#its not worth it and ur not going to get what u want out of that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tojisun · 6 months ago

Note

EXPAND ON THIS

https://www.tumblr.com/tojisun/758472884430716928/no-matter-how-hard-you-try-you-just-cant-make

AND MY LIFE IS YOURS

aww im glad that u (all) liked that blurb!! didnt expect the vitriol in ur guys’ reactions but ykw? samesies <3 oki uhh so heres something quick and simple

cw: fivesome (but they go in order, also simon doesnt properly get a turn im sorry 😞); f!reader; subspace; builds up into consensual noncon; unrealistic sex; rambly as hell and its set up messily; wc is 3.6k :’3

(you tell them it’s a wrong send, and that it’s meant for johnny so they all said, “oh damn. welp,” and leaves you and johnny to go at it all night long teehee <33) (jk) (unless) (no ok im jk)

johnny fucks you first. the guys didn’t complain, and trickled into your room, ready to fall to whatever place they could sit down to watch. johnny laughs, and tugs you towards him, gently slapping your hand away when you try to cover yourself up with your shirt, and tells them, “watch me.”

not us, but me. like you’re a nameless hole whose only worth is to be fucked, and somehow that… doesn’t deter you at all.

instead, you ignore the warmth flooding in your cheeks and the stares that drag on your body, and focused on johnny’s smirk and his crooning words and his wide palms roving over whatever sliver of your skin he can touch. he positions himself in between your legs, his fatigues an uncomfortable sensation against your oversensitive skin.

he doesn’t care. he drags down his zipper and frees his cock from his briefs, before swiping his palm on the inside of your thigh, gathering the excess lube glistening there to use it as oil for his prick. your nose scrunches when he brings his hand to give himself a quick tug, foreskin peeling from the head to show off how flushed it is.

he crawls until he’s on top of you, and throws out, “let me show ye how to fuck ‘er, yes?”

you don’t even realize the words are for the rest of the squad because he’s already slipping his cock in your cunt, slow and careful, and you keen because yessss—

this is the delicious burn you’ve wanted. oh god oh god—

it didn’t even take johnny long before you’re cumming, your throat spasming at the scream that rips itself out from within you. your hips rise from the bed, your body jolting, unable to ground itself at the breaking euphoria that forced shockwaves to raze your synapses.

you fall on the bed limply, satiation filling you up in lapping waves. johnny pulls out and fucks his fist and sprays his cum all over your stomach. he musses it up, rubbing his palm against it like it’s a damn lotion, and lathers whatever inch of your belly he can cover.

it’s gross and weird, especially as the recollection that you’ve had an audience hits you, but then johnny’s stepping back and moving away. you try to shut your legs close, but someone’s already shuffling in, taking up the space that johnny had carved out.

you stare up at your captain, shock filling you up. he doesn’t ask with words but he quirks his brow up, waiting, and you don’t know what it is, but you give him a nod before ducking your head to the side.

which was a mistake, you learn, because you make eye contact with kyle; kyle who is—was—slowly rubbing himself through his pants, his palm gliding over his chub. his eyes are blown wide and he looks ravenous as he meets your gaze.

you hiccup, feeling cornered and delighted at the same time, but then john’s rubbing his cock along your messy folds, using the mess you and johnny made to lube himself up, and you mewl, tearing your eyes away from kyle to meet john’s stare head on.

he looks… calm. not teasing nor hungry, but poised with forced grace like this is another mission, and he has willed his full body to sync together so that not even a stray strand of hair will falter and miss a beat.

you don’t know how to position that with yourself, not like you needed to dwell on it any further because john’s already thrusting in. like johnny, he is careful, but he is more cautious, pushing inch by inch without even a ragged breath like he’s scoping out your reaction before he could let out his.

god, why’s everything so difficult with him—even now, speared with his cock, you still don’t know how to react. it’s like you’re a recruit all over again, dawdling underneath your CO’s scrutiny. it’s jarring, terrifying, really, but then john’s drooping onto you, his head tipping down to nuzzle close to your jaw, and this level of intimacy is what rips a moan out of you. it is drawn out and high-pitched, and so, so utterly debauched.

you hear more than see john’s pleased laugh, his breaths coming out in puffs that brush against your neck in a ticklish manner. the moment drags on—nuzzles and quiet huffs, and slow rocks of his hips almost like he’s taking his time to savour you; to allow you to get used to his size because he’s so different from johnny.

johnny is thick, but john is long. he is reaching deeper than you have ever known, and it’s so overwhelming that you begin to cling to him, in need of any way to ground yourself down from the slow-racing pleasure.

you don’t know how long he’s got you like that, but then he’s pulling back and away, and, “nonono, please. please, sir—”

“shh, i’ve got you,” he rumbles, still so utterly quiet that it forces out the tears faster, and you know something’s changed because john is looking at you with a proud smile, all tactile as he manhandles you to your side, before disappearing behind you. you feel your head being lifted then dropped onto something harder than your pillow, and it is only the smell of ozone that lets you know that john had pillowed your head with his arm, while the other snakes around your waist to pull you closer to him.

you stare at the expanse of your room but everything looks like they’re appearing underneath a hazy filter, so you blink your eyes to clear them from that mist but it remains unchanged. you feel heavy, all of sudden, like you’re submerged in water, wading through the ripples. floating.

you try to look at the others but all you see are blurs of colours, and you know this should terrify you, you know something’s happening in your mind, but you feel so good. so happy. so you fold into yourself, accepting the haze with a keen because john’s fucking back into you.

it is still so utterly gentle, like love-making, and this makes you sob because the euphoria is dizzying and overwhelming. it is something you haven’t felt before—johnny fucks you like a man starved; john fucks you like he’s trying to meld himself into you. or you into him.

it is so drastically different, and you were made to navigate the changing tides. but you can’t, not when john—

“fuck!” you scream, thrashing in his hold, but john ignores your voice as his heavy hand falls on your cunt with consistent smacks.

you feel lightheaded, untethered, and this is what pushes you to the edge. your orgasm is cataclysmic. it’s like having the fabrics of your reality collide until you are a supernova, bright and burning and so, so, so ecstatic.

you don’t even know how you came down from that high, but when you wake up, john’s already pulled out and your thighs feel extra sticky. you sniffle, turning to accept the quick kiss he leaves on your cheek. he pulls away and you watch him sink back to the lone chair in your room, and only then do you realize he’s still in his uniform. still in the fatigues.

it makes you extra vulnerable somehow and you twist, trying to find anything to cover yourself with, but your shirt’s been thrown to the floor, far from your reach, and your blankets were kicked off the bed.

you grumble, shyness encroaching again now that there’s no one to monopolize your attention, but a movement from the corner of your eyes makes you jolt. you turn, forcing your eyes to focus, and you blink in surprise because you are sure that kyle wasn’t there before—close to your shelving that is stuffed with little knickknacks and souvenirs brought to you by the boys when they take on separate missions that don’t require your involvement.

the same shelving where you’ve plopped your charging vibrator on. the very same one that is being held up by kyle.

“kyle?” you ask, unable to say any more with how wrecked your voice has become. but the call echoes like a gunshot in the suddenly stifling room, and they all look at you as one. like it didn’t matter if kyle was the one holding the wand because they all knew what they want, and it is to see you be fucked with it.

excitement fills you up despite the throbbing exhaustion settling in your bones, and you wonder if they could scent it with the way the pressure in the room grows heavy, almost bladed—ice shards against still waters.

kyle moves towards you and your eyes track the wand, almost hypnotized by it, and watch as he drops it on the mattress to shuck off his clothes. it is only then do you turn to him, hungry in the way you devour how he moves, how he breathes, how he unbuckles his belt.

his trousers come first, then his shirt. kyle is a catastrophic wonder—seeing him naked like this makes your core throb, aching need stretching in the yawning of your stomach, because he is so beautiful, terrifyingly so.

he reaches for your waist and drags you so you’re laying on your back again, your legs sprawled out on either side of his hips. he looks down at you, his eyes crinkled in his smile. he looks so charming, boyish and youthful, and he makes you thrum with quiet desire because you feel safe even when you’re bare before him.

you feel particularly cherished, like you are the apple of his eye.

“you’ve been so good to us, love,” he murmurs, but in the silence of everyone, his voice bounces off the walls, seeping into where the others are, watching raptly once again.

you nod, not knowing what else to say. kyle chuckles, the sound trickling like quiet chimes, and you wonder if he’s doing this for you—talking to you in whispers to give your body time to come down from the tremors, or filling you up with something other than a cock because johnny had come in scathing, and john had pierced you with something consuming, and kyle—

kyle is trying to distract you.

you’ve forgotten about the toy, sitting there so innocently. it’s out of your reach, tucked preciously close to kyle’s left leg the way he treats all his smaller guns—never straying beyond his person, and hovering close. you’ve once asked him if it wasn’t more comforting to have it on him where he can feel its weight and kyle had looked at you with that soft smile like you’ve uttered something so delightful, before telling you, “there’s a certain pleasure in having it displayed.”

like a promise and an assurance—he will always be faster; the one who is more in control.

and today, kyle is treating the wand with the same vehemence.

you didn’t even know you were already shaking your head until kyle had cupped your cheek, quiet sounds of comfort rumbling from his chest.

“don’t worry,” he says, eyes blazing with a terrifying promise. “all good girls have to be rewarded.”

kyle doesn’t fuck you with his cock right away; instead, he’d bent over and took a nipple into his mouth. it makes you gasp, back arching at every wet suck. there is pleasure to derive, but it is so muted that you begin to settle back into your mattress, waiting, almost in bated breath because kyle has yet to reach for the wand.

you jolt when he finally uses his hands, stomach tensing in anticipation. but still, kyle doesn’t reach for it, and instead he swipes a finger to your slit. your pussy’s still so sensitive so it makes you buck, a sharp animalistic sound tearing from your throat, and kyle takes advantage of the sudden change in the pace.

he slips in two fingers in your cunt, curling to poke at your walls, before fucking them out—he lifts up and sucks your other nipple—and punching them back in. it’s a wet slide, each thwaps ring in your head, and you moan, clawing at kyle’s back because how could he make you feel good just like this?

it’s almost a laughable parallel—just an hour ago, you had been in the same position, with your legs parted open and two fingers fucking in, while your other hand flicks at your nipples because you had so desperately wanted any form of orgasm. god, it didn’t even need to feel ecstatic, just something that’d rip your aching need into quiet tides. and now here you are, spread open with kyle mirroring every flick of his fingers and every pinching sensation on your nipples, and he is making you feel good.

how dare he. how dare he give you unadulterated pleasure with just his fingers? how could you ever go back to masturbating now that he’s even triumphed over your previous failures, showing your body that there are ways to make your toes curl without a cock nor a toy?

how dare he—

“no!” you whine, circling your hand around his wrist when he pulls out. you were so close; its tendrils spreading all over your body in the wake of your encroaching orgasm. you thought you were going to be rewarded? kyle promised. he said so!

“oh, love,” kyle coos, breaking through the swirling turmoil in your head. “i’m not done yet, i promise.”

you have to bite your bottom lip to stop the sob that is lodged in your throat as you watch kyle give his cock a pump before lining it up with your cunt. unlike johnny and john—and the reminder that they’re there, with simon, makes you jolt for a quick second—kyle doesn’t press in slow nor gentle.

no.

kyle punches everything in. you scream, the sound guttural as you are filled so quickly and so deeply, leaving you to feel the sudden crescendo of your pleasure. your body spasmed—because there was nothing else that could explain the sensation of having all your synapses sing with a ripping pleasure—before you black out for a second.

you come to the feeling of kyle’s hand mapping your belly, digging just enough that his fingers dimple your skin. you are still stretched and stuffed, and the remnants of your pleasure fire up again.

he flicks his eyes up to you with a smile. “came so soon f’r me, love.”

your only response is a gurgle. it makes kyle laugh.

“that must mean y’r ready for something else, yeah?”

a confused whimper bubbles from your throat. kyle just snaps his hips in reply, rendering your mind shut again. you hear him shuffling against the sheets, his free hand reaching for something you cannot see, and you feel your mind pressing at its edges, trying to retrieve the memory of what it is he is looking for because you know what it is, you’re sure.

buzzing noises fill your ears, the sound ricocheting around the space, and your body locks, recollection slamming into you. you tear your gaze away from the far wall to look at kyle.

you wonder what your face must’ve looked like because kyle begins to croon.

