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roosterforme · 6 months ago

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Vintage | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You love teasing your husband about his deep and unwavering devotion to his Bronco, but he's insistent that it would come in second place to you every time, and he intends to prove it. While you're away on deployment, he concocts a plan to get you behind the wheel of your very own vintage beauty.

Warnings: Swears, fluff, mentions of smut

Length: 2700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

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"Sometimes I swear you love that thing more than you love me."

Your voice startled Bradley as he ran the wet, soapy sponge along the hood of his vintage Ford Bronco, pulling him from his thoughts. That was something you frequently said to him, jokingly claiming that you were the second love of his life. But you both knew it wasn't true. Especially not tonight.

"Hey, Baby," he whispered, coaxing you closer to him as he tossed the sponge back into the bucket. "Come here."

The setting sun painted your face with orange and gold, and he noticed the sadness in your eyes. He quickly wiped his hands on his jeans and then held them out to you, and you were in his arms in an instant. "Bradley," you mumbled against his chest as he squeezed you, getting your shirt a little damp in the process. But you didn't seem to mind. "I'm going to miss you."

Detailing and cleaning what used to be his dad's 1973 Bronco had become a way for him to relieve stress. He would get out the soap and turn on the hose when he needed a few minutes to himself. It was easier to be alone in his head, processing his thoughts and worries when he was washing the light blue masterpiece he'd spent so many years and a lot of money preserving. He always found himself in a better headspace to deal with whatever was troubling him when he spent some time with the Bronco. And today was no exception.

"I'm going to miss you, too."

Sometimes it felt like the nearly five years you and he had been married were just spent alternating deployments. First he would be gone on an aircraft carrier for months on end, and then it would be your turn. You'd be sent abroad with the Navy before returning to him, and then the cycle would begin anew. Everything felt harder when you weren't around, and maybe that's why Bradley was out on the driveway right now instead of helping you pack for your early call time tomorrow morning.

With your cheek pressed to his sternum, you cried softly. "It's only two months this time. And I'll have access to my phone. And I'll even be home in time for our anniversary. I don't know why I'm feeling so emotional about this."

He pressed his lips to your hair and whispered, "It's not like it gets any easier. You know that. I know that. It's going to feel like two months of hell on my end."

You sniffed hard then looked up at him with a little smirk. "At least you'll have the Bronco to keep you warm."

Bradley groaned and started to walk you backwards toward the house. "I mean, she's pretty and all, and I've definitely spent a night or two curled up around her gear shift, but I never gave her a diamond ring."

Your lips and your soft laughter against his neck sent a jolt of physical pleasure through his body, but he didn't want to rush this. He needed this to last, to hold him over for two months without your touch. Both of you tripped along to the bedroom where he smiled and whispered, "Let me show you that you're my number one girl. Let me prove you always will be."

Bradley was meticulous. He knew every inch of his Bronco, inside and out, but he knew you better. The sounds you made were prettier. The way you clung to him as he brought you pleasure was unparalleled. Your fingers laced with his as he connected his body with yours in the most intimate way, and it left him breathless.

"I love you."

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

Two days. He'd only been alone for two days, and he was already halfway through binge watching a season of a show that wasn't even that interesting. When he got home from work, he eyed up the couch and TV before ultimately changing into some sweats and heading back out to the driveway. He looked over the Bronco from hood to taillights, making a mental list of what she needed: new wiper blades, two new tires, and an oil change.

When he took his phone out to order the parts from his favorite website, he must have typed something wrong. It rerouted him to a vintage Ford resale page that left him staring at a sage green 1975 Bronco in rough condition. Man, she was still pretty though, with her original chrome and hubcaps. She was just an hour away, and the price wasn't too bad...

He glanced up at the blue gem in front of him. An idea started to take shape. He wondered how you would feel about it. With a smile, he ordered the wiper blades and oil filter that he needed and went inside to make dinner. But he couldn't stop picturing that chipped, green paint, and the vinyl that needed to be patched.

If he knew he could get you hooked on a Bronco of your very own, he'd make this purchase. Two months to go. Shit, he might have just enough time to pull this off. He could practically picture you cranking the engine to life and waving goodbye as you pulled out of the driveway and took your Bronco for a spin. He wouldn't be able to say it with a straight face, but he'd say it anyway. "You love that thing more than you love me, Baby."

When he was stretched out on your side of the bed later that night, enveloped in your sweet scent that clung to the pillows, he closed his eyes and thought long and hard about what he wanted to do. It would be fun to prove to you once and for all where his loyalties lie. Or maybe it could just be a project that would keep him busy, and if you didn't like the idea, he could resell it after you got home. Either way, he drifted to sleep as he thought about you behind the wheel, and he knew it was too perfect to pass up.

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

"Hey, Baby," Bradley said with a smirk as he answered his phone.

"Bradley! I miss you like crazy!"

"I miss you, too," he promised as he looked at the rather beat up, green Bronco before him. He got it for a great price when he offered to pay cash, and the tow truck just dropped it off a few days ago. Half of the engine was taken apart on a tarp at his feet, and it was currently jacked up so he could replace the oil pan. But he thought it was gorgeous. "I have a little surprise for you when you get home."

"A surprise?! Tell me. You know I can't wait that long."

"Nah," he said, kneeling down to check the wiring for the headlights. "I think I'll make you wait this one out."

"Rooster!"

"What?" he laughed, wedging the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he slipped his work gloves on and pulled at the loose wire. "You know, this is what you get for always giving me a hard time about my dad's Bronco. I love you so much, Baby, I'll make you wait for the surprise. It'll be sweeter that way."

"You're the worst," you groaned playfully. "Now I'll be thinking about what it could possibly be the whole time I'm gone. I'll be wondering what you have up your sleeve."

"As long as you're thinking about me, I'm happy," he rasped, and your pretty sigh in response left him a little breathless.

"I'm always thinking about you. Promise me as soon as I get back, we'll go for a long drive? Up along the coast? Late at night?"

He loved that idea. It would just look a little different than you were probably imagining if he could get this thing up and running again in time for your return. "We'll make a night of it," he promised. "I'll pack some blankets, and we can sit in the back and look out at the ocean. Can't guarantee I'll be able to keep my hands to myself though."

"Mmm. That's what I'm counting on."

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

After about two weeks of watching a lot of YouTube videos posted by professionals, Bradley finally had the engine rebuilt. He was just waiting for some parts to arrive before he could put it back in place. "You're a needy one, aren't you?" he asked the green Bronco. "Nothing like her. She's a saint." He nodded his head toward the blue one before kneeling to replace the taillights.

He was quickly realizing that the money he saved on the cost of the actual vehicle was being eaten up in the expensive, vintage parts. He was lucky he knew how to do most of this himself, even if it took twice as long. Today he was replacing the brakes and listening to a Motown playlist, and he fully realized that he felt calmest when he was with you or a Bronco. He snorted at how ridiculous that fact was as he scooted under the vehicle, but it was true. And having you tucked away in the back with the tailgate dropped, all wrapped up in a blanket while you turned him on just by existing.... well, that's when he would be happiest of all.

As the weeks wore on and the project progressed, the day finally arrived when it was time to try to start her up and take her for a little drive. Everything smelled like new rubber from the tires he'd just put on. The vinyl seats were still in bad shape, but when he slipped the key into the ignition and turned it, the engine purred to life.

Bradley's head tipped back as he groaned softly. "So fucking pretty. My god." He tapped the accelerator gently with his foot, enjoying the rev of the engine. He smoothed his hands along the steering wheel and the dashboard before he adjusted the rear view mirror to accommodate his height. Then he flicked the chrome switch and turned on the radio which he was surprised still worked.

My Girl by the Temptations poured from the speakers as the station crackled to life, and that felt like a very good sign. "Let's get out of here, Sweetheart," he whispered before shifting into reverse and leaving the driveway and his toolbox behind.

She was smooth and steady and everything he was hoping for. Would it ever fully compete with Goose's Bronco? Probably not. Was it worth the investment anyway? He'd find out next week when you got home. There were just a few things left to do before he dropped it off to be repainted and have the interior patched, and then she'd be good as new.

Bradley's phone rang in his pocket, and he smiled when he saw it was you. "Hey, Baby."

"Bradley! I miss you so much. I swear, if this thing was longer than two months, I wouldn't make it. What are you up to?"

"Oh, I'm just out for a little drive."

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After eight weeks of nothing more than a few scant phone calls, Bradley was more than ready to have you home again. Maybe you and he could take a few days off from work. He'd help you catch up on some sleep after initially keeping you up all night. He already had some blankets ready to go as soon as you said you wanted to drive up to Carlsbad and watch the surfers at sunset before making love in the back of your Bronco.

Your Bronco. His wife's Bronco. It would take some getting used to, but it already made him smile every time he thought about it. With his hands on that familiar steering wheel, he drove toward the Naval base where both of you spent so much of your time. He waited, leaning against the light blue hood until you came running toward him in your uniform with your bags.

"Bradley!" you shrieked as you landed in his arms where you belonged.

"I missed you," he promised, finally kissing your lips again after so many weeks. He felt your bag hit his foot, and he smiled as he tilted your face up for better access to your mouth.

"I missed you, too," you moaned softly, and he was already making the move to get you back home and remind you what you meant to him. But you dug your feet in outside the passenger door.

"Where's my surprise?" you asked as you tucked your fingers into the top of his jeans and grinned up at him. "I've been thinking about it nonstop. Is it you?"

"No," he replied with a chuckle as his gaze drifted toward the Bronco. "You'll see soon enough."

You glanced at where he was looking, and you rolled your eyes before kissing his chin. "Did she keep you company while I was gone? She looks pristine, like you spend some time working on her."

Bradley kissed your forehead. "Just get in, Baby," he rasped. "The sooner we get home, the sooner your little surprise will make sense."

He knew the routine by heart now. The short ride home would start out with you holding his right hand and playing with his fingers while he drove. Then your hand would migrate to his thigh when the Bronco was about five blocks away. Then as soon as the tires touched the driveway, you'd unbuckle your seatbelt and make your way over to his lap.

The routine was important to him. He loved it. He loved taking you inside and directly to bed before coming back out much later to get the bags. He thrived on the return to normal life that was triggered by the routine. But today, he knew you weren't going to end up on his lap, and that was more than okay.

When your hand settled on his thigh exactly five blocks away from home, Bradley smiled. Your fingers crept up inch by inch as you leaned closer and whispered in his ear that you had their fifth wedding anniversary all planned out for the following weekend. You were playing with the zipper of his jeans by the time he could see the house, and he just waited for it. He was not disappointed.

"What the fuck is that?" you gasped, both hands going to the dashboard in front of you as you leaned to check out the freshly painted green Bronco as he coasted into the driveway. "Bradley?" you asked, glancing at him with wide eyes as he shifted into park.

He smiled and leaned over to kiss your softly parted lips. "This is your surprise. You're always joking about how much I love my Bronco, but I'll never love anything more than I love you."

You pressed your lips to his once before pulling away, shaking your head slightly. "So you got me one of my own?" you asked, jerking your thumb toward the green one.

He nodded and pulled his key from the ignition before pressing it into your palm. "Yep. She's all yours."

"Wait," you whispered, your brow creasing in confusion as you looked down at your hand. "This is your key."

"No, it's your key. The key to the green one is in the house. That's my key."

You gaped at him as your eyebrows shot upwards. "You're giving me your Bronco?"

"Yep."

"But," you whispered, turning to look out the window, "I can drive the other one."

"No, I bought the green one with myself in mind," he replied, taking your chin gently in his hand so you were looking at him again. "This one's better. She's sweet. Like you. She's yours."

"Oh my god, Bradley."

He was wrong; you did end up in his lap. Right where you belonged. His hands settled at your hips as you kissed every inch of his face while he laughed.

"I want to take her for a spin," you whispered, nudging him out of the driver's seat with your knee. "Go."

He smiled as he walked around to the passenger side of the blue Bronco, and he barely had the door closed before you started the engine and shifted into gear. "Pretty soon you'll love this thing more than you love me, Baby."

