#he's really good at managing her clumsiness | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

enwoso · 1 month ago

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blood, not bond | alessia russo x teen!reader

-> based on this request

grumpy masterlist | leah is in it but she kind of pops in and out of it - more focused on: harrison, alessia and lovie.

at seventeen, you had gotten used to the strange rhythm of your relationship with, your dad, harrison.

once every four or five weeks maybe longer if life got in the way, you'd meet up with him. lunch or a quick shop around town, maybe both if you were lucky.

he'd always ask you about school, about your football commenting on the fact that he managed to watch your match on a stream like it meant something to you, or if you were still writing in that journal you'd started in year nine.

it wasn't uncomfortable, wasn't bad either. it just wasn't what people imagined when they heard the word 'dad'.

because really you didn't have a 'dad'. you had an alessia and a leah. they were your parents. your constants.

harrison well, he was.. something else? a figure which floated in and out your life with well meaning eyes and clumsy attempts to connect.

this time you were spending a rare saturday with harrison. but it wasn't in a 'cherished' kind of way, more like it was an obligation.

you didn't hate seeing your dad, sometimes on the rare occasion you'd actually enjoy yourself but most of the time were just.. odd. scheduled. like fitting a phone call in with a stranger into a diary full of people who actually knew you.

this one had started like the others: brunch at the cafe that he liked, shopping afterward if he remembered that you needed new trainers or a jacket. a few attempts at small talk — 'is school going okay?', how's football? scored any crackers yet?', 'how's your mum?'

the day had been fine, until it wasn't.

"so," harrison started, halfway through his eggs benedict. "louis and lily would love to meet you one day."

you blinked, pausing mid-forkful of your pancakes, "who?"

he just smiled like it was a name you should recognise, "your younger brother and sister. i've told them about you, there always asking when they're going to meet you."

your fork hovered still in mid-air, your mouth going dry. "you.. you have kids?"

"yeah, i do" he said as if it was nothing and that it should have been common knowledge to you. "well, you knew about zoey—"

"i knew you had a girlfriend when i was like eleven, you posted her once and then never mentioned her again."

he frowned, "louis is five and lily is three. and the only reason i didn't tell you sooner is cause i didn't want to throw too much at you all at once, but they've been asking about you for a while — especially louis, he's a big football and arsenal fan"

you didn't respond, just looked down. you now suddenly hyper-aware of the clink of cutlery around the cafe, the swirl of the cream in your coffee cup. your appetite vanished.

the rest of the day passes in awkward silences and occasional comments which you couldn't force yourself to reply too. he asked if you liked a jacket, you shrugged. asked about football, you said 'great'

finally, when he pulled up outside your house, home, he put the car in park but didn't turn off the engine.

"i'm serious, y/n" he said, hand still on the steering wheel like he might need to grip it to keep the conversation from drifting. "think about it please, they'd love to meet you."

you nodded slowly, "we'll see." it came out small, flat. a placeholder for all the thing you didn't know how to say.

you slipped out the car muttering a 'thank you' but before he could say more, you were heading up the driveway with quick steps and slipping through your front door like a ghost.

the front door creaked with the same familiar cream it always did. leah was in the kitchen, stirring something in a pan which you knew she'd of been instructed to do by your mum. music drifting through the hallway, quiet but calm.

"hey, angel. you good?" leah called out, you nodded again, tossed your shoes by the door, alessia bundling down the stairs as she ruffled your hair a warm smile on her lips.

"lovie! how was your day?" she asked as she leant against the banister, you knowing she wouldn't drop it until you said something.

"fine" you said, dropping your bag by the stairs.

"did you go for food?" alessia asked, her eyebrows raising at your short answers and the way you were behaving.

"yeah." you hummed, one foot on the bottom step waiting for your exit to go straight to your room.

"you want tea?"

"i'm good." you didn't wait for more. just walked straight up to you room and closed the door with a quiet click.

leaving your mum at the bottom of the stairs, her being slightly confused at your quiet behaviour, usually you'd come home with a story or maybe at least complaining about your dad asking you a question about something you hadn't done since you were ten.

but today, nothing. silence. but alessia knew better than to push. you'd tell her eventually.

—

alessia waited. she didn't follow after you. didn't push. she never did. she left you in your room while her and leah ate tea together. a slight look of concern on leah's face when alessia told her to leave you when she asked if she should call you down for dinner.

but a few hours later, after you had spent most of the evening buried in your duvet with your headphones on, alessia knocked softly and poked her head in.

leah had taken the dog out. the house was still, humming only with the low buzz of the boiler and the occasional car passing outside.

"can i come in?" you shrugged glancing up at your mum as she poked her head through the door. you were sat cross-legged, staring blankly at your phone screen. alessia walked in, sat on the edge of the bed like she always had since you were small.

"so how was today? with your dad."

alessia looked at the way your face changed at then mention of it. she could tell something was off. not just because you were quiet, but the way you moved as if your skin didn't quite fit right. your shoulders were tight, tense.

"hey" alessia said gently. "you okay?"

your eyes stayed on your phone screen, you having been doom scrolling for the past few hours trying to get rid of your thoughts however it was probably making them worse.

your jaw clenched once. then again. then— "he told me he has another family."

alessia's heart thudded, a pout forming over her lips, "lovie.."

"i have siblings," you snapped, you voice sharp. "siblings, mum. five and three. and tells me like it's some lovely fun little surprise over brunch!"

alessia's face dropped, she knew about harrison moving on with zoey, in a way she was delighted it had meant he wouldn't keep sticking his nose in her relationship with leah and she knew about louis.

not because she found out from harrison himself first (no surprise there) but, from one of harrison's friends she bumped into while doing a late shop one afternoon. harrison then telling her a few days later, alessia urging him to tell you but he promised he would when the time was right.

"wow. i-i didn't know about the three-year-old. just louis but that was years ago."

"you knew!?" your voice hitched as you head snapped to look at your mum. hurt blooming behind your eyes.

"i knew about louis and yeah we both knew about zoey, but i didn't know they'd had another child." alessia explained, her voice calm, too calm for your liking. with the way your chest felt like it was about to explode.

"and what? you didn't think to tell me?" you snapped, your voice dripping with bitterness but also hurt.

alessia took a slow breath, "it wasn't my place to say anything. at the end of the day lovie, he is your dad. it should've come from him."

your eyes flashed. "oh, come on. that's such a cop-out."

"no, i didn't mean it like that."

"then how did you mean it?" your voice rose, frustration starting to build. "cause right now it sounds a lot like you just didn't want to deal with it. just like he didn't either."

alessia flinched but she didn't move her eyes hardening. "hey, no, don't put me in the same category as him, lovie. i've been here. every day. for every meltdown, for every match, for every homework crisis."

you started pacing back and forth in your room. "yeah, you have. you've been here. and he's been off playing happy families with some other kids. buying them toys, tucking them into bed, going to their school plays, their out of school clubs—"

"you don't know that."

"i don't have to!" you nearly shouted. "cause i can guess. cause i know what it looks like when someone doesn't show up, and he's had plenty of practice."

alessia took a careful step forward wanting to try and help calm you down before you did something silly. "you're allowed to be upset. you're allowed to be angry."

"well, good. because i am." you said, voice cracking with each word. "he shows up once a month, if that, buys me lunch, asks me about school like he knows me, and then drops this on me like it's something i should be excited about."

you stop pacing and turned to your mum, eyes shining with unshed tears. "he said they want to meet me. that they know all about me. like i'm just some story that their dad tells sometimes at bedtime. like i'm not even a real person."

alessia's heart broke a little more with each word. "he should've told you a long time ago. but he also should have done a lot differently then he did when you were growing up."

your voice shook as you sniffled. "i spent years thinking i did something wrong. that i wasn't enough. that i was the problem. that if i'd been better—quieter, smarter, easier—maybe he'd have stayed, maybe he'd of made more of an effort to get to know me. and now i find out he did stay. just not for me."

"oh, lovie..."

"he just replaced me, mum. he left you, and then he replaced me. like i didn't even mean anything."

and that was it—the dam broke. your legs gave way as you collapsed onto the side of your bed, and the tears came hard, your chest heaving with the weight of everything you'd been holding in for years.

alessia was beside you in an instant, pulling you close, her arms wrapping tightly around you like a shield. alessia didn't speak right away. just held you. let you sob.

"i don't want to meet them," you whispered eventually, voice hoarse as tears still streamed down your face.

"you don't have to," your mum murmured against you. "you don't owe him anything. this isn't your responsibility."

"he said they'd love to meet me," you scoffed bitterly. "but they don't know me. i'm just a name. some girl he sees sometimes. i'm not part of his family. not really."

alessia pulled back just enough to look you in the eye. "then let's make something very clear—you do have a family. me. mama. this house. your many, many aunties. your friends. the people who show up. that's your family."

you nodded, barely. your hands clutched the hem of your mum's jumper.

"do you think it makes me a bad person for not wanting to see them?" you asked softly, slight hiccup coming from your lips.

"no," alessia said without a beat of hesitation. "it makes you honest. and human. and hurting. and that's perfectly okay."

your mum stood, slow and careful, like you might shatter if she moved too fast. "your allowed to be angry."

"i don't even know what i am." your hands were trembling now. "i'm not mad he has a family. i'm mad i'm not part of it. that i never was. that he never gave me the chance. that he never loved me, not properly."

flash— age four: harrison meeting you for the first time after walking away after alessia had told him she was pregnant. bringing a little teddy bear like it could fill four years of nothing. you didn't even remember it—but you remember your mum's face when the door had closed again.

flash— age nine: he missed your school plays. said he had work, but you saw the tagged picture later on. a dinner. smiling. a different world.

flash— age twelve: he missed your birthday. fourteen: he never messaged to say congratulations on your first start for the england youth team.

flash — age sixteen: he said he'd take you out for dinner after your exams, you sat waiting for hours - he didn't even bother to call and cancel.

instead it was just a pattern of promises that never really included you.

alessia took a slow step closer as she knelt down in front of you, you sat looking at your hands in your lap. "you don't have to figure this all out today, lovie."

"i don't want to meet them," you said, voice still hoarse but still sharp. "i don't want to play happy families with strangers. i don't want to pretend i've ever been more than a once-a-month reminder for him."

alessia arms wrapped around you like muscle memory, strong and warm and safe. "and that's okay, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. you have us. you always have and always will, that's never going to change."

you pressed your face into her mum's shoulder in front of you, letting the tears come again, now that you weren't pretending to be okay.

the front door opened. leah's voice floated in, as she called out, the sound of the dogs collar echoing as it shook itself in the hallway. "i'm backk!"

alessia looked over the top of your head, eyes soft as she whispered. "we'll get there. i've got you."

she stroked your hair gently as you curled into her side, exhausted and broken but safe. it wasn't fixed. not yet. and maybe wouldn't be for a while. but you had what mattered most. you had home.

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shina913 · 3 months ago

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Crossfade | CHS

Pairing: Chwe Hansol (Vernon) x AFAB!Reader

Rating: M 🔞; NSFW

Genre: S2L; fluff; smut

Warnings: cussing; breast play; fingering; oral (both giving/receiving); protected sex; PIV sex; dirty talk

Word count: 5k(ish) words

Summary: After a concert, you meet Hansol on a crowded train when you accidentally bump into each other. One thing leads to another, and soon you find yourself exploring his vinyl collection.

A/N: I finally put all the Vernon visuals that have been plaguing my mind for months now to good use! I'm also just really glad I got to finish this (took me long enough)! Thanks to @roaminginthenights for always enabling me in the DMs 🤣

This is also un-beta'd so...it is what it is.

Your ears still rang with echoes from tonight’s concert as you boarded the train home near the arena. The car was packed and personal space became nonexistent. Despite that, the show’s excitement hadn’t worn off. Your group huddled around a single metal railing, animatedly discussing favorite moments—from surprise guests to the ever-changing encore set.

”Doors are closing,” the operator announced through the intercom. A few more concertgoers exiting the venue sprinted toward the platform, desperate to avoid a thirty-minute wait for the next train.

Mid-conversation about the show’s highlights, another group suddenly pushed into the crowded car, nearly causing you to face-plant into your friend. Just as anger flared up, you caught sight of warm, brown eyes belonging to someone behind the person who bumped you. The brown-eyed man stepped forward and offered a sincere apology for his friend’s clumsy entrance.

Time slowed, and the ringing in your ears faded as you heard him speak.

“Are you okay? Sorry, my buddy’s a bit of a klutz.” Mr. Brown Eyes shot his friend a warning look, prompting another round of apologies from him.

It took you a moment to respond. “Y-yeah, I’m fine,” you muttered, blinking slowly.

He turned to check on your friend whom you had stumbled into. While you struggled for words, she responded with enthusiasm: “You can run through me anytime, honey.”

Mortified, you gave her a subtle elbow nudge to shush her, but it just made her laugh more. His lips curved into a slow smile, getting a kick out of your friend’s flirty comment.

The train jerked into motion and you lost your footing again, stumbling right into him. He acted fast, circling his arm around your waist to hold you steady.

As you stood close to him, you caught a whiff of his subtle but inviting fragrance. You resisted the urge to press your nose against his skin to identify the exact scent notes of his cologne.

“Hey, are you alright there?”

Now it was your turn to stammer an apology.

“I’m…so sorry.”

He offered another smile as you regained your footing. “It’s alright. I got you.”

His eyes were like deep pools, inviting you to dive right in. If it were up to you, you’d have lost yourself in them any day—just not tonight as you heard your friends from a distance, complaining about post-concert hunger.

“I, uhm, have to get back. Thank you, though.”

A flicker of reluctance crossed his face, but he gave a polite nod and released you.

“My pleasure. Have a good night,” he said as you pulled away to rejoin your group. He returned to his friends, who stood not too far from your group.

One of your friends suggested grabbing late-night burgers and fries at a local diner a couple of stops away. Through the sound of the train car’s humming, you caught the brown-eyed stranger’s voice as he suggested the very same diner to his friends.

When the train reached the stop, your group off-boarded with him and his friends following behind.

Pushing open the diner’s door, you were greeted by a wall of sound and energy—evidently, you weren’t the only ones who craved a bite to eat after the show.

The diner had transformed into an impromptu continuation of the concert, the speakers blasting the same artist’s hits.

Your group managed to claim a booth, and just as you were settling in, you spotted him and his friends entering. They also immediately caught the infectious energy of the place, their faces lighting up with excitement.

He scanned the room for a familiar face—and though you hated to admit it, watching him search was thrilling. You lowered your menu and held his gaze, willing him to look your way. When he finally spotted you, he gave a subtle smile of acknowledgment before following his group to their table across the room.

********

After scarfing down a burger and way too many fries, the diner owner cranked up the volume, transforming the main dining area into a massive dance floor. People started moving between tables and you and your friends slid out of your booth to join the crowd, dancing and singing along.

Somewhere in the middle of this spontaneous celebration, the man from the train weaved through, making his way to you until you were standing face to face.

“Long time, no see.” There was that smile again. You caught your lower lip between your teeth, trying to contain your excitement.

“Hey.”

The music and crowd were getting louder and it became challenging to try and have an intimate conversation. He leaned into your ear, his warm breath traveling down your neck. “Did you enjoy the show tonight?”

“I did. You?” You mirrored his action, tilting your head up to his ear.

He nodded, his gaze following the gentle rhythm of your hips swaying to the infectious beat of the song. The pulsing music around you gradually faded into a muffled hum as his eyes remained fixed on you, creating your own little bubble in the midst of the crowded diner.

Like déjà vu, your bubble burst when enthusiastic dancers behind him stumbled, causing him to pitch forward. Your reflexes kicked in as your hands gripped his shoulders to steady him, catching him by surprise.

He flashed a smile, mouthing both thanks and apologies. “Sorry about that.”

“I’m just happy I could return the favor,” you grinned, watching him regain his composure.

“Hope I didn’t step on your toes?”

You laughed, shaking your head no.

After a moment’s hesitation, he relaxed and decided to introduce himself. “My name’s Hansol. What’s yours?”

Unsure what to expect from this encounter, you paused. Sure, you found him attractive, but you thought tonight would be more like a one-off. Plus, the mystery kept things interesting.

You responded with a playful laugh and raised an eyebrow at him.

His eyes crinkled with amusement. “I just want to remember who I’m dancing with.”

Okay…he’s sweet. Despite your best efforts to stay cautious, you gave in. He seemed sincere, and meeting this way felt more natural than through dating apps.

You told him your name.

He repeated it carefully, testing each syllable to make sure he said it correctly. When he said it with more confidence, you nodded in approval.

“Do you like music?”

“Isn’t that kind of obvious since I went to a concert?” you teased.

His laugh at your sarcastic response made you smile—most people would have already rolled their eyes. Sensing his genuine intentions, you let your guard down a bit and pulled back on the snark. “Sorry,” you apologized. “I do—I love all kinds of music. Why do you ask?”

“Well, you see…” he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, “I have this vinyl collection at my place.”

Your eyebrows lifted with curiosity, which he misread as concern.

“I promise that’s not some weird code for anything,” he quickly reassured you. “I just thought you might like to listen to a few records.”

You’d always found people with vinyl collections interesting. There was something about someone who takes the time to curate physical albums in this age of streamed music. What inspired them to start collecting? What stories hid behind each carefully chosen album? What kind of music shaped their taste?

