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monzabee · 1 year ago

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déjà vu (beyoncé’s version) – ln4

masterlist

Summary: The one where a bad prank leads to you and Lando exploring an option you thought was not an option.

Pairing: lando norris x bestfriend!reader (nicknamed Tink)

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: smut elements but no actual smut, cursing, pining and of course fluff!

Request: “Haiiii. I love your style of writing Lando and feel like you would 100% do a request justice to scratch the itch in my brain Reader and him have been childhood friends, mutual pining with some sexual tension but never crossed lines other than a new years kiss with friends etc. So reader ends up training and qualifying as a physio/masseuse and travelling with Lando bc fun besties on tour together yay! Thinking she ends up getting to know his body really well from that and has to massage some intimate area- tension builds blah. They have a cosy night in together after front row quali to prep for the race, face masks cuddles bc really physically comfortable together and then some confessions happen. After this going out to celebrate home race (not jinxing tomorrow!!) and reader ends up dancing with another driver, Lando gets jealous fully opens up and they go home together (as much detail on that as you feel comfortable with) No probs if it’s something you don’t feel inspired to write! Pls continue writing whatever you love because I love to read your stuff!!”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! am i back after a literal month of no fics?? i hope so!! thank you so much for being patient with me you guysi i appreciate it, and i just want to say that this was the first time i wrote for lando (and you can definitely thank @userlando and her lando brainrot posts for that) and i’m kind of obsessed!! so as always, thank you to the anon for the request, and i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

Being friends with Lando has resulted in both of you getting in trouble way too many times, you realise. The most recent case? The both of you ended up in a supply closet nearby the Aston Martin hospitality, hiding from a very, very, angry Spaniard. The close proximity and the limited space wouldn’t have been a big issue, for if Lando wasn’t looking at you with that look in his eyes. Under normal other circumstances, your reaction would’ve been much more different to the one you give him now – which is a glare that shows him you are not happy with the situation the both of you are in.

You’re about to scold him, but the words on your tongue quickly die as he presses his index finger to your lips. “I know you’re about to yell at me,” he whispers as he tries to keep his voice as low as possible, “but I really don’t want to be found right now.”

“Then maybe you should’ve thought about that before, you bloody idiot.” You hiss while slapping his hand away, which wins you a mock pout in return. “Why would you play that song every time he walked into a room?”

“It’s his name,” Lando tries to reason, “I thought he’d be used to it by now!”

Here’s the sitch. Lando, being the absolute prankster he is, decided to play ‘Fernando’ every time his former teammate entered into a room that morning – which resulted in the Spaniard becoming more and more annoyed with him until he snapped and Lando had to find himself a hiding place. How did you get roped into this, you may ask? You have absolutely no idea, other than your best friend dragging you into a nearby storage closet as you were walking back to the McLaren hospitality after meeting up with some of your friends for a cup of coffee. And now? The two of you are stuck inside a closet which is obviously too small for you both, and Lando has to bend his neck in an uncomfortable position.

“Lando,” you whisper in an attempt to keep your voice down, “don’t bend your head like that, you’ll strain something.”

“Well it’s not exactly comfortable, Tink.” He grimaces as one of the shelves hit his neck, which causes him to let out a low groan.

Ignoring the nickname he’s used for years, you motion him to move lower. “Just– let me see, okay?”

He begrudgingly nods as he bends his body towards you to accommodate you. You let your fingers run across his skin to find any knots along his shoulders. He lets out another low groan, but this one is more appreciative as you work some of the knots your fingers end up finding.

You watch as Lando’s expression changes from painful discomfort to relief as your fingers work their magic on his tense muscles. For a brief moment, it's just the two of you in the confined space, and you almost get lost in the comfortable silence. “Feels good,” Lando murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, “I swear you have magic hands or something.”

You let out a breathy chuckle, “I just know your body, Lando.” After realising the words that come out of your mouth, your face flushes with embarrassment at the unintended implication of your words and you scramble to add, “Not like that, I didn’t mean–”

He smirks playfully, his eyes sparkling mischievously. “Oh, really? My body, huh? You think about my body often?” he teases, his hands squeezing your waist – and being lost in the moment, you don’t even know how they ended up there.

Your cheeks grow even hotter, and you feel your heart rate quicken. “No, that's not what I meant,” you stammer, trying to regain your composure, “and you know it’s basically my job to think about, you know?”

The mischievous glint in his eyes shine brightly as he decides to play dumb, “To think about what, baby?”

Your heart skips a beat at his teasing, and you can't help but let out a small laugh, trying to hide your embarrassment. “Don't be ridiculous, Lando,” you retort, trying to act cool despite the butterflies in your stomach. “I meant knowing your body like an expert, considering the fact that you pull a muscle every time you decide to do a physical activity.”

He chuckles, and his hands, still resting on your waist, give you a playful squeeze. "Sure, sure, Tink," he replies, a hint of playfulness in his voice. "But let's be honest, it's not just my body you know well. You practically read my mind too."

You roll your eyes, trying to playfully push him away. "Oh, please. You're not that hard to figure out."

Lando leans in a little closer, his grin still evident. "Is that so? Then tell me, oh expert of Lando Norris, what am I thinking right now?"

You raise an eyebrow, not falling for his trick. "You're probably thinking that you got away with the Fernando prank and now you owe me big time, your brain is empty most of the time."

He smirks, impressed by your response. "You're good, Tink. But you're right, I do owe you one. What can I do to make it up to you?"

You pause, the closeness between the two of you making it difficult to think clearly. "Well, for starters, maybe you can stop dragging me into your pranks and getting us into trouble," you suggest with a hint of a smile. “And I don’t know, maybe take pole for me, you know?”

As the playful banter continues, you both seem to forget about the predicament you're in. The confined space of the closet no longer feels suffocating; instead, it becomes a haven for shared laughter and camaraderie.

Just as the two of you are lost in the moment, the closet door suddenly opens, and you both freeze. The angry Spaniard stands before you once again, but this time, his expression has softened, seeing you and Lando in a surprisingly intimate moment.

"Am I interrupting something?" Fernando asks, his tone amused.

Your face turns beet red, and Lando lets out a nervous chuckle. "Oh, hey there. Just having a chat, you know."

But Fernando raises an eyebrow, still looking amused. "In a supply closet?"

You and Lando exchange a sheepish glance, realizing how the situation must appear to Fernando. "Well, we kind of got caught up in the moment," you admit, hoping he doesn't read too much into it.

Fernando chuckles, and there's a warm glint in his eyes. "I see. Well, it's none of my business, but you might want to find a less cramped place to chat next time."

You nod in agreement, grateful that Fernando seems to be taking the situation lightly. "You're right. We'll keep that in mind," you say, trying to sound casual.

Lando adds with a grin, "Yeah, and we promise not to play 'Fernando' every time you enter a room from now on." But he’s quick to correct himself when you give him a glare, “I promise not to play 'Fernando' every time you enter a room from now on."

Fernando chuckles again, seemingly amused by the whole ordeal. "I'd appreciate that. Anyway, carry on. I won't keep you two any longer."

As he walks away, you let out a sigh of relief. "That could have been a lot worse," you say, feeling a mix of embarrassment and amusement.

"Yeah, we got lucky," Lando agrees, giving you a playful nudge. "But you know what they say, Tink, nothing like a bit of closet bonding to strengthen a friendship."

You roll your eyes at his playful banter, but there's a fondness in your heart as you look at him. "You're incorrigible, Lando Norris."

He grins, "You love it, though."

You can't help but smile, knowing he's right. “Come on,” you say, “you have a quali to attend.”

The tension from the qualifying session had left you on edge, your heart pounding with every lap, and your nerves had gotten the better of you, leading to some slightly bloody nails from biting them in anticipation. But all that anxiety melts away when you see Lando step out of the car, grinning ear to ear. As soon as he catches sight of you, he opens his arms, and you don't hesitate for a moment. You rush into his embrace, holding him tightly, relieved that he's safe and thrilled that he performed so well.

"You were amazing out there!" you exclaim, unable to hide the pride in your voice. "P2, front row! That's incredible!"

Lando chuckles, his arms still wrapped around you. "I don’t know how we did it!"

You pull back slightly to look into his eyes, your heart swelling with admiration for your best friend. "I never doubted you for a second," you say earnestly.

His grin widens, and he playfully ruffles your hair. "I know you didn't. Seems like you’re my lucky charm, hm?"

“You know what that means?” You ask him return, a playful smirk on your lips.

His answer comes quickly, and his look seems to reflect your own, “Pizza and a movie?”

Your reply is just as enthusiastic as you throw your arms around him and give him a big smile, “Pizza and a movie, baby!”

Eventually, you manage to escape the whole hustle and bustle of the circuit, and you and Lando find yourselves back at the hotel, with you on the couch trying to find something to watch and him deciding to take a quick shower after the stressful day of qualifying. After a few minutes, you hear the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. You smile to yourself, glad that Lando is taking some time to relax after such a demanding day. As you wait for him to finish, you finally settle on a movie to watch with a small grin on your face, clearly pleased with your choice. Just as you're about to start the movie, you hear the bathroom door open, and Lando emerges, looking refreshed and relaxed.

After he gets the pizza box out of the oven, he walks over to the couch, wearing sweatpants instead of his jeans, and flops down next to you. "That shower was exactly what I needed," he says with a contented sigh.

You chuckle, glancing at him, while also trying to actively ignore the fact that he’s wearing grey sweatpants. "Feeling better now?"

"Definitely," he replies, flashing you a grin. "So, what are we watching?"

“Mamma Mia,” you scoff, “of course.”

“A classic, nice.” He nods in understanding, extending the pizza box to you for you to take a slice. “It’s still warm.”

You wordlessly grab a slice and pass the box back to Lando as you settle in your seat, ready to focus on your choice of movie. The comfortable silence between you feels familiar, like the unspoken language of best friends who have shared countless memories and moments together. Throughout the movie, you can't help but notice Lando's occasional stolen glances at you, and you find yourself stealing glances right back. He even winks at you with that boyish grin every time he catches you staring at him, making you giggle as you quickly turn your attention back onto the screen. You somehow find yourself sprawled out on the couch once the pizza box is emptied and discarded, and it’s harder for you to keep your eyes open. With your head on Lando’s lap, he plays with the ends of your hair as the two of you try to keep your attention on the screen.

‘Try,’ being the operative word here, since Lando realises that you end up falling asleep in the middle of the movie where Sophie realises all of the men she invited to the wedding thinks they are her father, and though he finds some kind of comfort in the chaos knowing that it will get resolved eventually, he can’t help but take his role as a makeshift human pillow very seriously. As the movie continues playing, Lando tries his best not to disturb your peaceful slumber. He leans back against the couch, adjusting his position so you can rest more comfortably on his lap while also trying so hard to not wake you up. He can't help but smile to himself as he plays with your hair, finding himself mesmerized by the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you breathe.

With a sudden realisation that maybe it is not the best thing to stare at you while you sleep, he tries to occupy himself with something on his phone while also trying to keep still so that you don’t wake up. However, the text thread between him and Max quickly makes him realise that the thoughts that he tries so hard to keep away. He never gave himself the opportunity to think about the two of you that way, he supposes. Not that it would be weird or anything, but in his mind, he’d seen, and been in, far too many relationships form and de-form to know that not all is permanent when it comes to relationships and it’s also not something he’d want to risk when it comes to you. Although the unwarranted thoughts of the two of you together, as a couple, have been haunting him for the past couple of months, he did a great job of sending them away and finding something else to focus on – up until now, that is. And now that he’s pictured the two of you together, holding hands in the streets of Monaco, going on dates, doing more than what ‘best friends’ are meant to do, it doesn’t seem that daunting to give it a try.

He carefully shifts you onto his lap with gentle movements, surprised that you don’t wake up and also trying to figure out the best way to wake you up without startling you. As he gently brushes your cheek, your eyes flutter open, and you look up at him with a sleepy smile. "Did I miss the end of the movie?" you ask, your voice still heavy with sleep.

Lando chuckles, shaking his head, but not stilling the movement of his hand. “No, we just finished. You fell asleep somewhere in the middle.”

You sit up slightly, rubbing your eyes with a small yawn. “I'm sorry,” you say, sounding apologetic.

“No need to apologise,” he assures you, his thumb caressing your cheek. “You looked adorable sleeping, Tink.”

Your cheeks flush slightly, and you give him a playful nudge. “Stop teasing me.”

Lando grins, but there's a tenderness in his eyes as he looks at you. “I'm not teasing, Tink. I mean it. You always look adorable, no matter what you're doing.”

You feel your heart skip a beat at his sincere compliment, and you can't help but smile back. “Thank you,” you say softly, feeling a warmth spreading through you, “I, uh, I should probably go to my room and let you sleep.”

“What? No, you don’t have to go.” Lando’s eyebrows furrow on their own, “I mean, you could stay over, it’s not like we haven’t done it before.”

You give him an unsure look, “I don’t know, Lando, you have a race tomorrow.”

“And we’ll sleep,” he shrugs, “the name ‘sleepover’ implies that, baby.”

You end up giving in and nodding, albeit a little hesitant. "Alright, I'll stay over."

Lando's face lights up with a bright smile, clearly pleased with your decision. "Great! It'll be fun, just like old times."

You chuckle softly. "Yeah, just like old times."

And you’d expect it to feel like the old times, because the two of you said it would be like the old times – the times where you’d spend the night over at his house because his mother picked you up and you didn’t want the playtime to be over. But instead of the excitement of a prolonged play date with your best friend, you find yourself anxious in the hotel bathroom over the fact that it’s him out there, and there is no way that he is not aware of the way you feel about him. You take a moment to compose yourself, splashing some cold water on your face to calm your nerves. This situation is new territory for both of you, and you don't want anything to ruin the friendship the two of you have. When you eventually make your way out of the bathroom, you desperately want to go back in, feeling undoubtedly exposed under Lando’s burning gaze.

“What?” You ask, your voice coming off weaker than you hoped, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

It takes a minute for him to answer you, mainly because of the fact that poor Lando is having a brain malfunction at the sight of you in his shirt – which he gave it to you because it was the only logical option for sleepwear, you know? Suddenly regretting his possessive streak, he attempts to clear his throat, “Nothing, you look good in my clothes.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, and you try not to let yourself become reduced to a blubbering mess, “Oh, well thank you. It’s yours,” after a brief moment of realisation you quickly add, “but you already knew that.”

“Tink,” he calls out, snapping you out of whatever embarrassed state you’re in, and your eyes quickly snap to his. “Come here,” he pleads as he extends one of his towards you, he’s quick to draw you into his arms – and just like that, you find yourself straddling your best friend.

“This is crazy,” you whisper as Lando grabs you by the waist to still your movements as you try to find a comfortable position while not realising just how uncomfortable it becomes for him.

“It doesn’t have to be,” his whisper is just as soft as yours as he looks up to you, “we don’t have to make it weird.”

A compromise, you’ll take it. “Are you going to kiss me?”

“Do you want me to kiss you?” As much as you hate it when he replies to your questions with his own, you nod your head with a sheepish look on your face, though it doesn’t satisfy Lando as a valid answer. “I need you to say it, baby.”

You answer comes of in an instant. “I do, please.”

“Such good manners,” he mumbles while giving you that boyish grin you love oh so much. When he catches biting the corner of your lip, you’re broken out of your daydream by his thumb pulling your lip free. “Don’t do that, you’ll hurt yourself,” his thumb caresses the side of your lip, “that’s my job, anyway.”

Your cheeks flush at his playful comment, and you can't help but smile at his words. "Your job, huh?" you tease, feeling the tension in the air starting to dissipate.

Lando chuckles, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your waist. "Among other things," he replies with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Before you give yourself the opportunity to overthink, you lean in and press a soft kiss to Lando’s lips – it’s only a peck, a hesitant one at that, but not completely uncharted territory when you think about it. The two of you have shared kisses before, at Christmas or New Year’s at midnight, but somehow this simple peck feels different than any of those other occasions. Lando doesn’t rush you. He’s a patient man after all, and he knows that the feelings he has for you are reciprocated by the feelings you have for him. So when you look him with widened eyes, he gives you a soft smile and it does wonders to calm your nerves. It doesn’t take you long to press your lips against his once again, but this time the kiss is deeper, more passionate, and filled with the unspoken words that have lingered between you for too long.

