#it’s people like her who made me quit my job. people so insecure that they are quietly rooting for your downfall to | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

juuuulez · 8 months

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📰 | prologue: capulet.

info: Carl Grimes-less chapter (sorry!), Negan x Daughter! Reader, pre/start of apocalypse, violence and minor gore, morally grey reader, mentions of child abuse/neglect.

summary: When the apocalypse breaks loose, you find yourself in companionship with your sport teacher, Mr. Smith.

THIS was so much fun to write!!!! Genuinely my favourite chapter I’ve done so far. Let me know what you all think, because I’d love to do more little tidbits that stray from the original story. But with that in mind, this instalment IS required to understand parts of the fic going forward. Prologue is mandatory…..I’ve just finally done it.

Chapters 1, 2, 3, and 4 are already out! 5 will return to our regularly scheduled program of Carl and (Y/N) bickering.

You valued consistency.

Doing the same thing, every day.

Even if your life was shit, at least it was consistently shit.

You always knew how to behave. What could just go unpunished. How to enter the house without making a sound. The perfect patterns to ensure your location wasn’t given away. What exactly to say to avoid being hit.

It was routine, comfortable. You permanently lived on the edge, waiting. Listening, watching. Observing those around you.

As routine, you were late. It was becoming quite the pattern, but you couldn’t help it. The bus ran late. Or, you suppose… if it ran late every day, then it was on schedule. Maybe you should start catching an earlier bus.

Whatever, it didn’t matter.

Second period, Tuesday.

Sport.

Now, you didn’t necessarily dislike sport. But you didn’t really love it, either.

The uniform always made you feel insecure. Which, at the ripe age of 13, doesn’t seem to be an emotion your peers are experiencing yet. Or maybe they are just better at hiding it than you are. It’s also incredibly performative, sport, which you hate. Being singled out, going one by one, choosing teams. All of it was terrible.

You didn’t mind your teacher.

Which, went a long way, considering you disliked most people who resided within these buildings. Teachers and students alike.

But Mr. Smith was nice. To you, at least. And to everyone. He was loud, had too much energy, but you didn’t mind. It just meant that he cared about his job.

You absentmindedly tugged at the sleeves of your shirt, the fabric wrapped around your arms to make up for the breezy garment of the girls tank top. It made you look different, set you apart. You hated that.

Regardless, you fall in line with the others.

Baseball.

Granted, you’ve never played baseball before. Sure, you’d watched it, on the small occasion that you were allowed to stay with a friend. It was a vivid memory. Watching from the hallway, over her father’s shoulder, whilst she was asleep.

You wished that your father liked sports. Or maybe cooking. Or collecting things, cleaning things, fixing things. Anything.

It’s almost the end of class, you’re standing at the back of the line. Three kids, then two, then just one. You. The others are standing on the bleachers, already collecting their equipment, preparing for break.

“Batter-up.” Mr. Smith says, though you don’t understand the colloquialism. Nonetheless, you move forward, accepting the bat from the previous student. Another is further down the field. Bowler, you presume.

The metal bat is cold between your fingers, clenched in your dominant hand. It’s heavy, but not an unmanageable amount, just enough to keep you aware of it. There’s weight to the swing, weight on your arm, shoulder. It takes a moment to find your footing.

But when you do, the other student has already thrown the ball. It’s hurdling towards you, faster than comfortable. Spinning through the air with a distinct whizz, perfectly curved, heavy. Dangerous.

It’s instinctual. Your body twists, landing a hit on the spherical object with laser accuracy, the impact ringing in your ears as it soars away, towards the end of the pitch.

Your head snaps in the opposite direction, recalling the match you’d silently observed years ago. There are beige bases in the grass, thin plates. The bat falls from your grip, hitting the ground with a thud, and you move to start running.

It only takes a few steps before reality clicks in, and you realise the feat is pointless. Nobody else is playing. There is no-one to catch your ball, to cheer and clap. Everybody has already begun to leave. They didn’t watch you, didn’t continue the game. Three seconds tick over before the bell rings, releasing the crowd of children awaiting their freedom.

Suddenly the summer breeze is too hot, the sleeves of your shirt itching, sticking to your skin. The tank is too tight. It hugs your body in the wrong way, vulnerable, at their mercy. And yet, you are unseen in a similar manner, and there’s an inkling of you that wants to be judged, simply to say you’d been recognised.

You’re collecting your things, and by that, putting your muddied sneakers into a plastic bag and slipping on new ones. There are footsteps behind you. Heavy, easily identifiable as an adult. You have impeccable hearing.

Before he can announce himself, you’ve turned. There’s always been respect in your tone when conversing with teachers, well aware of the authority they hold, despite your frequent disagreeable on their methods.

“Never mentioned you were good at baseball.” Mr. Smith quips, already packing up the equipment left behind from the lesson into a large bag. Those concrete-hard balls, the plastic bases, the metal bats.

“I’ve never played, sir.” You tell him, flashing that usual, awkward smile that doesn’t really count as a smile, but just the pursing of your lips. An attempt at civility from somebody too irreversibly damaged for their age.

“Well, we’ve got a team running,” He continues to speak whilst organising, and though he does not look at you, your attention is drawn. “Could come find you later, give you the permission slip.”

That bursts your bubble. There’s no chance in hell that you could persuade your father to sign it. There was forging the signature, but this game would run in after-school hours, an extra curricular. You wouldn’t be allowed.

“I dunno,” You shrug in premature defeat, slinging the bag over your shoulder, coming to stand at the feet of the bleachers. “Not really a team player. Wouldn’t fit in with the older girls.”

Though there’s no visible indication, it’s obvious that Mr. Smith disregards this as a valid excuse. Which, it definitely isn’t, but it’s the little statement you tell yourself in order to feel less shitty about missing an opportunity.

“How about I get you the slip, and then you’ve got the option?” It’s said as a question, but clearly isn’t, as he’s then reaching into the duffel bag and pulling out one of those heavy, metal bats.

He holds it out to you, and you have no choice but to take it.

“Get some practise in before the weekend.”

Then Mr. Smith is leaving, and you’re left standing there, on the muddy field. The second bell rings out.

You’re late.

Now, this habitual lateness may not be all so coincidental.

Tardiness was handled rather vigorously in the seventh grade, for whatever reason. You didn’t understand.

But it hasn’t taken too long into the year to crack the metaphorical code. Detention was mandated for wrongdoings, ergo, another hour before you had to be home.

You’d take detention over home any day of the week.

So it was unsurprising when you ended up there this afternoon, settling into your usual spot near the back. There were a other kids, the typical troublemakers, and a few poor souls who genuinely had misfortune befall them.

Mrs. Hagerty, the librarian, overlooked detention. She was old and slow, grey hair, grey lips. Grey… skin. Well, she looked half-dead, which was saying something. You weren’t surprised, though it was a little suspicious how she hadn’t chastised you for bringing the baseball bat into the room.

It sat propped up against your desk.

Despite your adamancy against pointless procedures, public humiliation, gossip, and assholes in charge, you were quite good at school. English, primarily, was your strong suit. Reading, writing. All of it.

The peace that you’d carefully crafted was interrupted roughly halfway into the lesson. Or, babysitting session, as Mrs. Hagerty was yet to look up from her desk. Talk about worlds easiest job.

You still remembered that day, even now. Years later.

At the time, Mr. Smith was nothing but your sport teacher, someone with authority who you detested less than most other figures. A reasonable constant in your life, so far.

Now, he was Negan. Everything to you, in a way. Alike to how you were everything to him. Though you didn’t know it then, this was the day that he’d consume an entirely different part of your mind, forging a new identity that would terrorise, ravage, and torment communities.

But in the same breath, protect you, help raise you, construct an entire empire with you as the sun. Though you’d never succumb to the hive mind, you were not Negan. But you certainly were his.

Nonetheless, it all started within that room. The detention room.

“Permission slip.” Negan announced, placing the small pink paper on the desk in front of you. He attempted to keep his voice hushed, mindful of the other students who were meant to be studying, but appeared more to be sleeping.

Now that it was out of school hours, and he was likely printing, Negan wore reading glasses. Later, you would mock him for these, making comments about him being old.

It always awarded you with that same distinct look of warning. Yet, it never made you feel threatened, but appreciated. Seen.

You slide the permission slip closer, reading the small black writing. In the same motion, you fish out a pen, jotting down cursive letters in the underlined section.

You slide it back.

“I can’t take this,” Negan points out with a sign, gazing down at the signature that is obviously not one of your parents. “You’re really making me go back, and print another one?”

This causes you to roll your eyes, “So I can take it home and do the same thing? That just wastes both of our time… our you could take it now.”

However, he won’t budge. “It’s policy. Go home, get it signed. I don’t need to know how.”

Though you feign annoyance, the insinuation made you want to smile. Turns out, Negan knew more than he was letting on. Gossip spread across faculty quickly, and it didn’t take a genius to deduct your… poor living situation.

The long sleeves, the turtle necks, the gloves. Jeans in summer. Never a parent to attention parent-teacher conferences.

He’s about to turn and leave, when there’s a slight commotion at the front of the room.

One of the younger students, Jasmin, is talking to Mrs. Hogarty in a hushed voice. Goody-two-shoes.

When she gets no response, the student only continues talking, trying to elicit a reaction from the teacher that has otherwise remained silent. In an irreversible mistake, Jasmin reaches out, gently waving her tanned hand in front of glazed over eyes.

Mrs. Hogarty lunges at her, finally in motion, chubby hands gripping at the forearm of the girl and taking a bite from plush skin. Blood spurts from the wound, Jasmin screams in horror, alike to the rest of the few misdemeanours in the room.

Everyone is in motion. Some try to help Jasmin, others flee. You’re stuck. Truth is, though you boast agility, you’ve never been in a situation like this. Your mouth gapes like a fish, open, closed, searching for something to say, to do. A reaction befitting of this complete, disgusting travesty.

“C’mon, up. Let’s go.” Negan is talking to you, you realise. It’s like everything finally clicks back into motion, the water no longer clogging your ears, making everything muffled and distant. This is reality.

You scramble from the chair, grabbing books, pencils, hastily shoving them into your little brown bag.

But there’s a hand on your shoulder, urging you forward, towards the exit sitting towards the back of the classroom. “Leave it, no time.” Negan is telling you, helping you off the floor. Before the two of you can make a break for it, your hands clasp around the metal baseball bat.

It swings at your side as you leave the building, feet padding against the concrete of the pavement. It’s strangely… desolate. There is no increasing urgency, nobody around. It almost makes you question whether what happened was real. But you’re still walking, forward, away.

“Shouldn’t we help her?” You ask, to which Negan finally stops to look back at you. His brows furrow, confused, so you clarify. “Jasmin.”

“No, no, there isn’t any helping her,” He clarifies, talking slowly to try and get the idea in your head. “I read about this shit online, it’s in other countries. Europe. They aren’t people anymore.”

You don’t quite catch on, understand the severity of his words. But it makes sense. No person would act like that. Your feet begin to move again, travelling the familiar path.

“Hey, where are you going?” Negan calls out, and it’s only now that you become aware of the distance between you. Your head snaps into the direction of the bus stop, a silent answer, and Negan seems to deduct your intentions. He nods in the opposite direction. “C’mon.”

You obey, needing to skip in order to catch up with his longer strides. The bat is still clenched in your dominant hand, cold metal occasionally making contact with the side of your leg. It’s heavy, but you’re getting used to it.

As you approach the car park, the sun beats down, warming the asphalt. A few paces away is Negan’s truck, but before that, another person you quickly identify as an older student.

Stringy hair, grey skin, dull eyes. Arms reaching out, wandering aimlessly. The animated corpse seems to have some semblance of consciousness, as it spots you, limping over.

Preemptively, you take a step back, that familiar feeling of panic flooding your system at an unavoidable danger. Luckily, Negan appears to be significantly more composed than you are, as he’s reaching back for something. Extending a hand to you.

When you don’t react, he whistles, a high-pitched noise that instantly gets your attention. You did not know it yet, but this would become a familiar constant in your life. Nonetheless, you catch onto what he meant, letting the metal bat fall into his extended hand.

“Are you gonna…?” You don’t finish your question, as you’re unsure what exactly you think may happen. There’s a small part of you that doesn’t want to know.

Luckily, Negan provided little answers. “Go around and get in the truck.” He tells you, instructs you, and you listen simply because you trust him. Which, in this day and age, is dangerous.

You busy yourself with the seatbelt in order not to watch, able to mentally fill in the blanks as to the measure that Negan was taking. It made sense, you supposed. They weren’t alive anymore, couldn’t feel. Only wanted to hurt other people. Therefore, they needed to be put down.

There’s a clang as he places the baseball bat in the back of the truck, getting into the drivers seat and starting the engine. You watch this interest, unable to remember the last time somebody drove you anywhere. Never, if you recall correctly.

Thankful, Negan opts to ignore the way you inspect his every movement, like a little bird. Or a startled cat.

“Your address?” He requests, already making a start down the street that he would presume lead towards your house. It snaps you out of the little daze, face scrunching up.

“No, gross. I can’t give you my address,” You say in a matter-of-fact tone, as if the idea of completely insane. “You could be a predator, for all I know. That’s private information.”

Negan gives you that look again, the same one when you’d forged the signature. He can’t quite understand you. “Why would I work in a school if I was a predator? Tell me, how would I get that job.”

You shrug, “Maybe because that’s exactly what you want.”

He becomes fed up with your inane accusation, rolling his eyes. Yet, despite the attitude you’ve adopted, he does not get frustrated with you. “Address, now. I’m takin’ you home.”

There’s a large part of you that doesn’t even want to go home, yet you obey, providing Negan with your address to which he turns down the proper street. Luckily, you don’t live too far from school… or, unlucky, you suppose. For it isn’t long until you’re pulling into your driveway.

You get out, footsteps cautious against the pavement. A few meters away is an older lady, half alive, clinging to the path with desperate hands despite the concave appearance of her head. Your neighbour. She groans upon noticing you, but her legs are broken, and cannot move forward.

Remembering earlier, you move backwards towards the truck, fishing out the metal bat. It’s shiny metallic end is caked with reddish blood, stringing bits of decomposing guts hanging from it.

You can only make it a step forward until Negan is holding your shoulder again, pushing you in the opposite direction, towards the house. “Nope. Just leave her, she ain’t hurting anyone.”

Usually, you would detest being controlled. Told what to do. The shadow of an adult so close behind you, watching, letting their hands intrude on your space. But you didn’t feel threatened by Negan, which was odd. You weren’t going to complain about it, that’s for sure.

You ascend up the shallow stairs, coming to a stop in front of the door. When you reach out, pressing on the doorhandle, you’re shocked to find that it simply swings open, already sitting ajar. Dread fills your body.

It’s not that fearful, sickly dread that you get when you know you’ve done something wrong, and are awaiting the inevitable consequences. No, its.. different. You’ve felt it very few times before. Concern, worry. Knowing that something is wrong, and you cannot stop it.

Nonetheless, you enter the house. It’s in its familiar state, which provides a slight comfort to you, but Negan finds himself taken aback. It’s practically a mess. Every surface has something on it, whether it be pointless junk, or the garbage of bottles and cans. A few areas remain spotless, like the kitchen counter, and the bin remains empty and carefully tucked away.

It’s clear that you upkeep the small areas which you require for your autonomy. The rest of the place? Not your problem. It’s no wonder you don’t like being there.

As you pat further down the hallway, Negan draws his attention to the entrance. There’s a large bookshelf, though the books are dusty, likely long since actually used. A few slots are unusually empty, indicating that you’ve taken some to keep elsewhere.

But it’s the top shelf that draws his attention. Two photographs, positioned around thirty centimetres apart, with two respective urns behind them. One significantly smaller. Mother and daughter, he recognises. Mother and baby, actually.

It’s apparent that this is the home of a family that’s lost half of its inhabitance. He can’t help but wonder, is this the fate that will befall him, come Lucille’s death? Hopefully not. Nothing like this.

“Dad?”

Negan regains his sense of reality, curiosity piked as you’re speaking down the hall. He moves further into the space, standing in the kitchen as he observes you, there on the porch.

You stand near the doorway, that bat still hanging from one hand. In front of you, a figure, sitting down. Next to him, a half-empty case of beers. Part of Negan becomes increasingly alert, aware, prepared to avoid letting any harm befall you. A harm that you’re likely accustomed to.

There’s no response.

“C’mon. Just say something.” You urge, sounding utterly defeated. And yet, your father gives no response, despite the impending doom blanketing the situation.

It doesn’t take a genius to understand. The vicious, red welt on your fathers neck gives it away, jagged and seeping blood that stains his already unkept shirt. It’s a matter of time, at this point. You’d like to extract at least one, genuine conversation. Absolutely anything before he disappears forever.

That isn’t seeming very likely.

Your eyes drift around the yard, welling with tears not of sadness, but frustration. This is it? You are to become an orphan, the world is ending, and your piece-of-shit father won’t even look at you? In this moment, you wished he was angry.

You wished he would yell at you.

Pin you against the wall by your neck.

Bruise you. Beat you.

Anything other than this.

“I made the baseball team.” You tell him, another futile attempt to elicit any sort of reaction. Pride, maybe. Congratulate his young daughter for her achievement. Even the smallest hint of recognition would go a long way, pull you from this spiral you’ve begun to succumb to.

And what does he do?

He scoffs.

His arm lifts, taking another swig of the near empty bottle.

Finally, you’ve gotten your sign. A signal, a hint. The divine intervention that sets everything straight, reminds you of your place in this world. Just enough attention to keep you subdued, but satisfied. Complacent.

Anger overtakes you before you’re even aware of these emotions, wielding a surprising amount of strength for a pre-pubescent girl. You want to scream and shout and hurt him.

So you do.

It’s a knee-jerk reaction, really. Unplanned, messily executed. But would you have done it again? Certainly.

You cannot feel remorse for causing pain to a man who’s soul died long ago. Died with your mother, died with your infant sister. Tried to kill yours along with it all.

It’s already happened before you can understand.

There’s a distinct soreness in your shoulder, strained from swinging the metal baseball bat with such force. There are little blisters forming on your palms from how tight you’re gripping, clawing, clenching around the handle. The movement has shifted your whole body, but you don’t look down.

You don’t acknowledge the mess you’ve made.

Blood splattered across the wooden porch, some even hitting the adjacent fence. Skull broken, concave. Oozing sticky red.

The glass bottle rolls down the steps. Clink, clink, clink. It hits the plush grass, silenced.

It was inevitable, anyway. Whether to the virus, or your own hands, your father was going to die.

It was a mercy-kill, at best.

Vengeance at worst.

But that didn’t matter anymore, because when you turned around, he was there.

Negan.

Standing in the kitchen, watching you through the open door. He didn’t appear horrified, or disgusted. Maybe unsettled, sure. There was a darkness within you that he recognised, understood. Sure, he didn’t put it there, but over the years he would cultivate it, guide you. Raise you as somebody who would never be taken advantage of again.

Untouchable.

#carl grimes x reader #the walking dead x reader #twd x reader #negan smith x reader #negan smith #twd x you #the walking dead #carl grimes

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peachirambles · 6 months

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I'm doing these two together because of their similarities and figured it would just be best to answer both of them at once.

As a preface: Qiu and the MC do have a crush on each other but neither of them have acted on it. So right now they are Very close friends but Tamarack and the MC are best friends. I went with a more fem leaning MC but they are still using they/them pronouns and are still nonbinary. Just because of who will be showing up in this drabble 😭

With that out of the way, here's the drabble! Hope yall enjoy Qiu being a certified #asshole

Qiu wasn't a jealous person. In fact, they were quite the opposite, growing up as the residental young boyish heart-throb of the young population had other people jealous of them for many reasons. Popularity, good looks, funny, and with a perchant for being kind to everyone they meet; they had heard the rumors of how some of the "friends" Qiu had were secretly trying to push others away from them just to horde their affection. Of course, Ren and Baxter always snuffed out those particular people's issues. Though that didn't stop Qiu from finding out that they unknowingly made people jealous of them. For a while, they had grown accustomed to it.

But then they moved in.

With their sincerity, kindness, and love; they ruined Qiu so thoroughly, down to their very being. Yet, Qiu couldn’t even complain. They would absolutely let the MC do it again and again to them. They were everything to them, and all they had to do was look pretty and bat their eyelashes at them to get them to do anything. They were completely head over heels screwed for them.

And it's what led them here now, sitting at the lunch table, silently fuming on the uncomfortable bench.

Fuming because they were the reason they were completely and madly green with envy at the sight of the MC being so close with Tamarack.

"Tamarack, your hair is so silky and has such gorgeous curls!" The MC preened as they started to make a small braid with some strands of Tamarack's hair.

"Ah, are they really?" Was Tamarack's reply, soft and questioning. For a second, it would have sounded truly genuine, and it might have been, but Qiu knew better.

Tamarack had lost all of her boisterous energy and know-it-all attitude that she wielded back in 2010, replaced with insecurities about everything and anything about herself. It was like watching a turtle shrink back into its shell, and a part of Qiu understood why.

But as they watched the MC comb and weave their beautiful fingers through Tamarack's sparkling hair; a much louder, nastier part of them yelled and screeched.

She's obviously fishing for compliments, she knows her hair is her best quality!

Her hair isn't even that pretty to begin with!

Why is the MC braiding her hair? She doesn't deserve it.

Is my hair not good enough to be braided?

Why her and not me!

"Anddd done!" The MC squeaked, snapping Qiu out of their momentary spiral as the group cooed and awed at the small braid, dangling next to Tamarack's ear. Much to Qiu's utter displeasure, Tamarack had the nerve to be bashful.

"It's so cute!" Serenity, one of Tamarack and the MC's friend, piped up. "Now you have two braids!"

"It does look very nice." Vianca hummed in approval, which made Tamarack fidget in place.

"You did a good job MC." Renee or Ren for short, the only ally Qiu supposedly had at this godforesaken table and the only reason why they were even sitting there, smiled at the both of them.

Why the hell was she on Tamarack's side?Almost everyone here don't even know she's a girl! Why are we even here?!

Qiu couldn’t help but grit their teeth in pure frustration. They couldn't even lie, it was a perfect braid and it suited Tamarack perfectly. But, if they were being honest, they had rather Tamarack have no-

"Qiu."

Qiu, once again, snapped out of their thoughts and turned to the source of the voice. It was Vianca of all people, with a smirk on her face. Usually, they didn’t a single shit about her, but for some reason, that shit eating smirk made Qiu's stomach drop.

"Aren't you going to... you know? Join in on the conversation or compliment the braid? You havs been staring at Tamarack for a hot minute now." She sneered at them, and Qiu's eyes widened as they realized she was completely right.

Tamarack had noticed Qiu's stare on her. Otherwise, she wouldn't be fidgeting with the hem of her sweater, her smile dropping into an uneasy line, and her plucked eyebrows furrowed. God, she made them truly sick sometimes.

"Qiu probably thinks it's fine." Ren chuckled, though it was obvious that there was nervous energy coating each sound. They felt a small jab on their foot, and they looked up to see Ren's hazelnut eyes staring back at them.

"Right, Qiu?"

Qiu knew what was happening. They made Tamarack feel bad, and now they had to sit there and pretend that they thought her and her stupid mini braid that the MC made was cute to save face. Their hands balled up into fists on the table for just a second before they took a simple breath in and exhaled, and their hands relaxed once more.

The MC is in front of them for fuck's sake, they can pretend to be fine.

"Sure. It's cute." Was Qiu's stiff reply.

There was a collective breath of relief from most of the table's patrons, and Tamarack glanced up at them for just a second, her eyes searching for something before-

"I'm so glad!" The MC nearly squealed before pulling Tamarack into a close hug, giddy from all the praise, and all poor Tamarack was able to muster out was a solid squeak.

"I been practicing and practicing with Tamarack's hair the past few days after school. I love messing with hair, and once I get better, I want to do-"

There was a solid slam that reverberated on the table that not only silenced them but silenced most of the chatter in the cafeteria. Qiu's palms stinged and burned from the impact of the force, but they didn't care.

Why should they when all they been hearing was just bragging and idolizing someone that wasn't quite frankly worth the MC's time?

"I am sooo happy that you love to do Tamarack's hair and that you just loveee to do everything with her." Qiu laughed but it wasn't remotely happy or earnest, but instead filled with a deep malice.

"Qiu-" Ren snapped but Qiu pressed on.

"But I quite frankly don't give a fuck enough to be caring about her damn braid to be complimenting it."

There was audible gasps and even some giggles from the other students who were listening in. Vianca, Renee and Serenity's faces were twisted in a state of shock and disgust. The nasty pit in them were reveling in it.

At least that was the case until their eyes wandered on Tamarack's face, flushed hot with embarrassment and shame. Her head was ducked down but they could hear her eyelashes furiously batting away the tears that were starting to form beyond the drumming of Qiu's heart in their ears.

And if that didn't make Qiu falter, then the look on their face certainly did. It wasn't shock, it wasn't anger; it was pure and unfiltered hurt and disappointment. That was easily enough for Qiu to stop, but as if feeling like they were controlled on strings, they spoke again.

"Now if all of you excuse me, I'm going to do something better with my time."

The poison in their words even shocked them, but before they could even process that, they felt their limbs run on auto pilot.

They snatched their bag and stormed out of the cafeteria much to the confused shouts of the group, but Qiu didn't care.

They had to get out of there! They had to!

Qiu felt the blood rush to their face in so many emotions, eyes stinging as tears filled their vision. As they side-stepped both faculty and students as they ran up the stairs, thoughts were running at them a mile an hour.

Why did I do that?!

Why didn't I do it sooner?!

Did you see the look on their faces!?

I made Tamarack cry!

It was so funny!

What is wrong with me?

It was great!