You smiled and answered, “Sure, why not?”

************

“Make yourself at home,” he invited with a warm smile, stepping aside to allow you to enter first.

Hansol’s apartment looked neat, especially for a young guy who lived alone. The shoes were neatly organized in a rack by the doorway, and there weren’t any dirty dishes in the sink as you walked past the kitchen.

When you stepped into the living space, you were immediately awestruck by the breathtaking floor-to-ceiling shelves that dominated two entire walls of his living room—each one meticulously organized with vinyl records—hundreds of them!

“Can I get you anything to drink?” He called out from the kitchen. “I have beer…” he took a quick inventory of his fridge, “and water.”

“Water is fine, thanks. It’s a little late.” You found yourself drawn to his collection, moving closer to examine it. Your fingers brushed the cardboard sleeves of the albums, feeling the different textures of each one.

A glass appeared in your peripheral vision. You turned and accepted it from him.

“Have you lived here long?” You made an attempt at small talk after taking a sip.

He narrowed his eyes to think back. “About two years now, I think? I used to move around a lot because of my job.”

“Must be difficult to transport all this,” you gestured at his expansive collection.

He laughed. “You can say that. But I hire some really good movers, especially for my records. I have a lot of vintage albums and I need people who can handle them with care.”

You explored his collection some more, spotting some familiar artists and albums while discovering others you’d never encountered before. Some titles sounded obscure and indie; some limited pressings with handwritten labels that hinted at his appreciation for musical rarities beyond mainstream catalogues.

“Pick one,” he encouraged softly. “I have them organized alphabetically by artist, then chronologically by year of release.”

There was always one album that popped into your head first when you thought of records, but you wondered if he had it. You moved toward the index divider that indicated the letter of the alphabet of that artist.

You knew the album title by heart, but the exact release year escaped you—all you remembered was that it was very old.

Just as you were about to move onto a different artist, a familiar spine caught your eye. You couldn’t help but smile, pleasantly surprised to find this in his collection. Carefully, you slid the album out of the shelf and handed it to him.

His eyebrows quirked as he examined your selection, then his eyes flicked up to meet yours. “Interesting choice.”

You tilted your head to one side, curiosity piqued by his cryptic comment. “Why’s that?”

He shrugged. “I just didn’t expect you to pick this album”

“Well, I also didn’t expect to be in a stranger’s apartment listening to records, yet here we are.” You turned and took a seat on the couch.

“Fair.”

Hansol’s audio setup was meticulous—an analog control panel with knobs and manual sliders to adjust bass, treble, and vocals. Each control featured its own illuminated meter that glowed when he powered on the system, connecting to strategically placed speakers and subwoofers throughout the room. It was an audiophile’s dream.

The moment felt almost ceremonial as he placed the record on the turntable. Once the needle glided over the record’s grooves, the typical crackling sound echoed before the first track’s opening notes emerged. Nostalgia began to trickle in.

“Any reason why you chose this one?” he asked after propping the empty album sleeve on a stand next to the player.

“It’s…kind of cheesy,” you shook your head, turning sheepish.

He settled beside you. “No, really. I’d like to know the story behind this,” he said, sounding genuinely curious.

You felt vulnerable under his gaze, but something about it made you feel safe. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Try me.”

You narrowed your eyes briefly, wondering if you should share a personal memory to this stranger you had just met.

He waited patiently, careful not to press too hard so he didn’t cross that line.

What the hell. You had sprung right for his invitation despite only a few lines of conversation between you.

You cleared your throat. “So when I was little, my grandparents used to babysit me often, and they would play this album whenever I was at their house.” Your voice softened at the memory. “They’ve been gone a while, but this album always reminds of them.”

A smile broke through his lips.

“You said you weren’t going to laugh!”

“I’m not laughing,” he insisted, his face remaining neutral.

“No, I know it’s sappy,” you groaned, suddenly feeling self-conscious about your sentimentality.

“Not at all. I think that’s really sweet. I also happen to love this album,” he confessed. “I won it from an online auction. I even got into a bidding war with somebody from some place I can’t pronounce.”

His anecdote brought a smile to your face. Then, he delved into the album’s history, explaining its conception, the intricate recording process, and how the artist crafted it as a profound declaration of love for their partner.

Maybe it was the lingering rush of endorphins from tonight’s concert, but you found yourself utterly captivated not just by the random trivia, but by the enthusiastic way he waxed poetic about it. It was as if he’d held onto all this information, only waiting for the right person to tell it to.

You turned to face him, tucking one leg beneath you while resting your elbow against the back of the sofa. Leaning your head against your palm, you gave him your full attention as he continued on.

Suddenly, he paused, realizing you hadn’t said anything in a while. “I’m sorry—I just kind of went off on a tangent there. I didn’t mean to monopolize the conversation.”

“Nothing to apologize for. I’m just listening.” You wished you had come across more people like him who were passionate enough about something, and who had dedicated so much time to studying it and understanding it enough so they could convince other people about how amazing it is.

You set your empty glass on the coffee table and shifted your position, settling back into the couch cushions. This time, you narrowed the space between you, your shoulder almost brushing against his as you leaned in.

“Digital music these days is so different. With records, you catch all these hidden gems—a spontaneous ad lib or an extra guitar riff that would’ve been edited out of modern recordings. That’s what makes them so special.”

Unable to resist your closeness, he reached across and let his fingertips skim over your forearm, leaving goosebumps in their trail. “I couldn’t agree more.”

The conversation faded into a comfortable silence, dark eyes locked into you as he shifted closer, cupping your jaw. His face was close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath. You close your eyes in anticipation…and then, he was gone.

“Shit,” He jumped up as soon as he heard the track skipping, hurrying to the player to carefully lift the tone arm before it did more damage to the record. He sighed and smiled regretfully. “Gotta love vintage.”

You shrugged, “S’okay.”

He glanced at your empty glass. “Do you want a refill?”

What you’d really liked him to do was come back on the couch next to you. Before you got a chance to answer, your phone buzzed from your purse. Checking the screen, you found your friend’s caller ID flashing.

“Sorry, I need to take this.” You rushed down a hallway, away from the living room, before picking up.

Your friend was panicking when she heard your voice, asking if you were okay since you hadn’t checked in. You had a system for safety when you were out with guys—regular check-ins were the rule. This was your first time missing a text update, though she could still track your location. Speaking quietly, you reassured her that everything was fine and promised to call her once you got home—which seemed to placate her.

“Is everything okay?” Hansol asked the moment you hung up.

When you turned to face him, his tall, lean frame filled the narrow hallway as he leaned against the wall, his expression concerned. In the brief silence before you answered, you noticed music drifting through the room again—he must have flipped the record to its B-side while you were on the phone.

“Yeah. It’s just my friend checking in.” You tried to keep your voice steady despite how much his presence affected you.

“Oh.” He sounded disappointed, pushing off the wall to make his way toward you. “Do you have to leave?”

“I don’t have to.” The words came out softer than intended, but they made his eyes light up with interest.

His lips quirked in a small smile as he moved closer, the hallway feeling much narrower than it already was. “That’s good to hear.”

“Oh? How so?” You stayed rooted to your position, heart racing as you awaited his next move.

He drew closer until you were pressed against the wall, making it increasingly difficult to maintain coherent thoughts.

“I was hoping I could play you some more records,” his voice dropping lower. “I have some more favorites I’d love to share with you.”

“But you have so many.” Your voice wavered despite your attempt to keep it together (and spectacularly failing). “We could be here all night.”

His eyes danced with amusement as they roamed over your features. “I fail to see the problem there. Unless…you don’t want to, of course?” His voice was gentle, allowing you an easy out if you wanted to take it.

You couldn’t help but let out a breathy laugh. Bringing your face closer to his, you asked, “You think you can keep me entertained with your records all night?”

He brushed his nose against yours, the gentle contact sending shivers through your entire body. “I have other ways to keep you entertained, if you’re interested.”

You turned your head toward the end of the hallway, trying to maintain some semblance of composure despite his proximity to you.

“What’s back there?” You jutted your chin, though you already knew the answer.

“My bedroom.”

“Ah.” You tried to sound casual, but your pulse quickened, your breath catching slightly in your throat as you swallowed hard.

“Would you...like to see it?”

“Are there more records in there?” You asked playfully, your fingers itching to touch him.

“Would you go in if I said there were?”

His face hovered inches from yours, his breath ghosting across your lips. The slight part of his mouth a silent invitation—one that tested the limits of your self-control.

So you succumbed to desire, bunching the hem of his shirt in your hand and pulling him in, eliminating what little space remained between you, sealing your mouth over his.

His fingertips skated gently down your arm until they reached your hand. Linking your fingers together and backing into the bedroom, taking you with him.

******

His bedroom was just as neat as the front room—every surface pristine and organized—though you barely had time to appreciate it before his arms captured you, his lips finding yours again.

Guiding you to the bed, he sat down and drew you between his knees, his dark eyes never leaving yours.

You peeled off his shirt, and he helped you out of yours, both of you savoring each newly exposed inch of skin.

You took a moment to admire the sight of him gazing up at you from his seated position—his bare chest rising and falling with quickened breaths, eyes filled with barely-contained eagerness and a hint of vulnerability.

Something about him felt inexplicably familiar. Despite having only met by chance, you felt a connection between you—one that felt mutual, judging by the way his lips moved against yours.

His fingers traced up your arms to your shoulders, where he slowly slipped your bra straps down, sending goosebumps racing across your skin. You reached behind to undo the clasp, letting him pull the black lace fabric away.

Your breath caught when his thumb grazed your nipple. You cradled his jaw, tilting his face up to yours and sweeping your tongue across his lips. His hands rested on your hips while he trailed kisses down your abdomen. Your body arched toward him, craving more of his touch.

You eased yourself onto the mattress, straddling his thighs. Your fingers wove through his hair, angling his head just right to slot your mouth with yours.

He slowly fell back onto the bed, pulling you with him until you were pressed against his chest.

Wrapping his arms around you, he rolled you beneath him, nuzzled briefly against your throat, then moved lower. He teased your nipples with soft brushes of his lips and slow, gentle licks. You squeezed your shut, whimpered and tugged his head closer, your skin heating to his touch.

“More?” He asked as his mouth hovered over a hardened tip.

“Yes.”

He wrapped his lips around your breast, drawing it into the wet heat of his mouth. Your thighs instinctively tightened against his sides as pleasure coursed through you, your core aching with need.

He trailed downward, pausing to swirl his tongue around your navel in teasing circles. Your stomach tensed as a shaky whimper escaped your lips, making him smile against your skin.

He slid your bottoms down your legs, tossing it on the floor. Once exposed before him, he positioned your knees over his shoulders. Cupping beneath you with both hands, he lifted you to his waiting mouth. His nose pressed against the apex of your thighs as he drew his tongue slowly along your sensitive flesh. Your muscles went slack against the sheets, all traces of tension melting away.

He continued lavishing attention on your sensitive folds, drawing desperate sounds from your throat. His tongue circled your center before he wrapped his lips around it, applying light suction that made you instinctively press your legs together. His firm grip kept you spread open, completely at his mercy.

He slipped two fingers inside you, curling them perfectly, making you groan and buck against his touch. You chased the sensation as he alternated between feather-light flicks of his tongue and steady strokes. Your pulse thrummed, your core tightening as you edged closer to your peak.

You exhaled sharply as your orgasm took hold, a lingering moan escaped your lips. Your thighs trembled while he slowed his fingers to draw out your pleasure, punctuating it with gentle laps against your swollen bud.

He shifted carefully from under your wobbly legs and reached over his nightstand.

While he busied himself with the condom wrapper, you seized an opportunity—sitting up and undoing his pants, pulling his boxers down until his hard length sprang free. Your mouth watered when you took his cock in your hand, pumping slowly, before lowering your lips to suck on the tip. You looked up to see him staring down at you, slack-jawed while you took him in deeper.

He craned his neck, watching your head bob up and down. When you hollowed your cheeks, he exhaled sharply, eyes squeezing shut.

His breathing became ragged, one hand on your nape while he kept the other tightly fisted on his side to maintain some semblance of control. You thrust him into your mouth repeatedly, working him fast and deep, his flesh silky against your tongue. The friction from your quickening strokes and his responding groans of appreciation sent waves of arousal through you both.

Unable to stand it any longer, when you pulled up, he broke from your hold with a wet pop.

Your feigned disappointment makes him chuckle. “I’m not coming that way,” he tutted. Cupping your chin, he gives you a chaste kiss.

You watch eagerly as he sheathes himself with a condom, then nudges your legs wider to guide his length to your entrance.

Your eyes fluttered as he eased in the first inch. He let your body set the pace, patiently waiting as your muscles stretched to accommodate him.

Peering upward, you found him flushed and bright-eyed, a sheen of sweat dotting his brow as he sank deeper with achingly slow precision. He cupped your head, holding you still while he eased down to the hilt.

Lifting his hips, he withdrew completely before sinking back in—still slow but purposeful. Your inner walls constricted, eliciting deep groans from you both. He gritted his teeth, fighting against the urge to fuck you without restraint—though you wouldn’t mind if he did.

He pressed his chest to yours and you’re mesmerized by the raw pleasure etched across his features—each furrow of his brow, every sigh that escaped from his parted lips with each downward stroke pushed you closer to the edge.

“I don’t know if I can last long. You feel...fucking amazing.” He thrust at a steady pace while peppering soft kisses along your neck.

You moaned as he sank deeper, your fingers gripping his ass while grinding your hips against him.

“Shit, you’re gonna make me come if you keep that up,” he said with a laugh, pausing his movements.

“I fail to see the problem there,” you say with a raised eyebrow, throwing his earlier cheeky remark back at him. “You can go harder. I can take it.”

He narrowed his eyes, then dipped down to playfully nip at your lower lip. Suddenly, you felt empty, realizing that he’d pulled out.

Before you could protest, you were flipped on all fours, his knees spreading you wider for him.

The pounding in your clit and the needy clenching of your empty cunt drove you insane, even more when he stroked your wet folds teasingly.

Bending over you, he gasped in your ear, “Want me to fuck you hard, huh?”

“Yes, please…” you begged him.

He didn’t need any more encouragement. Soon enough, he pushed back inside you, your walls clenching and drawing him deeper.

Pressing your cheek to the mattress, you angled your hips higher to meet each thrust. Your eagerness spurred his own primal need to come. He pounded into you, tears stinging your eyes from raw pleasure. Each slam of his hips delivered exactly what you’d begged for—over and over again.

Your core tensed as he thrust forward, his movements steady and rough. His breath came in harsh pants, struggling to maintain control with each deep plunge.

You reached between your legs to rub your pulsing clit, until your last shred of control dissipated.

Just like that, you shattered under him on a breathy cry, coming harder than the first time.

You were just coming down from your high when he rolled you on your back again.

He hovered over you, slotting himself between your legs. His cock parted your folds, and with how wet you were, he slid right in. Even though your core still hummed with the remnants of your orgasm, your want began to build again as soon as his lips found yours.

Suddenly, you didn’t mind the slower pace. Every stroke of his tongue in your mouth turned you on more than the slide of his cock.

Completely consumed by desire, your mouths and bodies undulated, moans and cries of pleasure echoing through his bedroom walls.

His thrusts then became more urgent, more ragged; giving up all control. He quickened his last few drives, sending him over the edge.

He grunted and held himself deep in you, pulsing with each wave of his climax washing over him. His fingers dug into your flesh—sure to leave bruises tomorrow—before he collapsed on top of you, joining you in your aftermath.

*******

The morning peeked through the curtains, casting soft golden streaks across the rumpled sheets on Hansol’s bed. You stirred, stretching a hand out across—only to find the space empty. The sound of the front door shutting caught your attention, followed shortly by soft music drifting from somewhere in the apartment. Curiosity pulled you out of bed.

You found your clothes and padded your way to the kitchen, where Hansol was arranging breakfast.

“Morning,” you greeted him quietly.

He turned around, a warm smile spreading across his face. “Hey,” he said, sliding a cup of coffee your way, along with some cream and sugar. “I wasn’t sure how you took it, so I got everything. I also have some tea, if you’re not a coffee person.”

“No, no—I love coffee, thank you,” you said as you settled on a seat by the counter. You reached for the cup and added your cream and sugar. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I wanted to,” he replied, rounding the corner to take the seat next to you. He pushed a plate in your direction, piled with still-warm croissants and muffins. “These are really good, if I say so myself. The bakery down the street makes them fresh every day.”

You thanked him again and helped yourself to a pastry. “So…you do this often?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light.

“You mean eat breakfast?”

You laughed softly at his remark, then clarified, “No. I mean—invite strangers to your place, play them records…sweep them off their feet?”

Suddenly flustered, he shook his head. “Never. I don’t really do this kind of thing. But for some reason, last night felt...different.” His eyes met yours in earnest. “Different in a good way,” he added softly.

You hid your smile behind your coffee cup, feeling a flutter in your chest at his response.

The record player spun quietly in the background, filling the comfortable silence between you.

“Do you have any plans today?” He asks slowly.

“No, why?”

“Well, I was wondering if you’d like to stay a little longer. Or if not, maybe we could go on a proper date sometime—one that doesn’t start with a record and end with our clothes on my floor?”

He watched as you took a slow sip of your coffee. A small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you considered his offer. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

His whole face lit up. “Yeah?”

You nod.

