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gamesetattach · 1 month ago

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When World's Collide - Part 4

Jannik Sinner x Williams Race Strategist!Reader The Las Vegas Grand Prix and the Davis Cup overlap on the same weekend, both reader and Jannik have to navigate stress for each other on top of any stress for themselves Catch up on Parts 1 - 3 here!

It was late, the glow of your laptop the only source of light in your hotel room. The final meeting with the team had run long, analyzing every possible scenario for tomorrow’s race—the race that could determine whether or not Williams Racing would win the Constructors' Championship for the first time in decades. You were worn out but somehow still running on nervous energy, the pressure weighing heavily on your shoulders.

Your phone jolted on the desk, a few texts from Jannik coming in, and you quickly grabbed it to respond knowing it was midday for him. He immediately responded to your reply with a call, ringing you to FaceTime, and you couldn't help but smile when his name lit up the screen.

“Hey,” you answered, trying to keep your voice light despite the ongoing stress.

“Hey,” he replied, his smile soft but voice still rasped with sleep. You could tell he was lying in bed, facing up at the ceiling of his dark hotel room, blackout curtains still drawn no doubt. He was in Spain for the final weekend of the Davis Cup with a match later that day, Spain versus Italy—arguably the tournament most watched and anticipated by his own country, not to mention the rest of the tennis world.

“Are you only just waking up?” you teased lightly, it must've been just past noon in Malaga.

“Are you only just now sleeping?" he countered, mocking your phrase, though his tone was one of only affection. “Why are you up and responding to my texts? You need rest for your big weekend.”

“Well it's a big weekend for the both of us.” you reminded him, leaning back in your chair. “Besides, I wasn't planning on sleeping for at least a couple more hours.”

“Bwah no, come on.” he scolded quickly with a click of his tongue, well intentioned but concerned—it was well past midnight where you were. “You've done enough already.”

You hesitated at his sincere response to your playful banter, debating whether to downplay your nerves. You both were usually the pinnacle of composure when it came to your respective worlds, and you knew letting on your stress could make him feel stressed in turn. Even with all his trust and confidence in your abilities, he worried about your state of mind more than he did his own. And though there was no one that could calm you down quite like him, sometimes you worried that he relieved your tension by absorbing it himself.

“There's still some possible outcomes I wanted to work through. I'm nearly done." You shrugged, trying to assure him, opting to try and play off the pressure you were feeling.

But there was too long a pause after you spoke, and the view of him shifted ever so slightly on the screen and you knew he was peering closer at your face to gauge your expression—that he'd caught on to your bubbling disconcertment.

“You’re a bad liar,” he said immediately, voice warm but firm. “Talk to me.”

You sighed, and you could imagine how he would've looped his arms around your shoulders and leaned you against his chest had he been there with you.

"I just... " You trailed off, not quite knowing what it was that was eating at you. "I want us to be ready, you know?”

“You’ll do great,” Jannik said, settling on one of his simple, steady answers. “You always do. Trust that, and that your team has worked for it.”

"That's just it, though. We can't have made it this far just to be let down now," The floodgates had opened now, and all your anxieties spilled out with it. "I can't let them down."

He called out your name more firm then, grounding you. "You are one of the best things to happen to the team. This is the truth, even if you don't see it this way? And you've been preparing your whole career for this."

You waved off his praise and exhaled, staring past the phone at the wall ahead of you. “It’s just… if I mess this up, it won’t just be me who loses. It’s the drivers, the engineers, the mechanics. Williams is so close to something historic, and I can’t afford to be the weak link. Or let the race down somehow... I don't know.”

He continued, softening slightly, but pivoted to a more rational, objective approach, "Look, quali went well, no? The team is set up to score all that you need. Carlos and Alex are solid, you know this. The cars—"

"—are solid," you finished for him, and your voice was grudging, but you'd be lying if you said your spirits weren't lifting. "Yes, I know. You're right."

"No, I was going to say the cars are like rockets. And the strategy?" He returned, powering on, "The strategy has been brilliant, and it will be tomorrow, too. You will be brilliant."

"I love you," is all you could really say, because he'd was so sure in what he said that it was like you just had to believe it yourself, "And thank you."

He only shrugged in response, his words of encouragement were enough to bring tears to your eyes, but to him it was a given. "I love you, too. Don't stress too much more, okay? And sleep soon, I'll go now."

"No, wait," you said, catching him before he moved to hang up, "What about your semifinals later? How do you feel?"

"Good, I feel good." He said plainly, but continued after a pointed look from you, "We are playing strong, my movement and physicality has been good on court. The fans support is so much here, it should be fun."

"Well, all of Italy is on their edge of their seats for this," You said, grinning, "And so am I, I have to say."

"You have too much to focus on, don't worry about the match on top of this." And when you pouted at his sensible reply, he chuckled but said, "I mean it, don't check on the points or outcome, okay? I don't want the play here to affect anything there—Malaga, Vegas, keep them separate."

"They couldn't be more separate... but fine." You knew his advice was for your own good. If his game did go south and the news reached you, it would surely influence your mood and decisions.

"Hey," He called out softly, "I miss you, too."

Your schedules had pulled you to opposite sides of the world for some time now and, with only three races left, everything was coming to a head, especially your ache for him.

“We'll be together in no time now,” you said.

"Two more race weekends," he nodded, "And I'll be there for you in Abu Dhabi."

You two sat in silence for a moment, just staring at the other on screen.

"You’ll kill it in the semi, and make it to the finals. I know it." You said after a bit, deciding it was time to turn the pep talk on him, trying to inject as much confidence in him as he did in you. Though you were sure he was enjoying himself with his compatriots, and was no where near your state of fear. “No one deserves it more.”

He smiled at your words, and you continued, "And you don't check on the race. Don't wake up early to watch, don't look at live updates. Nothing, yeah?"

"Fine," he agreed easily, knowing there was no point in arguing, especially when he had just asked the same of you, "And when you win, just celebrate into the night—don't tune into the finals in your early morning even if I'm playing."

"You just had to one up me with another condition." You rolled your eyes, "I'm agreeing, but if the finals are playing at the club then I'm gonna watch."

He laughed aloud at that, "Why would the—"

"Hey, you don't know Vegas. Their night life is something else, tennis finals on the screens wouldn't be the craziest thing here."

"Okay, fine." He said, still laughing at the image. "If you go out after and the match happens to be on where you are celebrating, then you get a pass."

"So we have a deal?"

"We have a deal."

You both laughed, shaking your heads slightly. Navigating support for a partner within your respective varieties of competition chaos could get bizarre at times, and this was just another example.

"You'll sleep now?" He said, giving you a look as he got out of bed.

"Yeah, yeah."

"Good night, and good luck for tomorrow. I love you."

"Bye, Jan. I love you, too."

You stared at the phone for a moment after it went dark, sighing a little before closing your laptop and getting up to get ready for bed. As much as the next day held, you felt just a little lighter after talking to Jannik. And that was more than enough.

---

The paddock was a storm of activity. Every member of the Williams team was hyper-focused, from the engineers to the pit crew. The tension was palpable; this wasn’t just another race—it was the race. If Williams managed to outmaneuver their rivals, the constructors would be theirs after the weekend. If not, the fight would continue to the end of the season and all the hard work to clinch the title as soon as possible would feel like a near miss.

You stood on the pit wall, headset on, eyes glued to the data streaming across the monitors in front of you. Alex and Carlos were in their cars, their voices crackling over the radio as they prepared for the formation lap. You gave them both final words of encouragement, masking your own nerves with a practiced, professional steadiness.

As the lights went out and the race began, you threw yourself into the strategy. Every pit stop, every tire change, every adjustment to the plan required your full attention. But in the quiet moments, when there was nothing to do but wait for a car to cross a sector, your thoughts drifted to Jannik.

His match would have finished early on in your day, but you'd spent most of the morning running around preparing for the night race and hadn't idle time to think of much else. Besides, you planned to stick to your deal—for your sake and his.

Your team and the paddock knew better than to update you with his points while you were amidst all the frenzy leading up to a race, though you knew for a fact you worked with and around quite a few die-hard tennis fans. They were probably too busy to let anything on, anyways. Even if Jannik had made it to the finals, and if he was staying true to your agreement as well, he was probably fast asleep. It was around 8 in the morning for him, and before a match he tended to sleep all the way up until he absolutely had to get up and warm up. You hoped he really was sticking to his routine, and not up and watching your race.

A whirr of static on the radio and a call of your name brought you back to reality. You shook all other thoughts away, refocusing on the task at hand.

“Carlos?” You responded. “I'm here.”

---

The checkered flag waved, and the Williams garage erupted in cheers, the trackside staff all clinging to the fence as they watched their drivers cross the finish. Alex had taken first, Carlos overtaking Ferrari to come in P2 at the last second. The best case outcome, a perfect 1-2 finish. You stood frozen for a moment, the realization washing over you. You’d done it. Williams had done it. The Constructors' Championship was yours.

James Vowles clapped you on the back before pulling you into a hug, others doing the same once he pulled away. The garage was packed with bodies, everyone embracing one another with emotions equal parts shock and triumph. You stepped off the pit wall and joined them in their joy.

Then you all but ran to the podium, dodging the many cameras following the celebration. You watched your drivers step up on stage, James off to the side with them, and cheered arm in arm with the rest of your team.

By the time the drivers arrived back to the garage, you'd already had three glasses of champagne. Everyone immediately swarmed them, armed with their new t-shirts, fizzing bottles, and beaming smiles. By the time they made it over to you, you were near tears again.

Carlos smiled at your display of emotion as he approached, "There she is."

"Congratulations," you said, laughing as he tossed an arm around you.

"Congratulations to you." He said earnestly, pulling back to look at you with his hand on your shoulder, "Without your help—especially on that 30th lap... I mean..."

Alex came up behind you then, "Without your help at any point in the season, we wouldn't be here."

He gave you a warm hug, laughing at your lack of response and your wide grin, "Someone get her more champagne, she clearly hasn't had enough."

"Don't worry, I have some here." Carlos said, whipping out a bottle he'd been hiding behind him. He shook it before you had a chance to react, let alone think, and you were caked in champagne before you knew it. Alex joined in with a bottle of his own somewhere in there, and everyone around laughed and kept you in their line of fire.

You could only laugh and duck in response, your hair sticking to your face, smile wide. The reporters found you then and, after you'd managed to avoid them for most of the night, someone thrust a microphone in your face, asking how it felt to be part of history.

You yelled some sort of an answer into the mic, trying to be heard in the midst of the constant cheering. You couldn't really be sure what exactly you said but you let your clear pride and delight take the front seat, hoping the elation and months of media training meant you'd satisfied the question well enough. Behind you, people were taking turns lifting the podium trophies and you grinned at the roars of celebration, but you tried to at least pretend and focus on the next question.

Before you could answer, another reporter's voice jumped in. “Have you heard? Jannik has made it to the finals. Straight sets in the semi.”

Your breath caught, a new wave of emotion crashing over you. “He did?” you asked, your smile growing impossibly wider, "Oh, I knew he would, but... wow—I'm so happy, really... just could not be happier."

The reporter nodded and smiled with you, clearly a fan. “It’s all over the news. He'll be up against Alcaraz tomorrow in the finals.”

Alex stepped into frame and shook your shoulders, "Guess you're celebrating for all of us plus one tonight."

"I guess so," You said, grinning to yourself, "And maybe the tournament final will be playing at the club."

"There'll be what, where?" Alex said incredulously, laughing and giving a look to the camera.

"Nothing, don't worry about it."

---

The roar of the crowd as he stepped onto the court was deafening, but Jannik’s mind was quiet. He approached each match the same, backed with all the preparation he put in: every hit, every serve, every volley was drilled into his muscle memory.

He'd spent much of his morning thinking of you and the race. You'd only briefly texted since your call the other day, which was to be expected with all the responsibilities you had to tend to. Race weekends always meant he'd have to wait a bit before being able to hear from you again.

If you were sticking to your half of the deal like he was, then you probably had no clue that he was about to compete in the finals. Just as he had no idea whether or not you'd won the Constructors.

Avoiding the results was probably harder for him then it was for you. There were a lot of moments of waiting in between sessions, and he had ample opportunity to check his phone or strike a conversation with another player. He had no doubt that nearly everyone at the tournament knew about the Las Vegas Grand Prix's outcome, but held true to his promise anyways. He'd even instructed his team not to let him know, knowing at least a couple of them had woken up early to watch the race themselves.

Even if the news of him advancing to the finals had reached you, he would want you to be out late into the night celebrating. In the case that you'd won, of course—and god, he hoped you'd won. It was always hard to see all the pressure you placed on yourself, but he knew what kind of mentality such high performance took and how it was easier to critique yourself then to build yourself up. Then again, he also got to see you in all your brilliance. He always did say: you would have turned him into a Williams fan even if you weren't together—you were just that good.

The warm up ended and the match began, and Jannik tucked all his thoughts and well wishes of you back in his mind. He gave Carlos Alcaraz another pat on the back at the net, and murmured a few words of encouragement, before running back to the baseline.

As always, Carlos pushed him to his limits, matching his every move, every point a battle of endurance and skill. After every set won, Jannik would look to the stands, feeding off the endless energy of the other Italian players and fans on the sidelines.

---

The celebration was nothing short of legendary. The Williams team had descended upon one of Vegas' most exclusive clubs, the already electric atmosphere dragging deep into the night. Champagne showers erupted as soon as they stepped foot inside, a DJ announcing their victory to the entire room while blue and white confetti rained from the ceiling. Lights flashed in dizzying patterns, the bass vibrating through their bones, and the energy was feverish—pure, unfiltered euphoria born out of both triumph and exhaustion and a fair amount of alcohol.

You stayed at the center of it all, basking in the historic achievement. Even when you tried to take a breath, someone pulled you back in for another toast, another cheer. Hands clapped your shoulders, voices called your name, Alex even took the mic at some point and shouted over the music about how you had masterminded one of the biggest wins in Williams’ modern history. In more than one instance, you were hoisted onto someone's shoulders, laughing as Carlos and Alex were lifted along with you, belting whatever song it was playing.

The whole team was buzzing—Carlos, Alex, James, the engineers, the pit crew, all the other personnel—everyone was reveling in the moment. There was dancing, laughter, and an endless flow of celebratory drinks. Even rival teams took turns sending bottles in a show of respect, other drivers showing face at the party.

Hours blurred together. At some point, you found yourself outside on the balcony, gulping in the crisp air while music and cheers thundered behind. The Strip below was still alive, neon lights flickering like a pulse in the night. There really was no place like Vegas to celebrate.

You checked your phone. 4:02 AM. 4:02 AM.

Jannik. His final must've just started.

You rushed inside, pushing through the bodies that clustered around the doors. But once back in, you paused at the call of your name and looked around to find who the voice belonged to.

Charles Leclerc made his way over, his girlfriend Alex's hand in his. They both took turns hugging you, offering their congratulations.

"I mean, I wish it was us," Charles said with a teasing smile, "But if not us, I am glad it was you."

"Thanks, Charles." You both had to yell amidst all the noise, but your tone was fond even despite that. He'd grown to become a good friend ever since you'd moved to Monaco. "And you drove well today, I was scared there for a second when you overtook Carlos on lap 30."

"Well, you didn't let me keep the P2 for long."

You laughed, "Actually, I think you kept it too long. Took us the rest of the race to get it back."

"Talking about me?" Carlos jumped in, coming up behind Charles to place hands on his shoulders and shake him.

"Not everything's about you Carlos," You said, smiling at his drunken gesture, "But, yes actually."

"I'm surprised any of you are still here. It's late." Carlos said, considering the three of you before his eyes settled on you again. "Especially you. The Davis Cup final is now, no?"

"Yes." You nodded your head vigorously, "I was coming back in to see if I could convince the DJ to play the match on the screen instead of his visualizer thingys."

"Really?" Charles asked, smirking at the idea.

"Yes, really. It's Vegas." Because that had been reason enough for most of the night. It was why you were so many drinks in, and why you were all still out at four in the morning.

You all turned to look at the crowd still gathered on the dance floor. The team had their arms interlocked, and were swaying while slurring and shouting the words to "We Are the Champions" for the 4th time that night.

"Yeah... there's no chance," Carlos said at the sight.

"...Yeah, I think maybe you're right." You admitted, smiling and shaking your head as some of your co-workers outstretched their arms in your direction.

---

Breathless and grinning, Jannik hugged the last of his fellow, Italian players that rushed the court after his win. Carlos and him had a tight tiebreaker, but he managed to get ahead after nearly an hour of breaking even.

As Matteo Berretini released his head from an affection hold, Jannik looked up and opened his mouth, intending to ask about the Grand Prix results. Before he could get a word out, the tournament facilitators ushered him to the center for the on-court interview.

The interviewer immediately kicked into action, "Jannik Sinner! Another unbelievable match with your long-time rival. How do you feel now that you've brought your country to yet another win at the Davis Cup?"

"Uh, yes... First of all, I want to say thank you to the tournament and to the Italian team, and of course Carlos and the Spanish players—" He cut himself off after beginning his usual, introductory remarks. "Sorry, I just—I have to ask. Williams… did they win?”

Slightly caught off guard, the interviewer took a second before answering with enthusiasm. “Oh! Yes! Williams did win the Las Vegas Grand Prix!”

Jannik let out a breath and his shoulders sagged in relief. Running a hand through his sweat-damp hair, his face split into a wide, unguarded grin, and the crowd cheered at his reaction.

“That’s amazing,” he murmured, his voice filled with pride.

“Yes, they had a 1-2 finish I believe.” The interviewer said, chuckling as Jannik's looked back at his box and exchanged a cheer with his team, "So you mean to say you went this whole game without knowing your partner and her team is now this season's F1 Constructors’ Champions."

"Yes, I—We had a deal, we both didn't look at any scores this weekend."

"I see. So now you're celebrating a double victory." Jumping back into interview mode, he continued on to ask "Any plans on how you're going commemorate the achievements from this weekend?"

"Uh, it's not just my team here—there is also the Italian tennis player side—so maybe, we will..." He trailed off again, clearly still reeling with the news of the Williams win, and ducked his head with a smile, "Sorry, I'm still—you know, she worked very hard for this. I’m very proud.”

The crowd cheered again at that, and his team and his friends chuckled at his obvious delight.

"Anything you'd like to say to her? She's probably watching right now."

"Ah, hopefully she is not," Jannik chuckled, wagging a finger at the camera, "Part of the deal was that she would celebrate with no interruption, or at least sleep. She needs it after the race... But no, I am so proud. Williams has been amazing all season, and they really deserve this. It's incredible, really."

"Okay, well I'm sure she'll be happy to hear your words whenever she gets to it. Knowing Vegas, she might still be up, who knows?" The interviewer laughed out, before jumping back into his questions.

Jannik tried his best to cooperate with the rest of the interview and focus on his own answers, but all the while he was calculating what hour you might wake up, when he could call you next.

You'd done it.

---

You had woken back up just in time to catch the end of Jannik's game, after falling asleep to the match while curled around your laptop still in your outfit from the night. You'd only gotten home a handful of hours ago, the celebration somehow still going strong even when you'd left.

You'd maneuvered out the club, attempting to be discreet, knowing that anyone who spotted you would just pull you back in. And you knew because it had happened a few times, and each time you'd given in easily and reentered. On your last attempt, just as you'd neared the exit, Alex Albon's voice rang out. “And where the hell do you think you’re going?”

Him and his girlfriend, Lily, were outside when you made it out, and Alex had joked and given you a hard time about leaving despite waiting for a car to go himself.

You'd huffed in response, arms linked with Lily's in an attempt to stay warm in the cool, desert wind. “Jannik’s match started a bit ago.”

"Aw, Alex. I think you may have just been demoted to my second favorite WAG." Lily said, laughing.

Alex rolled his eyes, but as a blacked-out SUV pulled up to the curb, he held the open the door for you “Here. Don’t ever say I don't do anything for you.”

And that was how you found your way back to your hotel room. You'd immediately pulled out your laptop and put on the Davis Cup broadcast, but the match was long and your energy was low. You must've fallen asleep soon after you moved to watch on your bed, some time in between the second set.

But now you were fully awake, engrossed by the end of the dynamic, evenly matched tie-break. You jumped up onto your knees with your arms in the air as Jannik hit the ball at an angle too steep for Carlos to return. He'd done it.

You clapped to yourself as you watched the heartwarming reactions of the other Italian players, and how they all ran to cheer for Jannik and his win. As the extensive congratulations went on, you set your laptop to the side and began to peel out of your clothes, reaching to the suitcase open by the base of your bed for your pajamas.

You glanced back at the screen when you heard to commentator animatedly say Jannik's name, no doubt readying for the post-match interview. His face came on close up, and you smiled at his familiar fidgeting. You slowed your getting ready to watch and listen to his answers, leaning forward to prop your chin in your hands.