It starts off with another peck, but this time you take the initiative to deepen the kiss, and the appreciative groan that leaves Lando’s lips makes you feel butterflies in your stomach. His hands move from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you closer to him, while yours tangle in his hair, revelling in the softness of his curls – and the fact that all of this feels almost familiar in some kind of a way. He’s not shy as he lets his tongue explore your mouth, in fact, he encourages you to do the same. It’s a messy kiss filled with colliding tongues and mixed breaths, and the hands that were on your waist one moment are now on your hips, encouraging their slow movement against his groin. It’s not a subtle build-up for any of you, either. It a matter of seconds, you find yourself dry-humping your childhood best friend in his hotel room, and in a couple more, both of you are whimpering into the kiss.

You’re both out of breath and breathing deeply as you rest your forehead against Lando’s. Thankfully, his hands continue to guide your hips as their movement get more and more erratic, and you him groan out, “Slow down, baby.”

You let out an objective whimper in return, whispering out a weak, “No.”

“No?” Lando repeats, his breath hitting your exposed neck in a light chuckle, “Do you want to come?”

“Uh-huh,” you mumble, letting your hands grab handfuls of his hair, “but you can’t fuck me.”

The whine that comes from your lips can only be described as bratty when Lando forces your hips to cease their movements, raising an eyebrow at you as he grumbles, “Excuse me?”

“You can’t fuck me, Lando.” You mumble, trying to move your hips again, but his hold is too powerful against your attempts. “At least not tonight.”

“And why is that, Tink?” He takes in your wide eyes and shuddering breath in, thinking he’d done something wrong, something you didn’t like. “You want to come, no?” He thinks at that moment, as you give him a nod with that dreamy and almost innocent look on your face, he could die and he’d be happy with where his life has led him, but he gives you a confused look, “Then what is the problem?”

“Um, you have a race tomorrow,” you explain as your fingers gently slide down to meet at the nape of his neck, “I don’t want to jinx anything.”

As a respond to your words, Lando gives you a look of disbelief, “You don’t want to jinx me having a good race,” he mumbles.

You give him another nod, “Are you mad at me?”

“Am I mad at you?” Lando repeats the question, and he flips the two of you over in a smooth motion so that you're lying on the bed with him hovering above you, his eyes locked onto yours. “Answer the question for me, will you?”

You take a moment to catch your breath, your heart racing as you meet his intense gaze. “No,” you reply softly, your fingers tracing the outline of his jaw. “Why would you be mad at me?”

Lando's lips curve into a playful smile as he leans in, his breath warm against your skin. “See?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours, “Good girl.” As he moves down your body, you let out a protesting sound, but he quickly shushes you as he positions himself between your legs. “I’m going to make you come, and you’re not talking to Micheal Italiano ever again.” He taps the side of your hips to signal you to raise them up as he carefully takes off your underwear and then murmurs to himself, “Pretty girl, too.”

With a blush which is quickly spreading onto your cheeks and neck, you raise yourself onto your elbows as you watch him give you the do-over. “Lando,” you plead.

“Oh baby, you're wet,” he teases, “don’t worry, though, I’ll help you with that.” He also gives you a look while grabbing both of your thighs, “And the shirt fucking stays on.”

After the events of the previous night with Lando working wonders between your legs for the remainder of the night, he honestly didn’t expect to start the morning with you returning the favour. Alas there you were, between his legs, with sleepy eyes and an innocent smile as if you hadn’t just given him the best blowjob of his life. And as the two of you make your way along the paddock, he wishes he was back in his hotel room with you in his arms. You try your best to distract him from overthinking everything and costing himself the race, and Lando is aware of what you’re trying to do – though that doesn’t mean you succeed completely.

You can tell by the small frown of eyebrows that he is lost inside his head, probably double guessing every aspect of the strategy his team debriefed him about this morning. With a deep inhale, you give his hand a small squeeze, halting your movements to stop him alongside you. “Hey,” you call out gently, “you’re going to be amazing out there, okay? You have nothing to worry about.”

“I know, it’s just the pressure is getting to me.” You watch him sigh, closing his eyes for a moment to regroup his thoughts, “I’ll be fine before I go in the car, I promise.”

You nod, giving him an encouraging smile, “I know you will. After all, you feel the–”

“Need for speed.” He completes the sentence without thinking, which makes the two of share a short laughter. “Thanks, Tink.”

“You’re welcome,” lifting yourself up on your tiptoes, you give him a soft peck on his lips, “I’ll watch the race with your dad, okay?” You chuckle at his reaction when he lets out a prolonged groan, “What?”

“He’s going to make fun of us, big time.” He says, rolling his eyes.

“Go,” you say in between laughter, “don’t be late and for the love of God, be careful!”

Lando chuckles at your playful warning, giving you a mock salute. “Yes, ma'am!”

It doesn’t take long for you to find Adam, who gives you a knowing look, in the sea of spectators in the McLaren garage. And as the race begins, you and Adam stand side by side, your eyes fixed on the track where the race is unfolding. The first four laps as the Lando leads the race makes your heart beat so hard, you can practically feel the excitement coursing through your veins. Each turn and straightaway that Lando navigates flawlessly adds to the anticipation building in the air. Even when he returns to his original position, you’re on the edge, praying to whatever deity up there for him to finish this race without and incident. You’ve told him million times before that you don’t get F1 at all, you’ve always thought the adrenaline linked with the sport to be a negative feeling – too heavy, too much and definitely not something you want to feel every weekend. But in the moment that Lando passes the finishing line P2, you realise why people are so obsessed with this sport. Because when Lando crosses the finish line, you find yourself cheering as loudly as anyone else. The rush of emotions, once alien to you, now feels like a shared celebration of human achievement and dedication.

Lando is all smiles when he finally finds his way back to you, and he’s giving you a kiss the moment he has you back in his arms; celebrating with the team in the paddock was a whirlwind of emotions. As he wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, his big smile is infectious.

So you’re honestly confused when he starts dragging you through the hallways of the club you went to for his celebrations with the rest of the team. The beat of the music playing back in the dancefloor echoes in the hallway as he leads you down the hall. The lights, the laughter, and the energy of the celebrations in the main area of the club are still audible, but you can only hear the muffled sounds of the celebration being held for him. “Lando,” in hopes of finally getting some answers, you say his name for the umpteenth time, but he just looks at you with furrowed eyebrows, “what’s wrong?”

He's silent as he wraps his arms around your waist and before you can repeat your question he buries his head in the crook of your neck. While you’re thinking about what could’ve caused his sudden need to be alone with you, he’s very glad that you’ve opted to wear sneakers tonight instead of heels.

“Baby,” you murmur, your fingers running through his curls in an attempt to bribe him, “tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong.” His voice is muffled by your skin and you can feel the breath he exhales on your shoulder.

You purse your lips and give him a few moments for him to break on his own, but when he doesn’t, you sigh softly. “Something is wrong.”

He raises his head momentarily to give you an unamused look, then bury his head back into your neck, “I saw you and Oscar.”

“Yeah, we were talking about the race.” Your confirmation leaves you confused as he lets out a scoff, and you find yourself warily asking, “Is there something wrong with that?”

You hear him scoff again and then, “Well I didn’t particularly like it.”

You gently push him off of you as you try to look past his confused expression and pouted lips, “You didn’t like me talking to your teammate… about your race.”

“Well when you put it like that–”

“Lando he is two years younger than us, and he has a girlfriend you do realise that, don’t you?” Your hands rest on either side of your body on your hips as you give him a small grin, “You were jealous, weren’t you?”

His eyes widen as he nods, “Well yeah, Tink, I think that one was very much obvious when I dragged you here.”

“I mean,” you drawl, “it was kind of cute, you know?”

As his eyes narrow, Lando walks you backwards until you’re pressed up against the wall. “Well I am a cute person.”

“Oh yeah,” you let out a giggle, “the cutest.” Your fingers toy with the buttons of his shirt while you look up at him to meet his eyes, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That we should probably get back to the party?” He mumbles, his eyes drifting as he looks around the hall.

You fist the collar of his shirt as you raise yourself up on your tiptoes, your voice lowering down for only him to hear even if it’s a deserted hallway, “You don’t have a race tomorrow.”

His eyes come back down to meet yours, “Well yes, it’s Mond– oh,” it takes a moment for him to realise what you’ve meant, and you’re thrown over his shoulder in an instant.

“Wha– Lando put me down!” You shriek, “What are you doing?”

His voice is playful as he starts walking towards the back door of the club, “We are not leaving that hotel room for a few days.”

It doesn’t take long for you to start laughing, “You’re an idiot.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs the opposite shoulder, “but I’m your idiot.”

The sincerity in his words catches you off guard, but you can’t help the small smile forming on your lips as you murmur, “Yeah, yeah you are.”

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peachyspaceslvt · 9 months ago

Text

Pretty When You Cry

Tangerine x fem!reader

read it ao3

summary: Tangerine has a tendency of dropping back into your life at the most unexpected times. An incredibly frustrating habit, considering your efforts to forget him after you woke up to find him gone the first time you slept with him. No matter how hard you try to let him go - and how hard he tries to avoid his own feelings - something always brings the two of you back to each other.

word count: 6.2k

warnings: canon-typical violence, no use of y/n, smut (minors DNI), p in v sex, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk, excessive use of the word fuck, porn with a little plot

a/n: reuploaded bc i accidentally deleted the original post ahasdhagd :,) - this started out as an idea I had been sitting on for a while, but I gave up fighting the itch in my brain to write for Tangerine. I may take the concept and expand on the story with a series, but for now enjoy some good ol' smut.

You step into the warm night air, the loud music of the club becoming muted by the walls. Your head spins as you lean against the brick. You’re burning up and the fresh air is a pleasant change from the thick, hot air inside. Sighing, you pull out a box of cigarettes and place one between your lips. You fumble with the lighter for a moment before you light the cigarette. You don’t usually smoke, but fuck you were feeling stressed. You’d finally agreed to go out with your coworker Carter, who’d been pestering you for a date for a while now. You thought it might be a good way to get your mind off of someone else. Unfortunately, you hadn’t expected him to bring you to a loud-ass club for a first date.

As you take a drag, the smoke swirls inside your lungs, making you feel light and dizzy. You tilt your head back against the wall and close your eyes as you exhale the musty cloud of smoke. You could feel the edge melting away from your nerves.

“Those things will kill you, ya know.” A familiar voice appears beside you.

“Fuck!” you jump, dropping the cigarette on the ground. You look up to see an even more familiar pair of eyes. Tangerine stands before you, arms crossed as he fixes you with a look that you don't recognize. He’s uncharacteristically dressed down tonight, wearing only dark gray slacks with a white button-up, the sleeves already rolled up. You try not to let your gaze linger on his tattooed arms. Why is he here? You were doing your absolute best to get him off your fucking mind, and yet here he is.

“What the fuck brings you here?” He slurs. The smell of alcohol on his breath is strong and it catches you by surprise. You’ve never really seen him drunk. Not like this, at least.

“I could ask you the same fucking thing,” you shoot back. He has a lot of audacity to show up here. You would be shocked at his ability to track you down had you not known just who he was. He has his ways, not to mention an incredibly frustrating tendency to end up in the same places as you.

“I thought you didn’t smoke,” he asks with a quirk of his brow.

“I don’t,” you reply flatly.

“Then what was that?” He points to the still-smoking cigarette you dropped.

“A distraction, maybe,” you mumble, leaning your head back against the wall. “You’re drunk, Tan, drunker than me.”

Tangerine laughs and runs a hand through his slick curls. “What are you runnin’ from, love?” His demeanor softens and he turns to lean on the wall beside you. Even now you still feel so small under his gaze.

“Oh fuck off,” you groan back. He chuckles again and you feel agitation stir within you.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” He really is drunker than you.

“Why do you have so many fucking questions?” you snap. “And he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Got another?” He motions to the cigarette on the ground.

“What happened to ‘those things will kill you’,” you mock his words from earlier as you pull another from the box for him.

“You might not smoke, love,” He says in a low voice as he places the cigarette between his lips, “but you know that isn’t the case for me.” He dips down slightly so you can light it for him, something you’ve done many times before. The close proximity of his face to yours sets off alarms in your brain. As you flick the lighter, his eyes shift up to yours and his cerulean gaze bores into you, making your skin prickle as you stand under his large frame. When the cigarette is finally lit, he straightens back up to lean on the wall. You watch as he takes a long drag before taking the cigarette between his ring-clad fingers and exhaling the smoke. Silence fills the space between you, only the sound of the music thumping inside can be heard. After a moment, you push yourself off of the wall and turn to walk back inside, trying not to stumble as you make your way to the door.

“Where are you going?” you feel his large hand wrap around your wrist and pull you back towards him.

“Well, you made me drop my cigarette, Tangerine. I don’t have any reason to be out here now,” you tell him, refusing to look at him. “Carter is probably wondering where I am anyway.”

“Don’t.” The tone of his voice causes you to falter. It’s unfamiliar, something you can't place. Not quite demanding, but not quite begging.

“I’m just going inside,” you huff and pull your wrist from his grip. Just as you turn to walk away again, his arm wraps around you and pulls you to his chest. You reach for his biceps to steady yourself. “Tan. You’re drunk,” you whispered.

“So are you.” His voice is raspy in your ear. You hesitate for a moment as you search his face. You couldn’t do this again, but god damn was it difficult to pull yourself away. Ultimately, you follow your better judgment as your hands come up to his chest and gently push him from you. He stays silent, watching as you turn back towards the door and head inside. The blaring music takes over once again as you push through the bodies and to the bar. Tangerine’s words echo in your mind as you take a seat. You sigh.

“Can I get you anything?” The bartender asks, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Double vodka cran.” He nods and busies himself with your drink.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Tangerine’s voice comes from behind you. You roll your eyes.

“You think you can go five minutes without questioning my decisions?” you retort. Tangerine chuckles again, taking the seat next to you. “I’m trying to fucking enjoy myself.” He doesn’t reply, instead ordering himself a drink when the bartender brings yours over.

“Hey!” Oh fuck. You hear Carter’s voice and look up to see him getting up from a table and heading in your direction. Running into Tangerine on your little smoke break has caused you to nearly forget that you even came here with him and you feel a bit guilty as he approaches the bar. “I thought I’d lost you for a moment th-” He stops when he notices Tangerine. “Is he bothering you?”

“No, we were just talking. I know him. It’s fine.” you wave your hand dismissively and take a sip of your drink, feeling the alcohol burn your throat.

“Yeah I know you do, he’s the fuckin’ asshole from the party.” Of course he remembers, Tangerine wasn’t even supposed to be there that night. He and Lemon had barged back into your life again, asking you to help sneak them into some fancy party that your job was catering for. You’d dressed them up as waiters and gotten them inside to do god knows what. Carter was none the wiser, assuming they were simply extra hands hired for the event. Until, of course, Tangerine’s inability to keep his mouth shut nearly started a fight with Carter.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Carter says, putting a hand on your back. The gesture sends icicles up your spine and you fight the urge to recoil under his touch.

“What? No, I said it was fine.” You look up at him, furrowing your brow a bit.

“And I said let’s go, don’t make this difficult.” He says harshly. What the fuck.

“Excuse me?” you set your drink down.

“She doesn’t want to go,” By now Tangerine is standing up and putting himself between the two of you. Carter scoffs and rolls his eyes, taking your wrist in his hand.

“Fuck off,” he hisses at Tangerine. You try to snatch your wrist back, but his grip is stronger than you expected.

“I don’t have to go anywhere with you!” You’re raising your voice now. You can feel Tangerine’s anger brewing without even looking at him. He’s practicing excellent restraint right now, but you know him well enough to feel the anger rolling off of him.

“Listen,” Carter starts, “I’m not going to sit here and let you whore around with every dude at this bar.” Before you can even fully register what he said, Tangerine’s fist is colliding with his jaw, knocking him back.