“Great,” he said, with a quiet enthusiasm that made you feel like you just made his entire day.

“Although—I would like to go home for a bit and freshen up, maybe grab a change of clothes.” You gestured at your outfit from the night before. You weren’t exactly dressed for a full day out. “But after that, I’m all yours for whatever you have in mind?”

“Oh, of course! I can drive you home whenever you’re ready. There’s no rush,” he offered.

You nodded and smiled, already feeling excited about the possibilities the day might hold.

“Also, just so you know—”

He glanced up from his coffee cup, curious.

“I don’t mind doing the rest of the stuff after, too. You know, if you’re up to it,” you said casually.

He gave you a knowing smile before he took a sip. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

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stevieschrodinger · 2 months ago

Text

Part One Seven

Eddie cradles his can of Coke, sipping slowly. He’s trying not to be aware that there is not a single drop of alcohol here; he’s failing miserably. He’s also trying not to blame himself, but it feels like everyone else here is being punished for his fuck up.

It’s sunny and warm, everyone else rocking tee shirts and shorts, enjoying the weather, while Eddie wraps his hoodie around himself even tighter, convincing himself that he’s chilled.

Eddie slithers lower down in the fancy garden lounger he’s got half tilted back; he’s watching two pups chase each other around in clumsy circles at the other end of the yard. He’s vaguely mortified that he doesn’t actually know which one of them is Gareth’s kid.

Eddie wants to curl up and disappear when Gareth comes and sits next to him, offering a plate. There’s a burger on it, and considering Jeff’s on the grill, it’s a damn good looking burger. Eddie’s stomach turns over at the sight of it. “Don’t worry, I didn’t bother getting you any of the green stuff.”

“Thanks,” Eddie says vaguely, haunted by Steve’s not there frown, “I would have, you know, maybe a couple of carrot sticks or something.”

“Oh I’ll-”

“No. No. I’ll go in a bit,” Gareth sits back down, an uncertain look on his face, which makes Eddie feel even more shit. Gareth isn’t his fucking servant, and the guys treating him like he’s made out of glass is getting really old really quick, “you guys can drink, you know, if you want to,” Eddie offers, as an apology.

“Nah, we don’t really anyway, because of the pups,” he seems genuine enough, “and...I mean it just felt kind of harsh, I guess.”

Eddie shrugs, “I’m going to have to get used to it at some point right?”

“Yeah, totally. But it doesn’t have to be today.”

They sit in silence for a while, just people watching. It’s only a small group; Gareth’s mate who keeps giving Eddie the side eye when she thinks he isn’t watching. Jeff and his girlfriend. Chrissy. Jeff’s sister and her mate, plus Gareth’s Mom is around somewhere, Eddie’s pretty sure.

A few people have said hello to him, made polite conversation. It’s all so stilted and awkward and Eddie is already wondering how soon he can ask Chrissy to take him home again.

It’s quietly kind of devastating; Eddie had been really looking forward to this.

Eddie bites the bullet, “which one is Arlo?”

Both pups are vaguely the same age, and Eddie can’t remember seeing Arlo properly since he was basically a new born. He looked like a pink potato, so impossible to work it out from that.

“Blue shirt,” Gareth answers, “also the fucking loud one,” Gareth chuckles.

Eddie joins in, chuckling even though it’s not funny, not really. He can hear both pups squealing with joy from here. Until one of them falls over, and then the squealing turns upset and Gareth’s getting up to retrieve his pup. He ambles over, the pup just took a tumble on the grass, so he isn’t hurt, and Gareth doesn’t move with any urgency, simply scooping his pup up.

A kiss on each knee and a loud raspberry blown on a tummy and the pup is off again, like nothing happened at all.

Eddie manages a mouthful of his burger. It’s as good as it looks, and the moment he’s chewing he realizes he’s actually hungry. After a couple of mouthfuls he actually feels a little better.

“You get anywhere with the lyrics?” Gareth asks as he sits back down.

Eddie had read through everything the guys had given him, some of it good, some of it great, but as usual all of it disjointed and in need of a lot of structuring. Not to mention the actual music.

None of it has spoken to him though. He used to just look at words and the tune would come to him. Just kind of...appear, from some unknown place. Eddie’s written complete songs in an afternoon before, feeling like he wasn’t really involved, merely the delivery system for something that was being dragged from somewhere deep inside himself. Something that simply floated onto the page, funneled through Eddie’s hands and into his messy pigeon scratch.

Eddie with nothing but his guitar and a pen, creating something that spoke to literally hundreds of thousands of people.

He hasn’t lost the music, he’s pretty sure...he just doesn’t know how to get it to come back. Like a wayward pet that Eddie’s abused and neglected one too many times.

Eddie is struck vaguely by the image of his inspiration, his talent, being something like a cat. Maybe it’s gone off and moved in with a neighbor who feeds it better stuff than Eddie ever did. Maybe it’s purring up a tuney storm somewhere, for some kind old lady who dispenses tuna and has no idea what she has.

He’s pretty sure Steve would have some advice on the matter. Steve isn’t here though. Eddie wonders vaguely if he’s ever even going to see Steve ever again.

“I’ve read through it all. Some really good stuff in there...maybe I could bring it to the studio and we could have a little play?”

“You haven't written anything, have you?”

“Not a thing.”

Gareth snorts a laugh, and it kind of feels a little better, a little more natural, “okay. But don’t put any pressure on yourself okay, I guess these things take time and...you’re still getting better, you know?”

“Right. Sure.”

“How was that?” Chrissy asks, not looking at him. He’s glad she’s not looking at him, considering she’s driving, but, still.

“Yeah. It...well it was fucking awkward.”

“Uh hu, saw you got talking to Gar though.”

“Yeah. Yeah that felt better. They’re...they’re being so good about all this and I don’t know what to do with that, you know? It’d be so much easier if they were just...fucking angry with me. All this understanding is...it’s not right.” He’s not even angry. He’s not anything really. He feels like his insides have been scraped out.

“It’s because they actually like you,” Chrissy tells him, “fuck knows why,” she mumbles after.

Eddie sinks down in his seat, arms crossed tight. He decides to spend the rest of the journey staring out of the window.

“What?” Eddie squints up at Chrissy.

“The nurse is here to do a blood draw, it’s been a week since your rut, they want to check on you.”

“Oh,” Eddie scrubs at his face, manages to drag himself upright and flop on the edge of the bed for a second, gathering himself.

He doesn’t put it together until he’s slumped his way into the kitchen. It’s Robin. Steve’s best friend.

She already has her stuff laid out on the counter, a cushion from the couch ready to support Eddie’s arm. Chrissy faffs with the coffee machine, “how do you take it?”

Robin responds with what Eddie is sure is an illegal amount of sugar and creamer. He just shrugs to himself, taking his seat, Chrissy sliding him a coffee too.

“Okay, you know the drill right?” Robin asks as she tightens the elastic thingy around the top of Eddie’s arm.

Eddie holds his arm out, braced on the pillow, making a fist and giving a couple of squeezes. Robin mumbles something about a small scratch, and everyone waits quietly while Robin fills four little blood thingies up before deftly removing the needle and replacing it with a plaster. She ditches her gloves, downs her coffee, and then washes her hands and her mug at the sink.

She packs her things away, Chrissy’s phone rings and she heads out the French doors onto the deck to answer it.

Eddie takes the chance, “I’ll see you out.”

Robin finishes packing all her bits and bobs away in her cool box looking thing, “sure, thanks.”

Eddie calls himself plenty of names on the way to the door, Robin trailing behind. Thinks about how Steve is nothing to do with him. He’s stupid for asking. What’s the point of asking, even, it doesn’t change anything. It’s polite, no, it’s fine, he could ask? No, it’s weird and pointless-

Eddie’s so deep in his own thoughts Robin’s out the door and he nearly misses his chance, he’s landed on being pretty sure he definitely shouldn’t ask, but it slips out without his permission, “how’s Steve?”

She shrugs smiling, “yeah pretty good thanks, I’ll tell him you were asking after him,” and then she’s gone, getting in her little car and heading off down the drive. Eddie doesn’t know what he even expected. He doesn’t understand why he even cares. Steve’s a dick.

Eddie was just being polite, or whatever.

Part Nine

#steddie #pre steddie #rock star eddie munson #drug abuse #alcohlism #eddie munson #stranger things #steve harrington #ficlet #chrissy cunningham #eddie and chrissy #alpha eddie munson #beta steve harrington

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exhaslo · 1 year ago

Text

Over-Time

CEO!Miguel x Shy/Clumsy!Reader!

Warning: MINORS DNI, eventual smut, slow-burn, mentions of sex, bullying, cussing

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

"Dear, (Y/N), you have been selected to join us for a group interview at Alchemax. Please arrive at appointed date and time below. Read and follow all instructions to ensure your interview. We can't wait to meet you."

Unable to fathom what you had just read, a loud gasp escaped your lips instead. All you really read was interview. Everything else blurred out since you were so excited to finally have a chance to leave your current job.

"Oh my gosh! Do I even have the proper clothes for an interview there?! I can't believe it!" You whispered, resisting a squeal.

This was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Alcehmax was one of the biggest companies in Nueva York. Everyone in their right mind wanted to get even a chance to work there. Hell, some people were happy just being a janitor there.

It was all anyone wanted to gloat about. Getting an interview was nearly impossible and yet, your clumsy ass managed to get it. You had prayed to every God you could think of. The questionnaire was a nightmare and where people failed the most.

"Okay, okay! I have to prepare...I have to practice..." You told yourself.

Interviews were hard for you. You were nervous around new people and freaked out when asked hard questions. Glancing at yourself in the mirror, you just smiled. You got this far. You had an interview to take and succeed in.

---------

"Lyla, have we found anyone decent enough within the last two group interviews?" Miguel asked with a grumble.

Lyla, Miguel's private assistant, just laughed. She took off her designer glasses and placed them on Miguel's desk. Miguel was the CEO of Alchemax. One of the richest men in all of Nueva York, and a man with a quick temper.

"We have some potential candidates for the open slot in Marketing, but no one to replace me for when I go on my vacaaaation~" Lyla sang happily. Miguel felt his eye twitch,

"Yes, I know. You haven't stopped bragging about your damn vacation all week. Would have been nice if you mentioned it sooner-"

"Oh, don't give me that, Migs. I had it pop up on your calendar every week for the past three months reminding you! It isn't my fault you don't look."

"I am a busy man. You know that because you make my schedule," Miguel hissed lowly then pinched the bridge of his nose, "Just-Ugh, I just find me someone who won't try and suck my dick within the first week."

Lyla just snickered as she typed on her tablet, "You need to find someone. Maybe it will make you less of a grump." She mocked.

Miguel exhaled loudly, glaring towards his assistant. It was a good thing that Miguel could tolerate that woman. Lyla was a close friend of his and knew how to push his buttons.

Leaning back in his seat, Miguel closed his eyes as he took the moment to rest. Lyla was going to be gone for a few months. She sure knew how to utilize her vacation time. Hell, Lyla had a tough job dealing with him. She deserved it.

"I just need someone....quiet."

---------

How could a building give off such an intimidating presence? It was as if all those powerful inside were warding off the weak and frail. The start of a challenging, yet welcoming part of your life. If you managed to do good in the interview.

Inhaling deeply, you gripped onto your folder and finally had the courage to make your way inside. You heard the stories, but Alchemax sure was a force to be reckon with. The inside of the reception floor felt like another world.

You had arrived super early. You were scared of being late and well, knowing yourself, you were probably going to get lost. Hopefully, your clumsiness won't get in the way of your interview.

"Ah-"

Magic words. Just thinking of it alone caused you to goof up. You had accidently bumped into someone while admiring the inside of the building.

"I-I'm s-so sorry!" You stuttered, panicked that you were fucking up already, "I wasn't looking! I'm sorry!"

"It's alright. Are you okay?" The man spoke as you picked up your paperwork that fell.

Tears were starting to form as you thought of running away. Glancing up at the stranger you bumped into, you sniffed and tried to compose yourself. The man before you had bend down and helped with your paperwork.

"No need to be afraid, I won't bite." The man said with a warming smile. You gulped, finding him very attrative,

"I'm sorry again."

"Oh? An interview?"

"Ah, yes. I'm a little early, but since I've never been here I wanted to make sure...I wouldn't get lost," You admited as he handed your paperwork, "Thank you. My name is (Y/N)."

"Miguel,"

You stood up, staring at the towering man before you. That name sounded familiar, but you were so focused on your goof up to remember. Everyone was probably staring at you, laughing and knowing that you were probably going to flunk the interview now.

"Come, I'll take you to the floor you're going to be at. There are drinks in the lobby once you arrive. Help yourself."

"Ah, thank you."

You were just lucky to have bumped into someone as nice as Miguel. If it were anyone else, they would have probably made you feel worse than you already do now.

---------

Miguel stayed quiet as he led you to the elevator. He won't lie that it was slightly amusing to find someone who didn't immediately recognized him. That and quite refreshing. Miguel wondered what you would think if you found out that he was the CEO.

Glancing ever so slightly in your direction, Miguel couldn't help but smile. It was like you were in your own little world. You were fumbling with your fingers while you had a slight look of panic on your face. Honestly, that was how people should look for an interview.

Alchemax was not a place to enter with confidence.

"What position are you applying for?" Miguel asked, wanting to ease your nerves.

"Oh!" You gasped lowly, "Marketing."

"Hm. How good are you with planning and scheduling?" He asked casually. Your shoulders raised slightly,

"I, um, I like to...It's easier for me when I have everything in an itinerary. Makes for unnecessary distractions and delays. I find myself at ease with a schedule," You admitted with such a carefree smile.

"And organization?"

"If I'm not overwhelmed I'm great with organizing things." You chirped, "Oh, um, will I get a lot of people talking and asking me questions if I do get hired here? I...I'm just a little shy and if I get overwhelmed I do tend to be clumsy."

Miguel resisted a chuckle, finding you quite entertaining. After another second of silence, Miguel watched as you gasped and covered your face with your folder.

How cute.

---------

How embarrassing!

Just because he was a handsome face and kind to you, doesn't mean you could get comfortable! It took you hours to practice talking to yourself in the mirror to prepare for an interview and now you were blabbing away nonsense to a stranger!

Feeling the elevator come to a stop. You gasped lowly, admiring the lobby before you.

"Here is your stop." Miguel spoke.

"Thank you," You bowed your head slightly, still embarrassed from rambling off.

As you stepped off the elevator, you gulped. Nerves started to kick in as you took your first step to a better future.

"Oh, and (Y/N)," Miguel called out, causing you to turn, "Best of luck."

"T-Thank you!"

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

Next Chapter

@timidquindim @decentsoupperson

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel x you #miguel o'hara smut #miguel spiderverse #atsv miguel #across the spiderverse

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em-ontv · 9 months ago

Text

Hit and fall.

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x fem!reader

Summary: Stiles has been pining after you for years now, and this was his chance to woo you, at a lacrosse game, but nothing ever really goes his way, does it?

Content: no use of y/n, Stiles being clumsy and messing up, he's kind of down bad

Author's note: I cannot believe I haven't written anything for him yet, he's so UGH, the single best thing in the show. Not proof-read, English is not my first language, mistakes should be present, apologies beforehand :)

Word count: 786

Stiles had a problem. A big, heart-pounding, gut-wrenching problem. And that was you.

For years, he had harbored a crush on you, he sank so deep that it had basically become a third party in all of his conversations. He had known you since middle school, when you shared a science class together and he lent you a pen — only for you to reveal that you had your own pen all along.

"Just wanted to see if you were a good guy," you had said with a small smirk.

And that was it.

Stiles was hooked.

But tonight was different. Tonight was the night he was finally going to do something about it. Not some grand, fancy, caviar stuff, no. He had a simpler plan: impress you with his lacrosse skills at tonight's big game.

He had everything set up already, making sure to ask your friend to convince you to come since you didn't really go to any sports games. He figured if he showed you that he could be athletic and charming, maybe you'd finally see him as someone who's more than just the goofy guy from history class.

The problem though? Stiles wasn't exactly known for his athletic skills. Sure, he was on the lacrosse team, but, uh, he was mostly on the bench… yeah, it took some convincing for Coach Finstock to let him play tonight.

Still, Stiles was determined. He practiced, maybe not as much as he should have, but he practiced. And he had been psyching himself up all day, telling himself that tonight was the night he'd finally make his move.

You agreed to your friend's invitation to come to the game. All the stars are aligning, this was his shot.

And then he saw you.

You were in the stands, cheering with the rest of the students, an excited grin on your face. His heart leapt into his throat. His palms started to sweat. This wasn't good. He hadn't planned for this. He hadn't planned for you to be here — well, he had — but not for you to look so radiant and supportive and just so… you.

"Stiles. You okay, man?" Scott called from the field.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good!" Stiles called back, but he wasn't. Not even close. His mind was scrambling, a mess of everything that all led to one point: You were here. Watching him. Right Now.

The game started, and for the first few minutes, he managed to hold it together, he did pretty good, actually. But then he made the mistake of looking up at the stands again, and there you were, waving at him with that smile that made his insides twist up in knots, his legs felt like they were giving out right then and there.

And that's when things started to go very, very wrong.

He missed a pass. Then another. He tripped over his own stick, stumbled into Matt, and accidentally whacked Isaac in the shins with his lacrosse stick.