“i’ve seen this from a homemade porn video.” he shrugs at the incredulous expression on your face. “and i’ve always wanted to try it because sweetheart, they didn’t press it on her clit.”

what—

kyle moves, his body rippling with ease. you don’t notice but the boys crowd in, interest bright in their eyes. only ghost continues to be rooted in his spot, and it is only his head tipping to the side that lets the others know he’s just as interested.

kyle presses the toy on your belly. your nose scrunches in displeasure because it just feels like you’re being massaged incorrectly, but he keeps shifting, hunting, and it’s weird because kyle’s still in you so what—

you gasp, eyes widening at the odd sensation. kyle freezes, his body curling into something predatory, and digs your wand there on your—

“no way,” johnny laughs, and you want to snarl at him to go away but you can’t because he’s right.

no way.

kyle had pressed the vibrating bulb of your toy just below your belly and slightly before your upper pelvic area—kyle had pressed the toy on your womb.

the pleasure is new, uncharted, and it is petrifying because you’ve never felt this way before. you didn’t even know it was possible to stimulate yourself there, but kyle’s already resuming the pace he’d set, fucking his cock in deeply almost like he wants to feel the buzz from within.

you begin to sob but the tears feel different this time. they’re still out of pleasure, but the swirling surprise melts the euphoria into something frightening. you don’t even realize you’ve begun to babble.

“no more!” you hiccup, weak fists thumping against kyle’s chest only to be restrained by john and johnny, each man pushing them down with their own hands.

everything feels too scary, all of a sudden. this pleasure of yours is bigger than you have ever expected and it’s building up too fast and too soon, and still, kyle remains unfazed.

“i’m scared! i’m scared, kyle please!”

your words turn into unintelligible warbles, and kyle just says how you are so adorable like this.

“y’r pussy’s going stir crazy, baby,” he croons amidst your tears and you want to scream at him, to be mad and say something mean, but you feel so utterly lost in the bubbling bliss.

it is something you’ve never felt before; it’s almost like you are relearning your body at this very moment—like kyle is unmaking you, and remodelling you, and you feel this cathartic bloating of your orgasm.

kyle sees the moment you succumbed to the enveloping terror of your euphoria, and it’s like he’s been waiting for this moment because he begins to fuck you faster. deeper. his pelvis meets the plush of your ass with every thrust, while he digs the toy further down your flesh.

how could the vibrations ripple past the fat, you don’t know, but your orgasm is building, peaking—

it breaks with another scream tearing from your lungs. this one is much stronger than the previous ones, and enveloping because it feels like your whole body has shut down in the wake of your release.

your mind splinters, your body falling limp like your strings have been cut loose, and kyle turns forgiving again because he shuts the toy down and throws it away. he pulls out and only then do you feel the trickle of his cum sliding out of you.

he leans in, brushing his nose over your cheek. then, “just one more, little bird.”

kyle slides off the bed, but so do john and johnny, and you hiccup, still sobbing, still floating from the world-shattering climax, when simon greets you.

he is quiet for a while, watching as you catch your breath. you couldn’t even stop yourself from sniffling, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes to stain your already blotchy cheeks. he grunts, hand falling to brush unimaginably soft touches across your body, observing.

waiting.

“was’it?” you finally bite out because you know simon—you know ghost—and there is something that’s sitting on the tip of his tongue that he so desperately wants to spit out.

simon grumbles, rolling his eyes.

you groan, growing impatient. “tell m’.”

but he still doesn’t talk, choosing instead to manhandle your body until it is close to him. you want to tell him to give you a minute; that you’re still so sore and tired, and kyle just fucked you mindless that you need a goddamn break, so, “s’mon, no…”

he grunts, palming along your waist, then your hips, before it stops on the fat of your ass. he grabs a handful.

“won’t you let me fuck this hole instead,” simon finally replies.

your heart lurches to your throat, and you’re not the only one surprised because johnny’s bounding in close, excited, chatting simon’s ear how he wants to go next, “please, LT?”

you want to tell him to ask you, not simon, but simon’s already giving his assent with a huff, chirping how johnny’s so impatient—a master and his dog—before they turn to you again.

it is only then do you realize that simon hadn’t been asking for proper permission; it was all formalities because he was not going to settle for anything that isn’t yes.

anal sex hasn’t been something you are really interested in; no amount of porn and online anecdotes can change your mind, but simon’s gaze is heavy. it’s final.

before you can even reply, john’s already throwing something to simon. he catches it with ease, and only when simon flicks his hand do you recognize it to be the lube you’ve chucked away in your anger when this whole night started. kyle returns with the wand.

you lay there, on simon’s lap, seeing them flanking you for this… corrupting.

“okay,” you muster, trying to stake even a semblance of control.

thankfully, they ignore the shaking of your fists or the way your chest begins to heave in your morbid anticipation. simon laughs, and swoops down to nip your cheek.

“good girl.”

whew whyd it become a long ramble of smut??? it was supposed to be a john n johnny centric fucking bc of the prelude but alas, i needed to write a semblance of dark!kyle so here we are <3

temp taglist bc yall are animals (affectionate)!!!: @getosuguswhore @slut-lmao @mxtokko @imjusthereforkonig @bratzdolly4 @mabelwinters @stars4sar @sergeant-jasper @spiceywawa @j0r-d1e

#suns #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader #cod x reader #cod smut #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mctavish x reader #john price #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #simon ghost riley

4K notes · View notes

thepitlanepress · 9 days ago

Text

SPORTS CAR [2] –

↳ lando norris + singer!piastri!reader

⌗ :: masterlist

⌗ :: a/n: ok im lazy so its the same intro pics. also in my head sports car = lando like i dont make the rules. a little something before i go on break for a whileee

⌗ :: pt1 ,, a bet not so bad ,,

��

–

ynofficial

liked by oscarpiastri, mclaren, landonorris, gracieabrams, charles_leclerc, and 7, 862, 946 others

ynofficial and yet another post that has no cohesion (or explanation) and yet im posting it anyway :)

view all comments

user1 ok so.. my jaw dropped.

user2 the entire grid posting about this in one morning im unwell.

user3 why is there a photo of lando.... why is he featuring more than the others...

f1 it was lovely to see everyone awake and together against their will this morning

ynoffical it was totally worth the 4am start

user4 f1 admin how i love you

user5 this post makes no sense yet so much sense at the same time

user6 my thoughts are simply lanyn

landonorris how dare u post that picture of me

–

ynofficial

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, gracieabrams, taylorswift, and 3, 282, 640 others

ynofficial we're so back baby!!! hello londonnn

view all comments

landonorris have u decided yet?

ynofficial tf leave me alone lando

landonorris i just want an answer excuse me

user1 ur right i want answer to whatever this is about

user2 i literally died the show was my favourite thing in existence

user3 and if i sobbed bc i didn't get tickets

user4 im still waiting for an answer to the 27 posts from the drivers and her

user5 release another song from the album PLEASE

ynofficial sooon 😉

–

landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, mclaren, ynofficial, and 5, 924, 682 others

landonorris im your guy, i wont waste your time, lets go ride, lets go ride

view all comments

user1 LIVES WERE CHANGED

user2 unfortunately im going to need answers NOW

oscarpiastri no.

landonorris yes.

ynofficial stop.

ynofficial u nearly tipped the cart for that photo, you still owe me a favour for that

landonorris its not forgotten if you say yes.

oscarpiastri say no

landonorris you're not apart of this

oscarpiastri i am now

user3 SAY YES TO WHAT?!?!?!

user4 im starting a lanyn support group for all of the emotional turmoil you're putting us through

–

f1unofficial

liked by 642, 984 others

f1unofficial y/n l/n and lando norris were seen leaving a wedding this weekend in between y/n's famous tour, when they were asked what they were doing, y/n responded with "i lost a bet and an argument with him so i had no choice"

view all comments

user1 its bad, im getting updates from f1unofficial oh god help me

user2 they just need to announce that they're in love and getting married to the world and everything will be right again

–

ynofficial

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, gracieabrams, oliviarodrigo, f1, and 3, 282, 640 others

ynofficial a little something while u wait for the album... sports car out now ! go check out the mv <3

view all comments

user1 i need two to seven work days to recover from the music video

user2 she had ALL the drivers feature??? the power.

user3 no no back up WHY WAS LANDO POSTING THESE LYRICS DAYS BEFORE?????

user5 GIVE ME ANSWERS PLEASE

landonorris i stole the show in the mv

user4 shut up im still not over her going to ur mom's vow renewal

oscarpiastri the only time i'll ever accept u driving in a ferrari or a mercedes

ynofficial i drove a mclaren too??

–

𐔌 . ⋮ 🏷️ tags .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

@arqbella, @taylorrrrrrrrrrswiftttt, @stilesks, @prudyhoo, @cherry-piee, @aeplandos

2025 © thepitlanepress | please do not steal, use, translate or repost any of my works

– comments and reblogs appreciated

426 notes · View notes

copilot-crashout · 1 month ago

Note

Oh em gee I love ur writing so much it physically cleanses me sjsjjsjsj

Anyhoo, I was wondering if I could politely request Mouthwashing x reader (separate) where reader writes them “anonymous” love letters. Reader thinks they are being sneaky but the crew have known from the first letter its them and just chose to keep quiet^^? Idk I am kinda crazy about dorky!reader..

Ps #1(If u don’t wanna do all the characters, that fine!)

Pairing: Tulpar crew x gn!reader

Content Warning: None! [except I gave up on proofreading.. ( ᐡ๐ ·̫ ๐)〣]

[A/N]: You're so sweet! Thank you, lovely anon!! (°´˘`°) I default to all the characters, so don't worry! I don't want to leave anyone's favourites out! I wonder if you can tell who my favourite is from my work... ( ⩌⩊⩌)✧

CAPTAIN CURLY:

-> What a charming admirer he has! He grins when he notices you nervously looking around before entering his room, only to find the cutest little letter in his room professing their love to him.

-> He keeps hold of all of them. They're worth more than gold anyway. He doesn't have the heart to tell you right away, not when he sees your chest puffed out with pride when you place another letter in his room, a mission successful in your eyes. Instead, he focuses on noticing the little details he'd never seemed to pick up on initially. You had it bad for him, huh?

-> Curly teases you about it. He never mentions them directly, but he will often exaggerate his behaviours to the most recent letter he read. You mentioned how tall he was. He's sure to flaunt it off more.

Since when were things in this kitchen placed so high?

You sighed to yourself, stretching to try and grab some simple condiment packets you swore were placed on the countertop the last time you saw them. Luckily for you, Curly walks in at the perfect moment. When you ask for help, he gives a confident grin as he nods, stepping towards you. As expected of him.

What you didn't expect was the warm hand he placed on your hip or the way his chest pressed into your back as he grabbed exactly what you were asking for, the steady thrum of his heartbeat only making yours speed up. You're left red-faced and stuttering, nervous hands taking the packets out of his larger one.

"You're all red. If you're not feeling well, you should take a visit to Anya. I can walk you there."

JIMMY:

-> He loves it. End of. They boost his confidence in ways he didn't even know was possible. The idea of you watching him when he didn't notice was one he found sickly sweet, prideful that someone loved him as much as he deserved.

-> He was initially planning to tell you he knew after the first letter. He had dreamed about the way he'd hold your letter back to you, a sly grin as he watched you scramble for an answer, flustered before ultimately coming clean about your attempts to court him. Once he sees the second letter, however, his mindset changes.

-> It's simply too cute. The way you sneak around to keep it anonymous and the way you wear your heart on your sleeve. He's delighted by how much of your mind he occupies. It excites him to think about how much you try to learn about him. Do you know his routine by heart? What about his likes and dislikes? Better yet, were you trying to mould yourself into the perfect partner for him (although this seems more of a dream on his part than a genuine question...)? He gets a sick kick out of it.

-> He finds himself re-reading the letters in the middle of the night, the ones that point out the smallest parts of himself that you talked about so affectionately. It made him nauseous. Words so tender weren't something he came by so easily, nor was it something he believed he deserved. He's used to one-night stands, a cheap fuck, nothing so... romantic. Perhaps he could get used to this.

-> He's not going to be soft, though, as he teases you about it. Offhandedly mentions the letter and if you knew who could leave such a thing in his room and grins when you instantly deny it and make a show of him believing you. He gets incredibly touchy, too. His hands linger for a fraction longer than they need to. He stands as close to you as he can, looming over you whenever he has the time. Have you noticed the way the atmosphere changes when it's just the two of you alone? He'll look forward to your next letter. Maybe you wrote about it.

-> He could try playing the long game for once. The reward feels so much sweeter that way.

ANYA:

-> Anya is perceptive first and foremost. Rather than catching her admirer mid-delivery, she uncovers your identity through your handwriting.