As Qiu barreled past the door and onto the rooftop, stopping to take a breath of fresh air, one single though ruminated in their head.

I hurt them. I hurt my best friend.

Qiu wasn't a jealous person. That's what they thought. But as they sat down on a bench, holding their head in their hands, that thought just wasn't true anymore.

They realized that maybe, just maybe something nasty had taken residence within them underneath their watch. Whatever that nasty thing was, Qiu thought, it had rotten them to their core.

Or worse, that nasty pit was there the entire time and Qiu was too tired to fight back anymore.

#our life now and forever #qiu lin #tamarack baumann #renee murray #olnf qiu #olnf tamarack #olnf renee #olnf vianca #olnf serenity #candy drabbles #yeah this one kinda got away from me?#i really liked exploring the nastier side of qiu #especially since That part of them rears its ugly head when their jealous #but i also wanted to write them realizing that they Do have a nasty side #way more than their inital cold front leads on #sm sm they let the intrusive thoughts win badly

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l0ngschl0ngking · 1 year

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These hands were made for worshipping you

Francisco “Catfish” Morales x f!reader

summary: Frankie wants to show you exactly how much he adores you

warnings: SMUT (oral - f!receiving, pussy drunk Frankie, vaginal fingering, mirror sex, unprotected p in v, like 1 spit on the pussy, squirting -3:)- , body worship, size kink -kind of?-, dirty talk - Frankie has a foul mouth), mentions of reader being insecure about her body, mentions of postpartum depression, mentions of food, cursing, dad!frankie and it’s me so…fluff of course

word count: 7k (of filth)

A/N: Frankie is my fav Pedro character so I hope I did a good job writing him :)).

Francisco Morales is an observant man – punctilious dared you to say – he notices even the smallest of details. Whether it's about you, his friends, or the people he meets on the street. He notices the small crinkle of your nose when you smell something good or the way you squint your eyes when you are deep in thought. You guess it's from his times in the army – if you weren't attentive on the mission you were as good as dead.

So Frankie notices the way you quickly walk past mirrors now – or when you do look at yourself in one – your sad look as your eyes dance across your face, your body which changed after the birth of your baby girl. He sees the small frown adorning your face and the way you huff. When you catch him looking at you, you quickly smile and try to hide this look he cannot quite place – but Frankie notices. He wants to make you feel good. He always does. It's Frankie – your Frankie – who wants nothing more than to please you.

So an idea pops in his head. He has planned a nice romantic dinner at your favorite Italian restaurant – god knows he hasn’t taken you out on a date since birth and it's been almost 2 months now. His parents said that they would come and pick up little Gracie – you were adamant and not sure if that was such a good idea at first, you weren't apart from her before. But Frankie has a way with persuasion – all it takes for you to give in are his brown eyes paired with his fluffy hair and patchy beard and you are done for. So it's no surprise when you say yes to his plan to try and make you feel better – normal.

He read it once in this shitty magazine when you two were waiting for your doctor's appointment – that women are prone to postpartum depression, mood swings after birth…And he hated even thinking that you might feel that way. He tried to help as much as possible when he came home from work – exhausted most of the time than not. His soothing voice telling you to relax, his big hands paired with his calloused fingers massaging your shoulders, his hot breath on your skin when he kisses you so softly onto that spot on your neck – the smooth tone of his voice hushing your worries and the sweet nothings released from his mouth whispered in your ear.

So you feel even worse when none of his soothing words help and his gentle touch makes you feel even more anxious. When his hands make contact with your skin you want to pull away. Because he deserves better and you know that – you are disgusting. Your clothes don’t fit you anymore even when you try – emphasizing the word try as most of the time you are too tired - to work out. Your body has changed now and you feel repulsed by the way you look, by the way you walk and talk. You feel like you are not good enough of a wife, let alone a mother. You keep telling yourself that he touches you just because he feels obligated to – as your husband. Because how could he love this horrid-looking person staring back at you anytime you look in the mirror?

And what makes you feel even worse is the way he makes it all look so damn easy – the parenting. When he comes home from work he tries to take care of both of you and he never complains. He never has mental breakdowns – like you do - when Gracie cries to the point you just want to lock yourself in the bathroom. When she doesn’t want to latch on although you know she is hungry. But you think he knows – because it's Frankie – and he just doesn’t want you to feel bad, he never calls you out on it. And she seems like such a ray of sunshine with him – he makes her calm down immediately with his sheer presence. And you feel bad for Frankie because he really –really – does deserve better than this – than you. So you want to make it up to him – your behavior, your incompetence – and you dubiously agree to his proposal for a date.

You pack up everything for your daughter – and you also triple-check everything too, before you are satisfied. You packed her two bags and Frankie thinks it's too much for not even one day – he doesn’t say anything, however. He knows his parents are capable of taking care of his chiquita – after all, they took care of him and raised him. And he knows you don’t doubt them – you are just worried – and he understands. When the evening quickly rolls and you hear the bell , you want to go and get it but Frankie just shushes you and tells you to get ready – his patchy beard scratching you when he presses a brisk kiss on your cheek when you try telling him for the hundredth time where everything is and that they have to reheat the milk in the warm water. He takes Gracie from your arms and blows raspberries on her tummy – she laughs and he laughs along with her as he opens the door. You only hear the hushed voices of his parents as they greet their only granddaughter when you go upstairs to your shared bedroom.

Frankie is still dressed in his sweatpants and a soft cotton shirt which you got him as a joke before Gracie was born -Girl Dad written on it in a pretty cursive font, his signature well-worn-off cap sitting on top of his head when he runs up the stairs after he tells his mother the instructions you gave her and she just brushes him off and scoffs – as if offended - but he knows she meant it in a heartwarming “I know what to do, mijo” kind of way. He passes his chiquita to his dad and presses wet kisses onto her whole face - saying goodbye to her. She doesn't even seem to care though as she laughs at something Frankie's dad does and Frankie smiles as he softly closes the doors.

You and your mother-in-law get along well and she respects you – and you respect her in return. After all, she raised Frankie and he grew up into a pretty great man - in your opinion. She is also more like a second mother to you as yours lives in another state and you can't see her as often as you'd like. Opposed to Frankie's parents who live close by and help you with Gracie as often as they can. And you are grateful for that as you still don’t know how to navigate in this new role of a mother. Gracie loves them too – especially her grandad who calls her “mi little princesa”– and doesn’t she know it? Last time he bought her this pink princess-looking dress and even though she fussed when you try to put it on her she calmed down when her grandad almost cried and took thousands of pictures - while making the silliest faces at her - of her which he shows to all of his friends anytime he has the chance now.

When Frankie faintly opens the bedroom door, he stands in the doorway – leaning against the doorframe as he watches you stand in front of the full-length mirror you two bought when you just moved in. It's an old thing but you fell in love with it when you found it in one of these old antique shops you were passing by one day. Pretty hefty with the wooden frame adorning it and Frankie complained at least another week after he carried it up the stairs that his lower back was now killing him because of it.

So he watches when you smooth your hands down the material of the pretty floral dress you are now wearing – funnily enough Frankie’s favorite and the only one which you could actually zip up all the way. He sees the way your shoulders sag down and the way you shake your head at yourself. He sighs quietly and steps into the room – for a man his size he can be quiet as a mouse and he sneaks behind you – his hands making their way to your waist. He lowers his chin onto your shoulder. You meet his gaze in the mirror and he offers you a small smile – the compliment he wants to say sits on top of his tongue – but you beat him to it, the tears threatening to escape you, now stinging your eyes.

“I look like shit, Frankie.” It surprises him really – he knew you were feeling down, he could see it – but this is the first time you actually say something about it to him. He tried to talk to you but you always just closed off and he never wanted to push on the subject – not wanting to make you even more uncomofrtable. He grips your waist tighter and one of his hands brushes the unshed tears from your eyes. His thumb smoothing over the soft fabric of your dress. You feel the vibrations of his voice on your shoulder when he speaks.

“Baby, you are absoutely breathtakingly gorgeous.” He whispers and the way he says it – full of endearment and love, with the soft tone he only reserves for you makes it easy for you to believe him – or to at least try to believe him. You shake your head in disagreement and he grabs your chin – his thick fingers squeezing – making you look at him in the mirror. Really look at him. "And I don't know why you feel the way you feel but I do want to help you because I love you so fucking much it hurts me sometimes." The ghost of his whispered confession lingers in the air and you swallow thickly as he holds your stare. You can feel the way his chest heaves with every pass of his breath because he is so close to you - so fucking close. You feel his hard chest pressed up against your back and his soft stomach on your lower back, his bulge pressing against you. In the mirror, you can see how broad he is opposite to you - his shirt straining against his shoulders that you love to rest your legs on while he eats you out.

And for someone as attentive as Frankie he is also pretty unassuming when it comes to himself. He praises you every chance he has, he touches you anytime you pass by him. He's tall and lumbering and he doesn't even know the effect he has on you. You try to tell him constantly how much you love him - god and do you ever - and try to make him at least half as loved and appreciated as you feel. He always just shrugs you off with a shy chuckle under his breath and blush on his scruffy cheeks. You love him for him and it doesn't hurt that he is also the most gorgeous man you've ever encountered. With his brown eyes and curly hair, his patchy beard and aquiline nose and that stupid hat that seems to be glued to his head. And somehow he is yours.

You love the way he towers over you and how his solid chest now presses against your back when he hugs you from behind. Or fucks you from behind. And you miss it - god how much you miss it - the way his big fat cock feels against your walls and how it seems to split you almost in half - even after all these years together. But even though Frankie doesn't seem to be repulsed by you – he hasn’t tried any moves on you since the birth of your baby girl and the thought of him not finding you attractive anymore bruises your beating heart.

He can sense the change in your body language – the press of your ass against his crotch, your head bumping onto his shoulder and he digs his blunt nails into your hip, the hand that was holding your chin smoothing over the soft skin of your now exposed throat, down between the valley of your breasts and stopping on your stomach. He feels you tense and he places a delicate kiss on your neck – the feel of his beard sending shudder down your spine. A silent moan falls out of your lips when his tongue pokes out to suck on your skin and you feel him smirk against you – the scrape of his teeth making you writhe under his touch. You don’t want to feel this way anymore – unattractive and worthless – and it seems Frankie can read your mind as he meets your eyes when you open them and look at him in the mirror. A hushed: “Tell me what do you need” is said between the soft nips left on your nape and it's hard to concentrate with the way his deft fingers toy with the hem of your dress.

Francisco Morales is a patient man – he can wait hours for a target to show up or wait while you shop for new clothes -he especially enjoys when you buy new langerie. And he is equally as patient now as he waits for your answer. Basking in the way you just let him hold you after so long without tensing up immediately. You are now putty in his hands which explore your new body he hasn’t had a chance to really touch. And he absolutely fucking loves it. He loves all of the new curves and how his calloused fingers dip into your soft flesh. He traces it with a newfound adoration and appreciation for you. You birthed his daughter and he cannot believe you are so strong and perfect – his exquisite little wife. He wants to show you how fucking much he adores you – all of you. And so he waits for your answer – he roughly exhales when he hears the low “Just need you, Francisco” as you squeeze one of his hands holding your upper thigh.

He nods – once, twice – before he carefully unzips your floral dress which falls from your shoulders. He presses light kisses into the crook of them and he moves to kiss your shoulder blades, his fingers tracing the beauty marks adorning your back. His touch is electrifying and you whine his name pathetically when he squeezes one of your tits tenderly. The shiver that runs down your spine slowly makes its way into your limbs when he sinks onto his knees and drags your dress down along with him – you want to say that he shouldn’t – his knees will hurt tomorrow if he keeps kneeling on the floor but he muffles your protest when his teeth sink into the meat of your ass – his tongue smoothing the sting he leaves there. The words he says are slurred when he inhales your scent – his nose pressing into your cunt shamelessly, his fingers spreading your ass cheeks open.

“Missed this pretty pussy, querida.” You want to tell him you missed this too – his fingers digging into your flesh and his tongue on you. Frankie is not much of a talker – everyone who knows him knows that. He just sits and listens - sometimes he quipps something or joins the conversation after a while and he is content with that. But in the bedroom? That’s a different kind of Frankie – you call him “pussy drunk Morales” and it's pretty accurate. He can spend hours between your thighs and he is just as happy and content with it as you are – if not more. He is a talker in bed and when you first slept together it surprised you – and it was a welcome surprise for sure. “Gosh, I am gonna make you feel so good, hermosa. Want you to watch how I finger you in the mirror.” And he also isn't shy to tell you what he wants in bed.

You swallow thickly – your Adam's apple bobbing – when you can see his hands dip lower, smoothing them along your ankles and then back up – his thick fingers moving with preciseness. He knows your body like his own and he can map out every single sensitive spot on it with his eyes closed. Frankie wants to please and his mission is to do so - the inner pilot in him sitting in the front seat whenever you two have sex together. He knows which buttons to push at the right time and which not - to wait out. You whimper and try to push your hips against him – too impatient, to wound up. The small chuckle that cuts through the – other than that - quiet room makes you want to jump his bones right then and there. He enjoys it when you squirm in his grasp but tonight he is just as needy as you. It's been so long – too long – since he last touched you like this.

“I am gonna give you exactly what you need, baby.” You believe him – he always gives you exactly what you need – and more. His hands spread your ass cheks open once more and he fucking spits on your gaping hole. You jolt at the sudden action but he holds you close. He coats his finger in the spit, putting pressure on the tight ring of muscle whispering “another time”. And you are so so desperate – you'd let him do anything to you right now. Not that other times you wouldn’t - he proved to you over and over again that he will make anything incredible for you.

He is slow with it – as he enters you with one of his fingers, adding the second one right after and he hisses when your walls squeeze them. The thickness of them makes your eyes roll into the back of your head, closing your eyes you focus only on the feeling of being so fucking full and when he moves, your hand shoots back – tossing his hat off and gripping his hair. He fucking loves it -your fingers curling into his locks and he feels your nails scrape against his scalp. He wants more, needs more – and so do you. So he starts moving the fingers inside of you and the moans that fall out of your mouth are worth every fucking minute that was building up to this moment.

“Look at yourself, querida. Look at how fucking wrecked you look for me.” His voice is strained and you as he says – you always do. And the sight that you see makes your heart bit a little faster, and the muscles in your cunt pull tighter. You see Frankie's head poking out to watch too – his lips ghosting across your outer thigh while his fingers keep working inside of you. His hair is wild – and you grip him tighter by it– his face twists in pleasure and it makes him speed up, makes his finger hook and pat your walls with a newfound want. Your mouth hangs wide open, your brows furrowed, the bead of sweat running down your neck disappearing between the valley of your breasts. You see every reaction to his onslaught – every twitch in your muscles, every inch your mouth opens wider in pure bliss, even the way your breath picks up when Frankie presses against something incredible inside of you and you tell him to keep going.

You see the way the muscles in his neck strain – the vein on it clearly visible to your hungry eyes now. You spot the way one of his hands fists his cock that strains against the flimsy sweatpants. Every time he groans against your flesh quick “Fuck, so fucking pretty,” every time he whispers “Make me feel so good, want you to feel so good too, querida,” only brings you closer and closer to the edge. It's written all over your face – the hunger – carnal and selfish. And you want to cum, you feel the coil in your belly pulling tight but it's not enough and you sob in frustration. Your fingers flex in Frankie's curls and you plead for something – anything. You almost cry when he pulls away – his fingers leaving your fluttering cunt.

His fingers are coated with you and he doesn’t want to waste even a single drop – bringing them to his mouth he moans at your tangy taste, closing his eyes. He swats your thigh when you plead him “Frankie, Frankie, please, please. I was so close” and he just shushes you with “I know, baby, I know” after he pulls his fingers out of his mouth and stands up – groaning at the flash of pain that shoots through him. He turns you quickly and his hungry mouth is on yours not even a second later – the first time he kisses you tonight and you moan into his mouth as he “shares” your taste with you that sits heavy on his tongue. It's slow and soft and his grip on your hip doesn’t falter, his other hand bringing you closer – pressing against your lower back. Your fingers curl into the soft cotton of his shirt – holding him in place. Kissing his bottom lip first – your teeth scrape it and you give the same attention to the lower lip. The kiss makes you warm and fuzzy, it makes something in your chest bubble with an infinite love for this man - your man -in front of you.

He's warm and solid under your palms and his hand snakes onto the hinge of your jaw – opening your mouth wider, craving more. You hold onto him tighter, sighing deeply as his tongue explores your mouth. It makes your toes curl and when he pulls away you are breathless – your breath coming in short huffs. He doesn’t look much better – his hair is tousled, hair sticking in every direction and your hands try to slick it back but it's no help. You want to bury yourself in him, in the way he makes you feel so damn protected and loved. You chase his mouth again but he just gives you a quick peck and gifts you a broad grin that you want to kiss away.

“Go and sit on edge of the bed, hermosa.” You quirk an eyebrow at him but eventually turn – with a shake of your hips you comply with his request – sitting on the edge of the bed and crossing your arms over your stomach as you watch Frankie slowly undress. His shirt comes off first and you lick your lips when you see the expanse of his back, the muscles flexing deliciously when he grabs the mirror and brings it to you – and wait, why the fuck is he bringing the mirror to the edge of the bed? He places it in front of you and stands next to it looking at your bare skin – licking his lips and you try and shield away from his gaze – the nasty thoughts still screaming at you at the back of your mind – and maybe Frankie really is pretending. Maybe – maybe-

“You still with me, baby?” The term of endearment falling from his lips makes you fucking emotional and you nod when he kisses one of your hands – pressing butterfly kisses to each and every one of your knuckles– kneeling in front of you. He grabs your hands – pulling them away from your stomach – soft and flabby now with stretch marks adorning it and you look away because he is so close you feel the ghost of breath against it and he must feel so disgusted by you – you don’t wanna see it in his eyes. He grasps your chin and orders you to look at him – when you do you see no disgustment in his eyes – nor is he pulling away from you like you expected him to. “Don’t want you to hide from me, querida.” He mumbles against the skin on your wrists and he shifts on his knees – getting closer to you. He touches your inner thighs softly and then his hands move higher – sliding over your hips and onto your tummy. He moves you even closer to him. His lips dance across your belly now – the pads of his fingers dipping into the curves on it and he hums when he feels you slowly relax.

After he is happy with his efforts on you – pecking every fucking inch of your “So undeniably gorgeous” body as he whispers filth onto your skin – your brain stops working after a while and all you can think of is Frankie when hovers above you. Tucking your hair behind your ear he kisses your collar bone and his hand moves behind your head – his forehead bumps with yours and the other hand strokes your sensitive nipple – you whimper and your hot breath tickles his face. “Baby, you gonna sit on my face and you will watch yourself in the mirror while I eat you out, yeah?” It seems like a question but it isn't – at least not really. Frankie wants you to sit on his face and there's no room to argur about it. He is good at giving orders – and you are glad to follow them. Your inside twists in anticipation when you nod.

It's certainly not the first time Frankie asked you to sit on his face - because this man loves to eat pussy – for breakfast, lunch and dinner. From the back, front - on a counter, floor, couch. Pretty much everywhere and anytime. When you first started seeing each other and he told you he “wanted to eat your pussy” you just laughed – thinking he must be kidding. But when you looked at him you learned that he was completely and utterly serious and didn’t understand what was so funny about it. And god, he was incredible in it. He would spend days between your thighs if you'd let him.

He flips you both over – you are now on top of him and him under you. Your thighs lay on the side of his narrow waist. You feel him through the material of his sweats - feeling the wet spot on them - and you make an experimental roll of your hips – his hands flying out to stop your efforts as he groans. “Up, baby. Gosh, missed your pussy on my tongue. Come on, up, up. Please, querida, please -” His nails dig into the flesh of your ass when you start moving up his body – your nails scratching his nipples as you do – and his hips buck up, pleading with you “Please, please, baby, need that wet pussy on my mouth.” He is lewd with his words and you grip him by the hair when you hover above his head, his neck strains when he tries to reach your dripping core - just a little taste- but you push his head back down and look at yourself in the mirror – your hair is wild and so are your lust blown eyes. You look sexy - powerful- when you see how this man writhes under you and wants “Just a little taste, hermosa. Give me a taste. God, this pussy was made for my mouth.” Your chest swells with incredible need for the feel of his tongue, his touch, him.

He pulls you down on him and your hands fly from his hair onto the mattress as your fingers grip the cool sheets. The first swipe of his tongue against your folds makes your head fall back and Frankie watches with hungry eyes your reactions – his hands coming to hold yours in his. His palms are a little sweaty under you and he feels like he is on fucking fire while he licks into your cunt as you clench around his tongue. He muffles something against you and you look down at him – he looks so fucking blissed out that it makes you whine as you buck against his mouth. He squeezes your fingers between his and pulls away from your sopping folds, pressing wet kisses onto your inner thighs. “Look at yourself, baby. Fuck, this cunt was so fucking needy to feel my mouth on it. Wasn’t it?” You nod frantically and you look back into the mirror when his tongue swirls against your clit, your back arching.

The swell of your breasts calls for his attention and he pulls one of his hands away from yours – your free hand grips his hair when he toys with the nipple between his fingers –a trickle of milk beading from it and that makes him hungry for more as he mutters a quick “Fuck yes.” His tongue plunging into you and he fucking loves the sounds you make for him. The sweat on your skin builds up with your upcoming orgasm. You start grinding onto his face and he moans in agreement, his eyes closing in concentration because – fuck – he needs you to soak his face. “Yeah, use me, baby. Just like that, c'mon. Fuck my face. I want it,” He growls - you do as you are told and Frankie is unable to form any other words, his jaw locking as he tries to not let a single drop go to waste, brows furrowing. His hand slaps you across your ass and soothes the sting with his palm, it burns your skin and you plead him to do it again, again, and again-

If anyone tried to tell you Frankie doesn’t enjoy eating pussy you'd tell them they are fucking crazy. Because you feel it from the way vibrations come out of his chest, his fingers tighten against you and he is so fucking deprived to feel more of you, always wants more of you. And he is also the fucking best at this – all calculated swirls and licks of his tongue, efficient swipes of the pink muscle against your walls, on your clit. “Fuck, baby. Gonna cum, Francisco. You are gonna make me cum!” You squeal and he doubles his efforts – his mouth sucking on your clit, and you look away from the mirror as you gaze down at him and he wants you to cum but also doesn’t want to this to stop, never wants to stop. It makes you keen under his touch. He doesn’t pull his mouth away from you to tell you to “Yeah, fucking soak this face. Want this needy little pussy to squeeze me tight.” he just keeps going and it only takes two or three swipes of his tongue against your bundle of nerves before you are cumming – soaking his face as he wanted.

You aren't sure which one of you is louder – your ears ring and you are pretty sure you passed out as white-hot pleasure shoots through your entire body – making your nerves feel like they are on a fucking fire. When you come back from your senses and feel he isn't stopping – wants to clean you up but it feels like too much and you try to push his head away and scramble from him but his hands lock on your hips as he holds you close. And then he kisses you on your pussy – butterfly kisses pressed against your clit, your folds as he breathes you in – your curls tickling him on a nose. You slowly move down his torso and he can feel how wet you still are on his skin. He slowly sits up and grins at you – it's a sight to behold. His beard is all shiny with your slick and he licks his lips as he holds you close – pulling you by the head to kiss your already awaiting lips. His hard-on presses against your bare core and you sigh into his mouth when you feel him twitch against you – grabbing him and he quickly pushes your hand away – breaking from the kisses. “Querida, I am gonna cum in my pants if you keep doing that. I almost did. You make me hard as a fucking rock.”

“Would that be so bad?” You grin against his mouth and he whispers “cheeky” before his tongue enters your mouth once again – the taste of you makes your head spin. His fingers dance against your searing skin and you lounge in this moment of post-sex intimacy. His nose traces your jaw as he kisses you on it and he nuzzles against your neck when you kiss him on the top of his head.

“Hm, not really. It would just mean I'd have to eat you out again before I could sink my cock into this sweet cunt.” He says the dirty words as easily as he asks how was your day. It makes the tip of your ears turn a deep red color and you giggle breathily.

“You have a foul mouth. Has anyone told you that before?” He hums when you massage the back of his scalp – your nails scratching the spot behind his ear and he almost but purrs.

“I believe you did. Once or twice, or anytime we fuck.” He throws you a toothy grin.

He nips at the skin on the crook of your shoulder and suddenly the atmosphere changes once more – his hips buck up when you swirl your bare cunt on him. The press of his lips against you is now more urgent, dire and he whimpers when your hand takes him from his boxers – your thumb circling the red head as a bead of precum spurts out. He spits out a quick “fuck” before he is throwing you onto the mattress – shucking his sweatpants off of him and he is scrawling back to you seconds later. He handles you like a ragdoll – you face the mirror as he kneels behind you, your face smushed against the sheets as you watch his ministrations, his hands hooking under your hips to hold you as he pleases. His cock throbs against the back of your thigh and one of his hand tugs lazily on his cock – notching it at your entrance and coating the head in your wetness.

“I am gonna fuck you so so good, baby. And you will watch.” He reaches forwards and grips your chin making you look directly into the mirror – the soft belly of his pressing against your lower back as he does so and it makes you moan in concurrence. You see the flash of white teeth in the mirror before he is pushing into your already awaiting and fluttering cunt. The moans you both let out as he pushes all the way in are downright lewd. Your walls are sensitive and you can feel every vein and ridge of his cock. The thickness of him makes it feel like he is in your guts and you choke when shifts – the head of him brushing against something glorious inside of you. He notices when the muscles in your pussy squeeze him tighter and he focuses on the spot – not really moving, trying to find the right angle.