"Stilinski!" Coach Finstock bellowed from the sidelines. "Are you trying to lose us this game single-handedly?!"

"Sorry, Coach!" Stiles shouted back, trying to regain his focus. But it was useless. His nerves were twisted, his concentration shattered.

And then, just to add salt to the open wound, a well-aimed shot from the other team's captain hit him square in the chest.

Stiles went down like a sack of potatoes.

The world blurred around him, gasps and murmurs from the crowd filling his ears. But all that was on his mind was, Great. Just great. I'm finally gonna get her attention, and it's because I'm flat on my back like a total idiot.

When he finally managed to sit up, he saw you in the stands, your eyes filled with concern and shock. Perfect. Just perfect. He had managed to embarrass himself in front of you in the most spectacular way possible.

Stiles limped over to the bench at the sound of a whistle being blown, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his chest and the throbbing embarrassment in his soul, trying to grapple onto the last of his dignity while he sank down onto the bench, burying his face in his hands.

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

He could already hear the teasing he was going to get from Scott and the rest of the team. But the worst part? He had blown his chance with you.

As he sat there, wallowing in his misery, he finally peeked through his fingers to see you in the stands, laughing with your friend — were you laughing at him? Did you think he was an idiot now? Well, to be fair, the fall to the ground was a little ridiculous.

Great.

Just great.

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski x you #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski imagine #stiles stilinski fanfiction #teen wolf stiles #teen wolf #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf imagine #dylan o'brien #dylan o'brian x reader #dylan o'brian imagine

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yourlipstogodsears · 1 month ago

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Injured on Duty Part 2

Summary: Robby stays by her side and checks on her.. his feelings for her become more apparent.

“Robby?” she says soft and sweet. It’s tone he’s fallen for. He has feelings for her but they can’t act on it because of the power dynamics in the hospital would be considered “taking advantage” of her.

His expression softens instantly at her sweet voice, his eyes locking onto hers. He swallows hard, pushing down the feelings he can't act on. "Yes?" He replies gruffly, trying to maintain some semblance of distance and professionalism. "What is it?"

“What’s the cafeteria got today”

He blinks, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. A small smile tugs at his lips as he plays along, grateful for the distraction from his inappropriate thoughts. "Uh, let me check." He pulls out his phone, scrolling through the hospital cafeteria menu.

“Morphine makes me hungry” she mumbles.

His eyes widen slightly at her admission, a mix of concern and amusement on his face. "Morphine does that sometimes. It can stimulate your appetite." He continues scrolling, trying not to think too much about the fact that she's high on pain medication and still managing to be adorable.

“Do that have the mash potatoes.. fuck I could eat a boat load of them bitches” she says lazily her head lulling on the pillow side to side.

He chuckles, the sound warm and genuine. "Yes, they do have mashed potatoes. And I'll have them bring you an extra large serving." He sends a quick text, no doubt ordering her a heaping plate of comfort food. "Anything else my hungry resident needs?"

He nods when she shakes her head no, tucking his phone away. "Alright then. I'll make sure they bring it up to you as soon as possible." He pauses, his eyes softening as he looks at her. "You know, most people on morphine would be out cold by now."

“Thank you Robby I adore you”

He freezes at her words, his heart skipping a beat. He knows she doesn't mean it romantically—she's high on pain meds—but it still sends a jolt of warmth through him. "Yeah yeah, adore me all you want when you're high."

“You’re the best”

His face breaks into a genuine smile, trying not to show how much those words actually affect him. "Sweetheart, you're delirious." He checks her IV, adjusting the flow just slightly to make her more comfortable. "And stop making me melt right now, I'm trying to be a professional."

she nods and lays back on the pillow, “you gonna stay with me or do you gotta go be Dr. Mcsteamy elsewhere”

He lets out a soft chuckle, moving to sit in the chair beside her bed. "Dr. McSteamy has other patients, unfortunately. But I'll stay with you until your food arrives and you're settled." He reaches out, gently brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

she mumbles, “my arms feel like jello”

He nods sympathetically, understanding full well the neurological side effects of morphine. "That's a common side effect with pain meds. Your muscles might feel weak and clumsy." He glances at her slender arms resting on the blanket. "Need me to check them for you?"

“Iss okayyy” she slurs.

He smiles softly, appreciating her nonchalant attitude even in her drugged state. "Alright, just let me know if you need anything." He pauses, watching her for a moment before asking, "Are you feeling any pain right now?"

“Nope I feeel good”

He lets out a relieved sigh, a small smile playing on his lips. "Good. That's exactly what the morphine should be doing—blocking the pain signals to your brain." He stands up abruptly, making her blink slowly. "I'm gonna go check on something really quick, okay?"

He quickly exits the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. He walks down the hallway, his mind racing with thoughts of her drugged state and how adorable she looked. He checks on another patient briefly before returning to her room, closing the door softly behind him.

she smiles, “tell a friend to tell a friend.. he’s backkk”

He chuckles softly, rolling his eyes playfully. "Well, at least someone's keeping track of my whereabouts." He moves to sit back in the chair beside her bed, his eyes never leaving her face. "Feeling any better now that your favorite doctor has returned?"

“My emotional support grumpy attending”

He throws his head back and laughs, a genuine sound that fills the room. "Emotional support grumpy attending? I like that." He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You know what? I'll take that title. Makes me sound almost cuddly."

He studies her for a moment, his expression softening. "You're something else, you know that? Most people would be curled up in a ball, crying and moaning after what you've been through. But not you. No, you're just smiling and cracking jokes like everything's fine."

she nods, “morphine is sooo nice”

He laughs again, shaking his head. "Yeah, morphine definitely has its perks." He stands up suddenly, moving to the foot of her bed. "Alright, since you're feeling so great thanks to the drugs, I'm gonna do something that might hurt a little bit."

“Oh?”

He grins mischievously. "Don't worry, I'll make sure to be extra gentle. I wouldn't want to mess with my favorite resident." He reaches out and gently lifts the blanket covering her shoulder he popped into place, his fingers brushing against her skin. "I just need to check something real quick."

He bites his lower lip, concentrating on his task. His fingers press gently against her collarbone, moving down to her shoulder. He grits his teeth slightly. He knows she's high on morphine, so her pain tolerance is probably through the roof. He presses down harder than he normally would, testing something.

He watches closely as her muscles twitch under his touch. He nods to himself, seeming satisfied with the results. He gently lowers the blanket back down, covering her shoulder once again. "Alright, all done." He walks back around to the side of her bed, sitting back down in the chair.

He watches her smile, feeling a strange warmth in his chest. He clears his throat, trying to shake off the feeling. "You know what? I'm gonna go get some coffee real quick." He stands up abruptly again. "Be right back."

She watches him leave.

He quickly exits the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. He leans against the wall outside, running a hand through his hair with a frustrated sigh. "What the hell is wrong with me?" He mutters to himself. "She's my resident, Off limits."

she lays in the hospital bed starting to fall asleep.

After a few moments, Robby pushes off the wall and re-enters the room carrying a cup of coffee. He pauses mid-step as he notices her drifting off to sleep. A small smile tugs at his lips as he approaches quietly. "Looks like someone's finally crashing."

He watches her sleep for a moment, his expression softening. He sets his coffee down on the side table and gently pulls up the blanket to cover her shoulders more securely. He sits back down in the chair, pulling out his phone to scroll through medical journals.

#dr robby x reader #dr michael robinavitch #dr robinavitch #dr robby #the pitt fic #the pitt

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hollyoongs · 3 days ago

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⤷ MY BABY WILL BE YOURS!

시놉시스 ┆idol!𝘁͟aesan, ─────⠀f!reader 𓂅 𝑤.𝑐: +2k ꒰ ⌗ smut with plot, fluff to the end ꒱ ↷⠀ ℰditoral ! 𓂂

─────⠀reader is ovulating (oh boy) and with birth control, baby fever!!!! (just in case it wasn't clear), creampie (and yes, breeding kink), praise, dom/sub dynamics, overstimulation, possessiveness, rough sex, dirty talk (mutual), one partial undressing scene, multiple orgasms, first time squirting (let me know if I'm missing something)

Taesan was on cloud nine; the smile on his face—even after little Bom had fallen asleep in his arms—couldn't be erased even if someone tried to knock it off with a punch.

All the interaction felt so natural. The soft weight of her body leaning against him, the sound of her tiny giggles when he played with her dinosaur toys, the clumsy high-fives, and how she tried to say his name—Tae-tae!—all of it tugged at something deep in his chest.

He remembered playing with his little sister when she was that small, but it felt different in a good way. Due to his past experience, the staff kept praising him, calling him a "natural," saying how amazing he was with the baby and how in the future, he would be a good dad. And maybe they were right.

His manager drove him to your place. He had two free days, and he asked if he could stay with you. Not having seen each other for a while, you with college and him on tour complicated things. Thankfully, they agreed. His mind kept replaying the day's events. The more he thought about it, he missed out on the moment the reality started to turn into fantasy.

He wasn't a guest on a children's reality show—he started to see himself as a dad. A real one. With a baby that shared his eyes and your smile. You, next to him, wearing one of his shirts, a soft glow in your cheeks as you played with the baby as the mother of his child.

"We arrived. Please be careful, Taesan. Sasaengs are really something else."

“Huh?” He blinked, startled out of the daydream. “Right—thanks.”

He stepped out, grabbing the small overnight bag he had packed the night before while telling you the news in one of your many night calls. As he reached your door, he didn’t even have to knock. You opened it before he had the chance. You’d been standing there waiting for him, smile wide, eyes soft.

You barely had time to say hi before his arms were around your body, mouth on yours.

"Woah—someone missed me," you teased, laughing as he kicked the door shut behind him and pressed your back against it.

"Yeah, I did." His whispered words landed on your ears. You look at his eyes. Actually, you were looking at the intensity they were carrying. You noticed how his hands roamed your body, their grip tighter than usual, needier. You decided to kiss him back when his lips touched yours again, melting into him, until he pulled away just enough to look you in the eyes.

"As you know, I took care of Bom," he said, and you smiled a little despite how breathless the kiss made you. "And behind the scenes, she called me appa. Got me thinking a little bit too much."

You couldn't help the chuckle that left your mouth, the mere thought of it warming your heart.

"What did you think, Dongmin?"

"I couldn't stop thinking about you. About us," he took a brief moment before whispering again. "About making one"

Your lips parted, and you hate to admit it, but the words made your body bloom with heat. "You're serious?"

He nodded, crowding you back until your thighs hit the couch. "Dead serious. I want you swollen with my baby. I want a family with you."

Then his mouth was on you again—this time rougher, his hands finally slipping under your clothes, tugging his stolen shirt up over your head without a care, leaving you only with your panties and bra, too busy making you feel everything.

"I kept thinking about you," he said between kisses, dragging them to your neck, where your eyes fluttered shut in delight. "What you'd look like... carrying my baby. Fuck—your tits, your belly..."

His hand dropped to your ass, gripping it tightly as he sat down and pulled you into his lap, straddling him. Your arms locked around his neck, your body fitting perfectly against his.

"... My ring on your finger," he finished with a growl.

"Fuck—Dongmin," you gasped, throwing your head back the moment his hands helped you ground your hips against the bulge already straining beneath his jeans.

You bit your lip. You knew dirty talk was his thing—he thrived on it, got off on hearing the filth that poured out of his own mouth when you both were intimate. But after that very brief talk, something inside you shifted. Maybe it was the way he always looked at you, or it was the way he’d said he wanted to make one—a baby, a future. Whatever it was, it loosened your tongue.

He sighed, his hand took a step further and slid under your panties to cup your bare ass. His fingers dug more when you started grinding on him, a brief pre-game of what was about to happen in a few minutes, probably even less.

You started another make-out session; it was getting even messier, tongues having a fight that he won the moment his hand grabbed the back of your head, deepening the kiss even more. He broke the kiss, but his lips were caressing each other. "You feel it, baby?"

He whispered, dragging his teeth along your jaw. You simply nodded. "That's what you do to me. Just thinking about filling you up got me this hard."

Your eyes looked for his, pupils blown wide, lips kiss-bruised, skin hot under your finger. You could bet that you looked the same. You swallowed hard, gaining confidence at the look of his state before speaking.

"I want all of you, Taesan." You whispered, breath catching, feeling your panties were getting sticky. "Please... fill me up, baby. I will take... every drop."

His eyes opened, the look in his eyes turning completely into lust. He pulled his jeans down just enough to free his cock, thick and flushed at the tip, precum already leaking, making you smile with pride. He flipped you onto your back on the couch, moving your panties aside.

He was finally over you, between your thighs, lining himself up. You were so wet that he thrust into you in one deep, punishing stroke, and you cried out, clutching at his back when he started to set a brutal rhythm, his hips practically slapping against yours, your breath only coming in sharp gasps beneath him.

He fucked you like a man possessed—even going as far as to put one of his hands right where his bulge could be seen going in and out of you. You have never felt your orgasm coming to you that fast; your eyes rolled back when the thumb of his other hand started to rub circles over your clit.

He felt how you clenched around him hard, making his thrust sloppier as he also started to reach his own climax.

"Come on, love," he rasped. "I want you to cum while I fill you up. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes! Just don't—fuck—don't stop." Your back arched as pleasure ripped through you, your hands wrapped around his arms, and you could feel how his spill was starting to get you full. He hid his head on your neck, hips jerking with every pulse.

He slowly collapsed over you, sweat-slick against yours, and lips pressed in your cheek. Still buried inside you, he kissed down your throat, letting his hips roll painfully slowly, testing how sensitive you were now.

He smiled when you whimpered, your body twitching at the overstimulation. You tried to squirm away, but when he grabbed your waist and held you still, you knew he was not having it.

"You are not leaving anywhere, I told you."

"Taesan," you gasped, nails digging into his biceps. "You already came—"

You saw the clear smirk being formed on his face. "Yeah, and I meant it when I said I wasn't pulling out. Take every single load until I'm sure you're knocked up."

You stop breathing when he moved briefly. He was getting harder again. "I don't hear you complaining, though," he added, this time pulling out until just the tip remained before snapping his hips back in, a cry leaving your throat in disbelief.

You swallow dry, locking your hooded eyes into him. "I'm not," you moaned, wrapping your shaky legs around his waist. "I want you to fuck me stupid and cum inside me again."

Again, his eyes opened. He never thought you would actually talk dirty to him again. He saw that faint smile on your face when your eyes darted at his red ears. "Please, Dongmin, I want to feel it leaking out for hours."

"Ah, fuck you." He grabbed your thighs hard and lifted you with him, carrying you to the bedroom in one quick motion. You clung to him, his cock never leaving your body.

The moment he dropped you onto the bed, he stripped his clothes off in a blur, his cock flushed and heavy against his stomach. Your bra joined the pile of clothes in seconds, and he moaned—actually moaned—when he saw your bare chest.

The view made him start pounding on you again—harder than before, to the point your eyes fluttered shut as you became a moaning mess.

The sound of skin slapping could actually cause a sound complaint from your neighbor; your breathless moans were caught by his lips as he kissed you deeply.

“Fuck,” he whispered, pressing hot kisses between your breasts, hypnotized by how they move like ocean waves. “I missed these. They’re going to be pretty swollen with milk.”

He dragged his tongue up to your nipple and took it into his mouth. The action itself brought sweet pain that made your back arch, your fingers tangling in his already messy hair.

"Tell me again, baby," he said through gritted teeth, his tip hitting your cervix every single time, like he always does. "You were brave before. Tell me how badly you want my baby."

"I want it so much, baby. I want your cum dripping out of every—fuck!" You were cut mid-sentence as he put your legs over his shoulders.

He lost rhythm for a second at your words before fucking you again with the same determination.

"Fuck, how can you be so tight? I'm touching heaven," your hands tried to touch his biceps, a sign you always did when you wanted to ride him. He grabbed them before it touched him, putting them on each side of your head.

“Not tonight,” he said. “Tonight I do everything. You just take it, princess.”

You didn't even realize how the bed rocked beneath you; his free hand moved between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and circling it.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, incoherent words were falling from your lips, and the only loud and clear word was his name. The sheets beneath you twisted in your fists, a clear sign of how the pleasure was building up.

"Louder, baby," he said, sweat sliding down his temples as he kept the pace brutal and steady. "Let the neighbors know how good I make you feel."

His cock was slamming deep inside you, hitting your sweet spot and treating your clit. He kept your legs folded up, pressed to his chest, with his hips grinding into the heat of your soaked cunt that was getting even more wet.

"I can feel you're about to," he sighed before he could also finish his sentence. Your walls wrapping him so good were the reason for his loss of words. "Gonna fall apart for me?"

You couldn't answer—your body was trembling, legs shaking against his shoulder, the pressure building faster than usual. Your belly tightened and your muscles locked around him as a helpless cry tore from your throat.

"Shit, it's—it's too—!"

"Yes, you can, baby." He was dragging his body over yours, eyes engraving all your facial expressions into his mind. "Give it to me. Show me how—god—much you want me to fuck my baby into you."

The new sensation was making your head fuzzy; his thumb pressed harder as his hips pistoned with a perfect precision, combining to send you into complete bliss.

Your body seized beneath him as a hot wave of pleasure ripped through you. Your thighs shook violently on each side of his head, a scream caught in your throat as liquid gushed from between your legs, soaking his abs, thighs, and the sheets—nonstop.