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He gave you his Bronco. The green one was for him. That's how you know he loves you. I hope they do some nasty shit in the green one to break it in. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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clegfly · 5 months ago

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points at this SO HARD. THIS. THIS IS CANON

Eight hours of work over four days later!!! say hello to Marzenie

A cold, quiet wasteland of inescapable familiarity, not a place to hide, but a place that is actively hunting you

You are not safe here. It’s just as bad here as it is out there

[cough cough … so in case this is your first time seeing me posting about Marzenie, the general idea is that it’s an omori au that shows things from Basil’s perspective- giving him his own inner world and a deeper look into what he’s actually going through, given omori is from Sunny’s perspective we don’t really get the most in depth idea of how things are in Basils own mind other then the vague idea that it’s really bad— Marzenie is an AU that hopes to elaborate on Basils character and inner struggle in ways that Omori does not. And yes that means sending him on a fantasy adventure in his own mind but like- when I say fantasy I mean In the same way as a game like Fear and Hunger is “fantasy”]

#OH FUCK YEAH #i saw op’s initial concept for the map (the post with the side scroller church and the anatomical heart shaped headspace)#and actually could not stop thinking about it for days and was patiently waiting for more content because god #YOU GET IT. YOU GET BASIL’S MIND ENTIRELY.#AND GOD THIS IS SO GOOD #The whole artstyle for this reminded me vaguely of fran bow and little miss fortune so it’s cool to know some of the inspiration-#-came from there #Also the labyrinths from Madoka magica #The focusing on religious guilt and basil’s parents??? Dudeeeeee #I disagree with the prospect that any character in the cast can have a Sunny-like headapace #And I mean that in the most basic way #No one should have a headspace like SUNNY’s #no matter how much you tweak it not everyone in the universe ever is gonna have the same coping mechanisms as Sunny. The cast is diverse #HOWEVER #What you SHOULD do is this kinda cool awesome fucking amazing shit here #that actually focuses on the character’s interpretation of life and their own struggles #Rather than a whimsical fun happy time #because not everyone views life like that! Not everyone will be coping like Sunny! Not everyone is actively hiding from their trauma #im pretty sure it’s canon from an omo interview that basil does have a form of a space inside his head but that it’s just chock full of-#-disturbing imagery #and this is EXACTLY what I think basil’s space would be canonically #its just so goddamn horrifying and beautiful and canon I can’t get over it op pat yourself on the back this is phenomenal #I wanna go like full cleg analysis mode but I feel like I’m kinda yapping in this person’s tags- But yeah. Holy shit man. This is incredibl #only acceptable basil space I’ve seen so far I fucking love this so much I need to draw some of these landscapes #It’s so beautifully detailed… you can tell op really paid attention to how they made this #theres so many little things embedded in here that they even point out themselves and discuss that I didn’t notice at first! It’s just #its just so #like #omg. Please just look at this #omori

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tinylilacbun · 3 months ago

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hiii! idk if you’re requests are open but I was wondering if you could do a daddy wade x little girl reader (i can already hear him call her peanut!)where she skins her knee playing but tries to hide it from him and when he finds out she tells him she wanted to regenerate like her daddy🥹

Just like you

Pairing: daddy!wade x little!reader

Warnings: age regression, fluff, hurt knee, tiny mention of blood, comfort

As a little with a mercenary as a caregiver who's often gone during the day you know how to keep yourself entertained without getting bored, sometimes watching too much cartoons than you were allowed but other than that you were a good peanut.

Another day with Wade being gone and about to earn some money, with the promise to be there for movie night, you were busy playing to make the time go faster.

Looking through your toy chest you pull out a cape, giggling in delight you quickly fasten it around your neck. You also grab two stuffies to play with, rushing to the living room.

Wade was a hero in your eyes, obviously. He doesn't exactly tells you what happens exactly during his jobs, just snippets and not any gory details for obvious reasons, but nonetheless he's your hero. That's why you love to pretend you are a hero yourself.

As you keep playing that you're rescuing your hostage stuffed bunny from a cat you run around the living room, jumping up and down the couch you lose your balance and fall knees first onto the hardwood floor with a yelp.

You sit on the floor, pouting at your now bloody knees and hesitantly touch one and wince at the sting. "Owie..."

But you don't start crying. Your daddy doesn't cry either, he sucks it up and keeps going with the knowledge that he will regenerate in no time. So, with a huff you get up and continue playing as if nothing happened.

A while later you are sitting on the couch watching a cartoon as you hear the front door unlocking and Wade steps inside, still wearing his suit and carries a bag of takeaway.

"Daddy's home!" He loudly announces himself. "That'll never get old." He walks over to the counter that separates the kitchen from the living area to set down the bag and takes off his mask as well.

The second his hands are free you quickly get up and run into his awaiting arms. "Missed you daddy."

He smiles, picking you up by your thighs and kisses the tip of your nose. "I missed you too, peanut. Bet you had more fun than me. You didn't start our movie night without me, did you?"

"Nooo, I could neva! Waited jus' for you." You giggle, eyeing the bag of food your stomach growls. "What's this?"

"I got your favorite takeout." He says, chuckling at the way you're almost drooling at the sight. "Get settled on the couch and I'll be there in a minute, 'kay?"

You nod enthusiastically, rushing back to your previous spot when Wade set you back on the ground.

Soon enough he got changed into something comfortable and you both are eating your dinner on the couch while he tells you about today's job, making sure it's appropriate for your current headspace.

When you finish eating and Wade has put on the movie you got to choose this week you get more comfortable.

Wade sits back down next to you, grabbing a fluffy blanket to cover you both but stops when he gets a glimpse of your knees. "Peanut, what's this?"

"Huh? Oh, that happened when I was playing hero. S'okay, jus' hurts a little!" You shrug it off with a smile.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" He sighs.

"Wanted to be like you daddy." You mumble, looking down at your hands.

His eyes soften at that, a small smile replacing his frown. "Like me?"

"Mhm, wanted to regenerate like you 'cause is so cool!"

"Oh peanut, you're too sweet for this world. Wait here, I'll be right back."

Sure enough he comes back with a pack of hello kitty bandaids, kneeling down beside the couch and quickly unwrapping two of them, placing them carefully on your knees. "There, all patched up. You're still just like me, y'know? You just need a little longer to regenerate than me and that's okay."

"Really?" You ask a little uncertainty, tilting your head.

"Oh, hell yeah. You're just as cool as me and that means we deserve this." He pulls out two lollipops and you squeal, instantly reaching out for it. "Let me unwrap it first."

He settles back down next to you, letting you snuggle into his side before taking the wrapping off and handing you your treat.

He wraps an arm around you, kissing your head. "You'll always be my cool peanut."

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#little!reader #little reader #daddy!wade x little!reader #daddy!wade wilson x little!reader #daddy!wade wilson #daddy!wade #daddy wade x little reader #daddy wade wilson x little reader #daddy wade wilson #daddy wade #age regression

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suosgirl · 5 months ago

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Keeping It Cute (& Dangerous) - Hayato Suo x Reader | Ch. 4

Word Count: 4970

୨ৎ Read me before interacting!

୨ৎ Pairing: Hayato Suo x Reader feat. Haruka Sakura, Akihiko Nirei, Taiga Tsugeura, Mitsuki Kiryu, Hajime Umemiya, Kotoha Tachibana

୨ৎ Warnings: mdni, f!reader, manga spoilers (?), ooc (?), loss of loved one, slowburn, teasing, misunderstandings, fighting, grief, swearing, ptsd, 2 stubborn idiots falling for each other – if I’ve missed one, I apologize + please let me know!

୨ৎ Note: Long ass chapter. Why? Because I'm a sucker for relationship development – that's all! (๑>؂•̀๑)

୨ৎ Keeping it Cute (& Dangerous) Masterlist

“If I could describe you in one word, Suo, I’d say that you’re –” “Intelligent? Patient? Cheeky?” “Insufferable.” He laughs lightly at your words as if you hadn’t just offended him, before gazing down at you with a look that screams mischief and something else that you can’t quite place yet.

It’s funny – before all of this, you didn’t think life could go any other way for you but the path you’d chosen.

You were fine with being alone. If it guarantees the safety of your hometown, then so be it. If your brother could make sacrifices, then so could you.

And you did.

Leaving wasn’t supposed to be easy, that much you knew. Walking away from the town meant you were leaving the memories you’d made there and the people that you’d grown to love.

Was it lonely at first? Of course. But as with everything in life, it just took time for this to become your new normal. You knew what you had signed up for when you left – so were you really that shocked that you began missing the presence of others or the feeling of being needed?

Everything was fine – at least, that’s what you told yourself.

But, being here, in Makochi – you didn’t think you’d ever experience those feelings again.

That feeling of being wanted, needed, and loved.

And suddenly – you weren’t so alone anymore.

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It didn’t take much longer for the other boys to finally find where you and Suo were.

They came running in a frenzy, eyes wide and out of breath, and you couldn’t help the small chuckle that left your lips at the sight.

Did they really care that much? They didn’t even know you. But … they wanted to, and that meant more to you than you’d like to admit.

… It was getting harder to ignore the budding warmth in your chest and the crinkle in your eyes.

Whether it was due to Suo’s words or the overwhelming feeling of being, for the first time in what felt like forever, seen and understood – you allowed yourself, just this once, to hope again.

Fine. If they wanted to, you’d let them. You’d take Suo’s words for face value, and meet them first with your head held up high, like a tiger would. Were you afraid? Absolutely. But – you were hopeful, and that made all the difference.

They stare at you, their faces expecting the worst, and you pity them just a bit. It wouldn’t do them any good to worry – and you were every bit gracious and kind, so you throw them a bone.

You were, after all, weak to dreamy guys.

“Alright,” you let out a deep sigh, “Who wants my number?”

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It starts with a simple invitation through text.

Nirei messages you first, inviting you to meet him at a place called Café Pothos, and you genuinely consider saying no and that you’re busy – but then, you remember the puppy dog eyes that he has so diligently mastered, and you just can’t find it in your heart to say no to a face like that.

(Unbeknownst to you, he’s quick to catch on. This would become your downfall.)

When you arrive, you recognize it as the place that they had brought you to before. Back then, you’d been in a much more hectic headspace, so you hadn’t taken the time to appreciate all the little details about it. Now, though, you were able to admire the flourishing plants all over the café and the aroma of coffee in the air.

Upon entering, you see a girl behind the counter, and you’re quick to take a sharp inhale because – she’s pretty.

You weren’t sure what the people in Makochi ate, but it was terribly unfair that everyone here happened to be blessed with the most spectacular genes that you’ve ever witnessed in your life.

It was, quite honestly, so fucked up.

As you glance around the café, you notice that you’re the only one here – and that she’s staring at you with a good-natured grin on her face.

She’s warm and inviting as she beckons you over, asking what you’d like and if you’re from out of town.

(You make a mental note to gain some sort of backbone against attractive people.)

You easily fall into a conversation with her as she prepares a cup of coffee for you, and you learn that her name is Kotoha and that she’s over at the café more often than not.

“You could easily be a model, you know,” you tell her earnestly, and she blushes as she waves off your comment.

Once you introduce yourself, her face lights up with recognition – and now, it was your turn to blush.

“Oh! That’s you! I’ve heard about you! In fact, they haven’t stopped talking about you –”

You should’ve expected this, really – but you didn’t. It had been so long since you were on the receiving end of showered praise like this, and you’d already gotten your fill a couple days prior. So, to say that this was overwhelming was an understatement.

“...And,” she continues with a wink, “You’re as pretty as they said you were.”

Your fingers shoot up to cover your lips – partly in shock but mostly in disbelief because you can’t wrap your head around the fact that they’ve been telling people that and –

“Oh! What’s got you looking so red, bunny?”

…

You weren’t sure if you were going to make it long enough for Nirei to arrive.

Actually, you weren’t sure if you were going to make it long enough in this town.

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To your relief, Nirei comes soon after, and you’re saved from the onslaught of the two biggest instigators that you’ve ever met.

The minute he walks in, you’re immediately jumping out of your seat to greet him, and he matches your energy in a heartbeat. He’s greeting you just as enthusiastically, though you don’t have it in you to explain why you’re so happy to see him. And – you notice that he’s tacked on “-san” to the end of your name.

(If you squint, you can almost make out the furious wagging of a tail.)

The eyes of Suo and Kotoha glinting with sadistic delight behind you only serve as a reminder of the hell that you had once endured, and you silently thank whatever higher power is out there that Nirei has the heart of an angel.

“Thank you for meeting me here! I meant to ask you this when we first met, but you just kept running away!”

On second thought, you’re not so sure now about that last tidbit.

He begins bombarding you with questions, from your height, to your blood type, to what you look for in a partner, and you briefly wonder if the town of Makochi is hell personified.

“How about we sit down first, Nirei? At, uh – the table right over there in the corner.”

Nirei nods, and you’re so glad that he’s at least a good listener – until he spots Kotoha and Suo.

In the same fashion that a puppy would, he instantly goes over to greet them, takes a seat, looks at you, then pulls out the seat next to him – and pats it with his hand.

“I –”, you stumble over your words, shaking your head at him.

Oh god, were you the puppy?

… No. You were NOT a puppy (or a bunny).

You would stand your ground, and give him an ultimatum. That’s what you would do.

But then he starts giving you the eyes, the puppy dog eyes, and you feel yourself start to waver — but you must persist.

When faced with a challenge, when standing in the path of uncertainty, you must prevail and —

Kotoha and Suo join in, though their eyes don’t quite hit that same twinkle of desperation that Nirei’s does.

Still — you admit defeat.

You sigh before slowly trudging over to the chair that had been so kindly pulled out for you. You really had to pull yourself together.

Tomorrow, you tell yourself. Tomorrow. I’ll have a backbone by tomorrow.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

You do not, in fact, build a backbone.

At this point, you’re not even sure you know what a backbone even is anymore.

What you do know, though, is that –

Muscle Power is one of Tsugeura’s favorite food joints in Makochi. You personally really like their banana pound cake – and he knows this. So, whenever he’s in the mood to go when everyone else conveniently can’t – he knows that he can always count on you to keep him company.

You also find out that he’s really into wrestling, though you’re not so sure if this was much of a secret in the first place. It had all happened so casually too, and honestly, you hadn’t even noticed when you chimed into the conversation.

The 6 of you were sat at the café, though you were sat at a table separate from theirs as you calculate your budget for the month. You thought it’d be a peaceful experience, just you in a corner and Kotoha behind the counter, but once one of them starts filing in, they all file in.

