#screaming. crying. everything in between. and here i thought i was only going to get a single glimpse of him before the season ended | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inkbybambi · 1 year ago

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bodyguard!simon riley who takes a bullet for you —

words: 2.9k rating: e warnings: nightmares, guns/shooting, gunshot wound, hospitals, smut, creampie, cunnilingus, mentions of threats against reader, threat against reader, lowercase writing — please let me know if i missed any! notes: 18+ content, minors dni. warnings have been provided.

He's been assigned to you for two-ish years now. You weren't thrilled at first, and neither was he — but he didn't make it as obvious as you did.

"I don't need a babysitter," you had damn-near hissed when he was introduced.

"I wasn't hired to be one," he counters coolly, which only serves to irritate you further.

Actively ignoring his presence — as much as you could when your company moved him into your apartment — even though you begrudgingly made room in the counters and fridge for his things, even going as far as investing into a better kettle so he could make his tea and clearing out an entire cabinet for all his tea, sugar, and steeper.

He trails you quietly as he was hired to; keeping close enough to always have you in his sights but far enough away that people wouldn't be able to clock his association to you — or so he thought.

Six months into his contract with you — an unknown amount of time left, as Price never answered and soon he stopped asking — he wakes in the middle of the night from a scream he never thought would come from you.

He rushes to your bedroom, gun in hand with his finger resting on the side — not the trigger. The front door is locked as he had left it, windows unbroken. He almost thinks he might've associated it with one of his own nightmares, until he sees you.

Curled in on yourself, face tucked into your knees, fingers threaded at the nape of your neck as you struggle to breathe properly, hiccups and sobs breaking between your stuttered breaths.

He knocks gently on your door, not wanting to startle you. You jump a little, regardless, but lift your head to look at him.

"'m sorry," you mumble, voice rough, "I didn't mean to wake you."

And you hadn't. You thought you were done with these awful nightmares, the ones gnawing at the edges of your mind during the day.

"'S'alright," he replies, tucking the gun into the waistband of his sleep shorts, walking carefully towards your bed. "You okay?"

The look he receives damn near breaks his heart.

He learns, that night, that an attempt had been made on your life before. More than once.

They never got close enough to do any harm, you say, but then swallow thickly and clutch your bicep where Simon sees a scar that he never took notice of previously. They didn't get close enough to do anything worse, you amend, chancing a look at him.

"I had security then, too," you explain, wiping your tears with your hand, playing with the blanket. "It didn't change anything."

Something shifts after that.

He starts cooking for you — with you, when there's time — and you bring him a cup of tea each morning. The bookshelf in the living room, previously only half-filled, collects Simon's books. You give him the login to all your streaming services, and ignore the pointed look he gives you when he sees some trashy reality tv show in your continue to watch queue.

He doesn't complain much when he stands behind you during an episode, arms crossed, asking a question here and there. You sigh, exasperated at having to explain everything, telling him to sit down as you start the series from the beginning.

Nine months into his contract, your nightmares become more frequent, and worse. You don't understand why. You were getting better, you cry in Simon's arms after a particularly rough night.

"Sometimes these things happen," he tells you softly, gently petting your hair, tucking you under his chin.

"Make them stop, please," you beg, even though you know he can't. he wishes he could.

He starts sleeping in your bed.

He's so warm, your cheek pressed into his chest, feeling more secure than you have in months when the weight of his thick, tattooed arm slings around your waist. He presses a kiss to your forehead at night, and you burrow into his side.

He starts taking the balaclava off at night.

A morning where you blessedly don't have to be up early, grey clouds hang in the sky, the promise of a storm later.

"G'mornin'," he says, voice rough with sleep, feeling him flex and stretch beneath you, groaning as his body relaxes. A flash of heat snaps through you.

"Morning," you reply, only half-awake, tilting your head up to drag your lips across his jaw, prickling with stubble.

He cradles the back of your head, fingers thick and comforting, tilting you back until his mouth slants over yours. He holds you so carefully, like glass, as his tongue slips into your mouth, hot and heavy.

The sheets rustle as he moves to lay over you, free arm resting by your head as your legs hook on his hips, trying to draw him closer to you.

He nips at your bottom lip as he rolls his hips, the heat of his cock through his boxers frazzling your brain. You mewl, his tongue back in your mouth, moving his hand to grip your waist and drag you up against him, moaning low in his throat when he feels the wetness seeping through your panties.

"Fuck," you breathe out as his mouth moves over your cheek, down your jaw, kissing the sensitive skin behind your ear.

"Say please," he rumbles.

"Simon, please," you whine, fingers curling at the base of his skull and scratching, and he snarls against your skin, sinking his teeth into the side of your neck as he tears your panties off, pushing his boxers down enough to free his cock.

You're so wet for him, slick coating your thighs as he drags his cock through your folds.

He usually takes his time — using his fingers and tongue to open them up first, wanting to feel the wet heat of their cunt and the spurt of their release to know they're relaxed and ready for him. He eats pussy like he'll die if he doesn't, will happily spend hours between your legs if you let him.

But with you? He feels feral with need.

"It's big, sweet thing," he rasps into your skin, lips hovering over that sensitive spot on your neck that he sunk his teeth into earlier, notching the head of his cock at your entrance. He's not trying to brag, it's just a fact.

You claw at him, the sting of open scratches burning his skin so pleasantly.

"It's okay, don't care," you pant, gripping him hard enough to leave deep crescent marks in his skin, angling your hips up to draw him into your cunt yourself.

He grips your hips with both hands, slowly pushing his thick length into you, nails digging even deeper the more he pushes in.

"Feels so fucking good," he says, tongue laving over your throat to collect the thin sheen of sweat that coats your skin. "Could fuck you forever," he groans, your breath hitching.

You make a strangled noise low in your throat. It's been awhile since you've fucked anyone, and you've never fucked anyone as big as him before.

The stretch feels so good, though. Your cunt clenches around him as he sinks in deeper, mind glazing over as you focus only on him.

"Fuck," he whines when he finally seats himself fully into you, nuzzling into your neck, overwhelmed by the heat and slick, "good fucking girl, taking me so well."

He swallows thickly, waiting a couple heartbeats to enjoy this — it's been awhile for him, too.

"Think you can take it, love?" and his fucking voice. You would agree to do anything as long as you could hear that rough accent along your throat, teeth skimming your skin.

"Yes," you breathe out harshly, moving to wrap your arms around his shoulders, needing him close, close, closer.

For a man of few words, Simon has a filthy mouth as he fucks into you, accompanied by groans and growls into your collar.

"Never had a cunt this perfect." "Fuckin' made for me." "Can't wait to get my tongue in you, feel you cum on my face." "No one else can have you." "You're mine."

And you, normally far more verbal than him, are reduced to nothing more than mewls and pleas and moans for more.

You mouth and nip at his jaw when you can, wanting to mark him, wanting to stake your claim. You'll be his forever if he lets you, but you'll be damned if anyone else gets to have him either.

"Simon — " is the only warning you give before you cum on his cock, head thrown back as you moan through the waves of pleasure, release coating his length and thighs.

"That's it, baby, good girl, give it to me," he says, blunt nails digging into your waist as he grinds himself deep into you. You feel so warm and pliant, the pleasure numbing your mind as he rocks himself into you.

"Wanna feel you give me one more, angel," he bites at your throat on the other side, his need to sink his teeth into every inch of your skin overwhelming. He hooks your legs over his shoulders, fucking into you deeper, hitting that spot inside you that has you seeing stars and your toes curling.

You grip at him again, clawing as he fucks into you, the sound of your wet cunt taking each thrust creating a symphony with his groans and your cries. He feels so fucking good, splitting you open and making you whole, desperate for him to cum inside.

The way your nails dig into his shoulder is the sign that you're getting close, and he thrusts just a little harder, a little meaner, your cute whines growing more desperate as you walk the precipice of another orgasm.

No one's ever made you cum more than once — sometimes, not even once — and you've never been able to do it yourself either.

Simon? Fucks a second orgasm out of you like it's his life mission, ankles tightening around his neck as pleasure lines your veins, shaking as he continues to hit that spot inside you as you cum, prolonging it as much as he can.

"Baby — " he chokes out, sharp teeth on your shoulder, thrusts getting sloppy. The slick of your two releases sounds so loud in your bedroom, feeling the desperation as he thrusts, deeper, harder.

"Cum inside," you mumble against his cheek, nails scratching at the base of his skull as he thrusts once, twice, three times — the warmth of his release flooding your cunt.

He fists the sheets in one hand, nails dragging down your thigh as he pumps deep into you, your slick and his release seeping out of your hole, dripping down his balls and your asshole.

You stay like that, lips brushing, breathing in each other's air as you slowly come down from the high.

Simon gently — so gently — lowers your legs, carefully watching your face for any signs of discomfort, settling them on his hips, hands moving up and down your thighs. "Y'alright?" he asks. You swallow thickly and nod, both hands now at the base of his skull, affectionately scratching at the nape of his neck.

He slowly pulls out, and you miss the stretch and the warmth immediately. You push up on your elbows, watching as the mixture of your pleasure leaks out of you, biting you lip.

"Fuckin' beautiful," he says almost reverently, mesmerized.

He spends the next hour cleaning you up, and you think your nails create permanent marks on his shoulders.

Time bleeds together.

His contract renews on the twelfth month.

He heard rumors that Price might switch him out for another guard.

You're at the meeting — it's your bodyguard, after all, they figure you should get some input. Price has two separate folders prepared. A sharp look from Simon is all Price needed to know about how he feels. The tongue lashing you give your higher ups has Price raising his eyebrows, and Simon sits forward a little more should he need to haul you out over his shoulder.

He wouldn't mind that too much, he thinks, but he'd rather not.

Ten minutes later and you're angrily signing his renewal papers, a blotch of ink at the start of your name as you didn't even read the contract before signing, lungs burning from your rant about personal safety and what the fuck are you thinking and I didn't just buy an entirely new tea set for nothing.

You grip his wrist as soon as he signs himself, dragging him to the nearest bathroom.

His hand covers your mouth as he fucks you deep and slow.

"Don't worry, darling, 'm not going anywhere."

Eighteen months into his contract, and he's never felt so little control before in his life.

He's meticulous, prepared, tactile.

There's a gun in his holster for distance threats and a knife in his sheath for those who dare get too close.

He makes sure to memorize the exists before you even get to the venue, now making no effort to conceal himself.

He's like a shadow, or a guard dog.

You've never felt more secure, more protected.

Until —

He doesn't know how it slipped past him.

He let his eyes linger a little too long on the curve of your neck, where a new diamond pendant lay with his initial engraved on the back. He admires the dip of the dress you wear, open-back that shows the enticing expanse of your back, the dress covering you above the curve of your ass. You look back at him briefly while whomever you're with speaks, eyes sparkling in the bright light of the room, a smile reserved just for him.

He hears the cock of a hammer and his eyes snap to a gentleman who brandishes a gun like he's never held one before in his life. His eyes, though. His eyes are like fire, black with rage, staring at you with such hatred.

You look one second too late.

Simon is on you right after the click of the trigger, pushing you to the floor and caging you with his body.

"Stay down and don't fucking move," he growls as he reaches for his own weapon, up in a flash.

You can't hear anything except white noise and screams that sound muffled, heart pounding and making it hard to breathe. Two shots ring out, in tandem, and there's the telltale sign of a body hitting the floor.

Simon is by your side, eyes scanning, frantic, looking for any signs of harm.

"You okay?" he asks, carefully outstretching his hands to let you stop him from touching you should you want. you don't.

"Fine," your voice cracks, and you can't stop shaking.

"You're okay, you're okay," he says, cradling your cheeks, thumbs wiping under your eyes. "I'm so fucking sorry," he adds, guilt heavy in his chest.

You grab his wrists lightly, tears streaming down your cheeks as you look him over. You gasp, unable to catch a real breath, unable to look away from his stomach.

"Simon — " you say, horror laced in your voice.

He looks down, seeing the red seep through his shirt.

Fuck.

At least it wasn't you, he tells himself.

Nineteen months into his contract, and he isn't dead.

While he's been shot before — a fact he tells you, assuming it would comfort you, but only got him a venomous glare in return — it's been awhile.

The hospital, the stitches, the gauze and needles. He hated it then and he hates it now.

Price comes to you in the hospital — they're keeping Simon for a little, to make sure there's no complications with his healing — offering another guard in the interim while he recovers.

You've never shot down a proposal so quickly in your life. The nerve.

Twenty-two months into his contract, and the last of the moving boxes are taped shut and labeled. Some of them in your writing, the others in his. The keys to your new house are tucked into his pocket, alongside a black velvet box.

"Why do we have so much shit," you whine when packing, only two boxes deep and so many rooms left to go. You're too busy stuffing a manatee shaped steeper into a box — mana-tea, you giggled when he opened it, him rolling his eyes fondly in reply — and don't see him pause, looking at you softer, never hearing "we" before like that. Never dreaming he could hear it like that.

A lot of stalling on your part and encouragement on his, and the last box is packed and placed in the back of the truck.

He laces your fingers together as you drive to the new house, a bottle of champagne already chilled.

Twenty four months into his contract, and you come home with something hidden behind your back.

You smile like you have a secret, which would be a first.

It's awkward to bring around from your back, but there's a large German Shepard puppy wiggling in your grip, tail wagging furiously.

He feels his heart stop for a moment, unable to take his eyes off the puppy, and then the band that's sitting around your finger. He touches his own subconsciously.

You set the ball of fur down, who immediately launches at Simon, whining and wiggling and trying to give him kisses.

There's a collar and tag already there, and you watch with your heart beating faster than ever, unable to stop the smile on your lips, as he wrangles the pup enough to read it.

Riley.

#ink by bambi #simon riley/reader #simon riley x reader #ghost/reader #ghost x reader #simon riley/you #simon riley x you #modern warfare imagine #modern warfare fanfic #simon riley imagine #simon riley smut #mondern warfare smut

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mooooonnnzz · 3 months ago

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holy shit world/insure made me sob. would you consider doing a part two ? i’m imagining stan and ford telling dipper and mable childhood stories with the reader. they’re vague about it, saying stuff like “they aren’t here anymore” so the twins just think read died. then reading coming back through the portal and they connect the dots. omfg i’m obsessed with this concept.

Word/Insured Part 2

Stanford Pines x Sibling!Reader/Stanley Pines x Sibling!Reader

☆ GUESS WHO FINISSHHHEDDDD!!!

☆ this'll have 2 parts so it's easier to digest, since it's lawnngg so if it abruptly ends, that's just me splitting it

☆ 4,5k words

☆ gender-neutral reader

☆ possible tw: drinking to cope, mentions of suicide, gagging and descriptive chewing? and just angst

☆ srry this lowk kinda took long to write both keyboard and mouse just died on me when i was writing this so i had to find an old keyboard oops

☆ if this does well, i'm considering on making hcs of reader adjusting back to their home dimensions and diving deep into the twins n their trauma !!

☆ that's all. i hope you all enjoy! :3

✶ Stan and Ford hadn’t talked to each other since your disappearance. The anger and hatred that Stan held onto was enough to deter him from even granting a glance at Ford who tirelessly tried to get Stan to talk to him. He’d begin the conversation with ideas he’s thought through the night prior, ideas that most likely secured a chance on bringing you back. But Stan wanted nothing to do with him. His head was shrouded with your screams, the way you yelled out for Stan instilled such a soul-crushing guilt on Stan; he wasn’t sure he’d properly function as a normal human being after this. Not to mention, you and Stan were two peas in a pod, spending 10 years together after the collapse of their family truly brought the pair together, closer than they’d ever thought they would be. And now Stan is going through the same grief he felt when he was kicked out of the house, Ford doing nothing but sparing a sorrowful glance to him as he shouted for his brother, anticipating Ford to do something; to clean his name and everything would go back to normal. But instead, he turned his back on him. The situations were massively different but the pain was eerily still the same.

✶ Stan would spend majority of his nights clutching your belongings close to his chest. He didn’t care if it looked weird, those were the only things that he had left of you at the moment. Nights were spent crying himself to sleep, envisioning different scenarios where he had caught onto your wrist and pulled you back to the ground, where it was safe, where he was there to protect you. He couldn’t let his mind linger on the idea of you being stranded in another dimension, helpless and lost, not knowing what to do or where to go. The mere thought of it sends his heart crumbling down to his palms, all shredded and shattered beyond repair. He was your big brother, he was supposed to protect you. To keep you safe from harm's way, he betrayed that very promise by leading you to the place where you were taken away from him too soon. And that alone gutted him. Ford would hear Stan sobbing into the night and all he did was lay there in his bed, submitting himself to the torture to hear his brother’s wretched cries. Because, this was his fault. Stan wasn’t shy to tell him that almost every waking moment of the day when he has the chance. The guilt haunts him.

✶ Verbal arguments were pretty common between the pair. Stan mainly started them when he was pulled out of the haze he was in and roughly back to reality. A reality where you weren’t around anymore and that irked him, because who else was at fault other than his idiotic brother? “Do you ever wonder how more lively this house would have been if ya hadn’t pushed [Name] inside the portal?” His tone was harsh. They carried thick venom to them, his words permanently burning their way into Ford’s brain. “Not this again,” Ford’s heart quivered. He had just recollected himself from yesterday's fight and now Stan wants to barrel through another one? Ford avoided Stan’s glaring eye contact. “Stanley, I told you many times before. I’m sorry! I’m sorry for screwing up, I’m sorry for being the reason why [Name] isn’t here anymore.” Ford’s head tilted back, his eyes staring longingly at the ceiling. “You don’t know how much this eats at me, Stanley.” He blinks away the tears threatening to escape, his head lowering back down to meet Stan’s fiery stare. “But I beg of you, please. Don’t hate me for it. I can’t lose you again, not after losing [Name].” The look in Ford’s eyes was something Stan would never be able to forget, no matter how hard he tried. He looked so broken, so shattered, the shell of someone who once was a prodigy at everything he touched was now crushed to bits; pieces of him scattered, lost to time. Stanley’s anger faded into a mellow irritation. Shifting his hands awkwardly on his chest, his face softened ever so slightly. “Fine,” He grumbled, rushing past Ford, their shoulders roughly rocking against each other. Ford sniffed, wiping the tears off his face. This was a new development. A spark of hope flickered in Ford.

✶ Alcohol and cigars were Stan’s life vest. He’d rob a few packs of beer and down them within two days. It wasn’t healthy, but at least it distracted him from everything that was happening, right? Stan was pretty much drunk every day, and if he wasn’t, he was out on the porch smoking cigars, hoping that one day Ford would find him dead on the floor with beer cans surrounding him, his last moments spent thinking about how much he missed you. Stan wasn’t an angry drunk much to Ford’s surprise, considering how he spent his times where he was sober yelling at Ford, rather he’d rot away on the couch or floor, silently crying to himself in a puddle of his own tears. Many times Ford would have to pick up Stan, rest him on the couch and try to sober him up. And it wasn’t an easy task to do, picking up Stan with his weak arms was a workout for Ford. “Why couldn’t I save them?” Stank drunkenly babbled out, his head swaying side to side. “Don’t move too much, Stanley. You’ll give yourself a headache.” Ford warned, propping his head up with a pillow. “If I wasn’t so slow, [Name] would still be here.” Stan hiccups, his eyes glistening with tears. No matter how many times Ford hears Stan painfully talking about you, it still hurts the same and even more. “It’s not your fault, Stan.” Ford said, pulling a blanket up to his chest. “It’s not yours either.” Stan’s hand patted Ford on his face, thinking that it was his head. When Stan pulled his hands away, tears were streaking down Ford’s cheek. Hearing Stan tell him that it wasn’t his fault healed a piece of him and that quickly triggered the waterworks. “There, there, brother.” Stan patted Ford’s back as he sobbed into his hands. “It’s not my fault,” He repeated in loud sobs. “It’s not your fault.” Stan echoes.

✶ Ford handled his grief and stress by huddling himself in the lab, isolating himself from Stan’s drunken state and researching his work. Trying to find loopholes that he can tie them close with a workaround, with a quick fix that would bring you back. Cans of beer were discarded around his lab, just the same as upstairs. But he wasn’t downing beers like Stan, he chugged one or two to dull out the ache in his heart, to keep it from distracting him. He knew when to stop and limit himself. He wasn’t dependent on alcohol. Sleep was something Ford considered useless. That would only distract him from his work, from his progress. Stan walked into the lab, puffing a gray smoke of air out onto the air. Your absence has bestowed so much despair onto the pair and he hadn’t realized until this very moment. Walking over to Ford, he placed a hand on his back. He was messily sleeping on top of his work, glasses hanging off his face, mouth open, drool dribbling down to his arms and paper. His dark circles were so dark and he was unshaven, chin stubbly with hair. Has he been getting any sleep? He wouldn’t know because he’s always drinking the day away. Stan internally groaned at himself. Not only has been neglecting himself, he’s been neglecting his brother. Burning out the cigar, he grabbed a blanket from upstairs and draped it over Ford. “Sleep tight, Stanford.” He said, gingerly squeezing his arm. Stan sat right next to him, wanting to keep him company and dozed off. When morning came, Ford awoke to Stan’s head colliding with his chair. For that one morning, Stan’s snores were music to his ears.