Taesan froze for a beat, his eyes wide for the third time in a day, cock buried to the hilt as he watched you come undone like never before.

"Holy fuck," he breathed, a pure stunned tone in his words. "You just squirted, baby."

You could only whimper, way too overstimulated and dazed. Your hips were twitching as aftershocks rippled through you. He slowly eased out, eyes fully locked on the glistening mess between your thighs; the delightful combination of his cum mixed with yours caused him to lick his lips.

"Look at you," he murmured as he dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed, dragging your hips forward. "Made a mess just from me fucking you the way you deserve."

You tried—really tried—to close your legs, his hands keeping them apart, spreading you open to admire the way you pulsed and throbbed, still dripping. His impulse won when he got near your cunt, licking a long stripe up your inner thigh, humming against your heat.

He saw you covering your face with your hands and smiled a little. "Don't hide from me now, princess," he said with tenderness and pride—a lot of it. "That was one of the many hottest things you have done."

You removed your hands from your face. "I didn't mean to, Dongmin."

"Hey, don't ever say that," he said, kissing your knees as his hand caressed your leg. "That was beautiful. You're beautiful."

You laughed weakly; you saw him climbing back over you.

You blinked up at him, still breathless, flushed all over.

"How was my dirty talking?" you asked, cheeks pink and laughing softly alongside your boyfriend. With a soft smile on his face, he brushed your hair back from your sweaty forehead as he looked down at you with utter adoration.

"You really surprised me," he said, his grin more evident. "In the best way possible."

He leaned in softly to gently kiss your cheek, then your jaw, and finally your lips—playful and tender. "I didn’t realize you had it in you. You got me so turned on I almost lost it right then."

You couldn’t help but giggle, tucking your face into his chest as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you even closer. Your legs rested over his as your bodies relaxed together. His fingers lazily traced gentle patterns on your thigh, his voice soft and warm against your ear.

After a moment of silence, he spoke. "I meant what I said." You looked at him, his eyes already in you, his hand went to your cheek, caressing it with his thumb. "I only want a family if you are by my side."

─── NEW FORMAT CHANGE! after the pool, i decided i will do this change, plus it has been a while since i posted for bnd (plus first smut of them). HOPE YOU ALL LIKE IT LOVES ♡ @onedoornet

#𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗹𝑦𝑜𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑠! ৎ ˚⋅#onedoornet #taesan smut #taesan x reader #taesan imagines #boynextdoor smut #boynextdoor x reader #bnd smut #han taesan #han dongmin #hard thoughts #hard hours

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amethystarachnid · 3 months ago

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no bc why would a loki friends to lovers be so good?? 😭 ✋✋✋

can i request loki trope best friends to lovers with female avenger!reader from love is in the air? i have a whole plot and i am so sorry in advance so here we go:

reader is lokis best friend and they became friends bc she was the only avenger who was nice to him when he first came to the compound and they got really close. he still gets bad nightmares and when he does, he goes to readers room and she just accepts him and holds him while he cries until the nightmares are over!! (she’s so book boyfriend coded i literally can’t) and then this happens a lot but is only mentioned like a few times in the story (i really hope you understand this im so sorry my thoughts are literally all over the place) and then one night he goes to her room again bc of another nightmare and she comforts him and they fall asleep and he doesn’t have any nightmares while sleeping and then in the morning when they wake up (tangled in each others limbs) he goes ‘i love you’ and she smiles and goes i know and then he goes like ‘no, i LOVE you’ and she smiles more and whispers ‘i know’ and then kisses him!!!

thank you for making this new game and always specifying the as much detail as we want part i love u and ur writing soso much and you are so amazing and im so sorry for making you read this super long request

— anon 🌷

NIGHTMARES

⤷ LOKY LAUFEYSON

ᯓ★ Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, some angst and some fluff

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 4.3k

ᯓ★ Summary: just what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing I think, just some angst

ᯓ★ Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

Loki has no choice but to be here.

It is a punishment, though not the kind he expected. No dungeons, no chains—just the ever-present weight of Midgardian hospitality, which is its own sort of prison. After Asgard’s fall and the madness that followed, Thor petitioned to bring Loki to the Avengers Compound rather than leave him to whatever grim fate awaited him elsewhere. It was a mercy, Thor claimed. Loki knew better. It was just another way to keep him under watch, to keep him leashed. So he plays along, lets them believe he is something tame and manageable, even if the mere presence of this place makes his skin crawl.

The others do not trust him. That much is expected. Even if Loki had miraculously decided to change his ways, there is too much blood between them all. Stark especially watches him like a vulture, always ready with some barbed comment, some clever little jab to remind Loki that he is not welcome. Rogers is quieter about his disdain, ever the noble soldier, but he does not mask it well. Romanoff does not bother with pretense—she does not speak to him at all. Barton is much the same, still nursing whatever wounds Loki left behind in New York. Maximoff has her own reasons to hate him. Strange treats him as one might treat an unpredictable wild animal, barely interested beyond the occasional veiled threat.

Thor is the only one who does not look at Loki like an enemy, though his efforts to bridge the gap between them are clumsy at best. Loki does not want his brother’s pity. He does not want to be here at all.

And yet, somehow, against all odds, you happen.

You are the only one who speaks to Loki without venom in your voice, the only one who does not look at him like a problem that needs solving. From the very beginning, you offer him kindness. Not the strained, obligatory sort Thor extends, nor the artificial niceties of someone waiting for him to slip up. You are simply… kind. It baffles him. It frustrates him. It keeps him awake at night, replaying your words and gestures in his mind, trying to decipher your angle.

He tests you at first. He is cruel, the way he has always been, sharp-tongued and dismissive. He tries to chase you away, because he cannot fathom why you would want to be close to him. But you stay. You take his barbs with an infuriating sort of patience, countering his wit with your own, refusing to let him push you into the shadows. And slowly, against his better judgment, he stops trying to push at all.

Loki does not know when exactly things change. One moment, you are just another foolish Midgardian trying to play nice with the villain, and the next, you are something else entirely. A constant. A presence that lingers in his mind even when you are not there. He finds himself seeking you out, watching for you when he enters a room. He makes excuses to be where you are, though he is certain you see through them all.

You are different from the others. Perhaps that is why he lets you in. Perhaps that is why, when you tease him, he does not feel the usual bite of mockery. When you speak to him, he listens. When you laugh, he does not wish for silence.

It is strange, this… whatever this is between you. He does not know what to call it.

There is a night, early on, when he realizes how much he enjoys your presence. The others are away on some mission, leaving the compound oddly silent. You do not know he is there when you slip into the common room, curled up in the corner with a book, lost in the pages. Loki watches you for longer than he should before making himself known. You do not startle when he speaks, do not tense like the others do when they notice him lurking. You simply glance up, meet his gaze, and smile.

It is a small thing. A meaningless thing. And yet, Loki feels it somewhere deep in his chest, in a place he thought long since turned to stone.

From then on, things are… different. You and Loki fall into an easy rhythm, one that does not require explanation. You are his friend, though he still struggles with the weight of that word. It is unfamiliar on his tongue, but there is no other way to describe what you are to him. You speak to him as though he is not a monster. You listen when he speaks, even when his words turn bitter. You do not pity him, nor do you fear him. It is a delicate balance, and yet, you hold it effortlessly.

The others notice, of course. Stark makes his comments, forever incredulous that you would willingly spend your time with Loki. The others exchange looks when they see you together, silently wondering what exactly has formed between you. Even Thor is perplexed by it, though he does not question it aloud.

Loki does not care what they think.

For the first time in what feels like centuries, he is not entirely alone.

---

The first time it happens, Loki does not intend for it to happen at all.

It is late—long past the hour when even the restless find sleep. The compound is silent, steeped in the kind of darkness that makes everything feel heavier, more oppressive. He should be resting. He knows this. And yet, as he lies in the too-soft Midgardian bed, the sheets tangled around his restless limbs, Loki cannot shake the remnants of his nightmare.

It is not the first time he has suffered such things. They have plagued him for years, twisting his thoughts into cruel shapes, dragging him into memories he cannot escape. Usually, he endures them alone, swallowing down the horror, letting it fester in silence. But tonight is different. Tonight, the weight of it is unbearable.

He sits up, dragging a hand down his face, breath still unsteady. The dream clings to him like a second skin. He can feel it—thick, choking, inescapable. His own screams still echo in his mind, a cruel reminder of how easily he unravels when left alone with his thoughts.

He needs to breathe.

Loki forces himself out of bed, out of his room, into the dimly lit hall. He does not know where he is going at first. He does not think at all. His body moves on instinct, his feet carrying him forward before his mind catches up.

And then he is standing in front of your door.

The realization strikes him like a blow. He should not be here. He has no reason to be here. And yet, something in him will not allow him to turn away.

He hesitates, jaw tight, fingers curling into fists. He should leave. The last thing he wants is for you to see him like this—weak, vulnerable, broken. You have only ever known the pieces of him that he allows you to see, the sharp wit, the clever smirk, the mask that keeps the world at bay. This… this is something else entirely.

And yet, before he can stop himself, he lifts his hand and knocks.

It is soft, barely audible, but in the silence of the compound, it may as well be a thunderclap. His heart pounds against his ribs, and he almost turns to flee before the sound of movement reaches his ears.

A moment later, the door opens.

You stand before him, bleary-eyed and wrapped in a blanket, confusion written across your features.

"Loki?" Your voice is thick with sleep, but there is no irritation in it, no impatience. Just quiet concern.

He does not know what to say. He does not even know why he is here, why he has come to you instead of locking himself away like he always does. The words catch in his throat, his pride warring with his need for something—anything—to ground him.

But you look at him, really look at him, and something in your expression shifts.

You step aside without a word, leaving the doorway open in silent invitation.

For a long moment, Loki simply stands there, waging a battle within himself. He should not do this. He should not need this.

But the alternative is far worse.

So, with slow, reluctant steps, he moves inside.

You close the door behind him, and the quiet settles between you, not awkward, but heavy with something unspoken. You do not ask why he is here. You do not press him for an explanation. Instead, you gesture toward your bed, a silent offer, as if you have already decided what he needs before he can admit it himself.

He swallows, shame burning in his chest, but he cannot bring himself to refuse.

Without a word, he lowers himself onto the edge of the bed. His hands tremble slightly as he presses them against his knees, his entire body taut with tension. He feels exposed, raw in a way that terrifies him.

And then you sit beside him, so close he can feel your warmth.

Still, you do not push. You wait.

It is this—your patience, your quiet understanding—that breaks something in him.

He exhales sharply, his composure fracturing at the edges. His shoulders shake before he can stop them, and then, before he even knows what is happening, his hands are gripping the fabric of his own sleeves so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

You move before he can react, before he can even think to stop you. Your arms come around him, careful but certain, pulling him into your embrace.

Loki stiffens at first, instinct screaming at him to pull away. He is not used to this—to being held. He does not know how to accept comfort, how to take something so freely given.

But you do not let go. You do not waver. You simply hold him, warm and steady, as if this is the most natural thing in the world.

And Loki breaks.

A shuddering breath escapes him, and then another. His body sags against yours before he can stop it, his forehead pressing into your shoulder, his fingers clutching at the fabric of your shirt like a lifeline. The dam bursts, and before he can stop it, he is trembling, shaking, silent sobs wracking his frame.

You say nothing. You do not tell him it is okay, do not offer empty reassurances. You simply hold him through it, your hands moving gently along his back, your touch grounding him in a way that nothing else ever has.

Time loses meaning. He does not know how long he stays like this, pressed against you, his breath uneven, his body betraying him. But you never pull away. You never make him feel as if he is too much.

When the storm finally begins to pass, when his breathing evens and the tremors fade, he feels exhaustion settle deep in his bones. He should move. He should leave before he humiliates himself further.

But then you shift, adjusting your grip so that you are holding him more fully, your chin resting gently atop his head.

"Stay," you murmur, the word barely above a whisper.

He does not fight it.

For the first time in his life, Loki allows himself to be held.

That night, he sleeps.

And then, somehow, it becomes normal.

It does not happen every night, but often enough that neither of you question it anymore. When the nightmares come, when the weight of his past becomes unbearable, Loki finds himself at your door.

And every time, without fail, you let him in.

The shame he once felt begins to fade, replaced by something he does not have the words for. You do not judge him for his weakness. You do not make him feel like a burden. You simply accept him, in all his fractured, broken pieces, without hesitation.

It is terrifying.

It is the most comfort he has ever known.

And Loki does not know what to do with that.

---

Loki does not know when it begins. Perhaps it has always been there, buried beneath layers of denial and self-preservation, something too delicate to acknowledge, too dangerous to name. But slowly, steadily, it grows.

He notices it in the quiet moments, in the spaces between words.

It is in the way he seeks you out without realizing it, the way his day does not feel quite right until he has spoken to you. It is in the way his chest tightens when you laugh, in the way his mind lingers on your voice long after you have left the room.

It is in the nights spent wrapped in your arms, when the nightmares become too much.

At first, those nights were a necessity, a last resort when his own mind betrayed him. But now, they are something else entirely. The shame that once clung to him has faded, replaced by something far more dangerous. He no longer fights the pull toward you—he welcomes it. He does not know when it became so natural to find solace in your presence, to lean into your warmth without hesitation.

But it is not just about the nightmares anymore.

It is the way he lingers when he does not need to. The way his fingers brush against yours in passing, the way he memorizes every shift in your expression, the way your touch lingers on his skin long after you have pulled away. It is the way his heart pounds in his chest at the smallest of gestures, the way your absence leaves an ache that he cannot name.

And then, one night, it happens.

It is late, but Loki is not in his room. He is in yours, as he has been countless times before. The routine is familiar—he wakes from a nightmare, the echoes of it still clinging to his skin, and without thinking, his feet carry him to you.

You let him in, as you always do.

Tonight, the weight of it is heavier than usual. The nightmare lingers in his mind, curling around his thoughts like smoke. He does not speak of it, and you do not ask. You simply pull him into your arms, letting him bury himself against you, his breath uneven against your collarbone.

For a long time, neither of you move. The silence is comforting, your fingers tracing gentle patterns along his back, grounding him.

And then, in the stillness, something shifts.

You sigh softly, a sleepy, content sound, your arms tightening around him just slightly before relaxing again. It is the simplest thing—an unconscious movement, a meaningless moment.

But it unravels him.

The realization hits Loki with the force of a thousand suns. It is sudden and absolute, as if it has been waiting for this exact moment to make itself known.

He loves you.

It is not friendship, not even close. It never has been.

His love for you is deep and consuming, something that lives in his very bones. It is in the way he looks at you when you are not watching, the way your presence soothes him in a way nothing else ever has. It is in the way he would burn the world to the ground if it meant keeping you safe.

The realization is terrifying.

Loki does not move. He does not breathe. He simply lies there, pressed against you, as the weight of it crushes him.

This should not have happened. He should not have allowed it.

Love is a weakness. It is a thing to be used, to be twisted and turned against him. He has seen it happen too many times before. He has felt the sting of rejection, the sharp bite of betrayal. He knows better than to hope.

And yet, it is too late.

Loki swallows hard, willing the ache in his chest to subside. He cannot tell you. He will not. You are his closest friend, the only person who has ever truly seen him, the only one who has never turned him away. If he speaks this truth aloud, he risks losing that.

And that is something he cannot bear.

So he does what he has always done—he buries it.

He forces himself to breathe, forces himself to relax against you, as if nothing has changed. Because for you, nothing has.

You do not know. You cannot know.

And Loki will make sure it stays that way.

From that night on, everything feels different.

He pretends it does not. He is careful, measured. He acts as he always has, keeps his words and actions the same. He does not allow himself to linger too long, does not let his touch betray him.

But inside, he is unraveling.

It is a constant war, a battle he fights every second he is near you. He is hyperaware of every glance, every touch, every breath. He cannot stop looking at your lips when you speak, cannot ignore the way his heart clenches when you smile.

And the worst part? You do not even notice.

You treat him the same as always, utterly unaware of the storm raging inside him. You laugh with him, tease him, pull him into your arms on those quiet nights, completely oblivious to the fact that every moment is torture.

Because he wants.

Gods, how he wants.

There are nights when he stands outside your door, debating whether or not he should knock. Not because of the nightmares—those still come, but they are no longer the only reason he seeks you out. He knocks because he aches for your presence, because the thought of being alone feels unbearable.

And every time, without fail, you let him in.

You do not question it. You do not ask why. You simply welcome him as if he belongs there, as if it is the most natural thing in the world.

And maybe, to you, it is.

But for Loki, it is agony.

Because he cannot have you.

Not the way he wants.

And so, he suffers in silence.

He lets himself be near you, lets himself feel your warmth, your touch, your kindness. But he never says a word. He keeps it locked inside, where it cannot hurt either of you.

Because if you do not know, then you cannot leave.

And for Loki, that is the only thing that matters.

---

It happens again.

Another nightmare. Another night where the ghosts of his past pull him under, drowning him in horrors he cannot escape.

Loki wakes with a sharp inhale, his breath coming too fast, his chest tight with panic. The darkness of his room feels suffocating, the walls too close, the air too thin. His hands tremble as he presses them against the mattress, trying to ground himself, trying to remind himself that he is here, not there.

Not falling. Not failing. Not alone.

The thought comes unbidden, as it always does.

Because he is not alone.