You try to block them out as best you can as you do calculation after calculation, but you were never that good at multitasking. As your concentration shifts to focus on the numbers in your notebook, you subconsciously start picking up on their conversation.

You hear Tsugeura go on a tangent about BxB Hulk, a wrestler that both you and your brother had really admired, but he seems stuck as he tries to remember the year he made his debut.

“...2005,” you say absentmindedly, deep in thought as you stare at your notebook, “... with the Dragon Gate Dojo.”

You go to circle something, but Tsugeura’s gasp of shock makes you jump instead. You go to give him an accusatory look, but they’re all looking at you in a similar fashion.

You blink at their reactions before tilting your head, “What?... I’m not wrong, am I?”

You had no idea that those words would give you a permanent spot as Tsugeura’s #1 person to talk about wrestling with – and you’d never admit this but – you were just as passionate about it as he was.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

You learn that Kiryu is stupidly good at crane games – though, you’ve been able to win a couple stuffed animals for him too so you’d say it’s even. He also teaches you some of his favorite hairstyles, and you do, in fact, confirm that his hair smells as good as it looks.

When you find out about his older sister, everything suddenly clicks for you, and you understand now why you’re so comfortable around him and why he’s so good at being able to pick up on even the smallest changes in you.

Whenever your time of the month came, he’d seem to always be stocked up with chocolate, an extra pad or two, and ibuprofen. If you did something new with your makeup, like a new lip color or a different pair of lashes, it’d be the first thing that he comments on when he sees you. And – he always checks in on you. If it’s been a couple of days since you’d last seen them, he’s sending you a quick text asking if you’ve eaten or inviting you to a casual hangout.

There seems to be no end to his thoughtfulness, and it’s something that you learn to appreciate very deeply.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Sakura, despite the attitude he portrays and the things he may say, is a huge softie (you belatedly find out that the pink, sometimes red, on his face that blooms at the most random of times is in fact not a skin condition but indeed his blush).

And, you’re glad to learn that he’s as strong as he says he is.

It begins with a petty argument – something about vegetables and how he doesn’t eat them – but you’re both so stubborn that your harmless comment eventually turns into an all out confrontation. And, when he asks if you want to take it outside – you say yes.

You admit that you were worried that he’d be the type to pull back his punches in a fight because you’re you, but you’re pleasantly surprised when he, instead, runs towards you with all the strength of a bulldozer.

As you dodge and evade his moves, you realize how talented he truly is. You had a feeling, of course, but to see in action the way that he has total control of his body is a different beast altogether.

When you get in close to try and land a kick to his head, you see a smile on his face as he blocks it with his arms. But his smile isn’t condescending or mocking. No, this is a smile that shows that he’s having fun, that he finds you worthy – and you don’t try to stop the smile that’s growing on your face either.

He really reminded you of your brother.

Your sparring only lasts for a couple of minutes before Nirei pulls out those damned puppy dog eyes, but it's enough for you both to find newfound respect in one another.

And, as he goes to fix his jacket, he mutters a quiet, “I took that seriously, y’know.”

You grin, a radiant laugh bursting from your lips as you look up at him and say, “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

To your surprise, Nirei has a sharp memory and an even sharper tongue.

You’ve tried to lie your way out of several hangouts – he always calls you out with no remorse.

(“Ah, man, I’d love to, truly, but I forgot that my laundry is out drying so I really should –”

“You said you folded your clothes yesterday, remember?”)

But as much as you hated it, you couldn’t help but also appreciate the way that he genuinely cared for his friends with his heart on his sleeve. He was earnest, loyal, and caring – everything that you’d soon come to admire about him.

And, when he finds out that you enjoy going to secondhand stores too? Oh, he blows up your phone at least 3 times a month asking if you’d like to join him on yet another “hunt”. This, though, was a hangout that you’d never say no to. It was always so fun getting to dig around together to see what you could find (your brother was never one for shopping), and you enjoyed this time because you got to know even more about the other boys through Nirei, who spoke about them with shining eyes and pride in his voice.

He really was an amazing storyteller – and an even better friend.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Kotoha is as honest as she is loving – and you’re so grateful to have grown so close to her within such a short time. After your initial meeting, you find yourself hanging out at Café Pothos way more often than you’d like to admit, and you come to admire how diligent, hardworking, and compassionate she is.

Your friendship with her blossoms naturally, and at some point she begins to join you and Nirei on your little thrifting trips. She becomes someone that you feel comfortable with confiding in, and you’re delighted to find out that it goes both ways.

And aside from all of this – she also manages to help you get a job at Café Pothos alongside her.

When you’d mindlessly mentioned once that you were running short on your funds from your last job (as a result of all the hangouts that you were, regretfully, indulging in), Kotoha was the one who offered to see if there was an opening available at the café. When you came in on your first day for training – she was the one showing you the ropes and guiding you with her hands.

And, when you finally met her brother, well –

The first time you meet Umemiya, you (understandably) burst into tears, and he (understandably) freaks the fuck out.

Nirei, with your tearful eyes and a nod of approval, clues him in on your backstory.

By the end of it, you’ve managed to slow down the crying to only a few tears, a fond look on your face as you listen to Nirei speak.

You open your mouth, ready to apologize but Umemiya beats you to it.

He has a hand gently patting the top of your head, and a smile on his face.

But that smile – it says so many things all at once.

So many things that you haven’t felt in so long.

“He would be proud of who you’ve become.”

And, for the first time since his death, you finally let your body relax.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

But Suo, despite all of this, remains ever mysterious and tight-lipped.

You still don’t know too much about him, and you’re not privy to prying for information either (though you admit that you’ve asked Nirei about him once or twice). What you are able to gather, however, is that Suo is a huge pain in your ass. The teasing never ends, he always has his eye on you at all times, and –

At first, you think he’s just being nice.

A warm hand on your lower back guiding you through the bustling crowd of the town.

A sweet smile on his face whenever he greets you or catches sight of your familiar head of hair.

A passing remark about how pretty your eyes look that day.

But then –

You notice his hands linger just a bit longer than normal, and they’re starting to gravitate just a little bit lower or just a bit higher, until the resting of his hand on your waist or your hips becomes a new normal.

His smile, you realize, is much more than just sweet. Sometimes, you’ll catch a hint of endearment or amusement, as if he’s in on a joke that you know nothing about.

And the remarks? They progress from just being about your eyes to your hairstyle that day, or your outfit, or your smile, or your laugh.

But it doesn’t just stop there – it seems that, if you’re not working, he’s got to be touching you at all times. Your legs pressed firmly together whenever you sat next to each other. His hands wrapped around your waist when he moves around you. Your arms always touching when you’re standing beside each other.

And any chance he gets, he’s whispering in your ear. It could be anything, from explaining something that gets brought up when you’re with the group, to casually talking about the weather.

But sometimes, with his lips so close to your ear that you can feel the warm puffs of his breath, he’ll lower his voice just the littlest bit, make his words sound the tiniest bit breathless and then –

He pulls away, with that stupid little smile on his face and mirth in his eyes.

Everytime, everytime he does it, you’re left flustered and alone, with a hand held up to your ear as if to hold on just a little bit longer to the sensation, to the feeling of his lips so close to you.

And he never ever calls you your name. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever heard it leave his lips – at least not when he’s around you.

“Wow bunny, you’re so strong!”

“Bunny, play nice –”

“Oh bunny, you’re here!”

All the “bunny” this and “bunny” that messes with your head. So much so that Suo could say it in a crowded room and you’re already turning your attention to him to see what he wants.

(And if you were to think about it a while longer, you’d realize that no one else uses that affectionate name on you. You’d realize that people have tried, but when they look up, Suo’s already got an eye on them and a tight-lipped smile on his face – and it sends shivers down their spine. Not like you’d recognize that they’re calling you though, your ears only attuned to the way that Suo calls it out.)

Working at the café doesn’t help.

From the moment you clock in to the moment you clock out, you can expect Suo to pop in at least once during your shift – twice if he comes early in the day to have a cup of tea with Sakura and Nirei.

And everytime, everytime you clock out – he’s patiently waiting to walk you home.

It starts on your first day – and you were not prepared for the sight of him, in all his lovely glory, to be standing outside with a smile on his face as you locked up the doors. It was such a shock that you’d dropped the keys in panic, and he quickly bent down to grab them before handing it to you.

When he grabs your hand and gently drops the keys in your palm, you don’t miss the way his thumb caresses yours.

His hands were so damn warm – and soft.

“I – what are you doing here?”

“Is it a crime to escort you home?”

Your lips part in surprise, and you can feel the way your breathing is starting to quicken in response.

“No, uh … it’s not. But –”

He laughs, and you notice that he’s still holding your hand in his.

You don’t make a move to remove it.

“Everyone’s been hanging out with you. I just wanted some time for myself, that’s all.”

His words catch you off guard, and he takes that silence as an invitation to continue.

“Besides – I’m the one who convinced you to stay. Shouldn’t I be able to spend time with you as well?”

You … don’t have a good enough reason to say no.

So, you let it happen.

During the walk, you talk about all the mundane things, from how your day went to what you had for lunch.

And, if your shoulders occasionally bump into one another or your fingers accidentally brush, well –

Neither of you mention it.

When you finally make it to your apartment, he follows you right up to the door. You feel his looming presence behind you, and the warmth emanating from his body, and it takes everything in your power not to drop your keys again.

And, once your door finally unlocks, you feel a shift behind you.

Suddenly, his hands are on either side of the doorframe, caging you in, and your back is pressed flush against his chest.

And goodness did his chest feel strong.

He’s so so close that you can hear his lips part and his soft inhale as he whispers coyly into your ear, “Sweet dreams, bunny.”

Before you can react, he’s already taken a step back with his hand waving goodbye and an innocent smile on his face.

You think about it for the rest of the night.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

It goes on like this for months, and you’re not sure what sick and twisted game he’s playing at, but he never explains his behavior, never confesses his feelings, never addresses the elephant in the room.

And you – well, you’re not sure how to even bring it up.

It’s not that you’re mad about it (quite the opposite), but every touch, every whisper, every smile leaves you wanting more.

But you weren’t sure if you could handle more. Not if it was going to be like this. Your poor heart wouldn’t be able to handle it.

Suo had started a craving that you weren’t sure could ever be satisfied, but no matter how much you tried to ward him off, he remained persistent and stubborn.

“You really don’t have to do this, Suo — though I appreciate the gesture,” you remark, your head tilted up to gauge his reaction as he walks in stride with you.

“But I enjoy doing it, so what’s the issue?”

“The issue, Suo, is that I’m perfectly capable of walking home alone. Shouldn’t you be – oh, I don’t know – spending your time with people who might actually need help?”

He takes a moment to think about this – at least, he acts like he does. But, you know better. You’re starting to be able to differentiate when he’s being sarcastic and when he’s not, and right now, as he brings his finger up to tap “thoughtfully” on his chin, you can’t help but feel the urge to humble him just the tiniest bit.

So you do.

“If I could describe you in one word, Suo, I’d say that you’re –”

“Intelligent? Patient? Cheeky?”

“Insufferable.”

He laughs lightly at your words as if you hadn’t just offended him, before gazing down at you with a look that screams mischief and something else that you can’t quite place yet.

And, with an air of casualty, as if you’d both just been talking about the different blends of tea, he responds with –

“If you find me insufferable now, I can’t imagine how you would describe me as your lover.”

…

You come to a stop, your eyes blinking rapidly as you try to take in what he’s said but he cuts off your train of thought.

“Looks like you’re home now, my little bunny. This was pleasant, as always.”

Looking around, you deflate at the fact that he was right, you’d stopped right in front of your door, but you needed answers – now.

You go to open your mouth, but he’s quicker – “Oh, sorry, but I really can’t stay and chat. I’ve got to, oh, I don’t know, see if anyone needs my assistance.”

That … shut you up real quick.

You hated when he made you eat your words.

Biting back your tongue, all you can do is huff as you make your way inside, his eye burning a hole into the back of your head – and, if you weren’t so deep in distress, you’d hear the soft twinkle of satisfied laughter in his wake as he walks down the street.

God, he really was insufferable.

—

That night, you sit up with a sudden realization as it hits you.

You knew that look.

That was the look that he gave his opponents –

The one that would dare them to fight him, to challenge him, to provoke him.

He was challenging you, daring you, provoking you.

He wanted to see if you’d break first.

He wanted to see if you’d give in.

You laugh so hard that your eyes start to water – and it’s full of disbelief and shock and amusement.

Like hell you’d let that happen.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

You are your brother’s sister, and his stubbornness and competitive streak had been passed down to you tenfold.

So, you catch up to Suo’s speed – fast.

Now you were the one initiating contact, touching him, teasing him.

Whenever he walked you home, you made sure to hold onto his arm, running your fingers up and down his bicep as you conversed.

And, you don’t just let go.

No. You were better than that.

Instead, you’d run your hand down his whole arm as you separated, until you got to his hand – then, you’d hold onto that until all that was left was the tip of his pointer finger.

You’d give it a gentle squeeze, thanking him for walking you home, before letting it drop from your grasp.

You don’t miss the way his eyes follow the path of your hand every time, as if entranced by the feeling and the sight.

Anytime he came into the café with Sakura and Nirei, you’d make sure to briefly touch his shoulder whenever you passed him, or hold onto his hand just a beat longer when handing him his tea.

