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hazelfoureyes · 10 months ago

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The Big Part

Alastor x Virgin FemReader smut

(part 2)

You were dead, it was time to divest yourself of your virginity. When you ask Alastor, he takes to the task immediately. Unfortunately, he seems to enjoy surprising you.

warnings/promises: Alastor x Reader smut, Alastor dislikes getting naked, virginity does not rock, possessive Alastor, head pats, reader is an adult she’s just a nervous idiot bad at words

Horny little deer cult: @frompeach , @chirimeimei , @poppingaround , @polytheatrix , @itsmskeisha , @stygianoir , @celestial-vomit , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @amurtan

minors dni, this isn’t educational in the slightest and is just straight smut

It made sense, at the time. You didn’t want a relationship and you didn’t want to meet a stranger you couldn’t trust, that left very few people to ask. Husk would say no, and probably stop serving you drinks. Angel would most likely agree, but you were a little intimidated by his experience. That left Alastor. While you hadn’t spent much time together, your interactions were always cordial. And plus, this was hell. Isn’t this kind of situation a sinners dream come true?

For most, maybe. But you didn’t know Alastor. Not yet, not really. Everything he did had some ulterior motive. Perhaps nothing he had ever done was simply selfless. If Alastor wasn’t gaining something, Alastor wasn’t interested.

You caught him in the hallway one evening after redemption-oriented activities, deciding to get the moment over with as quickly as possible.

“It’s a favor, little… odd. But you’re the only person I have to ask.” Your eyes darted around his face, down the hall, up the walls, anywhere really but his eyes.

“I’m all ears!” Alastor tapped the microphone to the ground with a satisfying ‘thud’.

Oh— you had rehearsed this but you hadn’t prepared to be staring at that large, toothy grin. It wasn’t unsettling, it was just distracting. Would he be smiling the entire time he… ya know.

“I am,” you steepled your hands, pointing them at him, “a virgin.” You paused, hoping maybe he’d just infer the rest and you could stop talking.

His face was motionless save his eyelids rising up.

“And I don’t want to be. Anymore.” Your lips pursed together. C’mon, Alastor. Figure it out.

Alastor nodded.

You dragged your fingers down your face, “Would you help me with that?”

His head cocked to the side like a golden retriever being handed a book on ancient Egypt. Very nice offer but what exactly do I do with it?

“Help how, precisely?” He finally spoke, tone unchanged from any normal topic of discussion. Alastor watched your face scrunch up, mouth moving around words you abandoned half way through. You weren’t saying anything, just making panicked sounds. “I find annunciation most helpful when wanting to be understood, dear.”

You wanted to somersault out the nearest window. “Alastor will you take my virginity?”

“Take it where?”

You groaned, he laughed, “Just kidding, my dear! All in good fun. So, to be clear, you would like your first sexual experience to be with me?” He pointed the microphone from you to him.

You nodded, “Yes, please.”

His smile seemed to strain. Staring down at you, he tried to understand what your motivation was for this. But as he looked into your big, concerningly innocent eyes, he realized there was none. You really, simply, want him to be the first.

Ooh, as he thought it, he felt his pulse quicken in his lap. The first. A spot no one else could take. For the rest of your afterlife, he would always be the one who was first in you. A delicious thought. He could work with that.

“Are you free now?” He leaned down to your level.

“Oh. I wasn’t-,”

“Expecting immediacy? Perfect, the element of surprise has never failed me before.” His hand wrapped around your waist and drew you in to his chest, there was a rush of cold air over your skin before you felt yourself falling back.

It was soft, the room was dark, save for a small floor lamp in the corner. Your room, you realized.

“I didn’t know you knew my room number.”

“It’s my job to know everything about the hotel.” He said, tossing your shoes behind him. Was this happening now? Right now?

“I can do it, it’s, it’s fine.” You sat up and began undoing your pants. Alastor just standing there, watching. Smiling. Fuck, was it going to be this awkward the entire time? Should you say something? Touch him? You were lifting the hem of your shirt when you realized he was still fully dressed. “Are you going to take off your clothes?”

“Why would I do that?” Head lolled to the side.

You stopped mid-way through unhooking your bra, “Alastor you do know I was asking you to fuck me, right?”

He nodded. Maybe this was a mistake.

After taking off your bra, and finally your panties, you crawled to the top of your bed and drew your knees to your chest. Your feet hid your sex from view. Heart racing, but it wasn’t excitement, as you had anticipated. It was nerves. Would it hurt? Would you make a stupid face? What if he didn’t like the sounds you made? What if you regretted it after?

Alastor got on the bed on his knees, undoing his belt buckle but not his pants. The way he looked at you, your heart skipped a beat. You suddenly remembered he was called the ‘cannibal deer’ as you saw something akin to hunger in his eyes.

“What experience do you have?” His voice was suddenly low, deeper than before. This wasn’t the pun loving radio man you saw prodding the staff.

“I dated. Before. Kissing, um, I don’t know the bases. Groping?” You grimaced, it sounded so formal.

“Have you ever,” he began to slink toward you on his hands and knees, red eyes glowing in the dim light of your room, “been entered?”

Your cheeks burned, your head suddenly swayed as if it was half full of water and someone tipped you over. “Just myself, my,” you lifted your hand.

“Show me.”

All the air left the room, sucked out of your lungs and into his grin.

Uncrossing your feet, you tried to open your thighs without seperating your knees. It didn’t work, but you still managed to get a hand between your legs and to your entrance. You could have cried, you were soaking wet to an embarrassing degree. Your eyes return to Alastor, his gaze never leaving you. Even as you slipped a finger, then two, into yourself. You thought for sure he would want to watch your hands playing with your wet pussy but no, his eyes stayed on your face. Somehow, that was worse.

A shaky sigh escaped, your eyes closing as you tried to focus on relaxing around your digits.

Your head smacked against the headboard when you felt a third finger enter. Not yours. Your eyes flew back open to see him now directly in front of you.

“Two won’t do, dear.” He spun his finger around, pulling slightly at the thin skin of your entrance. “Unless you’d prefer this to hurt?”

You shook your head no, still stinging from the impact you had made. “May I?” His hand took your wrist and removing your fingers. Swiping your wetness from your ass to your clit, he coated his claw-like digits and pushed three back in. They were longer than yours, sharper. You could feel he moved gently, in and out. Your head was heavy, breath short and fast.

He laughed, bringing your consciousness fully back into the room, “Already wanting to change your mind?”

You shook your head side to side, still too embarrassed to speak, and took a grounding breath to help your body accept his fingers. He took his time, sliding in and out of you. His fingers picking up the slick and letting it lubricate your lips. It was so slow, the only pleasure for you was knowing it wasn’t your hand doing it.

But then his stretching of your hole stopped, and he grabbed both of your knees from underneath and pulled you down toward him. Now on your back, legs up and in his hands, you heard his belt slide through the loopholes, his zipper drop. You wanted to look, but you also absolutely did not want to look.

Your knees came together when you felt something hot and round at your entrance. “Ah-ah,” He opened them immediately. He reached for one of your hands, and brought it down to his cock. It was so hard under your fingers, but gave a little when you squeezed. It made him hiss.

“You tell me when to stop, little doe.” He pressed into your opening, pulled back. Pressed in, just barely making it past your lips, pulled back. He kept this pressing and pulling, head making slightly more leeway every time. Your fingers were holding right behind the tip.

“How about this, dear. I’ll just get the head in for now. Manageable!”

“Just— just get the big part in first?” You asked, the pressure at your entrance building with every shallow thrust.

He laughed, nodding as he held both of your knees further apart. When he attempted to get past the curve of his cock’s head, your hands flew down to press against his thigh, pushing back with the intrusion. Alastor stilled, sighed, and pressed his head fully in with a determined thrust. Instinctively, your feet came to his chest and tried to push away from him. It felt like you were being torn down the middle, your body forced apart at your most sensitive junction. He held you still now by the ankles, legs splayed in the air.

It burned where your walls were pushed aside. Stinging where the skin tore slightly just beneath your hole, unable to stretch.

“Breath, sweetheart.” He set your ankles down. “Does it hurt?”

You nodded.

“I’ll stay here for a bit,” he settled on his legs, looking down at where he was connected to you. Your pink little pussy looking positively overwhelmed by his cock. No one has ever been here before, and he could feel it. Your walls were pressing so hard against him his shaft was slightly curved from the force pushing his head out. You still had so much to take, there was so much more of you for him to explore. You tried to calm your breathing but your heart was racking against your sternum.

Hand reaching down again, you let your fingers count little paces from his core to yours. You knew the hardest part was over, but that didn’t bring much comfort as you felt how far you still had to go.

Alastor let his eyes wander away from your not-so-virgin cunt to your face. Your expression was twisted, not pained but clearly uncomfortable.

“How does it feel?” He asked, gesturing to your lap with a nod of his head.

“Full, so full.”

His cackle disheartened you, “Darling I am no where done filling you up.”

You clenched when he said it, earning a small groan from him. You were already too tight, when you spasmed on him it was nearly painful. There was more to do yet, more of you to claim as his. Just the tip of his cock was simply not enough.

His hips started moving again, the folds of his head pulling at the skin of your entrance but not actually crossing the barrier. He was gently rocking, barely making friction between you two. Your hand clawed at his knee, breath hitching. You let an airy moan slip, his head no longer an intrusion but something hot and melty barely rubbing your walls. It started to feel almost good.

Alastor’s cock was throbbing, his shaft touch-starved and desperate for the heat of your cunt. Your face was relaxing now, eyes blinking around new sensations. He wanted to see you experience more, more firsts and frighteningly foreign pleasures. He wanted to see you scared of how good he could make you feel. Alastor wanted you to never feel whole again without him buried balls deep in you.

“Can you take more?” His voice was like gravel, a radio static crackling in.

You met his eyes, glowing still in the dim light, wide and nearly frenzied in their dilation. His smile was practically beaming down at you.

“I don’t know.” You were scared to move forward, even though you wanted more.

“I don’t like liars.” A pop of electricity arcing at the end of his words. You pulled a pillow over your face, trying to hide from the reaction you knew he’d have as his voice made you tighten around him. “Your body says otherwise,” he hissed.

You wanted to say ‘yes’, if this could feel good then how great would all of him feel? But you were scared to vocalize it. Scared to make it start. Alastor lifted the pillow, “I need to see you, dear.” He set it beside his leg, “Do you remember what I said earlier?”

Brow furrowed, you shook your head. His grin widened to his ears as his hands slid down your thighs to your hips and he sank his cock to the hilt.

The element of surprise definitely made the nerves of saying ‘yes’ dissipate, but you were now choking on your breath, hands gripping at the blankets beneath you. Was this normal? Was he too far inside you? You felt nauseous, your guts prodded by Alastor’s member.

“How does it feel now?” He watched your eyes scanning the ceiling for an answer. You felt sure there was no way his head could leave you ever again. It was so snuggly fit in you, you feared you’d be pulled inside out. “Words, dear.”

You sat up on your elbows, sweating from the nerves of it all. “Like there’s a big stick stuck in me.”

“Accurate!” He laughed, and began pulling out. You whined, head dropping back. Almost taking himself out completely, he paused before thrusting back in. The head of his cock dragged against your walls, you could feel him with such detail. Every inch of him leaving impressions behind. Alastor could feel it too, how your soft warmth moved out of his way with every push. How pliable your womb was to his intrusions.

More. You could take more, he was positive of it.

Slowly, your moans began to get louder as the pressure faded into pleasure. Every time he bottomed out, you jumped. Every time he pulled out, you wanted to chase after him with your hips.

Watching your face soften, eyes now watery, Alastor was sure you were relaxed enough. He grabbed the pillow beside him, lifting your ass and sliding it under the small of your back. You didn’t ask, just waited to see what the point was. Dissatisfied, he grabbed another and added it under you.

Your hips were up, ass hanging over the ledge the pillows made, back bent upward. When he began to thrust again, you whinced feeling a new part of you widen for him. “Can you see me?” You looked at him when he said it, but he grabbed your hand and placed it beneath your belly button. When he pushed back in, you could feel his cock beneath your hand. Moving it, you watched your stomach bulge slightly when he was completely sheathed in you.

“Oh fuck-,” your head fell back into the bed, it was too much to feel let alone to watch, “Too deep.”

He hummed an acknowledgement, picking up his pace. “Let me see how you cum.”

Your face was hot, reluctantly bringing your hand to your clit and rubbing.

No, this wasn’t a mistake at all. If anything you regretted not asking sooner.

His thrusts now brought lightning to your core, your finger quickening in speed with the realization of just how good he could feel.

Studying your face still, he adjusted his angle until he saw the muscles in your neck tighten. He knew he found your g-spot, your moans dipping into cries.

“I can’t—,” You couldn’t get over the hump, knowing he was watching you, waiting for you.

“You can”, the lights flickered, his eyes now black with small red pupils illuminating your naked body, “and you will, my dear.” One of his hands stopped pressing finger sized bruises into your hips to instead push your own finger aside. The wide pad of his thumb took over and began thrumming you fast and hard.

That familiar build up of pleasure was stronger than you’d ever felt it, and when it finally snapped your muscles from your thighs to your toes cramped. How long had you been tensing?

You practically sobbed into the crook of your arm, Alastor’s hips slowing but still carrying you through your orgasm. They moved slower and slower, until stopping entirely. His head popped out of you, leaving you feeling hollow. Cold.

Eyes wet and blurry, you looked up at him, “Aren’t you going to finish?”

“If we do everything now, what ‘first’ will we have for tomorrow night? And the night after that?” He smiled, member already hidden away and pants buttoned. Your thighs twitched. “Same time tomorrow, little doe?”

You covered your face with both hands, and nodded.

His big hand came to your head and patted you gently, “Good girl.”

I hope you liked it 🥺 I don’t feel as confident about this one. Fun fact, my first time involved bondage. Very on brand, huh? 💖

༻Masterlist༺

Gonna start calling his dick ‘the element of surprise’. You look tired today! What happened? Oh the element of surprise kept me up all night.

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xo100 · 3 months ago

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i’ve been thinking about this for so longgg

okay so basically a fic where lando and you met at a grand prix while you were doing a tour of the paddock you accidentally meet and start talking and lando asks for your number, you and your whole family have always been huge f1 fans and so you hide it from them when you start dating him but eventually bring him to meet them and it’s a big surprise and everyone is so shocked that lando is your boyfriend

Under the radar - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary/request: request by anon as you can read above this!

*:･ﾟ Word count: 1384

masterlist / community / request

౨ৎ

You were on a tour of the paddock, weaving through the bustle of teams prepping for race day, while you tried not to be overwhelmed by the atmosphere. Your family had always been Formula 1 fanatics, and being here was a dream come true. You were taking it all in—savoring every moment of walking through the garages and team areas that you'd only ever seen on TV.

Your family had been buzzing with excitement when you told them you won tickets for the paddock tour at the Grand Prix. They were envious, of course, but you had promised to snap plenty of pictures for them. None of them could imagine the turn your day would take.

As you followed the group through the McLaren garage, something—or rather, someone—caught your eye. Out of the corner of your vision, you saw a figure rushing toward you. You stepped to the side instinctively, trying to avoid a collision, but your foot snagged on something, and before you could blink, you were falling backward.

Except, you didn’t hit the ground.

A pair of strong hands caught your shoulders, and you gasped, steadying yourself as you regained your balance. When you looked up, your eyes met warm brown ones, sparkling with amusement and a hint of concern. Lando Norris.

“Are you okay?” he asked, a grin slowly tugging at his lips.

For a second, your brain went blank. Was this actually happening? Was Lando Norris—McLaren's star driver, F1 wonderkid, and easily one of the funniest guys on the grid—really holding onto you?

“I—yeah, sorry!” you blurted, trying to compose yourself, though your heart was beating too fast. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“No worries, happens to the best of us,” he chuckled, still holding onto your arms. “But I have to say, it’s not every day someone literally falls for me.”

You blinked at him, then laughed, the tension breaking. “Does that line work often?”

“More than you'd think.” He winked, releasing his hold on you, though he seemed reluctant to do so.

The tour group was already moving on, but you hesitated, still standing in front of Lando, unsure of what to say or do next.

He tilted his head slightly, noticing your uncertainty. “Are you with the group?”

“Yeah, but…” You waved a hand dismissively. “It’s fine. They won’t miss me.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by your response. “Hmm, playing hooky already?”

You shrugged, biting back a smile. “Maybe.”

“Well, if you’re gonna skip out, you might as well do it properly. Come on,” he said, jerking his head toward the pit wall. “Let me show you around.”

You blinked. “Really?”

“Why not? You already tripped into me—seems like fate, doesn’t it?” His grin was contagious, and despite the voice in your head screaming that this was all surreal, you found yourself walking beside him as he led you past the rows of McLaren engineers, their heads down in concentration, and into areas the tour definitely wasn’t going to cover.

The rest of the tour passed in a blur—Lando showed you parts of the garage up close, pointing out the intricacies of the car, telling you little jokes about his teammates, and talking about life on the circuit. It felt strangely…normal. The kind of normal where you could forget he was a famous Formula 1 driver and just see him as the charming, cheeky guy he was.

By the time you both circled back around to the paddock entrance, you’d learned that he loved golf, he was obsessed with video games, and he had a dry sense of humor that had you laughing far too easily.

You didn’t want the conversation to end, but you knew it had to eventually. “Thanks for, um, the tour,” you said, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

“No problem. You should come back, you know.” He paused, glancing over his shoulder toward his team, who were undoubtedly waiting for him to rejoin them. Then he turned back to you with that grin that made your stomach flip. “Give me your number.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “What?”

He chuckled softly, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone. “Your number. So we can keep in touch.”

You blinked, processing what he was asking. Lando Norris wants your number? This was a conversation you were definitely not ready for. But despite the swarm of butterflies in your chest, you handed over your phone.

As you typed in your number, you couldn’t help but wonder how you were going to explain this to your family. Oh, nothing major, just met Lando Norris today…

You didn’t tell anyone. Not at first, at least.

After that day, Lando had texted you the very next evening, something casual about how he hoped you hadn’t tripped over anything else after you left. You laughed out loud, and your reply had been easy, comfortable. Before you knew it, the two of you were talking almost daily—texts that quickly evolved into phone calls and, eventually, meeting up at a few more races.

By the time you realized what was happening, you and Lando were dating. Quietly, but officially.

Your family had no idea.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to tell them—it was just…complicated. Your parents, your siblings—everyone in your family was obsessed with Formula 1. They knew every driver, every stat, every bit of news before it even hit the headlines. The idea of telling them you were dating an F1 driver—their favorite driver—felt impossible. You could already picture their reactions. The shouting, the questions, the disbelief.

So you kept it to yourself. For now, at least.

Months passed, and things with Lando grew deeper, more serious. He wasn’t just the famous driver anymore—he was Lando, the guy who made you laugh when you were stressed, who sent you goofy selfies from the hotel on race weekends, and who listened when you vented about your day. He was sweet, thoughtful, and maybe a little too good to be true.

Eventually, the time came when hiding him from your family wasn’t an option anymore. You had to tell them.

“I have a surprise for you guys,” you said nervously, standing in your living room with Lando by your side. You hadn’t told them yet—hadn’t explained who your ‘guest’ was.

Your mom and dad were sitting on the couch, your siblings sprawled around the living room, all eyes on you.

“What kind of surprise?” your sister asked suspiciously, glancing at Lando with a raised brow. He was wearing a baseball cap, pulled low enough that it wasn’t obvious who he was, but it wasn’t going to take long for them to figure it out.

You swallowed hard, glancing at Lando, who gave you a reassuring smile. He reached for your hand, squeezing it gently before stepping forward, taking off his cap and revealing his face.

For a split second, there was silence.

Then your dad nearly choked on his drink. “L-Lando Norris?” he stammered, eyes wide. Your siblings were frozen, mouths hanging open as they stared at him in disbelief.

“Surprise!” you said, giving them a nervous smile.

Lando, ever the charmer, grinned and waved. “Hi, nice to meet you all.”

Your family erupted into chaos. Your mom jumped up, asking a million questions at once, while your siblings started shouting over each other, and your dad was still trying to process what was happening.

“I can’t believe it,” your brother said, eyes wide as he stared at Lando. “Are you really dating my sister?”

Lando chuckled, sliding his arm around your waist. “Yep. Guess you’re stuck with me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, relief flooding through you as you realized everything was going to be okay. Your family was shocked, yes—but in the best way possible.

And as you stood there, watching Lando joke with your siblings, you realized something else.

You weren’t just dating an F1 driver. You were dating Lando, and somehow, that was even better.

౨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, love’s! Hope you all enjoyed it! If there is something wrong or need to be edited, let me know! Also hey anon! If you read this, I hope that this is what you had in mind!

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sometimesanalice · 27 days ago

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Dream a Little Dream

Summary: After a long week away in Lemoore, all Bradley wants to do is come home to you. The only thing is, you’re just not where he expects to find you.

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 4.5K

Warnings: so much fluff and a truly smitten Bradley Bradshaw (mdni)

(author's note: this is a fic is set in the 'Like I Can' universe, however it can be read on it's own!)

Bradley throws his head back and lets out low groan as he hits another red light.

Nothing in the past week he’d spent up in Lemoore had felt as long as this drive home from base.

Not the stuffy dinner with the higher ups that had Mav and him exchanging looks from across the table, both of them clearly wishing to be anywhere else than done up in their Dress Whites. Not the long nights sharing a room with Hangman, who snored louder than the multiple phone alarms that he’d kept snoozing instead of turning off, as if the scratchy Navy provided sheets weren’t bad enough on their own. Not the drills or the lectures or the reviewing of the new procedural guidelines or equipment requirements with the crew stationed up there.

He'd felt the all the tension that had been building up over the week melt off of him the moment he’d turned the key in the ignition- the engine to the Bronco rumbling to life after a week of sitting on a parking lot on North Island- knowing that he was finally on his way home.

Technically, he was on his way to your apartment. But it was the same difference to him.

Wherever you were was where he wanted to be.

That was home. You were home.

Minus the fact that the San Diego traffic controllers seemed to have it out for him.

He thought for a moment he’d make it to your place in record time considering that there weren’t many people on the road a 2am. He hadn’t even bothered to turn the radio on, but even 105.3 THE ROCK where hits go to die would be preferable to the way he was agitatedly drumming his thumb on the steering wheel. But he was stubborn and now he left it off out of spite when his drive became a game of ‘How Many Times Will Rooster Hit The Red’.

It had been more stop than go at this point.

“Finally,” Bradley mumbles to himself when the light turns green and shifts out of neutral into first.

When Jake had dropped him off at base after their five-hour road trip back to San Diego, he’d decided to suck it up and stick around to get some of the paperwork that he’d been putting off out of the way so that he could enjoy the days off he had lined up after the trip. He might have lost track of time and caught a second wind filling out flight logs with only the whir of the overhead fluorescents to keep him company, working until he reached the point where he felt like he couldn’t keep his eyes opened anymore. His eyelids getting heavier and heavier with each passing minute he stayed seated at the desk he’d commandeered to work at.

It had been a week of sleeping like shit. And not just because of the creaky, lumpy mattress or Hangman’s snoring. But because he’d gotten used to your soft, warm body pressed against his and the sound of your gentle breathing to lull him to sleep. He’d had a taste of what true luxury was like and now it was hard to go back to the bare minimum he’d known before.

He’d known even before he’d left the building that he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep unless you were tucked against him. He’d barely slept 300 miles away from you, but it would have been even worse to go back to his condo knowing you were closer than ever and yet still so far.

Being in the same city wasn’t enough for him. He needed to be under the same roof, under the same covers.

Four red lights later, he’s turning onto your block. By some kind of miracle there’s an open spot big enough for the Bronco near the main entry without him having to maneuver into it with too much effort. It’s another reason why he’s dying to have you move in with him, the parking at your apartment complex is trash. And there are never enough guest spots, even with the parking pass he kept in his glove box.

Bradley lets himself in to your apartment as quietly as he can, opening the door slowly as to not wake you. The spare key you’d given him when you’d first moved here had lived on his own set of keys for the last couple of years, along with the fighter jet keychain you’d picked up for him when the two of you were teens during a family trip to Pensacola as thanks for looking after your hermit crabs. Even if one of them did lose a claw on his watch, which he’d felt guilty about for days, until you told him it would most likely grow back.

He’d never had a lot to be sentimental about, but that keychain with the charm whose silver finish had long been worn off around the edges was one of the few things that had been everywhere with him, so it wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

He gingerly sets the key on the console table you had near the front door, trying to keep them from clattering together. Carefully, he toes his boots off and sets his bag down next to them, making sure to keep it off the runner you had in the entryway. He knew you wouldn’t care if he tracked in some dirt on it, but he did.

One of the things he’s always liked about your apartment is how lived in it was.

Even in the dark, Bradley could make out the ruffly curtains you’d hung up over the door to your balcony. And the impressive gallery wall that framed your TV, one that was a mix of your own photos and art that you’ve accumulated along the way. There were more pillows than he thought was necessary on your couch, but made for one of his favorite afternoon nap spots. You usually had fresh flowers on your coffee table, the ones there now from what he could tell looked a little wilted, so he made a note to pick you up something from the shop next to the grocery store when he goes out to restock his fridge.

He lightly treads past your kitchen- and the two different types of coffee makers you had lined up on the countertop- towards your bedroom.

Bradley could already see it in his mind’s eye. The curve of the dip of your waist as you slept under your white comforter with the light blue piping along the edges. Always with a foot kicked out. The framed picture of the two of you on your nightstand. The chair in the corner where your pile of folded-and-to-be-put-away-later clean clothes sat. Your dresser topped with some leafy green thing and your tray of jewelry, where you’d cleared out not one but three drawers - which was a whole half of wooden unit he’d helped you build when you first moved in- for him to use for his things. Not to mention space in your closest too and room on the shoe rack you kept in there.

It was more than what he needed, but that was you. You’d always been the type to go above and beyond for the people you cared about. But now it meant more because you weren’t just sharing your space with him, you were sharing your life with him.

The blinds aren’t pulled closed, so your room is illumined with more city light than he was expecting. And he can see with clarity that everything is in its place.

The picture of him kissing your cheek- your nose scrunched up in that way he knows so well- in the grassy park where you’d surprised him with a showing of one of his favorite movies on one of your first dates together. The white linen covered chair with your clothes had an old sweatshirt of his tossed over the back of it that he knows if he were to pick it up would smell more like you than him. The plant in the white ceramic vase on your dresser was one you’d bought at the farmer’s market almost two years ago now to commemorate your big move there, you’d proudly carried it around for the rest of the morning while he’d carried your ever-growing collection of bags.

Everything right where it should be, except for you.

Your bed is perfectly made up. Well, the side he usually sleeps on is. The are corners still tucked in with the same crisp precision you use to wrap presents. The right side, however, looks like the comforter and sheets were hastily thrown back, a rumpled pile of fabric in the spot where he thought you’d be sleeping.

There’s only one other place where you would be.

Bradley doesn’t even try to quiet his steps as he struts back towards the door with a new destination in mind. He shoves his feet back into his boots, not bothering to retie his laces, as he scoops his keys out of the little bowl he’d just put them in barely even five minutes ago. Only slowing down long enough to make sure he’s properly locked the door behind him before he’s back in the Bronco for the second time that night.

This time the drive feels like nothing. Especially since he hits green lights all the way there.

His lips turn up in an automatic smile when he sees your all-too-practical white Honda Civic parked in the drive way of his condo. He doesn’t think he could find the words to describe the feeling that wells up in his chest at the sight of it.

It just felt right.

Bradley lets himself in, using his own key this time.

His condo had always felt more like a place to land, rather than a home. Over the last few months though that feeling has changed for him.

For Bradley’s whole life things have felt temporary. The people he met. The things he owned. The bases he lived on. You made him crave permanence in a way he’d never experienced before. The two of you had a couple decades worth of history, but he knew he couldn’t be truly content until his ring was on your finger and you shared his last name.

He can see your fingerprints in this space from the knit blanket draped on his couch to the framed print on the wall over the breakfast nook. He can see the promise of a future together in the fancier-than-he’s-used-to coffee maker on the kitchen counter.

It’s quiet, but not the empty kind.

The light above the stove is turned on illuminating the kitchen.

That was usually his final task of the night before going to bed. Flicking off the brighter overheads in exchange for the softer one that gave him just enough light to avoid crashing into things in the darkness if he woke up in the middle of the night and was on the hunt for something to eat or drink while still half-asleep.

Although it hits him now that he can’t remember the last time he’s turned it on himself.

It was something he’d noticed that you didn’t do at your own apartment when the two of you had first started sleeping together. But now if he thinks back on it, every glass of cool water out of the filtering pitcher you kept in the fridge and every bowl of late-night cereal he’s had that little light has been on to guide him into the kitchen while you slept peacefully in bed.

It’s a realization that lands squarely behind his ribcage.

Bradley kicks his boots off next to your sandals by the door and turns the lock back into place behind him. Normally, he’d take them up to be put away in their proper place, but for now he’s got other more important things on his mind.

He takes the stairs two at a time as soundlessly as he can, avoiding the step that sometimes pops. The first door on the left has been left slightly ajar, just wide enough for him to slip into.

there you are, his heart registers before his eyes do.

Tucked under the green comforter- with that one foot kicked out- on the wooden canopy bed he’d recently purchased is you.

He couldn’t fight back the smile on his face that the sight of you curled up there on his side of the bed, with your face pressed into his pillow, even if he wanted to.

Bradley still doesn’t know how he got to be so lucky that he gets to be the one to see you like this, at complete ease as you sleep, as relaxed in his bed as you are in your own. He’s grateful for every morning he gets to wake up with you and every night he gets to fall asleep with you in his arms.

It’s never been like this for him, not before you. It’s a good thing he’s already told you he loved you, otherwise he doesn’t think he could have been able to hold himself back from waking you up right here and now to tell you.

Quietly, he steps up the side of the bed, taking a moment to admire you looking soft and warm and like everything he could ever want. The few FaceTime calls the two of you had had over the course of the week couldn’t even begin to capture just how beautiful you were. Bradley leans down to brush a featherlight kiss against your temple and straightens back up. You let out a contented hmm, and he hopes you’re dreaming of him.

He’s never needed anything more than to be under those covers with you.

Bradley undresses quickly in the walk-in closet and strips down to his boxer briefs, leaving his khakis to decorate the floor until sometime later when the sun was back up in the sky. Realizing as he takes off his watch that in his rush to get here that he’d left his bag with all his other laundry by the door at your apartment. A grunt of exasperation escapes him, and he’s glad that you’re a deep sleeper and the fact he keeps his baseball bat in the garage. Especially since he’s the one that taught you how to power swing.

The only sound in the room is of your even breaths and his carpet-muffled footsteps as he pads across the room. He lifts up the covers on your side of them bed and slides into the cool sheets, the stiffness in his joints loosening at the contact, and scoots in closer until he can feel your warmth.

He’d been in San Diego for the better part of four hours now, but he hadn’t been truly home until about thirty seconds ago.

