#and 2. the kids Fully gave that to him. he didn’t give enough of a shit to name himself so he just let them call him whatever | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mythicalmaven · 1 month ago

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Gotta Be You - Charles Leclerc (ONE)

Let's go for a new series! <3 I always love writing friends/enemies to lovers, so that's what this is, yet again lol😂❤️ For my inspiration I got to give lots of credit to @vroomvro0mferrari, because her series Vexing Vacation gave me lots of inspo for the shared vacation thingie!

masterlist | promptlist ↳pairing: charles leclerc x female!gasly!reader ↳word count: 6,3K ↳warnings: not much yet honestly, arguing, tension maybe ↳side info: friends to enemies to lovers, semi slow burn? (not really slowburn, but it has build up until the actual lovers things unfold), the reader is Pierre's younger sister, reader is Arthur LeClerc's childhood best friend, Charles is her former crush, Charles is a jealous ass sometimes, age gap between reader and Charles (5 years, 22 and 27) ↳summary: In which you go on a shared holiday with both your and your brother's friend group, forced to be confronted with your former teenage crush Charles LeClerc yet again. The only problem is? You can't stand him nowadays, until you suddenly can.

Arthur’s apartment was as chaotic as ever, half-packed bags and discarded jackets strewn across the floor. You threw yourself onto the couch with a dramatic groan, your face buried in a pillow.

“I regret this already,” you whined, the words muffled against the soft fabric.

Arthur’s laugh carried from the doorway. “You’ve been here two minutes, and you’re already complaining? Impressive.”

Rolling onto your back, you shot him a glare. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. A whole month of dealing with your insufferable brother? I must’ve been out of my mind.”

Arthur leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed and grinning like the Cheshire cat. “You’ll survive. There are enough people going to keep you distracted. Plus, you get to spend a whole month with me. What more could you possibly want?”

“Maybe a holiday without Charles,” you shot back, only half-joking.

Arthur smirked. “Come on, he’s not that bad. Okay, maybe he’s a bit… a lot.”

"Arthur... I can't think of one thing that's not annoying about your brother" You raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to dig his own grave further.

The Monegasque chuckled and rolled his eyes "Nuh uh! I do remember very vividly how you were gushing about, and I quote 'astonishingly hot' my brother looked in that suit during christmas"

You huffed and coughed, throwing the pillow that was under your head towards Arthur "First of all that was 2 years ago" you said, rolling onto your back, staring up at the ceiling “Besides, the only thing worse than Charles, is Charles knowing he’s handsome. He’s insufferable, and he’s fully aware of it. That smirk of his? Pure evil.”

Arthur snorted. “Yeah, he definitely knows. But let’s be honest, you’re not wrong. The guy could probably charm his way out of murder if he tried.”

You groaned again, flopping back onto the couch. “Can't I just stay here, and watch the house? Doesn't your fake plant need a plant sitter, to fake water it?" you joked.

Arthur plopped down beside you, his grin softening slightly. “You’ll be fine. I’ll protect you. I’ll even create a no-Charles zone if it helps.”

You laughed despite yourself, shoving his shoulder. “You’re an idiot.”

“An idiot you’re lucky to have,” he replied with a wink.

You smiled at him, rolling your eyes once again. He was true, you were lucky to have him, but you also weren't so lucky with who his brother was.

“But you have to admit,” Arthur continued, “you kind of love how much he gets under your skin. You wouldn’t have this much energy to complain if you didn’t care.”

Your gaze softened as you looked at him, and for a moment, your mind wandered back to where it all started. You and Arthur had been inseparable since you were kids.

The first time you met Arthur, you were eight years old, tagging along with Pierre to one of his karting races. Arthur, ten at the time, had been sitting on a crate, furiously tinkering with his kart while Charles shouted something from across the paddock. He looked up as you approached, his face smeared with grease, and grinned like he’d known you forever.

“Hi! I’m Arthur!” he announced, shoving his hand out for you to shake.

From that moment on, you were glued to his side. Arthur became your partner in crime, the one you told all your secrets to, and the brother you never asked for but somehow desperately needed.

Of course, being best friends with Arthur meant spending time around Charles, too.

You were fifteen when it happened—when you realized you had a crush on the unattainable Charles Leclerc. He was nineteen then, fully immersed in his F1 career and everything that came with it. He had this effortless charm, a confidence that made it impossible to look away.

You knew it was silly, that he’d never see you as anything more than Arthur’s kid best friend. But the crush lingered, stubborn and unrelenting.

By the time you were sixteen, you and Charles had started spending more time together, moments where the age gap didn’t feel so insurmountable. He’d joke with you, tease you about your karting attempts, and you couldn’t help but think… maybe. Maybe if you were older, it could be something.

“Maybe if you were older,” he’d said once, his voice light but his words heavy. “But you’re Pierre’s little sister, and Arthur would kill me. Besides, you’re like family.”

The words stung, but deep down, you understood. And then there was that night when you were eighteen—too many drinks, a shared laugh, and the moment you almost kissed. But it was over before it began, cut short by the sound of someone calling Charles’ name.

You never talked about it, burying the memory alongside the growing ache in your chest.

When you were eighteen, you finally let it go. You and Charles were just friends, so it seemed. You started dating other guys, convinced that the feelings you had for Charles were a thing of the past, which they seemed to be. But that was when Charles started to change.

He became distant, colder. His teasing shifted into something sharper, tinged with something you couldn’t quite understand. You started arguing more, getting annoyed by the weirdest little things. The playful insults and your arguments became the foundation of your relationship—barbed words masking unresolved tension.

Now, years later, it was all just… frustrating. You didn’t understand him, and you didn’t want to. Yet you both couldn't seem to let it each other be. Even though you were now respectively 21 and 26, you both had this childish need to keep pushing each others buttons.

The sound of the doorbell snapped you out of your thoughts. Arthur jumped up, grinning. “Showtime. Come on, let’s get this circus started.”

You followed him to the door, your heart sinking as soon as it swung open. There he was—Charles Leclerc, the devil himself, smirk firmly in place. Beside him stood Pierre and Kika, both smiling warmly.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath. “Let the torture begin.”

Pierre and Kika made their way in, following Arthur to the living room, leaving you standing there alone with Charles.

Charles’s eyes flicked to you, his smirk widening. “Miss me already?”

You rolled your eyes at the Monegasque driver, scoffing "I’d miss you more if you came with a mute button."

Before Charles had the chance to reply to your comment, Dennis Hauger appeared behind Charles, greeting both of you with a smirk. Saved by the bell

"HAUG!" you exclaimed happily, making your way over to him, embracing him.

Dennis returned the hug immediately, settling his arms around your waist "Hi there, frenchie" he chuckled back at you, using of his standard nickname for you.

You tucked your head in the crook of his neck "You just saved me from the devil, thanks" you whispered jokingly to him, low enough for Charles to not hear.

What you didn't notice tho, was the way Charles clenched his jaw at the sight in front of him, or the way he immediately made his way out of the hallway, trying to get away from the interaction in front of him. It was jealousy, pure jealousy. Something he was trying to deny with all his willpower.

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The house had been buzzing with activity for the past hour as everyone settled into their rooms. Most of the group had scrambled to claim their ideal space as soon as they walked in, leaving you and Kika to handle the grocery run. You didn’t mind—there wasn’t a room you particularly wanted, and you figured Arthur would sort it out for you while you were gone.

When you returned and put everything away, you made your way to the living room, where Arthur was lounging on the couch next to Dennis. You perched on the armrest beside him, your hands on your hips.

Arthur didn’t even look at you before sighing dramatically. “I’m sorry in advance,” he muttered, sounding uncharacteristically guilty.

You raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t even said anything yet, and you’re already apologizing. That’s reassuring.”

Arthur finally glanced up, a smirk creeping onto his face. “You weren’t going to ask me about your room for the month?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, catching the teasing tone in his voice. “Okay, and if I was? I already told you I don’t care which room I get. I’m not picky.”

Dennis snorted from his seat. “Oh, you’ll care soon enough.”

Confused, you glanced between them, their smirks only growing. “What are you two on about? Just tell me where the room is, and I’ll figure it out myself.”

Arthur shrugged, clearly enjoying himself. “Upstairs. There are two bedrooms on that floor. Yours is the one on the right.”

“Thanks,” you said, pushing off the armrest. “Honestly, boys, it can’t be that bad.”

As you walked away, you heard Arthur mutter behind you, “Sweet, innocent girl.”

The comment made you roll your eyes, but you brushed it off. Surely they were just being dramatic. When you reached the room, you stepped inside and surveyed the space. It was far from bad—it was actually quite nice. The room was spacious, with large windows that let in plenty of light. You noticed a set of balcony doors and walked over to them, opening them to find a stunning view of the beach. The balcony extended to the next room, but that wasn’t anything that bothered you.

Everything about the room seemed perfect. What were they even talking about?

Feeling satisfied, you turned your attention to the rest of the space, spotting a door near the wardrobe. It must lead to the bathroom. Curious, you opened it, stepping inside—and froze in your tracks.

There, in the middle of the bathroom, stood Charles, unpacking his toiletries into the cabinet. His back was to you, but the sight of him was enough to make your stomach drop. You quickly scanned the room and spotted another door on the opposite wall, clearly leading to his bedroom.

Oh. That’s what they meant.

“No way. This is not happening,” you huffed, throwing your hands in the air.

Charles turned at the sound of your voice, his expression shifting from surprise to irritation. “What are you doing here?” he snapped.

"About to murder either you, or the idiot that came up with the clever idea to put me in a room next to most insufferable person on mother earth" you snapped back at him.

Charles felt slightly hurt at your insult, he knew he caused this himself, but he figured that trying to get over you was easier when you hated him than when you were your way too sweet self.

Charles rolled his eyes, going back to his unpacking. "Might as well consider killing Joris then, because up until you came barging in, I thought he would be staying in that room" he said, rolling his eyes, mindlessly continuing to unpack his stuff

You crossed your arms, glaring at his nonchalant attitude. “Well, congratulations on your little upgrade. This arrangement is absolutely not happening. I’m switching rooms.”

“Good luck with that,” Charles muttered. “But if you’re planning to kill Joris, I’d like to watch.”

You ignored his sarcasm, muttering curses under your breath as you stormed out of the bathroom and downstairs into the kitchen. Your frustration was boiling over as you barged in, startling the group gathered around the table. Pierre, Kika, Arthur, Dennis, and Joris all looked up at you in varying states of confusion.

“Joris,” you snapped, pointing a finger at him. “I will kill you.”

Joris blinked, holding his hands up in defense. “What did I do?”

“Apparently you figured it was a good idea to take the last decent room, and left me with the one upstairs,” you hissed. “Which, by the way, shares a bathroom with Charles.”

Arthur burst into laughter, nearly doubling over. “You just figured that out? Oh, this is gold.”

Joris’ confused expression turned sheepish. “Okay, wait. I didn’t know that if I didn’t take the upstairs room, you’d end up with it. I thought the downstairs one was just the last one left.”

“And you didn’t think about who would be upstairs with Charles?” you snapped, your tone laced with sarcasm.

Joris shrugged, an amused grin tugging at his lips. “I mean... I thought you’d appreciate the proximity to him.”

You groaned, turning to Pierre, who was clearly trying to stifle his laughter. “Pierre, switch rooms with me. Please.”

Pierre leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Yeah, no. That’s not happening. Kika and I have a nice setup downstairs, and I’m not about to share a bathroom with anyone. We need our privacy.”

“I need privacy too!” you argued, your voice rising in frustration.

“It’s different,” Pierre said, shooting you a pointed look. “Couples need privacy for... other things.”

“Ew. Stop. I don’t want to know,” you groaned, covering your ears dramatically.

You spun around to Arthur, narrowing your eyes. “You. Switch with me.”

Arthur raised his hands, laughing. “No can do. Charles would murder me. I snore too loud, and he’s all about his beauty sleep. He’d kick me out within a day.”

Your gaze shifted to Dennis, who immediately held up his hands. “Don’t even think about it. I’ve got the best room in the house—big bed, balcony, bubble bath. I’m not giving that up.”

You groaned loudly, throwing your head back. “You’re all useless.”

He leaned back smugly, grinning as if he’d just won the lottery. Then, as if to soften the blow, he added, “Well, I would’ve offered to let you stay in my room with me, but I think that would be the cause of my death.” His eyes flicked pointedly to your brother.

“Fair point,” Pierre said flatly, without missing a beat.

You rolled your eyes, exasperated. “No, that’s off-limits. But sharing a bathroom—with connecting doors—with the one guy you’ve always said was ‘off-limits’ is somehow not an issue? You’re a hypocritical ass.”

Pierre shrugged, a smug grin tugging at his lips. “First of all, sleeping in someone’s bed is completely different than sharing a bathroom,” he countered, folding his arms.

“And second,” he added with a knowing look, “the only reason I ever said that was because you had a little teenage crush on my best friend. And let’s be honest, at the time, he was way too old for you. But...” He trailed off, chuckling to himself. “I guess sticking to that would make me a bit of a hypocrite, considering I’m dating one of your friends now, and our age gap is even bigger.”

You groaned loudly, knowing you couldn’t win this side of the argument. “Whatever,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “That doesn’t change the fact that you know he’s the one person I want to avoid the most. You know I hate him,” you complained. “I can’t even stand the idea of his existence, let alone sharing a goddamn bathroom with him.”

“Relax,” Pierre said with a smirk. “It’s just a bathroom. There’s a lock on the door. You’ll survive.”

“Exactly,” came Charles’ voice from behind you. You spun around to find him leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed and an infuriatingly smug look on his face. “It’s not like sharing a bathroom means we’re obligated to shower together.”

“Oh, don’t tempt me,” you snapped. “It might be worth it just to drown you.”

The group erupted in laughter, and Charles rolled his eyes. “You’re acting like a child. Just knock before you go in. Problem solved.”

You glared at him, furious “Why are you even meddling, you weren't even part of this conversation, are you just lurking around waiting to butt in on conversations?” you snapped.

Charles smirked, clearly enjoying your frustration. “Not my fault you’re loud enough to hear from every other room,” he replied, his tone light but with an edge of sarcasm.

Your hands balled into fists at your sides as you shot him a glare. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here we are,” he quipped, unfazed by your fury.

You sighed loudly "See, this is what I mean, this is what y'all are burdening me with" you complained, glaring at him once more, your frustration bubbling over. “You’re the last person I’d ever want to share a bathroom with.”

Charles smirked, stepping further into the kitchen, inching closer to you, until he was close enough to whisper in your ear. “Good thing it’s not up to you, then.”

Your hands balled into fists at your sides as you shot him a glare, your voice sharp and dripping with annoyance. “Fuck you, Charles.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing wider as he tilted his head slightly, feigning innocence. “Tempting,” he drawled, his voice low and teasing, “but I don’t think you could handle it.”

Pierre clapped his hands together, interrupting the argument. “Alright, enough. Give it a try for a few days. If it’s really that bad, we’ll figure something out. But I doubt it’ll be the end of the world.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Fine. But if I end up committing a murder, just know it’s on all of you.”

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After the heated argument downstairs, you stormed up the stairs to your designated bedroom, Arthur trailing behind you with his ever-present smug smirk. His long strides brought him into the room before you could even process your frustration fully. He flopped unceremoniously onto your bed, bouncing slightly as he sprawled out, his arms behind his head like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Meanwhile, you busied yourself with unpacking your suitcase, each item you placed in the wardrobe an outlet for your simmering annoyance. The rhythmic sound of hangers sliding against the bar was oddly soothing—until you caught Arthur watching you with that infuriating grin plastered across his face.

"What?" you snapped, not even turning to face him.

Arthur’s eyes twinkled with mischief. "Oh, nothing. Just waiting for you to protest again"

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. Before you could even begin to voice your frustration, Arthur sat up, one hand raised in mock surrender. "Nope! Let me stop you right there. This wasn’t just on me.”

Without thinking, you grabbed a pair of joggers from your suitcase and lobbed them at him. The fabric smacked him square in the face with a satisfying thwack.

“Merde!” he exclaimed, his laughter spilling out as he dramatically tossed the joggers aside. “Violence is not the answer, you know.”

“Neither is being useless,” you shot back, crossing your arms. "Arthur, you could have at least tried something! Anything would have been better than this.”

He leaned back against the headboard, folding his arms as if settling in for a long discussion. “Trust me, I did. But there wasn’t much to work with. Your brother doesn’t want to switch because—well, come on, you know why. He’s here with his girlfriend, and honestly, he made a fair point.”

You made a disgusted face, wrinkling your nose. “Fair point or not, it still sucks for me.”

Arthur shrugged nonchalantly. “And then there’s Joris. He’s obviously got a thing for Gigi, and guess what? Gigi sleeps downstairs. Perfect excuse for him to ‘accidentally’ run into her more often.”

“Gross,” you muttered, shoving another shirt into the wardrobe.

Arthur grinned, clearly enjoying your irritation. “And let’s be real: Inès and Gigi met Charles today. Can you imagine how awkward it’d be for either of them to share a bathroom with him? What if they walk in each other accidentally. That’s like… social torture. At least you’ve known him for years.”

You spun around, throwing your hands in the air. “I’M UNCOMFORTABLE TOO, ARTHUR!”

“Yeah, but that’s just you two being… you two,” he quipped, gesturing vaguely between you. “It’s a highly unlogical—”

“Illogical,” you corrected sharply.

“Whatever.” He waved a hand dismissively. “It’s an illogical issue between the two of you. At least you know him well enough to, I don’t know, coexist?”

You exhaled sharply, knowing he wasn’t entirely wrong but unwilling to admit it. “Fine. But Dennis? He’s my friend! He could have helped me out instead of hogging the nicest room in the house.”

Arthur snorted. “You know Dennis and Paul! I’m pretty sure they're just quietly rooting for some ‘enemies to lovers’ drama between you and Charles. Probably think it’s entertaining"

You stared at him in disbelief, heat rising to your cheeks. “Oh my God. Why do you all think this is some slow-burn romance novel? I’m not in love with him anymore. That was just a stupid teenage crush!”

Arthur grinned wider, clearly delighted. “Sure, sure. But that doesn’t mean you two don’t have… something.”

“Ugh!” You grabbed a pillow and launched it at him, but he easily dodged, laughing as he slid off the bed to avoid further projectiles.

“Relax, I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking,” he teased, leaning casually against the wall. “And for the record, I would have swapped with you. But Charles would kill me. You know how I snore, and—let’s be real—we’ve already lived together long enough. He’d probably prefer sharing a bathroom with you than enduring that again.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “I just don’t get it. He hates me just as much as I hate him. Why would he rather share with me than you?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow, his knowing smirk returning. “Oh, I have my theories. But I’m staying out of it.”

“That’s not helpful,” you muttered, exasperated.

Arthur chuckled, pushing off the wall. “Look, you could always sleep on the couch. But if you do…” He paused, tilting his head thoughtfully. “You’re letting him win.”

“Fair point,” you admitted begrudgingly.

Arthur patted your shoulder as he walked toward the door. “Good luck surviving the week. Don’t kill each other—well, at least not where anyone can see.”

Once he was gone, the silence of the room felt heavy. You sighed, glancing toward the adjoining bathroom door—the one that connected your room to Charles’.

As if on cue, the faint sound of running water reached your ears. You groaned inwardly, already dreading the inevitable awkward encounters. Maybe Arthur was right. Maybe this was all just some cosmic joke meant to test your patience.

But as you sank onto the edge of the bed, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of something else—something unsettling that you didn’t want to name. Whatever it was, you shoved it aside, determined to prove that you could handle this without giving anyone the satisfaction of watching you squirm.

For now, you focused on unpacking the rest of your things, trying to ignore the quiet tension creeping in through the bathroom door.

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Later that day, the dinner table was alive with chatter, forks scraping plates, and glasses clinking as the group settled into an easy rhythm of conversation. The garden outside glowed under the string lights Pierre had painstakingly strung earlier, their warm light casting a soft glow over everyone seated at the table. Plates were piled high with food, the occasional burst of laughter cutting through the gentle hum of evening crickets.

You sat between Dennis and Arthur, trying your best to ignore the magnetic pull of Charles, seated directly across from you. He was deep in conversation with Joris about the best overtaking strategies, his hands gesturing animatedly as he spoke. You told yourself you weren’t paying attention, but your eyes betrayed you, flickering to him more often than you’d like.

Arthur leaned over, breaking your reverie. “You’ve barely touched your plate,” he teased, nodding toward your half-eaten dinner.

“Maybe I lost my appetite after sitting across from that,” you said pointedly, your fork gesturing vaguely in Charles’ direction.

Charles, sharp as ever, caught the jab immediately. His green eyes glinted with amusement as he leaned back in his chair, resting an arm lazily on the table. “Careful,” he drawled. “That attitude of yours might scare away any remaining appetite you have.”

Dennis snickered quietly beside you, earning a glare from you and a soft punch to his shoulder. “Don’t encourage him,” you muttered.

“Who, me?” Dennis asked innocently.