(And, without fail, Sakura and Nirei erupt in striking hues of red and pink everytime. Though, Suo and you don’t pay them much attention. Kotoha will give you a knowing look, but you feign ignorance.)

You were no stranger to sugar coated words, either – so, you make it a goal to compliment him at least once every time you see him.

And, of course, you give him a nickname too. You take your time when you think of it because you really want it to stick – you really want it to have the same effect on him as it has on you.

So, you start calling him by his first name – and it works.

“Hayato, you smell so good today.”

“Oh my Hayato, aren’t you looking handsome~”

“Ah, I missed you, Hayato.”

And, the first time you whisper in his ear, light and airy and sweet, you feel dejected when it doesn’t have the same effect on him as it has on you. You’re brought back to the night that he had confronted you, and you’re honestly a bit sad that it seems things haven’t changed.

You begin to pull away, but something catches your eye. So slight and so small that you wouldn’t have noticed it if you weren’t so close. It’s the way his jaw tightens, the way he presses his lips together hard and restrained, the way that he clenches his fists until the whites of his knuckles peek out under the heated skin. And, you hear it – that sharp intake of breath.

His reaction makes you sway just the tiniest bit – and you want to see more. You want to see him flustered and flushed and desperate in the same way he’s made you.

You wanted him to lose his composure.

But – you and Suo keep it cute and casual and friendly.

Simply waiting for the other to break first.

If anyone is brave enough to bring it up, well –

You both shake your heads in denial, a quick “no” rolling off the tips of your tongues.

(They’ll simply nod at your responses, but their eyes stay glued to the spot under the table where Suo’s got his hand splayed out on your thigh and the arm you’ve got wrapped around his to keep him there.)

… Who knew a friendly competitive sparring match amongst Bofurin would be his downfall?

୨ৎ Chapter 5

#melody writes (& never stops)#wind breaker #windbreaker x reader #hayato suo #suo hayato #suo hayato x reader #hayato suo x reader #wind breaker x reader #hayato suo the man that u are

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witchy-scribblings · 6 months ago

Text

in honor of my latest tattoo, here is some tattoo artist choso kamo.

❀ tattoo artist choso who works at a small studio that you had heard about from your friend, yuki. you had been thinking of getting a tattoo for quite some time now, and yuki was quick to send you the studio's instagram page to browse through the styles they worked with.

❀ tattoo artist choso who specialises in blackwork, and whose previous works were so beautifully crafted that you hardly hesitated to hit him up with a detailed idea of the tattoo you wanted.

❀ tattoo artist choso who replies fast to all of your inquiries because he's a professional (totally not because he thinks you look cute in your instagram posts), and keeps you updated with the design, secretly a little anxious that you won't like it.

❀ tattoo artist choso whose heart does a flip when your response to the final design is sending him an excited little voice note. he has listened to the ten-second file more times than he'll ever admit but, damn, who can blame him when you sound just as cute as you look?

❀ tattoo artist choso who walks to the studio on the day of your appointment and can't help but look at himself in every reflection that he walks past, making sure for the umpteenth time that his eye make-up isn't smudged or that his hair is in place.

❀ tattoo artist choso who gets there and sees that you're early, already waiting for him to arrive. the way you're smiling at him with a radiance that clashes heavily with the dark aesthetic of the studio makes him realise that he's more fucked than he had originally thought.

❀ tattoo artist choso who knows - he's fully aware - that you chose to wear a sundress merely out of convenience, but he's also fully aware of the way it hugs your body in ways that should be illegal.

❀ tattoo artist choso who is painfully aware that he's holding his breath and that his hands are shaking slightly as he presses the stencil to your skin, heavily fixated on the way you're standing between his parted legs; it's honestly a miracle he gets the placement right on the first try.

❀ tattoo artist choso whose voice is so soothing when he asks you to lie down on your stomach, when he reminds you that you can request a break whenever you need it, and when he gives you a heads up before pressing the needle to your skin.

❀ tattoo artist choso who immediately gets into a more professional headspace when he's working on your tattoo - god forbid he messes up because he can't pull himself together, but he still can't help risking small glances up at your peaceful face. if you were to notice he'd say he was just checking on you.

❀ tattoo artist choso who might not show it, but appreciates that you keep a conversation going where he answers with hums and short answers. he hopes you don't think you're boring him, he's just both very focused on his job and very afraid of his voice cracking if he has to string together more than three words.

❀ tattoo artist choso who is almost relieved when the session comes to an end. he rolls away on his stool to stretch his shoulders, entirely missing the way your eyes follow the hem of his shirt as it rides up.

❀ tattoo artist choso who applies the cooling gel on your fresh tattoo in small circles and tries not to dwell on how you're staring intently at his hands. he blames the goosebumps rising on your skin on the cold cream.

❀ tattoo artist choso who recites the care routine for fresh tattoos to you almost on autopilot, absently thinking that it would be pretty nice to kiss your smiling lips.

❀ tattoo artist choso who asks you to send him a daily picture of the healing process, and although he asks this of all his clients to avoid potential complications, he thinks to himself guiltily that he also wants to keep seeing your name pop up on his phone.

❀ tattoo artist choso who longs to reply to every picture with so much more than "it looks good, keep taking good care of it", but a small voice inside makes him reconsider, makes him believe that the chemistry that he had felt had been entirely one-sided.

❀ tattoo artist choso who, a couple weeks after your appointment, and after a week of silence from you, receives a message on his personal instagram. "she thinks you're really cute, y'know?"

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk headcanons #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #choso kamo #choso kamo fluff #choso kamo x you #choso kamo x reader #choso x reader #choso x you #choso fluff

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nathanbatemanfucker · 1 year ago

Note

NOISE with any member of the system, and make it dirtyyyyy 😏😏😏

White Noise

summary: when Steven hears a sound in the night, he thinks he’s coming to your rescue.

pairing: afab!reader x steven grant (mentions of marc and jake)

contents: 18+/nsfw/MINORS DNI, reader listening to spicy audios, masturbation, embarrassment, kissing, fluff, get together

wc: 1k

an: here you are my loveee, i hope you enjoy this. it turned a little softer than I’d anticipated but i see potential for something a little spicier in the future 😏😏. also yes reader is listening to a quinn audio, @/quinn SPONSOR ME. (banner below is @cafekitsune)

sumner blurbs masterlist | moonknight masterlist

Steven is a light sleeper. Marc could sleep through a nuclear war, and Jake…well he hardly ever sleeps. But, Steven stirs at the softest of sounds.

It’s not often these days that the system switches without permission, especially not in the middle of slumber, but while Marc has fallen asleep earlier in the night it’s Steven who wakes to this noise in the middle of the night.

Despite its obvious disruption the noise is soft, a simple hum that comes from the shared drywall between your room and his. The next sound is a little louder— it comes from your mouth, he’s sure. A muffled cry, one that has his heart racing and his worry up.

He jumps out of bed with grace— a grace he’s still growing accustomed to. That and the other to men in his head, the old pigeon that rules parts of their lives. He slips into the hallway, starting the short walk to your room. As he gets closer the sounds get clear, louder.

Are you crying? Did you hurt yourself? Or watch another sad romance film that brought you to tears?

Yes, as he gets closer the sounds do get clearer— especially to Marc. His mind always goes straight to the gutter with you even though he tries his best to be respectful. But he’s imagined what you would sound like during sex time and time again and right now, you sound pretty close to the edge. Where he wants to lead you over and over.

Wait Steven, Marc calls out in the headspace but it’s too late.

He’s opened the door, and his eyes find you immediately. He opens his mouth to say something but it dies in his throat at the sight of you splayed out in bed.

The moonlight must be made for you, the way it feels like a spotlight, lighting up your skin. His eyes slowly travel down your body, drinking in every detail about you.

There’s a white set of overhead earphones on your head, your eyes squeeze shut as you moan softly. It must be the reason why he could hear you, the reason you haven’t moved yet to yell at him. You’re in an oversized t-shirt that’s seen much love— it would go down your knees if it wasn’t currently scrunched up at your belly. Like this he has a view that has only ever lived in his dreams, in their dreams, Marc and Jake’s too. They can all deny it to each other all they want, but at the end of the day they share a brain. And though they’d all discovered it differently, they all share a deep desire for you.

God, he shouldn’t be doing this. He should close his eyes right now and walk back into his room. Apologize to you and forget this ever happened. He’s about to do just that when you whimper his name. His eyes fly to your own once more, he’s sure he’s caught now but your eyes are still closed.

Are you…thinking of him? Getting yourself off and thinking of him? The idea has his knees weak.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Steven,” You whine, back arching as you reach the peak of pleasure. He can see the your slick on the head of the vibrator, and reflexively licks his lips.

There’s no mistaking it now. You’re thinking of him, cumming and thinking of him. He shifts on his feet, all too aware of how hard he is right now. It seems Marc and Jake are nowhere to be found, they must be in just as much shock as he is.

You shriek, sitting up and covering yourself, the moment causing your headphones to fall off your head. “What the fuck? What the fuck are you doing in here?”

Steven’s cheeks burn, turning a bright red as he stumbles over his words, “I—I’m sorry, I— you— I thought you were crying and I— I should go.”

“You thought I was crying?”

“Well, yeah, I sort of…heard you whimper and I thought you might need some…comforting. But that is obviously not the case, you’ve just taken quite good care of yourself,” He says, wincing as he regrets the words immediately.

“That’s um, that’s sweet of you. Did you— you heard I imagine.”

“Heard? Oh, um, not if you didn’t want me to. I’ll change my name. Actually, I don’t even have a name anymore. Taken care of,” He jokes, fiddling with his fingers.

“I’ve made things so awkward, I’m sorry. I know it’s not like that for you. For any of you.”

“You think…you think we don’t feel the same?” He asks incredulously.

You stare back at him, completely confused. Is he saying what you think he’s saying? Your mouth opens to ask but nothing comes out, your throat dry.

“You drive us mad, love,” He says once he realizes that you won’t speak.

Jake and Marc immediately start to protest, but what’s done is done. There’s some twinkle in your eye, a glimmer of hope that what Steven says is true. And while this is scary for all of them, when met with the thought of rejecting you, neither of them could stomach it.

“Really?”

“Really. Can I?” He points to the edge of the bed.

“Oh, uh, sure,” You awkwardly move your vibrator and phone to the nightstand to clear some room for him.

He comes to sit, not too far but near enough to reach your hand, squeezing it, “I know we’ve skipped quite a bit on the standards of dating. The whole living together, and well now this. And I know there’s…three of us but would you—“

“Yes,” You say easily, not letting him finish.

He chuckles, “I haven’t even asked completely, love.”

“It doesn’t matter, I’d do anything with you.”

Your words warm him from the inside out, breeding confidence. He cups your cheek, leaning forward to press his mouth to yours in a sweet, tentative kiss. You melt against him, hand raising to rest over his own. He smells good, like pine and citrus and the feeling of his lips against yours makes you feel like you’re floating.

“I’m sorry that I walked in on you like this,” He mumbles into your mouth through a smile.

You lean back, a wide grin on your face as you shake your head a little, “I’m not.”

#steven grant x reader #steven grant x afab!reader #moonknight x reader #moonknight system x reader #moonknight fanfiction #steven grant smut #moonknight smut #summer blurbs #not sfw #arson writes

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eightstarr · 1 year ago

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hello baby i’m here to request some gym hcs for both abby and ellie (abby for sure goes but does ellie??)

💗💗 it have overtaken my life as you know

hi princess <3 i just got this but i immediately had more thoughts than i expected so here it is!!

abby has a strict routine that she designed a long time ago and hasn't changed in the slightest since. i'm a firm believer that she goes to the gym at night!! it works with her schedule and she likes that there aren't as many people around.

she has never missed a workout a day in her life. i know we know this but it needs to be stressed!! she has gone in tired, hungover and sick— or all three things at once. you tell her she should stay in bed when she has a cold and she says, "it'll be good for me, baby, i'll sweat out the germs."

you look unimpressed. "is that a medical term?"

she slips on a loose tank top over warm skin stricken with chills and comes to kiss your forehead, something quick, her lips barely making contact. a sentiment more than a gesture. she doesn't want you getting sick. "it's an abby term," she explains, and smiles like she does when she wants to get out of trouble. "even more official than a medical term."

i know everyone wants to go with abby to the gym and live out the plot from a lesbian porn video but i'm sorry to say that if you do come along, she's not paying attention to you <3 she'll compliment you to death on your outfit before you get there and kiss you stupid right before you go in, but as soon as you cross the door she's gone!! she's been doing it for too long to let distractions slip in. she clicks into that comfortable headspace and wears expensive noise canceling headphones and she loves you, she really really does, but she's not looking at you once until she's done. she'll let you come if you really want to, though, she likes knowing that you're watching her. sometimes she'll avoid her carefully prepared towel and wipe the sweat from her forehead with her shirt, just for you! but that's all you're getting.

abby has like, two gym buddies and they're both men in their early 60s that go there maybe once a month but they chat for like forty minutes when they see each other! she gets really excited. every cool gym person that's there everyday wants to be her friend but she doesn't wanna talk about working out, she wants to hear about paul's granddaughter and dan's new lawnmower, thank you very much!

definitely has strong opinions on water bottles. has tried so so many and you cannot tell her that her current one isn't the best in the market. i will not elaborate on the details because i do not know enough about the subject, but she can tell you all about it if you ask! please ask.

ellie doesn't go to the gym but she runs after the bus when she's late sometimes :) does that count? i just asked her and she said that it counts.

