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the-90s-music-colosseum · 5 months

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Quarterfinals, Match 2

expand to see all propaganda received! (wall of text warning oh my god this is a severe cautionary message)

Lauryn Hill:

"she paved the way and was hot as fuck the whole time"

"Girl c'mon. Look at her. You're gonna try and tell me that isn't the most beautiful and attractive person alive? Okay. You're lying but okay."

"if u freaks don't give ms. lauryn hill the respect she deserves..."

"actually one of the prettiest women ever I'm such a lesbian for her. like irl I'm already a lesbian but she is helping"

Damon Albarn:

"Don’t think Damon should be here? Why don’t you get your head checked by a jumbo jet? Maybe you’ll feel heavy metal and calm down."

"If Damon is in the “some guy” category, he’s the heavenly and heartbreaking version. Damon is the sort of significant stranger I’d see on the train out of Colchester but could never speak to, just a face seen in passing yet too radiant to be real. I’d fall in love for an hour and carry the ache for a month."

"Damon sets the standard for me. I think he’s the most fascinating man alive. What I find attractive in Damon is not just his gorgeous bone structure and boyish charm, but how wholly he’s committed himself to music. Damon is an artist who walked the walk: in one of his roughest years with some of his rawest songwriting, he said he was no longer excited by anything except the creative process. He was disillusioned with the celebrity of it all, with his relationships suffering for it, and only wanted to make art: nothing more, nothing less. He would go on to compose film scores, write operas and stage musicals, produce other artists’ records, form collectives to fulfill his passion for world music, and create some of the most globally successful music of his career in a completely innovative format that placed him as the phantom behind the characters. Whenever one band takes a break, he makes a solo record or puts together a supergroup to stay busy. He’s uniquely collaborative and still writes personal letters inviting artists to record with him, and yet can function as a one-man show, acting as a multi-instrumentalist, a singer-songwriter and a producer. He’s been a constant voice of bringing British music to the world *and* bringing world music into Britain. Sure, he’s won Brit Awards and a Grammy among others, but he also has a Guinness World Record and was named an Officer of the British Empire for his services to music; his long work with Africa Express earned him respect even from peers who’d previously dismissed him, and his commitment to support his Malian collaborators in the face of violence earned him the title of Local King in Mali. There is so much talent in the world, but there is truly no one else with a career that looks like Damon Albarn’s. Damon is far more than just a prettyboy to look nice on a magazine cover, but looks are the ultimate point of this tournament, so make no mistake: he was terribly, terribly pretty. You watch him performing in the 90s, you sift through photoshoots and interviews and documentaries, and it feels *cruel* how beautiful he was. If his talent was god-given, so was his face. To put a bow on this thesis: I don’t know if Gorillaz and Damon’s musical universe would be the experimental, globe-trotting, boundary-pushing community affair it is if Blur hadn’t become such a central figure in Britpop and if Damon had not been made such a media spectacle, and I don’t know if Damon would have been that spectacle if he wasn’t so ungodly pretty. The domino effect is that Damon’s cherubic face launched a thousand multimedia art school projects for decades to come."

"I wish I was basically any bloke in the 90s so I could tongue Damon Albarn down. Damon will see a man and ask “is anyone gonna kiss that?” and not wait for a response."

"I have a pillow with his face on it. I sleep with it every night 😊"

"“I’m more homosexual than Brett Anderson, always have been. As far as bisexuality goes, I’ve had a taste of that particular fruit, or have been tasted you might say…” is just the rawest most Shakespearean statement ever"

"he is the ultimate Pretty Boy ™. his glorious golden locks, his electric blue eyes. he is if Princess Diana was a Britpop Dude. he is the Regina George of Britpop. he is if Aphrodite took male form. Zeus would come down to earth to fuck him if he knew. he is a caffeinated orange cat let loose. he is deranged. he is unhinged. you never know what will come out of his mouth. he had sexual tension with every single man who knew him. he pulled justine fucking frischmann. his aura knows no bounds. he is a siren. he is a weird guy. but being so gorgeous stunning ethereal didn't stop him from also being one of the most prolific songwriters of his generation"

"THE MAIN BLUR"

"literally where do i even begin. i could write entire essays on this man. a good place to start would be the beetlebum music video, i suppose. i'll never forget the first time i watched that music video. something in me changed, my brain chemistry was altered, my life was never the same, i view the world a lot differently now. and a lot of the viewing i'm doing is of pictures of damon albarn's face because of boy do i have a lot of those saved. every time i try to look for a photo of something on my phone i can't find it because there's so much damon. okay that's maybe an exaggeration but this man has the most unfathomable beauty ever. his eyes? HIS EYES. god dammit i love his eyes i want to stare at them until the end of time like nothing else exists. i'm so normal about this man (lying) and while i'm usually very shameless about my interests i'm actually incredibly glad this propaganda is anonymous because otherwise. yeah. but the world deserves to see damon albarn's beauty and also hear his fantastic voice because what the fuck. his voice is literally the most gorgeous sound ever produced like bro sounds like that and expects me not to fall in love? i want this man to sing his silly songs and talk absolute nonsense to me until the sun eventually blows out and the world ends. cmon damon girlies let's demolish this tournament i know there are a lot of you."

"He’s beautiful. He’s a little rat. He’s a sweetheart. He’s a dickhead. He’s a musical genius. He’s a dumb bitch. He’s a jock. He’s a weirdo. He’s real. He’s an illusion. He’s everything. He’s just Damon."

"DAMON DAMON DAMON where do I begin oh jeez I've hyperfixated on this man for a solid 4 years and still going strong. Damon makes me wish that British people are real. That says A LOT. This man created a whole ass ANIMATED BAND WITH A SHIT TON OF LORE as a SIDE HUSTLE??? Not to mention, what other man has collaborated with Stevie Nicks, MF DOOM, Del the Funky Homosapien, Snoop Dogg, AND Beck?! People, we're literally in the presence of a god. And he's STILL GOING. Anyways, TL;DR, damon is so so so neat and cool and he should definitely win this competition. Thank you."

"Okay 90s Damon is The Perfect Boy yes yes, but the people who parrot the Daily Mail and say "he's ugly now" will never understand. I would still suck every drop from him on his deathbed."

"Vote for whoever you want to. But Damon is so pretty."

"i did not spend hours admiring this beautiful man's face on pinterest just to see him lose."

"Damon Albarn just brings me joy. When I'm watching him perform, following along as the camera lingers on and adores his pretty face, I get butterflies like I'm 15 again. It's nice to still feel that totally unguarded giddiness sometimes."

"God let the intrusive thoughts win making Damon. What if he's a beautiful blond twink with eyes like saucers and dick to his knees, he reads Herman Hesse and plays footie and is insufferable about both, he'll be the most prolific musician of his generation and write operas and seminal albums in 5 different genres and also he's gonna be the dumbest bitch alive? He'll also be kinda bi, but only kinda. And send."

"when i found out about his existence, my life was changed forever. i wish i could use him like the hannah montana boot milk pillow and chuck him at the wall so he makes a loud thud"

"Think of the drama and anon fights it'll cause if Damon wins it all! And think of how quiet it'll get after Damon's out. You'll miss him when he's gone, like memories of a noisy house years after it's grown silent. Choose Damon, and keep the messy train chugging."

"Even the Gallagher brothers have the hots for him."

"Kiss kiss I love him also you can't vote for any of the Seattle men they're literally copy and paste it's not fair. We need Brit representation"

"I want to take care of him, I want to provide for him. I need to gauge his baby blue puppy dog orbs out to I can clean them with wood varnish, paint shades of Pantone 320 C in his eyes, spray eau de parfume by dior in them and sew it back into his eyes like that scene in Toy Story 2."

"Seeing as simply filling the page with ‘Damon’ written 10000000 times isn’t going to cut it 😅 may I admit/submit: I DO have him tattooed on my being (no descriptive, is this anon?); he’s inspired somewhat unhinged late night/early morning fandom conversations in which I’ve served as ‘parish’ priest hearing confessions from all manner of folk about what they’d like to do to him/receive from him; sadly I lost an essay where I detailed why the letters that make up his name suit him so well, and described him as the hot caramel sauce to Graham’s cool vanilla ice cream. He’s a faerie princess with a nose that makes people weep and a voice that feels like the warmest home and he gives amazing hugs. He loves trains and chickens and his tuxedo cat. He’s annoying and sweet and somewhat unhinged and his music saves people and all this is on top of that fantastic dick. He’s a dream yet very real and we’re fucking blessed to be on earth at the same time as him, amen"

"Damon Albarn was a beautiful, beautiful boy. The world saw that, regardless of if every individual reading this has the same taste in men; it felt like a truth of the universe at the time. They don't make celebrities that angelic in face and erratic in personality anymore."

"I need to touch his eyebrows, nose and prostate just one time JUST ONE TIME COME ON"

#most attractive 90s musician #poll #polls #lauryn hill #fugees #damon albarn #blur #90s music #tournament

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kaiser1ns · 28 days

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𝘃𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

╹synopsis :: it doesn't take much to say or show you love someone even with the simplest of actions.

╹contents :: can be read as fem/gn reader; characters from blue lock, jjk and honkai star rail, FLUFF, ooc maybe?

╹notes :: as i was walking to go home at like 10pm i thought of this, hope you enjoy! added hsr specially for @okkalo ♡

ITOSHI SAE immediately takes you out to visit the sea when he gets some days off. The sounds of the waves, the relaxing atmosphere and you in his arms calm him down causing him to flashback to his childhood memories of when he was just a small and carefree child wanting nothing more but to play football with his little brother and personal cheerleader.

Not only he is known as the strongest but GOJO SATORU is also known for having a very strong sweet tooth. So what does he do to reduce the sugar? He shares it with you because there is nothing better than sharing his favourite thing with his lover, so let's say he gets a double dose of chocolate and candy from just seeing you and that's enough.

AVENTURINE is not afraid to take the risk and his constant smile makes it difficult for people to guess his true intentions. Not with you though, he lets his guard down, your voice soothing him to help him relax and as he gets lost in your touch. He is not Aventurine of the IPC or the Ten Stonehearts, he is just Kakavasha the little boy who once dreamed of love and now he won the biggest treasure in his life — you.

ITOSHI RIN knows how much you don't like scary movies, and that's why when you come over for the weekends you watch movies or series of your choice, be it Barbie or The Lion King. He will swallow his ego and stop watching the weekly uploads of his favourite scary games just so you can't fall asleep on purpose because of the horror films.

GETO SUGURU can't stop talking about how beautiful, amazing, and kind you are. Mimiko and Nanako are tired because they are the only ones who get to hear all his murmuring when you are away even for only 5 minutes. But they know how much he loves you and how you breathe life into him, and he wishes that someday they will become like you — strong and good-hearted.

ARGENTI thanks and prays to Idrila every moment of his life for obtaining the biggest blessing to ever exist and that is meeting you. The Knight of Beauty makes sure to give you one red rose every day to express his profound love and admiration, it's a small gesture that symbolizes his devotion to the relationship. He should protect his lover and like flowers, the tender petals are directed to you, with the thorns to the cosmic and its danger protecting you

It may seem that he is spoiled, but in fact, NAGI SEISHIRO is not, well not that much. Sometimes he takes charge of the household chores, giving you, a well-deserved break. He washed the dishes, cooked you a meal (instant noodles), and even tried to fold the laundry. And you, pleasantly surprised, sank into the couch, embracing the rare luxury of relaxation as familiar songs from your shared playlist were playing on the TV. Even if it doesn't happen often you are forever grateful for your lazy boyfriend to do something like that.

ITADORI YUJI shows genuine interest and actively listens to you talking about your current obsession be it a series, celebrity, book, food, or anything. He loves your voice, seeing your beautiful smile, and how your eyes seem to sparkle as you talk, he is so lovestruck that he sometimes just stares at you with the most soft and genuine look. Just don't be surprised when you find some merchandise on your desk with a little love note, okay?

Engaging in meaningful conversations and connecting on a deeper level with DR. RATIO seems like every other normal day for him. He approaches every interaction with a thirst for knowledge. And you take him by surprise every time and he doesn't know what to do, the great genius suddenly stops functioning. The way you hold his hand, kiss his cheek, make him stutter — he goes crazy and questions himself about how there is no logical explanation for this, but there is, it is called love.

SHIDOU RYUSEI doesn't like to share his material possessions with anyone, he worked so hard to get the last volumes of Chainsaw Man as they are now put on the shelf in his bedroom. And imagine his reaction when he sees you reading volume 10 which has Makina on the cover, cuddled nicely with his blanket on the bed. How dare you read it without him? And so he jumps onto the mattress, squishing you because that's your punishment for not telling him. You apologized to him of course but for him to fully forgive you, next time you will be on anicon cosplaying Makima and Denji.

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI remembers the small details about you and your preferences. If you don't like a certain ingredient in the food, he will order the dish without it. You like to sleep on this side of the bed, no problem he will sleep on the other side as you both cuddle and drift to Dreamland. He will immediately notice the change in your mood and even if he is not so good with words, he will always be there for you offering his warm embrace.

As a Galaxy Ranger BOOTHILL tends to travel around the cosmos a lot and sadly he can't spend time with you. But when he's with you, one of the things you do is his hair and to put cute stickers on his metal hands or guns. The scary cyborg cowboy is now a pretty princess with pigtails, heart stickers and with a very happy lover. He watches you having fun with his makeover — and will do everything possible to spend more time with you.

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maplebellsmods · 3 months

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Expanded Storytelling Relationship Bits Mod: 2

Ok..more storytelling and relationship options for your sims!

(Really tried my best to push this out before the end of Jan) 😮‍💨

If you want more info about the mod check this page out: Expanded Storytelling Relationship Bits Mod

This time around created more relationship bits. Here they are

I wanted to try something new this time, which is why it took me so much time. I'll get into it later.

But there are a few new things I have added and changed from the previous one. First off, there are more interactions available: social interactions, phone interactions, and rabbit hole interactions.

Each one of these interactions corresponds to a specific relationship bit.

Healing Touch: 'Plan Relaxing Activities Together,' 'Offer Comfort through Hugs and Physical Touch.'

Wisdom Seekers: 'Ask Questions about the Universe.'

Unbreakable Connection: 'Celebrate Anniversary of Enduring Connection,' 'Promise Everlasting Friendship' (Only available pre-promise).

I do need to note that, just like the other mod, many of these are cosmetic and don't have a full effect yet. (Emphasis on 'yet,' as I will slowly but surely make these more functional.)