The banter escalated as the evening wore on. Drinks began to flow more freely—wine for most, a few beers for the others—and snacks were passed around as the group moved to the garden chairs scattered across the lawn. The stars above provided the perfect backdrop, but you were too caught up in the ebb and flow of conversation to appreciate them fully.

You and Charles kept up your usual sniping, each comment sharper than the last. It wasn’t long before Pierre, clearly exasperated, threw up his hands. “Enough, you two. I swear, if you keep this up, we’ll have to start taking bets on which one of you snaps first.”

“I’m not snapping,” you retorted, crossing your arms.

Charles smirked, taking a leisurely sip of his drink. “Neither am I. I’m having the time of my life.”

The group burst into laughter, easing the tension momentarily. But across the garden, Dennis leaned toward Arthur, his voice dropping low enough to stay out of earshot.

“Am I the only one seeing it?” Dennis asked, his gaze darting between you and Charles.

Arthur followed his line of sight, frowning slightly. “Seeing what?”

“Come on, Thur,” Dennis said, nudging him. “The tension. The way they bicker? That’s not just hate. That’s something else.”

Arthur hesitated, his brows furrowing. “I don’t know. With her? I can’t tell. She used to have a thing for him, sure. But now? One moment I think she’s over it, and the next…”

Dennis grinned knowingly. “She’s not over it. And Charles? He’s head over heels. Look at the way he watches her when she’s not looking. The guy’s smitten.”

Arthur laughed at him "I've had my suspicions about him for a while, but he's difficult to read"

“Just saying, the sexual tension is insane.” Dennis laughed.

Arthur groaned, leaning back in his chair. “You’re talking about my brother. Ew.”

"Hey, in all honesty. If he indeeds feels that way about her, I don't judge him.." Dennis laughed at the disgusted face that Arthur was pulling "Because, come on, you gotta admit it, she's hot"

Arthur shook his head, laughing despite himself. “Yeah, she’s hot. I'm aware of that, but I don’t see her that way. Never did, to be honest. We kissed a couple of times, but it was never like that" he said, a laugh present on his face as he thought back to the memories "I guess like once or twice during drinking games, and I remember one time when we were just young and hopeless, so we tried kissing like once, but it honestly was like… kissing my sister. Just weird.”

Dennis nodded, a sly grin spreading across his face. “I know that, Thur. But your brother? He doesn’t seem to think it’s weird.”

Dennis was watching you and Charles with barely concealed amusement, his eyes flicking between the two of you like he was watching a slow-motion car crash. He leaned a little closer to Arthur, smirking. "I mean, come on," he said under his breath. "Do they think they’re fooling anyone?"

Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. "They’ve been like this for ages. It’s exhausting just being around it."

Gigi, sitting nearby and clearly picking up on their hushed tones, laughed softly and joined in. “It’s mildly funny, though. They’re trying so hard to keep up this weird act of hating each other. Like, come on—it’s obvious they don’t actually hate each other.”

Dennis grinned, nodding toward Charles. “Right? The guy looks like he’s about to break his neck just to glance at her without being obvious.”

Gigi shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “What I don’t get is what caused all this. They used to be great friends. Back when she was still in love with him” she explained “they were actually kind of inseparable. So, what changed?”

Dennis tilted his head, considering her words. “Do you think she's still in love with him?”

Gigi paused, her brow furrowing slightly. “Honestly? I don’t think so. I mean, she still thinks he’s hot—because, let’s face it, he is hot—but she doesn’t act the way she used to. Back then, she was constantly hopeful. And let's face it, he was her first ever proper crush, so he might have a special place, but I don't think she's still in love with him. Now it's just different"

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Different how?”

“She just seems... done. Like she gave up on him a while ago.” Gigi shrugged again, her tone thoughtful. “And honestly, I don’t blame her. If Charles does feel something now, he's probably too late. She’s waited long enough. Sure, when she was younger, the age gap made sense. She was too young. But by the time she was, like, 20, she was old enough. She still had feelings for him then, and he never even did anything about it.”

Dennis tapped his chin dramatically. “That’s rough. And if he does admit something now, what do you think? Should she go for it?”

Gigi frowned, her gaze shifting toward you briefly. “I don’t know. It would feel... weird. Like, if he didn’t see her that way before, why now? It might just feel like he’s choosing her because it’s convenient.”

Arthur sighed, rubbing his temples. “Can we not psychoanalyze my brother’s love life, please?”

Gigi shifted her gaze to Dennis, a sly grin spreading across her face. “What about you? You and her seem close. Maybe something’s blossoming there?”

Dennis raised an eyebrow, a surprised chuckle escaping him. “Me and her? Nah, come on.”

Gigi tilted her head, still smirking. “What? I’m just saying, you two seem to have this... vibe.”

Dennis laughed, shaking his head. “Look, she’s hot. I’d hook up with her in a heartbeat if she wanted to, but something serious? Nah. We both know it’s not like that.”

Gigi rolled her eyes, clearly amused. “You’re an idiot.” she laughed.

Arthur leaned back, groaning dramatically. “Why are we even having this conversation? Can we not dissect every potential romantic possibility?”

Gigi laughed. “Oh, come on, Arthur. Admit it. It’s entertaining.”

Arthur shook his head, muttering under his breath. “You all need help.”

Both Gigi and Dennis laughed out loud at Arthur's comment, finding it funny how Arthur reacted.

Before anyone could say more, their conversation was cut short when Charles, who had clearly overheard snippets of their hushed tones, called out from across the garden. “What’s so funny over there?”

Arthur, Dennis, and Gigi exchanged a quick look before Arthur spoke, his tone far too casual. “Oh, nothing much. Just debating which one of us would survive the longest if we had to endure one of your lectures on strategy.”

Charles narrowed his eyes, clearly unconvinced. “Sure,” he muttered, turning back to his conversation with Joris. But the faint twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement, even as he pretended not to care.

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As the night wore on, the group began to disperse, some heading to bed while others lingered to enjoy the cool night air. You made your way up to your room, feeling restless. Grabbing the cigarette Inès had reluctantly given you earlier, you stepped onto the balcony, the cool breeze brushing against your skin.

The first drag burned your throat, a harsh reminder of why you’d quit. But tonight, the weight in your chest felt heavier than usual, and this seemed like the only way to breathe again.

The quiet was short-lived. The soft creak of the balcony door opening made you stiffen, and when you turned, you found Charles stepping out.

“If you’re planning to mock me for smoking, shut up,” you said, not even trying to hide your annoyance.

Charles raised his hands defensively. “I wasn’t planning on anything.”

He leaned against the railing, his gaze fixed on the view rather than you. For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, the tension ebbing into something softer.

“Are you going to keep standing there, or are you taking a seat?” you asked, nudging a chair toward him with your foot.

He sat without a word, the quiet between you stretching but not uncomfortable.

“I thought you quit,” he said finally, his voice soft.

You took another drag, exhaling slowly. “I did.”

Charles chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “Figures.”

“But then my best friend decided it was a good idea to take me on a holiday and make me share a bathroom and connecting rooms with his brother" You smirked faintly "Don’t know if you’ve met him, but he’s got a massive ego and loves getting on his brother’s best friend’s nerves. Pathetic, really.”

Charles laughed, the sound low and warm. “Can’t say I’ve met him. But he probably has a good reason.”

The two of you shared a quiet laugh, a rare moment of peace between the insults. You held out your cigarette to him, a small gesture of truce.

Charles hesitated before taking it, his fingers brushing against yours briefly. The touch was fleeting but electric, sending a jolt through him that he didn’t entirely wanted to administer. He took a drag, exhaling slowly, his eyes on the stars.

“For someone who claims to hate me this much, this seems pretty generous,” he said, handing it back.

“Maybe I’m trying to ruin your lungs so you screw up your next race,” you replied dryly, leaning back in your chair.

Charles hummed in mock agreement. “Hmm. If you say so.”

The silence lingered between you and Charles, stretching into something neither of you was used to—quiet, companionable, and strangely comfortable. You stared out at the darkened garden, the faint glow of the string lights from below casting soft shadows across the balcony. The cigarette burned low between your fingers, the occasional ember flaring as you took a slow drag.

Charles shifted slightly in his seat, his arms resting casually on the chair's arms, his eyes flicking to you when he thought you weren’t looking. The lines of his face were softened by the night, his usual sharpness replaced by a contemplative calm.

“You’ve gotten quieter,” you muttered, breaking the silence. “What? Run out of things to argue about already?”

He smirked, glancing at you. “Just pacing myself. Don’t want to exhaust all my good comebacks in one night.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Oh, please. I’ve heard them all before. You’re not that original.”

“Maybe I’m just giving you a chance to catch up,” he quipped, a faint grin playing at the corner of his mouth.

You laughed softly, shaking your head, and for a moment, it almost felt easy—like the walls you’d both carefully built were thinning, letting something more natural seep through.

The two of you lapsed back into silence, the occasional sound of the night filling the void. Charles tapped his fingers lightly against the chair, his rhythm steady, almost soothing. He tilted his head back slightly, staring up at the stars.

“What do you think they’re talking about down there?” he asked suddenly, nodding toward the garden where the others were still chatting.

You shrugged, leaning back in your chair. “Knowing Arthur and Dennis? Something dumb. Probably debating the best flavor of chips or some other nonsense.”

Charles chuckled softly. “Sounds about right.”

Minutes passed, the quiet stretching comfortably between you. Occasionally, your gazes met, and though neither of you spoke, there was an unspoken exchange—something in the way his eyes softened just slightly when he looked at you.

Finally, you stood, brushing ash from your hands. “I’m going to freshen up in the bathroom and go to bed.”

Charles didn’t respond immediately, his eyes following your movements. Just as you reached the doorway, he called out softly, his voice cutting through the quiet.

“You know,” he began, his tone uncharacteristically serious, “aside from all the arguments… you know I don’t actually hate you, right?”

You froze in the doorway, his words hanging in the air between you. Slowly, you turned, your hand resting on the doorframe. “You have a shit way of showing that,” you said, your voice quieter than usual.

Charles gave you a small, almost rueful smile. “I’ll work on it.”

You stared at him for a moment longer before nodding. “Goodnight, Charles.”

“Goodnight,” he replied, watching as you disappeared inside.

In the bathroom, the scent of him lingered—subtle but unmistakable. It was maddening how easily it unsettled you, making your chest tighten with an unspoken weight. You closed the door behind you, locking both his and your side with care, as if the physical barrier could somehow keep your thoughts at bay.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, the faint steam from the earlier shower still clinging to the edges of the glass. “Get over it,” you whispered to yourself, your voice barely audible. “You hate him. Remember?”

But the words felt hollow, even to your own ears.

The shower’s warm spray hit your skin, washing away the tension that had settled in your shoulders, but it couldn’t quite cleanse your mind. Images of his face lingered—his small, almost shy smile when he’d said he didn’t hate you, the way his fingers had brushed against yours earlier when you passed him the cigarette.

You lingered longer than usual, hoping the heat of the water would somehow dissolve the confusion swirling inside you. When you finally stepped out and dried off, you felt no closer to clarity, only exhaustion.

Back in your room, the muffled sounds of movement from the adjoining space made you pause. You could hear him faintly—the soft creak of his bed, the shuffle of fabric as he adjusted his position. It was strangely intimate, knowing he was so close, separated only by a thin wall.

Sliding into bed, you stared at the ceiling, the room’s quiet amplifying the sounds next door. Your mind drifted despite your best efforts, and with a sigh, you reached for your phone.

You: Bathroom’s free

You'd typed it quickly, hesitating for a moment before pressing send. Before you could even process your message, the reply already came.

Charles: Thanks.

You put your phone on your nightstand, plugging it in the charger, before crawling deeper beneath the covers. You tried to fall asleep, but it felt impossible. Every movement he made, every creak of his bed, echoed faintly. It made you realize once more, in what close proximity you both were, keeping you awake longer than you’d like. Eventually though, sleep claimed you, surprisingly peaceful despite everything.

next part

#f1 fanfic #formula 1 #f1 imagine #smut #f1 x reader #formula 1 smut #friends to lovers #charles leclerc #arthur leclerc #cl16 #fluff #enemies to lovers #semi slowburn #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x reader

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xeeljii · 6 months ago

Text

DOGTOOTH

She could ride my face, I don't want nothin' in return Except for some her time and all her love, that's my concern

WARNING! Explicit RPF!

EDIT! Pt.2 here, but can also be read as stand alone.

Summary: Basically Dogtooth by Tyler the Creator. It is my belief Joost is a munch and I am so sad more people don’t write about it so I was forced to intervene.

Word count: 5.2k

CW: 18+, f! reader, no body descriptions, established relationship, alcohol consumption, cursing, ???, English is not my first language and only proof read by me.

It was a game really, from the moment you get out of the shower wet feet smacking lightly against the floor of your shared flat, you can feel his gaze trained on you. You of course, well acquainted with this test of wills decide to ignore it and walk straight towards the dresser, the towel wrapped around your torso barely covering below your ass and you make a show of stepping on your tip toes to reach for something at the top, more to give him a show than anything else, you are rewarded as you hear a delighted exhale behind you. You and Joost had already gotten used to the push and pull thrill to see who would crack first, who would end up a desperate whimpering mess, begging for it by the end of the night, it was all part of the foreplay. You smile to yourself as you continue getting ready, behind you he sits on the bed watching like a big cat ready to pounce at any second, doing nothing to hide his staring as he plays absentmindedly with his phone changing songs as your personal DJ.

The night outside is warm, barely starting, you really have all the time in the world to get ready and he is not one to rush you. Truth be told he enjoys the ritual of seeing you apply on your make up and try on different outfits until you are satisfied, he finds it endlessly amusing to just stare at you to a point you could call it an obsession. Today your choice is a shiny top and a short skirt, obscenely short perhaps, but just what you like and he is grateful for every inch of skin his eyes can trace on you. As you drop the towel to get dressed you give him a good eyeful of the delicate curves of your body, you can feel the tension in the room rise instantly and playfully wonder if you will even make it outside today. You have been together long enough to were seeing each other naked is common occurrence but it never gets less exhilarating, he has an honest and open face, when you catch his gaze in the mirror you are met with his dilated pupils and his full attention on you like it is natural it makes heat rise to your cheeks and you avert his eyes trying to compose yourself. You walk up to him nonchalant and wordlessly he understands you, pulls the zipper of your skirt up.

“Thanks” you say in a whisper he doesn’t answer but instead pulls your hand towards him delicately and kisses right on the pulse of your wrist, then looks up at you smiling.

“Ready?”

Tonight you had been invited to a club opening, private area reserved, a few friends invited and free booze, just for your presence, well Joost’s really, but you enjoyed every bit of it as if it was yours. He made sure you knew that, what was his his was yours. He didn’t say it as much but he liked taking care of you in every way he could. Though he didn’t really need to explain himself, his absences hurt you deeply and you missed him in ways that felt too vulnerable to express fully, you felt like a kid waiting with your face pressed against the window just for him to come back to you every time, it never got easier but he made sure to make it up to you when he got back. When he was by your side he pampered you almost to a point of asphyxiation but your thrived on it glowing more beautiful under very one of his attentions, a side of him only you knew, it gave you a strange high to have him like that only for you, only ever you.

As you make your way to the club your mind can’t help but wonder off to the first time he took you back to his place, after a night of meeting at a different club where he truly didn't wanna be at he quickly became enchanted by your presence, your easy laughs and entrancing conversations. He didn’t have any bad intentions or any intentions at all really, drunk on the beauty of your face, on the softness of your voice, the smell of your perfume, he had only wanted to drag the night on as much as you would allow him. He had just wanted to have you to himself for a little bit, wondering if you would disappear like an illusion in the morning. Yet you had bloomed more stunning in the middle of his living room as he kept trying to steal laughs from you, absolutely enamored with the sound of your laughter. You had kissed him first, you deny it to this day and say you don’t remember since you were drunk but he knows it and you know it too. Deep in the night as you sat on his lap, on his bed, chests pressed together and hearts beating wildly nothing but heavy air between both of you he gently spoke against your lips words that at the time made you incredibly irritated but now you look back on fondly “I won’t fuck you when you are drunk.” Fuck! What a man! Even painfully hard under you as he was, it made you laugh in disbelief throwing your head back holding onto his shoulders as you felt him kiss sweetly against the expanses of your neck. Such reservations are long gone from your relationship but still you remember how sweet he had made you feel. He had let you hump him to your climax, so well behaved under you, let you use him as you pleased, a moaning mess on top of him, anyone else really would have taken advantage but not him, never him, not to you. It gave you a rush like no other to have a man like that under your thumb, knowing he could but he wouldn’t, already too sweet for you. “You are so strange” You had said between giggles as he laid you to rest on his bed, he just smiled and kissed your forehead. That should have given you a clue to his nature.

You giggle to yourself and he looks down on you amused.

“What?” He asks pulling you closer as you walk through the door, the noise of the music already filling you with energy.

“Nothing” you reply smiling up at him and pulling him closer into a quick kiss.

The club is filled with people, he commands attention when he walks in even if he doesn’t want to, it is the nature of the job he would say, but with you by his side he feels more at ease. The music is good, probably not entirely Joost’s taste but it is yours, so he doesn’t complain at all. You quickly make your way up to the private section and share greetings with everybody already there. You know his friends now, like to think they are yours too and they have always welcomed you so warmly. They never miss a chance tell you how happy you make Joost, you hope it is true. Soon both of you get lost on conversation and jokes with everyone around. He lets you do your thing, just happy to see you enjoy yourself, dancing wildly and downing on sweet liquor like it is water, without a care in the world you look the most beautiful but he honestly has no eyes for anyone else. He likes this more than anything, just seeing you happy it could give him the energy for 100 tours for 1000 performances if he only remembers your smiling face then it is all worth it, if you are at the end of the line then anything is worth it. He drinks as much as you but you are not nearly as good as he is at holding your liquor. He notices your half lidded eyes and unfocused pupils and starts feeding you water.

“Joost~” you want to complain in a sing song tone but he just kisses your hairline and pulls you closer.

“Just slow down, liefde” Taking care of you comes so easy so naturally, he doesn’t even make an effort it is just in his blood it seems.

You continue to dance against him and he moves behind you happy to have you in his arms inhaling your soft scent. He is already 10 steps ahead thinking about when he would get to take you home, to have you on his bed, to undress you and… any more imagining would be troublesome so he just downs his drink and keeps dancing to your rhythm.

The hours pass by quickly when you have fun you feel the boom of the bass deep in your body, the music guides you and you follow shamelessly grinding your ass against Joost’s crotch, his big hands holding tight at your hips letting you move as you please but keeping you close to his chest like his life depends on it. You can feel his warm breath on your neck, deep and slow, he seems so calm, if only you could see inside his brain the thoughts of you already glowing on his unmade bed, bouncing on his lap, his mouth on your heat, your image all over his brain. The warmth of his body is comforting against your back, like this it feels like you are only one person, even in the sea of people with the music loud it is just the two of you in this world. You crane your neck to the side to catch a glimpse of him, he looks beautiful, hair slightly tussled sweaty against his forehead, his face impossibly handsome illuminated by the sparse light, he catches your eye and a smile blooms from his lips all the way to his eyes, you feel your chest constrict he is all yours it feels too much and not nearly enough at all.

“Joost” the single word escapes your lips breathy and worked up already, his eyes darken, he knows you too well, you can feel his heart instantly start to race on the back of your ribcage, yours joins too, a beautiful chaotic symphony.

“Wanna go home?” You can only weakly nod as he takes your hand and pulls you towards the back door, barely bothering to say goodbye to everyone else.

As you wait for the car outside he keeps you tucked under his arm, without needing words he knows you are cold. The clothes look gorgeous on you as always but not good for this time of the night, however that is what he is here for. He caresses your arms up and down to warm you up, the car pulls up and he lets you in, closes the door behind then climbs inside from the other side. The drive is painfully slow, you want him now, you just need him on you, to feel the weight of his body, the rhythm of his thrusts, to breath on his air, nothing but him. You are drunk on Joost, you reach over and place a hand on his thigh feeling the muscle beneath it, desperate for some contact you try to move higher but he stops you gentle hand on yours, he looks at you and smiles pleased.

“Be patient” He chastises without bite, as if he is any better, as if he hasn’t been painfully hard since you started dancing on him, as if the way your mouth turns into a pout doesn’t excite him to a scary degree.

He is deeply obsessed with you and never bothers pretending he isn't, not even from the moment you met. Joost thinks you have to know even if he doesn't say it, his eyes constantly glued on you, his hands finding you in the middle of the night to pull you closer, always attached at the hip when you are at home, he can’t help it and it is not like he wants to either. He thinks back on all the nights he has had and you have had him and he can go eternally like this and live a happy man, just you and nothing else. It is perhaps an unhealthy thought, not entirely rational but with your body pressed so close to him it is hard to really think clearly or at all. His hand caresses at the small of your back soothing circles that just do more to get you worked up, you push closer to him, tits pressed against his chest, still so stubborn to keep playing the game but he doesn’t feel like letting you win tonight. He pulls you closer easily with a single hand your legs almost straddling his lap, he caresses your face with his tattooed hand and pushes the hair from your beautiful face before going to whisper in your ear.