#doctor!abby #modern!abby #loser!ellie #modern!ellie #abby anderson x reader #abby x reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #abby anderson headcanons #ellie williams headcanons

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kitty8804 · 26 days ago

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Doing another RWBY hatedom rant because people seemed to like the last one and I have more to say:

I absolutely despise it when people call Yang selfish and a terrible sister in Volume 9 when it came to Ruby’s struggles with her mental health. I have two main issues.

1. People seem to think that because Yang is Ruby’s big sister then she needs to always be at her beck and call. She can’t disagree with Ruby. She can’t let Ruby do things on her own. She can’t focus on herself or her happiness. She must always be focusing on Ruby. That’s not how relationships, especially sibling ones, work. People seem to think that Yang must sacrifice everything for Ruby and if she is anything less than that then she is a terrible sister. Do people forget how much Yang had given up for Ruby?! She raised her! She sacrificed her life for her! As soon as she was ready to went to go find Ruby in Volume 5 instead of her mom, which she had wanted to do for most of her life! I fully believe that if Raven didn’t have her portal semblance, which made finding/getting to Ruby MUCH easier, Yang would not have bothered. Yang loves her sister so much! But just because she’s a big sister does not mean that she isn’t allowed to struggle or focus on herself.

2. Here’s the big reason. As someone who has had to deal with a VERY similar experience in my life it absolutely infuriates me when people call Yang a terrible person and sister. I won’t go into too much detail because it’s not my place and I’d rather keep the information private but a couple years ago my sister hit a very low point mentally and it got very scary. (She’s doing much better now don’t worry). Here’s something that most people don’t realize when someone very close to you is going through something like Ruby did: You don’t tend to realize how bad it is. I knew that my sister had her struggles, but I genuinely thought she was doing alright. Afterwards I felt like such a terrible person because I wished that I noticed more and wished she had told me what was going on. This is exactly how Yang felt! She knew her sister was struggling, but didn’t realize just how bad Ruby’s mental state had gotten. She would try to comfort Ruby, not realizing that it was making it worse. She wished that Ruby had told her so that she could help her. It’s a really shitty situation to be in. This is on top of the fact that all of team RWBY were in a very stressful situation after having witnessed the fall of Atlas. I don’t think any of them were in great headspace’s, Ruby was just in a much worse place.

Honestly the entirety of Volume 9, in my opinion, was very realistic in its portrayal of mental health issues both as the person struggling with it and as the people around them. These situations are messy, complicated, and are never straightforward. Trying to treat it as anything else really shows that people don’t know what they’re talk about.

Yang is a good sister. She’s not perfect, but guess what? No one is! Remember we as an audience know so much more than the characters do. Just because characters don’t handle a situation perfectly doesn’t mean they’re garbage.

#random #how do i tag lol #shitpost #rwby volume nine #rwby fandom #rwby yang #rwby volume 9 #ruby rose #yang xiao long #mini rant #random thoughts #rant post #personal rant #rwby

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house-of-vandernacht · 3 months ago

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To everyone freaking out over NM S2 premiering a wee bit later than expected. The amount of time/effort R&F put into this is colossal. They constantly and consistently pull 60-70 hour weeks. Week after week with no break, upwards of a year and longer, to the point they flirt with burnout like Leo/nore flirts with Annabel. That to me is the exact opposite of lazy. Over the last year, I and others have witnessed this mind-blowing work ethic first hand. Its insane the amount of work they put in. Often eps are well over the minimum panel amount, they don't have to do 10-20 panels more than the minimum, but they do it as they want to tell a good story with each episode ending where it feels natural. The next thing: Nobody is entitled to any creator's time, or gets to dictate how they spend their personal time off. A hiatus is merely an opportunity to create buffer. R&F are under no obligation to use it that way. It is their choice to. It is also a time for them to regroup, recover from fatigue -- as any artist or writer knows headspace is important to the creative process -- attend to the shop, catch up on any admin that needs doing, and a litany of other things that people need to do to go about their daily lives. This break -- because lets call it what it is, if this were a normal 8-6 we'd call it UPTO -- is for them to take time to themselves, same as any other job. If they want to play Star Dew Valley to relax or decompress or ruminate on an idea, who the heck are we to deny them that? They're two human beings, not machines.

Thirdly: Please consider: There is so much more that goes on behind the scenes of a comic of this calibre that we as readers don't see. (Think of an iceberg, how they are so much bigger than the tip that pokes above the ocean's surface.) R&F don't just make it up on the spot. There's script writing, planning, research, editing, more planning, rough storyboarding, more research, tests, and probably a heck of a lot more pre-production stuff than I can even guess at before sketching can even be considered commencing. We don't know their creative process, nor are we entitled to demand an explanation of their process, or that they use their personal time differently. (Personally, I listen to music and walk but what is one person's jam, might not be another's.) Nevermore S2 premiering a little later than expected is not some big drama its being made out to be. Its perfectly normal. I cant count the amount of times I've heard some comic/ book/tv series/movie has been delayed for whatever reason. (I've been waiting seven years for one book I won't mention here, as an example.) I don't know about you, but I know Id much prefer to read something that has been well thought out, with attention to fine detail applied to it than something rushed and shoddy. Give them grace to cook! I know we might be a wee bit disappointed, especially when we're so eager to find out what potential horrors might befall characters we've grown to know and love on the eve of one heck of a tantalising cliff hanger, but I ask that you all show a little patience and, more importantly, understanding.

#nevermore webtoon #nevermore webcomic #given the circumstances a wee bit of kindness wouldn't go a miss

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a-court-of-fics-and-errors · 5 months ago

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Keep Moving Forwards, Part 35

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Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 7.2K - This definitely could have been split into multiple parts but I started foaming at the mouth and have no self control.

Author's Note: This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

Additional Note: You may have noticed that I’ve replaced all the images in previous parts with GIFs or photos linked to their original sources. A friend was helping me with the original images and I later found out they were primarily using AI-generated content. To support independent artistry, I’ve decided to remove those images and replace them with original works that include links to the sources. This decision aims to combat the negative impact AI can have on artists and creators. I apologize for the earlier oversight and will ensure to uphold artistic integrity going forward.

Three days. Three days in the House of Wind with just Azriel. The thought was exhilarating and a little terrifying, as you pondered the possibilities of what those days might hold. Azriel did have his personal home in Velaris, the Town House, but since your return, he had essentially relocated his life to the House of Wind to be near you. Now, you had three days of isolation with him, or so you thought.

Nesta paced about your room, her bare feet whispering against the plush blue carpet. You sat cross-legged on the bed, clutching a pillow in your lap as you watched her braided hair slowly unravel and the tension radiating from her every step.

“Why did I do that? That was so stupid,” she muttered, her eyes flicking anxiously around the room.

“Nesta, you have to tell him,” you said softly, your voice steady but gentle.

“I could have waited longer, and now I’ve put myself in this situation,” she groaned, rubbing her temples as she sank into the chair in the corner, her fingers tracing erratic circles on her skin.

“How long did you think you could hold off?” you asked, knowing the answer was not much longer.

“Longer than this! Longer than this weekend.” She huffed, her fingers now digging into her scalp.

“Do you really not want to go?” you asked, watching as she chewed her lower lip, avoiding your gaze.

“I don’t know,” she mumbled, her eyes darting to the floor.

You leaned back against the headboard, drawing your knees up. “You know, it’s probably going to be a little strange, given you asked to stay at the cabin and now you’re the one backing out.”

Nesta sighed. “I can’t back out now,” she said, her voice wavering, as if she were trying to convince herself more than you.

“You could always figure out a reason not to go,” you suggested, half-heartedly.

She peered up, her brows raised slightly as though the idea were preposterous. “Like what?”

You hesitated, knowing you shouldn’t encourage her reluctance, but the desperation in her eyes made you ignore your better judgment. “You could say you don’t feel well.”

Nesta scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “Yeah, like that won’t raise more questions.”

“Or you could say you just don’t want to go. That you’re not feeling up to it,” you offered, rolling your eyes slightly.

She leaned forward, burying her face in her hands, rubbing them up and down as a groan escaped her. “I can’t back out,” she finally sighed, leaning back again, “I need to just get it out there. I can’t hide from it if he’s standing right in front of me.”

“To be fair, he’s been standing in front of you for the last week, and you’ve been avoiding it,” you pointed out, your tone light but with a hint of sarcasm.

Nesta’s glare could have melted stone, her eyes sharp and venomous. “That’s different,” she snapped, before her hand unconsciously moved to rest on her womb, a tender touch to the life growing inside her. She turned to gaze out the tall windows overlooking Velaris, her eyes like reflecting pools of fear, guilt, and perhaps hope.

You observed her quietly, noting the new radiance pregnancy seemed to give her. Despite her worries, her skin glowed with a renewed vitality, her eyes, though filled with uncertainty, shone brighter, and her hair had gained a lustrous fullness. It was remarkable how quickly pregnancy transformed her. Your thoughts drifted to your own mother, wondering if she too had experienced that early glow, if she had known about her pregnancy at four months, or if you had been a secret she kept even from herself for as long as she could.

You tried to pull yourself from that daydream, reminding yourself that your mother was more a figment of your imagination than a memory. It felt childish to pretend she was anything more. “Nesta,” you began gently, “I can’t say I know exactly how you’re feeling.” Her eyes flicked to you, her finger tracing her lips absently. “And I won’t say everything’s going to be okay because, well, we both know that’s a promise I can’t keep.” Nesta’s delicate finger paused on her lower lip, her other hand pressing gently on her stomach as you continued, “But carrying all this stress alone,” you gestured to her, “it’s not good for you or the babe.”

Nesta’s eyes hardened, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. “Cassian wouldn’t want you to go through this by yourself,” you added softly.

Her gray eyes, clouded with grief, locked onto yours. You could see the inner struggle, the battle between her fear and the need to share her burden. Silver began to line her eyes, the tears she fought to hold back shimmering like tiny stars.

“It’s okay to be scared,” you whispered, leaning forward from the headboard. “It’s okay to worry about the worst and try to prepare for it.” As a single tear escaped down her flushed cheek, you added, “But it’s also okay to feel joy about this. To celebrate. This is a big deal, Nesta—this is amazing.”

She sniffled, her attempts to brush away the tears only making them fall faster. You offered a reassuring smile. “Enjoy these moments with Cassian. He’d want to share this with you.”

Nesta nodded, her tears now flowing freely despite her efforts to contain them. She sniffed, her smile watery but genuine. “What about you? Plan for this weekend?” she asked, clearly eager to shift the focus. ”

You looked down, rubbing your hands over your thighs, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “Not sure what you mean,” you muttered.

A crooked smile tugged at Nesta’s lips. “Three days alone with Azriel,” she reminded you, her voice laced with teasing.

You nodded, still fighting the blush spreading across your face and, perhaps, a few other places.

“No big plans?” she pressed.

You shook your head, “Nope. Nothing formal.”

“How’s everything going with Azriel?” she inquired, her tone growing more earnest.

You glanced up at her. “You mean with me and Azriel?”

She nodded, her gaze intent.

“It’s good. Things are good,” you said, your voice trailing off as you tried to keep your composure.

Nesta let a silence settle between you, her smile turning knowing, almost cheeky.

“What?” you asked, finally meeting her gaze.

Nesta shook her head, crossing one leg over the other casually. “Just seems like you two are enjoying each other's company a lot.”

“Yeah,” you admitted. “We do like spending time together.”

“A lot of time,” she added, her eyes twinkling.

You glanced at her, your cheeks burning. “We get along.”

Nesta’s catlike eyes gleamed with amusement. “You know, I’ve never seen Azriel look at anyone the way he looks at you.”

You didn’t respond, but her words struck a chord, making your heart race.

“It’s like he can sense when you’re about to enter the room and drops everything just to see you first,” she continued.

You shrugged, trying to deflect. “Isn’t that part of his job? To be observant?”

“Sure, but he doesn’t get that goofy smile for just anyone,” she teased.

You knew the smile she meant—the half grin Azriel couldn’t seem to suppress. You wanted to dismiss it as Nesta reading too much into things, but deep down, you couldn’t ignore that Azriel had confessed his feelings to you. Feelings he said he hadn’t even realized he had until you came along.

“So?” Nesta prompted, her voice light yet probing.

“So what?”

“So things are going very well then?” she asked, her question thinly veiled as a statement.

“Yes,” you admitted. “Things are going well.”

“And things…” she raised her eyebrows suggestively, “down south?”

Your eyes widened in shock.

“Oh come on,” she groaned, her hands slapping her thighs in exasperation. “You read as many of those smut books as I do. Give a girl some details.”

You laughed lightly, embarrassed but amused by her persistence.

“You know the boys have a joke about wingspan being related to… other sizes?” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

You looked down at your hands, “No, I didn’t.”

“Mhm, and Azriel always goes oddly quiet when they bring it up.”

You giggled, making Nesta’s grin widen. “So… it’s good?” she pressed.

You shook your head, still laughing. “I wouldn’t know.”

Nesta’s face fell slightly, confusion clouding her features. “Wait, you mean you haven’t-?”

You shook your head, meeting her gaze. “We haven’t. Not yet.”