If your Sims have the Wisdom Seeker, Tech-Savvy Partners, or Night Owl Companions relationship bits, some interactions will unlock on the phone:

Wisdom Seeker: Study Together at the Library

Tech-Savvy Partners: Send Tech News

Night Owl Companions: Night Time Activities Menu

(Regarding nighttime activities, I haven't found a workaround for this issue yet. However, here's a temporary solution: When selecting an activity for the two Sims who have the rabbit, choose the Sim you want to go with first, and then select yourself again using the same option. I'm not sure why this happens, but it can be a bit inconvenient. I'll work on making the process more streamlined in the future, but for now, this is how you can get them to go to the same activity.)

The new feature I've been working on, which I'm quite excited about, involves social interactions. I've always felt that many social interactions lacked depth and context. So, what I'm currently working on is creating social interactions to fill that gap

One of these interactions is 'Provide Emotional Support,' which is available for Sims with the 'Healing Touch' relationship.

In this interaction, your Sim will be presented with several options when they are feeling sad. Your Sim can choose from these options to express why they are feeling sad. Once they make a selection, the other Sim will ask for more context, leading to the exchange of contextual advice and reassurance.

I've also developed another social interaction, 'Try to Confess Feelings,' which is available for Sims experiencing 'Unrequited Love.

Attempting to confess your feelings will lead to various outcomes depending on the option you choose. In this interaction, the Sim who hears the confession will have several response options available.

The choice made by the listening Sim will have an impact on their relationship, both romantically and platonically. Some response options may harm the relationship more than others.

The way the Sim responds through the animation doesn't affect the outcome. I've designed it this way to leave the choice entirely in the player's hands. However, unless both Sims are in a flirty mood and have a high friendship level, the Sim who hears the confession will always use the rejection animation. Nevertheless, this animation choice doesn't alter the outcome.

The social interaction 'Forbid Relationship With' can be used either before or after designating two Sims as star-crossed lovers. Some of the options will even add the 'star-crossed lovers' relationship bit to the two Sims (if they didn't have it), while others will remove it (if they did have it).

The interaction can be found under the Mean -- Arguments Pie Menu Category. Only a parent, grandparent, uncle, or caregiver can trigger the interaction.

Depending on the chosen options, the relationship can either suffer a negative or experience a positive impact. While all of the options will influence the relationship, certain responses will have a significantly greater effect on it than others.

These are all the main points! I hope you all enjoy this new feature because I'm eager to create more! There will be additional interactions and other things I'll be adding to this mod. I'm constantly learning new things, and it's truly enjoyable to implement them!

Download Here

Public Feb 24

#the sims 4 #thesims4 #sims 4 mods #the sims cc #ts4 #sims 4 edit #ts4cc #sims 4 cc #ts4 mod #ts4 mods #mycc #ts4 download #sims 4 romance

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charlie-lec-stories · 4 months

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Drama King // CL16 & MV1

Pairing: Charles Leclerc / Original Female Character / Max Verstappen

Summary: Already used to Max's shenanigans, Y/N finds out that Charles with the flu can be quite a challenge.

Warnings: None, this is fluff, fluff and even more fun. (Only one paragraph about homophobic Jos Verstappen)

Author’s Note: Gees, there's nothing worse than a guy with the flu. Also, there's a little introduction of Max and Y/N's parents and the relationship they have with their children. Rate: PG

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She was used to Max being a drama queen, after so many years being friends, she already knew how he could turn a minimal problem into a world-ending alarm. His computer froze for 5 seconds? It was probably broken. He couldn't find his phone? He probably lost it forever. He was hungry? He couldn't function until he ate. She had fun with that, because Max's little drama stunts were never something that came without a good laugh for her. She would watch him run around the room looking for his phone, or quickly throwing a tantrum when his computer'd go slower than he'd like it. Charles was a lot more composed, which was also funny because he was the one that go into serious trouble more often. He set his dinner on fire? It wasn't that bad, he's not afraid of fire. He's at the police station because he tried to jump the fence when he forgot his keys? Just a little inconvenience and he made new friends! He hurt his hand trying to fix the toaster he just broke? Well, he has a lot more blood in his body, nothing to worry about. Sometimes she wished that Charles would take the bizarre situations he got himself into a little more seriously.

But she takes that wish back, dear God, she takes that back.

It all started with winter break, they were off season and they had been together for a year now, their first anniversary on the 26th of December. Charles, who loved to spoil his partners, decided that they deserved a week for themselves, before they all had to part for New Year's celebrations with their respective families. Plus, they knew that Max was less than happy to have to spend the holiday with his father, so the idea of chilling together, somewhere away from the world was more than appealing. The Monegasque made a reservation at a very private cabin complex, where they could be alone in the middle of nowhere, in Germany. From the 25th at night all the way to the 31st at noon, they would turn off their phones and ignore the rest of the world. Max was more than happy for that, he needed to recharge batteries before facing his father, and Y/N knew that this little trip was perfect for her to sleep all the hours she missed that season. It was the perfect plan, and it went amazing. They relaxed in the woods, lit a bond-fire, swam on the lake, and the cabin even had a jacuzzi, which they used every day. But, when they finally went back to reality on the 31st, happy memories weren't the only thing that Charles brought back home with him.

"Tu es pâle, mon garçon". (You look pale, my boy). Pascale, Charle's mother, said when he arrived at her door for New Year's dinner.

"Je vais bien, ne t'inquiète pas, Maman". (I'm fine, don't worry, Mom). She wasn't convinced, and she was proven right when Charles started coughing in the middle of their meal. The poor man started his new year with a fever.

Arthur called Lando, who made up an excuse and called Max. The Red Bull driver was supposed to spend a week with his father, Jos, the two of them going on a "healing" trip to "help Max outgrow his queerness". The moment he got the call from Lando about "Sassy being sick", he canceled his plans with his father and flew back to Monaco. His father was more than displeased with that, and didn't believe a thing his son told him, but he decided to keep his thoughts to himself. He had an already difficult relationship with his father, coming out as having two partners and having to tell him that they were his rivals was not something he needed to do at the moment. Jos Verstappen hated Y/N with passion, and it was a mutual feeling. He believed that the girl wanted to distract Max on purpose, to take advantage of that on the races. He also believed that she was trying to get into Max's pants to "trap him" with a kid. But, he would rather have her as his daughter in law than a man. He had never been as mad as when he discovered that Max was bisexual, the idea of having his son dating another man was his worst nightmare. He made it his life goal to "cure" Max and his son knew that if his father ever knew that Max was skipping his trip with him for Charles, he would straight up force Max into an asylum. Jos disliked Charles the most, after Lewis Hamilton, so if he didn't like the idea of Max dating a man, he would probably lose it with the fact that he was dating Charles.

Max made it back to Monte Carlo on January 2nd, but he called Y/N to let her know that he could take care of Charles and she should enjoy her time with her family. She had a big one, and she didn't get to see them much, he didn't want her to miss that chance. He could deal with Charles for a week, how hard could it be? She thanked him and let him know that she could fly back if he ever needed her, but he assured her that they would be alright. At the airport, he was welcomed by Lando, who coincidentally came back home from England to prepare everything for his New Year's party, a tradition he started two years prior and that was the most awaited event of the grid. The brit offered Max a ride and, together, they made their way towards the apartment that Max shared with his partners. Lando lived just a block away and offered to help out if he and Charles needed anything. He also let Max know that Oscar, Alex and George were flying to Monaco on the 4th, to help him out with the party, so there were going to be some extra hands. Max felt grateful, even if his father was not there for him, he had his grid family that loved him for who he was.

"Charlie? I'm home!". He called out when he opened the door. Usually, Charles would drop whatever he was doing to greet him and ask about his day. He was an active listener and enjoyed asking people things, but this time he was greeted by the faint sound of a cough and the pets, Pete, Charles' golden retriever, and his two cats. He dropped everything he had in hand and quickly walked to the bedroom followed by Pete. "Hey, Poepie, how are you feeling?". (Sweetie),

"I think I'm dying". Max had to actively do an effort to suppress his laugh. Charles was on the bed, the blanket up to his neck and his voice was barely over a whisper, but he was definitely not dying.

"I think you're doing pretty well!". Max said with a smile and sat on the bed next to Charles, but he pushed Max away. Pete jumped on the bed.

"Don't get close!". He yelled as loud as he could and then coughed again. "You'll get sick too and this is a nightmare".

"Charlie, it's only the flu. I'm Dutch, I'm used to cold weather and never get sick". He placed his hand on Charles' forehead and noticed that his boyfriend was burning up. "Don't worry about me".

"At least you got away from your dad". Charles said as he did the best he could to sit up. Max helped him a bit.

"Yeah, your stuffy nose definitely saved me from that". Charles smiled, his eyes shining in a mix of sadness and fever. He hated Jos for everything he put Max through.

"I'm your knight in shining armor, even when I'm sick". Max laughed out loud and Charles followed, but started coughing again.

"Okay, Sir Charles, let's make you some tea to warm up that throat".

The first night was terrible, Max didn't sleep, not even one second, Charles turning around and whimpering all night, uncomfortable and bothered by the fever. He was cold and hot, all at the same time, so he was pulling at the sheets constantly. Max wanted nothing more than to go to sleep on the couch, but he couldn't leave Charles alone. He turned the Monegasque around and spooned him to keep him from moving too much. They slept through the morning hours, until the pets woke them up asking to be fed. Max got up at lunch time to feed them and make some soup for Charles. He had two big black spots under his eyes and every now and then, a yawn would escape his mouth. Y/N texted him, asking about Charles and how he spent the night. Max didn't want her to worry, so he told her that Charles slept like a baby. It wasn't exactly a lie, never specified which type of baby, he slept like a possessed baby. Charles' fever went down through the day, but he still felt like he didn't have any strength. The medication was doing its magic, but he was probably going to get a fever again at night. And Max was right, Charles' fever came back the second night, sentencing Max to another sleepless night.

"If I die, I leave my sim to Y/N and my underwear to you". Charles told him at 3 am as they were cuddling. Max snorted, almost offended.

"I'm the one taking care of you and I get the underwear while she gets the sim?". Charles looked up at him in the dark, his eyes narrowed. "Make your own soup tomorrow, traitor".

"My underwear it's all Ferrari!". Max already knew that. "It's really important to me. I don't know what you're complaining for".

"It's a good thing you're not dying". Max chuckled and they fell silent for a few minutes.

"If I die and you don't wear that underwear, I'm haunting your ass". And he knew that Charles meant every word.

On the 4th, Lando called Max to let him know that the boys had arrived and offered to stop by and help out a bit. Charles was in a good mood, after Max promised to use the Ferrari underwear if he died, meaning that the visit was a good way to keep up his good spirits. While they waited for their friends to arrive, Max called Y/N to give her an update. She scolded him for refusing to wear the Ferrari briefs, and then she thanked him again for taking care of Charles all on his own. She was convinced that it was an easy task, Max was the drama king after all, but she was grateful anyways. Max decided not to tell her how much of a pain in the ass Charles could be, he would rather have her believing everything was alright. He took Pete out for a quick walk and then went to feed his little demons again, Sassy and Jimmy already planning on eating Charles if he let another minute pass without feeding them. Lando arrived with Oscar, George and Alex, and they all ran to the bedroom to say hi to Charles, but he had a fever again, and what they found was anything but festive.

"You look like shit". Lando said without thinking, and Max hit the back of his head.

"You don't, Charlie". But the Monegasque was already mentally writing his will.

"It's okay, dying must be the only thing that doesn't look good on me". Max rolled his eyes.

"We should help you get better". Oscar added, willing to help. The other three looked at him with their noses scrunched.

"I think we're all more useful at a safe distance". Alex looked around the room as he made the comment, looking for a place he could sit down and not get too close to Charles.

"It's just the flu, stop acting like he's got a deadly disease". But they all ignored Max as Oscar organized them to cover all of Charles' needs.

"Alex, you'll make the food. George, you'll bring Jimmy and Sassy, since Pete's already here. Lando, you'll pick a movie. I will gather all the blankets I can find. And Max...". Oscar looked at him, unsure of what Max could do. "You'll comfort him, but please, keep it decent".

"I'm not doing that while you guys are here". Max said, annoyed.

"Just making sure!". Lando laughed as he remembered the situation in the hotel room.

Oscar's plan was kind of chaotic, as always. While Max laid on the bed with his sick boyfriend, he could hear Alex fighting with the kitchen, George chased the cats around the house and Oscar opened every closet in the apartment looking for blankets. To add to that, Lando just couldn't pick a movie, going through all the streaming platforms and genres. Charles still acted as if he was dying and even though Max loved every person in that house, he was too sleep deprived to tolerate the chaos. After an hour, George walked in with Sassy and Jimmy, his shirt covered in holes and wearing kitchen gloves. He placed the cats on top of Charles and they both snuggled on his chest, purring and relaxing against their Papa. Max looked at George worried, as the brit just kept a wary eye on the cats. He couldn't help but chuckle at the situation, Sassy and Jimmy were the most loving cats in the world, but they loved to drive people crazy. Alex brought to the room the worst soup Max had ever tasted, but Charles was so sick that he couldn't even taste anything, so it wasn't a problem. Oscar placed all the blankets on top of Charles and, even though Max thought Lando would never pick anything, he actually did, and they all sat in the room to watch it together. Charles was finally asleep after 30 minutes and Max had never felt more relieved.

Around 6 pm they all left and Max took the pets to their beds. Pete slept on a pretty fancy bed that Charles had brought for him, it had Ferrari's emblem all over it, still, the dog loved his Red Bull toy, no matter how many times Charles took it away from him. Max gave Pete the toy and the dog curled up on his bed, ready to sleep, hugging the toy. Jimmy and Sassy had high beds, ones that Max had attached to the wall so they could sleep as up high as possible. He told them to go to bed, in Dutch, since it was the only language they understood, and they both obeyed instantly. If there was something that Max loved about their pets was how well behaved they were, George might not agree with that, but that seemed like George-problem to Max. After everyone was on their beds, Max went back to his room and lied next to Charles, his little snores making Max smile. Maybe they could finally sleep for a few hours. But they didn't. Charles' fever came back and he started moving around again. At some point, Max even heard him crying.

"Charles, are you okay?". Max asked as he turned Charles around to look at him and see if he could find what was hurting. "Does anything hurt?".

"I don't know!". Charles said, already done with being sick. "I just feel like shit and I'm tired and my head hurts... and... and my throat is sore!". Charles complained in between sobs. "And my nose is so stuffed! I just want to feel better and do my things, like training and going out. And I miss Y/N too".

"Charlie, it's okay". Max tried to comfort him, ignoring his own tiredness as best as he could. "Be patient, you'll feel better soon. I promise".