“Be good, I’ll give you everything you want” He says and you almost purr at him, the alcohol you kept downing through the night working its magic, your competitive spirit all but melts away as you nod, lip bitten red between your teeth. You don’t know it yet but he won this time, already, actually ever since you left home earlier, all part of his calculated plan.

As the ride comes to a halt he jumps out the door, thanks the driver and pulls you to your wobbly feet, you feel like floating almost, on his arms impossibly light, and delicate like he can break you but he won’t. You want to get up to your place as fast as possible, yet he seems set on riling you up, he keeps stringing you along, getting you more and more impatient, you try to race the stairs as he keeps pulling you by the hips and pressing kisses to your mouth all the way up, making the process slower than it ever has to be. When you finally reach the door you desperately go for his pockets looking for the key, he doesn't help you and just looks delighted as you try to navigate the lock in your inebriated state.

When you finally get him inside you try to pull him to the bedroom ready ride him like it is the last time you will have him under you but he surprises you again when he pushes you gently against the entrance door. You whine into his mouth impatient as ever, but in ways it is his own fault since he has always been the one to spoil you rotten. You are so desperate for his touch, so intoxicated on your lust you let him roam his hands over your body, barely able to kiss back. He traces the curves he knows so well by heart, the delicious arch of your back into your ass kneading at the fat there that all but melts under his greedy fingers, pulling you closer to his hips, you can feel him hard against your thigh, his fingertips softly lingering under the hem of your skirt, deliciously close to your core, then he pulls his hands up your sides grabbing at your hips as he parts your legs softly with his foot, making room for himself. Instantly you are pushing your core against his thigh, he smiles an almost predatory glint on his eyes that you could have noticed had you not been so desperate to get off on his clothed leg, worse than a dog you think, almost embarrassed but the you right now couldn’t care about such things.

His strong but gentle grip on your hips guides you to apply more pressure, his mouth keeps you occupied drowning any protest you might have about taking it to the bedroom. You are too drunk on him to question anything and just let him suck on your tongue and kiss your lips sore as he pleases, you wonder if he can feel how wet you are, the thong you are wearing barely doing you any favors. The rough texture of his jeans against the tender skin of your cunt is too much you can almost cum at the sensation alone. He lets you grind yourself into a frenzy on his thigh fondly remembering that first night he had you on his bed. He feels your stuttering hips, he has you where he wants you, so he stops.

He grabs your wrists and pushes them against the wall right above your head, you look up at him through glossy eyes, bewildered, almost enraged that he has the nerve to stop. He pulls away his thigh leaving your heat, cold biting at the wet skin between your legs, hanging by a thread almost at your peak but denying you.

“What…” you trail off as he pecks your lips and smiles sweetly at you, you jostle in his grip a little but easily give up against his strength. He is never forceful, never meaning to intimidate or hurt you but you could see he had a plan, now that you had already walked right into the wolf’s mouth no point in struggling.

He kisses along your jaw and slowly starts working on your neck feeling the wild rhythm of your pulse under his lips, you moan and your hips buck upwards trying to find anything to grind on. It is now or never he thinks dramatically. “Baby…” he groans against the sensitive skin under your ear, you whimper in acknowledgment, the only way you can communicate in your current state.

“Baby, I want you to ride my face”. He says as he kisses sloppily along your collarbones, at your sternum then licks a line up your neck. You are breathless, you feel like you died, your brain struggling to process his words, working hard to make sense of what he is asking.

“Yes baby?” He sounds almost pleading you look at him now, eyes wide open, a deer caught in the headlights. His request feel so unexpected and at the same time not at all, he had asked before and in truth he had been wanting you like that completely wild on his mouth since he had first seen you, but you felt reservation somehow, shy even after all the filth you had done with him, to him and had let him do to you, somehow this one got you. Not that you didn’t want it but you felt somehow selfish. He was already so good, so sweet and gentle, pampering you all the time, he just wanted to give and give and you felt bad taking so much it felt like something only for your sake and it somehow gave you a pause. He never wants to push you but now, so lost in pleasure, he just has to ask again, fight for his side.

“Joost… you…” You can barely form a sentence, he truly kisses you stupid not a single coherent thought in that pretty little head of yours.

“I really need you to ride my face princess, please” His big blue eyes beaming back at you, pleading. It is really impossible for you to say no to him on every day life and even harder now.

“O-okay, yeah, whatever you want” He is back on you in a second, your brain is completely fried there are no real thoughts, it is just his smell , his taste, the weight of his hands on your body, the warmth of his skin the softness of his lips, you have never wanted anyone this bad.

He grabs your hand and guides you to the bedroom makes quick work of his clothes only staying on his black boxers with his name, you used to tease him for it now it feels so deeply him it just feels endearing. Then he goes for your clothes, you have been together so long it seems he knows better than you how to undress you, deft hands so unlike his clumsy nature. You stand in the middle of the room on slightly wobbly feet as he kneels pulling your underwear down with uncharacteristic delicacy considering his earlier pleads, you wanna laugh at him, how whipped he is, how badly he wants you, how his biggest fantasy is your pleasure but you can’t, everything feels so real, so serious you can barely stand on your own two feet. As if reading your mind he grabs hold of your thighs to help you balance yourself, still on his knees in front of you he looks up kisses reverently at the skin of your thigh kneading his hands upwards. He is so tall even on his knees his face only a few inches from your heat, you feel his breath to your core, it ignites you, you feel yourself dripping and he hasn’t even started.

“Ready princess?” You nod not trusting your mouth that feels too heavy for words, he nods back and kisses sweetly at the heat between your legs before standing up to his full height again.

Towering over you but never feeling intimidating, however the hunger in his eyes makes you shiver in anticipation, a look you have never seen from him, not like this. He grabs hold of your hands and leads you to the bed pulling you down with him. You stumble without any grace on his embrace, tangled limbs and little giggles escape both of you before he moves upwards in the bed resting his head against the pillows. He looks divine, the light of the moon making him even more handsome it makes your chest hurt.

You are straddling your legs right at his chest, his hands in the back of your thighs pulling you closer to where he wants you, he needs you. “Come here schatje” you look at him but there is still a knot in your stomach, still shy, still scared of being selfish, but he wants you so badly he needs you so much, it feels unfair to deny him, to deny yourself the sweet pleasure of his warm tongue that you are so familiar with. You move upwards slowly on weak knees taking a last look at his face his hands on your ass now kneading softly.

“Relax, I won’t bite, promise” You snort releasing a breath you didn't know you were holding.

“Yes I would hope so, you know better than that” He kisses the tender skin at the inside of your knee.

“I’m a well trained dog” He makes a show of winking at you, you erupt in laughter it calms your nerves instantly.

“What… what do you want me to… what should I do?” You ask not knowing where to put your hands.

“Use me to get off” He can feel the hesitation on your entire body all muscles tense like expecting the fall. He helps you and lifts his head up closer to your core, licks his lips in anticipation, you can feel his breath against your dripping heat, he can smell your scent addicting in a way he knows you would find mortifying if he ever told you, so he keeps it to himself.

He licks a long strip up your pussy, still holding your legs in place by the sides of his head like you will run away, he pulls an easy moan out of you, already knows your body so well, he licks insistently against your clit, feels you relax put more of your delicious weight on him. With the reward of his efforts he gets encouraged wrapping his lips around your hard bud suckling softly, he hears you mewl on top of him already turning to putty under his attention. He pulls away as little as possible just to spur you on, he can still feel your reservations.

“Get out of your head, I won’t break”. His voice is commanding but still gentle you want give him everything he wants, do everything he says.

You nod and try moving against his face slowly, gently as much as you can even when you start feeling yourself losing your mind. You look below wanting to make sure he is okay and then you see it, his eyes closed and eyebrows knit, the face of pleasure you know so well. He is getting off on this as much as you are, you test your theory as you push yourself closer to him and he moans back deliciously against your folds feeling the reverberation from his groans against your core emboldens you. He uses his strong grip on your ass and hips to start moving you back and forth against his face, the pretty tip of his nose catching on your clit making you mewl in pleasure until you get used to it, now without any shame left you start grinding yourself back and forth on his tongue as it goes deep into your cunt the wetness so addicting he keeps licking like he wants to stay between your legs forever and maybe he wants exactly that. Too soon you feel waves of pleasure building.

“Joost” you are chanting his name over and over without a care in the world who hears, your throat will be sore tomorrow. Your hands find your perked nipples adding to the stimulation and pull slightly like he would, his own hands occupied helping you move to reach your orgasm. “Ah fuck” you whimper again you can almost feel him smile against your cunt, he can die right now right here between your legs happily, a life well lived and all that. He keeps moving your hips greedily as if he was chasing his own orgasm perhaps you are so connected your pleasure is his pleasure and truly in this position with the heat and wetness connecting you, you don’t know where you end and he begins.

“I’m close” your hands reach to the locks of his beautiful golden hair between your legs.

“Come baby, come on my face” he barely manages to mumble against you core.

With those words he pushes you over the edge, you lose yourself to pleasure just as he wanted, you ride his face vigorously forgetting he has to breath and at that moment he forgets it too, only preoccupied with making your orgasm last as long as possible, insatiably licking at your clit. Your grip on his locks keeps him in place as your finish all over his face he feels your pussy clench around nothing once again pushing his tongue deep into you not wanting this moment to end while your clit grinds heavily against his nose. You are screaming at the top of your lungs your orgasm making your thighs shake but his strong arms keep you in place. He keeps sucking on your clit possessively even when you try to pull away, he is doing this for his own pleasure at this point, you let him and hold onto the bed frame as a lifeline, when he has collected every drop of your release he licks another long stripe up your pussy more soothing than anything making your shiver in delight. Finally satisfied he pulls away slightly to catch his breath, peppering kisses on the inside of your thighs, hands still holding onto you. His face is so red, he is so pretty like this he looks fucked out, so blissful like he was on the receiving end. His face is wet and shinny a mixture of your arousal and his spit you look down and stay there locked eyes, you wanna remember this forever.

“I love you so much” He says beaming up at you, you could almost feel guilty if he didn’t look so damn proud of himself, the same face he has on after a good show.

“I love you too.” You start trying to move but your legs are jelly and you hold back onto the bed frame. “Fuck, that was too good” You laugh looking at him, he laughs heartily always happy to get his ego stroked.

“Let me” He maneuvers you easily and flips you over, now you are resting on the pillows as he cuddles to your side rubbing against your neck, leaving small bites and kisses, he is so wet and sticky it could be gross, it should be gross, only if it wasn't the hottest thing that has ever happened to you.

You turn to kiss him lock his lips with yours, taste yourself on his tongue, he deepens the kiss, the dog, that is exactly what he wanted, you smile against his lips. He leaves you breathless kissed stupid again, you feel him jostle a little and see him throw his boxers somewhere on the floor, then he pulls you closer to his chest. You feel his heart beat under your ear, you are so tired, you feel boneless could fall asleep any second heavy lidded eyes and yet you still want him, you always do.

“Do you wanna-” he stops you, kissing at the top of your head.

“No need” He pulls the comforter over both of you.

You look up at him, eyebrow crooked and he just has an easy smile on his lips as he reaches for the nightstand drawer where he keeps some cigarettes exactly for times like this. He looks down at you as he lights the one between his lips, you look at him amazed, you can't belive it, he came, he came because of you, completely untouched, fully at your mercy. A shot of adrenaline makes you raise from his chest hold yourself on your elbows to look at him properly, trying to come up with something to say opening and closing your mouth not quite processing what just happened. Unable to come up with anything coherent enough you give up and just come closer to him once again pulling the cigarette off his lip and letting him blow his smoke into your mouth, you take it, like everything he gives you. You kiss him again, hungry, possessive and proud, like you could bite him raw and it still wouldn’t be enough. You realize something Joost has know for a while now, you can never be close enough it is terrifying and horribly exciting at the same time. He pulls your face closer deepens the kiss tangles his fingers in your hair and then rests his forehead against yours, just breathing you in. You are in an indescribable ecstasy all you can do is throw your head back and laugh, he follows as he smokes, laughs with you then chases your lips, kisses your smile.

“You taste really fucking good.” He says against your hair as he pulls you back to his chest still chuckling, sleep starts dragging you soon enough as he finishes his cigarette.

Obsession as a description for what he feels for you might be coming short these day, maybe devotion could be closer…

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

MASTERLIST *ੈ✩‧₊˚ AN: It is my first time posting anything like this again sorry for any mistakes idk what im doing I just really needed to get this out of my system <3

#joost klein smut #joost klein x reader #joost x reader #joost x you #joost #joost smut #joost fanfic #joost klein fanfiction #joost klein

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jar0fhoney · 5 months ago

Text

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 (NSFW) - PART 4 -

PART 5 (NSFW) - PART 6 - PART 7 (NSFW) - PART 8 (NSFW)

Odd things started happening.

You unlocked the door to your shop, and you could hear a pin drop. And that’s just it. It was quiet. Something so small, so simple. But you noticed it immediately. The hinges of the door had been oiled. You opened and closed the door so many times… you probably looked quite mad to onlookers. You gasped when inside the shop you noticed another repair. The window. The one you had boarded up, fixed good as new. Instead of relief, a wave of worry was beginning to wash over you. Was this a joke? Was Milo doing this just to let winter take it all away? Or giving you a taste of what you could have if you surrendered to his advances.

The thought began to cross your mind recently. The days were beginning to grow longer, and the sun grew more stifling. Spring was melting into summer. You and your mother were beginning to find proof of pests and varmints making a feast out of the fields. When you had your sisters and your mother was stronger, winter wasn’t such a frightening thought.

tap tap tap. You looked around the shop. A mouse? Tap tap tap.

You looked to the window, and there he was.

”We keep meeting each other like this.” His voice muffled through the glass. “You’re a lot more bold without your friends around.” You retorted. His smile faltered, “I’m a coward.”

You laughed. This orc hunter? Cowardly?

”Here.” He held something up into the window. A lumpy burlap rucksack. “It’s Turmeric. But… for growing. In the dirt.”

You walked over and opened the window. “Why?” You were cautious, you didn’t trust “gifts” from men anymore. He tossed the bag on your counter, “Those golden eggs you gave me, the boys said they were just like home… thank you.” His gaze was so piercing, you felt your face grow hot. “How much for these?” You tore your eyes away from him towards the burlap bag.

“Nothing. Just keep making them, and I’ll tell everyone to come here and keep buying them!” He seemed absolutely giddy. “This orc must really love pickled eggs.” you thought to yourself.

“I see Milo around here pretty often.”

”You’ve been watching?” His face got very red at your reply. “Well regardless,” He didn’t deny your accusation, “He seems real sweet on you.”

”He can go fuck himself.” You hissed. Khargaad’s eyes widened. “I refuse to give him what he wants and I think it’s nearly driven him mad.” He looked at you expectantly, like he was hanging onto your every word. You paused before you went on with your rant, “How do you know him?” You realized you should know if the two were chummy before cursing Milo’s name.

“When you hunt big game, you end up meeting the people with enough money to pay you to hunt said game. But we are not friends, if that’s what you’re getting at.” You sighed in relief. “Hey,” you said changing the subject, “come in here and pick something out. On the house. I really appreciate these.” You patted the burlap sack. He grinned and shimmied his way through the doorway. You hadn’t had the chance to fully appreciate his size. He had to crouch to fit beneath the low ceiling, but you guessed he must be 7 feet tall standing fully upright. And his arms, oh his arms. Big and thick like two tree branches. You were staring. You didn’t realize it before you caught his eye and yanked yourself back behind the counter, counting your coins.

He quietly pondered over all of the jars of pickled vegetables. “What’s in this?” You heard him ask. You didn’t bother looking up from your coins, “It’s written on the label.”

”Are you kidding?” His voice lacked any light-hearted tone. You glanced up from your counting. He looked at you, then at the label, then back at you again. “Don’t you remember? What those two said when you mentioned the recipe?”

“That you were illiterate?”

”No, they said I couldn’t read, y/n.” Was he yanking your chain right now? That’s what you just- “OH… oh. I thought… they were kidding.” The words eked past your lips. The poor orc had a pained look of embarrassment on his face. Before he could even conjure up of an answer, the words tumbled out your mouth like a turned over bushel of apples.

“I’ll teach you!”

He peered over at you, his cheeks were very flushed. “No one has ever tried to teach me before.” You smiled very sweetly at him, “And I have never grown turmeric in my garden before. But here you are. And here I am.” It only took him one and a half strides to meet you at the counter across the room. “What can I give you in return?” It almost sounded like he was pleading.

You chuckled, “It’s a gift, Khargaad.” He was so close now that you could smell the smokey leather scent coming off of him. You probably should have been embarrassed to take such a noticeably large inhale of it. But it was too lovely for you to care. You couldn’t have known his own sensitive scent receptors were going haywire this close to you.

“I should go now. Thank you. I’ll be back.” He said shortly. He left so quickly he forgot his jar of pickled vegetables.

He had to leave. Had to. You smelled so sweet. He felt awful. Thinking like that. About you.

He found himself in the forest, back pressed up against a tree. So much blood had rushed to the orc’s cock it was becoming painful. He winced, palming himself over the strained trousers. He frantically pulled at the strings of his waistband, the fabric pooling down around his thighs. “Ah!” Gods, the noises that were coming out of his mouth were sinful.

He ran a hand down the trail of hair leading to his cock. “O- oh. F-fuck.” He wrap one hand around the base, already fucking himself in and out of his fist. He won’t last long. Not with the memory of your scent still fresh in his mind. He would bet his right hand that you taste just as sweet.

It felt so wrong, but Gods when you walked into that town square wearing that dress. He knew you had used the spice he gave you. And on that day, it was wrapped so pretty against your body. Around your waist. Around your breasts. The briskness of the spring morning making your nipples poke through the gauzy fabric.

He didn’t last long, his hot milky cum dribbled over his fingers. He couldn’t do this again. It was an insult to you. It was filthy. You were kind. You were generous.

From this day forward, he was determined to court you. Properly.

The sky was purple and orange in twilight. The street was uncharacteristically vacant that evening, but you didn’t think much of it. You didn’t think to watch the front door. And you certainly didn’t hear the person who had quite silently slipped through the entrance.

You screamed. You really screamed, when you felt an arm snake around your waist. But there wasn’t anybody around to hear you. “You’re going to die, y/n.” It was Milo and he was very drunk. The scent on his breath stung your nose. “You and your mother are going to die come winter. You can’t work fast enough to protect the rats from your fields. Not with two women. You’re mother can hardly walk anymore can she?”

His grip was digging into your waist, “And when winter comes, I won’t let anybody in this entire fucking town help you. I swear it, y/n.”

Milo was not an honorable man, but you knew this was one oath he intended on keeping. “Don’t do something stupid, Milo. Let’s be reasonable,” You seethed through your biting teeth, “There’s so many girls in this town, Milo. So many girls who are more rich, more beautiful, better family names-“ He brought his other hand to your neck and squeezed just a little bit.

”Do you know what people say? About a rich man who can’t even get the hand of a simple farm girl?”

“I can’t help your bruised ego-“ He squeezed your air pipes even tighter, making you choke on your words. “The Gods have blessed me, y/n. This morning I woke up, and I-“

”Hey.” A very gruff voice came from behind the two of you. Milo released you immediately, leaving a red ring around your neck. You knew that voice.

”You should go from here Milo.” Khargaad didn’t brandish a weapon. To kill a man he only needed his bare hands, after all. Milo trembled, hells even you trembled too. Milo threw his hands in the air light heartedly, “Lover’s quarrel-“

”Wrong. Leave. Don’t come back here.” Khargaad uncrossed his massive arms, taking a step to the side. Milo, the coward he was, stormed out the open door. Not before spitting on Khargaad’s boots. The orc didn’t stop him, stepping between you and the doorway. His eyes stayed trained on Milo as he stormed down the street.

You massaged your aching neck, the orc had a troubled look on his face, “Are you okay?” You weren’t. Of course you weren’t. You brushed him off, “I thought you were going to kill him.” He crossed his arms again, “I considered it. Trust me, I did. But what would you do after that? The son of the richest man in town. Killed by an orc. In your presence, in your shop after hours.” He was right. But there was a part of you who would’ve risked it all just to see Milo snuffed out.

Khargaad cleared his throat, “What was he talking about? With you and your mother? And the Farm?”

Shit.

Me: I’m gonna write something beautiful and meaningful :)

Also Me: Orc man experiences post-nut clarity in the forest >:)

As always: Hugs and smooches to everyone who asked for part 3 ❤️

@reads-stuff-quietly @loo-looland @sluttygirl123 @beaniebaneenie @blushycadaver @sunndust @whyiamadegenerate @the-attic-of-porcelain @freakyotaku059-blog @youknowits-derea @thoughts-of-bear-undercovers @allthecraftandthings @gruffle1 @kennedyabraxas123

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eat-limes-bitches · 10 months ago

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Nowhere else I'd Rather Be

PAIRING: Female Reader x Bucky Barnes

SUMMARY: Soft blues and sunsets make for the perfect wedding.