You cry out when he makes an experimental thrust of his hips and it never felt this way before. He chuckles in pure happiness because he knows he found it and he bends closer to you – his dick pushing deeper, deeper – so he can whisper into your ear. “Oh, baby. This will feel so fucking good for you. Fuck, let me hear you.” You don’t hear him as clearly because you feel like you are falling in and out of consciousness every time his cock passes through your walls. He pulls back away – his fingers tangling into your hair and pulling you back by it – the quick nip of his teeth on your ear making you look at him in the mirror. “Told you to watch, so you will watch, yeah?” You nod – not trusting your voice as your throat closes down on you. He grips you tighter, and the pads of his other fingers pet your clit. “I need to hear you say it, baby. Tell me what a girl you are and that you will watch as I fuck you on my big fat fucking cock.” You hear the snarl in his voice and he stops moving, his teeth sinking into the flesh on your shoulder. “C'mon, tell me. Tell me, baby.” He orders and you sob – you look and sound pathetic and Frankie loves everything about it.

“Yes, baby – Frankie, I will watch how you fuck me on your big fat cock. Please, just move. Please, please, please -” The breath is knocked out from your lungs when he does, his hands falling from your hair as he traces his fingers down your spine and you try to watch as he told you. You watch his face as he watches how he disappears in and out of your fluttering cunt, how his hair bounces with his every movement, how his hand now grips your hip moving you closer to him. You see the way you are completely fucked out, how your mouth opens wider with every pass of his cock – you see the way he bends down and slows his movement just so he can lick the salty sweat rolling down the base of your spine. All you can do is whimper when he pulls back and seems to only concentrate on his cock inside of you.

He angles his hips and when he pushes deeper inside of you – his balls smacking against the meat of your ass – you want to crawl away from him because it feels like you are going to pee. The calloused pads of his fingers circle your clit and he plunges his dick onto that spot over and over again – you plead with him to stop, it feels too fucking good and you don’t know if you can handle it. He smacks you once, twice, three times – his fingers digging on that spot where it stings and it's too much – all too much. You feel the coil inside of you snap and your chest falls onto the mattress, the intense pleasure crashes into you in waves and you faintly hear Frankie hiss as he pulls out of you as you soak him - his pubic hair drips in with your slick and the sheets are wet but he wants you to do it again.

“Yes, yes. Fuck, baby. You soaked me. Want you to do it again. Can you do it again?” He doesn’t wait for your answer before he plunges into you again and you keep repeating his name like a prayer when you feel another wave crashing through your body – you press your ass into him more and he hisses. You vaguely feel the wet press of his tummy against your lower back and he pulls away from you completely as you plop onto the mattress. You hear the slick of his fists on his cock and you muster the energy to raise your head to look into the mirror. He jerks of, the movements of his fists frantic and the muscles in his biceps flex with every pass of his arm. His neck is strained as he throws his head back and cums – the ropes of pearly white liquid falling onto your back. He falls right on top of you – careful not to crush you. It's quiet for a long while and then he slowly moves away from you – you whine in protest as you hear the sound of his feet against the tiled floor.

When he comes back you feel a warm towel on your back as he cleans you up – carefully swiping it between your thighs as well. You feel the bed dip under the weight of him – pulling you on top of him. You listen to the rapid beating of his heart slowing down as he draws patterns onto your spine, kissing you on the forehead. A hushed conversattion between you two as you open up to him - about the way you felt since birth - and he swears to you that tommorow both of you will look for help - so you can talk to a professional about it. And if it is possible - you swear your love for him grows after his quiet promise.

He grins then and you raise your head to throw him a questioning look.

“I made you squirt, baby.” He says it with smugness in his voice and you swat him on the shoulder, grinning too.

“Don't be so smug about it. We both know you are too freaking good in bed, Francisco. So really, it was only a matter of time.” After the sex fog in his brain fades away he is back to his sheepish self as one of his hands rubs his neck at your compliment.

“Was it good, though?” Only Francisco Morales could ask such a stupid question after he made you see stars.

“Yeah, baby. I thought I passed the fuck out at least three times. That’s how good it was.” You kiss his peck and he hums, stroking your hair and you start to feel hungry – your stomach rumbling and he laughs, and reaches for his phone on the bedside table.

“So, because we didn’t make it to dinner what do you want me to order? Pizza, sushi, chinese?” He lists and you think about it before you blurt out “chinese” and he nods, pecking your lips quickly. Before he calls to order though you say: “Love you, Frankie.”

A boyish smirk makes its way onto his face and he looks younger like this – like he has no worries in his life. The dim light in the bedroom makes his golden skin shine and you think about how the heck did you get so lucky. “Love you too, querida.” He says as he presses another kiss onto your forehead.

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senseless-writing · 2 years

Text

Unprecedented Distractions

Pairing: Austin Butler x reader

Summary: Austin thought having Y/n with him would make the press interviews more bearable. It hadn’t occurred to him that having her there might lead to some new challenges.

Warnings: Jealousy, a little bit of insecurity

A/N: So this didn’t turn out to be anything like the original request...I got a bit carried away. Sorry about that! If this isn’t what you wanted, feel free to let me know, and I can maybe try again, or you can bring it to another writer! I won’t take it personally at all :)

If you would like to be added to any of my tag lists (I’ve got a general tag list, along with specific ones for each fandom I’ve written for thus far), plz leave a comment or ask and let me know which one!

Masterlist

----------

Inviting Y/n to a day full of press was one of the most impulsive things Austin has ever done.

Honestly, even he was shocked when the words came tumbling from his lips. They were making dinner together the night before and talking about what their following day looked like. Y/n was so excited for her first day off in who knows how long, though she was bummed to be spending it alone. Austin couldn’t help but wish she wouldn’t have to.

Before he knew it, he was asking her to join him. After a pause, she agreed with a hesitant smile.

And a part of Austin felt bad. Felt bad that his girlfriend would spend her one day off standing on the sidelines, watching him be fawned over by stylists and asked questions about his “genius”. God, it was always so awkward to talk about himself in that way. But the embarrassment almost doubled when doing it in front of the person he loved.

Though he had to admit, waking up that morning and getting ready for work together was somewhat of a dream. And Austin had never felt better about an outfit his stylist picked out for him, not when he saw Y/n’s reaction to it.

While driving to his first interview, she’d pulled him down to her level and whispered something about taking it off him when they got home, and Austin was overwhelmed by the feeling that he’d made the right decision. Even if it meant his white button down had suddenly become unbearably tight over his flushed skin.

That led them to where they were now. With him speaking to someone about the movie he loved, pretending there wasn’t a camera recording them, and trying more than anything to act like his attention wasn’t pulled to the woman standing behind it.

“Did you have any special ways of getting into character on set? Rituals, or something like that?”

“I think a part of me was always in character during that time, especially when it came to his voice,” Austin began, his head turning slightly as he thought over the rest of his answer. Without meaning to, his eyes raced towards Y/n. He wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for. Reassurance, maybe. Or perhaps someone to laugh with, as she was the only someone who personally knew the experiences he was now describing. It’s possible that he just wanted to look at her. Either way, the reason didn’t matter.

Because she wasn’t looking at him.

She was happy, though. Smiling, laughing even. But not at him. At some guy. Austin had to remind himself that he still had an interview to get through, and his pause in between answers was becoming uncomfortable.

He coughed, pretended there was a bubble in his throat, and continued. “It was more method than I’ve ever gone before. But other than that, you know…”

The situation drew his attention against his will. He didn’t want to look; he wanted to focus on the question at hand. But all he could think about was the quiet conversation going on across the room.

The little space they were in was small, but full of people. All there for a reason, all doing a job. They were sure to stay quiet, though, if talking at all.

Apparently, this guy's only job is keeping my girlfriend company.

Austin couldn't even tell what they were saying. That was the worst part. What could he possibly be saying that made her look at him like that?

“...it was just listening to his music and reminding myself of the research I’d done to really get into that mindset. No different from any other character, really…”

Y/n was blushing now, with that smile that he knew to be the one where she’d received a compliment she thought she didn’t deserve. What the hell was going on?

“...but at a much more intense level. The hair and makeup chair was a great place for me to do that, so I could sort of mentally and physically prepare at the same time.”

If the interviewer noticed his distracted and distressed state, she didn’t comment on it. Instead, she gave Austin a small smile and said “All that research must have taken a lot of time. Did it feel like you had to put your life on hold to accomplish such a role?”

That caught him off guard. It wasn’t an overly original question, but suddenly Austin understood why seeing Y/n laughing with another man made him so upset. Not because he was a jealous person, but because he was perceptive.

He knew what made a good boyfriend, and he knew what made a bad one. Y/n’s support never wavered throughout the chaos that his job brought them, but he wasn’t naive. It couldn’t have been easy for her to carry their relationship on her back whenever he was too busy to help with the load.

So maybe he was jealous after all. But it was his own doing, and that’s what made him angrier than anything else.

He hadn’t realized he was staring until the room was blanketed in an awkward quiet. Y/n’s eyes met his, somewhat confused, and he couldn’t find the strength to look away. Not even with a camera recording him.

“Austin?” the sound-man called out behind the camera. “We’re actually having some problems with the audio right now that might take a couple minutes to reset. If it doesn’t mess with your schedule too much, would you mind if we take a break?”

Austin wasn’t sure if that was the truth, or if this guy was just throwing him a bone. It didn’t matter too much to him, though, he agreed all the same. As the woman in charge of his schedule scurried off to figure out how much this would throw their day, he was already motioning for Y/n to come over.

He watched her say goodbye and tried to control his glare. Y/n bounded over to him without a care in the world. Right before she crossed the threshold to his chair, however, he motioned for her to stop.

“You’re not rolling, right?” He addressed the interviewer. Louise something, though he couldn’t presently be certain. She was already up and out of her chair, probably to talk to their producer. “I don’t want her on camera.”

Louise gave him a gentle smile. Everyone on set knew of Austin's not-so-secret girlfriend. “Don’t worry, we won’t roll again until everyone’s ready.”

Y/n didn’t wait for another invitation. In five seconds flat, she was settled comfortably on her boyfriend's lap. The folding chair creaked under their weight, and Austin held her tight to him with one hand across her lap and another around her waist.

“What happened?” she questioned with a hand gripping his arm. She pulled his grasp to be tighter around her, and Austin would’ve laughed if he wasn’t still stuck in his head. “It was going fine one minute, and then not the next.”

Austin tucked his nose in her neck and sighed. “Something with the sound, I guess. They’re fixing it now.”

“No, I meant with you. You looked confused or something.”

“You noticed?”

She laughed, moved her hand to run it through his curls, and paused. His stylist would surely have a thing or two to say about her ruined work. Instead, she settled on fiddling with the hair at the base of his neck.

“Austin, you’re the movie star. Everyone in this room is here to look at you. I think you’re the only one who doesn’t have to worry about not having all the attention.”

“I didn’t have yours.”

Austin felt stupid after he said it. Like a petulant child. But it was too late to take it back.

“What?” she laughed again, though this time it was more of a confused chuckle than anything else. Her eyes cast back to the man from before, and she could feel Austin’s fingers dig into her hip as she did. She looked back at her boyfriend in shock. “Are you jealous?”

“No,” he scoffed, refusing to meet her confused expression. His grip on her begged to differ.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you. Do you know how many girls are thirsting over you on the internet right now? Or the ones waiting outside this building, hoping to catch a glimpse of you on your way out?”

“They aren’t-”

“They aren’t anything more than fans to you, I know, but that isn’t the point. How is it that I can handle all of that, but you can’t handle me talking to another man for five minutes?”

“You weren’t talking,” he said very matter of factly. “You were laughing.”

“Yeah, well, I’m laughing now too. At you!”

“It’s not funny,” Austin bit his lip to stop from whining.

“It is! It’s funny that you think this guy, who’s here to help you promote your new role as Elvis Presley in the Elvis Presley biopic, would try and steal your girlfriend out from under you. Can you admit how funny that sounds?”

He looked at her, then. Brushed the hair from her eyes, which were glittering with amusement. She still didn’t get it. “Baby, who I am or what I do doesn’t matter if I’m never around to be here with you.”

“So this is about work again?”

Austin was always apologizing when things didn’t go as planned. “I’m sorry baby, Baz called, but I’ll make it up to you,” “This is the last time, I promise.” And it never was, but Y/n didn’t mind. There was a difference between carelessly canceling a date and rescheduling it due to responsibility. She knew that. But apparently, Austin didn’t.

“I just,” Austin struggled to explain. “I just wish things would go back to how they used to be, when everything was calm. It was easier then, even if it wasn’t exactly normal. It was our normal.”

“Aus, your career is taking off. Everyone is finally recognizing how talented you are, it’s your dream come true. That’s not something to wish away. I want you to enjoy it and not feel guilty. I was here before, and I’ll be here afterwards. You never have to worry about that.”

It suddenly felt stupid to have ever doubted her in the first place. Not that Austin ever questioned her loyalty, but rather his ability to give her a reason to be loyal. Although her speech hadn’t completely eased the part of his mind that always wandered back to her, it was a relief to hear the words.

He’d have to try to believe them more often.

“Do you wanna know what we were talking about?” she asked him when he didn’t respond.

Austin’s eyebrow raised. “Would that ease my mind?”

“I think so.”

So he nodded, and a mischievous glint took over her expression.

“Well, if you must know, Brian over there seems to think I’d make one hell of a model.”

Her boyfriend immediately scowled. “That doesn’t make me feel any better, Y/n. Not in the slightest.”

“No, not in a flirtatious way! He’s a photographer.”

“Oh,” he paused for a moment. “Is that something you’d be interested in?”

Y/n rested her head against his own. “I don’t know, maybe. You take pictures of me all the time, this wouldn’t be much different from that.”

That part was true. Austin loved his new camera. Developing film took time, and he enjoyed that, but it made him more aware of what he took pictures of. His most favorite subject was her.

But he was still tentative. “People would see them, baby…you’d be in the public eye.”

“Yeah, that’s the turn off. I don’t think that’s something I want. It was a nice conversation, though.”

She was fiddling with the rings on his hand that rested on her stomach. He rubbed up and down in soothing circles. “I’d support you no matter what, though, you know that right? If you wanted to model, we’d make it work. Change doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

“I haven’t really decided yet,” she smiled down at him. “But I know.”

“Austin?” the producer called out, breaking them from the bubble they’d created. He had a sheepish smile on his face. “We’re ready to get back to shooting whenever you are.”

“That’s my cue,” she laughed, shimming off his lap despite his protesting groan. “Break a leg.”

Before she could get more than a step away, a demanding grip on her arm yanked her back. At once, Austin spun her around and pulled her down to a bruising kiss. Tongue and all, his lips were hot against her own. She was too consumed by the passion of it all to think about why he was doing it in the first place.

PDA wasn’t something they were into, especially when Austin’s new movie made it difficult to be in a public relationship at all. A small kiss, gentle hugs and hand-holds, sure. But not this.

They only broke away when Y/n was absolutely certain she had no oxygen left. With a gasp, she blushed and narrowed her eyes at him. “Seriously? You just had to put on a show?”

Austin didn’t say anything, but his smirk spoke volumes. With nothing but a wink, he sent her on her way, feeling surer of himself than he had just moments before. Sure, there were guys out there who could give Y/n the quality time she deserved. But there was nobody on this Earth who could have her flustered like that from nothing but a single kiss.

That was all for him.

#austin butler #austin butler fic #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler fluff #elvis movie #elvis 2022 #elvis presley #elvis biopic #austin butler fanfic

2K notes · View notes

clumsy-jiminie · 3 months

Text

ɪɴᴇᴠɪᴛᴀʙʟʏ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ | ᴘᴊᴍ | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ

❝ ʙɪɢ ꜰᴀɴ ❞

↣ summary :: Kiara Smith had dreamed of true love for as long as she could remember. from being obsessed with the Disney princesses who found affection in the strangest situations to dressing up as a bride from kindergarten to fourth grade. it was the only thing she ever truly desired, so much so that a pleasant smile and kind eyes could have her smitten in seconds. right when she thought she found the one, a chance encounter with Park Jimin—the city’s famously perfect fuck boy with a smile so warm and a heart of ice—has her feeling quite the opposite. he knocks her off her axis and derails her life as she knows it, yet the universe seems to have another plan for the two.

↣ rating :: 18+

↣ genre :: fluff, angst, smut, e2l, slow burn

↣ pairing :: business owner!jimin x fem!artist!oc ft. taehyung

↣ word count :: 3.8k

↣ chapter warnings :: mature language, public displays of affection

↣ notes :: welcome to the first chapter! 💕 I hope you guys already for the rollercoaster between these two.

↣ next :: previous :: series m.list ↢

ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱ ᴘᴏꜱᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ

if you have any questions, comments, or concerns PLEASE don't hesitate to message me or send me an ask! my inbox is always open. 💖

"you see my thick thighs, lost when you look into my brown eyes, see my little waist can make you switch sides. you've never seen the devil in disguise."

- be honest, jorja smith-

ｗｉｎｔｅｒ

A low hum of people chatting over the Lo-Fi beats filled the area. Glasses clinking, some munching, all sounds that Kiara Smith grew familiar with. Though the crowd was more significant than the last exhibition she attended, it was starting to become all the same.

She could remember the very first exhibit she went to and all the nerves it brought. She was a bumbling mess—sweaty palms constantly being wiped on her dress that she may have also used as her prom dress while her stomach frequently threatened to release her breakfast all over the floor—as she watched the few people who also attended like hawks. So insecure about the words those people chose not to share. So insecure about their lips pressed into taught smiles. Were they being genuine or just keeping up appearances? Was her art worth anything, or was she going to flop and end up having to get a shitty job just to make ends meet? Those same nerves would never fade, holding onto her like some clingy child desperately needing attention. But they became less apparent whenever her boyfriend was around. The heaven-sent angel would always know the right thing to say and make the world melt away. Though he would never miss an event, it was very seldom that he was on time. She never stressed his whereabouts, knowing he'd arrive eventually.

The 24-year-old continued to walk around, partially eavesdropping as she passed couples and groups of people. Occasionally, she would take a sip of the bubbly gold in her glass to appease that child named Nerves tugging on her leg. She slowed to a stop once a particular piece caught her eye. It was two separate canvases placed at equal heights. One canvas had a bright figure colored in hues of pink and blue, while the other was dark. Shades of black and grey bled from one canvas to the other as if it was trying to overcome the figure itself. The darkness had enough space on their canvas, though, at least a third remaining untouched, but it wanted the colors. It wanted to possess them, spread its darkness to them.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" blurted a voice near her. Despite the voice being calm and inviting, it startled her. She quickly turned to the side, not realizing a man joined her. His side profile was magnificent — features that were immaculately sculpted from his eyebrows, down his straight nose bridge leading to a button tip, to where his rose-shaded lips took center stage, frozen in a pout. His light blonde hair with dark roots made his olive skin stand out. It looked natural on him. The man was attractive, and Kiara couldn't deny that. His aura alone was almost as intoxicating as the drink in her hand. It pulled her in and wrapped around her like a warm embrace. She nodded, humming in agreement with his question. She faced ahead again.

The man stole another glance at her, eyes slowly glazing over her features. "It's so rare nowadays to find someone who could capture so much without saying a word. It's almost godly."

The more he talked, the nicer his voice sounded. It had an excellent depth, low and appealing even in his hushed tone. Kiara was into what he was saying, continuing to nod until the last comment. She had to sip her drink to subdue the urge to giggle.

"But you know what you and this painting have in common?"

She turned to look at the man, their eyes meeting for the first time tonight. And boy, how he could get lost in those pools of amber. She raised an eyebrow curiously, her glass still resting on her lips as she silently urged him to continue.

"You both were crafted with the same care, holding a beauty one could only dream of containing."

Kiara almost spat out her drink, startling the man before her. She raised her hand to cover her mouth, holding back the remainder of the liquid behind her taut lips. The man's eyebrows drew together and his lips pursed slightly. His expression then dropped to a neutral state once he realized she was chuckling at what he said.

Once she swallowed the liquid, she turned to face him completely. She took a moment to graze over his appearance fully. He was well dressed, wearing a black blazer, white crew neck underneath, and dark-wash skinny jeans. Silver earrings dangled from his earlobes to match the silver chain around his neck and the wristwatch.

"Damn," she commented, a grin growing on her full glossed lips, "you're really laying it on thick for someone you don't know." Her voice was nothing he expected. She seemed like one of those Hamptons girls, playing in New York City with daddy's money. Her voice was light and smooth like silk fabric, but her accent was hard like a concrete wall. She was either from Queens or Brooklyn, syllables being dropped or stretched at a whim. Something about the way her words blended was incredibly sexy.

The man quirked a brow, intrigued as the corner of his lips pulled into a half smile. "You tryna say I'm out of practice?"

"Precisely." She answered quickly and confidently as she gazed up at him. "I expect that kind of line from someone twice your age."

"Well, ouch." He chuckled, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek as his eyes glanced downward at the girl. "My job requires me to be blunt, so I call it like I see it."

"And you're saying I'm as beautiful as this painting?"

He grabbed a glass off the tray of a passing waiter. "Your beauty surpasses it." It was true. She was absolutely breathtaking. Her golden honey skin practically glowed under the cool white fluorescent lights. Her hair was dark brown and long, pulled back into a sleek high ponytail with two strands framing her face. Her black satin dress hugged every curve in her body with grace, and there were plenty of them. The material looked soft to the touch, gently reflecting the light. He'd be lying if he said her looks weren't the reason why he approached. And on top of all the looks, she smelled phenomenal—warm and sweet, like a freshly baked sugar cookie with a dash of cinnamon on top, making him want to relive through the holiday season that just passed.

Kiara let out a soft scoff. "Thank you, but that's not as much of a compliment as you may think." She suddenly spun on her stiletto heels, turning her back to the man as she walked away.

He quickly followed, catching up in a few steps to join her by her side. "Do explain."

"Beauty has, and always will be, skin deep." She circled the champagne in her glass while looking out into the crowd. "Looks fade over time. Trends come and go faster than the seasons. So if you really wanna wow a girl…." She stopped at another painting that grabbed her attention before looking at him. "Compliment the things you can't see." The two stopped to gaze at the artwork in front of them. The man thought over her words while admiring the piece. The canvas before them had various hues of green splashed about, but shades of purple peeked through upon closer inspection. It mimicked little flowers blooming through a field of wild grass. She managed to lead him to the only painting that mirrored their conversation.

He nodded, taking a sip of his drink. "You're completely right. And to think I almost missed out on how intelligent you are."

She smiled, soft and genuine. "Thank you."

The man stayed by her side as Kiara floated, offering his opinions on whichever piece they stopped in front of. She really appreciated being able to receive unbiased feedback on her work. He didn't know he was chatting with the artist. No one in the room knew. The name signed at the bottom of each canvas was Luna, a faceless painter. It's been that way since the beginning, and she intended it to stay that way. Only her close friends, family, and people she hired knew of her secret.

"I was wondering if you would like to accompany me to lunch tomorrow." The man asked at their fourth or so painting.

"I see you don't waste any time."

"Correct. Time is limited, after all."

She looked up at him, his perfect lips pulled into a soft smile. Maybe in another lifetime, she thought as she caught her lower lip between her teeth. "Flattered, but I can't."

His brows furrowed. He thought that the conversation they were having was great, so what was with the rejection? "May I ask why?"

"I have a boyfriend," she said with a wide smile.

He suddenly scoffed, causing her to tilt her head to the side slightly. "I haven't seen anyone on your arm the whole night." The first thing the man hated the most was being lied to.

Her brows then lowered while her eyes narrowed. "He's just late."

The second thing was excuses.

"Tsk," he shook his head before downing his drink. "Committed to a man with no time management? Red flag."

"And somehow that's better than a man who can't take rejection?" She shot back as she quickly matched his energy. They had a peaceful conversation only moments before, and now the energy between them had grown negative.

"Oh, I can take rejection," he stated with a chuckle as he put his glass down. "But only when I'm being told the truth."

"It is—"

"Hey, darling." And finally, the deep and butter-smooth voice appeared, melting away the anger that was bubbling inside Kiara. As he approached her side, he placed his large hand on the small of her back and pressed a kiss to her temple. "I'm sorry I'm late."

The blonde in front of them eyed the man from his tan skin and wavy ebony hair to his solid-colored turtle neck and long coat. Something about the dark-haired man seemed familiar to the blonde. Then it hit him like a freight train. "Well, isn't it Mr. Kim Taehyung?" He smiled widely, glancing up at the slightly taller man.

Taehyung's brows furrowed momentarily before grinning. "Holy shit, Park Jimin!" He stepped forward, leaving Kiara's side to wrap his arms around the blonde. "What are you doing here?" He asked as he pulled away from the man. "I never would've thought that you'd be into art."

He chuckled softly, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "It's just a little appreciation I picked up from Spain." He shrugged casually.

Taehyung's jaw clenched briefly, his smile slipping for a moment. For as long as he's known Jimin, he always had to slip in a way to brag about his accomplishments. It was sad that he still hasn't grown out of that trait yet. "Ah yeah," he responded, playing cool, "I forgot you traveled there. How was it?"

Jimin shrugged again. "It was Spain," he said, glazing over the topic. "But me and—shit, I'm sorry." His attention shifted from Taehyung to the woman. "I never asked for your name."

"I'm Kiara," she said softly. Her arms folded over her chest as she watched the two men converse. She didn't mind a bit since Taehyung was the most extroverted of the two.

"Kiara," Jimin repeated to himself, his eyes trailing down her appearance briefly. He tried to pin the name to the face, especially if she was Taehyung's. His eyes finally returned to the other man. "Kiara and I were discussing some of the pieces earlier. I've been a huge fan of Luna for years now." He tried to be calm about the subject of Luna, but it made excitement course through his veins. He was among the first few to learn about the mysterious artist who abruptly appeared on the scene. Everyone wanted one of their pieces overnight, and Jimin was obviously at the very top of that list. Every brushstroke left was a paragraph, speaking a language only artists could understand.

