #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds x daughter!reader #criminal minds x child!reader

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shadowbriar · 11 months

Text

Anthony Lockwood - I Love You So

Pairing : (F/M) || Anthony Lockwood x TouchGifted!Reader Word Count : 5.7k. Damn I’m on fire this time. Warning : Mention of blood and injury. Angst. Possible OOC as I haven’t read the books. Not proofread. Synopsis : The ambition they’ve nurtured for years finally start to create a space between them, straining their relationship that turns what once were friends into colleagues. Notes : Inspired by The Walters - I Love You So. This song is very Lockwood coded for me, I recommend listening to it while reading. Please help and try to save Lockwood & co by using the hashtag #SaveLockwoodAndCo on social medias and don’t forget to vote for them on National Film Award 2023. You can check my friend Paulina’s tweet to see how. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕

Her fingers trace the writings on the thinking cloth, lips unintentionally curved into a smile whenever George's silly comment or Lucy's mocking remarks were visible. Their early bicker about their planning process replays in her head. She's always been one to easily record information in her head, no further recall or revising needed for her to proceed with their plans, but given her troublesome nights lately, supposed a late night go over with a cup of tea would be a brilliant idea.

“Trouble sleeping?”

She looks up, welcomed by smiling Lockwood who's leaning by the kitchen door, “Something like that.”

“Why didn't you come to the library?”

“Wasn't in the mood for a late night quarrel with you.”

She shot him a playful smile, earning a light chuckle that didn't sound like it was heartfelt. Just enough to let her know that he understood her sarcasm.

Lockwood steps in, pouring himself a cup of tea and sitting across her. She could feel his eyes trained on her, taking in every detail and admiring it as he wouldn't do it during the day. For whatever reason that might be, she wasn't sure. But it wasn't like he ever professed any feelings for her. For all she knows he might just be spacing out and planning something in his head completely unrelated to her.

He calls her name.

Not looking up to meet his eyes, she hums, “Hm?”

“We're good.. Aren't we?”

No, no we aren't, she thought. He might not notice it but the distance growing between them has been eating her alive. She wasn't sure when it started nor what exactly is the cause for her invisible wound, but something's changed between them. He would be there in the morning when they eat breakfast, would be there when they watch their late night show on the telly, but Lockwood has been anything but a friend to her. He's turned into a stranger she hardly recognise. There was a wall between them, one she couldn't climb nor break through, and it's maddening that she couldn't fix it or talk about it.

Because what exactly changed? She doesn't know.

“Of course.” She faked a smile, feigning her most believable tender tone “What makes you think we're not?”

Lockwood opens his mouth before closing it again, sealing it with a smile as if he thinks it would be better to entertain her lies, “Nothing. Just wanted to be sure.”

She nods, looking back down to the thinking cloth.

“Will you join me tonight?” He asks again, nervousness bleeds through his tone. This wouldn't be the first time he asks her to sleep with him, just to hold each other until the sun rises, but for some reason it feels much more nerve racking than the countless previous. Perhaps because for the first time, her answer might not be pleasant to his ear “We can discuss further about the plan. Maybe my rambling can help you drift to slumber.”

“Not tonight, Anthony.”

It's taken her every willpower to not look up and take her words back. She can imagine the disappointment in his eyes when she hears him let out a sigh. She's avoiding him now. Perhaps scared to actually feel the distance between them when she lays on his bed, no longer feeling the safety of his embrace.

“Alright,” He mutters as he stands and pushes his chair “Don't stay up too late, we need you sharp and alert for tomorrow's job.”

Again, she only replies with a nod.

When the doorknob lightly clicks, she lets out a breath she wasn't even aware she was holding. Her eyes now avert to the door, where he was standing just a few minutes ago with that proud smile and tired eyes. He looks the same, the very same Anthony John Lockwood who'd caused them numerous troubles on the field, the very same Anthony who's ego seems to inflate whenever a rapier is at hand, the very same boy she's been madly in love with for years.

There were moments when she thought that the water flows both ways. When he would hug her first after winning a fencing tournament, or when he would hold her after a terrible nightmare, or simply when he would give her freshly cut toasts for breakfast. The little things one would not notice as something sentimental after years of growing up together. But she does. She notices.

Perhaps had even taken things too seriously when it might just mean nothing for him.

She lets out a sigh, running her fingers through her hair and rubbing her temples gently. It might just be nothing, she tries to convince herself, it might just be the stress of work for both of us. With the agency's growing popularity and demands of clients that never seem to end, perhaps all her troubles were just caused by it. That nothing is wrong between her and Lockwood, that there is no distance, no space between them.

—-

“Another massive win for us, I might say.” Lockwood says as the squad enters 35 Portland Row. His arm was around her shoulder as support, dried blood littering his left cheek from the early action of the mission, but neither the ache nor wound on his temple seem to wither his satisfied-self “The papers are going to have to write about us this time.”