Jannik started how he always did, politely thanking the tournament organizers and his team and the fans, but this time he was visibly distracted and it didn't take much of your imagination to guess he was likely thinking of you and the race.

So he did stick to the deal, you thought to yourself before reaching for you phone. You typed out a message, figuring at least then he'd see the news from you when he checked his phone, even if he didn't have time to seek it out otherwise. You paused to listen again as Jannik stopped in the middle of his answer.

You watched real time as Jannik asked and found out about the Williams win live on broadcast, his joy and relief visible to anyone watching. You giggled as he cut himself off once more, his residual reaction to your win overtaking his answer. Too sweet, you thought to yourself.

When he referenced your deal, and gave a look to the camera, you full on laughed, and paused the stream to take a photo of the frame to send to him.

"So, I might have bent the rules of our deal a bit..."

---

Both moments were captured by the media: you, in the middle of the paddock, beaming as you were told about Jannik's move to the finals; Jannik, struggling to focus before interrupting the interview to ask for an update on you. Social media exploded with the clips, fans marveling at the simultaneous triumphs of sports’ favorite power couple.

As always, it was like the headlines wrote themselves:

“Double Victory: Sinner and [Your Name] Dominate in Tennis and F1”

“The Power Couple That Just Can’t Stop Winning”

“History Made on Two Fronts: Italy's Tennis and Williams Racing, Revitalized on the Same Weekend”

---

The audience had practically cooed at the rare, personal glimpse into his life, and Jannik was already reaching for his phone before he'd even left the court. He had barely mumbled a "thank you" to the umpire before walking off and skimming a text you'd just sent. Something about breaking the deal.

So you were up, Jannik thought to himself as he rang you as fast as he could.

You were just replaying the interview when, as if on cue, your phone buzzed beside you. Jannik.

You answered immediately. "You heard?"

His voice was warm, his eyebrows raised to tease you. "You heard?"

A beat passed between you, thick with unspoken emotions—pride, love, pure exhilaration for what the two of you had just achieved on opposite ends of the world. And then you both burst into laughter.

And with that, your two worlds—so different yet so intertwined—folded back together, just as they always did.

---

Yayy, a cute spin off for the couple!! Las Vegas is a different breed, and I just feel like Williams can get down, especially if they won...

Wrote and rewrote a lot since yesterday, and it ended up turning pretty dialogue heavy, hope you guys like it tho... thanks for the patience and the extra day as well xx

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awoefulstudent · 1 year ago

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Hello everyone!

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ahecen · 23 days ago

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posting this post hoo domestic percabeth wip that i've had for more than a year bc why not. 6k and a little rough at times due to it, yk, being a wip. written to go along w this series.

Skin.

Annabeth dabs the foundation onto her jaw with a hardened gaze and burning eyes. It isn’t a new occurrence, so it’s strange that the sting resonates so deep. It's been months since they hurt each other in their sleep, so maybe what wounds Annabeth the most is that she thought they were better.

She knows she’s naive. Luke told her so many times during the years of his corruption. But when Annabeth was twelve her world turned upside down, and with it went her lack of optimism. She hasn’t been able to shake it within the last six years, not really.

She goes over what she knows to be true. Percy is at work. He will be home in two hours. Estelle is sleeping in her crib, so she should pay attention to that. Annabeth is alone, and it has been two years.

Percy had a mental breakdown half way through senior year, which was putting it lightly. Annabeth was scared for him—and of him. Sometimes she feels ashamed for thinking that way of him, but screaming fits in the middle of the night that lasted until the sun rose would have never been taken lightly.

She angles her face this way and that, testing the shadows of her jaw in the dim lighting. It’ll do. She turns on the sink, taking a final gulp of water to swish in her mouth, washing away the last bit of sourness that came from her gut ten minutes ago. Satisfied, Annabeth steps out of the small bathroom, her solitude left behind.

The Jackson apartment has only seemed to get noisier and noisier over the years. The radio is always crooning classic rock, and pots and pans clatter more often than not. When Annabeth was younger and it was just Percy and Sally, she was fascinated with how the busyness of their home was capable of drowning out the chaos of the city. Now with the addition of a baby, moments of quiet are rare.

It’s why she likes these mornings in the summer, if she can push unkind thoughts out of her mind. It’s vastly different to enjoy being alone versus feeling lonely. Garbage trucks and horns honking are a million miles away when the sun shines just right through the curtains, casting a warm glow throughout the home. It’s peaceful, and it’s so strange that her boyfriend’s empty apartment is the only place she can close her eyes without caution.

The place is too small for five people, it’s hot because the AC has a mind of its own, and Annabeth might have started a small fire trying to cook dinner the other night, but it’s home. She’ll miss everything when she moves upstate next month.

On the technical side of things, Annabeth lives with Rachel. They aren’t exactly the best of friends though, and her place always smells like weed and turpentine, so Annabeth prefers to spend her days with Percy.

Annabeth ponders waking Estelle so she can interact with, like, another living thing, but that wouldn’t be fair to the baby.

She opens her recent calls and stares at the list of names. Most from Percy, a few from Sally, and at the very top of the list reads a set of ten numbers. There’s no contact name, but the arrangement is burned into her memory.

She ignored his call four days ago. She missed it two days ago when she was showering and didn’t have it in her to return it. Last night when her father called her for the third time, Annabeth steeled her heart rate and held the phone to her ear. It may have been the bravest thing she did in months.

For the most part, Annabeth can accurately predict what her father will call her about and what the brief conversation will entail. Annabeth doesn’t like surprises. This time he surprised her.

She opens her laptop, types in the Cornell website without a thought, scrolls to check that yes it still exists, then abruptly closes the screen.

She finds the New York Times crossword and completes it in under two minutes. (She blames her lack of a restful sleep on her slow time.) She peels an orange then lays flat on the carpet to eat it, because why not.

Annabeth is extremely bored, if that was unclear.

The silence makes her feel useless, in every aspect of life. It’s at this time that Annabeth hears Estelle’s cries.

She has learned that babies can’t be, well, babied, but it must be awfully scary to be so small and wake up alone in a world so big.

Annabeth likes taking care of Estelle. Summers aren’t much different in the Jackson household than they are during the school year. Sally is a writer and Paul is a teacher which isn’t inherently an issue, but it presents problems when living in New York City with a baby and two other adults. Percy has a job because he needs to do something for his sanity. Annabeth was grateful when she was fired from her internship a few months back.

All that is to say Annabeth is happy to care of Estelle when the apartment is empty, even if Sally and Paul insisted they could take their daughter to daycare. When Annabeth said it was fine, it truly was fine. She and Estelle have a strange fascination with each other. She doesn’t have much experience with babies, but she tries to find it endearing rather than creepy when Estelle refuses to tear her eyes away from Annabeth’s face. They're the same eyes as Percy.

He's mentioned before that Annabeth shouldn’t blame Estelle for the staring, for reasons that are to be expected from her boyfriend. Annabeth rolled her eyes.

She likes holding Estelle in her arms. Her little fists find her hair and make grabbing motions, gripping her braids. It’s cute, though sometimes the baby forgets she has this thing called strength, and tugs too tightly. Or maybe she finds it entertaining to interact with the bright colors and noises and textures of the world around her, and she can use Annabeth’s hair as her first step of exploration.

Estelle is a testament to the innocence of life, and how growing up leads to breaking down. Annabeth never had much of a childhood. By the time things slowed down in her young, tumultuous life, she found she was left far behind. Annabeth wonders what her half-brothers were like as infants. She wasn’t allowed to hold them, and even if she were, her parents would still never tear their loving gazes away from their perfect, innocent sons.

She rocks the baby in her arms, her cries simmered into quiet whimpers. Annabeth’s humming something that might be Beyoncé, but Estelle doesn’t know the difference between “Flaws and All” and the rise and fall of the larynx.

Estelle is set into her play area with the bright colors and objects, and Annabeth falls over the couch, watching her. Not too much later, she hears the lock to the front door moving around, and then Percy steps through.

Estelle waddles over to her brother, which makes Annabeth only a tad nervous that she’ll fall on her little face or little behind. Percy picks up his sister, raising her into the air.

“Hey," Annabeth greets, his presence a sight for really sore eyes. "How was it?”

“Boring. Kids don’t drown like they used to.” He bends to kiss her upside down, which is only a bit disorienting. He then kisses Estelle’s forehead and her sparkly eyes go wide. The gestures are terribly domestic, and it is brought to Annabeth’s attention, not for the first time, that they live in the fantasy of playing Estelle’s mother and father while her real parents are away.

Annabeth shakes her head in sympathy. “Society is regressing.”

While a summer job as a lifeguard may not be the most optimal choice, there isn’t much about the actual work to complain about. Any excitement is better than none at all, even if that means he has to save a kid in the deep end. Or the shallows.

Chlorine makes Percy extremely uncomfortable—it’s why he chose basketball over swimming when his school forced him to play a sport, even if he was notorious for fouls.

“You smell like chemicals.”

“Annabeth, you’re not going to believe what I’m about to tell you.”

She shoves him. “You didn’t shower at the pool?”

“I forgot my flip flops and I was not about to get athlete’s foot.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Would you want to rub fungal cream on my feet for a week?”

She cringes. “Ew, Percy. You wouldn’t make me do that.”

“You’re right,” he sighs. “I wouldn't.”

“You’re the breadwinner in this relationship, can you believe that?”

He stretches, his arms crossed behind his head. “I always was. You didn’t get paid.” His arms fall rather abruptly. “Shit, sorry.”

Annabeth furrows her eyebrows. “What for?”

“The internship.” It’s said delicately, like any other tone would set her off. It would. Annabeth was fired from her internship at an architecture firm just a few weeks ago for allegedly yelling at her boss. Annabeth thought it was simply a heated discussion on differing opinions. Apparently her behavior was inappropriate. Annabeth disagreed—and still disagrees—but there’s nothing she can do. Maybe file a report for wrongful termination, but she hated the company’s consistently boring designs anyway. It’s for the better.

“Just because I don’t have a job anymore doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to talk about yours. It’s fine. I need to get used to the real world anyway. Normal teenagers aren’t really granted full creative control over redesigning an ancient city.”

“They aren’t?”

Annabeth nods solemnly. “I know it’s hard to believe.”

“You should have prepared me better for that. I can’t believe you.”

“The betrayal.”

He smiles softly. “Sorry I fell asleep last night.”

She shrugs. “You don’t need to wait up for me.”

“I want to. Is Rachel done with her masterpiece yet?”

“You know, same old same old.”

“You don’t remember.” It’s not a dig.

“I don’t remember.”

The main draw to Rachel might be her collection of substances, so what. Annabeth knows what she’s doing. See, Rachel is a “freelancer,” which just means she paints all day and her dad pays her rent. She can virtually do whatever she wants without consequence. Annabeth doesn’t really have a right to judge though, since her own father pays for her tuition. It’s fine. Sometimes Annabeth needs a different kind of fix, one she can’t bring by herself or through others. She doesn’t talk about it with Percy, but she knows the drinking makes him uncomfortable. It’s why she keeps that lifestyle on the other side of town, where the windows reach from the top of the ceiling to the bottom of the floor.

Annabeth sneezes.

Percy gives her a look, then rises to his feet and says, “Lemme shower.”

He rounds on her to place a kiss on her temple, then leaves for the bathroom.

“Is Stelle asleep?”

He doesn’t acknowledge the darkness of the night before, nor does he bring light to what happened two years ago to the date. If he wants to be oblivious then she’ll let him, just for today.

She nods, and he responds back with, “Damn, she sleeps more than we do.”

Getting back from miles below felt like a sick nightmare crafted by monsters. It took days for Annabeth to be convinced this wasn’t a hallucination, and she truly was back in the mortal world. Sometimes at night she slips back into this untrue stream of consciousness, and she doesn’t trust anything she sees. What hurts the most is Percy. It hurts because she can’t tell if he’s real or not, the person who is the realest thing she's ever known. Annabeth is thrusted back into the pit, wandering blind and helpless as she cries for her abandonment. Clouds of smoke around her head help her forget, in a different way.

“Your mom always says she’s an easy baby. She doesn’t need to be submerged in water to stop crying,” Annabeth teases.

“That’s actually funny considering I was scared of public pools as a kid.”

“Probably because of all the chemicals.”

“Yeah, an aversion to swimming in piss would make sense.”

“How is that different from swimming in the ocean?”

“Because I’m, like, directly related to fish.”

Annabeth blinks. “I don’t want to have this conversation anymore.”

He snorts. It’s so easy to fall into his arms, focus on the warm familiarity of their banter and not the thousands of ways this moment can be interrupted with the wrong word, or an unintentional harsh tone.

“Toddlers scare me," Annabeth admits. "Their limbs are too long.”

“So dracanae in Grand Central Station is just another Tuesday, but a regular human being is what gets you going.”

He’s ridiculous. She tells him just that.

“What? My sister’s limbs are perfectly fine. She doesn’t appreciate the slander.”

They both look at her. She remains sleeping peacefully, her little nose washed with pink.

There’s another part of playing parents for Estelle. If not imagining her and Percy with their own child was a test of self control and recklessness, Annabeth would fail miserably. It makes her thankful to have an IUD. Annabeth isn’t a forgetful person. In fact, she has the best memory of anyone she knows. Reciting Macbeth is different than remembering to take a pill every day, though.

Annabeth is plenty okay with only looking forward to surviving college, thank you very much. Percy on the other hand is so incredibly family oriented, he doesn’t even see his daydreams as out of left field. Older Percy with kids of his own. Normal.

“Have you eaten?”

“Yeah,” Annabeth says. He gives her a look. “What? Coffee counts.”

“Let’s feed you then, lazyass.”

“Not lazy, ’m just tired.”

They leave Estelle to make their way to the kitchen.

“Nightmares?”

“No, I just couldn’t sleep. I hate when there’s no reason.”

Nightmares are to be expected, but they’ve become predictable.

“I would’ve stayed up with you. We could’ve watched a movie or gone on a walk or something.”

He doesn’t remember. It’s better this way, Annabeth thinks.

Percy kissed her forehead when he left this morning. The act woke her up, and she wasn’t able to fall back asleep, but that route was more preferable than waking with half a mind and not knowing where he was. Then she would remember, mid-panic, that Hera’s war is over, and they don’t need to have eyes on each other at every moment to know the other is okay. Annabeth doesn’t know which is easier: to fall asleep alone, or by his side just to meet her lonely soul in the mornings.

“Pancakes okay?”

Annabeth laughs through her nose. It’s basically the only thing he can make himself by scratch. “What other options are there?”

He takes a moment to consider, pulling a faux thinking face. “The most irresistible gourmet cereal.”

She narrows her eyes. “I think I can resist it.”

He actually manages to get enough done in the kitchen considering the various distractions from his girlfriend.

“What would you do if I turned into an owl?” she asks playfully, swinging her feet from up on the counter.

“I had a dream about that once.” She blinks. Percy continues, keeping his eyes on the batter in the pan. “I was a fish. You ate me.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. It was scary. Try not to eat me please.”

“I will keep it in mind.”

“Thank you." He eyes her. "Where’d that come from?”

“Where did that dream come from?”

“I asked you first. But I’m pretty sure it was from your mom because it happened around the time we started dating.”

“That’s nice. And I don’t know. It just popped into my head.”

“You have the strangest thoughts, Annabeth Chase.”

She cocks her head to the side. “What, you’ve never thought of if you were, like, a dolphin?”

“Of course I have, but not a dolphin. Dolphins are evil. I’m thinking megalodon.”

“When are you not thinking of megalodon, Shark Boy?”

“Probably when I find it. Nevermind, I will actually never shut up when I do. You’ll need to euthanize me.”

“I am honored that I’m the person elected to euthanize you when the time inevitably comes.”

“Fuck yeah.” He nods, confidence restored in being the one to find the extinct shark.

Annabeth smirks. “Name all the species of sharks in—”

“In alphabetical order?” He tilts his head towards her, curls falling with the movement. “See, you can’t make fun of me when I actually enjoy doing it.”

“I’m not making fun of you! I genuinely like it, I swear.”

He sighs. “Angel, Atlantic weasel…”

She grins incredibly wide throughout his recital. She grins at the brightness in his eyes because he’s honestly a huge nerd and refuses to admit it, at the speed at which he recites, and him being so in the groove of it all that he burns a pancake. The whole situation is a lot to smile about. It’s at times like these that Annabeth’s joy is ruined by her guilt towards how she thinks of him. How she could ever not want to be with him, not want to share his company and laughter.

But it’s different when they are caught in moments of turmoil.

She likes being here with him. He plays with the coils at the end of her braids, running his finger along the downward spirals.

Sunlight filters through the curtains. The light hits Percy’s curls in a way that makes his flyaways look like spun gold. He nuzzles his head into the warm crook of her neck, his breath tickling her skin.

He lifts her glasses off and reaches over her to set them on the night stand. He smiles in a way that makes her suspicious. “There. Now I can see your beautiful face.”

Annabeth stares at him blankly. “Never do that again. I would actually pay you to never say that ever again.”

Percy laughs brightly, the skin around his eyes crinkling. She smiles at the sight.

He’s like a boa constrictor, but a nice one, if there ever was such a thing. She feels safe.

“Is this okay?”

“Your elbow’s actually digging into my ribs a bit—”

“Shit, sorry,” Percy moves his arm to wrap around her shoulders instead, “But I meant is all of this okay? Like, are you happy staying here?”

“Of course I am. Wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.”

His hand moves down her bicep, then up, then down. Again and again in a way that leaves a trail of warmth in his path. “You kinda live with Rachel.”

“Rachel,” she repeats, testing the syllables. “She’s not really roommate material.”

“She’s your roommate though.”

“I’m a glorified squatter.”

Kids remember their moments of appraisal, times when they were singled out for being special. They also remember other kids getting rewarded, and they wonder what they did wrong. What do they have to do to get their gold star of recognition?

“My dad said he’d help me move in.”

His hand freezes, then continues its gentle movement. “Well no, right? We are.”

“I told him yes.”

His hand drops. “You already talked to him? When?”

“Two nights ago. It was time for him to cash in on his be a father twice a year check.”

Percy doesn’t say anything.

“I’m too forgiving,” Annabeth says.

“Maybe. But that's not always a bad thing.”

“When do you think it’ll finally click?”

“When he’s deserving of it. Who knows when that'll be.”

“That’s why I do it, I think,” she murmurs. “Let him in, even if it’s just for a moment. That's all I can handle.”

His arms tighten just a bit more. “You’re a good person, Annabeth. I just worry you give too many chances.”

“At least I’m consistent,” she jokes. “It’s okay. We'll be together for six hours tops.”

Moments of silence pass, and she pokes his chest. “I can hear you thinking.”

“What are you hearing then?”

“Whole lotta static. I wish I could read your mind.”

He admits, “Sometimes I think you can.”

A jolt wakes Annabeth, and she registers it as his heel digging into her shin. Her vision is blurry. She sighs deeply, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Morning, sunshine.”

She turns her head to find Percy still asleep, and shaking so infinitesimally it’s barely there. His eyes seem to be rolling back and forth behind his eyelids. Her head clears. “Percy?”

In the seconds it takes to wake him, Annabeth prays his memories will remain. It doesn’t happen often anymore, whereas a year ago his memory would lapse about once a week.

She presses her hand to his chest lightly, rising up then down to follow his breathing. Percy grasps her wrist, and she can imagine his head feels as if it’s filled with air.

His eyes open, wild, then soften in a millisecond. Annabeth examines his every feature, picking apart every quirk to figure out what’s running through his mind.

“It’s fine. ‘m fine.” He lays back down, and with his arms around her she follows him. He strokes her hair; she can feel the trembling in his fingers.

His head turns so that their foreheads connect, noses brushing. It’s enough to feel the other there, to have this undeniable proof that they’re alive and unharmed. But Annabeth knows it’s not enough for him, and it’s why she gives him what he needs when he kisses her.

She should ask what scared him. She should ask what happened in the nightmare. But picking at his cuts won’t stop the tremor in his body or the fear behind his gaze.

Sometimes words fail the both of them, and selfish desires take over, even if it leads to more hurt.

His lips lower to her neck, and a sadness falls over Annabeth at how they got here. Not in this moment specifically, it’s a selfishly good moment, but how they let silence become their method of communication, and the approval of ignorance equating bliss.

When they got back after the war there was unprecedented terror, mainly brought to the forefront through vivid flashbacks. They were delicate, carrying each other like thin glass. Then after feeling depleted for so many months, they found a way to be alive for each other, through harsh hands and scattered bruises. It felt good. It still feels good, even if Annabeth knows it’s wrong, and every time he presses against her her heart cracks a bit more. Percy and Annabeth are at their most vulnerable when with each other, no matter the state.