-> The letters cheer her up endlessly. They're a sweet reminder of how someone adores her, even when she's overwhelmed. It's hard on board, but your letters become a routine that she looks forward to. I think she's one of the only characters who would tell you she knows, feeling guilty about leaving you in the dark about something that could embarrass you. However, she'd never ask you to stop. Anya gushes about how much she appreciates every single letter, keeping them and re-reading them when she can and she tells you how she figured it out, giggling when you stare at her like you're begging for the floor to swallow you whole.

-> Anya makes it a priority to keep you happy. Your letters do so much for her, she only wants you to feel the same. You'll find her lingering around you more, offering hugs or a shoulder to lean on whenever possible. If you're especially tired, she'll help finish your work with you. Another set of hands would always help.

-> She begins to write small compliments on her Post-it notes, leaving them in places you frequent. If you have tools you use, she places a note talking about how hardworking you are on there. Otherwise, you begin to find small notes in your room. It becomes a ritual between the both of you, sending each other letters when you can. She just wants you to know how loved you are.

DAISUKE:

-> For him!? Really!?

-> He's kicking his feet and giggling, rolling around in his bed, head buried into his pillows. If you thought you were dorky, then he's 100 times worse.

-> He's attached to your hip. You thought he was helpful and sweet? Well, he'll help you with your work! Fun to be around? In his free time, he's running to you for another round of board games or to play on his Game Boy.

-> He wouldn't know subtle if it slapped him in his face. It's unfortunate for the rest of the crew, who have to watch two love-sick adults pine for each other as if they're not reciprocated.

-> Whenever he feels especially sad, he re-reads the letters. Even if he might feel useless at times, that he doesn't have a plan for his future, he does have the assurance that you'll be there by his side. You're a great person. If you can find all these amazing things about him then... He's sure he can make something great of himself.

SWANSEA:

"Jesus, this kids got it rough."

-> That's his first thought before it slowly dissolves into a fond affection. He's a bit too old for this lovey-dovey yearning shtick, right? Initially, he finds himself sighing at the letters, wondering when and how would be the best way to stop this little game of yours. He feels undeserving of it. You have so much going for you. You simply don't deserve someone like him. He wants to push you away, but the letters mean too much to him. Instead, he becomes charmed by it all, awaiting every letter with bated breath.

-> You do know how to make him feel young again. Each letter leaves his heart pounding, feeling like a young schoolboy rather than a washed-out mechanic.

-> He keeps every single one. If you place them in little envelopes or place small gifts like stickers in them, you'll be glad to know he keeps it all in his bedside drawer.

-> He's one to return the favour, too. He's picked up a few skills with his work. Blue-collar jobs like this have enough transferable skills to help in the creative department. He hopes you're not too surprised if you find your broken items repaired or a small figure of your favourite animal made out of scraps in your room.

-> Perhaps... He's the one who's got it bad.

#mouthwashing x reader #curly x reader #mouthwashing #captain curly x reader #curly mouthwashing #daisuke x reader #gn reader #gn!reader #anya x reader #captain curly #jimmy x reader #swansea x reader #swansea mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing #anya mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing

380 notes · View notes

lewisvinga · 11 months ago

Text

this little life | carlos sainz x fem! reader

summary; when childhood lovers y/n and charles break up, it sends the whole internet into chaos. what sends them into an even bigger chaotic mess was the reasoning behind their breakup and who she turned to for comfort afterwards.

fc; cindy kimberly

warnings; cursing, cheating, slut shaming

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs @thehufflepuffavenger1 @minkyungseokie @goldenmclaren @ollieshifts @lavisenri

note; requested ! there’s a couple of typos on the tweets LMAO n i felt too lazy to fix ‘em🤕

masterlist !

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

liked by carlossainz55, yourbestfriend, and others !

yourusername: moving onto bigger & better things.

yourbestfriend: AWOOGA

yourbestfriend: gorgeous gorgeous girls dgaf abt men

yourusername: gorgeous gorgeous girls would rather shop and drink lattes with their besties than deal w men

username: omg so it is true

username: YOU GO GLEN COCO

username: ‘better things’ CHARLES WAS PERFECT FOR U

username: any1 notice that carlos liked lol

username: he’s been following her for a few years now lol

username: just saying, why are u liking ur friends ex’s post a bit weird me thinks

username: well u thinks weird

username: ugh the makeup😻😻

username: im on mothers side of this divorce 🥸

username: whyd u break up w charlesssss

francisca.gomes: 😻😻 liked by yourusername !

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

yourusername uploaded to their story !

[caption 1; 🥹] [caption 2; men who know your worth and treat you like you’re worth the whole world and more >>]

yourbestfriend replied to your story

yourbestfriend WHOOOOOOOOO

yourbestfriend that’s a hairy ass arm i know that’s not french boy

yourusername LMAO it’s not him don’t worry😁

yourbestfriend then WHO

yourusername maybe his not so little friend

yourbestfriend oh you bitch

yourbestfriend happiness looks good on u tho☹️ tell your new man that i won’t hesitate to throw hands at him

yourusername LMAO i’ll let him know😁

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

liked by carlossainz55, yourbestfriend, and others !

yourusername: i think i like this little life 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨❤️‍🩹

tagged; carlossainz55

carlossainz55: 😍😍😍

yourusername: te quiero ❤️ [i love you]

yourusername: te quierooooo❤️‍🩹

username: uhm excuse me?????

username: oh !

username: well that’s….

username: this is such slutty behavior tbh, going from driver to driver months after breaking up w her CHILDHOOD BOYFRIEND🤢

username: literally a homie hopper

username: it’s such whorish behavior 💀

username: y’all talking abt y/n when this makes carlos SUCH a bad teammate, no wonder lewis is taking his seat

username: idc what y’all say they’re a FINEEEE couple

username: LITERALLY😩😩😩

yourbestfriend: hairy man gets a little pass from me……

yourusername: LMAOOOO

carlossainz55: u don’t gotta worry abt me trust🫡

username: this is SUCH nasty behavior from both of them

username: poor charles ☹️☹️

username: i always had a bad feeling abt her, guess its bc she’s a slut

username: breaking up with ur ex after dating since 15, then a few months get w his teammate?? that’s such gold digger behaviorrrrr

username: carlos is SUCH a shitty teammate, can’t even keep his dick in his pants and goes for his teammates ex, NASTY🤮🤮😷

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

liked by carlossainz55, lilymhe, and others !

yourusername: think i like this little life more ever since the truth came out and i can live peacefully con mi amor. ❤️‍🩹

tagged; carlossainz55

carlossainz55: siempre contigo, mi vida [always with you, my life], through the good and the bad ❤️

yourusername: carlitoooos🥹🥹

username: she said FUCK the haters liked by yourusername !

username: how’d charles fuck up and fumble THEEE y/n

yourusername: bc his season ‘wasn’t going how he wanted it to be’ lolllll 🤓🤓🤓🤓

username: he doesn’t deserve u queen

lilymhe: cute but when are u and y/b/f coming to the paddock i miss my gfs 🕊️

yourusername: SOON MY LOVE

carlossainz55: why’re you trying to steal MY girlfriend

yourbestfriend: she was ours first MOVE BACK

yourbestfriend: gorgeous gorgeous girls find men who treat them right after dating liars and cheaters

yourusername: 😇

username: they could never make me hate u 💯

username: now can the haters stfu and focus on HOW FINE THEY ARE AS A COUPLEEEE

username: the first picture i’m so????

username: them<3

username: good for her that she finally found someone who treats her good🥹 yall were so co corned abt charles’ feelings w/o caring abt hers😕 liked by yourusername !

username: ppl alwayssss jump to conclusions w/o knowing the truth, but at least now we know💆‍♀️

#formula one x reader #f1 x reader #f1 smau #f1 scenario #formula one scenarios #f1 imagine #formula one imagines #formula one imagine #f1 scenarios #carlos sainz smau #carlos sainz social media au #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x reader

2K notes · View notes

blue-jisungs · 4 months ago

Note

hi can i ask how p1harmony would act if their partner run out of social battery in public settings? thank youu

when you run out of social battery ♡

# author's note … wow i haven’t written in this format for a while <\3

┆彡 KEEHO [ 기호 ]

you’re both chill and stubborn so good luck with that :p

you always try to act like you’re not tired but if keeho asks you, you tell him the truth

if its an event he really really really wanted to attend you’ll both stay until he’s done but you can be assured he’ll pamper you later <3

and during too!

“one more hour, okay? there’s still some people i wanted to talk to” he pouted slightly and you just nodded, sending him a lazy smile “i’ll grab you a drink, hm?”

you watched him have fun and that warmed your heart. he was all giddy and excited, you just didn’t have the gut to go home now.

once he was done and satisfied, he ordered an uber and wrapped an arm around you waiting for it to arrive. your eyes were half closed, nuzzling into him for assurance.

“i’m so proud, you know? thank you for holding on, i really appreciate it. love you” he hummed and placed a kiss on your forehead.

“anything for you. can you scratch my back when we go to sleep though?” you asked, raising your head up. keeho grinned with a nod.

“of course”

┆彡 INTAK [ 인탁 ]

he could be in the middle of a concert and see a glimpse of tiredness on your face and call it a day

he’s soooo chivalrous:( he’ll take the blame so you don’t feel guilty for going home earlier

(even if you protest)

intak bursted out laughing at a joke one of his friends cracked and with a corner of his eye he saw your bland reaction. it was a sign you’re out of your social battery; well, you started feeling exhausted earlier - you became non verbal a while ago and started fiddling with your purse.

one look it took for you two to communicate that you’re tired. you opened your lips to announce it but intak grabbed your hand under the table and let out a sudden, loud gasp that even startled you.

“ah, i forgot i have practice tomorrow. shit, we moved it and it totally slipped my mind… the joke about horse just reminded me… you know, keeho… well, whatever. we’ll keep going, im so so sorry!” he said normally, rubbing your skin and sending his friends an apologetic smile “let’s do this again soon, guys! i had so much fun! let me know when you get home, okay?”

they were not too happy about it but let you go, minutes later you two sitting in a cab.

“you’re crazy” you grunted and pressed a kiss onto his cheek. seeing you a bit more relaxed now was worth it.

“i was getting tired too, either way.”

┆彡 THEO [ 테오 ]

hes just so into whats happening that more often than not he kind of misses the stage when you run out of your battery :(

he feels really guilty when he does though so u can be sure the second he realizes you’re like,, half asleep, he’s taking you home

wont admit but lowkey ur sleepy state is far more worth observing than whatever he was doing at the social outing

“and then i won! literally snatched the ball from his hands and–” taeyang was explaining how he absolutely destroyed intak in a basketball game they had recently, when keeho nudged his arm.

“your partner is sleeping on seob. and he’s also asleep” the leader snickered and theo’s eyes widened as he scanned the place in search of you. eventually, he saw you and the youngest asleep on the couch. your head leaning on his shoulder, seob’s head resting on yours. a soft smile formed on taeyang’s lips.

“let’s get them home” he snickered and stood up. guilt washed over him that he didn’t notice earlier.

he gently woke you up, sleepy eyes meeting his. theo tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“hi, sleepyhead. sorry for not noticing earlier” he hummed and you just shook your head in protest.

“it’s okay, jongseob is a nice pillow” you snickered and your boyfriend just tsked.

“good thing we’re going home now. i’m a better pillow, actually” taeyang puffed his chest out dramatically and helped you stand up.

“not with that big head of yours, idiot–” the younger’s voice sounded quietly from below.

┆彡 JIUNG [ 지웅 ]

another gentleman 🥹

always puts you first, no matter the circumstances!!

does not care in the slightest what others will think,, like hello u wanna be home, so then be it!

you really tried to act like you’re not tired, you really did. but shota started showing you his island on his switch and you couldn’t help your eyes from closing a bit. you two ran off to hide your unwillingness to be here – since jiung really wanted to attend this party you just didn’t want to go home yet. since soul also felt a little sleepy and didn’t mind you not talking, you just watched his animal crossing shenanigans.

“here you two are” you heard a familiar voice and slowly looked up to see jiung. he sent you a soft smile and then noticed shota rubbing his eyes. “let’s go home, okay?”

“nooo you wanted to be here” you whined, a small pout on your lips. he shook his head and helped you stand up.

“i’ve had my fun. now it’s time for bed. both of you” he giggled and helped shota stand up too “i feel like a grumpy dad”

you scoffed and pecked his cheek, grabbing the younger boy’s switch before it slipped out of his hand. jiung sent you a warm smile and interlocked your hand with his.

