#anyway figuring out verses time. let's go. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pampushky · 11 days

Text

Mon Petit Doudou

Pornstar! Charles Leclerc/Pornstar! Reader - 7.4k

here it is!! enjoy! please reblog and share and all that lovely stuff! getting your comments makes my day and seeing how excited everyone was for this made me super happy :)

uhhh anyway. Might be a bit inaccurate, I'm not all that well versed in BDSM stuff so if anything is like... a super negative connotation within the community that's inaccurate (besides one character who has bad etiquette for plot reasons sorry)

anyway lmk what ya think lmao

masterlist |

He was too beautiful to be doing something like this for a living. With those bewitching hazel eyes. The effortlessly styled hair. His athletic build. The sweet slur of his accent as he lowered his voice to a sultry level when he talked to you.

But weren’t you as well? Wasn’t that why you fought so hard for your anonymity? That was why you had only ever allowed your mouth or lower to be seen in any stream or video, combined with the concealer that hid away any tattoos or marks from the prying eyes of those who watched you pleasure yourself on camera. Why you never wore your glasses to any professional shoot. It became a necessity to dress so differently on and off screen.

So why did it feel so weird now? Two of you, the same profession between you as you discuss plans for your… collaboration. Charles smiles at you. Stubbly beard and white teeth, a bit of the foam from his coffee clinging to his mustache. Perfectly styled hair as though he’d just stepped out of a convertible. You know you look similar. The soft cardigan slipping off your shoulders. Exposing the delicate tattoos of rue on your upper arms that circled your biceps and danced up to your shoulders.

Herb-of-grace. Purity. Innocence. How ironic for you, considering what your profession had turned into. From a part-time job to a serious career that often ended up having better benefits and more money.

Charles leans forward, whispering something in French you don’t quite catch, making you frown as he cackles, leaning back. Other tables at the cafe look at the two of you, and you can see the adoration in their eyes. You look like the perfect couple. In a way, you are, just not a romantic one. A spoiled rotten sub and the protective, sweet dom.

“I think you should let them see the tattoos, no? I think they would like it,” Charles says, shit eating grin on his lips. “What does the rue flower represent again?” Because he damn well knows what it means, he just likes to tease you.

“You’re impossible,” you take a steady sip from your cup, looking down at the journal that you’d brought to jot any ideas or notes down in. “You are aware of that, right?”

“But the people like it.” Charles leans back with a shrug. “So. To continue…”

If only the other tables were close enough to hear any of your discussion. To hear the things he was suggesting. But you couldn’t even protest against most of his ideas— they were appealing. Sponsorship deals that both of you had been offered. Not only would your audience like it, but… well, you would enjoy it as well. You can’t help but the little smile that makes its way onto your lips when he nudges you under the table with his foot.

“Don’t play footsie with me,” you kick him back gently, making sure to just brush his shin. “Who said it was my foot?”

“Har har.” You roll your eyes, but Charles kicks you again, and you can’t help but laugh with your head tilted back. “And was that your foot, this time?” “Wouldn’t you like to see, hm?”

The rest of the video series is figured out pretty easily. The safewords, plot, who’s going to edit the videos (Max will. He’s one of Charles’s buddies who you’ve seen edit together the most filthy things from previous collaborations and blending everything together with a straight face while sucking on a fancy bendy straw leading to a tall can of Red Bull). You’re comfortable with it all, even asking if Max would be willing to let you use the straw for your water bottle during filming breaks when shooting more traditional videos.

“Probably not. He’s very protective of it,” Charles says sagely, watching as you just doodle loops and loops of ink into your journal. “Do you still use the same brand of concealer? Just so I can have it on hand. The other bottle you gave me expired.”

“Ah, no, ended up having a bad reaction with it the last time I used it,” you scratch your neck and shrug the cardigan back on. Covering up the twin rue tattoos. “I’ll text you the new brand. I can bring it, too, because it’s a bit pricy…”

“Don’t worry about it, I can get it.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course,” Charles looks down at his phone when you text him the link, frowning more so about how you had thought you’d even need to think about buying it. A bottle of your matching shade is ordered by the end of his sentence. “You know that.”

“Tattoo seals are also a good thing to use,” You turn to reach into your bag, missing the way that he traces over the leafy, flowering tattoos on your shoulders. You push a few of the little stickers across to him, and he raises an eyebrow. “Don’t have to worry about replacing or cleaning the sheets, then.”

“Hm. My smart girl,” His praise falls easily from his lips, and he doesn’t miss the way your gaze seems to soften for just a second after it. “I’ll let you know,” Charles snaps a picture of a few and pushes them back towards you. “Stream in a few days then? Don’t forget the collar, mon chou,”

You just laugh, leaning back in your seat while finishing your tea. Like you haven’t been discussing an upcoming scene that will take place in your next shoot with your dom over coffee. How you’ll split the costs and whatever monetization comes from the videos, while also letting him spoil you with the tea and pastries you love. It’s almost like a date. Perhaps in another life, it would be such an innocent thing, and not the planning of a semi-niche porn live stream.

Charles trails kisses down your neck, letting his stubble brush against you, chuckling as your skin flushes, leaving a wake of goosebumps and heated skin under his lips. The camera is on, but you don’t exactly see it, most of your face is pushed out of frame with how you’re lying across his lap.

“Are you going to be good, mon chou?”

One of his hands rubs softly on your back, while you’re laid across his lap. You’re face down, and you know you’re positioned in a way so that the viewers will be able to see all of your body. You squirm gently, and nod, trying to tilt your head back so that you’ll be a bit closer to his face. You lay so that you’re facing away from the camera. Your tattoos have been carefully covered with a mix of concealer and tattoo patches. It’s warm, and you feel safe, your mind fuzzy as you slip into subspace. Your hair falls in small waves around the duvet, like a halo.

Sitting comfortably against your neck is your newest collar. A lovely burgundy leather with brass d-rings and pressed eyes that have been carefully polished to shine. A few pendants hang off the D-ring, little gifts from Charles to you. The inside of the collar itself is lined with soft velvet, made to stop the skin from chaffing. Admittedly, Charles had splurged on it for you, wanting you to have only the best as he worshiped you.

“Uh uh uh,” His hand moves to cup the small of your back to stop your squirming. “Doudou, they want to see you. Don’t move so much,” He looks over at the screen, where a few messages are beginning to pop in. A few donations pop onto the stream’s overlay, displayed for all to see, along with the chat on the side, displayed by one of his other monitors.

ugh she’s so cute (€5) Is that a new collar? Looks so cute on her!! (€10) awww!! she’s getting so excited!! happy to see you both <3 (€20) Such a good girl, listening so well already (€5) Make her answer the question. Give a sub an inch and they’ll take a mile. (€50)

Charles frowns at one of the more recent messages in the chat. Very rarely did he ever need to punish you for being a brat or acting out of turn. Whenever he did do this, it was always scripted for the viewers. Played up, and a rare event that usually came after a request was put in for it, along with a substantial amount of money. But fifty euros is nothing close to what would substantiate any punishment, so he brushes over it and smiles at the chat as more tips and excited messages drop in.

“Oh, mon chou, they’re so happy to see you again,” Charles whispers, watching as the viewer count starts to grow as people tap on the notification that you’ve both gone live. More comments in the chat pour in. “Yes, she’s been so good lately, haven’t you, ma moitié?”

He runs a hand up and down your back, and then gently squeezes the swell of your ass. You squirm a little bit again and make a needy noise rather than answering.

Make her answer. She seems like a bit of a spoilt sub, needs a reminder of who’s in control. (€50)

The message donation floats on the stream overlay for a few seconds, before being replaced by more donations. The chat is a mix of more praise and excitement along with a handful of confused ‘???’ about the last donation message. It’s the same username as the other donation that had confused him a bit. His mouth quirks down into a frown before he quickly masks it with a little smirk as he looks down at you.

“Doudou, have you been good?” Charles whispers softly in your ear, leaning down to ask you. His stubble brushes over your skin, and he gently rubs your lower back, encouraging you to speak. “They want to hear your sweet voice, bébé.”

“Uh–huh,” you mumble out, starting to squirm again. “Been good, sir.”

“Yes or no, bébé,” Charles gently reminds you, his touch still reverent around your skin as you lay across his lap, stomach facing down. “I know you have, but our lovely friends watching you don’t.”

“Y-yes, been so good,” your voice is soft, and his heart melts. Charles is already a very soft dom towards you. Never pushing. Never raised his voice. He doesn’t like using any crops or toys that can verge on pain. That’s just what the relationship between the two of you had become.

she’s so cute!! Aaksfhasl so so good for us!! I just wanna see her cute little face (T^T) She’s so eager to please!!

The chat is a blur at this point. Mostly compliments for your good behavior and how eager you appear to be to start the steam. Lovingly, Charles rubs your back again. Kisses the top of your head, and then gently starts to finger you open, prepping you for what you’d both discussed for today’s streams.

“There’s a bunch of toys we’ve gotten today,” Charles leans back to grab the little basket of toys, reading out their names and the slightly dry sponsor segments he knows he has to read. He lifts each one to show the camera, and you press your legs together with a whine as he reads out the descriptions the sponsors had given him for each toy.

He tilts his head back to laugh a little bit at your desperation and softly kisses the small of your back.

“You should have seen her the other day,” Charles looks at the camera, while you let out little squeaks. You’re still on his lap and trying your best to keep still as he gently pumps in and out of you with his ring and middle fingers. “She was so good. Even when she had a plug in.”

Hot hot hot omg

You squirm slightly at his words. Whining softly. Staying as still as possible just like he’d told you, lost in the sweetness of subspace. The tip of his middle finger brushes against a very special, spongy spot inside of you that has you keening into the duvet on Charles’s bed.

“Oh? Did I find something?” Charles feigns disinterest while curling his fingers to press just a bit harder into your G-spot. He reaches with his other hand to grab the camera, wanting the chat to have a good view of your folds clenching around his fingers tightly. When he pulls his fingers out, they glisten with your wetness, and your sweet hole tightens around nothing. “Look at you, so responsive for me,”

He brings himself to a slower pace, no longer thrusting his fingers in and out of you with the same rigor as he had minutes before. You wiggle your rear at him again, craning your neck to look over your shoulder at him with a little sigh, your pleading look invisible to the camera. Just as his lips quirked into a small smile over your sass, another donation popped up just as he pressed the camera back onto its little stand.

What an indignant little thing. Put her in her place, hopefully this helps you grow a pair. (€100)

Charles holds back every childish instance to flash his balls to the camera just to specifically show this donor that he does indeed have a pair, and a rather substantial set at that. You whine again, and without really thinking, he brings his palm down onto your left cheek, the one closest to the camera. It’s not too hard, and it sounded worse than it actually was. You let out a little yelp, and still, your hands fist in the duvet covers even tighter, looking over your shoulder at him with wide, shocked eyes.

“You know better than to whine, you’ll get what you want,” Charles' gaze softens, and he already feels a bit of regret for spanking you without warning. The collar around your neck shifts a bit, some of the pendants hanging off the D-ring jingle together from how you’d jerked your head back to look at him. The little bell on the collar chimes sweetly, and soothingly, Charles continues to rub your left cheek, leaning down to softly kiss you out of frame. You whine, and he swallows all your noises, before leaning back in, looking at the camera while lovingly soothing the skin where he’d smacked down.

To some satisfaction, he can’t see any new donations from that particular donor. He’ll make sure you feel nothing but loved, with the two hundred euros the person had dropped on it. Charles just smiles again, letting his hand still on your lower back, continuing with the stream as planned.

An hour in and he’s had you nearly cumming on one of the rabbit toys sent to you. It’s smooth, and the actual toy part is a lovely mint green color. A very nice one, with several different speeds used to keep you squirming and whining softly under his touch. Small sighs of “—Sir— please—” and “Ch—Charles—” fall from your lips ever so often, and he even manages to coax a loud moan from your lips, which the chat goes insane about. When you do climax, you don’t even have the where-with-all to try and warn Charles. And he doesn’t even mind, he’s always been happy to just let you chase your own pleasure and highs.

You whine, slumping against him, feeling him pull the still-vibrating toy from your folds. Your clit is puffy and engorged, and the chat loves to see how you whimper as Charles brushes his fingers through your folds, holding the camera close to give everyone a good view of your still-twitching cunt.

so pretty now give her another!! Her whines omg Good Girl <3 (€25) Such a cute little sub Wish i had a dom to take care of me like she does waaaa

Despite himself, Charles smirks, knowing his face is out of view while he gives everyone a good view of your slick heat. The donor who’d been provoking him hadn’t said anything in a while. He grins at every little noise you make, especially with how you whimper at his touches, still sensitive. But you don’t move away— you know you’re safe, and that he’d never do anything to harm you. You have safewords for that exact reason, and you’d never had to use them outside of practice scenarios Charles would make you do just in case.

He settles the camera back onto its stand, tilting it down so that the stream can also see a bit of himself. He’s shirtless, wearing a pair of gray sweatpants that hang low around his hips. The waistband of his boxers is visible, showing off the V-line of his lower body, and the happy trail of dark brown fuzz that crawls up his torso.

“Did you like that one, mon chou?” Charles croons, moving so that he blocks the view of the camera, purposefully hiding your pretty face so that you have a bit of time to reposition yourself. “Hmm?”

“Mhm,” your voice is dreamy, and your head lolls uselessly to the side as he strokes your cheek. “S’good…”

There’s no need for you to call him ‘sir’ at this moment. He doesn’t even really enforce the title, it’s just something that slips out occasionally while he takes care of you. It’s adorable, in all honesty, the way that you talk when he’s truly gotten you into the hazy, carefree state that is your subspace, never so much as raising his voice when talking to you. That’s his brand. That’s your brand. Just a needy sub and soft dom pairing that verged on Charles having an obsession with you cumming and feeling safe while he’s there.

The rest of the stream goes about as planned. Charles tries a variety of new toys on you, ranging from a dual-purpose clitoral suction toy that doubles as a dildo to vibrating anal beads that you are not much a fan of, but let him try them on you for the sake of experimentation. It all comes to the grand finale of Charles then having you bounce on his lap as you ride his thick cock, your walls clenching around him as you whine and wail out pleas for him.

“That’s it, mon chou, you’re being so good for me, always so wonderful,” Charles squeezes your waist, guiding you up and down on his lap as you whine out a sound that might be his name. The camera has a wonderful view of your back, zoomed in to specifically see the way he slides in and out of you. Your cream covers his cock.

You lean against him, your forehead on his shoulder as you gasp and pant. He can feel the way you’re loosely gripping onto his shoulders, not strong enough to scratch his skin, but certainly hard enough to remind him that you were here, if the warm wetness of your cunt somehow didn’t.

“Where do you want me? Where, mon chaton?” Charles whispers against your head, and he is rewarded by you looking at him with a hazy glance, just for him.

“I-inside,” you whimper, trying to lean against him further, trying to get him to press his face against yours, stopped only by the fact that he needs to keep your face out of frame.

So he gently moves so that both of your faces are out of frame, his stubbled cheek against yours. Thrusts growing more rapid until you clench around him, trying to milk his cock for anything he may give you. He finishes a minute after, twitching inside of you, and breathing hard as he comes down from his high. In the back of his mind, Charles imagines his cum settling in your womb. Making a baby. Seeing you grow round as the months passed, needing help with simple things. Perhaps it would have if it weren’t for your implant and his vasectomy. Just precautions of the trade.

Gently, he pulls himself from you, still panting. He brings the camera closer, giving the viewers a good look at how his seed trickles from your folds, mixing with your release.

hot!! Eeeek!! breeding kink breeding kink She’d look so fucking cute all round with a baby Give her a baby!! (€20)

Charles pauses the camera feed for a few minutes, gently wiping at your core with a warm cloth and praising you endlessly as you mewl helplessly. The chat feeds into his little fantasy. He thinks about you as his housewife. Coming home from a normal office job rather than a studio shoot with other people. Kissing the rue flower tattoos on your shoulders lovingly, while his hands come to hold the little bump of your pregnant belly.

But with a shake of his head, it’s gone. Because that isn’t your relationship with him. So he turns the camera back on with you settled in his lap, wearing a pair of his boxers and one of his hoodies. You’re curled up happily, face nuzzled into his shoulder, hiding everything away from the camera’s view. He can feel you placing almost sleepy kisses on his neck, along with the contented sighs you’re making.

As is the normal routine, Charles thanks everyone for their donations, while also allowing viewers to make requests in the chat. Answering questions about the little break from any streaming and videos the two of you would normally do. This is usually when more of the donations sweep in, much bigger ones. The notifications are delayed, and his eyes nearly bulge out of his head when he sees one rather large donation come through.

I’d like to commission something of the two of you. I’ll be reaching out to your business email after the stream, just to ensure that this tip doesn’t bounce. (€800)

It’s the same username as the donor who had dropped €200 earlier in the stream. Part of Charles feels incredibly uneasy over whatever this commission could entail, simply based on the comments they had made in their previous donations.

But if they had been able to give over €1000 in a single stream…. Which was nearly a third, if not more, of the total donations…

You shift slightly in Charles’ lap, bringing him back to the present. You’re still lost, he can see that by the distant, glazed-over look in your eyes. What you need right now is a good bath, a bottle of water, and something to snack on while he massages the knots from your back. You can talk about the possibility of something like a commissioned video later.

“That’s…. Hm, we’ll have to see about that, won’t we, bébé?” Charles grins, pressing a chaste kiss against your forehead, before bidding farewell to the stream, and turning off the camera. The donations still pour in for another thirty minutes, and that’s when Charles gets the light ping that everything’s done downloading, right as he’s gotten you to finish a bottle of water. He sends it to Max immediately, who’s already gotten the rough outline of how the video should look. Charles will go over to his apartment tomorrow to work on the specifics of what everything should look like, and then send the link to you for final approval to post. Knowing Max, the Dutchman is likely just starting to wake up as the world is going to sleep. He’ll probably have a mockup done just as the sun starts to rise.

For now, Charles turns his focus to you, watching as you slowly munch on goldfish crackers, as if deep in thought. It’s funny, really, you’re so lost in your thoughts and somewhat spaced out still. But when you look at him, he can see the little grin on your face as he walks over to you. Letting you curl into his embrace.

“You’re all sweaty.”

“Mm. I was fucking you rather hard near the end.”

That makes you giggle, and you look up at him with a mischievous little grin. “You also spanked me.”

“I did.” Charles swallows a bit of his guilt down. “Are you sore?”

“No. It was… just unexpected.” You fiddle with the strings of his sweatpants, and he plays with the hair at the back of your head. It’s domestic and sweet. It could be a scene from the everyday life of any young couple. Charles feels like he’s in the wrong for wishing it was. “It startled me a bit. Nothing bad.”

“Sorry.”

You just shrug, and let him help you out of the hoodie. With the utmost care, he peels off the tattoo seals. Wipes away the concealer. And helps you into the shower, washing away any of the stubborn bits of makeup that insisted on staying behind. The rue flowers bloom under his touch, and without really thinking, Charles kisses them, his lips trailing around your shoulders and upper arms as if he’s worshiping some idol.

It’s the most intimate thing someone’s ever done for you. And Charles realizes he may have just crossed a serious line, looking back at you like a deer in the headlights as you stare at him over your shoulder, with a mildly sleepy gaze. His hands start to shake.

“Why’d you stop?”

The way you tilt your head is sinful. That someone so innocent and willing to give submit body to him looks at him in such a way. Asking such obvious questions when you already know the answer. Entering a relationship because of your shared profession with him could be catastrophic. You both work in such a niche of your industry when it comes to the kinks and roleplays you’re willing to work through that both of you would be screwed if feelings got in the way of your work.

“Because we shouldn’t take it any further,”

“What if I want you to?”

Charles nearly chokes on his surprise. The water is still warm around him. Your hair still has the conditioner in it, just soaking on your scalp as you wait for him to help you wash it out.

“That’s a bad idea. We shouldn’t.”

“But you were just kissing my tattoos.” Your brow furrows. “That’s hardly the porn we normally shoot.”

“It’s— it’s not about the porn—”

“Then ask me out.” You say it so plainly. As if it’s that easy… and maybe it is. “I like you.”

“What?”

“I like you. You seem to like me.”

“I do like you!” Charles blurts out. And then blushes violently, his pale skin turning a vibrant pink-red as he starts to rinse the conditioner out of your hair, making you turn away from him so he doesn’t get any of it in your eyes. He still feels guilty for spanking you without much warning. “But don’t you think this could be weird—”

“I think it could be nice.” You sigh, leaning into his touch. Entrusting him to put you back together after breaking you apart. “Don’t you?”

He can’t bring himself to speak after that. Drives you home. You watch him from the window of your apartment as the rear lights of his car fade away.

The moment Charles is out of sight, he goes to Max’s flat. Pounding on the door hard until the disgruntled Dutchman opens up. He can hear Daniel moving around somewhere in the apartment, talking to one of the cats as Charles stands dumbly at the threshold of the happy couple’s home.

“What?”

“I think I’m in love with her,” Charles blurts out, and Max just scowls further.

“Mate, I could have told you that!” Daniel calls from deeper in the house, as Max pulls the panicked man inside, making him sit down in the cozy living room. Max’s computer set up is pushed into the corner, with a cat tower beside the desk. Sassy currently sleeps happily on the highest little bed, while Jimmy weaves through Daniel’s legs as the Australian offers a slice of pizza to Charles. “What finally made you realize?”

“She— she told me to ask her out. Wait— does that count as her asking me out—?”

Charles’ voice grows more frantic, and his hands go to his hair as he starts to pace in the living room. Both cats watch him go back and forth, while Max settles at his desk, opening the file to start editing.

“Who cares? Do it. You’ve been making moony eyes at her for the past year of working with her.” Max grumbles, clearly unamused by the drama of it all.

“We make porn together!”

“So? That’s how I met Max.” Daniel tilts his head, at which point Jimmy does the same. The Monegasque frowns at him. “Didn’t stop us.”

“You’re both gay.”