When his hand travels under her shirt, it should jolt Annabeth back to reality. But his touch is warm, and she’s spent too many years in the cold, so she pushes all other thoughts of opposition away. It’s not to say that she doesn’t want this. Percy isn’t taking advantage of her or ignoring her wants. Annabeth craves his closeness, and it’s intoxicating to be needed this way. It’s just that afterwards she can’t help feeling a little dirty for how they treat each other.

Soon, is her mantra. Soon soon soon.

Annabeth glances at the clock on the nightstand and her eyebrows raise in surprise at the time that has passed. Sally should be home by now. She then glances at the door, notices it’s still shut tight, and concludes if Sally opened it, she would have found them both innocently sleeping above the sheets.

Annabeth’s hand comes up to pat Percy’s arm. “Hey, stop.” Pale, inquisitive eyes meet hers. Before he can ask what’s wrong she says, “We’re getting ice cream.”

His eyebrows draw together, producing a crease in the middle that Annabeth smooths with a press of her thumb.

“Your mom’s home. We’re getting ice cream.”

That crease returns. “We have ice cream in the freezer.”

She pushes him off her and turns to plant her feet on the ground. “Get your ass up.”

2. Lungs.

The July rain leaves the air sticky and thick.

Annabeth licks the melted edges of her ice cream before the drops can coat her fingers. She looks over at Percy to find half his cone already gone.

“That good?”

“I’m all healed,” he answers.

“Ice cream has a one-hundred percent success rate. You know this.”

“The day it falls to ninety-nine is the day the world implodes.”

Annabeth hates summer. The few months of the sun high in the sky used to mean two things: she had a quest, and she had Percy. Now, it is a period of stillness. The calm before an unknown storm.

It is slowly killing Annabeth to live through these constant days of nothingness. It will kill Percy if he does anything at all. So he will stay, take care of his sister, and Annabeth will leave to start the next chapter of her life.

They pass a flower stand of sorts. It’s overflowing with a variety of flowers and color. Annabeth almost sneezes from the sweet smell.

Percy spins around and before Annabeth can even wonder as to why he did that, he produces a sunflower.

Annabeth’s grin is bright, and her laugh even more so. “Thief!”

He covers her mouth with his free hand, smiling from either his antics or her joy, she doesn’t know. “Shh! Coming from Annabeth ‘arrested for shoplifting’ Chase.”

She takes the stalk from him and twirls it between her fingers. “That got expunged last year. Asshole.”

He laughs and throws his arm around her shoulder.

They make their way to the park, thankfully finding an empty bench in the shade. The stolen sunflower rests over Annabeth's lap. As dutiful people watches, they observe the bikers and the joggers and the strollers and the couples and the solos and so on.

She could talk with him for hours about anything, really, but the silence is just as comforting. Actually, anything that isn’t revolved around her she could talk about for hours.

“Narnia freaks me out.”

He sputters a laugh. “Go on?”

She likes that she can just say things to Percy, random thoughts that spring up in her mind, and she doesn’t worry about him thinking she’s, like, weird or something. Which is a strange train of thought to go down because they’ve been best friends for years. If he didn’t like her they wouldn’t be here, but Percy liking Annabeth will always remain a cosmic mystery to her.

“I was going to say something about us actually being older than we are, then I thought of those kids living in Narnia for decades, then when they go back to the mortal world, they’re back in kids bodies.”

“Freaky,” he agrees.

“Reminds me of us a bit.”

“Yeah.”

His thumb grazed her knuckles. Percy slides his hand under her own, the other reaching over to trace the lines of her palm with his index finger.

Annabeth hums. “What’s it telling you?”

He eyes her. “The best year of your life is upon you.”

“Oh really.”

“Yeah.” He pauses to inhale, exhale. “You throw the packs into a bonfire, you smash the bottles, and you score an internship at a fancy architecture firm where you are so valuable that you’re paid more than the boss.”

“Sounds nice," Annabeth says. "Too bad that life is incomplete.”

“That’s why the next year will be better. And the year after that.”

“And after that…”

Percy nods. “And after that.”

Annabeth laces her fingers with his, holding tightly. “I believe you.”

“Good.”

The high sun leaves the streets radiating with heat. They talk and don’t talk, meaningless comments about the world around them and stupid hypotheticals. It almost feels like those first few months together, where they would fill their weekends with each other’s time. Looking back, Annabeth doesn’t know if they were making up for lost time, or they were taking advantage of an unknown future. A future where they knew stability couldn’t be promised.

3. Blood.

Annabeth stares at her reflection for so long she loses time. There’s only one bathroom in the apartment, so it’s probably rude to stay hidden for so long, but Annabeth can’t escape to solitude anywhere else.

She feels outside of her body, like her movements are being controlled by a third party entity. She absentmindedly runs her thumb across the bumps and ridges on her thighs, past scars inflicted by no one but herself. When Percy discovered what she was doing was one of the worst moments in Annabeth’s life. It was all because of the damn look he gave her. It was heartbreak, and she was the reason for it. Annabeth isn’t proud of the millions of ways she has hurt him over the years. One day it’s going to give, and Annabeth may be a horrible person for waiting for the day they leave each other for good, but at least she’ll be prepared. She thinks she could be married to Percy for twenty years and still feel the ground beneath her shake with uncertainty. It’s not a good feeling, but she doesn’t blame Percy. Annabeth Chase will always be her own worst enemy.

It’s the worst fucking feeling in the world to discover that someone doesn’t love themself in the way you love them. Annabeth saw that feeling on Percy’s face.

She turns on the sink, freezing cold water pooling into her joined hands, and splashes her face.

Annabeth hears feet padding outside the door. The steps are light with a purpose, feet not dragging. She knows it’s Sally, so she’s probably putting Estelle down for the night, or just a nap (whatever the baby decides). Before she can stop herself, Annabeth twists the metal door knob. The hinges creak as she steps out.

Annabeth hovers outside the door to Estelle’s room, one foot in the hall.

“Sally?” “I just wanted to thank you for everything. For being understanding, mostly, especially when we leave you in the dark.”

“Anytime, sweetheart. You’re a part of this family too. You always will be.” Annabeth heard the unspoken even if you’re not with Percy.

“This isn’t something a good girlfriend does.”

“None of that, Annabeth. Sometimes being a good person means doing the hard thing.”

How can Sally say all this when she doesn’t know? She doesn’t know all the things they had to do to survive in the pit, she doesn’t know how they treat each other now.

“I just feel bad,” she croaks.

“There’s no need to be. You’re only eighteen. You’re expected to be the adult on the godly side of things, but there’s no need for that here.”

Her chin wobbles, tears pooling over her eyes faster than she can stop them. “I’m scared this will all be for nothing,” she sobs.

Sally opens her arms without hesitation, and Annabeth falls into them. “Oh, sweetheart. Why have you kept this all in?”

“I can’t talk with Percy about it, and you’re his mom,” she chokes out. “He’s your son first. I’m just his girlfriend.”

Sally rubs her back, like she's coaxing every bad feeling out of her. It is about as comforting as it is weakening. There’s something about Sally Jackson that doesn’t make Annabeth scared to feel. “I wish you wouldn’t think of yourself so small, sweet pea. You’re a part of this family. You always will be.”

Annabeth hears the unspoken even if you’re not with Percy.

“I don’t know, I just… I felt so lonely the last couple years. But I don’t feel that way anymore. Now I’m leaving for real, and it’s my choice to be lonely. Ithaca seems a world away.”

This home represents everything of a past life. The framed photographs on the wall are of a younger Annabeth, so in love she let it blind her. She grew out of it, like she grew out of camp after the first war.

When she opens the door to the bedroom, Annabeth isn't surprised to find the window open, and the silhouette of Percy sitting on the fire escape.

Escape serves a double meaning. Over the months, Annabeth and Percy found the rusted railings separate from the rest of the world. Here was neutral territory. Here, they could gaze into the windows of the countless homes around them, looking into glimpses of people’s lives. Sometimes it’s frustrating for Annabeth to know even after all the things they’ve been through, they’re still smaller than two insignificant specks of dust in the cosmos.

“Can I join you?” she asks, needlessly.

“Always.”

She swings her feet above the city. She feels like the little kid she was at camp, kicking her legs up and up over the lake. The world seemed so big back then. Now, Annabeth’s imagination has drifted to the stars.

It’s late, but the end of summer means that the sky is washed with a dull ocean blue. It’s another thing she dislikes about these months, how the days never want to end.

Percy is sitting at her side, their thighs touching. His forehead rests against the deteriorated railing, breathing in the warm smog of the city.

Annabeth watches him. She remembers his first days at camp, where she fell back and observed him from the shadows. He wasn’t unlike the other newcomers, but there was something about him she couldn’t get a read on. Six years later and Annabeth still feels as if she’s missing the final piece to the infinite puzzle that is Percy Jackson.

“You haven’t aged a day in six years.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere," she says. "My gray hair is all because of you.”

He chuckles, and his hand raises to her jaw, tracing the soft line. When his thumb grazes over the spot just before her chin, Annabeth jerks her head away, then winces at her blind reaction. His hand freezes.

It’s an old dance, and Annabeth’s tired, so she lets him inspect her jaw while her face burns. She feels naked under his scrutiny, with nowhere left to hide.

Percy is smart, and Annabeth knows she won't be able to lie her way out of this one.

“Annabeth…” He’s shaking his head.

“You were having a nightmare. I’m fine, I swear. It’s nothing new.”

It’s alright, really. It was Annabeth’s fault. In hurting him, she hurt herself. It only seemed fair; it’s why she no longer cries when nightmares translate to real life. This is the price she pays for selfishness.

“Nothing new… Annabeth, do you realize how fucked up that is?”

“What do you want me to say? I’ve taken countless hits to the face before. From you, might I add, in the training fields. This is honestly better than those times.”

His face is impassive. That look has always scared her more than any look he's given to an enemy. “I’m thinking maybe you were wrong for staying here.”

Her heart drops. “You want me to leave.”

“No, but." Percy exhales, frustrated and regretful. He pinches the bridge of his nose. "I’m trying not to be selfish. You’re not happy here.”

“I’m not happy anywhere but here.”

“Doesn’t that make you upset? That your happiest state is when your boyfriend hits you and he doesn’t even remember it?” His voice breaks at the end, and his expression crumbles. “I’m no better than—” He stops himself, but Annabeth knows who he was going to name.

“Percy," she says, not fucking around, "look at me. You are nothing like him, and you never could be. These situations are nowhere comparable, you have to realize that.”

He's looking all over her face and all around her, like his vision is shaky. Something has happened, but Annabeth isn't quite sure what. She can't leave. Not yet. “Fuck, I hate this.”

“What?”

“It's like..." He licks his lips. "I almost think next year could be a good thing.”

Percy gets it, but she doesn't feel that triumph in her chest that she thought she would. How can things break down even further, so so simply? Their world is crumbling, but they're only two specks of dust.

“You get it now,” she mutters. “Hopefully we’ll be better.”

Percy is no where near satisfied. “We can’t just keep saying that, Beth.”

“Yeah, but this time an actual change is being made." She takes his hand. "For real. It’s not like last summer.”

His gaze is low, watching the tiny people below them carry on with their night. “I hate the summer.”

“And the winter,” Annabeths adds.

“Fall, then.��

She shakes her head. “That’s when school starts.”

“Spring,” he finalizes.

“That’s when finals are. Peak academic stress.”

“Now you’re just being mean.”

She smiles, leaning into his chest and his arms wrap around her shoulders. She breathes deeply, his scent a beacon guiding her back to reality, but also an escape.

"I'm sorry," Percy whispers against her temple.

"It's okay. I promise. Gods, I’m never going to be able to get you out of my head.”

She feels the light laugh in his chest. “Would that be so bad? Nevermind, don’t answer that.”

“It’s just a year. Plus winter break. We’ve been apart for longer before.”

“Before we were us though.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

His thumb and forefinger on her chin guides her eyes back to his. He's trying to be happy for her. She wants to tell him that the mask does more damage than good. “You’ll do great things, miss architect.”

“You will too. I know it.”

He chuckles wetly. “Why am I so sad? It’s not even…”

“It’s a change—but a good one. I’m sure of it.”

He nods. “I trust you.”

She hopes it's enough. Annabeth can't trust herself.

#I have lived so many lives since writing this #to the tumblr depths it goes #my writing #percabeth #percy jackson #annabeth chase #pjo

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bratphilia · 1 year ago

Note

I was talking about the step-father one! I honestly don’t have many ideas. except for maybe, if he lets his William side come out. so either a boy that the reader was talking to “goes missing” or hell, maybe even reader’s mom if she starts to get in the way?

ofc reader wouldn’t know who did it or anything, as William is careful with his killings. but yeah those are just ideas!! you don’t have to do them, just throwing them out there

taboo, pt. 2: blood on the tires (w. afton x reader)

note: here it is!! just decided to follow your first idea bc i dont know if yall wanna see your mom... well... so here we are.

pairing: steve raglan / william afton x reader

tags: murder, stalking, spanking, 69 position, overstimulation, daddy kink

taglist: @iikyutee

"mmmmph!" you moan against steve's hand. it's slapped over your mouth to drown out any noises you make. for extra precautions, there's also a blanket covering the crack of the bottom of your door to ensure no noises escape the room.

steve is pounding into you. one of your legs is slung over his shoulder. it's like clockwork at this point. your mom is on the phone with her friend, so steve slipped into your room and pounded the living day lights out of you.

simple.

when it's over and he's buckling his belt, you reach for your phone, suddenly engrossed in typing something. "who are you texting?" he asks in a genuinely playful tone.

"oh, just kai," you say mindlessly like you're supposed to know who you're talking about.

"kai," he repeats. who the fuck is kai? something in his gut churns. he doesn't like it. he's never heard of him until now. "where did you meet him?"

your eyes never leave your phone. your lips quirk up slightly when a responding notification sounds. "he was my lab partner in bio-chem. asked for my number afterwards."

oh. so he's interested in you, is steve's takeaway. but he clenches his jaw and says nothing. instead he changes the subject:

"what do you want for dinner? or should we just order out?"

you both decided on ordering out, your mom wanted to make food, but two versus one, right? throughout dinner, steve is dead silent. his eyes stay on his plate. you and your mom are passively arguing about something, but all he hears is white noise. kai. he hasn't felt this blinded by rage since, well, he was still william.

a chicken is trying to get in his coop. it wakes up the william side of him. and steve — william — hates it.

suddenly the sound of the kitchen table banging snaps him away from his thoughts. you're getting up, tears in your eyes. "fuck you!" you scream at your mom and stomp upstairs.

mom turns to steve for support. "she's just so immature."

"i agree, honey," he muses.

but don't worry, he'll be there to pick up the pieces later, when mom's asleep and when you should be too. but you're waiting for him to sneak in your room. you always are. his darling girl.

you wake up the next day, hoping to feel steve's arms wrapped around you and his face buried in the crook in your neck, just like the position the two of you are always in after another one of your midnight sessions. but he's not there. you never got used to his abandonment of you, but you're forced to understand why.

you don't come out of your room the next day. you can't face your mother and her fake apologies. you feel sick to your stomach with hunger, but you just stare at the wall and wait for steve to come back. part of your arrangement is an unspoken truce; a mutual understanding that the two of you are in each other's corner, as cheesy as that sounds.

steve does come back, but it's around one in the morning. he comes in, positive you're awake — because of the sound of music coming from your laptop — only to find you sound asleep. then he notices something.

your phone. he remembers last night.

steve scrolls through your text messages with kai. he invited you to go to the movies and then his house to study — probably where a disgusting man-child like him would try to put his hands on you — but much to steve's dismay, he said he would give you his address during class tomorrow.

fuck. steve would have to wait to strike until after your class tomorrow, meaning he'd have to find a way to take you so he knows where to go. he can manage that.

everything goes according to plan. he's able to convince you let him take you to school, despite the suspicious quirk of your brow. he doesn't leave the campus. instead, how does he pass his time? well, let's just say he uses some of the pictures he's taken of your naked, post-sex body, are put into good use.

he's parked from an angle so that he can get a good look at the students that come rolling out of the building and to the parking lot.

steve spots you as you walk out of classroom, talking with a boy that he recognizes from the photo you set as kai's profile picture. as the two of you part ways, you head to the parking lot where you thought steve would be waiting to pick you up at. instead, steve drives around, following kai's trail until he's alone.

it's just too easy. as kai is walking across the street, steve simply revs his engine and speeds forward, slamming the poor bastard's body against the front of his car. and then, for good measure, he backs up, feeling the tires elevate as the run over his body. steve just can't contain his smile.

he pulls back up to your meeting spot to find you sitting on a bench on your phone. a sick part of him hopes you're trying to reach kai. steve honks the horn, grabbing your attention. you climb into the car and inquire, "what's wrong with the front of your car?"

"drove into some mud awhile back."

thankfully, you drop it, engrossed in your phone once more. once you're back home, mom's at work, meaning the two of you have time to do whatever you want until she comes home. the both of you decide on watching a movie that ends with his body on top of yours, slamming his hips into you while you practically scream.

steve is glad things worked out this way.

the day that you were planning on going to the movies with kai approaches and steve can barely contain his excitement. he has plans for how he'll handle your disappointment when you come home.

it's been about two hours since you left. steve can only imagine you waiting at the mall growing more and more impatient as the time goes by. when he hears the telltale sound of the door slamming and a loud slam, he smiles knowingly.

"what's wrong, honey?" he calls, approaching you from the kitchen.

immediately, you look tearful. "he stood me up..."

"who did?"

"kai!" you shout, louder than intended.

oh, so you want to act like a brat, do you? he fakes an angry look. "don't use that tone with me." this should be good.

a tear slips down your cheek and you wipe it with the back of your hand. "'m sorry. just upset."

"you're sorry, what?"

you practically perk up. you know damn well what's coming next, too. "i'm sorry, daddy."

steve smiles — smirks, actually, and saunters towards you. he lifts you chin to look at him with one hand and the other is put on your shoulder. "you don't need to mess with boys like kai when you have a man like me in your life."

you nod slowly. he's right after all. all steve had to do was eliminate the option for you to make the right decision.

then he drops his hands, looking at you with authority and pulls you into the room that your mom and him sleep in. "you do know what happens to brats, right?"

"but daddy, i was just —"

"none of that," he scolds you and moves to sit at the end of the bed. "bend over my lap."

blood rushes to your face. he's going to punish you like a child, and for some reason, it increases the heat already pooling in your stomach. you promptly slip out of your leggings and do what he says, embarrassed. he has you so your ass is in the air.

steve smooths over the soft skin and pulls and tugs at your thong, letting it snap against your skin and earning a jolt from you. "did you wear these for him."

"no daddy," you whine. "only you."

"good girl," he praises, but he doesn't quite believe you.

he starts delivering smacks to your ass, causing high pitched whines to tumble from your mouth uncontrollably. the blows are inconsistent both in speed in between slaps and harshness, always keeping you on the edge for what happens next. he spanks you fifteen times (he made you count and thank him after each one) until he decides you've had enough.

he pulls your underwear to the side and dips a finger inside your wet pussy. "poor baby, so needy for daddy," he coos.

"yes," you moan, wriggling against him.

he situates you so that you're upright on his lap. you cock your head curiously. "i want to try a new position. want you to suck my cock while i eat your pussy." you rub your thighs together in anticipation. it's a position you've only seen in porn, so this was exciting to you.

steve sheds the rest of his clothes off and lays on the bed, beckoning for you to lay on top of him. once again, the lewd position makes you blush. you cage his neck with your thighs and face his cock. you make the first move, licking up and down the shaft. you give a guttural moan when a swipes a long lick up your center. you can't help but pull your mouth off and stare back at him.

"keep goin,' baby," he gruffly tells you and you try your best to continue.

it's proven much more easy for steve to eat you out than it is for you to suck his dick. he seems completely unshaken to your ministrations, leaving you confused if this is even pleasurable for him at all, meanwhile you're trying your hardest to keep yourself together as he eats you out.

steve smothers his face into your cunt, moaning like it's more arousing than you sucking him off. one particularly harsh suck on your clit has you gushing on his face. it doesn't matter if you've come already, he just keeps going. you try your best to keep a pace of stroking him while sucking on the tip but it just ends with you only being able to kitten lick all around him.

he shakes his head into your pussy, giving you a nice feel of his beard, and you're close again. "ah! steve!" you cry.

then he stops. "what's my name, baby girl?"

"d-daddy," you correct yourself. and he grunts against your clit, making you come all over again.

the stimulation is too much at this point. you try to move away from his body but his strong hands have such a firm grasp on your ass that renders you practically immobile. you can feel the rim of his glasses rubbing against your clit as he shakes his head. "daddy, please — ah — s' too much.."

the only response he gives is a growl into your cunt as he begins to thrust that long tongue inside of you, effectively making you come for the third time on his face. that's when he decides you've had enough. he guides you so that you roll over next to him on the bed.