You stand up, your barstool falling over as you back away from the two men. Carter puts a hand to his jaw, looking up angrily at Tangerine before rushing forward and slamming him against the bar. Tangerine’s arm hits the drinks and sends them to shatter on the floor.

Carter draws back and punches Tangerine in the face, his other hand holding onto Tangerine’s collar. Tangerine grabs Carter’s shoulders, slamming his forehead into the other man’s nose. The sudden impact causes Carter to stumble back and Tangerine takes the opportunity to shift their position so that he’s the one holding Carter against the bar. His knuckles are white as he grips Carter’s shirt, his curls breaking loose from their slicked-back position and falling in his face as he rears back and punches him again. He punches him a third time, and a fourth, and a fifth…

“Tangerine! Stop, that’s enough!” you yell. By now people had noticed the fight. Two men quickly approach the three of you. Shit. One of them reaches Tangerine, who was now on his seventh punch, and pulls him off of Carter. The other one grabs Carter off the bar, his face bruised and bloody. You follow them as they drag the angry, panting men to the door.

“God dammit!” Carter yells as he recovers from being thrown outside. He lunges for Tangerine, who’s already prepared to catch Carter’s weight. He pivots them around, pinning Carter against the brick, his forearm pressing into his neck.

“Unless you’re not particularly fond of havin’ your arms attached to the rest of ya, I’d fuck right off if I were you,” he threatens in a low voice. He holds him there silently for a moment more, eyes wide and burning, waiting for a chance to make good on his threat. Carter finally nods, shoving Tangerine off of him and gathering himself up.

“He’s fuckin’ crazy,” he says looking at you. “Fuck both of you.” He throws his hands up as he backs away for a moment, then turns to leave.

Tangerine watches him round the corner, waiting until he’s completely out of sight before turning back to you.

You aren’t even sure how to process what just happened and you fight the tears threatening to well up in your eyes because you’re drunk and this isn’t how your night was supposed to go.

“Are you alright, love?” Tangerine asks, hands grabbing your face gently. His thumb strokes over your cheekbone as he searches your eyes and gives you a slight once-over. You close your eyes and nod. “Let’s get out of here.” He wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to him as he leads you off toward his car without a glance back.

“I’m not mad,” you break the silence as you sit in the passenger seat of his car. He clenches his fists around the thin steering wheel, sobered by the fight and rush of adrenaline.

“I wasn’t going to let him get away with sayin’ some shit like that to you,” he says, not taking his eyes off the road.

“I know,” you say softly.

“Why’d you even agree to go out with that prick anyway?”

“I’d never heard him say anything like that before. He’s always so nice at work, or at least he seemed like it. He’d been interested for a while, but I kept brushing him off. I don’t know, it didn’t seem smart to go out with my coworker.” You know that part is a lie and you’re not sure if Tangerine sees through it because he doesn’t respond. “I finally just agreed because…” you pause, not wanting to tell him that the reason you agreed to go out with Carter was because you would have done anything to get Tangerine out of your brain, “it doesn’t matter.”

He looks over at you, an unreadable expression on his face. “Well darling, you have absolutely awful taste in men,” he finally says in a playful tone that makes you laugh for the first time tonight.

“Do you think you could stop at a gas station? I need a drink or something,” You feel the fog beginning to clear from your head and you really don’t want to face the impending headache.

“Yeah, of course. Could use a pack of smokes anyway, rather than bummin’ ‘em off of you,” He says as he searches for a place to stop.

The hum of the engine comes to an abrupt stop and Tangerine pulls the keys from the ignition. He looks over at you. “You comin’?” He asks. You nod and give him a small smile before he exits the vehicle. Neon lights dance across the damp pavement and draw your attention to the flickering sign above the convenience store as you step out. You're surprised at the number of people at the store at such a late hour, and the way they lean against their cars and eye Tangerine suspiciously gives you an unsettled feeling. He looks rather disheveled and it doesn’t help that his knuckles are bloody and busted. You look like a mess as well you’re sure and there’s a bruise forming on your arm where Carter grabbed you. The jingle of a tiny bell snaps you out of your thoughts and you see that Tangerine is holding the door for you. You mumble a low “sorry” and he continues inside. The cool air hits you as you follow him quietly.

You head for the drinks in the back and swing open the cooler door. The chill air feels good on your flushed face and you take it in for a moment, taking a deep breath in your attempt to gather yourself. You settle on some flavored water. Closing the door, you make your way through the fluorescently lit aisles, back to Tangerine’s side. Your head is still swimming from the drinks but you can feel sobriety reaching through. You stand silently beside him in line until you hear someone clear their throat behind you. When you turn to look, a man is looking Tangerine up and down with a suspicious look. You know he’s noticed the bruise on your arm and the way your makeup has started to run.

“Are you good?” He asks quietly, trying not to draw Tangerine’s attention. He hears him anyway, but before he can open his mouth with a snarky reply, you answer.

“Yeah, I am now,” you say softly, leaning a bit closer to Tangerine as you shift your gaze up to him and offer a smile. He feels a swell of pride in his chest at your words, thankful that you beat him to speaking, since he would’ve just told the guy to fuck off and mind his business.

The two of you reach the front of the line and Tangerine takes your water from you, placing it on the counter. You observe the way he moves as he talks to the cashier, his gold pendant glinting against his chest almost obscenely, the way his muscles shift under his buttoned shirt as he reaches into his pocket for his wallet, how the lines around his eyes crinkle when he smiles and -

“You coming, love?” He asks you, pocketing a pack of Marlboro Reds and handing you your water as he reaches for the door handle.

“Yeah, sorry,” you say and follow him out, hoping you don't appear as flustered as you feel. You don't see the beginnings of a smirk playing on his lips. You are once again greeted by the humid air but you don’t mind. There’s a lack of words between the two of you after what happened tonight and you can’t seem to tell if it’s good or bad. It frustrates you that you struggle so much to read him. What’s even more frustrating than that is how much it seems to get under your skin that you can’t. Since when did you care about trying to read people? Since you ended up in sketchy gas stations at almost four in the morning with a contract killer, you remind yourself.

“You’re being awfully quiet, darling.” Tangerine’s words catch you off guard as he starts the car again.

“I just… don’t have anything to say,” you shrug, watching him fumble with the radio. It’s true. You were desperate to get your mind off of him, but the night took an unexpected turn and now you're here. With him. He doesn’t say anything, instead opting to switch off the radio and turn around to back out of the parking space.

The city lights pass by in blurry gleams of color. There is truly no calm here, you think as life still bustles about despite the time of night. Your mind wanders back to Tangerine. The way he found his way to you still tonight. You know that none of it would have happened if he hadn't shown up, but you're glad nonetheless. Carter wasn't someone you wanted around, and truthfully you were never interested in him. You know, that despite being unwilling to actually admit it to yourself, a part of you hoped Tangerine would be jealous. You also know that given the circumstances, whatever it was you felt for Tangerine, wasn't realistic. It was stupid and you knew it.

“Shit,” Tangerine’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you look away from the window, "missed the bloody exit." The green of the exit sign illuminates his face as you pass under it, almost taunting him.

“Maybe you should pay more attention when you're driving,” you tease. He looks at you but doesn’t speak. It’s quiet the rest of the way back to your apartment.

Tangerine pulls into a parking spot and turns off the car. You begin to thank him for the ride, expecting him to simply drop you off, but he gets out and heads towards the stairs.

“Walking me to the door? How sweet,” you say teasingly as you step out of the car.

“Jus' wanna make sure you're safe,” he mutters, looking past you. You only nod, understanding what he doesn't say.

When you unlock the door, you stand quietly for a moment, not sure if he intends to leave or come inside. He looks at you with an unreadable expression before speaking.

“I guess I should be off then, I’m sure Lemon’s probably wonderin’ where the fuck I am right now.” You feel a twinge of disappointment but you nod, knowing it's best if he leaves.

“Thank you, for, well, you know. You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s always a pleasure havin’ the opportunity to rough some bastard up a bit,” he jests.

“Of course it is. Goodnight Tangerine, thanks for getting me home.” You smile and shut the door the moment he turns to walk away, not wanting to watch him leave for another time.

You stand there with your hands on the door for a minute, your mind reeling with the events of the night as a flood of emotion hits you. First, a wave of affection for Tangerine, the way he leapt to your defense without a second thought. A pang of sadness follows, knowing you have fallen for a man with walls so high you’d never manage to scale them, a dangerously unhinged man that fell out of the fucking sky and right into your life. Then finally, anger washes over you. Anger for showing up tonight, when you just wanted to move on. Anger for leaving you to wake up alone after you fucked him, for making you fall in love with him all while knowing he’d keep you an arm’s length away. Anger that despite all of this, he just keeps showing back up in your life. In your heated frenzy, you reach for the door handle, hoping to catch him before he drives away, fully prepared to tell him off. You swing the door open but are taken completely by surprise to see Tangerine standing on the other side. He seems surprised too, not expecting you to fling open the door while he stood there still.

“You been standing there like a fucking dickhead this entire time?” You ask, crossing your arms. He gives you a defeated look.

“Couldn’t bring myself to fuckin’ knock. Couldn’t bring myself to just fuckin’ walk away either.” You watch him for a moment before deciding he’s being sincere and step aside to usher him in.

“Why’d you even fucking show up tonight, Tan?” You demand, closing the door behind him. He exhales deeply, his back still to you.

“I had no intention of showin’ up. I knew you were out with that tosser and the fuckin’ bottle got the best of me, darling. Next thing I know I’m gettin’ in the fuckin’ car because I couldn’t stand to think about you with that prick for one more fuckin’ second.” He finally turns to face you. His raw honesty is something new to you, usually, you’re left trying to piece what little bit he gives you together like some fucked up emotional jigsaw.

“I should’ve never agreed to go out with him,” you admit, meeting his eyes. “I just,” you draw in a breath, “I couldn’t get you off of my goddamn mind. I thought if I went out with him, then it’d take my mind off of you.” Tangerine’s lips press into a thin line, the crease between his brows deepening as they knit together.

“And,” you say, taking a step forward, “there was a part of me that thought maybe,” you swallow thickly, embarrassment creeping up on you, “that maybe you’d be jealous, even.”

“Oh you’re playing a very dangerous game, sweetheart,” Tangerine murmurs, his demeanor shifting. “You’d be smart to move on, forget me and find someone perfectly ordinary bloke instead.” You stare up at him as he moves in closer to you. “But you’re too fuckin’ stubborn, you’d rather nearly get your coworker killed to try and fuckin’ get at me.” There’s a sinister edge to his voice that sends a shiver up your spine and you wonder if you should’ve even admitted that to him.

He grabs your chin with one hand and looks at you through half-lidded eyes. Your pulse quickens, but your anger hasn’t completely dissipated.

“You’re the one who fuckin’ left in the middle of the night after you fucked me,” you spit back. His grip tightens and you swear you see the end of his mustache twitch.

“I did you a fuckin’ favor,” he hisses and lets you go. “You’ve got no business gettin’ tangled up with some fucked up bastard like me.”

“So why do you keep showing back up? Why haven’t you fucked off for good then? You said I’m stubborn but you won’t let me move on.” You’re starting to raise your voice now, your emotions running hot. Everything you’ve felt since he walked into the little cafe you work at on that ordinary fucking Wednesday afternoon is now bubbling up to the surface. You turn from him, walking away toward the living area of your apartment but he catches your wrist, gently.

“Because it turns out I just can’t get you the fuck off my mind either, love.” Your stomach is in knots, somehow both fluttering and sinking at the same time. “And maybe the thought of some fuckin’ asshole takin’ you home ate me the fuck up.” You stare at him, feeling weak under his burning stare. Emotion flashes across his face and he looks down in contemplation. You step closer to him again to close the distance.

“Is that what you wanted to hear? That you’ve fucked right with my head? Got me showin’ up to clubs off my fuckin’ face because the thought of anyone else havin’ ya makes me wanna put a bullet right through their skull.”

Your mouth is on his the second he stops speaking. His surprise fades quickly as his lips start to move against yours and you take him in. He tastes like vodka and cigarettes. He drops your wrist and wraps his arm around your waist. Your thoughts are consumed by him as you feel his tongue glide across your lower lip. Without a second thought, you let him in and your hands reach up to tangle in his curls. You run your tongue along the back of his teeth and he groans into your mouth. You wince slightly when he pulls away and trails his lips down your jaw.

“You make me fuckin’ insane, you know that?” He says between kisses.

“Show me,” you say breathlessly, biting back a moan when he nips the skin of your neck.

He doesn’t waste a second backing you up to the couch. You collapse onto the cushiony fabric below the moment you feel it hit the back of your calves, pulling Tangerine down with you. He’s still leaving marks along your neck so you grab his face and redirect him to kiss you again, his mustache tickling your nose. Your hand ghosts over the bulge in his trousers and his hips buck into the palm of your hand. The sound he makes is so pretty it sends a flood of arousal straight between your legs.

He pulls away again and looks at you, lips wet and glistening. His hand reaches the waistband of your pants and he meets your gaze in search of approval. You give him his answer by grinding your hips against his hand.

“You’re eager, darling,” he says as he slips his hand below the elastic, “but I’m taking my time with you.” He runs a ringed finger through your folds. “Fuckin’ hell you’re already so wet for me baby.” You bite your lip and lift your hips in an attempt to remove your pants. He swats your hands away and pulls them down for you, followed by your panties, tossing them both aside. He sits back on the couch, drinking in the sight of you.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous thing you are,” he swears as he returns his attention to your cunt, gliding his fingers through your slick and gathering the wetness on them. His thumb rubs a tight circle around your clit and you instinctively try to press your thighs together. He grabs one of your thighs with his free hand and forces them apart, holding them in place with his forearm. His ring and middle fingers plunge into you, the sudden intrusion making you gasp.

“Ah- Fuck, Tan-” You whimper as he curls his fingers inside of you, feeling the pleasure beginning to pool inside of you. He lowers himself so that he’s kneeling on the floor in front of the couch. He bites at the inside of your thigh, working his way down to your soaked heat as his fingers still pump deliciously in and out of you.

“You look so fuckin’ divine with my fingers inside you, love, need to taste you,” he mutters against your skin. Your hand flies to tangle in his curls when you feel his breath against your exposed cunt. He licks a single, flat-tongued stripe up your entrance stopping to swirl his tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves. His fingers are still working your pussy and you tighten your grip in his hair. He grunts when you tug on his curls, the vibration sending a shiver through you and causing you to buck your hips in response. His fingers dig into your thighs as he holds them apart still, fighting against your efforts to squeeze them shut.

You feel your orgasm building up, chasing the sensation as you fuck yourself on his thick fingers.

“Feels so good baby, gonna cum,” you manage between breaths, his fingers repeatedly pressing into your g-spot. He hums against your clit and the coil snaps. Your orgasm washes over you and you feel your walls spasm and tighten around his fingers. He doesn’t relent, still sucking and swirling his tongue around your clit, his fingers working you through the orgasm until you’re twitching from overstimulation.

He pulls away, lips still glistening as he sits back and brings his fingers to his mouth to lick your juices off of them. You watch him, mesmerized at the sight. Then, he moves back to the couch, caging you underneath him as he shoves his fingers into your mouth. He watches you through lidded eyes as you swirl your tongue around them, tasting the metal of his rings.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he pants, removing his fingers. His pupils are blown and his hair is a tousled mess of curls, he looks so goddamn beautiful that it sends a sudden wave of affection through you, causing you to reach up to touch his cheek. He leans into your touch, dipping back down to catch your lips. His tongue slips back into your mouth and you feel his cock press against your thigh. You grind your hips up, reaching for his belt at the same time.

“Want you to fuck me,” you whisper as you break the kiss. He curses and pulls away to finish the job for you, discarding his belt and kicking off his trousers. He works at the buttons of his shirt languidly before shrugging it off and tossing it aside as well. You take the chance to pull your shirt over your head and unclasp your bra, letting it fall to the floor as Tangerine looks back up at you. He’s left in his briefs, his cock straining against the fabric as he moves to you once again. You reach for the elastic, freeing his cock and wrapping your fingers around him. He’s hot and heavy in your hand as you pump the velvety skin.