“Ouch.” Max’s stoic tone is somehow cutting, even when he’s focused on the screen, pulling up the video Charles had sent to him, and then the outline on the other monitor. “I don’t see how that changes anything. The only difference is that I was Daniel’s editor rather than costar.”

Charles flops onto the couch. Daniel just looks down at the man, before looking over his shoulder at his boyfriend. “And how’d you respond?”

“What?”

“How did you respond to her asking you out?”

His face goes blank, and a look of realization dawns on his face.

“I panicked?”

“How badly?”

“I kept— okay I responded pretty badly,” Charles admits, and then groans right into his hands, rubbing his face in frustration. He keeps thinking about how he’d kissed your tattoos. Had he inadvertently made you feel like you could ask that? Furthermore, were you really, truly asking that, or were you still somewhat caught up trying to be a good sub?

Images of you sleeping in his bed as the morning sun rises conjure up in his mind, followed by cooking together in the kitchen of his flat, and he can’t help but groan angrily at himself for letting such a fantasy with someone who he could call his coworker appear in his mind at this moment. You, smiling up at him with that coy grin on your face as you sit across from him at the cafe, brushing your foot against his shins while sipping at your cup of tea. Your feet up on his lap while reading a book on his couch, pure domestic bliss.

“Fuuuuck,” Charles just keeps his hands on his face. “She’s gonna hate me.”

“She’s not going to hate you,” Daniel tries to comfort him. “Just tell her you need time to think about it.”

“No but— I was also sending mixed messages,” he mumbles, and he hears a long, drawn-out sigh from both Max and Daniel. “I was kissing her shoulders. I— I couldn’t help it, I felt bad, I kinda spanked her without warning earlier in the stream—”

“Gross.”

“I know! But this one donor was getting so pissy about how she was responding—”

“I’m sorry, you let someone who was watching and imagining touching her dictate how you were actually touching her?” Daniel raises an eyebrow, and he folds his arms across his chest. “Dude. You’re her dom, not to mention how many times you’ve been with her. Why would you get so possessive then?”

Maybe he is a bit possessive. Last year, during a studio-based shoot when another dom had been too rough with you, using your blindfold to practically drag you around the set, and spanking you much harder than he had originally implied he would, Charles had immediately cut the camera and kicked the man out of the room, not even letting him get dressed. He’d gone straight to your side after that, checking you were okay for nearly an hour before even considering letting the filming start again.

That had earned him a bit of a reputation as possessive over his subs, you in particular. The lack of collaborations with any other actors certainly hadn’t helped much either, with your last one being with Daniel almost half a year ago, and that one had been a cuckolding video, where he had posed as the husband watching his wife getting fucked and bred by another man, not even touching you throughout the process besides a scripted kiss at the end.

Now, Charles feels like he is 1.) the stupidest man on planet Earth and 2.) just passed up on an opportunity that you had presented him on a silver platter. He stares up at the ceiling as Daniel looks down at him. Maxis typing away in the corner, and makes a little ‘hm’ noise, likely getting to the part of the stream where he’d spanked you.

“Wow. That sounded bad. Didn’t leave a mark though,” Max hums, and then starts to type again, before making a much more distressed noise. “No fucking way— Dani! It’s the fucking guy again!”

“Wha— really?” Daniel dashes over to look at the screen while Charles stays on the couch. “Ugh. What a fucking creep.”

That piques some interest.

“What?”

“Yeah— the guy with the weird dono? Total creep. Tried to commission me into some weird, non-con roleplay. Wanted to do a solo stream for just him, totally ignored all of my rules for that stuff, and outright told me to ‘Just suck it up’ when I used the safeword for some of the shit he was saying about me.” Daniel shivers, and for a moment, Max looks like he wants to strangle the man until his boyfriend squeezes his shoulder. Charles's blood runs cold.

“What?!” Charles looks over the username again. MattiaBinn. “Jesus fucking—Je le tuerai moi-même pour avoir voulu que je fasse une telle chose avec elle—”

“English, Charles.”

“I’ll kill him myself,” Charles growls, and starts to march right towards the door, “I need to talk to her right now—”

“Or maybe we need to give her time to cool down,” Daniel reaches towards him, holding onto his shoulder and pulling him backward. “She probably still needs some space and to take care of herself after the stream, regardless of how much aftercare you did with her.”

Part of Charles hates that Daniel’s right. Another part of him says that no, you should be letting him take care of you. That’s what his job was as your dom, he was supposed to take care of you and make sure you didn’t experience sub-drop. You deserve only the best, and right now he’s not acting like that. Quite frankly, he’s being a bit of a self-righteous prick about his own feelings for you.

His phone pings with a notification, and out of pure irritation, he considers silencing it, until he sees it’s an email from a frankly disturbing email address. From: Mattia Binotto. Subject: Commissioned Private Stream.

“Oh, putain de merde,” Charles groans, and quickly scans through the email. It’s exactly as Daniel described. Non-con, harsher treatment, and quite honestly, the opposite of nearly everything Charles did as a dom and that you would agree to. Infuriatingly, your business email has also been sent this. You text him not a second after he’s done scanning it.

Did you also get this?

It seems… uhm, interesting.

Attached is a screenshot of the email. You’re awake, at the very least. Alert enough to be checking your business email. He texts back quickly.

I’m not doing any of that.

That’s not the shit I do. Fuck.

…okay.

Sorry, you seem to be in a bad mood.

It’s not your fault

Please don’t blame yourself for any of this, mon doudou

I kinda feel like it is…

I didn’t mean to push any boundaries or make you upset about this

I am sorry, Charles.

Charles wants to bash his head against the wall because now he feels like utter shit for making you feel guilty about his own stupidity. Just as he’s about to text you back you send him a goodnight text. When Daniel glances at the screen he visibly winces.

“Yeah. I’d give her some space.”

Space turns into a week. Instead of the normal collab stream, you do a solo one. Charles ends up watching it. You’ve got an array of toys behind you, most pretty pastel colors or swirling abstract designs that make an odd pit settle in his stomach at the idea of them bringing you pleasure rather than him.

You’re currently fucking yourself on a dildo he’d gifted you, shaped like… certain sweet treat. It was meant to be a bit of a gag gift— the name of it was called the banana split, for Christ’s sake— but seeing you fuck yourself on it made him groan, palming the hardness in his pants as you gasped and whined. You were wearing one of his hoodies too, muffling your little noises into the sleeves. And the chat was loving it, encouraging you to keep going.

And then the fucking donation showed up from that fucking prick Mattia.

Needy little thing. Do you think you deserve to cum? (€50)

The robot voice that read out the message had you whining, and you momentarily pause, before slowly lifting your hoodie to give the cam a better view, showing the slight bulge in your tummy from the toy resting inside of you before you started to bounce up and down on it again, rutting your hips forward as if that could provide some respite for the high you were chasing.

“Y-Yes—wanna cum—” Your face is hidden, as per usual, just off-screen, but at the very top, he can see how your chin wobbles a bit as if you’re currently panting with an open mouth, “Please please please please—”

Hold it. Not yet. Needy little sluts only get what they need when they’re good. (€50)

Rage bubbles in Charles’ stomach. Who the fuck did this asshole think he was, first of all, calling you a needy slut, and then acting like you were his to take care of. Charles makes a note to ban him from both of your chats as soon as this is over.

He can tell by your posture that you look startled, and the chat mixed. Some are telling Mattia to fuck off, while others are encouraging you to listen because Charles isn’t there. You whimper, confused, and Charles nearly screams, sprinting to get to his keys while the stream continues on his phone. He knows how insane he must look, having porn very audibly playing on his phone, but he doesn’t care, not as he starts his car and calls you. He can hear the phone in the background of your stream, and you whine even louder, the wet sounds of you fucking yourself on the toy pausing.

“Fuck, doudou, pick up,” Charles groans, his driving becomes more and more reckless as he gets closer to your apartment. “Pick up!”

The sounds of your stream seem to pause, and there’s a rustle as you move, hopefully reaching for the phone and—

Did I say you could do that, slut? Or are you too stupid to listen to directions? (€50)

Charles roars as he hears you let out a pathetic whine, followed by sniffles. How dare Mattia insult you like that, how dare he make you feel unsafe when you should be feeling nothing but safe and loved. He was going to find him. He was going to find whoever this Mattia Binotto was and beat the tar out of him.

“M’sorry— wanna be good—”

“You are good,” Charles’ mouth is dry, right as he pulls outside the front of your flat, with a half-assed park job that’s likely going to get him a ticket if he stays there until morning. “You’re so good, mon petit doudou, just hold on,”

You’re not being good now. Apologize, you useless little slut. No wonder your dom isn’t here. What a spoiled little sub. (€50)

Charles fiddles with the lock, searching for the spare you’d told him about, hidden under a fake rock right off of your stoop. He opens the door, nearly forgets to close it behind him, and screams out your name as he tears through the kitchen.

Find your biggest toy for me. And show us how badly it hurts. Do it if you want to be good for me (€50)

When he manages to get to your room, you’re startled by his sudden appearance, and so is the chat. There’s a new, much larger toy positioned under you, the tip just brushing against your folds. The first thing that Charles does is cut the camera. The next thing he does is end the stream. A final donation, clearly placed before the stream ended appears on the screen, all the notifications from the tip jar making a discordant melody with your hiccuping sobs and Charles’ panting.

The donation makes him see red.

Fuck yourself. Slow. Let me hear you cry. (€50)

You let out a whimper, shaking, as you sink onto the toy, only to be scooped up by Charles. He doesn’t give a shit that he’s knocking around the toys and is probably making his possessive reputation worse. He’s not going to let you hurt yourself because some fucking pervert got in your head, and he’s furious that you’ve fallen for the same manipulation he did.

“M’sorry— m’sorry, I wanna be good—”

“You’re so good, tu es si bon pour moi,” Charles croons, rocking you back and forth, holding you close as you cry into his chest. “I’m here. I’m here. You don’t have to do any of that. Let me take care of you.”

It takes nearly thirty minutes to get you to stop crying. You keep your face pressed into his shoulder, shaking as Charles soothes you, humming softly to you. He speaks in French, knowing that you enjoy the way his voice sounds when he speaks it.

“Can you tell me where you are, Doudou?”

“In my bed,”

“Wonderful job, so smart for me,” Charles praises, kissing your forehead softly. Your grip tightens on his shirt, and he can feel a small huff of air against his skin when you breathe out. “And what’s my name?”

“Charles. You’re Charles.” You murmur. “How did you get in here…?”

“Spare key.” He shifts so that you can look at him, one of his hands coming to cup your cheek. His thumb brushes under one of your eyes, the skin sticky from tears. “I was… I was watching the stream.”

“Oh.” You lean against his chest, letting him stroke up and down your back. You nuzzle into the collar of the hoodie. Charles presses his nose into your hairline, inhaling your scent, while keeping his lips against your forehead. “So you….saw…”

“He’s banned. It’s the same guy from the commission email.” There’s a hint of rage in his voice, which fades the moment your nose nudges under his chin, dislodging him from your hairline.

“Thanks.” He can feel the curve of your lips turning into a smile as you nuzzle into him further. “My hero. Taking care of me, even when you’re upset.”

“I’ll always take care of you,” Charles’ voice catches in his throat at the admission, pulling away enough to look down at you. You, smiling up at him with that coy grin on your face, and a sleepy look in your eyes.

“It could be nice,” You murmur again, shyer than before. “You and me, couldn’t it?”

“I think it could be more than nice,” His lips are so close to yours, enough so that he can feel your breath against them. Charles has been balls-deep in you. Has fucked into you until you cream around his cock and sobbed out his name. But this is quite possibly the most intimate thing he’s ever done with you. “Really, really nice.”

The taste of your lips on his is divine as he holds onto your waist with one hand, and cups your face with the other. You giggle when he pulls away to catch his breath, and before he can even stop himself, he’s grinning and pressing you into the bed, blowing a raspberry against your cheek just to hear your shrill laughter and feel the butterflies in his stomach that appear every time you laugh around him.

“Mon petit Doudou,” He can’t stop the grin on his face as he kisses all over your face, looking down at you with nothing but adoration in his eyes. Your hair is fanning around your head like a halo. Your smile is infectious. And he can see a few blooms from your tattoos under the neckline of your hoodie. His hoodie. “Mine, mine, mine.”

“Yours, yours, yours.” You respond, curling into him happily as the two of you lay in your bed.

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 x y/n #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 x you

763 notes · View notes

i-loved-silly · 2 months

Text

WOLVERINE x READER x DEADPOOL — fuckup twinsies

dp&w spoilers!!

So I had a silly idea. Sorry if it’s out of character, I haven’t written for canon characters in a fat while but these two are stuck in my head. Enjoy :3

POV: you’re a dimension hopper : sent to the Void as a punishment for doing your thing. Damnit

Dust. Sand. Desert. That was all you knew ever since you were banished here. The place you were basically forced to call home—funnily enough, (actually it’s rather sad) you had forgotten what your real home was. A large, and I mean LARGE amount of timeline touching and dimension hopping does that to you.

By spending years of visiting dimensions and maybe messing a couple things up, you damaged your own timeline. Simply because you wanted to take Mr Captain America’s shield back to your home dimension. What can you say, a little artifact doesn’t hurt, right?

Except it did.

Now you’re stuck here, and honestly? It’s fine. You had nothing to return to anyway. At least you thought. TVA explained it that way, anyways. Everything was fine. You spent your years here surviving and avoiding Cassandra Nova by making your own little underground hobbit hole. How cute.

Everything was the same everyday—you hid out, occasionally left to find food and materials, came back to safety. Until one day you heard something while out scavenging—almost like distant yells? From above you??—You looked up and was shocked to see two figures falling out of the sky and barreling straight for you.

"OOMF --" You were thrown onto the sand on your back, you swore you felt a couple bones break...or something. All your belongings in your little ripped backpack went flying around you and the others stabbed into your back. Then there was the weight on top of you. A muscular , red, and talkative weight.

"Owww, oh fuck, that hurt. I hit bones. I just hit someon--oh." Deadpool groaned, snapping his elbows back into place to get a good look at you. He blinked. "Well lookey here, who the hell are you? Wait, did i kill them?" He gasped as he saw your pained scowl.

Wade frantically shook you by the shoulders. Getting hit by something from that high should have killed you. You coughed, ugh...your whole body hurt. You don’t remember if you gave yourself overpowered abilities before hopping into this dimension…or the last one. Was it during the time you went to the Loki-verse? Season one, episode five? Nah.

"Get off of them," Logan grunted, dusting himself off from his spot a few feet away. Hey, at least you weren’t hit by both of them. "See what you did, you fucking idiot? Get away from them."

"Woah, okay! First of all, it's not like I wanted to crash into someone like a wrecking ball, got it? I am not Miley. But look, they're fine!" He shook you by the shoulder again and you spat out a bit of blood.

"Guhh..." You groaned, rolling over. Yep, your bones were definetly crushed.

"We're not here to poke around, Wade. We're on a mission." Logan glanced at your beat up form wearily--oh well, if you weren't dead by now you'll be fine.

"Fine," Wade let go of you, letting your body flop back onto the sand with another "thud" on impact. "Oops, Im sooo sorry. I-..oh come on! Don't you have at least a little bit of a curious tickle? They can help us." He whined, gesturing to you and to Logan.

"They're a stranger, bub. Just...leave em there." He hesitated, then grunted and turned the other way.

You groaned in pain again--seems like they're your only lines--and sat up on your elbows. Your head was pounding and suddenly it was too bright outside. "W-wait..I’m fine..just let me.." You pressed your palm against your forehead.

Wade leaned down in front of you, placing his hands on his knees. "Oh, you're alive. Good. Why are you here, little buddy?"

You tried laughing nervously but a cough interrupted you. Right, there was sand in your lungs. "I uh...couple years ago I touched a timeline I shouldn't have. More like, a lot of timelines. Kinda-sorta fucked up."

Wade let out a loud gasp and placed his hands on the sides of his face, then made a giddy noise. "Eek! Fuck up twinsies! You heard that, Logan? We aren't the only dimensional fuck ups!" He was oddly enthusiastic, the scruffy guy in the distance wasn't so much.

Actually now that you think about it, he seemed a bit enraged. Just a bit. “Who the hell is we?”

"Who are you again?" You muttered, grunting as you worked on standing up. Wade extended a hand and you took it, before you could thank him—he quite literally yanked you up by the arm like a fucking ragdoll. You hit his chest and your eyes widdened.

"How the heck do you not know me? I mean you probably don’t know him, that sexy beast of a man is Logan, professionally Wolverine. Not a very good one though. Anyway, I'm Wade Wilson, but you can call me Wade. Or Deadpool. Or the Merc with a Mouth. Or the Chimichanga Bandit. Or—"

"Wade, shut the fuck up."

Wait.

“Wait, you’re Deadpool and Wolverine? Like the real ones?”

PART 2

#deadpool #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool x reader #wolverine x reader #x reader #marvel #deadpool and Wolverine x reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #ils-dpw

1K notes · View notes

0oolookitsme · 2 months

Text

Piece of His Heart

Hii everyone, I'm back from my long hiatus!! Hope you missed me because boy did I miss YOU! <3 This one is a little emotional, a little sweet, and VERY Harry focused. Also, I was inspired to write this piece while listening to 'London's Song' by Matt Hartke, and trust me, it's a lovely song. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

Verse - Artist!Harry x Photographer!Y/n

Word Count - 1.0k

Warnings - Mentions of unplanned pregnancy, financial stress.

Harry and Y/n were students, and now, parents to a newborn babygirl as well. With all of the newfound emotions rushing through them, one thing he knew was that they were going to build this new little family slowly, and lovingly.

Harry looked up at the ceiling, at the overused fan moving slowly and creakily, with one of his arms under his head while the other one remained draped over his little baby's back.

She was curled up on top of him, breathing softly, her little hands fisting his shirt.

Daylight was pouring into the room through the gap between the two curtains, and Harry still couldn't believe that the little one sleeping away on his chest was finally here, after a worthwhile wait of a full nine months.

He still remembers the nickname he'd given her while she was still inside her mum's belly – 'Pumpkin' he had called her, and her little frame couldn't have agreed more with him.

Full and round cheeks hung a little low on her face, her small mouth in a pout and eyes as circular as pearls, nothing if not the true meaning of grace.

Which is why he'd settled with the name 'Opal', grinning widely while Y/n had nodded furiously with tears in her eyes, saying how it was the perfect name ever.

His mornings suddenly became impossibly sweeter, something he hadn't expected since he had moved back in this childhood home with Y/n.

A few days ago, when he had laid his eyes on the bundle of sunshine for the very first time ever, a huge piece of his heart, if not his entire heart, had been taken right then and there.

Sighing, Harry got up very carefully, wary of waking up the newborn and then, when he successfully hadn't, laid her on the two person size sofa – all that he could fit in the name of a seat inside his small art studio.

He had just turned to get back to his awaiting Canvas, when Opal began mumbling. She was talking in her sleep, he realised with a smile growing on his face, making his dimples show up.

Another piece of his heart was taken then.

He wondered, each time that she slept, about just what she was dreaming up. On nights, he worried if she wasn't warm enough, wanted her to know that there was a blanket of stars above her – but he knew he could wait until she began talking to do that.

Even though he couldn't afford the best, he was going to make this work. He was going to be the best father out there, give Opal all of his love, all with Y/n by his side.

Putting back down the paintbrush he had picked up because he couldn't stop thinking of her, Harry walked back over with his stool to sit and watch her. He crossed over the chair, his front against the chair's backrest as he rested his face on his arms, gazing down with a soft smile on his mouth.

"I can't wait for you to grow up so that we can talk, you know? So, hopefully, you can tell me if this is where you'll always wanna be," he spoke, brushing away the unruly mop curls on her head.

"And we can go to a place where you look at the light and it splinters," he sighed, moving to cover her up with a blanket. "Where there's plenty of gas in our car to last us the cold, cold winter," tears glazed over his sight, sniffling as he looked at her small figure lull to side as she slept – he almost let slip a chuckle.

Right then, she took whatever pieces were left of his heart.

Winter this year wasn't easy, but that wasn't to say that it wasn't the best one aside from the ones he had spent with Y/n. So much financial stress had come with the unplanned pregnancy, and now a baby. But he knew that the both of them could pull through the loans and make it out as a happy and healthy family, if they stuck together.

Y/n’s dad, a single father, was a little bit bitter about the whole situation but had begrudgingly stepped forward to help out the two with handling the house, seeing as the both of them had to attend college as well as take care of the baby. He dropped off the groceries last weekend, along with the last minute new-born-baby stuff that Y/n had told him they needed.

Even Anne stepped forward, letting the two of them borrow a room in her house for as long as they needed – likely until they could get back up on their own feet financially.

Currently, as Harry sat feeling overwhelmed with all of the love and other emotions rushing through him, he could hear Anne talking to Y/n down the hall. The walls weren’t the thickest and he could tell that Anne was sharing her own stories with Y/n, telling her about how she’d had Harry at a young age, and more.

He’d heard it before, had even seen the two of them having this chat. So he knew that Anne, very likely, had Y/n’s head in her lap and brushing her hands through her hair, trying to console the woman high on hormones and the insurmountable number of emotions she must be feeling.

Wiping away at his nose with the sleeve of his flannel, Harry blinked away the tears and pulled up a smile on his face again, trying to be courageous, for Y/n and their daughter. Because he knew that Y/n was doing the same for them. For the little family they were both going to build slowly and lovingly now.

"But I also want you to be this little forever, so that I can cherish you enough, yes?" He asked her, nodding his head when she mumbled something incoherent, something similar to ‘we’ll be fine, dada', Harry wanted to believe.

And unable to help himself, he picked her up again, holding her flush against his exposed torso because he didn’t have the energy to button up his shirt and the skin to skin contact made breathing a little easier.

"I'll love you tenderly," he whispered, pressing a kiss on her forehead. "I'll love you forever, and more, little pumpkin."

412 notes · View notes

deadsetobsessions · 6 months

Text

This is based off of that one tiktok from @sorruna where it’s the audio from Spider-Man: Into the Spider-verse.

——

Dick Grayson was a sneaky, intelligent little shit.