"you didn't finish," you say with a pout.

"didn't want to," he says, staring up at the ceiling. "just wanted to make you feel better."

#fnaf #fnaf smut #fnaf x reader #five nights at freddy's #william afton #steve raglan #william afton x reader #william afton smut

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movingmusically · 4 months ago

Text

Caught Feeling: Wild Card - One Shot

Author’s Note:

I know absolutely nothing about baseball so apologies if there are any mistakes.

Word Count: 6,574

Masterlist

The idea started over breakfast, sunlight streaming through the kitchen window and catching the golden strands of Hank’s hair, making them glow faintly. He was sitting across from me, his phone in one hand and a half-eaten piece of toast in the other, his brow furrowed as he scrolled. I sipped my coffee, watching him with quiet amusement. The small frown pulling at the corners of his mouth was the kind of expression I’d come to recognise—he was deep in thought, something occupying his mind enough to distract him from the food on his plate.

“Everything okay?” I asked, setting my mug down on the table.

He looked up at me, his face clearing slightly as he gave a small, distracted smile. “Yeah, it’s just…” He hesitated, glancing back at his phone like he wasn’t sure how much to say. “The Giants are coming in to town. Mets versus Giants, wildcard game. It’s a one-game playoff, winner goes to the postseason.”

His tone was casual, but I caught the quiet yearning beneath the words, a faint wistfulness that tugged at something in me. It wasn’t hard to see how much it meant to him, even if he was trying to downplay it.

“Sounds intense,” I said, leaning back in my chair and studying him. “You thinking about going?”

Hank sighed and set his phone on the table, his fingers drumming lightly against the surface. “I’d love to, but tickets are probably insane.” He paused, glancing up at me again. “And, you know, it’s not really your thing.”

I tilted my head, my eyes narrowing slightly as I studied him. There was a flicker of something in his expression—a mix of longing and resignation that made my chest tighten. “What if I said I wanted to go?”

His eyebrows shot up, surprise flickering across his face. “You want to go? To a baseball game?”

“Why not?” I said with a shrug, trying to keep my tone casual even as his reaction made me smile. “You’ve already taught me the basics, and it’s not every day your team plays a game this important. Besides…” I leaned forward slightly, letting a hint of playfulness slip into my voice. “I kind of like seeing you in your element.”

The grin that spread across his face was so wide and unguarded, it made my heart skip a beat. It was rare to see him light up like that, so purely excited, like a kid on Christmas morning. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” I replied, unable to keep from smiling at his reaction. “Let’s do it.”

For a moment, he just stared at me, as if trying to gauge whether I was really being serious. Then he let out a short laugh, running a hand through his hair again, this time in a gesture of disbelief. “Alright,” he said, the grin still tugging at his lips. “We’ll check for tickets. But don’t say I didn’t warn you about how loud and crazy it’s going to get.”

“I’ll survive,” I teased, reaching for my coffee again. “Besides, I think I can handle a few hours of chaos if it means spending time with you.”

His expression softened, his eyes lingering on me for a moment longer than necessary before he glanced back at his phone. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, waving him off with mock indifference. “Now, hurry up and find us some seats before they’re gone.”

The rest of the morning was spent huddled around his laptop, scrolling through ticket options and arguing over which seats to choose. I let him take the lead, secretly loving the way his excitement bubbled over as he explained the layout of the stadium and debated the pros and cons of sitting closer to the field versus higher up. By the time we’d secured our tickets, I could tell he was already counting down the hours until the game.

And, if I was being honest, I was too.

The day of the game arrived, and Hank was practically buzzing with energy from the moment he woke up. By the time I’d shuffled into the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep from my eyes, he was already making coffee and pacing around in his Giants jersey and cap, the brim slightly worn from years of wear.

“You know,” he started as I poured myself a mug, “the Giants have the edge with Logan Webb starting, but the Mets have a solid lineup. It’s going to come down to how sharp our bullpen is.” He was practically vibrating as he spoke, his voice rising with excitement. “If Crawford’s in good form tonight, it could—”

“Okay, okay,” I interrupted, laughing as I held up a hand to stop him. “I’m awake, but I’m not sure I’m ready for a full game breakdown before breakfast.”

Hank paused mid-pace, his face breaking into a sheepish grin. “Sorry. I just… it’s a big game, you know?”

“I can tell,” I teased, taking a sip of my coffee and watching him over the rim of the mug. His excitement was contagious, and as much as I teased him, I loved seeing him like this—completely in his element, unapologetically passionate.

What he didn’t know, though, was that I’d been keeping a little secret. As soon as we’d decided to go, I’d ordered my own Giants jersey and a matching cap online, timing the delivery so it arrived while he was at work. I’d even gone the extra mile and picked a player’s name that I remembered Hank mentioning during one of his many baseball lessons—Crawford, of course. The shirt and cap were neatly folded in my bag, waiting for the right moment.

By late afternoon, we were finally getting ready to leave. Hank had switched from pacing to glancing at his watch every few minutes, his impatience growing with each passing second. “Come on,” he said, hovering near the door. “If we don’t leave soon, we’re going to miss the warm-ups.”

“I’m almost ready,” I replied from the bedroom, suppressing a grin. My heart raced as I checked myself in the mirror one last time, adjusting the cap on my head and smoothing down the jersey. It was a bold look—bright orange and black weren’t exactly subtle—but the thought of surprising Hank made the nerves worth it.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped out of the bedroom, leaning casually against the doorframe as I called his name. “Hey, Hank?”

He turned at the sound of my voice, his brow furrowing slightly as his eyes swept over me. For a second, he looked confused, like his brain was struggling to catch up with what he was seeing. His gaze landed on the orange jersey, the cap tilted just slightly on my head, and his jaw dropped slightly.

Hank froze, his mouth parting slightly as his eyes widened in surprise. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just stared at me like he was trying to process what he was seeing. “You…” He finally found his voice, shaking his head with a breathless laugh. “You got a jersey?”

“Crawford,” I said, turning slightly to show him the name and number on the back. “I figured if I’m going to do this, I might as well do it right.”

He blinked, his expression softening as a slow, delighted smile spread across his face. “You look…” He trailed off, his gaze sweeping over me again, a mix of awe and affection in his eyes. “You look incredible.”

“Don’t sound so shocked,” I teased, adjusting the brim of the cap. “I clean up pretty well.”

“It’s not that,” he said, stepping closer and running a hand lightly down my arm, his touch warm and grounding. “It’s just… you didn’t have to do this. But you did. For me.”

I shrugged again, though my heart was doing somersaults at the way he was looking at me. “It’s just a shirt and a cap, Hank. Don’t make it a big thing.”

“It’s not just a shirt and a cap,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, more serious. “It’s…” He shook his head again, that boyish grin returning as he reached up to adjust the cap on my head. “You’re perfect, you know that?”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t hide the blush creeping up my neck. “Alright, save the sweet talk for the stadium. Didn’t you say you didn’t want to miss the first pitch?”

Hank laughed, stepping back to grab his wallet and keys. “Alright, alright. Let’s go, Crawford.”

The nickname made me laugh, and I followed him out the door, feeling lighter than I had in days. If this was how much fun we were having before the game even started, I couldn’t wait to see what the rest of the night had in store.

The atmosphere at Citi Field was electric, a buzzing hum of energy that hit me the moment we stepped through the gates. The smell of hot dogs and popcorn filled the air, mixing with the faint tang of beer and the sweetness of cotton candy. Everywhere I looked, Mets fans were decked out in blue and orange, waving foam fingers and sporting oversized jerseys with their favourite players’ names on the back. But scattered among the sea of home-team pride were splashes of black and orange—Giants fans holding their own, waving flags, and shouting chants that echoed through the concourse.

Hank walked beside me, his hand resting lightly on my lower back as he navigated us through the crowd with practiced ease. He was in his element, his excitement bubbling over in small bursts as he pointed out details I’d have never noticed on my own. “This place is great,” he said, his voice tinged with awe even though it was clear he’d been here before. “It’s not Oracle Park, but it’s still got charm.”

“Oracle Park?” I asked, glancing up at him.

“Giants’ home stadium,” he said with a grin. “Right on the water. You’d love it. Fans bring kayaks to McCovey Cove just to catch balls that land in the bay. One day, I’ll take you there.”

The promise in his tone made my chest tighten, but I pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the energy of the moment. The closer we got to our seats, the louder the noise became—chants, cheers, and the occasional heckle blending into a chaotic symphony that seemed to shake the very ground beneath us. Vendors shouted above the din, hawking everything from peanuts to beer, and I caught sight of kids clutching oversized souvenir cups and foam baseballs. The excitement was contagious, crackling in the air like static electricity.

Our seats were incredible—close enough to the action that I could see the sweat glistening on the players’ foreheads, but far enough back that we didn’t have to worry about dodging any errant foul balls. Hank led the way down the aisle, glancing back every few seconds to make sure I was keeping up, his grin widening with each step.

“Here we go,” he said, gesturing to our row. “Perfect spot. You can see the whole field from here.”

Settling into my seat, I took a moment to take it all in. The perfectly manicured grass, the crisp white lines of the diamond, the players warming up near the dugouts—it all felt larger than life. The scoreboard loomed above us, flashing stats and player profiles in bold colours, while the speakers blasted music that barely cut through the roar of the crowd.

It was overwhelming in the best way, and I couldn’t help but glance at Hank as he took it all in, his expression a mixture of awe and boyish excitement.

He looked incredible in his Giants jersey and cap, his enthusiasm radiating off him like a force of nature. And from the way he kept sneaking glances at me—his smile impossibly wide—I could tell he hadn’t fully gotten over seeing me in my matching gear.

“You’re really pulling it off, you know,” he said, leaning closer so I could hear him over the noise. His eyes scanned over me, his grin nothing short of delighted. “Like, really pulling it off.”

“Good thing,” I teased. “I’d hate to be out here embarrassing you.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he adjusted the cap on his head. “Embarrassing me? Nah. You’re making me look good.” He bumped my shoulder lightly with his, his grin softening into something warmer. “Thanks again for doing this. It means a lot.”

“You’ve already said that,” I pointed out with a laugh, nudging him back. “And you’re welcome. But if you keep getting mushy, I might have to start rooting for the Mets just to throw you off.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he said, mock horror flashing across his face.

“Try me,” I teased, raising an eyebrow. But as I looked around the stadium, taking in the energy and the excitement, I couldn’t help but add, “Honestly, though, this is amazing. I can see why you love it.”

The corners of his mouth twitched into another smile, but this one was softer, more introspective. He reached for my hand, his fingers tangling with mine as he gave it a light squeeze. “I love it even more with you here.”

Before I could respond, a loud cheer erupted from the crowd as the players took the field. Hank’s attention immediately shifted, his grip on my hand tightening slightly as he started pointing out players. “See number 35 over there?” he said, nodding toward a pitcher stretching near the dugout. “That’s Logan Webb. He’s been lights out this season. If he’s locked in tonight, we’ve got a real shot.”

I followed his gaze, spotting the pitcher he’d been talking about earlier. The precision in his movements was impressive, even to someone like me who didn’t fully understand the intricacies of the sport. Hank’s enthusiasm was infectious, and I found myself getting caught up in the moment, clapping along with the other Giants fans as they cheered their team onto the field.

Hank leaned in close again, his voice low in my ear as he started pointing out more players and strategies, his excitement bubbling over in a way that made my chest ache in the best way. He was so alive, so completely in his element, and I couldn’t stop the smile spreading across my face as I listened to him.

It didn’t matter that most of the details went over my head—I wasn’t here for the stats. I was here for him, for the way his face lit up as he spoke, his words spilling out in a rush of enthusiasm that made my heart swell. Seeing him like this, so happy and so alive, was more than worth the price of admission.

“Alright,” he said after a moment, straightening up and adjusting his cap. “Let’s do this. Ready to watch the Giants crush it?”

I nodded, my grin matching his. “Let’s do it.” The game hadn’t even started yet, and I already knew this was going to be one of my favourite memories.

The game started with a bang, the first pitch slicing through the air to the roar of the crowd. Citi Field was alive with energy, every seat filled with fans on the edge of their seats. The Giants fans scattered throughout the sea of Mets blue and orange were loud and proud, matching the energy of the home crowd with chants and cheers. I could feel the vibration of it all in my chest—the sound, the excitement, the anticipation.

Hank was in his element. From the moment the game started, he’d been explaining plays and pointing out nuances I’d never have noticed on my own. “Watch this guy,” he said, nodding toward the batter stepping into the box. “Conforto. He’s got a mean swing, but if Webb keeps it low and away, he’s toast.”

Sure enough, the next pitch was a perfect sinker, and the batter swung so hard he almost spun himself around. Hank let out a whoop, clapping as I joined in, not entirely sure what had just happened but loving how excited he was.

By the third inning, I was fully invested. I’d been watching the game intently, picking up on more than I thought I would thanks to Hank’s running commentary. When the Giants turned a double play, the crack of the ball meeting the glove like thunder, I shot out of my seat, clapping wildly. “Yes!” I shouted, my voice blending with the other cheers around us.

Hank looked over at me, a mix of amusement and pride lighting up his face. “Look at you,” he said, his arm slinging comfortably around the back of my seat. “You’re into it. I think you might actually be more invested than I am.”

“Don’t get cocky,” I teased, shooting him a smirk. “I’m just trying to balance out all the Mets fans around us.”

He laughed, his hand briefly squeezing my shoulder before leaning in to press a kiss to my temple. “You’re the best.”

I felt a flicker of warmth at his words, but before I could respond, the crowd erupted in boos. The umpire had called a strike that, according to Hank, wasn’t anywhere near the plate. “What?” I shouted, standing up in protest along with the other Giants fans in our section. “Are you blind?”

Hank’s laughter was loud and sudden, his hand wrapping lightly around my wrist to pull me back into my seat. “Alright, calm down there, coach,” he teased, his grin wide. “You’re gonna get us kicked out.”

“Hey, I’m just sticking up for your boys,” I shot back, crossing my arms but unable to hide my grin.

His gaze softened, his fingers brushing against mine as they rested on the armrest between us. “I think I love you a little more right now.”

The comment was casual, playful, but there was something sincere in the way he said it, his eyes lingering on mine for just a beat longer than necessary. My chest tightened at the warmth in his voice, and I squeezed his hand lightly in return. “Good,” I said, my tone equally light. “Because I’m not done yet.”

As the next batter stepped up, the chants and cheers ramped up again, and I leaned in close to Hank. “Alright, what’s the strategy here?”

He grinned, his eyes flicking between me and the field. “Stay tuned. I’ll make a fan out of you yet.”

I rolled my eyes, but as the next pitch sailed across the plate and the batter connected with a solid crack, I knew he already had.

Between innings, Hank stretched in his seat and turned to me, his grin full of mischief. “Alright, rookie,” he said, nudging my knee with his. “Time for the next part of the baseball experience: snacks. What’s your poison? Hot dog? Nachos? Or are you one of those people who just wants a pretzel?”

“I’m offended you think I wouldn’t go for a hot dog,” I replied, rolling my eyes. “But nachos sound pretty great too.”

“Why not both?” Hank suggested, already rising to his feet.

I smirked, shaking my head. “Big spender. Fine, let’s do it. But don’t forget the beers.”

“Like I’d ever forget the beers,” he called over his shoulder as he headed toward the concession stand.

When he returned a few minutes later, balancing two fully loaded hot dogs, a tray of nachos, and two frosty beers, I couldn’t help but laugh. “You realise we’re only here for a few hours, right? Not a whole weekend?”

“Trust me,” he said, settling back into his seat and handing me one of the beers. “We’ll need the fuel. Baseball games aren’t sprints; they’re marathons.”

I took a sip of the beer, the cold, slightly bitter taste refreshing against the salty, cheesy goodness of the nachos I dug into next. As the game resumed, we alternated between shouting at the field and making jokes about who would drop something first. Unsurprisingly, Hank managed to get mustard on his jersey.

“Careful, Thompson,” I teased, handing him a napkin. “You’re supposed to eat the snacks, not wear them.”

He shot me a mock glare but took the napkin, muttering something about “rookies” under his breath. Still, the smile tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement.

With the snacks loaded and drinks in hand, we settled back into the rhythm of the game, letting the crowd’s energy and the crisp bite of the beer carry us through the next inning.

In the fifth inning, as the energy in the stadium buzzed like electricity, the familiar jingle of the kiss cam echoed across the field. I glanced up at the giant screen, watching with amusement as the camera zoomed in on couples scattered throughout the stands. Some were shy, barely brushing their lips together, while others went over the top, dipping their partners back dramatically to the roaring approval of the crowd.

I chuckled, nudging Hank as one particularly enthusiastic couple earned a wave of applause. “Think they rehearsed that?” I joked.

He smirked, his attention half on the screen and half on the next batter warming up. “If they didn’t, they’ve got natural talent.”

I didn’t think much of it when the camera moved again, zooming in on another section of the crowd—until I realised it had stopped right on us. Our faces filled the screen, framed by a giant pink heart, and the crowd around us erupted into cheers and whistles.

“Oh my God,” I muttered, my eyes widening as the realisation hit.

Hank froze for a moment, glancing up at the screen and then back at me. His lips twitched into a grin, his blue eyes gleaming with mischief. “Well, looks like we’re up,” he said, leaning closer. “Can’t disappoint an entire stadium, can we?”

I laughed, my cheeks already warm from the attention. “Just don’t make it weird, okay?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, his tone mock-serious, though the playful glint in his eye told me otherwise.

Before I could respond, his hand came up to cup my face, his palm warm against my cheek. His thumb brushed lightly along my jawline, the gesture surprisingly tender for a moment so public. Then, with deliberate slowness, he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine.

The kiss was soft at first, almost teasing, but it deepened just enough to make my stomach flip. It wasn’t over-the-top or exaggerated—just sweet and genuine, with a touch of heat that left my cheeks burning for an entirely different reason. The crowd around us cheered louder, a few people hooting and whistling as Hank pulled back, his grin entirely unrepentant.

“You’re ridiculous,” I said, trying to sound stern, but the laugh bubbling in my throat ruined the effect.

“And you love it,” he replied, his tone smug as he settled back into his seat, one arm casually draped over the back of mine.

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t hide my smile. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late,” he said, chuckling as he turned his attention back to the field. But his hand found mine, lacing our fingers together as the next pitch was thrown, and I couldn’t help but squeeze his hand lightly in return, the warmth of his touch grounding me amidst the chaos of the game.

By the time the sixth inning rolled around, the pace of the game had slowed slightly, giving the crowd a chance to catch their breath. Hank glanced over at me, then down at the nearly empty beer cup in my hand.

“Need a refill?” he asked, nodding toward the vendors weaving through the crowd.

“Definitely,” I said, tilting my cup toward him for emphasis.

He flagged down one of the vendors, passing me another cold beer before grabbing one for himself. “Gotta keep the good vibes going,” he said, holding his cup up in a quick toast.

“To good vibes,” I agreed, clinking my cup lightly against his.

As the inning resumed, I noticed Hank stealing glances at me every so often, his smile soft and full of something I couldn’t quite place.

“What?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Just… I’ve been to a lot of games, but this one? It’s something else.”

I grinned, nudging him playfully. “You mean because of the nachos, right?”

“Obviously,” he teased, his grin widening. But the way his hand found mine a moment later, lacing our fingers together, made it clear what he really meant.

In the seventh inning, the atmosphere in the stadium had shifted. The Mets fans were louder now, buoyed by their team’s narrow lead, while the Giants fans were clinging to hope for a late rally. Hank had been animated through most of the game, cheering and analysing plays, but as the innings wore on, I noticed a subtle change. He grew quieter, his easy grin fading into a contemplative expression.

His knee started bouncing, a restless rhythm that seemed to echo his unease. His gaze was fixed on the field, but there was a distance to it, as though his thoughts were somewhere far beyond Citi Field. The tension in his posture was palpable, his shoulders stiff, his jaw set. I watched him for a moment, my chest tightening as I recognised the flicker of something deeper—something that went beyond the game itself.

“Hank?” I said softly, reaching over to place a hand on his knee. The movement stilled under my touch, and he glanced at me, his blue eyes clouded with a mix of emotions I couldn’t quite read. “You okay?”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering back to the field before returning to me. For a moment, I thought he might brush it off, but then he exhaled slowly, lifting his hat and running a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he said, though his voice was quieter than usual. “It’s just… watching them out there, it gets to me sometimes. Seeing them playing at this level, the energy, the stakes. It reminds me of… well, everything I thought I was going to do with my life.”