Lucy groans as she tidies their rapier to the stand, “Keep me out from them, please.”

“Oh, but you're the star of this agency, Luce!”

Lucy dismisses Anthony's remark as she proceeds to ascend the stairs, visibly in desperate need of a warm shower.

“I wouldn't want to be involved too, thanks for asking.” George sarcastically commented with eyes still studying the locket they retrieved from the site. An ancient relic that would be his source of research for the weeks to come “You two would be enough of a punching bag for them to pick on.”

Lockwood turns to her as George retreats to his room, a happy grin still etched on his face, “Looks like it's gonna be us two again.”

“We can worry about the press later. You have a wound to treat first.” She replies as they begin to walk deeper into the house “And don't keep your hopes too high, Anthony. DEPRAC has a tendency to stomp on our dreams.”

Wincing slightly as he rests himself on the sofa, Lockwood watches her leave the room to get their med kit and a basin full of water. He could never get tired of this. Walking home after a successful mission, her tending his wounds that wouldn't be there if he would just suppress his impulsive-self, and listening to her scolds about how he acts like he's got nine lives on his sleeves.

But when she returned with her kit, the nagging that he's braced himself to face never came. She remained quiet, eyes locked on his wound. Not even a second spared to look into his eyes.

The cleaning process felt like a blink of an eye. Before he knew it she was already fixing the bandages back to the aid bag. His wound was cleaned, a thin layer of healing ointment lacing it. All done in silence, no lectures.

“Try to keep the wound dry when you shower, alright?”

Lockwood blinks. Nodding at her words as he tries to digest the silence they're in.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“I don't think so.” He answers.

She flashes a smile, standing from her seat. Without another word she exits the room, carrying the basin that is now slightly red from his blood and the aid bag. She spared no other glance at him. Silently returning the medical kit to the cabinet before entering her room and locking it shut.

Perhaps today isn't a big win after all.

—-

Having Lucy in the company has exponentially boosted their success. Such brilliant talent has brought them more accomplishment that it was getting troublesome for them to finish one mission to another. Lucy was truly Heaven sent, in short. The saviour to their dying agency and she could never thank her enough to revive Lockwood's dream back to life.

She understands the importance of Lucy's gift for their team and how the company is at it’s golden moment right now. Sure she and Lockwood are two of the most gifted agents there are, but with Lucy in the crew, the quartet was unbeatable. And it is obvious that Lockwood is determined to reap as much advantage as possible.

“I'm going to the grocery shop, anyone needs anything?”

It was a lazy Sunday morning. George making notes on the thinking cloth, Lucy trying to listen to their newest source, and Lockwood leaning on the kitchen set with his brows furrowed, clearly in a deep thought.

“I'll come with you.” Lockwood says as he picks up his coat “George, you said we need more teabags, right? Anything for you, Luce?”

The girl shakes her head, looking rather annoyed to have her focus broken from his question.

“I can go alone, it's not going to be a huge shopping trip.” She says as Lockwood comes to her “Really, Anthony, you can just stay and help brainstorm the plan.”

“I'm coming,” He insists with a light chuckle “What is it with you? Are you avoiding me or something?”

Yes, she wanted to say, I'm going out to have a breath away from you.

Lockwood opens the door, gesturing to her to come and ignoring her lack of answer, “Come on then.”

With a last smile and wave of goodbye to George and Lucy, she follows Lockwood's step outside of the house. The wind was blowing gently, sky clear and blue, the very perfect weather for her to take a stroll yet her mind couldn't help but to overlook such perfection and worry about the body walking next to her instead.

Lockwood's hands were buried deep inside his pockets. He was looking down to the cobblestone, as if there was some invisible stepping for him to step on. The creases on his forehead are a clear indication that his mind is occupied elsewhere. Almost as if he was mirroring her.

“So, uh,” He begins, trying to break the ice between them “What do you need from the shop?”

“Just some snacks and sweets.” She answers “You?”

He shrugs, “Maybe just a pack of gum.”

“Right.”

Lockwood nods, turning his gaze back to the road.

For someone who loves to brood in silence, Lockwood has always had her as an exception. She's the only person he could let his chatter-self loose, expressing all the most trivial thoughts he has, knowing that she would indulge them with a welcoming commentary or simply a warm laughter. The kind of laughter that makes you feel seen and heard. Her kind of laughter.

But after all her evident effort to turn him down, asking to be paired with George on their missions, declining his invitations to spend the night in his room or the library, and the most recent no-scolding-moment when she tended his wound, Lockwood couldn't help but to feel pressured on finding a topic to talk about.

“So what do you think about our last job?” He asks, forcing a happy smile as she turns to see him “A rather brilliant achievement, don't you think? With Lucy in our team, I'm certain our agency can be big in no time. Hell, we might have to start rejecting clients soon, can you believe it? We're lucky to have found such gifted talent-”

“Lockwood,” She cuts in, making him wince at the use of his last name instead of his first “Can I ask you a favour?”