He was also dumb. These things are not mutually exclusive.

To this day, one of his best kept secrets- one of the many, many that he had now- was something he’d take to his grave.

Or to Jason’s grave, at least.

Dick sat down and began telling the story to ears that would never truly hear it.

——

Batman’s voice rumbled behind him as Dick, in his Robin suit, stood blankly on top of a roof.

“I know you snuck out last night, Robin.”

Dick froze, train of thought about his dinner derailed. Holy busted, Batman! Quick! Play dumb!

“Who’s Robin?” He asked, the years of performing in front of a large crowd coming to save his ass.

Not that dumb!

Batman sent him a dry look, reprimand already poised on his lips. Dick, however, was nothing but a good performer. Nay, a dedicated performer.

Quick! Do something out of character! He shouted at himself, panicking visibly. He stepped backwards, an idea appearing in his head. In his defense, it sounded like an amazing idea at the time. He had no idea it would blow up into a Justice League issue. If he had known… Dick would have lied better, probably. There was no way he was going to let B bench him for weeks!

“Who the fuck are you?!” He yelped. Dick apologized mentally to Alfred and his parents. Batman paused, stunned.

“That’s my question. Who are you?!” Bruce asked, immediately hostile. His son doesn’t curse. Well, not in any normal way anyways. Dick quickly backpedaled by yelling at him with a heavy Vlax dialect, missing his parents terribly as he screamed stranger danger in rudimentary Romany. After this, he was going to have to convince Bruce to get him a language tutor. He refused to forget one of the only ties he had left to his parents.

“Wait, wait- you’re my son.” Bruce replied back, in perfect Romany. He looked more convinced but still skeptical.

“My dad is a circus performer! Not a flying rat!” Dick screeched back. He couldn’t help but feel touched about Bruce seeing him like a son.

“Oy! Keep it down out there, you assholes! Some of us like our sleep, damn!” A random Gothamite screamed out of their window.

“Yo, shut the fuck up! The vigilantes are helping to keep the rent low, motherfucker!” Another Gothamite shouted back.

….

Needless to say, Bruce quickly brought Dick back to the cave- with precautions to make sure he didn’t figure out where the Cave was if Dick was actually someone else.

——

“You would have loved it, Little Wing. B was running around like a headless chicken. The memory loss protocol was actually made because of me, you know.” Dick chuckled, sniffling as he talked to the carved gravestone.

It did not reply.

——

The blood tests came back. Yeppers, Dick sarcastically thought, who woulda thought I’m me?

Reinforcements were called in.

Meaning, Batgirl.

“Watch him while I contact Justice League Dark.”

“You think it’s magic?” Barbara asked.

“Yes. There was no one else near our vicinity that could affect Dick like this. He has no head wounds.”

“Eesh. Okay, go. I’ll watch him.”

Bruce disappeared in his zeta tube, looking harried. So, to everyone that’s not a Bat, he looked absolutely terrifying.

“What did you get yourself into now, Boy Wonder?” Barbara sighed. Dick was careful to keep any signs of recognition out of his face.

“Stop calling me that! Where are my parents?!” He asked back. Barbara coughed and looked uncomfortably away.

That’s right, Babs. I’m pulling out the orphan card. Feel bad. Dick hid his feral grin.

“They’re… uh, busy.” Busy being dead, Barbara thought, immediately wincing at her own thoughts. Apparently, Dick thought the excuse was lame too, and he sent her an incredulous look.

“Would you like refreshments, Master Dick?”

“What?”

Alfred held out some cookies on a platter, giving Babs a quelling look as she tried to reach for his share.

“Oh, wow, these are really good!” Dick said as he shoveled cookies into his mouth. He tried to replicate the reaction he had when he tried these for the first time, and from Alfred’s satisfied look, Dick nailed it.

——

“Robin doesn’t remember who he is.” Batman rumbled as he all but dragged Zatanna and Constantine by the scuff of their jackets towards the zeta tubes.

“Hey, wait-”

“We have no time.” Batman snarled, tossing the two magic users into the zeta. He punched in the destination.

When they got there, he glared at the two magic users until they got into the cave.

“Damn, Bats. Really living up to your name, huh?”

“Not bad,” Zatanna said as she looked around.

“Robin,” Batman- Bruce- reminded them. He did a quick glance over to check on his kids, and found them satisfactorily uninjured. Though, Barbara was looking worse for wear. Bruce quickly found out why as she stalked to him.

“You deal with him.” She muttered. “I’m going home.”

Bruce blinked and nodded. “Get home safe.”

Zatanna and Constantine followed Batman as he walked towards Robin. It was odd to see the normally laughing child frown.

“It’s you! The kidnapper! Where are my parents?!”

Bruce winced which, for him, was akin to a full body flinch and recoil. No wonder Barbara was so tired.

“Fix it.”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Batsy.” Constantine grumbled.

“Well help, Batman. Though… I’m not sure if he should be doing that.”

Bruce sharply turned his head back to where Dick was. Emphasis on was. Because now, he’s halfway up the giant dinosaur the Robin had insisted they keep.

“Robin, get down from there!”

“Stranger Danger!” Dick hollered back.

Batman- Bruce Wayne- sighed.

“That’s high level magic,” Zatanna hummed. “I can’t feel anything, but I know for sure that he won’t die. Magic like that either dissipates naturally or…”

“Lasts forever,” Constantine finished.

Bruce groaned, shooting off a grappling line and swooping upwards to catch Dick as he fell from the giant dinosaur.

——

“I pretended to get my memories back later,” Dick chuckled. “And pretended to forget the whole thing. Bruce was so relieved that I stopped knocking things over and trying to do cartwheels in high places that he totally forgot I snuck out.”

Dick patted the headstone.

“But between you and me? I’m pretty sure Alfred knew. I think B pissed him off that week.”

#y’all is the Romani language spelled Romany #idk if im reading that wrong but did you know the Vlad dialect is the most widespread?#nightwing #dick grayson robin #dick grayson #dick grayson’s gaslight gatekeeper girl boss moment #Bruce Wayne #Batman #Batman and the trials of parenthood #google what to do when your vigilante child seems to have forgotten that he’s a vigilante #Batman using the magic Justice League like a wiki how #minors angst disguised as crack #also my favorite thing to write is brice and dick coping by talking to graves #but not actually talking to the grave’s owner who is actually alive #dick gets better about it #Bruce? not really #English is the fucking worst #Jason Todd #jason Todd’s grave

637 notes · View notes

thewritetofreespeech · 6 months

Note

Could I request Astarion and his s/o getting into a sass competition where Astarion ends up confessing to her by accident and now he's all flustered?

Astarion x Reader

“Can’t you go any faster?”

“I’m not exactly as well versed into taking these off as I am in putting them on, darling.” Astarion quipped at you as he fiddled with the lock on your cuffs.

Being somewhat of an anti-hero liaisons these days, the group had been pinched on some trumped up but completely true & legal charges of petty theft and larceny. Your options were fight, flight, or get arrested when confronted by the guards and charges. And since you couldn’t fight a whole city’s worth of Iron Fists, and running also seemed unplausible as you’d have to come back to the city sometime, you decided to take you lumps and went to jail. Luckily, where there’s a will there’s a way. Or in this case: a vampire with a lockpick up his sleeve.

“Why did you wait to do me last anyway? Just to see me suffer?”

“Well,” Astarion cooed, “it does have a certain visual appeal.”

You clicked your teeth and rolled your eyes. “Could you just hurry up? I’m starting to lose the feeling in my hands. All the blood is rushing out of them.”

“Oh, well, we wouldn’t want that.”

“Well, if you want my blood again, you should be more sympathetic to my pain.” You told him. Sighing heavily as one arm was free and Astarion moved on to the other one.

“Don’t you threaten me. Besides, if you won’t give me what I want, I’ll just move on to some other lucky companion in our camp.”

“Ha! Like anyone else would have you.”

Astarion frowned. “I’ll have you know that there are plenty of people who would welcome my teeth at their necks. Hundreds. Thousands!”

“Yeah. One blood obsessed drow and…who was the other one you tricked again?” You pulled at the shackles, which jiggled the irons and knocked the lockpick free, but unbroken. The vampire growled at you.

“I tricked you easy enough, didn’t I?”

“Only because I took pity on you.”

“Pity?!”

“Yeah.” You told him. “That poor, sad, puppy dog ‘please feed me’ look was just something I couldn’t say no to.”

Astarion growled again. “That is not how it happened. Besides, if you didn’t like it you wouldn’t keep asking for more.”

“Oh sure. Blame the victim.”

“You are not a victim!” He snapped at you. He seemed a little wounded by that one. Maybe you went a little too far. “Gods.” He cursed under his breath with a frown. “You are lucky I love you so much, otherwise I would just leave you here, chained up, and never bite you again. No matter how much you begged me.”

The lock finally snapped open and your arm fell to the side. You lifted it to rub your wrist but were uncharacteristically silent.

“Would it have been too much to expect a thank you??”

“Did you just say you love me?”

Astarion froze for a moment. A little wide eyed at your question. He seemed to be racking his brain for a moment. Trying to remember the conversation before an ‘Oh. Shit.’ expression came over his face. “What? Oh, that. Figure of speech darling, of course.” He let out a single nervous cough after that and a rushed, “let’s go meet up with the other.” Before he turned on his heels and made a speedy exit.

You rub your wrist one more time as a soft, shy smile came to your lips behind his back. You follow after him and meet up with the others. Waiting just outside the prison for the two of you, as apparently just around the corner was enough of an escape from the mighty Iron Fist.

“Ah! I just love this fresh air.” You exclaim, followed by more comments on how dusty & dank your cell had been, but really just watching Astarion’s shoulders tense.

You spent the rest of the day subversively tormenting Astarion. Making comments on how much you loved the weather, or loved a dress in a window. How much you loved dinner that night. How much you loved getting a good night’s rest that night.

By the time everyone had gone off to their respective tents for the evening, Astarion had apparently had enough and slunk up to yours. “I know what you’re doing. Now stop it!” He hissed.

“But I thought you’d love it.”

“Stop it!” He hissed again. If he could right now, he would blush. You were tempted to let him feed on you for a moment to get the full effect. “I mean it! How would you like it if I threw every verbal misstep in your face? I don’t keep bringing up the time you said Ibis instead of Ignis, now do I??”

It was pretty funny when that bird showed up.

“So, are you upset that you said it and I’m teasing of you, or are you upset that you didn’t mean it and I keep bringing it up?” You honestly didn’t know which answer would be worse at this point. You felt bad you had wounded his pride to the point that he came to talk to you. But you also don’t think you could take it if he told you that he didn’t love you.

Astarion just stood there for a moment, thinking, before he sighed and waved you off. “Just…knock it off ok. I’ve had quite enough today. I’m going to get some sleep and I’ll see you in the morning.”

He turned to walk away and just before he fell out of ear shot you called to him. “Hey Astarion,” he looked back over his shoulder at you, “I love that you could come and talk to me about this.”

He huffed, but you could see the corners of his mouth struggling to keep down. “Oh shut up.”

#;ask and ye shall receive (request answers)#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #tav #baldur's gate #baldurs gate imagine #baldurs gate scenarios #bg3 imagine #bg3 scenarios

493 notes · View notes

darklordofthesimp · 2 years

Text

Anything V (König x Reader)

The 5th instalment in the Anything-Verse

Main Masterlist

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

Like the characters?

Sunshine Masterlist || Saint Masterlist

Series Summary: A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper.

A/N: Ya’ll are in for a treat with this series. I just figured out the plot like 10 minutes ago hahaha

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Unrequited Pining || Tension

Warning: Graphic Language

You glared at the woman before you, fury simmering beneath your skin. You felt like you were on fire, you felt like you could commit heinous crimes- you knew that you could kill them.

“I understand that you may feel like this isn’t needed,” the stupid fuck soothed. “But therapy is a proven solution. I can help get you back up and running.”

Therapy.

Your fingers dug into the armrests.

“They told me this was training.” You were chewing on the words, jaw tight and eyes narrowed. Deep down you’d known that this was coming, you’d declined ‘help’ after the initial incident but now there was no hiding the darkness that plagued your mind. Everyone had seen it.

Everyone.

“This is training,” the doctor smiled. “Training of the mind.”

You visibly cringed. They’d made sure to give you the most disarming person they could find. Kind eyes, an easy smile and a relaxed posture. They looked vulnerable. If the doctor was the most fragile in the room, then it would encourage you to step out and spill your trauma with tears and snot bubbles. Not you.

You sneered, leaning forward to rest your arms on your knees. “Being chosen to be my therapist is a shit go, Doc.”

“Actually,” the corner of their lips curled upward. “This’ll piss you off more but I’m doing a friend a favour.”

You blinked, surprise snatching the next crude words from your tongue. The doctor leaned back into their chair, clicking the pen a couple of times as if emphasising a point. As you stared at them, they stared back, and you suddenly realised that maybe they weren’t as vulnerable as they seemed.

“Laswell?” You queried.

The therapist snorted softly. “Price.”

Your spine straightened, a deep sense of anger twisting violently within your chest.

Price.

“Ooh,” the doctor tutted softly, leaning forward in their seat. “Didn’t like that one, did you?”

You sneered at them, your eyes narrowed and your walls higher than ever. What did they know about what you liked and disliked? What did they know of your relationship with Price?

“I don’t want to talk about him,” you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest.

“If you had it your way, you wouldn’t talk at all,” the doctor frowned.

“Then take the fucking hint.”

Their gaze trailed over your body, taking in the way you leaned away from the conversation. You were an open book and no matter how aggressive the mask you wore was- you were readable. With a huff, the therapist tossed their notebook over their shoulder lazily. It clattered onto the bench behind them, scattering the miscellaneous items in its path.

“Alright, Birdy. Let’s go off the record then,” they gave you a smile that didn’t quite reach their eyes. “You’re shitty with Price.”

“I said I didn’t want to talk about him-”

“You feel like he’s betrayed you.”

You blinked, fingers trembling even though they were curled into fists. The overarching thought that had been plaguing you for weeks was picked apart by some random fucking doctor. The words were out, you weren’t the one that had said them but they were in the air anyway. It felt good to hear them aloud rather than the screaming thought over and over in the recesses of your mind.

“Yes.” The confirmation was bitter on your tongue. You waited for the doctor to shut you down, you waited for them to monologue about how your feelings were childish and unprofessional. They were providing you this service as a favour to the Captain, you could only assume that they were friends.

Instead, the therapist simply nodded. “I would too, Birdy.”

You loosed a breath that you hadn’t realised you were holding.

“What was your name again, Doc?” You rasped, eyes narrowing. They shifted in their seat, taken off guard by the sudden change in subject but willing to share nonetheless.

The doctor shot you a smile- genuine this time.

“They call me Saint.”

____

While you didn’t appreciate being ambushed with it, therapy hadn’t been as bad as you’d imagined. Your fingers clenched and unclenched in an attempt to release some tension as you walked.

Every day, you were required to present to the doctors office for a psych appointment.

Every day, Saint had picked your thoughts apart bit by bit.

Although you hadn’t intended to talk, you realized quickly that Saint didn’t just look disarming- they were disarming. There was no judgement as you spoke, not when you told them about your murderous nightmares and not when you told them that you’d wanted to beat down the new sniper.

They only nodded, explaining that it- surprisingly- was natural to feel like that after what you’d experienced.

You felt validated.

Less like a liability and more like a recovering victim.

Your thoughts stuttered to a halt as you laid eyes on the kitchen, the light spilling from the open doorway and out into the hall. You raised a brow at the sight, knowing that only one person would really be awake at this time of night.

Ghost.

The flutter in your chest caught you off guard, the thought of seeing Simon had you excited. It’d been a while since you’d both last spoken, a hand on the shoulder as he muttered a “see you soon,” and a “be safe.” All that, right before he boarded a plane with Sunshine in tow.

“Yeah,” the newest sniper had winked at you with a curved smile. “See you real soon, gorgeous.”

You hated them, you were sure of it. They were nauseatingly glib, each word rolling off their silver tongue with all the ease but no truth. You couldn’t believe anything they said, you’d be stupid if you did.

As you approached the kitchen slowly, you heard hushed voices. They were arguing- aggressive and quickly spoken.

“Is this how it’s going to be?” Sunshine snapped, their words breathless. “For the rest of our time here, this is how you want it to be?”

From what you’d seen, the new sniper had a reputation for being self-posessed and controlled. They wanted to watch you unravel beneath their sentences, but in order for them to do that they’d have to be unphased by whatever’s thrown at them.

Right now, there was no sign of that person.

“What “I want it to be” is you doing your fucking job and me doing mine." The hostility in Simon's tone had you taken aback. You’d never heard him so aggressive towards a teammate and for a split moment, you felt bad for Sunshine.

“It was!” The sniper shouted, their exhaustion and frustration painstakingly clear.

“You were reckless.”

“I was saving you!”

“I don’t need you to save me!” Ghost finally snapped. The sound of something clattering followed by Sunshine’s sharp breath had you tense. “I don’t need anything from you.”

There was a soft touch against your shoulder and your heart stuttered in your chest. Fear electrified your body as you spun around. A hand pressed down firmly against your lips, suffocating the scream rising from your throat.

König’s eyes were narrowed, his head ducked so that he could meet your gaze head on. The look he gave you was accusatory and shame quickly flooded your cheeks. Your fingers came to rest shakily against his wrist, pushing weakly against his hold.

His brows pulled into a frown.

“Are you asking me to just let you fucking die?” Sunshine rasped, their seething voice reminding you of where you were. König’s eyes drifted from yours to over your shoulder aimlessly as he listened to their conversation.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Ghost drawled. You could hear him struggling for control, the way he drew each breath like it was painful.

“What the fuck is wrong with you people?” The sniper exclaimed. “If it was Birdy instead of me today you wouldn’t have an issue with it-”

“But you’re not Birdy,” Ghost snapped, “are you?”

Silence flooded the space between you all.

You felt ashamed of yourself. You were somewhere you shouldn’t have been, you were listening to a conversation that you were never intended to hear. This was something personal, the hatred and electricity between Sunshine and Ghost forbidden for your understanding.

König must have come to the same conclusion. The man shot you a hard stare, his hands falling from your lips to grip your shoulders. He guided you backward quietly, trying to provide an escape that wouldn’t alert them to your presence.

“No, Sir,” Sunshine’s voice was faint now as you pulled away from the two. “I’m not Birdy.”

You knew then that something had changed. It was in their voice, it was in the air, it was in the venom of their words- it was a suffocating emotion that you knew too well.

They were hurt.

But, hurt breeds bitterness and there was nothing but hatred in Sunshine’s final words.

I’m not Birdy.

König sucked in a breath and you knew that he’d heard it as well. When he finally managed to pull you both through the doors of your dormitory unscathed, he let you go. There was no gentleness in his expression this time when he appraised you.

“What were you thinking?” He growled, running rough fingers through his hair. “That was wrong.”

“I know,” you whispered, shaken.

“You shouldn’t have been there,” König continued with a large step away from your quivering body. He was riled up and his anger stimulated your own. Who was he to lecture you?

“You shouldn’t have been there either,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

König shot you a stern look. “I wouldn’t have stayed if I didn’t find you eavesdropping, naseweis.”

You rolled your eyes, turning on your heel. While you weren’t falling apart at the sight of him anymore, it didn’t mean that you wanted to be around him. You still wanted nothing to do with König, no interaction, no contact- nothing.

“I don’t need you, of all people, lecturing me on being in the wrong place at the wrong time,” you threw over your shoulder as you walked. There was a huff from the man behind you, then the fall of his footsteps following in suit.

“Doesn’t the incident make me an expert on that?” König questioned from beside you, keeping pace as though it were a leisurely stroll. You glared up at him, forcing the growing rage clawing at your chest to stay caged.

“You think it’s funny?” You hissed. “Am I a fucking joke to you?”

“Of course not!” König’s voice hardened. You both rounded the corner towards your room, it felt like the quicker you moved the easier it was for him to keep up. Another infuriating feature that the Austrian possessed, you’d add it to the already mile-long list.

“Then why can’t you just leave me alone?” You spun on your heel, facing the beast head on. “It’s like you’re everywhere, König. I can’t escape you, I enter a room and you’re there. I turn a corner, you’re there. I go to sleep and there you fucking are.”

König raised a brow, leaning his shoulder against the frame beside him. “I’m not stalking you, Birdy. If that’s what you’re trying to imply.”

“Is that why you’re standing in my bedroom doorway?”

The man’s spine straightened as he took up his own weight, emerald gaze pinning you to your place. It was as though he were surprised, as though he was just now realising that he had been following you. Your chest was heaving as you glared up at him. You wanted him to deny it, to tell you that you were imagining it all- you wanted to be angry.

“You’re a worrying person,” König finally said. The words almost sounded like an admission, although of what you were unsure. You jaw tightened as you retreated another step back into the safety of your room.

“No,” you corrected, “you’re a worrying person.”

König sighed, letting the silence fall in between you for a beat. There was conflict across his expression before finally his eyes narrowed. He stepped into the room.

Your heart leapt into your throat.

“Do you think I want to hurt you?”

There it was.

It was the question that plagued you as you lay in bed every night, staring at your bedroom door. Or lack thereof, you should say. There was nothing on the hinges, not since König had kicked it down.

He’d thought you were in danger. You lay before him, unconscious and dreaming. He could have done anything, he could have finished the job.

But he didn’t.

König’s head tilted as he observed you, watching you struggle for an answer. His fingers lightly brushed against your forearm and you froze, eyes wide as you stared up at him. He was so tall, dominating every space he entered. He was a giant amongst men, a god.

“Do you think I want to hurt you, Birdy?” König said again. He didn’t lean down, didn’t drop down to your height this time. He wanted your answer, he wanted you to look at him and take him as he was- he wanted the truth.

“No,” you whispered.

The truth.

Your body trembled as though the room had dropped to subzero temperatures but your skin was on fire. Heat bloomed across your chest, racing the length of your spine, neck and cheeks.

König’s eyes softened and he swayed backward lazily, as though he were drunk fighting for his balance. Neither of you said anything for a long moment. He didn’t ask why you were still afraid, he knew that was an unfair question. He never expected you to be comfortable with his presence.