┆彡 SHOTA [ 翔太 ]

he sooo gets the feeling of running out of social battery:(

when there are times when you run out of it sooner than him (which is rather the other way around) he’ll ,, well ..

go home without telling anyone (maybe except his mom (keeho))

“shota, i’m kinda tired” you mumbled into his ear, hanging on his shoulder tiredly. he scanned your face with wide eyes – and the hands that were anxiously fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. he nodded, taking your hands in his and interlocking your fingers with his reassuringly “but we don’t have to–”

“let’s go then” your boyfriend smiled softly and dragged you to the exit, sneaking behind the crowd. you played along, pretending to be walking on your tip toes. once out, fresh air made you wake up a little.

“won’t they be worried?” you asked quietly. shota hummed in thought.

“no, i told keeho. besides, we left together” he shrugged and swung your hands a little. the gesture was really precious “do you want to play minecraft when we get home? we don’t have to talk”

┆彡 JONGSEOB [ 종섭 ]

honestly he couldn’t care less what others will think

if his baby is out of social battery, he’s out of there

he’s just so rebellious ! (will get yelled at later)

seob noticed you drifting away a while ago but only when you poked his arm gently, he was sure. he leaned forward to hear you better.

“i kind of want to go home but… if you want to stay that’s fine too. i just won’t be too talkative, i’m really tried” you told him, scanning his reaction. he nodded and looked at you. tucking back a stray hair behind your ear with a mischievous look in his eye.

“let’s head home then. it’s pissing me off that i can’t kiss you here with all the people around” he teased with a playful smile (and it’s not like that he’s too shy to do it in public or whatever).

jongseob took your hand gently and you two sneaked outside, leaving without a word.

“i wonder when will they notice” you giggled, wrapping your hand around his arm.

“if they even will” jongseob snickered.

masterlist <3

taglist. @primoppang ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @slytherinshua ,, @planetkiimchi ,, @weird-bookworm ,,

@mon2sunjinsuver ,, @litepowee

794 notes · View notes

mintydoll · 9 months ago

Text

also this might be hard to hear but if u are in a comptop situation and ur partner(s) don't actually know you want to bottom, if they're unaware of your true feelings, you're doing them a disservice and possibly hurting them when things finally come to a head as well. most people don't actually want to take advantage of people pleasers, esp during sex; maybe they're just being open and honest about their own desires and expecting that you're doing the same. like there are definitely abusive situations out there don't get me wrong, but i feel like in many cases its a communication issue and you (the one being cagey abt what u really want) are primarily to blame.

i know there's a whole melange of social forces that make comptop an issue mainly with trans women (esp those of us who have been victims of abuse in the past), and i find all of that very disgusting, in fact i lost much of my life to it. however when it comes to sex and its just you and your partner, you NEED to be truthful and open about what you want during sex. if you don't feel safe doing that with a partner, that's a sign that you shouldn't have sex with them. if you do that with a partner and they don't listen to you but still want you to fuck them, you shouldn't have sex with that person.

if you're going to be sexually active you need to develop self-advocacy skills as well as enough self worth to avoid just giving in to whatever your partner wants. if you don't you will end up hurt and you'll most likely hurt your partners as well.

just my two cents on the issue after having struggled with it for a decade.

#sorry im turning off reblogs this many people don't need to see this blog..

880 notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 10 months ago

Note

oh my god i was hoping u werent sick (no pun intended unless…) of all the doc rem requests!!!

can we get not just a regular doc rem but a casually dominant doc rem. like he’ll make sure ur drinking ur water, fixing ur posture by pulling your shoulders back gently, forcing u to put on a jacket if its just a tad 🤏🏻 bit cold outside

and ofc will scold u (lovingly) in the process. fem!reader is all like 🙄 but loves how much he cares about her

You're a genius for this lovely, thanks for requesting!

cw: alcohol

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 994 words

Your throat’s been bothering you since you woke up. It’s just a little scratchy, barely anything, but it feels like an ill omen. Still, you’re not going to bring your life to a halt on the slim chance the tickle in your throat is going to turn into something worse, and Remus would never hear the end of it if you skipped out on one of Sirius’ things anyway.

You probably should have abstained from drinking, though. You’ve only had one, but now your throat hurts worse, the music and chatter are too grating, and your head feels a tad fuzzier than it ought to. Sirius and Remus have gone from bickering about music to teaming up against James to bicker about films without your noticing, and now Lily’s offering you another drink and you have to ask her to repeat herself before declining. There’s an inconvenient ache blooming behind your eyes.

You know you’ve been sussed out when Remus wraps his hands around your hips, pulling you into his lap.

“You’re quiet,” he murmurs. “Everything alright?”

“Mhm.” You leave it at that, leaning a back against his chest.

He hums. “Did you finish your water today?”

“Yeah.”

“What have you had to eat?”

You roll your eyes. Remus knows, somehow. He gives your hip a warning squeeze.

“Rem, I’m fine.”

“What have you eaten?”

You tell him, as if he wasn’t there for breakfast and didn’t pack your lunch himself. He nods, reassured you’d finished it all.

“You seem knackered for only having had one drink,” he observes.

You shrug. “I’m just not up to more tonight.”

It’s the wrong thing to say.

Remus hums, his grip adjusting just slightly to hold you more securely against him. “Are you not feeling well?”

“I’m just a bit tired.”

“Dove.” Your boyfriend has several tones you know well enough to pick up on a single word. This one is all too familiar. It’s mistrustful, admonishing, heavy with the weight of implied consequence. It says, I know you’re not being fully honest with me.

James may not pick up on all that, but he recognizes the shift in Remus’ attention, one of your boyfriend’s lengthy hands splaying protectively over your stomach. He sends you an amused look, which you return with a touch of loving pique, and then Remus is turning you around in his lap.

“Dove,” he says again, breath fanning over your face and eyes boring into yours and overall torturously close to you, “are you going to tell me what’s going on with you?”

You give up on denials, turning your eyes up to his pleadingly. “It’s really not bad,” you try.

Remus is unmoved. “Tell me, and I’ll say if it’s bad.”

“I don’t want to make it a thing.”

“You’re not. Go on.”

You sigh, squirming under the attention you can feel at your back. Remus’ friends have continued talking, but you know his behavior has caught their attention. “My throat’s just a bit sore,” you admit, “and I guess the alcohol must’ve made it worse.” Remus sets a hand to your forehead, nodding for you to continue. “I feel a bit more affected than I usually would, so I decided to stop. That’s all.”

“Well, you don’t have a fever.” You release a tiny exhale, and Remus’ lips twitch. “How long has your throat been bothering you, sweetheart?”

You consider lying, but it’ll only make things worse. “Since this morning.”

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but your boyfriend’s stare beats that easily. “You ought to have told me,” he says in a low voice.

“It’s just a sore throat.” You roll your eyes. Remus makes a soft tsking sound that lets you know he’ll remember it.

“I have you talk to me about these things for a reason,” he says. “Do you know why that is?”

You’d really rather not enable him, but you’re trapped. You let your expression convey your reluctance. “Why?”

“Because I’d tell you,” he slips one hand beneath your top, thumb sweeping across your side in the way that softens you like butter, “not to drink when you’re coming down with something.”

“I don’t know if I am,” you say weakly.

“Hopefully not.” Remus smears a kiss across your forehead, reaching for his coat. “But if you are, we might still be able to avoid it if you let yourself rest. Y/N’s not feeling well,” he explains to Sirius when the other boy notices his preparations for departure. “I’m going to take her home.”

“Aw, I didn’t know you were sick,” James covers for his sour friend, who’s still looking like he might protest.

“I’m not,” you say, but Remus ushers you towards the door.

Lily gives you a kind look, glancing knowingly towards your boyfriend. “Feel better, love.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he placates his friends, placing his jacket over your shoulders. He opens the door for you, and seems all too prepared for the argument on the tip of your tongue when you step outside. “Don’t take off the jacket. You should have brought your own, but now that you’re sick I don’t want to risk weakening your immune system.”

“I’m not sick,” you insist, starting to shrug the jacket off despite his hands pinning it to you. “And it’s barely cold out here.”

Remus levels you with a look. “Keep it on.”

You huff but stop your attempts to remove the covering, trying not to notice how Remus has slowed his brisk pace to accommodate you. “Why did we have to leave?” you ask. “I’m not feeling that bad, really.”

“I figured you wouldn't want me looking down your throat with a flashlight in front of everyone.” You purse your lips, and Remus grins, wrapping an arm around you. He rubs your shoulder through the material of his jacket. “I’m looking out for you in more ways than one, dove,” he teases, “you can trust in that.”

994 notes · View notes

beescake · 1 year ago

Note

i am in love with your sollux i think

sollux love party :]

if you’re interested heres some of my personal fondness thoughts on him.. big warning for the mega long read ahead aye

as we alr know sollux's rejection of participation somewhat mirrors dave's rejection of heroism, but even without getting cooked to completion i still find sollux's character v compelling beyond the fourth wall

as someone who doesnt get a pinch of that Protagonist Sparkle to begin with, he can openly say he wants to leave anytime…. and unlike dave, he actually Can leave the scene anytime. but he can never be truly Free from the story via permanent character death like the other trolls.

his irrelevancy is indeed relevant - he’s there so u can point him out.

while his image is intended to be a relic of past internet subculture, his role is not only about hehehaha being a Chad or a 2000s cyberforum 2²chan haxxor ragequit gamebro.

his continued existence also happens to add a Bit to the overarching themes of homestuck! a Bit that gives him longer-lasting thematic relevance compared to the trolls who could’ve had more character potential but didnt get to survive beyond the main story.

the Bit in question:

his defiance contributes to the illusion of agency (treating characters = people with autonomy). he’s “aware” of it, and that recognition is worth noting enough to forcibly keep him alive as both reward and punishment.

considering how his personality & classpect is designed its definitely a very haha thing for hussie to do LOL. he’s made to be op asf so he's resigned to doing dirty work, gradually deteriorating along the way but never truly dying. as fans have mentioned before, him openly rejecting involvement after a while of grim tolerance is like if the sim u were controlling suddenly stopped, looked up and gave u the finger while u were step six into the walkthrough for Every Possible Sim Death Animation.

but since he’s just a sim… the more he hates it, the more you keep him around. if ur sim started complaining abt your whimsical household storyline you’d definitely keep that little fuck.

but yeah i like that sollux is just idling. the significance of his presence being that one dude who's always reliably Somewhere, root core Unchanged, no individual ambitions (possibly due to fear of consequence?), and design-wise: a staple representative product of his time.

compared to dirk's character, who has aged phenomenally well into the present (themes of control + AR + artificial intelligence, clearer exploration around navigating relationships/sexuality, infinite possibilities of self-splinterhood and trait inheritance), sollux's potential is really... contained. bitter. defeatist. limiting and frustrating in the way old tech is.

the world continues moving on to shinier, brighter, more advanced automated things - minimalist and metaverse or whatever but sollux is still here 🧍‍♂️ going woohoo redblue 3d. (tho personally i imagine his vibe similar to what the kids call cassette futurism on pinterest mixed w more grimy grunge insectoid influences eheh)

conceptually-speaking,

at the foundation of it all, the rapid pace of modern development was built off the understanding of ppl like sollux in the past, who were There actively at work while the dough was still beginning to rise

thats one of the cool things abt the idea of trolls preceding humans! the idea that trolls like sollux excelled back when lots of basic shit still needed to be discovered, building structures like networks and codes from scratch, and humans will eventually inherit and reinvent that knowledge in ways that become so optimized it makes the old manual effort seem archaic, slow, and labour-intensive.

but despite information/resources/shortcuts being more accessible now, much of the new highly-anticipated stuff released on trend still end up unfinished, inefficient, or expiring quickly due to cutting corners under severe capitalistic pressures

meanwhile, some of the old stuff frm past generations of thorough, exploratory and perfectionistic development still remains working, complete, and ever so sturdy.

those things continue to exist, just outside our periphery with either:

zero purpose left for modern needs (outdated/obsolete)

far too important to replace or destroy, bcs of its surprisingly essential and circumstantial usefulness in one niche specific area.

which are honestly? both points that sum up sollux pree well.

dramatic ending sorry. anw are u still on the fence or are u Sick abt him like me </3

#ask #anon #sollux captor #homestuck #hs2 spoilers #2023 #vioart #hs2 sollux explaining girls and bitches to john: 🗣️🗣️🗣️#mr foods‚ setting up the visuals: LMAO ok pause. cool story bro theyre all gone its just u n ur sandwich bro.#now that i think abt it sol's kind of a toaster? awkwardly takes up countertop space #lacks the versatility and sociability of an air fryer/pressure cooker. unwashed and littered w crumbs!#but sometimes the clear‚ frank simplicity of the toaster is a temporary lifesaver for ppl who struggle w low appetite / decision fatigue #or ppl who just have a habit of eating toast for breakfast LOL #and eh ¯\ _(ツ)_/¯ even if u dont feel like toasting today thats ok he's still gonna be sitting there 👍👍#a funnyman..... i curse him in my pan but root for him in my biscuit 🫶

1K notes · View notes

scoutofmymind · 28 days ago

Note

can u please write something about how like reader felt while luigi was missing for 6 months. like would he reach out, would she go with him etc. also i love ur stories 🤍🤍🤍🤍

Run — { Luigi x Reader }

Content: sfw, angst, friends to lovers, slight situationship vibe, reader is an artist, kissing, heartbreak, explores ideas of guilty Luigi.