He blinks, “Anything.”

“Let's not talk about work until we get back home, okay? Can I ask that of you?”

“Sure,” He nods “Of course, no talking about work for the rest of our shopping trip.”

She flashes a smile in gratitude, locking their arms together as a means of apology for stomping on his light. He smiles at her, a genuine one, before patting the back of her hand and continuing their walk to the grocery shop.

—-

The trolley wheels through the aisle as she scans for the particular brand of chocolate. She would certainly need a big bar of it along with a pint of ice cream tonight. For once after what seems to be forever, she finally cracked the code. The cause of space that has been growing between her and Lockwood has been found. What is left now is to find a way to solve it and to tell him about how they need to separate their lives with the job.

When he first told her about his dream of having his own agency, she was ever the most supportive and kind. Dropping her brilliant achievements at the academy, she was the first or perhaps second agent of Lockwood & co. Their talents were more than enough to ever become the elite team if they were in another agency, but since the company was still on its baby roots, finding clients was rather challenging. Things were getting better when George joined and even more brilliant now that Lucy is part of the team. She would have never expected his dream to be in the way of their personal lives.

Everything is just work, work, and work now.

“Fancy seeing you here, stranger.”

She turns to see the man, a wide smile plastered on his face. Almost as radiant as his yellow leather uniform, “Quill, hi!”

“Oh, it's been forever.” He says as they share a hug “Are you here alone?”

“Lockwood,” She replies “He's wandering around but with you here, I'm sure he'll pop up in no time.”

The two chuckles at her commentary. Lockwood and Kipps were always the cause of her nightmares back in the academy. The two boys could never seem to act civil, always bickering and hostile to one another, but when she's alone with either of them, they would act the most gentle as if she was someone they love dearly for.

A different kind of love from each of the boys, of course.

“How are you?” She asks, her expression turns to slight worry “Is it getting any better?”

Kipps smiles painfully, “Barely holding on. We've got to make most of what we have, don't we?”

If there were no bad blood between the two she would have offered Kipps to join the agency years ago. Having known him for years and to see just how brilliant he was, the way his techniques were always showcased whenever they have a fencing duel, it is no wonder that people hold a big expectation on his shoulders. He was promoted as supervisor in no time due to his proficient skills but with his talent slowly weakening, he needed someone to help patch this rather embarrassing fragility.

“Have you given it a thought?” Kipps asks with a gentle tone “I heard that Lucy girl is of great help for your team. Do you think you could finally help mine instead?”

“Quill–,”

“Kipps,” Lockwood says as he circles his arm around her shoulder, showing a rather possessive manner at the sight of them “What are you doing here? You're not stalking us, are you?”

Kipps snorts, making a disgusted face at him, “This is a public space, Lockwood. Don't flatter yourself.”

Understanding that their time has come to an end, Kipps flashes her a smile and walks away. He knows that Lockwood wouldn't give them another second to talk so unless he'd want him to know about his persisting issue, it was best for Kipps to find himself out of the scene.

“What did he want?”

“Nothing, we just had a chat.” She lied, pushing Lockwood's arm off of her shoulder and continued to wheel the trolley.

“About what?”

“About nothing of your concern.” She replies “You might never see him as one but Quill's a friend of mine, Anthony. We were just having a friendly conversation.”

Lockwood frowns at her dissatisfying answer. She's keeping something from him but whatever it is, he knew that poking about it now would be the recipe for a nightmare. Her sour mood hasn't watered and it would be wise for him to just let her be.

Besides, it wasn't like she'd leave him. Not for Kipps of all people.

“Can I ask you something?”

Lockwood turns to her, a loving smile decorating his face, “Anything.”

“How are you, Anthony?”

He frowns, “Splendid, how are you?”

“No, I mean, how are you?” She repeats, sighing in frustration to convey her true meaning “I don’t know anything about you outside of work anymore. What music do you listen to now? What book do you read? Do you even read still?”

Lockwood remains quiet, waiting for her to continue with her words so he would understand better.

“I live under your roof, see you almost 24/7. You’re the first person I see in the morning and the last I would bid goodnight to, yet I feel like I don’t know anything about you anymore.”

“That’s not true.” He argues, still not understanding the severity of their discussion “You know everything about me.”

“Do I?”

“Don’t you?”

“Stop turning my questions to me, Anthony. You know I don’t like it when you do it.”

His chuckle breaks, now pulling her for a tight hug, “Is that what you’ve been worrying about? That you don’t know me anymore?”

She remains quiet.

“If there is anyone that knows me down to my fibre, it would be you.” He continues, patting her head gently to soothe her “I mean, I suppose I have been too occupied with work but that doesn’t mean that you don’t know me anymore. We still share our meals together, watch our favourite shows and spend most of our time together. You’re still the one friend that knows me best.”