But the shift between you both was tangible.

“Am I right?” The words tumbled from your lips before you could stop them, desperate and vulnerable. An offering, an olive branch an extension of trust.

Something washed over the man before you, something you’d never seen before. His gaze was ferocious, jade fire burning beneath those lashes as it scorched your skin. Determination tightened his jaw and his thumb brushed across the skin of your arm like a promise.

An unspoken response.

Yes.

Your breath left your chest as you took another step away, suffocating in his presence. König inhaled heavily, his hands falling back to rest at his sides.

“I still-” You began, twisting your fingers anxiously.

“I know.”

You still hadn’t forgiven him.

There was a long way to go, but now the path had changed. Rather than there being a straight road, shrouded in hatred, there was a fork. A split in the path that required a decision, one that you weren’t quite ready to make yet.

König cleared his throat, softening his stance with conscious effort. It was as if he remembered that he was meant to be disarming. Watching the huge man try to shrink himself for your comfort was surreal, nothing like what you’d imagined when you’d first laid eyes on him after your recovery.

Ghost had never made himself smaller for you when you came out of hospital. He was slower, gentler, as though dealing with a frightened animal- but he never pretended to be something that he was not.

“Do you think they heard us?” You changed the topic as your mind fell back to Ghost and Sunshine. “How would we explain that?”

König blinked, clearly glad for the break in intensity. He shifted backward, moving to make his escape as your interaction came to a close. For once, he was the one running from you.

“Wrong place, wrong time,” he muttered, an ironic smile playing at his lips. “They won’t have a hard time believing that given our history.”

The man offered you a nod, fingers tapping against the door with finality- his own farewell. You were glad that he hadn’t said ‘goodnight’, that he hadn’t bothered with niceties. You were not friends. Not allies.

You weren’t sure what you were.

When he disappeared around the door, his footsteps retreating down the hall, you finally let yourself relax. Jitters skittered across your body, the remnants of electricity from your confrontation buzzing beneath your skin.

Wrong place, wrong time.

The words struck a chord of discomfort within you.

They followed you through your night routine, plaguing you in the shower, lingering as you made a cup of tea, whispering sickness as you laid in bed. They made you nauseous, they made you dizzy, they were disconcerting.

Wrong place, wrong time.

The whole accident had been such a tragic coincidence, a monumental mistake. Almost impossible in an environment where communication is key, everything working in perfect tandem to ensure your demise.

Throughout the length of your military career, you’d always been taught to never take anything as chance. If a bush rustled beside you, there was a possibility that it was an animal- but also that it could be an enemy. If there was a light beneath a door, it could have been left on or there was someone waiting for you on the other side. You were taught not to trust coincidence.

The failure of comms, the false intel of a sniper on a roof, the unexpected of KorTac, the largest soldier of their team being sent to find you- all of it was a perfectly timed but tragic coincidence.

You tossed in your bed, trying to drown the thoughts from your crumbling mind. It seems you didn’t need a nightmare tonight to bring on terror. Your resolve began to slip, the sudden sense of dread gripping you by the throat.

Wrong place, wrong time.

You wanted to rake the thoughts from your brain with your bare fingers. You wanted to rip out the connection you’d made and go to sleep in bliss ignorance.

Wrong place, wrong time.

The way König had brought it up, the way he’d said it, maybe he was feeling it too. Maybe you weren’t as insane as you felt. Maybe your thoughts weren’t as unreliable as they seemed. You clenched your jaw, nails digging into the skin of your palm hoping that the pain would pull you back from the edge you teetered on.

Wrong place, wrong time.

Wrong for both you and König … but, as you lay staring at your missing door, you couldn’t shake the thought that maybe it was all just right for somebody else.

#könig cod #konig x reader #könig x reader #könig #könig mw2 #könig modern warfare #konig call of duty #könig call of duty #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #call of duty x reader #cod mw2 x reader #cod x reader

4K notes · View notes

xxcallmemaryxx · 8 months

Text

Vessel x GN reader

Vessel loves you, but he refuses to tell you. So instead, he writes songs about you... you'd never figure out who the songs are really about right? ...Right?

(A fully fleshed out fic of this.)

It's an odd little arrangement the four of you have made. You met the boys after you were hired to help keep things in check for them during tours, kind of like an assistant. The four of them living together on the same bus for weeks? Yeah, they learned pretty quickly things were going to fall apart if they didn't get some extra help real quick. From then you formed a friendship, which has grown into a connection the four of you share that you seriously couldn't picture yourself living without. To say that the four of you are close is a major understatement.

Vessel though… Vessel found himself thinking about you more than what he felt a normal friend should be thinking about another friend. He found himself smiling for ages after every time you two conversed. He found himself trying to quell his trembling hands every time you stood or sat real close to him. He found his heart racing every time you entered the room he was in, and don't even get him started on how long and… weird… his days felt when he knew he wasn't going to see you. He knew damn well what it meant. Of course he knew. So he swore to himself never to tell you. He had well and truly fallen for you, but Vessel knows he is a hard lover. The horrid little voice of anxiety in his head convinced him that it would scare you off. That he would be too much and you wouldn't be able to handle it… that you'd leave. You'd leave him, you'd leave all of them and he would be entirely to blame for it. So he decided he would keep it to himself… as best as he could anyways.

II, III and IV watch the two of you. They sit back and watch him long for you. Long to touch you and hold you and to just whisk you away to love you and keep you all to himself. And they watch as you continue on without a clue in the world. You don't ever catch on to it. Too busy working and keeping the four of them in check, which to be fair… they are beyond grateful for… but they are astonished at how obvious Vessel is being and you just… don't notice.

It gets to a point where Vessel needs an outlet. Something to get the things he is dying to say to you… to do with you… to do to you… out of his head. He fears if he doesn't then he'll break. He will snap and it will all come flying out of his mouth and into the air before he can stop himself. The fear that fills him at the thought of that reality is unreal. So he starts writing it all down.

Once he started he could not stop. Writing songs about you he knew the world would never see. How could he ever let them? How could he ever let the world see you the way he sees you? It's selfish, he knows. But he's almost possessive over these lyrics. They are you. They are you when you're glowing. They are you when you're half asleep on an early morning. They are you when you're absolutely exhausted after a long day. They are you when you're just not doing too well. And Vessel just can't share that with anyone. He can't do it. He wants you to himself bad enough as it is, so the only way he can have that is through the words he writes. Why would he give that away too?

His mind works against him though, trying to see how far he can push this. He doesn't know why he did it… but he'd written something a little less obvious, a verse he’d come up with, something about your voice. How it makes him feel, how he'd never get bored of it. Really, the piece was well written, he knew enough about writing music to know what worked and what didn't, and again, Vessel really doesn't know why he did it… but he found himself standing in front of you with the damned piece of paper in his stretched out hand. Willing you to read it. He watches you take the sheet, eyes flicking over the few lines once, twice… three, four, five times. Taking them in, letting the words process. The way your eyes lit up, and the smile that he watched grow on your lips was all the feedback he needed. Your reaction was so pure, praising him for his talent and gushing about how beautiful the lyrics were. His heart raced as he walked away with an even bigger smile on his face. He can't help but think about how right you are… the words were beautiful because they were you. Vessel stayed awake that whole night. His mind overflowing with thoughts of you, he swears his hand could not keep up with the words he needed to say. His pen scribbling so fast over the papers he had spread around him, he almost tore a hole in them.

This became a dangerous little game he played with himself. The lesser obvious of the lyrics he'd write about you would end up in your hand at some point or another. And he would eagerly stand back and watch you soak the words in, watch as you admire them and in return, admire him. The praise you would reward him with would play over and over and over again in his head. You honestly turned into a drug for him, he had become addicted to how much you loved reading the small things he'd written, yet being so unaware of what the lyrics meant or where they came from. He just wanted you. So bad. So he pushed it a little further…

You're standing at the small kitchenette inside the tour bus the boys share, making yourself a coffee. Vessel's form fills the hallway as he glides through it, his eyes locked on you and a piece of paper clutched in his hand. A smile grows on your face the moment you see him, and then it grows again when your eyes fall to the paper. Your hand reaching out for it before he's even made it to you.

Now, Vessel really should have thought this through… or at the very least taken a few more minutes to triple check the lyrics he'd written about you this time. Because he watches your face fall as you stare at the words. He watches your eyes flick over them two, three, four times before you look up at him in confusion. Vessel hasn't felt fear like this in ages. His heart is hammering in his chest and he feels like he can't breathe, you don't like it. It's the only thing he can think of… you don't like this one and he's gone too far and now you're put off by it and you'll never want to read them again…

His thoughts get cut short at the sound of you speaking…

“Vessel… where did… where did these lyrics come from…?”

It's a simple enough question. He knows that. But it's one he can't answer. And it's that very moment he realises why you are confused… you've figured it out.

His throat closes and any plans he had of trying to explain his way out of this one fly out the window. He stares at you, completely speechless. He doesn't know what to do, he's frozen in place and he can't breathe and he can't think and he's regretting everything he has ever done that has led him up to this point. He feels ridiculous… the only thing he can will his brain to force out of his mouth is an..

“Uhh”

He snatches the paper from your hands, crumpling it and tearing it to shreds with furiously trembling hands. His face is a dark red. He can feel it. His whole body is overheated with shame and embarrassment, he finally forces his feet to move, turn away from you and back down the hall of the bus. He doesn't know why he went this way, he could have left the bus, but it seems he is making really silly decisions today. He listens to your feet hit the floor as you run up behind him following him through the bus.

‘Wait… wait… Vessel just wait I wanna know…I wanna know who the lyrics are about…”

Tears well in his eyes as he continues to walk away from you, beelining to the small room in the back of the bus. Where he knows he can hide there. He can lock the door and stay there wallowing in his shame. He knows you're going to leave now. He knows you know damn well who the lyrics are about… you now know who all the things he's written recently have been about. Why must you make him admit it? Why must you make him watch the disgust on your face as he does so. Why must you make him watch as he loses you forever. How is he going to tell the band? How on earth is he supposed to tell them what happened and why they've all lost you too? The tears fall. They barrel down his heated cheeks as the reality of what he's done sets in. He can't believe he let this happen… It's entirely his fault.

He does indeed make it to the room in time… what he doesn't succeed in is locking you out of it. You weasel your way into the room and force him to look at you.

“Vessel… tell me…”

He can't say it at first. He just spends a few moments taking you in for the last time, admiring everything about you. He's sad he never got to love you properly, but he's grateful he got to experience you at all in the first place.

“I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…. I wasn't going to do anything with them I swear, i am so sorry”

He starts rambling through his tears, the torn up mess of paper twists in his hands. More tears fall and he just can't stop telling you how sorry he is. He needs you to know he is sorry. He is so sorry. He can't even see you anymore. His eyes are so full of tears that everything has turned into a blur. He turns his face away from you in an attempt to hide them, he doesn't want you to see him cry. He doesn't want you to see him at all right now but he knows you're persistent. Should he walk away, you will follow. You put yourself in his line of sight again, and he watches you reach for him, for his hands… with the paper still grasped tightly in them.

He moves his hands away.

“Please don't…”

He's embarrassed by the sound of his own voice, broken and scared. You look up at him, a look he can't read written on your face. His stomach hurts, his chest hurts, his head hurts. Vessel swears he would do anything just to go back to 5 minutes ago, 5 minutes ago when you hadn’t read these lyrics. These damned lyrics. Maybe then you never would have figured it out, and maybe then he would still be able to keep you… even if it meant he stayed longing for you for the rest of his life he doesn't care. So long as you were still there for him to long for.

You realise he's not giving up the destroyed sheet of paper he's holding. So you reach for his arm instead. Gently, you wrap your fingers around his forearm. You don't quite know the words to say to him just yet, because honestly… you can read him well enough to know he is embarrassed… but the reason behind his tears is still unknown to you. You want to reassure him, you're dying to settle him down and tell him what he needs to hear… but you just don't know what it is he needs right now. With his arm in your hands, you lead him over to the small couch pushed into the far corner of the room. He lets you lead him, which is relieving. A big part of you expected him to refuse you all together.

The tension is high, you sit next to him and before you can even stop yourself the question flies out of your mouth.

“Were they about me?”

You mentally kick yourself. You could have waited one more damn minute to let him breathe before asking. And the guilt slams into you as you watch another few tears fall down his cheeks.

“How’d you… how’d you figure it out…?”

He isn't sure if he even wants to know… but he knows that if he doesn't ask, the ‘what-ifs’ will eat him alive. His heart is racing in his chest and he swears he is on the cusp of throwing up. He feels awful. Vessel hasn't felt this horrid in a long time… you being the sole reason for his bright moods.

“Well… you mentioned a setting sun in Hamburg… and uh… well you and I watched the sun set in Hamburg Ves… after the show there? It's one of my favourite memories… so I just, I mean well… I just assumed. I don't know…”

The memory of that night with you floods Vessel's mind. Well after he’d realised he had feelings for you, he couldn't believe he'd been gifted that time alone with you. He spent hours and hours thanking Sleep for it. A memory he will never forget, and like you… it's one of his favourites too. So much so he couldn't not write about it… well, look where that's got him.

“Please believe me when I say I am sorry. I should have asked you… I- I should have asked you if it was okay to write about you like that I am so sorry… I won't blame you at all for leaving I really wont. I just need you to know I'm sorry I'm so sorry I'm sorry I…”

He is rambling now. The truth is out and the only thing that matters to him now is you know he didn't mean anything bad by doing this. And although you understand he is sorry… which you don't even know why because this hasn't upset you at all… the only thing that registered was the fact he thinks you're leaving.

“Wait. Wait what? Leaving? Why am I leaving…?”

His eyes finally meet yours. For the first time since he ripped the paper from your hands… and they're so full of emotion it breaks your heart just looking at them.

“Because you're uncomfortable around me now. It's obvious isn't it… I'm in love with you and you don't feel the same and now you can't be around me and now you can't work with me around all the time so you're leaving. You're leaving us… you're leaving me and how could I ever hold that against you? How could I ever force you to stay somewhere you can't bear to be anymore? I don't want you to hate me too…”

He loves you.

He is in love with you.

You.

For a moment you think you go blind. You can't see him. You can't see anything. You can't hear anything. Those five words slam into you harder than anything you've ever felt in your life. You don't even register the rest of his rambling because he loves you. Vessel loves you back.

“Please say something…”

His broken plea snaps you out of it. You didn't even realise he'd stopped rambling. His terrified eyes watch you so intently. They're so guarded. He's prepared himself for your rejection. Your heart is shattering just looking at him in this state.

“I love you.”

The world honestly stops around you. Vessel stops breathing. He is frozen in place. A valid reaction in all honesty. You let him process for a minute, you have a lot you need to say to him. You have a lot you want to explain. Fuck… you just wanna keep saying it. You love him. You love him and he loves you. You love each other. And you know you'll get there. Give him a few and you'll be able to say it all. But the poor guy was a sobbing mess just a minute ago and now he's looking at you like you've grown a second head.

It hits you finally… the reason behind his tears, you couldn't figure it out before but now you piece it together and your own throat constricts. He thought you were leaving. He loves you and he was willing to watch you leave him. He loves you and he was going to let you go because he thought that's what you wanted. He fucking loves you and he thought he'd ruined everything.

“Vessel…?”

“Say it again.”

He utters it out with what sounds like his last breath. And you know just by the sound of his voice it's taking everything in him not to lose his mind. You still don't know if he's even taken one breath since you said it the first time.

“I love you too Vessel.”

Sometimes you think Vessel forgets just how tall he is. There's been a few times when you've witnessed his affections towards II or IV and he literally knocks them off their feet. They love it, of course, and there was always a small part of you that longed to be on the receiving end of Vessel's affectionate moods… yet now… with you both on the couch, you don't quite have enough time to process how you ended up on your back with a fully grown Vessel throwing himself on top of you. He knocks the breath out of your lungs. His arms are wrapped around your back and you're lifted into his embrace quicker than you can think. He's up off the couch, you're still in his arms. Your feet dangling just above the floor as he holds you. He's breathing now. Really erratically. It's like he can't get enough air into his lungs. He squeezes you tighter against him and his face is buried in your neck. And you realise he's crying again. Holding you against him like you're his lifeline, crying because the person he loves… loves him back. You're not leaving. You love him too. You're not leaving. You love him too. You're not leaving. You love him too.

“Ves…?”

He doesn't reply. He can't. He can't even get words out because you love him too. He's hiccupping and sobbing into the crook of your neck, all while his hands grasp you desperately and hold you so close. You're so close. He is holding you. And you're holding him. And it's okay because you love each other. And this isn't a dream. He's not making it up this time. This is real. You love each other. His knees are going to give out. He falls back into the small couch the two of you occupied just before, except now you're seated comfortably on his lap, his arms keeping you locked tightly against him and you love each other. He pulls back. His face is puffy and red, his eyes are bloodshot and still full of tears but god… he's wearing the prettiest smile you've ever seen. Vessel is just beautiful, you've always thought it. But now, with you holding each other and openly loving each other… Vessel is so full of life again and it makes your own tears spring to your eyes.

“You wrote all of those about me…?”

You ask him quietly, you can't quite believe it now. That all those lyrics, lyrics that were written so incredibly and so passionately were all about you. Your own tears fall when he just nods at you. And there the two of you sit. Wrapped up in each other, crying together, and finally letting it sink in that you love each other. You've loved him for so long. So many nights you've spent lying awake thinking about him, weeks and weeks of admiring him from a distance and keeping your feelings to yourself. You swore to never tell him, or anyone for that matter. Your love for him and for the rest of the band outweighed your want to be selfish with him. You’d accepted the fact that if he didn't know, he couldn't reject you, therefore being able to keep your job and your beautiful friendships with them all. In your head, you'd rather love him from a distance and keep his friendship than risk losing him and the boys all together.

It doesn't have to be like that anymore. It's not like that anymore.

“Please… let me kiss you please…”

Vessel almost begs you, through his tears. Your eyes lock, and right there on that couch… in the little room in the back of the tour bus you press your lips to his. It's everything you'd ever wanted it to be and more. It's so overwhelming in the very best ways possible. It causes you both to shed a few more tears. To anyone else it may seem like you're saying a heartbreaking goodbye to each other, but really this is hello.

This is the beginning of waking up next to each other every morning. Going to bed next to each other every night. Random kisses every single day. Cuddles on the couch. Cuddles in bed. Hand holding. I love yous. No more shying away. No more pretending. Finally.

Because you love each other.

#my first full sleep token fic hello #sleep token #sleep token x reader #sleep token vessel #vessel #vessel x reader #sleep token vessel x reader #vessel sleep token #marys musings

521 notes · View notes

imagine-shenanigans · 10 months

Text

werewolf soap who was raised in a pack/healthy dynamics etc etc and is very very well versed in wolf life because hes got neices and nephews and he's got cousins who had partners turn... and he discovers freshly turned werewolf reader

maybe a victim of one of the enemies, but werewolves and creatures and such are still largely hidden from the public eye so he scoops reader up and reader imprints on him without realizjng it but Soap just knows. Immediately uses all his knowledge to make it worse, make reader more dependent on him, his poor sweet pup :( Doesn't know anything about the world. No matter he'll teach them :)

And reader KNOWS something is wrong but the wires in their brain from not being helped by a sire and imprinting on Soap are all crossed and mangled in the early stages of their transformation. Most wolves nowadays are born into it, because it takes a signifcant effort to turn someone (not just a bite in this case. I'm imagining like. exchange of blood of varying amounts but typically a couple cups worth at least bc lycanthropy tends to be blood-bound like vampirism) so his poor baby is just so confused and distraught, all sickly and needy and confused :(

He's more than happy to help of course, and poor reader KNOWS that Soap isn't being normal about it, some gut instinct says this can't be right, and he's way too into this, but they also didn't know werewolves were real until like. a week ago when some douchebag kidnapped them.

So reader is trying to be understanding but can't because they're also feverish and the longer the month goes on the worse it gets as they get closer to becoming an actual werewolf.

By the time reader has any inclination that Soap has been treating them like a mate, not even courting, jsut straight into it, it's FAR too late for them, his metaphorical and literal jaws have snapped around their neck and he's never letting them go.

and if we're throwing a lil ghoap x reader into it, ghost as a vampire or some other creature who also knows jack shit abt werewolves other than Johnny (who is a bad example and has also been taking advantage of his ignorance to press Ghost's boundaries until Ghost asserts dominance. Soap swears one day he'll win, even if it means losing. Ghost thinks it's cute but narrows his eyes at Johnny anyway.)

And Soap is using this cute, disoriented civillian who he's got on him at all times to brush right past Ghost's boundaries because rhwy were ALL given the order to keep an eye on them. So Soap just walks up to Ghost and tucks reader into his arms with a blanket wrapped around them and presses reader's nose to Ghost's pulse point so they'll get used to his scent. Says soemthing about training recruits, and Ghost thinks its awfully cute the way reader sniffs so curiously like a new puppy at him, memorizing his scent. Thinks the smug way Soap looks when Ghost lets reader sleep on his chest is cute too, but instead of coddling Soap like he does reader a bit, Ghost wants to make Soap beg for forgiveness, the man grinding up into the sole of his boot desperately.

Ghost just snorts and says "Pushing it, MacTavish." and continues to let reader sleep on his chest, aware only that Soap is up to soemthing but hasn't quite figured out what yet. (He's not up to that chapter in the book about werewolves he's been reading, but Ghost decides he'll put in extra time later.)

Meanwhile poor reader who is literally in constant pain/feeling sick/etc is now undergoing a significantly more painful process of imprinting on TWO people, and the poor wires in their brain are so jumbled they'll never escape (which is what Soap wants)

#mod strawberry #soap cod #cod #strawberry writing #god damnit #if i had a nickel for every werewolf soap idea i was writing id have two #which isnt a lot #but says something abt me #ghost cod #monster au #sighs #im at work too #god damnit im gonna have to write it arent i

585 notes · View notes

queenimmadolla · 2 years

Text

𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞

(dad!eddie munson and mom!reader as young parents)

more of the penny verse here • eddie edit © @fefemunson!