Wc: 2,345

Notes; Luigi vanishes - no warning, no footprints, just the sudden hollow where your life used to fit against his, opening to six months of silence before his letter appears under your door, bearing coordinates to a payphone five blocks away.

You didn't know where you'd be six months later when Luigi drove you down to the lake in his old Bronco, your spot shotgun worn from all those midnight trips for ice cream, the two of you off-roading through patches of corn fields out in the boonies — afterward he'd drop you off at home in the city, then drive himself back to the suburbs, unless he fell asleep in your room despite insisting he couldn't stay because of morning classes.

He always found it hard to leave you.

June warmed the brown leather beneath you, the window cracked to let in the summer air sweetened with hay as Luigi sped down the winding back roads of the countryside, rambling about his sister's new donkey they'd keep at the farm — the Mangione's second, more humble mansion with its livestock and respectable Christmas tree operation.

"You know you're my best friend, don't you?" He'd turned to look at you, the old truck thrown into park at the Dairy Queen after you'd convinced him the donkey could wait.

"Yeah." You nodded, cheeks full of ice cream, brows furrowed. You didn't notice then how his face had flushed red, embarrassed at blurting something so obvious it had never needed questioning. "Who else would you have time for?"

School, tech clubs, part-time job, and you.

Those were the pillars Luigi had built his life around, and for years, it had worked.

You and Luigi could fill a room with laughter —obnoxious howls and high-pitched giggle fits that echoed off walls — or sink into comfortable silence, Luigi drifting toward sleep while you lost yourself in whatever new book he'd brought for you to borrow from the university library.

Your own schedule mirrored his in its fullness, though school took a backseat to your collection of side hustles, your primary source of income selling art pieces at local markets where you'd drag Luigi along to showcase your most treasured works.

"That's a good point." He shot you a grin, spoon dangling upside down from his mouth as he finally broke his gaze from yours to stare out at the tall grass swaying beyond the windshield. "I just hope you know that."

You shift to pull your knees up in the passenger seat, turning to face him with your back against the door. "Feeling sappy again, are you?" Your foot stretches to nudge his knee, the leather creaking beneath you. "S'alright. I like when you get all soft."

Just the week before, Luigi's heart had been sitting too close to the surface, everything managing to touch a nerve — the way his mother spoke about his future over Sunday dinner, how his professor had dismissed his latest project idea, and even the changing spring weather that threatened the saplings he planted last fall.

Eventually, he recalibrated, but that raw tenderness still surfaced in waves.

"Yeah, maybe." Luigi shrugged, leaning over to dig his spoon into your ice cream, stealing a taste. "I just think it's worth saying. A reminder never hurts."

You'd never wanted to invalidate Luigi's feelings — and while you loved to tease him, you'd never dismiss what he shared. He was a natural at expressing himself when he chose to, and you knew if he voiced something, it meant those feelings ran deep.

"You're right, Lu." You say softly, letting your knees drop as you lean toward him, patting his thigh. "Thank you for telling me." He turns to you, his lips curling into that familiar grin. "You're my best friend too. Obviously."

"I know it's obvious," he groans, stealing yet another spoonful of your ice cream, your reflexes failing you when you jerk the cup away. "Let me just fuckin' say it." The late afternoon sun catches in his dark curls, the sun setting over the field.

You wave your hands in surrender, "Alright, alright." A laugh spills from your lips as you lean forward, spoon stretching toward his cup, missing entirely when he pulls it just out of reach. The melting ice cream drips onto the weathered console between you. "C'mon, lemme try."

He shoves a heaping spoonful into his mouth, eyebrows lifting in that familiar challenge, dimples deepening as a muffled "Come get it" drifts across the console, and the invitation draws you across the seat into his lap, the old leather protesting beneath your shifting weight while his free hand automatically found its place at your waist to steady you.

It wasn't the first time you'd tasted ice cream from his mouth, sweet and cold and mingled with laughter — but it would be the last.

And by some cruel twist of fate, that sun-drenched afternoon in his car, with melting ice cream and shared breaths, would be the final time you'd see Luigi's face in person.

After that day, he'd only exist in grainy security footage and missing person flyers.

It's a specific kind of agony, one that lives beneath your ribs.

You searched every corner of his life — the obvious hiding spots and the secret ones only you knew about. The Bronco yielded nothing but old receipts and a forgotten hoodie that still smelled like him.

You harassed mutual friends until they stopped answering, reached out to people who barely knew him, desperate for any trace.

"If Luigi doesn't want to be found, he won't be," Andrew told you, defeated after failing to track any of his devices that had sat abandoned in his room, right there on his desk to be found. Wiped clean. Stranger-cold.

Even your face was gone from his lock screen, erased like everything else.

Sometimes you wondered if you imagined him entirely.

It would be easier than accepting how methodically he vanished, how carefully he erased himself from your world. But then you'll find evidence — a movie ticket stub, a photo booth strip tucked into an old book. The careful progression from strangers to friends to best friends to that unnamed thing you became.

The way you'd end up tangled in his sheets, his hand gentle at your throat, or how you'd hang up on him three seconds into a call because he knew exactly how to push your buttons.

It couldn't have been real — how could someone who claimed to love every scattered piece of you leave without taking any of them with him?

Therapy wasn't optional anymore.

Your friends watched you spiral into something darker than even middle school heartbreak, something that wrapped around your organs and threaded itself through your bones.

This wasn't the kind of pain that faded; it evolved, grew thorns, made itself at home in your marrow.

But talking helped.

Six months without Luigi became possible, then probable, then real — not because you wanted it, but because the alternative was letting yourself disappear, too.

The letter arrives alone on a Tuesday, no bills or wedding invitations to keep it company, just your name in that familiar scrawl that makes your stomach drop. "What do you think?" you whisper to Mario, who's wagging his tail like he knows something you don't, nudging the envelope across the hardwood with his nose.

Luigi named Mario when you got him as a puppy six years ago; Mario, because he thought they’d become more of a duo than the two of you had been.

And that, they did.

"Mar, quit it," you mutter, wrestling the envelope from under his paw where he's planted himself like a furry anchor. The paper is damp from his nose, and it takes four tries to open it without destroying whatever's inside. Your hands won't stop shaking. "The fuck is this."

Eight words stare back at you.

December 3rd, 8:15PM. Pay phone outside of Murphy's on 12th.

Mario presses his cold nose against the back of the paper as you stare down at it, inhaling deeply like he's trying to memorize something. His tail wags so hard his whole body sways, but then a whine escapes him — low and confused.

You know that sound; It's the same one he makes when he finds one of Luigi's old shirts in the back of your closet, when he can smell what he's looking for but can't find it.

The paper crumples in your fist as Mario leans against your legs, still whining softly. Six months of therapy, of learning to breathe around the hollow space Luigi left behind, of convincing yourself that moving forward meant letting go — and here he is, eight words dropping into your life like a lit match.

Still, you march yourself there.

Mario decided somewhere in these six months that he needed to be more than just a wagging tail and sloppy kisses. He took Luigi's place as protector, navigator, watchful eyes scanning every shadow as you cut through familiar alleyways to Murphy's corner.

Your phone reads

8:20

"Shit." You glance down at Mario, who's pressed against your leg, his head tilted back to study your face with those knowing brown eyes. "Fuck this." The words taste like surrender as you pocket your phone, but Mario plants himself like a furry statue, refusing to let you move.

"Mar, c'mon." Your voice cracks, but he stays rooted until that first metallic ring cuts through the night air. The payphone looks ancient, probably witness to a thousand desperate conversations, a thousand promises made and broken against its scratched plastic shell, and whatever the fuck this is going to be.

Mario's ears prick forward at the second ring.

His tail, which hasn't stopped moving since you left the apartment, goes suddenly still.

The third ring echoes off brick walls, and you realize your hand is already reaching for the receiver, and before you can even press the phone to your ear, his name escapes like a prayer: "Lu — Luigi?" Your voice wavers between accusation and hope, sharp but fragile at the edges.

Through the static, you hear breathing — that familiar rhythm you could still map in your sleep.

"You know you're my best friend, don't you?"

The words hit like a physical force.

You squeeze your eyes shut, tilting your head back against tears that threaten to spill. "Where are you, Lu?" The receiver trembles in your white-knuckled grip like it might hold some piece of him. "I'm sorry I showed up late."

"I knew you would." His voice is soft, almost lost beneath a symphony of distant horns and city life —sounds too big, too foreign for the quiet streets you both grew up in. "8:15 is an odd time, hm? Figured more like 8:30 would be when you actually showed. Surprised you answered this one."

"How are you?" You keep your question careful, safe — one that won't send him running back into silence, into six more months of nothing; and now this strange urban backdrop paints him somewhere far beyond your reach.

“I miss you.” Luigi says softly, words he’d said plenty before, but they had never carried this sort of weight. “That’s how I am, I guess.”

Why did you leave me, then?

Please tell me where you are.

Whatever it is, Lu, we can fix it.

“I miss you too.” Is what you say instead, the line keeping him here with you feeling much like a fading spirit, destined to disappear any moment if you didn’t watch your step. “Mario is lost without you.”

“Ah, he’s a big boy.” Luigi sniffles softly, and you can tell he’s trying to hide it. “Been taking care of you, hasn’t he?”

Your head bobs in a nod he'll never see, and suddenly grief hits like a physical blow, doubling you over in the cracked vinyl booth. A sob tears through you, raw and feral, ripping up those poisoned vines of betrayal that have wound themselves through every hollow space he left behind.

"Please come back, Lu. I can't—" The words strangle in your throat as you curl deeper into the booth's shadow, pressing your forehead against the phone hook.

You're trying to fold yourself smaller, to disappear from the fluorescent exposure of Murphy's front windows, from the pitying glances of late-night sidewalk wanderers who pretend not to notice the spectacle of your breakdown.

"I can't, baby." Luigi's whisper barely exists, a breath caught between static and silence, but you strain toward it like a dying plant toward light. "It can't work that way — there's nothing either of us can do about it."

Questions bloom like bruises under your skin.

Is he sleeping in a real bed?

Has he shaved?

Who's making sure he remembers to eat?

You bite down on your lip until you taste copper, trying to dam the flood of 'why's' threatening to spill out. Each suppressed question burns like bile in your throat. He's already thrust the blade in deep — watching him twist it with such gentle hands makes it somehow worse.

"I just needed you to know I was safe." His voice shifts, crystallizing into something harder, something that sounds less like your Luigi and more like whoever he's becoming. "And that I love you. I needed you to know that."

"I love you." The words fall into a sudden void as the city sounds cut out on the other line, replaced by a sharp fizz of static, and then nothing.

You press the receiver harder against your ear, as if you could force his voice back through sheer desperation, and the tone eventually starts its monotonous song, but you can't make yourself hang up.

You wait in that phone booth for an hour, then two.

The neon signs paint wet streaks of color across the glass, and your legs go numb from standing, but you wait for a call back.

It never comes.

Monday morning's headlines make everything brutally clear.

His name in bold print.

The investigation.

The evidence trail leading nowhere and everywhere at once.

And suddenly you understand why he couldn't stay, why he had to hear your voice one last time, and you wish to God you didn't.

Because now you know he wasn't running from something.

He was running toward it.

#req #luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione fanfic

240 notes · View notes

azsazz · 1 month ago

Text

In Safe Arms (Part 2)

Bodyguard!Azriel x Celebrity!Reader

Summary: Anon Req: Hey ! Ik u are hella busy and I am so proud of ur for ur publication , but if u ever get time could u do a Celebrity reader x bodyguard az?

Warnings: A little PTSD for reader alluding to a horrific incident but not much described besides blood.

Word Count: 3,702

Notes: Happy New Year my loves!