“But he’s been in your bed for months!” she exclaimed, a note of desperation in her voice.

You shrugged, feeling a mix of awkwardness and honesty. “We just,” you paused, “We haven’t gotten there yet.” And now pink rose to your cheeks for a different reason.

Nesta broke her gaze, her own face flushing with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

You cut her off gently, “No, it’s okay. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t thought about it.”

Her interest sparked again, though she still looked cautious. “Have you two talked about it at all?”

You pulled the pillow closer to your lap, your fingers nervously tracing nonexistent frays. “Not really.”

You’d shared more of your past with Nesta than with anyone else, down to the painful details you tried to bury. Her voice, gentle and filled with concern, asked, “Are you ready for that?”

You kept your eyes fixed on the pillow. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not comfortable with,” she began, her tone careful, “but I guess I just want to know if you’ve been intimate like that with anyone other than… him.”

A shudder ran through you at the thought of the 'him' she referred to, memories of past pain and harsh touches flooding back. “No,” you replied softly. “Not fully.”

Nesta nodded, understanding. “Do you think you’d want to try?”

You considered her question. Your body responded intensely to Azriel, your stomach fluttering at the thought of him, and his touch sent electric shocks through you. Physically, you were more than ready for something beyond mild petting. But those memories were powerful, and they had interfered before. They had with Kai, where attempts at intimacy had often triggered terrible flashbacks, forcing you to stop. Now, knowing that moments of vulnerability could open a line to Caelum, you worried if you could ever enjoy intimacy without the fear of what might slip through the bond. You looked up at Nesta, your voice trembling slightly, “I don’t want to go my entire life without being close to someone like that.”

Nesta gave you a gentle smile. “I think we both know that Azriel would understand.”

You returned a tight-lipped smile. You wanted to believe he would understand, that maybe he would even forgo that aspect if you asked. But then you thought of his skin against yours, the longing you felt for him, and the dream of a life you wanted, one that included closeness and a future you couldn’t have if you couldn’t be that intimate.

Nesta’s voice softened, almost a whisper. “I know it’s a little hypocritical, but,” she met your eyes, “just talk to him.”

She smiled softly, and you found yourself smiling back. You chucked the pillow across the room at her. She laughed, a bright sound that echoed through the room, and you laughed too. It felt good to laugh like that, to share a moment of joy with her, a moment that just felt normal.

—

Nesta made good on her word, and when the morning finally came for her and Cassian to set off, she did so with a determined gleam in her eyes. When she hugged you goodbye, she lingered a bit longer than usual. You couldn’t tell if the prolonged embrace was for her or you, or perhaps for both—a silent recognition of a weekend that might have you both coming back changed.

As for Azriel, he missed the departure, having been called to the River House by Rhysand early that morning. He’d roused you slightly as he pressed a kiss to your temple, urging you to go back to sleep, promising he’d return before Nesta and Cassian left. Apparently, that hadn’t been the case. You didn’t know when he’d come back, but as you wandered through the hall, hands mildly dirty from prepping the rooftop garden for overwintering, you paused by the library, rocking back on your heel as you saw the outline of wings.

Peeking through the entrance, you found Azriel at the writing desk, his hand pressed to his temple, his leg bouncing under the table. His boot squeaked softly on the floor as shadows curled around his feet like restless cats.

“Hey,” you chirped cheerfully, stepping into the room.

Azriel started slightly at your voice, turning to you with a surprised smile. “Oh, hey!” he replied, that goofy grin lighting up his face.

You walked over, wiping your hands on the small towel you'd brought with you before tucking it into your back pocket. “Where have you been?” you asked, leaning your hips against the desk, your body angled towards him.

Azriel’s hazel eyes, sparkling with mischief, met yours. “Got caught up with Rhys,” he said, leaning back in the chair, his hands interlocking behind his head, causing his biceps to flex slightly.

“Everything okay?” you asked, arching a brow, noticing the way his eyes seemed to brighten at the sight of you.

He cleared his throat, his posture relaxed yet commanding. “Yeah, yeah, fine.” But his tone betrayed a hint of uncertainty.

Deciding to trust that, like Nesta with Cassian, Azriel knew what he was doing, you chose not to pry into matters beyond your reach. Instead, you nodded, and his eyes flicked to your hands.

“You’ve been busy,” he noted, gesturing towards your fingers.

You glanced down, seeing dirt still peppered under your nails. You began to dig them out, a sheepish smile crossing your face. “Oh, yeah. Elain had me prepping the soil for overwintering, but I might have gotten a bit carried away.”

Azriel chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I don’t know how you manage it, but it seems like every time you walk away from me, you come back covered in grime.”

Feigning offense, you scoffed, “Okay, well, every time you leave, you come back smelling like actual shit and death.”

“I’m talking about leaving you alone for five minutes, and you come back like that,” Azriel countered, his grin widening.

You shrugged, a playful glint in your eyes. “What can I say? I like dirt.”

“Dirty girl,” he purred, his tone taking on a teasing edge.

Heat crept up your cheeks as you looked away, biting your lower lip to suppress a smile. “Gross,” you replied, though a laugh slipped through.

Azriel’s laugh was a low rumble as he stretched back in his chair, his wings flaring slightly. His black shirt rode up, revealing the tantalizing V-lines that disappeared beneath his waistband, along with a glimpse of his defined abs. You tried to keep your gaze on his face, but your eyes betrayed you, flicking down for just a moment.

As he straightened, catching the way you looked at him, Azriel’s smirk deepened. “Enjoying the view?”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the blush threatening to deepen. “Don’t flatter yourself, Shadowsinger.”

His chuckle was warm, and his eyes sparkled with teasing affection as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a soft, intimate murmur. “I think I already did.”

You rolled your eyes as you pushed off the desk, catching Azriel’s eyes trailing your hips as you walked away. It seemed he might have been entertaining thoughts of potential weekend activities himself. Letting yourself flop backward over the couch, you landed with a thud on your back, legs dangling lazily over the backrest. “Plans for the rest of the day?” you asked, casually picking at the dirt caked under your nails.

“Actually,” he replied, “I was wondering if you might be willing to do something for me.”

Your ears perked up just as you pulled a piece of your nail off completely, hissing slightly as a small bead of blood welled up in the tiny wound. “What is it?” you inquired, pressing your thumb to the spot.

“I have to meet someone from the Summer Court this afternoon.” Your heart sank a little, imagining Azriel’s weekend filling up with more responsibilities. “But I was supposed to pick up something from a shop in the city. If I drop you off, would you mind getting it? I can swing by and pick you up on my way back.”

You flipped your legs over the back of the couch, peering up over the crest of the sofa to meet Azriel’s eye. “Sure,” you agreed, though your voice lacked enthusiasm.

Azriel’s face relaxed, and the tension that had coiled around him when you walked in seemed to dissipate. “That would be fantastic, thank you.”

You smiled lightly, “Just let me clean up first,” you said, scooting off the couch.

“Thank the gods,” Azriel replied with mock relief. “I was worried I’d have to carry you down there smelling like dirt and sweat.”

As you walked out, you stuck your tongue out at him over your shoulder. He laughed, leaning back in his chair again, and you had to stop yourself from turning around to admire the view.

“Careful, you might catch flies,” Azriel called after you, his tone teasing.

You snorted, waving him off as you headed to clean up.

—

When you finally finished getting dressed after your shower, you opened the door to find Azriel standing across the hall. You jumped slightly, hand flying to your racing heart. “Gods, Azriel! We need to get you a bell or something.”

Azriel smirked lightly. “Ready to go?” He seemed anxious, perhaps pressed for time, though he hadn’t exactly given you any.

“Now?” you asked, blinking in surprise.

Azriel glanced around in confusion. “Yes?”

“Oh, okay. That’s fine.” You opened the door wider as Azriel crossed the hallway, tossing you your jacket from the front entry hall.

It seemed he’d been waiting on you—how long, you had no idea. He threw open the balcony doors, letting the cool air rush in, a sharp reminder that winter was on its way. Azriel smiled over his shoulder, extending a scarred hand to you. “You haven’t told me what I’m getting for you yet,” you noted, taking his hand. He scooped you up under your knees, cradling you close as his wings took a few powerful flaps, lifting off the marble floor. Your stomach flipped at the quick descent down the mountainside.

“I wrote the address down for you. Just give them my name,” he said, the wind biting at the tips of your ears.

You furrowed your brow. “You’re not going to tell me what I’m picking up?”

Azriel glanced down at you, his smile widening. “What? You don’t trust me?”

You gave him an incredulous look. “Not even a hint?”

“Okay,” he responded, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Just trust me on this one. It’s nothing bad.”

“I’m not collecting the head or fingers of your enemies?” you joked.

Azriel chuckled, the sound reverberating through his chest. “That would be an errand I’d want to handle myself.”

“So it’s you who doesn’t trust me?” you countered playfully.

“I wouldn’t want to miss out on the fun,” he replied, smirking.

“Gross.”

“You love that word today, don’t you?”

“When I look at you, it’s the first word that comes to mind,” you shot back, your face breaking into a smile.

Azriel landed gracefully on a deserted sidestreet. “I’ll be back in about an hour,” he said, pulling a piece of parchment from his pocket. “Here.” He handed it to you, leaning in to place a light kiss on your temple.

You opened the paper, squinting at his neat, thin handwriting. No name of the building, but you recognized the street. “So I can’t know what I’m picking up or where I’m going?” you asked, looking up at him.

He rolled his eyes. “I’m going to be late. Consider it a trust exercise. Do you know where it is?”

“Well, I don’t know what ‘it’ is, but I do know where it is,” you replied.

“One hour. I’ll meet you there.”

You watched as he shot back up into the sky, wondering why, if he was meeting you there, he dropped you off a good fifteen-minute walk from your destination. But again, trust. So instead of calling out to question him, you sighed and began your trek through the city, shaking your head with a bemused smile.

Local shops were already setting out items for Winter Solstice gifts, the streets adorned with twinkling lights and festive decorations. Your heart ached a bit, reminded of how different your life had been just a year ago. For a moment, you wondered if you had moved on too quickly from everything that had happened. You shook the thought away; dwelling on others’ perceptions of your healing wouldn’t help. Or at least, that’s what you tried to remind yourself.

You knew the shortest route to this particular street cut through the city near the entry gate, but the memories there were too sharp to face today. So, you opted for a longer, winding path, adding about ten minutes to your walk. The detour gave you a moment to breathe, to let the festive atmosphere seep in without the weight of the past pressing down too hard.

When you finally reached the correct street, you followed the numbers until you stood in front of a small bakery. The sweet scents of fresh breads and pastries swirled out from under the door, mingling with the crisp winter air. You rechecked the address Azriel had given you. This was definitely the place. Stepping up to the front door, your mouth watered at the sight of cranberry tarts with their crystalline sugar gleaming in the window, boxes of dark chocolates overflowing with cream, ganache, and fruit, and cakes delicately frosted with winter themes of ice and snow.

The bell above the door chimed softly as you entered, the warm, cozy interior a sharp contrast to the chill outside. Your eyes adjusted to the dim, inviting light, and you noticed a few other patrons standing in front of the large glass counter, debating their purchases. You approached the rather plump, cheery-eyed male at the register.

“Hi,” you greeted as he smiled down at you. “I’m here to pick up something for Azriel.”

“Oh!” The male’s eyes lit up with recognition. He nodded and disappeared into the back of the bakery. You must have been in the right place. While you waited, you watched a female baker behind the counter delicately package pastel macarons into a cellophane box, her hands flying yet precise as she tied a pastel blue ribbon over the top.

The male reappeared, holding a small white box secured with red twine. He handed it over the counter with a broad smile. You thanked him, looking down at the box with curiosity, slightly disappointed that you couldn’t see its contents like the macarons on display.

Given that the sun was beginning to set, you figured you didn’t have much time left before Azriel would come to retrieve you. With the mystery box in hand, you crossed the street and sat on a bench, pulling your jacket tighter around you as you watched fae bustle by.

A few small children barreled down the street, chasing each other and giggling wildly. They stopped in front of the bakery, pressing their noses to the glass, their eyes wide with longing for the delectable treats inside. You watched as the female baker inside noticed their hungry faces. She smiled warmly at them, exchanged a few words with the male baker, and then disappeared into the backroom.

Moments later, she emerged with a white paper bag and stepped outside, beckoning the children closer. They approached cautiously, eyes alight with excitement. She handed them the bag, her smile radiant as she reminded them to share.

The children eagerly took the bag from the baker, nearly ripping it as they peered inside. Their eyes lit up with delight as they distributed various cookies and candies among themselves. You smiled, remembering how, when you were young, the baker Henri used to give you scones that hadn’t sold the day before. A memory that once included your mother, now replaced by Titania. There was something comforting about these children, nearly a century later, still engaging in the same rituals. Adults continuing to offer sweets from the kindness of their hearts, expecting nothing in return but a smile and the hope that these children might someday pass on the same acts of kindness.

You heard footsteps crunching on the sidewalk next to you and looked up to see two large, winged shadows approaching. Azriel’s face was partially obscured by the late afternoon sun. He took a seat next to you, crossing his legs casually and draping his arms over the backrest of the bench, one foot jostling slightly.

“Hey,” you greeted, moving the box to the other side of you.

“Hi,” he replied, his warm smile melting away the chill in your bones.