SONGS: Entrance (0:42 if you want the specific time), Y/n's vows, Bucky's vows

WARNINGS: FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF

Word Count:

A/N: So here it is! The last installment of this, mini-series I guess! I had such a blast writing this and between you and me, I had fully intended on waiting to post this until I was back from my horse show next week, but I couldn't wait. No way in hell, so I hope you enjoy it! If you have any ideas for future writings, my ask box is looking a little empty and sad! Send some ideas my way!

Italics are memories, bold italics are song lyrics

Part 1 | Part 2

Enjoy! <3

Divider by Rookthorne

(3 YEARS LATER)

To say he was nervous would be an understatement. Bucky frantically fiddled with his tie, looking at the color, which caused him to smile for a moment. It was blue, but not bright, soft. Like worn denim. The same blue that matched the upholstery on the deep oak chairs that lined the dried flower petal pathway to where he was standing. The soft fall breeze caused a few of the petals to swirl around at his feet, reminding him of why he was here in the first place.

Bucky heard her humming from the other room when he got home from his morning run. Kicking off his shoes, he followed the sound of the humming to find Y/n plucking the drying petals off of the most recent bouquet, carefully depositing each petal into a glass jar.

“What’cha doing doll?” He called out, startling Y/n causing her to drop the flower she was currently working on.

“Jesus Buck! You scared me!” The pout that appeared on her face caused a chuckle to rumble in his chest. He swept her up in his arms, placing a kiss on her temple.

“Sorry darlin’. Didn’t mean to scare ya.” Y/n hummed in delight as Bucky tightened his embrace.

“Well, if you must know-” She teased, spinning in his arms to face him, “I'm saving the flower petals from the bouquets you give me.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Can I ask why?”

Y/n just smiled. “Someday, when we get married, I want to use the flower petals from all of the flowers you have given me to decorate the aisle I walk down towards you.”

A hand on his shoulder snapped Bucky back to the present.

“Hey man, you good? You looked a little lost there for a moment.” Sam said, brushing off Bucky’s suit. Bucky let out a shaky breath and smiled.

“Yeah, jus’ thinkin’ bout how we got here.”

Sam nodded his head and gave Bucky another pat on the shoulder before resuming his spot as best man. As he stood there, Bucky looked around at everyone who was there. Y/n’s immediate family was there of course, along with a couple of dear friends in her bridal party. On Bucky’s side, he had Sam and Torres as his groomsmen, and sitting in the crowd, he saw Suri sitting up front with both of Sam’s nephews, to help with the rings, Sarah was sitting nearby with a gentle smile on her face as she visited with the other folks. The kid who worked the counter at Joe’s on Saturdays, Howie, was there too smiling up at Bucky. Most of Sam’s family, who had accepted Bucky as one of their own were in the crow as well, mingling with Y/n’s family. Sam was gracious enough to let the couple use the backyard of the house for the small wedding.

The pair were a few weeks into wedding planning when the talk of location and size came up.

“How big is this whole thing gonna be, doll?” Bucky asked as he looked at the different swatches of blue fabric sitting on their coffee table.

Y/n sighed, “Would it be bad if I said I didn’t want a lot of people there? 50 at most?” Bucky looked up from the fabrics to meet Y/n’s gaze.

“Not at all.” He said with a smile, reaching for her hand across the table. “I think a small wedding is just our style if we are being completely honest.” Y/n smiled sweetly at him before resuming her mission to find the flowers she wanted.

“I think you are right. Do you think Sam would let us use the backyard of the house in Louisiana? It's so quiet, and in the fall when those big trees in the backyard are changing color? Underneath that willow tree? Oh, Bucky I think it’d be perfect!”

Y/n was gushing at the idea, and with the way her eyes sparkled as she described the scene, Bucky was willing to do just about anything to make that dream a reality for her, and of course, as soon as he asked Sam, he said yes.

Bucky blinked back into the present. The fairy lights were starting to show their glow hanging from the branches of the willow tree, swaying gently in the breeze. The sun was just starting to set, the inky purples and blues of the evening starting to slip into the sky, just letting the stars peak out through all of the colors dancing above them. The colors of the leaves danced in the golden light, reflecting off the water nearby, creating a beautiful mosaic of color all around the crowd of people. Suddenly the music changed. The filler music that had been playing for how long now, Bucky didn’t know, but he did know the song that was playing, it was the song that they danced to that night in the living room when Bucky decided that she was the one for him.

The pair had been cooking dinner, but when the next song on Y/n’s playlist came on, her eyes lit up, matching the smile that found its way onto her face.

“Oh Bucky I love this song! I know it’s not really slow dancing music but will you dance with me?”

Bucky chuckled as he swept her into the middle of their kitchen. He spun her just as the chorus started and what happened next sealed his fate forever. As she spun, she laughed, one of the most beautiful sounds Bucky had ever heard. The golden rays of the sun danced off of her hair casting a golden glow in the room around them. When she was back in his arms, he pulled her close and pressed his forehead to hers.

“Marry me?” He asked softly. Y/n’s breath froze, perpetually stuck in her lungs.

“What?” She whispered, staring up at him wide-eyed.

Bucky looked at her. “Y/F/N Y/L/N, will you marry me? I swear I’ll do this again, proper with a ring and everythin’ but I gotta know darling, will you marry me?”

Right as the same chorus started, Y/n appeared at the end of the aisle from Bucky. Sometime during his reminiscing, everyone had stood up and watched her appear, and now were now watching him as he took in the love of his life, standing there in white, bouquet of sunflowers, spray roses, and chamomile in her hands as she started walking towards him. Bucky couldn’t think of a single thing he had done right in his incredibly long life to deserve to be standing where he was right now, but he was forever grateful.

Time flew by and before he knew it it was time for their vows. Y/n went first.

“Bucky, ever since I’ve met you we’ve had a lot of learning and growing we have done over our three years together, one of the most noticeable things I have learned is when you go quiet, and won't let your guard down, I hear through the silence that you're trying to figure it out. You're trying to make me proud, believe me now, Baby, to the Moon and back

I still love you more than that. When your skies are grey, and your whole world is shaking

To the Moon and back, I love you more than that.”

Bucky’s Adam's apple bobbed furiously up and down as the tears streamed down his face. He pulled the pocket square out of his suit pocket and tried to stop the tears flowing down his cheeks but to no avail, they had started flowing the moment Y/n had appeared at the end of the aisle. Steadying himself with a breath, Bucky began his vows.

I remember when I saw you at the movies, and to me, you were a stranger in the room.

But to my surprise, I met your eyes and that was when I knew. Yeah without a doubt, I took you out for coffee. We sat for hours at a table made for two. I love the flowers in your footprints and the sparkle in your eyes. It doesn't matter if it rains or shines cuz I'll be by your side. For the record, you're my treasure, I love you more and more, and after all that we've been through, I can say it, you're my favorite and you'll always be my muse and I hope that in your heart you know it's true.”

Sam’s nephews brought up the rings, and with a little help from Suri, Bucky had a ring on his finger, identical to the one decorating Y/n’s hand. After the preacher said ‘You may now kiss the bride’ The rest of the evening was a blur for the couple. But once the party was in full swing and they took a rest from dancing, Bucky pulled Y/n into his arms, pressed a kiss to her temple, and whispered in her ear, “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, than here with you.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky x female reader #bucky fluff #bucky barnes x you

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patchofgrey · 6 months ago

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Nejiten Family Head cannons

Read the material: Nejiten headcannons | Tenten head cannons | Neji head cannons

Here we go:

As parents:

1. Neji and Tenten were the first to get married. I’m going based off of the “promise” Neji made Tenten during the war. He probably promised to always be by her side, and probably insisted they get married. Hiashi was aware of Neji’s intentions, and since he was already familiar with Tenten, he gave Neji his blessing even if the elders did not.

2. Tenten was apprehensive about having children. Childbirth scared her, and she didn’t want her children to be branded with the curse seal. Luckily, by the time Naruto and Hinata were married and established, the act of using the curse seal was disbanded, and she did not have to worry about her children.

3. Neji and Tenten were the first of their group to have children; twins boys. In some divine act to mirror the situation of Hiashi and Hizashi, Tenten popped out twin boys; The eldest twin was named Nozomi and the younger twin was named after Neji’s father, Hizashi. Because Tenten does have some interest in spirituality, she wanted to honor the possibility that Hizashi’s soul could be within her child and give him a “chance at a new life of freedom”. Neji was a bit shocked at her decision, however touched that she would think of him in such a way.

4. Three years after the twins were born, Tenten gave birth to a girl, the same year as Metal Lee and the gang. With the twins already toddlers, Neji wanted as many kids as possible with Tenten. Tenten, convinced him to stop after their daughter; fully closing the factory and insisting that three was more than enough. Neji named her Meiten, after Tenten. He wanted her to share some commonality with Tenten and thought that Meiten had a nice ring to it when he called both of their names out loud.

5. All three children have the Byakugan. In my Hyuga head cannons, the Byakugan is a dominate gene with the BB coding. With Neji and Tenten’s genetics, all three children have the Bb genetic coding due to Tenten obviously not being a Hyuga with the Byakugan.

6. Neji is a girl dad. He loves his sons, and yet there’s something about his little girl that he’s just attached to. He tends to struggle with keeping himself in check in terms of smothering her with affection. The same struggle that he has to keep in self in check around Tenten to some degree. He could come off cold to his children at times, especially Meiten, but he is trying to not spoil his children, his daughter primarily.

7. Tenten insisted on training all children weaponry. Even if only one child inherited her perfect aim (Nozomi did in fact show talent for it), she wanted her children to be well rounded and not just focus on the Gentle Fist style of fighting. In fact, she focused on one weapon specialty per child; Nozomi with twin swords, Hizashi with a staff, and Meiten with Nunchucks.

8. Neji refused to go on missions while Tenten was pregnant and the kids were at least one years old. It was explained that one of Neji’s love languages are Acts of Service. He felt the need to stay by Tenten’s side and assist her in anyway possible; he would handle the kids while she got rest, take them to appointments, set up the nursery with the help of Lee and Hinata. Gai would give him props for completely devoting himself to Tenten in this way; very much so that Neji would get embarrassed by the constant praise.

9. Tenten was the proctor for her twin boy’s second round of the chunnin exams. It was quite the spectacle for her to watch her sons show off their genius to the crowd.

10. Neji and Tenten show subtle affection while around the kids. Because Neji is awkward himself when it comes to it, the most they do is hold each other and Neji will lightly kiss Tenten if they are around the children. Tenten will still hang on her husband, however will keep her hands respectably where they can be seen *wink wink*.

11. Neji and Tenten are very open and honest with their children. They encourage curiosity and critical thinking. They want their kids to be comfortable enough to approach them, while coming to conclusions based in their own problem solving skills. Neji encourages them to hang around Shikadai, who inherited Shikamaru’s high IQ.

12. Neji and Tenten instilled the “stronger than yesterday” mindset onto their kids. In an attempt at encouragement as well as motivation, Team Gai’s ideals were passed on between Nozomi, Hizashi, Meiten, and Metal Lee.

13. Lee has attempted to keep the green spandex tradition going. You can check out the mini comic page here to see how that turned out. Neji and Tenten kept the green spandex suits hidden from the kids; that hideous thing needed to be burned tbh…

14. Neji tries to be there for Boruto when Naruto is busy. He does try to make Boruto understand that his father is in a very important position and tried to support him as much as he can. Hinata appreciates Neji’s efforts, though Boruto is stubborn, just like his father. Neji doesn’t take any offense when Boruto calls him out for acting as if he was his dad, though the kid also acknowledged that Neji was in fact more present than his own dad and immediately felt like crap for snapping on his Uncle.

For the kids;

1. The twins caused some controversy within the clan. They were the first branch members to not be branded by the main branch. There were times that Neji had to put some of his relatives in their place while protecting his boys. The curse mark can only be removed through death as stated in cannon, it’s safe to say Hiashi had to control his nephew’s threats to his relatives if they even looked at his kids the wrong way.

2. The twins showed more aspects of Tenten’s outward appearance and personality than Neji’s. Nozomi and Hizashi are bubbly, outspoken, and clever in a mischievous way. However, they do share Neji’s ability to remain calm in certain situations and have inherited his determination. They also inherited Neji’s intimidation vibes and high patience levels.

3. Nozomi and Hizashi find their Uncle Lee to be quite the drama king. Much like their parents, Uncle Lee can be a lot sometimes, and the twins try to keep a straight face around him. It’s not that they don’t find him amusing or wise, it’s just that he tends to let the tears of youth flow a little bit too freely.

4. The twins are protective of their little sister. Metal Lee gets a pass for being friendly with Meiten because that is their Uncle Lee’s son. Meiten and Metal practically grew up together. Everyone else though, the twins can be quite intimidating depending on what’s going on.

5. Meiten inherited Neji’s calm persona and yet she can be quite the hot-head if pushed. When around Metal and Uncle Lee and Uncle Gai, Meiten will be the opposite of their energy in order to maintain some sanity. She has also picked up on Neji’s mannerisms such as pursing her lips together when annoyed, rolling her eyes, and over all having some kind of opinion that tends to be the opposing opinion.

6.Meiten finds her cousin Boruto to be a bit of a brat, but she does understand why. She knows that Uncle Naruto is always busy with being Hokage, and Boruto had even called Meiten “lucky” that her father was always around for her.

7. Nozomi and Hizashi are on separate teams. Nozomi’s sensei is Rock Lee, who gladly took the responsibility of training one or both of the Hyuga twins. Hizashi’s sensei is Kiba Inuzuka. Kiba was surprised to have Hizashi grouped with him, however Neji supported the decision on separating the twins. Tenten also wanted the twins to make their own friends, and be independent of each other.

8. Nozomi and Hizashi faced off during the chunnin exams while Tenten was their proctor. Oh boy, oh boy! Tenten could barely contain herself as she watched her boys fight to become chunnin. It ended in a draw with both boys fighting until they were completely drained of chakra. Neji and Tenten were pleased with the draw, both becoming chunnin anyway due to their skills.

9. Meiten didn’t get past the preliminary round of the chunnin exam fights. She was clocked by a foreign gennin. She was very upset with herself and refused to look her parents in the face after wards. Tenten had to tell her own experience of the first time taking the her and Neji took the chunnin exams; Tenten was also clapped by a foreign ninja, and Neji was beat by Meiten’s Uncle Naruto.

10. All three children are considered heirs to the Hua family business even with the last name Hyuga. Lady Chao-Xing Hua was very pleased that Tenten married into the Hyuga family, she hopes that one day, one of them will take over the family business. Tenten refused to take over, however her brother Shinten decided to and made Konoha a second head quarters for the business. Tenten does help from time to time, however she does not fully get involved.

If you want to see some of the kids designings, I got them for you right hereeee: Full Nejiten Kids designs

#naruto #neji hyuga #nejiten #tenten #fanfiction #neji x tenten #nejiten fanfiction #headcannons #nejiten headcannons #Meiten Hyuga #Tenten Hyuga #Nozomi Hyuga #hizashi hyuga

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crochetedblorbos · 6 months ago

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"I am not now, nor have I ever been, adorable."

Character Name: Jonathan Sims, a/k/a The Archivist, a/k/a The Ceaseless Watcher’s Special Little Boy, a/k/a Snoop God’s Favorite Kid

Fandom: The Magnus Archives [Podcast]

Voiced/Written By: Jonathan Sims

Yarn Used: Shoes: CraftSmart Value - Dark Almond Trousers: CraftSmart Value - Taupe Cardigan: CraftSmart Value - Olive Shirt: CraftSmart Value - White Skin: CraftSmart Value - Coffee Hair: CraftSmart Value - Dark Chocolate, CraftSmart value - Grey Glasses: Ashland Decorative Wire - Black, 12 gauge

Basic pattern here.

Look. How can you NOT love this pathetic wet cat of a man. (And like most cats, he is also a bastard at times.) He really went through the wringer over the course of the podcast, both physically and emotionally. Thank God he had Martin there for him.

Jon differs from the base pattern as follows:

Shoes: I actually remembered to do the soles in a different color this time! Other than the color, they were done the same way as Joseph’s.

Trousers: I accidentally shortened them. I did not mean to shorten them, but frankly, I miscounted on the first leg and only realized it halfway up the second, so I stopped them at R27 instead of R29, so he’s just a tad bit shorter than normal. (Which is fine, and fits my headcanon for Jon.) I also…well, I’ve finally thrown my lot in on the Great Archival Ass Debate on the side of the Assless, so in R32 (what would normally be R34, but again, everything is two rows lower than normal), I put the decrease in the very back, rather than on either side of R41 as usual. Other than that, they’re the same as Joseph’s.

Cardigan and Shirt: I more or less used the same technique I used for Hux, except that I started a round lower (I think) to make the V deeper. I switched fully to the white for R50 (R52 in the base pattern), then did three stitches on either side of the center stitch of R51 in back loops only to give myself something to hook onto. I then went back later and stitched a collar by making a simple triangle in the front loops of those stitches. I also skipped what would have been R54 in the base pattern and, when I switched to the skin color, I went straight for the decrease to 12 sc around. I was hoping this would make his head less floppy.

Head: I used the loop method again. It’s just easier at this point, especially since Jon canonically has enough grey in his hair that he looks older than thirty. I gave him long hair and left it loose, but at least I got it the right length this time (sorry again, Hux). I was going to give him ears, but honestly, I made his glasses small enough that I didn’t need to. I didn't necessarily plan on giving him buck teeth, but I was in the middle of a D&D session while I was working on his face and white yarn was the only thing I had to hand, so rather than run back to my room for black or dark brown I just went with it.

Arms: When you’re crocheting a character who canonically has a very nasty burn scar on one hand, you have three choices. You can ignore it, you can attempt to replicate it in variegated yarn, or you can crochet a hand and set it on fire. And, well...

...I have a lighter and very poor impulse control. [Side note: I mentioned this to an IRL friend who also listens to TMA, and they said brightly, “Just like the Archivist!] (For the record, burning acrylic yarn doesn’t actually smell as terrible as you might think.) I also decided to cut out the final increase in his hands to make them long and thin. This also means I didn’t decrease for his wrists, which was fine, because I gave him shirt cuffs folded over the end of his cardigan as follows: R9: Join shirt yarn, ch 2, dc in outside loop of each st around, sl st in first dc (10 dc). R10: Ch 1, sc in outside loop of each st around, sl st in first sc (10 sc). R11: Join cardigan yarn, ch 2, hdc in back loop of each stitch in R9 around, sl st in first hdc (10 hdc). Continue rest of arm as normal.

Glasses: These definitely did not turn out like I expected, but eh, they work. I bent the wire into square spectacles and stuck them on. As mentioned, I did them tight enough (accidentally) that I didn’t even need the ears.

Bonus: I deliberately did Jon’s hands so he can hold hands with Martin, or tried to anyway. I realized only after he was complete that I matched the magnet in Jon’s right hand to the one in Martin’s right hand, and there’s not really room to turn them around. I might try pulling Martin’s arms off later and switching them around, but for now…well, at least they can hold hands the other way around.

#blorbo from my shows #crocheting #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin

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sourpatchys · 11 months ago

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Tea Prompts, Tomura Shigaraki

You can find the original prompt post here!

Let me know if there are any other characters you’d like to see any of these prompts for! This was really fun!

Warning: some adult themes are thrown in here! This isn’t a NSFW piece but I did include some references to sexual activity, please read with caution if that’s not your cup of tea <3 (most of these are completely SFW)

A/n: these were written with a F!Reader in mind, most of them can be read either way! Though occasionally she/her pronouns are used<3

Masterlist Guidelines

Lemon Tea; What are Mornings like with them?

Tomura isn’t much of a sleeper— so mornings together tend to be rare and far between— but when he actually manages to sleep a full eight hours, the mornings you have together are very peaceful.

He isn’t a morning person by any means. He’s groggy, grumpy and completely nonverbal for the first hour or more. With you he can loosen up a bit, sliding his cold hands and feet into your general space, switching fingers every few minutes just to make sure they’re all warming up properly.

Some mornings he’ll wrap you in a bear hug that your absolutely positive could crack a few ribs— though you love it all the same.

This is the time you two have just to yourselves— no league, no missions, no plans for world domination— just two people laying in bed waiting for the sun to fully rise.

—

Peppermint tea; What do they get excited about?

A pretty obvious answer would be video games, but in all honesty, Tomura loves to talk.

To speak and be heard, to engage in conversation and bounce ideas back and forth— that’s what really gets him going. He loves to plot, to scheme and gossip about anything and everything.

Outwardly it’ll be nearly impossible to tell, he really isn’t the kind of guy who would let anyone know something this personal (so vulnerable), though everyone notices the spark in his eyes when he really gets going on a topic he’s passionate about.

If you were to ask follow up questions, to engage yourself fully in his monologues and spiels, it’s just like giving a kid a candy bar.

And if you were to get angry for him?? To enrage yourself over anything he may say, to become furious at the same situation or person he hates so much— it’s almost enough to fully break his cover.