But Charles kept turning around all night again, coughing, mumbling, sighing loudly, blowing his nose. Max was close to losing it. There is so much time one can spend not sleeping and Max was close to his breaking point. At 4 in the morning, he got up and decided to call Y/N. She was in Buenos Aires, so it would be around midnight there, she was definitely up, no one slept early in Argentina. He felt terrible calling her to complain about their boyfriend, but Max just couldn't take it anymore, he needed to sleep and their friends were too loud and energetic to actually help. He confirmed that the day before. So she was his last resort. He sat on the toilet with the lid down, looking at his phone and re-thinking about calling her or not. She was having fun, spending some time with her family, people she missed all year round, he didn't feel comfortable ruining that, but he didn't know what to do. He heard Charles cough from the room and dialed his girlfriend's number. It rang a few times, then, he was met with the sound of music and people speaking loudly.

"Hey, Maxie, it's everything alright?". She greeted him. He could hear her friends mocking her, saying "Maxie" over and over again, her grandmother scolding them, and Y/N laughing at the situation. "Wait! It's like 4 am there. Max, is Charles alright?".

"YES". He quickly reassured her when he noticed how worried she was. She sighed in relief. "I just...".

"What is it?". He heard the noise turn down, she had probably moved away from people so they could talk better.

"I lied to you. Charles has not been easy to deal with. At all! He's terrible, and I miss my sleep and we miss you and he's coughing all the time and the guys came by and it was a mess...". He kept rambling about how the last few days had been horrible for him and she patiently listened to him. It was bad that Charles was still with a fever, that wasn't normal, since he was taking medication for that, but Max was also someone who could escalate a situation pretty quickly, so it was hard for her to know exactly if the situation was that bad. Nonetheless, she let him let it all out, once she noticed that he was done, she offered a solution.

"Listen, Amor, give me two days. Tomorrow I will say goodbyes and then I'll be on the first plane I can catch, okay?". She heard him let out a breath he had been holding. "We'll take care of him together".

"Thank you, Schat, thank you so much". He said, feeling a lot better.

On the 6th, around 8 pm, Y/N finally got back home. She slowly opened the door, Pete went to her to greet her. She patted his head and scratched the back of his ears, earning a little huff of approval from the dog. Sassy and Jimmy went next, rubbing against her legs and meowing, showing their Mamá how much they missed her. She tried to shush them, noticing that Max and Charles were probably sleeping. Quietly, she dropped her suitcase by the door and took off her shoes, walking around the dark apartment towards the bedroom. The door made a minimal cracking sound as she pushed it open softly and she cringed about it, but she discovered that her boys were wide awake inside, completely unbothered by the sound of the door. Charles was in a semi-awake state, his eyes glossy and forehead shiny with sweat, probably still with a fever. Max was next to him, his eyes tired and the bags under them prominent, like he hadn't slept in days. The Dutchman's eyes light up with her presence, the tiredness still there but now mixed with relief.

"Schat!". He jumped up and ran to her, picking her up and spinning her a few times, before he set her back down and kissed her, like his life depended on it. Maybe his sanity did. "You're here!".

"Yeah, how have you guys been?". Max was frowning at her instead of answering her question. "What?"

"Weren't coming back tomorrow?". She was the one frowning now. "I told you we could wait, I can't believe I made you leave your family so soon".

"No, Amor, I said two days, that was the day before yesterday". She went to the bed and sat down, placing her hand on Charles' face and caressing his cheek.

"No no, today's the 5th, Schat".

"Max, it's January 6th". She took her phone out of her pocket to show him the date. "When was the last time you slept?"

"I don't know...". Y/N looked at him, worried, taking into his pitiful state. Charles was still out so she got up and dragged Max to the living room. They sat on the couch and he rested his head on her shoulder.

"You should sleep here tonight, I'll look after Charlie". He hummed in agreement. "Did you guys eat already?". Max nodded. "Good, then lie down and rest".

"Thank you, Schat".

Max lied down and closed his eyes, falling asleep instantly. Y/N walked back to the room, changed for the night and got into bed with Charles. He had the flu, how bad could it be? Really bad, she discovered that night. The Monegasque spent the night complaining, she wasn't able to close her eyes for a minute. Between Charles' never ending turning and how tired she was from the trip, she was wishing she could go to the living room with Max. When the morning light came, she was still awake and extremely tired. Charles was the most annoying patient in the world. If he was complaining like that for the flu, what would he do for a stomach bug? They were lucky that Charles rarely got sick. Max went to the bedroom around 11 am, better rested and ready to treat his girl better than last night. But she was looking just as miserable as he did the past few days. Charles was finally asleep, so she got up and the two of them went to the kitchen for breakfast. Max, with more energy than her, made some Stroopwafels, while Y/N just rested her head on her hand, slumped over the table.

"I think it's time for Charles' meds, Amor". She told him after a few minutes in silence. "Where are they?".

"First drawer, my nightstand. It's a bottle that says-"

"Paracetamol, I know, my mother's a doctor, remember?". He noticed the pain in her voice, under the tiredness, but he chose not to keep up the conversation about her mother, she was not rested enough to talk about that woman. She walked back to the bedroom and opened the drawer, the bottle being the first thing she saw.

"Here's a glass of water". Max told her as she walked up to him, the bottle in her hand.

"Have you been giving Charles this?". She showed him the bottle.

"Of course, every 8 hours". He proudly answered.

"It's expired, Max". His smile dropped instantly. "This expired in 2020".

"You're fucking with me". He took the bottle from her and inspected it. "It can't be expired".

"This is so old I wasn't even in F1 when it stopped being useful". She ran her hands down her face and sighed. "I'll run to the pharmacy and buy a new one. Of course he's not feeling better, the meds don't work once they are expired, it's like giving him nothing".

Y/N brought a new bottle of medication and Charles was already feeling better that night. They all finally got some proper sleep. The next morning, Charles was a new man, back again with his good spirits and big smiles, as if he hasn't been the most over dramatic person for the last few days. Max and Y/N were still exhausted as he walked into the kitchen for breakfast.

"I can't believe you flew all the way back here just for the flu, Amour, it wasn't that serious!". He told Y/N as he took a bite of his Stroopwafels. "And I took it like a champ".

"Yeah, sure, Corazón". She said, condescendingly.

"Get sick again, Charles, and I'm personally burring you with your Ferrari underwear, you fucking Drama King".

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

This one is pretty long, but i had fun writing it! Hope you guys like it!

#charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc imagines #lestappen imagine #lestappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen x reader #max vestappen one shot

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nonstoplover · 9 months

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sleep without you ~ charles leclerc (cl16)

my masterlist | my f1 masterlist

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

song inspiration: sleep without you ~ brett young

summary: charles struggles to function properly without her by his side, or a story of a night without his girlfriend.

words: 2.1K

warnings: nothing, just fluff and a slightly clingy charles baby <3

a/n: idk why but this song honestly screams charles to me whenever i hear it, so i just had to make it happen. also this was supposed to be posted on my one year f1-aversary as celebration (well technically it should be more if counting my childhood f1 years but anyway), but i was so caught up in another wip that i couldn't do it. so happy anniversary to me and f1 (two weeks late) with this lil ficlet <3 thankful for all that f1 gave me.

big thanks to the amazing lovely silverstonesainz for helping me make this better and to the equally awesome monzabee for making me much less anxious with her words. love you sm queens!!

please, don't be a ghost reader, leave a comment or rb!

Charles spends a whole afternoon trying to convince her to have a night out with her friends. Just because they're in a relationship doesn't mean they can't have fun without the other as well from time to time. There are still a couple of weeks left of winter break, plenty of opportunity to spend time just the two of them before the season starts again. So the usual point of view, the usual reasoning doesn't stand a chance – that they should spend as much time together as they can, before he's back to travelling all around the world.

"Go to a club, grab some drinks, dance and laugh the night away", he tells her. The usual bestie coffee dates or walks in the park that she usually raises as argument are not the same as a night out, and she hasn't done that for so long now. Definitely not since he's been back home, and he knows just how much she enjoys dancing her heart out.

(y/n) agrees after a short while, accepting his reasons, knowing full well that he's right, and after a few phone calls she starts getting ready, soon walking out the front door, dressed all pretty and dolled up.

Doesn't take long before Charles realises what he's done. A feeling tingles in his chest, one he recognises swiftly. He's miserable. Solely because she's not there by his side, as he makes dinner, eats it – all by himself –, before settling on the couch to occupy himself with a movie. It doesn't matter though, he doesn't pay any attention to it. He doesn't even know what's going on, he hasn't heard a single line, too busy thinking about her.

When the credits start to roll, he switches the TV off with a surprised look in his eyes – how did it already end? He doesn't even remember the first scene ending. Then he moves into the bathroom to do his night routine, from taking a shower to putting on some skincare products, all the while wondering how long she will be out for? Will she come home soon? Hope tingles in his chest that the answer to his question is yes.

Having finished with everything, Charles lies down in bed, trying to read a book, then scrolling on social media, doing anything to keep his mind from straying over and over again back to her. He knows this is stupid, he was the one telling her to go out, why is he like this now? Lying awake on his side of the bed, the fingers on his right hand tracing figures onto the sheet where her body usually rests.

This is pathetic, Charles thinks. He never thought he would be like this, so miserable and impatient just because she's not at home, with him. He's tossing around, unable to find a comfortable position for himself – it seems like he forgot how to sleep without her. No matter how many times he's had to do just that, in hotel rooms all around the world. The past few weeks erased all those nights from his mind.

The delicious scent of her shampoo fills his lungs when his face lands just a bit too close to her pillow, and all of a sudden it's like he's burying his nose in her hair. It only makes him miss her more. Sleeping is impossible, he knows it now. He's only daydreaming, not actually dreaming, of her arriving home and being in his arms again.

Charles imagines the way she dances in the middle of the floor, her hands in the air, shouting the lyrics loudly to the song currently playing – most probably something she knows and loves –, and he can't help but smile fondly. Just the thought of her having fun is enough to make him happier, even in his misery.

He pictures a scene where a random guy tries to get too close to her, as it has happened so many times, whenever he leaves her alone for a few minutes at any club they've been to. It doesn't matter where they are, doesn't matter if they spent the night so far together, all over each other, someone comes into the picture immediately when he leaves, either to grab a drink for the two of them, or to go to the restrooms.

It's not like he doesn't understand those guys. She's simply gorgeous, and radiates such a vibrant aura that everyone is drawn to her. He honestly just finds it funny at this point. Nothing makes these men back off more effectively than her. Oh, the amount of times he bit back laughter watching the scene unfold from a distance. Seeing men crumble and disappear looking all ashamed, what a sight that is. And he doesn't have to do anything.

He wonders how many times she's had to fight off guys so far tonight, with him not even in the club, and he finds he can't wait to hear all her stories of the newest victims. Pierre never understood why Charles found it so amusing, he didn't seem to get it. The trust they have in each other. Knowing that it's him she'll come home to at the end of the night is enough to make him only feel entertained by each instance, and not irritated at the slightest bit.

But thinking about (y/n) fighting off men is only good enough entertainment for a limited amount of time, and soon the smile fades back into a miserable pout on his lips, as his thoughts turn back into ones of impatience, trying to make time move faster with short little prayers falling as mumbles from his lips.

With a sigh, he eventually sits up, looking around to find something he can do. At last he decides on grabbing a drink himself, maybe it will help stop the flow of thoughts racing in his head. A little welcomed dullness.

He takes a seat at the kitchen table, sipping on the liquid in his glass, enjoying the feeling of the light alcohol gently burning his throat on the way down, numbing his tongue along the way. His fingers stay restless, now drumming on the wooden surface. A few minutes later he realises they play a song, soundless except the soft thud of his fingertips with the occasional louder tap or little scratch of his nails when a finger finds a different angle to hit the table with.

A melody appears in his mind as he watches his fingers move, imagining how it would sound if it was his piano instead of the kitchen table. He would go sit at the beautiful, white instrument and try it, but he doesn't want to be so loud at such a late hour. And anyway, he's way too comfortable sitting where he is to stand up and go somewhere else.

He looks out the window, catching sight of the moon – almost full, just a tiny bit of it missing, and Charles examines the craters that are visible to the naked eye, though only as spots of a darker shade on the round shape.

Maybe he'll name this new musical piece that's being born in his head right now after her – well, if he ever finishes it. He'll keep the usual format, three letters of a city name and a date, only this time putting the time and place of when they first met. Or should it be the time and place of when he first asked her out? Or their first date? Or when she agreed to move in with him? God, there are way too many options to choose from. He decides to put this problem aside for now, he's not in a rush to name a song not even written yet.

As the clock on the oven changes all four numbers to display 2am, the action rouses his attention and makes him tear his eyes away from the moon and look at the numbers instead.

He would've never ever thought that he'd be like this.

Raising his glass he notices that there's only a small sip left in it, which he downs in a short moment. His tongue darts out to gather all the minuscule drops that might rest on his lips still, not wanting to waste even that much of the delicious drink. Then he stands up, placing the glass down into the sink, making a mental note to clean it in the morning before (y/n) wakes up.

Just as he ponders putting another movie on, maybe only as background noise if nothing else, his phone buzzes in the pocket of his pants. Taking his time, Charles pulls the device out, expecting nothing more than a useless notification from a social media app he shouldn't spend so much time on anyway.

Instead what he finds is a text. From her.

in a cab, be home soon <3

Charles lets out a relieved sigh, his lips involuntarily curving into a smile, one that you could almost call giddy. It's not just the thought that she's going to be here soon, but the fact that she remembered to text him to let him know. He's in her mind, just like she's in his, even though she's been out with friends, having fun, drinking, while he's only been at home, all alone with his misery.

Now he can move back to bed happily, knowing that shortly she will join him.

It truly doesn't take long until Charles hears the front door creak as it opens, then the familiar jingle of her keys hitting the drawer in the hall, and his heart flutters with happiness. Finally. The high heels she chose to wear hit the floor with a soft thud as she presumably removes them, and the growing anticipation in his body seems to eat him whole.

Her steps grow louder and louder as she moves closer to the bedroom, and time slows for Charles. He watches in slow motion as she appears in the doorframe, being propped up on his elbows to have a better view, a lazy smile curling onto his face, and his eyes lidded with drowsiness.

"You're still awake?" (y/n) giggles, pausing in her steps for a second as her eyes take in the view he provides lying there. His lack of reply to her text made her think he's already fallen asleep.

"Of course," he mumbles. "Come to bed."

His voice is whiny and he behaves like an actual child, he knows, but he can't help it. He wants to sleep, and he wants to sleep beside her, feeling her warmth against his skin. That's the only way he can.

"Let me get changed first," she starts towards the closet, when a grunt of pure displeasure sounds from him along with the thump of his back as he falls into a lying position once more, making her glance back at her boyfriend. "What, can't wait a single minute?"

"No," he protests, pouting . "I've been waiting for hours."

His accent comes forth stronger when he's sleepy, and she can't help but smile adoringly upon hearing it. He's just so cute.

"Okay, fine, you'll get one kiss," she gives in. Charles resembles a lost puppy and she's sure he knows that's her weakness. She can't ever say no to anything when he looks like that.