“Thought you wanted me inside, darlin’,” he grunts as your hands glide over him.

“Yes, need you.” You lean back onto the couch cushions, your legs spread. He kicks off his briefs and hovers over you, propping himself up on one elbow, the other hand taking his cock to line up with your entrance. He drops his head down to your ear, a growl vibrating through his chest as he bottoms out inside of you. The mild sting of him stretching you sends a surge of pleasure through you.

“Fuck, missed how you felt around my cock, love,” he huffs out.

“So good, baby,” you moan, throwing your head back. The feeling of being filled by him is almost overwhelming. It doesn’t take long for him to find a steady pace, dragging his cock along your slick walls. You hook your legs around his waist and pull him to you. He growls when you dig your heels into his back, needing to feel him deeper.

His rhythm picks up and he sinks back down, taking your nipple into his mouth. You gasp as he nips the sensitive skin, then swirls his tongue around it soothingly. Your hand finds purchase once more in his hair, the other clawing at his back as he splits you open on his cock, sinking into you repeatedly. He releases your nipple and licks a stripe between your breasts.

“Tangerine,” you cry out his name when the blunt head of his cock hits your g-spot. “Fuck right there.”

“Look at you, my little fuckin’ cock-drunk slut,” he groans between thrusts. Suddenly you feel something cold hitting you in the face and you see his pendant dangling in front of you. It slaps obscenely against your cheek with every rut of his hips. You tilt your chin up, looking at Tangerine through your lashes as you take the gold charm between your teeth with a gentle tug on the chain. The gesture alone is enough to send him into a frenzy and he reaches a brutal pace, pistoning into you as he chases his own orgasm.

“You gonna come for me again, sweetheart?” He rasps, “I’m close.” He adds, reaching between the two of you to massage your clit. You choke back a moan, writhing beneath him. You manage to nod and he hits your g-spot again. Your back arches up from the cushions, your chest pressed to his.

“That’s it, pretty, come on my cock. Wanna feel you squeezin’ me.” His words send you over the edge, your orgasm crashing into you blindingly. Your pussy clenches around his length and his name spills from your lips like a prayer as your walls flutter around him. His hips still rut into you at an unrelenting pace through your orgasm.

You feel his cock twitch and know he’s not far behind you.

“Want you to cum inside me,” you breathe. His head snaps up to look at you, eyes wide and pupils blown with pleasure.

“Bloody hell,” he pants, “you’re fuckin’ filthy. Wantin’ me to fill you up, love.” His hips falter. “Anything you want. Anything for you.” He thrusts again, reaching even deeper this time. His mouth finds your shoulder and he bites down hard as he cums. You feel his cock twitching, painting your insides with his cum.

He collapses onto your chest after he empties himself, panting heavy breaths. You feel his heart hammering in his chest against your own. You lay in silence, your mind reeling as your breaths echo inside the room. After a moment he peels himself away from you, his gaze devotional as he takes in the state of you. Breath ragged, your chest heaving as his cum leaks from you.

“Why don’t we move to the bed, yeah?” He says, getting up and slipping his briefs back on. You hum in agreement, feeling completely blissed out. He disappears into the bathroom and you sit up, spotting his discarded shirt laying across the coffee table. You reach for it, pulling it over your shoulders and buttoning it halfway before heading into your bedroom.

Tangerine returns from the bathroom, coming into your room and stopping when he sees you sitting in his shirt. You smile at him from the bed, still feeling a bit like a tingly pile of jello. Affection blooms in his chest, a feeling that terrifies him each time it creeps up. He knows you deserve better than this, his entire lifestyle posing a risk to you. He really should just fuck off for good.

You watch Tangerine move to the bed, scooting over to him as he flops down beside you. He turns his head to look at you, and you take his hand, kissing his busted knuckles.

“You know, I didn’t tell you earlier,” you start. “If it wasn’t already clear.” He looks at you quizzically. “That I feel the same way, about you, I mean,” you finish.

“Yeah, pretty fuckin’ obvious,” He rolls his eyes, but you see him crack a smile before pulling you to him.

Excessive amounts of sweat on your body wake you up but a weight on your torso stops you from sitting up. You look down, just able to make out Tangerine’s head on your stomach and his arm draped across your body. You feel a wave of relief to find that he’s still here with you. It’s barely light outside but you can’t go back to sleep so you slide out from under Tangerine’s grip. He stirs slightly, grabs a pillow, and rolls onto his stomach with his brow furrowed and curls flying wildly about. You’re still soaked in sweat from the heat of Tangerine’s body pressed up against you all night and your hair is a filthy mess so you decide to take a shower.

You start the water and peek out of the bathroom to make sure he’s still asleep. You’re relieved to see he hasn’t moved so you close the door and step into the small shower. The hot water erases the grimy feeling of sweat and oil but you’re annoyed as thoughts from the previous night creep into your mind. You should probably be angry but you’re only slightly annoyed, which comes as no surprise. How can you be angry thinking about how he kissed his way down your body, how his teeth grazed the skin of your neck as he sank his cock into you, your name pouring from his lips as he spilled into you. Then you remember what he said before.

He loved you. You didn’t even know if he meant it. He didn’t leave this time, so that had to mean something, right? You couldn’t have expected the night to turn out the way it did, but it was certainly full of surprises.

You stay in the shower until the water runs cold and forces you out. You wrap a towel around yourself and exit the bathroom. When you step back into your room, Tangerine is nowhere to be found, and your heart plummets. But before you can dwell on it too much, you hear a loud noise in the kitchen. Startled, you quickly head to investigate.

“Mornin’ sweetheart,” Tangerine greets you, standing at the stove with a frying pan in his hand. “How do you like your eggs?” The scene before you feels very domestic. His pants hang low on his hips, and he is very noticeably without a shirt. The sight of him in your kitchen, with messy curls and a dumb grin spreading across his face, makes your stomach flip.

You can’t help the smile that creeps onto your own face. Maybe, just maybe, he meant it after all.

#tangerine x reader #tangerine x you #tangerine smut #tangerine bullet train #tangerine #bullet train #tangerine fic #reader insert #peachys fics

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the-s1lly-corner · 1 year ago

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tadc cast with a s/o who hates touch.

BUT when they finally get comfortable with the characters they get soooo touchy (as in hugs ,hand holding etc)

Sorry if i didnt make myself clear

And thank you for your work!! ;)

TADC cast x reader who's warming up to touch!

So sorry for taking so long to get to this anon <\3!! I recently went back to writing on mobile due to back pain from sitting at my computer and it's really done a number on my efficiency <\3

That said I hope you enjoy!

Side note does anyone know any tips on how to soothe sore throats? Preferably not with honey because honey naoes my throat swell and itch 😭😭

This post ended up being waaaaaay longer than I first intended so I hope yall are ready to eat up

LAST MINUTE NOTE I misread/misinterpreted this as "reader finally taking a step towards initiating affection for the first time" and not "they're already comfortable and LOVE touch" I am so so dumb but I already have this written <\3 I hope you enjoy this regardless anon 😭😭😭

CAINE:

I think Caine would struggle with the no touching thing especially since I see him being very affectionate both verbally and physically. That said I do think he eventually gets the hang of it and stops himself from throwing his arms around you for a hug... he amps up the verbal affirmations to make up for it though! He doesnt wanna make you unhappy so hes gonna respect your boundaries and take things slow!

As for when you start easing yourself into it, I think he would try to not make a big deal out of it, as not to risk embarrassing you. As someone who doesnt like touch as well as being hesitant to initiate it, I think I wouldnt want a big hoorah about it you know? But that's just me

He does subtly know hes proud of you for being able to take that step, even if you two are only holding hands via linking your pinkies together

POMNI:

I dont think pomni would be crazy about touch imo, she seems like the type to seize up when you touch her without warning. And I'm not saying that as something to be ashamed of because honestly me too. So I think this is one where you both need to have heavy communication in order to push past that and get used to touching one another ! Team work makes the dream work or however the saying goes

That said imagine you two grab each others hands bc something startles you/you both run from something (be it a prank from jax or an IHA or an abstracted) and you both just

Stare down at your interlocked hands. Experimentally squeezing each other before both relaxing into it

I think that would be a cute idea

RAGATHA:

Just like caine she is so so understanding. But unlike caine, she doesnt struggle all that much with trying go restrain from giving you physical affection. Ragatha naturally shows her love through quality time and gift giving, so she doesnt often feel the urge to wrap her arms around you, much less unprompted. Especially with your discomfort in mind

In the event that you come over to her, maybe lay your head on her shoulder while shes reading, I think she would stiffen up a little out of surprise, before gently leaning her heads against yours. Its nice, its quiet, and its comfortable. You two both peacefully exist like that for a while... good thing you guys probably dont have organs because ragathas heart would be pounding so fast, shes just so proud of you that the adrenaline kind of gets to her

JAX:

I think this might be the main one where there may be conflict.

Not because jax belittles your discomfort or tries to push the boundaries. No, I dont think he would, especially when you two get serious. Like would he probably poke you in the beginning before realizing it genuinely brings great discomfort? Yes. Would he stop when he finds out it's an issue for you? Also yes. Again, hes an asshole but I dont think he would be outright ab*sive

No, the reason why I think kay there may be conflict is because behind closed doors, jax can be very clingy and physically touchy, he would want to lay on top of you and hold you and that kind of stuff. That one ask with clingy jax hcs changed me

I think, if you ever try to initiate touch first he would say something kind of mean before he can stop himself. "About time" or something. Like he means it lightheartedly but like. He immediately regrets it, especially since that can just be so... eidkcmc.. when you're trying to come out of your shell in regards to something

Easily has the worst reaction, make him sleep on the metaphorical couch

I think he would do anything to fix that though, you're his lil bun afterall

KINGER:

Kinger is big on touch, he likes handholding and putting his hand on your shoulder. But ultimately he would respect you and not touch you.. honestly kinger can be the same way depending on the day. Either he hates touch and doesnt want anyone or anything touching him, or he needs to be held in order to keep his mind set straight. Poor guy. He just like me frfr.

Honestly gets a little spooked when you gently set your head on his lap, announcing you're going to take a nap while you two hang out in the pillow fort. Kind of gives a soft and surprised "oh!" Before going as still as a statue. Does he stay put? Does he run his hand through your hair? Does he keep up his bug ramble? Does he pipe down?

Ultimately he sits there quietly while you sleep

Expects that to be a one time thing, but he notices you're slowly becoming more physically affectionate. He outwardly shows his support and pride for you

ZOOBLE:

Another one who doesnt really like touch, but instead of it being a discomfort it's just a "I dont like it" thing you know? I mean what did you expect? Zooble doesnt interact much with people unless they're forced to, so it makes sense that touch isnt their thing. So this actually works out very well for you two.

Just like the pomni segment, you guys are going to have to do a lot of communication in regards to introducing stuff like cuddling and hand holding ect into the relationship and finding what works for you while keeping both parties satisfied. I think in the end zooble would be supportive, and even try to esse themselves into the whole thing. So you dont have to do it alone, you know?

GANGLE:

Honestly I think shes too shy and/or unconfident to initiate physical affection herself so the topic never really came up. Which... is a bit odd since it regards a comfort thing for you as well as gangle possibly thinking that you dont enjoy her company; assuming you never really tell her that touch brings you discomfort

But because we love healthy stuff here, let's assume you guys set down boundaries and stuff before getting together

I still think gangle would have some teeny tiny feeling that they arent the best for you. She knows its unfair to think that for both of you, but like. Its one of those nagging mean voices we all have/get at some point, you know?

Probably lets out a little squeak when you slowly wrap one of her arms around your hand and wrist. Kind of just stands there frozen. Too scared to speak up or move, fearing she would ruin the moment

Honestly I think gangle isnt used to touch (that isnt neutral or in passing), so this is going to be a little experience for her. You're both in this together now, basically

#tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #digital circus x reader #caine x reader #pomni x reader #ragatha x reader #jax x reader #kinger x reader #zooble x reader #gangle x reader

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inoreuct · 1 year ago

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zosan angst 👀 post whole cake island where zoro is mad for sanji not relying on him enough to help with his family drama. swears to become a better man for him. sanji thinks zoro is the ideal man (he’ll never tell him this though) and doesn’t have to deal with his family drama bc he can “solve it himself” they fight, their screams are heard by the whole ship who is all negatively effected by it. they come to the point of throwing punches (something sanji would never do outside of this intense monent). zoro grabs sanji by them shirt, gets sanji down on his knees, and is hitting him in the face. sanji stops hitting him back and breaks down crying, zoro sees this and stops being angry instantly.

“why can’t you just let me help you”, zoro wants to understand.

sanji’s sobs echo through the room his nose running with blood and tears, “ i never thought i was worthy of being saved.”

zoro’s eyes widen. sanji gasps out through tears, “im sorry”.

something breaks within zoro, he kneels to sanji’s level, and holds him tightly as he sobs into his neck

“i’m sorry too. you are worth more to me than you could ever think.”

zoro take’s sanji’s face into his rough calloused hands, wiping away the blood and tears, “let me me be there for you”.

i swear this prompt grabbed my brain cells and SPRINTED bcs this was slightly more than 1.6k words,,, thank you anon 🤭🤌🏼

Zoro catches a heel to the jaw, lets it whip his head to the side and rolls as he hits the deck.

His blood is a metallic bloom in his mouth, rose-red as it splatters across the planks and drips from his chin. He’s half sure he just lost a tooth. He’s very sure he bit his tongue.

He thinks he rather deserves this pain, even if he’s not exactly sure why.

It had started when they were back on the Sunny, after the whole shitshow on Whole Cake Island; Zoro had paced about the deck, strung tight as a tripwire, still itching with the urge to look over his shoulder and around the corners and unwilling to take his hand off Wado’s hilt.

He’d retreated to the men’s quarters alone, too wound up to seek out Sanji’s usual company as waited his turn for the shower and then scrubbed until his skin turned raw. He’d changed into clean clothes and lay down on his bed, put his hands behind his head, tried to breath in time with the gentle rocking of the ocean and found something still binding his lungs tight.

He was safe. They were safe. And yet, it had still felt like his skin was crawling.

After tossing and turning for a good twenty minutes he’d given up trying to fall asleep and hauled himself out of bed, trudging to the galley for a glass (or a bottle, more like) of whatever liquor he could get his hands on. The ship had swayed as he’d grabbed a half-filled bottle of scotch, bumping the door shut properly with his hip because he knew Sanji was finicky about it.

He’d hesitated before going back to the shared cabin. His bed hadn’t been the only one empty, and there was cigarette smoke rising from the helm.

Sanji had barely reacted when he’d settled beside the cook, elbows propped on the railing as he took a swig of his drink. It went down easy; everything Sanji had always did. Some nights Zoro found himself wishing for more of a burn if only to help him feel something.

He’d eyed Sanji out of the edge of his vision, tongueing behind his canines as he noticed the way the cook’s hair was all over his face, more so than usual. Both his eyes— no, not his eyes, Zoro had realised. Both his eyebrows were covered—

And it had sunk in slowly, like a lead weight to the bottom of the ocean.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he’d muttered, half to the mouth of his bottle, and Sanji had sighed.

“What do you mean, marimo?”

“You know what I mean.”

And Sanji had. He’d tilted his head, taking in a bracing breath, lips pinched in something that was supposed to be a smile. “Not your battle to fight.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Zoro had snarled, suddenly angry, and it made him dig his nails into the peeling paper label beneath his fingers. “You— We do this shit together, curly, that’s what we agreed—”

And Sanji had turned away silently, pushing off the railing and walking off to God knew where, and Zoro had grabbed his wrist before he’d realised what he was doing.

“Do you just not trust me?” he’d gritted, desperation sharpening his tongue, a little voice wailing in his head and sounding a bit too much like his younger self for his liking.

Sanji had barked a laugh, burning his cigarette down to a stub in one long inhale. “Now that’s bullshit.”

“Then? What?” I’d do anything, is what he hadn’t said. Anything for you to let me in. Let me help.

“It’s not your fight, alright? Just leave it.”