It’s one thing for him to be elated over the prospect of another person feeling his rage, but it’s another entirely if he starts to feel yours. Stupid highschool bully stories, that one girl in band class that broke your flute— it doesn’t matter— he’ll start eating it up as if he hasn’t had a meal in years.

—

Chamomile tea; What is their sleep schedule like? Does it change around their s/o?

To put it bluntly, Tomura doesn’t have a sleep schedule— he sleeps when his body gives out.

Even before his memories had re-emerged, blotchy nightmares plagued him. Every morning he’d wake up sick to his stomach, the itch under his skin growing by the millisecond. So— he learned to adapt.

2-3 hour power naps kept the nightmares at bay and gave him enough stamina for whatever was to come. His lack of sleep was a large driving force in his erratic behavior early on, grumpy and irritable.

With you though, he finds the nightmares to be less oppressive. He still doesn’t sleep enough, but he finds that taking a couple days out of the week to rest fully isn’t so bad.

If he has a nightmare, the cycle will break back to its bare bones and it’ll take awhile to resurface. As long as you’re patient and as long as he’s willing, he’ll be back to sleeping properly.

Though as a whole, it could take years before he’s ready to sleep regularly again.

—

Earl grey tea; How did they court their s/o?

He didn’t. He isn’t a romantic— he honestly hated you when he started to feel more than just average companionship towards you.

Not a single bushel of roses were bought, no dates were had— hell— you didn’t even know you were together until about a month in when he got pissed at you for getting injured!

“If you ever do that again we’re breaking up.”

Any confusion would only piss him off more— giving you the silent treatment for a few days before he’d finally cave in with some very dead and very wilted wild flowers in hand.

“What is this??”

“Shut the fuck up and take them.”

He honestly just decides that you’re the one he wants— it doesn’t really matter to him how you feel about it.

—

Milk tea; What are their kisses like?

At first, Tomura’s kisses are gentle, childlike and timid— like he isn’t sure what exactly he’s supposed to be doing.

Then— they become untamed— sloppy and harsh. He bites and slobbers, prods and maims, anything to get as close to you as possible.

He won’t kiss you unless you’re completely alone, far away from any prying eyes and peaked interests. He’s not going to show that part of himself to anyone but you.

Teeth and tongue, cracked lips that— if chapped enough— can cut into your own. Kissing is a frenzy, very rarely will you ever get a soft peck or a loving press of his lips onto yours.

—

Coffee; Do they get jealous easily? How do they show it?

Absolutely. Tomura— even as a rising symbol of fear— is extremely self conscious.

He’d never let you leave— as stated above— he didn’t even really give you a choice when it came to being together in the first place.

But even so, the insecurity of you looking away from him, finding someone better or more handsome— it makes his blood run cold.

If there’s someone who touches you and lingers a little too long, if there’s someone you smile at a little too brightly, he’s not above taking their life. Of course it always starts with a threat, either to them or to you.

He wants you to tell him you’ll never leave, he wants you to crumble and cry and tell him everything is exactly as it should be. He is not a kind man, and in times like these it becomes ever apparent that he never will be.

Tomura protects what’s his, and even with free will, you belong to him whether you like it or not.

—

Rosehip tea; How romantic are they? How do they show affection?

Tomura isn’t romantic. At least not in the traditional sense. You can tell he cares by the look in his eyes or his apprehensive nature towards your roll in whatever the league may be doing next.

He keeps you away from danger, even though he, himself, is the biggest danger to you.

If you were to ask for something— anything— he would get it for you. He’s very straight forward, and he wants the people he cares about to able to do, and have whatever they want.

His love language is physical touch, and even though he keeps all the affection he has for you behind closed doors— as soon as those doors are closed, he’s all over you.

Running his hands up and down your stomach, gripping at the squish on your thighs, shoving his head into the crook of your neck, palming your breasts just to remember the feel of them.

He treats you like a fragile porcelain doll.

—

Black tea; What do they look for in a person?

Honestly he wasn’t looking. The concept of romance was completely uninteresting to him— he didn’t want anyone and he didn’t need anyone— he was completely fine on his own.

Though, he wouldn’t date a fellow villain— at least not one notable enough to be a threat. Tomura doesn’t do well with competition, he loathes the thought of racing to the top, he just wants to be there.

Finding a person who he can corrupt, who he can make his own— is something he’d enjoy greatly. That’s not to say he couldn’t fall for a league member, but it wouldn’t be someone worth his time— at least not in the beginning.

He wants a person he can talk to, touch, and unload upon. Someone who will remain consistent and stick by his side no matter what the cost may be.

Although romance isn’t his forte, and finding someone to love wasn’t something he had ever envisioned, he wants someone he can be with for life.

—

Pomegranate tea; At what point did they know they loved their s/o?

Truth be told Tomura was wrapped around your finger from the moment he decided he wanted you— though it didn’t fully kick in until a few months into your relationship.

You were in a fight— it was over something stupid that any other couple could’ve resolved within the day— looking back neither of you could even remember what it was about.

He was pissed, stomping around, seething and destroying anything he could get his hands on. He wanted to yell at you, to scream in your face and make sure you know this was your fault. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Gradually, as the days passed and he became less and less bothered by whatever the two of you had disagreed on— he realized he wasn’t itchy.

He still had those rising tingles under his skin and he still had to rub away his discomfort from day to day life— but this argument, the infuriating way you had made him feel— it did nothing to his sensitive skin.

Slowly it became apparent that he hadn’t needed to dig into his skin at all. He was angry, he was upset and borderline furious with you— but he was comfortable.

For the first time in his life he was able to feel negativity without the pull of fire ants under his skin. That’s when he realized for sure— that he was absolutely, without a doubt, in love with you.

—

Matcha tea; How and when do they propose to their s/o?

The villain life has no room for any sort of eloping or marriage— so he doesn’t ever really propose.

Sooner or later you just start to feel like a married couple.

You bicker and fight, you sleep together and sneak away to have alone time. The love he has for you starts seeping out more, he becomes a new version of himself just for you.

Then, once the Paranormal Liberation Front is active, Re-Destro asks about your partnership. It’s a simple question, curious and wide eyed.

“Who is this girl to you?”

It makes sense given the environment— you were not nominated as a lieutenant, though you stood by Tomura’s side like a shadow, waiting and watching— clearly in the ranks but with no flashy title to show for it.

And then, as if it were as simple as breathing, Tomura calls you his wife. Telling anyone who was around that he was the King, and by default you were the Queen.

—

Chai Tea; How do they spice up their relationship?

All in all, Tomura is a pretty boring guy. He drinks straight black coffee, plays video games and broods in silence 90% of the time.

Though, when it comes to you, he does try to make an effort. He’ll try out the games you like or your hobbies, and he’ll introduce you to his own in return.

He’ll teach you how to play chess, and that will inevitably turn into tradition. Once a week (if time will allow) you’ll sit down together, play a few games and just talk.

In the underworld, romance never will be easy to manage, and even though you make his days a little brighter, you’ll never be his top priority. World destruction won’t happen on its own, and nothing in his life will override his goals.

But these special little moments between the two of you are by far the best part of anything he’s ever going to accomplish.

—

Hibiscus tea; What’s their favorite place to take their s/o?

The bedroom. As stated, Tomura isn’t a very outgoing person— he won’t take you out on dates or walks in the park.

But he will sit with you in a dark room, watch movies and eat junk. (Bonus points if there’s a blow job thrown in)

His favorite place to be with you, is when you’re alone and secluded. He wants to touch you freely, to run his lips down your throat and hold you close to his chest.

He wants to grab you, to hold and be held. To feel the warmth of your body completely engulfing his own.

Truly, his favorite place to be, is wherever you’ll allow.

—

Green tea; How do they comfort their s/o?

He really doesn’t. Tomura has absolutely no idea how to deal with you when you’re upset.

If you’re angry he’ll get angry with you! He’ll wind you up and let you take it all out on whatever you so please. (as long as it isn’t him)

Expect absolutely nothing in regard to his comforting abilities. He might take you to the side and ask you what’s wrong, he may even give you an awkward hug! But that’s really all he’ll be able to do.

If you ask for space he’ll give it to you, if you ask for cuddles he’ll do his best! But overall, you’re the one who has to call the shots, and depending on what’s going on, he may just leave you to deal with it yourself. Because as stated above— regardless of how wonderful you are— you are not his top priority.

—

Russian caravan tea; How experienced are they with relationships?

NOT AT ALL. You are his first (and final) attempt at love. You’re going to get all of his fuck ups, all of his learning curves and all of his shitty disposition.

He has no idea what he’s doing, and even years down the line he still won’t fully understand. Caring for another person isn’t the most insane thing in the world— he cares for the league and it works out fine!

But loving someone?? It’s just too overwhelming at times. Taking your needs into consideration without being asked, figuring out what you enjoy and how he can add that into his already insane schedule— it’s maddening.

You’re his first everything, and you’re just going to have to be okay with that— because you’re stuck with him whether you like it or not!

—

English breakfast tea; Would they want a family?

Tomura wasn’t even looking for love when he found it— let alone a family.

I really doubt he ever thinks about it at all, he’s never been someone who cared much about what the future would bring.

That isn’t to say if you wanted a family he wouldn’t cave. He wants the people he cares about to have and do whatever they want— if for you that means starting a family with him— he’s not opposed to it.

It wouldn’t be cut and dry though, and if you never pipe up with the interest he isn’t going to either.

If you do bring it up, he’d ask a lot of follow up questions. Such as,

“Why?”

“What’s the point?”

He really wouldn’t know what to do if that situation occurred, but he wouldn’t say no— he may just need to think on it for a while.

If you were to become pregnant, be it a broken condom or failed birth control— he wouldn’t ask you to terminate. You belong to him— yes— but part of being in his grasp is being able to live your life any way you want. Aside from hero work or leaving him there aren’t many restrictions.

If push comes to shove he’d enjoy having a little family of his own! Seeing himself mixed with you in a smaller, separate, body— creating something after destroying so much. It would be one of the steepest learning curves he’s ever experienced, and he wouldn’t be the most present father in the early days of vomit and diapers— but he’d be there all the same.

—

Rooibos tea; What’s their favorite thing to do with their s/o?

Cuddling. He loves to touch and be touched. He doesn’t care if you play games with him, he doesn’t care if you kill and destroy— all he cares about is the fact that you’re there with him.

He loves when you run your fingers through his tangled hair, slowly separating any knots you find. He loves the feel of his hands rubbing against your soft skin. He craves your presence and he craved the feel of you.

It’s not always sexual— but those times when he can claim you, to mark you inside and out, he truly feels like he’s the most powerful man in the world.

He’s terrified of feeling vulnerable, so he pushes you away any chance he gets, refusing to do anything with you if there’s even a chance of someone else seeing. (And sometimes that person is you)

#tomura x y/n #tomura x you #tomura shigiraki x reader #tomura headcanons #tomura x reader #tomura imagine #tomura shiragaki #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki headcanons #shigaraki headcanon #shigaraki imagine #my hero academia shigaraki #mha shigaraki #shigaraki x reader #bnha shigaraki

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penny00dreadful · 2 years ago

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Return of The King - Part 2

Last time it was my birthday, this time it's my 1st wedding anniversary! 👰 I like to celebrate by getting my stuff out there! So here, have a part two to my 'Steddie vampire fic with a twist' which has a title now!

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 AO3

He was going to die. This is how he died.

“That’s mine.” A voice said to him with just the faintest tinge of amusement.

Eddie’s heart stopped. Like fully stopped in his chest for a second and his stomach dropped out of his ass before his heart kicked back into high gear. He couldn’t breathe and time seemed to have crawled to a stop as he stared at the dark figure in front of him, looming somehow large and threatening despite their similar heights and the lightness in his tone of voice. His brain was firing off warning signals left and right telling him the thing in front of him was a predator and he was prey, a constant blaring signal telling him to run, get away, escape, hide.

“What are you doing in my room?” Steve Harrington asked him. His face was completely obscured by the darkness and he was more intimidating than Eddie had ever seen him. He was further in shadow than anything else in the room, like he was sucking all the residual light into the void of his figure.

Eddie was frozen on the spot, he couldn’t move, the terror coursing through him had completely locked up every part of his body. He felt like his heart was getting dangerously fast, almost to the point of bursting, lodging itself in his throat like it was looking for an escape route. He could feel adrenaline starting to flood through him, making him shake and his eyes must have been as wide as saucers.

Steve was dead. Steve was dead, how was he here? How could he be here?! It had been a month, he… his neck was gone, his body was cold, he was… he was empty, there was no life-

How could he be here?!

This had to be some completely fucked up Vecna shit. This was god damn low, even for him. To use Steve in this way… it was barbaric. Eddie didn’t know how long he’d be able to take it before his heart either gave out or broke in two. He knew he wouldn’t be emotionally strong enough to keep himself from giving into Steve if he started to push his buttons and if Vecna was in his head then it was only a matter of time.

At least Vecna was targeting him. Eddie couldn’t imagine the devastation if he’d targeted the kids or Nancy or god forbid, Robin. If it was Robin who’d been sent visions of Steve… Jesus he didn’t even want to think about what it would do to her.

Steve cocked his head to the side and though the movement itself wasn’t inherently dangerous, the motion was enough for Eddie’s terrified state to kick his body into movement, making him jump backwards. His knees stayed slightly bent, like he was just looking for an opportunity to bolt.

“Woah, Eddie.” Steve said, sounding cautious. “It’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you.” He raised his hands as if to placate him but again the movement caused Eddie to flinch back, hip checking the foot of the bed painfully hard and sending him crashing to the floor. He fell flat on his ass, scrambling backwards until he collided with a thump against the wall under the window, unable to tear his eyes away from the approaching shadow.

Everything was starting to hurt now, not physically but emotionally. The reality of what was staring him in the face, some fucked up mirage of a dead pretty boy sent here to psychologically torture him to death was crushing down on top of him. Eddie’s throat was closing with grief, he couldn’t swallow anymore and his eyes were burning. His brain was crying out in devastation and his heart was crumbling around him. It hurt, it fucking hurt.

And he was alone.

He was here, all alone.

No one knew where he was.

No one even knew he came here to get away.

He was going to go missing again, presumed dead again…

They might never find him.

And he was struggling to remember a favourite song, any song that had brought him any kind of joy over the last month.

God this was all so fucked.

As the shadow of Steve got closer, Eddie continued to try to back up, to get as far away from the thing his brain was telling him was hunting him. He just ended up slipping against the floor as he kicked his legs out, his breaths were coming in short and sharp, he starting to hyperventilate and shit this really wasn't going well for him.

He curled up into himself, just waiting for the inevitable emotional and physical blows to come crashing down, digging his fingers into his hair and resting his forehead on his knees.

“Ed-”

“Can you just... give me a minute, man?” Eddie sniffled, his voice shaking. “I’m trying to get a handle on a favourite song.”

“I’m not Vecna.” Steve’s soft reply came, his tone of voice understanding.

“Uh-huh.” His knees were starting to get damp and he tried not to think of all the shit Wayne had to suffer through in life by taking a train wreck of a nephew in all those years ago. “Real convincing. Sounds like something Vecna would say, you dickless lump of unseasoned bolognese.”

Silence pressed in around him as he waited for the strike. Something to cut through him physically or emotionally. Rip him limb from limb, pop his eyes, punch a hole in his chest or just plain torture him until he expired.

Instead he heard a muffled exhale, something halting and breathy that almost sounded like-

Eddie looked up incredulous, his hands still clutched into his hair. “Are you laughing? Are you seriously laughing right now?”

Almost against his will, he felt his body start to come down from the panic gripping him.

Because he could see Steve highlighted by the moonlight spilling in the window, his face, his cheeks, his nose, his moles, his eyes, the part of his brain screaming predator quieted, now only whispering rather than shouting. The darkness of Steve’s figure seemed to lessen, no longer terrifying and unknowable, but familiar and comforting. There was no way to describe how he looked other than angelic. Ethereally beautiful in an almost unsettling way that made Eddie think of brightly coloured frogs that secreted poison and venus fly traps sitting motionless and open.

But now that Steve was no longer this looming, threatening presence shrouded in darkness he didn’t feel quite so dangerous anymore. Well, that was a lie. But he didn’t feel quite so dangerous towards Eddie. It was like just looking at him had helped the calm settle over his bones.

Steve shook his head, his hand still covering his mouth trying to quieten the giggles coming through but it was a rapidly losing battle. Eddie’s own mouth was starting to curl up against his will, his disbelief was bubbling into mirth in his chest, threatening to explode forth.

“Stop laughing at me!” Eddie found himself giggling through his words, Steve’s own laughter had become infectious.

Steve exploded, throwing his head back with loud braying cackles that made him sound like a demented witch, listing dangerously to the side before he caught himself.

“I’m not- I’m not laughing at you, Eds. I swear.” He giggled. “You’re just really funny.”

“That’s laughing at me!” Eddie had to hold himself back from swatting at Steve’s leg. While Steve’s laugh filled him with light, made him so warm and alive and bright in the dark room, Eddie still couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still on the wrong side of the predator/prey relationship.

“I wasn’t laughing at you.” Steve sighed away the last of his giggles. “I was laughing at what you said. I told you, you’re funny.”

Steve Harrington thinks I’m funny.

Eddie’s heart rate was starting to pick up again but this time it had nothing to do with fear. Steve’s smile grew fractionally wider, blinking across at him, so warm and bright and full of life.

“I’ve been called many things sweetheart, but funny’s not usually one of them.”

“Well maybe they can’t see what I can see.”

Eddie felt his eyes grow soft and the smile slip from his face while his heart shattered and reformed a million times over. He nudged himself closer, just by a fraction, just enough so he no longer had the safety net of the wall behind him.

He held his hand out to Steve, palm up, who’s look had morphed into confusion and a bit of concern at the change in attitude before he placed his hand palm down in Eddie’s.

Eddie could feel the ridges and wrinkles of his palm, the warmth of his skin, the rhythmic pulse of a heartbeat under his wrist, too slow to be anything human but there and strong.

“Fuck.” Eddie whispered into the air between them. “It's really you, isn’t it?”

Steve tightened his fingers, holding his hand firmly but softly at the same time. “It’s really me.”

Eddie allowed his eyes to roam over Steve’s figure. He was so whole. His neck was all there, not a scar or wound in sight as though he’d never had his throat ripped out by tiny gnashing teeth. His eyes were glittering and thoughtful in the moonlight so much the same as they used to be but there was something different in them too. Their usual hazel-honey colour was present but there was a starling yellow undertone to them that hadn’t been there before. It only flashed occasionally when they caught the light just right. It should never have been visible except to someone who’d spent entirely too long gazing at those eyes and Eddie was exactly that kind of pathetic human to have committed them to memory.

Steve’s cheeks were steadily starting to go pink under his gaze and god he was right here. He was right in front of him with their hands intertwined and it felt so good but it also hurt. It still hurt so much, like he was going to be snatched away at any moment.

Eddie chewed on is lip. “You were dead.”

Steve nodded. “I was.”

“Are you-” Eddie swallowed. “Are you still dead?”

He didn’t feel still dead but what other explanation did they have?

“I don’t know.”

“What do you know?”

Steve shrugged, casting his eyes around as though looking for the answer in his dusty old bedroom. His eyebrows furrowed slightly and he sniffed. Eddie thought he might be smelling the air, but there was no smell here other than dust and that stale scent that often clung to fabric when it was left alone for too long.

Steve’s eyebrows relaxed and a sly smile slowly spread itself over his face. He pulled his hand out of Eddie’s grip to place his elbows on his knees and his hands under his chin like he was a teenage girl ready for gossip before looking Eddie directly in the eye.

“Have you been sleeping in my bed?”

Oh god, it was so creepy. It was so creepy what he’d been doing. Eddie glanced over at the rumpled sheets, a far distance from how the bed had been when he’d first found it, all clean lines and hospital corners which he couldn’t recreate if he tried.

His face was getting hotter and his heart was getting faster and Steve could definitely see his blush if the widening smile was anything to go by. Eddie suddenly felt pinned as prey again but very different than before, trapped under Steve’s fiery stare.

He needed to get his solid footing back, he needed… he needed to chill the fuck out. Get back on track and try not to tackle the man in front of him and pin him down or roll over and beg Steve to rip him apart.

Steve was still staring at him like watching Eddie squirm was the most interesting thing he could be doing, like he could tell exactly what Eddie was thinking, like a cat watching a mouse caught in a trap.

“I have come to a decision.” Eddie announced, with all the false bravado he could muster.

“Oh yeah?” Steve asked, not swayed in the slightest.

“You’re not Vecna.”

“Duh.”

“Okay, smartass.” He grinned. “You’re not Vecna, you’re not as dead as you used to be, but you don’t know if you’re still a little bit dead?”

Steve sat up, running a hand through his perfect hair. God damn it of course it was perfect, it looked so soft. It flopped back down over his forehead making him look even more devastatingly handsome than before. “Yeah, I figured I could use your help with that.”

For some reason that was what made it hit him all at once.