Bradley debates for a split-second whether or not to let you sleep or if he should wake you up so you’re not startled to find a 6’ 1” aviator back in bed with you. But he knows you well enough to make an educated guess. He murmurs your name, rubbing a hand gently up and down along your back, and presses his lips together when you let out a soft, sleepy sigh.

You jolt a little as you ease back into consciousness. “B-bradley?”

“It’s just me,” he hums in confirmation as he squeezes your hip, all sleep-warmed skin under his palm. He doesn’t miss the way you relax instantly against him at the sound of his voice, settling further back into him.

“You’re home early.” You reach back for him, your hand finding the base of his head, lightly scratching at his scalp as you weave your fingers through his hair.

“Mav either pulled some strings or took one for the team by staying another day, but we all jumped at the chance to get out of Le-snore early.” You let out a little snort at that.

“’re you hungry?” you offer sleepily, the words a bit slurred and strung together. “Do you want me to make you something?” Bradley is equal parts amused and endeared that you’re not even half way awake yet and wanting to look after him.

His sweet girl.

He presses an affectionate kiss on the back of your neck and wonders if you can feel his soft smile, the one that’s reserved for only you.

“Nah, I’m good,” he says, resting his chin on your shoulder, “I promise.”

He’d snagged a couple protein bars from the mess on base and had scarfed them down as he filled out his overdue flight logs. But also, there was no way he was getting out of this bed now that he was in it. Not for anything in the world.

Bradley leans in close, letting his lips skim against your ear, “You know this could count as breaking and entering, kid. Always knew that good girl thing was just an act.”

You lightly tug on his hair. “I don’t think that would hold up in court of law seeing as you gave me a key and all,” you retort, you voice still low and raspy from sleep.

“I’m pretty sure I gave my best friend a key,” he drawls, teasingly, “Don’t remember giving my girlfriend one though.” He drops a kiss to your soft-cotton covered shoulder. The shirt you were wearing was one he’d completely forgotten about until you sent him that picture of you in bed sometime past 2am in the early days of when you’d started dating, before the two of you had sex for the first time. His name was printed on the back- right at the very top- along with all the other players on the Washington High Cardinals baseball team from the year they’d won the championship. “Think ‘m going to have to fix that.”

You shake your head amused into his pillow before looking at him from over your shoulder and turning to lean back into his chest. When your eyes meet, there’s nothing but fondness reflected in them. Yours is a face he’s known most of his life, he could read you as easily as any book, and it’s even more apparent just a few inches away from his just how happy you are to see him.

He slides a hand around the side of your neck, his thumb caressing your cheek as he drinks you in. His eyes travel over your forehead, and along the curve of your cheekbones, and down the bridge of your nose, and lands on the dimples framing your smile.

thereyouarethereyouare

Bradley dips down to kiss you for the first time in a week. Your lips part easily, like you’ve been waiting for this too. There’s no rush. Your kiss is slow like honey off a spoon. Just as sweet as it’s meant to be savored. And there’s no doubt in his mind that this was always how it was supposed to be.

You and him.

Him and you.

Together.

“Hi, sweet girl,” he says, warmly.

“Hi, Bradley.” You tilt your head up for another kiss, one he has no intention withholding from you. “I missed you.”

It’s a new feeling for him, knowing he has someone to miss him when he is away. And having someone to miss in return. It’s been a long time since he’s had that in any real way that truly mattered. Bradley knows he’s due for a deployment soon, one that’ll take him from you- from this bed- for months. He’s already found the perfect thing to give you for when he leaves, something to show you how he’ll be thinking of you. But he doesn’t want to dwell on that inevitable reality.

For now, he just wants to share your warmth and focus on the feel of you pressed against him. Enjoying the luxury of getting to have this with you.

He just lets himself hold you the way you deserve to be held. He lets himself kiss you the way you deserve to be kissed. He’ll love you the way you deserve to be loved for as long as you’ll have him.

“I missed you too.” Whispering your name because he likes feel of it in his mouth.

“I think I was having a dream about you,” you murmur against his lips.

Bradley grins. “Yeah? Was it dirty?” You laugh in response, it’s his favorite sound. Happy. You make him so damn happy. He buries his face in the nook where your neck meets your shoulder and breathes you in. Lavender and cedar. Your favorite lotion to put on before bed, and something of his that he can’t put his finger on. “Mm, you smell good.”

“I took a shower before bed, used your body wash,” you tell him, running your hand along his arm. He senses you smile before he hears it. “And you smell like Jake.”

He groans and rubs the coarse hairs of his mustache against the soft skin of your neck. You giggle and try to squirm away from his prickly retaliation, but he’s got you basically pinned to the bed now. All your perfect curves against his firm angles.

“I can’t believe he’s still using a black ice tree air freshener like a damn sixteen-year-old,” Bradley grumbles. As if him and Seresin hadn’t spent enough quality time together over the week, now he was basically in bed with him and his girlfriend.

“At least you’ll know what to get him for his birthday,” you offer less than helpfully, playfully nudging his foot with yours.

Bradley chuckles and props himself up on an arm to gaze at you. He can feel the need for sleep settling over him, the long day and the longer week catching up with him that now he’s home and here with you. He can tell you’re drowsy too from the dewy way you’re blinking at him, and appreciative that you’re indulging him in this bit of pillow talk. In the quiet of his bedroom, he admits, “I went to your apartment first.”

You look almost bashful when you say, “I like these sheets better.” Both of you know that’s not your real answer for why you’re in his bed instead of yours.

He lifts an eye brow, meaningfully. “You have the same ones at your place.” Bradley knows because he made sure to check and buy the same kind for his own bed.

“Semantics,” you reply, breezily. Although he catches a hint of a pleased smile before you lean into trail a few kisses along the underside of his jaw. “Do you want your side of the bed back?” you ask.

“It’s our bed, sweet girl. You can sleep wherever you want,” Bradley says, “I’m good just as long as I can hold my girl.”

You thumb at the dimple of his chin, gazing up at him, “Have you gotten much sleep this week?”

Bradley just hums in response.

The softest of looks coast over your face. Understanding, sympathy, tenderness. It’s all there painted on your face from the little furrow between your eyebrows to the thoughtful search in your eyes as you read his face in return. He didn’t even say a word and you’ve got him figured out.

You tug on his arm and turn back over, taking him with you. Snuggling in so that your body is cradled closer to his, his chest all but pressed against your back. He slides his arm under your pillow and finds your other hand, threading his larger fingers between your own.

He situates your pillow beneath his head, sighing as he gets comfortable on the supportive mattress. He runs his palm over the familiar dip of your waist as you stretch and burrow in further, getting ready to go back to sleep. His fingertips find the edge of your cotton underwear and he follows it over your hip and along the side of your stomach, slipping one under the band to stroke at the soft skin near your hipbone.

It's the same spot where he’d find you butterflies if the two of you weren’t reversed from the way you usually fall asleep facing the other direction. Their location was a pinpoint in his mind, memorized from the moment he’d seen them that very first night together. He liked imagining he could feel the delicate lines of them under his fingertips as he drifted to sleep.

He hears the almost inaudible catch of your breath at his touch. “In the morning,” he promises.

You make a half-hearted noise of dissatisfaction, already well on your way to falling back asleep. He feels more than a little self-satisfied that he’s the one getting these reactions from you, that you want his touch just as much as he wants yours.

“Tease.” You nestle in closer, your ass brushing against his cock in a way that leaves no question it had been done on purpose.

“Menace,” he chuckles, lightly.

You hum, a pleased sound and reach for his wrist, removing temptation for the both of you and slide his hand beneath your shirt right to the very spot above your bellybutton where he normal finds its drifted to during the night on the mornings he wakes up with you in his arms.

The two of you fit together better than he ever could have possibly imagined.

“Hey, kid, what’re you doing tomorrow? I wanted to take you to breakfast.”

“To the place with the banana pancakes?”

Kisses the crown of your head, and he thinks he hears you sigh. “Wherever you want.”

“I could get away with a little hooky,” you yawn, “Maybe we could go to the beach too. Wanna spend the day with you.”

Bradley pulls you in closer, and closes his eyes. “Sounds like a plan.”

“I can’t wait.” It’s more of a sleepy mumble than anything else, but he’s already looking forward to waking up.

He listens as your breathing slowly evens out, knowing when you’ve fully drifted off. It didn’t take you long, the way it never seems to when he’s in bed beside you.

Maybe one day soon he’ll get to have you here with him every night. But until then, this is more than enough, he’s happy to fall asleep with his dream girl tucked on his arm.

Bradley lets himself imagine the day where you come and stay and it’s for good this time, because all of your clothes are in the closet and your mail gets delivered along with his.

And it won’t be just his favorite dream, it’ll be his reality.

I will never not be down bad for a smitten Bradley Bradshaw! Thank you to @yourlocalcringydaydreamer for sending the ask that inspired this soft fic!

Thank you for reading!

You can read more about these two or check out all of my stories here!

taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw imagine #rooster x you #rooster x reader #top gun imagine #top gun fanfiction

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hwnglx · 10 days ago

Text

pick a pile - what makes you attractive?

welcome back lovely reader! let's take a peak into what makes you so attractive. breathe slowly, take your time and use your intuition to go with the pile that speaks to you the most. remember to take what resonates, and leave what doesn't. 𓆩♡𓆪

˖ ࣪ ⊹ ꒰ঌ pile 1 ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

you're attractive, in the way you're interested in creating these meaningful and emotional connections to people.

you aren't the type of person who feels the need to place yourself above anyone, in order to feel good about yourself. your desire for balance and harmony in your relationships makes you highly attractive.

the way you're able to put yourself in other people's shoes, and approach them with empathy, is wonderful. you give them this precious feeling of being understood.

you're a person who has very comforting energy, and a soothing effect on others. someone who brings the calm after the chaos, and hope into situations that seem lost.

spirit keeps showing me this image of a bandaid.

your attractiveness lies in your gentleness. in your ability to mend and heal.

the fact that you've been through so much, but this inner spark of hope inside you still remained bright and dazzling in the end, makes you very special.

it's likely that a lot of you aren't fully aware of this, but your existence is dazzling, and extraordinary in many people's eyes.

you stand out. you're unique.

there's something about your presence that shines differently, compared to the people around you. it's almost like a butterfly that can't see the beauty of its own wings.

i believe a good amount of you, have gone through your own losses and heartbreaks in the past.

it's likely you went through different cycles, and various impactful stages in your life where you were forced to adapt and adjust. unexpected situations which caught you off guard and resulted in you needing to pick up the pieces by yourself.

but the way you've been able to bounce back, and still find this inner courage to keep going, despite the hurt, is impressive.

i believe you've come to a point where you've been able to move away from that state of sorrow, and turned it into something that fuels your power.

your ability to bravely deal with the things that life unexpectedly throws you head on, makes you very attractive.

you still have a more sensitive heart, and your core will always be a little soft and sweet deep down; but your character has gained a lot of strength throughout the years.

this is something you radiate to the outside now. your inner power makes you incredibly attractive.

you look at the things you've been through till now, as experiences which have shaped you immensely, and turned you into the person you are today.

a lot of you are also likely to be outspoken, and pretty straightforward. you like getting to the true core of topics, and aren't afraid to voice things others might shy away from.

your attractiveness lies in your ability to balance these two coinciding sides in you; one that is full of empathy, warmth and a kind heart, and one that is self-sufficient, ambitious and courageous.

˖ ࣪ ⊹ ꒰ঌ pile 2 ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

you're attractive, in the way you relentlessly work towards fulfilling your own dreams and goals.

you're willing to put in consistent effort, in order to build yourself the dream life you desire so badly.

i just don't see you liking to rely on anyone else to do the work for you. you're very self-sufficient, and recognize that in order to get to a place of satisfaction and contentment within yourself, you have to be the one to make the effort. there's nothing like enjoying the fruits of your own labor.

a lot of you are very sure of what you want for yourself. some of you might actively manifest, by imagining and picturing how you want your life to be.

creating moodboards on pinterest or something. creating folders of style inspiration, or interior design inspirations. this is how i want to be dressed, this is the place i want to live in.

you're not gonna be someone who throws the towel and gives in, just because someone else might label your dreams as impossible, or unrealistic.

it's almost like you'll tell them “well, i'll show you then”

you have high aspirations, standards and expectations towards yourself, as well as others, which makes you even more attractive.

you just do not settle for anything less than what you want.

people can't get to you too easily. you're guarded and careful about who you let in closely.

many people are likely to look at you as a person they can't quite decipher or fully figure out at first; someone whose facade they'd like to look beyond.

the fact that you aren't an open book who's constantly accessible and available twenty four seven, makes you highly attractive to others. you cautiously keep them at an arm's length, and people might have to work for your attention.

there might even be some people envious of you.

envious of the fact that you're so self-reliant, independent, and in no need of anyone's help or guidance in life.

and although you give off a more detached and colder vibe to some people on the outside, people who actually know the true you, are aware of how sweet and empathetic you can in fact be. you just have a genuine heart deep down.

you're likely to be someone with a lot of depth and layers, and the closer people get to knowing you in your entirety, the more they get to see of your more complex, introspective and sensitive sides.

you might be much more emotional, romantic and dreamy than what meets the eye at first; and this is likely to draw a lot of people to you.

like “wow, i didn't know you had this side to you”

there's this type of reversal charm, where you might pleasantly surprise some people with how soft you can actually be at times, compared to the first impression they had of you.

some of you might literally have an rbf, but a beautiful smile that brightens and lights up your face in a whole new way.

you also give me very very creative energy. i feel like you love to express yourself beautifully, in many artistic ways. and you see art as a way to live out your most authentic self.

˖ ࣪ ⊹ ꒰ঌ pile 3 ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

you're attractive, in the way you lead with your heart.

it's likely that you're a person who nurtures a strong connection to their vast and rich emotional world. you're someone who genuinely cares.

like.. i don't think you even know how to just not care about things, and go through life in a nonchalant “meh” way. most of the time, you're very chalant. (ㅜ same!)

this makes you much more attractive than you might realize.

you can easily get emotionally invested in plenty of your endeavors; whether that's your relationships, the choices you have to make, the different situations life throws in your way.

you feel everything in a deep and profound manner, and this makes you unique.

reason why i believe you might not be fully aware of this, is because you seem to have the tendency to see yourself as more lacking than you actually are.

you're likely to be a person who's very humble at their core. an eternal student of life.

someone who tries their best to grow continuously and better themselves through every situation they get confronted with; especially the disappointments, regrets, losses.

you're eager to pull the lesson out of every experience in life, and sincerely want to learn from your mistakes.

despite criticism hurting you sometimes, you're still trying your best to improve yourself through it all.

this hard-working, grounded, down to earth and modest energy makes you incredibly attractive.

i think you're slowly but surely trying to let go of certain limitations you habitually set yourself till now. you might've felt trapped in your mind and stuck for a good while, but you're progressively coming out of that place.

despite the exhausting struggles you've been through till now, you're still standing strong!

your endurance, resilience and inner strength makes you immensely attractive.

yes you're wounded, yes you don't see yourself as perfect, but you're still ready to fight. you are a true warrior.

even with your naturally modest character, i don't see you as a person who allows people to step all over them anymore. you're starting to learn to be more strict and clear with your boundaries.

people might see you as someone who's becoming more guarded and closing yourself off, but to you, it's what's necessary to protect yourself.

you're attractive in the way you're becoming more and more aware of your true worth and your value.

you shouldn't let people look at your inner softness as weakness anymore.

on the contrary, it makes you incredibly strong and attractive, if you confidently embrace that side of you. i can see you stepping into your true power, once you learn to acknowledge your qualities more.

it's very likely for the things you yourself see as your downfalls, to be your actual strengths. you might just see yourself in a negative light way too quickly.

for example, your emotionality and sensitivity doesn't have to be a flaw. it can be your asset. it makes you special.

not everyone is capable of emotional connection the way you are. not everyone has the ability to be so genuinely loving, caring and sincerely empathetic the way you are.

don't constantly see yourself for what you aren't, for what you lack, for what you can't do. but see yourself for what you are and what you have, what you can indeed do!

note; i was definitely the most passionate about this pile because i have to admit, i relate so much 🥹 sending you all my support and hugs sweet reader

#kpop tarot #pac reading #pac #tarot reading #tarot community #tarot #personal reading #pick a card #pick a pile #pick a card reading

437 notes · View notes

adieutristana · 1 month ago

Note

Okay, I saw your post, and I really want something with vi x caitlyn x reader with them getting into an argument, but It has to be hurt/comfort plsss<3

of course! thank you for the request <3

just as a disclaimer, i’ve never written for a poly relationship before… nor have i written a full argument. i tried my best, but if you have any feedback please let me know

summary: vi, caitlyn and fem! reader get into an argument.

characters included: vi, caitlyn

tags/warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, yelling, arguing, drinking, poly relationship, slight s2 spoilers

men dni.

caitlyn and vi have been… off.

‘off’ is an understatement. your girlfriend, cait, has been more and more ‘occupied’ with her work as of late. doors opening and closing in the wee hours of the morning, waking up without her by your side, without so much of a note indicating her location.

vi, on the other hand, has been falling deep into a hole of self-loathing and despair. depending more on the effects of liquor than the comfort of you or caitlyn. despite your efforts to get through to her, vi would consistently shut you out.

“i’m fine, honey.” she’d say, the smell of vodka potent in her breath. “don’t worry about me. just keep doing… whatever it is you’re doing.”

how did it get to this point? everything started off so well. you’d been together about six months now, the three of you deciding to go steady after realizing holy shit, you all had feelings for each other. you’d moved in together at around the four month mark, with caitlyn helping decorate, vi trying (and failing) to build furniture, and you actually building the furniture. it was a dream come true- at first.

caitlyn would be out until around eleven every night, but would never fail to greet you with a gentle kiss and a drowsy, “i missed you, love.” she would bring back gifts from her patrols, telling you she stopped at a street vendor and couldn’t resist the urge to treat her darling.

vi was spontaneous. sometimes going out for pit fights, sometimes trying to smooth things over with jinx for the millionth time, sometimes simply parading the streets of zaun to get some air. either way, she’d always leave a messy note on your bedside table informing you of where she’d be; or just invite you to come along with her. her ‘partner-in-crime,’ as she puts it.

you had your jobs, and they had theirs. it worked out. you worked out.

until now, it seems. you’re sat in your bed, neither of your girlfriends with you. the air tense and sheets cold. a million thoughts are swirling through your mind, your eyes darting around the room looking for some kind of purchase.

vi swings the bedroom door open, and stands in the doorway for a moment, hand against the doorframe. although you’re a bit far from her, you can’t smell any whiskey on her- that’s good. that’s a start. however, she does have a black eye and fresh blood on her arm bandages.

“god, vi, what happened?”

she sits down beside you in a manspread, leaning over her lap and shaking her head.

“don’t worry about it. just got into a fight with someone off their ass on shimmer.”

you sigh, and shake your head. grumbling to yourself. feeling your shoulders begin to tremble and your fists begin to clench. vi was like this, she got into fights frequently. but to come home injured, and then act like it was nothing? what had gotten into her?

“vi, tell me what happened.”

you demanded, looking straight at her. but the woman refused to meet your gaze.

“vi, you can’t just come home with a black eye and covered in blood and act like everything is fine- you know what? you’ve been acting like this more and more. and you come home wasted and pass out beside me without a word and act like nothing is wrong.”

you ramble, your tone growing more stern and more loud with each word. you’re working up a sweat. your brows furrowed and your gaze fixed on your girlfriend who still won’t look at you.

“(y/n).”

she grumbles.

she finally turns to face you. her eyes look blank and tired, her expression is completely lost on you for the first time possibly ever.

“i fight. that’s what i do. i do what i have to do to scrape by and make my money and protect myself- and you, and caitlyn. and if i have to pop open a flask every now and again to get through-

“every now and again?! vi, you come home shitfaced nearly every night!”

you gasp. did you hear her right? did vi actually just say that?

“it is not every night, and you know that. you and caitlyn are busy and i don’t have painkillers or anything else to take off the edge, what am i supposed to do? sit with my thoughts?”

“give me a call?”

you suggest. vi looks off to the side, her hands clasped and at a loss for words.

"what's happened?"

you jump back for a moment. still in her cloak stands caitlyn, stripping it off to sit beside you and vi. the tension in the air is thick and heavy... neither you nor vi wanting to discuss what had just transpired.

"you haven't been yourself either." you mumble under your breath.

although your knees are turned away from caitlyn and you aren't looking in her direction, she could tell who that was pointed toward.

"meaning what?"

caitlyn asks. cocking her head to one side the slightest bit- she seems to not take it to heart.

you slowly turn to face your girlfriend- azure locks tied back into a slick bun, her hair tousled from a hard day's work and dirt covering her carved features. it looks obscene in a way, to see the facade of perfection disturbed. but that's what you've come to love- and what you've come to miss.

"meaning... meaning that you're always home so late! and you don't tell me where you're going to be! i get that you're busy, you have a job to do, but you could at least not shut me out?"

"i'm not shutting you out, (y/n). i have a job to do. you know that."

she scoffs, but you can tell that she's trying to reassure you at least-

"apparently i'm doing the same thing."

"vi."

“what’s this about?”

“apparently i don’t let her in enough, and i’m a drunk.”

“i did not say that!”

“your drinking habits have become… concerning, violet. i won’t deny that.”

“so now you’re against me, too?! is that what you’re saying?”

“nobody is against you!”

“then you’re against caitlyn?”

you blubber trying to find words. your hands coming up to tangle in your hair and try to ground yourself. your voice is trembling and your heart is beating with the fervor of a war drum. how did it get to this point?

“i- look, can we please just talk about this, like the adults that we are?”

you manage to mutter.

“we are talking, (y/n).”

caitlyn sighs. her shoulders are tense and it sounds almost as if she’s holding in a breath, scared to say anything else.

“neither of you are listening.” a tear falls. your voice, your resolve… it’s so weak.

you can’t do it. caitlyn can’t bring herself to look at you, vi’s practically glaring through you, and each time you open your mouth, it feels like you’re wasting air. if they don’t want to hear it, they don’t have to.

you stand up from the bed to leave. your knees feel weak, threatening to buckle under you at any moment. but one foot in front of the other- you need to be anywhere but here.

neither vi nor caitlyn try to stop you.

✧.*

your feet hover above miles of nothingness. sat on a cobblestone wall in piltover, the sky hues of pink and orange and the cold temperatures nipping at your skin.

you came here to clear your mind. the sky and nature was always something that grounded you. the sun setting soothed your fiery nerves after… whatever had happened the previous day. you decided to stay out for the time being.

you just couldn’t bear to be in that apartment, not now.

“(y/n)?”

you hear behind you, so hushed. so quiet, it might’ve been mistaken for the wind by anyone else. but you recognized that rasp.

your knees came closing in, hugging close to your chest. you place your chin atop your knees and let out a sharp exhale.

“(y/n), i fucked up. we both did.”

before you could snap back about you having done nothing to deserve what happened last night, you felt a firm grasp on your shoulder. out of the corner of your eye, you could see those sapphire locks you had grown to adore. god damn it.

but your rationale betrays you. you feel your head turn ever so slowly over the same shoulder your girlfriend took, and look up at cait and vi. your eyelids heavy, tears threatening to spill at any moment.

vi swings a leg over the cobblestone. pressing her lips into a thin line and glancing back at caitlyn, then you. caitlyn opting to stand behind both of you, an intimidating presence. you wipe your eyes with your shirt sleeve.

"please, listen. i know i haven't been doing my part. to you, or to caitlyn. shit's just... been hard. okay? i don't understand what it is, but the drinking helps."

vi pauses.

"it doesn't help. it takes the edge off. but it isn't fair to either of you. so i'll try to let up, but cupcake-"

vi swiftly grasps both of your hands in her bandaged ones, rough callouses and healing injuries against smooth skin. taking on an almost pleading tone.

"you gotta give me time. this thing won't happen overnight, okay? but i never meant to shut you out. i'll tell you exactly where i'm at. call on me."

looking up at her, you notice the sincerity and warmth in her eyes. the way her thick brows are furrowed, the dark bags underneath those piercing eyes...

your shoulders relax.

"might i add," you hear from behind you.

"i also realize that staying out all day working like a hound isn't fair to you. it seems silly, in hindsight."

she scoffs, crossing lean arms over her chest. it's then when caitlyn finally sits beside you, opposite of vi, and leans down a sizable amount to rest her head on your shoulder. a sea of blue falling over your shoulder and chest, the girl on your arm softly humming.

"i appreciate it... really."

vi squeezes one of your hands, cait places a hand on your lap. neither look directly at you, but out at the night sky. now dark, ursa major front and center. as if it was there only for the three of you.

"no more arguing?"

caitlyn asks, honeyed voice just above a whisper. a press of soft lips into the crook of your neck.

"no more arguing."

#arcane x reader #vi x caitlyn x reader #vi x reader #caitlyn kiramman x reader #reader insert #sapphic

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sexlapis · 3 months ago

Text

[◉°] … TOJI AND Y/N BEING A COUPLE FOR 10 MINUTES STRAIGHT (PART 5) … 899k views

꩜ : actor!toji x gn!reader

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 (they are actress!reader)

sfw for the most part, fluff, crack, peeping toms & perverts (toji deals w them <3), cute babies, use of y/n

⤷ the way tojiyn is just real at this point…

a/n: thank you so much for 3000 followers that is literally crazy! thank you all sm for enjoying and supporting my fanfics🩷🩷. as a gift u all get more actor toji. i just missed him <33

_____= your name

masterlists

from the actor![character] series:

actor!toji masterlist

actor!nanami & actress!yn being a couple

actor!levi & gn!reader being a couple

�� first clip

posted on toji’s (mostly inactive) instagram, a clip of you with a little baby no more than a year old standing on your lap. you make funny, expressive faces as she giggles and mumbles in an adorable, pure manner. the pinnacle of innocence.

“look at that! who’s that, baby?” you ask the baby, referring to the person behind the camera.

you turn her around, making her look up. she points, her face beaming with a toothless smile.

“ahh!” she squeaks.

you giggle.“it’s toji!”

a huff is heard from behind the camera and a big hand comes and strokes the baby’s chubby cheeks. “hi princess.”

the clip ends there, but the reaction from the internet only begins.

@ynb11111gestfan

a baby??? wtf did i miss???!:!:!

@justalurkeracx0unt

YOU GUYS ADOPTED?????????

@gojosbl!ndfold

which one of you gave birth

@tojizbigfatbreederballzinmymouf

girldad toji? my biggest dreams have come true💕💕

⤷ @herbigdoeeyesss

YOUR NAME?????

it’s safe to say, everyone was confused about who this random baby was. so, you were the one to clear things up by posting a video on your story;

“i’m sorry for the confusion guys. yes, me and toji had a baby. toji had a very long labour and he worked so hard and gave birth to a little baby girl <3”

well, that cleared things up.

꩜ second clip

toji walks out of a elevator and is…carrying you in his arms. bridal style. with your bodyguards following close behind (not that you need bodyguards when toji is with you).

the man holding the camera asks toji, “why are you carrying them?”

instead, you respond with a shrug, “my feet hurt.”

toji doesn’t even react. he just walks down the corridor, carrying you like he does it every day.

꩜ third clip

shortly after you began filming for a minor role in a popular television series, there are rumours floating around of toji allegedly physically assaulting one of the members of staff on set.

of course, everyone has all kinds of theories of what happened, but many people are not surprised because, well…it’s toji. they are not shocked by this type of behaviour coming from him.

but then, all is revealed by TMZ in a short youtube video, being a oh so nosy individuals they are:

“we got leaked information about what happened on that set. apparently, the staff member had been secretly recording y/n in their caravan, even when they were getting dressed! disgusting, i know. it’s said that toji spotted them and ‘took’ matters into his own hands. and by that, i mean throwing hands. toji is now being accused of assault by said staff member. in my eyes,” the reporter throws his hands up, shrugging, “that freak got what was coming!”

after that, people are on toji’s side, praising him for what he did. but enough people believed his actions to be extreme and overly violent.

so he releases an apology for his actions in a video, in which it is very clear that he had just woken up and he was still in bed:

“hey everyone. i know just about everyone’s heard of what happened. i would just like everyone to know that…i don’t care,” he chuckles, “i really don’t give a shit. i would do it again if it had to. that piece of shit deserved what he got. i’m only sorry for not breaking his other arm.”

꩜ fourth clip

you and toji are on the red carpet in paris, being interviewed about an awards show and your time in the country.

“so, have you two seen any of the sights and attractions in paris?”

“uhhhmm, no not so much. we really wanted to but we’ve just been uhh, really, really-” you pause for a moment, a second too long as you look at toji, who is staring at you. even from this angle, toji is seen to be smirking and he winks at you.

you blink rapidly and turn back to the interviewer. “busy. yeah, we’ve been really busy.”

“that’s one way to put it.” toji chimes in.

a tojiyn truther favourite.

꩜ fifth clip

you and toji, wanting to raise money for charity, decided ti participate in the bake-off, a televised baking competition.

“okay!” you start, excited.

the excitement doesn’t last very long.

“what even is this [BLEEP]?”

“toji! don’t swear! they have to bleep that out!”

off you and toji go, baking in such a disorderly and chaotic fashion, even the other participants are looking at you sideways.

multiple bleeps are edited in due to toji’s creative language.

“phew!” you breathe out. “i think we’re making good time-”

“ten minutes left!” the host calls out.

“ten minutes!?” toji shouts.

“what? ten? we haven’t even started the buttercream yet! the cake hasn’t even cooled down! what!”

“move,” toji moves into your space, snatching the whisk and bowl of ingredients from you hands and begins stirring like an absolute mad man, “you cool off that [BLEEP] cake, i’ll make this! [BLEEP].”

you dash toward the window, plain cake in hand, and simply…stick the cake out of the window, hoping it will call down faster.

toji and you are stared at in complete and utter confusion.

after sloppily applying the buttercream to the cake, along with the toppings, you and toji are done just in time.

it is your time to present.

you and toji walk to the front, placing the cake in front of the hosts.

“hm,” the woman said, “presentation is messy.”

you and toji glance at each other.

they take a bite.

“oh,” the male judge hums, “not bad.”

“i think it’s quite tasty!” a judge with a british accent compliments. “well done to the both of you.

you and toji cheer silently and high five.

you both came in third place in that round.

go figure.

꩜ sixth clip

you and the cast members of “jujutsu kaisen” are at comic con for a fan Q&A. the place is packed full of fans!

“i…i have a ques-question for _____. I-” his voice cracks wildly and he clears his throat, causing a few giggles in the crowd.

he continues. “i-what-why-what-what do-how-” he sighs and covers his face with embarrassment.

a wave of laughter goes through the crowd, mocking the poor boy even further.

“it’s okay,” you coo to the fan, “i don’t bite.”

the audience laughs some more.

and the toji interrupts with his own comment of, “they sure do.”

you gasp. your head whips towards toji and the crowd erupts with laughter, whistles and hoots of teasing and encouragement.

the fan, now beet red, covers his face again. “oh my god.”