So that's how she finds herself crawling into bed, trying to get as close as possible to the boy without causing damage to her dress. He grins, as much as his tired facial muscles allow, awaiting her lips touching his own. His pout becomes even more apparent, right until the moment he finally gets what he wants. His goodnight kiss. It's soft, slow and just so full of love it makes both their hearts flutter.

Then she caresses his cheek gently, whispering a barely audible good night, sleep tight to him, before moving back off the bed to disappear in the closet, leaving Charles to think about how he'd happily convince her again of going out if it means she'll come home to him, looking so radiant, properly buzzing with energy, eyes shining, hair messy but still looking so breathtaking. It's obvious how much it meant to her that she had this night out. He made her happy with telling her to go out with her friends, and he didn't regret it, despite all the miserable hours.

By the time she finishes her night routine and walks back into the bedroom once more, he's fast asleep, quiet snores filling the silence of the room. She bites into her bottom lip to keep in the giggle threatening to burst out, and with a heart full of adoration and a head slightly dizzy from the drinks she's had, she gets in bed beside him, snuggling up close to him, revelling in the feeling of his arms instinctively finding their way around her body even when he's sleeping.

He truly only waited for her to come home and give him a goodnight kiss to finally be able to fall asleep.

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totaly-obsessed · 7 months

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Suprise Party

Katie McCabe x reader fic

-> It is Katie's Birthday but reader isn't one to party

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

The 21st of September 2023, otherwise known as your girlfriend's 28th Birthday. In your relationship Katie was the outgoing one, which was not really a surprise to anyone – she liked to refer to you as her ‘better half’ because she liked the differences between you.

While she was always up to party, you would much rather stay at home and read a book or catch up on your TV shows. Meeting new people? No problem for Katie, always making quick acquaintances and friends, introducing you straight after: “Hi, I’m Katie, this is my amazing girlfriend Y/N – Nice to meet you!” By now it was well well-rehearsed sentence, always coming out when you were her date to a function she had to attend.

The Irishwoman had no problem with not throwing a big party for her birthday, after all, it would only be a year till the next one, but you knew that her friends liked to celebrate with her. So in secret, you had contacted Leah and Steph, the two footballers helping you set up a little something in one of Katie's favorite restaurants for the evening.

The morning, however, was all yours. It was a weird situation for Katie, coming back from the World Cup and into the new season, not having much of a preseason, and already having played two Champions League games, which resulted in Arsenal not going further. So today, you had planned a cozy morning, before Katie could party all she wanted, safe with her arsenal teammates – knowing you were waiting for her at home.

So here you were, at seven in the morning, making breakfast – in the form of a cake. It was covered in vanilla buttercream, and decorated with red hearts – the inside being red velvet. You were in a hurry, Katie’s normal schedule did not allow her to sleep past eight o clock, and even though she did not have training today, you knew she would be up – and it would be even earlier, when she could not feel you, next to her.

But with a cake in one hand, and a cup of tea in the other, you made your way to your shared bedroom. The soft morning sun was trying to get in through the window – after setting the cake down on your desk, you allowed it in, pulling the curtain aside, slowly.

Unhappy groans can be heard from somewhere on the bed. With a quiet giggle, you made quick work of jumping onto the bed, straddling the older woman. “Happy birthday to you!” A broad smile made its way onto your girlfriend's scrunched-up face.

After laying a gentle kiss between her eyebrows, Katie's face relaxed. “Happy Birthday to you!” Kiss on the left cheek.

“Happy Birthday dear best girlfriend I could have in the world.” Kiss on the right cheek, which was a little shaky, as she was laughing at how you had sped through your new name for her. “Happy birthday to you!”

She made kissie-noises at you, expectingly holding her face up – but upon not receiving a proper kiss, she started to pout. “Babyyy!” The pout intensified, when you hovered above her, a teasing smile on your face. “Not faiiir!” Her voice was deep and gravelly, having just woken up, sleep still deep in her eyes, so it was safe to say, that you were surprised when she promptly rolled you over, easily overpowering you (I mean, have you seen those arms).

“My turn.” Kissing your face all over.

“Hey! It’s your birthday!” By now the Irishwoman was wide awake

“Yeah it is – I want breakfast in bed”, and with that she pulled you closer, diving in for a kiss.

“I made cake!” an excited hand stopped her advances, leaving her shoulders to slump. Laughing she got off of you – with hurried steps you set the cake down between you, handing her a spoon.

Stuffing yourself full of cake at eight-thirty in the morning was a nice start to the day, but it didn’t stop there. After a lot of cuddling and staying in bed, you finally convinced your girlfriend to get out of bed and get ready. You had to compromise though; you would join her in the shower so that she would “allow” you to take her out. Would you have kept the pout on your face for just a second longer Katie would have broken, and both of you knew it.

Pottery painting.

That was your chosen activity – and even though the brunette looked and acted incredibly tough, you knew that she would like this. Katie had been dropping hints, always showing you TikToks of people doing it and cooing “Look how pretty their mugs are! They would be perfect for my breakfast, don’t you think?”

They turned out pretty nice, Katie having gone for flower designs, had been much faster and had done two mugs, while you had decorated one with mushrooms, flowers, and many more things. Now they just needed to be fired and you could pick them up.

Your afternoon was spent relaxing together until you told her to get ready. “But for what?” And back was the whining.

“You will see it then, baby.” And after a lot of moaning and you hurrying her, she was done. As an alibi for eating out together, you had gotten dressed as well.

“Why is it so empty?” Her confusion was evident when she only saw two parked cars at the location. “It’s the middle of the week baby, people are probably working.” She seemed to be happy enough with it, not questioning it, when you littered soft kisses on the back of her hands.

With quick steps, you held the door open for her, which got you a swat to the bum “Oy! That’s my job!” But it was quickly forgotten when she saw the decorations and her friends jumping out “Happy Birthday Katie!”

The brunette stood there for a second, not knowing how to react, before turning to you, her comfort person, and pulling you into a hug. Teary eyes pressed into the nape of your neck. “Thank you, baby.” With a soft smile, you pushed her into Leah’s awaiting arms.

“You’re ours now McCabe! You’ll see ya missus later. Say byeee!”

And with that, your girlfriend was pulled away by her friends. You waved her goodbye, earning you just another pout, Katie being sad that you were leaving her.

It wasn’t until the early hours of the morning that Katie called you, slurring slightly, asking if you could pick her up.

She was already outside of the establishment, together with Steph, who you dropped off at home.

An hour later you were cuddled up in bed, Katie pulling you as close to her as she possibly could. “Thank you – I know you don’t like things like that. I appreciate what you did for me.”

She could practically feel your face heating up on her chest “Well I didn’t do it alone Steph and-“ A kiss interrupted you, Katie shushing you. “Just take the compliment, baby.”

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

liked by stephcatley and 44.331 others

katie_mccabe11: All my love to my incredible girlfriend. And thanks to all of you for the Birthday Wishes!

#woso x reader #woso imagine #arsenal wfc x reader #woso imagines #katie mc cabe x reader #katie mccabe x reader #katie mccabe

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thefrogdalorian · 21 days

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Nowhere Else To Run

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: Despite the fact that sharing a cabin with you and Grogu on Nevarro has given him the peaceful life he was searching for, Din cannot escape the nightmares of his past which haunt him most nights.

Although he feels unworthy of your love, the only time things make sense is when you take him in your arms and dutifully put his pieces back together. Even on nights when he feels he does not deserve it.

Word Count: 3.4k ✯ Rating: Teen ✯ Content Warnings: ✯ PTSD, nightmares, descriptions of canon-typical violence, survivor's guilt, Din feeling unworthy of love, Din's violent past, reader's hands described as being smaller than Din's. Author's Note: I created my blog six months ago, so here is a little Din drabble to celebrate. Title is taken from 'All These Things That I've Done' by The Killers (which is so Din coded) and I also listened to 2 Rocking Chairs by Jon Bellion a lot recently, so that might have inspired some of this too! Really hope you enjoyed it and here's to many more months of Din Djarin brainrot ☺︎

✯ My Masterlist ✯ Read on AO3 ✯

On the nights he startles awake, haunted by the nightmarish, twisted visions of the worst things he has done, he is certain that he does not deserve you. With all his evil deeds laid bare as his mind plays cruel tricks on him, Din Djarin remains convinced that he could live a thousand lifetimes and never be worthy of your love.

His eyelids fly open as his bare, muscular chest heaves. His golden skin is covered with a sheen of sweat. Din raises a trembling hand to wipe the moisture from his furrowed brow. Disorientated and afraid in the darkness.

His sharpened senses, honed thanks to his previous life as a bounty hunter, begin to function with all the effectiveness which once led to him being deemed the best in the parsec. He cringes as he remembers his narcissism, disgusted by how dishonourable it was to take pride in such an epithet.

First, Din feels your presence at his side. A warm mass of flesh in the dark, coldness of the night. So close that he could reach out and touch you if only he were not petrified that doing so would shatter your beauty. He yearns to draw comfort from you. Yet, he is too afraid to bring you down to his level, to defile your splendour.

Then, Din hears your soft snores. Truthfully, the sweet sounds you make are not quite snores at all. Merely the even, shallow sounds which indicate that you are peacefully resting. He relaxes slightly, relieved that his unwanted awakening has not disturbed you.

Emboldened by your continued slumber, Din sits up and gazes at you. Your stunning features are barely illuminated by the faint moonlight which streams in through an ill-fitting blind, yet even such a simple glimpse leaves him overwhelmed by your beauty.

As he quietly watches you, Din wonders what he could have done to deserve you in a past life. He certainly is not worthy of you in this one.

How could someone as wicked and treacherous as he ever be worthy of the love you envelop him in each day of your lives?

The guilt creeps in, then. It snakes its horrifying tendrils around Din's entire being and suffocates him under the weight of his regret and his pain.

He feels guilty that he has even found himself in a position to receive love like this in the first place. Especially after everything he has done, all the pain he has caused and contributed to.

Din wonders whether it is cruel to keep you around. To have intertwined his life with yours in the way he has. Surely you deserve someone better than him.

Inviting you to move in with him changed so much for Din. It deepened and strengthened his relationship with you while opening him up to experiences he had missed for much of his life. How to share space with someone else, to show affection and receive it in return.

Sharing a bunk with someone for the first time meant Din could not continue outrunning his past. It was a race that had begun decades prior on the day he lost everything on Aq Vetina, a marathon which continued well into adulthood.

The race was almost won when Din took the job that changed his life and led him to Arvala-7 in the hunt for the bounty who eventually became his son.

Yet it wasn’t until Din found you that he had finally crossed the finish line.

He still remembered the horrified look in your eyes when he awoke for the first time in your presence, thrashing and screaming as the night terrors plagued him. Terrified by the haunting visions that made his past as vivid as though it was happening right before him.

The nightmares are indiscriminate when they strike. Extensive in their scope.

In slumber, Din is confronted with the shameful jobs he took from the most reprehensible individuals in the galaxy, reminded of the ego he once possessed.

He relives how readily he hunted people for his gain, collecting bounties without a care for who he hurt. Who was he to be the law? To be judge, jury and, on occasion, executioner? Din is pained at the memory of the life of sin he led.

Din sees the job on Alzoc III in harrowing detail. The unspeakable acts of violence he had a hand in. As much as he tries to downplay his role and blame the atrocities on the disgusting band of crooks he ran with at the time, deep down, Din knows that he was a willing participant in the barbarity.

He replays the moment when, in a cruel, unforgiving tone, the gold-helmeted woman he had always idolised coldly informed him that he was a Mandalorian no more. Din is tormented time and again by the knowledge that he rendered himself an apostate in the eyes of the people who saved him; who taught him how to live. Being a Mandalorian and swearing the Creed were the only things aside from violence Din had truly ever been successful at. Walking The Way of the Mandalore was the only thing which had brought him anywhere close to achieving inner peace.

But most chillingly of all, Din is reminded of the gravest transgression of his life. An act of cruelty he knows that he will never truly forgive himself for committing, for as long as he lives.

Night after night, Din is haunted by how he had given up the child you both adore beyond comparison, who sleeps peacefully next door, to the Empire for the measly sum of a camtono of Beskar.

Was that truly all Grogu’s life was worth?

Of course, Din knows that there is no sum in the entire galaxy which would prove comparable to how Grogu has enriched his life.

Even though Din has seen the error of his ways, as he thinks back across the decades and counts his mistakes, Din Djarin knows that he is not a good man.

Yet, somehow, he has found you.

You are the greatest blessing to happen to him, matched only by his son.

He thinks of the way you still look at him with such love in your eyes, even after knowing the atrocities he committed in a past life; it almost embarrasses him to be loved in such a manner.

Somehow, Din has secured your unconditional love. A fact which proves every now and then, both suns shine on a womp rat’s tail. That even the most undeserving of rodents can occasionally have the greatest of fortunes.

Even when the terrors overcome him, you have never contemplated deserting him. No matter how dark and disgraceful the visions he divulges to you are.

When he wakes up yelling for his parents or screaming for Grogu, whom he is momentarily convinced the Empire have recaptured, you are always there to reassure him and to hold him while he sobs; to kiss his pain away with a touch of your soft lips against his tear-streaked cheeks.

Even knowing all he has done, you still look at him as though he is responsible for hanging all the stars which twinkle in the sky above your cabin on Nevarro.

Din recalls evenings spent on the porch with you outside the unassuming cabin you share by the lava flats of Nevarro. Watching the sun set beneath the horizon as he holds your smaller hand in his, while he admires how your hands fit together as they rest on his lap. He thinks about how smooth your skin is there, how it is so unlike the calloused roughness of his own.

You are softness and humanity in the face of his wickedness.

A wave of nausea overcomes him. Din is stricken by an overwhelming urge to get away from you. To put some distance between himself and you before he corrupts you with his immorality once more.

He ponders that perhaps he will find some relief on the porch in the dead of night. A solitary figure, save for his thoughts and the ghosts that haunt him. Sitting in total silence, apart from the bugs which chirp in the distance, is an appealing prospect.

So Din slowly swings his legs off the edge of the bunk, careful not to disturb you. He cringes at the way the sheets rustle. It is a minor offence compared to the many sins Din has already committed. Still, he does not want to add disturbing your peace to that list.

He sighs in the darkness as he perches on the edge of the bunk, a forceful exhale which causes his shoulders to droop when he realises you are still sleeping soundly. Din is relieved that you are unaware of his distress.

He is tantalisingly close to the door when the moment of solace is cruelly snatched away. His careful steps across the wooden floor were evidently not soft enough.

The gentle sound of your voice cutting through the darkness stops him in his tracks. Din turns to face you.

“Din?” you whisper, voice thick and husky with sleep.

The wave of guilt that washes over him is immediate. It threatens to wash him away, to drown him.