Summary. . . You admire your new baby girl. warnings: none, just fluff a/n: eddie and reader are about 20 and 21 (i also feel the need to express eddie exhibits Sagittarius traits so i'm thinking he had to have been born in december, kinda close to capricorn cause he looks evil but he's not) and some cuteness before I give you angst with 'Wayne's World'. enjoy! let me know what you think? ◡̈

“So…how you liking it out here?” You asked, propped on your stomach and resting on your forearms.

Your daughter, only six days old, stared back up at you, small plump lips parted. She still looked so new and a little wrinkly.

“There’s not a single thought in your adorable little head, is there?” You stroked over her soft hair—she’d come out with a full head of it—mindful of her delicate head and softspot. Penny blinked once, hard, at the gentle caress, but continued to marvel at you, the big brown eyes she’d inherited from her father were so wide that her forehead was squishing up towards her adorable hairline.

The television was on, more so for background noise as the volume was very low. Eddie was asleep in the bedroom, he’d taken it upon himself to let you get as much rest as possible—always insisting on getting up in the middle of the night to gather Penny when she became fussy. She didn’t do too much, wasn’t all that active yet. If she wasn’t fussing, she was attached to one of your nipples or sleeping. In the four days since you’d brought her home, she hadn’t done a whole lot of sleeping during the convenient times for her new parents. No, she slept during the day and was up all night.

Eddie was so good with her, though. Took the screaming like a champ, it was so fascinating to you that she couldn’t produce actual tears yet but it still hurt your heart to hear her cry. He’d just take off his shirt and hold her to his chest, skin to skin seemed to calm Penny down, and you’d pumped enough to have overnight supplies of milk for her when your nipples were too sore to handle Penny’s nursing, though you didn’t mind when he stirred you from sleep to settle Penny against your breast so she could eat.

That was about the only time Eddie did wake you. Giving birth had drained you, you knew it was gonna be uncomfortable and take a lot out of you but you hadn’t anticipated the lack of energy you’d have in the days following as well, and you hadn’t voiced it but Eddie knew you. Sometimes, you thought he knew you better than you knew yourself.

It was surprising when you woke before him, feeling well rested instead of drained. You’d quietly gotten out of bed, careful not to wake him, to check on Penny, and for once, she was up at a normal time, too.

Eddie looked exhausted, breathing deep as he slept so you decided it was time to start bonding with your baby more. A little mommy-daughter time.

After changing her diaper and feeding her, you got yourself dressed and ready, put her in a cute little onesie and folded a blanket on the carpet in the living room to lay her down.

You hadn’t realized there wasn’t a whole lot to do with a newborn until half an hour had passed with you two staring at each other, really taking each other in. You studied her and while you didn’t think she had a whole lot of brain processing power, you had a feeling she was trying to figure you out, too. As more than just her food source, anyways. Sometimes her stare would go soft, eyelids looking heavy before they were wide open again as if you’d done something to startle her out, it was kind of funny.

“You know, you’re pretty cute but you’re kind of boring,” You teased, fingers trailing down her little side until you reached her onesie covered foot and your ovaries cried at how small it was. You pressed your thumb gently just below her teeny tiny toes and like the little alien she was, they curled in on it in a way she probably wouldn’t be able to do in a few months, newborn flexible-ness.

“All you heard was cute, huh?”

Seemingly in response, because of course your daughter knew her cues, she was Eddie Munson’s baby after all, she began to suckle on nothing, lips miming the motion. You grabbed her pacifier and held it to her lips, giggling when she mouthed at it until it was settled and she looked content.

You beamed down at her, thumb stroking over the pad of her foot before pressing a kiss to it. And since you were kissing her foot you just had to show those chunky (god you wanted to bite them) cheeks some love, pressing your lips noisily and repeatedly against her face.

Penny let you have your fun, the eye of her cheek you were focused on forced to squint as the chubb of it spread with the pressure of your kisses.

You’d been expecting her to smell good, a baby survival mechanism to entice people to want to take care of her, but you had no idea how obsessed with it you’d become. You just wanted to bottle the newborn smell up so you could have it forever. Once you were done kissing her face, your nose trailed up her head to sniff at her hair where the scent was the strongest. You inhaled deeply, very much so exaggerated and let out an even more dramatic sigh before you pulled away to look down at her.

“I’ve never done it, but you’re better than crack,” You swore.

“Neither have I and I agree.” A raspy voice responded from behind you.

You rolled onto your side, glancing over your shoulder to see Eddie leaning against the doorway of the bedroom, lips curled into a smile and sleep still lingering in his eyes.

“You know, it’s really hot when you linger in doorways like that, but it’s also kind of creepy, Eddie.”

The sleepy look quickly morphed into a mischievous one, “You think I’m hot?”

“So, that’s what you’re gonna take from that? You already know I think you’re hot. Exhibit A,” You gestured down to his baby you’d popped out less than a week ago.

Eddie laughed and joined you on the floor, lips pursed in exaggeration once he was settled. You were all too happy to lean in, pressing your lips firmly against his. It was clear he’d just been expecting a quick peck when he let out a sound of surprise before you felt the curve of his smile which in turn made you smile.

You felt so doped up on love; you had Eddie, who you thought would be the greatest love of your life, and now you had the baby you two made, proof of your love (an accidental one but still) and also proof that you could be wrong, since she turned out to be the other great love of your life. Despite the late nights, sore nipples and how peeing was somewhat of a chore while your stitches healed, life was bliss.

“Mmm,” Eddie hummed when you pulled away, eyes still closed and that smile still plastered on his face. Then he groaned, head dropping. “These are going to be the longest six weeks of my life, I just know it.”

You laughed, pressing a kiss to his cheek before you sat up and carefully lifted Penny. She was so doll-like, ugh, you loved her so much. You turned her in your grasp, a hand cradling the back of her head and neck while your other supported her bottom as you pressed her cheek against yours, the both of you facing Eddie.

“But isn’t this worth it?”

There wasn’t any humor behind the reply he rasped out, his features morphing into the tender expression that always made you feel breathless, like you were important to him, “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

3K notes · View notes

corroded-hellfire · 2 years

Note

The year is 1986. Eddie is in danger of not graduating (again). Reader is his girlfriend, and she’s tired of him not taking his future seriously, so she breaks up with him. He finally decides to get his sh*t together and buckles down. But is it too late? Will he graduate? Will the love of his life take him back? Up to you, bb!

xoxoxoxo, @munson-blurbs 💚💚 PS ily

Anything for you, my love! I hope you enjoy the way I broke Eddie’s heart. It hurt me more than it did him. ily2💚

Words: 5.2k

“Eddie, we’ve got to study,” you say. He’s kneeling behind you on his bed, pressing soft kisses along the back of your neck as you try to focus on the textbook laying open in your lap.

“How am I supposed to concentrate, hmm? With you sitting on my bed, looking so beautiful,” Eddie says against your skin.

“Okay,” you say, letting your book thump onto his sheets. “I’m gonna quiz you on stuff that’ll be on our finals. For every right answer, I’ll take off a piece of clothing. For every wrong answer, it’s an extra fifteen minutes of study time.”

“Fire away, baby.” Eddie lounges back against his wall and tucks his hands behind his head, a sinful smirk on his lips.

“Let’s start with English,” you say as you shift on the bed to face him. “What two Shakespeare plays are written entirely in verse?”

Eddie purses his lips, eyes searching his bedroom ceiling as if the answers were written across it in big bold letters. “Hamlet and…McBeth?”

“King John and Richard II,” you say with a sigh. Eddie groans and lets his hands fall down to his lap.

“Ehh, shit,” Eddie says. “But just because it had two answers doesn’t mean that’s half an hour of study time! That was one question, so only one fifteen-minute addition.”

“Fine,” you say, silently knowing this is all in vain anyway. Eddie’s been caring less and less about school lately, to the point where you’re afraid he’s going to fail senior year for the third time. “We’ll move onto biology.”

“Take your clothes off and I’ll give you a biology lesson.”

“Eddie,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Fine, fine, sorry. Go on.”

“What part of the brain deals with balance and coordination?”

One of his dark brown eyes squeezes closed and he tilts his head from side to side as if he’s deliberating what he wants for dinner.

“The left part. No, wait, that’s a joke! I’m kidding, I’m kidding! Um…the frontal lobe?” Eddie winces, knowing that this was just a wild guess—it was the first part of the brain he could think of.

“The cerebellum,” you say.

“Okay,” Eddie says, nodding his head. “I’ll remember that. The cerebrum controls balance and coordination.”

“The cerebellum,” you correct.

Eddie groans, rolling the tension out of his neck before letting his head thump back against the wall.

“Come on, hit me again.”

“Last one,” you say as you adjust your legs tucked underneath you. “History this time. What city was the first capital of the United States?”

“I know it wasn’t DC,” Eddie says, pointing his finger at you. “Hmm, what other cities were important then? Boston, Philly…Philly! Philadelphia!”

At the shake of your head, Eddie slumps down on the bed.

“New York City,” you tell him.

“Ugh, fuck me.” Eddie rubs his hands over his face, and you give him a pat on the leg.

“Not tonight, hot shot. Grab your books.”

Spending your free period in the library, pouring over books, you’re jarred out of the world of microeconomics by the chair across the table from you screeching against the floor as it’s pulled out. A dark figure plops down in it, and you glance up to see the dark leather jacket and black Judas Priest t-shirt that you’d sat next to in last period English. Eddie runs a hand over his unruly curls and shoots you a smile.

“Hey, babe.”

“Eddie, what the hell are you doing here?” you get out through gritted teeth. You’re almost certain the pencil in your hand is going to snap in half. “You’re supposed to be in history.”

“Ugh, O’Donnell,” Eddie complains, dropping his head back. “I swear, she was there for half the shit she’s telling us about. God, I couldn’t take it anymore. She’s just droning on and on. Told her I had to take a leak and knew this is where I’d find my best girl.”

“Eddie!” You all but shout his name before remembering you’re in the library and you lower your voice. “Eddie, you’re already in danger of failing her class. Among others. Should you really be skipping class?”

“Babe, it’s been five minutes,” he says with a chuckle, his carefree attitude that you usually love grating on your nerves.

“Okay. So, go back and pay attention now.” Your tone is sharp and curt, but you’ve put up with this long enough.

“Trying to get rid of me?” Eddie asks, jutting out his lower lip in what is an admittedly adorable pout. He leans forward on the table, letting his hand slide over to rest on top of one of yours.

“Trying to get you to graduate,” you say, snatching your hand away. Your boyfriend watches you with wide eyes as you slam your book closed and shove it into your backpack. Slinging it over your shoulder, you stand up and nod your head towards the library door. “Let’s go.”

Eddie follows behind you like a lost puppy as you storm out of the library and stalk down the hall. Once you’ve turned down an empty hallway, you spin around to face him. The anger in your eyes takes him aback, and he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“You’re mad,” he says softly.

“Yes, I’m mad,” you snap. “My boyfriend doesn’t seem to give a shit if he graduates high school or not.”

“I care,” Eddie defends weakly.

“If you cared, you’d be in class right now. Or would study with me when I ask—or at all! Jesus, Eddie, I’ve been trying for months to get you to take your future seriously.”

“My future with you is what’s most important,” Eddie says, hand reaching out for you. Hurt flashes across his face when you pull away, and it hurts you too. This isn’t what you wanted. You’ve never wanted to be the reason Eddie’s in pain. But you also can’t just sit by and let him do this to himself.

“That’s part of the problem, Eddie. You’re so focused on me and not enough on you.”

“Because I love you,” he says.

“I love you, too, Eddie,” you reply, tears starting to fill your eyes. “That’s why I’m so concerned about you. About your future.”

“I’ll go back to class,” Eddie says, taking a step closer to you. “I-I’ll study with you. Baby, I promise.”

“You’ve said that before.” You squeeze your eyes closed, resolving yourself to what you know you have to do. As much as you don’t want it. As much as it’s going to break your heart. “It’s not enough, Eddie.”

“Then what?” Eddie rests his hands on your upper arms. “Tell me what to do.”

“It’s too late,” you say, shaking your head.

“W-What do you mean it’s too late?” But the dread in his eyes says he knows exactly what you mean.

“You’re not taking your future seriously. I’ve tried so hard to help you, but there’s only so much I can push you. At some point you have to do it for yourself. I’m so tired of waiting for you to do it, though. It hurts me to sit here and watch you not care about you as much as I do.”

“Sweetheart, please—.”

“Eddie, it’s over. We’re over.”

Tears flood his eyes as his jaw hangs open. Eddie’s hands slip from your arms, and he stumbles back a step. You know the pain on his face must be reflected in your own. And maybe it means you’re a coward, but you can’t look at his broken expression anymore. Tucking your thumbs into your backpack straps, you turn around and walk down the empty hallway, away from Eddie.

Eddie feels numb. He’s walking around school in a haze. Friends try to talk to him in the hallway, but they sound like they’re underwater and Eddie can’t understand them. Gareth waves his hand in front of Eddie’s face, but he doesn’t even blink. Jeff grabs his shoulder, but Eddie doesn’t even feel it, he just keeps walking. It’s not until Dustin grabs Eddie by the zipper of his leather jacket and pushes him up against the lockers that the twenty-year-old snaps back to reality.

“What?” Eddie asks, big brown eyes blinking as he tries to focus on the shorter man in front of him.

“Are you okay? What the hell is going on?” Dustin asks. Eddie’s eyes find the floor and he shakes off Dustin’s hands.

“She left me,” he mumbles.

“What?” Gareth asks, leaning in to hear him better.

“She fucking broke up with me, okay?” His friends flinch as Eddie pushes himself off the lockers and runs his hands over his hair. They back away, giving him room to pace the small area around him.

“Why?” Jeff asks, sounding half afraid to ask the question to his hot-tempered friend.

“She said I’m not taking my future seriously,” Eddie answers. “That I don’t seem to care that I’m failing classes. Again.” Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie can see his three friends share a look. He stops pacing and stares at them. “What?”

“I mean,” Jeff starts quietly, “she has a point.”

When Eddie just continues to stare, Dustin decides to speak up as well.

“She’s been trying real hard to help you, man. You haven’t seemed to care, though.”

“I…I care,” Eddie says.

“When’s the last time she tried to get you to study?” Dustin asks.

“The other night.” Eddie remembers, thinking about how he failed your quiz.

“And what did you do?” Dustin asks.

Eddie sighs and rubs a hand over his forehead. “Tried to have sex with her.”

“This is probably a good thing,” Gareth says, shrinking in on himself when Eddie glares at him. “For you. So you can focus on school.”

Eddie scoffs. “She really think I’m gonna be able to focus on school after she shatters my heart like this? Fuck, I love her so much.”

“I’m sorry, man,” Jeff says.

“Fuck this shit.” Eddie slams his fist against the lockers and strides down the hall, towards the exit.

When Eddie gets home, Wayne hasn’t left for work yet. He’s sitting on the couch, remote control in his hand as he points it at the small television and clicks through the channels. Eddie wrenches open the front door, dirty black boots stomping into the trailer before banging the door closed behind him. Wayne pauses his channel surfing to raise an eyebrow at his nephew.

“What’s the matter with you, boy?”

Ignoring the older man, Eddie strides down the hallway to his bedroom, footsteps so heavy they rattle the mugs hanging on the living room walls. Wayne was no stranger to Eddie temper tantrums—having raised him through puberty—but this is a level he hasn’t seen since the last time a letter from his father arrived. He gives it a few moments before deciding to see what’s going on with the brooding boy. Wayne hoists himself off the couch, groaning as his bones click and muscles tighten.

The bedroom door isn’t fully closed, so Wayne swings it open to see Eddie lying flat on his back, staring up at the water-stained ceiling. He hadn’t even bothered to shed himself of the leather jacket or boots before plopping down.

“I know I may not have taught you much in life, boy, but I know I taught you manners,” Wayne says.

Eddie stays silent, which is never the case. That worries Wayne more than anything.

“Eddie?”

“She dumped me.”

Wayne takes a moment to process what his nephew says. He places his hands on his hips and blows out a breath.

“What happened?”

Eddie rubs his hands over his face before responding. When he does speak, his tone is bitter. “She said that I don’t care about my future. That she’s tired of sitting around while I’m out here being a dumbass.”

“She wouldn’t say that,” Wayne says with a shake of his head.

“Maybe not with those exact words.” Eddie forces himself to sit up, shoulders slumped. “But the same messaging.”

Sighing, Wayne sits down next to him and pats his shoulder.

“I’m sorry to hear that. She’s a good kid.”

“I always told her that you like her more than you like me,” Eddie grumbles.

“Only sometimes,” Wayne jokes with a small smile. “Now, you’re allowed to wallow for one day—two at the most. Then you get your ass in gear and get your act together.”

With a low groan, Eddie flops back down on the bed. “Don’t wanna.”

“Well,” Wayne says, pushing himself off the bed. “The girl is either gonna be right about you or wrong. It’s up to you which one it is.”

Wayne makes his way out of the bedroom and Eddie rolls over so he’s face down on his bed. He squeezes his eyes shut as the first of the tears begin to burn his eyes. The way his throat begins to tighten has Eddie gripping his blanket in his fists. Wayne’s words repeat in his head. Would you end up being right? Is everything you said about him true? Of course it is, he thinks to himself. He’s about to fail senior year for the third time—and he didn’t even care. Until now, he decides. Pushing himself off the bed, Eddie yanks his leather jacket off. He tosses it in the general direction of his closet, not caring where it lands as he bends down to pick his biology textbook from the floor.

“Should be able to read this whole damn thing before finals.”

Eddie’s friends hardly recognize him at lunch the next day. Instead of arguing over Lucas missing another Hellfire meeting for a basketball game and munching on pretzels, he has his nose buried in a book.

“Now I’ve seen everything,” Gareth says, dropping his tray on the tabletop. His brows pinch together when Eddie doesn’t even lift his head.

“Is that Eddie Munson reading a book?” Jeff asks.

“And not just a book,” Dustin says as he slides into the seat next to his Dungeon Master. He picks the corner up to take a look at the cover to confirm his suspicions, but Eddie’s quick to slap his hand away so he can keep reading. “Eddie is reading Romeo and Juliet.”

“Look at this cultured man,” Gareth says. Still, Eddie doesn’t lift his head.

“How far do you think this will go?” Mike asks. “Think we could shit talk Metallica?”

“I’m reading, I’m not deaf,” Eddie says.

“Is this about—” Lucas starts but Dustin elbows him in the ribs.

Finally, Eddie raises his eyes from the book and sends a death glare to all of his friends. He slams the book closed and snatches it up before striding out of the cafeteria. Weren’t these the same assholes who had told him that you were right about him not taking his future seriously? But the moment they see him trying to improve himself, they decide to make snide jokes. Eddie grumbles as he makes his way to the library, banging the door open and ignoring the sneer from the librarian as he drops down at a table. With a sigh, he opens the book again and continues where he left off before he was rudely interrupted.

Two periods later, Eddie’s pretty sure Mrs. O’Donnell is going to have a heart attack after he raises his hand and answers a question correctly. The crone takes a moment before continuing her lecture and Eddie smirks in self-satisfaction.

Once Eddie gets used to his eyes being tired from reading so much, and his headaches from the information overloads start to abate, he manages to bring his grades up. It takes a couple of weeks for him to finally see the difference, but when he does, he feels something that he’s not sure if he’s ever felt before: pride. Being proud of himself is odd at first, and he smokes a bit more than usual to dull the sensation, but he soon comes to enjoy it and the pleasant buzz he feels has nothing to do with the weed.

A few weeks out from graduation, Eddie’s lounging on the wall in front of the school, stretched out as the late spring sun warms the afternoon, reading the assigned chapter in The Outsiders. A shadow falls across the pages of his book and Eddie squints as he looks up, finding you standing next to him, thumb hooked in the strap of your backpack, a strained smile on your face.

“Hey, stranger,” you say.

Eddie pushes himself into a sitting position, letting his long legs dangle over the side of the wall. He closes his book, keeping a ring clad finger between the pages that he’s currently on.

“Hey,” Eddie says. This is the first time you’ve talked to one another since that day in the hallway. Neither of you had even contacted one another to give back stuff that was at the others’ houses. Eddie knows there’s a handful of his t-shirts at your place and he’s not sure if it comforts him or causes him pain to wonder if you still wear them to sleep. And he knows exactly where the David Bowie tapes that you left in his room are—one is in his stereo right now. He’s managed to either hide or push down the pain from the breakup, but he still spends most nights falling asleep to Space Oddity or Ziggy Stardust. It even got to the point where Wayne had come into his room and said, “As glad as I am that I don’t have to listen to your screaming music, you’ve gotta stop wallowing in pity. Or at least listen to Elvis or somethin’ while ya do.”

“I saw you in the library last week. And I’ve heard that you’ve been working really hard,” you tell him. “I’m glad, Eddie. That’s amazing.”

“Uh, thanks,” he says, nodding his head. Under the guise of avoiding the bright sun, he ducks his head down and looks at his white sneakers. But really, he’s not sure if he can look you in the eye for more than a second at a time. The sadness had given way to anger, which gave away to an empty, aching pain in the pit of his stomach. “I, um, started because I didn’t want you to be right. Apparently, you weren’t the only one who thought I needed to get my shit together. But, uh, now I’m doing it for me. Trying to put me first.”

“Good,” you say. Eddie looks up to see you giving him a genuine smile. The one not many other people got to see. You’re not attempting to give him a pep talk or play some kind of game with him. Eddie can tell that you’re being authentic and really are pleased to see him succeeding. “You deserve it, Eddie. I’m proud of you.”

The words affect him more than he would’ve thought. His throat feels tighter and suddenly the spring day feels like it’s a blisteringly hot August afternoon. “Thanks,” he manages to get out.

“And I—um, I’m sorry. I really hope you know that I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know.” And he does. Now. He’d had moments of thinking you had done it as a way of calling him stupid or pathetic. But once the haziness of the initial heartbreak wore off, he realized you would never think that, let alone be cruel enough to insinuate it.