The rawness in his tone hit me like a punch to the gut. He rarely opened up about his past as a baseball player, the dreams that had been cut short by his injury, but in this moment, it was written all over him. The longing, the ache of what could have been, the quiet grief for a life that had taken a turn he hadn’t expected.

My heart ached for him, not just for the loss of his dream but for the way it still lingered in the shadows, waiting to catch him off guard. I wanted to say the perfect thing, to somehow take that pain away, but I knew it wasn’t about fixing it. It was about being here, showing him he didn’t have to face it alone.

I shifted closer, sliding my hand up to lace my fingers with his. His hand was warm and solid, but there was a slight tremor to his grip that made my heart ache. “You’re allowed to feel that,” I said gently, holding his gaze. “It’s okay to miss it, to wish things had been different. But don’t forget—you’ve done so much, Hank. You’ve built a life that’s yours. And that’s pretty incredible.”

He blinked, his expression softening as my words sank in. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, and the corners of his mouth lifted into a small, grateful smile. “You always know what to say,” he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of my hand. “Thanks, Y/N.”

“Always,” I replied, squeezing his hand gently.

He leaned over, pressing a kiss to my temple, the gesture warm and grounding. I rested my head against his shoulder, my free hand coming up to trace idle patterns on his forearm. The roar of the crowd faded into the background, replaced by the steady rhythm of his breathing and the soft thud of my heart.

We sat like that for a few moments, the game continuing around us, the energy in the stadium undiminished. But for us, the world seemed to slow, the connection between us taking precedence over everything else. It wasn’t about fixing anything or making the ache go away—it was about being there, side by side, facing it together.

Eventually, Hank straightened, his grip on my hand tightening slightly before he let it go. “Alright,” he said, his voice a little steadier now. “Let’s see if the Giants can pull this off.”

“They’ve got this,” I said with a confident nod, nudging him playfully. “And so do you.”

His grin returned, softer but no less genuine, and he reached up to adjust the brim of my cap. “You really are my good luck charm, you know that?”

“Damn right I am,” I said with a smirk, leaning back in my seat as the next batter stepped up to the plate. The game was far from over, and neither were we.

As the eighth inning stretched on, the tension in the stadium was almost unbearable. The Giants were still down by a run, and every pitch seemed to drag out longer than the last.

“I need something to do with my hands,” Hank muttered, his knee bouncing again as he leaned forward.

“Like what?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Peanuts,” he declared, already scanning the crowd for another vendor. “You can’t watch baseball without peanuts.”

I laughed, flagging down a nearby vendor and grabbing a bag for him. As I handed it over, I couldn’t resist teasing, “Anything else, your highness? Maybe a crown?”

“Very funny,” he said, cracking open the bag and tossing a peanut shell at me. “Keep it up, and I might not share.”

“Like I want your peanuts,” I shot back, though I couldn’t help stealing a handful when he wasn’t looking.

He caught me, of course, rolling his eyes fondly as he held the bag out for me to take more. “You’re lucky I like you,” he said, shaking his head with mock exasperation.

“Lucky me,” I replied with a grin, settling back into my seat. The tension of the game was still there, but the warmth between us made it easier to bear.

The ninth inning was pure chaos, a crescendo of tension that seemed to vibrate through every corner of the stadium. The Giants were down by one with two outs, and the bases were loaded. Every pitch carried the weight of the season, every swing a potential make-or-break moment. Around us, the Mets fans were on their feet, a wall of blue and orange chanting in unison for their closer to finish the job. The energy was electric, a mix of hope and dread that buzzed in the cool night air.

Hank was on edge, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his fingers laced tightly as though he were physically willing his team to pull through. I could feel the nervous energy radiating off him, and I found myself holding my breath alongside him.

The Giants’ batter stepped into the box, his stance steady, his eyes locked on the mound. The first pitch came in fast, and the batter swung hard. The crack of the bat meeting the ball echoed like a gunshot, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.

The ball soared high into the night sky, a perfect arc carrying it deep into the outfield. The crowd collectively held their breath, heads tilting back as they followed its trajectory. It kept going and going, clearing the fence by a mile.

A grand slam.

For a split second, there was silence—disbelief hanging in the air like a fragile thread. Then the stadium exploded into chaos. Mets fans groaned in disappointment, their chants dissolving into a cacophony of frustration, while the pockets of Giants fans erupted in pure, unbridled joy. Black and orange flags waved frantically, and the cheers were deafening.

Hank shot to his feet, his arms flying up in a triumphant victory pose as he shouted, “Yes! That’s what I’m talking about!” His voice was raw, brimming with exhilaration, his entire body alive with the energy of the moment.

I jumped up beside him, clapping wildly and laughing at his sheer enthusiasm. Before I could say a word, he turned to me, his face alight with joy, his blue eyes sparkling like I’d never seen before. Without a second’s hesitation, he pulled me into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around me as he lifted me clean off the ground.

“You did it!” I shouted, laughing as he spun me around, his grip strong and steady despite his excitement.

“We did it,” he corrected, his voice ringing with triumph as he set me down. His hands stayed firm on my waist, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. The pure elation in his expression made my heart swell.

Before I could respond, he leaned in, kissing me with all the exhilaration of the moment. It was unrestrained and full of life, a kiss that carried the weight of celebration and connection, of everything we’d shared that night. The noise of the stadium melted away for a moment, leaving just us, tangled in the thrill of victory.

When he pulled back, his grin was wide and infectious. “This is the best game ever,” he said, his voice full of wonder.

“It really is,” I agreed, laughing as I brushed a strand of hair out of my face. “I think I’m officially a Giants fan now.”

Hank’s grin turned playful as he tugged me close again. “You already were. Tonight just made it official.”

The energy around us was still buzzing, fans shouting and clapping as the Giants rounded the bases, the scoreboard lighting up with their triumph. But in that moment, all I could focus on was Hank—the joy radiating from him, the warmth of his hands on my waist, and the way his eyes held mine like I was the only thing that mattered.

As we left the stadium hand-in-hand, the hum of the city mingling with the fading cheers from the stands, Hank couldn’t stop smiling. His grin was impossibly wide, the kind of joy that seemed to light him up from the inside out. “That was perfect,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’ll never forget it. Seriously, best game of my life.”

The way he looked at me in that moment, his face glowing with a kind of happiness that seemed almost childlike, made me want to freeze time. There was something so pure about his joy, so unfiltered, that it felt like a privilege just to witness it. And the way he kept sneaking glances at me, like I was somehow a part of it all, made my chest tighten in the best way.

“Me neither,” I replied, leaning into him as we walked down the bustling street. The air was cool against my flushed skin, but his warmth at my side was more than enough to keep the chill at bay. “But I think my favourite part wasn’t even the game.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh yeah? What was it then?”

“Watching you,” I said simply, the words falling easily from my lips. “Seeing how much this means to you… the way you lit up with every play, every moment. It made it even better for me.”

Hank stopped walking, pulling me gently to a halt on the edge of the crowded sidewalk. The buzz of the city swirled around us—taxi horns blaring, vendors shouting, and fans streaming by in their respective team colours—but in that moment, none of it mattered. He turned to face me fully, his expression so soft and open it made my chest tighten.

“You’re something else, you know that?” he said, his voice low, full of quiet wonder.

I smiled, trying to tame a strand of blonde hair that had escaped his cap. “Guess you bring out the best in me.”

His hand came up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over my skin. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he reached up and took off his Giants cap, turning it backwards before placing it back on his head. The playful tilt of the brim framed his face perfectly, and I felt my heart skip a beat at how effortlessly handsome he looked.

“Better?” he asked, his lips curled into that familiar, lopsided smile, the one that always managed to make my heart skip.

“Much better,” I murmured, my voice catching slightly.

Hank leaned in then, his other hand sliding to rest on the small of my back as he kissed me. His kiss was slow, deliberate, like he was laying everything bare without saying a word. It wasn’t just the kiss of a man celebrating a win; it was something deeper, something that made my heart ache and soar at the same time.

The world around us seemed to fade, the noise of the city blurring into the background as his lips moved against mine. His touch was steady, grounding, his fingers splayed gently against my back as though he were anchoring me to him. My hands slid up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my palms.

When he finally pulled back, his lips lingered near mine, his eyes searching my face as though he couldn’t get enough of the moment. His thumb brushed along my jaw, and his hand settled lightly at the small of my back, keeping me close. The city buzzed around us, but it felt like we were the only two people in the world.

“I mean it,” he murmured. “Best night of my life. And it’s not just because of the game.”

My chest tightened, a wave of affection swelling in me so strongly it almost overwhelmed me. “You’re not so bad yourself, you know,” I teased softly, though my voice betrayed the emotion behind the words.

He chuckled, his fingers gently tucking a loose strand of my hair back into place, his touch lingering for just a moment. “I try,” he said lightly, but there was a seriousness beneath his tone that made my stomach flip.

We stood there for a moment longer, caught in the glow of the streetlights and the lingering energy of the night. Then he slid his hand into mine again, his fingers lacing with mine as he gave my hand a gentle squeeze.

“Come on,” he said, his grin returning as he started walking again. “We’ve got to celebrate this win properly. I think I know a place that serves the best post-game beer in the city.”

“Lead the way,” I said, falling into step beside him, my heart still racing from the kiss. As we disappeared into the New York night, my heart felt impossibly full. This wasn’t just about baseball, or even Hank’s team winning—it was about the way he made everything feel brighter, bigger, and somehow better. And I knew I’d never forget this night—because of him.

#austin butler #caught stealing #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler fic #austin butler imagine #austin butler x reader #austin butler x y/n #austin butler x you #fan fiction #fanfic #hank thompson x y/n #hank thompson fic #hank thompson x you #hank thompson x reader #hank thompson #imagine #caught stealing fic #fiction

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astraaa3 · 1 year ago

Note

A Vaggie or Carmilla x fem reader smut? If that’s okay!

A/N: Y'all I'm so sorry for the late responses. I had exams. T>T Anywayyys, I'll try grinding out all of the requests asaap. Thank you so much for the request hyenalover2630. <3 Also, an unrelated sidenote my roommate (I live in the college dorms) is not so silently judging me for being a degenerate. But she's one as well, and besides the anime simping she simps for K-pop girls groups as well. (the two of us are the K-pop and metalhead roommates trope and it's hilarious). Anywayys, back to the degenerate shit everyone is here to read, hope you enjoy it.

Note: Still looking for someone to proofread the mess I write because I ain't letting my roommate read it. (she already peeps on my laptop I do not need further mortification). Feedback is greatly appreciated and welcomed.

========= ︻┳═一 =========

Carmilla x Fem!Reader (Smut shot)

Carmilla seems like a usually gentle lover, like, she'll make sure both of you end up satisfied by the end of your love-making.

That said, "usually" doesn't mean always. When she comes back home irritated she will make full use of having a lover to calm down (of course, with your enthusiastic consent; we love a respectful queen)

Depending on the nuances of annoyed versus mad, she will get you to do different things for her.

If she is mad, well, she doesn't want to risk hurting you, she is a powerful overlord after all, and as much as she respects you, she knows you are still weaker than her. So, when she is truly mad, she will ask you to bring her a drink and as she calms down sipping from her glass, she'd have you sit on your knees beside her chair, her free hand stroking your head. Once she's calmed down, she will absolutely cuddle in bed with you, as she tells you all about what happened that day.

If she is annoyed, more specifically, if you are the one to annoy her, well, she has multiple ways of shutting you up. Most of the time you'd end up with your head buried between her thighs, a toy shoved up your pussy as you struggle to concentrate on eating her out. (to be furthered on ;] )

Carmilla is the QUEEN of aftercare. No matter how little time she has until she has to get started on paperwork, you can bet your sweet little ass that she will pamper you. And in turn, you'll give her a back massage. (with how much she stands bent over paperwork her back hurts a lot, so when your hands rub the knots away, she can't help but let her more vulnerable side out, letting out small moans and grunts of relief as your hands to their magic)

The two of you mostly have sex in your shared soundproofed bedroom. Carmilla loves her daughters a lot, so she doesn't want to risk them hearing the two of you going at it. On a few occasions, the two of you would make out or at most do some over-the-clothes grinding in her office. Anywhere else is a nope, she has a reputation to uphold and it's already mortifying enough that Zestial caught the two of you making out in her office once. (that is a story for another time; let's just say it ended up with you flushing furiously and running out of Carmilla's office with a squeaked-out apology)

========= ︻┳═一 =========

The Smut-shot

You were laying on the couch grinning like a fool while spamming the hell out of Carmilla's phone with random texts, memes, pics, voice messages, calls, and gifs. Your lover (or as you have her on your phone: wifey) has been busy with work these last few days. The extermination counter shortening, the secret to killing angels, and her business were taking up a lot of her time as she was planning for the worst-case scenario. You understood why she was so stressed. After all, you loved her and you loved her daughters like they were your own children. You were scared for their safety as well. That said, right now you were more worried about Carmilla. She spent the last few nights in her office, planning out every possible and impossible situation. So, you decided to do what you do best: get her attention. And like the annoying idiot you could be, you decided to spam her until she had to come home.

Your wishes become a reality pretty quickly as Carmilla storms inside the room.

"Our room. Now." she says her eyebrows furrowed as she stomps towards your bedroom, her heels clacking as she walks.

You follow after her, giggling. As you close the door to your bedroom behind you she presses you against the wall, claiming your mouth in a searing kiss before you can get any excuses out of your mouth. Her hand slips under your pajama pants and panties, her fingers quickly finding your entrance as she wastes no time before burying one of her fingers inside of your cunt. The finger curls up pressing up against a sweet spot that makes you whine into the kiss, your hips wiggling as you try to get more of that feeling. Her other hand, however, pins your hips in place. Her finger still making back-and-forth motions inside of you Carmilla breaks the kiss looking at you with an annoyed look.

"I will not hear any words that are not a safeword out of you today. Alright? No whines, no pleads, no nothing. You will lay on the bed like a good girl, you will eat me out and if I feel like you deserve it, maybe I will let you cum. Am I understood, love?" she says pulling her hand out of your pants.

You nod with a pout as you go to lie down on the bed shrugging off your pants and blouse. Carmilla heads to one of your toy drawers pulling out a bullet vibrator. You glare at the toy like it personally offended you since it was one of the toys that had a broader range of vibrations. Aka, more ways for your lover to make you regret spamming the shit out of her phone.

You muffle a whine a she sticks up the lubed-out vibrator into your pussy, mock-glaring at her as she quickly retracts her hand from your folds. The moment she lays down on the bed you lay your head onto one of her thighs trying to give her your best kicked-puppy look. Laughing she strokes your hair motioning you forward towards her folds as she starts up the vibrator.

"You know there is no chance of me falling for that sweetheart. Now, get to it before I decide that you being a crying mess is my new favorite look on you," she says her hand brushing off a stray strand from your forehead.

You kiss your way up her thighs, giving them small butterfly kisses and soft bites, making your way to her pussy, pressing a few soft kisses to her clit before pressing your tongue between her folds your tongue expertly running up and around her hole before moving your way back up to her clit lavishing it with attention. Apparently, you still being able to have some technique to your eating out was not a good thing since Carmilla suddenly turned up the vibrator to the max. You cry out, your voice muffled between her thighs. You struggle to keep your composure licking and sucking desperately at her folds your head becoming a fuzzy mess as Carmilla keeps altering the settings of the vibrator. You lap at her messily, your teary eyes looking up at her, small whining noises leaving your mouth. She smiles at you, her face flushed from pleasure, her hand grabs the back of your head pushing your head up toward her clit, and like a starving person you latch onto it licking and sucking desperately. Her thighs squeeze around your hand as she cums, turning off the vibrator before you can do the same. Carmilla pants smirking as she sees your teary-eyed face. She pulls you up pushing your head between her breasts. Pulling out the vibrator she replaces it with her fingers massaging your clit before two of them find their way inside of you. She tilts up your head kissing you as her fingers quickly bring you to your own orgasm. Panting you lay your head on her chest as she cuddles you.

"I know I have been busy with work darling, but you can always say you want to spend time together instead of blowing up my phone." Carmilla mutters out sleepily her days of constant work finally catching up to her.

You nod pressing a quick peck to her lips as you hug her, her warm body lulling you to sleep.

#hazbin hotel x reader #x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin hotel carmilla #carmilla carmine #carmilla x reader

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august--and-everything-after · 5 months ago

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Does anyone else find that using social media on your pc/desktop tends to make you write in longer and more complex sentences, and more frequently versus being on your phone? The difference in ease and speed between my computer keyboard and phone keyboard is astronomical, I'm waaaay more likely to leave comments or write just about anything when I'm, for example, using tumblr on my laptop vs my phone. And do you think this correlates at all with the apparent current trend towards surface-level analysis, short-form content, limited engagement beyond likes and shares reblogs?

I'm shocked every time I see polls about how often people use desktop/laptop computers vs phones. Like - what do you mean you do everything on your phone? I'm sure it's in large part due to how old I am / when and where I grew up, but I use my laptop for basically anything I deem Important. Large purchases, job hunting, writing documents, email even, I'd SO rather be on my laptop. I could use my phone if I really had to but it's a last resort typically. Gaming as well, I'd rather be on my laptop or playstation, my phone is for stuff like idk crosswords or sudoku.

Obviously this whole post is a case in point for my initial question but like - that's why I'm taking the time to write it finally, cause I'm at my computer rather than fighting with my stupid phone that acts like it's outdated even tho it's not that old.

#there's something there in the connection between the decreasing critical thinking we're seeing and the decreasing pc/computer use #I'm sure someone could expand on this but i know the idea has merit #god i talk like an academic when i'm at my keyboard instead of my phone #august talking

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st-kitten · 3 months ago

Text

brat party pt.3

pt.4

warnings: smut, oral (f. receiving), handjob, piv, balcony sex, weed, drinking

university during exam season was its own kind of battlefield. sleep-deprived students armed with highlighters and coffee cups waged war against an overwhelming tide of deadlines and syllabus expectations. the library became a second home for many, desks cluttered with stacks of books, snacks, and crumpled to-do lists.

but you? you were a whole different breed. your workspace looked less like a study setup and more like the tactical command center of someone planning a heist at the smithsonian. colour-coded flashcards were stacked like tiny, organised skyscrapers, and your pens and highlighters were aligned so precisely that even a military drill sergeant would’ve nodded in approval. your laptop displayed a study schedule so detailed it probably accounted for lunar phases and barometric pressure, broken into 25-minute increments for what you called "maximum efficiency." your poor ipad begged for a break.

to the casual observer, it was impressive. to anyone with common sense, it was mildly concerning (terrifying).

your appearance alone could’ve sent weaker souls fleeing. hair clipped haphazardly on top of your head, with wild strands stubbornly plastered to your forehead, refusing to obey the laws of gravity or grooming. your infamous red bayonetta glasses perched perilously on the bridge of your nose, glinting ominously under the harsh library lighting. your eyes? bloodshot and glaring at absolutely nothing, as if the balance of power in your world depended on it.

“sovereignty… multipolar versus unipolar systems… machiavellian diplomacy…” your murmurs were rhythmic, hypnotic, and downright unsettling. anyone sitting within earshot found themselves subconsciously sitting straighter, fearing you might suddenly hex them with the treaty of westphalia.

sasuke had wandered into the library, fully intending to find a quiet spot to brood and go over his notes.

but when he saw you? he froze. like, statue-level stillness. he stood nearby, just close enough to hear you, clutching his bag strap like a lifeline, his dark eyes narrowed with caution.

“what the hell…” he muttered under his breath, watching as you flipped through colour-coded post-its like a maniacal blackjack dealer.