“I suppose,” She gives in “I’m just worried that this whole ghost hunting thing is burying our reality because I genuinely can’t draw the line between work and our lives anymore.”

“Well, our life is the agency, is it not?”

She shrugs.

“Hey,” Lockwood calls, breaking the hug and cupping her face to look into her eyes “You know me. I’m not a stranger to you, alright? You know what my current favourite jam is, what kind of tea I enjoy at the moment, and what colour of socks I wear the most. We’re still the same people as we were five, ten years ago.”

She smiles, nodding as she melts into his sweet words, “Alright.”

—-

"Anthony, I don't like this."

The group puts down their bags as they arrive at the mansion. Examining the place from the outside, she can already tell that whatever is waiting for them inside isn’t anything close to what they’ve encountered before.

“It’s still a couple hours till sunset but the energy is already this strong.” She told him, her senses heightened in fear “We’re not equipped to fight such a visitor, Anthony. Best we go back, rethink our plan, and maybe ask for assistance.”

“From who? Kipps you mean?” Lockwood asks with a bitter expression. He rubs his nose, a habit he does whenever he’s trying to tone down a brewing exasperation “Look, we’ve been through this a hundred times. The plan is foul proof, I can assure you. By this time tomorrow we’ll be crowding the sitting room, watching whatever unknown movie George picks to enjoy.”

“This isn’t about your ego or old feud with Quill, Anthony. There’s nothing wrong in understanding your limit and drawing the line. No shame in dropping a job we’re not capable of.” She tries to reason “Think about our safety.”

“You’re safe,” He insists, placing his hands on her shoulders for assurance “Nothing bad will happen to any of us. I’ll keep an eye for you, I promise.”

Not giving her another second to argue, Lockwood walks away and begins to help Lucy fixing the metal chain. The inside of her stomach flips when the wind blows. She knows that even for people who aren’t gifted, the atmosphere the mansion offers is nowhere close to the word homey. There’s something dark and cold, peeking through the windows and she could feel it in her bones that none of them four is strong enough to battle such power.

She walks to George and begins unloading their equipment. Her brows furrow at the sight of a strange item. A circular ball that looks like their salt bomb, only that it is heavier and bigger in size.

“Careful,” George says as he takes it from her hand with care.

“What is that?”

“A new bomb.” He answers “It has salt, lavender, and some other chemical thing inside that would explode from sudden force. Throw it to the floor and whatever visitor we meet would evaporate to thin air.”

“That doesn’t sound very safe.” She mutters, turning her eyes back to the mansion “I hope we don’t have to use that tonight.”

She looks back at Lockwood’s direction, trying to ease her worry by repeating his words in her head. Lockwood knows what he’s doing. They’ve been through the plan a hundred times, just like he said. Nothing will go wrong tonight. Everything is collected and under control.

—-

“Make it stop!” Lucy wails, closing her ears tight with her hands “Please, make it stop!”

“George, give us the chains!” Anthony yells as he tries to calm Lucy.

George quickly runs to their aid as she tries her best to fight the ghost with her rapier. She might not be the best there is, but she’s neck to neck as good as Lockwood and that should give her friends enough time to cast more protection for Lucy.

It hasn’t even been two hours since they entered the mansion and already the plans they came up with burned to ashes. This is more than just a case of an old abandoned house. The amount of type two occupying the building is enough to tell them that their client hasn’t been truthful. This place must have witnessed a mass murder, perhaps a cult sacrifice, to hoard this much energy.

“We need to find the source.” She says as she battles the ghosts “I can’t use my talent while fighting these ghosts.”

As if on cue, Lockwood came and began to fight the ghosts. He turns to her for a brief moment, “Go. I’ll protect you.”

With a nod, she walks away from her spot, running to the other side of the room. She places her hands to the walls, trying to get a clearer picture of what they’re dealing with.

The sound of screams and crying begin to fill her ears. There was so much pain and sorrow. This mansion has seen the worst of human acts, inflicting as much agony as possible to innocent lives. Her consciousness was slipping away, drowning in the torment that she is sensing and if it wasn’t for Lucy’s scream of cry acting as her tether to reality, she would have sunk in a ghost-lock condition.

“The blade,” She says as she finally gets the idea of their source “The source is a blade. An old one with a gold handle and Latin engraving.”

“Great work,” Lockwood praises her, his prideful smirk tugging on his face “George, prepare the chain net. Be ready to cover it.”

“How exactly are we going to find it? It’s pitch black here.”

Lockwood chuckles, “Well, use your flashlight, why don’t you?”

The three of them now begin to scour the place whilst fighting the ghosts coming in their direction. The screaming in her head gets louder as they come closer to the source, almost deafening her physically. Her stepping was getting unstable. Energy and focus drained out of her with every bead of sweat layering her skin.

“Stop!” She yells, dropping her rapier as the cries become unbearable “It hurts, please stop!”

“Oh, no,” George, who was closest to her, now kneels down and tries to bring her back to consciousness as he lightly taps on her cheeks.