✶ “S-Stanley!” Ford’s body lunges up from the couch when he sees Stan briskly pass by him and into the kitchen. “I-I’ve done some research and I-I think I found a way to get [Name] back!” He stumbles over his words, the lack of sleep weighing heavily on his foggy brain. The only thing that is keeping him up as of now is coffee he had been taking in shots for the past few days. The way he moves is fidgety and erratically and Stan takes notice of that. Pouring a cup of coffee for himself in a mug, he leans his back against the counter. “You need sleep, Stanford.” He brings the rim of the mug to his lips, his eyes never leaving Ford’s trembling figure as he takes a big gulp from his coffee. Ford couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Stan spoke to him! It was measly four words, but that’s more than he has ever said in the past five months, that wasn’t angry nonsensical words that were being thrown at him or depressing drunken babbling. “No, there’s so much to be done.” Ford runs a hand through his unkempt hair. “You need to hear me out. We need to find the other two–” Stan shushes him. “I won’t talk to you until ya sleep, Stanford. Don’t you bother trying to back out from this.” He looks at Ford with a stern expression, almost the same one Mom wore whenever he warned Ford to not do anything stupid in the backyard with Stan. “B-But!” Stan doesn’t hear his weak objections, he’s already out of the kitchen before Ford can conjure a good enough excuse. With a groan, Ford trips over his own feet while he makes his way back to the couch. Pushing all his research and books off the couch and onto the floor, he topples over the couch. When his head crashes on the soft plush of his sofa, his body automatically shuts off, revealing how dangerously tired he was. His eyes fluttered close and it didn’t take long for him to crash out on the couch. Stan came in to check on Ford and was pleasantly pleased to see his twin at last getting the rest he deserved.

✶ Clinking his fork idly on the ceramic plate, Stan watched Ford make breakfast. Originally Stan was going to prepare breakfast, but Ford saw he was cooking and pushed him out of the kitchen, telling him that it was “his treat,” Stan couldn’t even utter a single word to him. He just wanted simple scrambled eggs and toast and now he’s left to fear for his life as Ford concocts a science experiment for his breakfast. “And for you breakfast, Stanley.” Ford swoops in, leaning forward as he shuffles the plate of food onto the table. “Scrambled eggs and buttered toast,” Ford smiles knowingly, placing his breakfast down. He had the same breakfast but the crust of his toast was cut off. “I don’t even know why I doubted you.” Stan scoops up the scrambled eggs with his fork and shoves it in his mouth with giddy excitement, a display of emotions Ford hadn’t seen in over 10 years. Who knew a simple breakfast would get him so happy? “Still being a baby about the crust?” He points to Ford’s crustless buttered toast with his fork, mouth muffled with food still being chewed in his mouth. Ford cringes at the sight of mashed up food in Stan’s mouth, suppressing a gag as he nods his head. “Chew your food before talking, Stanley! We’re not kids anymore.” He rasps out, his palm covering his mouth, his body shuddering with full body heaves. “Alright, alright!” With a loud gulp, he swallows his scrambled eggs. “Happy now?” Said Stan with a roll of his eyes. “Maybe not,” Using his other hand, Ford pushes the plate of eggs away. “Don’t want to eat anymore,” Stan shrugs, pouring the scrambled eggs on the plate. “More for me!” As Stan is chowing down on his eggs, Ford regains his composure. Though, he couldn’t watch Stan eat his eggs without the image of the yellow goopy food in his mouth so he averted his gaze to his hands.

✶ “[Name] sure had grown up the last time I saw them.” This was Ford’s feeble attempt at sprouting a conversation with Stan, but he soon regretted what he said when he realized the fragility of the topic. Stan blinks, stunned. A beat passes and Ford’s ready to divert the conversation to another topic when Stan replies with a weird look on his face Ford can’t quite catch. “Well, yeah,” Stan looks off to the side. Ford lets out a breath of relief, Stan wasn’t upset at the mention of you. “They left with me when you and Dad kicked me out and we haven’t seen each other since then.” There’s a distant look in his eyes when he speaks, his words carrying a light anger to them ever so slightly. “How were th–” Stan shoots up, the chair skidding behind him. “Just because we’re all chummy now doesn’t mean you get to ask all about [Name].” The sudden shift in his emotions slapped Ford right in his face. “I’m sorry.” Ford whispers. Stan clicks his tongue, uttering to himself before shaking his head. “No, I’m sorry.” Stan rubs the sides of his head with his fingers. “Let’s not talk about them right now, okay? I don’t think I’m ready yet.” Stan pulls the chair to him and sits down. He rests his head on his fist, eyebrows pinched together with a long frown on his face. “I didn’t mean to blow up on ya like that.” Stan looks Ford in the eyes, and he could see the sincere sadness swimming in his eyes. “It’s okay, Stanley. Why don’t we talk about what you do for a living?” With that, they eased themselves into a comfortable conversation, with a few hiccups here and there, but in the end, the twins both had a soft smile adoring their faces.

✶ The repairing of the portal was a stepping stone that repaired Ford’s and Stan’s relationship. They weren’t going to lie and say that their relationship now was perfect, they still had their moments of anger and differences, but with a lot and a lot of patience, their bond was soon regaining its spark. “Whaddya think, poindexter?” Stan slapped a sloppily written plan on how to fix the portal in front of Ford. “What is this?” Ford looked at the piece of paper like it was garbage. “A plan to fix the portal, isn’t it obvious?” Stan snatched his paper back up, eyes speedily reading his work, doubting his work. “Stanley, that is unnecessary. I have the blueprints to fix the portal.” Discarding his plan, he slapped his hands enthusiastically, rubbing them together. “Alright! So where are they?” Ford sucks in a breath. “In the other journals.” Stan nodded his head slowly, as if that information was already obvious. “And where are the other journals?” Ford coughs into his fist, speedily saying; “I hid them.” Stan looks at him weirdly. “Can’t we just unhide them?” Ford rubs a hand up against his prickly cheek. “That’s the thing. I may or may not remember where I hid them.” Closing his eyes, he braced for the gust of angry yelling. “you WHAT?!” Stan’s hands flew to the side of his head. “How do you forget where you put them?!” Stan made a mental note to mark down how many times Ford screwed up, so far he has two. He has a long way to go before he could be anywhere near Stan’s record. “I was in a flurry of panic! I wasn’t thinking straight.” Stan groaned, smacking his face with his hand. “Was it at least in Gravity Falls?” Stan had his fingers crossed. “Yes, obviously.” A triumph “Yes!” leaves Stan. “Okay, let’s get digging then!”

✶ Stan severely underestimated how truly difficult it would be finding one of the books in a forest that seemed like it stretched out for miles. Every turn looks the same and whenever he’d think he’s making progress, he’s right back where he started, at least he thinks he is. Frustrated, he bangs his head on a tree. The sound of metal clanging rang in his ears and shook through the tree. He groaned, holding his head with one hand as he curiously examined the possible metal tree. “Stanley!” Ford came running to Stan’s side, panting heavily. He wasn’t used to running for more than 5 seconds, and that was evidently proven with his flushed face and out of breath wheezes. “This tree is metal,” Stan notes, taking a few steps back, winding his leg back and hammering his shoe into the tree. The tree simply shook, the metal sound nowhere to be heard. “What?” Stan can feel his brain heating up, he couldn’t make any sense of this. The tree he kicked felt like a tree, not some metal contraption. It was only when he knocked his head—An idea springs to mind. Leaning his head back, he slammed his head on the tree. Shocked noises sputter out of Ford as he watches Stan rub the sore spot in his head. “There’s something here,” He gestures to the general area where he smashed his head in. “I can see that!” Ford walks up to the tree, knuckles gently knocking on the metal plate that was disguised as a tree. His hands move around the tree, searching for a way to open the plate. His fingers snag on an elevated piece of tree and with his fingertips, he swings it open, revealing a control panel. The memories of constructing this rush to his mind. “I remember now!” He flips a switch, his head turning over to where the large log rested. In front of it, a patch of grass was pulled back to unravel the hidden place where book three was. Ford eagerly snatched the book in his hands, showcasing it to Stan. “Great job, Stanford!” He claps Ford’s back. “So where’s the other one, you remember?” Unfortunately for the both of them, Ford doesn’t remember. He had seemed to bury most of his memories after meeting Bill Cipher, anything beyond that point was an empty mess for him.

✶ With the two books in hand, they managed to tinker and repair the damage to their best efforts. After each exhausting night in the lab, he’d attempt to pull the lever in hopes that whatever they did that day would work and to their utter disappointment, it never dislodge from its spot. “Man,” Stan wipes his forehead with his forearm, sweat glistening on his arm. “For a brainiac like you, I would’ve never imagined you being terrible at building this!” Stan barked with a laugh. Ford scoffed, his attention laser focused on fixing a part of the machine. “How did you manage to build the portal in the first place?” Stan wondered, the flashlight he was using to help Ford see what he was doing began to steer away. “Stanley,” Ford snapped. “The light!” Stan jolted up in surprise, the light quickly going back to Ford. “Sorry,” He sheepishly said. “But seriously, how did you build this?” He looked at Ford curiously. “I had an assistant.” Ford mumbled, a leak of oil dotting his clothes. He hissed, grabbing a tool off the ground to fix whatever started leaking. “Had? What happened?” Ford hummed happily. He had fixed the leak. Placing the tool back down to the floor, he directed his attention to Stan. “He quit.” Ford scratched his head, unintentionally smearing oil on his cheek with his hand. “Why?” Stan tossed him a piece of clean cloth, silently motioning to his cheek. Ford took it, wiping his cheek with the cloth. “He, uh,” If Ford told Stan that he went inside the portal momentarily and came out completely traumatized, Stan would go berserk on him knowing that you went inside the exact portal that mentally ruined Fiddleford. Ford did not want to go back to the arguing and suffocating silence so he lied. “He just thought what I was doing was unethical.” That wasn’t a complete and total lie, but it was far from the truth. Stan bought the lie fortunately for Ford. “Glad at least someone had the brain to call a quits!”

✶ Before they knew it, they were tremendously low on money. Stan was the unfortunate one to discover this revelation. On a quick supply run, Stan had gone to the grocery store and stock up on some food. When the cashier rang up him, totaling his price to 30 dollars, Stan had pulled out a penny, paper clip and a wrapper. Mentally cursing Ford for spending all his money on unnecessary science stuff, he weakly smiled at the cashier. “Can you hold onto my groceries for a quick second?” The cashier nodded their, a big bright smile on their face. “Of course, stranger!” And right when Stan was going to snag the groceries bags in his hurried rush, a woman spoke from behind him. “Hey, that’s no stranger! That must be the mysterious science guy in the woods!” She points, gathering a crowd around Stan. “Ah, no. That’s my nerdy twin brother.” Stan says, causing the crowd to coo in interest. “There’s two of them?” Someone in the crowd asked. “He probably cloned himself just so he could do two things at once!” Someone else said. “That’s probably what happened. I’ve heard strange stories about that old shack.” Toby Determined spoke up. “Yeah! Mysterious lights and spooky experiments!” Daryl added. “Gosh, I’d pay anything to see what kind of shenanigans you get up in there!” Pa said. Susan perked up at that. “Oh, me too! Do you ever give tours?”

✶ A sly smirked pulled to Stan’s face. He had the perfect idea. “Yes, I do give tours! Ten…no-no fifteen bucks a person!” The crowd erupts in cheers, waving their green bills around. “Is it possible we get to see the man of mystery himself?” Susan questions. “Hmm, I’m not sure.” Stan eluded them to think that there was no possible way to get to Ford to gauge their reactions. And what they gave him sent adrenaline rushing through his veins. “You know what?” The crowd lightens up with hope. “Fifty bucks if you all want to see the man of mystery himself!” Another boisterous cheer from the crowd. “And what did you say your name was, twin of mister mystery?” Stan smiled proudly. “Stanley, Stanley Pines.”

✶ The crowd bustles into the shack, ooo’s and aaa’a left their mouths in awe of the place. “Step right up folks to a world of,” he pauses for a moment thinking. “A world of enchantment!” He gestures to all the wild findings. Grabbing a dial box with two antennae, he showcases it to the crowd. “Behold! The um, nerdy science box.” Susan looked at it with interest. The device rumbled to life and zapped her in the eye, rendering it closed. “Ah, my eye!” She covers her closed eye, stumbling back. “Uh, I can assure you, that is no way permanent!” He offers an uneasy smile. “I paid sixty five dollars for this!?” With Susan’s comment, the whole crowd erupted in complaints. Quickly thinking, he grabs a skeleton and makes a half-assed joke where the last customers didn’t make it out alive. The crowd laughs at his horrible joke and Stan smiles. “What is with all this ruckus?” Ford walks in, irritation evident on his face. “Is that him?” Someone excitedly shrieks from the crowd. “Oh my god, it is! Take my money!” Wads of dollar bills get thrown at Stan who was making a great effort to make sure he caught all of them. “Stanley, what did you do!”

✶ After answering a few questions he was coaxed into, (they stroked his ego), he kicked them out, accidentally saying that they could return another time before closing the door, smacking himself in the head. “What was that?” Stan turned over to Ford, buckets of money shoved inside into his shirt. “I got us money! And look how much we got!” He pulls a ten dollar bill from his stack in his shirt. “Stanford, this the best thing that’s ever happened to us so far.” Ford looks at him, unsure. “I’m not a fan of ripping people off,” Stan’s hands fall to his sides. “It’s their choice to throw money at me like a madman. Listen, if we get more money, we can stock up on good materials to fix the portal, like really good parts and we can finally bring [Name] back.” Ford stewed in his thoughts for a little more. He hated to admit, but Stan was right. With a little more money, they could be sailing straight to victory with a higher chance of your return. Ford let out a defeated sigh. “Fine, but I don’t want you to mess with my stuff, got it?” Stan beamed brightly. “I promise!” He broke that later on.

✶ Gradually, the scary shed in the woods turned into a tourist spot people would frequent. Together, they advertised the shack by plastering various signs and posters all over the woods. They even went as far to tape advertisements onto people’s windows. Ford wanted to use actual beasts he had found in the woods to show to people, but in the end they all ran away, horrified for their lives. Ford was respectfully peeved because when he’d glance over to Stan, he had somehow had the crowd hanging on to every word that spilled out of his mouth. And when he’d show the crudely sewed animal he had made within five minutes before the tour started, they all gasped in delight, their money flying to him. “How do you do it?” Ford asks as Stan closes the door, reveling in the pool of money he had made. “I just say whatever comes to mind.” Stan shrugs. “But none of your stories make any sense logically! How did they believe in a half beaver half bat?” He gestures to the taxidermy animal. The beady eyes were slowly sliding off its face, leaving a trail of glue. “Hey, the people love to spend their money on things that are obviously fake, weirdly enough.” The door rattles with a knock. “Wanna take this next crowd? I gotta sort this money.” Against his will, not really, Ford opens the door and flashes an award winning smile he had learned from Stan. Cash was already being shoved in his face. At least he earns money for looking good. Ford attempted Stan’s whole shtick and to his very surprise it worked! It wasn’t as good as Stan’s performance, but it worked well enough that people were swarming him with cash. His bitterness from before was quickly washed over and he continued on his act. When the crowd dispersed, satisfied with their tour. Stan was there in the middle, clapping widely. “That was some good acting there, Ford!” Ford smiled, waving him off. “Yeah, yeah. I’m only doing this cause we need the money.”

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briefinquiries · 3 months ago

Text

Tyler Owens x Reader: Hell or High Water

Request: Anonymous said, “i love your writing so much !!!! i was wondering if i could request your take on the twisters scene towards the end when tyler’s leg gets stuck under the debris in the town square ?? like reader is the one running over to him completely worried & stressed because her man is hurt "

Word count: 4.7k

Warnings: tornado, blood, injury mention

A/N: I'm so sorry I've been posting so infrequently, but here's a little tyler angst / hurt / comfort to brighten your sunday (did not proof read so pls don't hold me responsible for the inevitable mistakes). Anyway, comments / replies are so appreciated, enjoy!!

The storm rolls in fast. One minute, you and Tyler are running through the streets of El Reno, trying to help by corralling people to safety, and the next, you’re watching as the storm, which has nearly tripled in size, barrels towards you and everyone you’ve ever cared about.

Tyler’s screaming your name– he wants you to move. But it’s like what they say about car crashes– no matter how frightening, you can’t seem to look away from the monstrosity of a storm. The dark clouds are swirling fiercely, destroying everything in their wake. The rain picks up– fat drops fall, soaking your clothes. The tornado is spinning faster and faster, moving closer and closer.

It’s mesmerizing– in a terrifying, deadly sort of way.

The winds are whipping wildly, blowing debris all over the place. Before you can react, a large chunk of vinyl siding flies straight towards you. The corner of it nicks your temple, you feel the skin slice open with a sharp tear, followed by the sensation of warm liquid trickling down your face.

“Shit!” you gasp, tucking your face into your elbow moments too late.

Another one whips by before you start to back pedal.

You spin around just in time to see an entire fucking car drop from the sky in the space between you and Tyler. It lands on its back bumper before starting to fall backwards.

“Tyler!” you scream, knowing he probably can’t hear above the roaring winds.

With one more gust, the car begins to fall, sending up a wild cloud of dust in its wake.

As soon as you’re done shielding your eyes from it, you run towards the vehicle– now resting upside down on its crushed roof.

“Tyler!” you cry.

This time, you hear a faint groan in response. You follow the sound until you see Tyler laying flat on his back– one leg crushed underneath the hood of the car and a pile of broken chunks of pavement.

He’s attempting (and failing) to push it off from himself.

“Tyler,” you say again– his name seemingly the only word your lips are able to form. This time, he hears you above the chaos of everything else. His eyes meet yours– except, instead of their usual calm, they’re filled with terror.

“You gotta get out of here–” he says. “Go–”

But you’re already running towards him. You know you can’t lift a fucking car– but some delusional part of you hopes that adrenaline might give you momentary super strength or fucking something to help you lift this thing. You try to grip the front bumper, but it’s wet from the rain. Your hands slip and slide no matter how hard you focus.

“Just hang on,” you plead.

The car’s tilted right over his leg. You try again– lifting as hard as you can. But even with a good grip, you know it’s too heavy.

The car doesn’t budge.

“You need to go–” he says.

But you ignore him– all you can focus on is moving the damn car… even slightly would do– just enough so that he could slide his leg out.

“Baby,” Tyler’s using his gentle voice– the one he uses when he wants you to butter you up so you do as he says. But you can’t–

“Y/N, you have to leave–”

“Shut up!” you scream, eyes blurring as tears and rain both start to cloud your vision.

“Please,” Tyler says. His hand grips your wrist and you finally look at him desperately. “Please, you have to get inside.”

“I’m not leaving you,” you sob, the thought too unimaginable to even consider. “I’m not going anywhere without you!”

Using every single ounce of strength left in your body, you lift again. And to your absolute shock, the car starts to lift– except… it isn’t you moving the damn thing. It’s the winds picking up.

But it doesn’t matter what makes it move, as soon as Tyler feels the weight start to lift from his leg he slides out from under the car and scoots backwards against the pavement.

Once he’d free, you dare to glance up at the sky– the storm is no longer coming.

It’s here.

“C’mon,” you say, reaching for Tyler to help him to his feet. “Are you okay?”

Tyler nods– and willingly takes your hand as he gets to his feet. You’re surprised, but relieved, that he’s moving okay as the two of you hurry across the street towards the school that people had started taking cover in.

“Where–” you pant as soon as you’re through the front doors. But neither you or Tyler had ever been to this school– so how were you supposed to know where to go?

“Basement,” Tyler pants, nodding towards the nearest staircase.

With your hand still clutching his, you let him guide you towards the double doors. As soon as you push it open, you see an array of other people huddled in the hall.

“C’mon,” Tyler motions towards the stairs. “Go down– into the basement.”

You and him lead the way– moving as fast as you can into the first classroom on the basement level. It’s some sort of recreational room with open spaces and only a few desks scattered around the room.

“Get down,” Tyler says. “Against the wall.” He moves his hand to your waist and helps lower you to the ground where you quickly lay flat on the ground.

“Cover your head,” he instructs.

“Tyler–” you call for him, but after only a moment, you feel the warmth of his body beside you, and then an arm cradling your head. He’s shielding your body with his own–

And you don’t even have time to argue with it, because the building starts to shake.

“Hang on,” he says in your ear. “I got you, we’re okay.”

The winds rip through the school, causing the building to tremble fiercely. Pieces of the ceiling start to fall around you– chunks of debris crashing to the floor.

You’re pretty sure you scream at one point, but you can’t hear it above the roars of the wind. All you can do is stay low, just like Tyler told you to do, and focus on the way his weight feels on top of you.

It’s enough to get you through it. Because within a few minutes, the winds die down and you can finally hear your breath as you pant for air.

But even above your own gasp, you hear someone’s muffled voice murmuring something. You dare to open your eyes just as Tyler’s weight lifts off from you. The murmuring continues– this time, it’s accompanied by a gentle hand clutching your elbow.

It’s Tyler, you remind yourself. Tyler’s here. Tyler’s safe. You both are.

You let him help you to your feet. And when you finally get your bearings enough to look around, everyone else seems unharmed. People have cuts and bruises– but nothing that looks imminently life threatening.

Suddenly, a hand cups your face, gently turning your head in the direction of Tyler. Concerned, watery eyes meet yours. Tyler’s studying you– making sure you’re not broken beyond repair. Finally, his voice comes into focus.

“Y’alright?” he asks gently.