"I don't even wanna talk about how hard it was to get in here," he chuckled, a faint flush spreading over his cheeks. A Luna Eclipse had a longer wait list than some Michelin-star restaurants. Luckily for him, he was able to pull a few strings. A few phone calls here, some embarrassing promises there, and he was in.

Kiara couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips as she eyed the man. The smirk on Taehyung's lips was full of pride, almost conceited, as he tilted his head slightly to the side. "Oh, you don't say?" For once in the pair's life, it felt like Taehyung had a one-up on Jimin. "How does it feel to—"

"My love," Kiara interjected, voice just as sweet, yet bitter, like honey as she placed her hand on Taehyung's chest. She looked up at him, and Jimin could see her pupils dilated, swirling with love. He chewed on his lower lip gently. He barely knew this woman, but why did he want her to look at him like that? "I have to talk to you about something."

Taehyung stared at his partner with furrowed brows before looking at Jimin. "Um, alright. I'll catch up with you later then."

She looked at Jimin, and that love dissipated instantly. Such a look was only reserved for Taehyung, making a heaviness grow in his abdomen. "If you would excuse us."

The blonde couldn't seem to pull his eyes away from Kiara. "Of course," he finally said, grinning at the man. "Don't be a stranger!"

The two waved at each other before Kiara led him away. Her arm wrapped around his, holding him close to her. She glanced back at Jimin one last time before pulling Taehyung to a quiet section of the event. He leaned against the pillar while Kiara stood before him, gazing up at him.

"Why did you cut me off?" Taehyung asked, keeping his voice calm.

"Because you almost name-dropped me," she said, her arms folding over her chest.

The 26-year-old's lips turned into a small o shape before forming a sheepish smile. "You're right. I'm sorry. I completely forgot for a second. It's just so hard not to brag about you when you always look so good." He reached out and touched her waist, pulling her into him.

She couldn't stop her lips from forming a smile as he buried his face into her neck. She giggled quietly, her hands placed on his chest. "Stop it," she whined, not wanting him to do such a thing.

Taehyung inhaled deeply, the notes of her sweet perfume entering his nostrils. "Mm, and you're wearing my favorite perfume too?" He mumbled against her skin, placing gentle kisses randomly. "You just wanted me to be on you."

The girl laughed before gasping when she felt his large hand fully palm her ass. She pulled away from him just enough to slap him in the chest playfully. "We're in public!"

His eyes locked with hers, with a smirk playing on his lips. "So?" He questioned as he pulled her close again, resuming to litter her neck with kisses. "No one's looking anyway. They're too distracted by your beautiful art."

He continued until he reached her favorite spot, a moan parting from her smiling lips. His hands couldn't get enough of her, feeling her up as if it was the first time. Kiara's eyes fluttered shut, biting back moans that wanted to escape her mouth as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Taehyung," she whined again, partially out of want. It started to feel so good that the world began to melt away. "Someone will see."

Someone cleared their throat. "That's true."

Kiara's eyes shot open, quickly pushing the man in the midst of giving her a hickey off of her. He groaned as his back hit the pillar wall while she turned around. Her cheeks flushed with heat, embarrassment promptly replacing the arousal. She saw familiar ice-blue eyes playfully glaring at her. The petite woman pushed her long, ginger hair off her shoulders as she cocked an eyebrow at the two—disapproval flooding her features.

Taehyung rolled his eyes. "Hello, Aimee," he said, greeting the woman for both of them.

Aimee huffed, glancing at the man. "Taehyung."

He stood up from the wall, kissing Kiara's temple. "Lemme get us something to drink." He shot one last glare to Aimee before walking off.

Aimee shook her head. "I don't know how you put up with him and all the PDA." She grumbled, her heavy New Jersey accent ringing through Kiara's ears while she glared a hole into the back of Taehyung's head.

Kiara straightened out the smooth material of her dress. "You get used to it," she smiled softly to herself. "Plus, I kinda like it."

"Ugh," Aimee rolled her eyes as she folded her arms over her chest. "Seems like he'd fuck ya right there with an audience." The girl pointed her index finger to her open mouth, making a gagging sound while Kiara laughed.

"You're so dramatic," Kiara smiled while shaking her head. "But what's up? Is everything going OK?" Aimee was at every event Kiara held. She was her art dealer, providing guests with the information needed to purchase a piece. She would only come up to the artist if something were awry.

"Oh! Everything is fucking fantastic, honestly." Her eyes lit up with excitement as she bounced on the balls of her heels. "I think this might be your best collection yet."

Kiara sighed in relief, placing her hand on her chest as it fell. "Thank you. If we can get everything sold tonight, I'll be set." Aimee looked at the girl, her brows furrowing momentarily before releasing. "Taehyung and I have been looking for a bigger place."

Aimee's lips turned down into a slight frown. "A bigger house? Has he even talked about getting a ring yet?"

Kiara's shoulders dropped, her hand pinching and rubbing at her fingers. She sounded just like her best friends and every other friend in Kiara's life. "I know," she sighed. She glanced down at her left hand, where her ring finger was aching to be adorned with something. "It's so backward, but a one-bedroom isn't enough. He needs an office space for work. So, I'm hoping the ring will come soon after once we settle into a new place."

She looked at the girl, a sad smile replacing her frown. "Well, it's only been four years, right?"

Only. That word ran circles in Kiara's head.

It's only been for years.

You've only just moved in with each other.

You've only just started dating.

The word was growing tiresome, especially in the conversations about Taehyung. Everyone had an opinion about her and her relationship, but no one dared to say anything straightforward about it. She was sick of only.

Kiara nodded slowly, which only caused Aimee to sigh. "He'll come around, doll, don't stress it." She assured with a soft smile, gently patting the woman's shoulder. "Lemme get back to my job so you can get that house." After Kiara gave Aimee a small smile, she walked off. She almost bumped into Taehyung on the way out, the two quietly cursing at each other before continuing their path.

He returned to Kiara with a smile, handing her a glass of champagne. "All good news?"

She grinned at the man, feeling warm despite not sipping her drink yet. "Amazing news."

As the night continued, the two walked around together. They always had a hand on each other somehow, whether it was Taehyung's on the small of her back or Kiara's hand being swallowed by his. She adored this. It made her feel safe—feel wanted. He had to let everyone know she was off the market and was his. As if a shiny diamond ring resting upon her left finger wouldn't have done the same. Taehyung struck up conversations with random people, small-talking them like the extrovert he was. During each conversation, she would glance around, finding something to fill her attention while they spoke of things that didn't matter. Every time, her gaze would meet the blonde.

Their eyes lingered for longer than what was appropriate. Why was he looking at me? She thought while she fidgeted with her fingers. Or was he staring at Taehyung?

"Love," she said as she turned her gaze to Taehyung. He has just finished up a conversation with an elderly couple. "How long have you known Jimin?"

"We grew up together, and were best friends."

The girl's eyes went wide. Despite four years together, Taehyung rarely talked about anything before his college years. It was optional to dwell on past things, even though Kiara would've loved to know everything, from how he scraped his knees while learning to ride a bike to his first love.

"We even went to college together, out here," he continued. "But our crowds were completely different. He got along with the nepo babies since he basically is one, and I got along with the art kids. I remember us bumping heads quite a bit." He let out an amused chuckle.

"Oh," she frowned slightly.

"Like he didn't have to brag about going to Spain," he blurted out. "Not all of us can drop our responsibilities and take off on vacation for a year."

"A year?!" She repeated as her jaw dropped.

"Mhm, basically had his parents pay for the whole trip." There was a fire behind his words. He's been tight-lipped about his friendship with Jimin, and finally, it felt amazing to let it out. "I'm surprised he's not rotting from the inside out."

Kiara pouted a bit, never hearing Taehyung speak so harshly about another. "Well, maybe it was a birthday gift?" The blonde couldn't be that bad, even if she got a taste of that quick-witted mouth earlier. He could've just been having a bad day after all.

"He left in March, babe, and his birthday is in October."

Her mouth formed a small o before she chewed on her lower lip gently. "So you're not gonna catch up with him?"

He looked ahead before glancing down at the girl. "I am," he said with a shrug, "I would rather hang out with a nepo baby than my coworkers." Kiara let out a half-hearted snicker as he pressed a kiss to her temple. "It would be a good opportunity to get out of the house since someone says I need to make friends."

"You do!" She looked at him, brows furrowed and nose slightly scrunched. "I feel bad leaving you home every girls' night. I want to know you're having fun and not rewatching the same three movies."

"They're good movies!" He argued with a smile as the girl shot him a glare. "But I hear you," she stretched out the last syllable as he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. "So I will try for you, OK?"

The girl smiled, leaning up to touch their lips together briefly. "Thank you." She hoped they could work past their differences and become friends. She knew the man wanted to go out and experience things, but he longed for a set group to do that with. Sometimes, rekindling a relationship was more manageable than starting a new one.

↣ next :: previous :: series m.list ↢

#bts fanfic #bts fic #fic: inevitably yours #park jimin fanfic #park jimin fic #bts smut #jimin x oc #park jimin x oc #park jimin smut #taehyung smut #jimin smut

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vettelsvee · 22 days

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DI! | Sebastian Vettel

f1 masterlist | history series masterlist | season 1

summary: diana's surprise birthday party makes her realize that, maybe, just maybe, she's in love with seb... without her knowing he has a girlfriend already.

word count: 3907

warnings: not actually! seb just being the standard and making sure di has an incredible birthday party (but hiding her he actually has a gf)

taglist: [@theseerbetweenus @annewithaneofthegreengable @vincentvanshoe @formulaonebuff @roisinivy] if you wanna be tagged in each part just tell me in the comments <3

a/n: the best is about to come omg. i'm so happy and so scared at the same time because the next two chapters are gonna be THE ONES (everything is going to hell)

feedback, as well as reblogs and comments, are truly appreciated!

2009

Bahrain Grand Prix Bahrain International Circuit, Sakhir

April 26 Sunday

Diana

Seb had managed to secure a well-deserved second position, just behind Jenson Button, whom he almost managed to beat. I wasn't usually very competitive, but since joining Red Bull Racing at the beginning of March I had been quite the opposite, especially as the results seemed to keep improving.

Now I understood the competitiveness that everyone in this sport exuded, always striving to be the best.

After getting out of the car, the German headed straight to Christian, some mechanics, and even to Helmut Marko, who were waiting for him in parc fermé to congratulate him properly. I knew I could be celebrating there with them, but my nervousness and, probably, the insecurity that had developed from the treatment I received last year, added to the stupid requirements of my contract, which was also stupid, made me stay with Britta.

"Diana, I've told you many times..."

"Yes, I know," I cut the woman off. "Diana, you have to be there, you deserve it!" I tried to imitate her perfectly while gesturing at the same time. "Britta, seriously, just leave it. I'll go some other time."

The woman raised an eyebrow. I knew she wanted me to keep talking, or at least say something that made sense and didn't avoid the conversation.

"You know you should be celebrating," she pointed towards the crowd of people dressed in navy blue. "You're part of the team."

"I don't think so," I reprimanded her. "At least, I feel completely out of place, and I know it's going to take me years to develop a good relationship with everyone, just like it's happening to you!"

"Diana, I've literally been here, in Formula 1, since 2007, when Seb joined Toro Rosso mid-season," she explained. "Do you think that's such a long time to get to know other people?"

I lowered my head and started fidgeting with my feet. I already knew she was right, and that all I was doing was making excuses because of my shyness, fear of rejection, or whatever it was.

"Well... maybe it'll take me a little longer because I'm not as open with people as you are."

While Britta kept trying to convince me to join the impromptu party, where everyone was already full of champagne and drinking from the bottle Sebastian had received on the podium, along with his trophy, my mind was scattered with other thoughts. Tomorrow, April 27, was my birthday. I couldn't help but think about it, no matter how hard I tried not to, even in the middle of all this celebration. If there was any reason why I had been hating my birthday for almost seven years, it was because of the negative change that 2002 had brought to our lives.

Before I could even respond to Britta, Rocky approached us enthusiastically. I had been working closely with him throughout the almost two hours of the race; now he seemed like a different person, with his hair and clothes completely covered in alcohol and small golden pieces of what seemed to be confetti.

"Diana, come here! We did an amazing job!"

The man, without giving me time to answer, opened his arms and enveloped me in a hug, even lifting me up a bit.

"Okay, okay, I get it, calm down!" I replied, surprised, while trying to free myself from his grip. "You don't have to thank me for anything. All the credit goes to Seb for driving the car."

Rocky shook his head as soon as my feet touched the ground again. He went into angry father mode and started a rant about the importance of teamwork.

"Diana, I don't care what role you have here," he encouraged me. "Here, we all work together, and each one of us is essential. You," he took me by the shoulders and shook me a bit, "are an essential part of the team, just like Seb, Mark, Christian, and even Britta," he said, earning himself a punch from the aforementioned woman. "If you think you don't have experience, you're here for that very reason: to gain it and become the best."

"Successes and failures are better handled together, Di.

Before I could respond to anything, Seb appeared with his trophy in one hand and, in the other, a bottle of champagne, possibly empty. His enthusiasm was contagious, and I couldn't help but hide my smile. Seb, in response, just approached us and hugged us enthusiastically, as if we were the ones who had made all that effort to almost bring the victory home. That only made me even more infected with his joy. I was fully aware that getting on the podium meant a lot to him, just as it was special for me to have, in part, made that possible.

“You have no idea how happy I am, I swear,” he suddenly blurted out, trying to calm his breathing, altered by euphoria. “We're going to celebrate, but first, I need to shower.”

Roeske gave him a slight nod. I simply remained static, not knowing what to do or say because I didn't know if I was part of the last thing the boy had said.

“I also have a surprise for you, Di,” he continued, as if he had read my mind.

The word surprise left me completely bewildered, causing my thoughts to become totally confused as I tried to decipher Sebastian's words, who had quickly disappeared from my field of vision to go freshen up. Did he know that tomorrow was my birthday? No, that was impossible; although I was talking to Amelie yesterday...

I hated how gossiping people in the paddock were.

I turned to Britta and found her trying to hide her smile; her wrinkled eyes and contained laughter were possibly what gave her away.

“Do you know anything about this surprise Seb mentioned?”

“Me? Diana, for God's sake, you know me,” of course. I knew her well enough to know she was avoiding what I had asked, 'I don't know anything.”

“Britta…”

My insistence and desperation seemed not to affect the woman, who regained her composure and tried to pretend seriousness.

“Diana, trust Seb. You'll see it's something you'll like.”

Britta's words only increased my curiosity. Her smile suggested she had information, but she didn't want to say too much. So, I decided to play along and not give in to the temptation to keep insisting.

A few minutes later, Seb appeared dressed in a way that took me completely by surprise. He wasn't wearing the uniform he usually wore after a race; instead, he had on a white shirt, jeans, and the black Vans that I was so used to seeing.

“What, do you like how handsome I got for you?”

But...

I heard Britta clear her throat, giving Vettel a somewhat confused look. Sebastian composed himself, and I felt he gave his agent a slight apology with a nod. I couldn't help but think about how handsome he looked and why he would dress like that, as if we were going on a date.

“Of course,” I replied as confidently as I could, although nerves were consuming me inside, 'What exactly do you have in mind? Are you going to kill me, or something?'

“I wasn't thinking of killing you, but I do have a plan to steal your heart or something like that, although don't pay much attention to me.”

After those words, I saw how Roeske, again, glared at her client. Unlike me, she didn't seem particularly happy that Seb was possibly flirting with me.

“Sebastian, stop fooling around and behave!” she shouted, attracting the attention of those present. “You're not a horny hormonal teenager!”

The German laughed and then gently took my hand, guiding me out of the garage as he politely, and as he was already used to, said goodbye to all the team members, who were still celebrating their podium. Again, as we moved through the paddock, my mind was filled with curiosity about what would happen next.

As we progressed among the crowd, trying to avoid journalists and some fans, I began to feel a little uncomfortable and instinctively let go of Seb's hand. I felt that the way we were behaving could attract too much attention, and that was the last thing I needed at that moment. As soon as our contact ended, I saw how the expression on the pilot's face changed slightly, showing me with his expressive eyes what seemed to be disappointment.

“I'm sorry, Seb. I don't want this to turn into a scandal, I don't think…”

I tried to explain myself as best as I could, but I couldn't continue when his gaze shifted elsewhere. My words hung in the air. Deep down, I appreciated it. My discomfort increased just at the thought of cameras taking pictures of us to later publish them, just like happened in Monza.

Our relationship was based on a friendship that was getting better as the days went by, and I didn't want stupid rumors to ruin what I always wanted, and never had.

The whole way to the car was completely silent, which only served to increase my discomfort and make me regret having pulled away from Seb's grip. However, the tension was left behind once Seb opened the passenger door for me, bowing in a way that made me burst out laughing.

“'Lady Di, welcome to my humble carriage. I hope today's journey pleases you.”

I was used to seeing Sebastian Vettel the racer, but not Sebastian Vettel the gentleman. I liked the latter more than the former and wouldn't have any problem getting used to it given the chance.

The guy started driving towards an unknown destination, but tranquility enveloped me when, as always when I got into his car, he played music. The first chords of Umbrella filled me with excitement, and as soon as Rihanna's voice began to resonate throughout the vehicle, so did mine. My shyness disappeared when I was with Sebastian, and I even dared to say that he was the only person with whom I felt like myself.

I didn't even know why this happened to me, and a kind of excitement and desperation invaded me at the same time, especially when I noticed how at certain moments he would glance away from the road to focus on me, forming small dimples on his cheeks that made me blush.

About half an hour later, I noticed the speed was decreasing, and Sebastian parked in what seemed to be.

“Hope you're not actually going to kill me…”

My comment was ironic, but the tremor in my voice was real. I was restless, and once again, uncertainty was creeping in. I heard Seb asking me to trust him, and although I resisted at first, I ended up giving in; it was impossible not to listen to this guy.

“I promise everything will be fine, Di,” he repeated again, making sure I was calm. “I just need you to be blindfolded for a few minutes. Trust me, please.”

I bit my lip, indecisive, but finally nodded. My partner opened the glove compartment and took out a blindfold, which he put on me as quickly as he could, with clumsy hands. My eyes ended up covered, leaving me in darkness and with a feeling of vulnerability.

The car started moving again, and although my vision was completely disabled, my mind was constantly alert to any movement and sound. Every turn and every brake the driver made had me on edge, but after a few minutes that felt like an eternity, that feeling ceased. I could hear the leaves crunching nearby, and suddenly, I felt Sebastian's strong hands gently gripping my arms.

“Easy, Di. We've arrived.”

His words reassured me. I tightly closed my eyes behind the blindfold because maybe, that way, everything would pass faster, leaving all the work to him. I felt him help me out of the car, making sure my feet gripped the ground without stumbling.

“Are you okay? Can you walk, or do you need me to carry you like we just got married?”

“Yes, I'm fine,” I nodded, releasing a sigh of relief. “Thanks for doing all this for me.”

Sebastian's clumsy steps, along with a few jokes he was making, made me release nervous laughter as we walked along what seemed to be a rough path.

“Are you sure you know how to get to wherever we're going, Seb?” I asked.

“When are you going to trust me?' he replied. 'Have I ever lied to you?”

I laughed at his response, but before I could reply, the guy stopped. With a gentle yet determined gesture, he removed the piece of fabric that had been covering my eyes for longer than I would have liked to endure. My pupils immediately began to adjust to the light emanating from the place.

Before me was a dazzling hall, decorated with balloons and twinkling lights of all colors moving constantly in all directions. What surprised me the most was the crowd of people gathered there: drivers, engineers, mechanics not only from Red Bull, but from all the teams; even Britta was there, holding a banner tightly with the words "Happy Birthday, Di" written in completely irregular handwriting, as if it had been colored by a five-year-old.

The sound of Happy Birthday sung by everyone began to resonate in my ears as confetti cannons, held by Fernando and Lewis, shot confetti into the air. Tears filled my eyes, for the first time in my life, out of happiness. I couldn't believe anything that was happening, and even less that Seb had been the mastermind behind it all.

"Happy birthday, Di!"

Seb's voice, full of affection, made me turn towards him, and before I could say anything, I gave him an awkward hug, almost causing us to fall. His eyes sparkled as much as mine, and I could swear I saw a tear forming in them.

Laughter and applause began to fill the room as the confetti continued to fall. I was surrounded by people I admired and respected, and for once in my life, I felt accepted and loved, even if it was only reluctantly.

I took a deep breath to calm myself. My embarrassment was beginning to shine through again because I didn't like being the center of attention, but I tried to put it aside to thank everyone who had taken a little bit of their time to make my day a little happier.

"Well... Hello everyone, although I guess it's already good evening, or afternoon, or however you want to say it," I started, my voice trembling. "First of all, I want to say that, well... this totally caught me off guard, but I'm very surprised and, especially, grateful, that you've taken a bit of your time to be here now, even though we've never spoken, because I see some unfamiliar faces."

Damn it, I could already feel my cheeks burning. Nico approached me and, pushing Sebastian aside, his arms surrounded me, giving me encouragement with his gaze.

I swallowed and continued:

"The truth is, I don't know what to say," I confessed. "This time I've spent in Formula 1 has been amazing,” I lied, “and I'm very happy to have met great people like Sebastian," I removed the older German's arm from my shoulders and moved closer to the other, who seemed to relax. "If it weren't for him, I don't think I would still be here. I couldn't be more grateful to have you in my life."

I looked at Sebastian, who gave me a completely sincere smile, making my heart skip a beat. I wanted to keep talking, but my faltering words made me decide to end the speech with a simple nod. Everyone started applauding, and suddenly Sebastian took the microphone that had been in my hand the whole time.

"Come on, it's gift time for my favorite girl in the paddock!"

With smiles and continuous gestures of gratitude, I accepted all the gifts that started coming my way. As the packages, perfectly wrapped in gift paper, beautiful bags and colorful ribbons, my excitement grew as it hadn't since the last birthday I celebrated, before my mother's death.

Scarves, artisan chocolates, jewelry, among others were what began to flood the table behind me. Much more people than I had thought at first had bothered to bring me a simple detail.

Nico, when everyone had gone to get some snacks and drinks, approached with a box that, although it wasn't wrapped, was quite striking because of its size. He handed it to me with a wink; when I opened it, I was amazed. Inside was a digital camera like the ones I had always said I wanted in some conversation we had about how much I wanted to improve my photography skills that year.

"Nico, this is incredible!" I exclaimed too loudly as I jumped. "I can't believe it! Thank you so much!"

But the German wasn't done. He handed me a small box I opened carefully. A beautiful necklace full of stars with little stones made me widen my eyes. It was delicate and elegant, just my style even though I wasn't a big fan of jewelry. Before I could say a word, the Williams driver took it from my hands and gently placed it around my neck. As he tied it, I felt his breath fall on my goosebump-covered skin, which tensed even more when he left a kiss on my neck.

"I hope you like it, Diana," he murmured in a tone that was too seductive for him. “Happy birthday."

My excitement was at an all-time high, and I was so absorbed in Rosberg walking away from me, his gaze still fixed on mine, that I hadn't noticed that there was still one gift left: Sebastian's.

The blonde, who seemed to have stayed static at the scene he had just witnessed with his compatriot, approached with a small bag in his hands. It was evident, at first glance, that it wasn't as flashy as the other gifts. His expression burst with happiness, but I knew he was a little upset about the gift Rosberg had given me.

"Di..."

"Before you say anything," I interrupted him, "I want you to know that nothing, and no one, will ever top your gift: the first birthday party I've had in seven years. I hadn't had any since my mother's death because my father was reluctant to it," I explained, being more sincere than I would have liked, "and my sister and I are already used to making special days like any other."

"I'm going to make you as many birthday parties as you allow me, Di," he finally responded, without questioning anything I had told him. “I promise you that."

Without saying anything, I carefully opened the bag. Removing the tissue paper that covered it in the same way, I found a small notebook accompanied by a matching pen. It was very simple, but it was exactly what I liked the most, and, above all, I think I needed it.

"I know it's rubbish compared to what Rosberg gave you," he said, pointing with disgust at the camera and the pendant around my neck, "but I thought it would be a good idea for you to have it, so when you can't vent to me, you can do it by writing. I do it a lot when I'm overwhelmed, and it works pretty well for me," he continued, "although sometimes I feel a little secondhand embarrassment about what I write, I'm not going to lie."

Tears filled my eyes again that night, unlike that, for the first time, I had allowed myself to cry. Yes, it was true that it was nothing special compared to the others, but the fact that Sebastian had cared about me, in a way, made it even more special.

"It's absolutely perfect, Seb, really. Thank you so much."

"Wait, there's one more," he revealed, a little more excited.

My curiosity was awakened again as he handed me a jar that seemed to have been hidden all this time under the table where the rest of the gifts lay. It was adorned with a label featuring a photo of us with the date we met written underneath.

"This is one of my silly ideas, but I think you'll like it. Here," he took the jar, and opened it. "There are 365 papers, and I want you to read one each day when you wake up to start the day as happily as possible," he explained, leaving me completely amazed. "They're a mix of lyrics from songs you like, jokes we've shared over this time and well, a surprise or two as well."

If the background of the notebook had left me speechless, this had done it even more.

"Seb... I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything: pick one and read it, let's see what it says."

Seb gently brushed his fingers over my cheeks, wiping away the remaining tears on my face, and enveloping me in his arms as he had done so many times before. His blue eyes sparkled especially as he encouraged me to pick one of the messages from that jar again. Trembling, I took out one of the small carefully folded papers and slid my fingers over it, carefully opening it.

