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takamimami · 4 months ago

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Supernova Captains | they catch you wearing someone else’s coat

Pairing: Kidd, Law, and Luffy x crewmate!reader (use of y/n)

the supernova captain trio will literally be the death of me, gunna start posting little drabbles of them to show my appreciation for them <3

CW: No smut (captains do steal some kisses), also Law's is slightly suggestive at the end, fluffity fluffy fluff, crackposting

🔞Slightly suggestive content so minors/ageless blogs, begone.

👒

The first thing Luffy does when he sees you strut onto the ship is laugh, pointing out how you look like you’re drowning in the coat as you walk toward him on the deck of the Sunny.

“Y/N,” he giggles, hand reaching to his stomach as he leans forward, “You look ridiculous! Plus, Jaggy is going to kill you when he finds out you stole his coat!”

His contagious laughter has you letting out a light chuckle, and as you do you feel yourself step on the front of the coat, stumbling forward and struggling to get your hands out to brace yourself from the fall. You squeeze your eyes shut and prepare yourself for impact, but you feel a tug around your waist instead. Opening your eyes, you see Luffy’s arm extended toward you, keeping you from colliding with the wood below. He grins as your gaze meets his from across the deck, his rubber arm retracting and pulling you with it, right into his chest.

“Careful, Y/N,” he teases, placing a light kiss on the tip of your nose before realizing that your hair and clothes underneath the coat were soaking wet. “What happened?” he inquires, his face dropping a bit as he looks over you with concern.

“I’m fine,” you hush him reassuringly, though he doesn’t stop looking you over for injury. “Zoro and Killer were sparring on the pier, and I tried to get out of their way and failed,” you admitted sheepishly, choosing to leave out that it had been Killer who knocked you into the water. You didn’t want to risk tarnishing the alliance that had been formed with your crews after defeating Big Mom and Kaido, plus it had been Killer who practically forced Kid to hand over his jacket so you didn’t freeze to death from the chill of the night air.

“Those two should know better,” he chastises, the humor in his voice peaking through as he looks you over one more time. Furrowing his brow, he shrugs off his jacket and pulls Kid’s from your shoulders, quickly replacing it with his.

“There,” he says satisfied, “At least you won’t trip and fall anymore,” he says, leaning in to kiss your chilled cheek. “Have Sanji make us some soup and wait in the kitchen for me,” he commands, winking at you before turning to head towards the pier, determined to remind his allies not to mess with his crew members (especially you).

🐯

You had almost walked through the entirety of the flower capital before you found the onigiri shop your captain had raved about upon your arrival to Wano, determined to surprise him with one of his favorite meals one more time before you set off to your next destination. When you did find it, you also found some of the Straw Hat Pirates huddled around the stand, seemingly looking for the same thing you were.

You wave warmly to Nami and Robin as you approach, and order your food quickly before chatting with the crew to pass the time. It takes a while for your order to be finished, and before long the Straw Hats are saying their goodbyes, Zoro tossing Luffy over his shoulder due to him eating himself into a coma. You chuckle to yourself as you wave goodbye to your friends, and before long your name is called and your food is placed on the counter. You walk to the other side of the stand to grab the two heaping bundles when you notice a black coat on the ground, instantly recognizing it as Luffy’s. Not wanting to make it harder to carry your food, you throw the jacket over your shoulders and grab the bundles of food before heading back in the direction of the Polar Tang.

Once you arrive, Bepo and the rest of the crew shout in excitement when you enter the submarine with the bundles of food in your hands, the aroma quickly filling the room with its delightful scent. You scan the room as the crew starts to dig in, curious as to what room your captain is off brooding in.

Law walks into the room just as you turn to begin looking for him, his eyes falling over you briefly before lasering over to the food on the table. You can tell he’s holding back a smile as he steps closet you, eyes fixated on your shoulders, “Thank you for the food, Y/N-ya,” he says gruffly, dropping his chin down to bring his face closer to yours, “But, care to explain why you’re wearing that?”

You furrow your brow as you look down at your outfit, completely forgetting you had grabbed Luffy’s coat to return it to him. You explain what happened in town to Law and he drops his face in his hand, rubbing at his temples before raising his other tattooed hand into the air.

“Room,” his voice echoes through the ship and you flinch slightly, unsure of the reason for him activating his powers.

"Shambles-"

When you open your eyes Law has swapped Luffy’s coat for his own, the furry blue jacket smelling distinctly of him as you nestle yourself into it with a smirk on your face.

“Jealous, are we?” You tease, your grin growing wider as Law steps closer to you and wraps his arm around your waist.

“Territorial,” he growls in your ear, his scowl slowly shifting to match your smirk.

“Close enough.”

With another flick of his wrist, he whisks you away, needing to show you how just how territorial he can be.

🌷

You’re walking back to your ship after meeting with Robin and Law to discuss the Road Poneglyph they had found on Onigashima, nestling into the coat Law had kindly lent you due to the storm breaking out just before you left his ship. It was already late, and you walked up the gangplank and found a seemingly empty deck, signaling everyone had already retired for the evening. You head below deck and towards the ladies' quarters, your own exhaustion taking over as you collapse into your cot, still fully clothed as you nuzzle into the mattress and quickly drift off to sleep.

You wake the next morning fairly early, a few of the girls already up by the time you swing your legs over the side of your bed and stretch your body.

“Oooh, Y/N! Blue is so your color,” Quincy teases as she walks over to you, ruffling the coat that was still on your shoulders.

“Shush,” you chastise her, giggling along with Hip and Hop as the rest of the ladies start shuffling from their beds. You stand and remove the jacket, feeling Quincy still eyeing you as you grab your things to head towards the shower. You bathe quickly and once you are out of the shower you head up onto the deck and into the kitchen for breakfast.

Once inside you find Killer, Heat, and Kidd huddled over the kitchen table and shoveling food into their mouths. You greet them gently, which Heat and Killer return with a smile, but Kidd lets out a grunt before continuing to eat, his eyes not even looking in your direction. You shake it off since you’re used to your captain’s usual morning grumpiness, but when the attitude evolves into glares from across the deck and him going out of his way to avoid you, you start to get a little curious.

“What’s your problem?” you finally ask him late into the afternoon, when you’re finally able to catch him alone in the cockpit.

He looks you up and down before scowling, turning his gaze to the maps on the table before he speaks, “Nothing is wrong with me,” he grumbles, to which you roll your eyes and walk to the other side of the table.

“You’re a bad liar, Kidd,” you probe, eyeing him intently until he meets your gaze, a hint of betrayal flashing on his face.

“I’m not a fan of my crew fraternizing with my enemies,” he glares, his amber eyes darkening as he looks at you.

You open your mouth to refute his accusation, but your words catch in your mouth as Kidd crashes his lips to you, his lips devouring yours as he grips your chin roughly. You are too flustered to respond as he pulls away from you slightly, his face still not even an inch away from yours.

“And I especially am not a fan of you in the color blue,” he growls, reconnecting your lips and biting down on your bottom lip harshly. When he pulls away again there is a deep blush on your cheeks, to which Kid smirks at proudly.

“See, Y/N, red looks so much better on you.”

i had to cut Kidd's off bc I could have kept writing for h o u r s. (just know he made you wear his coat around the ship for a MONTH after that :3) :3 lemme know what you think, and if you liked it, I would love it if you liked and reblogged to spread the love <3 ✨come say hai :3✨

Do not copy, repost or translate.

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not-neverland06 · 4 months ago

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hi!! Given my obsession for Hugh jackman I am CRAVING for some Leopold X reader (from Kate & Leopold)! Maybe with some little angst but happy ending??

I love your blog!! Have a wonderful day 😽💐💓

Leopold Mountbatten x fem!reader a/n: I don’t know how controversial this is going to be and I don’t care. I could never finish the movie because I hated Meg Ryan in it so much. It’s so odd, I’ve loved her in everything else she’s been in but she made it such a hard watch. Maybe it’s because she reminds me of my grandma in the worst way lol, but I finished it for you anon sorry this was a little rushed Anyways, hope you enjoy lovelies Summary: Your neighbor went back in time and dragged someone back with him. He's irritatingly polite and far too interested in your way of life. What are you meant to do when you fall for a man who was never even supposed to meet you?

“Hello, madam, please I need your help!”

You’re used to crazies, it is New York after all. But they’re not usually shouting at you through your window. Especially not when you’re on the sixth floor. You look away from your coffee and glance towards the fire escape.

There’s an oddly dressed man with red eyes waving at you through the dirty glass. You offer him a tentative wave back and he nods aggressively. “Yes, hello, I need your assistance.”

“Um,” you shake your head, “Sorry, I don’t have any drugs dude.”

“No,” he places his hands pathetically on the glass and shakes his head. “Please, I have been kidnapped.” Finally, you take a step closer to him. You can tell now that his eyes aren’t reddened from any medicinal fun, he probably got pepper sprayed.

Your friend did it to you once when you tried to surprise her on her birthday and you’ll never forget just how awful you looked afterwards. You can see him a bit more clearly now. Whatever odd costume he’s got on, it looks good. Genuine and clean.

Not like most of the street performers you see in Times Square. Besides, he doesn’t have that maddened look in his eye that makes you worry he’s going to come inside and kill you. Tentatively, you open the window.

He’s leaping through in a second and you jump back with a yelp. He turns towards you and his eyes widen before he quickly turns away. “My good lady, where are your pants?”

“Uh,” you glance down at the oversized shirt you’re wearing and the tiny shorts underneath. Admittedly, it’s a little skimpy, but you’re not walking around naked. You’ve heard of committing to the bit, but this is a bit much. “On,” you tell him, walking around him and trying to stand close to the phone.

“Ma’am-” He’s cut off as someone slams their fist on your front door. You keep a weary eye on the man while you unlock your door.

“Hey,” Stuart smiles at you. His eyes drift slightly past your shoulder and he goes barging into your apartment. “Leopold! What did I say?”

You huff and glare at Stuart’s frantic back. “This is yours?” Stuart nods and rushes Leopold out the door. You don’t miss the pleading, while slightly scandalized, look he sends you.

You slam the door closed behind them, shaking your head and going back to your morning paper. You doubt you’ll be seeing him around again.

You know, it’s just your luck that your upstairs neighbor is a scientist, one who happens to dabble in the art of time travel. And it’s just your luck that he had to fall down a damn elevator shaft.

Now, according to him, you have to care for someone from a different century so he can make it back to his time portal in, well, in time. This is fucking ridiculous. “I’m going to kill you, Stuart.”

“Look, they’re going to take my phone but he really cannot-”

It goes silent on the other end. You shout his name a few times but hear nothing in response. You assume the hospital staff has finally gotten sick of his shenanigans and has taken his phone. You slam your handset down with a huff and look towards the living room. Leopold hasn’t sat down since you walked in and it’s unsettling.

“So,” you start and his attention snaps towards you. “1876, huh?”

He nods and you roll your eyes with a scoff. “Oh, this is insane. This is insane,” you mutter to yourself, walking towards Stuart’s door. Leopold gives you a concerned look before quickly following after you. There’s a part of you, and you hate that part, that actually believes some of this.

Stuart is a brilliant, though flawed, scientist. You don’t doubt that he might have actually unlocked the secret to traveling back to the past, but it’s such an insane idea to try and wrap your head around.

“Come on, we’re leaving.” You know that Stuart doesn’t want him out of the house. Tough. You’re not going to just stay inside and wait until he can supposedly go back to the past. You don’t give Leopold any time to process your answer, already out the door and heading towards the stairs.

“You know,” he starts as he catches up to you. “You are quite rude.” Your first instinct is to snap back at him. But you take a breath and stop yourself.

You’re desensitized, ridiculously used to just how awful New Yorkers can be to each other. And whether this man is truly from the past or not is up for debate. But he is polite and earnest, and you have no reason to be a bitch to him.

“I’m,” the words are hard to come by but you force them out anyway, “I’m sorry.” He looks genuinely surprised by the apology and it only makes you feel worse. “This is just an insane idea to try and grasp.”

He chuckles softly, smiling as he glances down at his feet. “Yes, how do you think I feel?”

You’re sure it’s not his intention, but you only feel like more of an ass. If this is hard for you, whatever he's going through is a hundred times worse. You weren’t forcefully ripped out of your own time and shoved into another you don’t understand. He’s still trying to comprehend the television.

Though, you’re sure being a scientist has helped him in marginally understanding how all of this is possible. “How do you like the future?” It sounds awkward and stiff, but you haven’t had to talk to anyone in a really long time.

Your interactions are pretty limited at the book shop considering no one ever comes in. They all order online nowadays and all you really have to worry about is organizing shelves. You’re embarrassingly rusty when it comes to conversing.

And his propensity towards eloquence only makes you feel worse. “I must admit, some of your inventions have been quite fascinating. I’m especially fond of your showers.”

Your face scrunches slightly at the mention of hygiene and you nod, “I bet.” Before either of you can attempt to salvage this horrible attempt at conversation your phone starts ringing. “Hold on one second,” you tell him. You walk a few feet away from him but you can still feel his eyes boring into your back as you move away.

“Hello?”

There’s a frantic shout of your name down the line and then the distinct jingling of keys. “I need you to cover the shop. Marcy just went into labor and I’ve got to go!” Paul doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he hangs up.

Your jaw gapes and you stare down at your phone with shock. You know Paul and his wife had been expecting, but had it really already been nine months? Has your life become so monotonous and dull that nine months doesn’t even register for you?

It’s a depressing thought. One you’d rather not linger on. “What was that?”

You scream, though the people passing by don’t pay you any mind, and jump away from Leopold. “Jesus, where the hell did you come from?”

Leopold flinches away from you and his face is just as aghast as yours. “Good heavens, what is the matter with you? Do you respond to anything as a sensible woman might?”

“I resent that.” You tell him bitterly. Though, he does make a good point. You’ve been on edge constantly. You always seem to be more anxious than you are happy. It’s not a good state to perpetually exist in. “I need to go into work.”

You don’t want to outright say that he needs to go back to the apartment. It feels a little mean, but you’re hoping he’ll catch onto your tone of voice.

His entire demeanor perks up and he smiles at you. “Wonderful, I am dreadfully curious as to what you do.”

You open your mouth to correct him, let him know he’s not coming. But he’s staring at you with such hopeful eyes that you cannot find it in yourself to turn him down. He seems so excited, you’re sure he won’t be when he gets to your cluttered little bookshop. You let out a weary sigh, “Fine. Okay.”

You walk towards the curb, hoping to hail a cab. But Leopold’s hand gently wraps around your elbow and tugs you in the opposite direction. Your eyes widen in response to his boldness. You thought touching a woman he wasn’t courting would cause someone like him to combust. Seems he didn’t mind breaking the rules sometimes.

You make a mental note of that for later. You don’t know what you’re going to do with the information, but you find it intriguing. Maybe the modern world was rubbing off on him more than he’d like to admit.

“We should take this,” he stops you in front of a horse-drawn carriage and you immediately begin to shake your head.

“No, Leopold, these are just tourist traps-”

He doesn’t let you finish, opening the carriage’s door and gently nudging you inside. “Nonsense! This is far more enjoyable than those yellow monstrosities.”

“Taxi,” you correct. You turn towards the carriage driver and give him directions to your bookshop. “Ink and Tea on Fifth.” He nods and the carriage rolls forward with a lurch. You grip the cushioned seats and pray you don’t get motion sickness.

“Ink and Tea?” Leopold inquires. “Are you a journalist?”