“George!” Lockwood calls, panic seems to finally sink in as he watches her wail in pain “The source must be close, try to find it. I’ll protect her.”

Nodding, George begins to crawl away and look for the damned blade. His hands found what seems to be an old cabinet and began to rummage through. With very limited lighting and no idea of what the blade looks like, searching for a piece of steel through a locker full of metal items feels fruitless.

Scanning from one drawer to the other, George lets out a satisfied chuckle as he finally finds what they’re looking for. But before he could take it out and cover it with their chain net, a handful of ghosts headed his way.

“George, watch out!”

In the heat of the moment, George throws the chain net to the drawer, hoping that it would land and cover the blade, before throwing the new bomb to the ghosts.

To their luck, the chain net did fall on top of the source but due to the close proximity and the lack of understanding of just how big the explosion the bomb would produce, George was thrown out of the wall from the impact. Bits of broken wood scratch his skin and there was a big gash on his forehead.

George was unconscious.

—-

Opening the keys to 35 Portland Row with a tired yawn, she put down her scarf and hung her coat by the rack. She’s been staying at the hospital for days, only returning home to take a shower and bring a new set of fresh clothes for George. Her body was aching. The scars on her skin from the previous mission are still fresh and hurting but none of it compares to the fatigue of worrying for George’s being.

The terror from that night still haunts her. How her head was filled with wails one moment to complete silence and darkness as George successfully covers the source. She remembers scanning the floor with her hands to find her flashlight, trying to get some light to understand their situation better, only to be completely frightened by the sight of George, lying unconscious with blood pooling around him.

“You’re home,” Lockwood greets, a relieved expression evident on his face.

She nods, not giving him an answer as she walks past him.

“How is he?” He asks as she gets to the stairs.

��Still unconscious but his vitals are stabilising.” She answers “You'd know if you visit him yourself.”

“I want to, but I need to finish the report and paperworks.” Lockwood reasoned, following her behind like a lost puppy “Lucy's out at the library to do some research about our next mission. With George at the hospital I think we'd need more time to make our plans.”

She rolls her eyes, fist balling as she tries to hold in her anger.

“I was wondering if you could go to the DEPRAC office on your way back to the hospital and drop the locket? Inspector Barnes called and-”

“Anthony!” She yells, finally turning to face the boy who's now pale from her sudden outburst “Are you even hearing yourself right now? Sending Lucy to work on our next job, asking me to stop by the DEPRAC office, you being busy in your little library, do you not even care in the slightest for George? He's lying unconscious at the hospital for a work I've told you to drop about!”

Lockwood remained silent. His expression is hard and unreadable.

“I've told you that we didn't have the equipment nor skills to do the job. I've told you that the visitors are much more powerful than the ones we've faced before. I've told you to at least ask for help for the task and yet you've dismissed it all and look what it's brought us, Anthony!”

“Yes, but we did it, didn't we? We secured the source.” Lockwood answers with feigned optimism, giving her his unsure smile as he steps closer “We took a hit, sure, but it's not like George didn't know what he was getting himself into.”

She blinks at his words. Now taking a step back away from him as she tries to digest his answer, “Is that what you're going to say when each of us falls?”

His expression softens, “You know I would never let anything hurt you.”

“Yet here I am.” She argues, her poison laced smile evident “Hurt and wounded.”

Lockwood was at a loss of words. He remained silent, staring at her with his pleading eyes that silently screams for her to drop this and forgive his faulty words. But his silence served as nothing but a mere slap to reality for her that Lockwood was just a boy with a naive dream and no understanding of the risks he's committing the team to.

“I thought this was all I wanted.” She says with a volume just above a whisper, a pitiful smile plastered on her face as she tries to keep her tone steady. The cracks of her breaking heart is visible through her expression “You're everything I want, Anthony.. But I can't deal with your ambitions anymore.”

Giving him no chance to explain, she retreats to her room and slams the door, leaving him defeated in the hallway. The house feels colder now somehow. As if the silence wasn't enough to weigh his guilt even more. Lockwood knew that he messed up but never had he imagined that he'd ruin things this far. Especially not with her.

—-

Days have been slightly better now that George's discharged from the hospital. The kitchen is once again filled with their chatter but not nearly half as much laughter as before. The nightmare of wounded George still haunts her days and torments her at night. She would never be able to work with the squad as she did before. Something has changed in her and there's no turning back now.

Lockwood on the other hand has tried every possible way to talk to her but with every chance he makes to pursue her, she just has a hundred more ways to turn it down and avoid him. Her silent treatment was driving him nuts and it would be an understatement to say that he's desperate to fix it.

Now sitting in his study room, Lockwood turns to the door as he hears a light knock. She peeks inside with a slight smile, the most he's gotten after their fight a couple weeks ago.

“Can I come in?”

“Have I ever said no?”