Without thinking, without hesitating, his body moves on instinct, slipping out of bed and into the hallway. His bare feet make no sound against the floor, the compound silent in the deep hours of the night. He does not question where he is going. He does not stop to consider if he should.

Because he already knows the answer.

Your door is slightly ajar, just as it always is. You never lock it. You never turn him away.

Loki hesitates for only a moment before pushing it open.

The room is bathed in darkness, the faint glow of the city outside casting soft shadows along the walls. You are curled beneath the blankets, your breathing slow and steady, lost in sleep.

He should leave. He should not do this.

But the remnants of his nightmare still cling to him, cold and suffocating, and he cannot bear the thought of returning to his room, to the silence, to the weight of his own thoughts.

So he steps inside.

The floor creaks beneath his weight, but you do not startle. You stir slightly, shifting against the pillows, but you do not wake.

And yet, as he stands there, lingering in the doorway, you sigh softly, murmuring his name in the dark. Not with fear, not with surprise—just quiet understanding, as if you expected him to be there all along.

Something in his chest tightens.

He does not speak, does not explain. He simply moves toward the bed, and when he hesitates, you lift the blanket in silent invitation.

He exhales, slow and shaky, before slipping beneath the covers beside you.

The warmth of you envelops him immediately, soft and steady, grounding him in a way that nothing else ever has.

He presses closer without thinking, without meaning to, his forehead brushing against your shoulder, his hands curled near his chest.

And then, as if sensing the last of his hesitation, you shift just enough to pull him fully against you, wrapping your arms around him in a way that makes everything inside him unravel.

Loki breathes.

The tension eases from his body, the nightmare fading into nothing, the ghosts retreating into the shadows where they belong.

You hold him, just as you always do, your fingers tracing lazy, soothing patterns along his back. He feels your breath against his temple, soft and even, and for the first time in a long time, he lets himself relax.

His eyes grow heavy, his body warm, and then—

Sleep finds him.

And for the first time in years, there are no nightmares.

The morning sun filters through the curtains, golden and soft, chasing away the last remnants of night.

Loki stirs slowly, caught in that hazy space between sleep and wakefulness, his mind still wrapped in warmth, in comfort, in you.

There is something different this time. Usually, when morning comes, he is awake before you, careful to slip away before you can stir, before you can see him in the vulnerable light of day.

But this morning, he does not move.

He is tangled in your limbs, his head resting against your chest, your arms still wrapped around him.

He does not want to move.

Your scent surrounds him, your warmth pressing against every inch of him, and for once, he allows himself to savor it.

His eyes flutter open just enough to catch the golden light spilling across the bed, the way your hair glows in the morning sun. You are still asleep, your breath slow and steady, your heartbeat a gentle rhythm beneath his ear.

And he is safe.

The thought settles in his chest, warm and unfamiliar, something he has never allowed himself to believe before.

And before he can stop himself, before his mind fully catches up with his body, the words slip out, slow and sleepy and utterly unguarded.

"I love you."

The words are barely above a whisper, a sigh against your skin, but you hear them.

Because you smile.

Loki does not see it at first, but he feels it—the shift in your body, the way your arms tighten around him just slightly, the way your breath catches for half a second before settling again.

And then, still drowsy, still wrapped in the warmth of morning, you murmur, "I know."

Loki freezes.

His breath catches in his throat, his body going rigid against you as his mind finally catches up with his words.

What has he done?

Panic rises in his chest, sharp and sudden. He had not meant to say it, had not meant to ruin this. He was supposed to keep it buried, to let it fester in silence where it could not hurt either of you.

But it is too late.

You know.

And then, just as he is about to pull away, just as the weight of his own foolishness threatens to crush him, you shift beneath him, tilting your head just slightly, pressing your lips to the top of his head in a touch so soft it makes him ache.

And then—

"I know," you whisper again, and this time, your voice is different.

He swallows hard, eyes squeezing shut, his fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt.

"No," he breathes, barely audible, as if saying it again will somehow change the meaning, make you understand the weight of it.

But you do.

You have always understood him better than anyone.

"I love you," he says again, more certain this time, more him, his voice rough from sleep and tangled in something too big to contain.

He feels you smile against his hair.

And then, gently, finally, you whisper, "I know."

And then you kiss him.

Loki stills, every thought in his mind vanishing into nothing as your lips press against his.

It is soft and slow, something delicate, something precious.

It is not hurried or desperate. It is intentional. Certain.

Your fingers brush against his jaw, tilting his face up to yours, deepening the kiss just enough to steal the breath from his lungs.

And Loki—Loki, who has spent his entire life running from things he cannot bear to lose—lets himself fall.

When you finally pull away, your forehead resting against his, Loki does not move. He cannot. His heart is still catching up with what just happened, his mind still drowning in the warmth of you.

You smile, pressing one last kiss to the corner of his mouth before murmuring, "Took you long enough."

A breath of laughter escapes him, something he did not expect, something light and unguarded.

He presses his face back into the crook of your neck, exhaling slowly as the last of his fear dissolves into nothing.

"You are insufferable," he mumbles, but there is no heat behind the words, no bite.

Only love.

And this time, he does not try to hide it.

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powderpinkprincess · 2 months ago

Text

The Favourite One I. [Carlos Sainz x British!reader]

description: You and Carlos have a one-year-old daughter, Sofia. The two of you finally witness her fist word, but it is not what any of you have expected (with godfather!Lando and Ferrari!Carlos).

(TSMT (Targeted Sensory Motor Training) is a movement therapy for kids that supports their development. In this case, it is used to get Sofia talk and be more coordinated. Kids usually say their first words and start walking around when they become one year old, but of course, a little earlier or later is perfectly normal as well. Sofia's development is a bit late because she is one and a half but doesn't speak at all and she is a little less coordinated than kids her age.)

When you were a little girl, you always imagined having a wonderful, big wedding before becoming a mother. Yet your daughter, Sofia, arrived in your lives before Carlos had seemingly even thought about proposing to you. He loved Sofia to the moon and back, and you knew he loved you, too, but- It would’ve felt better if you could call yourself a wife instead of a girlfriend of six years.

Sofia was an adorable little girl. She looked a lot like Carlos with her nearly black, wavy hair and dark brown eyes. She was one and a half years old now. Time was flying.

What worried you was that she did not speak yet. She pointed at things, kept eye contact, smiled, laughed, and even had a pretty wide range of different noises she communicated with, but her first word just didn’t happen yet. You knew bilingual kids tended to start talking later, but she was also a pretty clumsy baby compared to her age.

Carlos knew how much her development concerned you. He wasn’t as worried as you were, knowing that you were taking her to TSMT regularly. He trusted in that, hoping that she would catch up soon.

He only spoke in Spanish to her, but the two of you talked in English, given that it was your native language and you didn’t speak Spanish that well. Sofia must have found that a little confusing if she understood anything of it.

You were holding Sofia’s hand as she walked down the paddock while you talked on the phone with your mom. Carlos appeared out of nowhere, and you sent him a smile, watching as he crouched down and took Sofia in his arms. As you finished the phone call, he was keeping her occupied, asking her questions in Spanish. Sofia held his gaze intently.

“Will you answer Daddy, sweetheart?” you asked gently as you slipped your phone back into your pocket. Sofia just sent you a cheeky smile and then buried her face into Carlos’ shoulder.

Carlos chuckled and tightened his arms around her little body, giving you an understanding look. “Mami, don’t worry. She’ll speak when she’s ready,” he soothed you in a quiet whisper. He stood up with Sofia, who was now watching the Formula 2 cars pass by on the track.

You stepped closer to Carlos and kissed him on the lips. “How was the practice, amor? I didn’t see anything. Sophia was finally sleeping.”

He placed a hand on the small of your back. “Practice has been good," he responded. "But I'm excited to get to my hotel room with you and Sofia tonight." He winked at you, which seemed to cause Sofia to giggle. It was hard to tell if she was in a good mood or thought he was silly.

Carlos had always managed to spend some time with the two of you before he went to bed. He couldn’t sleep in the same room with a baby, it was a team order. You understood because Sofia tended to wake up at night when she wasn’t sleeping in her own bed, but it was still sad.

“I love you, babygirl.” You smiled at your giggling daughter, stroking her cheek with your fingers.

Carlos couldn’t help but smile at that. He gently rocked Sofia in his arms before turning his eyes to you. "She loves you too, cariño," he assured you as he watched you. He always found the interactions between you and Sofia heartwarming.

“Are you buzzy right now?” You ran your fingers through your hair. “I really need to go to the bathroom, but she hates the lights inside so much for some reason.”

Carlos chuckled, understanding the situation you were in. "Go ahead. Take the opportunity. I can watch her for a few minutes," he assured you as he shifted Sophia to his hip.

When you returned, Sophia was giggling loudly in Carlos’ arms, who was just shaking his head, talking to her. “She is a handful, huh?” Carlos joked as you stepped back to his side, lifting Sofia in the air, which only made her laugh more.

“Did she bite you?” you chuckled dryly. If anything, her teeth were perfectly fine, and lately, she enjoyed testing them on people.

“Yes, she chewed on my thumb,” Carlos answered with mock distress, watching his daughter intently.

You tried to hold back your laughter, but it was hard. You should’ve warned Carlos about her new habit. “Sofia, baby, you know we don’t bite.”

Carlos snickered as he watched you try to speak seriously. Sophia just giggled and looked at you with a cheeky smile. Carlos shook his head again. "Oh boy, she's going to be a little menace, isn't she?" he joked.

Lando rushed by, but when he saw you, he stopped in his tracks. He walked over to where you were standing. “There is my favourite little girl!” he exclaimed with a big smile before greeting you. You and Sofia couldn’t make it to the past two races.

Carlos had Lando had a special relationship ever since they became teammates years ago. Their friendship didn’t falter even after Carlos signed his contract with Ferrari. In fact, by accident, it was Lando who Carlos told first about the news of you being pregnant. He didn’t check who he was texting, but he didn’t regret it. And now, Lando was the godfather of your little girl, and Sofia adored him.

Her eyes immediately lit up, and she reached out her little hands towards Lando, making a small, demanding noise. You knew that if Lando started coddling Sofia, the little girl wouldn’t let him leave anytime soon.

“If you’re in a hurry, you can go,” you assured Lando quickly. You knew how busy race weekends were, and he seemed to be in a rush.

Lando chuckled at Sofia’s reaction to seeing him, and he shook his head. “Nah, I have a bit of time,” he replied as he took her from Carlos. As soon as he hugged her close, Sofia immediately bit his shoulder.

“Sofia!” you and Carlos exclaimed at the same time.

“I’m sorry, Lando,” you apologized immediately. Carlos was just snickering, watching his daughter.

“Don’t worry about it,” Lando chuckled, prying Sophia off his shoulder with a wince. Sophia laughed wholeheartedly. She enjoyed this more than she should have.

Carlos and Lando started talking while the British boy was playing with Sofia’s fingers. She loved him so much. You understood it. Lando was silly, and he was a lot of fun around her. She made a small noise, trying to get Lando’s full attention again, but the boy was deep into discussing something. She let out a frustrated whine, but Lando only placed his hand on the top of her head as a reaction. It wasn’t enough. Sofia was silent for a minute before she opened her mouth again.

“Lan’o!” she exclaimed all of a sudden, smacking her little palm against his shoulder.

Carlos and you both froze and shared a look. Lando paused as well, looking a little shocked. He knew everything about your concerns with Sofia’s development, and he definitely did not expect to witness her first word, let alone it being his name.

“Did she just-“ he began, staring down at the little girl between his arms.

“Are you kidding me?” you whispered, feeling your throat tighten. You started laughing at the absurdity of this situation, but tears of joy filled your eyes as well. You’ve been waiting for this moment for over six months now. Sofia finally spoke.

“She said my name,” Lando grinned proudly, bouncing her in his arms. “Did you just say my name, little girl? We are best friends, aren’t we?”

Sofia was satisfied that she had finally got his attention back, and she started babbling something, gripping his shirt between her fingers.

“Can you believe this? We should just bring her to you instead of TSMT,” you joked, wiping your eyes.

Carlos and Lando burst into laughter at your comment. Lando continued bouncing Sophia in his arms as he replied. "I think I'd be a great unofficial speech therapist for her," he joked with a grin.

Sofia started wriggling in his arms, kicking her feet to get down.

“Are you ready to go exploring?” Lando asked as he placed her back on the ground.

Carlos instinctively stepped closer, but he wasn’t quick enough. Sophia started to waddle away, but after a few steps, she tripped over her own feet and fell. She started screaming immediately, and Lando winced, looking a bit guilty for letting go of her hand. Carlos quickly picked her up and started soothing her in Spanish.

Lando should’ve left already because Zak Brown himself came looking for him. As he approached Lando, Sofia stopped crying, staring at the man with wide, surprised eyes.

“Oh my god, is this Sofia?” Zak asked, momentarily forgetting about Lando. “The last time I saw her, she was a newborn.”

Carlos nodded, gently stroking Sofia’s hair. “Yes, she’s grown a lot since then. She’s one and a half now.”

Sofia looked at Carlos, then back at Zak, and then at Carlos again, trying to see his father’s reaction and figure out how to react. Carlos chuckled. “It’s okay, Zak is a friend,” he reassured her. Sofia hid her face into his shoulder, so he wrapped his arms around her in a comforting embrace.

“Lando, by the way, the whole team is waiting for you,” Zak finally turned to his driver. “You were supposed to be in the meeting room like… Ten minutes ago.”

Lando’s eyes widened in realization. “Damn, right. Sorry, guys. Bye, Sofia! I’ll catch up with you later, alright?” He made a face at her, causing her to giggle. “Oh, I love being the favourite one for once,” he joked.

“You won’t be our favourite though if you don’t hurry up,” Zak patted his shoulder.

“Right, right,” Lando nodded. “See you guys later!”

As Lando started walking away, Sofia's eyes widened. She inhaled sharply and looked at Carlos. Carlos chuckled softly, and he gently brushed her hair back from her face. He started speaking to her in Spanish again. You wished you would’ve done a better job at learning his language before she was born.

“Alright,” Carlos looked at you. “I have to go, too, amor. The buffet has her favourite crackers now, so you can pass the time there if you want to.”

You took Sofia from Carlos. He kissed her forehead and rubbed her back.

“I can’t believe her first word was Lando’s name,” he muttered, but the corners of his mouth turned up slightly. “When did he ever change your diaper, huh, babygirl?”

You laughed at that. “At least she spoke. I feel so relieved.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Carlos looked up into your eyes. He held your gaze for a moment, and there was everything in it. Love, pride, adoration, affection- Then he gave you a gentle kiss and walked away.

find part two here

#carlos sainz x reader #f1 x reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x y/n #lando norris

181 notes · View notes

airybcby · 1 month ago

Note

So it’s Canon that isagi is a really awkward guy and barely had any friends in skl, so imagine Reader takes interest in isagi bc she finds him really cute and starts to slowly then constantly invading his business, and starts going to his school games.

But they were only really connected to each other by skl, never really hung out outside of school so they become incredibly distant when isagi goes to Blue Lock womp womp 😔 so when U20 games finishes, isagi low-key forgets Reader existed, just that she was the girl who made school a bit more bearable, but he meant everything to Reader

I’m into bittersweet Isagi these days, no happy Isagi 😔

now this...this is something i can work with ;)

used feminine she/her pronouns since you used them in your ask! so fem! reader!!

જ⁀♡⊹｡° i know that i should hate you

( isagi yoichi x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — i love this ask :) added my own lil twang to the end

♡ word count — 1.4k

♡ content — isagi yoichi x fem! reader, set before he leaves for blue lock, goes into the U-20, let's pretend they have a winners parade :) , school friends but not friends friends, awkward! isagi, unrequited love, i think that's it, not proofread!

♡ synopsis — You told yourself you would forget Isagi Yoichi, just like he forgot you. You were a good liar when you wanted to be.

── .✦ i should hate you, i feel stupid

The bleachers creaked when you sat down. Same as they always had. Same cold metal pressing into your legs, same battered field stretched out in front of you.

It had been a long time since you'd been here. Long enough that the rust was winning over the paint, long enough that the lines on the field had started to fade.

Long enough that it almost didn't feel real — those afternoons you spent here, pretending you just liked the fresh air, pretending you weren't looking for him.

But you had been. Always, it was him.

Even when no one else noticed, even when he was just another boy chasing a ball across a dying field, you saw him.

You cared first. You cared too much.

You pulled your knees up to your chest, resting your chin on them, and closed your eyes.

If you tried hard enough, you could almost hear it — the dull thud of cleats against dirt, the quiet grunt of effort when he ran too fast, the sound of your own hands clapping louder than anyone else's.

Maybe that's why it hurt so much now.

Maybe that's why you couldn't seem to let it go.

You first noticed him in third period history.

He wasn’t anyone special, not really — slouched in his seat near the window, scribbling in the margins of his notebook, half-listening.

But there was something about him that made you look twice.

Maybe it was the way he bit the end of his pen when he was thinking.

Maybe it was the way he laughed — rare, startled, boyish — when someone said something funny.

Maybe it was just the way he seemed so lonely, even in a room full of people.

Isagi Yoichi.

A boy with too-big dreams scribbled between math notes.

A boy who ate lunch with his teammates sometimes, but never quite belonged even there.

He was awkward.

Sweet, in a way.