“Go back to sleep, cyare,” Din shakily responds, hoping he sounds convincing to someone so attuned to his every mannerism.

“Did you have another nightmare?” you ask, clearly unconvinced by his display.

Din Djarin may be many things, but he is not a liar.

Even under the merciful cover of darkness, when he would not have to look you in the eye as he skirted around the truth, he cannot bring himself to lie to you.

“Yes,” Din finally responds. His voice cracks as he struggles under the pressure of admitting his weakness.

The light is on before he can protest, and you rise from the bed before he can insist that there is no need. Din blinks rapidly for a few seconds as his retinas adjust to the rude intrusion into the darkness.

When his eyes finally focus, you are standing right before him, already moving to gather him into your arms.

It is strange to him, this notion that he ever needed someone to pick him up and dutifully put his shattered pieces back together. A human needing repairs is an alien concept to Din Djarin. While he has always been adept at finding and fixing faults in his impressive arsenal and starships, he was never able to identify his weaknesses and repair himself. Until he found his Clan.

It wasn't until Din saved the kid that he realised he had been running from something for his entire life. Since that terrible day, when he watched over his father's shoulder as the bodies of his neighbours hit the dusty floor. Crumpled heaps, which used to be people until moments ago, were clad in the same distinctive red robes as him. The terror he felt as his parents ran through the streets, determined to save him, their only son.

On his worst days, Din wonders if their sacrifice was worthwhile. He frets over what they would think if they could see what became of their precious boy. Whether they would be disappointed to see the life he followed. A life of such violence, such mercilessness.

Your warm presence against him, as you take him into your arms, snaps him back to the present. Din willingly melts into your embrace, relishing the human contact.

“Talk to me, Din,” you whisper as you hold him to your chest.

When you run your fingers through his hair, he loses all composure and breaks down into small sobs. Din shudders in your arms as you trail soothing fingers through his hair with one hand and rub your hand in circles on his back with the other.

“I don’t deserve you,” he eventually murmurs, voice quivering.

Din feels the way you shake your head. You gently place your hand underneath his chin and tilt his face up. Din's eyes meet your gaze and he notices how your eyes are full of concern for him. He can hardly look at you, feeling mortified at being studied like this.

Allowing himself to be vulnerable like this is still so fresh to him. To have his soul laid bare like this is uncomfortable and unnatural.

“You are not the worst things you have ever done, Din,” you whisper as you gently wipe the tears he was unable to prevent trailing a hot path down his cheek with your fingertips, “You cannot change the past. I know that you are a good man, Din, and I love you. All of you. You would not be the man that I adore without those parts of you. For better or worse, they shaped you into the man you are today.”

Din trembles under your gaze, under the weight of your words. Unsure whether he can allow himself to accept the unconditional love you offer so readily to him, time and again.

The tears stream steadily down his cheeks, as you continue to soothe his soul:

“In you, I see a caring father. A considerate man who will do anything to protect his Clan. A fearless Mandalorian warrior who has turned his fighting prowess towards a more noble endeavour. To rid the galaxy of any threats, to build a better life for your son. That is an honourable undertaking, Din.”

“I am not an honourable man,” he scoffs, instantly rebutting such a compliment. He is far too undeserving of such praise.

“You are,” you sigh, gently stroking his cheek with your thumb. There is such tenderness in your gaze and in how you touch him that he struggles to keep his emotions at bay. His bottom lip trembles at your next words, “Your life is not defined by your most evil deeds. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. I adore you, Din. There is so much of you that is loveable.”

Din sighs. In his current mental state, he is unable to believe your words. Unable to let them sink in, to find solace in your reassurances. He looks away from you, shaking his head in a silent response.

When he finally feels able to find your gaze again, he watches as something shifts in your eyes. A tether of patience snaps.

There is a firmness in your tone the next time you address him.

“Do you know how empty our lives would be without you? How much the little boy in the other room adores you?" you plead in an exasperated tone. "He’s asleep right now, surrounded by a mountain of plushies that his father bought for him because even though you intimidate most you come into contact with thanks to your appearance, I have seen firsthand that, beneath your armour, you have a pure heart. And you are wrapped around each one of his little green talons.”

At the mention of his son, Din cannot help the way his lips curve upwards, the ghost of a smile crossing against his features. A welcome respite from the tortured look he has worn since he awoke from his nightmare.

“Grogu adores you, Din. He idolises you. You would do anything to secure his happiness,” you nod, “And mine. How lucky am I to know a love like that?”

“I do love you," Din nods, "And I’m going to spend the rest of my life taking care of both of you,” Din vows, the cracks in his voice replaced with steely determination.

Din notices the way you seem to loosen at his words, knowing that the man you know and love is gradually returning to you. His insecurities and devastation have been replaced by his determination to protect you from anything in the galaxy which could harm you.

“Then, let’s get some more rest, honey,” you whisper as you press a soft kiss onto Din’s stubbly cheek.

Din nods and laces his fingers with yours, allowing you to lead him the few steps back to the bunk you share. He slides underneath the covers, watching you as you round the bunk to join him. Once you have slid beneath the sheets, you turn the light off and plunge the room back into darkness.

Yet, the darkness which permeated every atom of Din Djarin’s being has vanished. He can only see the light now. The way your love illuminates every part of his life. How unrelenting, yet not overbearing, the way you adore him is.

Especially when you gently encourage him to roll over on his side so you can wrap your arms around his tight waist and nuzzle into the centre of his back. Your nose and mouth nestled between his broad shoulders.

Din lets out a sigh of contentment.

In your arms, there is tranquillity. The necessary remedy which soothes his anguished spirit.

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

Later, when Grogu is finally sleeping soundly after another long day of being doted on by his parents, Din finally makes it to his intended destination. Although he tried to reach the porch in the middle of the night, he would rather be here now. Especially since you are by his side, sitting next to him. It is a moment of rest after a hectic day spent entertaining a hyperactive Force-sensitive toddler with a voracious appetite.

With your presence in his life, Grogu has only continued to flourish. Din’s chest swells with pride as he thinks of his son's progress and all the milestones he has reached. Din knows that being a good father to Grogu is the most important role he will ever fulfil. He treats it with as much seriousness as such a responsibility warrants.

But Grogu is asleep.

Now, it is just Din and you. He smiles as he looks at your hands together, and appreciates how your fingers are intertwined. Din relishes the comfort he draws from your physical presence. He feels soothed by the knowledge that he has hidden nothing from you, that you can still love him regardless of his past transgressions.

Din looks out across the landscape towards the rolling volcanic hills of Nevarro, dusted a pale pink and orange colour in the fading light of dusk. He thinks about how he will grow old with you here in this little cabin. If fate grants him such an honour.

He cannot help but smile as he thinks about how you will sit out here on this very porch, holding hands with each other. When his patchy facial hair is flecked with grey and even when it is entirely white. When the wrinkles on his face are as lined and drawn as the crevices which scar the surface of Nevarro. Perhaps Grogu will be old enough to run around by then. Maybe he will have gained the gift of speech.

Regardless, even many rotations from now, Din knows with absolute certainty that he will still think you are the most beautiful sight in the galaxy. Even after years of adoring each other, he will still wonder how he was ever so lucky to be worthy of your love.

Din is excited to spend the rest of his life proving to you that he is the good man you repeatedly inform him you still see, even amongst all his flaws. It is a heavy task, yet one he relishes. Love had terrified him for so much of his life. When he discovered its beauty, he was determined to make up for lost time.

It is a heavy thought that he may never exhaust his capacity and reach the depths of all the love he has realised he possesses.

For now, though, Din turns his head to look at you, a soft smile lighting up his face as the sunset illuminates his features. The colour has returned to his cheeks. You return the gesture, gently sweeping your thumb across the back of his hand.

In the fading light, your face glows golden, only accentuating your beauty. Din wonders again how he was ever so lucky to know a love like this.

Except now, he does not doubt that he deserves it.

Now, Din Djarin allows his chest to be flooded with the warmth he feels when he embraces your love.

He accepts it, even after all the things that he’s done.

#din djarin fic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fluff #din djarin angst #pedro pascal characters #my fics #cannot believe it has already been 6 months where does time go eh!

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janearts · 5 months

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I'm not super familiar with D&D lore, but how does Roisia's parents' relationship work? With her mother being a Kelemvorite and her father possessing his own skeleton? Or does her mother even know about his current state?

I adore Roisia and your work

Thank you! The short of it is: it's work but it works and she knows. Got into the weeds of it under the cut.

Yasmin couldn't bring herself to execute her duty as a Cleric of Kelemvor and former Necrobane and execute her (now undead) husband. In one fell swoop, Roisia ruined her mother's otherwise stellar track record as a Kelemvorite.

Logistically, if Yasmin wanted her husband to have freedom of movement, she could no longer offer room and board to the servants and staff in her employ. She allowed rumours that her business was suffering financially go unchallenged, since an undead husband in a funeral home is even worse for business. Generally speaking, Roisia's father, Jairus, keeps to the upstairs (the family's quarters) and attic during business hours and is free to roam the house and grounds at night. (This is of course on the condition that there are no funerary celebrations that evening.) He now puts his carpentry skills to work in the fashioning of coffins and caskets, but otherwise his time is his own.

Because they no longer have live-in servants, the family now has to take on more domestic labour (e.g., cleaning, laundering) to prevent their servants from discovering the lie. Jairus has commandeered cooking for his family, but will clean or launder clothes when bored. I should note here that both Jairus and Yasmin came from working-class backgrounds. They know how to do domestic labour; it was Roisia who grew up with servants and who had to learn to do without.

The relationships (between spouses, between child and parent) are loving, but not without strain. Jairus is fundamentally lonely. He feels like a ghost: he can't go back to work at the docks as a shipwright, he can't go out for a pint at the Maid with his mates, he can't go off to the countryside to visit with his side of the family, he can't even take a walk around the city at night for fear of discovery. So he grasps at any family time he can get, which is tough when he is functionally nocturnal and the rest of his small family is diurnal.

Yasmin, meanwhile, still deeply loves her husband even as a skeleton, but she also sees his pain. She is torn between keeping her daughter happy (father lives) and offering her husband a way out (father dies), and struggles with the guilt of whether or not a mercy killing would really be a mercy to Jairus... or to her. And then, some nights, she worries that perhaps she would not be able to kill him at all were she ever to try, and that would make everything all the worse.

Roisia, meanwhile, is largely ignorant of her parent's anxieties. She is still elated to have her father back in whatever capacity. She enjoys picking up the thread of their past lives: stargazing and charting with him, chatting to him from the kitchen table while he cooks, demanding that he retwist her locs even when he's certain she doesn't need a retwist, trying to outplay him at games, etc. She hides her studies in Necromancy as best as possible from her parents, but dreams of a day of restoring her father to the way he was, flesh and all.

TL;DR: "Works" is the operative word here. Everyone is doing their best with what they've got.

#Yasmin #Jairus #Roisia #BG3 Roisia #Rosecanons #Roisiacanons

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suashii · 11 months

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୨♡୧ TAKE TWO — miya osamu x reader. sfw. fluff. reader and osamu are exes. best friend!atsumu.

“do we really have to eat here?” you cross your arms, hesitantly lingering outside of onigiri miya. you spare the sign a quick, apprehensive glance before turning your gaze back to atsumu who looks uncharacteristically annoyed.

“yes.” he nods, pointing at himself. “it’s my turn to pick lunch.”

that much is true but you thought your best friend would be a little more considerate of your circumstances and choose not to force you through an awkward meal at your ex's restaurant. maybe it was silly of you to think so; atsumu hasn’t been necessarily accommodating since your break up. he always invites both of you to his games and takes you back to hyogo to have dinner and celebrate holidays with his family. you suppose these are all things the two of you did before you started dating osamu, but you can’t help but feel guilty for continuing to be so present in the man’s life even after ending things with him.

you sigh and throw your hands out in exasperation. “please just pick somewhere else. he probably thinks i’m haunting him with how often i’m around.”

“no,” atsumu tells you with the shake of his head as he comes to stand behind you. his hands come to rest on your shoulders, firmly guiding you toward the front entrance. “i’m hungry and we’re already here. you’ll both just have to deal with it.”

there’s no use in fighting him on the matter any longer and while you won’t admit it, you’ve been craving some of osamu’s rice balls ever since the two of you split up. so, with a shaky hand, you pull the door open, the bell above it ringing to announce your arrival.

it’s just your luck that osamu is stationed at the host stand when you enter. his gray eyes are shielded by his cap when he looks up but that doesn’t stop you from feeling like his gaze is piercing you. it isn’t cold or dismissive but the intensity is still there.

you’re not sure if atsumu wants to save you the embarrassment of the uncomfortable interaction or if he’s really just starving—regardless of which it is, he speaks up from behind you, one of his hands lifting from your shoulder to hold up two fingers. “table for two, brother.”

osamu hums in confirmation, picking up two laminated menu sheets from behind the podium and nodding his head in a gesture for you to follow. you do, hanging back and falling behind atsumu to keep a healthy distance between yourself and osamu. he settles the two of you at a small booth, setting the menus on the table and telling you both that he’ll give you some time to look over them before he returns to take your orders.

your eyes scan over the selection offered but even without looking at the index of food items, you’d be able to list off almost everything printed on the menu. you had helped osamu draft it, after all.

you remember it like it was yesterday; his experimenting with recipes and your taste testing of each one of them. you’d sit down and help him go through interior design catalogs, compromising on a mix of functionality and trendy. it was an exciting experience, a time when the both of you were happy. but as joyful as the both of you were, it was also hectic and opened your eyes to how you each had priorities and commitments outside of your relationship.

you still aren’t sure if it was the right call, but you and osamu came to terms with that fact and decided to end things on a good note. right person, wrong time or something like that.

with a sigh, you push your menu to the center of the table. it’s a reminder of what once was and you already know what you want anyway. your melancholy aura must reach atsumu on the other side of the table because he levels you with another miffed stare. his lips move as though he’s about to scold you but before he can, his cell phone rings.

the blonde pulls the device from his pocket and reads to contact name lit up on his screen. his golden eyes flit up to you as he stands up from the cushion. “i gotta take this. order my usual if i’m not back when samu stops by.”

you’re tempted to grab his arm as he goes and beg him to stay so you won’t be alone when his brother comes back around but you scoff at yourself instead, saddened by how you’re uneasy at the mere thought of being alone with osamu. you were in love with him once. for all you know, you still might be.

you anxiously wait for atsumu’s return, leg unconsciously bouncing up and down as you do so. osamu beats his brother to the table, though, notepad in hand and a casual smile pulling at his lips. “hey. ready to order?”

you nod, reciting atsumu’s menu choice and then yours, which hasn’t changed since osamu first made it for you. silently, you wonder if he already knew that’s what you’d get.