She nods, stepping inside the room timidly. A piece of paper in her hand.

“What is it?” He asks with a warm smile, hoping that this would be the start of their reconciliation “What can I help you with?”

She looks down to the letter in her hand, sighing before handing it to him, “I wanted to give you my resignation letter.”

Lockwood stares at her blankly, not moving from his chair.

Gently, she reaches for his hand and hands him the paper. Lockwood's eyes were glued on her, trying to catch any trace of jest from the words she uttered. He prays for all gods out there to let this be a joke. Some cruel prank she's pulling on him as payback for his dickhead move for the past months. But as the ticking of the clock in the room grew louder, her playful smile never appeared.

“Why?”

“Anthony–”

“I promise to do better, I swear it.” He begs, standing from his seat and carelessly putting the letter away “I'll make better plans, I'll calculate each and every possibility there is and I'll listen to you better. Any input you have, I'll highlight it and make it work. Please, just– Don't leave. Don't leave me.”

She had to look away from his eyes before her fortress crumbled. Lockwood knows just when to put those big puppy eyes out and win her heart. But there's just so many times she could spare herself for him. There's just so many chances she could give and no matter how much she wishes and prays that this time would be different than the last, she knew that the damage done would still leave scars on them. An invisible one that could only be healed with time and space.

“Please,” Lockwood begs, seeming on the verge of tears “Name your price. Anything, please, just say it.”

“What I want you cannot give, Anthony.” She answers with a bitter smile “Because if you could, I know you would have given it to me years ago.”

“Just name it, please. Do you want a rise? Do you want to switch rooms? Do you want your name to be the agency's name? Because I can do that. We can just change the company's name to yours.”

A tear escapes her eyes. She knows that he was being genuine, that he was willing to give up anything to make her stay. But even with all he offers to give, Lockwood still couldn't see the one thing she desires of him.

And it's crystal clear to her now that he could never give the one thing she needs of him.

Placing her hands to his cheeks, she cups him gently and smiles, “You're going to be a brilliant agent, Anthony. Lockwood & co will be the best agency there is, I know it. I believe it.”

“Then why are you leaving?” He asks with a defeated tone “Why won't you be here with me?”

Because you won't love me the way I love you, she thought.

“Please,” Lockwood pleads “I can't lose you too.”

Pulling him for a hug, his dam finally breaks as sobs begin to echo in the room. He holds her tight, afraid that she would disappear if he loosens his embrace just a little. He would miss the sweet scent of her shampoo, the warmth of her body when he needed some comfort after a terrible nightmare, and her joyful laughter that always seemed to drunken him in bliss.

If only he would tell her exactly how he feels.

“You'll never lose me, Anthony.” She whispers to his chest, listening to his heartbeat before they part “I'm yours, always.”

↠ If You’re Going to Break My Heart

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months

Text

Dirty Work 34

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: It must be wet wednesday.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Mr. Laufeyson sits with one long leg crossed over the other, his back against the headboard. He holds a book in his hands, eyes narrowed at the tight font as you emerge from the bathroom. You feel a lot nicer after a shower. Calmer too when you see him.

He doesn’t look up as you come around the bed and climb up on the other side. With a long day in the car ahead of you, you’re eager to tuck in. As your bottom touches the mattress, you're reminded of the raw bruises and tender gashes. You hold back a whimper and settle in, fixing the lacy strap of the nightgown.

“You’re tired?” Mr. Laufeyson asks, though it sounds more like an accusation.

“A little,” you answer, “we’re leaving early, aren’t we?” You ask, then sit up as a rush of panic swells over you, “did I forget something? Do you need anything, Mr. Laufeyson?”

He laughs and your heart flips. You stare at him horrified. He reaches over to caress your cheek, “no, you haven’t anything to worry about, pet.”

You exhale and lay back. Your pulse slowly peters out. He trails his hand along your cheek and pets your hair. You look at the ceiling and try to relax.

“I will read to you, it will help,” he offers, “you will need your sleep.”

“Oh, thank you,” you murmur.

“Mm,” he hums before he looks back to the pages. He rescinds his hand and licks his fingertip, flipping back in the book, “let’s return to where we left off…” he clears his throat before he begins. You close your eyes and let his narration ripple over you. How is it that his voice can inspire both peace and horror?

You fall into the rhythm of his cadence. It doesn’t take long for him to lull you into sleep. You succumb to it easily, shielding yourself in your unconscious. Your dreams are fractured and nonsensical between patches of all-consuming blackness.

The morning greets you with the soft speckle of rain on the window pane. Your eyes roll open and you stare at the space between the curtains. You see a rivulet flowing down the glass against the gray cast of the early hours.

You yawn quietly into your arm and turn onto your back. You’re careful not to disturb Mr. Laufeyson as his breath ebbs and flows. You glance over at him. He’s still a mystery to you. Still that unreadable man in his stiflingly silent house.