Thank you for being one of the most special people I've ever met. I hope one day you feel as special as you already are to me.

A silly smile spread across my face, and I quickly shifted my gaze from the handwriting to its author.

"Why do you come up with such brilliant ideas?"

The young man tilted his head and gave me a tender kiss on the head as he pulled me even closer to his chest.

"Because you're my greatest inspiration."

His words resonated within me like a constant echo for the rest of the night, partly preventing me from enjoying the party, the music, the dancing, the drinks, and the company. My emotions had turned into an internal storm that put great pressure on my stomach as I tried to process my feelings.

While talking to Felipe Massa, I watched Seb from a distance chatting animatedly with other guests, including Lewis. There was something in his smile and in the sparkle in his eyes when they met mine that made me feel a little special.

Part of me wanted to flee from this whirlwind of confusion and extreme confusion and enjoy my birthday night. However, there was another part of me that was intrigued by the idea of what could happen between Red Bull's golden boy and me, as unimaginable as it was. Perhaps that was why I drank too much that night. There came a point where, due to my mental block, I sat in a chair and kept asking myself, constantly, as if it were a mantra, if I was really in love with Sebastian Vettel or if maybe the German was earning a too privileged place in my life.

All the memories of the night, to my misfortune, became confused, except one.

Britta, taking me to my room, as best she could, while constantly repeating not to play with fire because, perhaps, things could end up worse than I imagined.

#f1 #formula 1 #sebastian vettel #sebastian vettel fanfic #sebastian vettel fic #sebastian vettel x fem oc #sebastian vettel x oc #fluff #sebastian vettel fluff #nico rosberg #nico rosberg x oc #history #diana vettel #emma stone #sebastian vettel imagine

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acciocriativity · 1 year

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Worth the pain - Part of the Soulmate series

Pairing: soulmate! Harry Potter x soulmate! reader

Genre: hurt/comfort

Warnings: mentions of insecurities, a lot of physical pain and Cedric's death; Umbridge

WC: 4,3 k

Harry Potter Masterlist

Flower Shower - George Weasley - part of the Soulmate series

There was only a single thing Umbridge couldn't taint with her evil reign, and she did not appreciate that one bit.

Our class was full of students with brand-new soulmate marks, with a few yet to complete 15 years and get theirs. Of course, we couldn't talk about it during class as much as every other topic, but the glow, the giddiness, the small smile on the lucky one's face must have been too much for her. It was getting to much for me.

In the middle of our useless lesson, when everyone was quiet reading or pretending to do so, she suddenly stood up and cleared her throat.

"I see that some of you now have your soulmate mark, so I offer you a generous advice", she said with her forced happy smile.

Silence.

I bet not a single soul here believes she has something useful to say.

"I bet she doesn't even have one", I hear a small whisper behind me.

I straightened my back.

There were venom in those words, like she doesn't deserve a soulmate being the evil witch she truly is.

But then, why don't I have one?

I throw that thought under the others, much sadder ones. It was not place nor time for this.

"Something as useless as a soulmate mark should not get in the way of your studies. Your OWLS are coming, and I won't tolerate a poor performance in this class, is that understood?"

Again, silence.

"Good, you may keep with your reading", she said, and started to walk through our tables.

Right after Umbridge passed by my side, a note slid inside my unrolled parchment, and I knew it was from the girl, who was quietly working by my side.

This was one of the few classes I had with her, as a Ravenclaw. Still, we were on the same year, and we have known each other since the first DADA class.

As soon as we got out, she tapped my shoulder and waited by the corridor, where her other fellow Gryffindor friends were waiting.

"What was in the note?", I asked her.

"An invitation", a known voice spoke behind me.

"What kind of invitation?", I turned to speak to him, Harry Potter.

In all honesty, he wasn't as impressive as people made him to be all those years back. His presence wasn't particularly striking nor intimidating. What he did in those few years, that was quite impressive, yes.

As I looked at him at that moment, I concluded again that there was no way he was lying about Cedric. He carried that pain in his eyes, even when he was smiling, like now.

"The details are in there, but if you don't wish to participate, give it back to me at dinner", Hermione whispered to me.

Trouble.

When it wasn't with this trio? The interesting part however, it was the first time I was ever included, and it was intriguing to say the least.

They were unapproachable together, it was easy to just talk to Hermione or even Ron occasionally, but I've never seen Harry alone.

"Alright, I'm going to consider it", I said with a small smile and left them there.

A secret chamber and a secret reunion. I was curious, and I couldn't lie to myself, it was flattering to be included in their group.

Still, the amount of trouble this simple invitation could cause...

When dinner time came, and I didn't give it back, they knew my answer. So when I went to the 7th floor, Hermione was already waiting for me, alone, in the corridor.

"Sign your name here", she gave me a paper and a feather ready to be used.

We trained in pairs that night, one attacking and the other blocking. Sometimes I wasn't fast enough, still, when I laid in bed hours later, I barely felt my arms, legs and feet, the dull pain was numbing.

Did Umbridge do such a good job that I forgot how to make such simple spells? Am I that out of shape?

It was an odd kind of pain, sometimes it was too much I couldn't stand, other times, I could barely feel it, like it was about to disappear any moment.

It wasn't the first time I felt that way, but it was the first time it was that bad.

I thought it would be better soon, if I could just get a good night of sleep... Of course, I couldn't, for days I couldn't.

Is this some sort of sick prank?

I thought about it in the middle of the night. The answer was a headache. That specific spot on the right side of my temple kept me awake.

It reminded me of my birthday, only a few days ago. I also couldn't sleep that day, too excited to receive my soulmate mark. I didn't even notice the sunrise, wide awake and disappointed, because the only thing I received was a dull pain in my wrist.

The letter my mother sent was still between my books. She was so excited to hear about my soulmate mark and my thoughts of who it could be. I didn't dare to send an answer.

Suddenly the room was too heavy for me, too dark and too cold. I needed to get out of there, and so I did.

I tiptoed to the empty Common Room, and I felt like the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw was judging me from across the room. Yeah, she had it worse, didn't even meet her soulmate and her daughter was murdered, everyone knew that. Her story was what everyone wanted to avoid at all costs, and I was getting too close for comfort.

I eyed the main door for a moment. I already broke so many rules tonight, what was the problem in breaking one more just for today? As I saw Rowena's statue one more time, I made up my mind and quietly got out.

It was stupid to stay still in the corridor, but it was what I did for a bit.

Where could I go? The monitors could catch me anywhere, or the nosy paintings could snitch on me anytime.

I got chills as I walked carefully through the cold corridors. The windows were all open, and I was thankful to live so high up for the first time ever since I arrived at Hogwarts, because then I felt something else than self-pity and pure pain.

They warned me tonight, this room just ever appeared to one who truly needed it, and it wasn't wise to search for it, as it wouldn't be there anymore. It changed locations. Still, I couldn't go back to bed and endure the pain alone again. I couldn't. I needed some comfort for once, was that to much too ask?

As I turned left to reach the stairs, a strange woody door appeared in the wall and I held in a squeal. I looked around, my breath the only thing I could listen to. So I got in and the warmth made some tears appear in the corner of my eyes.

It was perfect inside.

The room wasn't big. There was a lit fireplace in the corner and two big red chairs in a safe distance from it. The rest of the room was heavily decorated with brown bookcases, a comfy cream carpet and many paintings in a gold frame. I looked through each of them. Some were families in a bunch of different places, others were mountains and other pretty landscapes, places I didn't even know existed. It was so perfect, it looked like real photographs.

This time, I didn't feel the need to hold in and cried, free and with no shame of myself. It was good, it felt relieving. I could express myself in there and no one would ever know. I didn't feel weak or less than, so I took my time.

It wasn't just the soulmate thing, it wasn't just the hell we had to deal with because of Umbridge, it wasn't just the potential threat of Voldemort, it wasn't just the loneliness. I was every single reason that I felt it was too little to cry about, and I held in, because that's what good kids do.

There wasn't a clock in there, nor a window. How does time even work in this place? I didn't know. I didn't know how much time I spent on the floor. But I got up. And I grabbed a book. And I read. Because that's the only thing that could distract me from the happy family on the walls.

Then, the door cracked open and my heart stopped.

This is it. I was caught. I'll be punished and then expelled and my pa-

There was nothing, like some sort of wind just opened the door. Then I saw the tip of a shoe. Then hands and then Harry.

I didn't say a thing, and neither did he. He looked at me as shocked as I looked at him.

Harry's the first one to move. He closed the door and cleaned his throat, an awkward chuckle leaving his lips.

"Do you mind if I stay? Also, can you not tell anyone about this?", he said in a low tone and raised that cape higher.

I nodded.

"Take a sit, maybe there was an extra chair for a reason", I whispered.

I regretted saying anything. If he didn't notice my puffy eyes, then he realized that I've been crying at that moment.

But he didn't comment anything on it and took up on the offer. As he walked closer, the room started to change slightly. The mainly red, cream and brown decoration faltered to a light blue on the walls and black wood instead of brown. I noticed some of the paintings also changed too.

"Did you know that this could happen?", I asked, still focused on the new paintings.

"No, I also didn't expect anyone else in here today", he whispered back, and I felt his eyes on me.

It took me a moment to understand. He could only get in if he's intentions matched mines, like the secret reunion. Only if he also needed some comfort and didn't have a place to go. He knew, and I knew we weren't okay.

"I'm sorry there's not a lot of entertainment for you, just books", I said with the page I was in still opened in my lap.

"This is enough, you can... keep reading, I wouldn't interrupt you", he said and gestured for me to keep going.

"Sure?"

He hummed.

I thought it would be so awkward. My first instinct in any situation like this would be just leave or make conversation. Still, I didn't do any of those, hoping to just focus on the book at hand. I also couldn't do that.

It was calming to be in this position, just beside him in silence, appreciating the feeling of comfort, as it wasn't easy to have it these days and for him, it must have been impossible since forever. It was almost comforting to know someone felt the same, even if the reasons were different, and not have to explain it.

I still tried to read, even though my mind was running with completely different thoughts.

"Thank you for inviting me", I took the courage to whisper to him.

My eyes were focused on the book, but I could see him finally move in his seat and look at me.

"It must have been a big risk to ask me, since I'm not really close to any of you", I kept going, since he didn't answer me.

I started to feel a bit nervous and self-conscious of my ridiculous pajamas as his eyes were focused on me.

"You were only one of the few who believed it", he said, and looked over to the fireplace again.

He didn't explain, and it wasn't needed.

"They believed, at least the majority of people I've seen, but they were too scared to admit that to themselves", I let it slip without thinking, and I caught his eyes again.

I've seen how much he suffered with this, and I've been meaning to say that for many months now, but never got the chance.

I saw a small smile on his lips. "Thanks, it's good to hear that I'm not the crazy one for once".

"But being honest, I don't understand how you are not crazy yet, I respect you for not going completely insane at this point", I said, and he chuckled.

I never felt that good in my life. It was the type of laughter that made his eyes so little it almost disappear, and I felt my heart melt at the sight.

He relaxed more after this, and we talked about more happy topics, and we laughed for I don't know how long. Time could stop and circle forever, but that wouldn't be possible.

But we had to leave when he suddenly remembered he had to go back, so he could wake up Ron, or he would be late for class. Not because he had to sleep, or he would be in trouble if he was the one late, no, because he had this habit of waking Ron up every day.

"That's sweet, you are very sweet Harry", I said and he was clearly caught off guard.

He looked down to the cape and maybe was the fire, but I saw a tint of red on his cheeks.

"I can drop you off if you want", he said when he was already by the door, cape on his shoulder.

I couldn't stop staring at his half invisible body. I didn't comment anything before, but it was so intriguing how that was even possible or how he had it in the first place.

"I don't want to bother", I said and smiled.

It's quite crazy how we went from acquaintances that would only nod to each other to friends that would stop to talk. Some hours and a hard situation really brings people together.

"You wouldn't, I promise", he said, and gave one side of the cape to me.

It was nerve racking to walk so slow and quiet to make sure we wouldn't be caught. Or maybe it was the fact he was so close to me all of a sudden. Or the little whispers he would say from time to time close to my ear. Whatever it was, I was glad it ended, because I couldn't take it anymore.

He left me in front of the door, waved and left, as promised. So why the fuck did I get so sad?

I felt heartbroken as I went to my room, like that comfort was ripped away, even though I was fine when we left. I wasn't the type to dwell on negative feelings, still, I couldn't just let it go. It was like a piece of my heart stayed behind with him.

This is because you didn't find your soulmate yet. This is just loneliness. This is going to pass.

It was what I repeated myself to sleep that night.

First thing in the morning, I wake up feeling hands shaking me.

"Oh my, are you okay? You scared me", a voice said beside me, and I struggled to open my eyes.

"Wha-"

"You started to scream out of nowhere", my roommate huffed and took a step back, helping me get up. "I didn't know you had nightmares."

"I don't, I don't eve-"

I stopped myself. The sunlight was intense through the curtains, which meant...

"What time is it?", I got up, and it took me some seconds to realize I didn't feel any pain, like the other times too.

She was already dressed up, I noticed next. The other girls were already out as I took in my surroundings.

The lack of sleep was affecting me more than I thought.

I didn't wait for an answer and ran to get my uniform and straight to the bathroom.

I spent the whole day waiting for the pain to return, and then the next one, and the one after that. It was unsettling. I knew it was bound to happen again at some point. I barely enjoyed the changes in my new-made friendships, since I now became a bit closer to Hermione and Ron too, as we spent more time talking in-between classes.

But besides that, I still had those weird intense emotions to figure it out. For everytime I felt heartbroken when Harry was away from me, I felt complete when he was near.

But why? Why now? Why suddenly?

Like now, he wasn't in the Gryffindor Common Room and I felt scared, lonely and... defeated?

"Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?", Hermione's voice brought me back to reality.

She held my arm with care and pulled me away to an emptier and quieter part of the Common Room.

"I do not want to be indelicate, but you're the only one I'm yet to ask, and you do n—"

"You can just ask, I won't take offend, Hermione", I whispered, but it was enough to cut her rambling.

She took a deep breath and leaned in.

"Have you had a different experience with your soulmate mark, like, something uncommon or unheard of?", she analyzed my face while speaking.

"Did you?"

I was hopeful, I couldn't deny it.

Maybe it was that I didn't have a soulmate then, maybe it was an error? Errors can happen, right?

"A friend of mine, the soulmate mark didn't appear, but I can't find anything in any book about it", she leaned back and huffed. "You know, everyone has one, even if a soulmate dies before the other, it appears, so it has to be-"

She was talking to herself more than talking to me at this point. It could almost see her brain working overtime.

"So, what happened to your soulmate mark?", she changed the topic so fast it caught me off guard.

"I don't have one, apparently, the only thing I earned after my birthday was pain."

"What do you mean, pain? Like back pain? Haven't you went to see Mrs. Pomfrey? She'd know how to help you", she patted my arm. "Let's go, I want to see you beat Ron on Wizard Chess."

"I'm not that sure anymore, it's going to be a hard game", I said as we walked back to the sofas.

"It's nice to see that my fame speaks for itself, but I wish you the best of luck", Ron said to me as the board was set.

"It's too early to brag, the results may be surprising", I said as I smiled after taking my seat.

I was indeed a hard game since the start. I lost track of my surroundings a good while ago, the only thing in my head was the next 5 moves Ron could possibly be planning.

Then it hit me. The burning pain on my wrist.

I took a deep breath to conceal the screaming I almost let out. I felt tears flooding my eyes.

"Hey, what happened? I know it is a har—"

"Shut it, Ron."

I heard them, but I couldn't move. My back straight and my head low. I clenched my hands, both hands.

"Hey, is this the pain you talked about?", Hermione kneeled in front of me, her hands on my knees. "Come on, help me carry her to the Hospital Wing."

I couldn't focus on what was going on. It was different this time, it was so much more intense, and I was sure it had to be on my skin this time. It wasn't just a ghost pain anymore.

They helped me stand up, and then it was too much. My legs couldn't hold me up and my eyes were too heavy.

I heard them before I could see them.

"... her?", it was Ron's voice.

"We'll wait for you in the Common Room", Hermione said, and I heard their steps walk away.

The door closed.

I opened my eyes and blinked twice, slowly. The curtains were around the bed, and it was too dark to see anything.

Then I heard his steps closer, it had to be him. My heart pick up the pace, it was a common thing these past few days.

I saw the light on the tip of his wand first and his face later. I expected at least a smile, but his expression was so stoic.

"What's wrong?", I whispered, my throat too dry to speak louder. "What happened?"

I tried to find his eyes, but he wasn't looking at me, so I got up with some effort and gave him some space to seat on the bed with me, but he kept standing by the side of the bed.

"Harry, what wa-"

"I'm sorry", he cut me off.

He took my hand and lift my sleeve, I couldn't see it clearly, but there was a fading scar there. Still, that was the last thing on my mind when his hand was touching me so tenderly.

He caressed the fading scar, his touch light on my skin, as if he was scared to hurt me.

"It doesn't hurt."

It was true. I only felt tingles on my wrist, the pain has been washed away somehow, like it always does.

"They said you fainted."

"It's not you-"

"It is, it's my fault", he released my hand and lift his own sleeve.

The letters were hard to read for me at that moment, but it was clear what it was and, specially, who had caused it.

My heart dropped. It was pretty bad, no, it was worse than that. There was a bit of dry blood on some of the letters.

"Still stings too much?", I held his hand without thinking twice, but I didn't dare to touch it.

"Hermione made me have a healing potion this time", I heard a smile while he spoke, but I didn't look it up to him.

"Have you heard of a connection like this before?", I held his hand tighter.

I wouldn't dare to call a soulmate mark or something like that yet, nonetheless, if it was one, what a fucking cruel soulmate mark to have.

"Hermione found some information about it, but we didn't think it was the case, because you never made me feel pain", he said, and his hands were loose around mine, but he didn't try to let go yet.

"I know what are you thinking, Harry. It's not your fault that's our soulmate mark and I don't blame you"

He said nothing.

I knew it wasn't enough for him to change his mind and he would keep blaming himself the rest of the night at best. But not on my watch.

I held him in my arms. My head against his chest and arms around his waist. He stood still for a while, his breathing uneven, until he was hugging me back.

It wasn't the ideal position, but it was perfect at the moment, and we stayed like that for a good while.

I thought the Room of Requirement was comforting, and it was because it reminded me of him, without me even realizing that. I felt like I arrived at a home I've never known. He fit right, like he was supposed to be in this position, with me, right now.

The door suddenly cracked open. The light revealing Mrs. Pomfrey. He moved away from me and I caught a glimpse of red on his cheeks.

"Potter, go to your Common Room", she said, and her firm voice echoed through the empty walls.

"Meet me later at the Gryffindor Common Room, please?", he whispered, his eyes were shining and I could never say no.

I nodded, and he left, fast enough to not get scolded even more.

"Mrs. Pomfrey, may I ask a question?", I asked as she came to evaluate me.

"What is it, child?"

"What do you know about felling pain as a soulmate mark? Someone must have been through it before."

"Someone did, a student. It was painful for her, a Quidditch player was her soulmate, poor girl was always here with him, side by side", she looked over at some beds to the right, as if she could envision them there.

I took a deep breath.

So I have the chosen one, the trouble magnet one and the Quidditch player as my soulmate, all at once.

"But that's a common misconception", she said, and that caught my attention again. "Can you turn your wrist?", she kept going with the little evaluation, and I only nodded. "She didn't feel only pain, but every single emotion her soulmate also felt after finding him."

"Every emotion? But I've never..."

"You are alright, go to your room and rest for the rest of the night", she cut me off, and I left as soon as possible.

I couldn't possibly feel everything, could I? So how do I now if it's my emotion or his?

I started to get anxious as I got closer and closer to the Gryffindor Common Room.

So that's me or him? Why would he be anxious to see me?

As soon as I got to the corridor, I felt a big rush of excitement, anxiety and... worry? But I wasn't worried, no. I just wanted to go up there and hug Harry until he barely could breathe.

So that's it? That's how it feels?

I remember how sometimes my emotions got out of hand these past few days. I was so worried, so confused, which I was, but maybe, we both were.

Does he know how much I care about him then?

As I was about to give the new passcode to the Fat Lady, the door opened and a second later, two arms held me in a big hug.

"I couldn't wait", he whispered, and I got goosebumps.

"Do you feel my love for you?", I whispered back, my face hidden on his shoulder.

He's silent for a moment, and I'm not sure if he even heard it.

"It's the best feeling in the world", his arms held me tighter, and I could feel some tears dropping on my clothes.

"Every single time in pain was worth it because now I get to hold you, don't blame yourself, never, understand? ", I said, and pecked his left cheek.

I didn't comment on my wet shirt, nor on his teary eyes after he released me. The only thing that mattered for me that night and for the rest of them, was to remind Harry Potter he was worthy.

#harry potter fanfiction #harry potter x reader #harry potter headcanon #harry potter fanfic #harry potter masterlist #hp fanfic #harry james potter

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norrisreads · 10 months

Text

delicate - yt #22

PAIRING: yuki tsunoda x reader!

SUMMARY: inspired by delicate - Taylor Swift

WARNINGS: fluff, hinge of angst! cheater! ex !!!!!! insecure reader!

FC: karina from aespa

masterlist

“ hi! you mentioned drawing inspiration for your fic from songs. can you write Yuki fic based on Delicate by Taylor Swift where they are both into each other but the reader is so afraid to mess up because of her problematic past? maybe a little angsty to spice it up? thank you xx”

love love the idea of this, hope you’re happy with my take on it <3 yuki needs more love and fics 😭🙏🏻

Being friends with the scuderia alphatauri driver, yuki tsunoda has it’s pros and cons. Having met on a cooking class and being closer to each other after one dinner ‘date’ made you realise the both of you have tons of similarities. you’ve never realised yuki was a driver racing for the formula one, not until you’ve realised you were stopped in the streets by fans asking for a picture with him.

pros are you’re well contented with his presence, not having a single dull moment whenever you’re around him

and cons are being scared to confessing your feelings to the said driver, with a fear of rejection and letting him in your life permanently.

It's okay to consider confessing; what scares you is your fear of being rejected. Rejection and you are not compatible, and neither is maintaining people in your life on a long-term basis.

A terrible memory has to be the day your friends and ex-boyfriend publically humiliated you. It seems like everyone, including their mothers, knew about his affair with your ex-best friend, which made the entire year unbearably monotonous and depressing.

It's safe to assume that you never truly had someone there for you during your difficult times because you were never great with people—that is, until you met Yuki.

Despite his hectic schedule, he was there for you when you were hired for your dream company and even celebrate your 22nd birthday. You've come to realize that you were no match for him because he was there for you through everything.

You were simply a typical lady...a regular person who works for a company and relies upon that job for her income—someone he had met while taking cookery classes during his downtime. You weren't a well-known figure in the industry or an influencer. Perhaps this explains why, unseen to you, Yuki Tsunoda has a major crush on you.

“hey what has gotten you thinking so hard, that you’re not listening to me?” yuki snaps his fingers trying to get your attention which made you realised you’ve been daydreaming

smiling at yuki, “nothing just thinking on what we should get for dinner later”

he took a seat beside you, “i was thinking of this ramen store that i used to go when i was a kid, i wanna bring you there. I’m sure you’ll love the ramen”

yuki pleaded you for a 2 weeks off from your work to attend the Japanese Grand Prix, and you agreed as he was super persistent on making sure you’re on board with the plan.

other than that, yuki planned a whole guided trip (of course him being the tour guide) for you. Showing you places that had meant a-lot to him, bring you to the harry potter house (you’re a huge fan of it, and yuki could tell as you had a raven-claw phone case on when he first met you) and of course bringing you to meet his friends.

“i’m almost done with everything, just give me 30 minutes and i’ll be back. you can walk around with Michael if you’re scared, or i can call over josh to accompany you?”

you had met michael and josh countless times, whenever you’re over at yuki’s house they’ll never fail to be there too. The four of you had surprisingly gotten closer, but with the recent shifting of josh to Ferrari, the outings weren’t rlly quite often anymore.

“yeah i’ll visit josh, i’ve just seen him outside a few minutes ago. Text me when you’re done yuki”

walking around the paddock with josh made you realised that he was a great listener, he listened to you rambling on and on about your life and your feelings towards Yuki.

“give it a try, y/n” josh stopped walking and faced you, shrugging his shoulders

“i’m scared, what if he leaves like the others josh? he’s not someone i would want to let go off”

then you heard laughters, looking at josh in confusion

“him? leaving you? yeah that’s never happening. Have you seen the way he look at you?”

shaking your head , “i shouldn’t be telling you this, if Yuki hears this from me, i’m dead y/n but the way he looks at you? it’s unbelievable but that gaze was a look of a man in love”

with you..?

“don’t joke around josh, it’s not funny!”

but with the seriousness of josh look, it was never a joke

“well it’s up to you to believe me y/n, come on let’s go! Michael just texted me yuki is done for the day”

“why did you not let me know we’re going to a restaurant? i’m too dressed down for this yuki” walking side by side with yuki towards the restaurant

“it’s a family business, i doubt they’ll care of our dress-codes further more you’ll still look beautiful even with a trash bag on”

arriving at the restaurant, the both of you were guided to a table, and a few minutes later, yuki’s uncle greeted the both of you.

“it’s such an honour meeting yuki’s girlfriend, we heard sooo much about you from yuki! we were super excited that you’ve decided to visit japan!”

yuki’s girlfriend…?

“oh no i’m just a friend! it’s an honour in meeting you too, i can’t wait to try the food here!” smiling sweetly to yuki’s uncle and what you’ve missed was the red flush cheeks on yuki’s face.

in the midst of eating and talking, yuki took out a small bag and handed it to you

confused, accepting the bag and you took a look, you were surprised.

it was a locket necklace with a picture of the both of you that he had taken after the first dinner ‘date’ with a date engraved on the other side of the locket.