“anything else?” he asks.

you should just say no and let him be on his way but before you know what’s happening, the words are spilling out past your lips. “i’m sorry.”

“for what?” osamu laughs—the genuine kind with no bitterness laced in it. “getting food?”

“no.” you shake your head, the ghost of a smile tugging at your lips before it falls only a second later. “well, kind of… i know you’re probably tired of seeing me around all the time. it must be pretty awkward for you.”

osamu’s silence pulls your eyes away from your hands and up to his face. you expect him to stiffly chuckle and agree but, to your surprise, he doesn’t. his lazy smile persists as he clips his pen to the waist apron tied around him and stuffs the pad of paper in its pocket.

“i’m not tired of seeing you.” his declaration makes your heart jump from your chest to your throat and your lips part in disbelief. it’s good to hear, though you’d be lying if you said it didn’t catch you off guard. you don’t have time to think about it too much before osamu continues. “and… maybe it’s a little awkward, but it doesn’t have to be that way.”

you press your lips together, puffing out your cheeks with air as you ponder over his words. a stream of cool air pushes past your lips as you deflate your cheeks and turn to look at osamu again. “i don’t know. it seems like an awkward situation by default.”

“yeah, it does. but i don’t want either of us acting cagey just because the other is around.” you don’t want that either. even if things can’t go back to the way they were before, you’re sure that anything osamu has in mind is preferable over strained smiles and forced laughs. “what do you say? no more walking on eggshells?”

it doesn’t sound like a simple solution on the surface but the more you think it over, the more doable it sounds. if you start seeing osamu as your best friend’s brother instead of an ex-lover, all the clumsy interactions you’ve been dealing with for the past few weeks will be traded in for something less delicate, more civil. and although it may not be in your cards at the moment, maybe this could be the start of the path back to the way it once was between you and osamu.

you meet his flint eyes and recognize the hopeful glint swimming in them. it makes you smile, not tense or tight like they have been for almost a month now, but a real one—the kind that meets your eyes. “sounds good.”

“good.” osamu nods, wearing a pleasant smile of his own.

you’ve only just agreed to this new, civil, friendly, non-awkward relationship, but you have to hold back the urge to bombard him with everything that’s happened since the two of you broke up. you want to tell him that you finally got that promotion you were up for and that you were able to adopt that puppy you were always visiting. and you want to ask him all about how his restaurant has been doing and if he ended up moving into that apartment with the nice kitchen that he’d been eyeing up.

“you guys have been talking for a while now.” atsumu’s voice drifts through the air, making you jump. you had almost forgotten about him. he looks between you and osamu as he sits down, taking in your shared smiles and the tranquil air around you. “are you getting back together or what?”

“jesus, atsumu.” you reach over the table to smack his arm. the awkwardness had just dissipated and he single-handedly made this encounter weird again.

osamu holds back a laugh, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. “i’m gonna go start on your food.”

he walks away but that doesn’t stop atsumu from pestering you for more details. “are you? that slap wasn’t much of an answer.”

thanks for reading! consider commenting or reblogging if you enjoyed ❤︎

#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: haikyuu #miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #osamu x you #haikyuu x you #osamu drabble #haikyuu drabbles #osamu fluff #haikyuu fluff #osamu scenarios #haikyuu scenarios #osamu imagine #haikyuu imagines

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greetingfromthedead · 5 months

Text

Perfect Morning (Vash x F!Reader)

Plot: You and an exhausted Vash spend your day in the hotel after saving the town and Vash gets a bit handsy.

Pairing: Vash x F!Reader

Raiting: Kinda mature, but not too spicy, sexual themes without actual smut, some kisses and tender touches.

Tags: Pre-Canon, Established Relationship, Intimacy, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Shy Vash, I Have Never Been Good At Tagging Stuff

Word count: 1.8k

Author's Note: It has been a very long time since I wrote anything at all, but like two months ago I got some Trigun related brainrot that wouldn't let me function anymore and I needed to write it down. It's a long story and I intend to publish it for all to read, but I do kinda want to finish writing it first and then release all of it all at once for bingereading. I have currently finished 23 chapters (~1.9k words each) and am running out of motivation eventhough I haven't even gotten to the truly juicy parts that have caused the main brainrot problems. So I am trying to motivate myself by publishing a demo here of a chapter in the story.

You wake up nearly completely on your back, a heavy weight on you, soft hair tickling your cheek. As your brain clears you realize Vash's head is resting on your chest, close to your shoulder, your arms around his neck. His arms are around you, one of your legs thrown over his hip as he sleeps on yours. His breathing calm and slow, face turned away from you. Leaving one of your arms resting on his back, the other hand gently strokes up, fingers finding his hair. He doesn't wake up to that and you close your eyes again, cheek against his head, fingers playing with the blond locks.

Warmth filling your chest as you stay like this for quite a while longer. The sunlight finds its way into the room despite the curtains and you hear people talking in the streets. Seems like some of them haven't stopped celebrating yet and the good news spreads from mouth to mouth that the town is saved. Some people are wondering who they have to thank, nobody actually having Vash's name.

You focus on Vash's breathing as he lays on you so you notice the change in his breathing, but keep running your fingers through his hair, nails running over his skin where the hair is shortest. Your other hand still rests on his back as you keep going. The snoring is gone, occasionally replaced by barely audible low moans.

"How long are you going to pretend to be asleep for?" you ask with a smile on your lips.

"Guess you found me out, huh?" a mumble reaches your ears. "But can I pretend a while longer?"

He nuzzles his face more into you, giving you access to more of the side of his head closest to you. He rolls even more onto you, his knee pushing your leg that is over his hip. His hands move down to either side of your waist, touching your skin where the shirt has been pushed up. His face and chest dig more into you as his weight shifts.

Both of your hands move onto the back of his neck, your thumbs feeling for the knots in his muscles and gently starting to rub them out. He lets out a relieved sigh, you can feel his hot breath through the fabric. He is not wearing a turtleneck, just a high neckline shirt so your fingers travel slightly underneath the collar to massage away more tight spots before moving up again, nails trailing over his skin into his hair, rubbing the sides of his head, pinching his ears lightly, thumbs playing with his earlobes, especially the one with the earring. You hear and feel him breathe heavy as he enjoys your touch.

His hands grab you tighter and trail upwards, fingers pushing under your shirt, over your skin. He feels the twitch in your body as he trails over your ribs. His head turns even more and his face moves closer till his lips touch your neck and start to leave burning kisses. His body shifts further so he lays between both your legs, his flesh hand moving down your side again, over to your butt, pulling your leg up to be over his hip, your feet locking on his ass as you enjoy his lips and touch, quiet and breathy moans escaping your throat, his heavy breathing pressing his chest into yours. Vash's kisses move down and brush over your collarbone, his metal hand has pushed your shirt as far up as it will go without exposing your chest. His lips skip over the fabric and land on your ribs, you feel his body brushing over yours. The hands that have been gripping his hair move to his back, griping his shirt as the kisses move over your stomach to the other side.

As your hands start to bunch up the cloth of his shirt to pull it up and over his head the weight of his body is suddenly gone. Both his hands moving over your sides to your arms making you let to go and in a lightning fast move he has your arms pinned to the bed over your head, his fingers intertwined with yours. His body has moved up again and he gently presses his forehead to yours, supporting his body with his hands either side of you, still holding tight.

Your wide eyes look up at him, for a moment Vash avoids your gaze, mumbling "Sorry." But his eyes find yours regardless, your mouth still slightly open as you stare back.

"Why are you sorry?" you finally manage to speak out after gathering yourself enough to catch up with what just happened.

"I... I don't think I'm ready." he says, avoiding you again and you put your feet back onto the mattress, knees still bent to give him room.

"That's okay." you assure him gently and smile, "You have nothing to be sorry for, Red."

His body that you only just now realized was tense like a drawn bow relaxes and gently slumps onto you again, his grip lightening as you pull out your hands to wrap your arms around him again for a hug and to stroke his back while he hides his face. Vash's ear is against your chest, listening to the racing of your heart. His arms move down again, taking some of his weight off of you as he supports himself on his elbows, his hands slipping between the mattress and your shoulders. His body on yours feels comforting.

*****

"Room service!" you hear a muffled voice behind your door after a few nervous knocks that both of you had ignored. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

The two of you are still in bed, it feels like hours of blissfully laying in each other's arms, but in reality you don't know how long it has been. Long enough for Vash's stomach to start growling.

"Maybe they brought food?" you suggest while you still play with Vash's hair.

"Mmmm, maybe." he answers with a pout as his stomach voices its displeasure. "But then I have to get up."

"Don't worry, I'll take you back." you joke with a light laugh.

"But it won't be the same, " he whines. "It feels like I found something profound! If I move it will slip away!"

"It will slip away if you starve to death." you tug on his hair lightly.

"Helllooo?" the insistent voice still continuing between knocks.

Vash lets out a deep sigh and pushes himself up, looking at you with grumpiness for a moment and then staggers out of bed.

"Sorry! I'm coming!" he calls out towards the door.

You sit up and see the door opening, a boy stands there with a large tray. He gives a wide smile, but you doubt it's genuine.

"Here you are, good sir! Our deluxe breakfast! It might be late afternoon already, but since we didn't see you at breakfast we assumed you sleep in! The chef cooked it all up especially for you! It's on the house as a thank you!"

The boy holds up the tray for Vash and he looked pleased with himself. Vash takes the food and gives a kind smile back.

"Oh, tell everyone involved that we're very grateful for everything! It's so wonderful!" his left hand manages to balance the whole tray by itself and Vash ruffles the boy's hair.

"Will do, sir!" the lad turns around and runs off down the hall.

"It smells nice!" Vash exclaims as he closes the door. He walks over to the table in the corner and sets the tray down. He inspects everything closely, "There's pancakes! And eggs and sausages!"

You listen to him listing all the toppings and extras as he identifies them, eyes wide like an excited child. Seems like his pouty mood is completely gone. He puts down the dishes that were included, setting the table for two and starts pouring two cups of coffee.

"Come, come! They brought food for two!" he smiles at you.

"And you eat enough for two people!" you tease him, but Vash is not having any of it as he comes to stand by the bed with mischief in his eyes.

"Come, have breakfast with me." he says and offers you a hand.

"I'm not hungry." you say matter-of-factly, tone light and pretending to be serious.

"You never are." he takes both your hands and pulls lightly.

"See? Go eat by yourself! You already chose to abandon me to go open that door." you look him square in the eye pretending to be hurt by what he'd done.

"You vixen!" he laughs and pulls harder, trying to pry you up from the bed, but instead of giving in you brace yourself and pull back, trying to get him to bed. This tug-of-war takes Vash by surprise, but not enough to throw him off balance. You are strong, amazingly so, Vash has to struggle a bit to overpower you and manages to get you to your feet, but as you still refuse to budge he changes strategy and instead of pulling you by your hands, he switches gears and bows down a bit, places his hands on your waist and lifts you up onto his shoulder.

"That's not fair!" you exclaim and playfully slap him on the back.

He simply laughs and takes the few steps to the table, kicks out a chair and sits you down into it before pushing it to the table and almost falling into his own chair. The wide smile on his face lights up his eyes with joy and it warms your heart.

"At least have a taste! They cooked it all up especially for us!" he cheers you with his coffee cup and you can't help but smile and follow his lead.

"Oh, Red, you are ridiculous!" you lightly clink your cups together.

"Not at all, Sweet Pea!" his eyes scan the room and seem to stop at something behind you. "Hold on, just one more finishing touch!"

He takes a quick sip and places the cup down, standing up from his seat and walking off. You follow him with your gaze, but you don't see what caught his attention. He fiddles with something on the commode and after a quiet click the room is filled with music. Vash turns to face you again and you see the little radio.

"I will dance with you after breakfast! Even if you are kicking and screaming on my shoulder again!" he laughs as he returns to you.

"As I said: absolutely ridiculous!" you roll your eyes and sip on your coffee. Vash starts piling food on his plate, making sure you take at least one bite of everything.

Read more Tempest Wind HERE.

#trigun #tristamp #trigun stampede #vash the stampede #humanoid typhoon #vash x reader #vashxreader #self instert #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #Plant Boi

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apomaro-mellow · 1 month

Text

Every Baby Needs a Daddy 16

Part 15

The next day, Steve was probably the clingiest he'd ever been. He thought his heat had ended but the new pack bonds brought on a new crest of lust. For the first time since he had arrived, he ate breakfast with everyone in the kitchen. After the meal, Steve made himself comfortable in Eddie's lap.

Eddie and Jeff were talking about concepts for the next album. Gareth was nursing his coffee, still waking up. Grant got up to refill his own mug and Steve's eyes followed him like a hawk. Eddie was pretty attuned to Steve's wants and needs. And when he felt Steve's fingers brush against his lips while staring at the unaware beta across the room, he had a pretty good idea of what his baby wanted.

"Remember sweetness, you gotta use your words. The boys don't know all your tells yet."

Steve whimpered and whined at first, but not longer after he was purring as Grant ate him out on the counter.

Soon enough though, it was time for Corroded Coffin to return to the public eye. And almost just as quickly, the fans with a keen eye noticed a certain omega showing up much more. Not just on Eddie's arm but the rest of the band's as well.

The more it was seen, the more permanent Steve's position appeared. It was February when the competing hashtags #ccomega and #notouromega showed up. Of course, the overwhelming majority of the fans were in the camp of 'neither one is gonna fuck you, so stop wasting your time arguing about it'.

Eddie was reading through a couple of argument threads, snickering to himself when Steve stepped out of the dressing room.

"What about this one?"

The outfit consisted of tight leather pants, a blazer, and a mesh shirt under that. Eddie's hands fell to the magnetic force that was Steve's nipples and started playing with them through the shirt. He let that be his answer and the online comment wars were forgotten for a moment. The new outfit was for an award show the band was attending and throughout the whole thing, Steve ignored his own reserved seat and stayed planted in Eddie's lap.

Given that it was an award show, many eyes were on it, even those not typically concerned with celebrity gossip. When it started spreading to such a degree, even THEY couldn't ignore it. Helen Harrington should have known something was up the moment Irene got that nasty look in her eyes, taking a sip of her champagne flute before speaking.

"Of course, we can't all have such famous children. Steve has been in so many magazines these days. I think the last one actually caught him with his pants down", Irene laughed haughtily.

Helen's face was tight with control. "You're such a charmer Irene. Not most people would admit to reading such tabloid trash."

It was reaching their circle of colleagues, which meant something must be done about their son. She and her husband Richard discussed as much. Steve couldn't be allowed to drag their name through the mud like this anymore.

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

Steve had basically taken up residence in the band's house. He slept in Eddie's room, which was now functionally his as well. Every morning he woke up with their scents mingled and it made his omega purr with satisfaction. He liked whenever the rest of his pack's scents lingered on his body too. Every time he went out, people knew who he belonged to, even without a bite.