“great! toji look what you did!” you shout. “you broke him!”

a/n: new actor toji take it or leave it

#actor!toji #toji x reader #toji x you #toji x y/n #toji x self insert #toji fushigro x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro x y/n #toji fushiguro x gender neutral reader #toji fluff #toji fushiguro fluff

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armandsbf · 2 months ago

Text

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗗𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗗𝗮𝗺𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗙𝗮𝘄𝗻

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ʟᴏᴜɪꜱ x ᴏᴄ x ʟᴇꜱᴛᴀᴛ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴡʜᴇɴ ʟᴏᴜɪꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴇꜱᴛᴀᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴀᴄʀᴏꜱꜱ ᴀ ʜᴜɴɢʀʏ ʏᴏᴜɴɢ ᴀʀᴛɪꜱᴛ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴᴅʀᴇᴀ, ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱʜᴇ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪꜱꜱɪɴɢ ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʟɪᴠᴇꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇʏ’ʟʟ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ʜᴇʀ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴀᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴄᴏꜱᴛꜱ.

ᴛᴡ: ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴘʀᴇᴅᴀᴛᴏʀ/ᴘʀᴇʏ ᴅʏɴᴀᴍɪᴄ, ᴛᴏxɪᴄ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘꜱ

an: this one-shot is inspired by a few iwtv fics I’ve read on here, but I tried to give it my own twist. I hope y’all enjoy my precious little monsters! Btw, it’s basically x reader but I have her a name and little bit of a backstory cause it makes things run a little smoother while writing.

Running was the only option. That's what she told herself as she stood in the darkness of the docks. The night was foggy and she would've been blinded by night had it not been for the lampposts. Her body shook with fear. They'd find her, she thought to herself. And if they didn't, they'd hunt her down, but now she was free. She was finally free.

If Andrea had one regret, it would be leaving her dear girl. Her light, her beauty, her Claudia. She had no idea what her parents had done or who they were. She was a happy little monster, and she deserved her freedom. She hoped she wouldn't hate her and that one day, she'd find her and let her explain.

It wasn't suppose to be this way. She was meant to be free after working at the Azelea. Make her money and take herself and her bother, Julian, far away from this place. They wanted to go to New York. That dream was long gone.

Andrea was never supposed to be wrapped up in Louis and Lestat's damned relationship. She wondered, briefly, if she'd ever even had a choice. She knew if she had, this would never had happened. She was wooed, seduced and then taken into that home without any knowledge of what that would be.

Running was the only option.

She knew this to be true. She would only remain human for so long, and she still wanted a taste of her freedom. For whatever reason they'd refused to turn her, especially so early. She was only twenty-five, and they enjoyed her innocence. The kind of innocence only a human could have. They liked her wide eyed optimism, and it made them feel less like the monsters they were.

Her innocence had been depleted into nothing but empty, inky blackness. She felt nothing but fear and despair now.

Her memories started coming back the more Claudia asked about her past and the more she drew blanks. Louis and Lestat would comfort her and fill in the gaps for her, but it never felt right. Her hands shook with fear as her memories settled back into her mind.

4 years ago

Andrea never thought she'd be working at the Azelea. She was a bright young artist with a point of view, her paintings were her pride and joy. But money was running low and Julian could not provide for both of them. He would never know what she did at night, or perhaps he did, but he never complained about the extra cash.

He wanted so badly to protect her, but he couldn't do it any longer, not when they were barely scraping by. She had to learn to fend for herself.

Luckily, the Azelea was a well kept establishment and she wasn't treated badly. Her boundaries were her boundaries and the girls there protected her when it was needed. Especially since she didn't like going past simple favours.

The true height of her nights was the two men who she got to lay her eyes on every night. The owner of the club and man about town, Louis de Pointe du Lac and his paramour Lestat de Lioncourt. How could an artist glance at them and not see what magnificent they exuded? They quickly became her inspiration after a few long glances.

Those long glances would soon turn into longing looks. When Lestat played the piano at the club, he'd lock eyes with her and then with Louis, as if he was playing for them. When Louis walked around the club with a cigar between his lips, he'd keep his gaze trained on her even as he talked to others. Andrea blushed and giggled when they did that.

What she didn't know at the time was that they knew every sickeningly sweet thought she had about them, and those gazes and winks were teasing, almost beckoning her to come closer. They watched her every night as she debased herself for lecherous men, but refused to go all the way. It was something she really didn't allow herself to do, and as there was no shortage of girls at the club, no one ever mentioned it

She'd find herself painting them on her nights off, which had become more and more frequent. For whatever reason, her work had become sparse and men no longer approached her. She felt she was doing something wrong, something that made her undesirable. Was it her resistance to do more than what she offered?

It wasn't so bad at the time, but she saw Julian's dejected face every time she got home with empty pockets. She couldn't stand it anymore and so to reduce the cost, she'd spend nights at the Azelea in that one room that was always free. Coincidentally it was the room she kept her painting supplies in.

The night had come to a close, even though it was still dark. Fake moans could be heard from most every room, but the band had cleared out and the tables were empty. Andrea was painting again and this time, she'd taken her appreciation for the two elusive men's beauty a bit far, portraying them as heavenly angels.

Given what they were, it later felt like a perversion of the holy paintings she'd seen all her life. But now, all she knew were that they were divinity incarnate, with eyes like church windows.

That's where she struggled the most, her brush strokes becoming more meticulous with every second. Their faces were sculpted like marble, each highlight and shadow falling perfectly into place. She sighed as she looked at the half finished work.

A knock at the door broke her out of her haze. "Andrea, I'm coming in!" According to him he had knocked twice prior to entering, but Andrea hadn't heard Louis.

She jolted and almost backed up entirely into her pairing. Thankfully, she barely managed to hide it from the smiling face of her angels. Louis had come in with Lestat behind him, grinning mischievously.

She giggled nervously. "M-Mister du Lac! Mister Lioncourt! How can I help you?" She had never truly spoken with them, having been hired by the head girl who everyone called Bricks. Andrea silently hoped they weren't here to talk about her lack of business, or to let her go.

Louis heard her thoughts that night too, and had internally scoffed at the idea that they'd ever let her go. He'd been the one who had made her off-limits to touch. Both he and his companion had quickly grown attached to the bright young girl, and seeing her be caressed and violated by random dirty men filled them with rage, so he'd put a stop to that.

"You seem nervous, Andrea. Trust me, nothing to be nervous about." Louis reassured, removing his sunglasses and placing them into his inner jacket pocket.

Lestat hadn't spoken a single word, only taken in the room around him. It seemed Andrea had built her on world in that room, and he wanted to know everything about her world. Her mind was a wonder to him, a cavern of artistic inspiration and a view of the world he hadn't seen in decades. It was so pure, just like her and just like her paintings.

She sighed, relieved. Then Louis looked down at her hands, stained with paint. "Painting again, huh?"

Her cheeks grew red with shame. "Y-you noticed that?"

"Of course, I did." His hand reached out and grabbed the side of her neck, his thumb brushing over her throat. Her breath caught in her chest as he pressed into her skin firmly, eyes wide at such a bold gesture. He huffed a laugh at her pure reaction, as if she'd never been touched before. He liked how sensitive she was and how curious her eyes grew, desperate to look at his actions but unable to. When he pulled away, there was emerald paint on his thumb. The colour of his eyes. "You've got splashes of colour all over you." He said slowly. She didn't speak, still shocked at his actions. "I've never seen a finished painting though." Was that an invitation? Did he want to see her work? She didn't know.

A presence was felt behind her and she jumped away. "The spirit of a true creator, and the instincts of a frightened fawn." The velvety baritone of Lestat spoke, she turned to face him, her back now facing Louis and her painting exposed. "Fascinating. Almost as fascinating as your most recent work, ma petit faon." My little fawn.

His eyes were glued onto the painting as Louis neared them from behind her. She could feel the coldness of his body, his chest almost settling into her back. His shining eyes settled onto the portrait of him and Lestat, specifically on the angel wings on their backs. The longing looks in their eyes and the intimacy of that.

"Angels? You painted us as angels?" He asked quietly. He was an angel to her? Truly?

Lestat smiled softly. "Closely entwined heavenly bodies. Is this how you see us, cherie?"

Andrea was still trying to stutter her words out, looking from Louis to Lestat as if one would help with the other. But they only stared at you with soft expressions on their faces. "I-I—" she cut herself off, gathering her thoughts. "On the nights I don't get much business," which was every night now. "I paint. I see you every night, the way you look at each other, the way you enjoy yourselves, your eyes. Unearthly eyes. Like stars." Her rambling had gotten the best of her. "Apologies, Mister du Lac, Mister Lioncourt, that was out of line—I shouldn't have—"

Louis placed his hand on her arm and pulled her closer to him, grinning down at her. "Careful there, sugarcane. If you keep talking like that your tongue's gonna fall out."

Her back was pressed into his chest, and she was silenced again.

Lestat stood before her, looking to the portrait one final time before glancing back at her. He placed his hand on her cheek with a certain finality in his eyes. If only she'd known what that meant. "It's enchanting. No, more than that, magnificent. You are a being of extraordinary talent, and extraordinary beauty."

Everything felt so hot. Andrea was breathing heavily at the feeling of being so intimately between these two men who she'd admired for so long. This moment could've lasted forever, it was art in itself. The Divine Damned and Their Fawn.

Lestat hummed. "I'd like to pay you for your work. Have this masterpiece hung in our home."

She jolted. "What?"

"Name your price and I'll take it. You'll have to come see it mounted of course, I'd like your keen artistic eye." His smile turned into a smirk at the thought of her in their home.

Andrea couldn't believe it. Someone wanted to pay for her work. Someone actually wanted to have her paintings in their home! This was amazing!

"Are we getting an answer anytime soon, Andy?" Louis asked with a laugh. Andy? That was new.

Andrea laughed nervously. "Mister du Lac—"

"Louis." He corrected. "You can call me Louis."

What was happening? She hadn't even spoken to them before tonight. Why were they being so kind? Something felt wrong.

"Louis." She said slowly. It tasted sweet on her tongue. "I can't possibly take your money. It wouldn't be right!"

"And why not?" Lestat asked. "You've created something of worth here and I'd like to see it appreciated. You must be compensated somehow. Unless you'd prefer another form of payment." He gave her a lustful glance up and down her body. She shivered.

"Lestat." Louis chided. "Pay him no mind, sugarcane. He can get haughty."

"Horribly untrue, mon cher. I'm only being honest." The Frenchman scoffed. "Your price, beautiful Andrea?"

"I couldn't possibly—"

"How's three thousand?" Louis piped up, not even blinking.

"Excuse me?!" She shrieked.

"Four thousand?" Asked Lestat. Her mouth was agape. "No, how about five?"

"Stop saying numbers!" Andrea interrupted loudly, immediately feeling ashamed. "I'm sorry, I am, I don't—"

"Five thousand it is." The blonde continued. "We'll come back in a week. Have it done by then, hm?" And then he pressed a kiss to her temple. "Shall we, mon cher?"

Louis nodded. "A week, Andrea." He reminded before pressing a kiss to her cheek.

And then they walked away. Seven days from that night, her entire life would change.

_______________

They'd come to collect a week later and with all her free time, she'd managed to finish. They'd both marvelled at the painting and immediately insisted she come to their home and tell them where to place it.

Andrea shied away at the prospect. She'd told her brother about them and Julian had asked her to stay away. He didn't demand anything of her, but he strongly advised against getting involved with them. He'd told her of the rumours, that they were in cahoots with the devil. She'd scoffed at that, but agreed something was off about them. There was no way to be so otherworldly and slightly off putting and still be normal, or completely human even. But she shook those thoughts from her head.

Of course they were human! They were right there in front of her, flesh and blood! It was silly to think otherwise, but then again they were just so fascinating. People usually weren't so.

She promised herself she'd only stay for an hour, but when they guided her through the door, her painting under Lestat's arm, she'd been accosted by a lovely girl with a large shining smile. She shrieked with excitement, jumping from her seat on the couch. "Oh, is this her, daddy Lou?" She asked him.

He nodded. "Yeah, this is her. Andrea, meet our daughter, Claudia."

He'd spoken of her a lot over the past week whenever he and Lestat came to visit her room. According to him, she was a lovely little horror that kept them on their toes every day. She'd laughed at that and told him she used to dream of being a mother to a girl like that.

That had made both him and Lestat incredibly excited.

"They talk about you a lot, Miss Andrea!" The girl confessed, giggling. "They said you were gorgeous and talented and you are!"

"Claudia." Lestat chided. "Calm yourself, ma petit. Lovely Andrea needs a moment. Don't you, sweet girl?"

Andrea just broke out into chuckles. "On the contrary, she is just as you described, and I love it!" She said. "It's lovely to meet you."

"You too!" The child said honestly. "Is that the painting? Can I see?"

After that night, visiting Louis, Lestat and Claudia had become regular for her. She'd spend her every moment there, teaching the young girl to draw and paint when her parents were busy and then passing the rest of her time conversing with the two men.

___________

"No!" She shook her head on one of these nights. "No, no, no! I'm sorry, Louis dear, but there is no way you truly believe that anything could come close to the brilliance that is Wuthering Heights! That's nonsense!"

He laughed at her passionate words. She was laid on the couch with her head in Lestat's lap and her legs on Louis', discussing their favorite novels. It was heaven.

This home was so cozy, so sweet. She loved it there. Her head was fuzzy from the champagne they'd fed her for the last few hours, fingers and face stained with charcoal from drawing with Claudia.

"Just because it's your favourite doesn't mean it's the best, sugarcane!" He rebutted kindly.

"No." She said simply. "It is the best. And yes, simply because I say so."

Lestat laughed loudly at that statement, pinching her cheek slightly. "What a brat you are, my girl. Never wavering from your opinions."

She pouted. "So you disagree then?"

"With you?" He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her nose as Louis caressed her thigh. "Never." He said dramatically.

"Oh, so it's ya'll against me now, is it?" The younger vampire cut in playfully. "I see how it is."

Andrea pulled his hand to her lips and pressed a kiss against his knuckles. "We haven't unionised just yet, Louis. Don't you worry your pretty little head about it."

"Not yet?" He asked. "So you will eventually?"

"She already has me in her thrall. I might not have a choice, mon cher." Lestat weakly defended himself.

"Not my fault." She mumbled lowly.

Louis chuckled. "He was right, you are a brat!" He said, and then pinched her side. She squealed and jumped. "Oh, you're ticklish, aren't you?"

"Louis, don't you dare!" She said. A meaningless warning as he began attacking her skin with a tingling sensation as she thrashed and laughed. "Lestat!"

"I'm not getting involved. This is far too fun to watch!"

"You monster!" Andrea said playfully.

She'd never been happier than in that moment.

__________

As of late, the moment she was left alone with Lestat and Louis it felt like everything was right in the world. She'd feel a title between her legs she had felt with so few people, but also a sense of safety.

"You two love each other, right?" She'd asked one night, lying in their bed. She didn't know how she got there between the drinks and jokes, but there she was, cuddled between them. Louis held her and Lestat had his head rested on her stomach, letting her play with his hair. The younger vampire would occasionally press kisses against her head and Lestat would whine and cuddle closer into her.

Lestat nodded. "Yes, we do, mon cherie. Very much." He answered. "Have you ever been in love?"

Andrea shook her head. "No. I'm only twenty-one, Lestat. I haven't lived long enough to fall in love."

They laughed at the reminder of how young she truly was. A lick and a promise in vampire years, truly.

"I hope I will." She confessed. "I'd like to. Fall in love, have a family."

We could be your family, Lestat wanted to say.

"At the club," Louis spoke. "The girls told me you don't do a lot."

She suddenly remembered that this man was not just her friend, but her bosses boss. Her cheeks grew red with shame and she moved away slightly even as his grip around her kept her firmly with him. "I-I'm sorry. I just—I couldn't—"

"I'm not sayin' it's anything bad, sugarcane. Don't worry." He smiled at her concern. "I just wanna know why?"

This time her cheeks were red with bashfulness. "I've never..." she paused. "I wanted to save it—"

"For a special occasion?" Lestat filled in, looking up at her with mischievous eyes. "That's sweet. Perhaps you shouldn't have taken up work as a prostitute then."

"Lestat!" Louis chided.

"You own the establishment, you don't get to play holier than thou." He scoffed. He then turned back to Andrea. "It truly is a sweet sentiment, though. It's a special thing."

"I think so." She said. She suddenly realised just how close Lestat's face was to the heat between her legs. She felt flushed and nervous.

Louis smirked at her, listening to her shallow breaths and her quick heartbeat. "Huh. Are we special to you, Andy?"

She nodded, unknowing of their thoughts. "Yes."

"How special?" He asked.

"Incredibly. You're my muses." She answered honestly, her head fuzzy.

Lestat's hand snuck under her dress, caressing her calf gently. He began to slowly bunch her dress up and pull it up, up, up her thighs.

Louis pressed a kiss on her forehead, and then her eye, her nose her cheek and finally her lips. She gasped at the two sensations, Louis dominating her mouth with his own and taking her in like she belonged within him. He held her neck with one hand and caressed her chest with his other. He pulled away and she whined.

Lestat bunched her dress over her hips and pulled her panties down her legs, throwing them haphazardly somewhere in the room. Another whine left her lips.

"You sure about this?" Asked Louis, lips swollen.

She nodded once at him and then down at Lestat. "Yes. Yes. Yes."

"Truly?" Asked Lestat.

"For tonight only, yes. I trust you." For tonight only. As if they'd let her slip from their grasp after this.

Given her profession, she wanted to get this over with soon, and now she had someone to do it with. Someone to guide her, to care for her and talk her through it. She knew she'd be leaving for New York soon, so didn't allow herself to think of any deeper relationship developing, and she thought she'd made that clear with her statement. For tonight only.

Louis' mouth was against hers again in a flash and Lestat went to work devouring her.

That night they took her in every way they could, and in their minds, had laid claim to her body as they had to her mind.

____________

Julian did not like the fact that she was with them so often. Not only was she with strange men at late hours, she wasn't bringing home any money. The money they'd given her for the painting had quickly run out and she couldn't find it in herself to ask for more.

"You can't keep doing this, Andrea." He'd sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I know you're enjoying yourself, and that's fine, I'm happy for you, but they ain't good for you, I swear."

She looked up at him from her seat on the floor of their apartment. "I like them. They're very nice to me." Andrea said, nervously playing with her hair.

He kneeled down in front of her with a concerned look on his face. "I know." He said, cupping her face. "I know that. But we gotta start buckling down. We're getting so close to New York." He said happily.

She gasped. "We are?!" She jumped to her feet, giddy. "New York, Julian! New York!"

"New-fucking-York!" He hollered, joining her in her excitement. "Woo-hoo!"

"Yes, finally!" She cried, years of stress falling off her shoulders. "How much more do we need?"

When he told her the number, she sighed in relief. All she needed was one more client to make that much. Sure, no one in the Azelea approached her anymore, but for this she'd be the one to initiate. Just a little more money, that was all, and they'd be free.

"I can get that." She told him confidently. "I swear to you, Julian, I'll get us that money, and we'll be out of here."

He sighed. "Andrea, you don't have to—"

"I do though." She interrupted. "And I will. I promise. Let me take care of this one thing, please."

And reluctantly, he let her.

That night she walked into the establishment with a goal, not even noticing the looks of confusion she got from Louis and Lestat. Not noticing them at all really.

She set her sights on the drunk man who was sat in the corner and had zeroed in on her the moment she walked through the doors. He was from out of town, she was sure. She hadn't seen him before that night, so he was perfect.

She didn't know the eyes trained on her as she finished her work and was given the money. Her body felt used, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She had the money now, and immediately went to speak to Bricks, so she could quit.

The older woman had looked her up and down sceptically. "You sure about this?"

"Yes. I am, Bricks." Andrea had said with a large smile. "I've got the money now. Me and my brother and I are heading to New York."

Her brows furrowed at those words. "Mister du Lac know about that?"

"Louis?" Andrea said, slightly shocked. "I'll say my goodbyes to him before I go. I don't see how he's part of this exchange."

"So he doesn't know." She filled in. "You might wanna talk to him before you quit."

"Why?"

But Bricks couldn't answer that. Or rather, she wouldn't. She hesitated to say anything, but knew her boss would want to be told as soon as possible.

So instead of supplying an answer, she just shook her head. "No reason. Just to let him know he's losing one of his girls." She clarified. "Good luck in New York, muffin."

She sighed, relieved. "Thank you, Bricks."

____________

When she'd arrived home, Julian had already started packing. She'd shown him the money and he'd thrown his arms around her with such glee, she never wanted the feeling to go away.

They laughed and teased each other as they threw their clothes into the suitcases, making plans for what they would do in their new city. Andrea had never been so happy before.

A knock sounded at their door. Julian furrowed his brows. "Expecting company?" He asked her.

She shook her head confusedly. "No. You?"

He shook his head as well, and then went to asked the door. She shrugged and continued packing.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, can I help you?" Julian asked their unexpected visitors.

She couldn't hear the rest of the conversation, it was quiet and muffled but then she made out the sound of Julian shouting.

Julian never shouted. He was a calm man with a good head on his shoulders. What had gotten him so out of himself?

She put her clothes down and walked out of the room, eyes immediately landing on the scene before her.

It was her angels, Lestat and Louis. The former had Julian up against the wall with his hand around his throat, and Louis just watched her.

She shrieked at the sight. "What are you doing?!"

Louis just shook his head at her and pointed his finger. "New York?" He asked accusingly.

She only nodded, confused. "What?"

"You're going to New York? Seriously?"

She swallowed her fear. "I was going to come say goodbye before we left, of course I was—"

But that wasn't the problem. He sped in front of her, his face so close to her own she could feel his angry huffing against her skin.

"After you made your money, right?" He seethed.

She shook. "How did you—"

"Before we could rip that dumb fucker off of you and chop his hands off?" It came out like a shout and she flinched, her ears aching.

She looked away from him and directly at Julian. "Lestat, please get off him!"

He only laughed mockingly and pressed her brother harder against the wall. "I don't think so, ma petit faon. He's the reason you want to leave, yes?"

She shook her head urgently. "No, no, we've had this plan for years—"

"But it was him." Lestat continued. "If he wasn't with you, you wouldn't even have thought about it. You'd be content with us."

"With you?" She repeated, fear and confusion getting the best of her. "It was one night, I told you it would be! I don't understand! Please just let him go!"

The blonde tilted his head, as if thinking. "Alright." And then Julian was thrown onto the other side of the room.

Andrea cried out. Her brother was hurt, hurt by the man she considered so horribly important. He must've broken something, bruised some other parts, and when she saw the blood staining his head she jolted forward. She needed to take care of him, to get him away from these people he'd been right about, she needed him to be better, she could make him better.

But Louis would not let her.

He wrapped his arms around her waist as she thrashed in his hold like a wild animal. "Sh, sh, sh, sh. It's okay. It's okay." He cooed in her ear. She was horrified, kicking and scratching at him but he didn't even blink.

"No, no! Julian!" She screamed. But he was unresponsive, minus some slight groans falling from his lips.

Lestat sauntered before her, flicking his wrist and looking down at her brother. Then he looked directly at her, placing his hands on her face like Julian used to. He pressed his lips to her temple and inhaled her scent, an angry hiss like sound leaving his lips. "I can still smell him on you." He sneered. "You really thought you could leave, sweet girl? This is your home, we are your home." He insisted.

Andrea still struggled against Louis' hold, tears streaming down her face. "He's right. Andy, he's right." She other spoke into her ear. "Please, just listen."

She wept as he spoke. "What are you?"

They paused at the question, Louis looking down in shame but Lestat ready to answer.

"Vampires, dear girl. We're vampires."

That sounded ridiculous. But she thought about it for a moment; they were only out at night, she never saw them eating, some men seen at the club once were never seen again, and their strength. The strength to throw Julian across a room without blinking an eye. There was no way, no possible, tangible way. But it was true.

Angels. She'd seen them as angels, when they were exactly the opposite. Their beauty was unearthly, but not divine. It was damned.

She breathed heavily, panic shooting up and down her chest. She thrashed even more, screeching like a wild monster. "Let me go! Let me go! Julian!"

Lestat's eyes grew soft and full of pity. His poor Andrea. His poor, beautiful Andrea who did not deserve to feel any of this pain. If only she'd told them before hand, and they couldn't removed this ridiculous notion from her head.

"Don't concern yourself with him." He cooed. "Soon enough, he'll be gone, and you'll be with us."

"Just listen to him, sugarcane. We'll be happy, I promise." Louis spoke softly into her ear.

He nodded towards his companion, a secret promise for something that must be done. As long as Julian was alive, he would haunt her every memory, even if they made her forget him. Even if they made him forget her, he'd see the pictures or read his diaries and look for her. He needed to be taken care of, so Andrea could be taken care of.

"But for now," Lestat said, walking back to the groaning body of her brother. He wrapped his hand around his neck again, twisting.

"No!" She cried, sobbing.

"Rest." Said Lestat. The last thing she heard before her eyes shut was a sickening snap! and the horrifying promises of her new life.

_______________

Present time

They'd made her forget it all. Replaced her memories of her brother with memories of a childhood friend who'd passed when they were young. Julian no longer existed to her, or to anyone at all. Until things began to click.

All she remembered was changing her mind about New York and running to their townhouse to confess her love, and they'd taken her in with open arms. Over the last four years, they'd crafted somewhat of a perfect relationship. They all worked together so well, and Claudia had been beside herself when Andrea had become a permanent fixture in their home.

It took no more than a month for her to refer to Andrea as Mama. Andrea was finally a mother, and her child was perfect.

But she was leaving. On the night the three of them had gone hunting together, she'd laid in bed and searched her mind for every one of your hidden memories, finally breaking through their brainwashing. She'd panicked immediately, grasping at her chest and finding disgust in every inch of the home, her paintings included.

They were hanged all over the house, in the coffin room, the living room, the hallways. Lestat said it was a shrine to her greatness. She wanted to puke.

She'd packed a bag and gotten a ride to the docks before they'd come back, buying the next ticket out. She wasn't even sure where the boat was headed, but knew it was far away from New Orleans. Perhaps she could make it to New York someday, fulfil her brother's dream. Honour him somehow. Guilt clawed at her chest. She should honour him, she'd gotten him killed. Her and her stupid love for those creatures.

She waited impatiently. She looked around her, and something suddenly felt very wrong. There was no one there. It wasn't odd at this time of night, but weren't there people working at the docks? It was so, very quiet, hauntingly quiet. She thought it was impossible to hear silence until tonight.

Panic grasped at her chest and she set her suitcase on the ground beside her. "Hello?" She called out. "Hello?" Again. No answer. She walked away to find another, perhaps safer spot.

A flash somewhere in the distance. No. They couldn't have. But they did. They found her. They'd fucking found her.

She ran, her suitcase long forgotten. But she couldn't run for long. They were vampires, apex predators with an all seeing eye. She would be caught and shoved back into her gilded cage soon enough.

But she still had hope she could run. She still had hope for her freedom. How stupid she was.

She kneeled between two crates, trying to keep her whimpering to a minimum but could not help her frightened noises. What would they do if they caught her? Would they hurt her? No, no, they wouldn't. They couldn't. Could they? She heard quick steps and angry breaths from near her and slapped her hand against her mouth. Her eyes widened and she curled into herself.

They would not get to her. She was alright, she deserved to make her own decisions for once. They wouldn't take it from her this time. She'd sooner die than let her take the last bit of herself she had left. But she was so afraid, so horribly afraid. It rung in her ears like a wasps nest, the constant ringing of a threat nearby. Her instinct was to flee, but they would catch her faster if she did.

Only when she heard the steps move further away, did she raise herself to her feet and carefully move away.

That was the wrong decision.

She bumped into something immediately, and then hands shot out to grasp her forearms. "Andrea? Oh, thank God."

It was Louis. He seemed so relieved to see her. It disgusted her to her very core. She reacted immediately, slamming her heal onto his toes. It didn't hurt, but it shocked him enough for him to suddenly release her. He cried out and she ran into a clearing. She didn't know where it led, but it was far away from him.

"Andrea!" He roared from behind her.

For a moment she thought she lost him, but she knew better than to be hopeful.

"Bonjour, ma petit faon." A voice spoke from beside her ear. She jumped to face him, but he simply held her to him tightly, her face pressed against his chest.

She shook in his hold, and thrashed slightly, but he grasped her arms and held her in front of him like a prized calf. "Oh, my precious girl."

"You killed him. You killed Julian, you monster!" She pushed her hands against his chest.

He just nodded slowly. "Yes, I did. And I did it for you. Just like I do everything for you."

"No, you did it for you! For you and for Louis! You killed him, you fucking killed him!" She was wild now, unforgiving, with nothing left to lose but her own life.

His face was now full of rage as he tugged her closer. "It was an act of love. The truest kind. I did what was best for you, I won't have you deny this."

"Let me go, Lestat!" Andrea begged.

He looked her up and down, as if considering something. A long pause between the two of them.

"Alright." He said. "Run."

"What?" She breathed.

"I'll give you your chance." He said simply, his face growing feral. "Run."

The game was beginning. His sweet fawn wanted to run, he would let her. He was a hunter, after all, and a hunter needed his prey. She could run all she wanted, her pretty little feet would tap against the ground and she'd search for safety, doe eyed and lost. He'd take her, bind her and bring her home. Home.

He dug his hand into her hair and pulled. "Run." He hissed.

So she did. The lovely little prey with two monsters on her tail.

She tried her best to slow her heartbeat, blood rushing into her ears and her throat closing up with unshed tears.

He took pleasure in this, she was sure. Two pairs of steps were behind her, and now she knew Louis had joined in and he was fucking pissed. While Lestat was playful, the other truly angry.

She ran? She actually fucking ran? How dare she, he thought to himself. They'd done everything for her, welcomed her into their family, and Andrea ran.

He'd get her, they'd get her, and make sure the thought of leaving never crossed her mind again.

She hid behind another crate, just to catch her breath for a moment.

"Come on out, sugarcane!" Louis called out, tired of this chase.

Lestat chuckled deeply at his anger. "What do you think, Louis?" He opened one crate with a flick of his fingers. "Is she in here?" It fell against the ground loudly. Andrea almost shrieked. "No. Our little fawn has sprinted further away."

"I'm getting real tired of these games, Andrea!" Louis huffed.

She carefully lowered her hand from her mouth and swallowed her fear.

Everything went silent and for a moment she thought she'd gotten away.

Then Lestat was before her again, a mocking, self-satisfied smirk on his face. "There she is."

Defeated, she just curled into herself. "No, no, no. Please just let me go."

"And let you slip between our fingers? Go where we cannot find you? I don't think so, dear girl." He shook his head.

Louis shot out to grasp her forearm and pulled her to her feet. He looked her up and down, anger pulsing from his body. But then his eyes creased in concern. "Are you hurt?" He asked shakily.