“y/n, i’ve been thinking and i’ve realised that with you in my life, i’ve looked forward to it everyday. You made me realise that life was worth living and i can’t imagine a life without you. I must say my anger management has been really well after i’ve met you”

the both of you laughed, but yuki was looking forward to your answer

apparently, after the talk that you had with josh. He had raise his concerns about you to yuki, and yuki’s goal for tonight is for you to feel loved.

“i know you’re having thoughts if i will ever leave you, but I promise you i won’t. I’ll stay by your side till we’re old, I’ll celebrate every milestone with you, i’ll never get sick of you y/n. There’s no one else that i would want to live my life with, it does not matter that you’re just a typical girl because what matters at the end of the day is you’re the only one i’ve had my eyes on, so would you be the honour of being my girlfriend?”

and by the end of his sentence, you were tearing up.

“you’re driving me crazy yuki tsunoda”

Yuki holds while stroking your hands, saying, " that’s what i do best, love”

y/n__01 just shared a photo

liked by yukitsunoda0511 krusectrl michaelitaliano and 20 more

tagged: yukitsunoda0511

y/n__01 handsome, you’re mansion with a view

krusectrl thanks to me

y/n__01 thankyou josh 🙏🏻🥹

pierregasly welcome to the club yukitsunoda0511

yukitsunoda0511 will always love you 💙

y/n__01 🥹💙

yukitsunoda0511 just shared a photo

liked by pierregasly danielricciardo y/n__01 and 302,749 others

tagged: y/n__01

yukitsunoda0511 you’re so gorgeous it actually hurts ❤️😇

gaslied22 WHAT? YUKI HAS A GF?

yukifans it was just confirmed today! I’m so happy for them!

tsunodays stop im actually sobbing, they’re so adorable

gaslied22 STOP! the taylor swift song references !!!!!!!

danielricciardo so this is the reason you’re smiling every day

yukitsunoda0511 🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️

y/n__01 are you quoting a taylor swift song rn tsunoda

yukitsunoda0511 well of course…

another yuki oneshot added to the list, i hope this was a great read! added in a lil ig post of their reveal 🤭🙏🏻

#norreadsreq #submission #f1 x reader #f1 fics #f1 x y/n #f1 smau #yuki tsunoda x f1 #yuki tsunoda #yuki tsunoda smau #yuki tsunoda fluff #yuki tsunoda x reader #yuki tsunoda x y/n

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fizzyxcustard · 4 months

Text

Eye Contact (Drabble)

Fandom: Spooks

Word Count: 530

Pairings: None at this point

Warnings: Insecurity, angst, anxiety

Summary: Amy Holland is new to Section D at M15 headquarters in London. She meets her new colleagues and instantly develops a crush on one of them.

Comments: This little drabble/short one shot is my first week entry for @asgardianhobbit98's Four For Valentine event in February. As the name of the piece suggests, the prompt is 'eye contact'.

I won't tag anyone as this piece is quite short.

It was Amy’s first day and she trudged on nervously behind her new colleagues, smiling at Tariq as he let her through the glass door before him. “Thank you,” she said softly, and stepped into the meeting room which had one large table dominating the centre of the space. Around it where approximately twelve chairs, and on the back wall was a large, flatscreen television which had the MI5 government crest glowing brightly from it.

Harry Pearce, senior manager and intelligence officer, took the space at the head of the table, overlooking everyone.

Amy sat down, feeling as if she wanted to become small and shy away, or maybe become invisible so no one would pay her any attention. She always hated meeting new people for the first time in a professional setting. It reminded her of ice breaker sessions where you had to tell the room about yourself.

A few people whom Amy had already become acquainted with sat around the table: Ruth, Jo, Tariq, Ros. But there was a man whom she hadn’t spoken to yet and so far he had seemed oblivious to her existence. In Amy’s mind most people were, especially good looking men. Amy had nothing on offer that would appeal to them, so she shut herself away and didn’t attempt to make any kind of effort.

“I’d like to welcome Amy Holland to the team first before we begin,” Harry announced. “She’s brand new to MI5 and will be working primarily with Ruth in analysis. Is it next month that you start your training course?”

Amy nodded.

“I think you’ve met everyone already.”

“Apart from me.” It was the good looking man who was directly opposite Amy. He had a deep, velvety voice that wrapped around her like pure silk.

Amy looked across and their gazes met. She was shocked to see him smile and finally acknowledge her. Amy smiled back, conscious that she was probably blushing like a fool. Not only was he handsome, but had an amazing voice and eyes. His eyes were a pale blue, almost grey. And that smile; she could feel her heart beginning to speed up in her chest.

“I’m Lucas,” he said.

Amy was too nervous to reply and merely smiled again, feeling utterly ridiculous. Much to her delight, Harry didn’t expect her to talk about herself, and merely delved right into the meeting, beginning to discuss ongoing operations. Nothing made any sense to Amy; all of the terminology was gobbledegook, merely travelling in one ear and out the other. Not only that, but she was ever conscious of Lucas sat opposite her. The man was divine. Of course she would never have a chance with someone like him.

Once the meeting was concluded, Amy got to her feet and followed on behind Ruth.

“Would you like a coffee?” a voice came. That voice she would recognise anywhere now that she had heard it. She turned on her heel, feeling the nerves pick up again in every fibre of her being.

“Um, yes, please,” Amy said.

To Amy’s surprise, Lucas walked beside her up the aisle between desks. “So, what job were you in before coming here?”

#Spooks #MI5 #Fanfiction #Lucas North #Original female character #Richard armitage #fanfic

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valiantroeagleangel · 7 months

Text

Hatefuck.

Ryan Sitkowski x female reader

Kintober day 27. Hate sex, hook-up, unprotected sex, cheating.

This one feels a bit wrong since some hate sex and cheating are involved. Don't cheat on your partner and don't break people's marriage, it's bad. But I had this headcanon of Ryan in my head and I like it very much. Please don't come at me if you don't like this trope. It's just fucking fiction and shitty porn.

That being said, enjoy my loves <3

-Go to hell Ryan it's not my fucking problem. You shouted, slamming the door as you left the recording studio.

God how much you hated Ryan. He was insufferable with you, always making you remarks and picking fights. He was so convinced that he was superior to you, always degrading you and making bad comments about you to the rest of the band.

Why the heck was his problem?

Since you started to work as a sound engineer for the band six months ago, there have been constant arguments between the two of you. The atmosphere was always so heavy that now you were just running away from him, choosing to only interact with him when it was strictly necessary.

-It's not my fault if you suck at your job. Spare us your incompetence and just quit for good. He screamed louder, not sure if you were even hearing him now.

He sighed, sinking into his chair as the other guys looked at him in disapproval.

-What is wrong with you for real? She is doing a good job on the album. Chris pinched his nose, exasperated.

-No she's not. She's a pain in the ass, always whining about everything.

-She's not Ryan, and you know it, you're just unfair to her for god knows what reason.

Chris shook his head, standing up to open the door of the studio.

-What side are you even on dude?

-Hers. Now go apologize, we have a song to finish. He paused but Ryan didn't move. Now.

Reluctantly he got up and left the room, Chris slamming the door after his passage.

Ryan looked for you through the building, complaining and cursing until he found you, taking a coffee in the break room. You turned back as you heard someone coming, your brows furrowing when you knew who it was.

-Do you really think it's time to take a coffee break? You can't capriciously leave a session like that, we're all waiting for you to come back.

Wasn't he supposed to apologize? Yeah, right but seeing you like that just made his blood rush. He did not want to apologize, he wanted to ruin you, spit out his venom on you.

You saw red, will he never let you alone?

Slamming your cup on the counter you took a few steps in his direction. Your index finger pointed in his direction in a threatening way.

-You know what your problem is, Ryan? You're weak. You're the weakest person I know. You see me as a threat for a reason that I still don't get. You want me out of your life because you feel inferior. Because you're insecure.

Unconsciously you stepped closer to him as you continued your monologue, finding yourself inches from him.

-You call me a whiner but you're the one always whining about everything. I'm not going to destroy your life so peace out, dude.

He swallowed hard, looking at you as you kept your angry gaze on him. A long silence settled between you before he decided to speak again.

-But you are fucking destroying my life. He spoke in a low voice, not sure if he was supposed to say that.

You laughed as you stepped back a bit, throwing your arms in the air.

-How the fuck am I supposed to destroy your life? I won't take your job I'm a sound engineer, not a rockstar.

You were hallucinating as you kept laughing bitterly at him.

-God, you're a mad man Ryan. How could you make it so far in life when you think like that?

Rubbing your hands on your face you went to sit on the counter, throwing your feet as he followed you closely.

-You have no idea of what you're talking about. He retorted as his fists clenched.

-Certainly not but I think that you don't know either. You're just trying to cover how much of a coward you are.

His breathing was erratic as he stepped even closer, making you swallow this time. His gaze was menacing you, his arms resting on either side of your body as he bent over you a bit.

You shut down, intimidated by his dominating figure as your stomach squeezed.

-Don’t talk about things that are beyond you.

He was so close that you could feel his hot breath against your face. Leaning on him you kept your gaze on his.

-Fucking coward.

Why were you provoking him like that when he was so close you had no idea, but the tension between you switched. Your heart started to race but not from anger, your cheeks getting hot as you realized you were only inches away from his lips.

-I'll show you how weak I am.

Without letting you have the time to protest he collapsed on you, his lips crashing on yours as his hands came to grab your hips.

Confused and taken aback you pushed him away as he bit your lips, making it bleed.

-What the fuck dude? You started even more angry than before. You're married, why are you even- Oh.

It was at this moment that you realized it. You weren't going to destroy his job, you were going to destroy his marriage.

Your eyes widening you didn't say anything more, looking at him incredulously.

-Don't you fucking dare call me a coward again. You have no idea what I've been through the last months, trying to keep you away, trying to keep me away. He sighed, leaning more on you as he lowered his voice. Trying to avoid that fucking tempting ass of yours.

You squeezed your legs together at his words, your heart racing in your chest.

-You're completely mad, Ryan. You bit your lower lip, the taste of the blood diffusing in your mouth.

-Yes I am. And it's your fault. He breathed out, nearing his mouth to yours as kept staring at your lips. You make me insane.

You didn't move, holding your breath as you saw his lips slightly brushing against yours.

-You can't do that. Your tongue came to moisturize your dry lips as your breathing accelerated. Provocation again? Really?

-You're right, I can't.

But he did it, his tongue coming to caress yours as he kissed you again.

This time you didn't push him away. You don't know why but your hands came to his hair as you let him kiss you, uncertain. Maybe you were as mad as he was. The tension between you was confusing your brain. Ryan was hot, you never just admitted it to yourself as you were blinded by the hate.

His hands quickly came to your waist, pushing you against him as his lips kept kissing you passionately. He waited for this for so long that he thought he was going to explode. But you broke apart as you pulled his hair brutally.

-Stop it, we're not doing this.

He was panting against you, his pupils were dilated looking straight at you as his chest rose violently.

-Get your shit back together Ryan, you're married for fuck sake. You breathed out, his lips already losing themselves against your neck.

But he kept coming for you, pressing himself a little further between your legs making you whimper softly. You were not even sure that he listened to a thing you said. Fuck. That was wrong.

-God, I hate you. You rolled your head back as his lips became more persistent on your skin.

Leaving your neck, they came back to yours as he started to roam his hips urgently, getting needy.

-You're not going to answer a thing I say?

-Just shut up already. How annoying you can be.

He groaned, one of his hands coming to your face, grabbing it as he kept your lips against his, kissing you again.

You didn't know what to do. The anger consumed you as his touch made you go crazy. However, you knew you needed to stop before it was too late. The image of his wife coming to your head. You already had done too much.

Still, the words disappeared in your throat as Ryan's hands came to undo the button of your jeans, quickly working himself before he could think about what he was doing.

He was going to cheat and break his marriage but right now the only thing he could think about was how much he wanted your lips back on his. The feeling was too consuming as the tension of these last months dissipated, turning into pure passion.

You were the only thing playing in his mind, your complaints the only thing he would hear and the only thing he wanted to hear.

Settling a pace rapidly, he came to pull your pants down your legs, lifting you a little. He didn't want you to think, he wanted you to give up on his touch, wanted you to help him release his obsession with you, maybe that after it would stop and you both could go back to a normal life.

-Let me touch you, just for a bit. Hoarsely he asked, his lips kissing under your ear.

You nodded, not wanting to let the words out of your mouth. All of this was becoming way too real.

At your approval one of his hands came to caress your underwear, brushing his fingers on the wet spot that was forming.

-Fuck Ryan. You moaned a bit, surprised as your hand came to cover your mouth quickly.

He smirked against your skin, starting to rub you more.

-You want this as much as I do, don't you? He laughed a bit, mocking you.

Your head rolled back as you squeezed your eyes shut, his hand passing through your underwear as he started to caress you, rubbing your clit urgently, his lips biting to the skin of your shoulder as he lowered his head.

-Stop playing you, asshole. Just fuck me already. You whined, your hips roaming against his hand as you tried to grab his belt.

Yes, you wanted this, and you wanted it now. The more he was waiting the more you thought about his marriage and you didn't want to. You were fucking up real good this time.

He chuckled bitterly, quickly helping you to take his belt off as he opened his pants, putting them and his underwear down a little bit in a sure motion.

-See? You're always whining. He groaned in your ear, pumping himself before thrusting inside of you, not losing time.

You clung on him, your arms surrounding his neck as you pushed yourself against his body. The feeling of him inside you made you dizzy, your stomach tightening on how much you liked it.

After some time of peace, he started to move again, pushing in and out as he firmly grabbed your waist.

Shit, this was good, HE was good. You couldn't think about anything else than the feeling of him filling you up, your hips starting to rock against his, eager for more and more.

You heard him moan, his lips coming for yours as he tried to cover your sounds, fucking you restlessly as he enjoyed himself a bit too much.

-This doesn't change anything. I'll hate you 'til the day I die. You breathed out against his lips.

-Continue to hate me and I will fuck you until I'm the only thing you can think about. Accentuating each one of his words with a deeper thrust making you whine under his touch.

You gasped his name, feeling him throb inside of you. The hate between you was making all of this so hot, creating a suffering pleasure. It needed to end, you were losing your mind as the passion in your stomach was rising.

Ryan was pushing himself deeply, caressing that sweet spot every time making you cry his name. You were overwhelmed by everything that was happening, his hot breath against you making your head buzz.

He was getting closer, you could feel it, his movements becoming more messy and needy. He was fucking you like a beast, his mind completely gone as he was chasing his orgasm simultaneously to yours.

And god it was working, you felt your orgasm wash over yourself, leaving you completely drained under him as you shivered in his arms. His hips still twitching as he cursed, fucking you through your release.

Instinctively he grabbed your hips firmly when you clenched over him, feeling himself lose it all inside of you as is own orgasm left him panting.

Trying to catch your breath you pushed him out of you.

-God Ryan what have we done?

You started to panic as you realized what just happened, the sweet feeling of your pleasure disappearing leaving room for guilt.

He didn't answer, stepping back as he pushed his underwear back on, the door of the room slamming open.

-Ryan what is taking you so long to apologize for god’s sak- Chris appeared, looking at you both incredulously.

Ryan turned back, looking at him shocked as he didn't even put his pants back on.

-Sorry. That was the only thing Chris said before slamming the door back violently.

You were fucked.

#motionless in white #miw #miw band #miw fic #fanfiction #fanfic #smut #kinktober #ryan sitkowski #ryan sitkowski fanfic #ryan sitkowski fanfction #ryan sitkowski fic

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luminouslywriting · 2 days

Note

Hiya babe! I've been meaning to send in a request but wasn't quite sure what I wanted until now. 😅

I struggle with confidence sometimes because I'm thin and I get a lot of flak from people about it, backhanded compliments and mean jokes, that sort of thing. I often feel like I don't look "womanly" because I don't have curves to speak of and everything I wear looks bulky on me, and I wondered how Bucky would approach the self-conscious aspect of this with his girl, or how he might defend her in the wake of jokes/comments.

Obviously this can be a touchy subject for people so you don't have to write this if you don't want to. I'm still thoroughly enjoying all of your work! 🖤

Hi Steph 🥹🤍 I just want to tell you how much I adore you before I jump into this request! Both my mom, my sister, and my best friend have the exact same thing and while I don’t have this, it is something I’ve seen really hurt and affect them and the way they view their bodies. I think it’s absolutely important for me to touch on this topic and express that beauty is not a single size or look or body type or skin tone or style. Beauty just exists and by existing you are beautiful 🤍🤍

More below the cut, cut for length!

-Remember how I said that Bucky is the best hype man? This absolutely applies here

-This sweet man takes the time to come up with compliments that are not generic in any way. He thinks of the things he genuinely loves the most about you physically and hypes you up in every way he can think of.

-He truly just loves you and that means adoring your body as well

-I think when it comes to his lover or girlfriend being self-conscious, he's going to do whatever he can to convince you otherwise

-Positive self-talk? He's a pro at initiating that and trying to get you to reframe your thinking about the way you look at your own body

-Spending several hours and sessions of love-making on certain portions of your body that you're particularly insecure about is a favorite past-time of his

-And yes, that means he's praising you and big on body-worship

-And yes, that might mean that he's not giving you exactly what you want or need until you verbally agree with him about how beautiful you are

-Worships you in public as much as he does in private

-This is a man who is not afraid to let everyone know that he's madly in love with you and thinks that you are the embodiment of Venus or Aphrodite herself

-COMPLIMENTS ALL OF THE TIME

-And the minute that someone is shit-talking or pointing out flaws? Oh be prepared—because hands will be thrown and there will not be a single force on earth that can stop him from doing so

-No one gets to talk about you that way, and that includes yourself

-If he catches you saying something bad about yourself, he's genuinely upset and hurt—as though you were saying it about him and not yourself. He's not going to be okay until you apologize to yourself and work on being more kind to yourself.

-He's constantly on the prowl for ensuring that you feel loved, confident, and that you are aware of how much he simply adores you

-Absolutely cheesy as hell with his compliments and the way that pillow-talk might turn into him just ranting about you stunning you are and how perfectly made for him that you are and how much you're beautiful.

-Best man for the job, honestly 🥰

#mota #mota fanfic #masters of the air fanfic #masters of the air x reader #bucky egan headcanons #bucky egan x reader #john egan x reader #masters of the air headcanons

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arainmorn-art · 1 year

Photo

Lots and lots and lots of thoughts. Also have some earlier sketches of Pheen, exactly from the period when I’ve decided to make his stupid face features even sharper. You know, English is not my native language, it’s actually Russian. But for some reason, even though I’m not at all fluent in English, it’s easier for me to talk about some weird stuff in it. Of course Deciphering is a big project, I’m working on it for 9 month since I’ve started it, as I made myself not to draw the comic before I’d be fully confident in my script, which led to rewriting it 4 times. And even now it’s the 5th version as before there were no magical adventure in Edgey’s mind, no swords and flowers, the way to know how he feels inside, as outside he is quite reserved.

And it’s also a therapeutic journey for me. Yeah, duh, who am I trying to surprise with it? Anything we create is a projection of our own self. And through Phoenix, whom I love very much in canon games, I also deal with my own stuff.

For some reasons I relate to this character a lot. He seems to me like a person, who sincerely doesn’t see a big value in himself. He is not just being humble, nothing besides his job of saving people is a big deal.

And he thinks he is not worthy of being loved.

Yes, his friends like him, his daughter loves him, but those are other forms of love. Being caring and likable is not a big deal, bringing home a lost child and rearing her is what any decent person and parent must do. Being selfless is a norm.

And looking at Edgeworth, a brilliant famous professional, a gorgeous smart man and a dear friend, Nick might believe a very sad thing: “I am not worthy”. Of course, through the rose-tinted glasses of being in love there are tendencies to feel blue and self-conscious of yourself, but it’s not the case. It’s about feeling weak and broken. It’s about looking at yourself and thinking: “No way a person I deeply value will think highly of the wreck like me”, as it’s also about being very, very harsh with yourself. It’s about believing that unless you are a harmonious strong-willed collected person with everything put together you do not deserve being loved.

But the thing is through the story I wrote about him, Nick is constantly fighting this numbing blob of insecurities, sitting like a nasty tumor inside his mind. He wants to try, he wants to check, what if, what if he is the only one who stops himself of being romantically loved. What if he actually has something to be loved. Both of them will have their character arcs through the comic, but Miles’s core struggle is the center of the story and will be fully described closer to the end, while Nick is in the outer circle constantly and expressively getting and loosing hope.

I don’t understand my feelings. I’m so confused and conflicted. It’s the first time I am actually insecure about my protagonist’s appearance. I like the way I’m drawing him. I can see him in my head like that, tired, sleepless, sharp yet with the kindest smile, with big nose, messy hair, small sparkly blue eyes, nervous, emotional and deeply caring, being through so much yet thinking about himself so little – a person I really like. And at the same time my own mind make strange things to me: I’m looking at him and can’t believe he can be liked and loved by readers. I wrote him feeling about himself as “somewhere not enough, somewhere too much”, but I also look at my own drawing and think about exactly the same, “not enough and too much”. And even think a fictional Edgeworth might not love him back, what is there to love? Not enough courage, too much emotional turmoil. Not strong enough core, too much self-doubt. Not pretty enough, he is so far from his original anime look, just look at this face, it’s the face only mother will love. Not stoic enough. Not manly enough. Not assertive enough. Not collected enough. Not mature enough. Not enough. So strongly not enough…

And I must remind myself – that’s the point. I freakin’ made this point several month ago in the script, why am I so distressed writing about it now?

Edgeworth actually loves him for what he is. Nick is worthy. And he doesn’t have only several single traits to be loved. He can be loved as he is. Just like that. For being cheerful and bringing smiles. For being caring and emotional. Being funny looking and clumsy. Being a soft gentle selfless loser, helping people, nurturing the best in them. It has a value. It has a big value for people who care about us.

I like the thought that I wrote Nick as a very nervous lesbian trying to win a girl’s heart while fighting her own deeply low self-esteem x)

Too relatable. Too much projection x)

But looks like I really need it. I need this comic to be completed. I need to prove myself I am worthy of being loved.

#my post #arainmorn's art #my art #ace attorney #deciphering ace attorney #phoenix wright #Thoughts #so deeply in the thoughts and wasting people's time to read them #I don't need therapist you need therapist #jk I actually had therapy 2 times in my life and it helped me a lot #but the core problems are still inside #like a nasty tumor #pencil #pencil sketch

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touyatakeover · 1 year

Text

‘japan's sweetheart and her special someone.’

dabi x female pro hero reader

japan's new number one hero has been in a very serious relationship with someone for quite some time now. but no one knows that... except her and that “someone.” and who could have ever guessed that that “someone” is supposed to be her worst enemy?

word count: 5.5k words

—warnings and things: hawks appearance (just friends lolz), slight angst (dabi is insecure), arguing for just a second, secret relationship, established relationship, dynamic can be a bit strained (due to the hero/villian thing) but don’t worry y’all are very much in love, he really likes to call you pretty (among other nicknames), teasing, dabi is called "touya" a couple times, reader is referred to as “you�� instead of “she,” choking, a lotttt of praise, sub!reader, soft dom!dabi, fingering, cunnilingus, overstimulation, (semi??)public sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cursing/swearing.

if i'm missing some, let me know!

i have a dabi infestation, in my brain. he won’t go away. physically cannot stop thinking about that weirdo.

ok here we go

☆ ☆ ☆

a bright smile rested upon your face after you and one other hero took down yet another villian. you looked at the crowd of citizens (that had gathered around the scene seemingly out of no where) before you, cheering you on, screaming your hero name, applauding for you. this part of your job made you feel warm inside. the sight of the people, young and old, big and small, holding so much adoration for you.

you were like a superstar in the hero world, soaring up the ranks at an insane rate. you had just passed endeavor a little under two months ago, making you japan’s brand new number one hero. and unlike endeavor, everyone seemed to love you, even your competitors. not just for your quirk, or your physical strength, but your mental prowess, how quick and creatively you were able to think on your feet, and (the most popular reason) for your personality. you presented as japan’s new sweetheart, mature, well put-together, with a heart of gold (that was especially loved by the country’s children).

you retained a down-to-earth character, despite your strength and the constant praise you received. with the amount compliments you’d hear about yourself, people would expect it to all go to your head. but, you were perfect, in the mind’s of the country’s civilians anyway.

“beautiful job, as always, number one!” you hear the pro hero hawks say from behind you with a smile, followed by a hand on your shoulder. even hawks couldn’t dislike you, even though you had surpassed both him and his idol endeavor in the hero rankings.

you giggle at your friend’s compliment, “thank you, hawks. it was nothing, really! besides, you helped me a ton!”

the blonde scoffs. “oh please, you practically did it all without me!”

the two of you share a high-five, and your conversation is interrupted by a small group of five elementary school children running up to you and hawks.

“hiii!” one of the girls of the group, who appears to be the leader, says. then, they start talking to you all at the same time, saying things like “you both are so cool!!” and “i wan’ be just like you when i grow up!” and “may i take a picture to show my mommy?” among other things.

you stand with your knees bent and hands on your knees to get at their eye level and listened to them carefully, nodding, and smiling, and signing things for them, and taking pictures, and smiling some more.

after signing what you thought was the last of the merch from the children, all of them except one goes to talk to hawks. you noticed, though, the last one of the kids from the group still standing in front of you, looking at her feet, shy to meet your gaze.

you kneel down fully and start softly, “hello, sweetie. what’s your name?”

“m-my… um… my name is… akemi,” the adorable young girl says just over a whisper. she plays with her fingers to ease her nerves as her favorite hero stands over her.