You smile and shake your head. “No, nothing so fancy. I just help take care of an old bookshop. They were supposed to extend the shop when it first opened. They were going to build a space for people to get pastries or drink tea, but it never happened and the owner was too lazy to change the name.”

It feels a little humiliating to be talking about your minimum-wage job to a renowned scientist. He’s invented or is going to, elevators. He doesn’t care about your stupid shop. But he doesn’t look particularly judgy of you. If anything he seems to be endeared to you the more you talk.

Normally, you’re oblivious to these sorts of things. But it’s nearly impossible for him to hide. He’s not shy with his attraction, never taking his eyes off of you and hanging onto your every word. You’re not used to such outward attention.

You look out of the carriage, pretending to take in views you’ve already seen a thousand times. “This city is incredible,” he wonders aloud. His awe is palpable.

Your nose wrinkles and you shrug. “It’s dirty and the people are intolerable.”

“Must you always be so pessimistic?” You snap your mouth shut and feel embarrassment creeping around you. You’ve never had someone point out when you’re being negative, but he has a point.

You used to view the city through the same rose-colored glasses. Something’s broken inside you in recent years that has just taken the joy out of life. Everything is grey to you now, until Leopold, nothing spectacular has ever really happened to you.

The carriage comes to a stop outside the shop before you can respond to him. You want to deny what he says, but you can’t. Your attitude is almost always unnecessary. You think sometimes you might just be trying to see if everyone feels as miserable as you do or if there’s just something wrong with you.

“Come on,” you tell him, getting out and paying the driver. He wanders towards the shop, eyeing the displays in the window curiously.

“These are wonderful,” he tells you, pointing to the way you’d made the books look like they’re floating above the shelves. It was just some silly little thing you’d tried to get more people in the shop. It’d worked for about a month.

“I did that,” you unlock the door to the shop and open it for him. But he doesn’t walk in immediately, instead, he lingers in the doorway. He offers you a soft smile and you can’t help but return it.

“You’re more creative than you give yourself credit for.”

Your eyes widen as you watch him walk inside. He keeps making these oddly astute observations about you and it’s throwing you off your game. You barely know this man and you’ve always been good at keeping yourself aloof and vague. Yet, he seems to read you like you’re wearing your heart on your sleeve.

“Feel free to…” he’s already made himself comfortable somewhere in the back and you trail off. “Look around,” you finish lamely. His form is lost somewhere in stacks of books and cluttered shelves.

You know most of the classics and history books are kept towards the back. You wonder if he’s reminiscing or getting a headstart before he gets back to his time. You smile at the thought and walk behind the counter, sitting on the stool and preparing to finish off the rest of the day.

Leopold is still somewhere lost to you an hour later. Occasionally you’ll hear a page flip or the clatter of a book being reshelved, but there are no other signs of life. Not until the bell above the door rings.

“Clark,” you smile, sitting up straighter as your friend walks through the door. “What’re you doing here?”

He gives you a crooked grin and shrugs. Just over his shoulder, you can see Leopold’s head pop over a shelf, he looks between you both, eyes narrowing with disdain. “Paul told me you’d be here, figured you might want some company.”

“Actually-” you start, but another voice cuts you off.

“Leopold Mountbatten,” he comes around the corner, hand outstretched as he comes in between you and Clark. “And who might you be?”

Your brows furrow in confusion at the interaction. Leopold seems oddly hostile and Clark looks strangely caught off guard. “Um, Clark. Nice to meet you, man.” He shakes Leopold’s hand but his grip is weak and it only lasts for one awkward half-second.

It’s uncomfortable to watch them try and interact and it only gets worse when they turn towards you. Clearly, they want you to tell them who the hell the other guy is. But you feel like that might just make the situation worse.

Besides, you were pretty content with it just being you and Leopold, you don’t need Clark coming in here and riling things up. “You know, Clark, I’m set here. You can just go home.” Your tone leaves no room for argument but you know he wants to.

“Alright, I’ll just call you later, I guess.” He throws one last skeptical look at Leopold before finally slinking back out of the shop.

“Neither of you should be alone without a chaperone present.” Leopold bluntly scolds you without even waiting a second before Clark is gone. It catches you off guard and you scoff.

You motion between the two of you, “We don’t have a chaperone.”

Leopold shrugs, “Yes, well, I’m not courting you.” It shouldn’t, because he’s right, but that stings. He is attractive, surprisingly so. You have this odd belief that anyone from his century had to be at least a little ugly. But he’s near perfect.

Hearing him tell you so bluntly that you’re not courting hurts a little. Though, you can’t blame him. You must be dramatically different than the women he’s used to. From your manners to how you dress, you’re practically an alien.

You stand up from behind the counter and walk towards the cart of books that need to be shelved. “Clark is a friend. Nothing more.” You’ve never once been romantically interested in your friend. He’s attractive, but he’s not really your type.

Apparently, British men from the nineteenth century are. Which does not bode well for your romantic prospects once Leopold is back home. “It is plain for anyone to see how he wants you. Don’t let yourself be blinded by naivete.”

“Naivete?” you scoff and turn around to glare at him. “Don’t pretend to know anything about me, alright? I’m not some maiden in a frilly dress who needs a chaperone.” You can see that your words affect him. He looks a little taken aback by your anger and so are you.

It’s misplaced. You’re not mad at him, just mad that you even like him. “Just go read or something, Leopold.” You dismiss him more rudely than necessary and hide yourself behind a few shelves. The rest of your workday is spent in a tense silence that makes your stomach churn.

You’re nearly ready for bed when something slips under your door with a slight whoosh. You turn towards it, frowning when you see a little envelope with a wax seal on the ground. You pick it up and let your finger slip under the paper, opening it to find a letter with your name on it inside.

The handwriting is impeccable, with a gracefulness to it that you’ve never seen before. You don’t have to read for very long to know who it's from. Leopold writes poetry about the color of your eyes and the way your lips curl when you smile. And then he ends it with a vague, nearly ominous, invitation to dinner.

You can’t help but smile to yourself, changing out of your pajamas and slipping into something a little nicer. A few minutes later you’re climbing out your window and taking the stairs up the fire escape to the roof.

You don’t believe your ears at first, thinking the music must be coming from another apartment. But when you make it up to the roof there’s a violin player there waiting for you. He smiles happily at you as you approach.

You spin in a slow circle, taking in the sheer amount of flowers littered around the roof. You don’t know how he managed to afford all of this. He transformed the barren and empty rooftop into your own little paradise. Candles lit and a live musician playing for you.

You’ve never had anyone do something like this for you, ever. It’s a little hard to accept that someone would be willing to put this much effort in for you. “I wasn’t entirely sure you would come.”

You turn around and Leopold is waiting behind you, that familiar smile playing on his lips. You aren’t aware of the grin forming on your face in response. You don’t have much control over that when you’re with him.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He looks like he wants to respond but at the last moment thinks better of it. He instead pulls your chair out for you, helping you into your seat. “This is nice,” that feels too underwhelming a word for such an incredible gesture.

You sigh and frown as you try and find the right words. You don’t notice him sitting down across from you. You only look up when you feel him placing his hand on your own. “It’s alright,” he assures you.

It’s still so odd how he can know you so well after such little time. “This is incredible,” you tell him, undeterred by his attempts to soothe you. “No one’s ever done something like this for me.”

He looks like he takes personal offense to that and it makes you laugh. “You deserve far more than this. Sadly, it seems Stuart’s pockets do have limits and I’m afraid I would have put him into debt if I’d gone any further.”

You have the perfect mental image of Stuart coming back from the hospital only to find his science project has robbed him. It makes you laugh and you squeeze his hand once before drawing it back into your lap. He lets his touch linger on you for a long moment, seemingly reluctant to pull away.

“No,” you tell him, “this is perfect.”

You fall into a comfortable silence for a little while. Conversation mostly drifting toward what his life was like as a duke. You don’t have much to say about your own life. It’s been incredibly normal and you’re a little sad to find that you don’t have one good thing to share with him.

Nothing comes to the front of your mind.

Inevitably, you drift into the topic you’d both been so adamantly avoiding. “Has Stuart said when you’d need to return?”

Leopold’s grip on the fork tightens and for a moment he refuses to meet your eye. “Monday, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” your eyes widen and you feel something burning at the back of your throat. Monday, the same Monday that’s two days away.

“Dance with me,” the suddenness of the demand catchers you so off guard that you forget the tears. He stands, holding out his hand to you. You almost say no, you can’t remember the last time you danced and you doubt it’s going to be pretty.

But he whispers your name and something about his tone tells you to take the chance while you have it. You slip your hand into his, letting him pull you to your feet. He doesn’t sweep you off your feet and dance the night away.

Instead, he holds you close and you sway together. Like moving even an inch away from each other would hurt. “You could come with me,” he tells you. And you know immediately what he’s talking about.

You also know it could never happen. Going to the nineteenth century is insane. Even considering it should be enough to have you sent to a psych ward somewhere. Especially not for a man you’ve known for less than a month.

You try and tell him that you can’t, but he stops you. “I know, a preposterous idea. I just wanted to think about it.” You look up at him and find that you can’t take that away from him. There’s nothing wrong with imagining what it could be like with him. Even when you know it can never happen.

You dance like that for a little while longer, swaying against each other while the violin plays in the background. He whispers your name and when you gaze up at him this time, there’s a certain look in his eye that you know is reflected in your own.

He dips down, lips caressing yours gently before he’s pushing more firmly against your own. The world stops. Cliche, you’re aware. For the first time in years, though, you’re alive. You feel something other than the dull monotony of life. You feel excited and terrified all at once. Because you know you can never have this feeling again.

You will never meet another man like Leopold who ignites this spark of life and passion within you. Never has a man been able to make you doubt every decision you’ve ever made with just a kiss, but here he is.

Your arms lift like you might try and draw him in closer. His hands come up, taking yours in his gentle hold and squeezing. He pulls away from you and reality comes crashing back down. You’re not in love, you can’t be. You’ve only just met him a few days ago.

Yet, here you are, wondering if you might actually want to leave everything behind to be with him like the great romances authors write about. He smiles at you and there’s a bittersweetness to it, a final farewell that you know will break whatever is left of your heart.

He lifts your knuckles to his lips, pressing his lips against them like he never wants to part. “Goodnight,” he whispers your name and backs away from you. You watch him go, watch him leave, unable to muster up any words for him.

You can’t think of anything that would ease this gnawing ache inside of you. Nothing to soothe the pain for either of you. You let him go because you know if you asked him to stay he would. And how selfish of you would it be to let history unravel simply because you fell in love?

Monday. It is Monday. You’ve been coming to terms with that all weekend. You don't want to think about the fact that Leopold will be gone tonight. Your time together was so brief but you feel like you’re never going to get over losing him.

Before the night was over on Sunday, a note was slipped under your door. This handwriting was messy, it made you think someone other than Leopold had written it down, but you don’t know who it could have been.

It was a date and time, jump off the Brooklyn Bridge at this time on Monday night. Only an idiot would jump off a bridge because of an ominous note slipped under her door. But you haven’t been able to take your eyes off of it, not since you first picked it up.

Leopold had invited you to go with him. And while you might not have said no, the insinuation was clear. Your eyes dart to your clock. If you left now, you could still make it in time. What an absolutely ridiculous thought.

So, why are you running out the door without locking it? Why do you not care who slips into your home now? There’s this sense of finality within you that lets you know you’re never going to see that place again and that’s okay.

You never truly felt comfortable in your life. You always thought a part of yourself was missing. Or that you were always running late for something. You think you understand what you were feeling now.

The thing you’ve been searching for your whole life wasn’t halfway across the world, a hundred thousand miles from you. He was on the wrong side of time, or you were, at least.

You manage to snag a taxi to get to the bridge but there’s a traffic jam. You’re forced to jump out of the car and run through the different lanes of blocked traffic. People shout at you. Your cab driver screaming after you about your fare. You don’t care, the only thing you can think about is the note crumpled in your hands and the clock counting down how long you have to jump.

You’ll either be on the news tomorrow as an unfortunate suicide. An idiot who accidentally threw herself off the wrong side of the bridge. Or, you’ll see Leopold again.

You reach the ledge and you can’t hesitate. If you do, you won’t jump in time. You close your eyes, holding your breath like you’re jumping into your neighbor’s pool. Air rushes around you, whipping at your hair and skin violently.

It’s not until you hear someone shouting down at you that you realize you’re not dead. You’re lying in the middle of a dirt road, a group of people staring down at you with concern in their eyes.

You only have to take in the clothes they’re wearing to know you’ve made it. Before they can react you’re leaping to your feet and running off. You know you’re near the Brooklyn Bridge, or where it’s supposed to be at least. You know enough about the area to remember where Leopold’s house is supposed to be.

You’re covered in sweat and red mud. The people you pass by in the streets hide behind their hands and whisper about you. You’re not making a good impression on your future neighbors, that’s for sure. But, honestly, all you care about is making it back to him.

You see people congregating outside his uncle’s home. You know there’s a party inside, that he’s supposed to be announcing who his wife will be. You barrel through the people outside, shoving through the crowd and running up the steps of the house.

You can hear Leopold’s voice as you run, “The woman I’m going to take as my wife is-”

There’s a loud gasp as you come panting into the room. You can’t catch your breath long enough to speak but it doesn’t matter. The crowd is parting around you and Leopold is smiling down at you. He says your name and there’s nothing else that matters about the world around you. Not when you finally found each other.

#leopold mountbatten x reader #leopold mountbatten x you #kate and leopold #I just know this is going to flop lol #hugh jackman #hugh jackman x reader #anon

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gingernut1314 · 2 months ago

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Your Name

Summary: You hear someone calling out for you and you are desperate to find them

Content: gender-neutral reader, childhood friends, reunion after years, ace giving the warmest of hugs

Word Count: 520+

A/N: Just a little something to help brighten @sordidmusings day up! I hope you enjoy lovely and know I love you so so much!! 🫶🫶 also a one piece fic? from me?? omg I feel like it has been a while oof

↞ to One Piece Masterlist | Request Rules | Blog Navigation ↠

You heard your name above all the noise and staticy buzzing in your ears.

It was faint at first, but definitely your name.

Where was it coming from? Who was calling for you?

The crew around you didn’t seem to hear it, too busy cheering and laughing and celebrating to hear it being called.

You didn’t want to celebrate. Not one bit. Especially now when someone was calling for you. Calling for you in a way that had your heart restart and beat in an urgency to find it.

Your name grew clearer and clearer the more you wandered through the crowd searching for whoever was calling for you.

You knew that voice. It was one you hadn’t heard in years but one you needed close now more than ever.

Your eyes burned and blurred as your name was called again. You wanted to call back, but the tightening of your throat gave you pause.

But when the voice began to float in the opposite direction, you fought through the frog in your throat and called his name. A name you hadn’t spoken, hadn’t dared to speak, in three long years.

Your name was shouted now, coming back towards you. You stayed planted in your spot, knowing he would find you as you gave one last call of his name.

The crowd seemed to part and there he was. Shaggy, black hair that needed a good scrub, sun-kissed skin covered in a layering of freckles. His dark, near black, brown eyes eased upon finding you, thin lips pulling at their corners.

He called your name in relief at finally finding you.

“Ace.” You called back, voice wavering despite your wish to keep your upset nature at bay. His name on your lips was all it took to make the man you had missed so desperately rush forward, scooping you up in his strong arms.

He held you close, enveloping you in his sunny warmth you wished to stay within forever. You buried your face in his shoulder, feeling those tears you had tried to keep back begin to wet his skin.