(Part 1)

_________________________________________

You’re jolted awake at the rocking of your SUV dipping into a pothole.

Your spine straightens on its own accord and your bleary eyes snap open, frantically scanning the space, on high alert. Your heart pounds in your chest as you desperately try to take in your surroundings. Outside the window, there is nothing but darkness, the skies and scenery draped in midnight-hour black.

It takes you more than a second to realize where you are. In the back of an SUV on your way to your parent’s charity gala that you cannot miss. Except that the weather in New York took a turn for the worse, a heavy blizzard that no news stations mentioned before you fell into an exhausted sleep last night. No planes in, and no planes out.

Which meant that you had to find alternative transportation to make it to Chicago before the gala, which meant that Azriel had to arrange safe travel for you to get there on time, his job already on the line from his mistake only days ago.

Not the kiss. Not the weak fucking moment he had in the bathroom of your suite after a passerby tossed an unknown object at you that split the skin above your brow.

Your parents don’t know about the kiss. You tried to convince Azriel that it wasn’t worth telling them, and he tried to convince you that it couldn’t happen again.

His eyes had been hard. He’d been wearing that same stoic mask he showed up on his first day with. “We can’t do that again,” he’d said, like the kiss was transactional. Like he didn’t feel the passion that lit your entire body up, the wanting in your bones.

No kisses have happened in the days since.

Your eyes connect with Azriel’s through the rear-view mirror and the sight of your infallible bodyguard has you relaxing against the warm leather seat, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Azriel says softly. His rough, gravelly tone sharpens his apology.

“It’s fine,” you brush off, but it’s not fine. Nothing that has anything to do with you is ever fine.

Silence takes over the car. He hasn’t even turned on the radio to keep him company while you slept. You frown at the thought, then realize that silence is probably what Azriel is used to, what he prefers.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” you admit.

Azriel’s gaze stays focused on the road, not another vehicle in sight. “You needed it,” he defends, and you shrug.

“Where are we?”

“A few hours away from the Ohio border,” Azriel answers. You glance at the neon glow of the clock. It reads just past one in the morning, which means that you still have seven or so hours of driving to go, depending on how bad the road conditions are.

You’re supposed to be in Chicago by ten a.m. for brunch with your parents and the charity director for the gala, but with all of the delays that have happened since New York, you’d much rather spend as much time as you can away from the crazy normal that is your life. This unexpected road trip feels like a breath of fresh air that you didn’t know you needed.

You squint, peering around the passenger seat. The roads are clear from snow, piled high on the sides of the highway, but that doesn’t mean that there can’t be patches of black ice to look out for.

You decide to keep Azriel company. You don’t want to be sleeping the night away peacefully while he navigates through four states to get you back to your parents. You know for a fact that he’s gone days without speaking a single word nor getting an ounce of sleep, but right now, with the dark of night blanketing the car, it feels cruel.

Azriel protests when you unbuckle and climb over the console, claiming the front passenger seat. His hands are white-knuckled around the steering wheel and he tries to keep his focus on the road, though you do catch him sneaking a protective peek over at you more than once. It makes you want to snort with amusement, there’s no threat here, unless he hits a patch of aforementioned black ice, but you trust Azriel with your life, so you should be fine.

And you are. Azriel’s shoulders don’t lose a strand of tension until your buckle slides locked with a click. Even then, he can hardly relax. “You shouldn’t be up here.”

“And you shouldn’t be driving this late at night,” you retort easily, kicking your feet up on the dash. Azriel’s hand comes down over your knee before you can fully prop up your legs, guiding you in a gentle yet stern matter to keep your feet on the floor. You follow his command so that he doesn’t banish you back to the back seat.

He hardly acknowledges you, focusing on the task at hand. Delivering you in one piece to Chicago in time to arrive at all of your scheduled meetings. He will not fail your family a second time.

With his focus pinned on the road, you drink your bodyguard in. His eyes flicker from the rearview mirror to the side mirrors to the windshield in meticulous rotation. You trail your gaze down the straight slope of his nose to his pink, plush lips. You haven’t stopped thinking about his mouth on yours since the desperate kiss you shared in your hotel room two nights ago, and a warm heat coils low in your stomach at the memory, waking you up.

“You look tired,” you murmur, distractedly. He does. The gray circles under his eyes aren’t the only thing giving Azriel’s exhaustion away. It’s in the way he blinks slowly, but forces his eyes wide. It’s in the way he drums his fingers against the steering wheel for something to focus on other than the road. It’s in the empty cup of coffee stacked on his old ones. He’s stopped thrice tonight for a caffeine boost and you slept though them all. He’d be jonesing for another if you hadn’t climbed up into the seat beside him. His entire body is tightened with alert now that you’re here.

He isn’t tired, he’s wired. Three large black coffees might have been too much, but it’s your presence that has Azriel more alert than anything. His skin heats at the feeling of your eyes on him, can feel every movement you’re making from across the console.

He taps his fingers against the wheel to expel the nervous energy. You wonder what’s going on because Azriel’s resolve never cracks like this. Everything was fine when you were in the backseat, asleep. He didn’t have to interact, possibly mislead you. He was free to dig into his mind, overthink every little thing that’s happened between the both of you since this little journey began.

He knows you too well. He has to. He’s read your file, like he does with all of his clients. Somehow, you’ve managed to worm your way into his mind, deeper than a flesh wound.

“I’m fine,” he assures. He rubs a hand down his jaw, the short stubble tickling his skin. He needs to shave.

“We should stop for the night,” you protest, catching glimpse of a sign on the side of the highway that shows that you’re only a few miles away from a town to get gas and sleep.

“We need to be in the city early,” Azriel refutes. He chances a glance over at you. Your arms are crossed over your chest and you’re wearing that stern, determined look on your face that makes his cock twitch in his pants. He keeps himself carefully still. “We don’t have time to stop.”

“I wasn’t suggesting that we stop for the night, Azriel,” you reply. “I was telling you that we are going to stop for the night.”

He should protest, he knows that he should. He doesn’t know anything about this town, if it’s filled with lunatics or people who’d try and harm either one of you for your expenses. The decked-out, expensive SUV is a sign screaming rich.

You don’t remove your glare from him until he veers the vehicle onto the exit ramp.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“I’ll take the chair,” Azriel says, eyeing the single bed in the room. “I won’t be sleeping anyway.”

Your nose scrunches. You stare at the chair for a long second and return your gaze to Azriel’s. The entire point of stopping for the night was to rest, to let the storm that caught up to you play out and hopefully finish the drive with clearer conditions.

Something clenches in your chest. You’re not sure if it’s your heart or your stomach or both.

He won’t sleep because there is only one bed.

“So, you’re going to sit in that chair,” you repeat like you don’t understand. You don’t, and you point to the faded green armchair. The rests are made of a blonde wood and the back of the chair sits so straight that there’s no chance anyone could actually fall asleep in it. “And do what? Watch me sleep?”

His jaw sharpens, the muscles flexing as he clenches his teeth. His hazel eyes follow the point of your finger for a fleeting second before returning to yours.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s watched you sleep.

“I’ll turn the chair toward the window,” Azriel answers like this is a solution. If it makes you uncomfortable, he will even wait in the car.

The real solution would be for him to get in the fucking bed with you and sleep for a few hours. You saw the stack of empty coffee cups in the car. You saw the strain in his posture, the way he was forcing himself from giving into his exhaustion.

A disbelieving noise crawls up your throat. He’s so fucking stubborn. It’s not like you’re both eighteen and the prospect of touching looms over you. No, you’re both adults. You’ve seen him sans clothes, even if it was an accident, and Azriel has been in the room with you during fittings with designers your father fully didn’t trust. He may have been turned toward the window, you toward the mirror, but there was always the thrill that maybe he’d peek over his shoulder, give you a long once-over, that maybe some sort of want would infiltrate his hard, hazel eyes.

You’ve imagined it more than once.

“Azriel,” you scold. You busy yourself with moving your luggage to the empty desk in the corner. The table wobbles as you set your things on it, but it stays upright. You quickly move back toward the bed and tug the blankets back, doing your best to reign in your cringe as you think about the possibilities of what could have gone on in this dingy motel room on the side of the interstate. You’re used to luxurious, five-star hotels catering to your every need, not rundown motels that reek of mothballs and crime.

Ghosts. Are there ghosts?

“We stopped here specifically so you could sleep,” you try to argue, but you sound distracted, and Azriel’s gaze snaps to yours, his shoulders straightening like he’s going into protective mode.

He catches you staring dazedly at the bed. Your fingers are curled tightly into the blankets, lips pressed together tightly. Your chest is rising and falling more quickly, and he rounds the bed, coming to your aid.

Azriel knows the life you’re used to living. What you must be thinking about a place like this. He could say something mean, mention how spoiled you are, how it’s just like the hotels you usually stay in, minus the amenities. He wants to tell you that people have done worse things in nicer rooms, especially the ones you tend to stay in, but he knows that your frozen features are due to something else, a dark memory that edges up every once in a while.

“Let me get you some fresh blankets,” he murmurs. His hand comes down around your wrist gently, drawing you slowly from your daze. The heat of his body sears through the thin fabric of your pajamas, and you latch onto that as you squeeze your eyes shut and force the memories away.

“No,” you choke, sounding much more put-off than you’d like. Azriel knows your past, you remind yourself, he knows everything about you, this isn’t you looking weak. You’re only human. “It’s fine, I—” you swallow roughly as a smatter of red conjures behind your eyelids. You try hard not to flinch, but it’s there, the blood on the walls like some fucking mural.

You look down at your hands, painted with the same crimson. Your clothes, and as you drag your eyes up to the bed—

“Hey,” Azriel snaps, hand planted firmly on your cheek, tearing you from the awful memory. You blink and your eyes latch onto his worried hazel ones. You didn’t even notice Azriel turning you around, how your hand went from clutching the sheets to fisting in his black button down. “You’re not there, you hear me?”

You nod because your throat is too tight to do anything else. Tears brim your eyes and Azriel wipes an escaped drop that drags down the apple of your cheek. His touch is too soft, too tender.

You pull away, ripping yourself from his hands. You turn toward the bed and don’t allow the dreadful recollection another thought. You slip between the sheets and try to hide your trembling movements by tugging the blankets all the way up to your chin.

You can feel Azriel’s presence behind you. You always can, whenever he’s in the room. It’s like the two of you are magnets. There is an attraction to him that you can’t place.

He knows that you won’t be sleeping now. That the harrowing memory of what you’ve been through lingers in the surface of your mind and if you should fall asleep, it will only haunt you worse.

Azriel’s known about your past, the terror that you’re trying so desperately to run from, to forget. It chases you like death is on your heels, ready to grip you with its bony fingers and drag you into the dark. He’s been briefed on how you might respond when the trauma inevitably claws its way back, but this is his first time experiencing it happening to you. How it grips you around the throat and threatens to consume you.

His jaw aches from grinding it so tight. The one thing that he can’t protect you from is the one thing he wants to protect you from the most.

He has a job, and this is part of it, he tells himself as he kicks his shoes off.

“Shove over.”

“What?” You ask, confused. You peer over your shoulder to see Azriel shrugging off his jacket. It leaves him in a black t-shirt that clings to his body exactly the way you want to. You never thought you’d be jealous of a piece of clothing, yet here you are. You carefully tear your gaze away.

“You need to sleep and I know your stubborn, spoiled ass isn’t going to do it if I’m not doing it with you” he pauses. That sounded so fucking wrong, but Azriel trudges on. “So, shove over.”

You fight the smile that threatens to curve your lips at his comment. If it was coming from anyone else, you’d be offended, but you know that Azriel doesn’t mean it as anything other than a joke. You scoot further toward the edge of the bed, shivering at the cool sheets. Your goosebumps only prickle further when Azriel’s weight hits the mattress, and the warmth of his body washes over you.

You try not to let your breathing shallow as he settles himself in. He’s not even touching you, for Mother’s sake, and yet you’re responding as if you’re a teenager lying beside her childhood crush.

“Don’t think about it,” Azriel’s voice startles you.

You might smile at the rough demand in Azriel’s tone if you weren’t feeling like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for someone to come up behind you and shove you off.

“Easier said than done,” you mutter. When the light flickers out, your body locks, and the memory explodes in your mind like a fucking gunshot wound.

“I said, don’t think about it.” Azriel’s voice is a gruff command in your ear, snapping you back into reality. Your heart is pounding against your ribcage, and you can hear the struggle in your lungs as you try to gulp down what little air makes it through your constricting esophagus.