“All set?” you asked. He nodded. “How did it go?”

His face conveyed a sort of nonchalance, his mouth twitching slightly downward but not quite frowning. “Fine,” was all he said, shrugging. “How was your little errand?” He cocked an eyebrow, glancing at the white box.

You handed him the box, feeling its light weight in your hands. “Fine, I think.”

Azriel took the box from you, untying the twine and turning slightly away to examine the contents. You strained to see over his shoulder, but one large wing blocked your view.

“If all you wanted were pastries, why be so secretive?” you scoffed, amused, as he replaced the lid and turned back to you with a cheeky grin.

He rolled his eyes. “Can’t a male have a little fun?”

You huffed, your eyes scanning his face. There was something about his presence you couldn’t quite place. The look of hesitation behind his eyes, the continuous bouncing foot, and the odd secrecy made you think Azriel might be nervous about something. But what, you couldn’t quite figure out.

“Ready to go?” he asked quickly, standing and adjusting his jacket. You watched him, taking the hand he extended to you, agreeing quietly while complaining slightly about the cold. He just called you a crybaby in response.

The two of you walked through the streets, searching for a quieter sidestreet where Azriel could fully stretch his wings for takeoff. When you finally found one, he picked you up gracefully, asking you to hold the pastry box, which you obliged. The entire flight home, you debated just opening the lid for a peek inside.

As you landed back on the marble balcony, Azriel gently placed you on your feet. You adjusted your top, smoothing the fabric with a quick tug, while he reached for the double doors and swung them open, reclaiming the white pastry box from you. The warm glow of the fire beckoned from within, its gentle crackling drawing you closer. You shrugged off your jacket, tossing it casually onto the bed as you entered the room.

“Thanks,” Azriel’s voice followed you. “For doing this for me.”

You gave a nonchalant shrug, flopping down onto the plush bed, your arms stretching upwards as you tried to ease the ache in your muscles. “No worries.” You expected Azriel to make a swift exit, eager to tackle the next task on his agenda, but he lingered. Standing near the double doors, his eyes stayed on you, a quiet intensity in his gaze.

Lifting your head off the bed, you noticed his prolonged stare. Feeling a bit self-conscious, you asked hesitantly, “Everything okay?”

Azriel snapped out of his reverie, his scarred finger tracing the twine of the pastry box absentmindedly. “Yeah, it’s fine,” he replied shortly, a touch of awkwardness in his voice. “Dinner?”

At his offer, you sprang up from the bed with eagerness. “Yes! I’m starving,” you exclaimed, your voice edged with a playful whine.

Azriel’s lips twitched into a soft, fleeting smile, the sound of a light laugh escaping him. As he started towards the door, you stumbled over your own feet, trying to kick off your boots in a rush. You fell into him, face-first against his chest, his warm laughter rumbling through you and making your stomach flutter. “Careful,” he chuckled, steadying you with a gentle hand.

“Sorry,” you murmured, pushing back slightly, your hands pressing against the hard muscle of his chest. You glanced up, your chin hovering mere inches from where your fingers rested.

Azriel’s gaze softened, his other hand still clutching the pastry box. With a slight nod, he led you out of the bedroom and down the hallway towards the kitchen. Normally, you and Nesta or Azriel would eat casually around the kitchen island, but tonight was different. Azriel walked past the kitchen doors, his pace quickening with a hint of excitement.

You paused in front of the kitchen, a confused look crossing your face. “Aren’t we eating?” you asked, glancing towards the familiar island.

Without stopping or turning back, Azriel urged, “Come on,” his tone carrying a trace of anticipation.

Puzzled but intrigued, you followed him, your stomach rumbling in sync with your growing curiosity. As you trailed behind him through the sunken living room and past the cozy library, you realized he was leading you towards the grand dining room. A room you had only seen used for formal family dinners hosted by Nesta.

Azriel reached the doorway, his imposing wings nearly filling the large frame. Turning to face you, his smile broadened, a spark of mischief in his eyes.

You couldn’t help but smile back, still trying to decipher his peculiar behavior. Azriel pushed open the door, stepping aside with a radiant, cheeky grin that made your heart skip a beat.

As you stepped through the doorway, Azriel trailing behind, your breath caught in your throat. In the center of the grand dining room, which typically housed a vast, imposing table fit for large gatherings and entertaining, stood a much smaller, more intimate table, set elegantly for two.

The table was adorned with an elegant lace tablecloth, its intricate patterns catching the flicker of candlelight. Candles were placed strategically around the room, their soft, golden glow dancing off the walls. The centerpiece was a lush arrangement of flowers, the key flowers being purple hyacinths—your favorites.

Your eyes were immediately drawn to the exquisite spread laid out on the table, a feast of your favorite dishes, each more mouthwatering than the last. Golden roast chicken, perfectly seasoned with a medley of colorful, caramelized vegetables, parsnips, and baby potatoes crisping in the tray. A bowl next to it held bright, emerald-green steamed asparagus drizzled with a cream sauce, a favorite that Titania used to make for you as a child, you had recently learned. Sautéed mushrooms and wild rice pilaf made your mouth water, and a few freshly baked rolls, still warm from the oven, rested in a basket lined with a blue towel.

You stood there, momentarily stunned by the sheer meticulous effort placed on each part of the room and table. You couldn’t conceive of any other food on the table that wasn’t one of your favorites, as though someone had crawled into your mind, into your childhood, and handpicked out the moments you held with reverie. Azriel came to stand next to a chair, pulling it out slightly as you approached.

“Az, this is—” you stammered. “How did you—?”

Azriel merely chuckled as you took your seat, sliding it in behind you, then crossing around, pouring a sparkling purple wine into a crystal-clear glass and passing it to you.

“This is,” the words couldn’t even come to your mouth as you took the glass, staring down at the food in front of you. “This is insane.”

Azriel poured himself a glass, swirling it lightly as he gazed across at you, his eyes twinkling with amusement as you tried to get your mouth to close from awe. He took a light sip from the cup, the first taste hitting his palate as his face scrunched up, eyebrows drawing together and then widening in surprise before narrowing into discomfort. He peered into the glass, mildly confused, and then slowly processed the unexpected saccharine assault on his taste buds, followed by a sharp exhale through his nose. “This is so sweet,” he said, shoulders and wings rising in an involuntary shudder.

You looked down into your own glass, the sweet aroma of blackberries filling your nostrils as you took a tentative sip. You were greeted with an intense burst of blackberry flavor, as if a handful of the plumpest berries had been freshly crushed, the taste rich and succulent with small hints of dark chocolate and vanilla coating your throat. You almost moaned in sensual delight. Your eyes shut as you melted into your chair. You finally managed to moan out, “This is delicious.”

Your eyes fluttered open to see Azriel swirling the wine in his glass, peering into it with his mouth pulled up in a sneer as though a fly had landed in it. “Oh come on,” you said, taking another sip.

Azriel’s eyes flicked back to you, his sneer growing more exaggerated. “You actually like this stuff?”

“What about it don’t you like?” you asked, your tone slightly accusatory.

“It tastes like pure sugar,” he responded flatly.

“No, it doesn’t! It tastes like blackberries.”

“Blackberries that have been coated in sugar.” He glanced into it again, “There’s probably one blackberry for three cups of sugar.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back against your chair as you took another delectable sip, eyes shutting again as you felt the warmth of the wine trickle down your throat. You hadn’t had this kind of wine since—

Your eyes shot back open as Azriel tried another sip, the same reaction flying from him. “How did you know I liked blackberry wine?”

Azriel seemed to pause in stillness as he gulped down his drink. “Lucky guess?” he offered.

You shook your head, leaning forward. “You were spying on me,” you said, eyes narrowing.

Azriel’s own eyes went hollow as he considered the best way out of this situation. “I wasn’t intending to.”

You laughed lightly, “So your shadows just followed me around on their own accord?”

At that, you felt the cool breeze around your ankle as one shadow skirted past you. “To be fair,” Azriel offered, “they are fond of you.”

Your gaze turned into a glare as Azriel tried to dig himself out. He placed his glass on the table, leaning his elbows onto it, eyes lined with sincerity. “Look, it was right after you left, and I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“So how long were you watching me?” you asked, slightly more forcefully.

Azriel’s palms faced upward. “Only until it seemed you and Kai were getting more serious.” He paused. You scanned his face for any sign of deception but found none. Only pure sincerity. “Once you seemed like you had someone to rely on, I stopped.”

You leaned back, calming yourself again. In truth, you weren’t too upset that it seemed Azriel had been pining after you much longer than you had thought. Not to mention that knowing there was someone watching over you who wasn’t your mate allowed you to breathe a bit of a sigh of relief. You picked up the glass, swirling it so the sweet wine scent hit your nose again, breathing it in deeply.

“So you’ve seen me drunk?” you asked, taking another sip, eyes heavy as you cocked a brow at Azriel.

Azriel chewed his lower lip, trying to contain a slight smile playing at his lips. “Perhaps,” he offered back.

You quickly tried to sift through your memories, wondering about the things you had said or done that might now cause some embarrassment. “You’re giggly when you’re drunk,” Azriel remarked, a playful glint in his eye.

You set your glass down on the table, leaning forward as he carved a piece of chicken for you, placing it on your plate. The warm juices from the pan flowed onto the dish, tantalizing your senses. “And what are you like?” you inquired, arching a brow.

Azriel let out a breathy laugh as he served himself. You grabbed the tongs, dishing asparagus onto both your plates. “I haven’t gotten drunk in a long time.”

You handed over the tray to him as he passed you the rolls. “How long is a long time?”

Azriel pondered for a moment, setting the pan back down on the table. “Half a century?” he responded, sounding like he was questioning his own memory.

You picked up your fork, eyeing him with a smirk. “Sometimes I forget you’re ancient,” you quipped, taking a bite of the chicken. The savory sauce melted in your mouth, making you moan with delight.

Azriel rolled his eyes. “It stops being important once you turn one hundred.”

You opened your eyes again, taking another greedy bite. “That’s what someone who’s too old and boring to get drunk would say,” you teased.

“I got my days of heavy drinking out of the way before I took on one of the most important roles in the Night Court,” he countered, leaning back. “It’s not exactly a good look to be falling all over yourself in front of those in power.”

You scoffed, “Cassian seems to have no problem with it.” It’s true, Cassian seized every opportunity to get absolutely sloshed at formal events, often challenging other warriors to drinking contests.

“Let’s not use Cassian as our standard for formality,” Azriel replied with a chuckle. “But when I used to get drunk, I’m told I got rather chatty.”

You almost choked on your food. “Chatty?” you questioned, wide-eyed.

Azriel flicked his eyes at you from under his brows as he took a bite. “Is that surprising?”

You shrugged, chewing a bit more carefully this time. “Chatty with everyone? Or just the people you know?”

Azriel leaned back in the chair, his wings casually lounged behind him. “According to Rhys and Mor, everyone.”

The thought of Azriel being the life of the conversation somewhere in a bar in Velaris, chatting it up with strangers, almost made you laugh out loud. “I’m sure you were fun at parties,” you offered, swallowing down your bite with another glass of wine.

“I would say I still am,” he replied, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

“You think fun is brooding in the corner?”

“You’ve only ever seen me at Night Court events,” he countered.

“But you’re a party animal at the tavern?” Azriel rolled his eyes. “Maybe that’s why you don’t like sweet wines,” you teased, leaning over the table. “You’re too old to enjoy something so youthful. You’d rather have a dry glass of white wine or some liquor that burns like firestarter.”

Azriel scoffed at you. “Am I going to regret doing all this for you?” he joked back.

You smiled at him sweetly, looking back down at your plate. “No,” you replied, a touch quieter and sincere. “This is amazing. Thank you.”

Azriel’s face lit up slightly at your response. “I just thought you deserved a nice night,” he said.

You gestured to the table, “You really got all my favorites, even the ones I haven’t told you about or eaten in front of you.”

Azriel glanced toward the ceiling. “I’ll admit, the House did provide me with some insight on things you ask for late at night.”

You followed his gaze up, whispering in a hiss, “Those moments were supposed to be secret.”

Azriel laughed, “That and Titania helped fill me in on the rest.”

You ran your finger around the rim of your glass, heart and belly slowly filling with a feeling of deep adoration and joy. “This is really nice,” you finally whispered.

Azriel reached a scarred hand across the table to you, taking yours. “You deserve to enjoy the things you love,” he offered, his voice filled with quiet sincerity.

Azriel shared with you that, unlike what you might have considered, he actually prepared all the dishes himself. He prepped the meal early in the morning with the help of Nuala and Cerridwen at the River House and then took the hour he had misled you into going to the bakery to set everything up. He really had thought of everything.

As you settled back in your chair, the plate nearly licked clean, you let out a sigh of gratification. Azriel, who had indeed brought out some nasty liquor you refused to try despite his imploring, swirled his glass across from you. His eyes lit up suddenly as he jumped from the table. “I almost forgot!”

You straightened slightly as he brought out the white box from the bakery, setting it in front of you to open. You glanced up at him, smiling. “You made me get my own dessert?” you teased.

“Oh yeah, I’m so sorry,” he replied sarcastically. “How foolish of me to ask you to do one thing so I could do all of this for you.” He gestured around the room with a dramatic flourish.