There’s a soft ticking in the air, as if counting down to something. You peek over Mr. Laufeyson’s profile and see his watch placed on the nightstand. Carefully, you get up and circle the bed to check the time on the face. You don’t dare touch the piece.

As you stand straight, you nearly yipe at the sudden clamp around your wrist. Mr. Laufeyson grabs your arm and tugs you towards the bed. You stumble against the mattress as he yanks you again. You fall over him and he snakes his arms around you.

You lay atop him, squirming as you brace his chest. He chuckles rockily as his green eyes glimmer from beneath his long dark lashes. His hand walks down your back and gathers up the silky skirt of your nightgown. He spreads his large hand across your fiery, bruised ass.

You squeak and wiggle again.

“Good morning, pet,” he purrs and shifts his hips beneath you, “what are you doing tiptoeing around?”

“Um,” you gulp, trying to ignore the rigidness against your pelvis. You think you know what that is. The thought scalds your face. “Checking the time–”

“Ah,” he sighs and gropes your rear until you whimper, “you needn’t lie…”

“Mr. Laufeyson, I…” you search his face. He’s in a pleasant mood, you wouldn’t want to spoil it. “Sorry.”

“You may kiss me,” he declares abruptly.

You bat your lashes and hesitate. You press your lips together as you bolster yourself. You should just do as he wishes and it’s no great task, is it?”

Impatient, his hand crawls up your back and grips the back of your head. He pulls your head down and crushes his lips against yours. You squeak and let him take over, curling your fingertips against the top of his chest.

The world spins as he flips you onto your back, rolling with you as he keeps his mouth over yours. He lifts himself over you, urging between your legs as he traps you against the mattress. He rocks slightly as he devours you, his hand slipping down to your neck, stretching across it firmly.

He grinds into you as he loses himself in his hunger. Your hands trail along his shoulders and you hold on to him, trying to slow him. Your heart is in your throat, knocking behind your ears. Your skin tingles as fire flows through your veins. You’re terrified but excited.

You let your touch wander down his arms, feeling the firm muscle. He’s suffocating but intoxicating. You close your eyes and think of the shower, trying to put yourself in that scene. A blaze sears over your face as you drag your hand down and twiddle your fingers.

You slip your hand between your bodies and feel around, finding his hard bulge and squeezing. He grunts and parts suddenly, pushing himself on one elbow as he keeps his hand on your neck. He dips his head to look down at your grip on him.

“Pet, what…” He murmurs.

You quickly retract your hand in horror, “i’m sorry, I thought–”

“No, no,” he purrs and rubs his thumb behind your jaw, “it’s… it’s nice.” He lowers his hips back down and rolls them. “Do you like touching me?”

You bite your lower lip and nod. You're quivering with embarrassment and eagerness. He draws his hand from your throat and caresses along your chin. He lowers his mouth to yours once more, kissing you hungrily.

He pushes his arousal against you, rocking between your legs as hot friction builds between you. He groans into you as he drags his hand from your face and grabs your arm, pinning it by your head. He does the same to the other, lifting himself over you as you puff weakly beneath him.

He keeps his hips rolling as he watches you. You squeak between shallow breaths and turn your face away. He growls and tilts harder against your cunt. Your nightie is above your thighs and the fabric of his panties is pressed to your bare lips. You feel your own delight staining it.

“Look at me, pet,” he sneers.

You snap your head forward and obey. You almost melt as you meet his fiery gaze. He ruts harder and a heavy pressure fills you, pulsing to the point of agony. Not a bad sort of pain, the type that needs release. You arch your back, pushing your chest up as you whine.

“Is this what you want, pet?” He taunts, “you want me fuck you like this?”

You gasp at the obscenity on his lips. You hum between your pouting lips and nod. He snarls again.

“Say it,” he demands.

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” you babble.

“No, say it,” he repeats.

“I… I want you…” your throat clenches around the words. “I want you to… fuck me… like this.”

He snickers and picks up the pace. He looks down at his pelvis rocking into yours. You whimper and shake as you feel the coil winding tighter and tighter. You push up against him, wanting more, wanting to overflow.

He seems to go forever, groaning and grunting as he simulates his desire. He looks you in the face again and smirks, “tell me again.”

“Mr. Laufeyson–”

“Tell me to fuck you.”

Your eyes round and your lip trembles. You squirm as he keeps your arms pinned, still pounding against your cunt.

“Fuck me…” you whisper.

“I can’t hear you, pet,” he teases.

You recite it again, throat tightening as you do.

“Louder,” he commands.

“Fuck me!” You nearly shout, as close to it as you could ever get.

“Yes,” he puffs, “again,” you say it, “again,” you obey, “again…” He goes on, call and answer, until you’re breathless and he’s quaking.

He lets out a strangled snarl and spasms. His motion staggers but he pushes through. He slows, little by little, and hangs his head. He holds himself over you for just a moment longer then pushes off. He sits back on his heels and you see the sheen of your arousal on his pants.