“the cold war… containment policy… the domino theory…” you growled lowly, your voice raspy from hours of nonstop mumbling, your hand moving furiously to underline key terms in one of the six meticulously highlighted textbooks spread across the table.

a brave soul dared to walk past, their phone dinging loudly. you paused mid-mutter, snapping your head up to glare at them over your glasses. the poor student stumbled, apologising profusely before scurrying away.

and yet, despite all the chaos, sasuke couldn’t help but smirk. because, honestly? terrifying or not, you were kind of impressive. scary as hell, but impressive.

he walked over, dropping his bag on the desk beside yours with a deliberate thud. you jumped slightly, shooting him a brief glare before you resumed studying.

he sank into the chair next to you, his presence both grounding and distracting. there was no greeting, no explanation for why he was there. he simply opened his bag, pulled out his own notes, and began reviewing them, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. his stoic expression didn’t falter, but every now and then, his eyes flickered toward you, a silent acknowledgment that he was there—just because.

sasuke's gaze inevitably drifted to your face, his sharp eyes catching the subtle yet relentless movement of your teeth worrying your lower lip. it was a small thing, a nervous habit you probably weren’t even aware of, but to him, it was like watching the physical embodiment of stress and raw concentration.

he leaned back in his chair, one arm draped casually over the backrest, pretending not to watch as you furiously scrawled notes.

still, there was something oddly captivating about it—not the stress, per se, but the sheer intensity. the way you seemed utterly consumed by your task, oblivious to everything around you, even him. it wasn’t like he cared or anything. not at all. nope. not in the slightest.

so, naturally, he grabbed a book off the desk and pretended to read, all the while stealing glances at you like the absolute hypocrite he was.

as the minutes ticked by, the stress you carried started to bleed through the cracks of your meticulously composed exterior. your brow was knit so tightly it looked like it might never uncrease, your lips were pressed into such a sharp line they could probably cut glass, and your jaw clenched with the intensity of someone trying to crush a walnut between their teeth. every time you mumbled a concept wrong, your eye twitched, and honestly? it was starting to make him nervous.

unsure if he should step in or if doing so might result in you throwing a highlighter at his head, sasuke put his book down. making sure nobody was looking, he shifted in his seat to get down under the table. as if he'd done this a thousand times. he crawled to where you sat, grateful that you wore skirts so often. sasuke slid his hands up your thighs, feeling the smooth fabric of your skirt give way to warm, bare skin. his fingers grazed the edges of your underwear, sending a jolt of desire through him.

you gasped "what- what are you doing?" you whispered, looking down at him, your focus momentarily shattered.

ignoring the risk of discovery, sasuke pressed on, his lips trailing kisses along the sensitive inner flesh of your thighs. he savoured the taste of your skin, the sweet scent of your arousal filling his senses and driving him wild with lust.

his hands roamed higher, fingers teasing the edges of your panties before slipping beneath to stroke the damp heat of your core. your gasp echoed through the quiet library. he knew you wouldn't be wet— who would be when studying fucking geopolitics?

sasuke kept kissing your inner thigh, occasionally biting into the soft flesh, all the while letting his fingers slide up and down your slit, pressing against your entrance, only to collect the arousal and smear it all over inside. that loosened you up.

"shit..." you whispered.

sasuke smirked to himself and slowly took your panties off, pocketing them. he pushed a finger inside, revelling in the slick heat that greeted him. your body arched off the table, a desperate moan escaping your lips as he began to pump his fingers in and out.

crouched under the table, hidden from students passing by, sasuke eventually pulled the chair to him, with you on it, making you clutch the table in support. he dove straight into your cunt, licking at the arousal he'd successfully smeared between your lips down there. his lips and tongue worked in tandem to taste you, eat you out. sasuke picked up your shaky thigh and put it on his shoulder, burying his face into your pussy. his mouth attacked your clit with vigour, sucking and nibbling the sensitive bud while his tongue plunged deep into your hole, fucking your with relentless strokes. your hips bucked a little, grinding yourself against sasuke's face as he brought you to the edge.

"fuck" you breathed out, half-moaning, as you came and gushed down his chin.

sasuke drank in every drop of your release, his tongue laving your pulsating sex as he coaxed out each last tremor of your orgasm. when you finally stilled, he lifted his head, his mouth glistening with your essence, and gazed up at you with dark, satisfied eyes.

slowly, deliberately, he licked his lips clean, savouring the taste of your forbidden tryst. a smug smile curved his mouth as he watched you struggle to regain your composure, your face a blushing mess, your glasses slightly foggy.

you looked down at him, knelt under the table, looking up from between your legs. "fuck you" you softly groaned at his audacity to eat you out in the library knowing anyone could've walked in on you.

smirking, he rose to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he straightened his clothes. he sat back down in his chair, shifting it closer to you. he took out your crumpled panties from his pocket, a small 'vs' embroidered on the label. he toyed with it, looking at you.

two can play a game. sneering at him, you let your hand slide down to his crotch. it took him less than a second to twitch and grow hard. with a subtle lean into you touch, he allowed you to explore the hard length straining against his zipper, your delicate fingers tracing the contours of his erection through the fabric. you unzipped his trousers and slid your hand inside his boxers, stroking him and slowly pulling his cock out.

sasuke maintained his poker face, but a faint hiss escaped his mouth as your hand wrapped around his throbbing member. he fought the urge to thrust into your grip, to demand more, but maintained a semblance of control, allowing you to set the pace. through hooded eyes, he watched you, drinking in the sight of your fingers encircling his girth, the way your nails lightly scraped his sensitive skin. you stroked his length, twisting your palm, your thumb pressing on the slit on his head just enough.

a bead of precum formed at the apex, and without thinking, sasuke rocked his hips, seeking more of your touch. the movement caused his cock to slide through your palm, leaving a trail of moisture in its wake.

thus... you gave uchiha sasuke a sneaky handjob under the table, in the university library, as casually went over your notes with a much better focus. desperate to prolong the inevitable, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your wrist in a silent plea for your to slow down. but even as the words formed in his mind, he knew it was futile.

you smirked, not even looking at him as you sped up, adding just enough pressure that sent him to heaven.

just as the first waves of ecstasy began to crest, sasuke's hand shot out, gripping your wrist in a vice-like hold. with a low, guttural moan, he spilled himself into your palm, his hot seed erupting in powerful jets as he rode out the quick orgasm.

and you, depraved as fuck, licked the cum your palm like it was ice cream. he watched, transfixed, as your pink tongue swirled around your fingers, savouring the taste of his release.

he zipped himself back up, wiping the spots of cum that had stained his expensive trousers. library closing hours were looming anyway.

purposely, right in front of your eyes, he put your lacy black panties on whatever page he was reading, and shut the book, the vs label peeking through. he shoved it in his bag, and sauntered out of the library, leaving you there, bare and wet.

that's how the weekend before the exam went. he'd stalk you to the library, and when it got emptier, pulled you into a corner book shelf, deserted, tucked into the blind spots of the cameras and kissed you, making out with you, his hands groping your breasts and yours palming his dick.

the week of the exam, since your timetables are set differently, you don't see each other.

that didn't stop him from jerking off with his cock wrapped in your panties, soiling them with his cum over and over till he had to wash them, glaring at his househelp when she said she didn't recognise them.

the day the exam ended, his eyes involuntarily searched for you. he did spot you, standing by a pillar, a few of your classmates discussing the last paper with each other. with a calculated stride, he approached your small group, his eyes never leaving you. seeing sasuke's brooding, tall frame behind your, the. other first years, scattered away, scared.

you rolled your eyes and looked up at him. "show off"

sasuke's expression remained impassive, but a glimmer of amusement danced in his eyes as he caught your smug look. he leaned in, his voice low and smooth as silk, "I don't 'show off', I simply am."

you chuckled and curtsied a little. "your highness"

a flicker of a smirk ghosted across sasuke's face, his dark eyes narrowing with a mixture of amusement and intrigue. your playful curtsy, paired with that teasing tone, was like a jester's act daring a king to laugh. ever so slightly, he inclined his head, acknowledging the joke with the faintest of nods. no words, of course—just typical sasuke.

you chuckled again, this time softer, and those dimples appeared, sinking into your cheeks like tiny craters carved by mischief. it was such a stark contrast to him—where sasuke's amusement barely rippled across his features, yours was a tidal wave, cheeks rising, a faint blush dusting them, dimples deepening with every moment of your laughter.

before he could stop himself, his hand moved, almost on instinct. his fingers brushed lightly against the gentle indentations, lingering for just a second too long.

jesus, he thought, those cheeks. that pink. those damn dimples—how annoying, how... ridiculously cute.

before the christmas break, the university organized its annual christmas market, complete with twinkling lights, stalls brimming with festive treats, and the warm buzz of holiday cheer. on the evening of the lantern festival, most of konoha had gathered under the canopy of glowing lanterns, their breath visible in the crisp winter air. sasuke, after relentless nagging from naruto and a resigned grunt from shikamaru, found himself reluctantly wandering through the market alongside them.

but then he saw you.

standing near one of the stalls with ino and sakura, cheeks and nose pink from the cold, you were a vision of cozy holiday charm. the cherry-red turtleneck dress hugged you warmly, paired with dark brown stockings and knee-high snow boots that crunched softly on the frost-covered ground. a thick black snood covered your head, framing your face as strands of your wavy brown hair spilled out like a cascade of chestnuts. you held a steaming cup of eggnog, its scent wafting into the air as your gloved hands cradled it.

sasuke froze for a second, his breath catching in his throat. the soft glow of the lanterns reflected in your eyes, and the easy laughter you shared with the girls carried over to him, warm and infectious. why does she have to look like she stepped straight out of some damn christmas card? he thought, his stoic facade cracking ever so slightly. naruto was still yammering about something, but sasuke’s focus had zeroed in completely on you.

“well, someone’s suddenly paying attention,” shikamaru muttered under his breath, smirking as he caught the flicker of interest on sasuke’s face.

“shut up,” sasuke replied, his tone sharp but lacking its usual bite. but deep down, he was already plotting the most nonchalant way to approach you without naruto ruining it with his loud mouth.

ino groaned dramatically, pouting as she stared at her reflection in the phone’s front camera. "wahhh, i forgot to do my eyeliner! i feel so ugly now," she whined, her tone verging on comically tragic.

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling as you pulled an eyeliner from your purse. "sit," you commanded, pointing to a nearby bench. ino obeyed, her complaints muffled as she perched on the edge. with practiced, ambidextrous ease, you tilted her chin up, holding her face steady as your hand worked its magic, giving her the sharpest, most foxy wing her slender eyes could handle.

“there,” you said, capping the eyeliner with a little flourish. “now you’re perfect. stop whining.”

ino squealed in delight, pulling out her phone again to admire your handiwork. “kyannnn, you’re a lifesaver!” she gushed, batting her freshly lined eyes at you.

you felt sasuke’s gaze on you before you even glanced his way. his sharp eyes were fixed on you, catching the detail of your own eyeliner. it wasn’t anything dramatic—just a small, delicate wing that lifted subtly at the corners, making your almond-shaped eyes look softer, almost kitten-like. simple, yet impossibly effective. his gaze lingered a second too long, and for reasons unknown, he quickly averted his eyes.

kiba swaggered over, grinning. “hey, if you’re handing out eyeliner like free samples, make me look emo.”

"emo?" you repeated, quirking a brow at him. “are you serious?”

“dead serious,” kiba replied, flopping onto the bench before you could refuse.

who were you to refuse.

you leaned in, and as your fingers brushed against kiba’s face, steady and sure, you could feel sasuke’s eyes on you again. he wasn’t even trying to hide it this time. his dark eyes followed the motion of your hands as you applied the liner with precision, your movements careful and deliberate. the soft focus of your gaze, the way your bottom lip tucked slightly between your teeth as you concentrated—it was all strangely hypnotic to him.

when you were finished, you capped the liner and stepped back, smirking as kiba admired himself in the phone camera. “perfect,” kiba said, clearly impressed. though his heavy, smudged black liner made him look more like a girl crying over a guy than anything remotely emo, he still seemed delighted.

sasuke didn’t care about kiba. he was still staring at you, his thoughts elsewhere. there was something strangely captivating about the way your hands moved—so confident, so intentional. he wondered, briefly, what it would feel like if those same fingers traced his face, his jaw, his cheekbones. the thought annoyed him, and he clenched his jaw as if trying to shake it off.

you didn’t notice, busy laughing at kiba’s antics, but sasuke stood there, arms crossed, pretending to be annoyed by the whole scene while desperately trying to ignore the odd flutter in his chest.

the idea of secret santa was met with varying degrees of enthusiasm among the group, ranging from ino’s excited clapping to sasuke’s barely concealed annoyance. still, he couldn’t weasel his way out of it without raising eyebrows, so he reluctantly reached into the bowl of folded slips and pulled one out.

he unfolded the paper with all the enthusiasm of someone checking a parking ticket. shikamaru.

he stared at the name for a solid five seconds.

what do you even get for someone whose life goal is to nap?

he couldn’t help but wonder whom you’d get. whoever it was, they’d probably end up with some ridiculously thoughtful gift, something so perfectly tailored to them that they’d feel both touched and mildly inadequate in comparison. he pondered, not for the first time, what you’d even get for someone like him if you ever had to. the thought was oddly unsettling.

meanwhile, sasuke was stuck wondering if "a pack of nicotine gum and eternal disdain" counted as a thoughtful present.

there was a show planned. the bridge stretched out ahead, its wooden beams creaking under the weight of the crowd gathered to watch the lanterns and fireworks, but sasuke was focused on you. you leaned against the bannister, your gaze fixed on the water below. the reflection of the lanterns danced like fireflies on the surface, creating an almost surreal glow around you. he stood next to you, a few inches of space separating you, yet somehow that gap felt vast.

when the fireworks began, the entire crowd erupted into cheers, phones raised high, snapping pictures of the exploding colors in the sky. the air buzzed with excitement, laughter, and the occasional “wow” as people admired the show. but you, you didn't look up. you stayed rooted to the bannister, your eyes fixed on the water below, the surface reflecting the first few bursts of light like shimmering diamonds.

sasuke grazed his knuckles against you arm.

"same as last time? my place" he offered.

after all the chaos of the night, in the final hour, sasuke led you to his room. the two of you settled on the deck chairs of his balcony, the crisp night air wrapping around you as you passed the joint between you, the city lights flickering in the distance.

"doing anything for the break?" you asked casually.

"might visit my clan's ancestral home," he replied, his voice steady, though there was a flicker of uncertainty. "but I’m not sure yet." he eyed you for a moment. "why do you ask?"

"just wondering... I’ll be on campus all break," you said with a shrug. sasuke raised an eyebrow, sensing there was more to it.

"alone, then?" he asked, his tone casual but with a hint of curiosity.

"visa isn’t ready yet," you explained, offering a small smile.

you shared the joint until it died. sasuke wanted to keep the moment going, so he got up and poured vodka in two glasses. he slid one toward you, ice cubes clinking softly in the quiet room. his glass waited near his lips.

you grabbed the glass and downed it in one smooth gulp.

he followed suit, tossing back his own drink, savoring the sharp burn as it slid down his throat.

sasuke's gaze drifted to your lips, parted and glistening with the remnants of the vodka, and he found himself leaning in, slowly kneeling in front of you. deliberately, sasuke reached down and grasped the hem of your dress. tenderly, you let him take it off, the cold night air making you shudder.

sasuke's breath hitched, seeing the alluring expanse of your creamy skin. his gaze raked over her form, drinking in the sight of your lace-clad breasts spilling out of your bra, the plump curves of your hips, and the tantalising glimpse of your meaty thighs beneath the stockings.

sasuke dropped to his knees before your, his hands sliding up your stockinged legs to rest on the smooth expanse of your inner thighs. he leaned in, his hot breath fanning across your cold-to-the-touch skin as he whispered huskily, "so beautiful..."

he sat back in his deck chair, patting his thigh for you to get on. slightly wobbly, from the weed and the vodka, you got up from your chair and crawled on top of him, settling on his lap, your breasts, still in your lacy bra, right in front of his face. his hands immediately came up to cup the delicate mounds, thumbs teasing the sensitive peaks through the lace of your bra.

his fingers deftly unclasped it, freeing your breasts to his hungry gaze. he palmed the warm flesh, marvelling at their softness, his thumbs circling the rosy nipples until they pebbled under his touch. leaning in, he captured one straining bud between his lips, suckling gently as his free hand slid down to grasp the curve of your ass, pulling you more firmly against him.

your draped your arms around his neck, your hips grinding on his crotch on their own, the friction of your now damp panties rubbing deliciously against the hardening bulge in his pants. he tugged them off, leaving the stockings on; gave you a racy look.

his mouth moved to lavish attention on your other breast, tongue swirling around the puckered nipple as he teased and tormented your sensitive flesh. one hand continued to knead your plush rear, fingers digging into the supple muscle as he ground up against you, seeking relief from the throbbing ache in his groin. his other arm snaked around your waist, holding you flush against him as he nipped and sucked at your breasts.

he looked up at you once, and you leaned in to kiss him. he kissed you back with urgency, wanting to do everything all at once.

without breaking the kiss, sasuke's breath came in ragged gasps. with a low growl, he reached for the fastenings of his pants, releasing the strain building within him as he freed his erect cock. you made out sloppily and sasuke tried to align his cock at your entrance.

"nmmm" you broke the kiss. "condom..." you panted.

he let out an impatient grunt, irritated, and shifted you back on the chair. he went inside, his hard cock hanging out of his boxers and dug out few condoms, tossing them on the empty deck chair. he pulled you into his lap once more, ripping open the wrapper and sliding the rubber onto him.

once protected, sasuke grasped your hips and positioned you above him once more, guiding you to sink down onto his waiting cock. a guttural moan escaped him as your eerily tight, wet heat enveloped him, the sensation almost too intense to bear. he thrust upward, driving deep into your welcoming body as he wrapped his arms around you, crushing your breasts against his chest. he didn't pay much attention to your hiss and whine as you took a moment to adjust to his size.

he began to move beneath you, his hips snapping up to meet your downward grind. the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the air.

hands on his chest, you bounced on his cock, throwing your head forward, your foreheads touching, as soft moans spilled out of you.

his hands tightened on your hips as you rode him with increasing fervour, your bounces forcing him deeper into your scorching depths. the heady scent of sex and sweat surrounded them, along with the smell of weed.

"more," he growled against your lips, capturing them in a bruising kiss as his fingers dug into the flesh of your ass. "take it all."

you slowly paused, as his cock slipped out. you held it and put it back in you and this time, sank down completely, taking literally all of his six and half inches, your pussy stretching around his girth.

the sensation of being fully immersed in your warmth, feeling your stretch to accommodate his size, was almost unbearable. a low, animalistic grunt escaped him, his grip on your hips bordering on painful as he fought the urge to thrust wildly. "fuck," he breathed, his forehead pressed against yours as he struggled to maintain some semblance of control. "so tight... you were made for me."

his thick and long dick fit so well in you. and your lewd moans were just downright pornographic.

"such a filthy little slut," he purred, his voice low and menacing. "love how loud you make yourself for me."

sasuke loved the scene. your mouth agape, eyes closed in ecstasy, breasts jiggling as you bounced on his cock, soft, sensual moans spilling out of you.

the sight of you, so thoroughly debauched and devoted to his pleasure, sent a surge of dark satisfaction coursing through him.

"look at me," he commanded, his voice rough with desire. "wanna see those pretty eyes while i fuck you senseless."

as if mesmerised, you opened her eyes, locking gazes with sasuke as he pistonned into you with ruthless intensity. your expression was one of pure, unadulterated ecstasy, and the knowledge that he'd reduced you to such a state only fuelled his own escalating passion.

he drank in the sight of your flushed cheeks and glassy eyes, the telltale signs of impending orgasm. he could feel your inner walls starting to flutter around his cock, signalling your impending climax. with a possessive snarl, he gripped your hips harder, angling you to hit that sweet spot inside with each savage thrust.

"come for me," he demanded, his voice a low, urgent growl. "now. milk my cock with that greedy cunt. fuck..."

and come you did, so... fucking... well.

with a hoarse cry, he surged upwards one final time, burying himself to the hilt as his cock erupted in the condom.

"fuuuck!" he roared, his vision blurring at the edges as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed over him. he held you in place, refusing to relinquish you as he emptied himself deep within your spasming channel. finally spent, sasuke collapsed back against the chair, pulling you down to straddle him as you both caught your breath. he stroked your sweat-dampened hair, a rare hint of tenderness in his touch.

"don't move yet." his hands roamed lazily over your back, tracing the dip of your waist and the flare of your hips. he kept his half-hard dick lodged in, wanting to savour that feeling.

high on the weed, on the vodka, and on his orgasm, he blurted out, "come with me... to the estate"

"huh?"

"uchiha manor."

you blinked. what?

fuck, sasuke knew that inviting you to his estate for christmas with him blurred the lines of the illicit, emotionless arrangement he wanted, but god knows he wanted you, your body near him.

"are you asking because you want a convenient sex toy with you? or... you really want me there?"

a part of him did want you there for the sex, the making out, the physical pleasure. but more so, he wanted you there because he knew you'd be alone on campus, with no family, and sasuke's family was intense. too intense. so having someone else might make them behave better.

"it's not just about the sex," he admitted gruffly, though the words felt inadequate.

"i know what it's like to be alone during holidays, but also..." he trailed off. what the fuck am i saying? "just come"

"you sure your family won't... eviscerate me for being there?"

sasuke pulled out of you, discarding the condom on the balcony floor. he scoffed. "who do you think we are?"

"literal royalty?"

he rolled his eyes. "still people, y/n."

"there's still time till christmas break."

he sighed, looking up at the night sky. "i did enough inviting you. your choice if you want to come or not."

for a moment, you thought of refusing, not wanting to impose and even more to not make things awkward. you weren't that close to him.

but another part of you hated the thought of being alone all christmas.