“I guess I’ll see you around, Eddie,” you say, offering him a small wave. He nods his head in acknowledgment and tries to get back to his book. But too much of you fills his head for him to be able to focus on what Ponyboy is talking about.

Finals come and they go. Eddie waits with bated breath for the results, feeling more on edge, even with kicking up the pot smoking again. When Eddie sees that he’s passed every single exam, the high he feels is better than he could’ve imagined. Not quite as good as some drug highs and definitely nowhere as near the high you gave him, but it’s still good. For the first time in his life, Eddie is excited to come home and wave a school paper in Wayne’s face. In the past, it’d been a detention slip, a letter of reprimand from the principal, or a failed report card that he needed to have signed and returned. But this is something good. Better than good, Wayne tells him.

“Looks like you’ve got to get yourself a cap and gown, boy.”

So, he does. When he puts them on the morning of graduation though, he groans at how the shade of green looks on him. Black was his best color, according to him, so something this bright just wasn’t him.

He strolls over to his stereo near the window and firmly presses the play button. Heroes by David Bowie fills the small bedroom as Eddie takes another look at himself in the mirror. No one would look good in this color, he thinks. Well, he muses, that’s not true. You would look good in this color because it’s impossible for you to ever look anything less than breathtaking.

I, I will be king

And you, you will be queen

Eddie sighs and turns away from the mirror. Grabbing his keys off of his bedside table, Eddie clicks the pause button on his stereo before heading down the hallway.

“See ya at the ceremony, old man,” Eddie says to his uncle before he’s out the trailer door.

Only the graduates and school faculty get there this early, so the parking lot is relatively empty when Eddie pulls in. He hops out of his van and sees Jeff getting out of his car a few spaces over.

“Glad to see you look as awful as I do in this shit,” Eddie says as he makes his way over to his fellow Hellfire member.

“Black robes would’ve been brutal under this sun though, dude,” Jeff replies.

Eddie shrugs because he knows his friend is right. Together they walk towards the football field, a place Eddie actively tried to avoid all the years he spent here. It looks like most of the students are here already. Not long after Eddie spots Jason Carver straightening his tie, even though it’s under the gown, all the students are herded into the gymnasium to wait for the ceremony to begin. The gym smells even worse than normal with the whole senior class shoved inside. Eddie spies you off towards a corner, laughing about something with Nancy. It wouldn’t surprise him if you’re trying to make her laugh to take her mind off of the valedictorian speech she’s about to give. Eyes taking in how you look in the green cap and gown, Eddie knows he was right before; you are the only one who looks drop dead gorgeous in the graduation garment. He knows his eyes have been on you for too long, but he can’t bring himself to tear them away.

“So, what’s going on there?” Jeff asks, seeing where his friend’s gaze lies. “You did what she wanted, right? Are you going to try and get back together with her?”

Eddie sighs and finally breaks his gaze away from you. Instead, he looks up into the rafters of the gym, squinting as the bright lights shine down.

“I don’t really think this was a ‘if you fix this, we’ll get back together’ type of situation,” Eddie says. “Besides, it’s been months. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s been on dates with a bunch of different guys by now.”

“You still love her, though.” It’s not a question from Jeff, it’s a statement. A fact that was as obvious as the scuff marks on the floor of the gym.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, not adding anything further.

“Shouldn’t you at least try then?” Jeff asks. “You did all that hard work.”

“But I didn’t do it for her,” Eddie answers with a shake of his head. “I did it for me.”

“But you still did it,” Jeff points out. “It won’t be in vain either way, man, because you’re here right now. About to graduate. I’m just saying you should talk to her. See where things stand.”

“Maybe,” Eddie says with a sigh.

Mrs. O’Donnell bustles into the room—well, as fast as she can at her age. Taking stock of the children around the gym, she claps her hands together to get their attention.

“Okay, okay, everyone. Time to line up. We’ll be starting soon.”

Jeff and Eddie let themselves be herded with the rest of their class and listen half-heartedly at instructions shouted at them as they make their way back outside.

Once the ceremony starts, it’s long and boring. Nancy’s speech isn’t as bad as Eddie expected, though. But Principal Higgins has to talk, then just about every other school official that Eddie swears he’s never seen in the front office even after all the time he’s spent in there. Then the never ending list of names begins. Of course all the names are familiar to Eddie, but that doesn’t mean he cares enough to watch each of them walk across the stage, shake hands, and get their diploma. There are only a select few people that Eddie actually pays attention for.

“Nancy Wheeler.”

“Robin Buckley.”

“Jason Carver.” Eddie pretends to gag.

“Chrissy Cunningham.”

“Jeff Donaldson.”

Then it’s your turn. Eddie can’t take his eyes off of you or the big grin on your face as you hop up on the stage and go through the long line of people none of you had ever heard of to shake their hands. Your eyes light up as your diploma is handed to you. Eddie doesn’t even realize he’s smiling along with you until his cheeks begin to ache. That settles it, he thinks. I have to talk to her.

“Eddie Munson.”

Hearing his own name called over the loudspeaker jars him out of his thoughts. He’s distantly aware of people cheering for him as he makes his way to the stage, but it feels too weird to be real. People didn’t even cheer for him at Corroded Coffin shows. Eddie takes the steps up to the stage two at a time and forces a pleasant smile to his lips as he shakes Principal Higgins’ hand. The rest of the faces become a blur as he moves from person to person until he finally gets his diploma. He grins at the simple rolled up paper in his hands. It’s just a blank piece of paper until his real diploma comes in, he knows, but it means so much more. It’s proof that he did it. That he graduated at long last. The now-familiar pride swells up in him as he heads back to his seat among the students in the green sea of their robes.

When the ceremony finally comes to an end, there’s hugging and crying and squealing coming from all around the football field. Eddie makes his way out into the parking lot where families are taking photos with their graduates, all smiles and congratulations. Wayne’s truck is hard to miss in the parking lot; by far the oldest vehicle there. Eddie heads in that direction and is greeted by a beaming uncle.

“M’so proud of you, boy.” Wayne pulls Eddie into a hug, which wasn’t a usual occurrence in the Munson household. “You put your mind to something and ya did it.”

“Thanks,” Eddie says, smiling sheepishly.

“Congratulations.”

The familiar voice coming from behind him has Eddie spinning around so fast he hears his neck crack.

“Uh, thanks,” he says. “You too.”

“C’mon, let me get a picture of the two of you,” Wayne says, pulling a camera that looks older than Eddie out of his pocket.

Eddie is about to protest, not wanting to make you uncomfortable or feel obligated, but you’re looping your arm through his before he can even open his mouth. You tilt your head, close to Eddie’s shoulder but not quite touching, and smile prettily for the camera. Eddie musters his best look for the picture as well, but on the inside, he’s cringing as he imagines what that picture must look like.

“Perfect,” Wayne says. He unlocks his truck and tosses the camera inside. “I’ll see you later, Eddie?”

“Okay,” Eddie says.

Wayne pulls Eddie in for another hug before enveloping you in one as well.

“I’m real proud of both of you,” he says.

“Thanks, Wayne,” you reply.

Wayne climbs into his truck and gives the two of you one last wave before heading out of the parking lot.

“So, uh,” Eddie starts at the same time you say, “So, listen.”

Eddie chuckles and nods his head at you. “You first.”

“Oh, I, um, was just going to ask if you were going to the party tonight. At Cat’s place.”

“I hadn’t really planned on it,” Eddie says as he unzips the graduation robe. “Why?”

“Well, uh, I—I was wondering if maybe you’d want to? I mean, I-I’ll be there. But if you don’t wanna, I totally understand.”

“You want me to?” Eddie asks, raising his eyebrows at you as he slips his hands into the pockets of his black jeans.

“I do,” you say, a shy look that Eddie is unaccustomed to on your face. “Like I said, I get it if you don’t want to. But I had to at least ask.”

“I guess it wouldn’t kill me to go for a little while. Might be able to sell.”

“You don’t want to celebrate?” you ask. “Dance and drink?”

“Of all people, you should know better than anyone that I don’t dance,” Eddie says with a small smile.

“But you drink,” you point out.

“Why do you want to spend time with me?” Eddie asks, tilting his head to the side, like a puppy wondering what it’s human just said. Better to ask bluntly and get a clear answer then try to piece one together in his mind.

“I need a reason?”

“Kind of. After you dumped me? Yeah, you do.”

“I miss you,” you admit, so quietly that Eddie almost misses it. “I’ve missed you from the moment I left you standing there in that hallway. So many times I almost caved and begged you to take me back. But then I’d see you studying, and it would remind me that you need to focus on you. And you did. Look what you accomplished. I’m really, really proud of you, Eddie.”

“Not bad for the school freak, huh?” Eddie asks, the beginnings of a smirk curling his pink lips.

“I think you need a new nickname,” you muse. “We’re not in school anymore.”

“Maybe we can come up with one at the party tonight,” Eddie says, causing your face to light up in excitement.

“Really? You’ll go with me?” you ask, eyes widening in hope.

“I’d be pretty dumb not to.”

“You’ve always been far from dumb, sweetheart,” you tell him. Hesitantly, you reach out and lace your fingers with his. “I think I came up with a new nickname for you, too.”

“Do tell,” Eddie says.

“No more Eddie the Freak or Eddie the Banished,” you say, imitating Eddie’s Dungeon Master voice. “You are now Eddie the graduate.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #request

1K notes · View notes

florenceafternoon · 5 months

Text

━。゜✿ jily fic recommendations ✿ ゜。━

Some more AUs I've been loving. I'm trying to alternate between AU and canon verse rec lists so bear with me. Remember that if you like a fic you should definitely let the author know as such.

For reference, anything in italics is taken from the summaries on ao3.

theogony by @clare-with-no-i

The trip that Lily Evans expects to go on is the annual pre-dissertation jaunt to Athens with the rest of her Classical Civilizations PhD program. The trip she does not expect to go on is to 479 BCE, right on the cusp of one of the most important battles in the Greco-Persian war. Now, she has to navigate antiquity as she tries to find her way back to the 21st Century, God—or gods—help her.

James wants to win this war. No, James needs to win this war. He is a man of honor and duty, and even if it means dying a gruesome, bloody death, he will go down in history as one of Athens's great warriors. He will suffer no distractions; not even beautiful ones who speak strangely and refuse to listen to his orders.

-- OR: The Outlander-Meets-Ancient-Greece Jily AU that no one asked for Maya dreams of.

I can't believe it took me this long to read this fic but OH MY GOD!! Clare's writing is phenomenal, I've known this for a while now, but THE DEDICATION TO HISTORICAL ACCURACY, I'm so impressed. If only I could put even half that amount of effort into my major essays for school. EVERYONE GO READ THIS NOW

Sweathearts' Special by @tinyluminaryzombie

What happens when your coffee shop nemesis, asks you to pretend to be a couple?

Or "I’ve been staring at the stupid cupcakes for the past hour, and they look way too good. Anyways, would you be willing to join forces and pretend to be together for the free cupcake and coffee?”

Welcome to Pettyville by @women-inthe-sequel

When Lily Evans accidentally sends a text to the wrong number, she isn’t expecting to find the right person behind it. She can’t stop talking to Prongs. The only thing is, Prongs can’t stop talking about the girl in his class. What could go wrong, other than the number?

A love square but it's just the same two idiots

Tall Dark and Glasses by @jamesunderwater

Tall Dark and Glasses (or TDG as he is more affectionately known) is the mysterious, painfully good-looking stranger who has been frequenting Lily's favourite coffee shop for months now. But despite having an embarrassing acronym for him, Lily, a burned-out STEM major, is too comfortable being a wallflower to go up to him herself. Thank god for playing cards, I guess.

coffee shops and copious amounts of sugar by @mystinkysocks

James decides to finally start revising, the coffee shop he attends introduces him to someone new!

As someone who spends an ungodly amount of time studying in public (at cafés and libraries), all I dream of is to one day live out my very own coffee shop AU

Unlicenced by @ohmygodshesinsane

Lily Evans begrudgingly agrees to get in the car with classmate and sometime-foe James Potter and his not-quite-earned P-plates after a particularly rubbish day.

Drop-Off also by @/ ohmygodshesinsane

James Potter takes Lily Evans home, and wants to make something clear.

Disclaimer that they’re Australian in this AU. You guys don't understand how much Lily Evans means to me. I want to give her a hug.

pretty, pretty boy by rosiemary0 (on ao3)

Pretty face, with golden brown eyes and strong cheekbones (one of which is adorned with a smudge of charcoal). Pretty hands—very, very pretty hands, Lily’s thoughts interject—which hold a jar each, one with water and the other paintbrushes.

Or the one where James is an artist and Lily hates socialising.

I'll Manage by @kaymardsa

James and Lily fall in love during the war.

In which Lily runs a refugee camp and James is an ex-sniper

I can't remember if I've recommended this fic already but again I recently re-read it and wanted to share

'Tis the Fucking Season by @thequibblah

Six-year absences. Yearly photograph burnings (figuratively). Low-cut tops. Two nosebleeds. Little red notebooks. The Past, with a capital P. The desire to pour your heart out to strangers (maybe pathologically). The desire to do unspeakably bad things to one James Potter. These are the ingredients that make up Lily Evans's holiday season.

Shelby the cabbie is in for a fucking ride.

I have been searching for this fic for two months and nearly gave up. An absolute classic that everyone should read!!

Two's a Crowd also by @/ thequibblah

Regency AU in which "the only thing Lily Evans can share with the Earl of Devon is a healthy dose of mutual dislike."

In Search of Something More by @kay-elle-cee

In the sunlit garden of her sister’s home, Lord Potter had promised Lily a life of her own design, with minimal expectations—her presence at community events, companionship, and an heir. As the two stumble into the routine of marriage and work to make a life together at Stinchcombe Hall, unsolicited feelings provoke each to start wondering if this is merely a marriage…or if it could be something more.

No, I will not shut up about this fic. Anything that Kelsey writes is bound to be amazing but this one holds a special place in my heart. Note that this is an ongoing fic though. I tend to recommend completed works but this one is too good not to include.

Pinkest Bluestocking of the Ton by @wearingaberetinparis

Dearest Reader, the ton are abuzz with the latest gossip, and so it is my honour to impart to you the news that the Duke of Peverell has returned to London at last! A year after setting off on his tour of Europe, Lady Peverell's son has returned and rumour has it that his mother is preparing for the most joyous of occasions: a late summer wedding that sees her son wed the next Duchess of Peverell. It is my sincere hope that you have stored a bottle of wine for this most delightful of upcoming events for if ever there were a more determined mama, this writer is Icarus and this society paper has been scorched for flying too close to the sun.

A Jily Regency Romance inspired by Shondaland's "Bridgerton".

Again this is an ongoing fic, but it's too good not to include in this rec list! I haven’t caught up with all the chapters yet but I love the story so far!

A Heart of Coal also by @/ wearingaberetinparis

They say fortune favours the bold, yet Lily Evans was given her death sentence at seventeen. As soon as midnight strikes on the eve of her eighteenth birthday, her heart will turn to coal. Gryffindor knight James Potter, however, is the last to accept such a fate. For while Lily Evans’ curse foretells her death, his foreshadows a life without his unrequited true love at his side.

Fairytale AU in which the love is requited they're just idiots

Three Lemons and a Dragon by @thelighthousestale

Once upon a time, there lived a Prince named James who had to save his father's Kingdom by getting married. One day an older woman gifts him three lemons that will lead him to his true love.

Dillweed in a Fancy Metal Can by @eastwindmlk

When Lily gets dragged to a Renaissance Faire, she reluctantly agreed to go to the jousting event where she is pulled into the show against her will, or is it?

Lily represents me

Queen Foxtail also by @/ eastwindmlk

Once Upon A Time...

There was an arrogant prince who turned down every suitable match and drove his parents to do something drastic. Marry him off to the next merchant that steps through their gates.

across the universe by rcdwings (on ao3)

“So, you’re saying that in these other worlds, James Potter and Lily Evans exist, too?”

She hadn’t expected to hear that, hadn’t even thought about it that way. She was too busy thinking about if in those other worlds, she and her friends could be seventeen and free instead of the war torn teenagers they were. Now that he’d put it that way, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander.

“I would assume so,” she swallowed. “Not sure what we would be like, though.”

A beat, then a soft hum. “Anything,” he smiled at her, “There are countless worlds, right? We could be anything.”

only love can hurt like this by @fireblts

Lily doesn’t quite know everything, but it feels pretty close.

The main thing she still doesn’t get is soulmates. Love doesn’t seem like something that should be painful. Or rather, love seems like it’s painful enough on its own without any help.

Soulmate AU - whenever your soulmate is hurt or in pain, you can feel it too.

Soulmate AUs are my comfort genre of fics. I haven't been feeling to well lately and rediscovering this fic was a delight

The Librarian of Hogsmeade Village by @ohmygodshesinsane

Lily's work as a librarian in the small village of Hogsmeade has kept her occupied for the past six years, forever keeping the wheels of the town on the track. As the holidays approach, she prepares to settle in with a nice mug of tea and a well-thumbed old book. When a new resident and his son arrive at her weekly story-reading, with cheeky smiles and big hearts, those plans are tossed out the window in favour of chasing love, for once - not escaping it.

Lily living the cozy life of my dreams. I think it's well known by now that I love reading about single parents and well James with his baby boy always puts a smile on my face.

Spitting Image by @charmsandtealeaves

James Potter always knew he wanted to build a family, he just hadn’t found the right person to build it with - yet. Freezing his sperm at Gringotts Sperm Bank was a no-brainer really. He’d have children when he found the right person, and now he had an insurance policy. Then Lily Evans walked into his place of work with her son - the spitting image of him.

linking this art that the talented @constancezin drew inspired by this fic

Every time I see that Ray has updated, reading the new chapter becomes the highlight of my day

The Stag Prince Across The Sea also by @/ charmsandtealeaves

The realm of Hogwarts had lived for decades in a carefully negotiated harmony between the leaders of the four clans. However, when the time came for son to marry daughter, the Slytherin King refused to offer his daughter's hand to any of the other grand houses’ suitors. As the Slytherin King departed the shore, bound for the ship that would allow him to escape across the Green Sea, he cast a curse on the great families.

“Let ye be marked. Marred by tooth, hoof, and claw. May your sons never be fit for any bride!”

Slytherin invoked an ancient magic, which transformed each family's eldest son into creatures under the light of the full moon. The Kings searched far and wide for a cure to no avail while trying to keep secret the wrong that had been done to them. Years passed and with them grew a sense of unrest, a kingdom on the precipice of collapse...

what love is, I think by @potterandevans-blog-blog

It's James Potter's birthday, his nineteenth to be exact. Some people, if they're lucky, find a tattoo on their back on their nineteenth birthday, a tattoo that can help them discover their soulmate. And if the antlers on his back are anything to go by, James might just have a soulmate of his own out there, somewhere.

oil be there for you by @abby10fanfic

Texting/Social Media AU: Lily and James haven't spoken for 2 years. But that's all about to change thanks to Peter and his involvement in an essential oil pyramid scheme. Featuring boss babes, toxin-free lifestyles, binding contracts, and a very oily journey.

#if you're like me and check the jily fic tag nearly every morning you've probably read most of these already #but I just wanted to share my recent favourites #lily evans #james potter #jily #jple #james x lily #lily x james #jily fic rec list

158 notes · View notes

vhstown · 1 year

Text

time out (part 2)

[boxer au] — 42!miles g morales x gn!reader

summary: Miles Morales makes boxing history. Your boyfriend isn't there to celebrate.

warnings: angst-ish, hurt/comfort, fluff, description of (boxing) injuries, briefly implied death, gtranslate spanish

word count: 5.3k

a/n: editing this was actual torture. kind of becomes a song fic? song is dreamer by bobby bland if you wanna listen before u read lmao entirely not necessary tho. part 2 of 2 but i might write this au again in the future !

← PART 1 / THE AU

Boxing — you tried to be as well versed in it as possible, learning as many terms and moves and whatever else you could pick up from Aaron when he was helping Miles train for all those weeks. What you weren’t sure of, though, was if a “time out”, or a break, had to be this awkward. What you also weren’t sure of was what on Earth your boyfriend was thinking doing here at midnight training (or splitting his knuckles open, though you didn’t quite know the difference anymore,) right after his tournament had finished.

Regardless, there was nothing you could do about it. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t just leave and “give him space” as you might’ve done before. The weather didn’t look like it was going to clear up anytime soon, and you had no signal or money; it wasn't like Miles would call a car for himself anyway — stubborn.

Miles was sat on the floor against a set of shelves with various things that belonged to Aaron, and you were on an unbearably stiff bench press seat, legs close together so you wouldn’t fall off and your jacket hung around the weight. Cold, uncomfortable, dead silent — the perfect atmosphere for a productive conversation, of course.

Truthfully, you had no idea what to say. Yeah, you’d just talked big game to your boyfriend and scolded him like his mother probably would’ve if she knew what the hell he was up to, but you hadn’t planned anything after that. Miles wasn’t a talker — not by any means. Right now, he was sat on the floor with his legs crossed, stretching uncomfortably on his elbows with his hands in awkward positions to try and not strain them too much. He hadn’t said anything, so you hadn’t said anything either, and now you were stuck without any words and too many thoughts.

It was a lot of unmet glances and quiet shivers, and you tried your best to kill the urge to just... lean over and hug him. As much as you missed him and wanted to let out everything you’d been feeling for the past couple of weeks, now wasn’t the best time — Miles probably couldn’t even hug you with those gnarly injuries anyway.

Miles’ eyes were dull and tired, fixed on the ground or maybe somewhere you couldn’t see. As usual, you couldn’t gauge anything from his expression besides mild annoyance. It was like a constant guessing game. First, why your texts weren’t going through, secondly, where the hell he was, and now you had to figure out why on Earth he was so frustrated. Your luck had ran out with those first two guesses, and his silence certainly didn’t help — again, not a talker. Not even a looker; he wasn’t stealing glances of you anymore, like he was thinking about something. If only you knew what.