Zoro had wanted to scream, just a little. He’d been distantly aware that his grip was in danger of crushing the bottle but he hadn’t cared at all. Sanji had shoved him away when he hadn’t let the matter go (because how could he?), and he’d shoved back, and then it had escalated until they were fighting across the deck and now—

He snaps out of his head when Sanji screams, a ragged thing torn out of his chest, abandoning all reason to tackle him bodily to the ground. Zoro stumbles and hits the deck hard, pain flaring sharp as his elbow jams into the ground and a fist sinks into his gut. He’s snarling as he rolls them over, as he pins Sanji’s wrists to the ground and lets out a grunt when a kneecap catches him beneath the ribs.

“Why can’t you just stay out of it?!” Sanji yells, right in his face, hair a mess and eyes wilder than Zoro has ever seen up close.

He falters. Just for a moment, but it’s more than enough for Sanji to slip out of his grip and wriggle away, and the pit in his gut grows ever larger. “They hurt you! They were hurting you!” he roars, scrambling to his feet, and it rather feels like someone has a crushing hand wrapped around his heart.

“It doesn’t matter!” the cook cries, swinging a fist towards his face, and Zoro dodges. Sidesteps, slams a foot down behind Sanji’s kneecaps and slugs his knuckles across a pale cheek if only to snap Sanji out of whatever the fuck is going on, he raises his fist again and—

Freezes. Bile crawls up his throat as his heart sinks. Sanji’s eyes are wet, so blue they’re nearly glowing in the darkness, and Zoro is so, so tired. He vaguely registers the rest of the crew behind them and he angles his body to hide Sanji from view; he knows the cook would hate their nakama seeing him like this. The hand he has wrapped in Sanji’s collar loosens, falling away like fluttering paper, and he drops to his knees with a heavy thunk.

Sanji shudders, and Zoro feels sick. His — he doesn’t know what they are, but Sanji is his — cook’s cheekbone is already bruising, blooming purple-pink, and guilt sinks its claws into his stomach. “Why can’t you just let me help you?” he hears himself plead, breathless and choked, and Sanji smiles with blood across his teeth.

“Because I never thought I was worthy of being saved,” he whispers, looking down at his trembling hands. There are tears dripping off his chin now, luminous streaks down his face that suddenly looks haggard in the starlight. “And I never wanted you to see me like this.”

Zoro thinks he breaks. Shatters right apart like the bottle of scotch on the ground not far away from them, amber seeping sticky into the wood. He’d have to apologise to Franky later, he thinks a little wildly, throat tight and fingers numb as he reaches out to pull Sanji to him.

The cook goes slack like a puppet off strings, hiding his face in the crook of Zoro’s neck as he really starts to cry. Zoro sits back on his heels and takes his weight, cards a hand through his hair so that it doesn't stick because he knows that Sanji would make a fuss about it being all over his face later, and it’s these tiny, trivial things that wrench a hollow sound from his lungs. “There’s no such thing as it not being my fight, you hear me?” It comes out more watery that he likes, but the laugh-sob Sanji lets out tells him the message got across. “If it’s your fight, it’s my fight. I’m with you till the end no matter what happens.”

“It’s pathetic,” Sanji hiccups, shoulders hitching as he tries to get himself under control.

“No, it’s not.”

“I’m pa—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Zoro hisses, at odds with the way he rubs a soothing palm over Sanji’s back. His knees are starting to hurt. He doesn’t care. “They hurt you. They put you through some fucked-up shit, cook, and then you had to go through it again. And you were strong enough to make it out but you— You could stand to give it a rest, alright?”

It’s times like this when he wishes he could be better with words, because Sanji looks a little like he might start crying all over again when Zoro takes a peek at his face. He presses his thumbs flat to wet skin, salt cooling in the night wind, dragging up along Sanji’s cheek as the cook sniffs. “Let me be there for you,” he rasps.

He feels like he’s been scraped raw from the inside out. Like someone had hollowed him out with a ladle and now his guts were spilling all across the deck. He doesn’t know how to describe the twisting in his chest when he thumbs rust-red iron away from Sanji’s bottom lip, regretfully cups the spill of colour spreading over the right side of his face. “Look at me?” he tries again, and Sanji does, fine lashes clumped with tears and inhale trembling.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, and Zoro is an open wound, raw and weeping as Sanji climbs into his lap and curls up into a ball.

“You are worth so much. To the crew, to our friends—You’re worth more to me than you could ever know. So shut up and stop trying to deal with it alone,” he says in lieu of a reply, achingly quiet. He hopes it’s enough as Sanji digs lithe fingers into his shoulder.

He welcomes the pain like an old friend. Bears it gladly, for if he could take all of Sanji’s he would.

But he can’t— So he tries. Tries to be gentle, as much as he knows how, sits properly and folds his legs and rocks them back and forth because it helps Sanji’s breathing even out. Traces the spirals of his eyebrows and brushes his mouth over the bruise on his cheek, presses his silent apologies into skin.

Sanji’s spine bows beneath his hands, and the cook’s fingers are wound tight into the back of his shirt like it’s a lifeline. His pale hair tickles Zoro’s jaw, impossibly mussed and starting to curl with the sea air. Their crew is waiting. Worried, surely, but they can wait a little longer; Zoro will make it up to them.

For now, he thinks he and Sanji have earned this.

fin.

#zosan #zosan fanfic #one piece zosan #zoro x sanji #ronoroa zoro #black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #this was so fun to write i’m ngl #one piece #one piece sanji #one piece zoro #about time i started angsting them #ask box #ino’s ask box

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solarisfortuneia · 1 year ago

Text

alhaitham x reader. wc: <500. comfort. pt 2. of '—the scribe, in love.' pt.1

when confronted with crystalline tears pooling in your eyes, alhaitham is starkly aware of the fact that he is not the comforting sort. unless, of course, one preferred solace in the form of analysis and reasoning. but soft touches, gentle caresses and soothing whispers? and alhaitham?

common notion suggests they'd be oil and water; immiscible.

in fact, it is rumored that if you were to say those two concepts in the same breath, in the same sentence, a certain roommate of his would materialize in your mirror at midnight, lamenting about how he’s exactly the opposite.

but what does the sun know of the moon other than the fact that they share the same sky?

his fingers almost itch with the urge to do something. he sees a problem in front of him, one he must solve post-haste. after all, what sort of scholar would he be if he gave up at the sight of a conundrum?

without conscious thought, warm arms wrap around your shoulders, pulling your head close. “i’m not sure about what i’m supposed to do,” he confesses, pale hair falling into his eyes.

in spite of the dampness, he feels you smile against the skin of his shoulder. at that, he feels a little less like a bull in a china shop, and a little more like someone capable of handling the situation.

one hesitant hand finds its way to the back of your head, intuitively patting, fingers eventually intertwining with your hair.

"someone's being rather lover-like," he hears you say, never missing a chance to tease him in that playful manner that shines even in sadness. he feels your fingers dance across his chest, one of your endearing expressions of feelings, and the unrest somewhere in his heart settles down.

"well, yes, i should be, considering that's what i am to you, after all." he clears his throat, suddenly unsure if that was an appropriate response.

a soft huff leaves your mouth and he's glad he said the right thing.

in response, he simply guides you into what he's sure is a more comfortable position for your neck.

"will you tell me what's wrong?" he asks later, once he's sure you've let everything out, voice so quiet you'd think it was but a breath of air. he has all the time in the world for you.

even frost has its moments.

okay listen i know i said no more reposts for a while and i apologize but my activity going down bc of the shadowban made me sad okay (i need activity to survive)

#—🖋#alhaitham x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham x you #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin impact #genshin impact fluff #alhaitham

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isa-ghost · 11 months ago

Note

My friend

I am gonna do it

WHAT ARE YOUR Q!PHIL HEADCANONS MY FRIEND

YESSSSSS

Here's Set 1 and Set 2

Now M O R E

He won't do it without prompting because he'll feel like an ass giving nobody else room to talk, but if someone got him on the topic of like. Exploration or flight or something, he could talk for hours. He's extremely knowledgeable and passionate about stuff like that, most times because he has centuries of experience

I don't want to diagnose cc!Phil or whatever bc I know he doesn't like when people do that, but to me his rp character is free reign. And as a psych major with ADHD who's focusing on the study of neurodivergent disorders: this man is hella ADHD coded. He's told too many personal stories that are relatable to me for me to be silent about it. I'm 🤝🏻 this crow man

In his case this isn't a nd trait but instead a crow one, but he experiences echolalia sometimes. Funny things or certain noises he hears just scratch an itch in his bird brain real good, he can't help but repeat it for a while

The way to Phil's heart is good food, fun to be around, and kicking ass. If you can tick those 3 things off for yourself, you're Phil Approved

He'll say he doesn't fall for peer pressure, and often times he's right. But on rare occasions someone like Fit or Etoiles can convince him to do smth he maybe wouldn't at first. It's easier to win him over when he's drunk

cc!Phil has talked abt how he gets a weird confidence boost when he's drunk as shit. That's real for q!Phil too. He could be staggering slurring speech drunk and still snipe something like 50 blocks away. It makes Fit and Etoiles want to kiss him about it

He has intentionally made almost his entire wardrobe varying shades of green, which he pairs with black, red & gold. He thinks it's funny to have a branded wardrobe like an anime character

Idr how canon dsmp is to q!Phil but he still has the friendship emerald charm hanging from his hat. Perhaps it's from the Antarctic Empire days instead. Idk, I just like the character design of Dangly Thing On Hat Brim too much to exclude it from his design in my head (I should rlly attempt to doodle my Phil beyond the random notebook ones I've done. Maybe I'll post those if asked idk)

Don't underestimate this man's ability to get dramatic. Tallulah ain't the only one in the family that can go hard

I wouldn't say he has a bad temper. He's very well-practiced at self-control. However, there are certain things that set him off so severely, he throws self-control out the window. Those things aren't worthy of him trying to be "the bigger person." They deserve their ass handed to them right here right now (see: The Codes pre-current lore).

In a similar vein, when the situation isn't one of those special Fuck This incidences, he still doesn't have a temper, but when he finally snaps, he SNAPS. Like on a The Polycule be like "mark me down as scared and horny" level of snap. When you get on the Angel of Death's last fucking nerve he let's you KNOW.

I'm self-projecting here: this fucking idiot man has a detrimental habit of insisting on handling stuff like anxiety alone. He hates when people see him without his composure. It's not even like an embarrassing thing, it's just very uncomfortable to him. So when a panic attack hits or he finally concedes and let's himself cry, it's alone. And sometimes that makes it worse. But even that doesn't make him change his mind. "Keep it together for the kids," right? :')

Having a stroke about thunderstorms is a reflex. Even on Quesadilla Island, the second he hears thunder he reaches for a trident like a dork.

He near-obsessively preens his wings because he doesn't want the Federation, or anyone else for that matter, getting ahold of his feathers when they shed. He doesn't know wtf they could do with those and he doesn't wanna find out.

And yet somehow Missa and Lullah both have a couple feathers that he's shed and he has no idea. Lullah wants to make a necklace out of them.

#qsmp #philza #qsmp philza #q!philza #philza headcanons #qphil headcanons

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simonsrosebud · 4 months ago

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“It becomes kind of a lost and found situation” MY GOD. I WANT TO KNOW MORE PRETTY PLEASE

AHHH my wish is ur command, this is the full rundown on how Andrew stumbled upon Blake and brought her and Elliot into his and Neil’s family

So Andrew waits in the shed and catches her when she opens it. Mans is bored okay let him live.

Blake drops the bike and tries to run, and promptly trips in the still wet grass from when it rained an hour before. She kinda twists her ankle and tries to run again but can’t, and Andrew tells her to get up. She’s the same height as him and all fight, yet quickly folds when reality sinks. She begs him with mud on her arms and side of the face not to call the police or her dad “I-I was just- the 24 hour pharmacy is six miles away and I can’t drive and I just needed-” she’s close to hyperventilating and starts trying to back away. And Andrew tells her to knock it off. “You do this three times a week” boom got her. “I… I work there.” “At the pharmacy” “At the checkout counter,” she scowls. “At midnight” “I have school” “Not at 4pm” “I- look, are you going to get me in trouble or not?” “Contemplating it. Tell me the truth first.”

Blake works at the 24 hour CVS at 12-4am bc she doesn’t trust leaving her brother at home when she’s not there. Night time is safe bc everyone is asleep and safe. When she tells Andrew her brother is 14 and not like 3 he tries not to assume the worst. Because of this, he gives her Neil’s ratty old bike that’s been sitting for years, pumps the tires, and drops it on the grass for her. “Petal with one foot”

I should mention that he does this not bc he feels bad about her working at 15 years old but because he can’t won’t afford to get involved. She’s not his kid, she doesn’t know him, he has no ties or responsibility to her. He doesn’t know her situation, she never says anything about abuse and not every situation is like his own past, but he just has this sick feeling anyway.

That should’ve been the end of it, but two weeks later the bike shows up back in the shed looking like it’s been run over. A note attached reads “i’m sorry”. Andrew leaves $20 by the electric bike and writes “take the fucking bus” under her handwriting. 4 days later the money is gone.

Blake is gone for another 4 weeks, and then when Andrew can’t sleep one night he sits outside smoking a tiny bit of weed (bc Neil made him give up cigarettes long ago) and he catches her walking down the sidewalk. She freezes bc she was definitely about to borrow the electric bike again. This time he allows it. Neil hasn’t used the thing consistently since he was 38 (4 yrs ago) anyway.

2 weeks later he catches her outside again, this time texting Renee who is on the other side of the world for something he doesn’t care enough about, and Blake has a bruise on her jaw and a cut on her cheek, bandages around her one wrist/hand. “Bicycle accident” is what she says. “Funny. The bicycle is scuff free” He sees the brief panic in her face. “Who is hurting you?” bigger panic “No one, you’re crazy” “Maybe once. I know abuse when I see it” “fuck you, you don’t know me” he scares her off. No trace of Blake for 2 months, bike untouched.

2 months later, Andrew goes to the 24 hour CVS to get smth idk, not thinking ab it being Blake’s workplace, but what do u know? Blake is at the counter wearing a turtleneck in summer. She doesn’t notice him w her headphones in, and smth in Andrew cracks when she lifts a scratched up a bruised hand to lightly pull the neck down and itch, revealing the bruises. Her eyes are hollow when she sees him, recognition insignificant, but as soon as she realizes what he’s rlly looking at she silently shakes her head as if saying “no, not here, not now, not in front of others pls don’t say anything”.

Andrew leaves without purchasing anything.

However, when she steps outside 20 minutes later post-shift Andrew is waiting on the hood of his car. “If you lie to me, I will call the police and you can let them find out who choked you.”

Scratchy voiced, like she screamed too hard at a concert, she says “No-No please don’t, I can’t- you can’t call the police” “Give me one good reason not to” “He’ll- I’m only 15, they’ll make me quit my job and we can’t to afford- and they’ll split us up, and he- Elliot won’t- he can’t- oh my god” she starts breathing heavily and raggedly and trips over herself into the brick wall of the CVS. She’s never had a panic attack before and she can’t catch her breath and is she allergic to something? Is she dying? Andrew makes her sit without touching her, and waits her out patiently until she’s breathing normally.

“Please don’t call anyone” “Then show me” “Why? What the hell do you even want?” Andrew wishes he had an answer to that but he doesn’t. What does he want? For this kid to not die at the hands of someone else? To get off better than he had? Andrew’s been retired from exy for 6 years now, and sure, he got bored sometimes, but aiding a teenager he didn’t know out of abuse or through the foster system wasn’t something he was really looking to add to his plate.

To be honest, he’d been hoping that the bruises were from a boyfriend that she could just break up with. But Andrew knew better.

He wouldn’t know without seeing her wounds, though, and he’d done the trade game once to know that sometimes it worked. He pulled the sleeve of his shirt up and showed her his scars. She didn’t know who he was, there was no one for her to tell. He didn’t care anymore as it was.

“I gave myself these when I was younger than you. When things got worse, I got myself sent to juvie just to get away from it. I will make you a deal. You tell me the truth about what is going on, and I will get you away from it.”