“I’m okay,” you manage to croak. “I’m okay–”

You wince as his thumb trails along the cut on your temple. “You’re hurt… We gotta get this looked at–”

Absent-mindedly, you reach your hand to your temple and touch where you’d been nicked. But maybe sliced was a better term– Tyler’s right, it’s bleeding steadily. When you pull your fingers away, they’re coated in blood.

Suddenly dizzy, you move your arm and grip his shoulder, squeezing gently as if to check if he was really in front of you.

“You’re okay. We’re okay. C’mon.”

“What about the others?” you pant.

Tyler nods, tugging you towards the exit. “I didn’t see where they ended up, we’ll find them.”

You’re wobbly and unsure as you begin to walk towards the door, but Tyler’s hand gripping your elbow offers extra reassurance.

Tyler has to put his weight against the door before it’ll open. There’s a pile of debris in front of it that he pushes to the side to make way for people to exit. Slowly, the pair of you make your way through the hallway and up the stairs to the first floor.

You gasp when you see the damage– large chunks of the roof have been ripped off, displaying a gray, cloudy sky above. There’s random objects and piles of scrap lying in the halls. You and Tyler have to step over obstacles just to get to the exit door. This one opens with much more ease– making you sigh a breath of relief when you’re finally out in the open.

Already there’s ambulances and cops arriving on the scene.

Tyler nudges you towards one of the ambulance trucks. “Let’s get your head checked,” he insists.

You’re foggy but still try to argue.

“What about Lily and Dani? And Boone and Dex–”

“I know,” he says gently. “We’ll find ‘em, but you can’t even see with all that blood running in your eyes, so how about we get ya stitched up first, yeah?”

You want to argue– but in the end, you’re too exhausted.

Tyler holds your hand the entire time you get checked out. The EMT shines a light in your eye– then makes you follow his finger back and forth. Meanwhile, something vicious pulses in the back of your skull.

You try to be tough, but the second you see the needle the EMT pulls out, you start to get shaky.

“You’re okay,” Tyler assures you, thumb grazing across the surface of your knuckles. “You’re okay, it’ll be quick.”

The EMT applies a local anesthetic, and luckily, you don’t really feel much after the first initial poke. But as soon as he’s done, he starts mumbling something about a concussion.

Tyler nods before accepting the bag of ice offered.

“Tyler! Y/N!” you hear a familiar voice holler.

You exhale a breath of relief at the sight of Boone running through the rubble towards you.

“Boone–” Tyler sighs, sounding equally relieved. He wraps an arm around his friend and claps his back gently. “You alright?”

He nods. “I’m alright. Lily, Dani, and Dex too. We and about thirty others took cover in this old Irish lady’s store– she had a storm shelter out back believe it or not.”

“You guys alright?” Boone’s eyes wander to you– in particular, the bandage on your forehead.

“We’re okay,” Tyler says quickly. “Concussed– but she’s okay.”

“Thank God for that. Y’all done here? RV’s beat to shit, but Lily found the truck. The windshield’s pretty shattered but I think she’ll drive.”

Tyler presses the ice the EMT had given him against your temple and nods. “Let’s get you home.”

…

“T?”

“Hmm?” Tyler hums, he doesn’t take his eyes off you, although he’s painfully aware of his best friend watching him with a scrunched face through the rearview mirror.

Normally Tyler always drove. But since you’d barely made it to the car without passing out beside him, he opted for the backseat.

You’re currently curled into his side, breathing steadily with your eyes snapped shut.

“Tyler–”

“What, Boone?”

“Was it your bad knee?”

“What?” he asks.

“Don’t what me, T—” Boone frowns. “I was there the first time ya injured that knee. Is that the same one?”

Tyler shrugs. “Might be.”

Boone sighs. “C’mon T, why didn’t ya get it checked with the medics?”

“Because it ain’t that important,” Tyler shoots back quietly, trying not to wake you up. “I gotta get her home first, she’s concussed and scared. And my stupid knee can wait.”

“T–”

Tyler clenches his jaw as he tries to straighten his knee. He can already feel it swelling underneath the fabric of his jeans. “I’ll get it checked tomorrow, Boone. Okay?”

Boone shakes his head. “Fine. But for the record, you’re an idiot.”

Tyler’s about to reply, but then he feels you shift in his arms. As he glances down in concern, he watches you sigh and nuzzle your head against his shoulder.

When Boone pulls the truck in front of your place, you still haven’t budged. And truthfully, after the day you’d had, Tyler doesn’t want to wake you. So, he carefully scoops you up in his arms and slides out of the truck. As soon as he puts the pressure on his knee of your combined weight, he winces.

“Jesus, T–” Boone says from the rolled down window. “You’re gonna make it worse.”

“I’m fine, Boone– just go back and get Dex, Dani, and Lily. Get ‘em home safe.”

Without looking back, he carefully carries you up the driveway and through the front door.

His knee is screaming the entire way, but when he gently kicks the bedroom door open and deposits you in the bed, he breathes a sigh of relief. Tyler pulls off your muddy boots before pulling the blanket from the foot of the bed over you, then, he quietly slips out of the door– heading for the bathroom.

Tyler grunts as he lowers himself to the edge of the tub, his right leg awkwardly sticking out as he attempts to straighten it. He hasn’t bothered to change– his jeans are still coated in dirt and blood.

Tyler shifts to look at his knee and debates whether he should’ve listened to Boone and gone to get it checked out. He secretly had been hoping his knee would heal itself, but now, sitting in the bathroom, Tyler can feel that something was wrong.

Sighing, Tyler slowly lifts himself from the tub to shed his jeans. He grimaces when he pulls the fabric over his swollen knee– but he cringes even harder when he sees how bruised the skin is. Tyler pokes around the bone a few times– trying to determine where the most damage is. Ultimately, he realizes it’s on the outer part– probably a torn ligament or two, if he has to guess.

He’s only been in the bathroom for a few minutes when he hears the floorboards creak in the hall. Tyler’s attention shifts as there’s a soft knock on the door.

“Tyler?” your voice is small. “Tyler, are you in there?”

He immediately grabs the pair of sweatpants he grabbed from the bedroom and stands up to tug them on. You’ve been through enough– Tyler doesn’t need you seeing his injury on top of everything else.

Once he’s covered he pulls open the door– all pain in his knee forgotten about when he sees you standing in the hall, hair messy and shirt wrinkled underneath your crossed arms.

“Hey baby, what’s wrong?” he asks.

You take a deep breath, eyes watery as you gaze at him in what looks like disbelief.

“I–” you begin. “I woke up and you were gone.”

Tyler can’t help but step closer to you. “I’m sorry, baby. I was just changing–”

You nod quickly. “It’s okay– I just…” your voice fades, like you can’t find the words.

So, instead of speaking, you move closer to him and sneak your hands around his waist. After laying your head flat against his chest, Tyler winds his arms around your shoulders and tugs you closer.

“Everything okay?” he murmurs against your hair.

He feels you nod beneath him, but doesn’t miss the way you squeeze him just a bit tighter.

The two of you stay like that until Tyler’s knee begins to ache too much to bear. He fights the pain for as long as he can, but eventually he has to pull away.

“It’s been a long day, why don’t we get you back in bed?” he asks.

Your voice is muffled against his chest when you reply. “Will you stay with me?”

Tyler tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear and smiles. “‘Course I will.”

…

Tyler doesn’t recall falling asleep.

What he does recall is being startled awake in the dead of the night to a blood curdling scream.

You thrash beside him harshly– flinching at something that isn’t there.

“Tyler!” you scream out. “Tyler!”

Just as he turns to snap on the light, you kick your leg out– your foot colliding with the outside of his knee.

Tyler hisses, unable to think for a moment as the pain shoots up his entire leg. You continue to cry out beside him desperately. After a moment, once the pain dulls just slightly, Tyler’s able to reach for you.

The second his hand shakes your shoulder, your eyes snap open. They’re wide and wild as they search for him desperately. When you finally realize that it’s him who’s beside you, you take a shuddering breath.

“You’re okay,” he says. Without waiting for you to respond, he reaches for you– gripping your shoulder and tugging you to his chest. You don’t hesitate before folding against him, breathing still rapid and panicky.

You fist at the fabric of his shirt tightly, like you’re ensuring he won’t slip away. “I got you,” he whispers, pressing his lips against your hair. “You’re okay, I got you.”

“I was–” you pant. “I was back there– I couldn’t find you– you weren’t there–”

“Sh,” Tyler hums. “I’m right here, baby. I got you.”

“You’re right here,” you mumble quietly, like you’re reassuring yourself.

Eventually, your whimpers fade and your breathing steadies out. Tyler’s not sure how long it takes, but you fall back asleep curled against him while he runs his fingers through your hair. Tyler never falls back asleep, but you don’t move again until morning.

…

Despite the throbbing in his knee and the pounding in his head demanding caffeine, Tyler doesn’t get up until he feels you stir beneath him. Your eyes flutter open, relief instantly washing over your features when you notice he’s still with you.

“Morning,” you mumble sleepily.

Tyler pretends like he hasn’t been awake for the last three hours and smiles. “Mornin’. How’re you feelin’ today? How’s the head?”

You shrug. “I’m okay, still a little shaken up I think.”

Tyler nods understandingly. “Why don’t I go make us some coffee?”

Your lips spread into a small smile. “Okay,” you agree, untangling your limbs from his. “Thanks.”

Tyler carefully slid out of bed, trying to prevent you from seeing the obvious limp he was sporting– but the night had made his knee grow stiff. As soon as he was out the door, he hobbled down the stairs, hand gripping the railing the entire way.

Almost as soon as Tyler makes it to the bottom of the stairs, he hears a knock at the door. He frowns at the unannounced visitor, wondering who would be stopping by before nine in the morning.

Tyler hoists open the front door to see Boone standing on the other side.

“Boone– hey,” Tyler says, caught off guard. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“Hey man, just checkin’ in.”

“What happened to phone calls?”

Boone frowns. “Man, I texted and called about a hundred times, I was just poppin’ in to make sure you weren’t dead.”

Tyler steps to the side to allow room for his friend to come inside. “Shit, sorry,” he says, recalling that he left his phone downstairs all night. “I just forgot to charge it. I’m hangin’ in there, you?”

Tyler closes the door behind Boone before limping back towards the kitchen.

“Bullshit,” Boone says, eyeing Tyler’s gate. “Have you called the doc yet?”

“I just got up–” Tyler starts as he grabs a few mugs from the cabinet.

“Call right now– see if they can get ya in today.”

“Since when did you become such a mother hen?” Tyler grumbles, flicking on the coffee pot. “I’ll call today.”

“The earlier you call, the better chance they can get ya in. Unless you want to just go straight to the hospital–”

“Why would he need to go to the hospital?” Your voice makes Tyler’s head snap to the side.

You’re standing in your sweats and one of his t-shirts with your arms crossed. You look between him and Boone carefully, like you’re studying the situation.

“I don’t–” Tyler starts.

“You didn’t tell her?” Boone interrupts.

Tyler watches as a look of concern takes over your face. “Tell me what?”

“Boone,” Tyler says sharply in warning. “Don’t.”

“What is it?” you demand, looking at him for an explanation.

“Nothing,” Tyler clears his throat. “I’m fine–”

“Tyler fucked up his knee yesterday,” Boone blurts out, eyes never leaving Tyler.

Tyler sighs, eyes slowly falling shut now that his secret was out. “Jesus, Boone.”

“Sorry, T. But maybe she’ll convince you to get it checked,” he says.

“What?” you say, looking down at Tyler’s covered knee. When no one responds, you blurt out, “Oh my God, the car– your leg was crushed–”

Tyler rubs the back of his neck, purposely avoiding your gaze “Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you go to the medic…” your voice trails off in realization. “Because you were too busy helping me,” you answer your own question. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Let me see it.”

Tyler winces at your harsh tone. “What?”

“Your knee, let me see it.”

Tyler clears his throat. “Baby, it’s fine–”

“If it’s fine you’ll let me see it,” you say stubbornly.

There was an awkward moment of silence as Tyler contemplated what to do. He’d looked at his knee the night before, and can only imagine how much worse it probably looks today.

Finally he sighs, accepting his fate as neither you nor Boone back down. He grips the hem of his sweatpants and yanks the leg up, showing his bare knee.

You gasp before hurrying over. “Tyler, what the fuck–”

How had you not noticed? You supposed yesterday in your daze you missed his limps or awkward steps– but you still think that you should have known– a damn car fell on him for God’s sake…

“Jesus, T,” Boone hisses.

Tyler steals a glance. The discoloration is darker than last night, and the swelling has definitely gotten worse. Tyler curses himself for not at least throwing an ice pack on it the night before.

“Oh my God, you carried me–” you blurt out. “What the hell, Tyler?”

“Y/N,” he pleads, sighing. But when he glances at you, he’s surprised to see tears forming in your eyes.

“So it is the bad one,” Boone mutters after he notes the scar down the center of Tyler’s knee.

You suck in a sharp breath.

Tyler drops his pant leg and straightens his back. “Look, I will get it checked out, okay? I promise– it’s not a big deal.”

Tyler expects backlash, but there’s no response. Boone looks like he’s nodding, maybe he’s actually believing Tyler’s promise. But you’ve gone quiet, head down and arms crossed defensively, like you’re withdrawing into a shell.

Boone turns towards you, finally averting the attention off from Tyler. “How’re you doin’? How’s the concussion?” he asks.

You shrug. “I’m okay. A little headache, but nothing broken. You?”

Boone nods. “About the same. I’m gonna go check on Lily, then we’ll drop the truck back off later, will you make sure he gets to the doctor’s today?”

“I’m right here,” Tyler sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah but I trust her more than you,” Boone says candidly.

You offer him a small smile, “I’ll do my best,” you say.

Boone offers the two of you one final nod before heading out the front door.

“Leave it to Boone to barge in like that at nine in the mornin’,” Tyler says as he extends a steaming mug of coffee towards you. But you never uncross your arms. Instead, you just stare at him like that with a look of disapproval.

“C’mon,” Tyler sighs, head falling. “I’ve been walking on it since yesterday and I haven’t fallen apart yet. You and Boone are both making this a bigger deal than it is.” At this point he knows he’s being a little difficult, but he just wants this over with.

“I–” you choke out. “I– I don’t understand. Why would you stay in pain like that? Why wouldn’t you tell me you were hurt? Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you,” Tyler says.

“So why lie?”

“I didn’t lie–”

“You told me you were fine– I mean you… you carried me on a broken knee, for God’s sake–”

“We have no idea that it’s broken,” Tyler reminds you.

You scoff. “It looks pretty fucking broken to me, Tyler.”

“It’s just a knee–”

“I know it’s just your knee, and knees heal– but what if it was something worse… I mean, what else are you lying to me about?”

“C’mon,” he sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. “I didn’t lie.”

“Okay, so just keeping stuff from me then,” you say, voice rising. “I mean, you were such an idiot yesterday– first you tell me to leave you behind when the car fell, then you shield my body with yours in the basement instead of keeping yourself safe– now you’re getting my injuries checked out and completely neglecting your own. And for what?” you yell. “I mean… is it an ego thing? Because you’re too tough to get checked out? Or what? Some stupid sort of hero complex? You gotta prove yourself by putting your life in danger?”

Tyler’s jaw clenches as he grinds his teeth together. “Is that what you really think?”

You throw your hands up exasterbatedly. “I don’t know what to think! Because you won’t fucking talk to me!”

Tyler scoffs. “Are you really that mad about this?”

You suck in a breath before sinking your teeth into your bottom lip. “Yeah–” you choke out. “I am mad– I’m mad because I don’t want to lose you!” your voice cracks on the final word, fat tears rolling down your cheek, leaving streaks behind. Tyler’s entire demeanor instantly softens at the sight. He moves closer, but doesn’t reach out.

“I did all that to protect you–” he spits out. “Because I can’t stand the idea of something happening to you.”

You wipe the tears away from your face, chest heaving as you listen.

“God, if you got hurt– trying to help me lift a goddamn car off my legs… or because I led you into the wrong spot– or because I put my stupid knee about your head injury, I’d never forgive myself.”

“And you think I could forgive myself if I ran away and left you underneath a fucking car? Or if you died shielding me from debris?”

He sighs defeatedly before leaning against he kitchen counter, trying to take some weight off his knee. “I get what you’re saying, Y/N, but that’s just what I do– I protect the people I love… And unfortunately for you, I love you more than anything else.”

Finally, the look of frustration melted off your face. In it’s place was a mixture of sadness and admiration. “I love you more than anything else too, which is why I need you to take care of yourself.”

Tyler nods, finally feeling like you both were finding some common ground. “I can’t promise I won’t put you first,” he says. “But I promise I’ll try to take care of the both of us.”

You shift your weight to your right leg and pop your hip disapprovingly.

“C’mon, what can I do to make things better?” he asks, tilting his head to the side as he gazes at you.

“Well for starters you could let me take you to the damn hospital.”

Tyler offers you a pleading look. “How about the doctor’s office?”

“Urgent care,” you state, like it’s your final offer.

Tyler groans exaggeratedly but then nods. “Okay, fine. Deal. Urgent care it is. But let it be known this is only happening because I love you so much.”

The corner of your lip tugs into a small smile. Tyler will take it.

#tyler owens imagine #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens fic #tyler owens x reader imagine #tyler owens fanfiction #tyler owens x you #twisters movie #twisters imagine #twisters x reader #twisters fic #twisters fanfic

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webdollzz · 24 days ago

Text

Birthday girl ᯓᡣ𐭩

a/n: in light of my girls birthday…thought i’d write this. @scoobywrites690, happy birthday mama. i hope you had the best day ever (and this makes it that little bit better)

warnings: SEX! BIRFDAY SEXXX. mixes up between rough n soft. oral (f rec), mating press?? ish? multiple orgasms,

Simon did anything he could to make sure he would be back just in time for your birthday. Sure, being in the military, you didn’t have much — or any at all — control over when you got to go home, but he still tried.

And thankfully, he did manage to.

On the day of your birthday, infact. Best gift ever, right?

You were still out, likely with friends or something along those lines, so it meant he had the house to himself for an unknown amount of time, so he had to do the best with what he can.

He ran to the nearby hobby store, where he knew there would be banners, balloons, all the birthday decorations.

One hand taping banners to the wall, mouth occupied blowing up a balloon and his other hand holding it so it didn’t just fly out his mouth.

He was trying his hardest to get it all done before you came back.

When you entered the house, bag draped over your shoulders, you let out a sigh of relief at finally being able to just collapse and watch a movie until you fell asleep.

You kicked off your shoes, throwing them somewhat towards the direction of the shoe case.

You wished Simon was here, it’d make everything so much easier for you. You understood his job wasn’t necessarily the easiest to get away from, anything but infact, but you could still wish you had your husband with you.

Switching on the lights, a loud gasp ripped from your throat at the sight of a tall, brooding man stood in the middle of your living room.

When you realised it was your tall, brooding man stood in the middle of your living room, with a dorky smile and a balloon is hands — you could swear you wanted to scream.

Wordlessly, you let the bag drop from your shoulders, nose scrunching as tears filled your eyes. You shuffled towards him, falling into his chest head first and wrapping your arms tightly around him.

He reciprocated — of course — his arms going around your waist tightly and practically lifting you off your feet.

“I thought you weren’t going to make it,” You whispered into his chest, sniffling away your tears. You told yourself you wouldn’t cry this year.

“I’d never miss my wife’s birthday.” He kissed the crown of your head, peppering more all over your forehead before reaching your cheek.

“C’mon,” He tugged you away from him, having to begrudgingly separate you two like velcro. “There’s more.”

He pulled you along, walking past all the banners and balloons, being led to the bedroom.

Rose petals led the way, his warm hand enveloping yours; and you gripped him just that little bit tighter.

There was candles lit, the ceiling light off so they were the only thing illuminating the bed, which was covered in various things.

More rose petals, some bath salts, bubbles, a large teddy bear (which won’t fit anywhere in your already cluttered, hoarder house), a few pieces of jewellery, some chocolate and fluffy socks. ‘Cause who doesn’t love fluffy socks?

You sniffled again, looking at all the presents he managed to get you in the maybe four hour span you weren’t home and he was.

“I know s’ not a lot, I didn’t know how long you were going to be.” He mumbled, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly as he stared at what he classes as a sad display.

You grabbed him by the shirt, tugging him down to your level a little, watching his eyes flick away from the bed to you.

“Shut the fuck up and kiss me.”

Well, who is he to deny that?

He smiled before his head tilted down the rest of the way down, lips brushing hours before they locked in a kiss. A kiss filled with passion, longing, and need.

It had been so long since you had kissed Simon, that you almost had forgotten the pressure of his kiss entirely.

It started slow, sensual, soft. His hands drifting from your waist to your cheeks, thumb slowly stroking them. Your hands went from his chest to the back of his neck, tugging him closer and deepening the kiss.

The kiss went from slow and sensual to fast and needy, very quickly. He took a step forward, and you backed up until your knees hit the bed; not breaking the kiss.

He went to push you back against the bed, but got interrupted by your little wince of being poked in the back with a bottle of bubble bath.

He grumbled, taking the objects off one by one and putting them on the dresser, walking backing forth and making you laugh at him.

You pushed all the remaining stuff off the bed, hopping onto it and leaning back on your elbows, legs spread invitingly.

He smirked, approaching slowly and moving to kneel between your legs.

“Where do you want me, my love?” He asked, peppering kisses along your cheek before they drifted down to your neck.