But the thought of getting a mating bite did intrigue him.

He wasn't sure how to bring it up though. They'd already taken a major step in their relationship. Asking to be mated forever seemed like asking too much too soon. But relaxing in the living room, warming his alpha's cock with his mouth while daytime television played on sounded perfect.

And everyday with Steve was perfect in Eddie's opinion. Valentine's Day needed to be more perfect. He had a hunch why Steve was spending February 13th with Jeff and Gareth. It didn't make him any less crabby about it though and unfortunately Grant was left to deal with his crabby ass. He was even crabbier when he realized Steve had awakened much earlier the next day and that Eddie wouldn't be seeing him until evening.

CC had a radio interview and Steve was off doing who knew what. Eddie had half a mind to send him relentless thirst texts but instead just made sure he remembered they had reservations at a private restaurant. Eddie sent a car to get Steve and by 8 they had both arrived. Eddie was practically drooling at the silk shirt Steve was wearing.

And the thrill of later events got to him as he put a hand to Steve's back and felt something lacy underneath the shirt.

"You got a surprise for me, baby?"

Steve's smile was coy. "Maybe. Maybe I did a little shopping and I needed a couple of extra eyes to make sure it looked right."

Well that explained why the other two tagged along. And Eddie was only a little jealous that they got to see his present early. Only a little. Steve was pressed to his side for the entire dinner, feeding each other and feeling his surprise just under the silk.

"Baby, I don't think I can wait any longer", Eddie murmured against his ear.

"I can't either", Steve whispered back, legs rubbing together.

There was no way they were making it back home. Steve needed Eddie inside him now and he let him know that by letting out quiet whimpers directly into his ear. Eddie bit his lip, getting a naughty thought in his head.

"I've got an idea...if you're into it."

Steve was definitely into any ideas he had and soon the bill was paid and they were rushing back to the car Eddie had driven here. Eddie started driving with one hand, then other cupped Steve between the legs. It didn't take long for Eddie to find what they needed.

A 24 hour car wash.

They both climbed into the backseat as soon as the car was set on the track. Steve sunk down on Eddie's cock and rode him without an ounce of shame, letting his voice ring out among the noises of the brushes and soap and water. Eddie knew he must have hearts in his eyes, watching this beautiful creature, shirt falling open to reveal the dark green lingerie underneath.

When they came, they only had a few moments to make themselves decent as the car started to exit the wash. Steve didn't even try, just lying in the backseat with his pants off while Eddie scrambled back to the front. With very little regard for much else, Eddie peeled out of the parking area to preserve Steve's modesty.

Meanwhile, Steve had few qualms about having his cunt out in the backseat. This time of night, it was dark besides a few streetlamps. he reached down to feel his own wetness mingling with Eddie's cum. Eddie wasn't playing any music, so the sound of Steve's pussy sounded like it was echoing in the car. This man would be the death of him.

The rest of the night was spent in romantic bliss, just the two of them. But Steve had already given the rest of his pack chocolates.

The next morning, Steve's dream of a domestic life with Eddie was interrupted by his phone ringing. Eddie groaned at the intrusion and Steve reached out to grab it and see who was calling him. The number had no name attached, but he knew it by heart. He'd known the number since he was young but it had been years since he'd called it. Or since it had called him.

He ignored the call to stop the ringing and cuddled back up to his alpha. Eddie was all who mattered right now. Not them. He ignored the call that came a couple of hours later, and the few that came the next day as well. He didn't even listen to the voicemails left for him. Whatever they had to say, couldn't be anything good.

It was two weeks later when he got his first piece of mail since he started living here and who else could it be from but his parents. He leaned against the fridge as he opened it, finally curious enough to find out what they wanted.

"So what'd they send you?", Eddie asked before spooning some cereal into his mouth.

For a moment, Steve simply stood there, mouth agape as he read the envelope's contents.

"Sweetheart?"

"My parents.... sent me a cease and desist letter."

Part 17 (final)

Tag Team CLOSED

@awkotaco24 @lingeringmirth @littlewildflowerkitten @estrellami-1 @tartarusknight @velocitytimes2 @mrsjellymunson @trashcanniballecter @paintsplatteredandimperfect @a-little-unsteddie @sllooney @starman-jpg @oxidantdreamboat @xxbottlecapx @newtstabber @tiny-enthusiast @desidrarry-wolfstarshipper @y4r3luv @hello-fellow-nerds @anonymousbandgirl @alyelf @potato-of-the-lord @beckkthewreck @croatoan-like-its-hot @pluto-pepsi @abstractnaturaldisaster @ellietheasexylibrarian @eyesofshinigami @dragonmama76 @greatwerewolfbeliever @chaosgremlinmunson @blackpanzy @millseyes-world @batxsignalsx @lilpomelito @goosesister @libraryofgage @aresthelostboy @royjaimie4eva @silenzioperso @she-collects-smut @lost-wondering-souls @eddielives1986 @marklee-blackmore

#apo writes #stranger things #steddie #omegaverse #a/b/o

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skyahri · 26 days

Text

There For You |Shota Aizawa X Reader| HC

Summary: Aizawa steps up after Oboro's death, but panics when things get a bit too real.

Warnings: TEEN PREGNANCY! AFAB reader. Set one year ahead for story purposes. Mentions of death. Implication of sex, but no actual smut.

- - - - -

You'd known Oboro your entire life. Your mother's were best friends and had planned their pregnancies, so you were only a few months apart.

You two were close as could be - playing, having sleepovers, and studying together always. When his quirk manifested and yours didn't, he made a promise to always protect you.

When high school came around and you were both accepted to UA (him under the hero course and you in general studies), he kissed you for the first time.

That kiss was just the beginning of a wonderful relationship. He was doting and loving, just as he'd always been, but the connection was deeper now.

In his time at UA, he made great friends, ones that accepted you as a part of the package deal. Your group was a match made in heaven. You were happy he had such a wonderful support system.

You remember how excited he was when he was accepted to the Purple Revolution Agency with Aizawa for his work study. You praised him for his hard work and celebrated that night. If you had known what would've come of it, you'd have begged him to take any other offer.

Shouta was the one to tell you. You'd come home from school to a house full of pros and officers, confused as to what happened. He quickly escorted you outside and explained the day's events to you.

The news of his death was absolutely gut-wrenching, especially since you'd only recently found out you were eight weeks pregnant.

At the time, you'd panicked, horrified of the social repercussions sure to come. But now? Now you were thankful to have something left from him.

"Oboro... asked me to take care of you. Both of you."

Shouta was there from then on. Not that he'd been lacking in presence beforehand, but now he was more dutiful.

He shut down any attempts you made to push him away, assuring you that any support and companionship he provided to you was of his own free will, and not because of any promise he'd made to Oboro before his death. He did make a promise, yes, but even if he hadn't, he'd still probably be here.

Hizashi and Nemuri helped as much as they could, but choosing to be front-line heroes complicated things more than Shouta's underground work.

Once the baby came, a beautiful little girl you'd named Kumori, Shouta's life felt a little less empty.

He'd been so preoccupied with finishing school, starting his career, and supporting you, that he hadn't allowed himself the space to cope with the loss of his best friend. He'd been well aware of the void Oboro had left, but never really paid much mind to it.

But now he felt like didn't need to. Like all the grief had resolved itself and he instantly jumped from denial to acceptance.

Kumori became his pride and joy. He spent all of his free time with you and her. Aside from night patrols and the occasional assignment, he didn't have much going on, making things all the easier for your makeshift family to function.

He took her to the park and played with her. They watched movies together and usually fell asleep halfway through. On days he was busy, he'd always make sure to check in with a text, something you always appreciated.

When she started to talk, her first words were of course 'dada' and directed at him. It stirred up something unsettling with him. He apologized profusely, not realizing that he had inadvertently stolen Oboro's spot in her life.

"Don't be silly, Shouta."

Such a simple response to such an insanely complex situation. He wasn't sure how to take that kind of response or the problem at hand in general, so he decided to take a step back from you two.

That night, when he went home after his patrol, he stayed home. You texted asking where he was and if he was okay, and that only made him spiral more.

What was he doing? Taking Oboro's spot in your life. Raising his child, spending the night with his girlfriend, and having dinner with his parents.

How pathetic.

He didn't go over the next night, or the one after that. Before he knew it, an entire week had passed and he hadn't so much as responded to your messages. He couldn't. Not with the dread and guilt he was feeling.

There was a knock at his door. He looked at the time and groaned; nearly six in the morning. He got up and looked through the peephole, relaxing when he saw Hizashi's bright yellow hair.

"What are you doing here?"

He pushed his way into Shouta's apartment.

"Y/N has been going crazy blowing up our phones. Nemuri and I have tried covering for you, but I think it's time you're honest with me."

Shouta wasn't sure why, but he unloaded onto Hizashi at that moment. He spilled everything uncontrollably in a long, incomprehensible rant. This completely caught Hizashi off guard. H wasn't expecting anything other than an argument to ensue if he was being honest.

Shouta told Hizashi everything. How he practically lived with you, how he raised your daughter, how he felt like he'd taken advantage of such a loss.

It took Hizashi a few minutes to let everything sink in. He was confused at first. The way you and Shouta spoke about your relationship made it seem like he had more of an uncle-type role in Kumori's life. He was surprised to find out he was so involved. Of course, Shouta always claimed to be busy, but he and Nemuri had assumed he was lying to get out of things.

Shouta gave him an expecting look after a few minutes with no response. Hizashi apologized, too caught up in his thoughts to realize he'd totally zoned out.

"I think Oboro would be more upset if he found out you'd abandoned his kid."

"I'm being serious, Mic."

"So am I."

They stared at each other for a moment.

"She thinks I'm her dad. What kind of piece of shit steals their friend's life after he dies, huh?"

"You're crazy if you think like that, dude. Would you prefer she be all alone? Or his kid grow up with out a dad? He asked you to take care of them for a reason."

"It just feels wrong."

A smug smile crept its way onto Hizashi's face.

"You love her, don't you? That's why it feels so wrong."

Aizawa looked at his friend like he was sick in the head.

"What are you on about? Don't be ridiculous."

But the more the thought about it the less ridiculous it sounded.

He loves his life. He loves you and your daughter, something he's well aware of, but now he's questioning what sort of love he held for you two.

He'd never tried to label it before, but now that he was trying to, he found any other type of love to be unfulfilling.

"You need to leave."

He pushed Hizashi out, not leaving any room for him to argue.

Shouta took a breath to calm himself down before grabbing his things and heading out as well.

He made it to your house in record time, relieved to see only your car in the driveway. He knocked on the door and waited patiently.

When you opened it and saw him, you quickly reached out and pulled him in for a hug. He returned the gesture, holding you tighter than he had before. After a moment, you pulled away, and promptly punched him square in the chest.

"Where the Hell have you been?!"

Just like he did with Hizashi, he told you everything. All the thoughts and feelings that had been eating at him this past week, the guilt and anxiety that plagued him, and what Hizashi had said.

"When Oboro told me to look after you, I don't think this is what he meant."

"Believe it or not, we actually talked about this before he died."

Shouta looked at you bewildered.

"Not this specifically, Shouta," you laughed, "He told me if he ever died, he would want me to continue living. I think he'd be happy for all of us."

Oboro knew there was significant risk in his line of work. He didn't expect to die so young, of course, but it's all the same. He would hate for you to never love again. To be all alone in the world or lose all ambition.

"Please, never let my death be the end of you."

His words always lingered in your head. It's why you never felt any type of way about Shouta's involvement in your and your daughter's lives. It made you happy, and that's all anyone could ask for.

"So... what does this mean for us?"

You weren't sure how he'd take the question. He didn't seem too content with whatever it was racing through his head.

Shouta leaned forward and kissed you. When you leaned in and responded, he grew more confident. He put his hands on your face and you bunched yours in his shirt. He pulled away and looked at you.

"I think he was right. I think... I do love you."

#aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta #shouta aizawa x reader #bnha shouta aizawa #aizawa #aizawa x y/n #aizawa x you #aizawa fluff #aizawa angst #dadawa #oboro shirakumo #oboro #mha #my hero academia #my hero academy fanfiction

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pedge-stuff · 11 months

Text

102 degrees (pedro pascal x gn/m!reader)

a/n: same vague universe as “marked.” drop a line if you have a sug. (:

summary: maybe it's the fever talking, but Pedro might finally be ready to go public with your relationship.

————————————————————————

It’s not a whine, per se— more like a thin, whistle-y exhale as the press tents come into view. A noise of quiet resignation; Pedro is exhausted, and the night hasn’t even started.

There is little comfort you can offer. You’ve been careful not to touch his face or hair throughout the ride, per the explicit instructions of Mira. This has left you no option but the back of his neck, between the high collar of his overcoat and the lowest hang of his curls. You thumb rhythmically over the overly-warm, slightly damp skin. Small comforts.

Of course he’d wake up with the flu on the day of the biggest premiere of his career thus far. “Fucking shit-ass karma,” he’d groaned between dry heaves over the toilet that morning. Three negative covid tests and a house-call IV drip later (celebrity medical care is, you’ve come to realize, very fucking weird), he was semi-functional. But fucking miserable.

This once, you’ll give your grown ass boyfriend a pass for whining.

Though the windows are tinted, you are quick to remove your hand as the car pulls up. He is anxious enough about the evening, without having to worry about people seeing. You know the drill— low profile has basically become your middle name. The only thing worse than having the flu on premiere night, you muse, would probably be Pedro getting outed to the world.

“It’s going to be fine,” you insist softly, squeezing his knee. “Carpet, premiere, talkback, reception. Easy.”

He straightens out of his slump against you, taking a deep breath. “Easy,” Pedro repeated, unconvincingly. He sighs.

“Then a full cap of NyQuil and no alarm tomorrow morning.”

You dare to grip his hand, one last time, as the car slows to a stop. He brings yours to his lips, and presses a (noticeably fever-warm) kiss to the exposed skin of your wrist.

"Only thing getting me through this is the prospect of going back to bed with you tonight."

"Mr. Pascal, are you coming on to me?"

He offers a weak chuckle. "Ask me again when I'm not about to barf in the back of an Uber."

The car slows to a stop. Another deep breath, as Pedro slips an easy mask back into place. "Carpet, premiere, talkback, reception."

— — —

There are layers to the whole thing. You don’t begrudge his hesitancy, to publicly reveal your relationship. The few times a pap has caught you out together, the TMZ byline is something along the lines of “Pedro Pascal Seen Strolling Sunset with SNL Sidekick.” Perks of heteronormativity, you suppose.

It’s all him. You’ve been out for a long, long ass time— frankly, never thought you’d go back in, til suddenly you’re signing an NDA and attaching yourself at the hip to a man whose hand you can’t hold in public.