She shook her head, tears gathering in her eyes. He nodded. "Good. Good. That was a stupid thing you did. You scared me. Claudia's worried sick." And then he pulled Andrea into his arms, cradling her head like she was made of glass.

Her body shook with sobs, feeling so utterly undone, that she could no longer fight them. She'd tried and failed to get away. She didn't even want to think what they'd to to her now.

He pulled away and his face was confusing, half fuming half depressed. She didn't understand what he wanted her to say.

"That was fun." Lestat chimed in before he took her jaw in his hand with an iron grip. "But never again, Andrea. You don't run from us." He demanded. "Say it, you don't run from us."

Tears ran down her face. "I don't run from you."

"Good girl." And then he kissed her. It stopped her breath, but he didn't care. He wanted all of her, wanted to consume her being and take it into himself. She was him and he would be her once he had his way.

Before she could catch her breath, Louis kissed her as well and his kiss was desperate as if he searching for something within her that would satiate his hunger. She'd almost slipped away from him, and perhaps here and now he could show her how much he needed her, but he wasn't sure she'd ever know.

She was their light in the darkness, their rose eyed beauty who saw them as angels. Who saw them beyond their vampiric nature, and understood that they too could be good.

Unfortunately, Andrea was aware how delusional this was.

When Louis pulled away she finally breathed, tears streaming down her face. Lestat held her close and kissed away her tears. They loved her, in their own horrible way, they loved her.

"Home." Lestat said. "Let's take you home."

And home they went.

_______________

They didn't let her go out much after that, and hadn't bothered to erase her memories. She'd just find out again, and would try her luck in running once more. They'd rather keep her as she is, with the reassurance she wouldn't try and escape.

They'd also forbidden her from telling Claudia what had happened, and they said they'd know if she did. They'd lied to her and just told her that Andrea had lost track of time while painting in the park.

Andrea was relatively numb these days, except when she was with her daughter. She was in bed with Claudia, holding her tightly to her chest.

She watched her mother carefully, concern etched on her features. "Mama, what is it?"

"Nothing, baby." She assured with an unconvincing smile.

Claudia didn't believe her. "It's something. Did you fight with Daddy Lou and Uncle Les?"

It wasn't a fight, it was a fucking hunt. But she couldn't say that to her daughter. "No, Claudia. I'm just tired, I promise."

"Then I believe the time has come to sleep." They heard Lestat from the doorway. He leaned against the frame, a satisfied expression on his face. He was content, it seemed. "Say good night to Mama, Claudia."

The girl vampire frowned but pressed a kiss to her mothers cheek. "Good night, mama. I love you."

Andrea cupped her face. "I love you too."

She got off the bed and walked towards Lestat who held a hand out for his companion. She took it, but did meet his eyes.

He held her close as they made their way to the coffin room. She was already in her sleep wear, same with the other two. Louis walked into the room after them, having said good night to his daughter before joining them.

To the side of the coffin they shared, another one of her paintings lay. It was dark and stormy, two bodies falling through the sky, completely disfigured and angry. Angels wings turned leathery and rough, blood dripping from their mouths, but it was also a bit too blurry to truly make out. It was horrifying.

Louis took one look at it. "New painting?"

She didn't reply, only nodded.

He tried so smile at her. "It's nice."

Lestat pressed a kiss to her head and then allowed her to settle beside him in the coffin. "You've always been so talented, ma petit faon. It was your artistic eye that made us fall for you, I think."

Louis laid on her other side, making it an insanely tight fit, but they would have it no other way.

If they had looked at her painting a little longer, they would've noticed the eyes of the demons she had painted. One pair a disturbing emerald green, and the other an unsettlingly light shade of blue.

#amc iwtv #lestat x reader #lestat x louis #lestat x reader x louis #louis de pointe du lac #lestat de lioncourt #claudia de pointe du lac #louis x reader #louis de pointe du lac x reader #lestat de lioncourt x reader #iwtv x reader #iwtv x oc

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oofthwoods · 1 year ago

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DEBUTANTE! ── ˙ ̟ the echo !!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 :: derived from the french language, meaning “a first performance or showing.” the original word debutante referred to a new actress making her first appearance on the stage. or, the one where dreams come true in bahrain.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 :: just a little bonus, but i picture jasper as kingsley ben-adir (secret invasion, barbie). if this is the first work of mine you're checking, reader is a driver for porsche and the daughter of rubens barrichello!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 :: 5.5k

NO ONE ASKED HER A QUESTION IN FORTY-FIVE MINUTES.

Naturally, there were many questions about her. How did the drivers feel about a woman joining their ranks on the track? What were their thoughts on the growing number of female fans who were tuning in to watch Formula One, possibly due to the popularity of the documentary Drive to Survive or the historic moment of having the first female driver in decades?

She wasn't sure if this was better or worse than she anticipated. She vividly recalled her first press conference last year when she was still driving for ART Grand Prix. They asked her ridiculous questions like whether it was professional to wear skirts in the paddock (yes), who the most attractive driver was (herself, obviously), and even if her father was disappointed that she reached a milestone in motorsport before her older brother (Dudu, who raced with their father in Brazilian Stock Series. And no, he had already made it clear he was proud of both of them).

In the first few minutes, she assumed it was because she was a rookie. But then Oscar Piastri answered a fair share of questions while looking at her as if he didn't understand why people were treating her like an invisible presence. She would shrug her shoulders and the australian reluctantly answered reporters' inquiries.

She was sandwiched between Lewis, who seemed impatient as time dragged on without any questions directed towards her, and Max Verstappen, who quickly responded to his own questions and showed his eagerness to leave. Two rookies, two world champions, but only three drivers deemed important enough for interviews.

The world-renowned champion's frustration peaked when asked about his recent vacation activities.

"Is this a joke?" he asked. "Do you really want to know what I did on my vacation more than asking her interesting questions?" He gestured towards the girl beside him.

"It's alright, Lewis-"

"With all due respect, Hamilton," one of the reporters interjected with a sarcastic smirk on his face. "I can't imagine what kind of questions we could ask Miss Barrichello besides her makeup preferences or favorite clothing brands."

"How about the fact that I won four championships in a row as a rookie?" She responded with a fake sweet smile plastered on her face. She could accept to be ignored, but she refused to be underestimated. "Or maybe any questions about Porsche joining the grid this year?"

"I don't think winning a championship by such a small margin of points is anything to be praised." The reporter retorted. His expression implied that he wasn't expecting the young girl to comfort him, but he couldn't hold back.

"Really? So we should just say that the battle between Max and Lewis in 2021-" she indicated towards them "-was nothing worth celebrating? Such an uneventful year for this sport."

Verstappen leaned forward, observing the interaction between the girl and the reporter. This press conference just became much more interesting.

"Strong words from someone who has never stepped foot in a race car." He chimed in, agreeing with the youngest person in the room.

"That's not what I meant." The reporter stuttered, noticing the security chief slowly approaching him. The middle-aged man was one of many security guards in the paddock that had known the driver since she was a child, and she knew that one look in his direction and the man would be escorted out.

"Of course, of course," she replied sarcastically. "You mean it's not worth celebrating because a woman won, right? Please, if you're going to insult me, at least try to make it believable. Or better yet, don't speak if you have no idea what you're talking about"

The tension in the room was palpable as another reporter spoke up, "But Y/n, let's be real here. The races were mostly dominated by your teammate, Frederik Vesti or runner-up Felipe Drugovich. Your victories were purely tactical."

She leaned back in her chair with a smug smile playing on her lips. "Is that so? Yet somehow I managed to come out on top every time."

Verstappen nodded in agreement, "She's definitely got a point there."

The press room fell into an intense quiet, causing y/n to regret her decision to do this interview. She knew that this type of situation would become more common as her fame grew in the coming year. She also understood that Lewis would be praised for defending her while she would face criticism for simply standing up for herself against a man who was only doing his job.

The silence was broken by a female journalist in the back, hidden behind the larger, more muscular bodies of her male counterparts. But y/n could never mistake that blonde hair for anyone else. Mariana Becker was a veteran sports reporter, an icon in Brazilian journalism, and a role model for any woman breaking into a male-dominated field.

“I wish I had raised my hand earlier; I didn't realize it would take so long for someone to ask you a question,” she chuckled. "I don't think anyone will object to two questions, right?" The woman looked around the room, and the other interviewers avoided making eye contact with the veteran.

"So, y/n, you've been asked countless times about being a woman in a male-dominated world and the difficulties you face because of it. However, with such a successful junior career full of records, I honestly don't see the need to ask that question again. Instead, I'd like to focus on the positive aspects. What does it mean to you knowing that a new generation of girls can look up to you as an inspiration and be motivated to pursue their dreams?"

The girl's face lit up with gratefulness for the refreshing question and relief that she wouldn't have to answer the same question she had already answered countless times before.

"It's incredibly inspiring for me as well. Growing up in this environment, surrounded by racing cars, I was also discouraged from pursuing this career. But I can only imagine how much more difficult it must have been for young girls who were ridiculed just for dreaming of driving a go-kart. To know that I can play a role in encouraging them to follow their dreams without fear of judgment is truly exciting."

Lewis subtly raised his thumb in a gesture of approval while she chuckled.

"Excellent," said the reporter with a smile. "One more question, how did your father react when you told him you were entering the world of Formula 1?"

"He cried," y/n answered quickly, eliciting laughter from those in the room. "He's quite the crybaby, so I waited until we were together to share the news of my contract with Porsche. At first, he cried tears of joy, then fear, and eventually a mixture of both. That's when he realized that all three of his children were following in his footsteps as race car drivers and that he'd have to pay for everything he put his own father through."

The reporter chuckled along with y/n. Mari had interviewed Rubens back when he was in Formula 1, and remembers clearly how emotional the man always was. The conference went on like this for another half an hour, with y/n answering everything from her expectations for the upcoming season to her favorite tracks and how she dealt with pressure.

The balaclava, damp with sweat, clung tightly to her face as she stood at attention. Her race engineer, a tall black man with a buzzcut and a calm expression, waited patiently beside her. She smoothed down the folds of her crisp, red-and-black uniform, adorned with her country's flag on the sleeve.

"How was the conference?" Jasper asked.

The girl muttered something that Jasper couldn't make out. "That bad? Did they bring up the issue with wearing skirts in the paddock again?"

"They didn't ask anything at first, but then one guy made a comment about me winning the championship by a narrow margin of points not being worthy of praise. Except it wasn't even a narrow margin; Felipe finished about sixty points behind me., and Fred was more than a hundred points behind, despite driving the same car as me" She complained.

Jasper winced. The relationship between the engineer and the driver had been amazing during pre-season tests with the man acting like a friend and a mentor, and they had found a groove to envy.

"You'll need to come up with a strategy for dealing with these reporters," Jasper advised.

"I already have one."

"Really?" He glanced at the clock on the track and realized that time was running out. He handed her the helmet with both hands. She grinned and smoothly put it on. The colors of her country's flag stood out against the black and red of the car, making it impossible to miss.

"Yes. WWJD."

"What does that stand for?"

"What Would Jenson Do. Originally, it was "What Would Kimi Do," but I quickly realized that Kimi would just tell everyone to go fuck themselves, and I can't exactly do that yet."

The garage was a whirlwind of activity, with mechanics frantically making last-minute adjustments and drivers strapping into their cars. The scent of gasoline and burning rubber wafted through the air, adding to the excitement and tension that crackled in the atmosphere.

Everywhere she looked, there were people moving with purpose, each one focused on their individual tasks to ensure a successful first qualifying session of the season. The roar of engines being revved and tools clanging against metal filled her ears, drowning out any other sound. It was a chaotic but exhilarating scene as the countdown to the race began.

"Why not "What Would Rubens Do"?" He asked.

She chuckled. "My dad is too nice. In his only fight in his entire Formula 1 career, he told the mechanic who wanted to fight him to get someone else because he was too small."

Jasper's phone buzzed insistently, jolting him out of his thoughts and reminding him that only five minutes remained until the start of Q1. After the last few adjustments from the mechanics, y/n managed to squeeze into her car and secure her seatbelt. Her heart pounded so hard it felt like it might leap out of her chest, a mix of nerves and excitement coursing through her body as she prepared for the intense competition ahead.

Jasper rested his arms on the halo. "Don't forget what we discussed earlier," he reminded her. "In Q1, six cars will be eliminated, followed by six more in Q2. This means that the top ten fastest cars will battle for pole position. Based on our data, we are definitely faster than Alpha Tauri, Alfa Romeo, Haas, and Williams - a total of eight cars."

The girl nodded eagerly, her eyes glued to the man as he continued. "At the very least, you and Mick should be able to make it into Q2. We're not sure how Alpine and McLaren are doing, but they don't seem to be as quick as us." He gestured towards the track outside where the other teams were busy with their own preparations. "But we can't let our guard down. Anything can happen during quali." The tension was palpable as they both waited for their turn on the track.

"So, we're trying for Q3 then?" She inquired, her voice filled with a mix of curiosity and determination.

"Officially, I was instructed to tell you that Q2 is sufficient, but we can't know our full potential until we're on the track."

A sly grin appeared on her face, hidden behind her helmet. She pushed down her visor, ready to give it her all. "Well, I say let's aim for Q3 then. I want to see what this car can really do."

A gentle laugh escaped Jasper's lips, his eyes shining with admiration. "That's the spirit, echo. Show them what you're made of."

With one final nod, y/n shifted her focus, tuning out the noise and commotion of the pit lane. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, using all her senses to ground herself in the present moment. The smell of burning rubber and gasoline filled her nostrils as she visualized the track ahead. The deafening roar of the engine drowned out all other sounds, sending shivers down her spine.

Jasper's voice crackled through the radio in her ear, sounding like a distant robot. "Radio check," he said, his tone serious and business-like.

She adjusted gloves as she responded, "I hear you loud and clear." Her hands were tightly gripped on the steering wheel as she followed Logan Sargeant's Williams out of the pit lane. It was a tight squeeze with the Porsche garage being the newest addition to the grid. She bit her lip, hoping that their placement in the pit lane wouldn't cause any trouble in the future.

"Great. Warm up your tires and then do a flying lap. We want to get a better idea of our potential and avoid any possible disruptions from a Red Flag," Jasper instructed.

"Roger that," she replied, trying to keep her breathing steady as cars started to move around her. She prayed that the onboard camera wouldn't catch her trembling hands as she prepared for her first real lap on the track.

The engine roared to life as she pressed down on the accelerator, gripping the steering wheel with determination. The car surged forward, its tires screeching against the asphalt, leaving a trail of smoke behind. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, heightening her senses as she focused on the task at hand.

The wind whipped through, carrying with it a symphony of sounds—engines revving, tires squealing, and the distant cheers of the crowd. Her heart pounded in sync with the rhythm of the track, each beat pulsating through her chest.

As the cars whizzed by, she made a conscious effort to stay out of their way while completing her out lap. It was her first Grand Prix, and she wasn't about to receive an impeding penalty. She could feel the engine roaring to life and her car responding with precision, its tires getting ready to set a time that would hopefully secure her from elimination in the initial round.

Jasper's voice crackled through the radio once again. "Alright, you're good to go. Try your best," he encouraged, his voice filled with unwavering support.

"Copy." She smirked.

The pre-tests and free practice had prepared her for what was to come, but nothing could have truly prepared her for the exhilaration of sitting behind the wheel of a Formula 1 car. The engine purred like a fierce beast, ready to unleash its power at any moment. The sleek body of the car hugged the track, cutting through the air with precision and grace.

As she approached the first turn, she braked hard, shifting her weight to navigate the corner with precision. The G-forces pressed against her body, threatening to tear her away from reality. But she held firm, refusing to let anything distract her from the objective ahead.

She feathered the throttle, feeling the car respond to her slightest movements. The tires gripped the track, providing a sense of stability as she accelerated out of the turn, leaving her the other car trailing behind. Y/n's focus was unwavering, her eyes fixated on the next set of corners, mentally calculating her approach.

The flying lap was over in an instant, and the sound of the cheering crowd filled her ears as she crossed the finish line and set her initial time.

"Way to go, girl!" Jasper's voice crackled through the radio. "You've got P8, I repeat, P8. We're safely into Q2, but stay on track just in case. Prepare for another quick lap."

"How did Mick do?" she asked eagerly.

"P10, 0.78 seconds behind you," Jasper's voice was filled with pride as he responded. Despite his efforts to maintain professionalism, they were both rookies in the Formula 1 world, even if in different roles. "I got a great feeling about us, Barrichello. This could be the beginning of something legendary."

The minutes seemed to stretch into hours as she waited for the race to begin and she started to feel claustrophobic inside her cramped driver's room.

Finally, unable to bear the suffocating atmosphere any longer, she stepped outside into the bustling garage. The sight of her team, clad in matching uniforms and working tirelessly on their cars, brought a small smile to her face. As she made her way through the maze of mechanics and equipment, she was greeted with reassuring smiles and words of encouragement.

This was not just her first race, but also the team's inaugural race. In a way, they were all rookies, feeling the pressure and nerves just as she was.

Standing outside, it was clear that several eyes were on her. Some, like the veteran Ferrari mechanics who had known her since she was a little girl, flashed comforting smiles and gave her thumbs up, wishing her the best of luck. Others raised their eyebrows with skepticism, as if they believed her presence on the grid was some sort of elaborate prank that hadn't been revealed yet.

Amidst a sea of red and black uniforms, the bright green outfit of the two-time world champion stood out prominently. Fernando paid no mind to the curious glances from his mechanics as he made his way confidently towards the girl.

"You're not allowed in here, Alonso." She teased, playfully crossing her arms in a gesture that made her seem much older than she was.

"Is that how it is now? You qualify in the Top 10 in your first race and all of a sudden I'm just Alonso, not Nando?" He responded with a chuckle. Clutching his heart dramatically, he leaned back as if struck by sudden agony. "What happened to all our pizza days? They meant nothing to you?"

The character she was playing no longer felt right to her, and the words she spoke didn't align with the expression on her face. She fought to suppress a smile as she continued, "That person you knew, Alonso? She is gone now."

As the man approached, she couldn't help but feel a sense of familiarity wash over her. His dark hair and intense brown eyes were etched into her memory, but it was his infectious smile that brought back a flood of childhood memories.

Fernando rested his hands on her shoulders and held onto his helmet, which puzzled her. With only a few minutes left before the race began, he could have easily stored it in his own garage rather than carrying it around. But she pushed those thoughts aside as his gaze softened and he spoke.

"You were the size of a flea when I met you," he said with a chuckle. She smiled at the memory of their first encounter. She had been just six years old at the time, tagging along with her father to one of his races. She remembered being mesmerized by the speed and energy of the cars on the track, but also feeling a little intimidated by the loud noises and bustling crowds.

But then she saw him – Alonso – standing tall and proud in his racesuit. He had noticed her watching him from behind the fence and had flashed her a tight smile. Somehow, from that one interaction, she had become a fan. From then on, whenever she visited the track with her father, she would always seek out Fernando.

Initially, the Spaniard couldn't comprehend why the young girl found him so intriguing. He knew he was talented and quick on the race track, but children were not his forte. Alonso would often try to distance himself from the girl, offering only friendly waves and smiles. However, when she presented him with a drawing of himself on the podium with a trophy (which he still keeps today), everything changed.

"You used to avoid me like the plague," she recalled.

"That's not entirely true," Fernando denied, but quickly changed his tune when the girl raised an eyebrow. "Okay, maybe I wasn't too fond of being followed around by a little girl. Can you blame me? If anything happened to you, I would have to deal with your father, Michael, Kimi, and all the mechanics that you had wrapped around your finger."

He became somewhat of figure between an older brother and a father figure to her, always ready with words of encouragement and advice.

Now here they were, both grown up and about to race against each other for the very first time.

"I can't believe we're finally racing against each other," she said with a mixture of excitement and nerves.

"It's about time," Fernando replied with a smirk. "I've been waiting for this moment since you beat me in go-karts."

A smile tugged at her lips as she recalled the moment. During one of his trips with her family to cheer her on during her junior career, they decided to have some fun and race go-karts. She had managed to beat him by mere thousandths of a second, and she made sure to remind him of it constantly afterwards.

"What's on the agenda for today, Mija?" He asked, looking around at the girl's garage.

"Hah, like I would share that with you. I love you, Nando, but now we're competitors." She narrowed her eyes playfully. "You're just trying to take advantage because we're close."

"You got me." He chuckled, knowing it wasn't entirely true.

She sighed and crossed her arms with a hesitant expression. "Rule number one is to not crash into Mick. Number two is to avoid crashing into anyone else. Our team isn't expecting a stellar performance, so if we can maintain our starting positions, both cars will score points. That's our main goal."

"Oh, come on. Don't you want to try overtaking someone?" he prodded.

Y/N laughed. "Why? You want to see me in your rearview mirror?"

"Of course I do," he admitted. "Competing for a win with you would be incredible."

He pushed his helmet towards the girl, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Confused, she tilted her head in question. “I appreciate the gift, but I think you’ll need it today.”

Fernando laughed, memories flooding back to him. “Remember when your dad retired and you started coming to races with me?”

The memories flooded back, of her father's days in the high-stakes world of Formula 1. Though he had since retired, Fernando still managed to convince Rubens to allow her to travel with him to races closer to her home, and sometimes even to the grand prix in his homeland.

She quickly caught on to his request and playfully darted away from him before snagging the helmet. It had become a tradition since she was ten years old, and Fernando had unofficially taken on the role of her godfather. She used to do this same routine with her own father, so it felt natural to continue with the spaniard. He stood there, slightly perplexed, wondering if he had said or done something wrong. But just moments later, the young girl returned with her own helmet in hand.

"Wouldn't it be fair for you to do the same for me this time?" she asked playfully.

The two exchanged helmets and planted a kiss on the part of the helmet that would soon cover each other's foreheads.

"Stay safe, Nando"

"You too. Give us hell"

"It's an easy overtake for Barrichello in the Porsche, and she takes the position from Lance Stroll in the Aston Martin!" David Croft's voice rings across the circuit, and the crowd roars, the flags from her country and Germany flying around.

"Great job!" The voice of her race engineer appears in her ear, breaking through her intense concentration. "Russell is 1.2 ahead, close the gap to be able to use DRS when it is enabled."

"Copy" she nods, instinctively, her eyes never leaving the track ahead. She knows what she needs to do, and she pushes her car to its limits, weaving through the curves and straights with precision and skill.

As she closes the gap between her and the british driver, she can feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins. She's in her element, in the midst of the intense competition that she lives for.

"0.7. Go for it, elbows out" Jasper said again.

The cheers of the pit crew resounded in her ears as she used the extra boost to overtake the Mercedes. It was a challenge to defend against George's attempts at whiplash and reclaim her position, but once they were off the main straight, she managed to create a considerable gap between them.

The rest of the race flew by in a blur. The girl lost track of her position, constantly overtaking some cars only to be overtaken shortly after. However, Jasper's encouraging words kept her going.

Jasper's voice crackled through the radio as she approached the final stretch of the race. "Virtual safety car, slow down," he instructed.

She quickly checked her rearview mirror, looking for her teammate. "Is it ours?" she asked.

"No, it's Leclerc in the Ferrari," Jasper replied, "which puts us in fifth place."

She could see Hamilton was more than five seconds behind, and the yellow flag meant that Alonso was slowing down ahead of her.

"As soon as the VSC is lifted, you'll have a clear shot to overtake," Jasper added.

Who would have thought that she would be right on Fernando's heels after all?

After a few laps of caution due to the previous incident, the green flags were waved and she wasted no time in accelerating towards the Aston Martin driven by the Spaniard. She steadily closed the gap between them until she was right behind him. However, just as she was about to make a move to pass him, he outmaneuvered Carlos Sainz's Ferrari.

In a swift and calculated maneuver, she positioned her car on the inside of Sainz, who seemed too focused on reclaiming his position to check his mirrors. Taking advantage of his momentary lapse of attention, she quickly overtook him.

Jasper's voice was filled with excitement as he shouted, "That's it, echo! What a fantastic move!" She could almost hear the smile in his tone. "Alonso is already ten seconds ahead, so concentrate on defending now."

The final laps seemed like a blur, the girl steadily increasing the gap between her and the Ferrari with each lap.

"It's a flawless performance from Porsche, with both cars scoring points on this historic day. Mick Schumacher equals his best career finish with an incredible P6, and Y/N Barrichello takes fourth place, becoming the first woman to score in a Formula 1 race since Lella Lombardi and achieving the highest position for a woman in history!"

The sound of the bustling cheers from the Porsche garage fills her ears as she struggled to park the car with trembling hands. “Unbelievable! P4, y/n, P4! We scored 21 points and Mick got the fastest lap. What a start,” Jasper exclaims over the radio.

She stepped out of the car on shaky legs and is immediately greeted by Carlos, who had parked his car behind hers. “Where did you come from?” he asked with a chuckle. “I was trying to overtake Fernando, and suddenly you were right beside me.”

She took off her helmet and balaclava, her hair damp with sweat and sticking to her forehead and neck. She culdn't help but laugh. "Next time, check your mirrors," She teases her good-naturedly.

A hand rested on her shoulder, and she was suddenly enveloped in a warm embrace. The sweat that coated both of them didn't matter, nor did the fact that she still needed to weigh herself. She squeezed Mick even tighter and they both seemed too overjoyed to let go.

He took a step back but kept his arms around her. "Fourth place in your first race! I told you not to worry," the German exclaimed proudly.

"And look who's talking with the fastest lap!" She laughed in agreement. "We did it, Mick. We fucking did it."

A bottle of water suddenly appeared in her line of sight, and she turned to thank the person who handed it to her. To her surprise, it was Lewis with a smile on his face.

"If you had just overtaken one more person, you would have joined the club," he joked, pointing to Kevin Magnussem, who appeared to be deep in conversation with his teammate. "It was quite a race for the two of you."

"Honestly, I wasn't expecting to end up anywhere higher than where I started, so P4 is already a great achievement," she replied with a laugh as she took the cold bottle from him. The girl then turned to Lewis again and asked about his own race.

"P7. Mick managed to pass me on the last lap," he responded, glancing over at the young driver who chuckled in response.

The adrenaline was still pumping through her veins as y/n made her way to the weighing machines. She couldn't believe it, a P4 finish on her debut race. It seemed like a dream come true.

She stepped onto the scales, trying to calm her racing heart. The number flashed on the screen, and she let out a sigh of relief. "Phew, just made it," she muttered to herself.

Grabbing a towel to wipe off the sweat from her face, she quickly discarded her race suit at her hips, and made her way to her garage in her white fireproofs.

To an outsider, it might have seemed like the team had just won a world championship, not a P6 and P4. People were clapping her on the back and embracing Mick, and she struggled to decipher the various voices exclaiming with joy.

Jasper appeared in front of her with a bottle of champagne in hand. "Congratulations y/n, you did amazing out there!" he exclaimed before popping open the bottle and spraying champagne everywhere.

She laughed as some of the bubbly liquid hit her skin. "Thanks Jasper! I couldn't have done it without your perfect strategy. Great call with the tyres"

He grinned at her before turning serious. "But seriously y/n, you did a great job out there. We're all so proud of you." The rest of the team joined them in cheers and congratulations.

Before they could continue their conversation, Adrian, the team principle, arrived at their garage looking ecstatic. "Great job everyone! A double-points finish for our debut race, this is just the beginning." He raised his glass of champagne before taking a sip.

Y/n looked around and couldn't help but feel proud of her team. They had come a long way since their first tests together. And now here they were, competing in one of the most prestigious racing championships in the world.

Adrian turned to her with a smile. "Y/n, I must say you exceeded all expectations today. You have proven yourself as a valuable addition to our team." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Keep up the good work."

She couldn't help but blush at his words and nod gratefully. This was everything she had ever dreamed of - to be part of a successful racing team and make her mark in the sport.

As the celebrations continued, y/n couldn't help but think about how far she had come. From fighting for sponsorships to competing against some of the best drivers in the world, it felt like a dream come true.

But amidst all the excitement and joy, there was still one thing weighing on her mind - her family. She missed them terribly and wished they could be here to witness her success.

Just then, her phone buzzed.

"Muito orgulhoso de você filhota. Eu sabia que você ia arrasar! Me liga quando acabar tudo aí" — PAPAI. (so so proud of you, baby. i knew you would rock it! call me once you're done with everything there.)

Soon after, her older brother's name appeard on her phone as well. A quick congrats was followed by a video. Tapping on it, she couldn't contain the tears as she watched her father by the TV, holding tightly their flag and exploding in joy as the checkered flag was waved and his daughter finished in fourth.

He erupted with happiness, leaping and embracing her siblings and close friends who had gathered to witness her debut. He would excitedly point towards the television, shouting with pride, "There she is! My little girl!"

A big smile crept onto her face as she quickly replied back with an update on how things were, and a promise to video call her family as soon as she was cleared from the media.

"Time for the boring stuff now. Ready for the interviews?" Mick pulled her out of her thoughts. He had his phone on his hand, and she imagined he was also communicating with his family. "I can go first, if you want."

She took a deep breath, and smiled. "It's okay, i'll go. There's nothing they can say that could ruin my day. Not anymore."

taglist (tell me if you want to be added or removed <3) :: @studioreader, @fanficweasley, @stinkyjax, @namgification, @judespoision, @cha-hot, @disneyprincemuke, @itsjustkhaos, @trouble-sistar, @ihateyougunthersteiner, @treehouse-mouse, @cherry-piee, @fangirl125reader, @cassie0sstuff

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headkiss · 2 years ago

Text

you’ll always know me

part 1, part 2

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: even as the crowds at his shows get bigger and bigger, eddie munson still has you, his very best friend. or, (for my swifties) eddie munson is your dorothea.

word count: 8.6k

warnings: fluff, a little angst, childhood best friends to lovers (sort of), weed and smoking, librarian!reader, first kiss, so many uses of the words “i miss you,” and some idiots in love !!!

a/n: hiiiii!!! this one took so long but i really love rockstar!eddie and i hope you do too!!! this is inspired by tis the damn season and especially dorothea by taylor swift <3 thank you to my love @inkluvs for encouraging me on this one ily!!!

♫♩♪♬

It’s surreal to watch someone close to you grow so much bigger than the town you live in.

To know that the person you see on the news, at award shows on your TV screen, is the same one who used to push you on the swings at the playground, who used to walk with you to and from school, who grew up beside you, closer than anyone else ever could have.

Closer than anyone ever would, still.

To most people, he’s Eddie Munson, lead singer and guitarist of Corroded Coffin. To you, he’s Eddie, the best friend you’ve ever had.

You can go back years and years, and Eddie’s woven into your life for so much of it. So is his music. You can pick out the points: watching Corroded Coffin play for the first time in middle school, watching their first gig at the Hideout, being in the front row for it all wearing the widest smile, having the loudest cheers.

Even the late night phone calls you’d get when he’d be stuck on lyrics, when he wanted someone’s opinion and chose to dial your number instead of his bandmates’.

(“Hello?”

“I can’t get this line to sound right.”

“Let’s hear it, Munson.”)