You breathed his smoky scent in deep. A smell that instantly reminded you of back home. Of campfires he would put on for you, Luffy, and Sabo. Fires you and him would sit by late into the night, cuddled up next to each other. It was a smell you had craved to inhale again and nearly sobbed at its return.

“I told you I’d find you again.” He muttered into your neck, placing a soft kiss there. “Didn’t I?” You nodded, holding him just that much tighter as you sucked in a shaky breath. “Let’s get outta here, yeah?”

“Please.” Ace pulled away, holding onto your shoulders as he took in every bit of your face he could. His lips tugged upward once more and you drank in the sight of that smirking smile you loved.

“Damn--I missed you.” And before you could even think to tell him just how much you missed him back, he was grabbing your hand and whisking you out of the crowd and into the chill night air.

#ace x you #ace x reader #ace x y/n #ace fic #portgas d. ace fic #portgas d. ace x you #portgas d. ace x reader #portgas d. ace x y/n #one piece #one piece fic #ace #portgas d ace #my fic #a short fic for one special moot!#divider by saradika graphics #divider by strangergraphics

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sinofwriting · 1 year ago

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It's Like I Don't Know You Anymore - Max Verstappen (& Lewis Hamilton)

Words: 4,816 Summary: Y/N Rosberg, Nico Rosberg’s little sister, returns to the world of F1 after six years away. And she returns in the most unexpected garage. Warning(s)/Note(s): Takes place in 2022, Past Relationship with Lewis Hamilton that involves an age difference of about 11 years. Secret/Private Relationship(s), Smut in the Imola 2022 part

Masterlist | Support Me! | It's Like I Don't Know You Anymore Verse

Jeddah 2022

Lewis scoffs as he reads the trash article. It was anything but substantial and from a site that was more known for just recirculating already known things in their own words and for the occasional lie to stir up drama.

He had only seen it because he had alerts on his personal phone for her name and he couldn’t help but click on it seeing that it was popping up on an F1 related site. He expected it to be one of those top ten outfit things, he hadn’t expected utter garbage.

He’d know if she was returning to the paddock, he would’ve been told, especially during one of the first few weekends of the new season. The first season since he had won that he won’t have the number one on his car and his jaw clenched at the reminder that he was no longer the current world champion, that he had to stay longer, needed to stay longer. He wanted that eighth championship, and until he got it he was staying, needed to. And this year could be the year, would be the year.

“Have you seen this rubbish?” Lewis asks Toto when he steps out of his driver's room and into the garage. It’s filled with life as everyone gets ready for the first free practice session. Shouts being heard back and forth. The whirring of tools as mechanics make sure they’re all working and where they should be. “What rubbish?” His Austrian accent is thick as it wraps around the words. He glances around, looking for cameras, spotting none, he still lowers his voice. “Y/N,” the name is awkward off his tongue and it makes Toto flinch, no one had called her that, not unless it was for something important, like life or death. “Some blog reported that she’s in Red Bull’s garage.” He laughs. The taller man stills.

Toto after all these years still wasn’t sure what exactly had happened between Mouse and Lewis. He knew what had happened between Nico and Lewis, had tried to fix it, to patch it up, to stay neutral, but his preference for Lewis had been obvious to Nico and the brotherhood that had been so strong, had spanned so many years, ended quicker than it began as the season drew on and the tension got tighter.

And while he hadn’t managed to play middle man without one of them getting mad, shouting, screaming, storming away like a toddler. Mouse had. She had easily gone between the two men as they both threw fits. He still wasn’t sure how the girl had done it, barely an adult, but dealing with two grown men, but she had and handled it like a champ. Toto had never been allowed to hold Nico’s trophy like Lewis had allowed him to when he had won before, but he knew and had seen how Nico let her hold. As if it was not just his but hers as well.

Toto had expected when the 2017 season started even with Nico, leaving, retiring, for her to come anyways. Had set aside passes for her, made sure that she was in the system to be allowed in despite knowing that she would show up with Lewis, because that’s how it had always been. If she wasn’t showing up with her brother, she was showing up with Lewis. But she was a no show and when he tried to reach out, he was blocked.

She went full no contact with everyone in the racing world and at first Toto had thought that maybe something serious had happened, but she was still posting on her blog, though there was a distinct lack of F1, she just wasn’t talking to him. He could still remember the swell of anger that came over and then the shame that had quickly followed. How he had gone to Lewis to ask if she was alright, if she was mad at him, mad at Mercedes, only for Lewis to flinch, to shake his head. Telling him that he hadn’t heard from her or seen since the day after Nico won his championship. He could still feel the bitterness that rolled off of Lewis’ tongue as he said that none of the Rosberg’s were talking to him.

“It’s not rubbish.” Toto manages to say after a moment, trying to push back the memories, the grief of no longer getting to see Mouse grow up, because god she had just turned twenty-six and the last time he had seen her, she was twenty, still a child in many ways. “She is at Red Bull’s garage.” “What?” “She showed up after all the drivers did, waited I think, and made her appearance. Went straight to Red Bull. She had passes.” “She’s never liked Red Bull.” “You’ve never liked Red Bull.” Toto corrects.

It was a thing that had frustrated much of the Mercedes team, how despite himself, Nico, and Lewis despising Red Bull, she still liked them, would pop into their garage, chat with their drivers, mechanics, engineers, and such. Toto nearly had an aneurysm the first time he saw her and Horner talking.

“Doesn’t make sense.” “No it doesn’t.”

—

“Red Bull, huh? Naughty, naughty girl.” He clicks his tongue. She rolls her eyes, “You already knew that I was going there.” He laughs, “Doesn’t mean I can’t tease you about it.” “Was there a reason you called, Nico?” “What? I can’t check in on my sister?” She rolls her eyes again, but grins. “I just wanted to make sure that nothing happened.” “Lewis didn’t try to talk to me or at least not that I know of.” It was easy to read between the lines with Nico. “I stayed at Red Bull, in their garage, no one but Red Bull personnel came close to me.” “And you still want to do this?” “Yes.” Her voice is soft and she sits on the hotel bed, crossing her ankles. “I’ve missed it, the sport, the paddock, it’s nice to be back.” “And Mercedes?” “I have no interest in talking to anyone at Mercedes, past or present. They don’t matter, not anymore.” “Mouse. You will be careful, yes? I’m not there anymore.” “Careful as can be.”

Australia 2022

He expects her to be at the next race in Australia and he doesn’t know why. It had been one of the races she was always willing to miss as she hated flying there. Not feeling it was worth it.

So he pretends not to be disappointed when no photos of her arriving popping up, not even whispers of rumors of her sneaking in which he wouldn’t believe in the first place. The idea of her sneaking into a race made him scoff. It wasn’t her, that wasn’t how she operated. He knew her, knew she liked the attention of arriving at the races just like he did. He also pretends that it doesn’t hurt to think about how they used to show up together to races.

Imola 2022

“You’re going to win.” She soothes, rubbing his shoulders and he can’t help but let them drop, let her loosen the tension in them. “I retired from the last race.” “And that was the last race.” He wants to deny it, there’s still that feeling that settles at the bottom of his stomach when he doesn’t win, when he isn’t on the podium, in the points. But it’s lessened as he’s been with her. “And tell me, Schat.” He grabs at her hand, gently pulling her until she’s in front of him, standing between his legs. “Will I just win the GP or also the sprint?” She smiles and he can feel his heartbeat quicken. “Both.” She tells him, resting her hands on his face and letting their lips brush together. “You’ll win both, Max.”

He wins the sprint and then the GP and he’s thankful that she isn’t out with the rest of the team when he’s on the podium, that she stayed in his drivers room, waiting for him. Because he knows that if she had, he would’ve ruined their plans of staying private, secret. He would have kissed her, told her that she did it, she told him he was going to win, so he did. He won both of them for her.

Max does tell her that. He tells her that in between champagne flavored kisses, along with thanks and murmurs of his love against her skin as she sighs and tugs at his nomex.

“I could win every race this season with you supporting me, Schat.” His breathing is heavy, he’s in between her thighs, racesuit and nomex just tugged down enough for his dick to be free, ass exposed. She hadn’t protested, but moaned when he ripped through her tights that she was wearing underneath her skirt, and moaned again when he moved her underwear to the side. Rubbing at her clit to get her wet as he quickly prepped her before sinking into her. He repeats it as he thrusts inside her, high on not the two wins, but on her, on her support, her belief. “You're my lucky charm.” She freezes around him, her moans tapering off and he curses as he realizes what he said. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs, lips against her forehead. “I did not mean.” “I know.” She sounds sure, truthful, but her legs that had been tight around him, heels digging into him, have loosened.

“If I don’t win a race that is my fault or the teams. It is not yours.” He tells her. She nods but doesn’t look at him. “Schat.” He holds her chin between two fingers, holding eye contact with her. “You are my lucky charm. Not because I think I will win races because of you and your support. Because you make even the races I don’t win feel okay, like I haven’t failed.” “You haven’t failed.” She immediately says frowning and her legs are tightening back up around him. “You can’t win every race no matter how good luck it looks on you.” He flushes at her words. “I know you are different from him. You have shown that already.” She struggles with the next words. “I just don’t think I can handle being called a lucky charm yet.” “Then I won’t.” He tells her. She blinks at him, at how easy he said, at simple he’s making it. “But you said.” “Yes.” He shrugs, shifting his weight and they both hiss at how his body moves from it, both having forgotten that he was still inside her. But he pushes his building arousal away. “But I won’t say it any more. Not if it makes you uncomfortable.” She stares at him for a few seconds before smiling. “Ik houd van je Max.” He smiles back at her, kissing her. “Ik houd van je, Schat.”

He goes to pull out, unable to ignore the arousal building in him anymore, but not wanting her to feel like they need to have sex, but her heels are pressing into him, thighs tightening around him.

“Fuck me, Max.” He says her name, quiet and with wide eyes. She moves her hips and he follows them with a snap of his own. “You won two races.” She murmurs, breathing tickling his lips before she’s placing her lips on his jaw, moving them down to his neck. “Fuck me, Max. I want you to. Want to celebrate with you like this.”

She’s sucking a mark into his skin and he’s choking down a groan. “Just us two, our own quick celebration before you have to go with your team. Before I’m left all alone in our hotel room.” He starts to thrust again, pressing his lips against hers before she can say anything else, before he really leaves any earlier than he was already planning to at the dinner celebration the team was holding.

As he continues to thrust into her, his lips stay against hers, muffling both of their sounds, but as he feels his balls tightening, he breaks them apart, pressing her face into his neck, encouraging her to bite at him as his other hand goes between their bodies, to her clit.

The bite of hers against his collarbone when she clenches around him, cumming, has him hissing. He stills his hips as she comes down from her orgasm, still rubbing at her clit, but more gently.

“Where do you want it?” He asks, when she bats his hand away from her and presses for him to continue to rock into her body. His orgasm is quickly approaching and really he should be pulling out, just finish in his own hand in case he finishes inside her before she says it's okay. But she’s tight and warm and feels too good. “Do you want it in your mouth? Want me to pull out? Finish in my hand, feed it to you?” She moans at his words, at the thing they’ve done once before. “Or do you want me to leave you something? Cum inside you and have you feel it drip out, go back to the hotel with just your underwear stopping it from dripping down your leg and ruining your tights.” “Inside Max. Please, inside me.” He groans at her words, hips speeding up. He only manages a few solid thrusts before he’s shuddering, pressing as close as he can as cums inside her, muffling a moan against her shoulder.

His hips twitch a little in the aftershocks of his orgasm as he pants against her shoulder.

“You’re going to kill me.” “With what?” She laughs. “Orgasms?” “With your dirty little mind.” He tells her, slowly pulling out, rubbing at her thighs as he does. She laughs again and he smiles at how her whole face lights up.

Miami 2023

It’s Miami. It’s extravagant. It's the first race at the new circuit. It’s her.

She’s dressed in a soft color, bringing out her eyes. She’s wearing the bracelet he gave her when she turned fourteen, the ring her father gave her that once belonged to her grandmother. She’s not wearing the necklace he gave her when she turned eighteen. It’s back in Monaco, still sitting on the nightstand of what’s still her side of the bed.

She has new bracelets, rings, and a new necklace. The necklace makes his jaw clench, fists tighten. He had never thought to consider that maybe she’d be with someone else after all these years. He hadn’t, not for anything more than one night.

Lewis stares at the clasp of her necklace. Wonders if it’s worth anywhere near what he gave her. Wonders who gave it to her. Some boy with a trust fund? Some guy that managed to make it to the top not because of hard work but because of connections?

He doesn’t know and it burns alongside the anger. He used to know nearly everything about her and he still knows her, he just doesn’t know the new things and that hurts worse than not knowing her at all anymore.

He watches as Geri fixes the necklace for her and wonders when exactly she got so close to Horner’s wife. “Where exactly did you get this darling?” She glows at the name, “From a jeweler that Nico loves. I can never remember the name.” The burning inside him vanishes at his name. Something had changed, he knew something new about her. Necklaces were no longer just things she wore from significant others.

Spain 2022

He cocks an eyebrow as George comes up to him nervously, messing with his hands. “You alright?” “Yeah, I just heard a weird rumor.” His eyes dart away and George hates that Toto is making him do this but doesn’t want to think about why, can feel the headache from just imagining thinking about the why. “What did you hear?” “Apparently, Y/N Rosberg,” Lewis stills at her name and curiosity clutches at George before he pushes down and away. “got snuck into the Red Bull garage.” The older man immediately scoffs. “Yeah, right. She likes arriving at the races.” He raises his hands, “that’s just what I heard.” “Well, it’s wrong. A shit rumor. Anyone who knows Mouse,” the nickname leaves his mouth before he can think, can stop it, “knows that she loves arriving on a race weekend, all the cameras, getting to show off whatever outfit she put together.” “Just what I heard, mate.” George repeats, before quickly retreating, cursing Toto out underneath his breath as soon as he rounds the corner and is far away from Lewis.

Monaco 2022

She’s not at Monaco. She’s not at Monaco. The words are on repeat in his head. He doesn’t understand it. She lived here or maybe had lived here. Monaco was small, it was hard to imagine that he had never run into her since the end of 2016 but then again he managed to dodge him. So it was possible.

He just didn’t like the idea of it. That if she still lived here that she had made sure to dodge him, to make sure they never ran into each other.

Austria 2022

She doesn’t show up at Baku, her favorite circuit, Montreal, or Silverstone, but she’s here at Austria. He can’t make sense of why she’s showing up at the races she is. Can’t make sense of why it’s only Red Bull’s garage that she visits.

It’s driving him insane trying to make sense of it. Just like he can’t make sense of another rumor that she sneaked into watch the race in Baku. This one hadn’t been quiet though from George. It had made its run on twitter and instagram, though most fans of hers just like him, knew that they were false. Her blog was still full of talking about how much she loved showing up at race weekends, feeling the energy, interacting with fans, even if they were years old. It was telling that she never deleted them. And he knew that she’d never sneak into a race.