You grabbed his wrist, slowly guiding his hand to your jean clad cunt, making a slow smirk form on his lips that you could feel against your skin.

“Can’t say no to the birthday girl, can I?” He practically purred against your skin before his hands fumbled at your jean buttons, tugging them down your thighs before he threw them to the floor.

Upon seeing the already forming wet patch on your panties, he let out a low laugh as his thumb ran over your sensitive clit through your panties.

“So wet already ‘n’ we ain’t even started.” He teased, dripping his head down to begin kissing your neck again.

“Shut up and just fuck me, ‘kay?” You hissed through gritted teeth, hand going to the back of his head to keep him where he is.

He hummed slowly, fingers tugging your panties down your legs and dismissing them else where, pushing your legs open wide before leaning back — getting a nice, long look at you.

“So fuckin’ perfect.” He groaned, hands sliding up your body and going to the hem of your shirt, pulling that off and throwing it, leaving you completely exposed to the cool air of your bedroom.

You shivered, before bucking your hips closer to him to try and find friction, letting a soft — almost pained — whimper leave your lips.

“Please.” Was all it took from you, and he was sliding between your legs until he was led on his chest.

Usually, he’d have you beg way more than that, but since it’s your birthday, he figured you can have it easy just this once.

“M’ getting to it, baby.” He said through his kisses he scattered along your inner thighs, big, strong arms wrapping around them to keep them spread open for him.

“Si..” You cried, head falling back against the pillow as you began getting impatient, hips attempting to shuffle towards him so he’d just fucking get there faster.

But unfortunately, his burly tatted arms kept you from doing such.

He ignored your pleas, continuing his kisses and occasional nibbles as he made his way closer and closer to your wet cunt, watching the way you tried to squirm and the way you clenched around nothing.

Keeping his eyes on you, he flattened his tongue and ran it up the length of your pussy, from your needy hole to your sensitive clit, causing you to let out a harsh gasp and a hand fly to his hair, tugging on it.

He wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking gently and making your noises grow louder and more frequent, pulling him closer and putting your thighs around his head.

“Fuck, Si. Don’t stop.” You cried, heavy breathing and loud moans falling from your pretty lips as two fingers prodded at your entrance, the intrusion making you hiss softly before it heightened your pleasure — the same reaction you always had.

He watched you intently, slowly guiding his fingers in and out of you as his mouth lapped and sucked at your clit, groaning when you’d tug on his hair a little bit harder.

You lifted your head, eyes half lidded as you looked down to see him already staring at you, hips slightly grinding against the mattress below you.

The sight had the knot in your stomach twisting tighter, brows furrowing as your thighs began shaking.

“Si — Simon, m’ gonna cum, m’ gonna cum.” You whisper-chanted at him, and he just continued the same movements, not changing the rhythm of his fingers as they curled inside you, feeling your warm walls flutter as you grew closer and closer.

He pulled away, gently leaning his head on your inner thigh as he stared at you like a love sick puppy, hips humping at the mattress. Like a bitch in heat.

“It’s okay, love. Cum f’me, c’mon.” He cooed, giving you a little nod before his head dipped back down and lapped at you like a man starved.

If it wasn’t for the hot heat of pleasure rushing through your entire body and mind, the wet sound of him pumping his fingers in and out of you, and his mouth sucking at your sensitive cunt would’ve normally felt you embarrassed.

But you were too occupied to be insecure right now.

“Fuck, fuck. M’ cumming, m’ cumming!” You gasped, back arching off the bed as your orgasm crashed over you in harsh and hot waves, a long drawn out moan leaving your throat.

He nearly came in his boxers from the sight of you cumming alone, his eyes fluttering gently as they never strayed away from you.

Your body finally relaxed against the bed and his movements slowed to a stop, before he pulled away and kissed your pussy, then your stomach, chest, neck, jaw, and finally: lips.

You sighed softly at the taste of yourself against his tongue as he kissed you, his hands going to his trousers to pull at them until they were off him and on the floor instead — boxers following suit rather quickly.

Using your slick left on his fingers, he jerked himself off just a little before lining himself up with your entrance, breaking the kiss to watch.

His large hands hooked underneath your weak, trembling thighs, pushing them to your chest as you let out another sigh, head falling back and eyes closing as you felt his tip nudging against your clit.

He pushed himself in slowly, both of you letting out a low moan as he did so, sliding in with ease until he was buried to the hilt, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip as he forced himself to not cum.

He wanted at least one more out of you before he did.

“Move — please, move. I need it.” You coaxed him, hands fumbling with the bottom sheets as you tried to push yourself into him further.

“Mhm, I am, I am.” He whispered softly, voice comforting as he hooked your legs over his shoulders, ankles now dangling by his head.

His arm wrapped around your thighs, forcing them flat against his front as his other arm was supporting his body weight so he didn’t completely crush you.

He began slowly thrusting into you, easing you in as he was on deployment for a while and he knows your stupid toys don’t do it like he does.

He watched where you were connected, admiring the way your cunt so eagerly took him and swallowed him whole, triggering him to let out a low growl and begin increasing the intensity of his thrusts.

You mewled; hands clawing at whatever skin of his was available, incoherent babbles of whatever he can assume is his name falling from your lips along with loud moans.

He leant down, bringing some of his large weight down against you as he pounded your cunt like he wouldn’t be able to again, wrapping your legs around his waist so he could watch your pretty face contort in pleasure.

He reached his hand out to hold your cheek, leaning down to kiss you gently, contrasting his harsh and fast thrusts.

He felt your cunt flutter around him once more, and he smiled against your lips before pulling back, tucking hair behind your ear.

“You gonna cum again, sweetheart?” He asked you, watching the way your head nodded quickly and your hands reached out to paw at his chest.

“Mhm, mh— m’ gonna cum, fuck. I missed you, missed you so much.” You cried, tears welling up in your eyes as the ache in your lower abdomen grew and grew at a quick pace; jaw falling and lips forming a little o.

He smirked, holding your face and admiring you like he wasn’t ruining your pretty little pussy.

“I know, I know. I missed y’too, baby. Cum f’me, c’mon. Show me how much you missed me.” He groaned, feeling his own orgasm threaten to hit him at any second, and he just had to hope you came first.

And you did.

You let out a loud cry, mixed with a gasp as your legs locked around his waist. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, back arching so much that you were hardly even led on the bed anymore.

He felt your orgasm coat his entire cock, triggering his own as his thrusts grew sloppier, before he completely buried himself as far into your cunt he could and filled you up until you were practically dripping.

You both came down from your highs, panting heavily as he collapsed (but left his weight off you mainly) ontop of you, burying his face into your neck.

Your eyes closed briefly, before they snapped open at the feeling of his thrusts beginning again.

Looking at your face, he let out a low laugh.

“What, did you think your gift was over?”

#christi's girl୨୧ #birthday girl!#christi's posts #simon riley mw2 #cod simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley cod #simon riley #simon riley x you #simom riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon cod #simon ghost smut #ghost smut

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disneyprincemuke · 1 year ago

Text

5 times * mv1

there are five times max almost caught himself saying he loves you, and then there's the time that he finally let you know

pairings: max verstappen x horner's niece!reader

warnings: i... don't know?

notes: yes, i'm making a comeback because i've gotten back into the mood of writing (i'm single) and because f1 has got me screaming, crying and throwing up. also, this took me 3 days to write, and i have grown attached. lmk if you guys want the counterpart (basically the same concept, but it's from your eyes???)

one.

"fucking," max cuts himself off, grabbing the closest thing to him. lucky for him, and his team, it's just his racing gloves, "bitch!"

it's just so infuriating to be so close to that podium. he crashed with 5 laps left of the race. his left rear decided to fail him stupidly near the end, after he'd poured his heart and soul to get on that podium. but here he is, moping in his driver's room.

after constantly being in the scrutiny of the public, especially with the way he handled losing, he'd resided here immediately. there's a bubbling anger rising up from him. he's so infuriated.

until a soft knock lands on his door. snapping him out of his thoughts, he knew what he wanted this time. "please leave me alone."

"okay. but christian just wants to know if you're alright." your voice sounds small. he could barely hear you with the door in the way.

he takes a deep breath, then walks over to the door. it reveals you with a hesitant smile on your face.

but he's always had a soft spot for you. all of the anger he'd been feeling merely 5 seconds ago dissipated. "oh. you're not in my room at the circuit often."

"i know. i'm sorry to intrude." you look down at the ground, your often confident self absolutely nowhere to be seen. "christian sent me to check in on you. i'll leave you alone, but i can't go back without an answer."

for starters, you're not a stranger to the signature max verstappen temper. but never has he directed it at you once. it's surely raised the eyebrows of christian horner the first time it happened when you joined the team.

one second he was all over the garage, only rude words coming out of his mouth. the next, he was silently raging as he sat on the tire of his car while you discussed dinner plans with your uncle.

"please, don't worry about it." he takes a step back, gesturing for you to enter the room. you do just that, although a bit hesitant. and he doesn't blame you for that. "come in."

there's a moment of silence between you two. for a moment, the engines from the cars outside start to die down, and the frequency of the fireworks is slowing down, and there are more footsteps in the gravel that surround the trailer.

"i'm okay." he leans on the massage table in the middle of the room. he still hasn't changed out of his race suit. his helmet, balaclava and gloves are all thrown in different directions of the room. they had all been victims of his uncontrollable rage.

it's apparent that he's not even close to being okay. he just has to bank on the fact that you don't probe with more questions.

"it's okay if you're not," you answer in a gentle tone. a soft audible sigh passes your lips as you sit on the couch in the opposite side of the small room. "it's just you and me. i'm not part of your racing team."

his eyes do the speaking again. the heaving of his chest is enough to tell you that he's actually contemplating it. without another moment's hesitation, he starts to go at it. all of the emotions he's been feeling lately, the frustration from just being 5 laps shy of being on that podium.

he's just ranting, throwing his hands in the air while he paces all over the room. he makes a mental note to find a way to make it up to you after this - you're just sitting there patiently, nodding your head empathetically while he talks.

it’s as if you knew and understood all that he’s talking about.

"it's just unfair! i did everything right this time!" he exclaims, hands clenched up into a fist. "i should have been up there! i deserved to be on that podium!"

there's one more thing that bothers him. you. whatever he feels for you. the way his heart races whenever you're around, or the way he's always thinking of the way you fix his hair for marketing promotion material - he can't get you out of his mind. for years, now.

he'd met you when he was 18, fresh into red bull racing as christian's new prodigy. he had only seen you a total of 15 times within the span of 3 and a half years. the transition from crumbs of your presence to full-out spending the whole racing season with you was more than his heart could handle.

now that he's gotten to know you better, the 22-year-old is almost convinced that he might actually have feelings for you. "and-"

he looks up from the ground, flinching back slightly when you're staring directly into his eyes from across the room. your eyes dart down to his hands and it's only then he notices how his hands are clenched into fists next to him.

he almost slipped up about his feelings for you. good thing he caught himself at the last second. his chest heaves as he looks at you, shoulders tensed up and eyebrows furrowed.

you raise an eyebrow, slowly nodding. you make a gesture with your hand to encourage him to continue saying whatever is on his mind. "and?"

"and," i have feelings for you, "it's just so unfair."

he feels his body melt at your stare. his shoulders slump, his breathing starts to regulate and his hands slowly unravel from a fist. it's just so unfair that he's so hopelessly smitten with his principal's niece.

"i know." you push yourself off the couch and walk over to him. stopping just a few steps from him, he looks at you sigh. "i'm sorry that it happened to you, max."

then a small grin slowly stretches his lips. the race is over - there is absolutely nothing he can do to change the result. he shrugs, "it's just racing."

"you can still feel angry about it," you grin, "it's just me."

max shakes his head with a soft chuckle. "i know. it's okay; i'm okay."

you drop your head slightly. max knows you don't buy his lie. of course, he's still angry about what happened. but there is still some truth to what he said - he got unlucky today with the car.

you take a deep breath. he's caught completely by surprise when your arms spread out, taking a step forward and engulfing him in the warmest hug.

he catches a whiff of all your scents - your shampoo, your perfume, and creepily enough, the soap you use for your clothes. and he completely basks in your embrace, his arms wrapping themselves around your smaller frame. his neck rests on your shoulder, silently straining his back just to take you in.

"i know you're not," you whisper. you lean your head into his as you rub circles on his clothed back. "i'm here for you, okay?"

and he wants to say it to you. he gets an inkling, after you just spent the better part of 20 minutes letting him scream about his feelings, that this is bigger than himself.

"i," he trails off, arms tightening around you. he closes his eyes, repeatedly reminding himself that he's not willing to risk it. he releases the breath he's been holding. "thank you."

two.

max can barely keep himself upright in the seat. he's clutching onto his balaclava, eyes following the light shone into his eyes as per the doctor's request.

he had a bad crash with lewis during the race that sent him flying into the walls. he blacked out for a couple of seconds, and he's been in pain since they escorted him to the medical centre.

there's a soft knock on the door, before he hears the creak followed by footsteps. "i'll be back with results, okay?" the doctor straightens up before walking away from him. he acknowledges the presence of someone new, then proceeded to walk out of the room.

the relief max immediately felt when he sees you standing shyly by the door, hands clasped together.

"are you okay?" you ask softly, slowly making your way over to him. "i came as soon as i heard what happened to you. that was horrible, what happened to you."

he tilts his head at you, ignoring the strain in his neck and the pounding in his head. "as soon as you heard?"

you chuckle, glancing down at the floor in what could only be described as embarrassment. "i was in the bathroom taking a piss when geri ran in yelling for me," you admit.

your eyes roam his body, your eyes matching the empathetic stares of everyone he has looked at since he was helped out of that stupid car. he hates it. he hates being on the receiving end of those stares, but it was strangely comforting coming from you.

"are you alright? do you have any more injuries?" you ask. you look at him, hands hovering above his hand that rests on his knee. max gives you a small nod of consent.

"it's just a concussion, from what i can feel," max admits. though, it hurts everywhere. when you crash into a wall at that speed and black out, it's definitely going to hurt everywhere that it can.

he's watching you intently. you're lifting his sleeves to scan for bruises and moving about the neckline of his race suit to look for any injuries. there's a tingling sensation that you leave behind as your fingers graze over his now exposed skin.

"i'm okay."

"i don't buy that at all," you scoff. you reach over for the empty plastic chair and pull it to his side. you take a seat. "i'm glad you're okay. i was really worried something bad had happened."

he smiles. the way you care for him never fails to make his stomach churn and his heart start to race. "it could've been worse. i'm glad it's just a concussion i've got."

you turn your head to look at him. god, he wishes he can just take you in for an embrace and reassure you that he's perfectly fine. because he is. it's just some body aches - nothing he hasn't had to go through before as an athlete.

"i'm sorry about the race." you take his towel into your hands and fold it up. you gently tap on his face, wiping away the sweat that had formed on his face. "let me know if you need anything, okay? water, ice... food..."

"i will handle," he grins, his gaze following your hands' movements. "thank you, though."

you don't say anything. you just smile at him as you put the towel back down on his knee. you rest your hand just above the damp material and tilt your head at him. "how do you feel, though?"

"g-"

"about the points," you cut him off. "it's a close fight for the driver's championship. how do you feel about that?"

he shrugs, pouting his lips out. you widen your eyes at him as you anticipate the next thing coming from his mouth. "it's just racing. i'll come back next weekend."

you roll your eyes and lean back into the chair. both of your eyes are on the tv, watching the broadcast of the race together. "i believe in you. there's still a long season ahead of you."

he moves his eyes to look at you. not his head fully - he doesn't need you catching him stare at you. your unconditional support for him just made him want to jump for joy.

thought, sometimes he does wonder if you're only doing it because you work for the team. but other times you're just so believable that he thinks it's him as a person you're rooting for.

and god, he wants it to him so bad.

"it feels like forever - this pain," he admits. without thinking, his hand instinctively reaches forward. he puts his hand above yours. he squeezes your hand.

he sees you shake your head. you manoeuvre your hand. now your palms are touching. he could have sworn it was the concussion making him see and feel things when you intertwine your fingers.

if he were to be honest with you, he feels like this could the lowest point of the season for him. that rear failure earlier on felt minuscule compared to this crash. deep down inside, there's a fear that there's no coming back from this.

you squeeze his hand, slightly tighter than he had done to you just a few seconds prior. "i wish i could make it better. i'm sorry, max."

your voice wavers as you speak to him. and it kills him that you’re so worried for him. he does have a healthy support system, as much as the public wants to make it out that he’s too cold for that.

max wants to reassure you, just as you'd done with him. but he doesn't even know how to do that. your presence now, while he's still slightly out of it from the crash, is enough to put him at ease.

he sighs, squeezing your hand once more. it's at the tip of his tongue. if he could just convince himself to say it to you.

yet, he settles with, "you're the best."

three.

max leans back into the wall, arms folded over his chest. the strobing lights, the music bouncing off the walls, and a plethora of bodies surround him.

next to him, sebastian is deep in conversation with daniel. a conversation that he had tuned out of a few minutes ago. when he found you on the dance floor, terrorising alex and lily with your dance moves.

if you asked him, he would've told you that you're a natural at many things. dancing, unfortunately, is not one of them.

his silent pining comes to a halt when he meets lily's gaze from across the room. a knowing smile on the girl's face, he feels his cheeks heat up when she drags alex down to whisper something in his ear while pointing at max accusingly. alex turns his head in max's direction and his body shakes with a laugh.

great. they've caught on.

alex nods and raises his eyebrows at max teasingly. alex glances at you, shocked to find out that you've managed to shimmy your way 5 metres down the dance floor to now terrorise george and carmen.

max smiles to him, watching alex bend over backwards to get your attention. it's proven a challenge when you sandwich yourself between them.

when alex manages to finally get your attention, you just smile at him. you hand him the empty glass in your hand and grab carmen's hands. it's a wonderful sight - alex struggling to get your attention. but when he did, max swears his heart skips a beat.

because you lean into alex, listening to what he says into your ear. alex points in his direction and your face lights up when your eyes meets his.

you stride across the room and push yourself through the crowd. before he knew it, you're staring up at him with a toothy grin and wide eyes.

from the corner of his eyes, he notices sebastian and daniel have stopped their conversation. across the room, lily and carmen have flagged their boyfriends down. all eyes are on the two of you.

"what are you doing here all by yourself? you should be out on the dance floor celebrating!" you shout over the music, tiptoeing slightly to meet max's height. "you just won a race!"

"i'm good here, thanks!" max laughs, moreso at your state. your cheeks are puffed up and your lips are swollen. even your voice sounds damaged from all the screaming you've done. "enjoy your evening, please! don't worry about me!"

you shake your head in urgency. "no! you have to celebrate!"

he continues to look down at you, genuinely considering if he should let your persuasion tactics work on him tonight. who is he kidding; he can never say no to you.

"okay, but i'm driving us back to the hotel. so no drinks for me." before he could finish his sentence, you've managed to yank him off the wall. your hand has a firm grip around his wrist as you guide him through the crowd towards the bar counter.

"we'll get a cab!" you stop right at the bar and turn around to look at him. "you won the race today! aren't you excited? are you not at least a little bit prideful that you're leading the driver's championship again?"

max supposes you have a point. he should be excited. here he is in his 6th year in formula 1, being so close to clinching the world champion title for the first time in his life. it's just one night, right?

he can't possibly let you be more excited for his achievements than himself. that's just not right. did he not believe in himself?

he watches you prop yourself up on the bar stool, carefully telling the bartender your order. max's hands hover over your body, just in case you'd fall.

once again, you have managed to make his heart race by putting so much emphasis on his achievements. he's made his way onto the podium several times now that it seems almost mundane for him to end up there.

he wants the next big thing; he wants the world championship title. but why exactly is he waiting a whole few months just to celebrate again?