You’re often in disbelief of where he is now. Not because you ever doubted him, but because even after so long, it’s strange not to see him every day. You’re insanely proud of him, but that doesn’t mean you don’t miss him.

Because you do. You miss him so much.

A box sits on the top shelf of your closet, one filled with newspaper and magazine clippings, articles about the band’s success, positive reviews about their shows and their albums. Things to show that Eddie’s dream came true, and that’s a rare thing.

There’s only one kind of tabloid you choose not to keep: the ones booming with rumors you selfishly hope aren’t true.

‘Lead singer of Corroded Coffin has a new spark? Read more to find out who’s caught famous bad boy Eddie Munson’s eye.’

You see him constantly in pictures, through a screen, but you only really ever see him on holidays, when he’s able to come home. When he comes bursting back into your life in vibrant fireworks with his stupid, pretty smile and stupid, shining brown eyes. When he comes back only to leave all over again.

You only have yourself to blame, really, for letting it tear you up. Because more than anything, you’re happy for him, so happy you could never express it properly, but still, there’s an ache in you when he crosses your mind, when the feelings linger.

Life in Hawkins for you consists of working at the library, reading your days and thoughts away, hanging out with the gang when you’re up to it, and that’s about it.

Eddie always knows where to find you when he does come home, usually barging into the library with his arms open for a hug, one you rush into easily. You always spend the couple days he has in Hawkins together, being the you and him you’ve been since you were kids. But the lingering reminder doesn’t fade, the reminder of him having to leave looming over you like a storm cloud.

Eddie Munson comes home sporadically, unknowingly taking your heart with him wherever he goes. And when his inevitable departure takes place, you’re forced to regrow what’s missing from your chest. Every single time.

Besides his uncle Wayne, who could only ever see him as a troublemaking kid, you’re the only person who’s never treated Eddie any differently.

Not in high school when he was labeled a freak, not even when the fame rose so suddenly it felt like a tidal wave. You kept him afloat. You keep him afloat.

He knows he should call more often, he knows that even if the phone works both ways, you really don’t have a way of keeping track of which hotel he’s in, which state, which country, even. He knows that falls on him.

Your phone number’s burned into Eddie’s memory. He could never forget it, and still, he can’t seem to find the time to dial it. He’ll get called away, or he’ll just be getting back from a show and barely have the energy to shower before getting in bed. Worse, he’ll get the panicked sense that you won’t pick up anymore.

At least he’s never missed your birthday. That, he’ll always make time for, usually phoning you at the same time that a bouquet of flowers arrives at your door. And somehow, even when he’s away, you don’t miss his birthday, either.

Eddie’s sitting on the small couch in his dressing room, waiting to go on stage, thinking of you the way he often does.

He wonders if you think of him, too. If you miss him or if you’re angry that he’s gone so often, that he can barely even manage a fucking phone call. Though, you were never the type to be angry. Never with him, at least.

He wants to hear your voice, wants to hear you tell him ‘good luck’ before going on stage like you used to. He peeks at the table next to the couch. Eddie’s not sure how much time he has before he needs to go, but he figures it’s worth a try.

Just as he’s about to pick up the phone in his dressing room, there’s a knock on the door.

“Munson! You’re on in five!”

He’ll call you later, then.

“Beginning descent to the Indianapolis International Airport.”

The muffled sound through the airplane’s speakers is followed by the ding of the seatbelt signs being turned on. Eddie shifts in his seat to look out the window. He’s got his own little cubicle in first class, and though this is how he always flies now (other than when he finds himself on a private jet, which is even more unbelievable), he’s still not used to it.

He’s itching to get out of this seat, then he remembers that he’s still got the trek through the airport and the drive back to Hawkins. It’ll be worth it to see Wayne, who he doesn’t see nearly as often as he should, and get his classic hug with a slap on his shoulder.

It’ll be worth it to see you, who makes Hawkins feel more like home. You, who reminds him of the person he’s always been, the parts that get lost on the road. You, who hugs him tighter than anyone else ever has.

His hands clench into fits in his lap.

As soon as Eddie steps off the plane, his security team finds him. He’d assured them that he’d be fine, really, but this is how it is for him now. Through baggage claim and all the way to the car that’s waiting for him outside, security takes a step whenever he does.

Shutting the car door as he slides into the backseat, Eddie tips his head back and sighs.

The car ride feels shorter than usual, the city fading into trees and fields until the ‘Welcome to Hawkins’ sign comes into view. The gravel crunches under the car’s tires as it pulls into the trailer park. Wayne’s got enough to get a better place now, Eddie made sure of it, but he never did. He’d never admit it but Wayne’s sentimental, and the trailer houses too many memories to let go of it.

After all, it was home.

Stepping through the front door there’s the smell that he’d never noticed until he’d been gone for weeks at a time. The settled dust, the faint smoke of cigarettes, coffee, and the room spray Wayne inevitably uses to try and cover it all up.

Eddie drags his bags inside, waves to his driver, and shuts the door behind him.

Then, Wayne’s warm rasp, “my boy. Get in okay?”

He’s wrapped in his uncle’s classic hug quickly, the pats on his shoulder and all. Eddie closes his eyes and soaks it in, just for a second, “yeah. It was fine.”

“Good, good,” Wayne says, pulling back and grasping Eddie’s shoulders, getting a good look at him. “Take a shower.”

“Is that your way of telling me I look like shit?”

“Nah, that’s me telling you that you smell like airport, boy.”

“It’s great to see you, too,” Eddie says, smiling.

He and Wayne have the kind of relationship that time doesn’t really affect all that much. Whether Eddie’s away for a week or a month, or two, or three, they fall back into things like he’d never even left.

He knows Wayne’s probably lonely, probably hiding more than he could imagine, but he also knows that he loves him, and that’s always a good thing to know, to feel. Loved.

“Shut up, you know I missed you,” Wayne shakes Eddie’s shoulders and lets go, “now go wash up and you can tell me about your last show over some coffee, sound good?”

“Sounds good. I missed you too, Wayne.”

Eddie carries his bags into his room, leaving them open on the ground rather than unpacking. He’ll just have to pack them all over again, anyways.

Before long, the trailer’s small bathroom is filling with steam as Eddie steps into the shower, dropping his neck back and letting the water run over his shoulders, his back. He stands like that for a bit, simply letting the heat melt away at the tension in his muscles.

By the time he steps out, the mirror is completely fogged with steam, and Eddie wipes away at a section to look at himself. The bags under his eyes, the mess of his hair that he doesn’t bother taming, the small scratch on his chin from one of his rings. He shakes his head and heads into his room with his towel around his waist.

He throws on a pair of plaid pajama pants and a faded band tee, his hair soaking the back of it drop by drop.

In the kitchen, Wayne’s got two mugs of coffee sitting on the small table, a seat already pulled out for Eddie to take.

“Thanks.”

He nods, sipping from his mug as Eddie does the same.

In the silence, he can’t help but think of you, of how close he is to you now. Mere minutes away. He wonders what you’re doing, if you’re reading in bed after your shift, if you’d just showered like him, if you’re thinking of him, too.

“I saw her the other day,” Wayne says.

They both know he means you.

“How’s she doing?”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll ask her that when you see her tomorrow, but she seemed good.”

“How'd you know I’m gonna see her tomorrow?”

“Come on, kid. You go to the library the day after you get in every time and think I don’t notice?”

Eddie looks down at the mug in his hands, his face warm. It shouldn’t matter, shouldn’t have him feeling all shy and nervous, like he’d been caught, but it does.

“She misses you,” Wayne adds.

“She tell you that?”

“Doesn’t have to. I’ve known that girl since she was little and running after you on the playground. I can tell.”

Wayne has always said that you’re as good as family, after all. Eddie used to joke that his uncle liked you more than him, and you used to laugh and joke back that he was right.

Eddie’s suddenly very excited to sleep, only to get to tomorrow quicker.

“I miss her, too.”

“Yeah, kid. I know,” Wayne leaves it there, switching things over, “I saw you almost eat shit on TV the other day.”

“Come on!” Eddie groans. He’d tripped over a fucking wire on stage. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“It was still fuckin’ funny.”

“Of all the shows, you just had to tune in for that one.”

Wayne asks about the tour, about how Eddie’s liking it this time around, about whether or not there’s anything new he’s working on.

In return, Eddie asks about the mechanic’s, about whether or not Wayne’s back has been acting up (which earns him a light slap on the back of the head), about what’s changed in Hawkins since the last time he’d been home.

Even through the smiles he shares with his uncle, Eddie’s wondering how you’ll react when you see him tomorrow, picturing how it’ll feel to be near you again. He gets that feeling in his gut, the butterflies that are nerves and excitement and questions and feelings rolled into one.

He’s pretty sure he dreams about you, too.

Your shifts at the library are always long; full days of scanning and shelving books. You’re lucky to say that you actually like your job. The smell of worn pages, the peacefulness (save for when Dustin comes barging in with his stack of overdue books that you let him off the hook for every time), the interactions that are almost always short and sweet since it’s meant to be a quiet place.

Your eight or nine or however many hour days go by much quicker now than they did during your high school job at the grocery store, that’s for sure.

You’re pushing the put-back cart between shelves, humming a random song quietly as you place the books where they belong, sometimes pausing to straighten things out. It’s the middle of a weekday and you’re the only person in there anyway. That is, until the small bell on the front desk dings.

“Just a second!” You call, squeezing between the cart and the self beside it to walk over to the front desk. You think your heart stops altogether.

You’d recognize that head of hair anywhere, the dark, frizzy curls. Hell, you’d recognize that damn denim vest anywhere, even the stance of the person wearing it. “Eddie?”

He turns around at the sound of your voice, and something lifts from his chest when he sees you. A grin spreads wide on his face, splitting his cheeks and crinkling his eyes in the corners, “there she is.”

Usually, when he comes home, it’s on a holiday and you’re expecting him, watching the door and waiting for him to walk through it. This time, you had no idea he’d be coming home. It’s the best surprise you could get.

You’re practically running into his arms, and he wraps them around your waist easily, yours tossed around his shoulders. Your face is buried in his neck, breathing him in, making sure this is real. “What the hell are you doing here?”

His hands clutch at the fabric over your sides, his head twisting so he can place a kiss over your hair, “had a break from tour. Missed home.”

And sure, Eddie hadn’t really realized just how much he missed it until he came back, it’s crystal clear now, with you hugging him. He really, really missed home.

You want to say something stupid and emotional like it hasn’t felt as much like home until now, or I missed the sound of your voice and the smell of your shampoo, but that would probably reveal a little too much.

“Just home you missed or…” you tease, pulling back to look at his face, his brown eyes that sort of sparkle. Your hands stay on his shoulders, his on your waist.

“I missed Wayne, obviously,” Eddie replies, acting oblivious and smiling at the small furrow in your brow.

“Eddie!”

“Aw, come on.” He tugs you in for another hug, his cheek squished against the side of your head. “‘Course I missed you, trouble.”

Trouble. You never knew you could miss a single word so much.

Eddie started calling you ‘trouble’ when you were kids, sometime in middle school when you’d stolen a bunch of his mixtapes and only returned them weeks later, when he finally noticed. He’d snatched them out of your hands and muttered ‘you’re trouble’ and it just stuck.

“Thank you,” you say, laughing when Eddie pulls back frowning at you. “And I missed you, too. Duh.”

“Duh.” He mocks. He lets go of you fully but doesn’t go far, leaning an elbow against the desk, “you’re doing okay?”

“I’m good. Things don’t change all that much around here, you know that.”

“I’m not asking about around here, I’m asking ‘bout you.”

You tug at the hair tie on your wrist. “I’m fine, Eddie. Promise.”

He nods, and there’s a small lull in the conversation that pinches at your chest for some reason. The sort of silence that never used to be there when it came to you and Eddie, always filling it with conversation or letting it be comfortable. Now, there’s something like awkwardness stretching and it stings.

Because it shouldn’t be there, because he’s Eddie and you’re you and you’re best friends and that’s all there should be to it. But it isn’t. You’re the same people, but so much is different.

“You working late?” He asks.

“Until we close.”

“Care for some company?”

You tilt your head at him, “you really wanna hang around the library for the last four hours of my shift?”

“Sounds like fun to me. I’ll even push the cart for you, and you can tell me what I’ve missed while I was away.”

It’s funny that he thinks he’d ever have to convince you to spend time with him, when you’re practically pulling at any thread of him that you can, when you’re taking anything he has to give you. Two days, a week, a couple of phone calls.

It’s all better than not having him at all.

“Only if you tell me what I’ve missed, too. Like all the cool celebrities you’ve met.”

“Not as cool as you, trouble.” Eddie taps your nose, smiling at the way you scrunch it in response.

“Shut up and start pushing the cart, Munson.”

He stands straight and salutes, “yes ma’am.”

You’re still smiling when you shake your head, “idiot.”

Eddie really does spend the rest of the day with you, pushing the cart while you re-shelf books, sitting in the extra chair behind the counter while you file returns, ducking when someone else walks in.

He asks you about Robin and Steve, Dustin and Lucas, how the kids are finding school, whether Nancy’s been hired at a big paper yet. He asks you about your family, and most of all, about you.

He hangs onto every word you say. And not once do you say anything to make him feel bad for being away, if anything, you can’t stop telling him how proud you are, especially when he talks to you about what’s in the works.

“I always told you you’d make it, Munson.”

“Wouldn’t have done it without you, trouble.”

The next morning, you’re sitting across from him in the corner booth by the window at Benny’s for breakfast. The same way you did every Friday in high school, at the same table.

Whenever you wind up at Benny’s when Eddie’s away, you tend to avoid that booth. It’s pathetic. Like his absence is clearer than ever sitting there when he isn’t. When he’s not putting whipped cream on your nose or stealing food off your plate.

Now, it’s his presence that surrounds you, his smile and his laugh, his foot nudging yours under the table.

The menu is sticky under your fingertips where you hold it, faded from sunlight and discolored from coffee spills that stain the page. You don’t really need to be looking at it—after years of coming here, you’ve probably got the thing memorized—but you need the time to collect yourself. To remember that this is Eddie, and there’s nothing to be nervous about.

You need the time to stuff down that flutter in your gut and in your chest.

On the other side of the booth, Eddie takes your distraction as a chance to really look at you. The details he can’t seem to picture when he’s away like the flecks in your eyes or the exact shade of your lips.

He never realizes just how much he misses you until he’s home. Until he’s sitting across from you and listening to the sound of your voice clearly instead of through a crackling phone’s speaker, until he gets to see the way your eyes light up slightly when you laugh.

It sort of hits him all at once, and he’s thinking, God, I should call more often. I should visit more often.

After a couple of minutes, you look back at Eddie, “you know what you want?”

“I’ve been getting the same thing since high school, trouble. Don’t need the menu.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll go order,” you say, placing your menu back in the holder by the window.

When you start sliding your way out of the booth, Eddie places a hand over yours on the table, “I can get it.”

You look down at your hands, his skin on yours, like you’d expected to see something there. A spark, a burn scorching your skin in the best way.

“I know you can,” you say, smiling at him. “But it’s my treat, okay? I want to get it.”

Eddie always feels sort of guilty when he’s not buying, because he has more than enough money to take care of it, more than he knows what to do with. Sometimes (often), people expect him to pay, even. And just like you’d known how he was feeling, you shut it down with a flash of your smile.

You shift to squeeze his hand before getting up and heading over to the counter, leaning on your elbows as you wait your turn.

Still, Eddie’s looking at you, his hand in the same spot on the table.

He knows that, despite it not being a busy morning at Benny’s, people are looking at him, whispering the way they did even in school. Only now, they’re saying they can’t believe it, look at him now, instead of calling him a freak. And just like in school, having you around makes the talk bearable. Hell, it makes it disappear, if only for a little while.

When the waiter finally comes over to take your order, you send him a kind smile, rattling off yours and Eddie’s orders.

Eddie watches the entire interaction. He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t want to make eye contact with anyone else, that it’s because he’s just making sure you’re alright. It’s certainly not because of how pretty he thinks you look today, not because of how hard it is to keep his eyes off of you.

The waiter is a younger guy, probably around your age. Someone Eddie doesn’t know. He seems to tell you a joke because you laugh, bright and sunny, and Eddie suddenly wishes that Benny was the one taking orders.

Because he should be the one to make you laugh like that, to be on the receiving end of your grin and crinkled eyes. Because there’s this weight in his stomach that feels a little too much like jealousy. Because you’re his best friend and he fucking misses you.

Eddie looks down at his hands and twists his rings around and around until you come back, the old booth squeaking as you sit down.

“You okay?” You ask, always noticing his nervous habit of fiddling with his rings.

She’s my friend, he reminds himself. My best friend, that’s all.

“‘Course I am.”

“The guy at the counter, Dan, wanted me to tell you he’s a fan.”

He shakes his head, “I can't believe I have those. Especially in this town.”

“Excuse me? Your biggest fan is sitting right here, in this town, Munson.”

He probably thinks you’re joking with the way he chuckles, chest rumbling. But, you’re not. The shoebox full of clippings says enough, and you don’t think he’d ever let you live it down if he knew about it.

“She want an autograph?” He teases, the heaviness in his stomach melting away. Your biggest fan.

“In your chicken scratch? Yeah right.”

It’s not long before your food arrives, plates of waffles and fruit, sides of bacon and hashbrowns. Of course, you inevitably end up with whipped cream on your nose and food missing from your plate.

It’s your favorite kind of breakfast.

You’re sitting in the passenger seat of Eddie’s van—the same van he’s had since high school, that he refuses to replace—heading towards Steve’s place. It’s not unusual for either of you to be meeting up with the gang, but Eddie’s still nervous.

“Are you sure about this?” He asks you.

They don’t know he’s in town, and as sure as you are that they’ll be thrilled to see him, Eddie isn’t convinced. You place a hand on his shoulder and squeeze lightly as he drives.

“Everyone’s gonna be so happy to see you. Don’t you trust me?”

“‘Course I do,” he says easily, without thinking, “just haven’t seen anyone in a while, you know?”

“We all miss you, Eddie. It’ll be fun!”

Logically, he knows nobody’s gonna kick him out, or treat him any differently, but it doesn’t stop him from getting nervous. You wanted to surprise everyone, and how could he say no to you? So, here he is, gripping the steering wheel too tight and worrying too much.

Pulling into the driveway, he nods, “here we go.”

You hop out of the van before he has it shut off, but he catches up quickly. He follows you to the side gate of the house, watches you unlatch it and stroll into the yard. The sound of voices mingling hits his ears as you walk around the house and find your group of friends sitting around in lounge chairs.

“Look who I brought,” You announce.

Your shout is followed by eyes flicking towards you, then Eddie who stands beside you. Then, a chorus of his name, plus Argyle’s “rockstar!”

“Hey guys,” he says, waving shyly.

It’s odd to feel this way around these people that he’s known for years. Robin and Steve who’ve rented him way too many movies for free, Nancy and Johnathan who are probably why he graduated high school, and Argyle who was always his most loyal customer.

All of these memories and he feels a little too much like a stranger. At least he’s got you, who feels like one of the only sure things in his life. No matter how long goes by, you’re there, and he hopes you always will be.

“You want a drink?” Steve asks, leaning to reach into the cooler beside him.

“I’ll take one, thanks,” you say, catching the can Steve throws to you.

“I’m driving,” Eddie says, jingling his keys.

“Eddie Munson being responsible,” Robin teases, “they grow up so fast.”

And just like that, he feels a little better. These are his friends, and even though he’s not around all of the time, and even though he may not be as close to everyone anymore, they’ll still be his friends.

You sit down on the empty lounge chair and pat the space beside you for Eddie, sending him a smile that says both ‘told you so,’ in your snark he can practically hear, and ‘everything’s okay,’ in your kind way.

He plops down beside you.

“How’s everything going?” Johnathan asks him.

Not wanting all of the attention on him, Eddie keeps his answer short, “busy, but it’s a ton of fun.”

“Everything you ever dreamed of?” Robin adds.

“You could definitely say that.”

Though, Eddie has this strange feeling that he’s missing something whenever he’s gone. It’ll go away, but somehow, it always finds him again, when he’s debating on calling or not, when he’s hit with a memory of you in the front row at the Hideout when he’s on stage.

He looks over at you and finds you smiling softly at him, eyes fond. He can’t believe he’s the one you’re looking at like that.

Eddie blinks and turns back to the group, “how about you guys? How’re the jobs?”

The chatter picks up and surrounds him, but Eddie can’t stop thinking about the way you were looking at him just then. He’s never had someone look at him like that, like there’s nothing but affection there.

It’s platonic, he tells himself. She’s my best friend.

You feel happier now than you have in a while. Things feel more complete when Eddie’s around. Things feel right. It’s all of your favorite people with no empty chair, it’s falling back into a friendship that’s existed for years.

When conversations split off into smaller ones, you lean your head on his shoulder, and the words sort of slip out of you, “it’s really nice to have you here.”

His heart beats louder, he leans his head on top of yours, “it’s nice to be home.”

And it is. Eddie loves touring, he loves playing his music, and he loves his job, but at the end of the day, he’ll always be this boy from Hawkins, and he’ll always be happy to be home, to be with you.

Catching the moment, Argyle—always sharing his thoughts—says, “sick, you guys are finally together.”

You and Eddie both sit up, like you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t, even when you’ve sat like that countless times before.

Everyone’s eyes seem to be on the both of you now, and you have a tiny panic inside. Have you really been that obvious with how you feel? Does Eddie know and he hasn’t said anything because he doesn’t want to hurt you?

You laugh awkwardly, “what?”

“Like, dating,” Argyle explains.

“Me and Eddie?”

He’d been frozen for a second there, surprised that Argyle thought that. Was he seeing something Eddie couldn’t? No, no way.

“Just friends, guys,” Eddie says. “Come on.”

You swallow, forcing out a word, “exactly.”

“They’ve always been like this,” Nancy says, which explains enough but also sort of nothing at all.

Just friends. It’s something you know, you remind yourself constantly. It’s all it’ll ever be, and still, hearing Eddie say it out loud has your stomach feeling heavy. Just friends, get over it.

Even as conversation picks up again, as you laugh with everyone, the two words play in your head over and over. Then, after saying your goodbyes, once you’re in the van with Eddie again, it fades, because if you can’t be in love with him, you can be his best friend, and you’d much rather have that than nothing at all.

Once he drops you off, Eddie thinks and thinks about what Argyle had said. He goes over memories, over how he feels around you, and it hits him like a huge punch to the gut.

He thinks he has feelings for you. Big, huge feelings.

It’s the same day, a different sky, the sun sunk behind the horizon to give way to a sky full of stars and a bright moon.

Eddie’s van is parked by Lover’s Lake, the back full of blankets where you both sit, the doors open to look at the sky and the way the moonlight reflects on the water.

There’s practically an indent in the ground in the spot he’s parked, the one that’s been your go-to for ages. From day picnics to nighttime smoke sessions, it’s another place on the list of the ones that are filled with memories of Eddie.

Beside you, he’s got a joint in hand, the flick of his lighter catching your ears over the crickets and the breeze. You watch him inhale, his chest expanding, the smoke slipping from his lips. You turn back to the water.

“Your turn,” he says, handing you the joint.

You grab it between your fingertips and bring it to your mouth, feeling the smoke trail down your throat, further, then you’re breathing it out, clearing your throat at the tickle.

“Out of practice?” Eddie teases at your small cough.

“My favorite weed dealer went out of business,” you say, nudging his shoulder with yours, “so, yeah.”

He takes the joint back from you, “you don’t smoke when I’m not around? You know Argyle’s gotta have some stock.”

“Oh, he definitely does. A little too exotic for my taste. Besides, he won’t give it to me for free.”

“Getting cheap, trouble?”

You shrug, shoulder to your cheek, and give him an innocent smile.

It feels easy, the joint being passed back and forth between sentences until it’s done and stubbed out, the flow of conversation, the comfort that’s there. It’s always been easy with him, even when it hurts a little.

Eddie’s got on his worn denim vest, still full of pins, and you tug at it, “think this thing has a permanent weed smell by now.”

“I think that’s just part of my natural scent,” he replies, playfully flipping his hair over his shoulder.

His curls graze your cheek—that’s how close you’re sitting, thighs touching—and you giggle. You’ve had so many nights just like this one with Eddie, and it feels like some kind of reward that you get to have them still, even when they’re far less regular now.

“Doesn’t this make you think of high school?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” Eddie’s hand is on his knee, his pinky twitches, reaching for your leg, “hell, I’m even wearing the same clothes as in high school.”

“How does it feel like yesterday and also a lifetime ago?”

Eddie looks over at you, the warm glow of moonlight and stars on your skin, the way your sweater hangs off your shoulder, the shine in your eyes that’s part weed and part nostalgia.

“A lot’s changed since then,” he says. “I’m not a loser anymore.”

“You’re still my loser.”

How is it that even when you’re calling him a loser, the idea of being yours in any sense of the word is enough to have Eddie’s heart swell in his chest, a balloon floating up and up and he has to swallow to push it back down.

“Stop being cheesy,” he plays it off, ruffling your hair.

You shove his arm away, “I just miss you!”

Eddie looks at his arm, your hand still holding onto it, he follows your arm with his gaze until it lands on your face. He thinks you’re beautiful, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen and no groupie could change that.

“I miss you, too, trouble.”

Something shifts, the air growing thicker, a sort of understanding between the two of you. There’s something here, something that could be a disaster but could also be so, so good. Could be everything.

“No way you think about me when you’ve got crowds and fans and-“

“I think about you a lot, honey.”

Honey. He’s probably called you that before, but never like this. Never dripping sweet and sincere, never looking at you like he wants to do something you can’t even let yourself imagine in fear of being let down, of hoping too much.

Eddie’s hand shifts from his own leg to yours, thumb running back and forth, burning you even through the fabric of your pants.

“You do?”

“All the time. You’re my best friend.”

Right. Friend.

“You’re mine, too, Eddie.”

And suddenly you can feel his breath fan across your cheek, your lips. His face is close to yours and the hair that falls over his forehead tickles yours. Just a second ago he’d been saying the word ‘friend,’ and now it feels like he’s going to do something to contradict that.

Against all odds, he does.

Eddie couldn’t help himself. Maybe he’ll blame the weed, or maybe he won’t, but before he knows it he’s reaching up with the hand that isn’t on his leg to cup your cheek and tilt your head. And he’s kissing you.

He’s kissing you.

It’s so delicate, so much you’re afraid to even breathe, like it’ll break in an instant. Eddie’s fingers squeeze your leg, urge you to kiss him back and there’s no way that you wouldn’t. Not when his lips are actually on yours, not when he tastes like weed and mint gum and something perfect.

It could be seconds or minutes that you’re kissing, tilting your head even more to feel him, clutching his sleeve tightly. It never deepens, but it doesn’t have to, it says enough.

When you pull away, it’s not one or the other who does it, it’s natural, like it’s been rehearsed time and time again. Eddie leans his forehead against yours, his hand still on your cheek.

“Was that a bad idea?” He asks you, voice low and quiet.

“Maybe. I don’t know.” And you don’t, because there’s no way of knowing what’s gonna happen next, if things will be ruined, if this will fade away like it never happened, or, maybe, just maybe, if it’ll start something.

“Was it okay?”

“More than okay.”

You don’t talk about it that night, and you don’t want to just yet. You’re fine with enjoying the pink-tinted haze at least until tomorrow.

Eddie’s barely been gone for two days and you’re not sure what to do with yourself. After that night, neither of you brought it up, and as much as you wanted to, you couldn’t. You were scared. And anyway, it was probably just the weed for him.

You’d never kissed before. Sure, you’ve come close, faces inches apart when you’d share a bed, whispers away, but nothing ever happened. Until now.

Now, sitting on your bed, chin resting on your knees, you’re reeling from knowing what Eddie’s lips feel like and missing him all over again. Rebuilding that piece in your chest.

Somewhere else in the country, in the world, Eddie’s position isn’t so different from yours. He’s sitting on the edge of his hotel bed, forearms on his knees, head bent. He wants to call you, and he’s figuring out what he’ll say when he does.

He misses you every time he isn’t home, but it’s never felt like this. There’s never been this ache in his stomach that won’t go away because of it. Fuck, he misses you more than ever.

The last trip back to Hawkins was different than anything else, because he brought back these feelings with him and he keeps reaching up to press his fingertips to his lips, like the memory of your own lingers there.

Sure, he’s had silly, sticky thoughts like waking up with his arms around you after a nap and thinking he could wake up that way forever, but he’s always pushed them down. Now, it seems, he can’t, the images too buoyant to ignore, floating back up every time.

Sucking in a deep breath, he sits up and reaches for the phone, dialing your number that’s stored in his memory. His leg bounces as the phone rings.

You’re startled by the screech of your phone on your bedside table, head lifting to look at it shake on the receiver. You reach over and pick it up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, trouble. It’s not a bad time, is it?”

Eddie. His voice crackling through the phone sends a spike down your spine. You clutch the phone a little tighter.

You’d expected Robin, or Nancy, even Steve. Because there’d been a time, earlier in Corroded Coffin’s career, when Eddie would call you at least three times a week, and then the calls grew less frequent until they sort of died out to holidays and birthdays.

So, maybe a couple of years ago, you’d have expected Eddie’s voice, but not today.

“Eddie, hi. Not at all.”

“I- um, I just wanted to call,” a small pause, he clears his throat, “how are you?”

“It’s only been two days, you know how I am.”

“I mean right now.”

You twist to lay on your side, legs curling in towards your chest. You smile to yourself like an idiot. “Right now, I’m good. It’s lame, I already miss you.”

“I miss you, too.”

The reply comes easily to him. There’s no thought to it, because in the past 48 hours, he hasn’t been able to stop missing you for a second. The warmth of your hand in his, the sunshine sound of your laughter.

He’s not sure why everything’s so big now, his feelings amplified, only quieted now, by the sound of your voice.

“Did you have a show today?”

You have a way of asking that makes it sound like you really care, Eddie thinks. He loves his music and he knows you know that. It means the world to him to do what he does, confusing feelings or not.

“Not today. We spent the day on the bus. Show’s tomorrow.”

“Nervous or excited?”

It’s something that you used to ask him before every small show in Hawkins, and the memory has a grin spreading on Eddie’s face. “It’s always both. More excited, though.”

“You should be,” you say. “You guys are really great.”

“Yeah? Who’s your favorite band member?”

He’s fishing, and you tease him rather than bite, “hmmm. Gareth.”

“Fuckin’ trouble. You liar.”

“You asked!”

“You answered the question wrong, honey.”

There it is again. Honey. You’re sort of glad he can’t see you right now because you probably look way too happy, burying your face in your pillow for a second before replying.

“You know you’re my favorite, Munson.”

“Yeah I am,” he sounds far too proud. And then, he’s softer, “I’m not keeping you up, am I? Time zones fuck me up.”

“No, no.” Even if he was, you wouldn’t tell him. This is better than trying and failing to sleep the way you so often do. “It’s not that late. What time is it for you?”

“Not that late,” he says, even though the clock on the nightstand reads 1:14AM. “So, what’s happening in Hawkins right now?”