“my gosh, what a pretty name! it suits you.”

“h-how, miss?” she says, wanting to look up at you, but feeling too shy to do so.

“akemi; the kanji means bright beauty. a wonderful name for such a wonderful girl.”

“you think i’m wonderful?!” she finally looks up at you, her expression much brighter, and eyes sparkling. her words are clear and have fully lost their stutter. she’s beaming. she’s bright and beautiful, as her name suggests.

“of course, lovely. i can tell you are.”

your voice is genuine, but for some reason, she looks down at her shoes once more and her voice is back down to a whisper.

“my mommy and daddy… th-they think that my quirk isn’t good enough to be a hero. to be… like you. so, miss, h-how can you think i’m… wonderful?”

you frown a little and you feel your heart sink. she’s just a little girl, and yet her parents are already discouraging her?

you know someone, who’s parents didn’t really believe in him growing up. his hero, his father, constantly discouraging him, crushing his dreams. and you’ve seen the results of that lack of support.

“akemi, i’m gonna tell you a secret, mkay?” you begin.

she nods. “‘kay.”

“my quirk used to give me problems when i was your age, too. i just had to learn how to use it to it’s full potential.”

“n-no way!” her sparkling eyes are back on you. they have a gorgeous blue hue, like the sea. just like that certain someone you know.

“yes way! you’re still young, your quirk must’ve just manifested a little while ago. you, my dear, still have so much time to achieve your dream.”

“but… wh-what if i can’t?”

“i know you can. i know you’ll be an even better hero than me, i can feel it.” you lift your hands and hold the both of her small ones gently.

the girl cracks a smile.

“better than you?!” akemi questions. she thinks that’s impossible to be better than ‘the best hero ever!’.

“so much better than me.”

suddenly the girl traps you in a hug. so cute, you could cry.

she thanks you, and hands you a picture she seemingly ripped out of a magazine of her favorite hero to sign.

when you stand up, she reads the words you added to her picture, right below your autograph:

— to the bright and beautiful akemi, our future number one hero. <3

she grins and gives her thanks yet another time before running off to join the rest of her friends, with an added confidence she didn’t have before.

your heart is full of warmth, watching the girl hold the picture near her heart, hugging it as she walked away.

the group of civilians begin to disperse, after the police show up and take the villian you had conquered to jail.

hawks gathers up with you again, chuckling.

“kids. they’re adorable.”

“they really really are.”

while excitedly engaging in small talk, the smart watch you wear on your right wrist makes a ding! sound.

it’s connected to your cell phone and receives the same text messages and calls that your phone does. you see you’ve received a message from… that certain blue-eyed someone that has the contact name my love on the screen.

‘what a cute display. looks like u made that little girl’s day.’

he’s watching you, from somewhere. he’s waiting for you. as usual. well that’s what you thought. until your watch dings again three times in a row.

‘if you’ve started looking for me already, i’ve already left.’

‘meet u on the roof of ur house.’

‘excited to see you, pretty girl. come to me. quickly.’

“ooo, gotta go keigo! the sun is about to go down soon and i’ve got stuff to do at home!” you half-lie, careful with using his real name until just about everyone’s gone.

“alright, y/n, don’t forget we’re doing karaoke with mirko on sunday!”

for a second you wondered how you ever agreed to that. you weren’t the best singer, but karaoke with your friends sounded fun. a good way to relax from hero work.

“i didn’t forget!! who do you think i am? i’ll see you sunday!” you yell out with a little wave as he ascends slowly into the sky, flapping his wings, preparing to take off.

when hawks is finally gone, you make your way home quickly, thanking god your house isn’t at all far from where you are.

you excitedly stroll down the streets, watching your home get closer and closer. when you arrive home, you don’t even take off your tattered hero costume and make your way up to your roof.

and there, you see it. your certain someone.

him.

he’s laying down on top of a blanket that he's placed over the flat surface of the roof, in wait for you, playing with the small blue flames dancing on his fingertips. a toothy smile creeps up on his features as he hears you approaching him.

“hey, pretty lady.”

he greets you, standing up while extinguishing his flames in an instant and reaching his arms out for you.

you happily wrap your arms around him, inhaling the smell of his smoky and musky cologne.

“hi, you stalker,” you say into his chest even though this is a common occurrence. when he’s not busy he likes to meet up with you in places neither of you can be seen since you’re both one another’s dirty little secrets.

you can feel the laugh he lets out vibrating against his chest.

“‘m not a stalker. just wanted to see what the number one hero was up to, just like everyone else.”

you roll your eyes and separate from your hug, looking him in the eyes as he continues to speak.

“you came just in time to watch the sunset with me, baby.” he sits back down on the blanket, takes off his jacket, and pats the spot next to him. “sit down, pretty.”

and so you sit. you lay your head on his shoulder and look at the sunset. gorgeous shades of orange and yellow paint the sky as the giant ball of heat prepares to sleep through the night. the two of you enjoy the view of the day’s transition into nighttime, exchanging small words here and there.

“i wonder what kind of spell you put on me to make me keep meeting up with you like this, instead of just killing you. you got some secret second quirk or something?” he smirks at the circumstances.

you offered him a small smile in return, looking over at him. "nope... not to my knowledge. but... maybe that would explain why everyone likes me so much. even you."

when the two of you had first crossed paths nearly two years ago, it was when he was sent on a mission to assassinate you. at the time you were (and still are) considered the league of villains' biggest threat. you were climbing up the ranks quickly, as the announcement that you were the 4th highest ranked hero of that year had just came out. the league just had to make sure they eliminated you, so they sent dabi. and he thought it would be an easy, one-and-done, sort of thing; fully prepared to kill you.

but... when you had looked menacingly into his eyes after slamming him down into the cold pavement of the alleyway that he had tried to ambush you in... he started to understand your... appeal.

everyone loves you after all, now including him.

since that day, even though he couldn't admit it to himself at first, he was awestruck by you, despite your initial dislike for him. but your sour attitude didn't deter him.

after a few more "attempts to eliminate you" that he purposefully failed, a forbidden relationship of polar opposites began to bloom.

whenever you had to fight the league of villains, you always mysteriously turned out to be unharmed, especially when you went toe-to-toe with the arsonist himself. naturally, shigaraki eventually began to question him on how you keep miraculously slipping through the league's fingers, and dabi was always quick to come up with thorough lies to deter his own friends from the truth.

to this day, because of those lies, they have yet to find out he's been warning you before every "surprise" attack the villains were planning.

and now, here you are. together. even though you really shouldn't be. watching the sun's descent on the roof of your home.

you were so relaxed beside a villian?, eyes closing as the sun almost completely disappeared. he couldn't help but stare at your face, thoughts running through his mind.

“y/n, baby?”

you hum in response.

“do you… really believe that girl you spoke to will be a hero one day? better than you?”

“if she truly wants to do that, then i believe she has the potential to do so,” you answer seriously, eyes opening and landing on the man beside you, noticing he was already peering over at you.

“ha, answered just like a perfect little hero,” is what he says, resting one of his hands on your face.

“oh, shut up,” you whisper, shuffling closer to him. you press your lips against his and he closes his eyes. he loves to kiss you. he loves the way you taste like sweet spearmint gum, due to your habit of chewing gum all the time.

you notice his tight grip on you was tightening even more, so you break the kiss and ask him “what’s wrong, baby?”

he doesn’t wanna admit it, that his cold heart warms up whenever he sees you interact with children that look up to you.

but when it also leads him down a train of thought that makes him frown. he wonders if one day he could give you children, since you like them so much. he grimaces at how he probably wouldn’t be able to be around and raise them with you, because of the fact he’s a villain.

he. is. a. villian. he’s always known that, but those words hold more weight now since he’s been dating you. you don’t deserve a villian. you deserve someone as sweet and pure as you are.

he could have been that. could have. he could’ve been a functioning part of society, just like the rest of his family, if only they payed attention to him. you managed to pay attention to a random girl on the street, and change her outlook on her life through a single conversation, and yet his own flesh and blood couldn't do that for him when he was a child. and now, he's this. burnt and battered and broken. damaged goods, even though you deserve the best there is to offer. you deserve so much better than him.

he doesn’t want to admit those things to you. he doesn't really want to feel vulnerable.

but, when his eyes meet yours, he can’t resist sharing a piece of his thoughts.

“was a cute kid you talked to earlier. the way you spoke to her it was… i don’t know," he trails off. he has a hard time expressing emotions like this at times, but he continues to try, for you. "you’re always so encouraging. you’re… a sweet girl. man, i don’t know i just… wish i knew someone like you growing up. maybe i wouldn’t have turned out… like this.”

you give him a look of bewilderment, not expecting him to pour out his heart. and really not expecting his last sentence.

“turn out like what, dabi?”

“turn out… like dabi.”

if someone just looked at him then… the way you look at him now, like his existence actually means something, he wouldn’t have ever become dabi.

he could’ve been kind like you. someone who helps people, not an evil-doer who hurts them.

he could’ve stayed touya, the dreamer. or been touya the hero, or touya the teacher, or touya the singer, or touya the artist, or touya the athlete.

but instead of all of those potential forms of touya, he is the worst possible option: dabi the murderer, dabi the arsonist, dabi the terrorist, dabi the wicked evil heartless villain. he is dabi.

“you tur—“

he groans before you can even get the sentence out of your mouth. his arms are now crossed against his chest.

“come on, y/n, don’t give me that shit. wouldn’t you rather be with a clean-cut guy that isn’t a criminal?”

“baby, please.”

he keeps going, despite your plea. he knows you don’t like when he talks like this, but these thoughts have been swimming in his mind more than usual ever since you became number one.

“wouldn’t you want a little hero, just like you? a little goody-two-shoes who can walk in the street with you, and hold your hands in public, and kiss you in front of people, and meet your family, and take pictures in your little hero magazine photoshoots with you, and take you to those restaurants you like?! give you the things you fucking deserve?!!”

he lists off things at the speed of rapid fire, his voice getting louder as he goes on.

“no. no the hell i wouldn’t.” the words leave your lips firmly.

he grabs your shoulders now and holds them tightly, but not tight enough to cause you any pain.

“don’t you ever lie to me like that again. you cannot tell me you wouldn’t pick a guy like that over someone like me; some sick homicidal asshole who has to meet up with you in fucking alleyways?!!”

you can hear his voice breaking. his words are coming out strained while he bites back the bloody tears that want to escape from his eyes. the sorrowful tone of his voice upsets you. naturally, you don't like it when he's sad, especially when it's due to his far-from-true insecurities.

“i am not lying to you! i don’t care about any of that shit! the thing i care about the most is you. it’s always gonna be you. i love my job, i love being a hero, but i’d leave it all behind. i would leave all this shit, if it meant i could be happy with you. i could never love anything or anyone else in the way that i love you, not even being number one. i tell you that all the time and i mean that.”

he knows you mean that. he knows every word you speak is truth from the bottom of your heart and it makes his head hurt. he is not worthy of this affection. why would you give up everything for him when he's nothing?

“you sound ridiculous, y/n! 'm a fuckin' sinner and you're... an angel.”

“it’s you that sounds ridiculous. we are opposites. but opposites attract, don’t they? and i fell in love with you just the way you are right now. no one could possibly make me feel the way you make me feel. i didn’t fall in love with a hero, or a 'goody-two-shoes,' or some other guy you think would be better for me. i fell in love with you."

he can't argue with that, and he can't argue with the way you look at him with so much devotion in your eyes. the adoration emitting from your gaze overwhelms him, and he looks away.

he's silent now. so you continue.

"so you think i'm an angel," you grab his face with your right hand to make him look at you. "but i'm your angel, aren't i?"

his eyes dilate when your words hit his eardrums. your voice, velvety and smooth and sugary sweet, feels like it just wrapped around his body and encased him in a hug. you always know just what to say. his eyes search yours and his mind fills up with nothing but the same three words over and over again:

i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you.

he loves you and you love him. and that's all that matters.

his lips part to let out a shaky exhale, "yeah." followed by a shaky inhale, then yet another shaky exhale, before he whispers, "my angel."

the space between the two of you becomes non-existent when he brushes his lips against yours. he groans into the kiss, yearning to feel more of you, all of you.

the kiss turns from small pecks to slow, deep, sensual open-mouthed kisses, with the both you aching for the other.

he grabs your frame and brings you into his lap. your hands rest on either side of his face, physically demanding that he comes closer to you.

“hah, are you gonna conquer me too, little hero? like you did with that villain from earlier?” he whispers against your lips. the feeling of his breath against your lips makes your body tingle under his touch.

“mmyeah? that’s what you want? but i thought the villian was supposed to try and take down the hero?” your thumbs stroke his cheeks, back and forth against the textured skin. through your eyelashes you look at him with a sly smile.

“i have a track record of not being very good when it comes to taking you down. but, if that's what you want, i’ll gladly take you down, hero. in more ways than one.”

your lips meet one another’s again, this time with much more force and fervor. his hands are all over your body, stroking and grabbing at different parts under your tight hero costume. he swirls his tongue around your own, pulling a moan from your mouth.

a gasp leaves you when he snakes a hand up your body and wraps his fingers around your neck. you both know he has no intention of hurting you, not in the slightest, but the mere threat of danger makes you feel warm in the pit of your stomach. and, you don't even realize it makes you start rolling your hips on top of his.

your breaths are heavy as you stare at each other wordlessly, the air other of becoming filled with tension and the sounds of both of you panting.

"look at you, my pretty lady," he coos. you can feel him start to make his hand around your neck warmer and warmer, hotter and hotter. it doesn't burn, doesn't hurt, but he... has the power to make it hurt. and you can't quite figure out why that turns you on. but it does. it really, really does. you grind against him a little rougher.

"do you know the way you're fuckin' lookin' at me right now? it's not how a hero is supposed to be lookin' at someone like me. look like you wanna devour me, baby. or... do you want me to devour you? i can't quite tell." he keeps his words to a whisper, knowing the sound of his own voice makes you crazy.

you only let out a breathless sound, not really knowing the answer to that question yourself.

"dabi, are... are we really gonna do this? here? now?"

"no one will see us, number one. the sun is down now. 's just you 'nd me." and he was right. the sun had finally completed its full descent, with its friend, the moon, making its appearance in the now black sky. the stars reflecting off of your lovedrunk eyes is what pushed him to keep teasing you.

"c'mon sweet girl. do you want me?"

you mewl and give him a slow nod, paired with a "mmhmm."

once, then twice, then three times does dabi deliver quick smooches to your lips, strongly resisting the urge to stick his tongue into your mouth.

"tell me, y/n. tell me you want me."

and just like that, nothing else matters. not the fact you were on the roof on your home, not that you were a hero with a reputation to uphold, not that you were allowing a villain to have control over you like this while you sat in his lap. no, not anything at all.

right now you were no longer the number one hero, no longer the new symbol of peace, no longer japan's sweetheart, no longer the girl that everyone likes. you were just... you. y/n. dabi's girl.

"i want you. touya, i need you. please."

it's not very often when you say that word to refer to him, but when you do, he melts inside.

suddenly dabi moves one hand to the small of your back and another hand to your torso to brace you as he pushes you down onto the fluffy blanket below you both. his body towers over yours while his head dips down to groan "love you"s and "need you too"s and "my baby"s into your mouth.

after pulling his own shirt above his head, dabi practically rips your hero costume off your body, which you would normally curse him for, but don't, since it was already tattered from the day you'd had.

he wastes no time rubbing his hands on your inner thighs, savoring the feeling of your soft skin against his rough hands for just a second. his hands grabbed at your panties, taking them off from around your hips.

"so fuckin' pretty."

the pads of his fingertips glide up and down the folds of your puffy pussy. and his expression becomes almost crazed when the sound of you finally moaning for him hits his ears. your toes curl and your eyes snap shut when his fingers rotate around your clit, hips jolting at the stimulation.

"no, no no no, look at me pretty. eyes on me, yeah?"

a long, loud high-pitched whine escapes from your throat when he puts more pressure on you. then, you slowly peel your eyes open.

"aww, there she is. there's my girl."

and when your eyes fully open again, you have to fight back the want to shut them again at the view above you. dabi's eyes look almost glazed over and his lips are parted, holding back his own little noises from just looking at you. he is completely entranced, absolutely nothing could take his blue eyes off yours.

not breaking eye contact, you don't even notice he's about to bring the middle and ring fingers from his other hand inside of you.

"baby!!!" you cry out, both of his hands now working on you at the same time. you almost forget you're outside, where your neighbors may or may not be able to hear you. but your neighbors don't seem to matter too much when your back arches up off of the fabric below you as your hips begin to instinctually grind against his hands.

through his daze he starts sputtering words to tease you while curling his fingers up to push on the bundle of nerves that made you cry out again.

"imagine the fuckin' look on your sweet little citizens' faces if they knew you run home just to break so easily on a villains fingers."

"wonder how your little hero friends would react if they knew i had you creaming on the roof of your own house."

"hah, if only they knew japan's sweetheart isn't as sweet as they think she is."

your hands claw at his arms and he smiles down at you at how your muscles involuntarily clench around his fingers, the threat of your dirty little secret being found out making your body feel hot. you want to look away out of embarrassment, but you can't. your eyes can't look anywhere else but at the man above you.

set on hearing you whine even more, he takes one of his hands from your clit and replaces it with his lips, tongue flicking your clit up and down, and round and round. he hums against you in delight when you squeal,

"mmmgo-god, touya!!! feels too--! 's too much!!"

you're breathless despite your constant gasping underneath him. your hips can't decide if they want to chase the feeling of his mouth on you or if they want to buck away from the overstimulation. his rhythm of his tongue on your clit and fingers inside you start to get faster, making you start to tremble. you grasp your lover's dyed black hair, calling out his name, as you fall apart completely under his touch. you were gushing, squirting on his tongue with him happily licking you up and telling you how you 'taste so good, baby.'

when you're finally able to catch your breath, you mindlessly reach for his belt and start to unbuckle it, readying yourself to suck him off, but he stops you.

"always such a sweet girl. don't worry about me right now." he tells you, and you don't protest because you were really starting to crave the feeling of something longer than his fingers inside of you.

dabi quickly discards the clothes on his bottom half, revealing his hard and leaking cock that you couldn't help but stare at. you watched as the precum that had accumulated at his tip began to leak all the way down to his base; he was oh so eager to be inside you. and so were you.

"my eyes are up here, baby." he smirked when you rolled your eyes. "come on, hold on to me."

his heart was pounding against his ribcage at the sensation of the bare skin of your arms and legs wrapping around his multi-textured body. he's reeling at the feeling of the softness of your breasts, pressed up against his chest. he takes a second to look at you before pushing himself inside you with an unstable exhale. his eyes rolled into the back of his head as soon as he made contact with the warm wetness of your cunt and the feeling of you sucking him in deeper and deeper and deeper.

"fuck! take me so fucking well, my gorgeous fuckin' girl."

he starts to give you shallow thrusts, biting his lip, hips slapping against yours. your nails found their way into his shoulder blades, needing him closer than humanly possible.

"m-more! honey-- ohh god-- honey, please! please, my love, please, my baby, pleaseeee! please please please please pleeeease, yes!" you beg into his ear. he moans back at you, his resolve to hold anything back anymore now being completely gone.

he sinks his cock into you as deep as he can go, pulling out loud, broken moans from the both of you.

he began to murmur sweet nothings to you, telling you how good you feel, and how perfect you are, and how you're like his pretty princess. you pressed hot kisses into his shoulder, voice reverberating against his skin.

you lifted your hips slightly to meet his while he fucked you, clawing at him, and he lets out a near-pornographic moan at much more intense the head of his cock felt against your insides.

"shit! o-oh there you go, sweetheart, fuck me back, yeah? you love fucking your man back, don't you? hahhhh, shit!-- give it to me, give it to me baby!" he tells you, and so you do exactly that. you try to focus on meeting your hips with his, letting out moans in time with his thrusts.

"touya, i'm... 'm close... s-so close, honey," you whisper in his ear, your words coming up slow and a bit slurred. and instead of thrusting into you with more vigor he actually slows himself down, hips rolling into yours slow, deep, and deliberate. every roll of his hips tugged cry after cry from you. your nails somehow dig further into his skin, but he doesn't mind. this is a type of pain he actually likes, even if you might have broke through skin and how hard you're grasping him.

"i've got you, my baby. hmmmfuck, i love you. god, the way you're squeezing me... 'm gonna cum, i need to give it to you. you want me to cum in that perfect pretty pussy, hm sweetheart?" he asks, his forehead now pressing against your own.

it's astonishing to you how his hips seem to be moving slower, but the pleasure you feel is building up, and up, and up, more and more.

all you can manage to get out is "god please... please... with me."

knowing your tendency to get loud when you're about to cum on his cock, he kisses you, loving the feeling of your moans being sent into his mouth. your legs press into him when you both cum, whining out for each other. his cum fills you and some drips down the meat of your thighs.

the two of you stay in the same position, breathing each other in under the light of the moon. soon enough, you giggle. "on the roof. never done that one before."

"it's good to try new things, isn't it, little hero?"

you hum in response. "it is. now, that may have been very fun, but i'm not falling asleep out here. you've gotta bring me inside, i don't think i can take myself downstairs."

he gives you a fake surprised look, even though he was already planning on bringing you off the roof anyway. "i have to? why should i?"

you pout at his question, "please? 'm tired."

"just messing with you, pretty. lets go," he murmurs. he puts on his underwear, wraps you up in the blanket and lifts you into his arms.

he leaves your hero costume and his outfit on the roof. you can worry about that in the morning. the only thing that matters is you and him, your secret special someone.

☆ ☆ ☆

first ever fanfic on here! it took me a few days to write; hope u enjoyed :0

—— TOUYATAKEOVER! ⭐️

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notyour-valentine · 2 years

Note

Hello! Could you please write a blurb with Thomas Shelby and with this line: “To speak and to speak well are two different things”???

Well Spoken ~Tommy Shelby x Reader (Fluff)

[Celebration] [Celebration Masterlist] [Masterlist]

(18/21+). I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.

Words: 1238 words

She could see him pacing up and down the corridor, notes in hand, his rounded glasses perched atop his nose as he muttered the words under his breath.

It was a funny sight, and one she had been enjoying for quite a while now.

Once he would be out there and trace of shaking hands and nose pinching would be gone, replaced by cold professionalism.

Oh poor Mr Shelby, she thought with the hint of a smile.

She knew she should have walked off and gone home long ago, but she couldn't stop watching. There was something truly intriguing about the way he prepared, the way he practised. His insecurity showed not just vulnerability but dedication, both things she didn't see too often in these halls.

Perhaps that was why she averted her gaze from the door and instead chose to approach him.

Or maybe it was that special aura he had. Many people here claimed greatness, either directly or indirectly, but he had achieved his own success with his own hands. And yet he didn't wear his wealth or acclaim like a crown.

He still walked like a man going to work and not a Princeling headed for court, even in the Palace of Westminster.

It didn't surprise her that he heard her coming.

By the time he turned he had gathered his papers to his chest and moved to the side to let her through, but when she stopped beside him, he raised his eyebrow in a silent question.

"I was wondering if you needed help, Mr Shelby."

She offered him a smile as she nodded towards his speech.

A frown washed over his face as he studied her.

"Who are you?", He wanted to know. There was a sharpness to his voice, impatience bordering on rudeness.

For a moment, it made her reconsider her offer, but she introduced herself all the same.

"And it is my job to record the speeches in parliament and write them out for the archives. So I am an expert on them, I suppose."

He hummed, as if not quite sure what to make of her yet.

"If anyone knows what works and what doesn't, what sounds good and what doesn't, that would be me."

Mr Shelby huffed.

"It's not about how it sounds. It's about the policy."

His sentiment made her smile. In a way, it was strange to find a man of his age and standing adorable, but he was. At least if he believed his words.

"You're not a natural orator, are you?", She wanted to know.

He sounded almost insulted.

"I have speeches before,", he mumbled, "during the campaign."

She smiled once more.

"And you did it in your own city, where your family employs half the citizens, either directly or indirectly, with your name on half the schools, hospitals and more?"

He cleared his throat and glanced down, almost boyish.

"To speak and to speak well are two different things that rely on so many factors. Including the audience. I could help you, if you want."

Mr Shelby weighed his options for a moment.

"Fine then.", He grumbled as if he was doing her a favour and not the other way around.

Then he gestured to the entrance to his office. As he let her go first, his hand found the small of her back.

His office was a lot simpler than most she had seen in her time, and he was kind enough to offer her a chair as he sat down behind his desk before inviting her to speak.

Instead she asked for his script.

He handed it to her and watched with sharp, unmissing eyes as she read.

"And?", He asked not without a hint of impatience.

"It is very thorough.", She admitted.

A soft sigh of relief escaped his lips and she could see tension disappear from his shoulders.

"I wanted it to be airtight.", He admitted, "an airtight proposal."

"That wasn't a compliment."

His pale blue eyes widened.

"No?"

"No."

For a moment their gazes locked in a statedown, his born from confusion, hers from curiosity.

Never could anything tell her more about a person than their reaction to rejection.

Finally, she decided to show him some mercy and handed his speech back.

"You are not presenting a business plan."

"But that is exactly what I'm doing.", He argued, before going into his profitable housing scheme would be in the long run.

She raised her hand and silenced him.

"That speech you are giving is not supposed to be an explanation, it is supposed to be an advertisement."

He leaned back and folded his hands in front of him, tilting his head to listen, soaking in her every word.

"Your goal is not to inform, it is to convince and for that you don't need facts. You need to connect with people inside the house and the outside. To stir emotion."

He didn't give her the grace of a reaction, not yet.

So she slid the papers over.

"You are a salesman, Sir. So sell me your proposal."