"come on, max! let loose a little. you don't have to wait for the season to be over to celebrate," you answer genuinely. for a moment there, max almost thinks you're sober. "if you don't want to celebrate your small wins, at least let me do it for you?"

he huffs. you're a lot more convincing when you pretend to be sober, after having downed a couple glasses of cocktails.

you tilt the unscrewed bottle of beer towards him, a freshly mixed glass of cocktail in your other. "congrats on winning the race today, max. i'm so proud of you."

max takes the bottle out of your hands. he willingly taps the neck of the bottle onto the rim of your glass. "cheers," he grins, watching you excitedly sipping away on your mojito.

if he could guess, you’re 6 glasses in. you’re definitely going to regret it in the morning.

you swiftly intertwine your fingers with his and start to pull him towards the dance floor. "let's go celebrate!"

you stop abruptly, your cocktail almost spilling all over your dress as he plants his feet into the ground. you squeeze his hand and look up at him shyly with your chests almost touching. even in the sea of people in the club, you managed to make it feel so intimate.

just you and him.

can he really excuse the words threatening to slip out of his mouth with half the bottle of beer in his system? can he just say it without you remembering it the next day?

but you beat him to saying something. "i'm so proud of you, max."

he smiles, letting a small breath out. he squeezes your hand. "thank you. you're the best."

four.

it's upsetting, really, not having you in the paddock all weekend. what you'd thought to be a simple itchy throat from all the sweets you've consumed had turned into a covid scare. you're isolated in the hotel, albeit having tested negative, already better.

the team couldn't risk getting either driver contracting a sickness. especially not max, a clear contender for the title this year.

max has not seen you since tuesday. the photos of him on the red bull racing social media platforms are just not as good when it's not you taking them. nobody else on the marketing team ever tells him his hair is a mess. neither do you - you always just reach in to fix his hair for him.

max huffs, adjusting his shirt as he stood in front of your hotel room. the small bouquet of flowers suffocate in the grip of his hands. a plastic hangs on his fingers.

the lock clicks. the door is slowly pulled open. there you are, in all your glory. your hair is up in a ponytail, you're in your pyjamas with juice in your hand. your eyes widen. "max! what are you doing here?"

with flowers in his hands, there's really only so many excuses he can make up. he tilts his head and his eyes narrow down. he's searching his brain for an excuse - something that doesn't scream the fact that he is hopelessly in love with you. "um..."

he stays in the hallway of the hotel, and you stay inside with your hand still on the door handle.

when he had gotten off the race track, alex had celebrated with him. at some point, max expected someone to bring it up. it just shocked him that it had taken this long.

alex gave him a firm pat on the back as they strolled the paddock after media commitments. and the question finally came up. "so are you ever going to ask (y/n) out?"

the question should not have even shocked him in the first place. he had been sitting around waiting for someone to ask him this. nevertheless, he was still dumbfounded by the question.

he started explaining - how he can never get around to asking you out. you're christian's beloved niece. first of the next generation. christian even introduced you as the daughter he had to raise before he ever thought about having kids of his own.

and alex gave him the weirdest stare. because everyone on the paddock could easily tell max had feelings for you. he didn't do much to hide it either. it'd apparently been so bad that even toto wolff sneaks around the paddock with questions if there's been progress.

and so, here he is, standing in front of your hotel room after having won his home race. when he managed to escape his pr manager, he took a shower and immediately bought flowers, some food and came straight to you.

he missed you all week.

"max?"

his answer comes out in a ramble. if you hadn't spent so much time with him, you probably wouldn't have understood. but in your week of absence, the driver doted on you with video messages, voice messages and pictures. endless updates with the grid, the drama, the placements.

anything to make it feel like you were still there with him.

"can i take you out on a date?"

his heart races. beads of sweat form on his forehead. the hallway, that had once felt so icy suddenly became so warm.

"what?" your jaw drops, eyebrows are raised in shock. the silence is deafening.

is this some kind of sick prank alex is pulling on him?

immediately, max goes into defensive mode. "i mean, it's okay if you don't! i just thought if i don't shoot my shot now, then i'll never know. i won't take it personally!" he lifts up the plastic filled with tupperwares of food. "i even brought you supper!"

you scoff with a laugh bubbling up from your stomach. you leap up from your spot, throwing yourself onto max. you lift your feet off the ground. his available arm wraps around your waist to stabilise you. his other arm, already busy with gifts for you, darts out to hold the door ajar.

and what does this mean, exactly? max verstappen has never been one to take these things for an answer. he needs is in black and white - in the clearest of clarifications.

"yes, of course!" you squeal into his shoulder. okay, now he can celebrate. it had taken you a solid 10 seconds in a tight embrace before you decided that the hotel's hallways were too exposing for your liking.

finally, he lets you guide him into the hotel room. he can't stop the wide grin forming on his face either. by the looks of it, neither can you.

"right. these are for you," max finally says, holding out the bouquet of flowers to you. "and i'm sorry i'm late. i could have gotten here earlier if it weren't for alex and lando fighting me over what flowers to get you."

your eyebrow raises, willingly receiving the flowers. "you were in cahoots with those two?"

"and george," max shrugs simply, scrunching up his nose. "but he was easier to deal with than those two."

you smile, if it's possible to get even bigger than what's already there, as your fingers lightly graze over the petals of the flowers. max simply stands back while he watches you admire the brightly coloured bouquet.

he's confident about one thing that night: what kind of flowers to get you. so when lando and alex were fighting him over which flowers to get you, they were simply debating over the roses.

but he is in the netherlands. what else could have been the right choice of flowers but the tulips? and he's in an expensive sport, after all. it would be so uncharacteristic of him to undermine the way he felt for you.

long story short, he got the most gigantic bouquet filled with striped tulips. he spent 150 euros. that's not even near the amount he knows he feels for you.

if you asked him for the world, he'd simply exhaust every single resource he has to give it to you.

"thank you so much," you coo, finally looking up at him. you lean in, pressing a firm kiss to his cheek. and he will absolutely spend the rest of his night thinking of this exact moment.

this is quite possibly the furthest he's gone with you. and he almost slips up again. he should've just said it, but he's just not quite sure he should. it's just going to scare you off.

"oh! and, congrats on the race win today," you cheer before pressing your lips against his cheek again.

max grins. he doesn’t know why he put it past you. you’ve made it clear you’re going to be his biggest fan. “oh, you watched the race?”

you’re gently laying the bouquet on top of the table in the corner of your room. “of course. it was a brilliant race. i'm so proud of you."

he just squeezes your shoulder. "thank you. you're the best."

five.

in his dark hotel room, the tv illuminates your face as your eyes lock on the movie you've chosen. it's the only way max can see your face. he'd love to be able to pay attention to this movie, but how could be when you're all tangled up with him.

"are you scared?" you suddenly mutter. your first words in almost 20 minutes, almost making him question if you're making conversation because you're falling asleep.

"what?" he's genuinely dumbfounded with the question. he glances at the tv, curious if he had dozed off long enough for you to choose another movie. but no. it's still mamma mia playing. "we're watching a musical."

max watches your body heave up, then down. "for tomorrow."

he tenses up. he's been trying his hardest not to think about it at all, actually. since he'd finished up his evening with media commitments, he just went straight to you in the garage office. he packed his bags and took you out to dinner.

he's secured pole position for tomorrow. he didn't want to think of anything else right now.

he doesn't want that stress passed on to you.

max hums, suddenly feeling an interest in the musical. it's meryl streep singing abba, after all. how can he not be any more interested? he shrugs. "okay, i guess."

he avoids your eyes. all eyes and remaining attention of the evening is on the actress belting out a song. and it's rudely interrupted when you pause it.

you stumble around, propping yourself up to your elbow to give him a stern look. "okay?" sometimes max forgets you're now his girlfriend. he forgets that he doesn't have to put up a front to shield you from his real emotions. "what do you mean 'okay'?"

he sighs. he turns his head back to face you, almost flinching at the glare you're giving him. he clears his throat as he pushes himself up against the arm of the couch. he sits cross-legged and you mirror his posture. he shrugs again. "i can't overthink it now. i just have to do my best tomorrow."

you throw your hands up in the air, scoffing. "what?"

max is at a loss for words. what response, exactly, did you expect out of him? "what?" he says back, hands also thrown up into the air. from the amount of time you've spent around him on the race track, he expected you to know his mindset when stepping into a race.

he can't overthink it before he even gets on the track. in fact, there is no room for that at all.

you resign to the other end of the couch and fold your arms over your chest. you even pull your feet back, not wanting to be in the range of his touch.

"(y/n), i don't know what you want me to say, darling," max responds gently. he's slightly annoyed, yes, but he doesn't want that to triumph your relationship. "you know the clear mind i need to get into a race. if i overthink, that's when it's over for me."

you roll your eyes. "no. it's just you and me. there is absolutely no way you have no opinions about the race tomorrow. not even a single thought? seriously, max?" you tear your eyes from him. "i'm not christian."

max sighs. he scooches over to you on the over end of the couch. though you squeeze yourself further into the armrest away from him.

he huffs, wrapping his arms around you. he pulls you in and presses a kiss to the top of your head. "of course, i have a thought in my head about the race. but if i let it get to me, darling, it can cost me the championship."

you hum, but there's a hint of annoyance. though, you give in. because you drop your head back on his shoulder and pout. "okay, fine. race your heart out, max. i just know you've got this."

he gives you a slight squeeze. a weaker one compared to others. honestly? he's terrified of screwing up tomorrow. he just wants that title so bad. all his life, he's worked for it.

he's simply afraid to let christian down. more importantly, he's afraid to let you down. though his handful of mental breaks about being so close to the final race of the season, you'd reassure him that you'll always be proud of him no matter what.

it's just not enough for him.

the movie starts to play again. you coddle up into his lap and he rests his cheeks on your head. i love you.

thank you, you're the best.

max has not been able to get the ringing out of his head since he crossed the checkered flag. he has not been able to think straight since then.

he just won his first world championship title. he's on his knees, his head resting on the tire. all 58 laps, all he could think of is how is he going to win? how will the season play out?

he finally lifts his head, dropping himself back to sit on the track of the abu dhabi track. he groans loudly, almost into a scream, as he unclips his helmet. he yanks it off his head, then his balaclava almost immediately.

he is feeling so many things.

then across the barrier, he sees you. eyes filled with tears, hair pulled back into a ponytail, in your very own red bull racing uniform. his stare down with you doesn't last long. christian is quick to yank you away.

and he spends the next 5 minutes scanning the crowd for you. sure, he wants to celebrate with the people that made it possible for him to even be there in the first place. but there is you.

"max!" your voice makes him whirl around. a sigh of relief slumps his shoulder. it's you.

his face lights up at the sight of you. just a minute ago, he felt so drained. he barely found it in himself to walk to his team for cheers. yet here he is jogging towards you.

"world champion, max verstappen!" you scream. you leap off the ground, legs quickly wrapping around his waist.

his arms wrap around your torso, just holding you close to his body. "i'm so proud of you," you cry into his already wet neck. you wrap your arms around his shoulders tighter. "i fucking told you."

he doesn't even know what to think. his mind is in a jumble of thoughts. it's undeniable that you had pushed him to his best this season. just having you there, reassuring him every single weekend. even when he crashed, even when he'd retired out of a race.

your legs slowly drop back down to the ground, and he finally gets a good look at your face. for some reason, you're just as sweaty as he is. the ponytail on your head is falling apart and the makeup running down your face almost makes him laugh.

then the excitement obviously hits you again. because you give him a firm and strong pat on his shoulder. "you proved them all wrong, max! you're a world champion!"

his chin is held high and his chest is puffed out. you'd never doubted him. it almost brings him to his knees how much support you had for him.

max is so full of emotion. the race, the title; you. you jump in your spot and clap, nose scrunching up in delight. "i told you this was your season! i knew it all along!"

and he just blurts it out. "(y/n), i love you."

you don't even hesitate. it's like you'd been waiting around to say it too. "i'm so fucking proud of you. i love you."

#it took me three days to write this #and for what #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke f1 #f1 x reader

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divinesolas · 8 months ago

Text

Through it all, its still you

r.q: hellooo lovlieee omg i am so inlove with your newest fic with jacaerys, my jaw was on the ground. could I request a fic with jacaerys were it's during the war between blacks and greens and your his betrothed. He goes north and you stay in dragonstone, but then you get taken by the greens. Everyone thinks your dead but you manage to escape and bond with a dragon. then when jacaerys is fighting against the greens, you Show up with your dragon and fight this epic battle. omg I got so carried away sorryyy. maybe with some fluff at the end ?? anyways take care <3

w.c: 4.2k (god i love writing for jace)

c.w: tyrell!reader, written with f!reader in mind but i dont believe theres any mention of gender of reader if so barely, angst, FLUFF! happy ending though it takes awhile to get there, poorly written battle scene, blue fire breathing dragon :3, not proofread

You had not known how long you were sitting in the silence of your room. Usually dragonstone, though you had not been there for very long, was booming with life, jacaerys and lucerys arguing with one another and joffrey laughing, the babies crying or laughing at nothing, baela and rhaena chatting together. But today there was nothing but somber silence. Lucerys was dead. Though you did not know him as well as everyone here did, your heart ached at the thought of the young boy being gone.

Daemon and rhaenyra had basically locked themselves in the council room after informing you of the news. You worried for them especially after seeing how angry and heartbroken they looked but the person you worried for most was jacaerys. He was off in the north oblivious to what had been happening here. You felt sick to your stomach as you imagined his face finding out the news. He had confided in you before he left. He worried for lucerys and how he would fare on his trip to storm's end and you helped assure him lucerys would be alright.

You sit in your nightgown clutching hard onto the necklace jacaerys had given you early on into your courtship.

You had been promised to jacaerys when you were very young much to the dismay of alicent and her father. You were your fathers only daughter and due to the fact he had no uncles, no cousins, no nephews and no direct other male family members you were to inherit everything in highgarden once he passed. You were immediately very fond of jacaerys as soon as the two of you met in the keep. Though the two of you did not get to spend as much time together as you were soon taken back to the highgarden after a couple moon cycles. Before you had left the keep however he had given you this necklace. It was a metal carving of a dragon painted in the colors of his dragon vermax. He had told you he hoped while you were apart you could feel protected by him with his dragon and you cried into his shoulder before you were soon dragged off and did not get to see him for many years.

Soon enough your name day came and you turned eight and ten and were granted the ability to go to Dragonstone to meet with jacaerys and begin wedding preparations with rhaenyra. What you nor your father had known is that soon war would strike. You knew tensions were high between the family especially after attending the families final dinner where you help jacaerys place ointment on his cheek after aemond had punched him but you did not think things would turn out so horrid for the family.

So deeply lost in your thoughts you do not notice the quiet footsteps entering your room through an opened window in your room until something a stab punctures your arm and a hand covers your scream before a heavy object slams into your head knocking you out cold. He allows you to sit out cold for a bit, letting your blood pool on the ground soaking your gown and your necklace. While you're passed out the mysterious man scoops you up into his arms, ripping the necklace from your neck and tosses it into the pool of blood before he carefully manages to carry you out through the window and down to an awaiting boat with a couple other masked men who help him chain you down and soon sail away, the image of dragonstone fading farther and farther away.

Only hours later does jacaerys land back on dragonstone hoping to be greeted by you. Happy that he had been able to secure all the alliances for his mother and felt full of pride when he imagined how happy you would be. What he did not expect when he entered the main room was a somber atmosphere, he notices rhaena has fresh tears sliding off her face and baela attempting to comfort her. Joffrey clung to his rhaenyra side also seeming to be crying. He quickly looks over at daemon who is staring right back at him. “What has happened? Where is lucerys? Where is my betrothed? Tell me at once.” rhaenyra makes her way over to him and clings to him, shoving her face in his neck and giving him a kiss on the cheek. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” he refuses to be true, it can't be true. But when daemon walks over to the pair and opens up his hand to show the necklace jacaerys had given you all those years ago, covered in your blood.

When you open your eyes the first thing you notice is how much your arm hurts, you groan and grab your arm. The sound of a screeching chair and the quick fleeing of the room meets your ears as you sit up and notice your sitting in a very familiar room. This is the room that you had stayed in during your time in the keep, looking exactly how you left it. A part of you is telling you this is a dream, you reach your hand up to wrap around your necklace your grow frantic as you realize it is not there. You feel around the bed and look upon the dresser next to you but there is nothing. In your haste the door opens and your head shoots up. “You are finally awake.”

“Where is my necklace?” alicent looks at criston next to her who shakes his head, “you did not come wearing a necklace miss.” you groan and immediately try to stand out from bed but immediately feel so dizzy you have to sit back down, your arm throbbing heavily. “What did you do to me?”

Alicent takes a hesitant step closer to you, her arms out as if to comfort you, “you should relax.” “asking me to relax after you kidnap me, are you insane?” you are unable to control your temper as you spit your words at her. Criston immediately clutches his sword and takes a step forward, “that is no way to-” alicent gives him a pointed look and he immediately deflates taking a step back. She hesitantly makes her way to the end of the bed and sits on it looking at you. “I simply wish to speak with you. “So you decide to kidnap me, that makes perfect sense.” you can tell she's irritated at you but does not let it show on her face as she takes a deep breath, a somber look on her face though you cannot tell if it is serious.

“With your fathers passing everything in highgarden has been left to you, we believe it is in your best interest to declare house tyrell for aegon-” “my father is dead?” you cannot handle the influx of emotions you feel as your hand clenches around the space where your hanging dragon should be craving the feeling of the cold metal and sharp edges on your skin. She nods, placing her hand on your knee and for some reason you let her, the look in her eyes tells you she feels sorry having to break this news to you herself. “Yesterday night in his sleep, his final wish was for you to have highgarden. He stated it to be so.” all you can do is look down, your eyes clouding and you begin to crave the presence of jacaerys. Taking you silence as an opportunity to continue alicent begins to speak, “I care, not only about you, but about the future of your house which is why you should declare for aegon-” “you are asking me to declare for him? I knew you were crazy but this is just insanity.”

Though your face is covered in tears it does not hide the furious look you have on your face as you push her hand away from you and hug your knees to your chest. “It is the best path for you and your house my dear you must believe me i only wish the best for you. And should you do this you will be a lovely addition to our family. I am looking for a wife for my son daeron.”

“I am already betrothed. You know this.” she shakes her head and stretches out further on the bed attempting to touch you once again, “you must understand-” “i would rather you kill me than marry your stupid hightower son and declare for that pig wearing a false crown on his head.”

The room goes silent and she sighs and stands, fixing her dress before moving to leave the room. As she stands by the door she turns back to you, “I hope you will one day change your mind.” “I will not.” you quickly spit at her before she and criston leave the room leaving you trapped in there. All you can do is sit and cry in your bed, you miss jacaerys, you miss your father, you even miss dragonstone. You spend that whole day and night in your room praying that jacaerys was alright, you knew it is foolish to wish he could climb though the window to save you but the childish part of you dreamed he would come to your rescue.

His foot taps on the floor in rapid succession. Jacaerys finds he can barely sit still these days. He cannot believe you were ripped from his hands so quickly. Though many expected him to lock himself in his room and cry for days mourning the loss of the love of his life and his younger brother he did not even shed a tear. Even at the funeral for the two of you the worst he got was glassy eyed as he clung onto his brother's robe and your necklace which he has begun wearing. It was as if he became a shell of himself, only speaking when spoken to and only truly wished to speak time planning out the moves of the war with daemon. Rhaenyra grew more and more concerned and distressed over her son as the days passed. Whenever she would go and try to talk to him she would only be greeted by his dead eyes and his emotionless words and she felt as though she lost two of her sons not just the one.

Due to his erratic emotions, Jacaerys could not decipher how he felt. Grief? Anger? Sadness? Spite? All of the above? He had no clue. But in his mind he had no time to feel anything. He had a duty to make sure his mother won this war and he could deal with his feelings later. He tried to ignore that heart clenching feeling everytime he wrapped his hand around the dragon necklace. The selfish part of him believes you are still alive, in his defense there was no body, just a large pool of blood soaking the floor, the room had been bare and mostly untouched which led daemon to conclude it happened without and fight and quickly. If you were truly dead it gave him a bit of piece you had not been put through any sort of torture or torment as daemon seemingly had put halenas kid through when he sent out blood and cheese.

He has many regrets and will hate himself for the rest of his life, he let his mother down, he was a bad brother and worst of all he failed to protect you, the one he had sworn to protect forever. He wont allow himself to mourn you, or mourn anyone for that matter. The only thing that mattered was the war and when daemon once again called him in the council room he soundlessly followed. He would at least avenge you in any way he would. He wanted them to feel the pain they had put him through, they put his mother through, he wanted to hurt them so badly he could barely contain himself but he must be rational despite how hard it is. Whenever he looked at the dragon on his neck he could only think of you and he grew angrier with himself. He had to avenge you. No matter what.

The days in the keep are boring. For the first few days all you do is sit on your bed crying. Whenever a guard entered your room to bring you food you never ate any of it. The only time anything happened all you could hear was screams and cries but they were so distant you did not know what was happening. You only found out when aemond had come to integrate you about the incident. Asking if you had somehow let this ‘blood and cheese’ into the keep so they could kill one of halenas kids. You were mortified and said you had no clue. After a bit of pushing and reports from the guards who were stationed outside your room there was no way you could have done anything and they promptly left. The rest of your days continued the same with you not if so barely eating until it became too much and alicent showed up to your room. “You must eat.” you scoff, you had finally gained your strength back and were sitting at one of the tables in the room with a book in your hands. “I don't need to do anything.” She sighs and looks around the room. You take notice of the box she holds in her hands along with a bowl of what looks like fruits in it. “What is that?”

She looks down at her hands and lets out an oh before looking back at you hopefully. “I.. was hoping you would play cyvasse with me..” she trails off and for a moment you notice how young she truly is. Much closer in age to not only yourself but her oldest son and all of her children forced into a role she is not fit for. A wave of sympathy falls upon you and she continues, “i have no one to play with, aemond is far too busy haelena cannot bring herself to get out bed and obviously aegon does not know how to play-” “ill play.”

She looks at you shocked as if she had been expecting you to turn her away and tell her no. “Though I should warn you that I have not lost a game in a very long time, I am a fierce competitor.” a smile graces her face and she nods quickly moving to sit down across from you and sets up the board. “I have not lost in forever either dear. I'm sure I will not lose to you.” you close your book and toss it towards the bed and shake your head at her. “I would like to see you try.”

A comfortable silence falls over the two of you as you two begin to play. So lost in the game you occasionally pop a piece of fruit in your mouth. She was right, she is very tough competition but you can hold your own against her causing her to sit and think for long periods at a time. “It's a bit stuffy in here don't you think?” you lift your gaze from the board and up at her as you shrug, “if it is i do not notice it.” as you look back down at the board she hums and stands to open up one of the windows before moving to sit back down. “I hope you have thought about what I told you.” you sit still for a moment before moving on of your pieces and leaning back to look at her. “I have.” a hopeful look crosses her face, “and i will continue to tell you no.” she sighs and stares down at the board. Many more silent moments pass before the door slams open and the two of you look at it alarmed.