He looks down at himself and heaves, “I should clean up…” he utters, “I might require some help.”

He backs off the bed and you shakily sit up. You flatten your legs and look down at them as they tremble. You lift yourself as Mr. Laufeyson retreats. There’s a wet spot on the sheets as well. You tamp down your humiliation as delight swells inside of you.

The video once more flashes in your mind. The droplets of water on slapping flesh. You’re wobbly as you stand and cross to the bathroom door. You peer through as you hear the shower humming and see Mr. Laufeyson step inside.

You follow and pull off the nightie. You pull back the door and slip in behind him. You look at his lined back, admiring the muscles and his build. You falter and look down at your body… does he think yours is nice too?

You shrug away the fear. He wants you, doesn’t he? He wouldn’t do all those things if he didn’t? You wouldn’t be here as he never shies away from casting out what he dislikes.

You reach to touch his back, visions of the shower scenes feeding you courage. You trace his spine and watch a shiver ripple through him. He purrs and faces you, holding out a loofah and a bottle of soap.

“Yes, you may get my back, pet,” he shoves both towards you, dismissing your lurid thoughts. “We should set off early to avoid the rush.”

You swallow and nearly choke, “yes, Mr. Laufeyson, of course,” you push the cap of the soap until it opens, turning your focus onto the task. How dumb you are.

✨

You’ve never been on a long road trip. Never spent more than an hour in the car with your father, never left the city limits even. You’re restless within the first twenty minutes, not able to focus on the book as the motion around you makes you dizzy. You squeeze the borrowed book and huddle back into the seat, fidgeting as Mr. Laufeyson cruises down the highway.

Instrumental music wafts in a low drone from the stereo but it’s not enough to entertain you. You stare at the dashboard, the sight of the road makes you queasy. You cross your leg over the other and shift, trying to get comfortable.

“Well, pet, we have some hours ahead of us so you better still yourself,” he reprimands.

“Sorry, Mr. Laufeyson, I’m trying.”

“Mm, well, try harder,” he sighs.

You make yourself stop moving and clutch the book tight. You keep your eyes on the interior, admiring the smooth finish and all the little knobs along the stereo. You could play one of the games you made up for yourself. You take a word and parse it out into smaller words.

“...an idea,” Mr. Laufeyson’s words break past your trance.

You glance over at him, hoping he doesn’t realise you didn’t hear him.

“An idea?” You repeat back to him.

“Yes, to keep you from all that squirming,” he reaches over to squeeze your knee. Your leg was jittering and you didn’t even realise.

“What is it?” You ask.

He grins and snickers as he pulls his hand back. As he does, he pushes up the armrest of your seat, then that on his own. You watch him curiously as he keeps his other hand firmly on the wheel. He beckons you nearer with a flick of two fingers.

“Mr. Laufeyson, “I don’t…”

“We can have some more fun,” he suggests as he rests his hand on the corner of your seat, arm extended between them. “You could… use your mouth again.”

Your eyes round in shock. You peer over the dashboard and immediately regret it. It makes your stomach swirl. You gulp down and look back at Mr. Laufeyson.

“Are you sure?”

“Let me worry about the road,” he dismisses, “come on, pet, you won’t be so bored.”

You restrain a frown and rub your hands together. It isn’t a request, you know that much. His delivery might be gentle but no is not an answer.

You push the seat belt behind you and twist in the seat to reach across as he sits up straight. You pluck open the top of his pants, hands clumsily brushing the fabric as you see him twitching. You push down his zipper, his tip throbbing and unrestrained beneath. You pull him out through the vee as he wiggles in the seat to slacken his pants.

You shudder and grip him firmly. You pump him up then down. He tenses and breathes out through his nose hotly. You do it again and he shivers. His reaction sets you alight. That thrill courses through you, the one where you feel powerful.

You take a breath and think of the shower scene and how the woman did it. She was so reckless and carefree. The way she did it, she seemed to enjoy it. You just have to pretend that you're her… maybe you’ll end up liking it.

You bend further over the space between the seats and bow your head. You pout just above his tip before pressing your lips to it. You flick your tongue against him and he growls. You slide your hand down and follow it with your mouth. You start slow, mimicking the woman as you pull back off of him and swipe along his length with your tongue.

Mr. Laufeyson rumbles and rests his hand between your shoulder blades, a wisp escaping him, “pet…”

You keep going, hiding behind your eyelids as you drift into the fantasy. This isn’t what it is. This is more than a task. In your head, you can make this man want you and you can make yourself want him.

You push your thighs together and moan around him. You do want him. You feel how badly you do. Your core thrums with desperation.

It doesn’t matter what he wants, you will do it. You want to be good for him and for him to tell you how good you are. You want him more than anything. You want this, you do. Don’t you? You must. You have to want this if you’re going to convince him to keep you.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #dirty work #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #maid au #mcu #marvel #avengers #thor

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