“Mmm, it’s getting warmer. My window’s open and the crickets are loud as fuck.” You twist the phone cord around your fingers, “it’s donation week at the library, so I’ve been shelving new books for a change.”

Eddie listens to every word you say, asks you questions like if you’d kept any books for yourself (you had, but swore you’d give them to the library when you were done) and hums between your sentences.

Somewhere along the way, he’d laid down while listening to you, eyes shut as he tried to picture what you might look like right at this second. If you’re in your pajamas or not, whether your hair would be a little messy, baby hairs a halo around your face.

Then his eyes grew heavier, your voice putting him at ease even with the sounds of his bandmates laughing from somewhere in the hotel.

“Eddie?” You ask after he’d been silent for a bit.

“Hm?” He hums sleepily.

“I lost you for a second there.”

If he wasn’t half asleep, he’d feel worse. “Sorry, getting sleepy.”

“You wanna hang up?”

“No, uh- keep talking to me? You have a nice voice.”

You smile, cheeks pinching with the size of it.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll keep talking.”

And you do, you keep talking and talking until you can hear the sound of Eddie’s tiny snores on the other side of the line. You’re smiling again at that.

Even after you’re sure he’s asleep, you don’t hang up right away, not until your own eyes are growing heavy. You put the phone back quietly, like you’ll wake him if you’re not careful. You whisper a soft ‘goodnight, Eddie,’ as you do.

There’s a small stiffness in your fingers from how tightly you’d been holding the phone, and still, you’d let your hand cramp for hours to talk to him.

The next morning, Eddie wakes up with the pattern of the phone pressed to his cheek where he’d left it last night.

The TV sends flashes of color flickering across your living room and over your face. Usually, you’d be in bed by now, but it’s the night of the MTV awards and Corroded Coffin is nominated. You couldn’t miss it.

You’re not really paying attention to most of it, the sounds of performances and hosts and thank-you speeches filling your ears as you read your latest book. At least, you’re not paying attention until Eddie’s category is announced.

That has you shutting your book and sitting up, grabbing the remote to turn the volume higher.

They show the nominees, give far too long of an introduction before tearing open the envelope holding the winner’s names. You don’t know it, but you’re practically white knuckling the blanket on your lap.

“And the MTV award goes to… Corroded Coffin!”

You stand and place a hand on your chest, feeling your heart beating—racing—for the band, for Eddie. This is huge, it’s a dream, and it’s his. If you could, you’d give him a suffocating hug right now.

Eddie’s voice taking over, thanking his fans and Wayne, the boys and their team, then, thanking Hawkins and the people there, even when they gave him hell.

If you knew the right number to call to talk to him, you’d dial it in an instant.

Lucky for you, your phone rings the next night, late enough that you can only assume it’s Eddie given you don’t know anyone else who’s probably in a different time zone right now. You pick up quickly, fumbling with the phone a little before bringing it up to your ear.

“Eddie?”

“How’d you know it was me?”

“Ummm, my amazing intuition? Telepathy?”

“Telepathy, she says.” There’s a soft chuckle on his end, you close your eyes and lean your head back to thump against the wall behind you. “How’re things, trouble?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that, mister MTV winner.”

Eddie’s been calling more often again, whenever he gets the chance, really. Even so, he never thought you’d be keeping up with him that way, that you’d care enough to watch an award show and remember what he’d achieved.

“You were watching?” He asks, heart thudding.

“Of course I was. I’m your biggest fan, remember?” You’re sitting with your back against your headboard, knees bent, hand absentmindedly pulling at a loose thread in your pajama pants. “I’ve got cheerleader pom-poms and everything.”

“You do not.”

“Do too. They’re super metal, all black.”

“Yeah, cause pom-poms are super metal, babe.”

Another pet name in the rotation, uttered like it’s easy, natural. You bite back a smile.

“Whatever. Mine would be,” you say. “I’m glad you called.”

“Me, too.”

“I wanted to call you yesterday,” you admit, twisting that loose thread in your fingers, “after I saw you won. I’m really proud of you, Eddie.”

They’re words he hadn’t been expecting, but ones he’ll be thinking about over and over. He wants to keep making you proud, he thinks, and he’ll pour that into everything he does whether he means to or not.

“Thank you,” his voice is quieter, almost shy. “I wouldn’t be here without you, you know?”

“You would. You’re talented, and there’s no way that could stay hidden in this town, you’re bigger than it.”

Somehow, it’s easier to be so open with him on the phone. You don’t have to look at him, get distracted by his tongue running over his lips or the way his bangs get caught in his eyelashes sometimes. This way, all you have to do is speak, nothing more.

“Trouble-” he can’t even find the words to say, because there’s affection laced in your tone, seeping through the phone and into his head and, fuck, he wants to kiss you for it and he can’t. “I really miss you.”

“I miss you, too.” There’s some silence, and the overthinker in you worries that you’ve said too much even though you meant it with every part of you, that you’ve given yourself away. “Anyways, I should go, let you celebrate your win.”

It’s what he would be doing if Eddie’s thoughts hadn’t been so full of you and your mouth and your voice. It’s what his bandmates and friends are surely doing in some club around here.

“You don’t need to. I’m not doing anything.”

“No?” You try to lighten your tone, to joke the way you usually do, “don’t have groupies knocking on your hotel room door right now?”

Instead of playing along, Eddie’s voice is serious, still soft in the way he speaks to you, but serious nonetheless, “I don’t entertain them, honey.”

“You don’t?”

He’s tried. But ever since you kissed him, probably since before that, too, Eddie can’t seem to look at anyone else, let alone have someone else kiss him and tarnish the memory of your lips on his. He’s only ever thinking of you, it seems. So no, he hasn’t fooled around lately.

“Not in a while. I’m trying to write for the next album. No distractions.”

No distractions. He says it like that’s true, even though he can’t seem to fully focus, like there’s a piece he’s missing. Like every lyric he’s written since he’s been back isn’t somehow about you.

He’s so, so fucked.

“Look at you, Munson. Squeaky clean.”

You hope he can’t tell that you’re sort of a mess, a stupid blossom of hope planting itself where it shouldn’t. He’s your friend, he’s always been just your friend. But you kissed and it felt like something changed, and you can’t seem to let go of that.

“You sound surprised,” he teases, gathering his wits the best he can.

“Can you blame me? You used to have multiple lunchboxes reserved for your weed.”

“You loved those lunchboxes and you know it.”

“Yeah, I did.”

And then, like that moment was simply a blip, easily brushed over, your conversation turns back to your normal. Jokes with underlying affections, teasing while picturing what kind of smile the other wears when you laugh lightly into the phone.

Time runs away from you, and by the time you hang up it’s well into the early hours of the morning, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

After hanging up, Eddie’s got this sinking, aching pull in his stomach. He knows what it is, has had bouts of it before where he misses Wayne’s hand patting his back or the way his mattress is worn-in just the right amount back at the trailer, when he thinks about what his friends might be doing or what science project Dustin’s got going on.

But it’s never felt this heavy. Eddie’s the most homesick he’s ever been.

He’d listen to your voice forever, but in that moment, he’d give anything to see your face, to see the shake of your shoulders when you laugh, the curve of your smile.

What the hell is wrong with him?

Eddie wipes his palms on his thighs before standing and walking out into the living room of his band’s suite hotel room. The guys are still up, and they’re all staring at him like weirdos.

“What?” He pauses in the doorway.

“Did you tell her you’re in love with her yet, or what?” Jeff, the electric guitarist, asks him.

“What?” Eddie says again because there’s no way he heard that right. He’d only just come to terms that he had feelings. This is much bigger.

“You’re joking,” Gareth pipes in, “you don’t even know it? Dude, you’re all ‘I miss you, trouble, you’re my favorite person ever.’” He does a knowingly terrible impression of Eddie.

“I do not sound like that.”

“You kinda do,” Jeff says.

“Why else would you be spending hours in that room on the phone, man? Come on,” Gareth sing songs the next bit: “you’re in loooove.”

Then Eddie thinks and thinks and thinks. The warmth that blooms when he hugs you, the jealousy he felt when he thought that server at Benny’s was flirting with you, the difficulty to say goodbye, the way your kiss haunts him in his sleep.

These idiots aren’t usually right about things, but just this once, maybe they are. Eddie Munson is probably, very likely, definitely in love with you.

Yeah, he’s so fucked.

♫♩♪♬

thank you so so much for reading!!! if you enjoyed please please please consider reblogging and letting me know what you think! it helps and means so much <333 i have plans for a part two, and if you’d like to see it, some support would help a bunch! ily!

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gothamhappiness · 2 months ago

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I like to flirt with you, Red Hood! (Jason Todd x f!reader)

This is part 2 of this imagine

Warnings: no proof reading, fluff

Red Hood insisted on bringing you back home that night. He had no idea how to thank you for what you did for him, so making sure you arrived safely at your place was the least he could do. Your presence was bringing him a new kind of peace he never felt before as well.

If you always felt safe on his territory, you felt even better by his side. You felt like nothing could happen to you. You were at ease with him, you just hoped Batman didn't hurt him too badly. You walked as close as possible to him without touching him. The warmth of his body was smoothing you in the cold night surrounding the two of you.

You both stayed silent as Red Hood was following you home. Once you arrived at your building, you offered him to come upstairs with you because "he was a great bodyguard", and then you offered him to get inside because "he needed to get some rest".

Red Hood stayed a few instants without reacting, as you were gesturing for him to get inside. He peered inside your flat before his eyes went back on you.

"You really trust me" Red Hood quietly commented

"You're the only person I trust in this city" you proudly admitted "But you, do you trust me?" you asked

Red Hood entered your home, without thinking. It was rare to be able to trust someone so quickly in Gotham. But you both wanted to take the chance.

Or maybe it was simply love at first sight.

You closed the door behind him, giddy he was there, in your home. You always had a crush on him, he was so tall, so strong, so violent and yet so kind. He had this aura of danger and yet, now he felt like a protector. A guardian angel.

"Can I take care of your wounds? Or at least offer you some food?" you asked

"Food would be nice yes" he hummed

"No worries. Settle on the couch while I cook something away. You can play with my switch or watch the TV meanwhile" you replied

Jason had pushed his luck by accepting the food. He half wasn't believing you were truly going to make something for him. It all felt like a dream anyways. None of this could be true, so he should enjoy it while it lasted, he thought.

He removed his helmet, and a black domino mask greeted you. You smiled at how smart the man was.

After a little while, he helped you dress the table and you both settled to eat the food you prepared. You usually were too tired to cook anything after work, but it was different with Red Hood in your home. You wanted to look after him, like he always looked after the people living on his territory. It was the least you could do.

You waited for him to taste the food, before starting to eat. You were ready to get him something else if it wasn't to his liking.

"This is good" he praised you as he brightly smiled at you

"Glad you're enjoying" you replied and you started to eat as well, hoping he didn't notice how flushed your cheeks got at his compliment and smile

You finished to eat in a comfortable silence. Red Hood had too many thoughts swirling inside his head to hold a conversation, but you didn't mind. You were happy he was here.

You didn't find him intimidating at all.

Especially not when he insisted to help you with the dishes, no matter how much you protested. You both liked the sort of domestic vibes it had to it. Your shoulders touched at some point too. Red Hood almost broke a glass then and you teased him.

Before letting him go back outside, you gently put a hand on his arm:

"I know we don't know each other, but my home is always open to you... If you need somewhere to crash at, just knock at the door or at the window" you smiled

"Keep your window open then" he replied as he put his helmet back on to hide the blush appearing on his cheeks.

You nodded and smiled even more. You couldn't express how excited your were getting.

Without any warning, he softly grabbed your hands and gave you a little device with a red button on it. You looked up at him with a curious look written all over your face.

"If you're in trouble, push the button. I'll find you and keep you safe" he instructed you and your eyes lit up

"What if I just want to see you again?" you cheekily asked

"Push the button too" he hummed before looking away

Even with his helmet on, he couldn't hide the effect you were having on him. He thought it should be illegal for sure an attractive woman like you to flirt with him like that. How was he supposed to no completely become putty in your hands?

Damn, he couldn't be falling in love so easily. So quickly.

And yet, here he was.

Taglist for all my work <3

@blublock404

@wind-canoe

@silverklaus

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch

@tatsuri-zomushiki

@navs-bhat

This part 2 was requested by @jasontoddsthunderthigh, hope you enjoyed!

#red hood x s/o #red hood x you #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #red hood x y/n #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd x s/o #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #batfam x reader #batfamily

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stylespresleyhearted · 8 months ago

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THE MAJOR’S WIFE

warnings: mentions of miscarriage, adultery, nsfw, marital problems, oral (m! receiving), spanking, being turned on even when your brain isn’t in it, bucky in 1x04, bucky married pre-war, slight age gap bc reader can come off slightly immature (i think?) angst, historical inaccuracies, new mediocre writer be nice

summary: John Egan gets to know his wife again

word count: 9.7k

notes: i’m not sure where this came from i wrote it all today and got no part of my research paper done. there’s really no point to it and also irl john egan was actually really close to his mother so i emphasized that here. he wrote to her so much. no disrespect to any of the real people, this is based on the show/show timeline as well.

Lila gets the call on the 2nd of October and her dreams come true.

Not entirely, no. The real dream would be having him home safe and the tragic war being over but she knows how fortunate she is to have the next best thing happen. Her husband’s been granted a few days leave and Colonel Harding believed it would do Major Egan some good to have his sweet, young wife join him during those days overseas. For the good of John’s mental health the Colonel or the President - or whoever was in charge, Lila really had no idea - had agreed to pay for her ticket and their hotel. There was only one thing they asked for in return and although it wasn’t explicitly said, Lila caught their drift: sort your husband out.

Lila knows it would do her no good to sit and wonder how horribly John must be doing in order for them to declare an all expenses paid trip for his spouse. All she does is worry for him anyhow so she forces herself to focus on the one good thing of the entire ordeal - she’s going to see her man.

There’d been letters, although not as many as she liked and she tried not to let it show how it hurt as every other wife received more than one letter at a time. Her John wasn’t the sort, she knew that when she married him. He was the kind of person who needed endless skies and land to maintain his sense of stability. Having him cooped up would do him no good and she partly wondered how much of what he was struggling with was the trauma he witnessed in the air and how much of it was feeling caged on base. At least his plane, good ol’ Mugwump (he wrote about her quite often) offered him the opportunity to head anywhere he wanted.

The only person he wrote consistently and readily to was his mother. It was rare if a week went by and she received no letter. During these instances it was more times than not an issue with the postal service.

Be that as it may, Lila knew who she married and it made her love him no less so she tried not to let it get to her. His mother was a saint. Firm and strong and loving all the same. Lila would have never survived sending John off if his mother wasn’t who and how she was. She held Lila at night when her cries woke her and she let Lila sleep in his old childhood bed. She kept food on their table and ensured everyone got their work done through the worry.

When John first left and Lila was sick to her stomach and vomiting multiple times of the day it was his mother who consoled her through the night when her sheets turned a crimson red and any ideals of having their baby through the war was lost.

Frances Egan was the glue holding them together. All of them, even her son who was an entire ocean way - so no. Lila would not be angry that she was John’s preferred pen-pal.

“You fix him right up,” Mama Egan had said in lieu of goodbye when leaving her at the airport, “you give him the loving he needs as his wife and the smacks he needs from me to get on the straight and narrow before sending him off to continue saving the world. You do it for him, not for any of them war bastards. You hear me?”

All Lila could do was nod. Dropping her bags on the floor and clutching her pseudo mother tightly. She was excited as she was frightened.

They had only gotten two months together before he had been pulled away. She didn’t want to complain, loads of women had gotten less time at all while others had only ever been left with the promise.

But her two months as Mrs. Egan? They’d been a dream. Her man was a romancer. He hadn’t hesitated in introducing her as the newly (and younger) Mrs. Egan, always resulting in an arm slap from his mother, he held open doors and he never stopped courting her; however she thinks the best times were when he was teaching her how to act married.

In their bed, at a home he had spent a year building for them. Using any extra pennies he had to pay off younger boys to help him hurry it along. Giving her the wrap-around porch she had always envisioned.

He showed her how to kiss. How to undress him. He had laid her underneath him, using his large frame to cover her completely, protecting her from the cold as he threw the sheets off them and making her feel tiny compared to him. She had never felt safer.

It had hurt the first time but he had held her through it. Never allowing any inches of space between their bodies; as if telling her they were in it together. She’d always known he was large, everything about him was large in general, but she never thought how much it would hurt to have all of him fit inside her. Lila hadn't wanted to disappoint him so she tried to muffle her tears and whimpers but he had swallowed her cries and gone slow, soft.

“If this is it, it’ll be enough,” he had promised, only about half way inside her and wiping away her tears with his thumbs. As a thank you she had taken that calloused thumb into her mouth and sucked. He allowed her; hiding his face in her neck and pressing wet kisses along there.

And for the first few times that had been it. She couldn’t take all of him and his thrusts couldn’t get too deep so he would only slip inside until her tight hole resisted and pulsed and he’d hump against that spot until reaching his pleasure.

“Do other girls take all of it?” She had asked a couple days later, trying to wrap her head around it.

She was no idiot. John Egan was no virgin.

“Yes.” Lila could always count on him to be honest. At least there was that. Meanwhile she couldn’t even fully pleasure him. She was failing as a wife. “Hey,” he lay facing her and she lay on her back. He tapped her cheek until she turned her face. “You’re my wife. That’s what makes this feel better.”

And she had beamed at his reassurance even though she didn’t feel much better. She knew John would never push her, and he couldn’t stand to see her cry, so if she ever wanted to learn to be a good wife she would have to take it upon herself.

So that’s what she did.

He was always on top and she was always on her back. That’s the first thing she had to change. From her understanding of it, from her talks with friends that always ended in giggles and blushing cheeks and from what she learned from John, it could be done in many different ways.

“I prefer to be in charge,” her school friend, Linda, had admitted to her. “Not like that -” she clarified, cheeks pink, “Just - if I’m gonna take it, I’d rather do it at my pace. Be on top. Some husbands are good like that. They’ll allow it.”

And knowing her husband wasn’t just good, he was great, she knew he would hold no qualms about it. The next time they lay in bed kissing it was easy to turn him over and straddle him. Move her wetness against his belly to let him know there was still more she just needed him to accept it.

Except he thought she was asking him to do it so he flipped her on her back again. And without breaking their kiss, she turned him over again.

It was more like they were wrestling.

Lila pulls away from his mouth, reluctantly, noticing his lips were wet and red and swollen and wondering if hers were much the same. They had been kissing for so long her mouth felt raw.

She loved it.

Straddling him, she reached behind her, feeling him standing straight and hard against her backside in between her cheeks. Sticky.

He gasped, bucking into her fist with a loud, guttural groan. It was so manly she rocked against his stomach again in need.

“Fuck, baby,” he grunted, “what’re you doing?”

“I want to try it like this,” she breathed, leaning over to whisper in his mouth, her tiny hand still wrapped around him and lining her up to her hole. “I want it all.” Lila clarified.

And John allowed it, like she knew he would. Let her take control and go at her pace. Let her swivel her hips on the way down to help with the tightness of being stretched so wide and thick.

Nothing but curses and promises of love leaving his lips. Gasping mine, mine, mine and my perfect fucking wife and I’m gonna fuck you forever.

He felt large inside of her, like if she was being split in two but it felt so good as the tip of him repeatedly hit a spongy part inside that had her coming with no contact to her clit for the first time.

She was beautiful, red splotches appearing on her body from the heat of their love-making, her hair tangled in his fists, her mouth falling open as she threw her head back - all of it was too much. He was flipping her over and pounding into her trying to chase his peak and a second one from her, their headboard banging against the wall in rhythm with his thrusts.

Things changed from then on. Sexually, that is. Becoming aware of how badly she needed to feel like she was pleasing him, John was not above using it against her. Like letting him lick at her.

“Good wives allow their husbands everything,” he would say, lips wide in a smile and eyes bright at the prospect of getting his way but Lila always knew the choice was really hers. He would respect what she wanted.

He was just too damn addicting. She couldn’t stand to tell him no.

His favorite times were when she allowed him to sit her over his face and let him feast. It drowned the outside world for him and he kept at it even after she had reached multiple orgasms and was pulling on his hair and the only thing keeping her up was his forearms locking around her thighs.

Her favorite was when he allowed her to taste him at the same time he was licking her. It was a tie between those times and when he held her down until all of him was in her mouth and she was spluttering, choking, gagging. Knowing she made a filthy vision and he adored it did something to her.

Now she was in London, closer to him than she had been in years, and all their intimacies were within reach. She could almost taste him, feel him petting back her hair and settling a hand at the low of her back. She still remembers the smell of his after shave and sweat, how he’d come into the kitchen asking for some of her homemade lemonade to help with the heat.

Jack Kidd was tasked with picking up Mrs. Egan from the airport and having her arrive at base with him. She remembers meeting him a couple of times before John shipped out early. Originally she was meant to wait for John at their hotel but there had been an issue when planning her flight and she arrived sooner than intended.

“Ma’am,” he greeted, placing a friendly kiss on her cheeks and taking her bags from her. “Bucky’s gonna be happy as hell to see your face.”

The tone in his voice - relief? alleviation? - had some of her happy wife's facade crumbling. How badly was her Johnny hurting that everyone was looking at her at his only chance to remain sane or alive?

Stop it. Maybe everyone’s just aware Johnny misses you. You’re his wife.

“Not as happy as me, I wager,” she returned with a smile. “I’m glad to see you’re doing okay, Jack. Glad to see you still kicking.”

His shrug didn’t soothe her worry but she saw him try to mask it with a smile.

“All we boys can do is pray.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder, gathering his attention. “You boys have got the prayers of our entire country protecting you.”

Jack simply nodded in response.

For the most part the ride to base was quiet. Her bags would be kept in the trunk until her and John were ready to drive out to London in a couple of hours and until then, she’d be his surprise at the officer’s club. Silver Wings, Jack called it. Where all the boys gathered and had drinks and celebrated accomplishments. And where some chose to mourn, too.

Her stomach was turning as she neared the hut, following Jack’s footsteps. There was so much that could go wrong and although this was meant to be a surprise, the U.S Army showing their gratitude towards a brave Major, she suddenly wished she would have called John and told him. She wished he knew so that she wouldn’t have to walk in feeling alone and unwanted.

Not that Lila thought John would turn her away, she simply wanted to have him hold her hand as she walked through the threshold.

“Stick close by,” Jack murmured, being respectful of where he touched her before deciding to lead her by her shoulder. “It gets crowded but I’ll take ya to him.”

As she walked through different groups, she felt the offending eyes of men and women alike. Wondering who she was. With a pang in her heart she realized she had met John’s squadrons before but all these crews were new. The boys she met, most of them at least from what she could tell, hadn’t made it. John never wrote about who passed away (except to inform her of Curt) ; most of their letters were him expressing his love and how he missed her so and asking what she got up to.

Having walked around the roundabout bar in the center of the room, her stomach in knots and fingers tangled in front of her - she caught sight of her husband smack middle in the dance floor. Pressed against a beautiful brunette.

Lila caught sight of him before even Jack did. That’s how connected she was to her husband. Jack whistled from beside her to gain Gale’s attention who was resting against the bar holding his signature ginger ale, also watching John Egan chat up the woman he was swaying with with something like disapproval in his eyes.

His large hands were occupying most of the space of her waist, keeping her body tethered to his as she laughed.

“Lila,” he gasped, eyes wide. He was smart enough to not turn and look at his buddy. To act as if nothing was amiss and she expected nothing less from Gale Cleven, “damn it all to hell. You’re a sight for sore eyes, Mrs. Egan.”

Because he was close to John, he didn’t hesitate in wrapping her up in a tight hug and pressing a kiss to her tinted cheeks. He knew John wouldn’t mind.

When he pulled back she patted his chubby cheek in return, “You still shame the rest of us with your good looks, Gale,” she laughed. “I’ll let Marge know when I see her next.”

Lila also knew she would share with Marge that while Gale was being loyal, standing off to the side her husband was exchanging oxygen with a woman on the dance floor.

His cheeks tinted at the mention of his girl. Buck and Bucky were both aware Lila and Marge wrote to one another and visited each other whenever time made it possible.

“Colonel Harding said Major Egan was in need of something from home,” she said, studying his reaction to see what she could read but Gale had always been aloof, cold. He wasn’t close to her like he was with Marge and John.

Gale thought back to a few moments earlier when John had disrespected their Colonel and all his actions before that too - disrespecting superiors, drinking more consistently, becoming angry - hopelessness in his eyes.

“He’s in need of you Lila,” Gale clarified and it wasn’t lost on either one of them that he they were referring to was currently on the floor wooing another woman.

“Holy shit! It’s Mrs. Egan!” Hambone animatedly announced and suddenly it felt like the eyes of everyone in there were on her. Her cheeks tinted pink, never having been one for the spotlight like her husband.

She was greeted with welcoming cheers and hugs.

John, for his part, disentangled from the woman he was holding at the mention of his missus. He was sober enough to appear sheepish and guilty, but in the next second it was gone as he stalked towards her. Determined. Quick. His smile growing the more he neared like he was becoming more aware she was really there and it wasn’t a fucked up scenario in his head.

“God, Lila,” she managed to hear him say before she was elevated in the air, his arms tight around her waist and lifting her high so they were at face level and he could kiss her. Channeling his love and exuberance and aggression into kissing his wife. “It’s you, it’s you, it’s really you,” he was saying in between smooches, “I missed you. So fucking much, doll.”

Basking in his love she didn’t feel the need to mention the woman that was so kindly keeping him preoccupied before she entered.

She couldn’t help the first tear from falling or the rest from following. It was like the tightness in her chest unlocked as she finally got to hold him and feel his heat surround her. He still smelled of after shave and the same hair gel that was kept in their bathroom at home but he tasted strongly of whiskey and cigarettes and strawberry lipstick.

John tucked his face into her neck, setting her down and bending to her level. Sniffling in there as he continued to hold her.

“None of that,” she did her best to stop her voice from wobbling or breaking, “we’re together. That’s all that matters.” She drew his face out from where he had hidden to pepper him with a few more kisses.

None of it was enough.

The rest of the guys were kind enough to return to the dance floor and act like they couldn’t see them.

“Who? What - why? How?” He was obviously having trouble forming coherent thoughts in between the kisses he continued stealing from her.

She was crying and laughing and trying to return all his touches. It was a terribly difficult ordeal but she had never been happier.

“Colonel Harding called and said you had a weekend leave. He said he talked to some of the higher ups but they couldn’t allow you a leave home so this was the next best thing,” she explained, cupping his cheek as she rubbed her thumb over his cheekbone. He had minor scars that weren’t there before.

She wanted to kiss every single one of them.

He was still bent towards her height, taking her in as she was taking him in.

She forgot how blue his eyes were.

He was whole. Complete. Hers.

“You’re here for the entire weekend?” He asked to confirm and she nodded, laughing when he lifted her again with a loud whoop to celebrate. That got a few of the guys to join in although they had no idea what their Major was celebrating.

“I need you,” his voice suddenly dropped, setting her down as he turned to the door. “Let’s go.” He was buckling up her coat to make sure she was protected from the freezing London air. She was lucky he was too far gone to scold her for arriving with it unbuckled in the first place - she could get sick.

“John, John - relax, my sweet man,” she laughed, cupping his cheek to get his attention. “We can stay for a while. We don’t have to go yet.”

It’s why she was at the officer’s club in the first place. She had arrived early.

John turned stiff in her hold, straightening to his full height as he suddenly loomed over her. “I’ve got you in my arms for the first time and you want to stay here?” His voice was tight. His face stern.

“Yes - no, I -” she was unsure of where she went wrong or how to fix it. She clasped his hands in hers but he didn’t allow her to thread their fingers together so it was just her holding on. “I just meant we’ve got time, John.”

The way he was looking at her made her want to cry. She felt her lower lip quivering.

She felt ashamed, whispering, trying to get him to keep his cool.

“Time? Time?” He laughed loudly. She was mildly aware of Gale breaking away from a group of guys to near them, worried but she was mostly focused on John. The tense lines on his face even as he laughed and the quirked eyebrow even though she found no amusement in their situation. “You think I’ve got time? You have no idea what it’s like up there.”

She shook her head but didn’t try to verbally explain herself. She wasn’t sure she could manage a few words before breaking into tears.

“Come on, Bucky,” that was Gale stepping in to save the day. Perhaps the only person who could get John to listen. “When have you ever left before dancing with your girl? You gotta show these rookies how it’s properly done right?”

With Gale slapping a hand to John’s shoulders, he seemed to snap out of it. Releasing a deep breath and seemingly all the tightness in body with it.

He leaned down again, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, clasping a hand around her neck so she wouldn’t pull her head back. As their eyes locked she felt a tear fall again and this one wasn’t happy. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby. It’s this place. It’s fucking with my head.”

And she chose to believe him, nodding her head in understanding and trying not to think about how she wasn’t his preferred person to write letters to or the one who could clear his head.

Maybe the Colonel should have allowed a weekend pass for Gale and John.

Lila swallowed the thought, allowing John to pull her to the dance floor as he lost all anger and aggression and became charming and loving all over again.

“Everyone, this is my wife!” He bellowed and everyone cheered in response. “She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and -” he hiccuped and she realized he was drunker than she thought, “and I bet we can out dance any couples here tonight!”

So for the next hour she found herself being twirled around the dance floor by her husband. She almost forgot their prior negative interaction; his love and energy was so infectious. For the slow songs he would hold her close and she would rest her head against his chest, letting it lull her to a relaxing state. He was alive and she was with him. That had to be enough. For the more upbeat songs, he was challenging any couple beside them. Asking those sitting who were better dancers? Who could perform certain dance moves better?

And all throughout, he was like he used to be back home. Loud and happy and the center of attention, keeping everyone entertained. He kept announcing to his boys that his beautiful wife was there and then he’d place a wet kiss on her mouth that had their cheeks (and hers) turning red but all he would do is smile and continue on.

She was finally able to disentangle herself from him when Crosby pulled him in for a conversation. Lila wonders if her state of disheveled hair and panting breaths made him want to aid her in allowing her to sit and grab a refresher.

Once she accepts Crosby’s hug and cheek kiss, she excuses herself to go grab a drink. John only pulls her back once to steal a kiss before she gets too far.

Her lips might be bruised by the time they leave if he kept it up.

She orders a cup of ice water from the man tending the bar, looking back out at her husband as she waits. He’d always been tall and strong, but she notices the change in his posture. The bulges in his arms as he twirled her around and lifted her in the air. His eyes were only bright when he forced it. They had lost their shine and she wishes she brought the picture from back home. Where he looks young and full of life and joyful. Even when he smiles he seems hollow; hopeless.

She’s there but he doesn’t really care because in his head he’s already thinking of when she leaves again.

She wasn’t used to that. Her John only lived in the moment.

“He keepin’ you busy?”

Gale settles up behind her and pushes the glass water towards her. She didn’t even notice when it was put down.