“Not to juvie, I hope” she jokes meekly. He shakes his head and she just deflates. “It’s our dad” she whispers like he can hear her “He was always rough handed, but then our mom died two years ago and he just started getting really bad. Like, slaps me or spanks me for talking back, or-or throws shit all the time. I had- my hands were all wrapped up cause he threw a vase and it shattered, and I had to clean it up cause he won’t and he just- he just shoved me down into all the broken pieces and it cut me all up” she was crying again, shaking hands pressed to her eyes “and he almost drowned Elliot cause he thought throwing him in the lake over and over again would teach him to swim,” and oh that was an ugly sob “so now I make Elliot st-stay after school for sports and go right to his room after. I’ve been cooking our meals since mom died but dad doesn’t go to the grocery store and sometimes he barely gives me enough money to get food, so I’ve been working-” Blake cuts herself off bc she is trying not to panic again, and when she opens her puffy eyes she’s met with Andrew’s calm but blank stare.

Andrew doesn’t have the luxury of staging a car accident anymore, though. “And the neck?” “I told him I wish he died instead of mom” “Good”. Andrew stands and unlocks the car “We are going to get your brother, and then I am getting you out of the house. How long will it take for him to notice that you’re gone?” Blake looks scared again “I-I don’t know, he’ll notice, but he probably won’t do anything about it until night time. But he-he has my location on my phone”

Easy fix, she turns the location feature off and Andrew drives her to him and Neil’s house first bc he wants Neil as extra help just in case. “The girl that broke into the shed” “Oh, uh, hi? Why is she outside our bedroom?” Andrew switches to German “Her father beats her and favors drowning her brother.” Neil sits up bc okay that’s got his attention, and the first thing he says, albeit cautiously, is, “Does he… do I need to call-” “No” and phew thank god. Neil doesn’t need two confirmed hits on his hands. It’s been 23 years since he got rid of Grayson for Jean.

“We need to go get him out of the house, and in the morning we need to call our lawyer. For them” “Why not the police?” “She said no.” it’s so telling that that’s enough for Neil to get on board “Well, alright. Not forever, but definitely for the night”

Blake is kinda taken back by all of Neil’s scars bc he was sleeping shirtless after all, but then they’re leaving the house again and Blake is on the phone with Elliot that only gives Andriel a one sided convo about “we’re getting out of there for good, pack what you absolutely need, the rest we’ll… i don’t know, we’ll get another time, maybe…. yes, i’ll be there soon. don’t leave your room, i’m gonna go in and pack and then we’re out. quick and quiet, hear me?”

Anyway, luckily their dad isn’t even home they don’t know why. Neil sees Elliot looking through the window as they pull in, and when they follow Blake up the stairs Elliot trips backwards away from them “Who the fuck are they?” “We’re neighbors, kind of. We’re getting you out of here, take it or leave it” “El, it’s fine, please, I promise”

Neil goes with Elliot, who has a black eye and bruises from rough fingers on his forearm. “Dad left in a rampage when he saw you were gone, i told you that job wasn’t fucking worth it”

But then all four of them are safe in Andrew and Neil’s house, and King immediately goes over to Elliot who promptly collapses into a panic attack against the front door. He and Blake sleep in the guest bedroom except they really don’t sleep bc Andrew and Neil can hear the hushed whispers and questions and crying, because they might be in a strangers house and they might not know what comes next but they’re out and they’re safe and they’re going to be okay.

#oc characters #kevin day #aftg #neil josten #andrew minyard #all for the game #the foxhole court #david wymack #matt boyd #palmetto state university #dan wilds #blake minyard-josten #elliot minyard-josten #my writing #next gen foxes

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rorykeanersactualgf · 6 months ago

Note

request where Benny Weir helps the reader calm down from a nightmare or panic attack

A/N: i quite like this idea, decided to use both of them in a mix bcs why not??? :) again if anything is wrong with the post, please tell me so i can fix it, hope you like it lovelies :)) xx i was also a bit unsure on what the dream would be so i left that to your interpretation, i hope that was okay

CW: mentions of a panic attack, mention of Benny dying (IT DOESNT HAPPEN DW), comfort, cutesy fluff, all the good stuff.

Breathing Difficulties

It had been a weird day. Nothing inherently wrong or out of place, but just...off. It felt like something was going to happen, but nothing did. I thought it was just me being paranoid or disassociating from myself so I decided to tell my wonderful boyfriend, Benny, about it on the walk home.

"Hey Benny?" I said, looking up at him through my eyelashes.

"Yes my love?" Benny asked, looking down at me with his heart-warming, signature grin following.

"I've been feeling kind of off today, not too sure why though," and clung to his warm arm and rested my head on his shoulder as we walked.

"Oh, do you feel ill? Need anything to eat or drink?" he asked while simultaneously pulling his bag forward to grab food and/or drinks from it, "Is it a headache? I think I have a spell for that somewhere in this book." He enquired while giving me a bottle of water, an apple and flipping through his spell book, scanning over the pages quickly.

"Woah-kay, thanks for the food and drink, and no offence but I don't want to end up with a set of bat wings yet again when last time I came to you for a stomach-ache." I said with a small chuckle leaving me, making me feel a little bit better than I was before.

"Hey! That was one time! And even you admitted that the wings were kind of cool to have." He said with emphasis lacing every word that left him like he was a child.

"Well it was cool, I will admit to that but it was less cool when none of my clothes fitted me properly, and I felt more nauseous than I was before." I said with my arms crossed over my chest with a small smile itching at the corners of my mouth and fake seriousness in my tone, "I've just been feeling out of it today, almost constantly paranoid that something bad will happen. I might just be overthinking again, I don't know," I said looking at my feet, taking a bite out of the apple he gave me.

"Hm..." he stood still for a moment, placing his spell book in his bag again and thought about what to say," Do you need anything like a hug or a kiss, you know I have plenty of those to share for you, my love?" He said with a big smile gracing his face with a cheeky look in his eye as he walked back over to me and held the sides of my arms gently so I could push him off if I wanted to, but I didn't, I smiled and nodded to him and he leaned down into me so I could wrap my arms around his neck and he could wrap his around my waist while nestling his head into the side of my neck so he could leave a few innocent kisses to my cheek, jaw, and neck.

After a few minutes of holding each other, we let go to continue going home and I had basically forgotten about how I was feeling today...

That was until later that night when I had finally gotten to sleep after messaging Benny and my friends goodnight, I had woken up in a frenzy, beads of uncomfortably cold sweat tricking down my spine like a demon touching the very nerves of my spinal cord. I couldn't catch my breath, nothing was making sense in my brain because it was moving too fast for me and my still sleep addled brain to process. The dream wasn't real, it couldn't have been...Benny was still alive...right?

With trembling hands and wobbly vision from the tears brimming my eyes, I called Benny, not realising that it was around half 2 in the morning and he was most definitely asleep. The first ring..... nothing. The second ring..... nothing again. Panic started to rise high in my chest, and at the third ring Benny answered, his groggy and sleepy voice rung through my ears as a wave of relief flooded through me like a tsunami.

"Hello..?" he said again, unsure of who called him, only feeling his phone vibrate and lifting it to his ear without looking at the number, rubbing his eyes.

Short sniffles and hyperventilative breaths, almost too quiet for his similarly sleep addled brain to pick up on but he just managed to, and a quiet sob and a whisper of "hi" was picked up and Benny woke up a bit more, he looked at his phone to see that it was me that was calling and he shot up in bed, suddenly very awake and a bit dizzy from the sudden movement. "Baby? Are you okay? Talk to me, please."

I tried to speak, to formulate any sort of wording that could be considered anything but gibberish but only shaky breaths and stammers of what I wanted to tell him actually came out. I couldn't breathe, it felt like all the air was sucked out from around me and my lungs but I still felt its chilly hands trail down my spine and exposed arms.

It had taken Benny a moment to realise what was happening but when he realised what was happening, he started to guide me through it, virtually holding my hand while I felt I almost lost grip on reality.

"Okay, listen to me baby, I'm right here, listen to my voice, breathe with me." His soothing voice sounded through the speaker as I followed along with him, breathing in through my nose for 5 seconds, holding it for 7, breathing out my mouth for 8. When my breathing went back to semi-normal, he continued to guide me, even though I heard slight rustling in the other side of the phone.

"You're doing so good baby, okay, now can you tell me 5 things you can see?" I started looking around my room and named a few things I could see.

"Very good, now can you tell me 4 things you can touch?" He continued to praise me throughout the call, listening very intently.

"Uh, my blanket, my phone, my shirt and my pillow."

"Mhm, now can you name me 3 things you can hear?"

"Well now I can hear something being zipped up, a small bang and a pained grunt from you, are you okay? Benny? Benny, please say you're okay..." I continued to trail off and ramble because at the time I thought something bad was happening on his side.

"I'm okay baby, we're focusing on you right now. What are 2 things you can smell?" He said through gritted teeth, in hindsight it was probably from him stubbing his toe in the dark. (baby is okay don't worry haha.)

As he said this, I could hear wind on his side of the phone, and now that I was calmer I could tell he wasn't in danger and that he was probably doing something.

"Um, I don't know, my (fragrance of choice) and some laundry detergent from my bed." I said more as a question than a statement.

As I was saying this, I heard a small incantation be cast and a woosh of air not far from my house and a slight tap on my window and got up to see what it was. Peeking from behind my curtain, I saw Benny with a big and proud smile gracing his face as he gestured if I wanted a hug with a coy smile on his face. I leant into him as he pressed a small, sweet kiss on my lips as he finally asked,

"What's 1 thing you can taste?"

"You," was all that barely left me as I went back up onto my tiptoes to kiss him again... and again... and again... until we both eventually fell asleep in each others arms, now content and with a warm feeling in both of our chests and faces.

A/N: hope you like it at least a bit xx

#benny weir x reader #mbav #mbav stuff #mbav fanfic

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the-penguinspy · 2 years ago

Note

Also, not me not realizing you rbed a prompt post until now :( ONLY if you want to bc I'm like ten years late or smth!

27: I can't think when you keep looking at me like that.” for whoever strikes ur fancy :)

not me, replying, 10 years late as well...thank u for the prompt smo, 'twas truly lovely to write for :)

The living room still smells like the remnants of their breakfast. American-style this morning – maple sausages and fried eggs, waffles and coffee; something Ava had been craving, something Beatrice had given in to.

She’s sated and full, the meal sitting heavy in her belly, and she’d love nothing more than to indulge herself in some mid-morning cuddles with Beatrice, maybe even make out a little bit. Instead, she’s sitting on Beatrice’s lap on the couch, knees bracketing hips. Not a bad place to be in, not at all! But her hands are occupied with a stack of multi-coloured flashcards and she’s studying.

“Bea, don’t we have fake licenses expressly for this purpose? Don’t these rules go out the window when it’s my turn to drive, anyway?”

“You don’t have to take the test, but most of the time we won’t be having dramatic car escapades. You’ll have to learn the rules of the road.”

“I think a little rule breaking is healthy sometimes. Necessary, even.”

Beatrice hums. “You can’t break the rules if you don’t know what they are.”

Ava groans and throws her head back dramatically, Beatrice’s hands coming up to hold her by the waist to prevent her from falling backwards. “I think I'll know when the rules are broken when I get five honks in a row,” she says, addressing the ceiling. “Bonus points for prolonged honks that sound like harmony.”

“Please don’t cause unnecessary grievances for your fellow drivers,” Beatrice says. Ava straightens up at that. Narrows her eyes at Beatrice. She opens her mouth and is about to dispute the accusation when the hands at her waist squeeze hard, once, and the air in her lungs leave her in a stint of breathless laughter.

Beatrice leans in close. “What was that you were going to say?” she asks, fingers digging into Ava’s waist, making her laughter burst out unchecked.

“I said–” Another warning squeeze, and Ava’s cut off as she wheezes. “Okay, okay! I won’t– Bea, stop– I won’t cause unnecessary grievances for my fellow drivers.”

“Thank you, darling.” Beatrice reaches out to tuck a stray hair behind Ava’s ear, smiling when Ava presses a kiss to her palm. She goes back to her stack of flashcards – written by her own hand, thank you very much – reading each question out loud and pairing it with an answer before flipping to the back to check. Beatrice’s hands rest on her thighs, and she hums encouragingly.

Ava scans the newest question. “What should you do – uh oh, this doesn’t sound good – in the event of a fire in a tunnel?” The stack has lessened by half. Cards are scattered beside her on the couch, a few of them making a home between the cushions.

She narrows her eyes and tries to pry the answer from her mind. Step one: don’t get close to the fire, obviously, otherwise the car would explode. Step two: stop the car. Step three: find and use the SOS phone, or get out using the emergency exit. Wait, should she use the SOS phone before leaving for the exit? Maybe someone else had already reported the fire, but then again, what if nobody hadn’t?

She mouths the question to herself silently, fingers itching to turn the card over to get the answer. She squints at the question and traces the words, following the swoops and curves of the lettering, but it’s quite difficult to focus when there’s a more enticing view in her periphery.

Try as she might, but her gaze keeps getting drawn back to Beatrice’s face. In her defence, it’s a very pretty face – Beatrice’s eyes are a rich, dark brown, focus intense on her, and the way the morning light shines on her face makes her freckles stand out; not stars, but still constellations in their own right.

It all falls away, is the thing – the stack of cards is held in front of her and she can see the hard-practiced cursive of her penmanship that graces the paper, but it all melts away in the face of Beatrice’s attention on her. It’s thrilling. Addictive. The answer to the question eludes her, slips out of her grasp, driving theory all but forgotten.

“Ava?”

A huff and a pout, and Ava’s crossing her arms, hand gripped tight onto the cards to keep them from spilling everywhere. “Bea, I can't think when you keep looking at me like that.”

The blush that blooms on Beatrice’s cheeks is so pretty, even now. Ava feels her teeth ache with it. “My sincerest apologies. Let me remedy that immediately,” Beatrice says, the corners of her mouth twitching. She furrows her brows and frowns in mock-seriousness, and shuts her eyes.

Ava privately laments her loss but this, at least, is more conducive to her focus.

She’s about to read the flashcard again to remember what the question was exactly, when she feels calloused fingers gently slide up her thighs. Beatrice’s hands reach the bottom of her cotton shorts, fingers barely dipping underneath the hems, before they rest there. She’s used to the frequency of Beatrice’s tactility now, but her chest still warms whenever Beatrice initiates the contact.

It would have been fine if those hands had stayed, but no – they make their way down her thighs slowly, fingertips dragging, before moving upwards once again with a more pronounced pressure.

Ava’s breath hitches. The smirk that graces Beatrice’s face is indicative that she caught it, her smile growing wider as Ava’s hands migrate to rest on her shoulders. Ava pitches her hips forward to lean into the contact, and she lets out a whine as Beatrice retracts her hands ever so slightly. “You’re such a tease. Aren’t you supposed to be helping me study?”

“I recall that you’re the one who suggested this method of studying,” Beatrice points out. Her tone wobbles slightly, laughter barely held in check, and Ava shoots her a half-hearted glare – not that Beatrice can see it. “Call it a sneak peek,” Beatrice says, “twenty more questions, then we’ll take a short break.”

“Ten.” “Fifteen.”

Ava beams. “Deal. Although, I think I need a little something to help jumpstart the studying process again. You know, to remind me of why I’m doing this in the first place.”

An eye cracks open at that, and Ava flutters her eyelashes for good measure. The coaxing is unneeded, though – Beatrice lets out a quick huff of laughter as she leans in, and Ava meets her in the middle.

The kiss is slow and sweet; a delicious sample of what’s to come. But Ava’s never been particularly good at waiting – she’s harboured an itching sense of impatience ever since the Halo had been embedded onto her back, the feeling only exacerbated by the blue-shifted timeline of the Holy War. Thus, the desire to take life by the reins, to devour its offerings, had become a habit formed quickly by will and necessity. Every facet of life she’d missed out on – she’d wanted it all, had always been hungry for it.

But – the war is over now. The life she’s building together with Beatrice is never going to be snatched away by divine hand, by demons or monsters or duty or sacrifice, not anymore. Ava’s still oh-so-hungry for it, and she can afford to linger now, but still, in moments like these? Where it’s just the two of them, unhurried, where love permeates every breath, every look, every gesture? It’s hers, it’s Beatrice’s, it’s theirs for all time, but somehow it’s moments like these where Ava can’t help but feel the most greedy; can’t help but give in to the urge to take, to hold between the canines of her teeth.