She ended her challenge with a smile as she leaned back in her chair, mirroring him.

His eyes took her in from head to toe, weighing her worth, and then he cleared his throat and leaned forward.

"It is about better housing for factory workers, and judging by your pearl earrings and the clasp on your shoes it is not exactly your field of interest. I'd have a hard time selling that to you."

A capitulation so soon?

A small part of her was disappointed. She had hoped for more.

But where he was ready to fold, she stabbed once more.

"It seems you are a very keen observer, but not a very good salesman. Try again.", She demanded.

After all, most people that would vote on this bill didn't have a natural disposition to care about this issue.

"I'm sorry?"

"Try again.", She asked, before deciding to throw him a bone. "Find something that would make me emotionally attached to housing for factory workers."

He gestured around vaguely, searching for something- anything. And his choice was just as vague.

"You're a good person?"

It made her laugh under her breath.

"What if I wasn't?"

Not that you could tell by now.

"You care about your fellow citizens. Your fellow countrymen."

Better, she thought, still not good enough.

"Not enough to spend thousands of pounds. Why would I? I never met a factory worker in my life."

His jaw muscles twitched slightly, but he kept his calm.

"The current housing situation in industrial cities is a breeding ground for disease."

Ooh- we are getting somewhere.

She was starting to feel that tingling thrill that only came from powerful speeches, from words said and meant, from purpose and passion.

So close.

"I don't live there, so it doesn't affect me."

"It affects them and their children."

"Now I know about the problem, but I can't see it. You need to create an image in the head of your audience if you really want them to remember you."

Mr Shelby huffed.

"You're sharp.", he acknowledged.

"Maybe so.", She argued with a shrug. "But no one in this house comes to the Chamber without a sharpened tongue or a hidden dagger."

His pale lips curled into something that could have been mistaken for a smile.

"How much do they pay you to type out speeches?"

End

Thank you so much for requesting and for participating in my celebration - I hope you liked it! As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts

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nobodysdaydreams · 3 months

Text

I have many questions about Pryce and Cutter's backstory, but I mostly want to know more about their insecurities and failures. Also, do they have bones?

(Or my reaction to Episodes 55-58 of Wolf359).

Welcome back dear readers! Should I have reacted to more Wolf359 this weekend? No. I have work to do. But, like Doug Eiffel himself, I cannot just let a cliff hanger like that go unfinished. The events of the last two episodes have been spinning in my head for the last 24 hours and I need ANSWERS DANG IT. Will this lead me to an even bigger cliffhanger that I will surely regret later? Probably, but that's the risk we need to take. As Doug Eiffel said "a leap of faith".

Tagging the mutuals who got me invested in this, and if you want to be tagged or untagged from these posts, lmk, or you can follow my blog or simply follow the tag "#bods wolf359 reactions". Anyone who has followed me for a while knows my updates are inconsistent, so I apologize in advance for that and for any spelling/grammar mistakes in my posts.

@sophieswundergarten @oflightningandstars @acollectionofcuriousreblogs @herawell @commsroom @lovelyladylavie

Episode 55: A Place For Everything

Okay, before we start this episode, a few thoughts that have been going through my head:

Obviously Minkowski is brainwashed sadly :( BUT:

Is Jacobi brainwashed too because Kepler ratted him out, or is Jacobi playing as a double agent?

Did Pryce and Cutter brainwash Kepler too, or is he on their team?

Hera is clearly fighting Pryce to warn Doug, but how much is she able to fight past her?

Can Pryce and Cutter even brainwash Lovelace considering she's an alien clone?

I need to figure out where everyone is. I need to know what happened. Was there a struggle or did Cutter just stroll in and snap his fingers?

Oh we're going back in time. Nice to see Minkowski, Jacobi, and Lovelace working together for as long as it lasts.

Okay so they are looking for Doug, and find Dr. Evil and her psychotic murder business man boyfriend instead.

It's nice that they're doing so much to rescue Doug though. But he really should have talked this through with them. And then they all should get the heck out of there before Cutter shows up.

Kepler. BE QUIET. Has he learned nothing? Does he have a death wish?

Kepler: "There are limits to the human body...I'm not talking about Eiffel. Give them a chance to catch their breath" Wow, such caring words from the man who risked the lives of his crew just to get a bottle of Whiskey back.

"Since when you are worried about pushing people too far." GREAT QUESTION MINKOWSKI.

Oh you "knew" Jacobi was on your side did you Kepler? "Maybe there's other things I've been wrong about." NOW? You're figuring this out now, Kepler? It took you that long? Is he awkwardly trying to grab a redemption arc too? I want to hope so, but something tells me he'll flip the second Pryce and Cutter show up.

"Just be wrong quietly" I love Minkowski

A shuttle? Shoot it. SHOOT IT.

Oh great Cutter has a message.

Wow, he even made a fake "We're not your enemy" message.

HERA CAN'T STOP THEM FROM DOCKING. NO NO NO NO NO.

And what are they doing to Lovelace.

Does Kepler know it's them? Oh yeah. He and Hera know. Everyone knows now. Oh boy...

Yeah. Really really bad is an understatement. I hope you guys have a plan. A really really good plan.

Well here come the bad guys.

"Who's gonna come through those doors? High level SI-5?" Jacobi doesn't even know...oh Kepler you really kept them in the dark didn't you?

Um. What was that. Four people? Who are they?

Another Australian guy?

Oh is that Rachel Young? Ew. Why is she there?

Ah...there he is. Yes, Cutter they did have quite a party. Shame you're here to ruin it. "You look awful" don't insult Kepler, Cutter. That's MY job.

THEY TOOK OVER THE MINDS OF THE HERMES CREW? So that's why they're following them.

"This is just a formality, don't you Daniel? Just until you can be...processed." Okay, so he's gonna brainwash him.

And Cutter has been 100% listening in on EVERYTHING. EVERYTHING. Who are you lying for? Those "reports" are probably just so he knows how much information you're willing to tell him.

And...there she is.

Oh Cutter named the AI? Interesting.

She said "no" Pryce, does she need to say it again?

HERA DON'T TELL HER THAT.

Oh dear. They got Hera too now.

I'm surprised more people aren't freaking out about Pryce and Hera sharing a voice.

"Neither of them is my type" Then...who is Jacobi, also what do you think picking the lock will do?

Yep. Brainwashed Zombies.

"I'm an SI-5 agent in good standing..." Jacobi, that doesn't matter anymore.

"There isn't someone worse that still hasn't showed up" Oh...but you haven't considered the dear listeners.

Okay so we got Cutter, Rachel, Pryce, a black ops agent, some brainwashed zombies they picked up from Hermes, and...wait what's wrong with Pryce's eyes? Is she a cyborg?

Huh. Pryce would need to be 50 at least to have written the space manual. And Cutter would too, but did so under a different name. Oh this is a development. I assumed they were like in their 50s/60s being played by 20 something years old actors...but I guess they actually do look that young...

...

...I guess they have a great skin care routine? Diet? Biotech? Are they both cyborgs? Do they replace parts of themselves whenever they break down? And if so...just how old are they?

Oh Doug is back! Poor Hera. You can save him, Hera. I know you can.

"Hi Doug :)" Don't like that.

"The Sol" of course Cutter would name it after the sun. He sees himself at the center of the universe.

"Renee is fine. Healthy as a horse" shut it Cutter!

"Hera? Is that you?" I love that Doug is the one that picked up on that and Pryce, being mistaken for Hera is the biggest compliment you could ever hope to get.

Counterpart?

"Why do you have Hera's voice?" Because Miranda is evil and likes to play god. Oh my gosh, they literally do think of themselves as gods. Not them quoting scripture too, I swear with each and every episode Cutter and Pryce make me want to vomit. You're not gods. You're just every other selfish terrible lazy parent who has a kid and thinks that they have a right to control the course of their life. Just because you make or create someone doesn't give you the right to do whatever you want with them!

"What?" MY THOUGHTS EXACTLY DOUG.

"1,001 pains in my ass Pryce?" TELL HER DOUG! It's the least of her crimes, but we have to start somewhere.

The...the next you? What um...what happened to the real Carter?

Don't call Doug "good boy" ONLY HERA GETS TO DO THAT.

"You have not been doing a good job as communications officer." HE JUST CONTACTED THE ALIENS. He's the best communications officer you could ever hope to have. Sure, up until now he's done a terrible job, and openly neglected his duties, but this is what happens when you send random ex-convicts with known substance abuse issues and obviously ADHD up into space instead of, oh I don't know, rehabilitating them???

"4 months ago, you took a while to get up here." Exactly what I've been saying.

So they got to Hermes two months ago, but...oh the aliens kept them away! And now Bob let them in, oh no. See Doug, this is why you should have talked to the crew first.

"Go screw yourself" Tell them Doug. They deserve to hear it.

Oh Miranda's torture chair. Of course they have one of those.

"Too bad" it's so unsettling how much Miranda sounds like Hera.

Hopefully, Bob managed to give Doug's mind a little resistance.

It seems that Rachel and Kepler don't get along so well. Bit of a rivalry there?

"Deliver or you're off the team" I don't like that motto.

Oh hi Australian guy. I'm sure my mutuals will be more than happy to tell me more about who he is. But since he's evil and not that interesting, I don't really care.

"He makes you disappear, Warren" Rachel seemed way too happy about that. I always thought she and Warren were on the same level, but I think someone just got promoted and someone else might be getting demoted.

"It will take some time to uncouple it from all the Star Wars trivia" good work Doug, keep the hyper fixation noise in your brain.

"Do you ever get a little tired of hearing yourself speak?" Doug is asking the best questions!

"Defiant until the end. You gotta respect that." "No, you don't." It's interesting how much Pryce and Cutter seem to differ in that Pryce stays very guarded and cold while Cutter embraces a very fake pleasant exterior.

"I am never following your orders ever again." Doug...I love you calling them out, but please do not tempt fate. The more you push, they more they push back. They clearly have a thing for breaking people (and machines).

"That wasn't an offer. There's not an element of choice here." Yeah...saw that coming. Sorry Doug. :(

Hopefully Hera can save him and Minkowski.

Oh Jacobi's been dragged off. So did they get him too?

Ew Rachel's here too. Oh and they have a way to hurt Lovelace. But can they kill her if she's an alien?

"Critical system failure" you go Lovelace!

"I owe you a coke." So apparently Pryce and Cutter don't stay young by avoiding sugar.

New friends? Oh no, he's going to show Lovelace what he did to her friends.

UPGRADE TO THE FULL VERSION? Like Hermes? Deleting certain thoughts? Oh my gosh. Like it's irreversible? Do they want to make the whole world like that?

And also if they had that the entire time, why have they not used that on everyone at Goddard from the beginning? They wouldn't have so many problems if they did that from the beginning. But I suppose that if they can't do the full version right away, the tech is probably pretty complex and expensive.

Okay so Raymond is the name of Australian guy. (Got it from the credits).

Well. At least they didn't get Lovelace's mind. We have that to be thankful for.

Episode 56: Idle Hands

Once again, another episode with no opening credits they just take you right in don't they?

So...is Jacobi not brainwashed? He seems agreeable, but not as robotic as Minkowski.

"Don't push them too hard." "Well it's not like they feel it" "I only turned off their pain receptors. They still have bones, primitive things." Miranda, DO YOU NOT HAVE BONES? WHAT ARE YOU?

Great, now I have the bananas have no bones song stuck in my head.

"It's not like any of them are gonna be alive much longer" And perhaps neither will any of you.

AND STOP WITH THE UNIT 214 STUFF.

"No need to speak. Just give me the sum." Interesting. Miranda really hates the sound of Hera's voice.

"What are you trying to accomplish with these attempts at resistance?" You designed her Miranda. You built and created her. She has your voice. You gave her a personality, presumably similar to yourself. You declared yourself her god. So here's an idea. Why don't you figure it out for yourself?

"My name is HERA...screw you" I'm glad Hera told her off, but the way that Pryce and Cutter scold Eiffel and Hera like they're disappointing children...you really do feel the age gap now.

MINKOWSKI CALLS HER UNIT 214 NOW???

"Things are going to be okay." Did they get Jacobi too? Oh they did.

"Just because they can't talk back doesn't mean they-" good point Hera. We understood what you meant.

Also: "I'll find a way to discipline her later." ... Well, well, well. Looks like someone slipped up there for a moment, didn't you Miranda? What happened to "not her. It?" All of a sudden Hera is a her now? And you talk about her like a disappointing child. But since you clearly just view her as an object, I have to wonder, is it hard losing an argument to someone who sounds like you? Someone who expresses a part of yourself that you perhaps, are a little insecure about? See, Miranda, that's the problem with the whole "playing god" thing. You can act all proud of yourself for making something in your own image, but if you don't like yourself, you might not like the image that looks back at you. Happens to real parents with children all the time. Happens to every human who spends too much time together and starts picking up each other's habits. I am going to enjoy writing some fic about you, Miranda /ominous.

"I'll get creative" I'm sure you will, Miranda. And so will I.

"She was always very persistent" "Watch yourself Warren. You don't want to sound like you admire it" well, it looks like RACHEL knows to refer to Hera as an it, and Kepler doesn't, so it seems Miranda really did slip up there. It's not a writer's mistake if they're being so intentional a few minutes later. Oh, this is going to be so fun for me.

"Pryce gets everyone sooner or later" And Hera was made in her image, Rachel. You might want to think about that.

"Pryce doesn't delete AI, she just corrects them" Oh, the AI that sound exactly like her? The ones that sound just like her? She finds their flaws and corrects them, does she? Not at all reflecting her own self-esteem issues I'm sure.

Replaced cranial architecture? Just because Miranda was bored? Wow, she and Cutter really are the worst.

Rachel is also the worst. Oh and Warren calls her "Miss. Young" while she calls him Warren...I guess they're not on the same level at Goddard or if they were...that's for sure over now and Kepler knows it too.

"I'm not worried about her." It's okay to worry about things other than Whiskey, Kepler. A little character complexity before you die won't be a horrible thing.

"Something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy." And it sounds like Rachel would wish a lot on her enemies. So...what is happening with Lovelace?

Cutter's playing Funzo with her? I assume it's Funzo, but they seem to be playing something. Oh Backgammon. 😂

So this is what Rachel was referring to. Oh the parallels between Cutter and Pryce and Doug and Hera just write themselves at this point.

Lovelace: "I don't eat with creeps" Cutter: 🥺 ...me?

Yes you, you evil creepy murder man.

"I mind every second that you exist." Same Lovelace.

Cutter is smoking? "We all have our vices" That is the LEAST of your vices Cutter. Also between the sodas and cigarettes, clearly Pryce and Cutter haven't been staying alive and looking young due to healthy habits.

"You seem tense" very observant Cutter.

What is it with this man and chai lattes? I've seen a few untagged posts about it, I thought people were exaggerating.

"Miranda and I don't agree on everything" "Tell me you're not about to make me do marriage counseling for you and your work wife" CALL HIM OUT ON IT LOVELACE. 😂 "Even for you that's too evil."

"Miranda is...wonderful. But she can be a little cold." Ah. I see. So you and work wifey disagree on how best to torture people. Luring them into a false sense of security vs. being unfeeling and dark from the start. I suppose that's why they work together, to strike that unhealthy balance.

"I don't wanna do that. It's messy. And that's not how I want to do that. We can be better." So they're doing the good cop, bad cop routine?

And something tells me Lovelace doesn't want a pony. I think she wants you dead.

"Compromise is the cornerstone of a good work marriage" so he doesn't deny it then.

Cutter really is an old man. The smoking, the board games, it's only a matter of time before he starts playing bingo, watching wheel of fortune, and talking about how it was "back when he was young whippersnapper".

I swear, if Cutter and Pryce try to drop their tragic backstories...

Who is asking for Unit 214? Oh Doug. This is so sad. "Thank you 214 :)" "Yeah whatever" "Is everything okay?" EVEN BRAINWASHED HE STILL CARES ABOUT HER. "Pryce is nice" No, she's not Doug!

What happened? HE CALLED HER HERA! DOUG IS BACK! DOUG IS BACK! Doug, you have to pretend, but this is good. He's back. Our boy is back. 💕 Did talking to Hera bring him back?

YES HE IS BACK BABY. TAKE THAT CUTTER, YOU NASTY OLD FART!

"I was alone" Oh...oh. Hera's I am alone monologue. :( 💔

Doug talk like a robot! You need it to be believable. Oh Doug, don't become an actor. Thankfully Australian guy (Raymond, whatever) doesn't seem to be the most perceptive.

"It could have been worse. It could have been Dr. Pryce" Yep. Way worse.

What is Pryce doing that has RACHEL of all people so rattled? I don't like those sounds.

Oh her eye? And I guess that looks pretty gross. And still needs routine adjustment too. Well, well, I think we found some more insecurity. My "ripping apart the villains" sniffer is sniffing out some good stuff here.

Oh yippie. Jacobi's here to help.

Performance review? Review of who? Kepler? Style is Marcus's department, that is very true. HOW BADLY DO YOU NEED JACOBI? oh Kepler is gonna be tested isn't he? Are they gonna make him torture and shoot a compliant Jacobi?

"Boring again..." you're one to talk Cutter. It's always the same with you people.

DOUG, HE CAN TOTALLY TELL. Oh good Cutter is preoccupied and leaving them alone. Just say "yes sir" in a monotoned voice Doug!

Phew. I guess Cutter isn't used to doubting his work wife.

"Wanna know a secret?" 😂😂😂

What's funny is that Cutter could totally make Doug do that to trick her. Oh it looks like Lovelace thought of that.

Doug be incompetent and make references. Not even Pryce and Cutter can fake that. See? She believed that!

Headache? What does that mean? Lovelace's blood? Oh.

So what I'm hearing is that we need to do a few blood transfusions.

"Dr. Pryce can see and hear everything" then you might need to leave Hera.

"I'm here to help! 🥰" Jacobi seems cheery.

Examination table? What are Pryce and Cutter doing to him?

"How old was Dr. Maxwell?" 28. That's...that's young, oh no. That's so sad. Cutter knows it's Kepler's fault too. He's never gonna be done getting tortured with this.

Oh right. His arm is gone, I keep forgetting. They're giving him a prosthetic arm? Well they could have been far less ominous about that. "Prove you belong here." Um...how? He's giving him reading homework? Well that was less ominous than I thought. Wayyyy less ominous.

Hearing Jacobi like this is so funny, I'm sorry. Hopefully, Doug got him the blood and hopefully Jacobi keeps his mouth shut.

Oh. Jacobi didn't make it. Doug you can't risk losing the ground you have. You don't have 10 minutes!

Oh no. It's not Jacobi is it?

Ah. Kepler /derogatory.

I don't know about that Kepler, but I think you might be drowning in Whiskey.

Episode 57: The Devil's Plaything

Nice of them to take us directly back to Kepler's "well, well, well".

"I'm done here" That's the most you've sounded like a robot all day Doug!

See?

Oh and Jacobi is back!

I see Jacobi doesn't know about Kepler's new prosthetic upgrades.

"Putting an end to this. Blowing up the Hephaestus." I hate to say it, but that might be the only solution now.

Doug. Look. I know. I would never pick this solution. But think about your daughter.

Oh, Jacobi has plans to get them off. But um... WHAT ABOUT HERA? She IS the Hephaestus. Can you um...make her the sol? Oh, the sol can hold her consciousness? Well that's good, but Maxwell would be really useful right now. If only Kepler had been the one to go.

That is a good question Doug. Why didn't you get Minkowski first?

Oh gross. Doug. Doug. Do not talk to her. Don't talk to Rachel Young. Don't talk to Dr. Pryce.

"Are you there?" It might not be safe to speak. But Hera is always there, she said so herself.

Visual and thermal sensors? Good plan, but won't Pryce notice?

"As long as it's not Jacobi" *flashes to Jacobi*

"How are things?" Not the best time for small talk Jacobi.

Jacobi knew one of them? This is so sad. He's...yeah they're gone. No one comes back from what Pryce did. 💔 "What they did to them is what you wanted Maxwell to do to me" That was rough, but fair. Jacobi needed to hear that. I like his redemption arc. I'm glad to see it's finally going somewhere.

Rachel really hates Doug 😂

Doug please don't talk to yourself. And remember, you technically can't feel pain. Pretend it's an inconvenience. Why does Rachel sound like a schoolteacher yelling at a first grader while Doug moans and whimpers? 😂

"Oh hello Eiffel. You're bleeding." Indeed, Minkowski.

"Everything is going to be fine." Why do I feel like that might be a phrase Cutter and Pryce use to hypnotize them or something, they say it constantly.

"You just stuck a needle in my neck. That wasn't very nice of you" 😂 Please this is too funny.

"Everything is going to be okay." SEE? SHE LET HIM GO!

Oh no. He called her Hera. Pryce won't allow that.

"Why are you calling her that?" I knew it! Just come up with something... um...Cutter asked me to call her that for his amusement?

oh and even "it's all okay" won't save him now.

How did Minkowski get the walkie-talkie? Oh dear. She's been under the longest too. And she's a trained solider. Doug you should have shot the comms system faster!

"Commander?" "Not quite." "I'm putting the lieutenant on manual." PRYCE CAN JUST SPEAK THROUGH THEM?

DOUG DON'T TELL HER! DON'T TELL HER!

"Don't delude yourself boy" It's little things like calling Doug "boy" that make me realize how old Pryce and Cutter really are. At first I thought they were boomers, but are they from the early 1900s because they seem even older than boomers sometimes just by the way they talk.

Oh dear what's happening now.

"Eiffel is sacrificing himself, what a hero" 😂 Jacobi, never change. Well, do change, but not your sense of humor. That can stay.

The airlock? She's making Minkowski leave out the airlock?

Oh Pryce is onto Jacobi too! "Go to hell" "not before the lieutenant does" Just because you're doing there doesn't mean everyone is Pryce.

Hopefully the alien blood protects them?

Gross. Rachel and Hermes zombies. The worst.

Minkowski! Come back! You can do it!

The Hermes crew went down! They did it! And yes! Punch Young in the face!

No. Not Minkowski. No. She needs to see her husband again!

SHE'S BACK! NOW RUN! RUN FAR AND FAST!

"Have they hit you with a wrench before?" well, no, but they did try it. That's what happens when you lose Jacobi, Rachel. You get hit with wrenches.

Oh poor Hera. It's not your fault.

Alive or dead? Alive, if you can manage. Well at least that's good...I think...

"Only a set back" well let's hope not Cutter. Not interested in your idea of fun.

Episode 58: Quiet, Please

Is this episode about Kepler or Cutter? Because I need them both to be quiet.

Oh right, the plant monster. Good thing Minkowski set up all those weapon stations! Now let's go hunt the real monsters.

The new plan can't be the old plan. Hera told them everything. They know. It's not her fault Jacobi!

Hera, you have to realize that you can't hear this. You have to trust that they will get you off the ship. "Show that WOMAN some respect" YES MINKOWSKI. Very true. But also, you need to make sure they have no way to hear about your plans.

Cutter is also probably waiting on the sol for them in a big evil chair. He's likely practicing his evil speech right now.

This would be a great time for the plant monster to come back and kill Cutter. I wish they keep him around. 💔🪴

"As long as I don't have to be out there" *cuts to Doug out there*

"The only time you're getting visuals from one place" "It's weird I don't like it" Interesting. It probably does feel weird to Hera.

And there goes Doug. I just imagine Kepler telling Pryce "don't worry. I've been tracking them and I'm positive they're in storage, right behind this door" only for Doug to go screaming and flying past the window as Pryce stares at Kepler with a deadpan look.

Talking uses air. Good point. Perhaps they should all talk less. The good news is we haven't heard from Whiskey boy the entire episode. Perhaps he's giving Pryce and Rachel the Whiskey monologue as they go through the ship.

"You're other left" once again Doug is me.

As we listen to Doug go on this journey, I once again return to Kepler's prosthetic arm. I wonder if they can hack it.

Wait what's happening now? Oh the security system is active? Oh dear.

I'm just waiting for things to go wrong. There's no way Cutter Pryce and the gang aren't onto them.

Biometric or retinal... do they need Pryce's eyes? Oh she has spare eyes. I wonder what happens if they break. And how she lost her original eyes. 👁️

"Everyone in favor of going to the lab say "eye"" Lol, "the eyes have it" I love it.

I just know they're gonna show up. I know it. I'm just waiting for it.

There's no way Miranda would leave her lab this unsecured.

Oh...she has a lot of eyes does she? THEY MOVE? Ew. Well... I guess Pryce needs a lot of backups. If I were them I'd just grab one. What's so gross and unsettling about it? I mean, I get that they're eyes that move, but...they make it sound so horrifying. I guess this really must be Miranda's insecurity.

Did he drop the eye? Oh no. This just keeps getting worse. And why wouldn't you grab a backup and smash the rest? If Miranda needs backups, it must be for a reason! Make sure she can't see. It's like smashing someone's glasses or destroying their contact lenses. Get whatever upper hand you can!

Oh. Hi Raymond. Didn't expect you to be here. Um...what now?

An inspiring speech from Doug. Yes, give Hera a moment. I believe in her. 💕

Oh never mind it's Kepler. Gross.

Oh right, Pryce can see in the dark because of her eyes.

"I don't kill people. It's wasteful. I value all my workers highly" I hate Pryce. She's clearly mad about how they broke out of her restraints.

Recycle it! Good work Doug. Recycling and reusing is good the planet. Of course, we're in space, but...oh fire code. ♻️

Oh so Eiffel, Minkowski, Pryce, and Kepler are ejected in space?

Well. Um... that's an awkward group. Perhaps they can play a little Funzo?

Okay, now I REALLY can't listen to anymore. I've wasted way too much time procrastinating. But we're coming to the end now, which is exciting. See you (hopefully) soon everyone!

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