“Dizzy, more like,” she jokes and gets him to crack a smile. She thinks to when she walked in and seen Gale, how he’d been watching the scene unfold but with a disapproving look in his eyes. How he didn’t try to hide the scene from her or excuse it. He let it be. And she knows John has never shied away from attention. He’s always been handsome and charming and girls always swarmed but Lila wasn’t aware she had to be around to keep him loyal. She thought he just was. And she knows it’s not too long before they leave now so she decides to be direct with him. “So, does that happen often?”

She sees Gale’s expression split for a second, like he debates playing dumb before deciding against it and she respects him even more for it.

“I think you should talk to John about it.” He decides on.

“Is it something that needs to be mentioned?” She doesn’t like playing this game with him but she knows at the first words of cheating and adultery Gale is going to excuse himself and her chance will be lost.

She can’t be simple and ask: Does my husband cheat on me?

“Another ginger ale, Marty,” Gale raises two fingers to grab the man’s attention and mutters a thanks as his drink is immediately refilled. He turns his attention back to Lila. “He still loves you, Lila. It’s just - hard. Being out here.”

“You seem to be coping fine.”

She feels bitter. Crazy. There’s a sob she has to choke back.

Lila’s too embarrassed to meet Gale’s gaze. Ashamed that everyone knows what’s been going on and she was the ditzy woman being twirled on the dance floor.

“I think I was used to loneliness. He isn’t.”

And he says nothing else as he leaves her behind heading back to his boys. It’s just Lila and her shattering heart and her husband calling to beckon her back to the dance floor.

Luckily they didn’t stay much longer. She walked over to Bucky but he wasn’t able to pull her back out for a dance - it’s my song, Lila! - because Jack Kidd was approaching, letting them know it was time to leave them at the train station.

Lila waited in the car while Bucky ran into his quarters to pack his bag. He didn’t have many things to take, he would be stuck wearing his uniform anyway. Gale walks him back out to the car and despite the earlier conversation Lila exits the safety of the interior to say her goodbyes.

“Take care of yourself, Major,” she squeezes him, “I need you to stick around after this weekend to look after my man.”

“It’s a hard job but I try,” he replies, both of them ignoring Bucky’s protests.

Besides that, Bucky’s quiet on the ride to the train station. He carries her bag on board but he’s quiet for the duration of the train ride. Lila doesn’t disturb him; he might be tired or hungover or both.

And if she’s honest she’s scared of him snapping at her like the night before.

Instead she takes the time to take him in. He’s handsome in his suit. Tall and big and strong, his sharp jaw and powerful mouth, his eyes blue like a sunny day and his curls coming undone from the gel after all the dancing he did.

Lila doesn’t allow her mind to wander down this path too often but suddenly she can’t help it. Would their baby have looked like him or like her? She wishes more than anything they would have had his ears. She wishes they would have had his heart and his strength - but her loyalty. Her faith in them.

It’s crazy when she stops to think she was nineteen when she married him and now she’s twenty-one. She’s loved him for more than she’s been allowed to have him. She has changed without him like he has without her and it’s frightening to think neither of them could be accepting of those changes. Whatever they may be.

Lila shuts those thoughts out, closing the distance between them to sit on his lap. Passerby’s and his horrible mood and what scares her could be damned to hell - all she wants is her man.

John doesn’t deny her; she admits she was a little scared he would.

“I love you,” she tells him, catching his eyes.

“I know.”

He doesn’t return the words as they continue staring at one another but she refuses to let it get her down. This is her husband. She has the rest of her life to get to know him; new or old habits, she doesn’t care.

So instead, Lila plasters a smile onto her face. “What’re you gonna show me first in London, Major?”

“Well I really wanna show you our hotel room,” he plays along, allowing her to trace the edges of his mustache. She lets out a knowing chortle. “And I really want to show you -” he cuts himself off to look around, making sure no one was near them as he leans in to whisper, “- my cock, Mrs. Egan.”

She turns a bright red, trying to sputter out a proper response for that but all she can do is indignantly scold him. “John Clarence! If your mom were here -” and they both break out in loud laughter at the many possibilities of what his mother would exactly do to him if she heard his wicked mouth.

“Wanna grab some grub first?” He asks instead, knowing she hadn’t eaten at the officers club and before then she had been stuck on a plane. “I know a few places.”

Lila nods happily, pressing a kiss to his mouth. His lips are warm and as plump as she remembers them. His mustache tickles her.

“Let me feed you first, woman!” He groans, trying to be a gentleman. “When’s the last time you ate?”

She puckers her lips to think about it and that’s the only answer he needs: food is definitely first.

When they arrive at the hotel John enters to check them in but he slips a few bills into the bell boy’s hand with strict instructions to leave the bags in their room before pulling her back out to the London streets.

Lila felt underdressed surrounded by women in diamonds and fancy hats, and it didn’t help that John was beside her in his uniform looking dapper and catching the eye of many. They were stopped multiple times on the way to the diner; men wanting to shake his hand and show their gratitude while the women introduced themselves, uncaring of Lila under his right arm.

As long as he wasn’t ignoring or dismissing her she realized she didn’t really care. It wasn’t much different back home; everyone knew and loved John Egan.

The diner he chose was small and cozy and his legs were too long to fit under their table so his boot and his knee kept bumping into her own and she adored it. She wanted to feel close to him and since sitting on his lap currently wasn’t an option she figured this would have to do.

He tells her many stories but none of them are sad or tragic. He only shares the happy ones. He talks about how he convinced the Colonel to allow Buck, Curt, and himself a London weekend pass one time and they had shoved Gale into a haberdashery where he tried on a multitude of top hats worth more money any of them would ever see combined. But because they were soldiers and majors at that, the owner allowed it. There’s a museum nearby he talks about wanting to take her too, it showcases art from as early as the 1400s and he says he’s gotten lost in there plenty of times and it was lovely.

All the while, she listens without hearing him. Choosing to take him in and letting her mind wander to how it would be if things were different. It pains her to think how much older he looks since she last saw him. Looking more like it was ten years instead of the measly two. John’s always been one to smile freely but the wrinkles by his mouth, eyes, and forehead aren’t from smiling or laughing too much.

Lila knows they’re from worrying and stressing and being scared and she hates that she can’t understand him or be there for him. No matter how hard he tries.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes when a sob breaks free. She curls in over the table and John’s reaching over to rub her shoulders. She grabs a hold of her hand in his. “I just missed you so much.” She presses a kiss to his knuckles. “I don’t think I know how to not miss you.”

John doesn’t say anything but he motions a server over to settle the bill and once that’s done, he’s taking her hand and pulling her out the chair.

“You got enough food in you?”

All she can do is nod.

Her body feels electric on the short walk back to the hotel. He doesn’t do more than hold her hand and she thinks that is what has her nerves jittery, his palm in her hand sets her alight. She can feel his rough skin and the calluses on his fingers and the fingertips he runs over her skin and she bites back a moan.

Moaning in the middle of a bustling London street? She’d be thrown into an asylum she’s sure.

Beside her he’s quiet but his steps are quick. She has to lightly jog to keep up with long strides. He pulls on her hand to help her keep pace. It makes her think he’s as impatient for it as she is so she was surprised when upon closing the hotel room behind him he stays by the door. Not nearing or touching or kissing.

Just - nothing.

Her throat becomes tight again as she remembers the girl from the night before and her conversation with Gale. Is that the reason why?

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he says before she can spiral any further. Approaching her and bringing their lips together in a searing kiss, wasting no time in sliding his tongue alongside hers.

“I love you,” she responds and once again he doesn’t say it back. She figured he wouldn’t but she wanted to try. He takes her mouth in his again.

She gets irrationally angry, suddenly feeling the need to claim him so she bites at his bottom lip. He pulls back to press a finger to his lip, wiping the blood there.

Lila pulls on his belt, dropping to her knees right there in the middle of the room.

Mine. He’s mine.

“Make me your wife again,” she’s not sure but it sounds like she’s begging as she manages to unbuckle his belt and pull them around his strong thighs.

“God,” he breathed, “fuck. Look at you.”

Swollen lips parted for him to put to use. John wrapped his fist around her long hair to maintain a good grip, allowing the tip of his cock to hit the back of her throat. There was no resistance, no gag, her body remembering how it was taught to take all of him even though time had passed. John loved that fucking mouth and he found himself angry as thoughts entered his mind - if anyone had fucked her mouth while he’d been away - and he jerks his hips more forcefully. Rough.

This time Lila does gag. Her hand goes to push against his hip but he doesn’t allow her to pull away.

“Did anyone else do this?”

She splutters, eyes on him and confused with a mouthful of cock, unable to talk.

“Did you suck someone else’s cock? This is mine, Lila. Mine.”

He holds her down for a couple of more seconds before allowing her reprieve. She sputters and coughs, looking at him the entire time.

His dick is still hard and long, standing to attention, and he’s not sure whether he should apologize before she’s taking his bobbing dick back into her mouth. To the back of her throat and gulping and fondling his balls. Her nose kissing the coarse hairs on his belly trail and although it feels fucking amazing - he can feel the anger too. Her anger.

How dare he accuse her.

When she pulls off there’s a strand of saliva connecting his prick to her tongue. She has half a mind to go back for more but he’s pulling her back by her hair.

“I’m so lucky to have a wife who’s cock hungry,” he groans, pulling her to her feet by her hair and connecting their mouths in a rough kiss. Their teeths crash and tongues wrestly and he feels fucking crazy that she tastes like him. Simultaneously ripping each other’s clothes off.

Lila didn’t have any warning. One second she was kissing him and ripping open his shirt and the next she was bent over the bed with her ass in the air. John ran a finger over the wet patch on her underwear. The bite on her cheek was also unexpected and she clawed at the sheets, sure she could come from the feeling alone.

“This is mine, Lila,” he leaned in close, burying his face in her underwear. “Mine.”

All she could do was whimper and agree.

John smacked her ass so hard it jiggled. Lila yelled and after the pain ceded, time seemed to stop. Nothing but their rough breathing filling the room. John had never done that before.

She wasn’t sobbing but there were tears escaping. She was sure he didn’t know. He was waiting for a reaction.

Lila wasn’t sure where this side of her husband came from. Had he held back those two months? Did he learn it in Europe? Was that why there was another woman - because she couldn’t satisfy him?

She can’t lose him.

“Please,” she begs, hiding tears in the duvet, “do it again.”

Lies. It was all lies but John believes her and he strikes again. She yelps, fisiting the sheets. He believes it’s in pleasure.

Ten slaps. That’s how many she endures before he begins shushing and petting her again. He runs his fingers through her folds and although she didn’t enjoy the punishment mentally - she did nothing wrong, he was the liar - her body certainly did. She’s sopping wet, she’s gonna have to throw out her underwear because they’re destroyed.

“Did you enjoy that?” He grabs a fistful of her hair to sit her up, her back against his sweaty, matter chest. “You like being spanked, baby?”

“Yes.” It’s only half of a lie.

“Now - now, I’m going to fuck you. Nice and hard, just how you like it,” she wants to scream at him. She wants to hit him. When did she ever like it hard? When was hard ever nice? Who was he thinking about because it wasn’t her.

But at the same time she rocks back against him to feel his cock hard between her cheeks. She can’t say she doesn’t want it. Him. This.

He pushes her back down at her teasing, using his now free hands to spread her cheeks and show her tight asshole. Untouched and pure. He presses the tip of his cock against it but he doesn’t push. He doesn’t move.

She jerks at the pressure. Drools on the mattress as she tries to bite down to temper her screams.

Do it.

No, don’t.

“One day,” he promises, pressing deeper so her hole opens but not deep enough to push. “But today, today I want this.” And without any prepping like she’s used to, without any more warning, he’s sliding down and pushing into her. Hard. Deep.

She screams, can’t help it, claws at the mattress in an attempt to crawl away.

It hurt but it felt so good.

Who was she?

“You think you can go be with other men? Let them use the holes I trained? The ones that belong to me?” He pumps into her deep. Once, twice. She’s so wet the noises filling the room are pornographic, her yelling and his panting and her sopping wet vagina smacking against his thighs and taking his cock so well. “You like it like this, Lila? Like when I fucking own you?”

“Yes, yes,” she swears and this time she isn’t lying. It’s all she can manage; she thinks she’s gone cock dumb. There are no words, no feelings, just the feeling of him filling her.

She clenches tight when he slides out. She wants him inside her forever.

He releases his hold of her hair, stepping away. He’s tired of muffling her moans and words. He’s tired of not being able to see her beautiful face.

John’s favorite face in the entire world.

“Turn around,” he commands.

Lila kneels on wobbly legs as she turns over, having little to no energy and bouncing as her body lands with no grace on the mattress. John grabs one of her jiggling breasts in his large hand, squeezing tightly.

“I fucking missed these.” He takes one in his mouth, biting down on her nipple hard. She shrieks but holds his head to pull him closer.

Her thighs are forced open by his hand and then he’s taking hold of himself and thrusting in deep again. Releasing her breasts from his mouth in order to look at her mouth. Lila’s face when he’s fucking her is as close to heaven as he thinks he’ll ever get. She’s incoherent but she’s begging for more - that much he can make out. She manages to gather the strength to grab hold of him and pull him down, clawing at his back.

He hisses at the pain and bites on her collarbone to reciprocate it.

When she grabs the nape of his neck, the cool touch of her wedding ring against his skin, it gives him pause. This was his wife. His wife.

John has been gone so long he thinks he forgot he was married.

“I love you,” he finally says it, pressing his forehead against hers as he slows down. He sniffles then, leaning down to press a wet open-mouthed kiss against hers and swallow her moans. John can’t believe he forgot he had this; can’t believe he forgot for a minute how lucky he was. She’s gorgeous (and not just externally) and he’s quite sure he somehow managed to dream her up. “I love you,” he swears again.

This time she’s the one who doesn’t say it.

She clutches at neck and pulls him down to take a boob in his mouth. Looking him in the eye hurts too damn much. Why did he have to do this now? She was lost in the pain; she had been taking her punishment.

Lila squeezed her eyes shut, moaning loudly as she thrashed around the bed. Her orgasm taking over her body. She wrapped both legs tighter around John, squeezing and pulsing around him and dragging him to the edge with her.

“Fuck, fuck,” he roared, “so damn tight. Yes, Lila. My perfect wife.”

For a couple of seconds, they lay in the aftermath. Lila could feel the heat of John’s breath against her neck. She counted how many breaths they shared in between one another as they recuperated.

Forty-seven that’s how many breaths they shared as they stayed connected.

Forty-eight that’s when John managed to lift his head and place a peck against her mouth. One she didn’t return.

Forty-nine that’s when John pulled back in concern. Lila was so still.

Fifty. That’s the breath she used to say, “you cheated on me,” looking him right in the eyes as she broke out in uncontrollable sobs.

She cried and cried underneath him. Unable to move because her legs felt like jello and they held no power. Unable to push him off because she didn’t want to let him go. Unable to speak because she was suffocating in her heartbreak.

John watched her until he couldn’t, until he was afraid she was going to choke on her own tears and then he was sitting her up, trying to ignore the way she fought against his touch.

I’m sorry, I’m here, he kept saying.

I hate you, she thought but didn’t say.

Until finally, “don’t touch me!” She yelled when he got too close and made to wrap her up in a hug. “Get away from me, John. Stay away.” She crawled to the edge of the bed and curled herself into a tiny ball. Aware she was fully naked and he was still leaking out of her but she couldn’t find it in herself to do anything except cry.

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t open her lungs and get any air in. She slapped at the headboard, aware that she was having a panic attack as suddenly everything hit her all at once. It was entirely consuming and she couldn’t do anything to fight against it except cry. All the feelings rushed her at once.

This was going to be it. The weekend of two lovers reunited was the weekend from hell and this was going to be it. She was going to return home in a day and he would stay in Europe and continue to fight the war and seek out other girls and when he returned she wouldn’t be his wife anymore.

Lila would be scornful and full of resentment and miserable and he would leave her. This last time was going to be all she had and she hated him for ruining it.

Why couldn’t he hide his affairs better?

Why did she have to surprise him?

She was perfectly happy not knowing. She was worried and stressed to hell and crying every night missing him but, oh God, all that was better than this.

Lila isn’t sure how long it’s been since she last took a breath but she feels herself fading. She’s shivering and naked in their bed and she can only slightly take in that John’s wrapping her up in the duvet and curling himself around her to warm her up. She’s trying to tell him she can’t breathe, she’s suffocating, at the same time he’s blowing air in her face.

She’s fading when she feels it. A sting on the left side of her face. Hard and sharp and enough to have her gasping for a deep breath.

“Baby, please, wake up,” he’s crying over her, his head on her chest, “wake up. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Her chest aches. She coughs.

He whips his head up so fast she almost laughs. Almost.

“Lila,” he holds her against his chest, rocking them back and forth on the bed as she takes in her surroundings. She isn’t sure how long she was out or how long she was panicking for. Had the sun been setting while she lost her shit? It was dark outside now. “Don’t leave me, you can’t leave me. Please.”

She taps at his arms to get him to release. She doesn’t think she can talk.

John allows her the space but he doesn’t remove himself from the bed. He stays kneeling, watching her. His hands keep twitching like he wants to reach out and touch her but he’s trying to respect her wishes of not being touched.

She doesn’t lay back down, she stays resting against the headboard. Breathing hurts. She’s scared of suffocating once more. Her left cheek begins burning and she wishes she had the strength to go look in the mirror. Did he mark her? She hopes he did.

Lila’s glad he made it hurt.

“You need to go,” she finally manages to say, ignoring the way he’s already shaking his head in defiance. “Leave me here, John. I want you to go. Get another room.” Find another woman. “I leave in a day.” She wishes she never came to stupid London. She wishes she could forget this entire trip.

“Lila it’s the war,” he starts, shaking in his own tears. “It’s all the shit I see, baby. None of it was because of you okay? None. You don’t fucking know what it’s like up there for us but I stay alive in hopes of coming home to you.” He promises.

She shakes her head, fighting back any more tears. How the hell could she still have any tears left?

“But Gale didn’t cheat,” it bursts out of her before she can stop it and she knows it’s the wrong thing to say entirely.

John stops his apologies, clearing his throat as he gets up and begins dressing into his suit. She doesn’t stop him. She doesn’t take back any of what she said. She gets tired of sitting so she lays on her side, staring out the window and noticing London doesn’t have many stars. Is that why it’s so horrible here? Because there were no stars to wish upon.

She could hear his boots stomping on the ground as he reached the door. “Maybe you should have married Gale fucking Cleven then.” And the door slams shut behind him.

She wonders if he’s angry enough to find a girl and sleep with her. Her eyes blur. The time on the clock is six p.m and London’s already dark. She realizes she hasn’t slept since her plane ride. About 19 hours awake - her and John.

Lila allows her eyes to close, hoping when she wakes everything will be better.

Shadows over her eyelids wake her up. Lila finds she hasn’t moved. She’s in the same position facing the window. Facing London, only now bombs are dropping over it. The prettiest colors burst forward in the window but she knows it's truly only tragedy and loss. Murder.

She recognizes John sitting in the arm chair and she wonders when he got back. He isn’t facing her, he’s watching bomb after bomb drop and land no more than mere miles away from them. He’s holding a whiskey on ice, twirling the ice so it hits against the glass.

Lila wonders then if it was the shadows or the noise that woke her up.

“I must have punched in my card a long time ago,” his voice is strong in the dead of the night, seemingly even louder than when he’s singing in the pub. “It must be the reason for all of this. Karma.” He scoffs.

I deserve this, is what he’s trying to say.

Lila feels her stomach twist and spin and there’s bile sitting in her throat. She closes her eyes to stop herself from imagining John in a plane, dropping a bomb that lands on children. She closes her eyes so she doesn’t have to see the hurt sitting on his shoulders.

She remembers how angry she was when he first signed up. Before they were married. They had been dating for over a month, barely, and she already scribbled ‘Mrs. Egan’ over her notebooks. She’d heard it from his younger sister, Eileen, and she felt her world stop. She hadn’t hesitated to run to the stables he worked at and confront him in front of all the men.

“You’re leaving me,” she had accused him. “You’re gonna leave! I’ll never forgive you, John Egan.”

And in front of everyone he’d knelt down and produced a ring, the one his father had given his mother and said, “Marry me.” He didn’t ask because they both knew it wasn’t a question.

She was already his.

And he was hers.

Lila had forgiven him and promised to love, honor, and obey for the rest of her life.

She doesn’t have the strength to stand so even though her throat burns she speaks. “Lay with me,” she croaks. Her voice is raspy and broken and even clearing it aches.

John shakes his head. “You don’t want me to.”

“Lay with me,” she repeats, firm. “I just want to fall asleep with you.”

He looks at her like he's scared to believe. Trying to figure out whether she’s simply being cruel and going to kick him out in her next breath. Or more likely, he’s scared she’ll lose her shit being near him again.

John, hopeful and never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, sets his drink down and nears the bed. Lila keeps her eyes locked on his and he does the same. Their moves and tension resemble a game of chicken, one of them afraid any sudden change can have the other running off.

“Take off your uniform,” she says when he pushes back the covers while still fully dressed. He jerks his head in confusion and she bites her lip to contain a laugh at his dirty mind. Sex is the last thing on her mind. “I want to feel you, that’s all.”

John does as she asks, setting his cap down and shredding every layer before he’s naked and gorgeous and sliding in beside her. She doesn’t allow herself to think about what it means when she immediately slides closer.

Lila’s the one to wrap her arms around him.

Lila’s the one to intertwine their legs.

John follows her lead, lifting an arm so she can raise her head and use it as a pillow. She scoots her face closer and she nuzzles into her armpit, smelling his deodorant and feeling his hairs poke at her nose. She moves further along, escaping the cocoon of his armpit to press her cheek against his chest. She clutches his dog tags in her palm, tight, so he can’t get up in the middle of the night.

“Can we fall asleep together?” She asks, but when she looks up John’s already there.

The next time Lila wakes up her palm aches. She releases what she’s gripping, remembering how she clung to John’s dog tags when he slid into bed beside her. She lifts her head and finds John already looking at her.

He’s got the saddest eyes she’s ever seen and she hates that she’s partly why.

“We should talk,” her voice is low and cracks from not being used. John nods his head but makes no move to begin.

Lila lays her head back on his chest, lightly picking at his matted, curly chest hair. She presses her lips to a freckle near his nipple and his intake of breath lets her know he felt it,

“I’m not the one you write the most letters too,” she starts, finding it easier to not have to look him in the eye. “You write the most to your mom. And I’m not the one who can calm you down when your anger gets the best of you,” she’s so tired of crying, “that’s Gale. “And I can’t even be here for you at the end of a mission to console you or kiss you or help you forget,” she chokes on a sob. “That’s whoever else.”

I couldn’t even keep our baby healthy, she leaves out.

“What’s your point with all this, Lila?”

Lila lifts her head from his chest, “My point is I’m a horrible wife. I - I don’t know if it was too soon or just not thought out but this - I- ” she can’t get the rest of the words out.

“Don’t say that,” John sits up against the headboard, forcing her up as well. He grabs both her wrists in one of his hands to pull her closer and grab her attention. “Don’t fucking tell me that, Lila.”

“I don’t make you happy,” she shakes her head.

“You do. Everything I do, everything I’m doing - it’s for you Lila.”

“I don’t want to marry Gale. Or someone like him. I love you. Only you. But I’m scared that I don’t make you happy. You deserve better.”

“Oh you dumbass,” John coos, suddenly finding the entire situation amusing. He pulls her in for a hug. “You’re my entire fucking heart, Lila Egan. You don’t think you make me happy? You’re the only thing in my life, in my head, that makes me happy.”

She pulls away to hold his face. “If you’re gonna leave me John you need to tell me now. I don’t care about the girls if all they are is to pass the time. And I don’t care that you write to your mom more than me and I don’t care that Gale is the one you listen to but I just need to be the one you love the most. I need to know I’m making you happy.”

His heart aches at the fact that he made her feel she was ever anything less than the most important person in his life. “Lila,” he presses a kiss to her lips, “Rose,” another kiss, “Egan,” another. “Are my only reason for staying alive.”

#mota fic #mota fanfic #john egan x oc #john egan x reader #bucky x oc #bucky egan x reader #bucky egan fanfiction #bucky egan fanfic #john egan fanfic #john egan fanfiction #*made by me

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toji-bunny-girl · 1 year ago

Text

𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇’𝐒 𝐁!𝐓𝐂𝐇

CHARACTERS— Grinch!Toji Fushiguro x sexy goddess goofy fem!reader SUMMARY— The thief of Christmas joy, the thief of children's gifts, and this time, the thief of your boyfriend's slutty surprise. WORD COUNT— 3k+ CONTENT WARNING— slight angst, swearing, goofiness, smut, porn with plot, adultery, bondage, size difference, orgasm denial, NTR, spanking, fingering, blowjob, oral sex, no protection, noncon A/N— I wanna get fucked dumb by Toji too (hope yall don’t notice the obvious bias in smut between this and the other two Kinkmas fics 🤭 this man just makes me 100000x hornier)

“You sure you can breathe in there?” Miya questioned your sanity, a frown etched upon her face as she stared at the way you shifted on your knees, tied up with red ropes in a Santa lingerie.

“I mean, there’s a few small holes I made at the back,” you pointed with your eyes, an awkward laugh skipping out of your throat.

“You’re fucking insane, (Y/N),” your best friend sighed, shutting her eyes to take a rest from your ridiculous sight. “All this for what? You’re not even sure if Mr. Vanilla likes kinky aah shit like this.”

“Never back down never what…” you softly mumbled, trying to keep yourself focused on what you’ve prepared for your boyfriend this Christmas. He’d return home from work to find a giant ribboned box on his bed. Inside would be you, all tied up in your new erotic red lingerie.

You’ve managed to convince yourself that this was all a wonderful erotic surprise for Seiji. When in reality it was nothing but a catalyst to excite your sexual relationship with him. The thing is—your boyfriend is the most vanilla partner you’d ever have, while without his knowledge; you were the kinkiest slut your friends had ever known.

Throughout your 9 months of dating, sex was infrequent and soft. To put things truthfully, the act with your boyfriend is boring. You’ve tried encouraging him to be more experimental with you—to lightly chock you or even slap your ass when he’s fucking you. But he just couldn’t bring himself to do it, and maybe that’s part of the reason you fell for him.

He’s gentle and kind, ever so careful to handle you like you’re a fragile piece of art. Seiji was nothing like your past lovers, with him you learned true romance. With the price of your sexual satisfaction and ardour.

So this Christmas, you thought of a plan to surprise him—his sexy girlfriend all tied up for him to use however he wanted. It’s every man’s dream come true to have a fervid hottie on their bed. But when it comes to Seiji, you could never be sure of it; he’s different than the others but he’s your Seiji.

“What’s the time now,” you raised your eyebrows as Miya peeked at her phone screen.

“6:56.”

“How’s my makeup? How’s my hair?” you dubiously asked, needing everything to be perfect as if you had just popped out of a Playboy magazine.

“Very sexy,” Miya assured under her breath as she brushed a wild strand of hair away from your face. Her eyes scanned your face to spot any smudged makeup, “As always, so pretty.”

“Thank you so much, Miya. Once Seiji fucked the shit out of me and get me pregnant—I’m naming one of my kids after you,” you frivolously said, leaving the girl chuckling at your words.

“Alright, I have to leave before Vanilla Man comes back,” she checked the time once more before grabbing the lid of the giant box. “But I gotta give it to you, this shit is low-key weird but original.”

“Thanks for your compliment,” you grinned at your friend, before feeling the light over your head gone and replaced by darkness.

“Bye, (Y/N). Don’t die in there!” Miya’s voice muffled through the cardboard as she tapped the box goodbye. Silence ensued and soon, you heard the front door slam close.

Seiji had better not be home late if he didn’t want his prurient surprise to turn into a horror documentary on YouTube.

Your joints were starting to ache within a minute of waiting, the kneeling position you chose obviously backfired. Sure, the pose is cute and all—but is it worth the growing pain in your knees? If you’re getting absolutely ravished by tonight; then yes.

By the next few minutes, you began to lament about the choices you had made. Your knees hurt so bad it felt like someone was flaying their whip onto your skin, and you were busy chanting your mantra just to stop your tears from flowing out and ruining your hours-spent makeup.

Never back down never what…?

“Fuck it,” you cried, leaning your weight sideways against the cardboard just to lessen the burden on your joints. But as much as you regretted everything, the box toppled to the side along with your body. “Shit! Oh my god, what the fuck do I do?! Help!”

You tried to wriggle yourself out of the giant box but with your limbs bounded tight, you could do nothing but writhe like a worm. You must’ve looked like a clown.

Then, you heard it. The soft shutting of the door and the floorboard slightly creaked with footsteps. Though, each stride seemed to be a thump—were Seiji’s feet ever so heavy?

But you don’t ruminate over that, you have a bigger problem on your hands right then. Your boyfriend was going to walk in on you awkwardly lying on your side, what seemed to be a lewd surprise became a scene of embarrassment; you looked as if you were kidnapped and tied up, and it wasn’t in any sensual form you desired.

The bedroom door creaked open and your pulse began thumping fast in your ears. You could feel your face scorching into scarlet red, and you squeezed your lips shut, trying not to make a sound. Perhaps you were drunk off the hot embarrassment, you thought perhaps if you were silent enough, he wouldn’t notice the giant Christmas-themed box sitting in the middle of his bed, right?

Then you felt yourself being hoisted up into the air, and confusion struck your being. What was Seiji doing? Did he know about you hiding inside the box? Now was he fooling around with you?

“Seiji…?” you softly mumbled, and you were met with long silence as a reply. What exactly was going on? Feeling yourself put down on the wooden floor, you heard shuffling before you were propelled backwards from a harsh kick. “Hey!”

This wasn’t Seiji. Never was he one to ever act so rashly upon anyone or anything. And your skin began to crawl with a newfound fear. If a burglar were to find you helpless and unable to defend yourself…you were lucid with what could happen to you.

Fuck, man. You internally cursed, God was obviously making fun of your dumb little idea. Fuck the originality, you wanted out more than anything.

“One of ya’ fairies stuck in there?” the stranger spoke gravelly, his voice gruff like the rough bark of trees. Then he let out a deep laugh, slamming a palm atop the box. “You guys should start tellin’ Santa he can’t be throwin’ all the hard jobs to the tiny elves and fairies.”

The lid of the box lifted open and you squeezed your eyes shut from the sudden prickling exposure of bright rays. Slowly, your sight adjusted to the light and you peeked your eyelids open to look at the intruder.

A Christmas suit, and a marked face of animosity—the male squatted over your tied form with a look of uncongenial nonchalance. “Not a fairy…nor an elf. A human?”

“No shit, you crazy bitch. My boyfriend’s coming back any second now, and he’d beat the shit out of you!” you tried to daunt the stranger, though with a single look at him—you knew it was improbable that Seiji could take on this guy.

“You can see me?” he sounded amused, hands slightly waving around his sides.