Hands wind their way around your waist and you don’t have a second to struggle before Azriel tugs you back into his chest, molding his body against your back. A warm, heavy arm is draped across your side, and his hand finds your shaking ones beneath the blankets, offering you a lifeline.

You clutch onto him. Azriel murmurs softly in your ear but you can’t make out the words. They’re in a different language. French or Italian or Spanish, you think. You sure that if he was speaking English, you still wouldn’t understand with the way that you’re focusing on fighting past the demons in your head.

The room is pitch black. You always sleep with a light on, even if it’s just the screen of your phone lighting up the darkness. You haven’t been in a blackened room like this since that night, and Azriel knows it, which is why, with some maneuvering, he turns on the flashlight on his phone and sets it on the bedside table, illuminating the room in an awful white light that has you all but melting into his body.

“Thank you,” you whisper. It sounds much too loud in the quiet of your motel room.

“Go to sleep,” he answers plainly. His bluntness almost makes you smile.

But you can’t go to sleep, and not just because of the lingering aftershocks of your memory. As those slowly eke away, you focus on the feeling of Azriel’s body pasted tightly against yours.

You swear you can feel every muscle that is packed onto his hard body through your clothes. Your ass is nestled against his front, and you want to wiggle oh-so badly, to writhe against him in the hopes of feeling what he’s working with down there.

He’s still fully clothed, you notice. Didn’t think twice about climbing into the bed behind you to console you. You wonder if he’s uncomfortable before realizing that with his military trained past, he must have slept in worse conditions than this before.

Which makes you cringe. Here you were, freaking out about a fucking motel when there are people who are going through much worse. Embarrassment flares your body and you squirm uncomfortably.

Azriel’s arms lock tighter around you, and he tugs you closer. You didn’t think there was a closer, but there is. His breath fans across your ear when he speaks. “If you keep moving like that, we’re going to have a lot more than a blizzard and stiff fucking sheets to worry about.” He sounds callous, but there’s a strain to his tone, one that has all of the fiery feelings in your veins converging between your thighs.

Your movements halt immediately. “Sorry,” you say, but there’s no sleeping now. Not when his words are out there, hanging in the air. That if you kept moving, you’d have a different kind of stiffness to think about. One that you’re much more interested in than the starchy sheets.

You close your eyes anyway, trying to fight off the interest stirring low in your gut. The image of Azriel naked, rolling on top of you drifts into your mind. Your pussy clenches when he slowly parts your legs and flashes you a devious smile before lowering himself between your legs.

Movement has your eyes jolting open. You’re holding your body so tightly that Azriel would be terrible at his job if he didn’t know that you weren’t asleep like you should be.

“Sleep,” Azriel reminds you brusquely. His hand splays across your stomach, his thumb stroking across the soft fabric of your shirt in a soothing motion, or what would be a soothing motion if you weren’t three seconds from creating the foulest dirty thoughts about him or two seconds away from actually doing something about it.

“Okay,” you breathe, trying to force annoyance into your words instead of the arousal that slips out anyway. Azriel’s thumb falters and you swear you feel something against the curve of your ass twitch. Your breath catches in your throat and now you know that the movement against your hind wasn’t a part of your imagination.

The noise you let slip has blood pooling into Azriel’s cock. He refuses to move, refuses to do anything except squeeze his eyes shut and practice the techniques he learned in the Royal Marines to keep himself in fucking check. He promised that after the kiss in the bathroom that he would keep away from you, that this relationship would stay professional only.

Professional feels so fucking far away from this.

You find the courage to whisper. “Azriel?”

He grunts in response, to let you know he’s awake and listening, and you like the sound all too much. “That doesn’t sound like sleeping.”

“I’m not sure that I can,” you admit.

Azriel sighs softly, his breath tickling your neck. “You didn’t even try,” he answers simply, but his fingers begin tracing a soft, soothing pattern across your forearm. You latch onto his hypnotic touch, wishing it would move further south. “Just think of better things. I’m here, and you’ll be alright.”

I’m here, and you’ll be alright. Because he’s your bodyguard, your protector, and he won’t ever let anything happen to you, mentally or physically.

You shut your eyes and think about those words, the soft touch from a man so callous and strong, long until you fall asleep.

#acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel/reader #modern!azriel #bodyguard!azriel #modern azriel au

373 notes · View notes

riaki · 1 year ago

Text

nice boys and sour hearts | satoru gojo x reader

wc: 4.6k cw: minor swearing, he refers to u as 'momma' once (its normal i promise) n i think thats about it post suguru defection, shoko typical smoking ; no established relationship b ur def more than friends

i didnt want this angst to be too intense so i made it super duper fluffy. hopes it tastes like strawberries to u cs it does in my head ; another one of those fics i whipped up to meet the weekend deadline b i’m actually proud of this one not proofread!

satoru hates arguing with you.

it bites at him; twists his heart from the inside out in such a gut-wrenching way that he can hardly stand seeing your nose wrinkle in frustration and your eyes narrow with impatience, let alone hear the words coming out of your mouth, dripping with venom and irritation directed at him. he's never been used to being on the receiving end.

it tastes sour; bitter on his tongue in a way he's never been accustomed to. his tastebuds only recognize the sweet taste of fruit syrup, powdered sugar, or warm chocolate as home; he never indulges in the bitter, like the black coffee the kid he took in seems to like so much. but he'll take the silly sour lemon drops with sweet cream in the center, only because they remind him of you. you, so sweet when you love but sour when you're annoyed, which happens to be now, in this instant.

of course, he'll tell himself he doesn't mind. that sweet and sour have always gone nicely together. like strawberry lemonade on hot summer afternoons when the both of you have had enough of being stuffed into a clammy hot classroom with your musclebrain teacher. sometimes its the three of you, maybe even the four of you if you get lucky with the pixie stick trade offering (a healthier alternative to a cigarette, you both agreed on). but nowadays, it was only ever the two of you. the bitter had chosen his own path, and tangy was locked up in the infirmary sun up to sun down.

but right now, you're upset with him. and he absolutely despises it— to him, it's abhorrent. a strong word, but it's only fitting. but he can't help it when your conversation lingers in his mind, spinning itself a web of self-doubt and hurt and anger as he slips his gym shoes off and redresses himself by the school lockers, running a hand through his hair with a forced, annoyed exhale.

it was nothing big, really. or at least, that's what he thinks. you'd been in the gym after school, watching as he messed around with the basketball, seeing how long he could go dribbling by himself with a bump of his knee there, pushing it to the floor with his hand and watching it bounce back up with mild interest. he had no one to play with, but at least the ball would come back up no matter how much he pushed it down.

it was small. barely worth fussing over.

he had already been irritated. it was hot out, because summer was coming around. sweat beaded on his neck and rolled down his chest, seeping into his shirt as he wiped his forehead and made another shoot at the hoop, landing back on his feet with a soft thud as the basketball rattled around the rusted metal ring and fell through the net for the nth time that afternoon.

a hum of approval comes from your throat, followed by a loud whistle of contentment from him as he watches the ball bounce on the floor. he hikes his sunglasses up his forehead, bringing an arm up and wiping away the sweat on his cheek with his sleeve as he turns to look at you.

"that was pretty good, yeah? i think i deserve a celebratory smooch. lay some sugar on me, momma'." he laughs, loud and arrogant. you just give him a pointed look at that, but he ignores it as a sign for something wrong and only acknowledges it as your dramatic endearment. like speeding up at the sight of a yellow light in hopes that you'll make it instead of slowing down at the warning.

his shoes made squeaking sounds on the gym floor as he made his way over to you, swiping his shades off his face and sliding them onto your forehead, nestling in your hair as he grabbed a rag from the bench and wiped the sweat from his jaw. you have his uniform jacket on your lap, the yellow button glinting in the dying sunlight filtering in through the windows, reflecting off indiscernible flecks of dust in the air.

you had watched him with quiet contentment, observing the languid way he moved, graceful like a dancer moving in water. but then, you seemed to remember something; his lips pressed into a thin line, tilted to one side in anticipation. it made you hesitate— he always knew when you were about to speak before you even opened your mouth. he had come to notice, and appreciate, little things about you like that.

"were you smoking with shoko?" you had asked him. he tilted his head, eyebrow cocked up as he made a face. "no, i wasn't. why d'ya ask?" he huffed, watching from the corner of his eye with mild disinterest as the basketball, still rolling from his previous goal, bumped into the wall. cocky as ever.

(he wouldn't even look you in the eye when you were being dead serious.)

you reach a hand into his jacket, fishing around for something in his pocket; that gets his attention. who knows what trinkets and candy wrappers he has in there? and he'd hate for you to send him to his yearly checkup early again; the nurses always try to coddle him, and he has half a mind to charge for battery. nevertheless, he almost mistakes what you pull out for a lollipop stick. but it's not— it's a cigarette; a white papery hit of cancer with a dead cherry. certainly not a wise idea to keep that in his pocket among the other very flammable wax wrappers and the occasional flower petal, but who were you to judge? you, who's lips pucker like they've just tasted lemon juice when he eyes the unlit cigarette, utterly unamused.

he knows that you know it's his; the subtle glistening of pink around the end points to the gloss on his lips; he can practically taste it on his tongue. he wonders if you'd put the cigarette to your mouth too if you could have a sample of his lipgloss; then again, you could always just ask for a lip-to-lip taste, and he'd indulge you without a second thought.

you twist the cigarette butt between your fingers so that he can see the remnants of faint strawberry pink on the edges. he just rolls his eyes with a loud huff, leaning his weight back on his heels and shoving his hands in his pant pockets.

"yeesh. you're such a goody two shoes, y'know? how come shoko's allowed to smoke 'n i'm not?" he drawls, an arrogant lilt to his voice as he sticks his lower lip out. you can see a matte spot where the gloss had been transferred to the cigarette paper. you just sigh exasperatedly (he feels like a kid when you do that) and lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees. his jacket bunches up in your lap.

you tap the cigarette to his chest a few times; it makes a soft thumping sound against the fabric, and for a moment he's grateful of the noise; it sounds just like the way his heartbeat picks up with each touch, but you don't hear it. he wonders if you ever will. maybe one day, when there isn't so much distance between you and he has the opportunity to tuck your head to his chest, right over his heart.

"it's not that i care about the lung damage, idiot. why were you smoking?" you asked, voice softening. and he absolutely hates when you do that, because it always pulls on his heartstrings and brings a flush to his face, the way you treat him. he thought that if you did it enough, he'd be sent to the doctor for heart palpitations instead of a sweet tooth.

he doesn't answer you at that. how could he tell you, when he knew all that'd result from it was a thorn in his side? you, being the rose. so beautiful but awfully prickly and unfairly sour like a lemondrop with a sweet inside. then again, he'd much rather have your interrogating care than lose you, like what had happened with the reason he was trying out smoking in the first place.

then, it happened— your voice went unbearably soft, like puffy white covers and featherlight pillows with silk covers on a saturday morning, looking out the window to see pink tulips against a cloudy blue sky as the sun streamed in. it almost made him want to clutch your hand over his chest and see if you could feel the way he was reacting. no doubt, it was filled with such patient tenderness; all-encompassing sweetness it made him want to cry. so he coughed to cover it up, averting his gaze and bringing one hand to his face to absentmindedly smooth down the strands of damp white hair hanging over his eyes.

"thinkin' about suguru again, are you?" you asked gently, tucking the cigarette back into your pocket—yours, not his—and reaching out to take his hand.

his lips parted ever so slightly, gaping like a goldfish. he knew he looked silly, and he should've been okay with that— because being vulnerable with you, out of everyone he ever knew (with maybe the exception of one) was easier than breathing; came more naturally to him than his gravitation to a challenge. the same could be said for sweets.

(maybe he'd have to re-evaluate his proclaimed taste, then. since you were more sour than sweet.)

but this time, he wasn't okay with it. it had been hard to talk about what had happened with suguru one year ago since— it formed a nasty lump in his throat, bitter like black coffee and the wrong mix of herbs. it made him feel weak. reminding him of his shortcomings, which, in his mind, shouldn't even exist in the first place. but you never had a problem ripping his problems from the shielded cavity in his gut, bringing them under the operator's light to dissect and solve like a surgeon. forget about forcing him to the doctor's— at this point, you should be the one in the white coat, not shoko. he thinks about what you'd look like with blue gloves on your delicate fingers for a moment too long.