“Ser Cole, what's wrong?” “You must come quickly with me, my queen, the prince has found something.” she stands alarmed and rushes towards him before looking back at you for a moment, “we will continue this later.” All you can do is nod at her and watch as the two of them rush out the room. You lean back on the chair and close your eyes and sigh. You wonder how long she planned to keep you here. You felt as though you made it rather obvious you never planned to submit to Aegon or marry her son but it seemed she still held on hope you would. In the midst of your thoughts a breeze brushes you and you jump out of your seat and look over to the window. It was still open. You walk over to the window and look out, this was your chance. You could escape, surely it could not be so hard to scale down the castle. You could die but so what? The longer you resist them the closer you get to one day just being executed and they put someone who would listen to their every whim in the high gardens. You look around the room and throw a spare cloak which had been in the room and look for anything valuable to sell before you say a small prayer to yourself before climbing out of the room and beginning to descend the castle.

It is not easy, if anything you would think this is impossible by the way your hands, knees and feet begin to bleed the way you continue to scrape along the harsh walls of the castle. You don't dare look down out of fear someone will notice you or you’ll realize you've made no progress and get so frustrated you cry. After what felt like hours you stumble and fall to the ground and struggle to pick yourself up. Looking around you, noticing you are in an empty alley. You had really escaped. You stand frozen for a moment unsure of what to do. You had not thought this far. Maybe you could try to make it to high garden but they would surely notice your absence before then and high garden would be the first place they look for you. You decide you’ll sell the stuff you had managed to take first and figure out the rest later. When you had made it to one of the stands the seller was shocked to see all the real gold items you had with you and was more than eager to offer you a large chunk of change for it. Now that you had the money you had no clue what to do but as you were walking you hear a group of people discuss that they planned to travel out of the city and decide you could try and hitch a ride with them.

“And why would we let you ride with us little girl?” you show him the large amount of gold you can just acquired and his eyes widen as he looks at it. “How much?” “I would give you all of it,” he looks alarmed, “you desperate to get out of the city?” “more than you know.” later that same day you were sitting in the back of their large carriage. One of the girls in the group offered you a change of clothes and fixed up your wounds for you question free. You watch the city fade away from you and let out a breath of relief as you finally pull down your hood allowing the group to see your face. “Hey aren't you that hightower girl?” you look over to your right at the man from earlier and shrug, “maybe.” If he wants to ask more questions he does and goes back to fiddling with his blade and you begin to pray once more for jacaerys and that the gods will be kind enough to allow the two of you to reunite.

You travel with them for a couple days. You find out they are actually a traveling circus who is struggling to make business right now due to the war. They are kind people who don't ask you unwanted questions and provide you with a ride and some food and that's all you can ask for. One day it's the middle of the night and you have all taken camp near a mountain. You grow more and more restless to get as close to dragonstone as possible to try and see jacaerys but you know these people are being more than kind to you so you must not push them. “I heard a rumor about this place,” jim, the guy you had talked to the first day he seemed to be the leader of this little group, says to jane, the woman who helped you fix your wounds takes a sip from her flasks and gives jim an unamused look. “Jim if this is one of your fairytales again,,,” “no no no seriously, apparently there's a dragon around these parts.'' This immediately catches your attention and you gaze at jim. “Seriously?” Jim nods confidently and Jane shakes her head tapping you on the shoulder, “don't believe him pumpkin he's always talking shit.” “i am being serious-”

A loud roar off in the distance causes the three of you and the rest of the camp to grow completely silent. Jim mouths a ‘told you’ in your direction and you watch as a dragon flies over your head and out to a field not too far away from where you all were camped. “We're gonna die.” you hear one of the other guys say and all you can do is admire the dragon. It's pure white with piercing blue eyes that seem to be looking directly at you. You feel completed to go towards it, its gaze luring you in as you stand at the alarm of Jane and Jim and begin to walk off. “Where the hell are you going?” you reach in your pocket and toss and large bag of coins you had at jim, “im going to claim a fucking dragon! Or die trying!”

The morning came and the blacks had finally managed to put a pin on where one of the large green camps were and we're currently stationed to ambush them. Jacaerys sat wordlessly on his dragon as baela sat on her next to him and called his name causing him to look over at her. “I hope you know she would not resent you. When you were gone you were all she could talk about. She couldn't hate you, it is not possible.'' He just stares at her and opens his mouth as if he wished to speak but he couldn't and all he could do was turn away so as to not get choked up. He hoped she was right, that you could not hate him because he fears if you did it would kill him. He clutches the necklace once more before the call is made to charge and he flys up with his dragon to fight. Despite the fact it had been an ambush the greens seemed way more prepared to fight than they had been expecting and the situation grew more and more dire as the fight went on.

As if it was a grace from the gods he heard a roar off in the distance and prayed it had not been aegon or aemond heading there way but when he turned his head and saw a white dragon? When close enough a wave of blue fire came out of its mouth to douse the greens. He could not see if the dragon had a rider due to its erratic movements but soon enough the dragon flew by him and he felt himself freeze. His betrothed. The one he feared he had lost. You. Y/n Tyrell. On a fucking dragon. Soon after your arrival the greens begin to retreat, unable to over power your dragon and its blue fire. Once the tides had settled and people began to cheer he quickly began to move towards where you were and you also rushed off your dragon and ran towards him, “jacaerys!” He grabs your face and kisses you with all his heart. He hopes you can feel the force of his love pouring into you with every move his lips make and with the grip he holds your face on, so gentle yet strong as if he knew he was holding the whole universe in his hands. It was not just any universe it was his universe and as you two pull away he can barely breathe. “You're alive?” you nod and peck him on the lips, “i will never leave you my love.” he finally feels all the emotions he's held back crash into him and he hugs you so tightly as if he fears you'll slip from his grasp should he let go. You feel him begin to cry and stroke his hair as you close your eyes and find yourself crying too. “I was so scared you had,,” “shh do not even speak it. I am here, I promise and I am not going anywhere.”

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soullumii · 2 years ago

Text

carry out | javier peña x f!reader

javier peña x afab!reader

summary: javier’s messy way of dealing with business causes the two of you to work late. he offers to buy you carry out to apologize for making you stay late (and, more reluctantly, for making you miss the date you had planned). then he offers something else to make it up to you. warnings: 18+ content mdni, smut [oral sex (f receving), unprotected piv], soft!javi, smiley!javi, sassy!reader, praise kink (for both reader and javi), javi likes to please, pet names (chiquita, baby, querida, sweetheart, angel), lots of uses of the word ‘fuck’, might be a little ooc?, no use of y/n. word count: 5k-ish?

inspired by carry out by timbaland

---

The last time you looked out the windows of the U.S. embassy, the sky was fading from blue to a pale orange. Now, when you peek up from the mountain of paperwork in front of you, the stars are the only thing visible, everything else bathed in darkness.

You can't remember the last time you actually went home on time from your job as a secretary. It had to be before Peña and Murphy started working here. With them around, your overtime hours stretched longer and longer.

It’s for a good cause, you remind yourself. Because, truly, it is. Catching the Narcos is top priority. It’s just hard to remember that when you’re drowning in paperwork and have to cancel the plans you had made a week ago for this shit.

“Look, I’m really sorry again. It’s still crazy over here,” you apologize into the plastic transmitter for the second time this evening, twirling the curly wire around your finger. The first time you called your date was a couple hours ago when you had to relay the unfortunate state of your situation: multiple things to do and not nearly enough hours in the workday to do them. Thus, staying overtime.

“No worries. We can go out tomorrow instead.”

You smile, “Thanks, Michael. That sounds great.”

You hang up the phone and the moment it hits the switch, your expression transforms into a deep frown. You send the most withering glare you can manage to the only man left in the room and the cause of all your problems: Javier fucking Peña. If looks could kill, yours would, but unfortunately, they cannot. And Javier doesn’t even seem to notice, his nose buried in his own respective papers. The hard line of his brow is furrowed over his dark eyes, the skin between his brows pinched in a way that makes you itch to smooth it out. Not for his benefit, but for your own, because it is awfully infuriating.

His normally perfectly coiffed hair is curling over his forehead, ruffled a bit at the edges as if he’s been anxiously running his hands through it, and one hand twirls a pen between his fingers while the other is pushed up against his temple. Seems like the long hours are getting to him, too.

Good.

“Michael again, huh?” Javier comments, still staring down at his documents. His pen scribbles on a notepad. “He’s… clingy.”

You staple a few papers together, and if the stapler clamps down a bit harder than you mean it to, you can hardly be at fault for that.

“If that’s clingy, I worry about the women you’ve been with. They probably thought you hated them.” You retort, not looking up.

“Quite the opposite, angel.”

Arrogant bastard, your mind supplies.

You don’t grant him the satisfaction of a response, focusing instead on the work in front of you. And you want to scream. Or cry maybe. Because this is literally all his fault.

If it weren’t for the shit he bothered you with earlier, and the multiple times he interrupted Ambassador Noonan, you wouldn’t be here trying to play catch up—rescheduling all the meetings she had to miss and filing reports for the classified information Javier “stole” from the files room, to which you did not give him permission to take, but still received shit for anyway.

And, of course, you received shit for “letting” him in. Which you did not do! He had just waltzed in, hours after you had told him multiple times that he was not allowed in and that you were not allowed to let him in.

You glare at him again, and this time he’s looking at you, a single dark eyebrow raised.

You’d quite like to strangle him.

“You gonna tell me what these looks mean or am I just supposed to guess?” He asks, bemused.

“I’m mad at you,” you grit.

“Really? I couldn’t tell.”

The papers in your hold crumple as your fingers tighten. You can hear your molars grinding against each other as you try to hold back your anger. This fucking asshole—!

“Is this about earlier?”

“Yes. It is.”

He sighs, setting his pen down. “Look, we really needed to get that information and I already said—“

You interrupt him again with a barely concealed snarl. “Sure, right. You’re sorry, and you needed it, but I’m always the one that has to deal with the fallout, while you go prance about and fuck whores and get congratulations. And now we’re here late and I had to cancel my date and I’m so behind.” You bury your face into your palms with a groan of exasperation.

You peek through your fingers to glare at Javier again only to notice... is that …guilt reflecting in his brown eyes? Gods above, you didn’t think he was capable of feeling that emotion, or any, for that matter.

(You know he is. There had been a few times at the local bar with Steve, or in the parking lot after a late shift when he had shown the other side of him. When he’d talk about his family, or life back in the States, you saw something other than a flirtatious smirk or a tense look on his face. Something softer. Warmer. It was…disarming. And terribly addicting.)

Even so, this whole situation is because of him, so you push away the instinctual urge to forgive him just to wipe that look off his face.

Javier stands, straightening his papers and shoving them in a manila folder stamped with the word “CLASSIFIED” on top. You drop your gaze back to your work, trying to drown out the sound of him packing up.

Yeah. Fine. You go home, while I’m stuck here.

You’re almost able to read the words swimming in front of you when you’re interrupted by Javier leaning over your desk on his elbows, his leather jacket stretching audibly over his broad shoulders. He drops your coat down next to him on the polished mahogany and you tilt your head to regard him with suspicion, a snarky remark on the tip of your tongue.

He beats you to the punch.

“Are you even getting anything done anymore?” He asks, gesturing to your papers. You’ve reread the same paragraph about five times by now, you think.

“Actually, yes—“

He rudely interrupts you with a crooked grin. “Don’t lie to me, sweetheart. You’re terrible at it.” He taps your coat with two fingers. “Come on.”

“But I’m not done y—“

“I don’t care.” He interrupts, again. “I want to get out of here and you need to get out of here. Seriously. Let’s get something to eat, I’ll pay for it to make up for my shitty behavior.”

You stare at him in genuine surprise, jaw slack. “Wow, the Javier Peña can actually admit when he fucks up? I’m in shock.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not a complete ass.”

“That’s debatable.”

He frowns. “Do you want food or not?”

“Are you threatening to go back on your word? That’s low even for you, Peña. I’m pretty sure when you’re in debt to someone you’re supposed to be treating them with respect—“

He grumbles and turns for the door. “Never mind about the empanadas, then.”

Your chair audibly screeches over the tile flooring as you jump up, slinging your jacket over your shoulder. “Wait! I’m coming.”

You try your damn best to ignore the amused smile on his face that, to your chagrin, makes him look rather handsome as you follow him out to his Jeep Cherokee.

“If I had known food won you over so easily I would’ve used that a long time ago.” He jokes as he turns the car on. You buckle yourself in.

“Yeah, well, don’t expect me to be so eager next time. I’m only accepting this because I was deprived of my meal tonight.”

He pulls out onto the road.

“Sorry you didn’t get to have a date full of awkward pauses and subpar food, sweetheart.”

You scoff at his audacity. "Goes to show how much you know about enjoying something other than sex with a woman."

"I know how to take a woman out on a date," he insists, glancing at you.

"Don't lie to me sweetheart, you're terrible at it," you echo his words from earlier back at him with a saccharine smile.

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

After a moment, he finally speaks again, tone genuinely sincere. “I hope you know I really am sorry for everything and making you stay late."

It takes you by surprise, and you meet his stare. His brown eyes look almost black in the darkness. A shiver travels up your spine.

His eyes should be illegal.

You clear your throat, straightening in your seat. “Yeah, well, we’ll see if I forgive you after my food.”

He chuckles at that, “Okay.”

Eventually he pulls the Jeep into the parking lot of your favorite local place (how did he know?) and then you’re standing in line to order. It’s ten at night and somehow there is still a line. Well, it is your (and everybody else’s) favorite for a reason.

Javier manages to convince you to bring your empanadas back to his place.

“We live right next to each other.”

“All the more reason for me to go home.”

“I have dessert. I’m trying to make it up to you.”

“Ugh, fine.”

(You really don’t mind it. You just like to give him a hard time.)

So you order carry out.

His keys jangle as he unlocks the door to his apartment, and he sets the containers of carry out on his coffee table. He shrugs out of his leather jacket, and you do the same, trying not to stare at the way the sleeves of his button up stretch tantalizingly over his biceps, nor at the way his strong forearms are on display.

Listen. He might annoy the fuck out of you, but you can admit that he is quite...attractive.

“Make yourself at home. Want a drink?” He asks, already grabbing two glasses.

“Sure, whiskey is fine. Since I’m assuming that’s all you have.”

“You know me so well.”

You look around his apartment and notice it's sparsely decorated, which makes sense to you, although, it still feels cozy in a way.

The lamps reflect a gentle warm hue over the barren walls, save for a few government installed abstract paintings. Somehow, compared to your apartment in the same building, his place feels more comfortable.

There’s a hand-knitted afghan sitting over the back of his couch and you twist the fraying yarn between your fingers as you admire the handiwork.

“My abuela made that, before she died.” Javier says gently, handing you a glass of whiskey.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah. She was really talented. This was the only thing I wanted to take with me from the States.” He takes a sip from his glass.

“Did she knit a lot?”

He nods. “All of the time, it felt like. Can’t remember the last time I didn’t see her in a rocking chair, a ball of yarn at her feet.” He muses, and these are the moments with Javier that you crave. You wish you had more of them. The way he softens when he gets that damned smile on his face… the way the crows' feet around his warm brown eyes deepen... It's, as you said before, terribly addicting.

You smile gently. “Where’s all her work now?”

“With my dad. He hardly let me go with this.”

You chuckle, and then Javier’s gesturing to the couch.

“Come on.”

You follow him over to the couch and he settles down into the cushions with a sigh, resting an arm lazily across the back. You sit perched awkwardly on the end. All of a sudden, the room feels too small. It smells like him, like tobacco and sage and… man.

You’re finally realizing how close you’ve been to him this entire evening, and your body is certainly realizing it too.

See, this is why you had a date tonight.

“Relax,” he tells you.

“I am.”

“You’re not,” he leans forward, a smirk growing on his lips. “I’m not gonna bite, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You scoff, but a stubborn flush works its way into your cheeks. “No, ‘course not.”

You grab your container and Javier follows, and soon he’s got the TV on and you’re both enjoying your empanadas with the gentle noise of the Price is Right in the background. You relax into the cushions, your exhaustion encouraging you to do so before your brain can stop you.

It’s nice though. He’s… nice.

“Hey," Javier eventually mumbles into the space between you.

“Hm?”

“I’m gonna make sure the guys don’t come after you again for the bad decisions I make."

You roll your head to look at him, eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “It’s about time I took responsibility for the shitty things I’ve done."

“No truer words have ever been spoken.” You deadpan. It earns you a quiet chuckle, and you smile, turning your attention back to the TV.

You polish off your empanadas, licking the juices and bread crumbs from your fingers, and you think you see Javier watching you raptly out of the corner of your eye, but then you blink and his eyes are on the TV, as if he’d never been looking over at you in the first place.

Damn, you need to sleep.

“So,” he clears his throat, “Is this better than the date with Michael would’ve been?”

You groan dramatically. “Why are you so bothered by him?”

“‘M not.” He says, but it sounds unconvincing even to your ears. “Just curious.”

“Are you jealous, Javi?” You grin into your glass of whiskey, the alcohol pouring warmth into your bloodstream, along with that heady, outlandish, and fleeting thought of him actually being jealous, maybe even possessive over you.

You really need to sleep.

“‘Course not. Just want to make sure our little secretary is treated right.”

“I’m hardly treated right at work, this guy would probably be a step up from the people that talk to me on a daily basis.”

“I hope you don’t mean me.”

“I especially mean you.”

He sighs heavily, his head falling back against the cushions. He levels you with a pleading look, lips in a pout. “Come on, chiquita. When will you forgive me?”

Chiquita. That’s new.

You tap your chin, glancing about as if in thought, attempting to ignore the giddy feeling curling in your stomach at the pet name. “I dunno…You still haven’t convinced me that you’re truly sorry.”

Of course he has. You just like to stir the pot.

“No?”

“Nope,” you pop the ‘p’ dramatically, grinning smugly as you tease him. “You’re missing the whole groveling and begging on your knees, bit.”

It’s a joke. Seriously. You think he'll just laugh, wave it off, and then you’ll actually forgive him. But that’s not what happens at all.

Because he’s slowly lowering himself to the floor, all while keeping strict eye contact with you. The air rushes out of your lungs in a single, astonished, harsh exhale.

“What…what are you doing?” You breathe, because seriously, what the hell is he doing?

“Groveling. Isn't that what you want, chiquita?”

He places himself in between your legs, and you really should be pushing him away, but instead your legs spread to make room for him. The movement has his eyes darkening significantly.

Fuck. What are you doing?

“Javi…” You whisper, eyes wide.

A large, warm hand comes up to grip your right calf, massaging your muscles gently with thick, strong fingers while the other kneads at your left ankle. His lips press up against your leg in a soft kiss.

“Let me show you how truly sorry I am,” he whispers against your calf, chocolate eyes boring into you. Heat licks at your core in white hot flames.

Okay. Okay, wait, this is actually a really good way for him to repay you. He had deprived you of potential sex, but now is offering it to you on a silver platter.

Still, you hesitate, remembering his reputation.

“Javi, I don’t know… I don’t want to be another notch on your belt.”

He shakes his head, brows furrowed, his voice rough with sincerity. “You’re not. You never will be, you’re so much more than that, querida.” He reassures you, laying another soft kiss against your skin, and a shiver rattles your spine. “Wanna make you feel good…wanna make up for what I did..."

You take a shaky breath, warmth fanning out over your body.

Fuck, this could either be a really good idea, or a really bad idea that could fuck up your already fucked up work relationship.

But shit, if you aren’t wet right now…and he really does have some apologizing to do…

“Okay…show me.”

He sighs into your skin, his smile in relief edging on a satisfied smirk. “Thank you, chiquita.”

And then he’s pushing your pencil skirt up your thighs with his big hands, eyes raptly watching the way your skin is revealed to him, like carefully unwrapping a gift. Soon enough your skirt is pooled around your waist, your throbbing cunt trapped behind the lace of your black panties. Javi sucks in an appreciative breath, eyes scanning every inch of you.

He pulls at the elastic hem of your waistband, then releases, letting it slap against your skin, and looks up at you with barely concealed disdain, though you can tell it’s not directed towards you. “These for Michael?”

“Maybe,” you mutter, trying to ignore the way his possessive question sends tingling heat through your core.

He tsks, squeezing your thigh. Why are his hands so goddamn big? “Now I'm glad I kept you late. He doesn’t deserve to see you like this.”

“Oh like you do?”

“Chiquita, I know I don’t. Still, who's in between your thighs right now? I bet Michael doesn’t even like to eat pussy.”

“Javi!” You scold, embarrassment traveling up your body. He just smirks.

“That’s certainly not the tone you’re supposed to be using with my name. Let’s fix that.”

He maneuvers his hands to grip your lower back, and he scoots you to the edge of the couch. He inches his fingers beneath your panties and slowly peels them off of you, pupils dilating when he notices the slickness of your cunt.

“Fuck, baby,” he mumbles, “you’re soaked.”

“Yeah, well, it’s been awhile.” You grumble, clenching around nothing at his words.

“You sure it’s not just because of me?”

“Positive, Peña.”

He leans in, warm breaths puffing over your aching core. “Mm, I love it when you’re mean, baby.”