July 2015

“Lew?” Her voice is quiet, barely a whisper, as if she’s afraid he fell asleep. He makes a humming noise, keeping his eyes closed but pressing his fingers a bit more into her back as they dance along her spine. “When do you stop?” He frowns at the vague question, eyes blinking open. “Stop what?” “When did you stop seeing me as Nico’s sister? As a kid?” His fingers pause as he thinks about her questions, wonders if he really wants to tell her, really wants her to know. He takes a deep breath, in and out of the nose before letting his fingers continue to dance. “As Nico’s sister? Probably around 2011 and Nico wasn’t hiding you away from everyone as much. I still see you a bit as his sister, don’t know if that will ever change.” She nods, “and as a kid?” “December 2013.” He’s just happy that he doesn’t remember the day. “Nicole and I joined Nico, Viv and you on that yacht.” She makes a humming noise, curling closer to him. “Nicole noticed actually.” And he has to chuckle remembering his then girlfriend's reaction. “She hadn’t seen you for a few months and had never seen you like that. Told me that I’d have to help Nico out with keeping guys like us away from you.” She huffs out a laugh, but doesn’t say anything, sensing that he’s not done. “She said that and I looked and suddenly you weren’t five years old content only in Nico’s arms, or ten crying because Keke and Nico were leaving without you again. You had grown and you were fucking gorgeous.” She stares at him, unsure of what to make of what he just told her. Not sure how she felt that it was Nicole that had made him realize that she wasn’t a little girl anymore. “You know,” she starts. “I had boobs way before I was seventeen.” Lewis sputters out a laugh and she laughs as well. “Well, I wasn’t looking.” She shakes her head, before tucking it into the crook of his neck. “No, just waited until I was a month away from being legal.” “Yeah and I waited longer to do anything about it.” “Not that much longer.” She mumbles, grinning against his skin when he pinches at her.

Spa 2022 They're making a statement, not one that says much, her prior years coming to so many races and being friendly with drivers preventing that, but it’s still a statement.

It’s the second race since she’s returned instead of arriving before all the drivers or after when making an appearance in front of the cameras that she arrives when they are. More importantly she’s arrived with Max. She’s not on his arm or holding his hand, there’s a well kept distance between them. One that reads friendly, close, but not intimate. She wasn’t quite ready to go public with him, but she was willing to make it known that she and Max were friendly with each other.

“It’s nice having you here.” She smiles at Sophie, taking her eyes briefly off the little boy in her arms. “It’s nice being here.” The couch sinks next to her and she leans into Max as he wraps an arm around her shoulder, dropping a kiss to her temple. “Looks good on you.” He murmurs, smiling at his nephew in her arms. “A baby? Or a baby that looks identical to you?” “Well I’d much prefer one that looks like both of us.” She sends him a look, but can’t not smile at his words. “Sap.” “Just for you.”

Two days later she sits in a garage for the first time in years during a race and she remembers how much she loved it. There was nothing better than watching a race from the garage.

She watches as Max manages to recover from his grid penalty, making his way through the field and winning the race and she cheers with the rest of the garage, hugs everyone she can reach. As everyone runs out to greet Max, to watch as he celebrates his win, she stays.

Max didn’t have any impulse control when high on adrenaline, she knew exactly what would happen if she went out there with him, so she went back to his driver's room and waits for him.

Dutch 2023

“Mouse!” Lewis calls and he watches as she stills while Horner stiffens at the name. It makes him itch. Horner and the rest of Red Bull had always been the odd ones out, never calling her Mouse, but rather her name or girly, the last she took a shining to.

He could still remember the first time they had heard Horner call her that. He had been ready to punch him, but she had beamed at the team principal, jumping up to give him a hug and asking him about his wife.

“Lewis.” Her voice is cool and he nearly flinches at her calling him Lewis. He had never been Lewis to her, always Lew. “How have you been? It’s been awhile.” Nearly six years, he thinks but doesn’t say. “Good. So has Nico.” He flinches at his name. “Good.” His voice is quiet. “That’s good.”

Horner wraps an arm around her shoulders, “Let’s go. We’re going to be late.” She nods and doesn’t even glance at him as she and Horner walk away, leaving him looking after her with despair and grief threatening to swallow him whole.

Japan 2022

He watches as she looks at Max with tears in her eyes as the Red Bull crew cheer as Max gives his post race interview, smiling as he thanks the fans, smiling because he won his second championship.

As soon as the interview is done, he’s launching himself back into the arms of the Red Bull crew, they all easily take his weight, patting him on the back, cheering for him. And then he watches when as soon as they release him, Max sees her. His eyes going wide with surprise at seeing her.

Lewis watches as she leans as far over the barrier as she can, wrapping her arms around his neck as his go around her waist to hold her. He watches but nothing prepares him for what happens next, the pain that strikes his heart. Because suddenly she’s kissing him, tears running down her face and Max is kissing her back like he’s done it a hundred times.

He doesn’t hear it or see it, but one of Red Bull’s cameras does and it makes it into their video to celebrate Max winning his second championship. Her saying that she’s so proud of him, never been prouder, and that she loves him and the easy way Max says it back, no hesitation.

It’s that, not her kissing Max in front of seemingly the whole world, that makes him realize that the future he had imagined, the image of her that was still the nineteen year old girl he fell in love with, is gone and has been since the night that Nico won his championship and when she came to comfort him, he only had harsh and degrading words for her.

They never could have been together again after his accusations of her feeding Nico information, blaming her for his lack of winning because she wasn’t supportive enough, his accusation of the lucky charm she was supposed to be was nothing but bad luck just like she was and always had been.

He had deluded himself into thinking that they still would end up together, that her being the love of his life, meant that he was also hers. He’s deluded himself for almost six years and now it’s not just heartbreak that fills him but shame and guilt. Because how could he have ever thought she’d want to be with him again when he never even tried to offer her an apology or to tell anyone about her.

@cixrosie @darleneslane @fanboyluvr @quackquackhun @crystals-faith @andreea-15-25 @rewmuslupin @copper-boom @stopeatread @crashingwavesofeuphoria @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @topguncultleader @iloveyou3000morgan @benstormy @elliegrey2803

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #max verstappen imagine #lewis hamilton imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen smut #f1 smut #idkya verse #sins fics

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logansargeantsbabymom · 6 months ago

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We'll Keep Him Safe

Arthur Leclerc x Fem!Reader, BRIEF Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Follow my instagram account (THATS STRICTLY FOR THIS BLOG) for updates on when i post and fun stuff like that!

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F1 Masterlist

The Fourth of July was supposed to be a day of celebration, but for Arthur and me, it became a haunting reminder of our darkest fears.

We had welcomed Bucky into our lives just a few weeks earlier—a tiny Dachshund with big, curious eyes and a playful spirit that lit up our home. His presence was like a ray of sunshine, weaving joy into the fabric of our everyday lives.

As evening descended and the first fireworks erupted in the sky, Bucky's excitement quickly turned to terror. The loud bangs and dazzling lights sent him into a panic, his small body trembling uncontrollably. Arthur and I tried everything to soothe him, wrapping him in blankets, holding him close, but nothing could calm his frantic fear.

"He's never heard fireworks before," I murmured, my heart aching as Bucky whimpered in my arms.

"We'll keep him safe," Arthur reassured me, his voice strained with concern.

We brought Bucky inside, hoping the familiar surroundings would ease his anxiety. But the fireworks continued, their intensity growing with each burst of sound and light. In a moment of sheer panic, Bucky slipped from Arthur's grasp and darted through the open back door.

"No, Bucky, come back!" I cried, my voice cracking with fear as I watched him disappear into the darkness.

Without a second thought, Arthur and I rushed outside, calling Bucky's name into the chaotic night. Our voices joined by neighbors' shouts, mingling with the distant sounds of celebration.

We searched tirelessly through the neighborhood, our hearts pounding with every corner turned, every hopeful glance that ended in disappointment. Hours stretched into eternity as we called out for Bucky, our desperation growing with each passing minute.

By the time we returned home in the early hours of the morning, hope had dwindled to a faint glimmer. Exhausted and defeated, I sank onto the couch, tears streaming down my face as Arthur sat beside me, his own grief etched deeply on his face.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I promised we'd keep him safe."

I shook my head, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. We held each other in silent anguish, our hearts heavy with the weight of what might have been lost.

The next morning arrived with a heaviness that matched the ache in my chest. Arthur rose early, his determination unwavering as he prepared to continue the search. I stayed behind, trapped in a cycle of agonizing uncertainty. Every passing hour deepened my despair. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep—my mind consumed by visions of Bucky alone and afraid.

When Arthur returned later that afternoon, he was empty-handed and visibly exhausted. He collapsed onto the couch beside me, his shoulders slumped with defeat.

"We have to find him, Arthur," I pleaded, my voice trembling with fear. "He's out there somewhere."

Arthur took my hand, his eyes filled with sorrow. "I know, Y/N. I won't give up."

But as the day wore on and dusk approached once more, hope continued to slip through our fingers like sand. I stared out the window, my eyes fixed on the empty backyard where Bucky used to play. The silence was deafening, echoing the emptiness in my heart.

"I'm going out again," Arthur said quietly, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. "I won't stop until I bring him home."

I nodded, unable to find the words to express the depth of my gratitude and fear. I watched Arthur leave, a solitary figure disappearing into the fading light.

Alone in the silence, my thoughts drifted back to the day we had brought Bucky home. I remembered the way he had bounded into our lives, his tail wagging furiously, his playful antics filling our home with laughter. Now, that laughter felt like a distant memory, drowned out by the ache of loss and the relentless tick of the clock.

Hours passed with agonizing slowness. I paced the living room, my mind a whirlwind of doubt and despair. I couldn't bear the thought of never seeing Bucky again, never feeling his warm, furry body nestled against mine, never hearing the pitter-patter of his paws on the hardwood floor.

When Arthur finally returned, it was well past midnight. His steps were heavy, his expression drawn and weary. I rushed to his side, my heart pounding with anticipation and dread.

"Did you find him?" I whispered, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart.

Arthur shook his head, his eyes filled with tears. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. I looked everywhere."

I collapsed onto the couch, my hands covering my face as I gave in to the overwhelming grief. Arthur sank down beside me, pulling me close, his own tears mingling with mine.

"We'll find him," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "We have to."

But as the night stretched on, sleep remained elusive. I lay awake in the darkness, my thoughts consumed by memories of Bucky—the way he would curl up in my lap, the mischievous glint in his eyes when he stole Arthur's socks, the way he would nuzzle against my cheek when I needed comfort.

Morning dawned with a grayness that matched my mood. I rose wearily, my body heavy with exhaustion and grief. Arthur was already up, his eyes red-rimmed from sleepless nights and endless searching.

"We have to do something," I said quietly, my voice hollow with despair. "We can't just sit here and wait."

Arthur nodded, his jaw clenched with determination. "I know a few shelters in the area. Maybe someone found him."

We spent the day visiting every shelter within driving distance, showing Bucky's picture to anyone who would listen. Each place held a flicker of hope that was quickly extinguished by the sight of empty cages and sympathetic glances.

By the time we returned home, our hearts were heavy with disappointment. I sank onto the couch, my hands trembling as I buried my face in Arthur's shoulder.

"We're never going to find him, are we?" I whispered, my voice choked with tears.

Arthur held me close, his own despair echoing mine. "We will, Y/N. We have to believe that."

But belief slipped through our fingers like water, leaving behind only the bitter taste of loss and regret.

Days turned into weeks, and still, there was no sign of Bucky. My grief became a constant companion, a heavy weight that pressed down on my chest and clouded my thoughts. Arthur continued to search, refusing to give up hope even as the days stretched into months.

One evening, as I sat alone in our quiet home, the doorbell rang. I answered it mechanically, my eyes dull with exhaustion.

Standing on the doorstep were Charles and his girlfriend Alexandra. Their faces were somber yet tinged with a glimmer of hope.

"We heard about Bucky," Charles began gently. "We've been keeping an eye out for him too."

I shook my head, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. Every mention of Bucky felt like a fresh wound, reopening the ache of loss I couldn't escape.

Alexandra stepped forward, her eyes bright with something I couldn't place. "Y/N, we were out driving earlier today, and we saw a dog that looked just like Bucky. He was sitting on someone's porch, looking lost."

My heart leaped into my throat, hope clawing its way through the fog of despair. "Are you sure?" I managed to choke out, my voice trembling with disbelief.

Charles nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Positive. We didn't want to get your hopes up, but we had to tell you."

Tears of relief and hope streamed down my face as I clung to Charles and Alexandra, their presence a lifeline in my darkest hour.

"Where did you see him?" Arthur asked urgently, his voice filled with urgency.

Charles gave him the address, and without hesitation, Arthur grabbed his keys and rushed out the door. I stood on the porch, my hands pressed against my racing heart, praying with every fiber of my being.

Minutes felt like hours as I waited, my thoughts a jumble of fear and anticipation. Finally, I saw Arthur's car pull into the driveway, Bucky's familiar face peering out the window.

My legs turned to jelly as I rushed forward, Arthur following close behind. Bucky bounded out of the car, his tail wagging furiously as he jumped into my waiting arms.

"Bucky! Oh, Bucky, you're here!" I cried, tears flowing freely as I showered him with kisses.

Arthur wrapped his arms around us both, relief flooding his expression. "I told you we'd find him," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

I buried my face in Bucky's fur, my heart overflowing with gratitude and love. We had found our way back to each other, through the darkness and despair, guided by the unbreakable bond we shared.

As we stood together in the fading light, surrounded by the echoes of our shared ordeal, I realized that sometimes, hope was all we needed to see us through. And as Bucky licked my face eagerly, his joyous barks filling the air, I knew that our little family was stronger than ever before.

In the quiet of the evening, with Arthur's arms around me and Bucky nestled against my heart, I knew that we had weathered the storm together, and we would continue to do so, one day at a time.

For in the echoes of that Fourth of July night, hope had triumphed over despair, and love had found its way home.

----------

Taglist:

@luckyladycreator2 @itsmiamalfoy @jeffs77 @ilivbullyingjeongin @forevercaffeinated-lee @daemyratwst @gulphulp @callsignwidow @f1wintermoon13 @teenwolf01 @victoriassecret101 @hiireadstuff @formulaal l l @kazza72584 @zabwlky1999 @dark-night-sky-99 @rougekiki @xoscar03 @jess-wither @bountychanti @dhanihamidi @tellybearryyyy @a-panseuxalmess @love-simon @tallrock35 @iiaik0ii @Milkyymelanine @ilovsyou3000morgan @styl1shl1v @eddieharrington @hellowgoodbye

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sorrowsofsilence · 9 months ago

Text

Desolate Love • N.S

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader (oneshot)

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: Angst, angst, angst.

Prompt: His October eyes sang secret confessions as he poured his soul into the melodies of desolate love; but you weren't meant to be sung for, even if you loved each other first.

Authors note: I have never written anything like this publically before, but I'm feeling a little sad and angsty lol. I hope you enjoy the words that came from my heart. (ps. I know many on the taglist are here for smut, and this isn’t smut, but I'm just re-using tags since I'm not sure who enjoys what! Pls let me know if you don't want to be tagged in all things!!)

Tags: @sammyjoeee @cookiesupplier @th4t-em0-k1d @dsireland86 @whenthesummerdies @spicywhenspeaking @gretaswhore28 @veronicaphoenix @lma1986 @calleyx13 @somewhere-diamond @talialovesmiw @auratheopossumwitch @blackveilomens @skulliecadaver-blog @silentglassbreak @darkmxgician

No one talks about the grief of a loss that was never yours to mourn.

He got a tattoo; a constant reminder of the pain.

A reminder of what once was.

A reminder of what would never be.

You wrote unspoken words in your diary, quarrels that would never be said aloud.

Words that confessed years of feelings, years of silenced affections.

As your fingers grazed over the pages of yearning within the leathered journal, your heart reminisced the ache for unattainable amour.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you let out a quiet sob, unsure why you were even crying for someone who was never yours.

He consumed your mind; the way he smiled at you the day you met; his contagious laughter that danced through the walls in grandeur.