"fine. i'll come."

sasuke texted you the details, but avoided talking to you about it face to face. you expected him to rescind the invitation, but as the days went by, he didn't.

the day prior to that trip, everyone gathered to share the secret santa gifts at naruto's house.

his house... had a personality.

his parents welcomed everyone, his father already ahead of the booze provision, his mother excitedly wishing everyone, remembering little details, making them feel loved.

"ahhh, sakura-chan! you cut your hair short again!" said kushina, gently holding the tips of sakura's soft pink hair.

"sorry, y/n-san, i didn't get to know you well, but please keep visiting! i heard from minato that your debate went well" she chirped, eagerly holding your hands.

and who were you to pull away. you responded with equal warmth.

kushina stopped before sasuke, looking up at the stoic boy (who blushed a little anyway), and smirked. "merry christmas, dear."

she knew about naruto and sasuke's "rivalry" all too well. but she also knew that her son would never have a better friend than the quiet, brooding boy she'd met when they were kids.

in his lavish salon, everyone sat on different couches, wine in hand, christmas cookies on the table, ready to exchange gifts.

naruto, being the host, went first.

"alright!!" he eagerly handed tenten a gift bag covered in bright orange wrapping paper and what appeared to be way too much tape.

she pulled out what looked like a weapon registered as evidence for a gruesome murder. but...

"oh OH OH OH MY GOD IS THAT WHAT I THINK IT IS?" she chirped.

naruto beamed. "hehe. they had a michael myers knife replica at comic con this year. didn't know what to do with it, but you're the better person to use it."

everyone had to share an eye contact to learn that tenten actually preferred the prop.

next up, it was naruto's turn since he was the first giver. you stood up and handed him a nearly gift-wrapped box.

sasuke's eye twitched. so that's who you got.

naruto tore it open and looked inside. "ayo, that's a lot of..."

"maggi masala noodles. it's only fair you give non-japanese ramen a try."

he chuckled and nodded "aight aight, fair enough." he gave you a quick hug, looking down at you, "you'll cook it for me, right?"

you rolled your eyes. "sure"

ino got up, and grinned slyly, holding a neatly wrapped box in her perfectly manicured hands.

“for you, babe,” she said, handing you the gift.

you tore the wrapping neatly to reveal a dazzling tennis bracelet, the delicate diamonds catching the light in a way that made everyone’s eyes widen.

“what the fuck, ino...” you whispered, sliding it onto your wrist as everyone murmured compliments.

"it's from our new flower arrangement. we're pairing it with minimal jewellery this season."

just as she said, inside was also a beautiful flower corsage, encased in glass, the colours and choice of flowers matching the bracelet she gifted you.

sasuke’s eyes flicked to the bracelet for a moment too long, his expression unreadable. his jaw clenched, though, as he took a sip of his drink, silently grappling with the thought that he could’ve gotten you something ten times as extravagant—but didn’t.

“i thought you deserved something timeless,” ino said, winking.

“guess the rest of us are going to look cheap now,” kiba muttered, eliciting a round of laughter.

kiba handed ino a gift that was suspiciously lumpy and poorly wrapped. she opened it to reveal... a giant jar of protein powder labeled “bulking season: vanilla cream.”

“seriously, kiba?” ino deadpanned, holding the jar at arm’s length like it might explode.

“hey, don’t knock it till you try it,” kiba said, grinning. “plus, it’s good for your skin or whatever.”

“i don’t even—never mind,” ino said, setting it aside. “i’m pretending this didn’t happen.”

now that it was kiba's turn, sakura got up. an excited kiba woofed at the sight.

"watchya got for me, baby?"

sakura smiled, "a knuckle sandwich if you don't shut the fuck up."

she handed him a packet of... dog biscuits.

tenten and temari toppled over the couch, laughing their ass off.

kiba snorted a laugh, "well, akamaru would love you for that."

with a mischievous grin, tenten handed sakura a box wrapped in paper covered with cartoon syringes and band-aids.

“i know you'd love this,” tenten said, barely holding back her laughter.

sakura opened the box cautiously, her eyebrows furrowing as she peeled back the layers of tissue paper. her hands froze mid-air when she uncovered the contents: an anatomical model of a male pelvis, with balls and a penis, complete with labeled parts and a detachable bladder.

the room erupted in laughter, with naruto practically falling off his chair. "tenten, what the fuck?! where do you even find something like that?"

tenten leaned back in her chair, smirking. “sakura's always saying she wants to know everything about the human body. thought i’d help her out. consider it... a learning tool.”

sakura turned bright red, clutching the penis model like she was about to throw it at tenten. "this is a joke, right?"

"hey, don't be mad. it's educational! you’re a medic. i’m just investing in your future,” tenten teased, barely able to keep a straight face.

shikamaru mumbled lazily, "maybe it's time to settle down, sakura. your sex life is sorted now." (that earned him a whack to the head dw)

since tenten had already received hers, hinata hesitantly stood and handed temari her gift. the wrapping was impeccable—neat creases, a gold bow, and a sprig of holly attached for flair.

temari raised an eyebrow but smiled as she tore into it, revealing... a cactus succulent.

“a cactus?” temari asked, her tone caught between amusement and confusion.

hinata blushed furiously. “w-well, i thought... since you’re from the sand village... and it’s durable... like you...”

temari sighed and smiled, pulling the blushing mess of a girl into a hug, "thank you sweetie."

she then handed her the gift she'd got for her. fitting as it was to temari's origins, hinata unwrapped to find a beautiful sand globe, with sparkling sand glass, and gemstones.

kiba gawked, "why are you ladies so... thoughtful. why couldn't you gift me something nice sakura?"

"the knuckle sandwich is still on the table."

the last pair to exchange gifts were the stoic men of the group.

shikamaru unwrapped the sleek, black box that sasuke handed him, his expression as bored as ever. when he popped the lid open, his eyebrows rose ever so slightly. inside was an absurdly luxurious uchiha-branded cigar, cradled in velvet like it was the crown jewel of the fire nation.

"fuck damn." shikamaru whistled.

“keep looking,” sasuke said, his face blank, but his tone suggested danger.

underneath the cigar was a folded piece of paper. shikamaru unfolded it, squinting at what turned out to be a brochure for none other than smokers anonymous. the tagline at the top read: 'it’s never too late to quit.'

naruto burst into a fit of cackles, like a goose honking.

ino was doubled over with laughter. “sasuke, you passive-aggressive genius. i’m taking notes!”

even shikamaru couldn’t suppress a tiny smirk. “troublesome... but fine. thanks for the guilt trip, uchiha. and the stupidly expensive cigar, i guess.”

sasuke just leaned back in his chair, looking maddeningly smug.

finally, it was shikamaru’s turn. he handed sasuke a small, flat envelope. sasuke opened it to find… a $10 gift card to the nearest coffee shop.

sasuke raised an eyebrow. “you didn’t even try, did you?”

“nope. merry christmas,” shikamaru replied, unapologetic.

the night ended with everyone laughing over the absurdity of some of the gifts, though you kept glancing at the tennis bracelet on your wrist, running your fingers over it absentmindedly. sasuke noticed but said nothing. but the faintest smile ghosted his lips as he basked in the seasonal joy his friends had brought into his life, no matter how hard he thought he was to befriend.

#uchiha sasuke #sasuke x reader #sasuke x y/n #naruto #tenten #sakura #temari #hinata #shikamaru #kiba #ino #college au #christmas

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yellowkitkieran · 10 months ago

Text

Home (Kieran Tierney)

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: Kieran surprises you by coming home early from his loan spell in Spain.

“When do you come home?”

Kieran smiles because you're both aware you've had the answer to that question memorized for months. But he indulges you anyway, “Friday. So only a few more days my love, and then I'll be home with you again.”

You sigh and begin typing your next email. You've become adept at multitasking while on the phone with Kieran; he'd be in the gym, airpods in while you chatted, and you would be settled in at the desk in Kieran's guest room working away on your laptop. Stolen moments like these have become the norm since Kieran went on loan in Spain. To make the most of a bad situation, you both came to the silent agreement that you would spend as much time on the phone together as possible. As a result, you now often find it hard to concentrate without Kieran on the other line.

“Right, Friday. In the afternoon right? I'm gonna try and get the house cleaned up before then, I don't need you seeing how messy I keep it when you're away!”

Kieran’s quiet laugh sends a slight shiver down your spine. “We both know it's not that bad. I'm sure you keep it plenty tidy. Don't worry about keeping it spotless, cause I'm just gonna mess it up as soon as I'm home.”

“Still. When you get here, I just want to focus on you. You kept Saturday open for sure yeah?”

“Mmhhm. Everyone else thinks I'm coming home on Sunday, so I'm all yours.”

You smile to yourself, sitting back in your chair. You have a full day planned for the two of you that mostly involves making up for lost time. Assuming your Friday night will be spent wrapped up in each other completely, you've mentally blocked off a few hours on Saturday morning to recover and wind down. After that, you'll help Kieran unpack his suitcases, do whatever washing needs done, and finally end off the day with dinner at his favorite place in Central London.

“Good! It'll be… fun… oh fucks sake…” you trail off as you read the email that's just arrived in your inbox. “Seriously- why! Can people not read?!”

“What's wrong babe? Someone mess up the catering order again?” You can almost hear Kieran's smile through the phone. “You'll fix it in time, you always do.”

“Yeah of course I will,” you grumble, now zeroed in on pulling up receipts and time stamps to triple check the order you placed versus the order that you were quoted for. “Just means more work for me is all. And just when I thought I was done for the day!”

“Shame that, I was hoping to get some time with you today.” You swear Kieran's voice is echoing. “You sure you can't put that off until the morning?”

“No, I can't, I have to do it now. Ugh, this wouldn't happen if people paid more attention!”

“I think you should close your laptop.”

Frustrated, you rub your temples and close your eyes. “Babe I can't. This is for tomorrow's lunch so-”

“So that means that you'll have time if you wake up early to get it fixed up. I think you should come downstairs.”

Okay, either you're hearing things or there really is an echo. You frown, setting your phone aside and listening closely for any sounds in the house, but you only hear Shadow, Kieran's dog, pacing downstairs on the wood floors.

“Did you send another delivery or something babe? Because Shadow always gets anxious when people come up to the door, I wish you'd give me a heads up.” Unfurling to your feet with a heavy sigh, you pad downstairs with your phone tucked between your ear and your shoulder. “One of these days you're gonna give that poor dog a heart attack-”

“Hi baby,” Kieran says, tucking his phone in his pocket. Shadow sits at your boyfriend's side, his tail thumping merrily whilst you stand perfectly still. Your brain goes into overdrive, mentally counting days and confirming that today was not Friday, and therefore Kieran should not be home yet… but here he stands before you, flesh and blood and just as handsome as the last time you saw him.

A delighted, high pitch squeal bubbles out of your chest. Kieran laughs and opens his arms, which you promptly take as an invitation to leap into them and latch onto him like a koala. “Oh my god, oh my god! You're home already?!”

“I am,” Kieran murmurs into your hair after kissing the top of your head. “I packed up early and decided I couldn't wait another second before I saw you.” The urge to squeeze Kieran until he wheezes is nearly overwhelming. Instead of acting on impulse and earning yourself a lecture, you pry your face out of Kieran's neck- his aftershave tickles your nose- and pepper kisses across his face.

“I- missed- you- so- much- you- pretty- boy-” Kieran's cheeks become hotter with each peck you press to his skin. Shadow barks to indicate he's keen to join in on the action. Soon Kieran is supporting your weight with a hand under your bum and scratching behind Shadow's ears when the big pup jumps on his hip to demand his attention, too. Kieran is happy to balance you both, eventually crouching down to sit on the floor with you still wrapped around him.

Once Shadow calms down and rests his big head on Kieran’s knee, the room quiets. Kieran draws shapes on the small of your back, letting you gaze upon him for as long as you desire. He is content with your fingertips brushing over his cheekbones, along his stubbled jaw and down the side of his neck. You smile at his contented sigh, the breathy sound distracting you from your reverence.

“You're actually tan. Took you long enough to stop burning like a tomato.” Your eyes flick to Kieran's smile and you do not stop yourself from stealing a kiss. You'll never take those lips for granted, not after being forced to cope without them for so long.

Kieran rolls up the sleeve of his white tshirt to show you his tan line. Halfway up his bicep, his golden, tanned skin gives way to his natural pale shade. You trace the line with a finger as Kieran defends himself, “Spanish sun cannae fully fix Scottish skin, my love. But I know you like when I'm not so pale, so I figured I'd soak up as much as I could before I came home.”

Muscles flex under your finger when Kieran wraps his arms around your middle once more. You lay your palm flat to soak up his warmth and smile to yourself.

“I love you just as much when you're ghostly white. Doesn't matter to me. But the sun makes your little bitty freckles come out, so I do enjoy those.”

Kieran's nose scrunches up when you lean forward to kiss it. You could sit like this until the end of days and be perfectly happy. With Kieran sat beneath you, soft, idle touches and whispered words would be more than enough to pass the time.

At some point Kieran coaxes both you and Shadow to your feet and leads you to the sofa. A happy sigh falls from his lips when you tumble into him and hook one leg over his hips. Shadow curls up in his normal spot at Kieran's feet like not a day has passed without his dad there.

“What should we do tonight?” Kieran's words are a rumble beneath the hand you have laid on his chest. When you don't immediately answer, Kieran’s hand lands on the back of your thigh and coaxes you to find your words with a soft squeeze.

“Dunno. Nothing? I don't plan on moving.” You assume Shadow's moody huff is a sound of agreement and grin. “See? Even the dog doesn't want to move. We want to stay right here and spend some quality time with you.”

The hand that drifts to the hem of your shorts is at odds with Kieran's words. “I guess I can't object to that. Just cuddle? I can at least have a couple kisses, right?”

Lifting your head just enough to meet his tawny brown eyes, you ponder his request. You drag out the suspense and drum your fingers on his chest despite both of you knowing you would never refuse a kiss. “I'm sure something can be arranged. Put something on the telly to entertain Shadow then, he doesn't need to be scarred for life, mister ‘I can't keep my hands to myself’.”

Kieran lifts a shoulder in a what are ya gonna do kind of gesture before putting on a random nature show that immediately captures Shadow's attention. One of Kieran's hands remains on your thigh whilst the other comes up to cup your cheek and pull your lips to his.

Stubble scratches your chin, but you don't mind. Right then, all that matters is giving Kieran the kiss he deserves. He expertly pulls soft, breathless sounds from you as his tongue glides against yours. The kiss feels familiar and brand new at the same time, like dejavu in the best possible way.

Breaking away for a chance to breathe allows Kieran to drop kisses like dewdrops across your jaw. You smile when he nibbles softly at the skin of your neck, already unable to contain himself.

“I said cuddles only tonight my darling,” you remind him. “You're pushing your luck. Behave or I'll make you stay in the spare room tonight.”

Kieran's laugh is full and throaty. You've missed the true sound of his laughter, without it being distorted by a speaker. “That's an empty threat if I ever heard one. If I was a betting man, my money would be on us falling asleep right here on this sofa.”

In the end, Kieran turns out to be correct. Neither of you moves an inch as the sun sets, your urgent emails suspended in time while you're safely wrapped up in your boyfriend's loving, tanned arms.

#kieran tierney #kieran tierney fantasy #kieran tierney fanfic #kieran tierney imagine #kieran tierney x reader #kieran tierney fanfiction #kieran tierney oneshot #arsenal fc #jac writes #forbidden fruit

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natty-light-of-my-life · 1 year ago

Text

chuck versus the broken phone

Summary:

Your stagnating life as a college dropout turned retail associate is turned upside down when an international superspy turned fro-yo vendor asks you to fix her broken phone.

Notes:

Loosely based on the television series Chuck. By loosely, I mean I kept the general premise of the show but I don’t remember any details of the actual episodes. It’s more fun this way!

The Buy More. Located in sunny Burbank, California, the Buy More boasts a two-star review on Yelp and is a one-stop shop for all your electronic and everyday needs. This includes you, and your rag-tag band of Nerd Herders, who work the slightly less terrible two-and-a-half-star repair desk.

Today, after your heroics of helping an elderly man plug in his laptop charger, you stood at the help desk, bored and counting down the minutes to your federally mandated lunch break. In comparison to your slouched posture and resting bored face, the teenager next to you was nearly buzzing in the air. Peter Parker was a recent hire, and his unfounded enthusiasm would be cute if it weren’t so terribly sad that he would soon find out how utterly ridiculous the job actually was.

Unwilling to crush his optimism quite yet, you handed him the next device in the queue. It was an iPad that the owner claimed needed a battery replacement. You had noted the dust ball in the charging port and nodded dutifully.

“Here, Peter,” you said, nodding towards the back room, “take this into the shop and clean out the port. Then run the battery test on it.” The “shop” was actually just a dusty storage closet that your manager, Tony, fitted with an overhead light and an extension cord. Yet, the man insisted that it be called the “shop” for all on-duty Nerd Herders. Your new boss was a bit of a pretentious asshole, but he signed your paychecks and gave you overtime when you asked. What more could a girl ask for?

Peter grinned and nodded happily. The boy was practically glowing. A bit of an overreaction to the task, in your opinion, but you smiled at him anyway. As he happily ran off to clean cat hair out of the iPad, you sighed and rested your cheek in your hand. Twenty-six minutes until lunch.

A new fro-yo shop popped up on the other side of the shopping center a few weeks ago, and you realized that you could go for a scoop of sherbert. Peter was hired around the same time, and you didn’t think he’d left the Buy More for lunch since then. You’d take the kid out, you decided. It was bad enough that he lost his internship with Stark Industries over a funding technicality. As a fellow, former wiz-kid turned Nerd Herder, you could relate to the sting of disappointment.

“Excuse me, can you fix my phone?”

You felt the individual vertebrae in your spine snap to attention at the stranger’s voice. The texture in her voice was smoky, contrasting with her bright red hair and startling green eyes. Eyes that were looking directly at you. She was wearing a simple black T-shirt and dark-wash jeans with a soft, grey flannel tied around her waist. A pair of modest black chucks completed the look.

You’d never seen anyone more striking.

“Chuck?” Was she looking at your chest? Oh god, was there a stain on your shirt?

And the ethereal being in front of you said something that sounded suspiciously like your nickname.

“...Can you help fix my phone? Chuck?”

Oh. Oh! She was talking to you! You brushed your palms nervously on the side of your worn chinos. The cheap, slick fabric not doing much to dry your clammy hands.

“Yes. Yes! We can fix phones. We can fix all sorts of things. But I suppose you don’t really care about what we can or cannot fix other than your phone. I mean. Yes, of course, we can take a look. And probably fix it. That is.” You squeezed your eyes closed and willed the warmth in your cheeks to dissipate.

“What appears to be the problem with your phone?” you tried again.

The goddess in front of you smiled and slid it over the counter. “The screen won’t turn on.”

You frowned at the offending device. How dare it not turn on for her. You were very-

Blinking twice, you mentally shook the wayward thought out of your head and went to grab your electronics toolkit. Your hand paused briefly. Nerd Herders were supposed to fill out an intake form on every repair and send it to the back of the queue. But there were at least three more furball-stricken iPads already in the queue, and Peter still wasn’t back with the first repair. It wouldn’t hurt to take a quick look at her phone. To diagnose the issue. For the intake form.

Pleased with your rule-bending justification, you picked out one of your tiny screwdrivers and plopped down at the counter.

“When did you notice that the phone screen stopped turning on?” you asked the woman in front of you. You felt her amused gaze on the top of your head but you kept your focus on the work in front of you. The screwdriver made quick and efficient work of the phone chassis. The back cover clicked open easily under your fingers.

“This morning,” she replied. “I was late to work because I took a few wrong turns without having access to Google Maps.”

“Oh bummer,” you hummed, tracing the circuitry on the board with your eyes. Everything looked intact and in great shape. You’re surprised the phone seemed to be failing already. “Did you get here okay, then?”

“Yeah. I actually work here in the shopping center.”

Maybe there was a god. “Oh for real?” you looked up to her, making eye contact with a spectacular forehead, “I haven’t seen you around before.”

That was lame, you thought. “I mean, I’ve worked here for a really long time and-”

Nope, that wasn’t it, either. “So which shop do you work in?”

Better. Not insane.

“Fro-yo Mama.”

“Excuse me?”

She laughed and brushed a beautiful strand of scarlet out of her eye, “The frozen yogurt shop. Fro-yo Mama.”

You must have made an unpleasant face because she nodded in agreement. You recovered quickly though, “I was actually meaning to go there for lunch! I love frozen yogurt!”

“Please don’t” she waved off.

You slumped, “Oh. Okay…”

Realizing how that must have sounded, she quickly shook her head and put a hand - a beautiful hand - on your shoulder. “No not like that! The fro-yo tastes terrible. I wouldn’t recommend it.”