The most you could guess was that this was about not winning — but it couldn’t just be that simple. Miles was stupid sometimes, but he wasn’t delusional — he knew that he probably couldn’t beat every single person in that championship when he was just starting to go professional. This wasn’t some kiddish, lofty dream Miles had either — he was serious from the day Aaron got him those gloves, which were now crumpled up in the corner next to you. He wouldn’t throw a fit over nothing.

It wasn’t right to force it out of him though, and you could still sense the stubbornness lingering in the crease between his brows. You resisted the urge to smooth it out with your thumb, instead just killing it with every other thought you deemed “selfish”. Apparently, waiting was just as much of a competitive sport at boxing.

The door rattled as icy drafts bit at your ankles and fingertips. It sounded like the sky was going to collapse from how intense the storm was growing. Miles was just in a tank top, his hoodie abandoned on the bar behind you. You figured he could get it himself; any sort of help always seemed pitying to him anyway.

“I’m training with uncle Aaron tonight — stay home.”

“I can handle myself. How else you think I got this far?”

“You ain’t comin’ to Vegas with me.”

You found yourself reaching for the hoodie anyway. Miles didn’t notice, of course, but you could see the goose bumps on skin even from this far away.

“Hey,” you muttered, making him look up. “Are you gonna tell me what’s up, or sulk some more?”

His mouth opened, but only to let out a breath, before silence fell between you again.

“Fine, I don’t… get it, or whatever.” You continued, fingers trailing into the sleeves of the hoodie. “But I don’t get how I’m supposed to when you’re not talking to me.”

“There’s nothing to get.” It was like you had Vegas between you two again — like he wasn’t even here.

The fabric of the hoodie was warm, and a part of you didn’t feel like letting go of it — if only your boyfriend was in the hoodie too.

“I don’t get why you’d box without wraps, for one.”

“I’m just… frustrated,” he yielded, albeit unhelpfully. “‘S nothing serious, promise.”

Serious enough to have your fingers hanging on by a thread. You noticed his thumb nursing the blackened skin around his knuckles, and his expression seemed even more distant than it was before. It was always some impossible game, and you hadn’t lost, but were drained and out of words for now.

Maybe he’d figure it out for himself; you weren’t too convinced of that. Despite that, it was getting annoying to hear the constant howling of wind and rain outside. Walking over to the shelf, you dropped the hoodie in Miles’ lap. You doubted he had even looked at you, but you didn’t need him to. Right now, you needed something to fill this boring, cold and wordless room.

Looking through the shelves behind Miles, you noticed a picture: a much younger Aaron wearing boxing gloves, a medal around his neck and standing next to someone you assumed to be Miles' dad. You'd never looked at any of the pictures close up, but you noticed there were a lot of old pictures like that, before finding Aaron's collection of records.

Taking the first one out, you put it into the player and carefully set the needle, glancing at the name of the song. His taste in music wasn’t exactly popular, but you’d rather listen to “DREAMER” than “inconveniently timed Brooklyn storm” right now.

Letting out a sigh of your own, you slumped down next to him as he pulled the hoodie over his head, arms going back to being crossed.

"~Dreamer... dreamer... Like a fool, I thought that it could be..." Of course it was a sad song. Blues? The haunting melody made you feel blue. It made the cold feel more numbing than biting on your skin. It made you feel, in general — what, you couldn’t really place.

“…Are we okay?” you muttered without much thought. The urge to talk had come back, and you hadn’t decided if you regretted speaking yet.

"~Dream on... dream on... surely someone, will understand me..."

Miles let out a breath, and it felt like you were exchanging more sighs than words. “Yeah. I just… ‘S not you.”

No “promise”, though. Did that make it more or less honest?

"~What do I say, when I've, oh, said too much? I think by now, I'm wastin' time..."

“...I love you, y’know?” you continued, hating how out of place it sounded. It was as useless as that text you tried to send, but you were tired, and missed your boyfriend, and wished he would give you even a glance.

“~I'm going… oh Lord I'm gone…”

“Love you too,” he mumbled in reply. It wasn’t very reassuring, and it didn’t seem like it to him either, because he reached out to brush your hand against his. You took his hand first — gently, and his thumb pressed into your palm in a sort of silent apology.

You hated how futile it was, and how much you craved it again. You hated you couldn’t be even a little mad at him, and how you were defending him to yourself. Maybe you were both in the wrong. No — you weren’t wrong, you were trying to be understanding.

You weren’t wrong for feeling this way, were you?

“~You are the absence, of my mind…”

You hated how much you missed that boy from all those months ago — even though he was right in front of you. It didn’t feel like Miles Morales was yours anymore, he was theirs — whoever “they” were. His competitors, his managers, the media… It was like there was no trace of the Miles you knew before. Maybe it’s because you couldn’t deny it anymore: that Miles had a dream, and you probably weren’t in it. You hated how you took it so personally.

And you hated how you reached out to hug him, despite all of that.

It was just you for a moment, and you were about to pull away before his arms wrapped loosely around the small of your back.

You hated how you hid your face over his shoulder, and how nice it felt. You hated how warm he was, and how the room was freezing.

You hated how familiar this was.

“~Lord, dreamer… dreamer…”

“Sorry, cariño. Didn’t mean to be an asshole.” Miles’ fingertips dragged uselessly over your back, and you shamelessly tightened your arms around him as he pressed his cheek into yours. You might’ve shed a tear, if it weren't for how heavy your eyes were already with the late hour. Neither of you could go home yet, though you weren’t sure if you wanted to right now.

“~Like a fool… I thought, well, that it could be…”

The long sigh you let out was followed by Miles’ own quiet one before he kissed you on the cheek. His breath warmed your frigid face and brushed at your heart, as he always did. You wished you could be upset, overreact, scream at his face, tell him how you felt all this time. It just always had to end with forgiveness, because now, you couldn’t even remember what you had felt.

And you hated it — not as much as you’d like.

Closing your eyes, you buried your head into his hoodie while the music, the storm and the sound of your own breathing blurred together in your mind. All you were left with were your own thoughts.

This boxing thing didn’t involve you — it never did. He didn’t want you there to see him, or even tell you he was home from Vegas, and now it felt like he was just putting up with you here. It felt like you and him were on opposite sides of the pavement, only walking together to share the same umbrella. He just didn’t want you to get soaked — or hurt.

“I told you not to come today… I’m walkin’ you home.”

He didn’t want you to expect too much.

“Nah, you don’t need to see me train. It’s borin’ as hell.”

He didn’t want you to give up on him.

“I’ll make it big — promise.”

He wanted his dream — did he still want you?

“Just be patient with me, cielo.”

Patient, huh? If only you could be like Rio. It felt like you were just as bad as Miles. Maybe you were — both just as bad as each other.

“Why didn’t you text me? …At all?” Muffled against his hoodie, you hoped your voice didn’t waver. It felt a little manipulative, even if it wasn’t in the slightest, but you couldn’t keep telling yourself things were all good. Miles had been avoiding you, whether that was intentional or not. You were just being open — trying to be open. You hope he’d try too.

The boy in question was silent, before he pulled away, hands lingering at your sides.

“I was…” Miles took in a breath, voice dying out for a moment. “Look, I…”

“~Down the wrong way, on a one way street…”

“I can’t be a boxer anymore.”

It felt like the rain had gone quiet. There was no need for an umbrella between you two anymore. It felt like you’d closed it yourself, walking to the opposite side of the pavement again, watching him and the dull, empty sky from afar.

You were the one that asked him — you wanted him to speak to you, and now you weren’t even sure what to say.

“~You'd think by now, I would have learned…”

“What do you mean…?”

“My contract got terminated.” His voice sounded forced, strangely robotic. Was that what you so wanted to get from him?

“Can’t you just… get signed by somebody else?”

“There is nobody else. I had a contract with Norman Osborn — he basically owns boxing.”

“~I saw a little, but I learned even less…”

Your heart dropped a little — you wouldn’t let it drop any more than that. It made sense why Miles was so excited back then if he got signed by someone like that. Now, that excitement meant nothing. All you could think of was that video, that interview…

“I jus’ hope you watchin’, cause I’m here. Miles Morales made it!”

So he’d just… given up? Miles had given up? Was that it? The end of it?

Boxer or not, you suddenly had the urge to punch him — maybe even punch yourself. It didn’t even matter who was right and who was wrong anymore, because you didn’t even know who was in front of you. It was almost uncanny to see Miles like this, so dejected; that’s what he’d been feeling all this time. As much as it seemed like he was mad at you, or was avoiding you, or lying to you, it was never really about you.

Miles was refusing to let go of his dream — of himself — until right now.

And you didn’t know what overcame you at that moment. Maybe it was Rio’s words, or the fact that Aaron wasn’t here, or the fact that you felt like you’d lost your boyfriend — if he wasn’t going to be stubborn about it anymore, you sure as hell were.

“So you’re telling me nobody else is gonna sign you? At all? You haven’t even looked?”

“You don’t get it, ‘s more complicated than—”

“Baby, look at me for a sec.” Your hand was on his shoulder with more confidence than common sense, eyes were square with his avoidant, dull, hopeless gaze. You haven’t ever seen Miles hopeless before. You couldn’t let him be if it was the last thing you did. “You, Miles Gonzalo Morales—”

“Aight, you don’t need the full name.”

“I do need it, because my whole ass boyfriend changed boxing history.” Frankly, you had no idea what you were saying; it felt like you were shooting in the dark, but you didn’t care if you sounded a little stupid, or over-the-top, because if that’s what it took to get your boyfriend to crack even a little… “His 'legendary left jab'—”

“Babe, where the hell did you get that from?” The look he was giving you was probably more of a “jab” than anything.

“…The news.” The corner of your mouth quirked up despite your best efforts, face pricking with heat as you remembered reading through that Bugle article like it was divine revelation. A little stupid, a little over-the-top, sure, but it was true.

Miles’ lips pressed together, and your face heated more trying to decipher his expression. You didn’t have to, because the snicker that escaped his throat was enough make all the rain and thunder and lighting, and even the song insignificant.

“~I only learn to regret…”

“Miles, I’m serious,” you muttered, rather unseriously, brows furrowing as you tried to smooth out the meekness on your face.

“Legendary?” There was a hint of his usual mirth in his tone, and you tried not to be bothered by it. Anything was better than seeing Miles like that: ridiculous, over-the-top, unserious, but not hopeless.

“Look, it was the Bugle, okay? Some millennial wrote that — like, some lady called Mary.”

“Why do you even remember that?” Anything that could come to mind, you’d tell him. No more silence. Just be yourself. Keep talking.

“I read it, like, a lot, okay? I was really proud of you and I just…”

The smirk fell fast from Miles’ face, and you held back any words you might’ve had. The rain eased back in as a constant patter against the windows — the silence had come back despite your efforts. Your heart started to sink a little again, but all you could offer was an awkward smile.

“You’re proud?” he asked, like you’d just lied to his face.

“Yeah…? I always am, but seeing you make it so far…” It was something you didn’t say enough, you realised. The words echoed in your mind as you found the confidence to look at him.

“…Miles Morales made it, right?”

Another tiny breath left Miles, his eyes closing for a moment as you waited for him to speak. You wanted to backtrack, maybe hope the rain would die down soon so you two could leave — you had sort of snuck out… That wasn’t the point, though. You weren’t sure what the point was right now, and you weren’t sure what he was thinking, as always — again.

His lips pressed to your forehead, and then your forehead was against his chest — somehow.

You still had no idea what he was thinking. Now you had no idea what he was feeling — or what you were feeling.

The room was freezing, but you were sure you were slowly setting on fire. Traces of the awkward smile you had were stuck on your face as your cheek pressed into the fabric of his hoodie, and suddenly every little thing you’d thought about saying to him had disappeared in its entirety.

“Dios (God), am I a dumbass…” he murmured to himself. With no clue what to do, you could only focus on the hesitance in the way he held you close, because of his injuries, you weren’t sure. His fingers were cold, like the air was. You didn’t hate the warmth this time.

The silence returned again, and instead of your heart sinking, it was fluttering wildly. You so wanted to take it in your hands and hold it still, but you couldn’t even hold Miles back.

He did this sort of thing often — used to do this often, when he was stressed for whatever reason. He wouldn’t say if he was, but you could always tell. Sometimes he’d ask, and right now, he didn’t, but it wasn’t like you ever refused; it was nice, safe, and away from the storm — close.

"~Surely someone, will understand me..."

He kissed the top of your head, like he was hoping you’d understand.

If only you could. If only you could understand why your boyfriend couldn’t see it — see how far he’d come, how much he’d achieved, how proud he should be of himself, how neither of you should be here right now.

If only Rio was here to tell him how proud she was. Or Aaron. Or his dad.

You never really knew his dad. You knew he’d be proud, at least. He'd probably be beaming seeing how far his son Miles had come, like he did in those pictures with Aaron.

You were proud too. Did that count for anything? Would that change anything? It wouldn’t get him another contract.

You wanted to squeeze his hand, but that was a stupid idea considering the state of it. A lot of your ideas felt stupid as of late. None of them would get him another contract.

It felt like a lot more than just the contract, though; maybe that's why it was so hard. If only he’d tell you.

But waiting wasn’t a game, or a competitive sport. It was nothing like boxing; there was no winner. Waiting was a choice — a promise, that you’d be there when he was ready.

“Just be patient with me, cielo.”

You wondered if he’d ever be ready.

"~Dream on, baby."

You wrapped your arms around him, finally. At the very least, you promised to hold him, if not before, then now. He tightened his grip too, just mariginally.

“I’m sorry, mi cielo.” he started, voice barely audible. “I swear, I didn’t know you actually…” Miles trailed off, resting his chin on the top of your head instead.

“Cared?” you suggested, wondering if he could hear you. “It’s a lot more than that.”

You felt his chest fall as he let out a sigh. “I know.”

“I want you to know.”

“I do, I just… I’m being real dumb and—” You squeezed your arms around him before he could finish his sentence; no more avoidance. What you were going to say after, you didn’t know.

“…What?” His voice was suddenly soft, controlled. It was like he could hear what was going on in your head.

“You ever…" You moved your head away from his chest slightly, so he could hear better. "You ever had a stage name in mind?”

It was the only thing you could think to ask, though you didn’t ask it with much thought at all. Still, things weren't going to go anywhere if you kept dodging the subject.

Miles was silent for more than just a moment — it was enough to guess he did have one. “...Why?”

“Cause… when you get back in the ring, people gotta know you right?” It wasn’t just blind optimism — you decided that you did really believe in him. They weren’t going to see the end of someone like him, not by a long shot — or a legendary left jab. Your boyfriend was one hell of a boxer; it wouldn't just stop here — no way.

“I mean, '17-year-old from NYC' isn’t exactly catchy,” you continued, despite his silence.

Just one loss before so many wins. At his age, a win, against a “long-time champion” no less, was worth a million times more than that Norman guy’s contract, no matter how much of a big-shot he was.

“You think I’m gettin’ signed?” They’d be stupid not to.

“I know you’re getting signed.” Rio's words came back to you, and despite your hesitance, you found yourself saying: “If not, I’ll sign you and go to Vegas myself.”

Patient — like his mom, but also with that fighting spirit. You realised you had to be on his level too — match his energy, his enthusiasm. He’d spent long enough being on his own.

“...Fine, fine,” he shrugged. The edge in his tone seemed to fade as he thought for a moment. “If you’re signin’ me, you’re signin’… The Prowler.”

Miles loved boxing? Screw it, you loved boxing too. You loved boxing more than him, in fact — because it was a part of him. And even when he didn’t love his dream so much, you’d be there to love it for him. He loved all of you, and you loved all of him. That was still true now, even if he was going through something not so lovely.

And soon, you’d have something else to love too. Something new.

“The Prowler,” you repeated, a smile of your own creeping up on your face. “…You sure?” The groan Miles let out was enough to curb your need to annoy him… with love.

“Cariño…" he mumbled. "You ask just to make fun of me?” Miles shook his head, and you just squeezed him around the waist again.

“No, no way. I wanna welcome you to the team, Prowler.” A few firm pats on his back got him to laugh again, and though it was barely, that moment felt worth all those weeks.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m a hundred percent serious. You and your 'legendary left jab' and all.”

“You…” The hint of a smile was in his voice, and his good hand came to pull you closer, pressing the two of you flush against each other.

“Me…?” Your voice was muffled as you rested against the hollow of his neck, feeling the vibrations of his voice as he spoke.

“Can’t believe you’re still here.” It sounded more like he was talking to himself, speaking under his breath. The way it came out, it seemed like something he'd wanted to say for a while.

“Why would I leave?” Why would you ever leave?

“No clue.”

His good hand found your face, and you turned your head a bit so it wouldn't be so awkward to reach it.

“Don't know why I ever thought that.”

You felt his thumb run across your cheek, before pulling away and tilting your face up to meet his eyes.

“Damn, you're beautiful,” he murmured, dipping his head down to bump your nose with his, stoic expression and all. You were just about able to keep your composure.

“You trying to make it up to me with flattery?” It wasn’t like he had much to make up for — in your eyes, at least. The tease made his eyes narrow, but the ghost of a smile was on his lips.

“I can make it up to you a hell of a lot better than that.”

“Morales,” you warned, thought it didn't come out much like a warning. Especially not with how quietly you said it, your face so close to his.

“What?” It was his turn to be annoying. “Lo imaginé…” (I thought so…) You weren't sure you minded it.

It was nice to be joking, and flirting, and close again. There was no need to protest right now — no reason to pretend to be mad. His arm shifted to search for your hand, and you unconsciously laced your fingers together as your faces drew closer. You were already squeezing his hand before—

“Aye…!” Miles hissed, slipping his hand away as you both remembered the nasty, loud bruise that was spreading across his hand. His left hand, you realised, was the one he’d injured — it wasn’t exactly legendary now.

“Sorry…” you muttered, lips pressing together tightly as you took in the sight again. “But that was your fault."

Miles frowned at you almost incredulously as he held his own hand. “Nuh-uh.”

“Time out, Morales.” You couldn’t help it. Or help the smile on your face.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” You kissed his cheek to really rub it in. No more words from him, it looked like.

After a moment more of silence, and watching Miles nurse his own hand, you spoke up again. “…Are you gonna go back? To boxing?” Miles looked back at you, before nodding.

“Yeah. Eventually, I guess...” He let out a sigh, but it seemed like one of fatigue rather than frustration. You blinked away your own tiredness that was creeping back. "As the Prowler.”

“Got a lot of… prowling to do, then.” He pursed his lips at you in contempt, and you gave him a meek look in return. As much as you made fun of the name, it was pretty cool. “When are you thinking?”

“I’ll wait a little. ‘S too soon." Miles put his less-brutalised hand on your knee, looking at you a bit more earnestly. "Gotta make it up to you, first.”

“Obvio.” (Obviously) You tried hiding your smirk this time, but he caught it anyway.

“Driving me crazy for no reason,” he mumbled to himself, shaking his head. The few times you did speak Spanish, it usually wasn't to be sweet.

“A good crazy?” you tried, hoping he'd humour you a little. Maybe he could find it sweet?

“Ni hablar.” (No way.)

Sweet enough to kiss you, anyway. With his better hand, he held the side of your face by his fingertips, pressing a short, chaste kiss to your lips. The feeling was warmer than anything, and you were left with a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as he pulled away.

“Te amo (I love you),” he whispered with his own shred of a smile. You caught a glint in his eye before his expression faded into that same serious look. “I'll fix up, I promise.”

“No need to promise." With your thumb, you finally smoothed the crease between his brows — an old, shared habit. It made his expression soften a little. "Cause you will, and you’ll make it even further next time.”

“Right,” he agreed, hand still lingering by your jaw. “I will. Gimme a time out if I don’t.” A laugh escaped your mouth at that.

"Sure." You met him with your own chaste kiss, your heart swelling as you felt him smile a little against your lips. “I love you too, by the way.”

The record had stopped playing, ages ago, you noticed, and there was another stretch of silence. Total silence, actually — it had stopped raining entirely.

“We should probably head back,” Miles stated as he looked out the window with you, before getting up with a bit of a groan. The two of you needed rest, especially him.

“Yeah,” you murmured, reaching for your jacket. “I mean, I sort of… snuck out.”

His silence made you turn back, only to be met with an unamused look. You tried not to laugh again. “So you’re sayin’ we’re both dead.”

“Pretty much.” He rolled his eyes at your sheepish smile, but you caught the corner of his mouth lift up as he turned to the door. It wasn't like the two of you hadn’t snuck out before — this was just like all those other times, just more… unplanned.

The night time air was strangely cool and breathable as you left the warehouse. Though the concrete was slippery, and you and Miles had to hold onto each other to not fall, Brooklyn was glimmering almost ethereally by the moonlight, the sky clear with any lingering clouds now gone. You hooked your arm in Miles' arm, his hands loosely tucked into the pocket of his hoodie. He’d have some explaining to do to his mom about his hands, and you’d have to creep back into your apartment as quietly as possible — but right now, in the silence hum of the city, you felt that things would be okay. Maybe they weren’t excellent, or ideal right now, but okay was a good start. The Prowler was a thing of the future, albeit near future. Right now, it was just you and Miles Morales, going home together past your curfews.

Ping! Ping Ping Ping Ping Ping Ping—

Way past your curfews.

At the same time, the two of you pulled your phones out, only to be bombarded with notifications of missed calls and texts. You were a short distance away from the warehouse now, and your phones had only just gotten signal. It was 1:02am, and you had walls of texts asking you where the hell you were and to "get your ass home right now" on your lock screen. Miles gritted his teeth, and you didn't want to think about what Rio had to say.

As the pinging died down, your eyes met, the both of you thinking the exact same thing:

“We’re so dead.”

You shot a quick message back and mental prayer, Miles doing the same before hastily linking arms with you again. He returned your sheepish look with his own as the two of you kept walking, trying not to slip in the puddles. It had already been a long night, and it was about to get way longer, but at least you could have each other’s company.

"~All my life, been a dreamer..."

"~Dream on... dream on..."

After all, you could guess that a lot more than just a “time out” was waiting for you at home.

"~Maybe somewhere... maybe somewhere..."