She tilts her head to deepen the kiss, fingers twitching against Beatrice’s shoulders. The hands on her thighs tighten their grip in approval, and the feeling sparks a hot thrill up her spine that disperses rapidly through her veins.

But all too soon, Beatrice pulls back. She doesn’t move far though; her lips ghost over Ava’s chin, her jaw. Ava holds herself still, waits until Beatrice’s mouth brushes against hers in one last kiss. Only then does Beatrice lean back. And only then, in the gift of this space, does Ava let her composure crumble, body and spirit rejuvenating with a harsh and shaky inhale.

“Can I open my eyes now, or will that be too distracting for you?” Beatrice’s voice is low and sweet with the tease, the cadence of her breathing unfairly even; this close, her breaths fall damp over Ava’s lips and taunt her with their proximity, and Ava has to fight to loosen her muscles, to not give in to the chase.

Tempting as always, but – Ava stays strong. She places a small kiss on the tip of Beatrice’s nose, revels in the warmth of her smile and how her eyes crinkle at the corners, before settling in place and returning to her flashcards once more. “Keep them closed, please, or I’ll never learn how to drive normally.”

#warrior nun #warrior nun fic #avatrice #ava silva #sister beatrice #penguin writes #ava after she's gone thru the driving theory and has applied it well IN PRACTICE: ok bea ive been so so so good right? so can you.#can you teach me how to drift-#bea: no.#(reasoning: tyres are expensive. drifting takes practice. the smell of burnt rubber is not a great smell to smell.)#smokestarrules

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normalestenstars · 26 days ago

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do you have any personal favorite responses? ones that make your brain itch? or responses that make you go "they are SO wrong"

i'm going to assume you mean overall, so i will stick to the form responses for the sake of simplicity. though, i will say i found the responses to least normal form more interesting as people tended to be more opinionated/divided about their answers

this answer got a bit too long, so i put it under a readmore

Favorites from normal

i made a post about this some time ago, but whoever wrote "He's just a closeted gay teenager" for tomoya killed me

Favorites from not normal there is a lot

Tied btween Ibara and HiMERU tbh because HiMERU is doing something deeply insane and caused all of his own problems and made several other people's problems worse in the process. However, Ibara is a teen business major and that alone signifies he has issues.

Wataru instills a fear in me that the other characters do not. Yes, Mayoi be in the vents and stuff but like, hell stay there. when i go to piss at 4am in the morning and its pitch dark and i see something go by in the corner of my eye its wataru.

do you think i would be a shuP if he were normal in the slightest?

Honestly my choice was based entirely on the fact that I can put a name (or multiple) to everyone else's problems but when I think about Tsumugi all I can do is just hold him up and go "there's something wrong with him"

look i think himeru will win but considering how much mamas completely unwillingness to cope with anything ever has impacted both double face and just about every other story shes in i like had to. like at least himeru is capable of having friends without having a complete meltdown over the idea

he freaks me out. a little too willingly weird ((about himeru))

The other characters have their quirks, but Tsumugi clears the "says things that have made me audibly go 'what the fuck?'" bar. For everyone else, their freakiness might as well be Tuesday, you know?

He’s very interesting to me personally ✌️ like you cannot be in his situation and be very normal, i thinks. Hope he gets worse or better, either would be fun to watch ((about himeru)) ^^^ really like this one. lol

something is wrong with him like. deeply. unfixably i fear ((about madara))

honestly. let me preface this by saying crazy:b is my favorite group, but if you called himeru some sort of freak you probably got a chuckle out of me. like genuinely, what's wrong with this guy

Favorites specifically from the who should be on the least normal poll section

eichi is the only one who can truly contest tsumugi’s weirdoness and honestly he takes the cake. all the cake. every last slice. and others may try, but none truly hold a candle to these goobers. a match at best. maybe a sparkler if we’re feeling festive. eichi’s weirdo behavior is natural and genuine. his lack of normalcy has no pretense and is integral to his existence. he is the ensemble star and hes soooo weird about it. he should sweep the whole poll. every poll. weirdest in every unit.

Brain itchers all coming from the least normal form

apparently natsume once told sora that he's making bombs??? when he was clearly baking??? and that he'd have tsumugi give out the "bombs" so his reputation doesn't get ruined??? what story is this 😭

WHOEVER WROTE THIS ↓↓↓ YUZURU RESPONSE... CAN I GET THE ESSAY I'M BEGGING PLEASE where are you i only read gang 🥺🙏 LISTEN!!!!!! YUZURU FUCKING FUSHIMI!!!!!!! IS INSANE!!!!!! as a wataruP I am so incredulous that he won over Yuzuru. Because Yuzuru is SO MUCH LESS NORMAL!!!!! I already left an essay I wasn’t expecting to leave in this response… so consider yourself spared the Yuzuru essay given that he wasn’t one of the main options and that…. I am planning to scream about Yuzuru fushimi’s insanity in my own post bc HE MAKES ME INSANE. But just know. He should be here

a handful of people keep/kept mentioning whatever happened in raison d'être with the graves AND I DON'T!! KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS!!! I'VE ONLY READ NEVERLAND 🥺 IT'S MY ONLY VALK STORY OTHER THAN STEAMPUNK MUSEUM AND ANTIQUE LEGEND 🥺🥺🥺

Misc. thoughts because it looked weird if i didn't indent this section

as for responses i didn't agree with, this is a hard question to answer because i don't know enough about a third of the cast to strongly disagree. not to mention, i personally think that even if i knew it would be extremely rude of me to share and pick apart people's responses in front of a sizeable audience, so i will not. the last thing i want is for people to feel judged and ostracized over some silly enstars poll, and i personally do not enjoy how hostile this fanbase is to casual fans

like for example, i personally think chiaki is the weirdest ryuseitai member, but many people would disagree on that, right? and it's really not that big of a deal, because i understand why/how people come to that conclusion. some of these questions are really subjective, and are ultimately up to interpretation. just because i understand the text differently doesn't mean that another fan's opinion is inherently wrong. i think that's partially the fun of enstars in that there really is no explicit answer to some things, and it's up to the reader to draw their own conclusions

it hasn't come up often enough to address it, but i only feel bothered by people's responses when they overlook writer's biases and how that bleeds into the writing of some characters, like the amagis and adonis, somewhat mayoi, etc.

anyway, my sincere apologies if this feels like i'm personally lecturing you 🙇 i understand your interest in wanting to know this, but i do not want people to feel bad over mostly subjective opinions. on top of my own understanding of the text versus theirs, yknow?

i guess i could address the polls? for the normal unit polls i personally think hiiro, shinobu, hinata, and nazuna should have won their respective polls. i don't think niki should have won either but i'm not sure who should take his place 🤔. as for the least normal polls i think tatsumi should have won. but outside of these opinions, i do not wish to address actual written responses

#asks tag

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blankfairy · 3 months ago

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WIP Wednesday

Another week, another tag game! Please share your last sentence; or, if you don’t have one, share a plot bunny or idea! (OR sketch for your artwork!)

i got tagged by @rainwingmarvel7,, tysm!! :D (i'm just gonna post an excerpt bc it's more fun tee hee)

“Jacaerys and Lucerys,” he affirmed. His voice never rose above a whisper, distant and crackly like the ancient oak in the godswood. “I wish they were dead.” A dreadful taste thickened in Alicent’s throat, dripping low into her belly and settling there like a pit. This was not her doing, surely? She spoke ill of Rhaenyra’s sons often, perhaps more than she ought to in front of Larys’ boy, but such a young, tempered spirit couldn’t have conjured up an idea like that himself… She placed a firm hand on Trystane’s shoulder, steadying herself, and pulled him to face her. He swayed with the force of her touch, but did not fight. “You cannot say such things, sweet boy.” Her words were a murmur, yet sharper than she liked. It was necessary, Alicent told herself; he couldn’t go around speaking about these sorts of things without any sense of caution. “Jace and Luke are…” “Harwin is supposed to be my kin,” Trystane interupted. “He’s supposed to care about me when my father doesn’t. Right?” Alicent took a deep, measured breath. Mother, guide me. “It’s an unkind thing to say.” Luke squealed something in an excited tone, teasing; Aemond bit back with the swish of his wooden sword and a maligned insult. The beds of Alicent’s fingernails itched viciously. “Promise me you won’t say it again.” “Is it?” Trystane tilted his head. His eyes were wide, irises as depthless and blue as the Blackwater itself. “They’re going to die, anyways. They stink of it. Blood and sea salt and cinder. If they got it over with, I could have Uncle Harwin, and mayhaps grandfather would—”

no pressure tags!! @huramuna @dogboykennedy @paskalin @playlistashton @emilykaldwen

#mail #kinda #james writes #oc: trystane strong #house of the dragon #house of the dragon oc #fyeahhotdocs

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ghosttotheparty · 2 years ago

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part two of this post bc i easily succumbed to peer pressure; this is 90% just them making out both parts are now on ao3 :) cw: they’re just kinda gross (several mentions of spit) and Weird (affectionate)

Eddie’s glad he doesn’t come across any cops on his way to Steve’s, because he’s definitely speeding.

The downstairs lights are on when he gets to his house, and his hands start shaking as he approaches the front door, his fist hovering over the wood as he exhales.

He knocks.

Three times, firm and loud, and he steps back, taking a deep breath.

A few seconds pass, a few long, long seconds, before the door swings open. Steve is in the doorway, holding the door, his eyes wide.

“Hi,” Eddie says softly, breathless.

“Hi.”

They stare at each other, Steve in the light of the entryway, Eddie in the dark of the night. Eddie itches to grab him, to tug him into a kiss, to wrap him in a hug so tight neither of them can breathe. But he just looks back at him, his trembling hands by his sides.

“You’re not…” He hesitates, looking between Steve’s eyes. “Second guessing this. Are you?”

Steve scoffs dryly.

“I’m falling in love with you, Eddie,” he says softly, and Eddie thinks he might be dying, because now he’s not just hearing it, but he’s watching Steve’s lips form every word. “It’s not something I can just… change my mind about.”

He stares at Eddie some more as Eddie’s cheeks flush, and his voice softens even more somehow when he speaks again.

“It’s not something I wanna change my mind about.”

Eddie’s eyes burn.

He steps closer to the doorway. Steve watches him.

“You’re not changing your mind,” Steve says quietly, his eyes flicking across Eddie’s face as he gets closer. “Are you?”

“Do I look like I’m changing my mind?” Eddie breathes. They’re close enough for Eddie to count his eyelashes. Steve’s eyes are dark, and Eddie gazes at him freely, because now he can.

He can feel Steve’s breath on his face as they get closer, silent except the pounding of their hearts and the rustling of wind in the forest around them.

And then Steve is kissing him, hard and desperate and in a way Eddie’s never been kissed before. His eyes squeeze shut and he kisses him back, reaching through the doorway to grab at his waist as Steve’s arm wraps around Eddie’s neck and tugs him closer.

Eddie’s body flushes with heat and a weak noise escapes his throat as Steve pulls him inside roughly, stumbling in after him and barely hearing the door slam behind them. Eddie’s back hits a wall, and he gasps, his hands clawing at Steve’s back as Steve slides his tongue against Eddie’s.

Steve’s hands are warm as they slide over Eddie’s neck, his fingers digging into his skin, into his scars, holding Eddie like they’ll both fall apart if he lets go. He tilts his head to kiss Eddie deeper, pulling Eddie closer until he stands up off the wall before he pushes him back against it. Eddie whimpers, his fingers gripping Steve’s shirt in tight fists.

They’re both breathing hard into each other’s mouths, arms tight around each other, Steve��s fingers tangled tightly in Eddie’s curls, Eddie’s hands shoving under Steve's shirt and clutching at him, scratching his back, their chests pressed together, their pounding hearts separated only by skin in fabric. Clutching and frantic and desperate like they’re trying to melt together.

Steve lets out a sound that’s almost a sob, and Eddie gasps, pulling away to look at him. Their lips and chins are slick, and Steve’s eyes are dark and gleaming at him, half-shut. Eddie pushes away from the wall, panting as he turns them around and shoves Steve against the wall.

Steve whimpers loudly, his fist tightening in Eddie’s hair, and Eddie kisses him so hard their teeth clash. Steve holds Eddie’s head in place as he sucks on his tongue, tugging at his hair again, tilting his head, leaning close, back arching as Eddie’s hands pull him. They’re connected by a string of spit when they separate, breathing hard, and Eddie eyes it for a moment before he sticks his tongue out, catching it.

Steve’s eyes flutter shut.

“Steve,” Eddie breathes.

“Mm.”

“I want…”

He trails off, unsure of what to say. Unsure of what he wants. He wants everything. To tear their shirts off over their heads, to shove his hand down Steve’s pants, to get down on one knee and take off one of his own rings to put on Steve’s finger.

Steve’s eyes open and he looks at him, exhaling, his breath slowing, and his fingers release Eddie’s hair, combing through it slowly. Eddie presses his hands flat against Steve’s back, sliding one down to his ass and gripping it gently. Steve’s breath catches in his throat.

“Anything, Eddie,” Steve breathes.

"Anything?" Eddie whispers, raising his eyebrows and smiling softly when Steve smiles.

"Mhmm."

Eddie's hand squeezes, and Steve bites his lip, closing his eyes and tilting his head back in pleasure as Eddie ducks his head down, nudging his nose against Steve's cheek and jaw gently. Their breathing is slowing, their hearts calming down, but Eddie's hands are still shaking. He kisses the cut of Steve's jaw softly, exhaling against his skin and listening to Steve hum.

"Okay?" he murmurs, nosing down his neck. Steve hums again.

"Feels so good."

Eddie smiles against him and kisses him slowly, teasing the skin between his teeth, sucking softly when Steve's hands tighten in his hair, and Eddie slips a hand under his shirt to his waist. He presses his hand over Steve's scars, over the swirling, storm cloud flesh, and Steve exhales sharply.

"Still okay?"

"Yes, don't-- Don't stop. Anything."

Eddie closes his eyes and tightens his hands again, listening to the way Steve's breath catches, and then he slides his tongue across the side of Steve's neck. Steve's head tilts to the side to give him space, and he sighs, his shoulders slumping like he's falling asleep.

"That your weak spot?" Eddie teases quietly, grinning when Steve's cheeks turn pink.

"Mm."

Eddie does it again, slower, more carefully, the top of his head tingling as Steve's fist tightens in his hair. When his tongue reaches his jaw, Eddie pulls back to look at Steve.

He looks asleep, but also like he might cry, his lips parted, his eyebrows furrowed just slightly. Eddie's eys burn as he gazes at him, wondering how he'd look as a Renaissance painting or something. He has the kind of face an artist would love. Especially when he looks this... blissful.

"Stevie," Eddie whispers. Steve doesn't open his eyes. He just tilts his head a little bit, like he's showing Eddie that he's listening. "I love you."

Steve smiles without looking at him, his cheek flushing a lovely pink.

"Lick me," he whispers.

Eddie beams, leaning close and nudging their noses together.

"And they call me the freak." "Please, baby," Steve whispers, blinking blearily at him, looking the way Eddie feels. The floor gives out under Eddie. He almost disappears. Steve is smiling so softly that he's barely smiling at all. "Make me a freak."

"Fuck," Eddie breathes, closing his eyes for a moment before he tilts his head and nudges at Steve's jaw. Steve lets out a strained exhale when Eddie runs his tongue over it slowly, carefully, and he lets out another breath when Eddie bites down gently.

"Yes," Steve murmurs, his fingers scratching over Eddie's scalp roughly, his breath heavy. "Yes, give me-- Mark me, Eddie, fuck."

Eddie feels too hot, like he's going to pass out, and he desperately wants to pull his shirt off (and then Steve's), but he focuses, sucking Steve's skin between his teeth and nibbling at it before he bites down hard. Steve gasps, his fingers clenching, but his head falls back against the wall, and he lets out a desperate yes, yes, please.