You were glitching to a different plane of existence. Tied only to the mortal realm by her warm hand on your shoulder. The inner workings of her cell phone were forgotten.

“You should take lunch at the hot dog place next door. The best option by far.”

“Yeah?” you croaked, “How so?”

She leaned down and whispered conspiratorily in your ear. Her minty breath left goosebumps in their wake.

“Actually yeah, a hot dog sounds great. I love hot dogs. Hot for hot dogs haha haa…”

Your head flopped down in shame. Studying the cell phone screen intently, you then tried to hide your flushed cheeks under the guise of digging around in the drawer. You weren’t actually looking for anything. You didn’t know what was wrong. Her phone looked fine. No cracks. No dirt. No burnt display chips. You really were going to have to fill out that intake form. The teenager in the back would probably figure it out before you did.

Your hand knocked into a bundle of wire. Ribbon wire.

Wait.

You carefully plucked the phone to eye level and squinted.

Chuck, you thought to yourself, you are a certified dumbass.

You pulled slightly at the phone screen. It was loose. Too loose. You pinched the screen with two fingers and pushed the ribbon wire harder into the LCD display. The pins clicked into place.

This is why the cashiers get paid more than you, Chuck. You sighed deeply.

Dutifully, you replaced the small screws and re-assembled the phone. You felt the warmth of the woman in front of you as she slid closer to see what you were doing. As you powered up the device, you held your breath.

The screen lit up.

🌭🌭🌭🌭🌭🌭🌭🌭🌭🌭

The beautiful woman - Natasha - invited you out for shopping center hot dogs.

“Least I could do,” she insisted, tapping her credit card at the kiosk, “since you fixed my phone for free.”

“Don’t mention it,” you replied, “Literally. In fact, if you ever see a dishevelled forty-year-old man with a goatee walking around, please refrain from mentioning it.”

She smirked, “What should be my cover story for taking you out to lunch then?”

“Uhh,” you buffered.

“No really,” she said, pointing over your shoulder, “because here comes a dishevelled forty-year-old man with a goatee.”

You almost gave yourself whiplash with how quickly you turned to look. Unfortunately, the man had spotted you and started making his way over.

“Chuckles, what are you doing not at work?”

“It’s my lunch break, Tony.”

“Then who is working the Nerd Herd desk? I only scheduled you and Parker today.”

“Peter is.”

“He doesn’t know how to work the desk.”

You nearly rolled your eyes, “I trained him last week.”

“Ah, okay,” he rubbed his goatee’d chin, “Well. Get back to work soon, Chuckles. The kid is probably swimming in anxiety without a supervisor nearby.”

You bit back a remark about Tony technically being the only supervisor on staff today since you haven’t gotten promoted since you started at the Buy More. They even had you stacking CD’s the other day. Supervisors definitely don’t stack Charlie Puth albums.

“Don’t worry, Tony,” interrupted Natasha, placing an arm around your shoulders, “I’ll get Chuck back before her lunch ends.”

You swooned.

“Who are you? I didn’t hire you.”

Natasha had no qualms about eye-rolling. “A friend of Chuck’s,” she replied simply. She turned to the freckled teen assembling your hot dogs, “Adam, we’ll actually take that to-go.”

Adam nodded as he wrapped up the hot dogs in foil and handed them over the counter to you. You barely had time to give him a grateful smile before Natasha laced her hand with yours and started walking. You nearly tripped over your feet as they blindly followed her.

“You have thirty-seven minutes, Chuckles!” came the grating voice of your manager before the glass door slammed behind the two of you, courtesy of your new friend.

“God,” complained Natasha as she shook her head, “what an idiot.”

“He is an idiot,” you agreed, “but he’s an overqualified idiot. I looked him up on LinkedIn when he was hired, and he has two masters in Engineering and half a dozen active patents on the market. I think he may be in a midlife crisis or something, so I cut him some slack.”

Natasha hummed, “Or something. It’s not that bad working at the Buy More though, right? I considered applying for the employee discount but the fro-yo position has a better dental plan.”

You glanced up from the half-eaten hot dog in your hands. The two of you had sat down at a bench tucked between a T-Mobile and a pawn shop. “Fro-yo Mama provides dental insurance?”

Natasha grinned at you with perfect, pearly teeth. “Ironic, right?”

Mirroring her smile, you laughed, “We should get the Buy More to start stocking anti-capitalism literature next to the People magazines. Really play into the shopping center irony angle.”

“So?” She asked again, finally unwrapping her hot dog. You noticed that hers didn’t have any condiments.

“So?” you repeated, confused. Natasha dug into her pocket and retrieved a small packet of… hot sauce?

“So,” she asked again, biting into her hot sauced hot dog, “do you like the Buy More?”

“Oh, sure. We get a five percent store-wide employee discount. No dental, but Kenny in the warehouse has a guy that can extract a wisdom tooth on the down low. Peter is really sweet. Love working with the kid.”

“Probably shouldn’t mention the black market orthodontia to a stranger,” she laughed, wiping her fingers on a napkin that appeared out of nowhere.

You pouted, “I thought that we’re friends now.”

“I could be a fed.”

Natasha’s eyes glittered in the afternoon sun. Her red hair, cut to a bob just above her chin, swayed in the breeze. A faint perfume of citrus and sandalwood tickled your nose.

“You?” you remarked, giving her an exaggerated once-over, “not a chance.”

She laughed, “I guess you don’t meet many federal agents that scoop dairy on the side.”

Your smile died a bit. There had only ever been one person that you knew of who grew up and went into law enforcement. You hadn’t talked to him in person since college. But the email he sent you a month ago sat heavy in your inbox. You gripped the bundle of tissue and aluminum foil in your hand harder.

Natasha noticed. “Chuck, are you alright?” She gently tugged the wad of trash out of your fist, brushing the pads of her fingers comfortingly against the back of your hand.

You managed to relax your palm and smile slightly, “No, yeah, I’m good.”

Natasha turned her body to face you, fully. “Yeah?”

Taking a deep breath, you nudged her shoulder. Best to forget about old friends and focus on making new ones.

“Yeah. I just hope our government pays its agents enough that they’re not scooping out orange creamsicle cups to make ends meet.”

Natasha just laughed, shooting you an amused grin before getting up to throw away the detritus from your lunch. Stranger things have happened.

#natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #fanfic

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eemamminy-art · 2 months ago

Note

ask thing 👀👀👀 how abouttttt 8, 14, 20?

8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Okay so this is something in my stardew longfic that won't show up for literally MONTHS lol like the chapter is slated to go up in June but I've already written most of it because I love to write out of order and had this scene really clear in my head. I'm proud of it because I think the dialog actually flows really nicely and shows the conflict between the characters in a nice bit of "friendly" competition! And yeah idk! It fucks severely if I'm being honest

“I’ve never seen you in here before,” Sebastian noted, grabbing the other cue and taking a few steps back as he stared intently at Alex. “So where did you learn to play?”

“My grandpa used to play when he was my age, before his accident,” Alex explained. “We always watch professional billiards on TV together since he still likes it.”

“Maybe we go two to two? Me and Alex versus Sam and Sebastian?” Mallory suggested, leaning against the pool table.

“Kind of unfair for me to get stuck with Sam, isn’t it?” Sebastian smirked, casting an apologetic look to Sam. “No offense.”

“We’ve never played before at all, so you’ve already got us beat there,” Mallory reminded.

“Oh, but isn’t Alex an expert player since he watches it on TV?” Sebastian asked sarcastically. “Just like with gridball?”

That struck a nerve, Alex audibly exhaling as he approached the table with determination.

“Are we going to keep talking or are we going to play?” Alex asked irritatedly, removing the rack and lining up his shot.

“Alex?” Mallory began softly, sliding closer to him. He could tell that the remark had gotten under his skin, wanting to subtly check if he was alright.

“Yeah?” His shoulders and expression relaxed instantly, flashing his gaze in Mallory’s direction.

Mallory let out a sigh of relief, smiling softly at him. “Could we be stripes?”

“That’s not how that works, you have to—” Sebastian began, interrupted by Alex making the break shot.

Sure enough, he managed to knock a striped ball into a pocket on the break. Then another, before his third shot failed to pocket any balls.

“Your turn,” Alex said confidently, biting back a smirk of his own. “Looks like you and Sam are solids.”

I have to imagine the vibe in the saloon afterward is like

14. What’s the worst writing advice you’ve ever come across?

I don't have any specific examples but I find that people who always speak with the most authority and confidence on the best way to write often have really awful writing styles when you actually look at their work. There's always people telling you how they've totally got it figured out but then their writing is just total cheese.

I feel like trusting in myself is better, just taking my time with whatever I write and making sure it feels natural both in text and aloud, and doing lots of research including reviewing the canon as much as I can. I don't think I could ever speak broadly about how to write but I want to be able to have confidence in what I make specifically. Idk, I don't like the notion that there's One True Way to do it like some people make it out to be.

20. Describe your perfect writing conditions.

Like what's comfiest for me when I write? I mostly just need to get my brain to behave, but having some nice white noise and fitting instrumental music goes a long way! I just write at my desk usually, though I also like to write in bed. I just wish I had a laptop so I could sit in bed and write without it being on my rinky dink little phone that lags out way bad. Maybe a laptop in bed with a thunderstorm outside would be the most optimal lol

Questions for fic writers

#ask meme answers #fic wip #writing tag #my writing #malex #animated gif

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k-evans-reads · 2 years ago

Text

In Living Color

Chapter 18

Summary: When Natalie Marton, lead character designer for Buzz Lightyear, meets the voice of Buzz, Chris Evans, the sparks are undeniable. But when their work pushes them away from each other, both physically and emotionally, will the sheer differences between their worlds be enough to force them apart?

Pairing: Chris Evans x Pixar Animator OFC Natalie Marton

Word Count: 2,618

By: @k-evans-writes and @ourfinest-hour

We do NOT give permission for our works to be reuploaded, translated, or reposted on any other site. Our work is our own.

Warnings: None.

Previous | Main Masterlist | In Living Color Masterlist

January 7th, 2022

‘Can you call me when you have time? I need to talk to you.’

Chris’ brows furrowed as he saw Nat’s notification pop up on his laptop, leaving him with little to go off of as the simple message disappeared just as quickly as it’d appeared. He frowned as he thought over the message, hands itching to at least text her back, but before he could, Mark joined the Zoom call, his smiling face doing little to distract Chris as they prepped for the quick call with the others involved with the project.

Nat’s text lingered in his mind throughout the whole call, never leaving the forefront of his focus even as they planned out the next several months’ worth of interviews for the website. He’d only been back in Boston for a few days, having gone back to Los Angeles for a few days with their whole group after skiing in Washington over the last chunk of the holiday. Chris had planned on staying in Los Angeles a bit longer, but he had quickly found out that Nat’s suggestion had proved to be a good one when he realized just how busy she was with two projects overlapping at once.

What had been a manageable schedule for her in the summer and fall, allowing them to spend nearly every evening and weekend together interruption-free, had been spun on its head. Nat was in her office from early in the morning to late at night, barely pulling her attention off of work long enough to text Chris that she was too swamped to come over for dinner or make game night, and what little time they got with each other during the week was then reduced to only a quick kiss before bed, if he was lucky. Her point was true, that him being there would only stress her out more and force her to sacrifice something to make his presence worthwhile, and so with that in mind, he packed himself and Dodger back up and took a flight home the previous day.

But now with that ominous text looming in his mind, he couldn’t help but let his anxiety spiral, wondering what it could possibly mean. He hoped that it was just Nat feeling stressed and needing to process it or her asking when he was coming back to Los Angeles, but he knew deep down that it was something else otherwise she wouldn’t have asked to have this conversation over the phone versus just texting him about it as it popped in her brain…. Especially in the middle of her hectic work day. The minute his meeting was over and his laptop closed, he sat there for a long moment, debating on whether it was better to put off whatever bad news this would be until later or if he should just get it over with.

After a nervous few minutes, he grabbed his phone and clicked on her name, his leg anxiously bouncing as he sat at the table waiting for her to pick up before he directly asked, “Hey, what’s up?”

“Is this a good time? Like do you have a few minutes?” She asked Chris, her voice a bit distracted as she moved around on the other end of the call.

“Yeah I just finished my meeting,” he assured her, his brows furrowed as he listened and heard a door shut on her end. “What’s going on, Nat?”

She hesitated, quiet for a moment before she began, “I just um, I wanted to talk about Palm Springs…”

Chris stared up at the ceiling above him, eyes moving over the smooth white paint on it. He had a sinking feeling inside of him, one that had settled in his stomach nearly an hour and a half ago when she’d texted him. “...You can’t go, can you?” He asked her, voice low and soft.

“I technically can but I just don’t see how I’m going to be able to,” Nat confessed, apologetic as Chris’ lips downturned and he listened to her explanation. “That week is the official last week of Lightyear and then I also have meetings with the higher ups for Inside Out so it’s going to be really busy already let alone with me taking off on Wednesday afternoon to go to Palm Springs.”

Although Chris knew where this was headed from the first moment she mentioned Palm Springs, it didn’t take away the sting of disappointment. He had been looking forward to the little getaway with Nat, just the two of them, before he was launched into thousands of miles separating them as he went from filming to press and then more filming for the rest of the year. It'd been planned from the moment he'd gotten his filming schedule for the early part of the year and had seen that the first week started on Valentine's Day. He and Nat were looking forward to hiding away from the world to celebrate the holiday early together, just before work pulled them apart. That was going to be their last bit of quality time together, not a thing in the world distracting them before he had to leave and now it was taken away.

The line was quiet for a moment before Nat’s tentative voice asked, “Chris? Are you upset?”

“No, of course not,” he rushed to reassure her. He was dismayed of course by the change in plans, and upset that they wouldn’t get that time just to themselves, but he knew Nat was needed in Los Angeles… maybe a little too much. “I mean, sure I’m disappointed but I understand.”

“This is just crazy right now with both projects overlapping,” she admitted to him, and he could hear her on the other end of the line as she began typing at her computer, a chiming notification sounding to alert her to a new email.

“Nat, if I’m bein’ honest, I’m a little worried about you,” Chris began delicately. He knew she’d been working almost non-stop since Monday, only leaving to eat whatever cold leftovers Chris had packaged away for her from what was supposed to be a shared dinner, then to fall into bed and repeat the cycle the following day. And if he was being honest, he wasn’t even sure she’d done any of that the previous night while he and Dodger flew home. He had no way to know if she’d eaten, or gotten a solid night’s sleep, or if she’d drank enough water and wasn’t surviving off of over-caffeinated cups of cold brew. It wasn’t sustainable, and his concern was evident as he asked, “Are you doing alright with all of this?”

“I’m fine,” she brushed off the concern, her voice sounding distant as she continued typing. Chris pushed Dodger’s wet nose off of his lap as he listened to Nat dismissively explain, “It’s just until mid February, and then things will be better.”

But his frown grew deeper as he listened to her, not seeing an end to this workload. She was moving from one project to the next, one with a lot more moving parts than this, including the initial stages. “Are you going to be able to make it until then, though? That’s a long time,” he tried to tell her.

“I can handle it, I know how to do my job,” she defensively shut him down, her words sending alarm signals to Chris’ brain. He knew that. He knew she was amazing at what she did, but she was to a fault. And all of this career-driven stress and running on empty was the exact opposite of what she’d shared as her goal the previous month, wanting to give herself more time outside of the Disney Campus to dedicate to self-care, to fill her bucket by creating more outside of work. But now she was barely even stepping foot outside of her own office, let alone having time to develop her own creative passions and delve more into her own personal wants.

“I know you do… that didn’t come out the way I wanted it to,” Chris sighed, running a hand through his hair. His eyes watched Dodger as the dog looked out the window at the large yard and the sunset before he made his way over to his bed and laid down. Chris’ voice was quiet as he admitted to her, “I’m just concerned about these long hours.”

“It sucks, but it’s temporary so I can do it,” Nat stubbornly insisted. She sighed deeply before he heard her computer chime with another email’s arrival. “It’s been a big deal for me to be the lead character designer for Buzz and now for Inside Out so I don’t want to throw that away in this final stretch.”

“I get that, I just love you and I get worried about you, ya know,” Chris shrugged, feeling helpless all the way out in Massachusetts as she ran herself ragged back in California.

“I know you do and it means a lot to me,” she assured him, her voice sounding much more honest than it had only moments ago. She sighed, hesitating before she murmured, “I’m just sorry about Palm Springs.”

“It’s okay Nattie, don’t stress about it,” Chris reassured her. He knew she felt awful, canceling the trip that’d been her birthday present from him, but he knew she had to look out for herself. Having that pressure of the trip looming over her and not wanting to have anything to do for work that weekend likely would’ve hurt her more had she not canceled, and he had to be a little proud of her for recognizing that much. But he was disappointed, and he could admit that much. “Maybe we could do something, a little weekend trip or something like that one weekend coming up when you aren’t as busy.”

He could almost see the sad smile on her face as she quietly admitted, “I’d love to but I’m just not sure when that would be.”

“Okay… well just let me know,” he whispered, struggling to know just what to think at all of this. He missed her, he missed her more than anything each time they were separated, but right now… he was confused. He was worried. And he wasn’t sure how to help her, especially when she had all-but bitten his head off for a small sign of concern. “I really want to spend some time with you.”

“I know, I want to be with you too. Maybe you could come out in the middle of the month, I might not have to work as late in the evenings then,” she suggested, just as her typing resumed.

He nodded to himself, making a mental note to look at what he had scheduled then. “I’ll plan on that then,” he assured her.

“Okay, hey I’m sorry but I really need to go. I have so much work I need to get done,” she whispered, her voice back to sounding distant as she kept working.

“Alright,” he whispered, biting his lower lip as he listened to her.

“Chris?” She asked, almost at the very last moment. “...I really love you.”

He smiled at those words, feeling some confidence and hope again. “I love you too Nattie. So fuckin’ much,” he promised her.

And Chris knew how painfully true that was. He loved her more than anything which is why moments apart made this so much harder. His brain kept jumping back and forth between feeling the frustration at Nattie prioritizing her work over having time for their relationship and then feeling hypocritical with his own job taking him away for sometimes months on end. Chris really had been looking forward to that long weekend away and at first thought maybe his frustration was more at that than anything, but once he had gotten up move over to the couch where he could scratch Dodger more easily, he started sorting through his thoughts a bit more and realized that wasn’t it at all. At the heart of his frustration was concern for his Nattie.

All that was happening just felt… off.

After her art show she had talked about wanting to pursue more of her own creative passions, not having her whole creative career being created for Pixar. But now here she was nearly giving up her whole life for her job and although he knew that it was true what she said, that it was temporary, part of him wondered if it really was. He had come to see how conflicted Nat could feel when it came to her career. She was so different from her family, not being the cerebral career women her sisters were working in healthcare and tech. Nat was creative and sensitive, with so much passion and emotion in everything she did. He knew how much her single father had given up to send her to art school and how hard Nat had worked at Pixar to move her way up and when he even thought about it, he was so fucking proud of her. But there was something about this that just didn’t feel sustainable or even quite right for Nat.

He remembered being in those meetings last year and just falling in love with the way Nat spoke about things being visually communicated in Lightyear and how good she was at figuring out how to convey emotion and stories through art. She was practically gushing with passion every time she spoke about an aspect of her job and although he knew that she still loved it, most things recently had been more about what she felt she needed to do for her job or about the path she felt pressured for her career to go.

Chris felt like there was a piece of his exuberant and uninhibited artist that was falling into the corporate part of her job and although he knew from being in a creative industry himself that some of those things went hand in hand, he didn’t want to see her throw all of it away. She’d shared with him before how for so long she felt like there were so many things wrong with her personality from wearing every emotion on her sleeve to not wanting success in the normal sense that society viewed it, but here she was devoting herself completely to her job and taking on more than he thought any one person would be able to handle. He knew Nat felt like she had something to prove, in his observation more to herself than anyone, that she could make art a worthwhile endeavor and wanted to prove she could handle all of this, not realizing that it didn’t make a difference to anyone if she couldn’t.

He knew Nat was determined to a fault, that she’d never put anything before her commitments and promises to others, but he was hopeful he could open her eyes a bit more. She’d seemed to have a realization in December, and despite slipping back into the grind of her career, he knew that deep down, they’d get through this. He’d already been a bit worried about how much of a toll this year could take on them, between his schedules with three projects and two press tours and Nat’s busy calendar at Disney, and that this trip was supposed to give them both some time to connect and be together before that all started. But despite losing that weekend together, he himself was determined, not to solve all of Nat’s problems overnight, but to brainstorm on how to help her and most of all, support her through every step of the way.

A/N: We'll be back next week with a new chapter!

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