“Is this Henderson’s gym class?”

The voice behind startled you, and you turned, meeting a pair of ochre eyes. The stutter that left your lips caused your face to warm in embarrassment, as the messy brunette locks that fell across the boy’s features left you captivated.

“Yeah, I think so?” Your brows furrowed as you second-guessed yourself, even though you double-checked the classroom timetable a thousand times.

His lips spread into a dancing grin, his slight buck teeth chewing playfully on his bottom lip in shyness.

“Cool,” He stuck out his hand, long fingers wrapping around yours, “Noah.”

“Y/N,” You returned the smile, your ears heating as his October gaze never left yours.

You pulled away, briefly glancing down at his shirt, immediately excited.

“You like blink-182?”

Noah looked down at his shirt, pointing at it, “Oh yea, I fucking love them.”

He glanced up at you, fixated, “Do you?”

You nodded excitedly, “They’re probably my favourite band at the moment, other than the 1975, and Oasis, and-” you began to ramble, but stopped, afraid to embarrass yourself anymore than you felt you had.

Something flickered within his eyes at that moment; something you never noticed.

“Wonderwall?” He asked.

A song that became yours.

The burned CD he gave you collected dust in the corner of your room, aged and scratched from years of use. The disk player sat untouched, left as a painful reminder from when the tunes that played were melodies of hope; melodies of elation.

These feelings of grief consumed you, engulfing you into an overwhelming feeling of remorse.

The waves of heartbreak came and left, nostalgia shielding your anguish when memories flooded in.

No one ever filled you with such devotion and desire as he did; and throughout the naivety, you could have sworn it to be love.

It was the way Noah would shout your name from across the room when he saw you, or the way he would cover your eyes, asking you to guess who.

Every time you would laugh, placing your hands on top of his, saying you weren’t sure.

But you knew every time.

His long fingers would twirl your hair when he sat behind you in class, tugging the strands playfully before running his nails over your scalp.

“I just like your hair,” He’d say.

And whenever he picked up his guitar in the band room, he would strum the chords to your song, as if inviting you to listen to his lyrical confessions.

His texts consisted of using silly nicknames, and an overload of emojis to express his feelings. It was over the top, almost as if he was afraid he never came across as genuine enough without them.

Late night conversations went on for hours, laughing at the random stories and memories exchanged through flirtatious banter. You wanted to tell him everything about you, and learn everything about him.

You wanted to know his favourite colour, and what cologne he wore. His goals and dreams intrigued you, his fears and dislikes alluring.

You began to like the things he did, just to have something to talk about. You watched the shows he recommended and googled the things you didn’t know. Anything for him.

Noah would tell you how proud he was of you if you shared an accomplishment, or how pretty you looked when you wore your hair down.

He told you he loved your sneakers, and the way your oversized sweaters engulfed your body.

“You could wear mine,” He said, “You look good in my clothes.”

He would grab your hands, drawing silly pictures in Sharpie. It always left you frustrated when the image of an scribbled smiley face barely faded with each scrub.

But really, you would stare at it in admiration, blushing at the thought of his fingers brushing against yours.

“You like him, don’t you?” Your best friends pried, causing you to flush in embarrassment.

“He doesn’t like me like that,” You sighed, shaking your head, “We’re just friends.”

Just friends don’t play with each others hair like that.

Just friends don’t call each other pretty.

Just friends don’t text each other all night long.

“Is it easier to just pretend?”

Time went on, and your heart fluttered at every smile Noah shared with you, and at every word you exchanged.

The daily good morning and goodnight texts left you melting, succumbing your heart to his as he claimed it for his own.

Deep down, you knew he liked you more than just a friend. The way he treated you was special; there was no way that was how friends treat friends.

N: “Hey, your crush 100% likes you back.”

You: “Uhh hey? How would you know?”

N: “Well, I know who you like.”

You: “I guarantee you don’t.”

N: “Hmm, but I do? And I know he likes you back.”

You: “Sure Noah, haha. Go to bed.”

N: “I’m just saying. He likes you. Goodnight Y/N <3”

With a spiralling mind, your heart hammered.

Did he know how you felt about him? Did he just confess his feelings?

Hope.

It wasn’t until he pulled you into the storage closet a week later, that sorrow knocking down any previous signs of faith.

Torn.

“Y/N, I just wanted to talk… but I know you have feelings for me.”

His eyes bore into your own, sorrowful and sullen.

“Look,” he began, grabbing your hands in his, eyes glancing at your entwined fingers, “I- I just promised myself to someone else. My girl- ex-girlfriend, is coming here, and the reason we broke up was because I transferred.”

He began to ramble, unable to look into your eyes as he confessed his worries. Your heart began to shatter as you forced a small smile. Pulling your hands from his you placed them on his shoulders, causing him to pause.

“Noah,” You said softly, the words leaving your mouth a blatant lie, “It’s ok. I understand.“

His shoulders fell as he watched you. He brought you into a hug, squeezing you against his body, holding onto you.

Ludicrous. Empty.

You cried, your knees held to your chest in comfort as a shield from the feelings of abandonment. How could you be so naive?

You: “Just wanted to say thank you for telling me. I’m sorry if my feelings complicate things, I care about you a lot Noah.”

N: “I’m sorry, for everything. You mean a lot to me, and I care about you. ”

You: “If you knew who I liked all along… why did you say that my crush liked me back?”

It took him almost an hour to respond.

N: “Because I do like you Y/N. I like you a lot… but I promised myself to someone.”

The tears that fell from your face that night left you parched and broken, your world-shattering.

You found someone else a year later. Love that fulfilled your every need, someone to cherish you for you. It was someone who gave you everything; but your mind selfishly always wandered back to him.

You didn’t know that the day he found out you became spoken for, was the day he broke into a million pieces from a whole.

His heart was mutilated, head spinning with uncontrollable thoughts of regret.

How could he have let you slip through his fingers? All for some what-ifs?

He pretended to be happy for you.

Years passed, and you both grew. Both changed, both matured.

You got a ring, and Noah played in a band. You went to every show, you still showed up, even though you knew you were always a second choice.

He watched you the whole time as his fingers traced the strings of the guitar, and your heart yearned for him; screaming and aching and crying that you were just a body in the room.

It wasn’t until he found someone, that you told yourself it wasn’t healthy to fixate on past uncertainties.

It was rare you went to shows now. But when you did, you watched as he stood on that stage and sung; his smile brilliant and just for her.

But then you would meet his gaze, and you knew that the ochre was always for you. Forever yours.

His October eyes sang secret confessions as he poured his soul into the melodies of desolate love.

But you weren’t his: you weren’t mean’t to be sung for.

Some nights you called him drunk. You told him you missed him, that you wanted him to know you think about him all the time.

He told you he missed your voice, and how he wished you two still called.

He said he was happy you found someone to love you, because you deserved to be loved.

You knew he was lying.

It was the last time you talked, until you saw him sitting in the audience as you walked down the aisle, marrying a man you loved. A man who promised himself to you forever. A man who chose you first. A man who was not him.

Noah asked for your hand, he asked you for a dance. Your bodies swayed one last time in a synchronized beat, but just as friends; as desolate lovers.

You never listened to Wonderwall again.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you let out a quiet sob, unsure why you were even crying for someone who was never yours. You were meant to be happy now.

As your fingers grazed over the pages of yearning within the leathered journal, your heart reminisced the ache for unattainable amour.

A reminder of what would never be.

A reminder of what once was.

Noah got a tattoo; a constant reminder of the pain.

No one talks about the grief of a loss that was never yours to mourn.

#sorrows of silence masterlist #bad omens #noah sebastian #bad omens cult #bad omens band #noah sebastian davis #bad omens fic #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian angst #angst #sad poem #bad omens angst #angst fanfic #desolate love

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hayakawalove · 8 months ago

Text

A Way to Unwind

Summary: After a long day at work, how will you help Aki unwind?

A/N: I wanted to edit this a bit and reupload it on this blog. It was first posted on my last blog but that one got shadowbanned. @zeninsama helped me with the initial fic so shout out to them! They helped me come up with some ideas and read over it.

CW: Smut, Oral (reader gives), Smoking, Fem reader

W/C: 2,390

Credit to @benkeibear for the banner

Two cigarettes and a headache.

That’s all Aki was left with at the end of the day. Work had been long and exhausting, much of the same as the day before, and the day before that. Each day he came home with new pains in his body, pains he didn’t know were even possible. He must’ve been getting too old for this.

How old was he anyway?

He couldn’t remember.

No matter how soul crushing his work day had been, he could at least count on seeing you at the end of the night. Even if it was 2 am, you would sit and wait on the couch for him. He chided you for staying up late, but truth be told that’s all he ever really wanted. Someone to wait up on him.

Aki breathes in deeply while reaching for the door handle. It emits a deep groaning sound as he opens it, and he curses himself for not fixing it sooner.

“I’m home.” He calls out quietly.

The telltale signs of your presence were strewn around the house. The lights that were flicked on, your slippers haphazardly thrown by the door, and your lingering scent of body wash in the air. He never got used to it, but he didn’t want to either. He wanted to cherish it like it was the first time, everytime.

He makes his way down the hall and into the living room, expecting to see your head tilted back with a grin on your face. Instead he was met with empty air.

Aki calls your name, waiting several seconds after to see if you would respond.

A rumbling sound comes from the couch causing Aki’s brow to quirk up. He walks around and finds the source. You, fast asleep with your body spread across the couch. He could hear soft noises coming from your parted lips, noises he often teased you for (but he never really minded them).

Aki smiles and leans down to pull a blanket over you. You looked so peaceful. His thumb swipes over your cheek bone and a smile graces your lips. He is once again reminded of what it felt like to be alive, his body blooming with happiness each time he saw you, no matter how shitty the day had been.

Usually the two of you would have a late night dinner together once he got home, but he would rather die than wake you up. He would be able to whip up something quick for himself.

First and foremost though, he needed a smoke.

Aki shrugs off his jacket and places it on the coat hanger. His head was starting to ache from the tension of his ponytail. Aki works on pulling his hair down, letting the black locks fall around his face. His long fingers work expertly on the first button of his shirt to give him more space to breathe. He does this while pulling out his carton of cigarettes. He could laugh at the irony.

He never liked to smoke around you, so the timing of this was perfect. The patio door opens much more gracefully than the front door, and for that he is grateful. There were two chairs and a table placed outside, one chair for each of you, but he’d much rather stand right now. Too jittery from the day’s work.

He slips one of his cigarettes into his mouth and reaches down for his lighter, bringing it back up to his lips. After a couple of flicks it comes to life, catching the end of the cigarette on fire.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

His body drapes over the railing on the patio, shoulders finally dipping down in relaxation. Aki tosses the lighter onto the table, cursing himself for the clattering sound it makes. He watches as a cloud of smoke slowly starts forming around his face.

“Aki?” A sleepy voice calls out.

His head turns in response, glancing behind him. You were awake now, one hand rubbing wearily at your eye. You shove your fuzzy slippers on before dragging your feet to the patio. You were practically drowning in the pajamas you wore. It’s a cute sight, he thinks. The door opens and closes and you throw yourself down into your chair.

“Hey.” He was never one for many words.

“Missed you.” You yawn out, body still aching from sleeping on the cheap couch.

“I missed you too.” And he meant it.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

You watch as he takes a hit of the cigarette, the smoke clouding his face before wistfully disappearing into the sky. Even after it disappears, you continue to watch. Aki’s palm is relaxed and open as he brings the stick closer to his lips, his hand masking the bottom half of his face. His eyes are calculated as they watch you, knowing you have something to say.

“I ever tell you how good you look when you smoke?”

“What?”

Confusion rises in his chest with a mixture of flattery. Usually he would be ashamed to smoke in front of you. Where was this coming from?

“You’re really hot when you smoke. You’re really hot when you don’t smoke too, though.” Your shoulders fall back as you tilt your head, watching him. “But smoking gives you the whole bad boy James Dean vibe.”

“Please.” He chuffs.

A soft chuckle escapes your lips and Aki can’t help but grin.

“I’m serious. You look good.”

“Well thank you.”

He could tell you were still half asleep by the way your eyes drooped. He didn’t care though, as long as he got to talk to you it didn’t matter. Maybe that made him selfish.

You hum while your eyes drag from his face to his chest to his legs, and back up again. Eyes slowly picking apart each thing you loved about him, but there were too many.

“Would you ever let me touch you while you smoke?”

The question jolts Aki from his dreamy haze. His skin crackles in response, electricity coursing through his veins.

“What do you mean?” He asks, but he already knows the answer. Part of him just wants to hear you say it.

“Oh come on Aki.” You murmur.

Your body slowly rises and you walk up to him, hands reaching out to grab his shirt. His heart beats incredibly fast underneath it, while he looks down at you.

“Will you let me make you feel good?” You look up at him from underneath your lashes.

Aki’s adam’s apple bobs, body suddenly becoming on edge once more. It didn’t feel like the same anxiety he sometimes felt at work, no, this one was much better. Excitement.

“You don’t have to, you’re tired.” He tries to put up a wall, one he desperately wants you to breakdown.

Your hands grip his clothes harder while you turn his body, walking him backwards until he meets the wall.

“Let me.” You beg.

You’re sinking to your knees before Aki can have a say. He watches in anticipation as your nimble fingers work his belt, slowly dragging it from his pants. Your eyes look up at him expectantly as if to say, what’re you waiting for?

Oh, right.

Aki lifts his hand back up close to his mouth and takes a deep breath in. The nicotine does little to calm his nerves as he watches you pull down his zipper. Before he knew it, your face was inches from his boxers, lips gently placing kisses against his cock.

The fabric suddenly felt too suffocating.

As if you were able to read his mind, which, let’s be honest, you probably were able to after the amount of time you spent together, you pull down the last layer of clothes, freeing him.

His cock begins to harden at the sight of you on your knees for him. Just for him. How did he get so lucky?

Your hand wraps around his cock while you lick the tip, his body immediately going rigid.

“Fuck, baby.” He lets out.

Your lips wrap around him, taking him in slowly. You never look away from his face, not once. You watch as he puffs his cigarette again, letting out a shaky breath. He looks too good.

The warmth of your mouth coats him completely, nearly sending shivers over the rest of his body. You push down until you can feel him hit the back of your throat, and then you push down even more. Drool drips past your lips, sliding down your neck. The sensation causes a shiver to run up your spine.

Every one of Aki’s nerves is standing alert as he watches you. Your mouth felt so good it was making his head spin, more so than the nicotine was.

Your tongue slides underneath his cock, rubbing against the veins that lined his sensitive skin. Aki moans, trying to control his hips. Your head begins to bob, taking him in before pulling back out. It was by a stroke of luck that he notices his cigarette is nearing the end, but he didn’t want to be done yet.

One more left, better make it count.

He puts out the cigarette on the ashtray on the table. Aki licks his lips while watching you, his own hand reaching behind him to fumble the pack from his back pocket. It almost slips from his hands before he can get a good hold of it. He pulls out the remaining cigarette and holds it between his fingers beside your face.

You move your eyes from his face and look down at the cigarette. Your mouth pulls off of him, a string of saliva still connecting the two of you. You instantly know what he’s asking for.

Without looking behind you, your arm flies back and searches for the discarded lighter. Once you find it, you bring it back around close to his outstretched hand. You monitor it closely as you try to flick the lighter to life, thumb not as experienced as Aki’s. After struggling from the need flowing in your body, it ignites to life. You hold it against the cigarette, watching as smoke rises from it. Once satisfied with your work, Aki pulls his hand back and props the cigarette between his lips, never once taking his gaze away from your face.