"what's it to you?" he snaps back after what feels like three years of his life. his fingers tighten around yours for a moment before he pulls his hand away abruptly.

the frown that lingered on your face from then on had been burned into his memory.

and, well, that was his mistake. it spiraled from there— because he knew what it was to you, and he hated that. hated that you could see straight through him like a cloud blue stained glass window; without rose colored lenses like the ones he always wore (the ones he rocked, he thinks).

a crack of thunder overhead jolts him from his thoughts; he couldn't even get in there to dust the spiderwebs away before being jerked back into reality. he clicks his tongue in disappointment, watching as the skies pry themselves open and rain begin to fall in the way it only did over heavy summer showers. he wishes the sky would stop its weeping, but even the strongest has his limitations.

but it doesn't matter. he has one of those cheap plastic umbrellas he'd bought from a convenience store one day in a late march many moons ago, during the brightest blue spring of his life. and so, he didn't understand why he was lingering at the door, swinging the umbrella around his fingers by the hook on the handle, watching as the rain fell with increased fervor. there was no plastic button to keep the folds tied up, so it floundered around with each swing like a tulip bent by monsoon winds. maybe on the coast of some faraway land with windmills and fields of flowers. he wonders if he'll ever get to see the world with you someday— a fleeting thought that crumbles instantly when he conjures your pretty face in his vision, clear yet distorted like a reflection on a glazed pond, rippling water from the dragonflies that skipped over the surface.

you were definitely still angry with him, because you hadn't showed— normally, you'd walk home together. sometimes with shoko, if she didn't leave early. angry words echo in his mind, the image of your downturned lips swimming in his bright vision as he watches the rain streak down the window panes by the lockers. there's a fog settling over the grass outside that's sure to leave dew after the storm. he wonders when that'll be.

"why can't you ever take me seriously? can't you see i'm worried about you?"

"of course i can. but i don't need your damn concern!”

...

he'd been sorely mistaken, that was for sure. loosing his cool and snapping at you wasn't exactly something he took pleasure in, either way. he leans back on his heels, tapping his foot impatiently as he holds the umbrella like a cane against the floor. infinity could probably do away with the rain. another reason as to why he's not even sure why he's waiting here, or why he's holding an umbrella. perhaps to keep in case he has to offer it to some poor, shivering and cowering young maiden lost beneath the shading of a bus stop behind a curtain of rain droplets, with a charming grin and a wink.

maybe.

a shuffle behind him catches his ear; he turns his head, an unamused expression on his face as his eyes drift over the empty room to land on you. the shadows beneath your eyes are prominent, and your hair is unkempt. there are sleep lines on your face; you probably fell asleep in a classroom somewhere, which is why you delayed.

it was evident you weren't expecting to see him, though— with the way your eyes widened a little before they dropped again, nose bridge wrinkling slightly as if you'd caught the scent of something unpleasant. your eyes left his, and he felt a little disappointed as he watched them wander toward the window, where the current downpour was prominent. he didn't like the way it made his chest pang when your attention was anywhere but him, so he raised his hand lazily, tilting his head to catch your attention that he so clearly craved.

"yo. got an umbrella?" he calls, tapping the tip of his budget cane on the floor. the thud is the only sound for a while as your gaze wanders back over to him; reluctant.

"no, i don't. i didn't expect it to rain so hard today." you responded quietly, stepping over to him with a small sigh. almost a little resigned, he thinks. he can't be sure, though. he never is with you. doesn't know whether to expect his candy to be sour in the center or the other way around; but maybe he likes a bit of uncertainty every once in a while. (not with you, though. if it means arguing? never with you.)

his sunglasses are hooked around the collar of your shirt. he doesn't know why it takes him so long to realize, but when he does, he has to clear his throat in an effort to hide the heat on his face and do away with the blush. "here. take mine. i don't need it," he says curtly, offering his umbrella to you. he wants to snatch the shades from your shirt, but he doesn't want anything to go wrong, so he just eyes them warily, careful not to let his gaze slip past into anything you'd be pissed at him for.

you eye him, eyes narrowed as you raise an eyebrow, but you don't protest. your fingers brush against his for a brief moment when you take it, shaking it a little before opening the door and stepping outside, opening it up. it looks like a little clear plastic mushroom cap over your head; you're short enough to constitute as the stalk in his eyes. it's a little funny, but he has to stifle the laugh bubbling on his tongue lest you think he's making a mock of you.

he follows after you, slipping past to stand at your side with his hands in his pockets. you can't help but feel a little curious despite your prolonged anger (you like holding grudges, he knows), so you sneak a glance upward to satiate your wonder. you don't expect him to look as breathtaking as he does.

the clouds are light overhead; they're not a heavy blanket of gray anymore, and a small strip of light manages to push through, shining on satoru's pale white hair. you can make out the edge of his undercut against his neck when the wind picks up a little, the color of fluffy white clouds on a lavender sunset with the sway of yellow flowers beneath an expanse of a bright sky. there's a little cat hair on the collar of his jacket; you realize with a faint flush that it must've been from when you were holding his jacket for him in the gym. somehow, the cat you have at home found its way to satoru. you hope your pet has become a matchmaking fortune teller, for the sake of your happiness.

what catches your eye the most, though, isn't the cat hair on his dark jacket or the faraway look in his misty blue eyes; it's the outline of rain water around him, a product of his infinity, you realize. he's dry underneath the downpour, and it never ceases to amaze you. it's like there's a soft glowing halo against the backdrop of tangled wires, gray walls and pale green bushes— he looks like an angel boy, school bag hooked and hanging over one shoulder.

eventually, you manage to peel your gaze away, and he notices— looks down at you, pressing his lips together and running his tongue over them. he can taste strawberry gloss.

wordlessly, you start walking. and he follows suit, rain bouncing off of him; you catch yourself sneaking glances from under the roof of your clear umbrella between raindrops that slide down the clear plastic. sometime during the walk home, he had gone off and gotten himself a drink from a nearby vending machine— the red can catches your eye, and your fingers curl around the rubber handle of the lent umbrella as you watch him drink; the bob of his adam's apple before he crushes the can up and tosses it into a nearby bush, causing a brief scattering of leaves and a downpour of collecting droplets onto the pavement.

despite the rain, the weeds between the cracks in the sidewalk still stay strong; they have deep roots. much like the way you never fail to scowl at him for littering. he catches it— of course he does. he's been praying for a sign you're not still so hopelessly angry with him that you can't even bring yourself to have a civil walk in the summer rain together. after the scowl, though, comes the smile— the one that always makes him melt in his shoes, much like the sunshine after the rain.

and there it is at last, he thinks. the hard sour coating melts away on his tongue, draining the taste of lemon to reveal a sweet, genuine center. all it takes is time. your lips curve up, and you duck your head, hiding the small bemused laugh that leaves you breathless.

"what are you laughin' at?" he huffs, glaring down at you. but there's no malice behind it— if only you could feel the wave of relief that's washed over him, a crest of white foam that leaves behind still waters reflected in the pools of sapphire in his eyes. nothing like the hit of numbing nicotine he'd shared in the shade of an alleyway with shoko earlier that day— away from the sun; away from you. hidden from both. or maybe they were the same— to him, he couldn't differentiate.

"i'm not laughing!" you protested weakly, immediately wiping the grin from your lips, and he regrets speaking up. "just.. i dunno."

you walk in silence for a little longer, content to listen to the rain lighten up overhead. satoru kicks a plastic onigiri wrapper out of the way, splashing up a puddle as a frown dampens his face when the wrapping only clings to his shoes. he's fine with getting a little grumpy if it means seeing you smile again. and even better, you laugh again— so sweet, like the chiming of bells in the wind's melody.

"please don't do that again." your voice sounds so very small when he hears it again, and he looks down at you from beneath long white lashes, the corner of his lips quirked up. the shape of them is almost cat-like, you think. he doesn't even know what you're talking about— a vague idea, at best— but he won't do it. not if it means hearing you sound so pathetically... sad. he doesn't like it. it's far too bitter for his taste. let the black betta you both used to know indulge in dark coffee and bitter cologne— satoru likes things sweet, like the cream surrounded by tea leaf matcha in the center of his mochi and fluttering feeling he gets when you run your hands through his hair, fluffing it up to your heart's content.

(as long as your heart is happy, his is, too.)

"i won't. happy now?" he sticks his tongue out, making a face. but you both know he means it— he hates breaking his promises to you. you smile when you look up at him again with a small nod, and he feels his knees wobble a little. he just hopes you don't notice. "sorry for lying. i just.. don't like it when you're mad at me. and you look at me like that," he mumbles under his breath, bunching up the fabric of his pants between his fingers. then, after a moment, "geez, you're so dramatic. quit carin' so much." he really hopes you don't stop, and it makes him feel like the world's biggest hypocrite. the strongest, but so weak for you.

"sorry, can't. the day you stop crushing your soda cans and littering is the day i'll stop caring, 'cus that won't be my satoru anymore." you tease. and he laughs, throwing his head back so you don't see the red that spreads across his cheeks, dusting his skin like powdered sugar on top of a strawberry crepe. he always wants to be your satoru, so he figures he'll keep littering. a few money fines here and there mean nothing to his undentable wallet, or the erratic beating of his heart, trapped against his ribcage in a feathery blooming of flowers he only gets from you and your pretty smile underneath the layer of lemony sourness.

you walk along the road for a little while longer. the rain has lightened, but it's still going— incessant, dripping from the leaves of trees and the knotted black wires overhead. he still has his infinity up, which means he can't pet the cat the two of you spot on your way back, but he's perfectly content to watch you do it. you scratch its chin, smiling at the way it purrs and nuzzles into your hand, and he wonders if he'd do the same if he was in its position.

he's lost in thought when you speak to him again, shoes splashing against murky puddles in the backdrop of a never-sleeping city; tokyo's bright skyline always makes your eyes go round with wonder. you say something, and he chuckles, warm and velvety. and then you realize what's been off with him this whole time— he doesn't have his shades on.

you slip them off the collar of your shirt, smoothing down the fabric before you reach over and attempt to nudge his arm. you don't think it'll work, because he still has his infinity up— and your sleeves are already getting spattered by rain that leaves darkened wet spots on the cotton. but to your amazement, your fingers make contact with his sleeve, and you watch in wonder as the rain actually falls— soaks into that little patch of wet fabric that you're able to feel on his arm. that he's turned his infinity off in that one spot so you could touch him. you spare a glance up at him, only to find his head angled away from you. you might be hallucinating, but the tips of his ears seem red.

you don't linger on it before you're tugging on his shirt with a frown, getting him to look down at you as you unfold his glasses and offer them over to him. he takes them quickly, and you don't miss the way the rain stops falling onto his arm again, back to bouncing off the invisible shield that protects him from everything (but you, it seems). he slips his dark shades back over his eyes, obscuring oceans of pure blue that seem like they've trickled in from the purest snowcaps on the distant mountains dotted with old red tori gates and shrines with scrapped paint. but you can't stifle the smile that spreads across your lips this time— giddy and fresh and filled with youth, blossoming like sakura petals in a spring that seems so far away yet so close with his presence by your side.

you don't say anything for a while. you're content to watch the rain wash down the pavement and into the gutters, past cute little coffee shops and parks with ponds as the droplets from the sky scatter the water in part of a never-ending cycle; watering the surface of the earth and bringing life that would soon spring up as shroomcaps and fresh dew on the clean cut green grass. you wonder what satoru sees through his lenses— though, you already know. you've worn them plenty of times before, when he insists on having your perfume cling to the frame for long missions he's sent on alone, when he can't have you hold his jacket, or his hand, or scold him for sneaking a smoke when you're not watching. that, and the extra lemondrops he keeps in his pocket; gifts from you that he's fought hard for.

you're more prepared to not feel any interference of his infinity this time when you reach over, and this time you don't go for his sleeve—yanking him close to you by his hand and forcing him beneath your umbrella. you feel the way he freezes up for a moment, but his fingers fill in the gaps between your own like its the most natural thing in the world, palms pressed together in a little breathless hug that leaves no room for the humid air.

"don't waste your infinity on the rain, dumbass. you'll fry what little is left of your brain." you scold him, and he just grumbles and scoffs angrily under his breath, cursing you as he hunches over and ducks his head to fit under the umbrella to negate his height. his hair brushes against the plastic roof of the umbrella, and his lanky limbs are still awkwardly sticking out, but his fingers tighten around yours and his thumb rubs over your knuckles, still a little damp from your earlier encounter with the rain, and you can't help but smile a smile bright enough to wash away every last bit of cloud in the sky. his personal sunshine.

even though he still prefers sweet things, satoru's come to like the taste of lemondrops. sweet and sour go well together, after all. just like you and him.

its okay if it doesnt taste like anything to u as long as u enjoyed it :) thanks for reading !! the black betta in question is suguru btw my (riaki) stuff. don't repost and/or plagiarize !

1K notes · View notes