Steve was here.

He was back.

Something was wrong, he wasn’t back the same but it was him.

Eddie wasn’t alone in this anymore.

The Fellowship… things might be able to get better.

Fuck.

It was like he could finally see in colour.

Like he’d been looking at shadows on cave walls his entire life and was now able to go outside.

It was like he was back into himself in an instant, the Eddie who’d been desaturated with trauma and drowning in responsibility was brought back to life.

He had so much energy, he was almost bouncing with it. He had to find out everything. And he had never been the type to be able to put a book down once it got good. He always had to chase until he got answers and those big goddamn eyes were looking back at him, alive.

“What are you?” Eddie was scooting forward until he was well into Steve’s personal space.

“Uh,” Steve’s boyish confidence seemed to leave him all at once, recoiling slightly as Eddie leaned into him, poking his cheeks and examining his eyes up close. He swatted Eddie’s hands away from his hair, but not before Eddie got to feel it. The famous hair, buttery soft and silky and so thick. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I am, I was hoping you might have some idea, you’re the Lore Master or whatever.”

Eddie sat back a little and tilted his head. “I think you mean Dungeon Master but Lore Master is also an objectively cool name so I’ll take it.” It was a really cool title after all. “I assume I'm the first one you've sought out?”

Steve smirked again. "You're very sure of yourself."

Eddie didn't want to say that if Steve had had the misfortune to visit anyone else first it probably would have been a disaster of epic proportions. He didn't want to say that he'd have known about it immediately because he was now the one who was called first whenever someone had a breakdown or some shit went sideways. He didn't want to say that if it had happened that Steve had visited anyone else, the Fellowship could have ended up broken beyond repair. More than it already was.

Instead he just shrugged.

Steve shook his head. “No, Eddie, I don’t want to see them yet. Not until I have this,” he gestured to himself, “figured out.”

“Right.”

“But everyone’s doing okay?” Steve smiled, as though just the memory of them was enough to light up his life. “I’d say you’ve been driving them crazy with your dice game. Everything that had happened must have given you some great ideas? And you’re probably run ragged driving them everywhere, now that I think about it. Probably more than I was with the cracks everywhere. At least you have a night off for sleepovers and that kind of thing, right?”

Eddie looked over at him, Steve had so much hope and joy in his face at the idea that everything was continuing on as normal and Eddie wished he could keep it that way. “No. We haven’t been doing any of those things.”

“Why not?”

God, this was going to be difficult.

“Everyone’s kinda… fucked up.”

“What? Why? Do they need help? What happened?” Tension had taken over Steve's body in a flash, that animalistic danger was radiating off of him again in waves. He looked like a snake coiled to strike.

Eddie held a placating hand out. He really should be scrambling back because the energy Steve was giving off was terrifying but it also wasn’t because it wasn’t directed at him. He just knew, deep down in his soul that Steve, this Steve, would never hurt him. Eddie felt safe, wrapped up in a bedroom, isolated in a house no one knew he was in with an apex predator who could probably snap him in half.

He managed to get a hand on Steve’s sleeve, gently pulling his gaze back to himself. “Sweetheart… you died. That’s what happened.”

Steve’s shoulders slumped in surprise. He looked shocked. “Really? That’s it?”

“That’s it? That’s it? Hell yeah, that’s it! Stevie baby, you fucking died. Don’t tell me you thought they wouldn’t be mourning you?”

“I mean, I knew they would for a little bit but I thought they would have moved on by now.”

“I don’t think you understand how important you are to the group. Everyone was- still is devastated! Jesus, I’m still in mourning and you’re sitting right in front of me!”

“You?”

“Yeah me! You were my god damn lifeline for the worst week of my existence. I’m supposed to just move on from my knight in shining armour who died tragically and selflessly before I could really get to know him? Get real. I was about two seconds away from wearing a black veil to your memorial.”

“I think you should’ve.”

“Probably best that I didn’t.”

They sat and considered each other for a long moment. Eddie catalogued all the information he’d gotten about this Steve so far. He certainly seemed like himself. So he could possibly be some kind of Vecna sleeper agent. He said he needed help with the whole being dead thing. So was he back to life? Undead?

He didn’t look like how he’d expect any undead creature to look. Even in the pale moonlight Eddie could see the healthy glow to Steve’s skin, felt his thick hair, he seemed strong. He could move incredibly fast. When he was unknowable in the shadows he seemed terrifyingly dangerous. Like he radiated fiersome predator energy without meaning to. Even now that instinct to run, get away, escape, hide was still there at the back of Eddie’s mind but it was less scary than it had been and was now more... thrilling.

Though that could have something to do with Eddie’s own fucked up sexual proclivities.

Overall Steve still seemed Lawful Good. Goofy, bitchy, charming, handsome, sexy, gorgeous…

Okay, moving on.

Eddie was pretty sure he was settling on what Steve might be. He wasn’t rotting, he wasn’t non-corporeal, he wasn’t leaking black ichor or trying to eat his brains. There was just one last thing he needed to see to confirm his suspicions.

Time for the plan of attack.

“Let me see your teeth.” Without warning Eddie surged forward, managing to just barely brush Steve’s top lip with his finger before his wrist was caught in a rock solid grip.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Figuring you out.”

“What does my mouth have to do with it?”

“Your mouth is very important.”

Steve cocked an eyebrow at him, but still held him firm.

Eddie pouted, attempting to play up the dramatics as much as humanly possible. “Stevie!” He whined, shaking the wrist that was still being gripped, allowing his hand to flop around. “You’re no fun.”

“I'm plenty fun, you’re just a menace.”

“I’m not a menace, I’m your Lore Master.” Eddie tried to dip his voice as low as it would go, taking on that rumbling timbre he usually used for his baddies or whenever he needed to reduce someone to liquid in the bedroom.

He felt a grin spread over his face as Steve’s cheeks got a little pinker and his eyelids fluttered just a tad before he schooled his expression back into one of exasperation. Eddie looked over his face again trying to pinpoint why the whole undead thing felt a little… off.

“You know, you look… deceptively normal.”

“Should I not look normal?”

“Well if my suspicions are correct, I would have expected you to look… I don’t know, paler? More dead? Red eyed?” His wrist was still being held prisoner so he leaned forward and stared at Steve wide eyed in a way that usually unsettled people, trying to get him to crack again.

Steve only seemed amused. “What are your suspicions?”

“What are yours? You must have an idea by now.”

“I do but,” Steve huffed and shook his head, “I don’t know if I’d be correct. You guys are the smart ones who know all about this nerd supernatural stuff, I just know what I’ve seen in movies and shit.”

“Okay, well just before I say what I’m thinking I want to check your teeth again.”

“Okay.”

Steve finally released his wrist, allowing Eddie to reach forward and pull his top lip back.

Damn, that was disappointing. They were just normal regular human teeth. Eddie still had a finger on his lip when he just barely caught a mischievous glint in Steve’s eye.

Steve raised his tongue, pressing it against the roof of his mouth and Eddie yelped and snatched his hand back as two short fangs shot down from his gums sliding over his canines.

Steve laughed, his fangs catching a little on his bottom lip. Eddie had apparently left all sense of self preservation behind, throwing himself forward again, practically climbing onto Steve’s lap to get a closer look, grabbing the fangs between his fingers and wiggling them to see how firm they were.

Yep, they were really set in there and they were so short and stubby. There was no way to describe them other than cute.

He angled his head to look up into the roof of Steve’s mouth where his tongue was still pressed, watching in awe as he removed his tongue, his fangs slowly retracting back up into his gums, leaving two small holes in their wake.

“Oh, gross.” Eddie said, fascinated. “Do it again.”

Steve just cocked an eyebrow and angled his head to give him a better view. There was a bump in the roof of his mouth and as Steve pressed against it, slower this time, the two holes in his gums opened wider, his fangs lowering in time with the press of his tongue.

“Looks like some kind of muscle.”

Steve lowered his head and it was only then that Eddie realised how close they were. Their noses nearly touched, Eddie was in his lap, knees on either side of his thighs but Steve didn’t seem to mind, his hands lightly resting on Eddie’s hips.

Maybe don’t try and fuck the apex predator for Christ's sake, he thought to himself but he couldn’t find it in himself to move. He looked down at his own hands and pressed his fingers together.

“My fingers are numb.”

“Yeah, there’s some kind of venom coating the fangs.”

“What? Dude!” He smacked Steve lightly on the chest. “You couldn’t have given me some kind of warning?”

“You didn’t exactly give me a chance, you just kinda…” Steve moved his hand in an arc, “dove in.”

Eddie shrugged before taking a deep breath in. “Well, I believe I have come to my conclusion.”

Steve smiled at him, wide and sharp and enchanting. “Care to share with the class?”

“Maybe.” Eddie tried to put on an over the top performance of being coy, trying to ignore precisely where he was sitting. “What do I get in return?”

Steve’s smile somehow turned sharper. It was hungry and predatory and Eddie’s heart stuttered. “You’ll take what I give you.”

Eddie had to bite down on his cheek and he had to bite damn hard to try to get some control over himself otherwise his heart was going to fly off into the stratosphere. He swallowed around thin air and forced his voice to come out evenly.

“Vampire.”

Steve nodded, squeezing his hips lightly, just once. “I thought so too.”

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 AO3

@romanticdestruction, @darkwitchoferie, @justforthedead89

#steddie #steve and robin #steve x eddie #stranger things #eddie x steve #eddie and robin #steddie fic #stranger things fic #fanfic #penny00dreadful #steddie vampire fic #steddie fanfic #vampire au #steddie vampire au #happy birthday to me #vampire steve #vampire steve harrington #Return of The King Steddie #happy anniversary to me

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say-hwaet · 24 days ago

Text

That's the Way it Is

Chapter Seven: To Dance With Danger, Part 2 Previous Chapters: VI V IV III II I Next Chapter: VIII Summary: You, John, and Bill continue your onslaught on the O'Driscolls. It is rather successful, and dangerous. Word Count: ~8,000 Warnings: Violence, Mature themes, language

The last gunshot rings through the trees and the surrounding air is cast in a fog, not from rain or bad weather, but from gun smoke. You finally lower the shotgun, its weight now becoming too heavy as the adrenaline wears off.

You’re surrounded. Surrounded by piling bodies of dead O’Driscolls.

“Well, Hell…!” Bill cackles, clearly too happy for the fight. “I was itchin’ to get that out of my system…!” And he looks over at you, giving you a respectful nod. “Sure started to wonder when you was gonna be back.”

You furrow your brow. “I am back.”

He shakes his head, you must not be getting it. “Naw, I mean the real you. The real Kitka Petrova!”

John walks over a body after looting it, tucking some found riches in his pocket. “Yeah, that was really somethin’, like old times!”

You feel a jittering in your heart and you place a hand over it. “You mean to say I’ve always been like that?”

John nods. “Sure am. Hosea would be proud.”

You find yourself smiling. If this is the real you, and they approve, then you must be doing something right. Maybe taking the risk in doing this mission was just the thing you needed to get in the right direction.

But then a cracked voice shouts behind you. “You think you can defeat us…?!” You turn around, and see the young O’Driscoll. Blood from the beating you gave him caked on the side of his head and his gun pointed at you. “I knew you was trouble…!”

You freeze, too shocked to move.

And just as Bill and John retaliate, drawing their weapons, another shot echoes.

The boy’s eyes widen and without another word, he falls to the ground with a soft thud. The shot did not come from behind you, but ahead of you.

You see movement to your left and as you turn your head slowly, you are stunned by what you see.

It’s Kieran, with your rifle, smoke still coming from the barrel. He just saved your life.

You are all silent for a moment, perhaps waiting to see if another O’Driscoll will come out of nowhere, but after a minute or two, there are none.

You find yourself opening your mouth, speaking humorously. “I suppose I didn’t tie the knots tight enough.”

“No kidding,” John breathes.

You look at Kieran, who finally lowers the rifle. “I guess we’re even, now,” you exhale.

He nods, looking at you suspiciously, not fully believing you. “If you say so.”

“No, no, no,” John says, waving his hand. “While it’s always a pleasure to kill some O’Driscolls, we’re still short one.”

Bill growls, nodding his head, and storms over to Kieran. “You said Colm was gonna be here!!”

Kieran instantly cowers, dropping your rifle without hesitation. “I weren’t lyin…! He-he-might come back!”

“Not after all that, you idiot!” John snarls, eager to lay a punch on him.

But you step in between them, holding out your hand like you’re trying to tame an angry wolf.

And that’s when you feel a sharp pain in your side.

“Ack…!” You bend over, your left hand going to the spot that stings and burns.

“Kit?!” John goes to you, his brows pinched in deep concern. “What’s wrong, sis?”

You look down and you lift your hand. Your blouse has a dark spot and a long tear in it. You’re surprised you didn’t feel it or see it, but your blouse is a dark brown and you were caught up in the moment of the fight.

But the pain is coming in waves now. “I’ve been shot…” You try to inspect the wound, still retaining some decency as you turn away and lift your shirt.

John places a hand on your back, coaxing you to move. “We gotta get you back—“

There aren’t any holes in your flesh. It looks like a terrible scrape, or like someone took a chisel and marked a chunk out of your skin. “I'm fine,” you interrupt, moving away from him. “It’s just a grazing.”

You hear John sigh. “Still, you need to get back soon.” And he returns to look at Kieran, his eyes narrowing. “After we figure out where that bastard Colm is.”

Still looking at your wound, you say what you were going to say before your injured interruption. “I overheard them saying there was a stagecoach robbery. Colm was on his way here from another hideout.” You grimace, bunching your shirt in your hand and putting pressure on your wound.

John looks at Kieran, his gaze steely and intense. “You know where it is?”

Kieran shakes his head. “O-only this-s-s one…!”

You look up and study Kieran’s face, you can tell that he is petrified, but there’s no hint of deception. You lower your head as the pain in your side increases and try to speak calmly. “He’s telling the truth.”

Kieran’s eyes shift between you three. “I can make it up to you!” He points to the cabin as it continues to burn. “There’s gotta be money in the chimney! Colm always keeps a stash hidden every place he goes!”

John’s raspy voice rings out in irritation. “If it ain’t burned up first! Ever think about that?”

But only the front of the cabin is in flames, it still has to reach the back. Maybe there’s still a chance to find out. Feeling emboldened by your survival, you begin to walk toward it. “I’ll go see.”

But a hand grabs your shoulder, pulling you back. “Oh no, you don’t!” And John whips you back around. “Hosea would have Arthur kill me if I brought you back not only as you are, but burnin’ besides.” And with a hint of a smirk, he points his revolver at Kieran. “You go get it. And you better make sure you come back out with some cash.”

Kieran nods hesitantly, his eyes darting from the smoking cabin to John's grim expression and back again. You watch him approach the cabin, each step tentative as if the ground might give way beneath him. The tension in the air is palatable, like the low rumble of thunder before a storm.

“Hurry up!” John roars, pointing his gun skyward and shooting once. Kieran nearly jumps in the air, and hurries toward what’s left of the door as the flames eat it away.

Your breathing becomes shallow, the sting from your side rising with each pulse of your heart. You lean against a nearby tree, the rough bark pressing into your back, providing a strange comfort amidst the chaos. From this vantage point, you watch as Kieran disappears into the smoky maw of the cabin, his form swallowed by the thick, billowing smoke. Your heart continues to pound in your chest, an erratic drumbeat in the quiet of the dying fire’s hiss and crackle.

“You think he’ll find it?” Bill’s voice breaks through your thoughts, his tone laced with skepticism.

You glance at John who just watches for the opening. “No loss, either way.”

You scowl. “And we aren’t like the O’Driscolls at all,” you say with agitated sarcasm. “I wonder what Hosea would say seeing us now, acting like vultures around a carcass.”

John frowns, the lines on his scarred face deepening. "Hosea ain't here, Kit. We gotta do what we gotta do to survive. Besides, he’s an O’Driscoll, you know that."

Your gaze shifts back to the cabin and just when you are about to give in and go in there after him, Kieran rushes back out, clutching a small, metal box.

“He’s got somethin! He’s got somethin’!” Bill cheers and practically leaps over bodies to get to the young man. Kieran, half-choked by smoke, stumbles toward you all, the box clutched to his chest like a lifeline.

As he nears, his coughing subsides enough for him to wheeze out, "Found it in the chimney—nearly missed it with all the smoke…!”

He offers it to you, not John or Bill, and you take it from him. You try to open it, but it’s locked.

“Hey, what the—?”

And before you can finish, John snatches it from you, and with his hunting knife in hand, he slips it under the lid and pries it open. You all gather close and look inside the box.

And there, perfectly wadded, is a roll of cash. A thick roll.

John manages a smile. “I guess it weren’t all for nothin’.” And discarding the box, he holds the wad of cash and begins to divide it amongst you, leaving a large portion of it for the gang’s collection.

You get a nice take out of it. One. Hundred. Dollars.

There was six hundred dollars just sitting in that tin.

You tuck your share into your bosom, feeling the weight of the bills pressed against your flesh. Aside from the thirty dollars you had woken up with after Blackwater, this is the most amount of money you have ever seen. You don’t feel guilty for having it. After all, it was Colm you stole from, not an innocent family or lonely traveler.

“We should get goin’,” John says calmly and sheaths his knife. He turns to leave and after sharing a glance with Bill, you both follow.

After walking a few paces, John quickly stops, turns around, and looks behind you. “Except you.”

You then realize he is talking about Kieran.

“What?” Kieran asks, his voice trembling. “Y-y-you’re just gonna leave me here?”

“It’s better than killin ya, get lost!” John waves him off with a large sweep of his arm.

Kieran shakes in his boots, his voice trembling. “I’m just as good as dead if you leave me! Colm ain’t gonna be happy about this.”

“And how is that our problem?” Bill roars.

“So, I’m one of you now…!” He says it with more courage than what he usually gives, and this causes John and Bill to pause for a moment.

You’ve been watching this exchange and you aren’t sure if this is a regular occurrence or not. It doesn’t make sense to leave him, after helping you by revealing this hideout and finding you some cash.

But most importantly…

“He saved my life, John,” you remind him. “You’re just going to let that go?”

You see his eyes shift to you and soften. You know now that he looks up to you, in a way, in a sisterly way, and after what Abigail said, he clearly missed you more than what he was willing to let on.

John’s lips press into a thin line, a visible struggle playing across his features as he weighs your words against his instincts. His gaze flickers back to Kieran, who stands shivering slightly, his eyes wide with a mingled fear and hope.

Finally, John lets out a long sigh and nods curtly. "Alright, but if you get yourself in trouble, don’t go cryin’ to me.” He points to you. “Cry to her, God knows she’s the softest one in the bunch.” You can hear the light teasing in his voice, clearly trying to hide it behind the gruff tone he’s taken. He turns back around and continues to head toward the hill, where your horses wait on the other side.

You feel a mixture of relief and responsibility settle on your shoulders, realizing that you may have just made a decision that will impact the gang forever. After Bill and John are a few paces away, you turn and look back at the new member. “Come on, Kieran,” you say softly, gesturing to him to follow. He nods quickly, almost disbelievingly, and meets the pace of your stride.

"Thank you," he murmurs, his voice barely carrying over the rustling leaves around you.

You nod, feeling the weight of his life now partially in your hands. "Stick close, keep your head down, and please, don’t make me look stupid.”

***

You ride carefully back to camp with the boys. You also make a point not to wince or groan, though you are in a great deal of pain. You keep your hand on your side, hoping that the bleeding has stopped by now, but you don’t want to stop and look. You just need to make it back to camp, and prepare yourself for what may happen.

You already know that Dutch is going to question where you have been. Micah may even be well enough to hiss words into his ear, no doubt making you sound more of an enemy than you would ever intend to be. It seems that is what Micah does best.

The crisp evening air snaps against your cheeks as you guide Odliv along the familiar path, the rhythmic hoofbeats a comforting, yet somber tune. John and Bill are quiet for the ride back, and you aren’t too upset by that. You don’t mind peace and quiet, the time to gather your thoughts.

You wonder if Arthur is back. If he managed to find something about Sean, like he mentioned. You are eager to know, Sean is another person that knows you, someone who has a piece of a puzzle that you are trying to put back together.

After a little bit longer, you see the trail that leads to camp, and you feel your heart beating just a little bit faster. It is darker now, and just as the sun sets, you can spot the glow of the camp’s fire.

“Hey! State your business!” It’s Karen.

“Guess who?” John asks, speaking enough to identify yourselves.

“Well, well, well…!” Karen says, a lilt in her voice. “Was wonderin’ if you’d come back at all!”

“Shut up,” John barks back and you can’t help but wonder if there is a hidden meaning there.

You can feel the eyes of the other gang members on you as you ride into camp, their curious glances like prickles on the back of your neck. You dismount with a quick swing of your leg and once your feet hit the ground, you feel a sudden twinge in your side and wince. “Ack…!”

“Hosea…!” John calls out. “Kit’s hurt!”

That was not what you wanted. The last thing you need is to have everyone flocking over to you, worrying over just a bullet graze.