“What do you mean ‘I can see you’? You’re a ghost or something?”

“Not quite,” he sighed, and you could smell burnt tobacco from his breath. “You ever heard of the Grinch?”

“Yeah…?”

“Well, turns out Christmas isn’t fake,” you stared as he gave you a slight smirk, the dark scar down his lips rising.

“And you’re telling me you’re ‘grinch’?” your eyes narrowed, scepticism in your features.

“Smart girl.”

“When really, you’re breaking into people’s houses and trying to convince them you’re a Christmas character whenever you’re caught red-handed.”

“Mm, yer’ ain’t wrong,” his eyes wandered to the side.

“That makes you a burglar, man.”

“One that no one can see… except for you’,” his eyebrows drew closer into a frown. “How odd.” His features shifted all of a sudden, and he relaxed into a sigh. “Fairy dust?”

“What?”

“This,” he pointed at the glitter on your eyelids.

“Oh, this? I found them on my dressing table so I thought why not,” you shrugged, rendering the hulking male to crack into a chuckle of disbelief.

“These are fairy dusts. The fairies leave them the night before Christmas to spread joy and wonders to people, ya’ get me? Anyone who touches ‘em would be able to see us,” he spoke apathetically. “And my job…” his hand reached out towards you, thumb swiping over your eyelid, “is to steal these.”

“My makeup!” you shouted, trying to wriggle yourself away from him. “I spent 2 hours doing them!”

“Why would ‘cha put random glitter on yer’ eyes anyway,” he retorted, grabbing your much smaller face with his large hand and using the other to wipe the fairy dust off of your skin.

“I hate you, bitch!”

“The name’s Toji, sweetheart,” he purred, the lowest cadence of his voice scratching the itch in your eardrums. Your eyebrows knitted into a glare, trying to mask the dark heat on your cheeks with that lour look of yours.

“You’ve got your stupid ‘fairy dust’ now. Happy?”

“Nope.”

“What more do you want?!”

“I haven’t picked a present to steal yet…” something in his eyes coruscate, a sharp ray of emerald green hared by in volant flash. In that moment, you could feel something stormy, so wild and barbaric in him—something you’ve missed since Seiji.

“I-I’ve got nothing here,” you huffed, stammering over your words as you shifted your gaze away.

“Ain’t you one?” his eyes raked over your figure, cleavage pushed up for view, and soft thighs presented like a toy. You felt naked underneath him; and for for some reason your nipples began to perk against the thin fabric of the scarlet red lingerie, panties beginning to dampen with arousal.

This man looked like a good fuck—and boy did your body needed one. Your lips paused open to say something, but you were simply cut off by a sudden shock when you felt your body lifted into the air once more. Toji was carrying all your weight with a hefty arm, pulling you out of the box and settling you onto the floor.

“Gee, thanks. Shit was starting to feel claustrophobic,” you never knew you were holding so much breath in when the male began to untie the ropes that held you. To be more specific, the ropes around your body except your hands. “Think you missed a spot, buddy.”

“Didn’t miss it,” he stood, watching as your legs wearily crumbled onto the ground. “Never intended to free ya’.”

You raised a brow, tilting your head upwards to look at him. And now from your height, you’d never imagine the male to be this huge. Even through his clothes, you could visibly spot the bulking muscles underneath, and the undeniable bulge in his pants.

Toji let out a low chuckle when he caught your eyes, showing the whites of your orbs as you stared; your tongue wet from salivating what could be under those stupid Christmas pants, a quiet gulp as your clit throbbed.

“Like what ‘cha lookin’ at?” his hot palm rested over your head, slightly messing up your hair but you couldn't care less anymore. His thumb tucked down all the restraint over his cock, and the sight of it made your breath hitched.

Dark tip with a prominent vein running down the bottom of his shaft, your lips almost instinctively opened to fit what you could into your mouth.

“Good girl,” he grinned, feeling the way your saliva coat his cock, tongue flickering and flattening against his throbbing tip. You gently stuffed your mouth with his member, before hollowing your cheeks and bobbing your head around his length.

Toji sharply sucked the air through his teeth, one hand fisting your hair and the other pumping the part of his shaft where you couldn’t reach.

“Such a fuckin’ slut,” he groaned under his breath, peering down at the way your eyes closed shut in silent contentment, slowly inching more of him through your lips until his tip was bumping against the wall of your throat.

You threw your head back after gagging a while on his cock, a string of saliva connecting his member with your tongue. Your jaw was getting sore and you had to take a quick breather until you were forced down again by Toji’s palm.

“Didn’t say you could stop,” he spat, thrusting his hips forward and stuffing your throat full of him. He was so big, too much to handle and tears began to well around your eyes; yet you’re moaning to the thought of his size, how it’ll just reach perfectly deep in your hole.

“Mmhp!” you whined, muffled by his member but Toji didn’t pause until after a few long, deep pushes into your swollen throat. Stuffing your mouth full of his cum, leaking out from the edges of your aching lips.

You spat his semen onto the ground before he grabbed you up onto the bed, spreading your thighs open with his breath still unstable from his previous ejaculation. “Fuckin’ whore,” he laughed, a thick thumb rubbing over your pulsing panty-covered clit. “Suckin’ dick got ‘cha wet?”

“Speak for yourself,” you breathed, “staring at my body got you hard?”

“How ‘bout you fill that mouth with my name instead of yer’ smart words?” his eyes were like green gems under shades; dark, sensual emerald. Slipping your panty off, Toji clicked his tongue when his eyes settled upon your glisteningly wet pussy, a smirk riding the edge of his mouth up.

You let in a sharp inhale when he stuffed two thick fingers into your cunt, your essence already coating his digits within a few pumps, the calloused skin of his fingers spurring on tingles in your pussy walls. He was a maven with his hands, fingers ably searching for the spongey spot inside of you, long enough to reach where you couldn’t—nor Seiji.

Seiji. Your mind began to plague with guilt for your poor boyfriend, you didn’t want to do him wrong but fuck—you just couldn’t stop when Toji had your sweet spot; rubbing over your clenching walls with a thumb busy swiping over your swollen clit.

Your pussy tightened around his digits as you cried for release, moans and whines filled the room as you buckled your hips. But as much as you wanted it, Toji refused to lead you through; a raffish smirk on his face as you swore at him.

“I was about to cum, asshole!” you gasped, visibly annoyed with the frown on your face. You raised a leg to facetiously kick him, but he caught your ankle in his grasp before dragging your body closer to him.

“Didn’t catch ‘cha beggin’,” a deep chuckle rumbled out of his lungs as his hands trailed up your thighs.

“I don’t beg for nothing,” you tried to play bratty.

“Oh, yea?” your body jumped up when he slapped the tip of heavy cock against your clit, your eyes seemingly dripping with desperation over your mask of a twisted frown. You wanted him inside of you so bad, and he could see it right through you.

Slipping a few inches his member into your folds, you could feel your cunt burn from the stretch, gripping onto his girth as he slowly forced himself in.

“Shit—” Toji swore under his breath, watching the way your pussy sucked him in, needy for him to fill your insides. You let out an exhale when his cock brushed over your sweet spots, your abdomen tingling when he reached deep.

He placed his arms on both sides of your head, hovering over your body with his, hips thrusting in and out of you. You could feel his warmth radiating towards yours, heating up your cheeks as you blinked up at him. His head dipped down to kiss you, sucking on your lips before sinking his teeth down, a hand slipping up to rest on your throat.

Your face began to turn red as he tightened his grip on your neck, his pace starting to roughen, the bed frame hitting against the wall so hard you doubted it wouldn't leave a mark. Your head was starting to get light, eyes blanking out with each blink and you could see stars popping in your sight.

You clenched your teeth as you shut your eyes, focusing on the pleasure building up in your womb, hugging Toji close with your thighs.

Just a little more, you thought as you peered down at where the two of you connected, his cock disappearing down your pussy and slipping out. Instead of filling your cunt with his length again, he let his hands hugged his girth, jerking himself off in front of you.

“Haah—fuck!” you swore, biting down your lower lip. “I was close, again!”

“What d’ya say?”

“Need your cock, please?” you cried, tired of the second orgasm he refused for you, and you were met with Toji manhandling you onto your knees, glistening cunt for his view as he stuffed a finger into your folds, teasing you with light stimulation.

That was until your phone buzzed with a new notification from your boyfriend, panic set in your being as you stared at your phone.

Sorry I’ll be a little late home, I had a quick meeting with the team :/ Don’t worry tho I just got out of the station. On the way home rn :) Miss you!

“W-Wait! My boyfriend’s coming back…!” you tried to crawl away from him, but it was all in obvious futility as he held your hips, sinking his throbbing cock into your needy pussy.

“Shut yer’ mouth up and cum for me. Would ‘cha, pretty girl?” he groaned into your ear, his fingers sunk into your cheeks as he gripped onto your face, hips fucking deep into your sloppy cunt and fat tip kissing your cervix.

Your nerves were dancing upon fire, and you could do nothing but roll your eyes to the back of your head, your lips pausing open in pleasure as you let out croaked moans. Toji’s hips were positioning harder in and out of your sore pussy, his fingers swiping fast against your clit.

He could feel your walls clenching tighter than ever around him, and he shoved your head into the bedsheets to muffle out your screams, your bounded hands fighting against the restraints, and your back arching down towards the bed.

With his cock brushing over your G-spot and hitting your cervix for the nth time, your essence came squirting out of your core. You were silent for a second, sent to a heaven of pure ecstasy and your body twitched in pleasure you had never felt before.

Toji was still busy chasing his own high, simply using you as a fucktoy to be roughened up however he wanted—disregarding your overstimulated cunt and continuing to shove his cock into you. You could hear his groans starting to grow louder, feel his hips fastened and soon, warm spurts of thick cum filled your womb.

Your thighs shook in overstimulation as your whole weight fell onto the bed; sweat sticking your lingerie onto your skin and the bedsheets dirtied with your makeup. Toji had ruined you as he fucked, yet you’ve never found such contentment in sex.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he whispered, pasting a kiss onto your drooling lips, watching in satisfaction as your eyes blanked out from the fucking. “Tell yer’ lil’ boyfriend I said welcome.”

“(Y/N), I’m home!”

@coolpizzazonkplaid @byhuenii @idkmanimreallysleepy @stainednailpolishremover @jxnyi @peachtreexoxo @yaygurist @lalaloverss @aexlime @naruucore @sathavious @guillermowhatwedointheshadows @mistygrovesarchive @glittercums @altmoo @lollixgoddess @victoriak01 @kimminjulvr @ghostlyluminarycloud @satorminniett @someonewhotendstowrite @buhdussy @ichirasblog @kokomisworld @magiouu @bobbicore @xxshiino @urmommyzhot @jjkwhor3 @erostaeyong @tojisprincesa @edgyficuselastica @clemianna @fromthechaoticmind @idkcoolise @fallinlovewithbeelzebub @sirshitsalot12 @kuraa01 @awyunh @lxvegojo

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pastryfication · 6 months ago

Note

Can you please, if you'd be so kind, do one with Oscar x driver!reader, and him proposing on media day, when they're talking in front of people? And Lando has to hype him up before. 🤭

hi!! thank you for your request!!

i can’t imagine oscar proposing in front of so many people—i think he’d be more the type to do a private, intimate proposal—so i’ve changed the request a bit. i hope you still like it!

just say yes | oscar piastri

pairing: oscar piastri x driver!reader

content warnings: mentions of hungary 2024… also, this is messy! i’m not even sure myself what is going on.

the race hadn’t worked in your favour. starting p8 and moving down to p11 wasn’t good enough. just out of the points, in a race with so much potential, wasn’t good enough.

in the final lap, you wanted nothing more than to exit the car, throw away your helmet and hide yourself away in the hotel. but then, your race engineer turned on the radio and delivered the message you had waited to hear for so, so, so long. oscar had won the race. oscar passed the finish line in first place.

now, after such news, your eagerness to finish the race wasn’t build on the need to sulk, but instead, an eagerness to celebrate your boyfriend.

as soon as you were out of the car, you were running towards were you knew he would be. the smell of burnt tires and gasoline faded to the background and you threw yourself against him, race suite and helmet still on, and enveloped him in a hug.

you were so happy you wanted to cry. he deserves this more than anyone else and to see him achieve it was a dream come true for you. as he decented the podium, you were in the crowd and clapped louder than anyone else.

oscar had found your face in the crowd as he stood on the top step. he smiled brightly when your eyes met, and when lando initially ignored him and he felt the world slowly crashing down on his happiness, your silhouette was what he sought again.

you were there. you were always there. even when you had a shitty race yourself, even when he could see how sad you were about the position you ended up in, you still came to celebrate him. and you poured your entire heart into the celebration, pushing yourself into the crowd of papaya to be closer to his beaming face.

too caught up the the giddiness you felt, you truly hadn’t noticed anything wrong until oscar pulled you aside just before your media duties. he wasn’t smiling quite as bright as he was supposed to, considering he just had his maiden win. he explained, voice a bit strained, that he had been allowed to pass lando. he told you how the win didn’t feel completely like his own, like he didn’t quite deserve it, and you listened with a frown on your face.

this was his win. he deserved it. he earned it fair and square. and you told him exactly that. you told him while holding him close in another hug, your mouth up close to his ear so only he could hear the sweet words you whispered.

as you leaned your head on his shoulder and comfortingly rubbed his back, oscar mind began to cloud with thoughts of the ring in his trouser pocket. barely a hundred meters away, tucked safely away in his jeans in his drivers room, lay the diamond ring he so delicately had picked out with your sister.

he wanted it then, he wished so desperately to have magical powers so he could make it spawn in his hand, but he didn’t, so instead, he took your hand in his and dragged you along.

“where are we going?” you asked, but it was for deaf ears. he had a mission and he was going to accomplish it. he was going to propose right then and there. he was going to spend the rest of his life with you.

୨୧

the reporter had to fight hard to hide the smirk when he spotted the diamond on your finger. it stood in stark contrast to the dull race suit hanging from your waist, sparkling prettily against the sweaty fireproof shirt clinging desperately to your damp skin, compliment the op1 cap on your head perfectly.

“what is it i spot on your finger?” he asked, microphone pushed up against you eagerly in await of your response.

“well, what does it look like?” you answered, showing it to him with a joyful smile adorning your face.

“i guess your boyfriend wasn’t satisfied with just a win.” the reporter laughed.

“fiancé.” you corrected. “and my fiancé is quite satisfied with his amazing win. but you can never get too many things to celebrate.”

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silverynight · 5 months ago

Text

Eight years and counting

Contains manga spoilers

The first year comes with so much planning and preparation, Katsuki barely has time to keep up with graduation and the agency interview. He's a war hero, he knows it'll be easy for him to get in any agency he wants and even though that'd make his middle school self excited, he's not that kid anymore.

He cares more about Izuku now. No, he only cares about Izuku now.

Katsuki watches closely as the last ember dies and Izuku pretends it doesn't take his last bit of hope with it; he wants Izuku to be more open with him, to tell him how he truly feels about being quirkless again, but Katsuki knows him well enough at this point to expect something like that.

But he also knows his Izuku won't be completely happy with being a UA teacher, no matter how much he loves that school. Izuku is meant to be a hero, like Katsuki. Actually, he's meant to be a hero and fight by Katsuki's side.

And Katsuki is going to make sure that dream comes true.

So he plans; Izuku needs a new suit, one that can emulate OFA to perfection because if Katsuki is going to give anything to Izuku, he's going to make sure it's absolutely perfect.

It takes a while for him to finish the design and as soon as he does, the first step is to show it to All Might. Katsuki knows he used a mecha suit during the final battle so he probably has an idea if Katsuki's design is possible or not.

"For young Midoriya?"

All Might already knows it's for Izuku, but the question is not exactly about that and Katsuki is perfectly aware of it; he can see it in the soft smile of Izuku's mentor, he can see it in the way his blue eyes shine with knowledge.

Katsuki blushes, but he doesn't look away from the former symbol of peace. He's not that middle schooler hot-heated kid anymore. He's done hiding his feelings behind anger and he's not ashamed about what he feels for Izuku. He's pretty sure All Might knows about that, he's probably waiting for a confirmation.

Katsuki nods, blush spreading down his neck.

"It'll take years to make something like that."

"I'm aware."

"And a lot of money," All Might keeps staring into his eyes, and Katsuki suddenly feels like he's being tested, but he doesn't care. He's going to get Izuku his suit no matter what. "A lot."

"I'll work hard. I can pay for it."

All Might smiles fondly at him before putting a hand on his shoulder.

"You should talk to young Midoriya."

Katsuki shakes his head with a fierce determination. He's not going to get Izuku's hopes up only to shatter them when something doesn't work. This is just an idea and he's not sure how long it'll take.

Katsuki will rather stab himself than breaking Izuku's heart.

"I can't do that. Not until it's ready."

"I'm not talking about the suit."

His cheeks are warm again as what All Might is trying to say finally sinks in.

"I will, but not yet."

***

By the second year he's already mailing the designs to All Might's friend in the US and constantly sending texts and visiting Hatsume in her new lab. She's excited about it and happy to start working on it; she's fond of Izuku too and loves challenges so Katsuki knew she'd say yes.

It takes a little bit more to convince Shield, but she agrees after reading Katsuki's long mail, that looks dangerously close to an essay about the amazing things Midoriya Izuku could achieve with it.

Maybe Izuku is right after all; he's kind of a nerd too.

She agrees to the project and assures Katsuki he can send her low amounts of money every month until the suit it's completely done. After a few weeks, both Shield and Hatsume start working together on it.

Then he contacts his former classmates, because All Might told him they'd want to know about it.

Not only they seem really excited about the project, they offer their help and tell Katsuki they'd like to give him a bit of money for the suit too.

He agrees gladly because he knows Izuku will be happy to know everyone participated in the making of the suit. Besides, he knows it's important to let people help when they can and want to.

***

He's not going to lie, the third year is harsh for him.

Between the videocalls with Shield, the visits to Hatsume and the extra hours he has to work to make more money, Katsuki barely has time to hang out with his friends, although it's not like they have much time either.

He stills sees Izuku a few times a week though because he's physically incapable of being away from him for too long. Sometimes Katsuki wonders if he has noticed, and then he remembers he's a nerd who won't recognize unconditional love even if it hit him in the face.

They talk about Izuku's students, about the UA and Katsuki's hero work; he was a bit reluctant to say anything about his job in front of the nerd at first, but he realized that Izuku genuinely gets excited and happy about Katsuki's pro hero journey.

He notices the nerd gets a bit sad sometimes, especially when he mentions their other friends, because they all are professionals now and Katsuki knows Izuku would like to share that kind of feeling with them.

It only makes Katsuki want to work even harder.

And he does, even if he ends up half dead on his couch after a very long shift; he somehow manages to wake up early next morning with Izuku's dream in his mind.

It's enough motivation to keep him going.

However, his body does get tired and it shows sometimes in the way he acts around others; that's probably the reason why he starts snapping at annoying fans and the videos end up on Tiktok and Instagram; his hero name trends for a while, but he honestly doesn't give a fuck. He's still making money and saving people.

Although, even if he doesn't care, he knows others do.

Because of that, Aizawa starts scolding him about his public image and the way it'll affect to his current ranking.

But Katsuki doesn't care about rankings anymore; Izuku is not there to compete against for the number one spot so it's not remotely interesting to make an effort now.

He'll save that for when Izuku becomes a pro hero.

***

By the fourth year, Aizawa decides to play dirty and use Katsuki's only weakness, so he starts showing Izuku the videos of him growling at civilians.

"Kacchan!"

It's ridiculous how Izuku's sad puppy eyes and his worried expression is the only thing he needs to make Katsuki do as he pleases, but Katsuki has been acting that ridiculous since the war ended so it doesn't matter.

It's not like he's gonna stop now.

"Fine! I'll try not to punch them in the face!"

"Did you actually do that?" Izuku finally snaps his head up from the homework he's grading and looks at him with shock, concern and disbelief at the same time.

"Of course not!" He rolls his eyes. "No matter how much I want to sometimes..."

"Kacchan!"

He does behave a bit better after that and Ashido makes fun of him because of it.

Then All Might figures out he's working too much, and also uses Izuku to make Katsuki take a break.

"Are you overworking yourself, Kacchan?"

Again with the sad puppy eyes! He needs to develop a shield against them. Izuku can't keep using them like a weapon all the time.

"I'm fine!"

The nerd is even better at handling him; Izuku nods and smiles before changing the topic to one of his students (he adores them as much as they adore him) and Katsuki visibly relaxes.

Which is a huge mistake.

"When's your next day off, Kacchan?" Izuku casually asks three days later. He smiles sweetly at him and Katsuki wonders for a moment if he actually knows how much power he has over him. "I would like you to stay over at my apartment someday. We can watch a movie and order takeout!"

"You mean like a... sleepover?" he clears his throat, cheeks turning slightly pink. He crosses his arms over his chest as a shield because he doesn't want to think of any of his multiple daydreams about spending a night with Izuku. It's too dangerous.

"Yes!"

It's not fair. Izuku looks so excited he basically has stars in his eyes as he looks up at Katsuki.

The next thing he knows is that he's asking Hawks for a day off and the whole agency starts gossiping about it because he hasn't taken one of those in years.

Only when he's sitting on Izuku's couch, completely relaxed and happy, it occurs to him it was a trap to make him take a break. And even though he knows now, he keeps falling for it every single time.

Because he can't say 'No' to Izuku.

***

Izuku's gauntlets are completely ready five years after Katsuki designed them. They look exactly like the ones he used before, but they have OFA's puch power and release energy threads he can use as he did with Blackwhip.

They're perfect.

Katsuki stares at them for a moment with a stupid, fond smile on his face and he decides to do something sentimental and even more stupid because he's an idiot.

"Can you change mines?" He asks Hatsume after a while. "I want them to look like Izuku's."

"You want them to match your boyfriend's?" She says so casually that Katsuki realizes she's been thinking of Izuku and him as a couple for a long time now. "Sure! He'll probably love that too!"

Katsuki can tell her she's mistaken, but he doesn't. Instead, he thinks about how it'll look when Izuku finally wears his hero suit and stands next to him.

His grin becomes even wider.

Izuku tears up when he sees Katsuki for the first time wearing his new gauntlets; he immediately recognizes the design, even though they're a different color.

He doesn't ask why Katsuki decided to change his gauntlets, he just walks towards him and pulls him into a tight hug.

"It... it doesn't bother you?" He's so drunk in Izuku's scent and physical closeness, his voice shakes a bit. Katsuki hadn't realized how starved he was for Izuku's touch until that moment. "I mean, are you okay with them looking almost like the ones you used to wear?"

The last thing he wants is to make Izuku upset with his own need to feel close to him, even if it's something stupid like making his gauntlets match his.

Izuku shakes his head, smiling up at him.

"I think it's really sweet."

Blushing to the tip of his ears and making Izuku giggle in the process, Katsuki realizes how much he has changed over the past years.

He's a completely different person from who he was in elementary, middle and even the first year of high-school.

The old Bakugo was made of various layers of anger issues and insecurities that were falling off of him as he grew as a person, leaving only Bakugo Kacchan in their place.

He's Izuku's Kacchan now. The version of himself that was born the moment he met little Izuku and wanted to be a pro hero with him; he's always been Izuku's Kacchan.

And he's mature enough to admit and embrace that now.

***

It's the second time, in years, his parents pay him a visit; Katsuki has been avoiding that moment as much as he could, going to their house instead, but his mother probably got suspicious and decided to find out what was going on by herself.

She takes a look around and quirks up a brow at him, even though Katsuki is doing everything in his power to ignore her.

He focuses on his Dad instead, but Masaru has a terrible poker face so Katsuki can tell he's noticed his son lives exactly the way he did when he started working as a pro hero.

"You haven't redecorated the place yet, huh?" he offers kindly, prompting Katsuki to roll his eyes.

He's aware of what's coming. It doesn't matter how much his Dad tries to dismiss the subject because he knows his son doesn't want to talk about it.

But Bakugo Mitsuki doesn't like that type of approach.

"Why do you still live in this crappy ass apartment?" There it goes. His mother crosses both arms over her chest and Katsuki knows she will not leave until he gives her a good explanation. "I thought you made good money! It's been years, brat! Don't tell me you somehow got attached to this place?"

Katsuki pinches the bridge of his nose, takes a deep breath, sits both his parents on the couch and offers them tea as he start explaining everything to them.

By the time he's done he looks up only to find them staring back at him with a very proud smile on both their faces.

Masaru hugs him before his mother starts ruffling his hair in a way she hasn't done since Katsuki was in elementary.

"He's going to love it," his father assures him; a little bit of the weight Katsuki has been carrying over his shoulders vanishes because even though he knows Izuku, part of him was sightly afraid he wouldn't like it.

They spend the rest of the afternoon looking at Katsuki's first designs as he tells them in detail how each piece is going to work.

"We've been testing them for a while and they work quite well," he says with a satisfied smile.

"What about the measurements?" Mitsuki asks then. "If you want to keep this a secret from him, how do you plan to make this fit to his body type?"

"I know Izuku's measurements," he says with a confident smirk that quickly vanishes as soon as he watches his parents exchanging a look. "Not like that! I've know him my whole life! I know him better than anyone!"

There's an uncomfortable silence before Mitsuki shakes her head with an amused grin on her face.

"You know an engagement ring would have been way cheaper than this, right?"

"Shut up!"

***

The UA students know him quite well now, especially Izuku's students. Uraraka and Todoroki help Izuku too every now and then, but Katsuki is the only one who's always available when Izuku calls.

And no, not all the students are fond of him, especially because he plays the villain quite often and he easily defeats them in the blink of an eye.

"Don't be too hard on them, Kacchan!"

"How will they learn what a real battle looks like if I'm not, Izuku?"

After a while, Katsuki hears a couple of students calling him Midoriya-sensei's boyfriend and he doesn't correct any of them.

Then the rumor reaches social media and Katsuki doesn't bother to deny it during interviews either; he only says he doesn't like to talk about his private life, which only makes everyone think it's true.

He's being selfish and he knows it, but he doesn't care at all.

However, Izuku apparently does because he corrects his students when they call them a couple, and even though he's telling nothing but the truth, it hurts Katsuki a bit.

"What is it, Kacchan?" Izuku notices immediately of course, and looks back at him with concern. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he manages to smile, reminding himself that Izuku's suit is almost done and they'll be hero partners soon.

It's all that matters.

"You're an idiot!" Ashido hits him on the back of his head as they have lunch together outside her agency; it's been years since he has actually seen her face to face, and that's the first thing she does? He shouldn't have come. "Why haven't you told him?"

Katsuki huffs, getting slightly irritated.

"We have already discussed this. If the suit is not rea–"

"Not about that!" She rolls her eyes before taking her phone and showing it to him, almost shoving it to his face. "I'm talking about this!"

It's a picture of Katsuki in his hero suit talking to Izuku; they're in the UA so one of the students must have taken it.

Katsuki doesn't need her to say anything else for him to understand what she's talking about; it's written all over his face, in the fondness of smile and the glimmer in his eyes.

He's sure out of all the pictures of pro hero Dynamight on the internet, that's the only one in which he's smiling that softly.

Because it's the only picture of him looking directly at Izuku.

"I will tell him... eventually," he mumbles in a tone that lets Ashido know he doesn't want to talk about it anymore.

Izuku needs to focus on fulfilling his dream first.

***

It's been eight years since Katsuki started this project and now that Izuku's suit is finally done, he has decided that the right person to hand it to Izuku is All Might.

"You should be there too," the man insists, giving him an encouraging smile.

Katsuki shakes his head, looking at the floor; it'd be too overwhelming for him, he's sure he'll tear up if he sees Izuku's face when he gets the suit.

He asks All Might to tell Izuku that everyone funded his suit, that they contributed the same amount to it.

The next day he's back at the agency to keep himself busy; he's about to head to his first patrol of the week when Izuku walks in, wearing his hero suit.

Katsuki chokes, blushes and almost tears up at the same time.

He looks perfect.

"Thank you, Kacchan."

The blinding smile and the happiness in his voice is what ends up undoing him, because what he realizes in that moment is that Izuku hasn't smiled so freely, so sincerely in years and Katsuki is the reason he does now.

He starts tearing up the way he did that day at the hospital, the only difference is that it's happiness what makes him so emotional this time.

Izuku takes a few steps closer and presses their foreheads together.

"Thanks for making my dreams come true."

"It wasn't just me," Katsuki manages to say, but his voice sounds choked. "Everyone-"

"I know you planned it, designed it, got everyone together to work on it and paid the most for it. All Might told me everything."

"The old man can't keep a damned secret now..."

Izuku chuckles and his laughter is music to Katsuki's ears; it's true, he doesn't care how sappy it sounds. Izuku's happy chuckle is the best kind of music to him.

Then, Izuku takes his face in his hands and makes him look down at him.

"I love you too, Kacchan."

Katsuki is sure he's dreaming; it must be getting late, he needs to wake up.

But then Izuku kisses him and the kiss is clumsy and wet, but it's perfect because it's their first and now Katsuki knows it's real.

***

He doesn't need to work extra hours now, which means he has time to help Izuku train to get used to his new suit and the quirks it comes with.

It takes him just two months to accomplish that, and another one to feel ready to apply to Hawks' agency.

"I'm ready to get a hero partner now."

"Really?" Hawks looks at him in disbelief before grinning. "Alright, I have a few suggestions..."

"I want Deku."

Hawks rolls his eyes, but doesn't look surprised in the slightest.

"At least wait for me to hire him first," Hawks continues, staring up at Katsuki with a little bit of irritation. "I just got his application."

"Well, when you do, make him my partner," he's aware that he sounds demanding and although he's not like that anymore, he can't hold back the urgency in his voice because he has waited for that moment for eight years.

"I can't," Hawks says, taking a deep breath, bracing himself for a long discussion. "Even though Deku is a war hero and I'm sure he'll become an excellent pro hero, he has to start at the bottom, like everyone else. However, if I put you with him, you'll have to endure all those boring patrols and easy missions that are given to new heroes in training."

"I know that. Just put me with him. We'll get to the top in no time."

Hawks stares at him and blinks a few times before chuckling.

"Well damn. Guess they weren't rumors after all," he smirks. "Alright. Just invite me to the wedding."

"Will do."

***

Katsuki hears Izuku ramble excitedly about being hero partners and their first patrol together in the comfort of their shared apartment, one that his mother finally approves of, although he has the feeling that she doesn't care that much about the place, but the person her son is living with.

Mitsuki has always loved Izuku.

They have breakfast, Katsuki prepares two bentos for the both of them and they head to the agency, directly to the locker room.

Even though it's not his first patrol, Katsuki notices his heart beating faster as he walks out as Dynamight, right next to Izuku wearing the suit he worked so hard for.

The suit that made their dreams come true.

"Come, Deku," he says, because he can do that now, he can offer his hand to Izuku, knowing he'll take it without hesitation and a blinding smile on his face.

They're partners now, in more ways than one.

It's been eight years to get to this point, but Katsuki know it's just the beginning for the both of them.

***

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