It’s not that he’s ashamed. (He reassures you of this often.) He’s just private, and unwilling to pop a bubble he’s lived comfortably in for the better part of five decades; sometimes, his perspective on (and fear of) public homophobia speaks volumes to the age gap between you.

So you stand back, under the cover of the press tents, watching Pedro walk the carpet. You’re in good company— Mira and Coco track him beside you with narrowed eyes, vigilantly monitoring him for accidental hair touches or makeup smudges.

He sways on his feet between interviews. Your heart clenches.

The carpet is short, much less elaborate than the ones at awards ceremonies. After a few interviews and a series of photographs, everyone starts slowly making their way into the theater.

You hang back in the lobby, a little unsure of how to proceed. There is guest seating in the mezzanine, mostly for the press reporters and various network reps in attendance. It's not a big venue. The main seating is reserved, obviously, for the people actually associated with the show. And their guests. Which is, technically, you, but... Well.

You maybe should have ironed this out prior to arrival. The whole flu thing kinda took priority.

"Yo!" There is a light shove on your shoulder. Bella, flush with excitement and fresh off the carpet, pulls you in for a quick hug. "Your man is so unwell."

They are laughing, though your heart clenches. Poor baby. "This would only happen to him," you agree. "He come in already?" You'd been scanning the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Like a fan. (A fan that spent the better part of the morning pressing a cold washcloth to his neck, sitting on the bathroom floor.)

Bella cocked an eyebrow. "You guys are so fucking weird about this shit." They are privy to the details, courtesy of Pedro. Apparently it was a hot topic of conversation while killing time on set. You'd received many a FaceTime during long stop-downs between takes; calls you'd assume were your boyfriend, but had Bella cackling on the line after you picked up.

As if on cue, a mass of black fabric appears in your periphery.

"Are you conspiring to put me out of my misery?" Pedro is still wearing his 'everything is fine and I'm doing great' press smile.

"Duh." Bella smooths down the front of their blazer. "I think it's gonna start soon? I gotta find my mom."

They wade back into the dwindling crowd, leaving you and your germy boyfriend in the corner. Pedro's eyes are closed, as he takes measured breaths through his nose.

"Oh babe," you whisper quietly. "I'm sorry this is happening to you."

He softens. "It's okay. I'm okay. Gonna be honest, I'm relieved we're about to sit down for a couple hours."

"Just a few more hours left, that's all. I'll see you at the reception?" Your eyes drift to the door upstairs, behind the velvet rope separating press and attendees.

“Are we not—“ He clears his throat, voice breaking weakly. “Are we not sitting together?”

His eyes are glassy, but lack the same fever-bright quality he’d woken up with. The crease between his eyes deepens as he frowns. This feels like the start of a larger conversation that most definitely will not be happening in the lobby of the Regency Village Theater.

“We can,” you offer cautiously. “If that is what you want.”

A large, slightly trembly hand grasps your shoulder. “Of course that’s what I want, love. ‘M sorry. It’s dark, it’s safe, I just… I’m so tired.” The last part is admitted in a pained whisper. Your heart aches. It takes a concerted effort to not reach out and touch him. (It usually does, in public. He is a tactile aficionado– preens over little touches, forehead kisses, the brush of your hand over his hair. You offer these so frequently in private, that in public, your hand twitches regularly against the impulses.)

Pedro's manager waves from the other side of the room. He musters a small smile, releasing the grip on your shoulder. "Premiere, talkback, reception. Bed."

In the stiff theater seats, he leans so far over the armrest, you know his back will be sore later. But he tucks himself into your side the moment the lights dim, head on your shoulder. The frame of his glasses digs into your neck, and you couldn't care less. Your focus is on the lines he is tracing into your palm, large hand cupping yours in your lap.

The show is fantastic. Of course. The talkback is short, courtesy of Craig, and the reception is informal enough that you are in-and-out. Pedro makes the rounds while you make awkward small talk with Bella's mom (whose name you always forget, dammit, but she's lovely nonetheless). Take two sips of some cocktail called "Look for the Light" and wait for your cue to leave. Though you remain blissfully flu-free, you have been anticipating the conclusion of this evening as strongly as Pedro.

The Uber home has to make an emergency stop, so the star of the evening can puke water and crackers on the side of Mulholland Drive. You tip well.

And then, hours after he stepped onto the carpet, the prophecy is fulfilled. Pedro is tucked into bed, dogs at his feet, empty but blue-tinged medicine cap discarded on the nightstand beside a mug of water and his glasses.

His face is smushed into the pillow. Eyelids at half-mast, as he watches you change out of your simple suit and into a pair of well-loved flannel bottoms.

You don't need a shirt. On cue, your boyfriend octopus-latches as you slide under the covers, head resting on your bare collarbone.

"You did good tonight," you say, through a yawn. Reach up to tug the chain on the bedside lamp. Your other hand cards through Pedro's hair, detangling little clumps of hair spray he was too tired to brush out. "'M so proud of you."

"I mean it," he whispers back. "It's time. I'm sick of not being able to hold your hand."

Your lips brush his temple. 'We can talk about it tomorrow."

"Plenty of time for it," he mumbles, right on the cusp of sleep. "Since we're not leaving this bed."

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal one shot #pedro pascal rpf #pedro pascal x male reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fluff #the last of us #joel miller hurt/comfort #joel miller x reader #joel miller #pedro pascal hurt/comfort #bella ramsey

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iovetecchou · 1 year

Text

Pairings... Jouno Saigiku x Reader

Contains... hurt, no comfort. angst. toxic!jouno, lowkey yandere!jouno. cheating, getting caught, suggestive themes, strong language

GN Reader.

1,156 words.

Jouno was being… shifty. Coming home later in the evening, leaving earlier in the morning. You were becoming increasingly concerned with his strange behavior.

You were both snuggled up in bed, reading a book aloud so you and Jouno could enjoy it. But there was just one small problem. His phone was ringing off the hook all night. It was beginning to get on your nerves.

You finally reached over for his phone. Curiosity got the better of you. But before you could get so far, Jouno grasped your forearm and harshly, at that. Your eyes shot up to his face in an instant. That gut feeling washed over you.

“Ah, I do apologize, princess. Duty calls.”

That was all he said before he dropped your forearm. Climbing out of bed in the process. He swiftly slipped on his shirt, not bothering to button it up completely as he took his leave. You heard the apartment door swing open, and slam shut.

You didn’t want to assume the worst, but how could you not? He was less affectionate recently, shrugging you off every time you pulled him in for an embrace. Blowing you off when you planned out a whole date night. Not bothering to reciprocate your kisses. Your heart cracked each time.

You wanted so desperately to snap out of this nightmare. Facing the reality of the situation seemed far worse.

He didn’t come back home that night. But he left all his belongings here, and you knew he had work today. You figured bringing him his things would be best before you ran a few errands.

What could go wrong?

“Good morning Teruko! Is Sai here already?” You smiled down at the petite woman. Trying your best to conceal your anxiety. Teruko’s face went pale. “Y/n… what are you doing here?”

You were taken aback. Why was she so stunned by your appearance? Everyone knew you and Jouno were in a relationship. I mean, the Hunting Dogs would come over to your place for the holidays and special occasions. Celebrating alongside you and Jouno.

But the way she was looking at you… it was almost as if you were a stranger.

“I… came to drop off some things Sai left at home today. What’s the matter Teruko? You’re scaring me.” You blurted out. You could feel your heart beating out of your chest. She frowned at your words, averting her gaze before she spoke up once more.

“Y/n… Jouno told everyone that you two broke up. He said that two weeks ago. I’m sorry.”

As rapid as your heart was beating was as quick as it stopped. A lump formed in your throat. You couldn't wrap your head around what Teruko confessed to you.

“Y/n… he’s in his office… with another person… If I knew what was really going on, I would have beat his ass long ago.”

You could barely breathe. It felt like you had just been punched in the gut. This could not be fucking happening right now. After everything you’ve done for him?

You sacrificed so much for Jouno. He molded you into the perfect little partner. Tailored you to meet his needs, keeping you in the dark, and isolating you from your friends and family.

He claimed you only needed him. That he was the only person in the whole world that would ever love you.

You felt the tears welling up. You couldn’t think straight. You could hardly even function. You fumbled down the hall towards Jouno’s office. “Y/n wait- don’t do this to yourself-!”

Teruko shouted, following you in tow. But it was too late. You pushed the door open, and the sight in front of you left you speechless.

Jouno had another person pinned to his desk. They were both half undressed, kissing all over one another. The sound of the door swinging open startled both of them. They were quite literally caught in the act.

The stranger who was receiving all the love and affection from the man who was supposed to be yours abruptly stood up. They hurriedly fixed their clothes. Pushing past you and through the door without a word. Causing you to fumble slightly.

Jouno emitted a deep sigh. Shaking his head slightly as he began buttoning up his work uniform. “Teruko, give up some privacy.” He deadpanned, taking slow strides toward your frame. You were so heartbroken, your face losing any semblance of life as the tears freely rolled down your cheeks.

“Jouno, you fucking asshole. How could you?” Teruko spat out. She shot you a look of apology before she shut the door. The fear began to creep up on you.

Your blood ran cold, and your fingertips went numb. Jouno now stood in front of you. He craned his neck down, bringing his hand to cup your chin. Tilting your face up in his direction. The moment you scanned over his features, you couldn't control the sobs that wracked through your whole being.

He was smiling widely, no trace of love painted across his features. Jouno was enjoying your pained cries and irregular heartbeat. You could tell, and it hurt. So fucking bad.

“You sound so pathetic right now. What, don’t tell me you actually thought I… loved you?”

His voice was laced with amusement. How could this be happening right now? You had been with Jouno for years. Was it so wrong of you to assume that… he did love you? You felt so hopeless. All you could focus on was that wicked fucking smile.

“You really are a pathetic little thing. You were nothing more but an easy fuck to me. You see… I only kept you around for so long because I didn’t want anyone else to have you. It was so easy— no, you’re so easy. You fell right into my trap. I mean, how stupid are you?”

Your legs gave out. Jouno retracted his grasp on your chin as you fell to your knees. All light was lost from your eyes as you hiccuped through your body jerking sobs. Jouno let out the most maniacal laugh at your pathetic state.

“Ah, can you leave already? Your turbulent emotions are starting to give me a headache. I’ll be home around seven, so work dinner around that time. Are you even listening to me, mutt?”

He kneeled in front of you. Gripping your jaw harshly with his thumb and index finger. He was pressing so hard into your cheeks. You winced out through the pain. Causing Jouno’s smirk to grow wider.

“Oh, and princess… if you so much as think of leaving me… I will know, and I will kill you.”

His face fell entirely at the end of his sentence. Completely devoid of emotions. It struck fear in you. How was it possible that you truly knew nothing? Especially about the person you’ve spent the past few years with? Jouno was right. You really were stupid.

You reap what you sow.

“If I can't have you, no one can.”

yummy! i love pain! anyways... im sorry... i just had this cute lil idea. i had to share...

special tag: @win-writes

#jouno saigiku x reader #jouno x reader #saigiku jouno #bsd jouno #jouno saigiku #saigiku jouno x reader #bsd imagines #bsd x reader #bsd #bsd angst #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs imagines

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andy-wm · 9 months

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How to explain JK & JM and their endless coincidences?

Easy really, none of them are coincidences.

I'll admit that I'm not the quickest at reacting to what's going on around me. My poor ND brain takes a while to absorb it all and put the pieces together, but then I can't stop thinking and thinking and thinking about all those puzzle pieces.

Gotta get those thoughts out of my head to make room for new ones LOL... so here they are.

Everything is not a coincidence 🎶

I hear Jimin singing this in my head.

No, of course its not.

We've seen how intricately they plan their cocepts, outfits, stages and releases. We saw it in detail with the Artist Made Collection and the Photo Folios. The processes they went through were thorough and thoughtful. They considered everything.

For Jimin and Jungkook, aligning their message is nothing new. For years they've been coming out in matching clothes, jewelery, and accessories - including the cute and silly matching Pororo bandaids at the puma fansign in 2016 when neither of them had an injury (JK's idea, according to JM).

Sometimes the matching outfits are identical...

Other times the alignment is more subtle....

But it's so frequent, we barely comment these days.

When they aren't matching, they're swapping. Their shared wardrobe is legendary - especially for someone who doesn't like other people wearing his clothes (JK) and someone who has assured us they have different clothes (JM).

But I digress....

The gist is, we know they pay attention to the mesage they send with their clothes and styling.

AND...

They know WE we pay attention too - they know we notice it all. Every.Single.Thing.They.Do.

AND...

They tell us they know all the ARMY jokes and memes. They do and say things that correspond too closely to ARMY's conversations on socials to be a coincidence.

Everything is not a coincidence 🎶

So with the visual themes of their solo releases being so astonishingly similar, anyone with eyes in their head (and a moderately functional brain and heart) can't think it's accidental. And JK and JM can't possibly think they're being subtle either.

And I honestly don't think they're trying to be subtle. Not at all.

I think they are demonstrating very clearly that even when they're apart, they're together. They're always aligned*.

They share ideas, they work together (they certainly don't work in secret) and they agree on what they, together are choosing to show.

Everything is not a cooincidence 🎶

We know they've shared ideas for this because at no point has either of them shown suprise at seeing the other wearing a similar outfit, holding a similar pose, or adopting similar aesthetics. They're hyping each other's music and promo work, and sharing their pride and enjoyment with us. (JM posting on insta to celebrate JK's #1 on the hottest 100 was NOT for JKs benefiit. It was for ours 💜)

It's not a matter of who did it first or who copied...all of this they created together.

They're showing us their individual strengths and telling their own stories, but using an aesthetic framework they've planned together. The visuals overlap is enough to to unmistakablly link their narratives together without restricting their self expression.

It's genius really.

They're living their 'I am you, you are me' dream right now, but in such a way that they are also without a doubt independent individuals as well.

Personally I love this. I love them.

I love that they can contribute to one another's creative processes, each produce something wholly unique to themself, and still have visually connected stories.

One day this will become their shared history. With a brief glance, anyone who looks will be able to see how much they supported and cooperated with each other, and that they chose to reflect their personal relationship in these works.

This would be a very conscious decision - to be visibly connected, not just for the few months their solo work is on the charts but for as long as the record of BTS's existance remains.

And that will be a long, long time I am sure 💜

*They're always aligned, i believ, with regards to their goals. For their work but also in terms of their relationship.

I think they trust one another implicitly, both professionally and personally. I think they're honest but kind, and they have each others backs. They are each other's highest priority and I hope it will always be this way for them 💜

#park jimin #jikook #kookmin #jeon jungguk #국민 #jungkook seven #true love #relationships #jimin face #shared aesthetic

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