And then he’s licking a hot stripe through your folds, and your hands that hold you upright jolt to his dark hair, threading the locks through your fingers. You sink into the couch on a high pitched whimper. “Javi—“

“Yeah, there we go, that’s it,” he hums against you, smiling into your pussy, and the vibrations travel through your spine, sending a wave of pleasure crashing into you.

His cockiness should make you mad, but all it does is make you crave him more.

He presses in, licking again, this time into you, and the tip of his curved nose bumps against your aching clit, releasing a wrecked moan from your lips.

“Shit,” you huff, eyes screwed shut as he continues to lap at you. “Remind me next time to ride your face—“

He stops his ministrations to look up at you, pupils blown wide, his glistening mouth curling wickedly. “Next time?”

“We all know men are prone to making mistakes,” you tease. “It’s just a matter of when. And when you do, I'll need another apology."

He goes to respond, but you tug on his soft hair, urging him back into your warmth. Whatever response he has is muffled into your slick, and he’s lapping you up like a man in the desert, moaning graciously.

You feel him start to pull back, and you open your eyes, glaring down at him. “What are you—“ Your protests fade into a moan when you feel two long, thick fingers slowly slide into you. Your head falls against the back of the couch.

“I knew you were a brat at work but I didn’t think you’d be the same in bed.” He jokes quietly into your thigh, thrusting his fingers in and out of you. They reach so much farther than yours do, and it feels so fucking good. God, you really needed this.

“Different from your usual whore, hm?” You quip in between moans.

“Yeah, I like it though,” he admits. “Could get fuckin’ addicted to your attitude and this pussy.”

You should be embarrassed by the new wave of slick running down his fingers at that, but you’re not. If he claims he could get addicted, you know you already are. You’re craving your next hit and Javi needs to be the one to give it to you.

He seems to know what you want without you having to say, leaning in to wrap his lips around your clit again.

You slouch into the couch, hips chasing his warm mouth, scooting you toward the edge. His other hand splays across your lower back, holding you upright, and you buck into him. You grip his hair, urging him closer to your heat.

You can feel your orgasm building, ebbing and flowing, like the waves of an ocean. Each lick and suck and prod from Javi paired with the skilled way his fingers thrust in and up and out of you feels like a tug from a rip current, threatening to pull you under.

God damn, he’s good.

“Fuck—hng—shit, Javi!”

“Mmhmm, taste so good, chiquita.” He moans against you.

“Mmngh, fuck, need you—your mouth on me all—all the time. So good.”

He sucks on your clit as if in agreement, and your hips jerk, the muscles in your thighs and abdomen spasming, just on the edge of your orgasm.

“‘m gonna come—Jav—“

He gently scrapes his teeth over your clit and—oh shit. You’re fucking gone.

Your orgasm punches the air out of you, exploding white hot, tingles zipping through your nerve endings. Warmth spreads across you like a roaring wildfire. You hardly register the moans leaking out of you in an endless stream, your body so overwhelmed with pleasure.

Javi’s moaning too, his other hand palming himself through his jeans as he laps up everything you give him.

Your legs shake as you ride it out, and he gently strokes them as he licks you through your high.

“Yeah, that’s it baby,” he mumbles against your heat. “So fuckin’ good for me. Look so pretty when you come.”

He doesn’t stop, continuing to lick you through the aftershocks.

You tug on his hair, pulling him off of you when you’ve had enough. “Okay…that’s enough, Javi.”

Javier laughs as extracts himself from your legs, sitting down on the edge of the couch. You scoot back to sit properly again, though you're practically boneless against the cushions.

Comfortable silence settles over the both of you as you catch your breath. He smiles at you, his dimple showing, and you smile back at him, your heart jumping in your chest. He looks like he thoroughly enjoyed himself, all ruffled and flushed. His dark hair stands up in multiple directions from your tugging, and his mustache glistens with your arousal.

He looks so cute. Damn it!

Angry feelings for Javier were normal. But these…lovey dovey-esque feelings simmering beneath the surface are not.

You just can’t stay mad at him.

“…’Kay maybe I forgive you now.”

He raises a brow. “Just a ‘maybe’?”

You nod, eyes dropping down to where his cock is pressing hard against the zipper of his jeans, just begging to be freed. “Think I remember you mentioning dessert.”

He follows your line of sight and outright laughs, smiling so wide his eyes actually disappear. Fuck, why is he so cute? “I actually meant that—I have tres leches in the fridge but—shit, really?”

You shrug nonchalantly. “I mean, you might as well actually fuck me at this point.”

“Jesus Christ—okay.”

He pulls you toward his bedroom, but you both get distracted along the way.

He finds your lips at the entrance to the hallway, pressing you into the wall and kissing you roughly, hands unbunching your skirt to find the zipper, uttering under his breath about how unprofessional the garment is. Once the metal piece is in his fingers, he tugs it down, pulling away to watch your skirt fall to the floor.

He loses his shirt next, at the door to his bedroom, with you scolding him about how you’ll call HR on the amount of skin he dares to show at work. You only unbutton it enough for him to be able to pull it over his head, and then your hands are on him, squeezing the muscles of his arms and scratching lightly over his tan pectorals. You run your fingers up the long valley of his spine as he kisses you, delighting in the way he shudders against you at your touch.

He tugs yours off next, choosing now to bite your neck with a teasing “Guess I do bite”, and running his warm hands along your waist and breasts appreciatively.

You finally make it into his room and he’s pushing you onto the bed, climbing over you, still clad in his dark, too-tight jeans. Those need to come off.

“Fuck,” he swears, watching as you unbutton his jeans, tugging the zipper down. Arousal floods through you as you palm him through his briefs, hot and warm and big in your hands.

“Been thinkin’ about this for a while,” he says, voice rough. He tugs his jeans and briefs off then reclaims his spot over you, leaning down to mouth at your neck.

“How long,” you whimper, head tilting to allow him access. You shiver at the feeling of his light five 'o clock shadow scraping your neck as he moves up to your ear. He bites gently down on your earlobe.

“Too fucking long.”

Your hand wraps around his thick, warm length, and he jerks, thrusting into your loose fist. He groans, a sound so wrecked it’s like he’s in pain, and you take that as the sign that you need to get things moving.

You direct the head of his cock to your entrance, your gaze catching his own. Heavy eyes framed by thick lashes watch your face scrunch in pleasure as he slowly sheaths himself in you. God you feel so full as he bottoms out, more than you have with anyone else.

“Been wanting this too,” you admit.

He smirks, “Fuckin’ knew it.”

You roll your eyes, but then he thrusts into you and they actually roll into the back of your head as he pulses inside you.

“Fuck, Javi.”

“That’s it, chiquita.” He grips your thigh, pushing it up to gain a new angle. And then he picks up his pace, fucking into you with abandon. It’s like you can feel it in your throat, his cock hitting deep inside you. You jerk against the bed, the headboard slamming into the wall rhythmically. How many times have you heard this through the wall being his neighbor just on the other side? And now it’s you in the place of the multiple women he’s had over. And you think, maybe, that he’s enjoying it more with you than he was with them.

He’s grunting above you, moans and whimpers escaping his lips as he fucks you with all the skill and expertise he’s gained over the many years of fucking his informants. He’s louder than he was when you heard him with the others.

And you…you’re louder than the many times you got off by yourself just on the other side of the wall. Moans and praises drop out of your lips unfiltered—you just can’t stop.

“That’s it, Javi–yes. So good. Fucking me so well.”

And he’s fucking…loving it.

You can feel his dick jumping inside you with each compliment, and it sends a new wave of arousal crashing within you each time.

He’s getting close, but so are you, everything is tightening, a catapult ready to sling you off the deep end.

"Javi—I'm—“

"Yeah, that's it, baby." His hand gravitates down to circle your clit. "Come for me, being so good—you deserve it after today. Come on—“

You deserve it.

That's what fucking gets you.

Heat and fire and light and everything heavenly bursts within you as you come on Javier's cock, muscles spasming as they rejoice in that fact that you're finally getting laid. You're practically screaming, back arching off the bed as you ride the wave.

And Javi's fucking you through it, trying to hold off. But you don’t want him to.

"Come in me, Javi."

“You sure?”

“Please.”

How is he supposed to deny you?

He comes right on command, releasing inside you, and the feeling is euphoric. He's warm and hot as he coats the inside of you, and...shit...

...how are you supposed to live without this?

He collapses next to you, and you both lay there for a moment, trying to catch your breath.

You turn on your side to look at him, but he's already watching you. His hand idly traces the inside of your arm.

You think you could get used to this.

"So," he says, dragging out the syllables, "forgive me now?”

You run a hand down his chest in thought.

“Hmm… I think I might need a little more convincing.”

He just grins. “You’re a fuckin’ menace.”

And then he’s reaching his hand up to cup your jaw and pull you in for a kiss much more sweeter and tender than before, as if this kiss is the real apology, and everything else before was just him buttering you up to prepare you.

If that’s the case, you accept it anyway, because you deserve it. And so does he. And you know he’ll just keep making mistakes—he’s only human, after all.

But at least he has a method to earning your forgiveness.

Oh, and carry out.

#javier peña #javier pena x you #javier pena x reader #javier pena smut #narcos fanfiction #pedro pascal #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña smut

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delilahsturniolo · 24 days ago

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emails i can’t send 💌

— m.s

summary: matt comforts you while your parents are arguing.

this story contains: arguing, toxic relationship with parents, fluff, crying, more. do not read if you aren’t comfy :)

written by @delilahsturniolo, do not copy or steal my works. do not take inspiration without permission. happy reading! :)

“it's times like these wish I had a time machine.”

“so I could see what you did october thirteenth.”

thunder erupted from the sky, the loud crashing sounds from the storm tuning out the yelling from downstairs.

you were currently locking yourself in your room, sitting against your wall as you hugged your knees to your chest, listening to your parents scream back and forth through the thin walls of your house.

you covered your ears, flinching every time one of your parents raised their voices. you didn’t grow up in a lovable home, so you were sensitive to yelling and arguing.

you breathed in and out, trying to calm yourself down as you could hear the muffled argument from upstairs, getting increasingly more heated.

you shakily reached for your headphones, trying to blast music into your ears as you pressed shuffle on your playlist. however, nothing worked. you couldn’t get it off your mind. your brain was filled with so many thoughts, it was hard just sitting there, not knowing how far this would escalate.

you threw your headphones across the room in frustration, grabbing your pillow and stuffing your face into it. tears soaked the fabric of your pillow as you silently cried into it.

all you wanted, more than anything else in the world was to have parents who loved each other. if you were offered the same type of love your parents had for each other, you would immediately deny it. you’d rather be alone.

eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore. you reached for your phone, tears falling onto the screen as you breathed unevenly. you went to your contacts, and dialed the number of the one person you knew could help. the one person who truly understood you, who truly cared. your boyfriend, matt.

your phone rung as you shut your eyes, silently praying he’d answer. as if on queue, matt answered the phone. “hi lovey, everything okay?” he asked you, his soothing voice coming through the phone.

the sound of his voice alone was all it took for your anxiety to be eased. he had no idea how much power he had over you, you immediately relaxed, knowing that he was here for you.

“m—matt..” was all you managed to choke out between your tears. you were scared, you were scared he would think you were pathetic for calling him about this.

“woah woah, what’s wrong baby? are you crying?” panic was present in matt’s voice, you could tell that he was extremely worried about you now.

“my parents are arguing again.” you sniffled, trying to wipe your tears with your sleeve. you heard matt sigh on the other end of the phone, as well his keys jingling.

“i’m on my way sweetheart, stay strong f’me okay? you’re doing so well.” matt quickly reassured. he stayed on the phone with you the entire time, telling you how everything was going to be okay and trying to calm you down.

matt practically sped over to your house, not caring how many red lights he ran. his only priority right now was you, he needed to make sure you were okay.

you jumped as you suddenly heard a knock on your window. it was matt, thank goodness. you gasped in happiness and relief, not hesitating one bit to open your window for him.

matt stepped into your room, his hair was soaked from the rain. he immediately engulfed you into a hug, wrapping his arms around you as tight as ever. you immediately clung onto him with your life, not caring how wet he was from the storm outside.

“sssh, shh, i’m here lovey..” matt cooed, his hand moving up to your hair. you both could still hear your parents going back and forth, it wasn’t as bad as before though. but at the same time, you didn’t know how much longer it was going to go on for.

“matt?” you hummed his name as your face was buried in his chest. “hm?” he replied back, rubbing your back soothingly.

“c—can we go back to your house? i can’t sleep here tonight.” you hesitantly asked. you couldn’t stay home tonight, you couldn’t deal with all the fighting anymore. it was all becoming too much.

“of course baby, let’s go mkay?” matt pulled away from the hug, you already had some stuff of yours at his house for when you slept over, so you didn’t need to pack anything.

matt took your hand, helping you step out your window and climb down the tree that stood next to it.

the rain had subsided as matt walked you to his car, helping you into the passenger seat. matt shut your door, getting into the other side and starting the car, beginning to drive off.

you turned your head, looking out the window as matt drove to his house. your eyes were exhausted, matt’s hand was placed on your thigh. he looked over at you every few seconds to make sure you were okay.

it was completely quiet in the car, the silence was comforting though. matt didn’t speak, knowing you probably wouldn’t want to right now.

your eyes began to shut as you rested your head on the back of your carseat, to say you were tired was an understatement.

matt looked over, seeing you fall asleep. he took your hand and rubbed the back of it with his thumb to help you relax. he muttered a small “i love you.” as he looked at you.

you lazily hummed a response back, he smiled at your sleepy voice as he turned his head, putting his eyes back on the road.

he was glad he could be there for you, he was glad he could take care of you. because after all, you deserved it more than anything in the world. to matt, you were the most perfect girl. he saw the best in you even in your worst moments.

join the taglist here!!! 💌

#sturniolo triplets #the sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x reader #matt x reader #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo fluff #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo fandom #fluff #sturniolo #matthew sturniolo imagine

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marycorcaroli · 1 year ago

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sanji & usopp as a pussy drunk boyfriends ♡

req: Those pussy drunk Zoro/Luffy blurbs were so fucking good omg!!! Could you do one with Sanj pleasei? He's PEAK character for this scenario!!

mary♡: thank you for sending me a request and thank you for the lovely words! 🍡💛 i decided to write this right away and not wait any longer, i also decided to include usopp here, hope you like it! also i apologize for my mistakes, english is not my first language 💌

sanji

sanji is so neat but too impatient when it comes to licking you. from the first time you met him he only dreamed of spreading your legs and doing everything he could to your clit, sanji imagined it night after night until the moment he could finally show you he would show you the most real orgasm with his tongue. he will start with something small, he will slowly kiss your wet folds while unbuckling his belt to touch his cock, sanji is so pathetic, you just let him lick you and he is ready to cum. when he does pull his cock out - you're dead. my boy, he grabs you firmly by the hips and literally glues you to his face, he burrows into you like he hasn't drank water in months, greedily kissing your cunnie, he starts whimpering from you and your moans, you're making him really pathetic. he tries to burrow as deep into you as he can to taste all of your flavor, his fingers rubbing your nipples as he waits for the moment of your squirt. he will speed up his tongue with every second, he won't let time just pass, sanji will make sure it's just him and his tongue in your head at the end.

"sanji, please, i-i'm-i'm coming now," blows his mind. he has waited so long for those words tears run down his cheeks, you are the most beautiful girl to him and now he is licking you. his legs start shaking and his whimpering doesn't stop until the next moment you scream "sanji!" squirting on his face. you blessed him with it, he felt like he hadn't felt yet n when thinking about it, sanji didn't notice how he was cumming all over your bed and you at the same time, you caught him in the most interesting role, without even touching him he cum from you and will do it again and again. he doesn't care how much you're trembling and your legs are woozy, he just can't get away from you, sanji swallows all your juices and smears the rest on his face and looks in the mirror to realize he's found paradise between your legs and won't leave until he faints.

usopp.

my sweet boy and my sunshine loves your cunnie so much. his tongue is so soft and nice, he will do the naughtiest things to you that you could never dream of. usopp is like a man who will dream about someone's pussy all the time, he won't hear conversations, he wants to lick you now and here. he will cry with happiness as soon as you let him get on his knees and lick you completely, he will be so happy that he will completely forget about tenderness and decency, he suddenly doesn't care, now, he only thinks about you, your moans and your already swollen clit. usopp has lost all other thoughts, he starts licking you in a second, you haven't had time to undress yet, but that's even better for him, he'll wet your panties with his drool and pornographic moans, and sniff the residue like he's sniffed something forbidden, something that will take him to the most obscene place in this universe. there is so much lust in him, usopp can't hear your moans anymore, he can hear your wet cunnie responding to him, the way your clit pulses when he touches it with his nose and the way your body twitches when he finds all your hot spots again. it's like usopp is in heat, he can't live without your juices and the opportunity to lick you anywhere, he'll get so cranky and beg you "no, please let me...i-i'll make you feel good, i beg you", it'll go on and on until you say yes and he'll stop. swallowing everything you give him and he still can't get enough, he literally wants to eat you to savor the taste of your cunt. his tongue won't stop surprising you with its skill, and his nose won't stop hitting you in the points where you need it. usopp is waiting for you to cum all over his face, the juices are running down his body and the lustful phrases keep coming out of his filthy mouth, he's covered in your cum, his body lost in the moment you cum and now he's waiting for you to get on all fours and let him eat your ass.

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nyrandrea · 1 year ago

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Everything's Fine

As you try to deal with everything that has been thrown at you so early into your journey: forced leadership, mindflayer tadpoles and taking on everybody's personal problems, it all just gets a bit too much for you.

(Takes place during Act 1)

Word Count - 3.5k

Also available to read here on AO3!

Enjoy!

xxx

You felt your patience starting to wear incredibly thin when you realised Astarion had been staring at you for over five minutes now.

Not directly, he would never be so conspicuous—at least, not intentionally— but you kept catching those fleeting glances he was throwing your way; the corners of his red eyes crinkling every so often before returning to whatever book he was pretending to read. It wasn’t one of those charming, smouldering gazes he would sometimes give you after a night of feeding, asking if you were alright, knowing full-well that your answer was a resounding ‘I’m fine’, and that you would provide for him again soon.

No, what he was doing right now—very carefully—was scanning you, studying you, judging you. It was as if he was trying to leer right through to your very soul.

You almost had half a mind to stomp over to his tent and demand what his problem was, but there were other unfortunate issues to contend with.

Namely Shadowheart and Lae'zel.

“I already told you that the artefact is my responsibility,” Shadowheart said, her aloof demeanour and confident tone betrayed by the hand hovering over the hilt of her dagger. “This way it will protect us all, I thought we had already established that!”

“We have established nothing,” Lae’zel hissed back. “We only agreed not to slit each other’s throats in the night, though...,” she grimaced. “I still have no reason to trust that you will not try again.”

“At least there’s still some sense in that bullish head of yours.”

“Tsk!” Lae’zel spat at Shadowheart’s feet, much to the latter’s disgust as she recoiled back. “However, the matter still stands that the relic you hold onto belongs to my people. Therefore, it should be in my possession!”

The cleric sneered. “I would sooner slit my own throat.”

“Then go right ahead. Nobody will stop you.”

Rubbing at your temples to try and ease the incoming migraine that, for once, was not caused by the mindflayer parasite living rent-free in your head, you decided to step in-between the two women, not really caring about risking a gutting from their trigger-happy blades.

“C’mon, we’re not seriously having this fight again?” You huff incredulously, the question already sounding stupid as soon as it left your mouth. Because of course they were having this fight again. They had it yesterday, and the day before that, and they were probably going to have it tomorrow as well.

“We are, as it happens,” Shadowheart replied, her eyes flickering briefly to you before narrowing forward again. “Because this savage bitch won’t leave me alone!”

Lae’zel bared her teeth in a cruel grin. “Better to be that than a revrykal of Shar.”

At the mention of her Goddess’s name, Shadowheart practically lunged herself towards Lae’zel with an enraged scream, her dagger raised high with the intention of plunging it straight into the githyanki’s chest, who in turn raised her shield to protect herself. In that moment, you were nothing to them but a speck of dust in the wind.

It wasn’t until your hand shot up in a blind panic when Shadowheart realised what she was doing, forcing her to suddenly pull back to avoid injuring you, only a moment too late as her knife slashed the palm of your hand. Blood sprayed across the ground as your short but pained cry echoed throughout the camp.

“Oh Gods...” Shadowheart muttered as everyone was suddenly on their feet and crowded around the three of you in a matter of moments. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t... mean to...!”

“What? Attempt to kill our leader in cold blood?” Lae’zel muttered as she took your trembling hand to examine it, you only stared ahead as the shock took a moment to wear off. You didn’t even register her uncharacteristically gentle touch as she turned your palm up. “Only a flesh wound, you will live.”

“Still,” Astarion piped up from behind. “Perhaps it would be best to get that dressed up lest you attract any...*ahem* unsavoury visitors.”

“It would seem we already have,” Lae’zel replied, to which the vampire put a hand up to his chest in mock offence.

“Lae’zel, you depreciate me,” he pouted. “I’m hurt.”

Astarion’s sudden cold grasp on your wrist startled you as he decided to examine the cut himself in a much less gentle manner than Lae’zel. “Not that I would be able to get much from this anyway, even if I tried.”

You were slightly worried that he was pondering the idea the longer he stared at the wound; you could practically see him drooling. It wasn’t until you cleared your throat that he snapped out of his daze.