“Good girl.” His voice sounds more dark than it did before.

You could get off on the image of just him alone, you think. Smoke flows from his lips as he watches you. Your tongue slides out of your mouth and licks the underside of his cock, while you peer up at him with doe eyes. You feel your underwear dampen beneath you and your body aches to feel his touch. But you knew you would get it once you were finished. Aki never left you wanting.

Your lips wrap around his tip once more before sliding down. The taste of precum fills your mouth, anticipation flooding your body.

Aki watches you with lowered lids, eyes peeking from his lashes as they flutter.

He wasn’t sure what he did to deserve someone like you, but he thanked God for it every day.

Tears slide down your cheeks at the pressure in your throat but you don’t care. He notices though. Aki notices everything. He places his cigarette between his lips again and reaches his thumb down, wiping away a falling tear. You moan against his cock and continue sucking him.

His core tightens at the sight of you. Your salacious eyes and puckered lips. It was almost too much for him. Almost.

He brings his hand up to pull the cigarette away from his mouth to catch a breath of fresh air. It was a wonder Aki was still conscious at all, there was next to no oxygen left in his body between the smoke and you.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that sweetheart?”

“Not if the cigarettes get to you first.” You pull back to quip.

“Very funny, hah” He says before cutting himself off with a breathy moan.

His brows are furrowed as he watches you, his soft pink lips slightly parted.

Your eyes roll back as you take him in. Each pant of his drives you, motivating you to keep going. You feel as his cock bumps against the back of your throat each time, bringing him closer to the edge.

Aki’s fingers flex as he takes another drag. You bring your mouth up for air and wrap your hand around his cock, continuing to jerk him off while you breathe.

“Look so good for me baby. Always do.” He speaks, voice wavering.

“Yeah?” You say, egging him on.

“Yeah. Always so, fuck, perfect for me.” His eyebrows are pinched together as he stares at you.

The two of you maintain eye contact as your hand moves faster. It glides easily from the mess of spit you made.

“Will you give it to me Aki? Want it so bad, please.” You murmur, licking your lip.

Aki drops his arm down and watches with his mouth agape at you.

“S-slow down princess. Gonna make me-“

Your eyes plead up at him as you jerk him off.

Before Aki can warn you, his cock begins spurting white, cumming so much it covers your face and your hand. The sound of him moaning reverberates in your core. Your mouth opens in surprise, but you don’t stop moving. You keep going until he can take no more.

“F-fuck I’m sorry. Let me clean you up.” He rushes and smooshes his cigarette out.

You taste his cum on your lips and it makes you burn with need. Aki is soon to return with a washcloth, patting your face down.

“You’re so hot.” You say, voice muffled by the washcloth.

“Thank you baby. So are you.” Aki grins, pink dust still lining his cheeks.

“Hey?”

“Yes?” Aki pulls his hand away from you once your face is clean.

“Want more.” Your eyes shine as you look up at him.

“I know sweetheart. You think I was just gonna leave you hanging?” He presses his lips against yours and you taste the bitter remnants of tobacco. It had never tasted so good before.

Aki guides you back inside the house for what was to be a long and fun night.

Tag List: @mikisspeak, @dinolvrrr, @riri-twix, @jaegersdiary, @hoeakawasupreme, @p00pdev1l

(I tagged some of you because you commented on my post asking if I should repost this so I took it as you were interested)

If you want to be added to my taglist for any future works please let me know!

#my writing #aki x reader #aki hayakawa x reader #hayakawa x reader #aki x you #aki hayakawa x you #hayakawa x you #chainsaw man x reader #chainsaw man x you #csm x reader #csm x you #chainsaw man #csm

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elvestoneanzelote1 · 1 year ago

Note

Hello Good morning/evening/night! I just stumble across your blog and i love your work •v•

Just wondering have you ever though of platonic yandere bsd with Male child reader who have Makima or even Nayuta personality and ability of controling people because that would be interesting

A:n- ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ sᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ғᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇɢᴀʀᴅɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛs I ʜᴀᴠᴇɴ'ᴛ.. Bᴜᴛ I ᴡɪʟʟ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴀssᴜᴍᴇ ɪᴛ ɪs ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛ ғᴏʀ ᴍᴇ ɢᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ, sᴏʀʀʏ ɪғ ɪᴛ ɪsɴ'ᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟɪᴋɪɴɢ sɪɴᴄᴇ I ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴏғᴛᴇɴ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴍᴀʟᴇ ᴄʜɪʟᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ.

Nᴏʀ ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ

Part 2 here

Part 3 here

Y/n- your name

Warning: protective, mention of mori.

Y/n is from the agency.

If one where to describe y/n, they would describe him as the most adorable child from the agency.

You were just 10-12 years old, with a charming innocent smile that melts every agency heart, heck even Kyouka heart as she view you as a younger brother.

Which lead to the question of the suspicion of your ability. The main reason why you are in the agency.

At first Dazai was curious of why a child in the agency maybe, someone brother? He assume but later on he caught up that your ability to control someone movements like a puppet is truly magnificent and dangerous.

He was reminded of Yumeno, the child at the mafia who can mind control others who have hurt him but yours were worse in a way as an unknown force seems to work for your part as it is known as force manipulation.

(I'm not that sure how Makima ability is since I didn't watch Chainsaw man and Some of her ability won't be mention as it is just going to brief one).

The more Dazai pry the more he realise the kid was not an angel but also a very demanding personality.

He realise that the flaw of you that every members on the agency sighed about leading Ranpo and you having childish tanthrums though Ranpo never won as you seems to cry out when he refuse to give you sweets.

"Can't you give me the choco-balls sweets?" You cried as Ranpo gaze away.

"No!"

"Wahhh! Ranpo-san is bad!!!" You cried and run away leaving a guilty Ranpo who later comes to you and handed you the sweets making you hug him happily.

"Ranpo-san is the best"

"Of course I'm! Don't ever forget that" he said proudly as you hug him while chuckling happily. Such a cute child you are.

The worst for Dazai was you love dogs, oh the audacity of you bringing a puppy into the agency hiddenly and it almost bite him!.

"Kunikida-kun! Who brought this monstrous thing!" Shouted Dazai escaping the puppy who seems to want to bite Dazai hand that was wrapped in bandage.

"Mo! Dazai-san" you pouted while holding your puppy who was waving its tail happily making Dazai pout.

"Not fair! You should like cats! Cats are the most adorable thing!"

"So? I like dogs they are cute!"

"So are cat!"

"They are loyal and tamable!"

"Ahhh! Take it away!" Scream Dazai while running away as you hold up your puppy tuning after him to pet it.

It was Fun to watch for Kunikida who first time enjoy Dazai misery

Maybe he will let the puppy come time to time to distract/punish the lazy potato from not doing work.

Well, regardless you were just a child with sweet personality but also a demanding, stubborn personality too.

But the whole agency knows that they would rather hide your ability rather than making the other organisation to target you.

Regardless that even president is like your grandfather or sort whom you cling onto on rare times to get sweets.

Most likely you annoy Ranpo to share his sweets, which leads the chaotic arguments.

But fortunately, Naomi brought two same flavour sweets so that you both won't argue about different sweet flavour which you haven't tasted is eaten by the other or sort.

You do have parents who left you astray but.. They did came to take you one time as you were taken a back.

The elders of the agency said they will speak with them as Naomi, Sakura, Kyouka, Kenji, Jun'churo and Atsushi took you away to play or sort as the others talk with your biological parents.

Well, let's just say you are just a kid, when you hear your parents left without telling you, you refuse to show how heartbroken you were as the agency members try to cheer you up which they succeeded.

You only hope your parents will come back to take you home, since.. Agency is good but you are not a detective and precisely your just 10-12 year old child who misses their parents warmed.

But that is only a hopeful thought as you are unaware that your.. Parents will never visit you ever again.

After all you belong to agency who can protect you, right?

"Don't worry, Y/n-kun we can go to the aquarium alright!" Said Atsushi as he notice your frown which turn to a childish smile.

"Really?"

"Yep!"

"Will the others come too?"

"Hmm? Why not ask them, shall we?" Said Atsushi who was the one succeeding on making you gleam happily.

The agency happily agreed to go.

Let's just say the port mafia were there to and Mori was confused and curious of Why Fukuzawa have a boy with him and why the whole crew of the agency in the aquarium?

Well, he was confused when Elise was the one approach you when you got lost around the aquarium as he approach you both.

"Elise-chan! I told you not to leave my hand!"

"But Rintarou! He is lost!" Said Elise who hold your hand as you were sniffling as Mori approach you.

"Say, aren't you the boy from the agency?"

"You.. Know them?"

"Yes, Do you want to come with us while.. We search of the agency member?"/

"Really?"

"Yes really" said Mori as Elise smile to reassure you and drag you with her as Mori just tag along.

Let's just say the agency were in panic in search of you.

And Ranpo was the one who use his glasses to find out where you were last been. But they found no one making the chaotic drama in the aquarium by the agency asking about your whereabouts to the people.

In suspicion that they might have kidnapped you or sort.

After all, your the most adorable kid, aren't you?

A:n- that's all good day/night to you all! I hope you have a great day ahead.

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heechwe · 3 months ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖⤷.𖥔 ݁ ˖.ᐟ

𝑰 𝑪𝑨𝑵𝑵𝑶𝑻 𝑩𝑬𝑳𝑰𝑬𝑽𝑬 this blog has officially hit 2k followers! After coming from a years-long hiatus and seeing the XO music video, I didn't know how to come back and write even if I knew writing was such a big part of my life I wanted to reinvigorate. And now, because of so many of you, I have found my passion and creativity again, and this is just a post to thank those who have been here for me in this new phase of my blog! 𝑼𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑼𝑻 is where I'm going to be super mushy so beware. I can't help it y'all, I'm a Gemini!

𝑭𝑰𝑹𝑺𝑻𝑳𝒀, I would not be able to continue on if I didn’t have all of you, truly. I feel incredibly supported and appreciated by all the new friends I have made over the past few months being back and also being apart of the networks I am in now. I’ve realized that culminating a community is a key element to the creative process for me, and if it takes a village to raise a baby, it takes a whole community for a story to come to life. I don’t know where I’d be without having so many resources and helping hands whenever I need them, and I appreciate it so much. I could not write what I have recently without all of you guys in my corner, so here’s to say I love you all very much and I am eternally grateful. 🤍🤍🤍 Just know if I didn’t tag you you are still tagged in my heart forever and I LOVE YOU!! @seokgyuu @loserlvrss @yvnempire @temptaetions @haologram @gluion @heesuncore @jayparked @mini-mews @babeyun @won4kiss @luvlucia @00kittenz @hollyoongs @yoursjaeyun @sungbeams @okiedokrie-main @jenoslutie @mygnolia @kwanisms @enreveriee @shadowkoo @varietae @sweetvenomnet @svthub @k-vanity

𝑺𝑬𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑫𝑳𝒀, This is just to say that this community of writers is so inspiring. I see so many incredible writers every day and I am in awe of their talent, hard work, and creativity. I aspire to be as talented and dedicated as the people I aspire to. This is all to say I just wanted to highlight a few names here because literally everything these writers make is gold, honestly, and I am a huge fan. 🤍🤍🤍 @yeonzzzn @simpjaes @taeghi @yzzyhee @flwrstqr @paarksunghoon @ja3yun @jjunieworld @p4ranormaluv

𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑭𝑰𝑵𝑨𝑳𝑳𝒀, full-heartedly, I want to say thank you to every person who follows me now and has been following me for a long time. I am surprised every day when I see a like, reblog, or comment praising my work. Too often, I deal with bouts of Imposter Syndrome and wonder if I am cut out to write stories that live up to the ideas in my head. And with even one person who appreciates my work, it uplifts me a million times over. Even when I feel my work is not up to par, you guys are there to remind me my work is not worthless and I’m not shouting into a void. So, I am so grateful to be here with all of you and happy to share what I love to do with you guys, and as long as you want to read, I will be here to write. And I appreciate all of you letting me hold onto my first love. 🤍🤍🤍

#[ 2k celebration ]#[ lexi talks ]#i am so happy to have reached this milestone and for yall taking a chance on me and my writing #i love every one of you truly #<3333

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hollowed-theory-hall · 1 month ago

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Hello, hello!!!I saw your post here with the answer to the question (If the age restriction was done away with, do you think Harry's name would have been picked for the tournament at 14?). And your thoughts on Cedric and Hufflepuff, and I'd like to know your opinion. I've always disliked the Hufflepuffs and Diggory himself because of their behavior when Harry was chosen champion. Cedric is always called a good guy, but he did nothing when his friends wore badges against Harry and laughed with them about it. Your thoughts?

I'm so glad I found your blog! You are miracle!

Hello again 👋

(Referencing this post)

Well, I don't dislike all the Hufflepuffs in the books (I like Susan Bones a lot because of the 2 lines she has in the whole series), but I do find it interesting that a lot of the students we see in Hufflepuff when Harry's at school, don't really exemplify Hufflepuff traits.

The Potter Stinks badges I'm kinda fine with. Like, I can understand it. See, Hufflepuff usually doesn't get the spotlight, and then they have Cedric Diggory as the school champion. Of course, they're excited. And then, oh, what's that? Harry Potter from Gryffindor is stealing the Apotlight again as the fourth champion! WTF? This isn't right!

For them, supporting Cedric and renouncing Harry is the just and fair option. Becouse Harry isn't supposed to be a champion, and they're supporting the "true champion". It doesn't really matter Harry didn't want to be a champion, it's unfair he was chosen as one at all.

So, I get it. I get the support for Cedric and resentment of Harry. It's other smaller things that make the image of the house fall apart a little for me.

It's Ernie McMillan making grandiose declarations not becouse it's the right thing to do, but for appearance's sake:

“Well said!” barked Ernie Macmillan, whom Harry had been expecting to speak long before this. “Personally I think this is really important, possibly more important than anything else we’ll do this year, even with our O.W.L.s coming up!” He looked around impressively, as though waiting for people to cry, “Surely not!” When nobody spoke, he went on, [...] “Er . . .” said Zacharias slowly, not taking the parchment that George was trying to pass him. “Well . . . I’m sure Ernie will tell me when the meeting is.” But Ernie was looking rather hesitant about signing too. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him. “I — well, we are prefects,” Ernie burst out. “And if this list was found . . . well, I mean to say . . . you said yourself, if Umbridge finds out . . .” “You just said this group was the most important thing you’d do this year,” Harry reminded him

(OotP, Ch16)

Or his general concern with appearance over substance, really:

Ernie Macmillan was one of the few still staring at Professor Umbridge, but he was glassy-eyed and Harry was sure he was only pretending to listen in an attempt to live up to the new prefect’s badge gleaming on his chest.

(OotP, Ch11)

It's Justin and the others snap judgment of Harry in CoS without actually being fair and hearing him out:

the snake slumped to the floor, docile as a thick, black garden hose, its eyes now on Harry. Harry felt the fear drain out of him. He knew the snake wouldn’t attack anyone now, though how he knew it, he couldn’t have explained. He looked up at Justin, grinning, expecting to see Justin looking relieved, or puzzled, or even grateful — but certainly not angry and scared. “What do you think you’re playing at?” he shouted, and before Harry could say anything, Justin had turned and stormed out of the hall.

(CoS, Ch11)

and saw Justin Finch-Fletchley, the Hufflepuff boy from Herbology, coming toward him. Harry had just opened his mouth to say hello when Justin caught sight of him, turned abruptly, and sped off in the opposite direction.