Eddie looks at the mark when he's satisfied, when Steve is trembling so hard it feels like he might cry. It's dark, already flushing reading, and Eddie smiles at it, admiring his work He wonders briefly if this is how artists feel when finishing a piece, and then he slides his tongue over the mark, pretending to soothe it, but Steve groans quietly. Eddie might be on fire. He licks up over his jaw, up his cheek.

His face is salty. Eddie remembers the way his eyelashes look like they're clumped, wearing mascara, and he realises he's tasting Steve's tears. He slides his tongue over Steve's cheek again, then his chin, then his other cheek, tilting his head, and his hand squeezes at Steve's ass as Steve tugs his hair. Steve lets out a whine.

Eddie doesn't stop, kitten-licking Steve's face, holding his neck with one hand (he can't pull the hand on his ass away, for reasons), tasting Steve's tears and skin and finally his spit as Eddie licks across his lips and Steve opens them. He only manages to pull his hands away when Steve kisses him back desperately, sloppy and messy until their lips are sliding with their spit, and he reaches down to Steve's thighs.

His fingers grip him tightly, picking him up with unexpected ease, and he grins into his mouth at the soft sound it elicits.

"Sofa?" he gasps, his heart pounding again.

"Fuck, yeah. Yes."

#i have no idea what just happened #i started writing and this happened #Zero Plot Baby #anyway im working on the final part of pretty girls rn but im stuck #but i have too many ideas to just not write it #its almost five am tho #anyway good night or whatever love u guys <3 #steddie #steddie one shot #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #steve harrington one shot #eddie munson #eddie munson one shot #stranger things #stranger things one shot

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f1nalboys · 1 year ago

Text

Bug Like An Angel - Bo Sinclair

Bo Sinclair

heyyyy guys :3 if i saw me post this yesterday no u did not <3 i got embarrassed bc it’s my first time writing in a while so it feels bad but i’m posting it again and going to nap for the fifth time today so?? enjoy hopefully? lmk what y’all think!! ALSO sorry i am posting this on my phone so formatting might be fucked up and i apologize hehe

WORD COUNT: 1172

WARNINGS: younger bo, no romantic subplot. angst, comparing bo to his mom, bug mention, bug death mention, bo is a complicated guy. alcohol mention, religious undertones and overtones, swearing, brief mention of a victim, barely any proofreading

A small bug drowned to death in Bo’s mostly-empty glass early this afternoon while he sat on the porch swing, the brim of his hat low over his eyes to shield them from the sun. The Louisiana heat mixed well with his liquor, settling warm in his stomach and rocking him to sleep like a mother would her child.

As the sun sets his eyes open, the hat moves from his head to clear his vision. Bo’s heart was thumping in his chest, crashing against his ribs like a wild animal in a cage. His dream of angels falling to earth, humans stumbling across Ambrose, sinners and saints alike lessen the longer he’s awake. Sin follows the righteous like a heavy cloud, thick with want and desire. The chosen few always out run it but Bo has never been a runner and he’s never been one to turn down a sin or two.

Bo breathes in slowly, taking in his surroundings. He’s home, like always. He’s alone, like always. He briefly thinks of the poor girl stuck in the basement right now; Vincent had surely begun his craft and Bo swallows back the annoyance at not having been able to play with her longer. She had been funny, the way she spit and screamed at him until she saw the chair. Bo liked timing them in his head to see how long it took for them to start to beg.

It’s something his mother used to do to him. He can still hear her shrill voice if he focuses hard enough; “Four minutes before you finally apologized. Well, that just won’t stand.” His wrists itch but when he looks down they’re just scars. There’s no blood despite the feeling of it warm on his skin, the blood of a lamb on untouched fur.

His eyes turn over to the railing of the deck and he spots his glass. His tongue burns for another taste and he grabs it, looking down and frowning as he registers the bug that laid flat in the middle of the remnants of his drink. “Damn…” he mutters, eyebrows furrowing together. “Poor bastard needed a drink more than me.”

Snorting at his own joke, Bo goes to empty the glass over the side of the railing. He hesitates for a moment as he watches the bug slide from the center of the glass to the edge, the small drop of scotch submerging it. There’s a small pang of sorrow deep inside Bo’s chest that lights up, just a spark, at the sight. “Poor thing.” He says, dumping the bug out onto the wooden railing.

The remaining scotch soaks into the wood, a small ring like shape, the bug in the center. It reminds Bo of one of the angels he used to stare at when his momma forced him to church. He swallows thickly, thinking of the countless hours he’d spend in those small pews tucked in between his parents, a hand on each of his wrists, digging into the still raw flesh with each offense. He remembers how his gaze bore into the angel to the left of Jesus, how he got some sort of solace from it in those moments.

When he revisited his mommas funeral and couldn’t bear to look at her, his eyes always found it’s own.

Sighing, Bo places the thick glass onto the railing beside the bug. Bo wasn’t sure what kind of bug it was, just that it had a hard brown shell and six arms and that it looked pathetic like that on it’s back, limbs limp. He pokes at the small insect, just to make sure, before he carefully rolls it over. “There ya go, buddy,” he murmurs with a smile. “Now let’s get you where you belong.”

With more grace than he’s ever given anyone, Bo gently picks the bug up in between his thumb and pointer, placing it onto the middle of his palm as he walks down his front porch steps, taking a left to turn down the side of the house. There was a small patch of dandelions growing here and Bo bends down in front of a patch of them.

“Hmm, where do you wanna be…” Bo questions quietly, before letting out a small satisfied hum. With his free hand he digs a small hole in between two flowers, just an inch or two, before carefully placing the bug in the makeshift grave. He closes his eyes and mutters a prayer to himself, one he had been muttering over his mothers body for the last three years. When he finishes he sighs, opening his eyes and giving a sad smile towards the small bug in the big grave.

Bo carefully brushes dirt over the bug, tapping the dirt over top and placing a small golden leaf on top like a blanket. Like a mother to her child. “Bo?” He jumps, nearly falling flat onto his ass as he attempts to stand, hand reaching for his back pocket where his knife stayed. Lester gives a toothy smile and Bo rolls his eyes, wiping his hands onto his jeans.

“Whadya want, Les?” He asks, cheeks red with embarrassment.

“Hadn’t seen ya since lunch, wanted to check up on ‘ya and make sure you were ok.” Lester steps to the side to allow Bo to pass him before quickly falling in line, walking quickly to keep up with his brother's large strides. “What were you doin’?”

Bo shakes his head, boots hitting the safety of the porch steps. “Nothin’, don’t fuckin’ worry about it.”

“Were you buryin’ another bug?” Lester can see Bo stiffen as his hand reaches for the front door's handle and grins, trying to stifle his laughter. “S’alright, Bo. We all’s gotta soft spot for animals. Course, most folks prefer dogs to creepy crawlies.”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re on about.” Bo snaps, holding the door open for his younger brother to slink inside past him. He sticks his foot out and laughs loudly when Lester trips, louder than he used to be allowed to, and he slams the front door shut like his mother. “Go put a pizza or somethin’ in the oven for us, I’ll grab beers. Oh, and tell Vinny to leave the bitch and come up to get something to eat, too, wouldja?”

Lester shakes his head. “You sound like momma.” He mutters under his breath, ducking to avoid Bo swatting at him. Like mother, like son. “Dibs on pickin’ the movie, then!”

Bo’s mouth opens to deny the dibs due to being the oldest but Lester is gone, turning into the room that leads to the basement and Bo shakes his head instead. He thinks of the poor little bug buried in between those two wilting flowers all alone and briefly wonders what would’ve happened to it had it not died tonight the way it did, if it had been given another chance.

It reminds him of something but he can’t quite think of what that is.

#f1nalboys works #f1nalboys masterlist #f1nalboys writing #bo sinclair #lester sinclair #house of wax #house of wax 2005 #house of wax fic #angst fic #idk man

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fluffyllamas-23 · 1 year ago

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Can I request some super sick Steve with a bad cold/sinus infection and Bucky being all cute and protective? Canon or AU! Thank you :))

Okay so I somehow missed the part of your ask where you requested that Bucky be cute and protective. I think I got the cute thing, but not sure about the protective thing. I hope you like it anyways! I'm on a real Stucky kick and this was so fun to write.

(Modern AU Stucky with post-serum Steve bod bc I can lol)

“Which pumpkin do you want?” Bucky asks, hands on his hips as he stares down at the pumpkins in the pumpkin patch they’re visiting..

Steve shrugs, wrapping his jacket tighter around himself as he shivers. “I’m good with whatever. Hey, can we stop for hot chocolate or tea or something on our way home? I’m freezing.”

“God that sounds incredible. Absolutely.”

Steve sniffles, rubbing at his nose. He reaches down to pick up one of the pumpkins near his feet. “hhh’ISCHih! Snff! Sorry. This is a good one.”

“Bless you. That is a good one,” Bucky agrees, looking at the large, round, bright orange pumpkin that Steve has in his hands. Steve adjusts the pumpkin, holding it like one might hold a baby on their hip.

When Bucky just stares down at the other pumpkins without making any move to pick one, Steve quirks a brow at him, “so…are you going to make a decision for yours, or are we going to be out here all night?”

Bucky rolls his eyes, “it’s a very important decision.”

“Clearly.”

“Can’t pick the wrong one.”

A tickle blooms in his sinuses, and he rubs at his nose again, trying to ward off the impending sneeze. “Oh god no. Can’t have that. World War III might start if you pick the wrong pumpkin.”

“So you see my dilemma.”

Steve turns away from Bucky, “Ih’tschiew! Nng’tsch! Snff! Excuse me.”

“Bless you, sweetheart. Okay, I think I found one.” He says, walking a few feet to pick up one of the pumpkins he’s had his eye on since they got there.

“Well thank god for that,” Steve chuckles. “I was starting to worry we’d die here before you ever made up your mind.”

“I’d probably have gotten us out before we died,” Bucky says. Steve is still fussing with his nose when Bucky looks up at him. He looks deeply bothered. Bucky’s eyes soften, “hey…you okay?”

Steve nods, trying not to wince when he swallows past the sudden sharp, raw feeling in his throat. “Cold and windy out. That always bothers my nose.”

“Let’s get you warm, then. Still want to stop for tea or whatever?”

His breath hitches again, and he muffles a volley of sneezes into the crook of his arm. He nods, sniffling and trying once again to get rid of the itch that just does not want to leave his sinuses.

He scrunches his nose. “Y-yeah that s-hih…hih’TSCH! Tsch! Ihhh…hih’tSCH! Snff! That sounds ndice-hhh’ISCHih! h’sschUH! SnffSnff!...Snff! Oh mby god, sorry. Do we have andy tissues in the car?” Congestion seeping into his voice, blurring all of his consonants together.

“I’m not sure…are you feeling okay, Stevie?” Bucky says cautiously.

Steve grimaces, “I think I might be getting a cold.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bucky frowns, nudging him with his shoulder as they walk to pay for their pumpkins.

“It’s ndot a big deal,” Steve sniffles. “I’mb finde. I really dond’t feel that bad.”

“Okay…you promise?” Bucky says, and they both set their pumpkins down to be weighed. He hands the man behind the till his credit card and looks over at Steve.

Steve holds up three fingers, “scout’s hondor.”

“You sound like shit.”

“Gee, thagks. I’mb finde. I swear. It’s just a cold. I’ll take sombe mbeds whend we get hombe and ndap.”

Bucky decides to drop it, but he suspects that Steve is bullshitting him. The fact that he’s volunteering to take medication and have a nap instead of needing Bucky to sweet talk him into it is suspicious as hell. This never happens unless Steve feels downright awful.

But he isn’t going to get anywhere by forcing the issue if Steve isn’t ready to admit he feels awful.

So Bucky pretends he believes Steve.

“I’mb finde,” Steve says sharply as Bucky casts him what feels like the umpteenth concerned glance that car ride. “Stop looki’gg at mbe like that.”

He’s spent the majority of their drive to the coffee shop, and now on their way home, sneezing and coughing and sniffling. He’s sounding worse and worse, and Bucky can’t help the fact that he’s worried.

He’d been fine this morning, albeit a bit tired-looking and sounding, but nowhere near this level. It just kind of seems like it hit him out of nowhere with zero warning.

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” He says nonchalantly, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye as he pulls onto their street.

“Y-yes you-hihhh…oh for the love of god-hih’TSCH! Tsch! Ihhh…hih’tSCH! Snff! hhh’ISCHih! h’sschUH! Snff!” He sighs in frustration as Bucky pulls into the driveway.

“Bless-”

“-Dond’t say it,” Steve grumbles, rubbing his forehead. All of the sneezing has given him the worst headache. It’s throbbing and pounding behind his eyes and in his forehead, and he doesn’t care for it one bit.

“Stevie, come on,” Bucky says softly, putting a hand on his thigh. It’s like the touch melts him completely, and he suddenly deflates, sniffling pitifully. “It’s me. You don’t have to hide how you feel with me.”

Steve sighs in defeat. He’s right. There’s really no point in denying it any longer. He knows Bucky isn’t buying it.

He sure wouldn’t.

“I dond’t feel great, Buck.”

“I know,” Bucky says gently, giving Steve such a soft look, he could cry. “Come on, let’s get you inside. You can change and pick out something to watch and I’ll grab you some meds. Sound good?

Steve coughs into the crook of his elbow, “yeah that sou’ds great.”

“Okay, I really think we need to get you to a doctor,” Bucky frowns, looking down at the thermometer. “That, or this thermometer is broken.”

He had thought Steve felt warm while they were cuddling, but he wasn’t expecting the number it beeped in at.

“What’s it at?”

“102.4.”

“....Oh,” Steve mumbles, taking stock of how he feels. He grimaces when the conclusion he comes to is really bad. “Ndo, I thiggk that’s right.”

He’s been sick going on five days now, and it doesn’t seem like he’s getting any better. He’s getting worse, in fact. He’s been so congested and sniffly and sneezy that he was having a hard time getting any sleep. All meds did was take the edge off, but not enough to let him get more than a couple of hours at a time before he was awake again.

He’s exhausted and achy, and Bucky hates how listless he’s been.

“How are you feeling? What’s bothering you?”

“Awful. Everythi’gg. Mby face hurts,” Steve groans, eyes closing. He feels so congested that his eyes feel swollen.

Bucky winces, “I think you might have a sinus infection, Stevie.”

Steve feels his face gingerly before inhaling sharply and dropping his hands. “Ow.”

“God, yeah, this definitely sounds like a sinus infection.” Bucky groans, “let’s go to urgent care…get you some antibiotics, maybe some steroids…and stronger pain meds.”

“Cand we go later? I’mb tired.”

“Sweetheart, the sooner we go, the quicker you’ll feel better,” Bucky says, stroking Steve’s cheek. “I know you don’t feel well and going to urgent care is the last thing you want to do, but you need medical attention.”

It takes some more convincing, but eventually, Steve relents.

Or, rather, Steve allows himself to be bribed with a milkshake (and as much soup and as many snuggles as he could possibly want). All this in exchange for being a good patient (and not a pain in the ass, which were stipulations Bucky may or may not have added to their agreement), and going to the doctor.

Finally, after what feels like forty eight hours, they’re finally home from urgent care. Bucky claims it was only three hours, but Steve thinks he’s probably lying to spare his feelings.

He’s not sure why Bucky would need to spare his feelings, but there’s also no way that only took three hours.

They’ve been to the pharmacy already and have picked up his antibiotics and steroids, as well as the milkshake Steve was promised.

“Okay,” Bucky says, shutting the door behind them. “I’m going to put these away, you go get comfy in bed and I’ll bring you your meds and some tea and then we can cuddle while you nap.”

“That’s a great pland,” Steve sniffles.

“I thought you might like that,” Bucky smiles, stroking Steve’s cheek. “Let’s get you feeling better, yeah?”

They go up the stairs into their bedroom, and settle in for another quiet few days until Steve is finally feeling better.

They also finally carve those pumpkins.

#Stucky #modern au #fever #sneezing #congestion #I was watching Winter Soldier while I wrote the majority of this #and ironically I was writing Bucky be super cute with his boy while actual Bucky beat the shit out of Steve on screen lol #I prefer this tbh

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