Cute, in that quiet, stubborn kind of way that made you want to sit beside him just to see if you could make him smile.

So you did.

You started sitting next to him when you could — ignoring the open seats elsewhere, ignoring the way he stiffened like he didn’t know what he was supposed to say.

You borrowed pens, asked about homework you didn’t actually need help with, lingered at the door after class to ask if he was coming to practice.

At first, he barely managed full sentences around you.

A nod here.

A stuttered "yeah" there.

A shy glance that skittered away too fast.

You were patient.

You learned to fill the silences.

You learned that he was better at listening than talking — that if you kept your voice soft and steady, he’d relax eventually.

And he did.

Sometimes you’d catch him already looking at you when you turned around.

Sometimes he'd wait, clumsy and obvious, just outside your classroom so you could walk to the next one together.

It wasn’t a friendship, not really.

But it was something.

Something fragile and hopeful and new.

Something that only existed when you both allowed it to.

You learned he played forward on the soccer team.

You learned he hated cold weather, but loved playing in the rain.

You learned he liked instant curry, and video games, and that his biggest dream — the one he barely said out loud — was to become a striker the whole world knew by name.

You decided you liked him before you even realized you were falling.

You started going to his games because you said you were bored.

Because your friends had other plans.

Because it was easy to slip into the stands, hoodie pulled over your head, pretending you were just there.

But really, you were there for him.

Only him.

You didn’t know the rules, not really, but you learned to recognize him by the way he moved — sharp and quick and a little reckless, always chasing something only he could see.

Sometimes he would glance toward the stands, searching.

And sometimes, when he caught your eye, he would smile — small and shy, like it was a secret between you.

You clapped until your hands were sore.

You screamed his name until your voice went hoarse.

You watched him shine, even when nobody else noticed.

You wanted to be someone he remembered.

Someone he needed.

Someone he thought about when the world felt too heavy.

You let yourself believe you were.

When the rumors about Blue Lock started, you didn’t believe them at first.

A special program?

For the best of the best?

It sounded like something out of a manga.

But then he stopped coming to class.

His name was called for attendance, and no one answered.

You waited.

One day, two, three.

You kept thinking — hoping — he would show up late, laughing, apologizing, telling some crazy story.

He didn’t.

The realization hit slow, then all at once.

He was gone.

And he hadn’t even said goodbye.

The months dragged.

You still sat in your usual seat.

Still caught yourself looking at the empty desk beside you.

Still found yourself walking past the soccer field after school, even though there was nobody left worth watching.

You told yourself it didn’t matter.

You barely knew him, after all.

You told yourself you were being ridiculous.

Clinging to something that was never really yours.

You told yourself you would forget him, just like he forgot you.

You were a good liar when you wanted to be.

When the U-20 match aired, you weren’t ready.

You thought maybe you could handle it.

You thought maybe you could just watch — like everyone else — and cheer for the boy from your hometown who made it big.

But the second you saw him on screen —

The second you saw the way he ran, the way he fought, the way he smiled when he scored …

The ache in your chest returned, raw and sharp and ugly.

He wasn’t the awkward boy from third period anymore.

He was electric.

Magnetic.

Bigger than the world you knew.

You whispered his name into the empty room.

You cried when you remembered he wouldn’t hear it.

The parade was louder than you expected.

Crowds pressing in from every side, banners waving, people screaming his name.

You stayed on the edge, heart hammering against your ribs.

And then you saw him.

Isagi Yoichi.

Smiling, waving, accepting praise like he didn’t know what to do with it all.

Still a little awkward — still scratching the back of his neck when he got overwhelmed — but brighter somehow, more sure of himself.

He looked nothing like the boy everyone watched win his first big game.

But he also looked nothing like the boy you sat next to in history.

You held your breath when his eyes skimmed the crowd.

And then — for just a second — they locked on you.

Something flickered there.

Recognition, maybe.

Or maybe you just wanted it too badly.

He pushed through the crowd, coming toward you — awkward, determined, so him it made your throat close.

"Hey," he said, grinning.

You smiled, too, too shaky, too hopeful.

"Hey."

"You’re...uh...you were in my history class, right?"

The words sliced deep.

You nodded.

"Yeah. Third period."

He laughed, scratching his neck again.

"I thought you looked familiar. You used to come to the games, right?"

Another nod, a flicker of hope sparking in your chest.

"Yeah. I did."

"Thanks for that," he said, sincerity shining through. "It really meant a lot back then."

Back then.

Before everything.

Before you became a stranger again.

As if it wasn’t only a few months ago.

Someone shouted his name, and he glanced over his shoulder.

"I should get going," he said, apologetic.

"But...it was good seeing you."

"Yeah," you whispered. "You too."

And just like that, he was gone — swallowed by the crowd, by the noise, by the life he built without you.

You stayed there long after everyone else left.

The streets emptied, the banners sagged, the excitement faded.

And you stood alone, heart cracked wide open, wishing you could hate him.

You should.

You should hate him for forgetting you.

For outgrowing you even though, really, you were too small of a pot for him to be put in anyways.

For making you believe you ever mattered.

But you don’t.

You hate yourself more — for still loving a boy who barely remembers your name.

You wipe your eyes, set your shoulders, and turn away.

You were just a girl who made school a little more bearable.

He was the boy who made it out.

He was someone unforgettable.

You were someone he already forgot.

airy stop indenting after the smallest sentence challenge GO!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!!

❀ tags: ❀ @kenyuukissme ❀ @irethepotato ❀ @kiyy0mei ❀ @x3nafix ❀ @sugacor3 ❀ @ohagiyo ❀ @reigensuperstar ❀ @nevvynevnev ❀ join the taglist here !

#★ · airybcbyy #airy posts #bllk #blue lock #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #isagi yoichi x reader #isagi x reader #isagi yoichi #bllk isagi #yoichi isagi #blue lock isagi #airy answers asks :)#ask airy anything!!

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flowerandblood · 11 months ago

Text

Sacrifices (Oneshot)

[ canon • Aemond x little sister • female ]

[ warnings: incest obviously, sex content, virginity loss, oral sex, smut, fluff, sexual tension, obsession ]

[ description: Finally, after months of waiting, his beloved, younger sister becomes his wife. The task that awaits him as an older brother is not to cause her pain during the beautiful act in which they will finally become one. ]

Part 4 (the last) of the Appearances, it can be read as standalone story.

My other works: Masterlist

_____

"Don't be afraid, hāedar (little sister)."

This was easier said than done.

The day of their nuptials, although it was the fulfilment of their dreams and hopes, was also a time full of terror and humiliation for them.

Aegon made sure to speak his thoughts aloud about how his younger brother would not be able to please his sister and that it was him she should give her wedding night to.

"With one eye, he won't even know where to put it." Aegon sneered, taking a deep sip from his cup. Their mother gave him a quick, rebuking glance.

"Aegon. That is enough."

The humiliation he felt burned his loins like fire, however, what really frightened him was her pale face, her hands clenched on her beautiful green dress, the field flowers pinned into her hair.

She looked so beautiful and innocent that he was afraid to touch her, barely brushing her tiny, delicate hands as they danced.

He hated courtly courtesy, and the steps he had to take to the rhythm of the music seemed forced and clumsy, yet he was doing it for her, just for her.

Although it was their wedding day, she was sad and tired.

To his joy, with the help of his mother, he managed to dissuade his brother and his friends from participating in their intimate act. When the chamber door closed behind them, they were left alone.

He was relieved when her body clung to his: it was not a gesture of desire, but of fear and uncertainty, as if she had been waiting for hours and could not do it because it would be indecent behaviour.

Embracing her husband.

She was his wife.

"Lēkia (big brother)." She muttered, sinking into his linen white shirt, her body covered only by her nightgown.

His arms involuntarily embraced her petite figure, sinking her face into his chest, her scent, her closeness making him feel a pleasant warmth in his stomach.

"I'm here. No one's going to hurt you." He whispered, his full lips placing a loud, soft kiss on the top of her head.

Gods, how he loved her.

Her, only her.

Love was a weakness and he knew it, and she was the only person he wanted and needed to be vulnerable in front of.

"Are you afraid?" She asked involuntarily, looking up at him with her big, dark eyes that she had inherited from their mother.

His broad hand rose to her plump cheek and stroked her skin with his thumb, looking at her with his lips parted, feeling a squeeze in his heart.

What should he answer?

What if she thought he was weak, that Aegon was right?

That he wouldn't be able to please her?

"What do you mean?" He muttered, looking into the depths of her dark, shining eyes.

"Have you ever lain with a woman? Before our betrothal. You can tell me, I'll understand." She whispered in a trembling voice, and he swallowed hard, feeling the cold sweat on his back.

He didn't know if it was a good idea to tell her, but he didn't want to begin their marriage with a lie.

"I did, issa dōna rūklon (my sweet flower). Once. It was Aegon's idea, not mine. On my thirteenth Name Day." He choked out with difficulty, feeling shame and fear at the thought that she might have rejected him, found him disgusting, unworthy of her affection.

She nodded, to his surprise looking as if she felt relieved, her trembling hand found his, their fingers intertwined in a soft, tender embrace.

"You promised me that from this day to the end of your days you would be mine alone." She whispered, and he nodded, feeling his erection swell and pulse in his breeches at her words, reminding him of the vow they had made to each other in the Great Sept.

"Yes, sweet sister. I am yours and you are mine." He sighed, leaning over her, in some natural, simple reflex, letting their lips cling to each other in a soft, warm kiss.

They both purred with contentment, carefully grasping each other's cheeks in their hands, stroking the skin of their faces with their fingers, letting their wet, rough tongues lick tentatively with the quiet click of their saliva.

"– ah – mmm –" She hummed as one of his arms hugged her waist, forcing her body to slam against his, his impatient cock pushing against her belly.

"– can you feel it, hāedar? –" He exhaled, looking down between their bodies, watching the bulge under the material of his breeches pressing against her body. "– can you feel what you're doing to me? – how much I crave to feel you? –"

She looked at him with a hazy, dreamy, hot gaze from which he felt a squeeze in his lower abdomen, her glistening, puffy lips parted wide.

"– I want it, brother – make it feel good –" She whispered, and he needed no more encouragement. She squealed in surprise, throwing her arms around his shoulders as he lifted her up, holding her beneath her buttocks, walking with her towards their large marital bed now standing in his chamber.

"– easy, little one – easy –" He murmured with a smile, touched by her innocent, involuntary behaviour, in the candlelight seeing how much her cheeks had blushed with emotion.

"– will it hurt, Aemond? – mum said it would –" She muttered as he laid her down on the soft, clean bedding, apparently revealing to him at last the reason for her sadness and anxiety all day.

He sighed heavily, climbing onto the bed, reading dozens of books before their wedding just to make sure he did everything he could to spare her suffering.

"– there's a thin wall inside you that I'm going to have to break – during this moment, you'll be able to feel discomfort and sting, but when it's behind us, I swear you'll feel nothing but pleasure –" He whispered in a trembling voice, spreading her thighs in front of him, letting the material of her nightgown expose her bare thighs.

She blinked, looking at him in disbelief, surprised, apparently, by his extensive knowledge on the subject, and breathed out quietly, as if trying to relax.

"– we'll start with what's familiar to you – we need to make you wet and willing for your brother – hm? –" He murmured, cocking his head, trailing his hands from her knees to her thighs. She nodded quickly, wriggling impatiently, clearly now more excited than frightened, shivering on her skin in the places where he ran his palms.

A sweet sigh of surprise left her lips as he drew her closer to him and leaned in, sinking his face into her heat: her folds were pink and swollen, soft and tender as silk. His sister smelled of bath, of fragrant oils and herself, of her own sweat – he murmured at the thought, the tip of his tongue running over her small, swollen bud, making her fingers clench in his hair, her head thrown back.

"– lēkia –" She mewled, rolling her hips back and forth, impatient, wanting more and harder. He, however, decided to take his time and explore her womanhood, the space around her pearl, her tight slit, which he teased with slow, lazy flicks of his tongue.

He felt the taste of her moisture on his tongue and grinned under his breath as he listened to her moans, feeling her body writhing before him in convulsions, his fingers digging warningly into the plush structure of her thigh.

"– lay still –" He hissed, finally forcing his tongue between her fleshy, hot walls, licking and rubbing the small spot just above her opening, teasing her bud with his nose, all swollen from his caresses.

"– Aemond – Aemond, Aemond, Aemond –" She sobbed in front of him, chasing her peak, but he knew he couldn't let her come.

Not yet.

He stopped his treatments and raised himself up on his elbows, looking at her with satisfaction, wiping his face with his hand. Her long, dark hair was spread around her head, her lips parted wide in a heavy breath, her gaze hot and full of desire.

"– I want more – husband –" She mumbled, and he sighed and nodded, sliding the material of his breeches lower, releasing his hard, long manhood, dripping from his precum.

Husband.

"– show me your breasts, sweet wife –" He commanded, and she drew in a loud breath and quickly slid the material of her nightgown off her shoulders, revealing her bare chest to him.

Something about her appearance, about how different she was from Madam, aroused him even more – her plump breasts with their sweet, hard nipples were more girlish, more innocent, more lovely.

His.

His hand squeezed his swollen cock at the base with sure, quick jerks as he leaned in, sinking and clamping his mouth on her little nipple, beginning to suck involuntarily as if he were a baby.

He had never heard her let out a similar moan before, so helpless and loud, her hands immediately pressed his face closer to her breast as if she wanted to melt into one with him.

"– b-brother – what are you – ah –" She mewled and shuddered as he directed the thick head of his cock against her leaking, hot slit and began to slowly push.

She gasped, throwing her head back, clearly not having known a similar sensation in her entire life – he opened her with difficulty and was met with resistance, her moan of discomfort telling him that this was the moment.

He released her breast and lifted himself up on his arm higher, to her face, wanting to look into her eyes, his nose pressed against her cheek.

"– I need to push harder now – this might hurt a little – spread your thighs wider – yes, just like that – ready? –" He asked and she nodded, her eyes big with desire and terror.

He cradled her head to the hollow of his neck, slid out a little and with one sure thrust hit something deep inside her, from which she cried out loudly and squealed in pain, her fingers tightening on the material of his shirt.

Fuck, he hadn't made it.

He had to do it again, harder.

"– just one more time – one more time and it will be over –" He whispered in a trembling voice, her walls almost painfully tight against his cock, clenching in panic.

He grasped her buttocks in his hands, pulling them apart with her whine of discomfort, and with one violent thrust he finally broke deeper into her warm interior. He felt her burst into sobs, her legs quivering all over in his embrace, her fingers clenched painfully hard against his skin.

"– stop – don't move – don't move –" She mumbled pleadingly, and he froze motionless, panting heavily, feeling the sting in his heart, for some reason feeling like crying himself. His lips placed warm, tender kisses on her temple and cheek, his broad hand simply stroking her hair, wanting to reassure her.

"– I know, I'm so sorry – I know I promised it would be easier – but the worst is behind us –" He promised, and she swallowed heavily, feeling how hard his erection pulsed inside her.

"– it still hurts –" She confessed, and he nodded.

"– we'll wait until it stops – we'll just embrace and kiss until the discomfort passes – hm? –" He asked in a shaky voice, afraid that she would reject him now, tell him to stop, that she didn't want to see him, that she would never let him touch her again.

She, however, nodded and looked at him with a trusting and affectionate gaze from which his lips, swollen with desire, melted with hers into one. They kissed loudly and unashamedly, their tongues dancing with each other deep in their throats, fighting for dominance, their hands stroking their hair and bodies.

Indeed, he felt her walls stop pressing so hard against him, her breathing calmed, tears of fear stopped flowing down her face. Tentatively, he slid deeper into her, and she only sighed, combing through his hair, without however uttering a word.

"– may I? –" He asked in a quivering voice, feeling his cock about to explode with desire. She looked up at him, her lips parted sweetly, her face all red from emotion and tears.

"– yes – just – be gentle – She mumbled, and he pressed his forehead against hers, with a low groan slowly and firmly sliding all the way into her. He looked at her face, at her eyelashes glistening from her tears, at her sweet red lips, and thought he had to do this to her.

"– sister –" He exhaled and began to pound into her, shyly and shallowly at first, thinking only of how tight, warm, wet she was, that he was just taking her maidenhood and her, what was rightfully his from the day she was born.

"– brother –" She muttered, throwing her head back, clearly feeling the opposite of discomfort at the moment.

"– 'm going to accelerate now –" He whispered, gripping her hips in his hands, imposing a sharp, fast rhythm on her, slamming into her the way he'd always dreamed of doing, the loud slaps of their skin building his way to fulfilment.

She moaned loudly, throwing her legs over his back, her hands on his neck pressed him closer, wanting to unite with him, to become one as they were always meant to be. They kissed passionately and deeply, then again and again as her hips began to rock, seeking a shared rhythm with him, her sweet little cunt began to squeeze him, soaking him all over.

"– ñuhon (mine) –" He exhaled between the aggressive, sticky, slick dance of their teeth and tongues, their bodies entwined in an aggressive, close embrace like a vine.

"– aōhon (yours) – iksan aōhon, lēkia (I'm yours, big brother), oh fuck, fuck, fuck! –" She cursed far too sweetly and innocently, throwing her head back in euphoria, going before his eyes through the kind of release she had never before experienced in his presence, the great wet spot under their buttocks making him lick his lips lustfully.