(CoS, Ch9)

It's Amos Diggory having no idea what "fair" is even if it punched him in the face and being the most insufferable character that isn't an outright villain:

“Ced’s talked about you, of course,” said Amos Diggory. “Told us all about playing against you last year. . . . I said to him, I said — Ced, that’ll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will. . . . You beat Harry Potter!” [...] “Harry fell off his broom, Dad,” he muttered. “I told you . . . it was an accident. . . .” “Yes, but you didn’t fall off, did you?” roared Amos genially, slapping his son on his back. “Always modest, our Ced, always the gentleman . . . but the best man won, I’m sure Harry’d say the same, wouldn’t you, eh? One falls off his broom, one stays on, you don’t need to be a genius to tell which one’s the better flier!” “Must be nearly time,” said Mr. Weasley quickly

(GoF, Ch6)

(I hate that man sooo much it's not even funny.)

It's Cedric needing to be nudged to tell Harry about the egg from Moody/Barty as I mentioned in the post you referenced.

Zacharias Smith being a bit of a prat is fine, it's not like he's ever pretending to be anything else, so at least he's honest. But the point is that a lot of the Hufflepuffs we meet aren't exactly just and fair people like their house would suggest.

And I love it.

I mean, we talk about how Gryffindors aren't all brave, like Remus and Pettigrew who are both cowardly lions who'd rather run away in many situations. Or how Slytherins aren't all bad, that "the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters" and that Slytherin is more than just power-hungry evil people.

Showing Hufflepuffs who aren't noble, just, and hardworking is great. In fact, it's essential worldbuilding. It's another nail in the coffin of houses not being the be-all and end-all of who a person is. Becouse Hagrid is wrong in what he tells Harry:

“Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin,” said Hagrid darkly. “There’s not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn’t in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one.”

(PS, Ch5)

Some Hufflepuffs are assholes, some Slytherins are nice, some Gryffindors are cowards and some Ravenclaws aren't smart. Houses aren't just about what you are, but what you value, what you want to be. I always saw someone's house as a mix of their traits, yes, but also their priorities, approach to problem-solving, or what they value most about themselves.

Remus and Peter may be cowards, but both of them value bravery greatly. They both looked up to James for his courage. There could be a Ravenclaw who isn't the sharpest, but they like to learn and solve riddles, even when they aren't any good at it. Slytherins like Tom Riddle, who value bravery and courage and despise cowardice like a Gryffindor, but they're so set on being great, of leaving a legacy, that the hat places them in Slytherin. Hufflepuffs like Ernie, who want to be noble and looked up to as a beacon of justice, but it doesn't come naturally to them so they act the part ("fake it till you make it"). I love this idea of Hogwarts houses that all these Hufflepuffs exemplify. Houses aren't always what you are, and sorting is more complicated than that.

So Cedric isn't the peach perfect noble and just Hufflepuff and it's great. Becouse people aren't always perfect and just and he's human. I would give him that he is a hell of a lot fairer than some of his housemates. But I don't think Cedric is the poster child of a just Hufflepuff — he isn't, and I prefer him that way. He's nice, don't get me wrong, he's not a bad person, but the idea that he was so perfect just because he died tragically sucks.

#harry potter #hp #hp meta #asks #dariliondar-blog #hollowedtheory #hollowedrambling #harry potter meta #wizarding world #wizarding society #hogwarts houses #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #hogwarts

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unconventional-user · 5 months ago

Text

Statuesque

I'm crawling out the sewers to re-introduce myself. Plus new blog yay!

König and Reader are relatively almost the same height SO I DONT WANNA HEAR NO CANON THAT READER IS 5 FOOT SOMETHING NO THEYRE LIKE 6'5 HELL PROBABLY EVEN TALLER-

Anyways, as you can tell I know nothing about the military nor COD, only what I've read and seen. Shoot me. Reader is intended to be gn overall but correct me in case.

pairing: könig x tall!reader

warning(s): uhhhh idk, kinda sucks? (I tried)

word count: 2.7k

* This work was created by @unconventional-user, no re-post(s), you may, however, re-blog. Thank you. *

'How tall are you?'

'Are you a basketball player?'

'Do you wear heels?'

'How's the weather up there?'

These questions were a constant occurrence whenever leave took place. It was a reminder how annoying and entitled people were at times.

Luckily, deployment had come quickly most times, so you wouldn't have to deal with them often.

It's not like there was anything to head back to when 'off duty' anyway.

Parents were several countries overseas as well as other family, friends, and folk. So being called back often wasn't a rare occurrence nor was it annoying...

After joining the Air Force, it was expected of your squadron to work alongside certain groups. You happened to be the lucky few that helped aid the Special Air Services pretty often. It was mainly with transports as well as to help fly troops on missions.

It was nice. Some of the best times honestly.

Britain was a really cool place too.

But the constant travelling back and fourth, US to UK kind of left this uncertainty of which place was your 'true' home.

Almost like an identity crisis sort of.

So after some thinking and request of separation, you moved countries alongside joining the British Army.

Many more years later you're a part of the Special Air Services.

You could say the years in the Air Force might've helped a bit by leaving such positive feedback to them when SAS asked about their new soldier.

Judging from their background, they described as if the "golden child" for helicopter pilots was amongst them:

A once in a lifetime.

A relic of some sorts.

A phenomen.

According to them, you knew how to maneuver the damn chopper 'as if you built it yourself'.

Thus becoming a well recognized name amongst the special forces more specifically.

You'd like to thank the impeccable flying skills for landing you on such a radar.

Still, most of your work went unnoticed the first couple of years in SAS til' they eventually caught someone's eye later on:

"That's some amazing skills there—hello, we haven't met. My name is Kate."

The communication analyst would keep in touch with you after that. She claimed a specific task force officer asked for your wings.

"You know how to maneuver a helicopter better than anyone I've seen in a while. And I'm not the only one who's seen you in action."

Years pass after that, you're still on par with transporting soldiers and the Task Force 141, means you must be doing something right…right?

Shaking off the commotion of thoughts, you drove till the view of a familiar, bordered gateway appeared.

Upon entry, it was time to head over to your station.

Some inspections and loadings later, a shout was heard from afar. Turning towards the culprit, it was none other than Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish.

"Long time no see, aye bonnie?"

Leaning against the rails of the helicopter, he gave a smile. In return you gave one back as you finished clearing the aircraft as: PASS.

"Good afternoon, Sergeant," you chuckled, "I believe I saw you yesterday."

Ignoring the matter-of-fact, he continued on, "Call me Soap. Remember, yer one of us."

Smiling awkwardly, you pretend to re-inspect one of the throttles once again.

To be 'considered' a part of task 141 was…a weird feat or way to put it overall. You were in their squadron as their pilot, but you weren't necessarily with them. You weren't a part of their briefings or any of that.

You were separate from them.

The only one who really 'considered' you as part was Sergeant MacTavish.

Not to say the others were assholes or something. Lieutenant Ghost often would brief a 'good job' or 'nice maneuvering' to you once in a while.

Sergeant Garrick and Captain Price also acknowledged you from time to time, always greeting when deemed necessary.

To put it into simple words…they like your flying skills. You're like a designated pilot for them sort of.

'Way to make it sound like you're just a chauffeur-'

Shaking the thoughts aside once more, you focused on what Johnny said.

"Come again, Sergeant?"

The man chuckled, shaking his head but repeated himself once more. He always found you cute yet attractive. A true bonnie. These small actions never ceased to add to his attraction towards you.

Plus, he liked them tall. He could only imagine you in heels now…

"Wait…so you guys are gonna team up with a whole 'nother group for the mission?" You asked.

Great. Now he had to shake his thoughts aside. Clearing his throat, Johnny nodded.

"Price got told he needed backup for this one. Apparently it's too risky to go alone."

"Sounds rough."

"Aye, Ghost ain't too fond of the idea either."

Didn't look like he was too happy about the situation as well.

Nodding, you understood the lieutenant's 'worry' about being aided by a private contractor unit. Another responsibility and potential liability overall.

Trying to look on the bright side of things, at least they'll be more careful.

"Well…better safe than sorry, right? Plus you guys won't be so bored on the ride there!" You internally cringed at your feeble attempt to cheer the man up.

Hey, at least it made him laugh though.

"Ye ready to deal wit' another crew of dafties 'en, bonnie?"

Laughing, you closed the door to the aircraft.

"I'll see you in a bit, las."

The briefing ends; said Austrian begins heading towards the designated lockers.

Kortac had been called back by the SAS, unsurprisingly. They’d worked alongside the particular military service before (more than a few times).

The report claimed a certain special ops unit would need some assistance on an important mission. The team was ordered to help aid as a “battering ram” of sorts, both pre and post mission.

Of course they knew just who to send alongside for additional aid to the team.

König rolled his eyes, slamming the locker in frustration. He really didn’t want to be here at all. In his eyes, he was assisting a potential enemy. The SAS wasn’t necessarily a foe to KorTac, but it’s not like they were allies either.

So case in point (to König), he was being forced to help the potential enemy.

There were other soldiers sent alongside König. One of them looked over at him, an eyebrow raised, “Alles gut?”

König looked over at the soldier and said nothing, hood completely concealing his annoyed face. He’d rather be anywhere else than here if he’s being honest.

Heading towards the helipad, where he’d meet the rest of his ‘team’ mates, König tripled checked his tactical gear on him before stepping onto the designated helicopter.

His eyes narrowed onto a familiar face—or rather a mask—he had met before. Ghost simply responded back to König’s hostile stare vice versa. Neither said anything, but sat on opposite sides of one another.

No mind was paid to the rest that got onto the helicopter, except for Sergeant MacTavish, who made his entrance known with a hearty laugh followed by an annoyed looking Sergeant Garrick.

After the rest got settled in, Captain Price stood center and went over some key details again, mainly about KorTac’s assistance on the mission. König felt someone’s eyes on him as a chill ran along his neck. He turned his head and saw the same soldier from earlier at the lockers move to sit next to him. Said soldier looked away nervously to avoid the blue eyes.

Komisch. König narrowed his eyes in confusion, but remained silent overall. He felt the soldier lean in, “Is this your first time working with them?” They then gestured their head towards Task force 141. König didn’t acknowledge them and remained quiet. Looking away, he ignored the huff of the—now annoyed— soldier.

“Ist mir doch...”

König ignored the subliminal guilt he felt by acting like he didn’t hear the soldier’s mutterings. Trying to distract himself, he re-checked his tactical gear.

Knife is attached to his side. His tourniquet was in place, perfectly positioned if needed. He had 2 extra stocks on his left thigh—

Thoughts were interrupted as 2 pairs of feet stepped onto the helicopter and the doors were closed. König looked up and he swore he heard himself swallow back a gulp. Thank whatever is up there that he had his hood concealing his face. König could feel his face becoming warm.

Completely ignoring the other pilot officer greeting the team, his eyes focused on you.

Who were you?

You seemed to be standing at almost—if not the same—height as König,

He absolutely loved that.

Eyes fell onto your hands, noticing the lack of a band surrounding it, which he also seemed to love.

He was unsure if he had a visceral reaction to your presence but it felt like when people saw color for the first time. He felt the need to hide his flustered face (even though the hood already does that for him).

Du siehst bezaubernd aus.

He thought, eyes not leaving your form.

As you and the other pilot head towards the cockpit, he couldn't help but ponder.

Was that what many consider ‘love at first sight'? Him? In love?

The idea seemed almost laughable, mainly because he didn't think he could ever imagine him even having the courage to even attempt to pursue someone. Let alone have someone finding him worth being with.

König (sadly) broke his stare by looking at the soldier who jabbed his shoulder. Bothered, he turned towards them with narrowed eyes.

Grinning, the soldier commented, "As they say in America; statuesque."

Stepping towards the helicopter, you could feel your mind calm down. You knew exactly what to do. Tis the moment. You're in the zone.

Ew. That’s literally so cheesy.

You thought as you covered your hand to hide the growing smile.

Your co-pilot turned over at you, “Everything ok?” he asked, confused.

Putting a hand down, you nodded, “Yep. Just…thinking of something.”

He gave you an odd look but didn't perpetuate any further, simply muttering under his breath, “...How’d I get stuck with the tall weirdo?”

You pretend not to hear that, letting out a sigh and stepping onto the helicopter.

The co-pilot flashed everyone a tight-lipped smile as eyes fell onto him first, “Proud to be working with everyone here.” But eyes quickly fell onto the person looming over him.

That person being you.

With a flashed smile and wave, you greeted them, “I’m going to be your eyes in the skies today.”

The assisting team nodded a ‘Yes Officer’ your way. Nodding to the group, you observed them until one of them caught your eye.

The moment your eyes landed on the gentleman in the hood suddenly time had stopped, not noticing when he looked back either. His eyes widened whilst looking like he had choked on the air or something.

He looked a little bit taller than you—only a little—which almost never happens.

He was also oddly cute (considering he had a full on sack over his head).

Suddenly self conscious about appearance, you straighten up and try to hide the blush apparent on your face. If it's obvious, nobody dares say anything.

It probably didn't help that he was staring back at you as well. Interlocked, neither breaking eye-contact till the soldier next to him nudged his shoulder.

Luckily, you were able to gather yourself and head into the cockpit. It seemed like the others had disappeared, leaving only you and him. But you surged on, unaware of eyes following your direction.

Finally out of sight, you were able to find your footing and headed towards the left.

Your co-pilot sat to your right.

Alright, it’s go time.

Snorting, you muttered, “...still so cheesy.”

“Huh?” the co-pilot turned.

“Nothing!”

It was finally over. The mission was done. You could feel the relief washing over as you were able to land on the helipad again.

No casualties (thankfully), except for 2 soldiers who were grazed by bullets. One of them being Ghost, who had apparently saved one of the other soldiers who were shot.

You still remembered upon landing to reach them on the field, Ghost was angrily dragging the other wounded soldier by the vest, holding his shoulder in the process.

One soldier yanked out a med kit as another snatched them away from the lieutenant.

The shouting could be heard from the cockpit as you flew away. You and your co-pilot ignored it and continued to flee the warzone.

As you were able to land, you slowly started feeling at ease.

Even though you’ve been flying for years, the adrenaline and anxiety was still the same every time.

The difficulty was always trying to shake the feeling of nerves off. A good cigarette always seems to ease them away. Speaking of which…

You reached into your lower back pocket; you cursed when you didn’t feel any familiar shaped boxed. Must’ve left the pack in your locker. Luckily, it wasn’t too far.

Headed towards said lockers, someone had walked next to you. Upon looking, no words were exchanged as you were side-to-side with the extremely tall soldier.

You expected him to say something. He didn’t. Simply continue to walk.

You decided to do so instead.

“Hello.”

The hooded man faced you this time with flat eyes. You stopped walking, so did he. Gulping down the nervousness, you took a good look at him.

He was taller than you, even if it was by a couple inches only. He was still taller than you.

“Sorry for bothering but…” chewing on your lip (which he definitely looked at), you confessed, “...I've never seen someone as tall—hell—taller than me. So I just wanted to introduce myself.”

You tell him your name, trying not to seem so upfront about it. He continues to look on for a while, in which you think maybe he didn’t want to talk to you at all.

“König.” is all he (manages to) says and continues to walk (although appearing dull looking towards you, he was internally sweating bullets as well).

“...Well König…I was wondering…if you would like to…maybe hangout, tonight. I'm actually going out to head for some drinks tonight and I thought…” you chuckled nervously while trying not to mumble, he however, cut you off.

“What?” König asked in what seemed an annoyed tone.