🕸️🔭👾

↑ the song! bobby bland 🔛🔝

felt a bit empty without a message hi this is vee it is midnight and i have to go to school in less than 8 hours ! thriving !!!! also if you're interested i have a post about just the au itself here <3

taglist (ppl who asked anyway 😭): @iissza

reblogs appreciated (like so much i literally melt and die) catch the rest of my atsv stuff here!

535 notes · View notes

thewulf · 1 year

Text

Gorgeous || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Request - So I was wondering if you could do a Jake Seresin x reader based on the song gorgeous by Taylor Swift. I just love flirty Jake and reader with lots of slow burn

A/N: Natasha’s sister moves to town and catches the eye of your favorite blonde pilot. 3 x 1 with each verse of Gorgeous by Taylor Swift angsty and flirty. The three times you flirt desperately with Jake and the one time he does something about it.

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Y/N Trace

Word Count: 4.7k +

One – The Party

“Everyone, this is my sister, Y/N. She’s a biologist. Decided to move downstate to be closer to me.” Nat grinned squeezing your side knowing it’d irritate you. She knew exactly how to do that, had it down to a literal science.

You rolled your eyes, “Or a job transfer happened to land me here.” You corrected her not having much time to spare her much of glance as a new voice interrupted the two of you.

“Thank the Good Lord for job transfers.” A blonde pilot shot you a rather confident wink cheersing the guys and few women around him making his presence known.

Nat swatted his beer down from the table the group was using, “Don’t even think about it Seresin. She has a boyfriend anyway.” Your sister shook her head eyeing him carefully.

You looked over at Nat with an annoyed expression crossing your face. She didn’t know you and your boyfriend, Matt, were on thin ice about the job transfer. He was pretty damn adamant that he wasn’t leaving Los Angeles to move down to San Diego with you. You didn’t know how committed you were to making that drive every other weekend either. To say the relationship was rocky was a bit of an understatement. It was teetering towards the edge and didn’t have much hope for survival.

Jake shrugged, “For now.”

Your eyes looked back to him in curiosity. You weren’t sure if he was just playing around and fucking with your sister or if he was being serious and found you just as interesting as you did him but you sure as hell were going to figure it out, that was for damn sure.

He gave you the up and down after seeing your curious gaze. With a sly smile he took a step towards you. You would’ve let him, but your sister had other plans, “May I remind you. She has a boyfriend Jake.” You smiled up at him, he looked like a Jake.

He shrugged loving how worked up his coworker was getting over this, “Doesn’t mean I can’t make a friend Natasha.”

You bit back an even bigger smile not wanting to hear it from her later, not in the slightest, “Yeah Natasha, a friend.” You nodded playing along with him. You liked to work her up just as much, if not more than he did.

Her nose scrunched as she took your hand, “I don’t want to hear it from you, piccolo merda.”

You rolled your eyes at her Italian nickname for you, little shit, how original. The two of you were fluent in Italian, thanks to your father. He always said if he couldn’t raise you in Italy you were damn sure going to be speaking Italian inside the home. And so, you did.

It wasn’t two hours later you found yourself searching for the blonde pilot. You’d successfully ditched your sister after getting her a little too drunk. To be fair, you might’ve been a little too drunk for your own good. When you spotted him getting a drink from the keg you didn’t hesitate to walk right on up to him with a no-good smile right on your own face. Thank God for liquid courage.

When he spotted you walking too him he didn’t hesitate for a moment either, “Little Trace. Where’s your big sister?” He smirked while teasing you turning his body towards you leaning his side against the island counter.

You shrugged looking around, “She’s somewhere. Didn’t think I had to keep track of her.” Mimicking him you leaned against it too.

He shook his head, “I think it’s the other way around sweetheart.” His southern accent came out the more he drank. And he’d drank quite a bit leading to a thick Texas accent coming out of the woodwork.

You couldn’t help but to giggle, the draw that came off his mouth was so foreign to the prim and proper people of Northern California you’d called home your entire life.

His eyes shot to your lips hearing you laugh so sweetly. He couldn’t help that he was truly enamored with the sound that captured him so effortlessly, “What are you laughing at?” He quipped, far too curious for his own good.

You shook your head quickly, “Nothing.”

He took a step closer eyeing you up and down forgetting you were his co-workers sister for a second, “I don’t believe you for a second darlin’.”

You were ever so thankful for the beer in your hand giving you something to put your eyes on, “I wasn’t expecting that accent, is all.” You giggled once more feeling the effects of drinking one too many beers.

You’d officially piqued his interest. His eyebrows raised in amusement, taking a step closer. He was far closer to you than Nat would appreciate, and he knew it. But it really was your fault. He couldn’t resist that cute little laugh and pretty little eyes batting right at him.

“You’re drunk.” He grinned noticing your swaying and gentle grip on the kitchen countertop

You shrugged, “So? Isn’t that the point of a party?” It was then that you noticed just how close the two of you really were. One more step and you’d be on top of him. You couldn’t have stopped the blush that spread across your cheeks even if you tried.

His smile only made your stupid, traitorous heart hammer in your chest once more, “Your absolutely right sweetheart.” His answer caught your eyes. When he winked you were sure your knees would buckle had your sister not swooped in eyeing Jake with venom you hadn’t seen from her in a long time.

“There you are Y/N.” She grabbed your arm gently, “I’ve been looking for you. I want to introduce you to a few people.”

You nodded grabbing the beer Jake had poured for you, “See you around Jake.” You waved as your sister dragged you off.

He nodded, “You sure will darlin’.”

Two – The Hard Deck

The mission tonight was simple. Avoid Jake Seresin at all costs. It wasn’t worth the damn headache that came from Natasha. She reamed you out the night after the house party saying you had a commitment. That’s when it all spilled out, just how unhappy you were in your current relationship.

To your surprise it was Natasha that convinced you to break up with him, so you did. You felt that sense of clarity once he simply just accepted the fate destined rather than fighting for you. Instead of wallowing you felt at peace. Like you were free from a trap you wanted so desperately to get out from. You were able to do whatever you wanted. The only problem you had now was going to be Jake. You were drawn to him, so utterly drawn to him. Nat tried to warn you, but every story only made you more interested. She stopped when she realized what she was doing.

You knew it was only a matter of time before you were going to be so casually controlled by the man. So, you’d avoid him. It was easy at first. But got a lot harder as the night wore on and his eyes were on you for a majority of it. That and your eyes kept finding his more and more the night progressed and the more intoxicated you became.

You were all but successful in your avoidance until you felt a hand brush against your own as you walked across the bar. You stopped locking eyes with the man you were attempting to avoid.

“Hey sweetheart.” He smirked knowing he had your attention now.

“Jake.” You pulled your jaw up from your shocked expression attempting to smile sweetly at the man you’d been able to avoid for the majority of the night, until now.

“Little Trace, you’ve been avoiding me.” He grabbed for your hand. You should’ve pulled away. Kept the conversation short and simple between the two of you. But you couldn’t. Not with him. He had you fair and square now. The mission was failed, successfully.

You tried to play coy. Key word, tried. The creeping blush might’ve given you away though, “I’ve been busy.”

“Avoiding me.” A lopsided grin spread across his face as he played with your hand absentmindedly stepping towards you. He too was utterly drawn towards you just as you were to him. It was only a matter of time between the two of you.

“It’s not all about you Jake. I have obligations from Natasha.” You grinned feeling a shiver rip up your arm from the tracing he was doing along your thumb. He noticed, because of course he did.

He shook his head looking right at you. Hazel green eyes, staring in yours. Your heart felt like it just might explode from that look alone, “See that’s where your wrong sweetheart. It’s all about me.”

You laughed throwing your head backwards. It’d been a while since you felt such joy in the utter shameless flirting that was going on between the two of you, “Maybe in your world Jake Seresin.” You gave his hand a squeeze in your own.

“That’s where your wrong again. In my world it’s all about you.” Jake looked all too proud of himself with that line.

You let him have the win. You let out a another loud laugh letting him know you were all too interested in him even though everybody around you seemed to be rooting against whatever the hell it was between the two of you. It was just a simple flirtationship that you so desperately wanted to progress.

“That was too smooth Jake.”

He let out a soft breath debating what to say next. Like he knew he would screw up if he went down his usual route. He didn’t want to just sleep with you. You were different. He knew if he started something with you he had to commit. You were too special not to. That and Nat would kick his ass to high heaven if he fucked around with your feelings.

“You make it easy, Y/N. It’s so easy with you. I hardly know you, but I feel like I can tell you anything. Does that make any sense?” He let out. Almost afraid it was too much for literal strangers.

You nodded quickly, “I know what you mean. Like I trust you. Could tell you anything and you’d keep it a secret. I get it.” You affirmed him bobbing your head up and down in the overcrowded bar packed to the brim on a busy Saturday night.

He let out the breath he was holding in giving your hand a gentle squeeze in return, “I knew you’d get it Little Trace.”

“Can you I ask you something?” You asked, needing to change the subject feeling all too vulnerable all too quickly.

“Shoot sweetheart.” He nodded letting you know anything was fair game.

You looked him right in the eyes, “Why does my sister want me to avoid you so desperately? Why does everybody?” You asked not sure if you really wanted to real answer.

He let out a soft sigh, “That’s a really long story I’ll tell you another day.” He nodded along, “Long story short, they don’t want you around Hangman.”

You nodded along. That must’ve been his callsign, “Is Hangman a dickhead?” You asked unashamed. Half the alcohol, half you speaking.

This time he threw his head back in laughter. You caught him in surprise, and he wasn’t afraid to show it, “Hangman is a really big dickhead.”

You smiled loving this side of him you were sure didn’t come out all too often, “Well I’m glad I’m getting to know Jake, not Hangman.”

He nodded finally dropping you hand, “Jake only. Now, your sister is shooting me evil glances. Go make sure she doesn’t murder me later, yeah?”

You turned your head waving your sister off, “I promise she won’t murder you.”

“I’m going to hold you to it. Or I’m haunting your ass.”

You grinned deciding to grab his hand this time, “It’s a deal, Jake Seresin.”

He gave your hand a squeeze, “It’s a deal then, Y/N Trace.”

Three – The Football Game

“Jesus Christ.” You groaned sitting down at the picnic table witnessing the men in all their shirtless sweaty glory.

Penny nodded, “I know.”

“That’s just not fair. I don’t know how Nat does it.” You sighed tuning away from the shirtless group playing dogfight football on the beach, whatever that was. You couldn’t focus on trying to figure it out either. Jake looked too fucking good glistening, sweaty in the sun. What a cruel joke Nat was playing on you right now.

Penny smiled seeing you trying to avoid a certain blonde pilot playing football opposite your sister, “They’re more like brothers to her now.”

You nodded feeling your cheeks redden under her gaze, “What?” You asked trying to dodge her eyes.

“You like Jake?” She asked knowing all about his reputation. She knew it wasn’t her place to say a word. She was sure you’d heard everything about the pilot.

You just looked at her trying to come up with something, “I uhm, I think he’s quite cute.” You admitted feeling your already red cheeks deepen even further.

“Your sister said he talks about you a lot.” She told you.

You looked at her skeptically, “Really?” Being a bartender had its perks and one of those was learning about everybody’s business.

“Yeah. She told me the other night. She’s worried he’ll hurt you.” Penny admitted wanting to give you one warning. That was her motherly instinct kicking in for you.

You smiled, “She forgets we grew up in the same household. She forgets I’d kick his ass before he gets the chance at mine.”

“You should tell her that.” Penny laughed loving your confidence. You reminded her of Nat with that mini outburst right there. Penny loved getting to know the pilots that frequented her bar. Especially those who came back multiple times, your sister and Jake being just a few of them.

“Trust me, I try. She doesn’t listen to me. I’m just her dumb, stupid younger sister.” You sighed letting your frustration with your sister out. You loved her more than anything, but she treated you like a damn porcelain doll all the time. Like you’d shatter at any moment. It would’ve been sweet had she not tried to stop you from failing, something you needed.

“Incoming.” Penny smiled knocking you out of your thoughts. She stood from her seat across from you. She walked off towards Pete just in time for Jake to sit down next to you.

“Hey pretty girl.” He smiled so effortlessly while you felt like you were fighting for your damn life. Like the oxygen was suddenly getting sucked out of all the air.

You felt your eyes want to look down, but you knew you couldn’t. He was shirtless and you knew your eyes would betray you if they got a look any further below than his neck, “Hey Jake.” You felt your voice quiver as you looked away from him. It was like he had sucked all the confidence you once had and took it all himself.

“You look really pretty this afternoon.” He complimented you loving the way you looked in that dress far too much. Far too much for somebody who was just friends. He wanted you more than that and he was starting to get tired of waiting. He knew he was going to go for it the second he got back from the mission. It didn’t mean he couldn’t shamelessly flirt with you now though. Just to let you know how he really felt.

“You look… good yourself.” You kept your eyes forward trying not to give away just how damn attracted to him you really were.

He cracked a grin seeing you struggle under the conditions. He knew he had to make it just a bit harder for you, “Oh yeah? You think so sweetheart?”

“Mhmm.” You nodded.

He nodded slowly trying his best to get you to look down at his bare chest, “Well thank you darlin’.” He edged closer. And that was all it took to get you to break. You cursed yourself as you looked down at instinct to the subtle movement. He looked good. Better than good. Damn amazing. Gorgeous. He too looked oh so fucking gorgeous.

He smirked seeing that was what it took to get you to break, “As much as I’d like to tease you sweetheart your sister is walking over, and I don’t care for an earful. I’ll talk to you later?” He asked leaning closer to you.

“Yeah, later.” You smiled.

What took you by surprise was the quick peck on the cheek he gave you before running off. Not even having time to react to him before he was gone Nat stood where he was just moments ago, “What was that about?” She asked eyeing you skeptically.

You shook your head, “Nothing. Just Jake being Jake.” You smiled knowing it was over for you. You liked him far more than you really should’ve. Far more than he liked you. What you didn’t know was just how much he really did like you too. How slowly over the last few weeks you’d captured his every thought that wasn’t consumed by the mission. You had him smitten beyond his wild dreams.

Four – Return From the Mission

When you spotted her the tears sprung from your eyes immediately. You knew she was okay, she called to tell you. But seeing her was another story, “Oh, thank God.” You mumbled before walking as close as you could before you had to wait before they were dismissed.

Your eyes were glued on your sisters, but another pair was glued right on you. You didn’t see Jake watching you and only you. He didn’t have any family there to greet him. He hadn’t invited anybody. Not many people had. He couldn’t help but to feel a little twinge of jealousy seeing your eyes glued on somebody else. Knowing it was irrational he tried to keep his head on straight. How could he be jealous of your sister? A sister he’d grown to love dearly, in a different sense. Now that the mission was over he could focus on you, solely you now. If he had to stand behind your sister so be it, he’d do it.

The second you heard the dismissal call you were running towards your sister. You heard her grunt once you through your arms around her torso bringing her in for a bone crushing hug, “Natty, you’re okay.”

She laughed patting your shoulder. As much as you loved her she wasn’t one for much physical affection. Hugs made your sister rather uncomfortable, and you knew it. But you didn’t really care. You needed to hug her. To remind yourself that she was okay. She was living and breathing in front of you.

“Like I told you on the phone.” She smiled giving you one single squeeze back.

Rolling your eyes, you reluctantly pulled apart from her, “You said you were fine. Who knows what that actually means. You could’ve been wheeled off the ship for all I know.” Crossing your arms over your chest you feigned a pout.

“You’re so dramatic.” She laughed

Shaking your head at her you smiled, “I’m dramatic? Last time you walked off the ship with a concussion and a broken arm. You said you were good. You’re not dramatic enough!” You countered earning a full-on laugh from your sister.

“As fun as this is. Jake is shooting me daggers for talking to you for so long. Why don’t you go talk to him and I’ll go find something else to do.” She said so nonchalantly you weren’t sure if you’d heard her right or not. Jake Seresin? The one you were supposed to avoid

You turned around connecting eyes with the blonde pilot that had captured your heart so effortlessly. Biting your lip slightly you gave him a quick wave before turning back to your sister, “What? You’re okay with this now?”

She shrugged, “He’s not that bad.”

You cocked your head to the side curiously. What the hell happened on the mission? She was usually an open book, “You’re not telling me something Nat.”

She shook her head pushing you away, “Go ask Jake then.”

Odd. Your eyes stitched together in utter curiosity. Where was this push coming from? She waved you off when you gave her a look of confusion. Turning back around you walked over to him, far less enthusiastic and far more confused than when you started your day.

When you made it to him he waited on you to speak first. A soft smile was tracing his lips as he studied your face once more. Thankful he was given the chance to look you over again. That was the first real life at stakes mission he’d been on, and it had him a little more thankful for the return to American soil he normally took for granted.

“Welcome home Lieutenant.”

His smile alone was enough to ignore any of the confusion your sister left you with moments prior, “It’s good to be home.” He paused unsure of himself. It wasn’t like him to be so cautious with somebody, but you were different. He realized that the second he laid his eyes on you a month ago. If you were anybody else he would’ve already wooed you and gotten you to sleep with him. But you weren’t just anybody else. You were you, Y/N. He was determined to do this right. For the first time in his life, he wanted something more, something serious. A woman he could show off to his friend and family. Somebody he could love and cherish. A partner to build a life with. And you, you would slide into that role so perfectly. He knew it.

He caught your eyes quickly giving him the up and down in the Navy Whites, your favorite return home uniform. They just made everybody look so polished. They made Jake look even better than he normally did. If that was even possible.

A cocky grin spread across his face knowing you felt the same way about him. Natasha all but confirmed it on the ship after everybody returned safely. You all but confirmed it with the way your eyes dragged all over his body and with the way you could hardly hold his gaze. He decided there was no time like the present to finally win you over.

“You look beautiful by the way. A true sight for sore eyes.” He brushed a lose strand of hair out of your face knowing exactly what he was doing to you.

A small laugh escaped your lips, “You’re just saying that because you’ve been stuck on a boat for three weeks with the same people.” Accepting compliments never came easy. Accepting them from the most gorgeous man standing in front of you? Impossible.

He shook his head quickly, “Trust me Y/N.” He inched closer so he was almost on top of you. If you couldn’t use your words before they weren’t going to come any quicker now. The scent of his musky cologne wafted into your nose and before you knew it your brain seemed to be short circuiting. How this man went from complete stranger to now blew your mind.

He leaned down seeing your starry gaze. Turns out he had nothing to be jealous over. You were just as smitten as he was. The evidence was written right across your love-struck expression. With a sly smile he leaned down whispering into your ear, “I thought you were drop dead gorgeous the moment I laid eyes on you back at that house party. But now that I’ve gotten to know you? You’re the most beautiful woman in the world Y/N Trace.”

Your jaw literally dropped when your brain decided to process his words, “Jake…” Your eyes shot straight to his lips before looking back into his eyes. He caught that. He caught every subtle move you decided to make. He was absolutely enamored with everything you did.

“Yes?” He asked once he reluctantly pulled away from your ear. He also noticed you shaking off the shiver that his actions delivered. He was enjoying this far too much. He could do practically anything and get a reaction out of you.

You sucked in a breath finding the courage to look him in the eyes once more, “Do you mean that?”

Without skipping a beat, he answered you, “Absolutely sweetheart.”

The smile that spread across your face could’ve cured a thousand diseases. Jake had decided. His own face spread into a big goofy grin feeling so damn good getting that one off his chest, “Nat isn’t going to be very happy.”

“Oh yeah? Tell me pretty girl, why’s that?” He inched just a step closer daring to rest a gentle hand on your hip. You let him, leaning into his touch softly.

You nodded quickly, “Because I think you’re fucking gorgeous Jake Seresin.”

The language paired with the delicate dress and sweet face would’ve sent him over the edge had they not been in such a public place with more than a few pairs of curious eyes on them, “Got a mouth on ya sweetheart, don’t you?” He shot you a wink.

“You know my sister right? She’s been like that her whole life. I think we came out of the womb cussing.” You grinned leaning into it. Maybe it wasn’t something to be so proud of, but you didn’t really give a damn. It meant survival in your crazy, chaotic Italian family.

He gave you one long look before whispering once more, “You don’t know just how bad I want kiss you right now. But your sister is staring right at the two of us, so I’ll spare you the lecture.”

You giggled feeling a rush of euphoria course through every vein in your body. Damn how did do that?

Pulling back once more he brushed his hand along the back of your arm making sure to keep you close, “Instead I’ll settle on this instead. Y/N, would you go on a date with me?”

“Absolutely.” You would’ve been embarrassed with how quickly you answered him but the smile that spread across his face spared you from that.

“Busy tonight?” He asked gauging your reaction.

“Tonight?” You didn’t want to admit just how quickly you liked

He nodded, “If you’re free.”

“I’d love to.” You agreed knowing that you’d be able to kiss him tonight. That certainly wasn’t in your plans today, but you were more than happy to change course for him.

He gave your hip a gentle squeeze, “I’ll pick you up at 7.”

“What should I wear?”

“That. Don’t change. You look beautiful as ever sweetheart.” He reached for a hand wanting to hold it for a quick second while Nat turned away conversing with Bradshaw. By the rate she was speaking she didn’t look too thrilled with what was going down between the two of you. She couldn’t be that upset though, she did just throw the two of you together.

“You flatter me Jake.” You laughed softly trying to play it cool.

He gave your hand a soft squeeze before dropping it, “That’s my job.”

You shook your head with ease, “I’ll see you at 7?” You asked before turning away from him, ending the emotion fueled conversation.

“That you will.”

“Oh, and Jake? One more thing.” You smiled up at him.

“Yeah?”

You gave him one long look over, “You really are gorgeous. I wasn’t kidding when I said that earlier.”

Was that a blush that you managed to give him? It looked like it and man did it make him look even more handsome than ever. That was your new mission. Get Jake to blush whenever possible. You just knew you might be getting yourself into the most fun thing that crossed your life’s path to date.

Permanent Taglist (Message me or comment below if you want to be added!): @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @mayhemmanaged

Request Taglist: @stuffingbuttsandshit

457 notes · View notes