You smiled back as you undid the twine, peeking in at two delicately crafted tarts. The rhubarb, lemon, and berry compote glistened up at you, the crust perfectly crisped. Your mouth fell open again as Azriel looked down at you, joy in his eyes. You peered back up at him, “These are the tarts that Elain made when I first came here,” you said, breathless.

Azriel shrugged, “Not the exact ones. But they’re as close as I could get to the real thing without cluing Elain in.” In fairness, Elain couldn’t keep a secret, and for something of this nature, which included romance and food, she would have spilled every detail the second Azriel told her.

You found your hand seeking Azriel’s as you marveled at the beautiful little desserts, eyes welling up with emotion. This entire dinner was a three-course journey through your life, from childhood to now, all prepared for you, all a reflection of who you were and the things you had experienced. You felt a tear start to fall, but Azriel caught it, tilting your head up to face him, his own eyes filled with a sincerity and care you don’t know if anyone had ever had for you before. “Thank you,” you whispered lightly.

Azriel leaned down, his lips meeting yours, the oils from the chicken mingling with the sweet wine on your own lips. While you could taste the fiery hint of his drink, you didn’t pull away, lost in the soft caress of his lips as his thumb drew a lazy line down your face, his other hand coming to cup the other side. The kiss held no intensity other than pure adoration, care, and unbridled joy. When he pulled back, Azriel smiled down at you again, and you giggled lightly when he reached into the box, pulling out one of the tarts with his hands and taking a crumbling bite from it.

“Hey!” you protested, laughing as he chewed. “That’s mine!”

Azriel shrugged, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Consider it a toll for the perfect evening.”

To my readers, I'm hot, bothered, and need to be put back into my enclosure. We about to get wild: @thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @florabelll @fightmedraco @marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @quinzzelx @romantasyreader28 @minnieoo @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @annabethgranger123 @krowiathemythologynerd @scatteredstardustt @caroline-books @slytherintaco @sevikas-whore @sidthedollface2 @sleepylunarwolf @acourtofbatboydreams @quiettuba @julesofvolterra @skylarkalchemist @darling006 @loglady00 @caninnes

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fall0utmind · 1 month ago

Text

🤍 Medical AU fic: Would you still love me if I told you my darkest secrets? 🤍

Chapter 3: hurt/ friends

On AO3 here

Chapter 1 here

Chapter 2 here

T/w for suicidal thoughts, breakdowns

Sorry in advance for the ending. Feedback much appreciated 🫶🏼🫶🏼

CHAPTER 3 – HURT/FRIENDS

He doesn’t remember the rest of the walk to the motorhomes, staggering behind Dovi, completely out of it. His mind is whirring like a broken cassette tape, the hurtful words looping. They settle somewhere deep inside his ribcage, slotting into place next to another set of familiar cruel words he has heard before.

“He has ruined our sport”.

“It isn’t worth it”

“The world would be better off without you”

His traitorous brain grasps hold of the cruelty and tortures him with their continuous echoes in his worst moments, something he has worked hard to defeat in the past.

They end up slumped together on the sofa, Dovi leaning against the armrest with Marc in between his legs, both craving physical comfort after the events that had transpired. Something odd strikes him then. People know too much about his past, more than they should, from what Marc understands. He instinctively reaches for his phone, ignoring Dovi’s protests, instead opening the internet app to check what had been released during qualifying. To say the press is a shitstorm turns out to be an understatement. Marc reads article after article with wide eyes, seeing his past laid out in black and white for the world to see.

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EXCLUSIVE: Meet the MotoGP Star who Battled his Demons On and Off Track

Details have emerged across the weekend that Mr Marquez overdosed on medication and alcohol at the end of the 2015 season

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SCANDAL: MotoGP World Champion’s Medical Records Released to the World

Read more about how the 8-time champion tried to kill himself TWICE in 2015

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Marc Marques reveals tragic past in the MotoGP Paddock: "He had to go to hospital twice. He was a mess- drinking, taking pills, loitering at the top of tall buildings. Everyone thought he would be dead by 2015”

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Disgust fills him as he reads the theatrical titles detailing his fall from grace. It is as if his life is some kind of tasteless TV drama, sensationalised for the audience’s satisfaction. Yet, despite this, he cannot stop reading, grappling with the realisation that everyone now has an opinion on the worst years of his life.

Marc comes across an article which catches his eye; he scrolls back up to click on it, interest piqued. It is simply titled “Marc Marquez’s Tragic Past Unveiled – the Paddock’s Reaction”. He knows delving into what could be a world of pain isn’t particularly conducive to a good mental headspace before the sprint race, but his life is falling apart, at this point who cares? Dovi has given up trying to stop him, instead, he is sitting quietly, his arms draped around Marc, who leans back onto his chest. Marc scrolls through the article, noting the vivid pictures it paints about his poor mental health. Whoever leaked the records certainly did a thorough job. The article quotes several pilots; most of them declined to comment. A couple, namely Aleix, Enea, and Fabio, give general well-wishes and stress the need for privacy. Marc giggles at the reporters (frankly stupid) attempt to ask Alex if looks could kill. He’s pleasantly surprised that there are no negative comments, no sly slanders about the championship or his riding. Perhaps it’s only a matter of time. A little further down the article he finds the comments from the VR46 academy, a couple stand out to him. Luca looks sad, which is a bit of a surprise, and Bez looks wildly uncomfortable, he can’t figure out if it’s because they’re bringing up Marc at all, or if he simply doesn’t know what to say other than criticism. Shockingly, there are also interviews with Pecco and Vale, which make Marc pause. He knows that he shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. Alex would murder him if he was here. But he can’t help it, watching in curiosity as the video of Pecco’s interview loads on his screen. The interviewer begins by asking about the Friday press conference, and Marc almost drops his phone at the response. Pecco’s anger is evident from the start of the interview, he’s always been an emotive person, but you can practically see the steam coming out of the Italian’s ears. At first, Marc assumes he’s angry at the distraction or at Marc for something he has done. But no, Pecco is kind, he is adamant that the media should respect Marc’s privacy and avoid speculation, even insinuating that the media is being unfairly cruel. Marc is instantly distrustful, considering what Pecco could be gaining from this, or if he’d just hit his head on the track. He momentarily lays his confusion aside and scrolls to Valentino’s interview instead. It’s just a simple statement that is much more on theme than Pecco’s but is somehow worse than anything of the venom Vale has spewed before.

“We should be focusing on the racing, not a rider's personal life from a decade ago.”

That tracks, Valentino stopped caring in 2015, so why would he start now? It still hurts, deep down. It makes his heart feel a little more torn and ragged, the broken edges sharpening a bit more. He feels frozen.

Dovi gently pries the phone out of his numb fingers, placing it face down on the coffee table. He pulls Marc fully into his arms, holding him as he finally allows himself to shake apart.

It is that position which Alex finds them in, an hour later, with Dani Pedrosa and Jorge Lorenzo in tow. The latter are loudly bickering about some nonsense as they enter the motorhome, only to fall silent upon the scene in front of them, argument forgotten. Marc is still curled in Dovi’s lap, his peaceful sleeping face juxtaposed by the dried tear tracks on his cheeks. Alex sighs, and gestures to the others to make themselves at home, before putting the kettle on.

When Alex re-enters the living room, the three older men are quietly talking, Marc still sound asleep between them. He sits on the sofa opposite his brother, turning to face Dani as he speaks.

“Are we sure he is okay to race?”

Alex huffs in amusement.

“Good luck stopping him”

The others give him sympathetic looks, used to Marc’s stubborn antics by now.

Alex continues, looking pointedly at Dovi.

“What happened?”

Dovi begins to rehash the events since leaving the pits, desperately trying to keep his anger in check. Alex feels murderous as Dovi tells them about the harasser and the subsequent encounter with Valentino and Pecco. Judging by their faces, Dani and Jorge would be very willing accomplices. There is a round of winces as the Italian tells them that Marc has been online, finally up to speed with the media coverage. Alex is angrier than he ever recalls being, cursing the universe for hurling trial after trial at his brother, but even more furious that the people around them can be so unforgivably unkind.

“It’s no wonder he’s exhausted” Jorge laments, looking at the younger in sympathy. Alex hums in agreement, mentally noting that Marc needs extra sleep tonight.

Marc chooses that moment to begin to stir, shuffling and grumbling into Dovi’s shoulder, unaware of the matching fond looks it earns him. He never has been one for waking up, whether it’s early in the morning or the middle of the day. He begins to blink his eyes open, his face still pressed into Dovi’s neck, clinging like a koala.

Marc wakes with a headache and a dry mouth, feeling rung out and miserable. When he opens his eyes, he is greeted by an amused-looking Dovi (whom he has obviously fallen asleep on). Alex and Dani are sitting opposite him, alongside Jorge Lorenzo, of all people. He pieces together the memories of this morning: his remarkable pole position, Dovi coming to the race, and the messages on his phone. It has become exceedingly apparent who “we” is, and isn’t that an interesting thought? He stares between Dani and Jorge, shooting a glance at Alex, who simply shrugs his shoulder, clearly also at a loss. He also, unfortunately, remembers the cruel words from the people in the paddock, as much as he would love to forget. He pushes it to the back of his mind and instead focuses on the others, asking the most obvious question.

“What are you guys doing here?”

“You’re my brother; this is also my motorhome”

“I couldn’t leave because some idiots fell asleep on me”

Dovi has a smug grin on his face, putting Marc at ease. He turns his gaze towards Dani.

“I was worried about you”

Jorge chimes in almost instantly then,

“Dani was worried about you”

Marc cracks a smile, enjoying the comfortable familiarity and their stupid humour.

He secretly knows Jorge is worried despite his joking, but it doesn’t stop Dani from elbowing him for good measure. They are clearly very familiar with each other; it doesn’t escape Marc’s notice that Dani doesn’t move his arm away from Jorge afterwards. He is so confused and Dovi looks smug which only serves to make Marc more confused. For now, he is happy to bask in the warmth of friendship for a little longer before he returns to reality. He is completely unwilling to move off Dovi, no matter how much he complains. They talk about racing, family, life, and everything they can think of apart from Marc and the weekend news. The three ex-riders are staying for the entire weekend, residing in the Gresini box during the racing. They have effectively promoted themselves to bodyguards, and after earlier Marc isn’t inclined to complain. Dani and Jorge sit with their knees touching the entire time, suspiciously comfortable in each other’s presence.

No one brings up the prospect of Marc not racing, knowing it will be a fruitless endeavour. Alex simply nudges him an hour before the race, letting the others know they need to get going. Marc whines into Dovi’s hoodie, not happy at the prospect of leaving the comfort of their motorhome, no matter how much he loves racing. He turns to Dovi, purposely widening his eyes until the older catches the hint. He laughs gently, removing Marc from his lap, shrugging off his hoodie and passing it to Marc, who happily shrugs it on, grinning like the cat who got the cream. Alex affectionately rolls his eyes at his brother's antics, whilst Dani and Jorge smirk at Dovi, who glares back at them.

They wish Alex and Marc luck as they leave to do the paddock rounds, not before reassuring the brothers that they will be in the box for the race (the media will have a field day). Marc leaves the motorhome first, taking advantage of the slight lunchtime lull and back-alley routes to get to the Gresini garage. The plan is to get there without meeting anyone else, but it gets derailed fairly quickly when someone roughly grabs his arm and pulls him backwards as he travels between two motorhomes.

Marc whips around, fear and fury coursing through him, only to come face to face with Valentino Rossi. He feels the adrenaline pumping through him, his heart racing and his mouth going dry. He instantly shies away from Valentino’s burning touch, taking a step away from him, whilst also straightening up, unwilling to let himself be intimidated.

“Stop playing mind games with my riders Marquez”

Marc scoffs, really? That’s what he wants? Jesus. He raises his eyes to meet Valentino’s gaze, his tone steely as he speaks.

“You think I want this? That I want my life to fall apart in front of the world for a second time? Do you think this is fun for me?”

Vale cocks his head at Marc as if confused that he isn’t cowing in submission or showering him with apologies. Marc sees the moment Valentino clocks what he’s wearing, clearly not his own hoodie, made worse by the number 4 branded upon it. In hindsight, he probably should have considered what it looked like before he left wearing Dovi’s hoodie. Oh well. Valentino’s eyes widen as he takes in the sight before him and then harden, turning cruel.

“Jesus Marc, you always have been an attention seeker. You love the sound of your own voice so much.”

Marc looks away, eyes burning, refusing to let Valentino know how much that stings. Anger rears its ugly head deep inside of him, a cumulation of all the crap he’s had to deal with this weekend exploding.

“No, no, of course, you bastard. You think everything is about you and your precious academy. You can’t even consider for a second that you made my life a living hell? That you made me want to die? Cazzo Vale, you were everything to me, my hero, the man I looked up to. Haven’t you already taken enough from me? Now you want this too. Fuck you, Rossi. Leave me alone.”

Marc turns on his heel and storms off, leaving Valentino with his mouth agape, hand reaching out to where Marc was before. The Italian watches his retreating form, filled with regret and his dying anger. He says the words quietly, knowing it's too late.

“Wait, merda, Marc”

#rosquez #marc marquez #motogp #motogp rpf #my fics #medical leak au #please yap in my asks guys #marcs medical records getting leaked #valentino rossi #pls dont hate me #im sorry #pedrenzo #eeeek #excited af for your reactions

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