The girls, aside from Karen who remains guarding the camp, are the first to reach you. Concern is clearly etched into their faces, as their gentle hands take you and escort you to the nearby table.

“What happened?” Mary Beth looks you over.

“Are you hurt?” Tilly wipes some dirt from your brow.

“What did John do?” Abigail asks.

You aren’t able to answer any of their questions, as they all come at you all at once. You shake your head lightly, trying to assure them without using too many words. "It's nothing," you manage, though the throbbing in your side argues otherwise. Mary Beth looks skeptical, her eyes narrowing as she inspects the wound more closely.

"Just a scrape," you repeat, hoping to dissuade further inquiry.

“Let me be the judge of that,” Susan, with a lantern in her hand, pushes her way to the table and pulls up a chair beside you. “Move aside, girls…” And seeing where your hand is placed, she quickly grabs it and pulls it away from your side.

The movement is enough for the pain to sharply course through you and you bend into your side. “Ow…!”

She holds the lantern up close and squints to focus her vision. “You got shot, alright.”

You then hear Hosea’s voice as he approaches. “Shot?”

His tone is a mix of worry and disbelief. Hosea, always the peacekeeper, never likes hearing about injuries, especially when it comes to someone he considers family. You see the concern in his eyes as he kneels beside you, his weathered face etched with years of hardship but always maintaining that gentle kindness.

"Yes,” you answer. “I didn’t realize it until after we took them all out.”

Hosea’s brow furrows. “Took who all out?”

“O’Driscolls!” Bill growls, with an edge of excitement in his voice. “It was like old times, Hosea. You shoulda seen her!”

Hosea turns to look back at you. “Can’t seem to recall the old times including Kit getting shot.”

You frown. “I guess I am not as nimble as I used to be,” you manage a weak smile, trying to lighten the mood despite the throbbing pain that suggests the bullet did more than just graze you.

“What’s this about O’Driscolls?”

Those gathered around you turn to see Dutch and Micah, walking up to you with narrowed glances.

John steps forward, standing right behind you as you sit in your chair. “Kit got Kieran to talk, and we attacked one of their hideouts. Got a good payout, too.”

Dutch looks at you, arching a brow. “Did she, now?”

You swallow and nod your head confidently. “Yes, I did.”

“Well, ain’t she just a go-getter?” Micah says condescendingly. “For someone who can’t remember a lick, she seems pretty eager to get back into the saddle…get us in trouble.”

Hosea furrows his brow. “I hardly see a bunch of dead O’Driscolls and a handful of cash trouble, Micah.”

And Micah doesn’t have an answer for that, only lifting his chin and snickering, like he’s got a winning hand and terrible poker face.

Dutch looks at you. “You got Kieran to talk?”

You nod. “All it takes is a gentle hand.”

He almost laughs at that. “You always did have a way with people, Kit,” Dutch says warmly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Even when they’re as stubborn as mules.” He glances at Hosea before turning to walk away. “You make sure she gets treated for that wound,” he calls over his shoulder. Micah only leers at you before going in the opposite direction. Good. You hate seeing him try to be Dutch’s shadow, even after the sun has gone down.

Hosea nods, giving you a concerned look. “He’s right, you know,” Hosea says softly, his voice low as he takes your hand. “You’ve got a knack for this, but don’t push yourself too hard.”

You smile, feeling a sense of pride. “I just want to be myself again.”

Hosea shakes his head, his expression softening. “We need to get this cleaned up before it gets infected.”

Susan nods, and gestures for Mary Beth to bring some clean cloths and whiskey. "Mary Beth, if you could also prepare some of that poultice we have in the medicine wagon and meet me by the lean-to. It’ll help with the inflammation."

Mary Beth nods firmly, bustling away to fetch the items while others clear a space around you on the table. Hosea pats your shoulder and you look up at him. You can see the relief in his eyes and you can’t help but feel a little guilty for worrying him. You watch as he walks away and gestures for the onlookers to carry on as they were.

“Come this way, Kitka,” Susan beckons, helping you stand up and walk you back to your tent. “Tilly, come with me.” She helps you sit down and without a second thought, helps you unbutton your shirt. “Let’s see how bad it is…”

As Susan carefully peels back the fabric, her hands are steady but her brow is furrowed in concentration. The cool evening air brushes against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine from the sudden rush of cold.

“Cut through your chemise, too,” she says regretfully.

“Yes, ma’am,” you say and she gently moves the fabric around to get a better look at your wound.

Leaning back, she rolls up her sleeves, preparing to treat your wound with the practiced care of someone who's seen too many injuries in her lifetime. “Tilly, get me some water.”

Tilly nods, and turns to leave the tent just as Mary Beth returns with a bottle of whiskey, cloth, and a mortar filled with crushed herbs. Sitting down, she sets everything down beside you, and Susan takes the bottle of whiskey. You can already sense what is about to happen.

Tilly quickly returns, and stands by with a basin of warm water and the clean cloths, ready to assist.

“Ouch!” You grimace as Susan begins to clean the wound. The sharp sting of whiskey follows, making you suck in a breath through clenched teeth.

"All right, Kit," Susan sighs. “You’re going to have to hold still for just a little longer. Mary Beth, please finish mixin’ the poultice while I finish cleanin’ this up.”

Mary Beth nods, her hands deftly working the mortar, grinding the herbs with a pestle. The scent of yarrow and chamomile fills the tent, a gentle earthy aroma that contrasts the gunpowder and woodsmoke on your skin.

You’ve been treated by a doctor only recently, but somehow, nothing seems to compare to the gentle care of these three women, who have been by your side through thick and thin. Each touch and motion is infused with a kinship that no formal medical training could provide. They move around you with a seamless choreography, one born of many nights spent huddled in dimly lit tents, tending to one another's bruises and breaks.

If you had any doubts as to where you were, you don’t anymore.

You are home.

***

“Ah…! It is sooo good to be back with you all again…!” An unfamiliar voice bellows loudly into the night, causing you to rise from your rest. After being bandaged and given one of Mary Beth’s shirts to wear, you are cleaned up and ready to recover. You managed to close your eyes for just a few minutes, before the sound of hoofbeats and the loud Irish accent came storming through camp.

And, of course, you’re too curious for your own good.

Easing yourself out of your bedroll carefully, you step outside the tent, steadying yourself against the wooden pole. The camp is alive with energy, a stark contrast to the quietude that enveloped it just moments ago. Lanterns are lit, casting flickering shadows across the faces of your companions gathered around a figure near the campfire.

You see faces who weren’t there before. Charles. Javier. They are back.

And there, standing on a crate with a lopsided grin, is a red headed young man in a gray shirt. “…Uncle Sean is back! And don’t you worry, Ms. Grimshaw, old crone. I’ll keep dem girls in line, if I have to whip’em, I will…!”

Tilly, standing nearby, yells back at him. “I’d like to see you try…!”

Sean. This is Sean Macguire. But if he’s back, then…

Where’s Arthur?

You look over at Charles and he meets your gaze and smiles politely. You haven’t really talked to him much, but he seems the type to be friendly when it calls for it.

Carefully holding your side, you walk over to him. “Hello, Charles.”

“Hi, Kit.” He notices your hand. “You okay?”

You shrug it off. “It’s just a grazing. I’ll manage. But…” your voice trails off as you glance around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the one face you want to see more than any other. “Arthur—is he…?”

Charles's expression softens, understanding immediately who you're asking about. “Ah,” he says, a hint of sympathy in his voice. “He hung back for a bit. Lookin’ to see if the bounty hunters had left anything valuable.”

Your eyebrows raise. “Bounty hunters?”

Charles nods. “Mmhm. That’s how we got Sean back.” You both look back at the already inebriated Irishman, who can barely keep his balance on the crate as he raves on about how much he loves everyone and to have fun tonight. “Now I’m having second thoughts.”

You chuckle, but that causes your side to hurt more. “Ouch.”

“Hey, you should take it easy.”

“Oh, I intend to, I just wanted to see what the fuss was about before I try to get back to sleep.”

Charles shakes his head. “If you say so.”

You hear music begin to play and look to see Javier with his guitar and those gathered begin to sing. “You sing, Charles?”

He shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Oh.” You pause, and think to ask him a question. “Do I?”

Charles raises an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You? Sing?" He chuckles softly, leaning back against the wagon. "Can't say I've ever heard you, but I figure if you wanted to, you'd have a voice worth listening to."

You smile tentatively, appreciative of his compliment. “I like you, Charles.”

He smiles back warmly, chuckling. "You’ve always spoken your mind, Kit. I learned that quickly when I met you six months ago.”

You tilt your head, and your smile fades. “Did I? Does that offend you?”

He looks at you funny, then shakes his head. “Of course, not. I appreciate it. You've always got a way about you that's...calming. Even in times like these."

Appreciation shadows your face as you look around at the ragged band of outlaws, finding comfort in the familiar albeit battered faces. The fire casts dancing shadows and for a brief moment, the flickering light seems to illuminate a path directly to Arthur as he strides back into the camp. Relief floods through you so powerfully that your knees nearly buckle.

Arthur's eyes search the crowd until they land on you. His stride quickens, his face a mix of concern and something deeper, softer.

But Dutch catches him, calling his name. “Arthur…!”

Arthur stops in his tracks, changing directions and walks toward the charismatic leader. “You seem to be in a good mood…”

Charles must see the dissatisfied look on your face, for he chuckles softly. “Everyone’s always fighting for his attention. But you needn't worry. He's always made time for you."

You watch as Arthur laughs at something Dutch says, throwing his head back in a display of genuine amusement that you've seldom seen recently. His laughter is a warm sound in the cool night, inviting yet somber when laced with the undercurrents of the looming dangers that shadow your gang. It's a rare sight that softens the edges of your worry for just a moment.

As the music grows louder and the singing more fervent, you feel an unfamiliar ache to join in, to let go of the burden of secrets and fears for just a little while, but you want to talk to Arthur. You have questions you want answered.

Leaving Charles, you make your way over to the rugged outlaw as he continues to converse with Dutch.

Dutch is smiling, with a newly lit cigar in his hand. “…We’re havin’ a party! We’re celebratin’!” Then just as he sees you coming, his smile dissappears. “Do you mind, Kit? Arthur’s just got back, and—”

Arthur holds out a hand, clearly trying to calm Dutch down. “No, Dutch, it’s alright.” And not waiting for a response, he turns to look at you, his eyes soft. “How’ve you been? Gettin’ along fine?”

You nod, trying to get into the conversation, despite Dutch’s intense gaze. “Yes, I have.”

“She’s been gettin’ along, alright,” Dutch quips as he begins to walk away. “Gettin’ herself shot.”

Arthur quickly looks at you, his eyes narrowing with worry. "What?" His voice rises slightly, an edge of panic threading through the gruffness.

You quickly shake your head, trying to dismiss his concern. "Arthur, it’s—it's nothing, really." You place your hand on your side, indicating where the bullet touched you.

But he’s still catching up. “You got shot?!” Arthur’s voice booms, louder than you intended, and a few heads turn in your direction. You wince, not wanting to make a spectacle, but his concern is palpable, radiating from him like the heat from the distant campfire.

“It’s just a graze,” you try to reassure him, your voice softer now.

And thankfully, he mirrors your tone, lowering his voice slightly. “When?”

“Today…”

“What happened?”

You look around, avoiding his gaze. “Erm…Well…Arthur, erm…” You tuck some loose hair behind your ear. “John, Bill, and I, we—we…We raided an O’Driscoll hideout.”

“An O’Driscoll hideout?” He steps closer to you, and you quickly pick up the familiar scent of tobacco and leather. “How did you figure out where they were?”

“Erm…Kieran told us.” You punctuate your answer as though it were a question, your heart racing at the close proximity to Arthur.

Arthur nods his head, almost approvingly. “Dutch got him to talk, huh?”

That’s when you hear John’s voice behind you. “No! She did.”

Arthur turns to look at John, his brow pinched in confusion. “What?”

“Is that all you’re here to say? ‘What?’” John chortles. “Kit’s back, Arthur! You didn’t think she was just gonna sit around and do nothin’, did you?”

Arthur looks confused, letting his head tilt backward as he eyes the two of you. “Back?” Then he looks at you, his eyes widening a little. “Y-you remember everythin’…?”

You shrug your shoulders. “Well…no…I remember a little of where I came from…and I learned what I can do with explosives and, uh, incendiary buckshot…” You look up at him and grin as you proudly list off the things that you’ve learned. “I can do all those things…!”

Arthur looks at you, almost with skepticism. “Really?”

John nods. “Yeah! She set their cabin on fire and we managed to get some money.” He holds up his beer as though to drink a toast to you. “It was a good day.” And he brings the bottle to his lips, takes a long sip, hands it to Arthur, and walks away from you to go relieve himself in the bushes outside of camp.

You look back at Arthur and he’s quiet. His gaze is piercing, as if trying to convey what he wants to say but isn’t choosing to. But you don’t like being kept in suspense. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you crazy, woman…?”

You nearly scoff, not affected by his reaction. “No…” But you still punctuate your reply as though it were a question.

He almost begins to pace, but stops to look back into your eyes as he gestures to the trees beyond the camp. “You—you just got back, still tryin’ to figure things out, and you go runnin’ off shootin’ O’Driscolls?”

You shrug. “Well…It’s better to shoot O’Driscolls than at innocent people, Arthur…!” And you think of another reason. “It helps the gang, doesn’t it?” He doesn’t answer and you can see his muscles tensing. You want to be calm and reason with this overprotective behavior he’s exhibiting. You step closer to him, but not too close. “Look, I figured that…The last time that I was able to…” You flippantly pantomime with your hands, like you are crafting something. “…whip up stuff, when I figured out any kind of skill that I had, I was in danger—”

“So you did this just to put yourself at risk, is that—is that it?”

“Yes! That is what I did…!”

Arthur throws his head back to look at the sky, chortling in a frustrated way and throws up his hands. “You’re so stubborn…!”

You rest a hand on your hip. “And you’re not?” You lean toward him, tilting your head to look at him with your right eye. “You’re not stubborn at all?” You laugh. “Arthur Morgan…! You’re one to talk!” And you laugh too hard, hurting your side. You bend into it, placing your hand on the wound. “Ow…!”

He crosses his arms, looking at you as though you kind of deserved that. “Where’d you get shot?”

And you answer pathetically. “My side.” And you try to recover with making it not so big of a deal. “It’s just a graze, the bullet barely touched my skin, I’m fine.”

Arthur begs to differ.

“You’re fine?” His voice carries a mix of anger and concern, a tone you’ve come to understand all too well. “You call bendin’ over and clutchin’ your side ‘fine’?”

You straighten up, still feeling the sting but ignoring it best you can. “Susan took care of me.” And you gesture to the campfire where Hosea sits with the others. “Hosea even said she did a good job. I’m fine.” Arthur just stares at you, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. You feel that you need to be honest with him, maybe he can be convinced that you weren’t so crazy to risk your life. You begin to speak softly, almost pleading for his good nature to listen to you. “Arthur, it felt really good to do that.”

He swallows. “It did?”

“Of course, it did! I feel more at home now than I have in a while. I mean…Kieran is now one of us!”

He raises a brow. “Is he?”

“Well, he still has some earning to do, but I think people will start trusting him now.”

“You want him to stay?”

“He’s a gentle soul, Arthur.” Arthur goes quiet for a while, and you begin to question if there’s something more going on. You can't shake the feeling that something is troubling him deeply, something he isn't voicing. "Are you alright?

He looks away, then back at you, his eyes searching yours as if debating how much to reveal. Then he nods. “Yeah…We got Sean back.”

You look over to where the Irishman sits, with Karen on his lap. “Yeah, I see that,” you chuckle. “Some people seem to be happy.”

He laughs at your joke. “But not all?”

“Maybe not.”

“You remember him?”

You shake your head. “No, but I have a feeling I will regret it when I do.”

Arthur laughs and tucks his chin, saying something under his breath. “…funny…”

“What’s that?”

“I said you’ve always been funny.”

You can’t help but raise an eyebrow and tilt your head, teasingly asking, “Funny looking?”

His cheeks almost burn pink and he ducks his head again, shaking it. “No.” And as though wanting to change the subject, he quickly asks you a question. “So, how’d you handle it?”

“Handle what?”

“The O’Driscolls?”

You shrug nonchalantly. “I don’t know, it just…came natural to me.” He looks at you and you figure he’s asking for more of an explanation as he begins to take a drink of the beer in his hand. “I just saw they had three women with them…and figured if you can’t beat them, join them.”

At your words, Arthur instantly spits out his beer away from you, coughing as he tries to regain his composure. "You what?" he splutters, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

You can't help but laugh at his reaction. "Arthur, I said if you can’t beat them—"

“I heard what you said! What do you mean by that?”

The corners of your mouth twitch in amusement as you try to explain it to the concerned outlaw. “I mean, that I pretended to…be one of them!” He looks at you with great skepticism. “I’m serious! I walked up there…” And you begin to reenact the way you walked, your hips exaggeratedly swaying. “Just…like this…” And you twinge your side. “Ow…! And…and they believed it.”

He still looks at you, like you just grew another arm. “They believed it?”

“Yes! Well enough to get one to…walk into the cabin with me.” The way he looks at you is utter shock, his eyes as wide as the plains, his skin almost pale. “Why, Arthur! You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

He swallows thickly, his voice a low rumble when he finally speaks. “Just…never thought you’d do somethin’ like that…”

Oh…he thinks you did it. You shake your head. “John…John said that is something that I’ve done before. Entertain and distract.”

“Well that part’s right, but, not about bringin’ men in cabins wit’chu…”

You look at him nonplussed. “Arthur, I didn’t do anything. It’s fairly simple, I knocked him out, tied him up, and threw him out the window.”

He almost looks relieved, a light chuckle breaking through his disbelief. "You threw him out the window?" he asks, sounding more amused now than anything.

"Yes, and not gently either," you admit with a shrug, feeling a flutter of pride at your own resourcefulness under pressure. Arthur shakes his head, the corners of his mouth turning upwards. You remember that boy you tied up, and what happened afterward. “I want you to know…Kieran saved my life.”

Arthur's eyebrows lift, surprise momentarily displacing the earlier tension. "Kieran?" he echoes, his voice tinged with a mix of disbelief and curiosity. His stance shifts as he grips the neck of the beer bottle, the dim light from the campfire casting shadows across his face. "How'd that happen?"

You nod as you explain. “The man I tied up? Well, I guess I didn’t tie him well enough…He could have shot me, but Kieran got to him with my own rifle.”

Arthur looks at you, surprised. “Your own gun?”

You almost roll your eyes. “Yes, my own.” You pause, remembering the weight of the rifle in your hands, how it felt like an extension of your own body. “I bought two guns, figured I should if I am going to be helping—”

He shakes his head. “No. No, you’re not gonna be doin’ that.”

“What? I just—”

“I know what you just did, but if anyone had a brain they wouldn’t have let you step near an O’Driscoll hideout.” He shakes his head. “Marston and his half-eaten…”

“I’m trying to get my memories back!”

“Risking your life? That really worth it?”

You fold your arms, not willing to relinquish your decision. “I feel like my headaches are mild in comparison to that…Arthur, it felt good to not feel like a delicate little flower. I…I don’t want to be delicate.”

Then he says something under his breath, but you catch it this time. “That’s a fact…”

“What?”

His eyes widen and he pauses, clearly trying to come up with something else. “I said…there’s a rat…!” And he points by your tent, looking at you to see if you’ve bought it.

You cross your arms. “That isn’t what you said.”

Not denying it, he lifts his brow. “Will you take it then?”

Indignant, you lift your chin. “I don’t know if I want to. You seem to do that when you don’t want to answer questions you don’t want to answer. Like a couple days ago.”

He sighs, clearly understanding what you’re talking about. “I had to go.”

“Oh, you did? You couldn’t just stay for a few minutes to talk to me?” He avoids your gaze for a minute. He’s doing it again. “Arthur Morgan, if we grew up together, that might as well make us friends, right?” You pause, but he doesn’t answer. “Right?”

He sighs, relenting, and he closes his eyes as he tucks his chin. “Right.”

You grin, satisfied that he agrees with you instead of making up an excuse. “Okay, then. So if I ask a question, you just say that you don’t want to talk about it instead of slopping off on me like that. Fair?”

“Fair.” And after a moment, his eyes soften and a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You’re talkin’ different.”

“What?” Your brow pinches and after thinking about it, you begin to wonder if it’s true. “Have I always talked…different?”

“No, you’re just…soundin’ more like yourself.”

You smile and you can’t help but feel something. Relief? Flattered? You aren’t sure, but you’ll take it. “I guess that’s a compliment?”

He blinks softly, his blue-green eyes never leaving you. “Yeah. It is.”

A silence falls between you, letting the sounds of the singing and partying waft over to you. As the sound of raucous laughter and the strum of a guitar drift closer, you feel a strange mix of comfort and unease; it's like stepping back into a life that both is and isn't yours. Arthur watches you, his gaze fixed as if trying to read your thoughts from across the small space between you.

“Arthur…?”

He nods at you, speaking more calmly than before. “Yeah?”