"– that's right – I intend to fulfil my duty to you as a husband every day, ābrazȳrys (wife) – ah – fuck, yes –" He sighed, feeling a tightening in his stones, only to feel a wonderful, stunning relief a moment later and finally fill her with his seed, as he had always been destined to do.

"– gods –" He exhaled, falling on top of her, their hands clenched on their bodies, refusing to let go, their breaths hitched and heavy, full of fulfilment.

"– I want to see you bare, valzȳrys (husband) –" She mumbled out in shame, and he hummed, for some reason pleased with her request.

At the thought that he hadn't discouraged her from their intimacy, that she wanted it as much as he did.

As he pulled off his shirt and breeches she slipped off the material of her nightgown, remaining unashamedly naked before him, sweet, beautiful, his.

His little sister.

He drew her to him, placing tender, loud kisses full of affection on her bare skin, her nimble fingers pulling at the ribbon material at the back of his head, releasing the front strands of his hair.

He looked at her and smiled, thinking with pride that he was her husband and she was his wife, that every night from that day until his death she would spend at his side, in his bed, bearing his children, his inheritance.

They clung to each other like little children, sinking into each other's embrace, stroking each other's naked bodies, kissing the skin of each other's sweaty faces, red with emotion, knowing that no one would ever separate them again.

Before the face of men and gods, they were one.

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classjezter · 3 months ago

Note

Even if he doesn't remember being an adult, it seems like Optimus is pretty good at picking up on how the people around him are feeling and wants to help. Like in the angst comic, where he saw Wheeljack was upset, and it seems like OP asked to be picked up at least partially so he could try to comfort Wheeljack.

So since he seems decently observant, how much is he actually aware of considering he presumably has less processing power than he did as an adult? Does he understand what's being said around him? Does he have any suspicions that something is wrong?

While baby Optimus is highly observant, his understanding is still limited by his current state. While he retains a natural curiosity and attentiveness, his processing power is similar to that of a 1 to 2 year old human baby

As to how much he understands: he can recognize voices, tones, and some familiar words, but he doesn’t fully grasp the entire meaning behind most conversations.

Does he know something is wrong? Yes, but not what is wrong. Despite being a sparkling, he’s still Optimus and he’s always attentive of emotions of those he cares about. He knows that they are worried and stressed, as much as they try to hide it from him, but he just doesn’t know why they’re upset

His baby logic tells him that something is different from how it should be, but since this is all he remembers, he has no context to compare it to. He might recognize that his caretakers act differently when they think he isn’t looking, things like Wheeljack being unusually quiet, Elita sighing a lot, B giving him this looks filled with grief, but of course he has no way of truly knowing why

So because he doesn’t like seeing people he cares about in distress. In his young mind, he remembers that when he is upset, the others pick him up, cuddle him, and talk softly to him. So when he sees them upset, he tries to return the favor in his own way

If B-127 seems sad, Optimus might crawl over and put his tiny hands on his face, doing a curious little chirp to get his attention

If Elita sighs and rubs her face, he might grab her hand with his tiny fingers and hold onto it

If Wheeljack is hunched over his work, looking particularly down, Optimus might try to climb onto his lap, thinking that if he snuggles him, it will make things better

When Ratchet is stressed, Optimus may try to imitate the stern noises Ratchet makes when lecturing others (though it mostly comes out as babbled nonsense, but it’s the intent behind it that counts)

His attempts at comforting others are clumsy but really sweet, and while it doesn’t fix anything, they usually manage to get a small smile or chuckle out of whoever he’s trying to cheer up, and it manages to distract them from whatever is happening, at least for a little bit

#baby prime #baby prime asks #transformers #transformers one #transformers au

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aviiarie · 11 months ago

Note

Hi avieee! I am making a request this time. So uhm I really really like your that lost & found platonic arle x reader. So I am wondering if you can do a part 2 of that? Like what happens after reader is rescued? The Fontaine trio reactions? Does Arle go into overprotective mama bear mode?

😶‍🌫️

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ AFTERWORD. platonic fonatine siblings, arlecchino & reader !

synopsis. (sequel to lost & found. read that one first.) [name] is reunited with their siblings. contents. PLATONIC. aftermath of kidnapping. gn!reader. they/them pronouns used. fluff. 1k words. notes. i wanted to make this a sort of epilogue, so apologies if it is a little short!

“[Name]!”

Their eyes opened with a flutter, still in a haze halfway between sleep and consciousness. The call of their name was their only warning before they were tackled in their hospital bed by a blur of black and red, crying out in alarm at the sudden weight falling on top of them. In their daze, it took a moment for them to realize who it was.

“L-Lyn—Lyney?” they managed to stammer out, wheezing as he squeezed them in a much too tight hug.

“[Name]! You’re back!” Lyney clasped their face in his hands and peppered kisses to the top of their head, like an overly affectionate grandmother who hasn’t seen their dearest grandchild in years. They shoved at him weakly, rolling their eyes at his over-the-top show of affection. He wasn’t fazed, laughing hoarsely through his tears. “You’re alive. Gods, I’m so glad you’re alive.”

“Don’t be a pest, Lyney,” Lynette scolded as she entered the room as well, but she was barely looking at him. Her focus was set squarely on them, tears brimming in her eyes. “[Name]. I am… very relieved you are back.”

“I’m never letting you leave my sight again,” Lyney whispered, pressing his forehead to theirs. There was a shakiness behind his melodramatic display, a fragility behind his theatrics. The experience seemed to have shaken him far more than he was willing to admit. He moved off them, giving them room to breathe as Lynette hurried over to their beside.

“Never,” Lynette promised, settling on their other side. She leaned down to bump her head against the top of theirs, curling her tail around their leg.

“Is there… room in there for me…?” a quiet voice sounded from the doorway. They all looked up, as Freminet nervously knocked on the already opened door.

“Of course, come here!” Lyney stood abruptly, stepping back to make room for Freminet to squeeze in. He slipped into the space between them and Lyney, turning the four of them into something that was partially an awkward huddle, and partially a group hug. Lynette was still on their left, shoulders brushing. Freminet had circled their waist in a clumsy hug with his cheek pressed against their shoulder. And Lyney settled himself on the edge of the bed, draping an arm over the bed board.

“I really don’t think there’s enough room for all of us—” They tried, but Lyney shushed them.

“There’s room enough,” He said, patting their cheek. “And don’t think for a minute you’re getting rid of us so quickly after what happened.”

The siblings all seemed to stiffen up at his mention of the ordeal, himself included. For Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet, it was sharp and clear in their memories, along with the lingering feeling of dread that came with losing one of their own for so long.

But for them, the entire experience was a haze. There was a distant pain throbbing in the back of their head, the phantom feeling of someone hitting them with something hard. Beyond that was a blur between being dumped on the cold, hard floor, and feeling warm hands pull them into a familiar set of arms.

“…Good.” They said quietly, resting their chin atop Freminet’s head. “I don’t want any of you to leave, just yet.”

-----

Arlecchino’s heels clicked loudly, sounding an alarm to all of the children loitering in the halls. After years in her care, they had learned to predict her mood from just the sound of her shoes, and the hurried clacks echoing off the walls told them clear as day that she was not in the mood for anything to interrupt her.

She brushed past the eyes that peeked out from the doorways, vanishing as soon as she grew close. She didn’t care to scold them for being nosy; they didn’t matter to her. There was only one person who mattered in that moment.

When she opened the door, Lyney was the only one that looked to be awake. The other two were curled around [Name], all three fast asleep in a pile of limbs and blankets. Lynette was lying on top of the blankets, one arm thrown over the other two siblings, while Freminet was clinging to [Name]’s waist so tightly that it was a wonder they were still breathing.

They looked like a pile of kittens taking a mid-morning nap together. The sight was endearing enough for the corner of her lips to twitch, almost forming a smile.

Lyney had settled himself in the chair beside them, resting his feet on the edge of the bed. His arm was stretched out to carefully run his hand through their hair, in the same gentle routine he used to help his sister fall asleep when they were young. The sound of the door opening made him look up, and he greeted her with a nod.

“They’re alright?” Arlecchino asked quietly.

“They’re alright.” Lyney answered with a tired smile, pulling his hand back to rest on his lap.

“Good.” She swept into the room, standing over their sleeping form. The blankets hid the majority of their injuries, but there was a flash of white bandages peeking out from where their skin was exposed.

Arlecchino brushed her thumb across their forehead. She knew they most likely were too deeply asleep to hear her, but it didn’t stop her from murmuring, “I’m never going to let anyone hurt you.”

The words made them stir slightly. It was slow at first, a small furrow in their brow and a twitch of their lips, but it was soon followed by a murmur. Their eyes opened a crack, meeting hers.

“Father…?” They mumbled lowly.

“Shh…” Arlecchino hushed them with a whisper, still tracing her thumb across their face. The slow, soothing motion had its desired effect; their eyes were already sliding shut. “Quiet, get some rest. You’re safe now. They won’t ever hurt you again.”

She leaned down and kissed their head, leaving her lips hovering above their skin for a moment to whisper, “Never again.”

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exhaslo · 1 year ago

Text

Over-Time Ch3

(CEO!Miguel x Shy/Clumsy!Reader)

Ch1, Ch2

Warning: MINORS DNI, eventual smut, slow-burn, mentions of sex, bullying, cussing, fluff

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

"On behalf of those of us at Alchemax, we would like to welcome you to our company. Please arrive at the Human Resources floor tomorrow with the information sent via email. We are happy to have you join us."

The shudder in your voice as you resisted the urge to squeal was sharp. You were at your current job, trying to hide from the crowd outside. This phone call was important, you told everyone that, and you were glad you took it.

"(Y/N)! GET OUT HERE WE NEED YOUR CLUMSY ASS!"

You yelped towards your coworker. Tears threatening to spill towards their harsh tone. Luckily you had just finished the phone call. How cruel could they be?

Hurrying back onto the floor, you yelped as another coworker tossed you a bunch of orders. Hurrying towards you station, you tried your best to make the orders but the pressure was getting to you. Everyone's yelling and the pace was too much.

"Strawberries, (Y/N)! Not Blackberries! Damn!"

"S-Sorry," You whimpered.

You hated working here. You hated this job, but this was the only place that could hire you fresh out of college. Everywhere you really wanted to work claimed that you didn't have enough work experience. Well how the hell were you supposed to get that if they didn't give you a shot?

"Hey, goofball, you're taking my shift tomorrow."

"H-Huh?!" You questioned, spilling the drink you were making, "Ah! No, no-"

"It's from 7am to 2pm."

"I-I can't!" You stuttered, trying to clean the mess you made, "I-I have s-something....something important to do!"

"Well change your plans, I already told the manager that you're taking my shift, goofball." Your coworker snapped before bumping into you, "Stop fucking up the drinks!"

You were biting the inside of your cheek as you tried your best to hold back your tears. You weren't going to let your cruel coworkers ruin your chance at a better life. You weren't going to deal with them anymore after today.

You just had to finish your shift.

And never look back.

----------

You woke up early for Alchemax. Triple checked all of your paperwork and identification. This was the most prepared you were ever going to be. You had blocked your current job from calling you so they wouldn't stress you out.

You even had some time to bake a small 'thank you' cake for Miguel, if you got the chance to see him. You were truly grateful for his help in getting you here. Hopefully it won't look weird on your end. This was just your way of thanking someone.

Once you arrived, you went up to the Human Resources floor to submit your information. As you waited, you focused on the elevator and saw Lyla step out.

"Ah, there you are." Lyla chirped, approaching you.

It was night and day from when you saw her during the interview. She was much more peppy than before.

"G-Good...morning," You whispered, feeling slightly nervous as to why she was looking for you.

"Is all her paperwork done?" Lyla asked the front desk lady, "Perfect, (Y/N), grab your stuff and follow me. I'm going to show you around~"

"Oh....Thank you,"

This felt strange. As you collected all of your things, you hurried behind Lyla. She was so nice and friendly. You weren't used to this, so it was a nice change of pace.

"Now that you're officially hired with us, you'll be getting paid for your time here today. I'm going to show you around the building first, then your station. I'm sure you'll love working here~!"

----------

Miguel grunted lowly as Lyla abandoned him during an important meeting. She wanted to meet you personally, leaving Miguel to suffer with the wolves. Miguel had very little patience with these men and now it was going to get worse.

Once the meeting was over, Miguel hurried back to his office. He needed a drink. There was only so much stupid and ignorance that he could deal with. Being a CEO was difficult. The patience that Miguel had to show was honestly a talent.

"This is the cafeteria! We have a large selection of goods here,"

Miguel could hear Lyla's voice from one of this monitors. Honestly, that woman was good at testing Miguel.

"Whoa, h-how much do we have....to pay for this?"

Groaning softly as Miguel sat at his desk, he took a sip of his vodka. Your soft voice now echoed from the monitor. Miguel resisted a chuckle as he watched the two of you walk around. Lyla must have set this up, normally Miguel only watched certain interviews.

"I've been meaning to ask, what's in the little box you've been carrying?" Lyla asked you.

"A-Ah....Um...I-I wanted to say thank you to...Miguel for helping me out. Is...Is it too much? I thought....I usually bake as a thank you," Your voice was getting lower as you started to cover your face.

"Hehe," Lyla looked directly at the camera, "I'm sure he will love it."

Miguel grunted in response as he drank the rest of his liquor. Lyla was abusing the fact that you didn't know that he was the CEO. Miguel couldn't wait until you did find out. How shocked would you get? How red would those cheeks turn?

Clicking his tongue at his thoughts, Miguel decided to meet with you. After all, it would be rude for you to be waiting much longer. You had a cake to give him.

How cute.

--------

Lyla was currently showing you some of the labs. There were a lot of floors that you weren't going to be anywhere near, but Lyla said it was good to know where everything was. Honestly, Alchemax was even more impressive than you thought.

Arriving at the next floor, you gasped softly as you made eye contact with Miguel once the doors open.

"Oh, Miguel, funny to find you on the relaxing floor," Lyla said with a grin.

"I don't find it strange at all," Miguel huffed and smiled towards you, "Ah, (Y/n), right?"

"Y-Yes!" You squeaked and lowered your head, "Um...I..."

Your heart was racing. This was weird. So very, very weird. Maybe you shouldn't have baked him a cake. Maybe just a thank you card was enough? You couldn't find the courage to give him the baked good. It was too embarrassing.

"Awe!" Lyla cooed and pulled Miguel inside the elevator, "Why don't I show (Y/n) where she will be working! Miguel, come with us."

"Sure," Miguel grunted lowly.

"Ah, here!" You nervously handed Miguel the cake, avoiding his gaze, "I....I wanted to say...thank you for...for helping me with the interview! S-So, thank you!"

"You didn't have too," Miguel smiled as he took the small box, "But thank you."

Finally raising your head, you felt your cheeks burn as Miguel smiled towards you. There were butterflies in your stomach as you watched him. Miguel was so kind and handsome. You hoped that you could see him often here.

"Huh? You can smile?" Lyla mocked Miguel, causing him to grunt.

"When is your vacation again?"

It was fascinating watching the two bicker. That sweet and kind Miguel was grumbling towards Lyla. As if they had been friends for quite some time. It made you feel even better about working here.

"Here is our floor! C'mon (Y/n), let's leave the brute to himself," Lyla chuckled, grabbing your hand.

"W-Wait...Isn't this the top floor-"

"Hm? Oh, yes, you were hired to be my replacement while I'm away on vacation. You're going to be the CEO's secretary." Lyla said casually.

Your eyes widen in shock. You wanted to question Lyla, but honestly, thinking about your interview, it made sense. Lyla just smiled as she showed you her office, wanting to get you comfortable.

"S-So...I'll be working...with the CEO?" You asked softly, taking a seat on her couch, "Um...How are they?"

"Ugh, so annoying. Always uptight, always cranky, never laughs or smiles. Honestly, this change will be good for all of us. I'm sure you can get that grunting brute to loosen up. The job is pretty easy itself as you've seen during your interview."

"Mhm, will there be...anything else I have to do?"

"Not much, but I'll go over all that with more details tomorrow. Why don't we work on your schedule as of right now?"

"Okay,"

--------

Miguel waited for you to enter Lyla's office before he could enter his. He took a seat at his desk and pulled out a fork as he undid the box you gave him. Miguel raised a brow at the cake before him, it was small and a little sloppy, but the effort was there.

Taking a bite of the cake, Miguel winced at the salty taste. You did admit that you were clumsy. Swallowing, Miguel went to grab a water before seeing a small note in the box.

"If it is too salty, I'm so sorry. There is a small packet of tea that goes well with salty items...just in case." Miguel read aloud.

Finding the tea packet, Miguel scoffed softly as he got himself a glass of hot water. You were well prepared. Miguel seemed to recall you saying that you only got clumsy when nervous. Were your nerves getting to you about the job?

"Well, can't have that now," Miguel hummed, drinking the tea, "I quite like (Y/n). She'd make a fine edition to the team."

"This is the big bad CEO's office," Lyla said from outside Miguel's doors.

Miguel just smiled as he imagined you on the other side. Lyla was making him to be oh so scary. Appraoching the door, Miguel kept a calm composure as he decided to open the doors.

"Stop scaring the new girl," Miguel hummed. He watched as your eyes widen,

"Huh? Miguel? Y-You're...You're the C-CEO?"

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