Not to him though, he just seemed weary about strangers, plus he didn't really know how to act around someone he seemed to have a crush on. He didn't even think he sounded rude about it.

Which was the problem.

You quickly explained to him, “Well…we don't have to. I swear I just wanted to offer maybe I thought you'd be interested-”

He cut you off again, “Why would I want to spend my time with you?”

Oh god König. If only he knew just how bad he was fucking this up.

Swallowing, you looked away from said man, “Um…nevermind I didn't mean to disturb you, please, forget I ever bothered you haha…” you slowly drifted off, trying to hide the wobble in your lip.

Forcing a smile you began to walk away from him.

König’s eyes widened as you began to walk away.

No. No. No. Nein. Nein-

Was tust du?! He thought as he saw your lips wobble.

Do something before they leave!

“Wait!” He blurted out. This time he didn't seem to care that the surrounding soldiers looked at him.

But when you turned around however, he felt his stomach flutter.

Oh shit now what-

He didn’t know what to say now. So he simply just walked up, grabbed both of your shoulders and explained how he’d love to go out for drinks.

Motivated, you just looked up at him, the genuine smile creeping back onto your face, “Really?”

König felt himself freeze, but nodded regardless:

“Ja.”

“Okay, great…Amazing!” Giving him the details, you headed towards the lockers, the–now–lovestruck smile on your face. König waved until he realized what he just did.

He agreed to go out for drinks. With you.

With you.

What was his issue then? Nothing was wrong with you.

But you wanna go out with him. Him.…now that's a different story.

He was freaking out–not that anyone could tell–König stood still in one spot, till the hand on his shoulder broke him out of it. It was the previous soldier from before:

“Gut?” they tried asking König again, who narrowed his eyes back at them.

“Ja.”

Can you tell this was rushed and kinda a little self indulgent? Yeah, now I feel kinda cringe. Also didn't mean to cut it off so suddenly, maybe to be continued? Maybe.

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ozzgin · 1 year ago

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hai,baby ...I know your request is closed now. And if you don't mind, can I leave my request when your blog is open? ( If no that's okay,you can delete this request) alright....So, I really like the butterfly demon that you made for Inuyasha and Sesshomaru on request.And I thought what if the fem s/o butterfly demon had met Sesshomaru and Inuyasha ( separate please) when they were little (the fem s/o butterfly demon was also still a child at that time) Dancing on a hill or mountain with the moonlight shining on her and her beautiful butterfly wings,Instead of being surprised by them Femin s/o elegantly stretches out her hand to invite them to play or dance in the middle of the forest . ( Headcannon)

Definitely! I’m very glad you enjoyed the idea, all of my requests are always so creative! I wouldn’t write so much if it wasn’t for all the vivid prompts. The whole atmosphere you described immediately reminded me, for some reason, of this song from 'A Troll's Fairy Tale' Otome game. It just set up the whole mood of the story.

Inuyasha/Sesshomaru x Butterfly Demon! Reader Headcanons: First meeting

Featuring a young Inuyasha and Sesshomaru and their first encounter with the child demon.

Inuyasha

Inuyasha was never a child to cause trouble. He always clung to his mother's soft sleeves, quickly following behind her as his tiny footsteps barely made a sound against the polished tatami. So whatever possessed him that night is, to this day, beyond his understanding. Nonetheless, on a certain night with full moon, he snuck outside and ran across the tall grass and up the hill until he reached a glade.

It was almost as if someone had called him by his name, a mumbled, merely audible whisper echoing from the distance. He’d been to this place many times before with his mother, yet now it looked entirely different. His small body cowered before the crooked, swaying shadows of the tall trees and he wanted to run away, doubting his intentions. That’s when the clouds cleared and the patch of open greenery was once again bathed by pale light. He hadn’t noticed the other person. A child, like him, carelessly and effortlessly dancing around, indifferent to the world. Although it couldn’t have been a human. Inuyasha was very much familiar with demons given his own family, but he’d never seen one like this. Adorning her back, a pair of sheer, colorful wings fluttered gently in the wind.

He must’ve been staring rather intently, because the mysterious nocturnal artist finally noticed his presence. You seemed pleased by the idea of having company, so you enthusiastically skipped and twirled your way over, extending an inviting hand. He barely grazed his fingers against yours when the worried shouts of his mother startled him out of his trance. “I think I have to go back home”, he muttered apologetically. “Mom is looking for me.” And with that, he begun sprinting away, occasionally looking back to see if the butterfly girl would still be there.

Sesshomaru

Even as a child, Sesshomaru had always been aloof and independent. It wasn’t uncommon for him to disappear at random times, so no one would question it, especially given he’d always return safely. Sometimes he just needed time to himself and away from others, in order to gather his thoughts and also train, hoping to close the gap between him and his father. Other times he’d wander out of pure curiosity, out of the desire to explore.

It was during one of his nightly expeditions that he felt the sudden desire to follow along a certain path. He knew very well where it led, to one of the cozily hidden glades he’d visit for his sword training. Though he’d never been there after dark, so this was a first. Once he reached the forest clearing, he shuddered slightly at the cold wind. It was unexpectedly chilly for late spring and the cherry blossom branches creaked with the breeze, scattering clumps of petals. He surveyed the area with his big amber eyes and spotted some movement ahead. A girl his age. Or rather, a demon. He involuntarily reached for his sword, expectantly. You were too focused on your movements to realize his presence. A pirouette under the moonlight, and your wings spread open theatrically once you were finished. Sesshomaru was mesmerized.

You heard the quiet gasp and turned to your audience, chuckling at the young boy’s baffled expression. “You can join, too. I won’t mind.” You said reassuringly. Sesshomaru huffed, embarrassed to be caught so beguiled. “Why would I do something so silly?” He retorted, trying to play it cool. He folded his arms and looked away, uninterested. “You can just say you don’t know how to dance.” You teased, cheekily. This seemed to have hit a nerve, as the boy glared at you and answered with a puffed up chest, “S-so what about it, I’m a warrior, not a dancer!” You shrugged and hopped on a nearby rock for some elevation, continuing your little dance. As annoyed as he sounded, Sesshomaru continued to observe you, a faint blush warming his cheeks.

#inuyasha #inuyasha headcanons #inuyasha x reader #sesshomaru #sesshoumaru x reader

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burntheedges-updates · 1 year ago

Text

over again, chapter 1

This is my updates-only blog! Follow me at @burntheedges

Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: you fell in love with Joel Miller in Austin, Texas, in 2001, but you thought you lost him and your whole family in 2003 when the world turned upside down. now it's 2024, and you find the surprise of your life waiting for you in Jackson, Wyoming. or, five times you and Joel fell deeper in love, on both sides of the apocalypse (and one time you did something about it)18+ minors DNI chapter tags/warnings: fluff, flirting, light angst, cursing, no use of y/n, no description of reader (see note below), smallish age difference (reader is 26, Joel is 32/almost 33 when they meet in 2000) (small for this fandom, anyway) (the smut comes later, y'all, we're just getting started here) a/n: Well, here we go! This is part 1. This fic is completely finished. It’s a 5+1 and for some of the 5 parts I’ll post them together (on Sundays) and for some I’ll post them separately (on Sundays and Wednesdays) just due to length. Obviously I'm posting this one early (lol). I’ll tell you whatever the schedule is for the different parts. I've paid a lot of attention to the reader's description in this fic. I've avoided skin color, hair type, body shape/size descriptions, and even clothing (except for one or two spots where you are specifically wearing jeans and boots). You are vaguely shorter than Joel. He does not run his fingers through your hair, and you feel the blood rush to your face or your face heat, but you don't turn red or pink. Please tell me if you notice anything I missed - I want this to be as inclusive as possible. word count: 1724 (for this part) series main post & chapter list | series playlist (w/ plot-related mix) ao3 | chapter 2

Chapter 1: Meet Cute

Jackson, Early Winter, 2023

You’ve been heading northwest from somewhere in Kansas, thinking you’ve never bothered going out this way, even Before, so why not? It’s been months since you saw another person. You’re not even sure the last time you spoke out loud.

You blame the lengthy isolation for how easily they get the jump on you.

It's just after dawn when you're rudely awakened - at first, you’re not sure why, but a second kick to your hip sends you scrambling to sit up in your sleeping bag, which is tangled around your legs. Looking around as you struggle, you realize you’re surrounded by people on foot and on horseback. Every single one of them is pointing a gun at you. You glance to the side and realize your backpack along with anything possibly useful inside of it has been kicked away from you. The woman who kicked you has a steely look in her eye that reminds you, in your half awake state, of the last boss you had Before.

“State your business.” As she speaks you notice the two men closest to her start to fan out a bit, but you don’t dare look away from her.

“I’m just passing through, I’ve been looking for a good place to spend the winter.”

Or, that’s what you would have said, if not for the voice from your past shouting your name in shock just as you open your mouth. “No goddamn way, is that really you?”

You think you must be hallucinating, because everyone you knew Before is dead, but then Tommy fucking Miller pushes his way in front of the woman who spoke. For a moment you can’t do more than stare at each other — him with his gun hanging limply in his right hand, you with your legs still tangled in your godforsaken sleeping bag. Then you launch into motion and start to kick it away as you find your voice. It comes out shaky. Or maybe you’re shaking all over.

“Tommy? But — you’re alive? Where the hell have you been? Wait, are Joel and—“

Tommy cuts you off as he pulls you to your feet and into a tight hug. “Holy shit, we thought you were dead. Holy fucking shit.”

“We? Tommy wait, are they—“

Tommy pulls back, keeping hold of your shoulders as he looks you in the eye. He’s grinning, his eyes wandering all over your face. “He’s alive, sunshine. Or he was when he came through here about a month ago. We’re expecting them back in the spring.”

You can feel your heart racing and your whole body feels hot and tingly. You’re overwhelmed. You didn’t think you could still feel hope like this. It’s terrifying, but you have to know. “He’s- Them? They’re both alive? Sarah?”

You know the answer before he even says anything. Tommy’s face falls, his eyes drop from yours, and you feel it like a sucker punch, as bad as it was the first time around. Your knees give out even though this is what you’ve known, or tried to convince yourself must be true, for 20 years. Tommy falls gently with you to the ground.

Your baby girl. “Oh god, Sarah. And Joel, he must have been—“

“Yeah, sunshine. He thought he lost you both. It wasn’t… well. It wasn’t good.”

You’re starting to feel numb. You have no idea what your face is doing right now, but judging by Tommy’s, it isn’t pretty. 10 minutes ago you were alone in the apocalypse, and suddenly you’re face-to-face with your almost-brother-in-law and you know, without a doubt, that your fiancé hasn’t been dead this whole time. Is this shock? It’s been 20 years since you felt a shock like this. Since you felt anything like this.

“Tommy, I… I need to sit down.”

“Well, you are sitting down, sunshine. But get up, gather your stuff. You can come to town with us. Stay as long as you’d like.” You nod, unsteady, and Tommy guides you carefully towards what must be his horse.

The day passes in a daze. You think you might actually be hallucinating, or still back in your sleeping bag, dreaming, because a whole, functional town? A commune, and a house they’re just going to let you have as your own? A real community? With your only remaining family, miraculously alive? It’s impossible. You float through the rest of the day and find yourself sitting on a bed in a house with indoor plumbing that somehow belongs to you, having just eaten real food in the company of the family you thought you lost 20 years ago.

You give up and go to sleep. (What else are you going to do?)

...

As you settle into life in Jackson, the knowledge that you might see Joel — your Joel, any day now — never leaves your thoughts. It’s like a drum beat at the back of your mind that only repeats his name, marking time every hour of every day. You don’t know how you’ll prepare yourself for it. How could you? You haven’t seen him in 20 years. Anything could be different. You can so easily picture him with a daughter, but it’s Sarah in your mind, not Ellie, who Tommy has told you a bit about. Every time you open those old wounds that you’ve done your best to bury it hurts like the first time. Would he still want you? Still know you? Do you still know him? Would Ellie like you? You can’t imagine not knowing Joel, or Joel not knowing you, but it’s been 20 years and people change. You’ve changed, after all. Some days you barely recognize yourself.

You express these fears to Tommy once, but he only laughs and says his brother may be stupid but he’s not stupid enough not to want you. It’s reassuring and rude, so, exactly like Tommy. At least some things never change.

The day Joel Miller walks back into Jackson you happen to be standing on the road near the gates, talking to Tommy, and you swear he spots you in less than 5 seconds. It’s like you can’t help but look to each other first, even when you don’t know the other is alive, even when you haven’t seen each other in 20 years. You’d know the shape of him anywhere and your eyes have never stopped looking for it, never stopped catching on a set of shoulders, a cocked hip, a tilted head, only to be disappointed when it faded like a mirage. When the person in front of you didn’t fit the hole he left behind. It hurt every time. Maybe it’s been the same for him.

Joel looks like he’s seen a ghost, and you have no idea what expression is on your face, but the moment you lock eyes all you see is the moment you first met, almost 24 years ago, like a film negative laid on top of what’s really in front of you. He’s older, of course, but so are you, and he’s still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.

He steps towards you and whispers your name like a prayer.

Joel fucking Miller.

Austin, Summer 2000

It was a Saturday morning in late summer, so not yet the hottest part of the day, but not comfortable, either. Your belongings were steadily moving from the truck to your new rental house under your somewhat careful supervision when movement from the house next door caught your eye. You looked up just as one of the guys from the moving company almost dropped your nightstand off the back of the truck, distracting you from the sight of a young girl, maybe about 10, rocketing out of the house next door and down her front steps. She was wearing a bright green soccer uniform.

By the time your nightstand had been righted and you looked back towards your neighbors’ house, she’d made her way to the bushes between your driveways, standing on her tiptoes and taking in all of the commotion. She met your eye and grinned. You grinned back as she called, “Hi, new neighbor!”

You walked over, stopping on the other side of the bush to introduce yourself. “Hi there, neighbor.”

It didn’t seem possible, but she grinned even wider. “I’m Sarah, that’s my dad.”

You looked up, realizing there was a man coming down their steps towards the two of you — the most attractive man you’d ever seen in your life. He was tall, with broad shoulders and the look of a man who spent a lot of time in the sun, tan lines peeking out of his shirt sleeves. His brown curls were a bit messy and his shoulders and strong arms drew your eye like a magnet. You caught yourself giving him a quick once over and felt your face start to warm, embarrassed, but when you met his eyes again you caught him doing the same to you. You realized you were both caught and you smiled, introducing yourself.

“Nice to meet you, darlin’. Joel Miller, and I think you’ve met Sarah.” You felt your face turn hot at the endearment but you knew he probably didn’t mean anything by it. Southern hospitality and all. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

You’d opened your mouth to respond when you were rudely interrupted by a crashing noise from the moving truck behind you, and you whirled around to see a box on its side on the ground that definitely should not have been. You glanced back at your neighbors as you excused yourself. “It’s great to meet you! Sorry, I need to see what that was.”

They shooed you along before you could even finish your sentence, reassuring you that they understood. “Let me know if anything broke, darlin,’ I’m pretty handy, could probably fix it. It’d be my pleasure.” He smiled at you a bit, just on one side, edging towards a smirk, and you did your best not to stare at his mouth. “Deal,” you agreed, grinning. Both you and Joel seemed unable to draw your eyes away from each other. You were stuck, pinned in place under his gaze until Sarah tugged on his arm and dragged him towards their truck. “Dad, we’re gonna be late!”

The view from the back was just as nice as the front.

...

a/n: ch 2 is up!

taglist: @morgaussy

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #x reader

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