You swallow, nervous about asking the question that is begging to force its way out. You’ve asked a similar question to the girls but you feel more anxious this time, for whatever reason. “Were we close?”

His intense gaze flickers back and forth between you and the dense forest behind you. The dancing flames of the fire can break bye to cast shadows across his face, adding depth to the already visible lines of worry etched into his skin. You can feel the weight of his unspoken thoughts hanging in the air between you. "What do you mean?" he finally asks.

"I mean...were we close? Did we have deep conversations? Share secrets?" Your impatience seeps through your words as you lean against the table, watching him closely. He falls silent, causing your impatience to grow even more. "Arthur?" you prompt him.

Finally, he answers with a flippant tone. "We grew up together."

But that response isn't enough for you. "That's what you always say. I want to know if there are things that I told you that I didn't tell anyone else." Your voice betrays a hint of desperation as you search his face for any signs of recognition or understanding.

“Maybe.” There is a heaviness in his answer, a sort of resignation, but it still maintains a vagueness that bothers you.

You’re eager to know and so you reply quickly. “Like what?”

Then he stammers, his words coming out in a jumbled mess. “I-I-I don’t know! I don’t know what you may have told anyone else.”

Your eagerness deflates and your brow furrows in frustration. “That’s not helpful at all.”

He responds with agitation, as if nothing ever pleases you. “Well, I’m sorry.” But then his expression softens and he lets out a remorseful sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“Arthur, I just want to be normal.”

He lets out a rough chuckle. “We ain’t normal, Kit.”

“You—Well, I hoped you knew what I meant…!” You roll your eyes and let out a self-deprecating laugh, fully aware of the fact that you are both wanted outlaws. “I want to be myself again. I feel like I’ve been getting closer and closer…” The weight of your words hangs in the air, the unspoken truth of the necessity of your memories constantly weighing down on you.

He clears his throat, encouraging you to talk with a gesture of his hand. “Well, what parts do you remember? What parts of you spurred on besides relearnin’ your skill set?”

“Well, for one thing, I grew up in a circus.”

He nods, his brows lifted in a soft surprise. “That’s true.”

You’re almost astonished, glad that your mind wasn’t actually playing tricks on you. “Really? That’s true?”

He smiles softly. “Yeah.”

And then, suddenly, you begin to hear a gramophone playing, a light waltz music sweeping through the night air. Dutch steps out of his tent, finding Molly and asks her to dance.

You look back at the tired cowboy sitting next to you. “Do you dance, Arthur?”

He leans back, caught off guard by your question. “Me?” He looks away bashfully. “Hardly much of a dancer.”

You look on and watch the two dancers, smiling as a memory brings itself to the forefront of your thoughts. “I remember dancing.”

“Do you?” After thinking about it, he nods. “Oh, that’s right, you told me.”

“Yes, I think it was my family. The circus? I think we were all dancing in a circle. I was little then.” You laugh at the thought. “I practically danced around today, doing backflips for the O’Driscolls.”

He gazes off into the distance, his expression wistful as he reminisces. “Yeah, you were pretty good at those.”

You turn to him with a quizzical look. “Was I?”

He nods, a small smile playing on his lips. “Mhm. You tended to use it a lot when you were tryin’ to get people to look the other way.” He sits down at the nearby table, finally relaxing after a long day of dealing with bounty hunters and Sean Macguire. “We could always count on you to do that.”

You sit next to him and you let out a sigh. “People don’t seem to want to count on me now.” You can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment and uncertainty in your abilities, even with what you were able to accomplish today.

Arthur looks at you softly, with empathy. “That ain’t true.”

His words offer a semblance of comfort, but the skepticism lingers in your heart, like a stubborn stain. “Is it though?” You go quiet for a moment and glance over at the dancing couple again, Dutch and Molly’s movements fluid and synchronous under the ethereal moonlight. “I just want people to trust me.”

He sets the beer bottle on the table, his attention seeming to have drifted elsewhere. His eyes scan the camp, taking in everything with a sense of unease. “Seems like people should be wantin’ that from you.”

You look at him, raising an eyebrow and speak with a hint of skepticism in your voice. “Really? You mean who should I trust?”

His gaze meets yours, a flicker of earnestness softening the rugged lines of his face, his sincerity surprising you. “Exactly.”

A small laugh escapes your lips as you look away. “Even within the gang?” you ask, half-jokingly.

But his response is serious and unwavering. “Shoah. You never know what things’ll do to people.” The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, reminding you of the constant danger and unpredictability that comes with this type of life.

“I see…” Your voice falls to a hush as you process his words. You can feel his gaze on you, waiting for a response. After a moment, you decide to lighten the mood, going back to something you were talking about. “Anyway, so, you don’t dance.”

He lifts a hand in response, as though it will sway you from the topic. “I never said I don’t dance.”

You lift your chin and look at him through half-lidded eyes. “So you do dance?”

He chortles. “I’m just not a good dancer.” The twinkle in his eyes tells you there may be more to it than he’s letting on.

“Can I be the judge of that?” Easing yourself off the chair without too much protest from your sore body, you turn around and offer a hand to him, his marine eyes staring into yours. “Will you dance with me?”

He hesitates, offering an excuse as his gaze flickers down to your side. “With your injury?”

You pout, a soft plea in your voice as you drop your arm. “Arthur, please.”

He scoffs, clearly torn between concern for your well-being and his own inner feelings. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

But you’re determined, knowing that this moment may never come again. “I don’t want to be delicate.” He is quiet for a moment, his eyes flickering with something that you can’t quite place, but you feel something in your stomach, something warm and cold, heavy and light at the same time. “I’m not going to snap in two, I can bend backwards whenever I want.”

He chortles, tucking his head almost bashfully. “Yeah. Shoah.”

You offer your hand again. “Arthur…Will you dance with me?”

His reluctance begins to melt away at the desperation in your voice and he finally gives in, taking your outstretched hand and leading you away from the table and to a better spot. The music swells and envelops you as you guide his hand to your waist, the uninjured side, of course, and you take his other hand in yours.

The music, a soft, haunting melody that seems to drift on the evening breeze, wraps around you both like a whisper. Arthur's hand is steady on your waist, surprisingly gentle for a man of his stature and reputation. His other hand grips yours, fingers interlaced with a firmness that speaks of protectiveness rather than possessiveness.

You look up into his eyes, intending on being light and humorous, but you can’t find it in you. And you see it in his eyes, too.

Something about the way the moonlight catches his gaze, lends a vulnerability to his rugged features that tugs at your heart. He’s a mystery, and unlike your memories, it isn’t something you can throw danger at to get it to confess.

So, at least for now, you will let it go and let him hold you.

Thank you for reading!

Tag Requests:

@photo1030 @eternalsams

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #arthur morgan #fanfiction #ao3 writer #rdr2 #arthur morgan x fem!reader #arthur morgan x you #john marston #kieran duffy #bill williamson #hosea is the father of the year #hosea matthews #dutch van der linde is totally sus #fluff and stuff #angst is my medium

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seokiloquy · 2 years ago

Text

Wine and Movie Pt 1 - Ushijima Wakatoshi

Au: Regular (timeskip)

Tags/Warnings: GN! Reader, swearing? I can’t remember

Word Count: 2.9k

Pt 1 | Pt 2 | Pt 3

Yawning, you slugged into the gym a few minutes later than planned, and dropped yourself onto the bench next to the coach. Suzaku brushed his goatee, taking his eyes off the gym floor to give you a curious look from the corner of his eye.

“Bad date?” he asked.

“Yep.”

“I’m sorry, Kid. That sucks. You were looking forward to it.”

“Yep.”

He waited, lips pinched together until he couldn’t wait any longer. “What happened?”

“Ugh!” You sunk into the bench, back hunching until you fully curled over your lap. “He was just. So much? Too little? Everything and nothing at all?”

“How… descriptive.”

You groaned again, lifting your head to see the team walk in together with their training gear on and made their way to one of the trainers who was waiting in the centre of the gym to lead their warm-ups. You lowered your voice as they made a large circle, and some of the towering players settled into their spots a couple of steps in front of you.

“Okay, first, we agreed to see a movie. And I thought, ‘sounds good. I love movies; it’ll give us something to discuss afterwards.’ I got to choose the film and, of course, I went with that murder movie, right? He slept through it! And when I asked what he thought, he said ‘it’s no DC cinematic classic.’ So I already wanted to leave, but at that point, we had already gotten to dinner.” You breathed, trying to whisper as you noticed the players glancing over their shoulders to get an ear on what you were saying. “He spent the whole time whining about his ex, who for the record, sounded lovely, and how she didn’t take care of him enough. Honestly, that woman was a saint for putting up with him for more than five hours. He didn’t even listen to a word I said. Gosh, why do I even bother dating men? Do you have a daughter, Coach Suzaku?”

“I do, but she’s got some anger issues and spends most of her time whining. She’s also four, so, ya know.”

You huffed a laugh, earning a pat on the back from the man. “I should just get off dating apps. It‘s done nothing but cause me headaches.”

“I think you need to meet someone the old-fashioned way. You know, I met my wife in college. There was a campus party, and I threw up in the toilet while she was crying in the bathtub.”

You gave him a horrified look. “And she went for that?”

“After laughing at me, ya.”

You chuckled, imagining Suzaku with his arms wrapped around a toilet bowl and acidic chucks falling from his nose, being laughed at by a woman with messy hair and tear-stained cheeks that was curled up in the nearby tub. “She sounds wonderful.”

“Oh, she is. But my point still stands. You need to connect with someone naturally instead of searching for it.”

“I’ll give it a shot.”

“Just don’t drink too much.”

“Haha, I’ll stick with wine.”

You both turned back to the team.

“Hey, Toshi, face the team. There’s nothing important going on over here.”

Ushijima, who had twisted his spine around while stretching, had his sharp eyes zeroed in on you and the coach and missed the call for him to turn onto the next stretch. His eyes darted back to the team, and he eagerly switched his position to keep up with the rest.

You chuckled. “That’s unusual.”

“It is. But not surprising. He’ll get lost in thought if he gets distracted.”

“Him? Distracted from volleyball?” Ushijima was one of the youngest on the team, having been recruited right before graduating high school, but managed to outrun everyone in terms of focus. Everyone on the team was a volleyball geek. The V league seemed only to recruit those who would dedicate their lives to the sport. But even with the stiff competition, Ushijima had struck you as someone who relied on the sport like a lifeline, not the other way around. He relied on volleyball. Volleyball didn’t rely on him. Any deviation was a distraction from his life path.

“Hard to believe, isn’t it? Can’t be a bad thing, though. He’ll wear himself thin if he spends all his free time practising. Which reminds me, I’m going to have to confiscate the gym key from the youngsters.”

You saw that we pinched his eyes toward Kageyama and Hoshiyumi, who were next to Ushijima’s right.

“Like that will stop them from booking time at a local gym.”

Suzaku kissed his teeth. “You’re right…. It’s better to have them here. Here, where you can watch them.” he slapped your shoulder.

“Seriously? Look. I may like my job, but hanging out in a sweat-filled gym is not my idea of a good time.”

“Better than going on another bad date, though. Right?”

“I guess.”

“Good.” He grinned, looking back at the team. “Toshi! Pay attention.”

Sighing, you watched the three as they spent their time off doing exactly what they’d do if it were their time on. Hoshiumi would throw the ball into the air, Kageyama would toss it, and then Hoshiumi would spike it past Ushijima if he managed, and then they rotated.

“You know, we all have to go to dinner in an hour, right? You should all shower and get dressed.”

Kageyama and Hoshiyumi were vocal in their desire to keep playing, glaring your way as they harrumphed. Ushijima, both as you expected and, to your shock, turned to you with his usual stoic expression and nodded before walking to the showers.

“Did he just?” You looked toward the other two, who mirrored your expression. “Nevermind. Just follow him, you stink, and it's an industry dinner.”

Being the one with the driver's licence and a car, it was you that got to drive the damp-haired men to the venue. Making it just in time, you ushered the three to your teams tables and got them in their seats before the MC of the night began talking. It was a rush, and after getting Kageyama and Hoshiumi onto one table and Ushijima to the other, there wasn’t enough time to run to the back of the room where the rest of the staff was.

“Welcome, everyone!” the MC started, as you placed a crumpled handkerchief onto Ushijima’s lap. “We are in for a long night, filled with interviews, conversations and food. Staff will be coming around with your orders of food and drink, we ask that you please stay seated until the end of recording and eating. Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Ah shit,” you cursed. The cameras were rolling, and you’d have to run across them or crawl and risk disrupting the event either way. You ducked as the hanging camera swung overhead.

“Sit here,” Ushijima said in his usual low tone, while pulling out the chair next to him.

“I can’t do that! I’m not a player, people will notice!”

“Not enough people will care.”

“If you saw a stranger sitting with your team, wouldn’t you be a little curious or concerned?”

He didn't answer, looking off for a moment before meeting your eyes. “Sit.”

“Ushijima, you’re as stubborn as a boulder.” You slowly rose to your feet, still hunching as to not get higher than everyone’s heads. “I shouldn’t sit here.”

Taking your hand, gently, by the tips of your fingers, he pulled you down onto the plush chair just as you landed the camera swung back over your head. “Sit.”

“You’re like a toddler.”

“Not a boulder?”

“You can be both.”

“I like the boulder.”

“Fine. A boulder.”

As much as you enjoyed the world of volleyball, you found yourself zoned out as the MC called various coaches and players to the stand. Sadly, you couldn’t converse too much or move anywhere; you were glued to your chair until the first commercial break came. But, just as you were about to sneak away—

“Excuse me, I don’t have your order. Are you in the wrong seat?” A waitress had arrived, dawning a completely black outfit that made her blend into the background.

“I am, I was just about to move to my seat.”

“No, no. I’ll bring your food here, we want everyone to stay where they are until the end. What was your name? I need it so I can find your order.”

You hunched back into the chair, mumbling your name out while fiddling with the table cloth.

“And what would you like to drink?”

“...Red wine?”

“Excellent, I’ll be right back.”

“Great.”

There were a few moments of chatter before Ushijima turned his chair towards you.

“What school did you go to?” He asked.

“Which one? High school or university?”

He paused again, thinking. “Both.”

“Wakutani, then 2 years of Miyagi U.”

“What did you study?”

“Sports science, but I did it really quickly.”

“Hmm.”

Nodding, you waited for a moment before putting out your own question.

“Why are you talking to me? You don’t seem like the type to… idly chat.”

He shrugged with one shoulder. “You seem interesting.”

“Oh.” You blinked at him, fighting down a blush, “I can’t say I’ve been told that before.”

He nodded, “You are interesting. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Thank you,” you choked, trying to find something other than being flustered to focus on.

“You went to Shiratorizawa right? Did you do anything besides volleyball?”

“No… Not unless my teammates took me somewhere. Tendou liked to get dessert.”

You had no idea who Tendou was, but you nodded along hoping something else would come to mind before you got to stuff your faces with food.

“Do you like desserts?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“I like hayashi rice,” he offered. “It’s not a dessert though. I have to keep myself healthy.”

“It’s okay to treat yourself now and then, but if you prefer healthy foods anyways, then it’s no big deal.”

“Do you like deserts?”

“Umm, sometimes? I like salty things more I think. I always get popcorn when I go to the movies, chips are too loud.”

“Hmm. You like mysteries right?”

The waitress came back, placing your place of food on the table cloth. You smiled at her quickly before turning back to Ushijima.

“I do. Were you listening to me and Coach talk?”

He paused again, “Maybe.”

You laughed, trying to keep your voice down as the MC returned to the stage. “You’re a little stalker.”

“I’m not little.” He huffed.

“I know, that makes it even funnier.” You took a sip of wine. “Do you have a favourite genre of movie?”

“Hmm. Philosophical?”

“Really? I thought you would’ve said sports.”

“I like those too.”

“Figures. Are there any volleyball ones you like?”

“No. They’re all bad. They don't portray volleyball correctly.”

“Ah, so you watch sports you don’t know anything about because you can’t criticize the specifics but can relate to the characters as athletes.”

Ushijima took a breath before nodding. “Ya. Is there a reason why you like mysteries?”

“I like that they make me think. Make me try to solve a puzzle with the same clues the characters have. Really good ones give you the clues without making them too obvious. There’s a balance.”

“Hmm, would you want to see a movie together sometime? Your pick. Maybe have some wine with it?”

“Trying to ask me out already after having one conversation that doesn’t pertain to your physical health.”

“Um.. Sure?” he didn’t seem sure.

You chuckled, shaking your head and hand, dismissing it, before looking at him with a calm smile. “So, wine and a movie?”

Again he paused, then nodded. “Wine and a movie.”

“He’s like… 25? And asked me out for wine and a movie like he's a 40 year old woman.”

Sara, who sat, draped, across your couch gave you a side eyed look. “You love those things.”

“Yes, I do. But it doesn’t mean I can’t be surprised… and a little bit confused.”

“Well, maybe he likes you.”

“He likes volleyball.”

“And paid enough attention to something outside of volleyball to be able to remember something.”

You stopped your pacing, blinking. “Oh shit, you might be right.”

“Oh look at that, I’m right. Once again!”

“I said might be.” You glared over the armrest.

Sara shrugged. “Same difference. So when is this happening.”

“After practice on Monday… He usually stays behind to do extra drills.”

“Oho, you really got him out of his comfort zone.”

You groaned, dropping onto the couch by Sara’s feet, which she immediately placed in your lap. “Why did I agree to this? How did I end up agreeing to this?”

“Hey, it’s not a bad thing. He took note of some of your interests, there’s nothing wrong with appreciating the gesture.”

“The bare minimum really.”

“It’s more than most men can say they do.”

Sighing, you stared at your ceiling, hoping to find a clear thought among the white void. Nothing came and you were left with hearing your heart thumping in your ears.

Ushijima’s home, despite being in a luxury apartment not too far from the training grounds, was like walking into a traditional temple. Somehow, he managed to collect and cater his home to a certain design choice through decorations alone.

You stared at some of the photos in his living room wall. There was a lack of family pictures, maybe one or two, but the majority was made up of candid shots of his mid-air, left arm pulled back as he prepped for a spike, or blurry photos that he definitely didn’t take himself.

“That’s Tendou,” Ushijima said, using the rim of a wine glass to point at the red mass in the corner of one of the photos. “He moves too quickly. Every picture he takes is bad.”

You laughed. “Bad or not, you still hang them up.”

“He did it without my permission.”

Raising a brow, you tilted your head his way. “And yet, you haven’t taken them down.”

Ushijima looked away, heading toward the mats and table that were low to the ground. Any other person would have thought he ignored you, but even a short conversation was enough to let you know that he hadn’t.

“They’re bad photos, but I like them.” He poured the red wine into two glasses, and poured out the chips he had hidden beneath one arm into a bowl. “Hmm, You don’t have to worry about the chips making noise, subtitles are on.”

You smiled. “How considerate. Or are you worried that you won't be able to hear the movie?”

Ushijima just hummed, and sat down on one of the pillows, leaving an invisible invitation on the matching one for you to sit on.

It was your choice of movie, but you had decided on something that hopefully combined both of your interests.

Soul from Pixar.

Combine both of your interests… as little as possible.

Though, to be fair, the movie did have a philosophical side to it, and was about passion, just in music instead of sports. It didn’t have any mystery, which was fine… There’s no reason you had to have your favourite genre included, you had chips and wine.

Not that Ushijima went for the chips at all. More for you. A trade off.

It was odd though. Despite Sara’s claims, it didn’t feel like a date. You both sat on opposite ends of a square table, too far away to think about cuddling up even if there wasn’t a table in your way, sitting silently (as much as the chips would allow) as the movie passed. However, at the odd times you’d glance at Ushijima, you’d see a man, fully wrapped up in the story unfolding in front of him with the lights reflecting in his eyes. Focused, thinking, and certainly not asleep or whining about his ex.

The bag of chips and bowl were completely empty by the time the film ended. Had it not been a monday, the wine would have been too.

As the credits rolled you took your last sip of wine for the night, dipping your head back as the last drop rolled onto your tongue.

“I liked it,” Ushijima said. “I wish I could have seen where 22 went though.”

“Hmm,” you thought aloud, “I think that may be part of the point though. What would have seeing where 22 went served? They found a passion for life, that was the end of their story. At least, the end for this part of it.”

“Ya… It just felt incomplete in a way.”

“Why do you say that?”

Ushijima turned on his pillow, sitting with a straight spine as he faced your slouched posture. You gulped and straighten up.

“There’s so much time that’ll follow that point of the story.”

“Hmm, ya. Well, what do you want to see 22 do?”

“Music? Food maybe.”

You grinned, “I like that idea too. I think food works really well. Maybe a social worker in some way. 22 fell in love with being a person, I feel like it makes sense if they want to help people in some way.”

Ushijima nodded. “Do you want to watch another movie?”

You blinked, glancing at the clock on the wall before thinking it over with a smile, calm as can be. “You know what, sure. You choose this one.”

I don’t know if I should write a second part to this or not… - Bacon

Posted: 26/02/2023

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