“Well, we should probably get this cleaned up anyhow,” he finally said. “To avoid infection and whatnot.”

“...You’re not gonna lick it clean, are you?” Karlach asked with a grimace.

“Of course not!” Astarion bit back, much more flustered this time. “I’m not some savage beast, you know.”

“That’s... debatable,” Gale piped in.

“Well! It’s lovely to know that you all think so little of me; the feeling is very much mutual,” Astarion said with a fake smile before taking you by the shoulder. “Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I’ll have to nurse this poor wounded soul, as well as my pride.”

He started guiding you away from the rest of the group, you only allowed him to because the whole situation had you in a bit of a daze, but not before Shadowheart tried to get in another “I’m... I’m sorry.”

“It’s... I’m fine,” you replied with whatever level of composure you could muster up with a smile in a small attempt to reassure her before allowing yourself to be led towards Astarion’s tent. Your words seemed to satisfy her as Shadowheart returned a sorrowful but grateful nod, though her expression turned sour when Karlach stepped between her and Lae’zel.

“Alright now, ladies, what do you two say we let out our pent-up aggression towards each other in a healthier and less murder-y way, huh?” The tiefling suggested before holding up her finger to not let the other two get a word in edgewise. “And before you ask, I will not be taking no for an answer.”

A small smile graced your lips at Karlach’s enthusiastic yet surprisingly pragmatic way of taking charge, and it seemed to be working as Shadowheart and—to your utter astonishment—Lae’zel agreed to whatever training regimen she had in store for them.

‘Perhaps Karlach should take over as leader...’

The idea was extinguished as soon as it had entered your mind, replaced with thoughts of the tiefling messing everything up, of her killing you in your sleep, that you shouldn’t trust her to lead your party. The only one who should have any authority over these subordinates is you. Only you are worthy.

The voice quieted down after a few moments, leaving you only with a pounding head—just another one of the many wonderful side-effects of the parasite.

You didn’t take any heed of whatever thoughts the tadpole forced upon you. You knew that Karlach would never hurt you, or any of the others for that matter—not by choice, anyway. However, those flashes of betrayal and blood were starting to wear you down a bit, especially with the lack of sleep; the very notion of it had been non-existent since you escaped the nautiloid and accepted the leadership that everyone had practically forced upon you.

You weren’t exactly a natural-born leader; hell, you barely managed to keep yourself alive never mind a whole group of people.

“That’s going to need stitches,” Astarion said as he observed your hand more closely now that the two of you were in the privacy of his tent. Heat flushed around your cheeks at how close the two of you were. Flashes of that night you had shared a bed—or well, the forest floor—came to mind, and you hated how flustered it made you. It was a one-night stand, a bit of fun to ease the stress of adventuring; clearly it meant nothing. At least... that was what you were made to feel.

What had been a night of passion for you, had been the same old dance for him.

“Take a seat there,” Astarion’s said, his voice cutting through your thoughts like a knife. “I should have a needle around here, somewhere.”

“You know how to sew?” You asked, settling down on a cushioned stool.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he said, and a sting of guilt surged in your chest. “How do you think I’ve kept these clothes looking so good for over two hundred years? Certainly not by magic.”

“Why not just buy new clothes?”

Your prodding seemed to hit a nerve as he paused for a moment.

“Why waste the coin?” He finally replied, sounding a little dejected.

“Sorry,” you said, biting your lip as you tried to think of a way to quickly rectify your carelessness. “You do look great, by the way—y-your clothes, I mean,” embarrassment takes over as you trip over your own words. “The gold embroidery is um *cough * it’s nice.”

Astarion seems amused at your inability to grasp basic English as he chuckles, the sound deep and almost musical. “Why thank you, darling. I’m glad someone around here appreciates the finer details.”

The vampire kneels next to you and threads the needle before gesturing for you to hold out your hand. “It has been a while so... let’s just hope I’m not too rusty, hm?”

Those words don’t instil a great deal of confidence within you, but you won’t allow it to show, trusting in him to get the job done. If you ended up getting sepsis, well... Withers was always on stand-by.

“Now, hold still,” Astarion instructed. “This may sting a little.”

You nodded, only wincing a little when he made the first stitch, the pain became more bearable as you watched him focus with the kind of laser-like precision that only came with a practiced hand; it made you wonder how many times he had done this. His methodical movements almost lulled you into a sort of relaxed trance, had your mind have not been working overtime, you honestly might have fallen asleep: Gods know you could have done with a bit of shut eye.

Ever since the ship crashed, your problems just seemed to keep piling on top of each other: Lae’zel was hellbent on getting to that githyanki creche, and there was the matter of Karlach’s engine, Gale was close to blowing to kingdom-come if he didn’t get another magical item to consume soon, Astarion would probably need another feeding at some point, not to mention the dog, Scratch, and the owlbear cub who had started hanging around the camp. A dog was one thing but how much did owlbears need to eat?

It was fine, you reassured yourself. Everything would be fine.

“There we go,” Astarion said, relinquishing your hand back, freshly stitched and cleaned. The pain was still there, dull and throbbing, but it wasn’t anything a quick healing spell couldn’t fix.

“Not my best work but it will just have to do for now,” he huffs, as if he was annoyed with himself. “You’ll have to excuse the sloppy stitching, it’s... been a while.”

“It’s beautiful work,” you can’t help but admire the stitching; it was flawless. “Thank you, Astarion.”

His gaze remains on you for a moment, as if he were expecting some sort of quip or punchline, and his eyes widen slightly when he realises you’re being genuine.

“I... uh... you...?” He pauses and squints; still nothing. “You are... most certainly welcome.”

You raise an eyebrow; did he really think so lowly of you that he believed you simply weren’t capable of a simple 'thank you'? Or was it himself that he had no confidence in? Your thoughts turn to when you asked him about how he came about becoming a vampire. Astarion kept most of his history closed off from you but told you just enough to let you know that this ‘Cazador’ fellow had treated him poorly. Belittled him. Enslaved him.

You couldn’t begin to imagine how horrible it must have been; no wonder he didn’t trust anyone.

A part of you wanted to pry into his thoughts, to let him know that you were here for him should he ever want to talk, but a new figure entered the tent, startling you into closing your mouth.

“Hello!” Gale cheerily greeted with a smile, his eyes latching onto you immediately. “How are we feeling?”

“Oh, we’re feeling quite dandy, thank you,” Astarion interjected with a frown. “You didn’t think to knock before deciding just to barge in?”

“Well, given the materialistic structure of this very sound establishment, I think you’ll find it’s a little difficult to uh...” Gale trailed off, attempting to rap the tent flap to no avail. “...knock on.”

“Then why not just knock on the wooden beams with that...” The vampire waved lazily towards Gale’s staff. “Very large stick of yours.”

“Duly noted, but I think we’re getting a bit off track here,” the wizard said before turning to you. “I need a word.”

You were taken aback slightly by his bluntness, and you couldn’t help but notice the almost pained way he was wringing his hands and how his eyebrows subtly twitched. He looked incredibly... uncomfortable.

His hand hovered over his chest briefly, just above the mark that glowed whenever he consumed magic.

Shit. Was it that time already? But hadn’t you given him something only yesterday? Or had it been a few days now? With recent events, it was hard to keep track of the time anymore; day and night just meshed into one big messy blur.

Judging by your panicked look, Gale held up his hands in a placating manner. “Now, I know you’ve had a lot on your plate recently but this little uh... situation of mine is growing quite dire again so... if you could just relinquish whatever magical artefact you have, then all will be fine and dandy.”

“I... don’t have anything on me at the moment.”

Gale’s expression dropped. “Come now, you must have picked up something along the way, surely?”

You grimaced.

“In a dungeon? Along the road? What about that little goblin camp you rampaged through recently?”

His sudden passive-aggressiveness made you feel uneasy.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Astarion cut in, folding his arms. “But we were a bit preoccupied with fighting for our lives to be on the lookout for any magic boots for you to chew on.”

Gale chuckled dryly and drew the vampire a dirty look. “I don’t think you quite understand the gravity of what might very well happen if I don’t find something to contain the beast within me very soon- “

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, darling.”

“This isn’t a joking matter!”

“Ugh! Just shut up!” You snapped. “I do get it, Gale. Because you remind me Every. Damn. Day. About this big, scary, mystery catastrophe that might happen without actually explaining anything about it! A bit of context would go a long way!”

Gale’s hurt wince suddenly had your stomach churning in guilt; you shouldn’t be snapping at people; you were better than that.

“I’m sorry,” you quickly apologised. “As soon as we’re out on the road again, I’ll make it our priority to look for an artefact for you, alright? You have my word.”

Astarion scowled and Gale forced a smile; his lips too strained for it to be genuine. It seemed like you couldn’t please anyone today.

“That’s all I can ask for, and I promise... all will be revealed soon, otherwise the tadpoles will be the least of our worries.”

When Gale left, you plopped down to the ground and took ragged breaths to calm your nerves, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of hurt as you nestled your injured hand in your lap. Had Gale only checked in on you so he could ask you for a magic item in return? Was he really that desperate? He must have been, seeing as you had completely forgotten about his predicament.

What kind of leader were you?

“You know, you can’t go making promises all willy-nilly like that,” Astarion said. “We have enough problems as it is without having to worry about...”

His chastising faded into white noise as you grasped your head, the sting of your fingers curling and tugging through unkempt hair was just enough to distract from the pounding that came from within your brain. The ability to focus was suddenly lost to you as your heart raced, and dark emotions swirled within your chest like a wild tornado; it was tempting to let them sweep you away, to ride the waves into the unknown. To be anywhere but here without anyone depending on you for so, so much.

“Hello?” Astarion drawled. “Are you even listening to- Darling...?”

He moved closer to you; his steps measured and deliberate as he lowered himself down next to you, still allowing you enough space while being close enough to reach out a hand to your trembling shoulder, his touch cold yet oddly comforting.

“Hey,” he spoke in a soothing, soft tone, his crimson eyes locking onto yours with unwavering support. “I’m right here with you, you’re safe, just breathe along with me, alright?”

You nodded, albeit shakily, and tried to mirror his calm, measured breaths, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, attempting to regain control over your racing heart.

Astarion’s voice never wavered as your frantic gasps slowly started to synchronise with his calm breathing. “I know things are tough right now, but these feelings will soon pass. You’re stronger than you think, darling.”

He continued to gently rub your back, tracing comforting circles with his fingertips, a rhythm that matched the cadence of your breath. Your hands slowly unlatched from your hair as you felt Astarion’s reassuring presence and honeyed words grounding you.

“There we go, you’re regaining control,” he encouraged softly. “Now, I’m going to get you a glass of water, will you be alright for a moment?”

You nodded again, and with a quick squeeze of your shoulder, he left. As your panic attack started to ebb, your breathing evened and your heart slowed as you felt yourself returning to the present moment, the tension that had your body rigid starting to ease.

Astarion was back by your side within moments, gently pushing a glass into your hand and helping you lift it to your lips for a small sip of water, the cool liquid soothing your parched throat.

“How do you feel?”

“I’m-”

“And don’t you dare say ‘I’m fine’,” he scowled. "Because we both know you’re clearly not.”

You racked your brain to try and find a way to explain that you were okay and that this was just a small moment of weakness, a blip in the road, that there was nothing to worry about and you had it all figured out.

But the words never came, instead you draw your knees up and hug them close to your chest as if to hide away from his piercing gaze.

Astarion lingers by your side for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“Would you like to stay in here for a while?”

Unable to find the energy to speak, you simply nod.

“Then come on, scooch over.”

As you shuffle slightly to the side, Astarion sits down next to you, draping an arm over your shoulder and allowing you to settle your head into his side and cling to his shirt in a way that a child might cling to their mother.

“...I’m sorry."

From the corner of your eye, you could see Astarion’s expression soften as he waved a nonchalant hand. “Oh, you have nothing to be sorry for, dear. If anything, I should be the one apologising, who knew being in my mere presence would be so breathtaking?”

You managed a small chuckle at that.

“But in all seriousness,” he continued. “I know a thing or two about putting on a façade and... well...,” he paused. “Just... know that if you ever want to talk, I’m all pointy ears.”

You hum in acknowledgement, though you can tell by his undertone that he’s being disingenuous, kindness wasn’t exactly his forte after all, but you appreciated the attempt all the same. But you were just content to sit in his arms for a while, and he seemed pleased enough with the silence. So, for now, you inhale the comforting aroma of bergamot, rosemary and brandy, letting yourself get lost in his comforting presence.

And exhale.

xxx

Hellooooo Baldur's Gate 3 has me in a chokehold and the brainrot is real. I'm only in Act 1 hence why this fic takes place so early in the game but this idea wouldn't leave me alone so here we are. Apologies for any inconsistencies :'3 Let me know what y'all think!

*Edit - since this has been pretty well received, I've opened up requests! Pop me an ask if you would like one :)

#astarion x reader #astarion x mc #astarion x tav #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #my writing #tw panic attack

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simplybakugou · 7 months ago

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Hi hi, wonderful!!! How are you on this fine *insert appropriate time of day here*? Could I maybe request dad Bakugou and how he'd react to his son saying something mean to female reader wife? Like, I know Bakugou is really aggressive with his own mom, but I was thinking maybe it'd be a little different when it comes to the mother of his kids?

⋆ PAIRING: dad!bakugou x fem!reader ⋆ WARNINGS/TAGS: swearing; teeny tiny bit of angst; fluff ⋆ WORD COUNT: 2436

A/N: my first written work on here in almost three years . Forgive me if i’m a little rusty lol. Tysm for requesting and i hope you enjoy :)

For a majority of your life, you thought becoming a pro hero would be the hardest thing you could ever do. From attending the illustrious U.A. High to working through the ranks to be in the top three pro heroes, second to none other than your husband, Bakugou, you never would imagine your life to be more difficult than that.

That is until you became a mother.

Only a year into your marriage, you found out you were pregnant with your son, Katsuo. It was difficult to come to terms with being a mother in the midst of your rising professional career but you knew taking care of your son was always going to be your number one priority, just as it was for Bakugou.

Despite the physical complexities of giving birth and being pregnant, the hardest part came afterwards: raising your extremely temperamental son.

Katsuo, ever since the day he was born, was never one to shy away from vocalizing if anything bothered him or made him upset. To screaming and crying on the top of his lungs as a baby to whining and throwing tantrums as a toddler in public, you felt yourself struggling to parent your son who made it his life’s mission to give you a hard time.

Who did Katsuo not give a hard time to? Bakugou.

Times where Katsuo would throw a tantrum, screaming and kicking his feet as he laid on the floor, all it would take was a “Stop that” from Bakugou to get Katsuo to cease his actions whereas it would take the whole day for him to listen to you. It was a frustrating ordeal but it never made you love your son any less. You knew this was a phase… at least you hoped this would just be a phase.

Just as you thought there was a lull in his behavior after he turned five, you became pregnant and gave birth to your daughter Suki. To say Katsuo was not thrilled was an understatement. He hated the attention that went to Suki instead of him. He hated that his parents had to take care of his baby sister that he didn’t want and he never hesitated to vocalize how much he didn’t want a sister.

“Can we get ice cream, too?” Katsuo asked excitedly, kicking his feet while sitting in the shopping cart that you were pushing. His little index finger pointed at the box of fudge popsicles.

“Will you share with your sister?” You asked, eyeing your son for his reaction.

As expected he was not pleased as he crossed his arms over his chest and huffed. “Fine. Whatever," he muttered curtly.

You smiled, grabbing the box from the freezer and putting it in your cart, knowing full well that his brief reaction would be the closest thing to a compromise that you'll get out of him.

As you were pushing the cart into the checkout line, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You answered your husband’s call, holding your phone in between your shoulder and your ear as you scanned the items in your car. “Everything okay, Katsuki?”

You could hear your now two-year-old daughter wailing in the background, repeating the word “Nana” as a very frustrated Bakugou expressed, “Please tell me you know where Suki’s fucking banana toy is.”

“Her toy should be on the sofa in the living room like it always is.” You adjusted your phone into your hand as you began to pay for your groceries.

“It’s not there and I’m about to lose my fucking mind.”

“Honey, I’m not sure where else it could be. Suki always keeps it there so she doesn’t lose it.”

As you grabbed the receipt from the little printer, you saw Katsuo giggling to himself from the corner of your eye as he was listening to your conversation. “Katsuo, what did you do?”

“Did that little shit fucking hide it?” Bakugou asked angrily through your phone.

“Katsuki, I’m almost done here. I’ll be home soon.” You sighed as Katsuo continued to laugh, his hands covering his mouth as if this were the funniest thing that could’ve happened for him.

“Katsuo, did you hide your sister’s toy?” You asked sternly, pushing the cart towards the exit. Katsuo simply shrugged, ignoring your question.

All you could was sigh as you loaded your car up and drove you and your son home.

You stood in front of the door to your home and before you could knock, it swung open, revealing an exhausted Bakugou holding Suki who was still crying.

“Still no luck?” You asked as Katsuo ran inside, almost knocking you and the bags of groceries in your hands over.

“No,” Bakugou said with an exasperated sigh as he closed the door.

“Nana,” Suki cried softly.

You set the groceries on the dining table before rushing over and taking Suki from Bakugou. “I know, sweetie. We’re going to find Nana for you, okay?”

She rested her head on your shoulder, tiring herself from wailing earlier as she rubbed her eyes. You turned to Bakugou who looked like he needed a nap immediately.

You caressed his face. “My poor babies,” you cooed as you teased him.

He glared at you before taking Suki back in his arms. “You better get Suo to confess where that banana is.”

“Me? Where are you going?” You questioned, watching as Bakugou took Suki upstairs.

“Sleep,” He said plainly. “Exhausted.”

You sighed, going back to the dining table to put the groceries away. “Suo?”

Katsuo stuck his head from under the table, two of his toy cars in hand.

You sighed. “Katsuo, I’ve told you many times not to go under the table.”

He crawled out and stood to his feet. His vermillion eyes, identical to his father’s, watched as you went back and forth from the table to the refrigerator. “Why?”

“Because you could hit your head. And we have rules and you have to listen to them.”

“Does Suki have to listen to them?” He uttered his sister’s name with as much disgust as his seven-year-old body could muster.

“Suki is still a baby. She’s two, Suo, and she can barely speak.”

“Well I used to be your baby, too, before she came,” Katsuo grumbled under his breath, fidgeting with his toys.

You smiled at him, understanding the feeling of being jealous of your sibling getting all the attention. You crouched in front of him and ruffled his ash blonde hair. “You’ll always be my baby.”

Katsuo nudged your hand away, turning away from you. “Whatever. You don’t mean that.”

You stood to your feet. “Katsuo.”

Katsuo spun around quickly, dropping his toys to the ground as he raised an accusatory finger at you. “You always say I’m your baby but it’s not true! You care about that stupid baby more than me!”

He turned around again as he started to sprint and make his way upstairs. You went after him as you exclaimed, “That’s not true, Suo!”

Katsuo turned once more in the middle of the staircase, his brows furrowed and his lips overturned into a frown. “I said I didn’t want a sibling and you still had that stupid girl! You’re the worst Mom ever!”

He continued running upstairs and into his bedroom, slamming the door loudly behind him.

Bakugou, who so desperately needed and wanted to take a nap, stood to his feet immediately following the sound of Katsuo’s door slam shut. Fortunately Suki hadn’t awoken, allowing him to leave and somehow patch this situation up.

Katsuo did this often, yelling at his mother and storming off into his room. However, he never insulted you in the way he did that day, and Bakugou knew you were going to take his words to heart.

Bakugou quietly made his way downstairs, peeking around the corner of the railing to spot where you were. You were sitting at the dining table, your back to him. He immediately noticed your shoulders shaking as you sniffled and wiped your eyes profusely.

“Y/N…” You spun your head at the sound of your husband’s unusually soft voice.

“Katsuki…” You wiped your eyes to get rid of any stray tears, not wanting to worry him. You attempted to muster a small smile, ultimately failing to do so. “What’re you doing awake?”

He sat down in the chair beside you. He stared at you, taking in your features as he raised his thumb and swiped under your eyes to catch your tears. “Don’t cry.”

Your lips quivered and the tears you were attempting to hold back spilled out. “I feel stupid for crying but-but his words hurt, Katsuki.”

Bakugou leaned towards you, his arms maneuvering you onto his lap. He held you close to him as you wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face into the crook of his neck. “You’re not stupid for crying. He said some fucked up shit, and he shouldn’t have.”

He pulled away, brushing your hair away from your face with his hands as he kissed you softly. “You’re not a bad mom, Y/N.”

You let out a humorless laugh, wiping your eyes again. “I know. I just… don’t know how to validate his feelings.”

“Don’t worry.” Bakugou moved you back onto the chair as he stood to his feet. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Katsuki.” You reached for his hand, looking up at him. “Just don’t yell at him, alright?”

“I know. I was seven once, too, y’know?” And like that Bakugou made his way back upstairs, his footsteps echoing through the hall. He made it to Katsuo’s door and knocked.

“Go away!” Katsuo yelled from the other side.

“I don’t care what you want, I’m coming in,” Bakugou stated and opened the door.

He was met with a soft pillow to the face as an enraged Katsuo yelled, “I said go away!”

“Katsuo!” Bakugou exclaimed. Katsuo immediately stiffened, his expression twisting into fear from his father’s tone. Bakugou closed his eyes and sighed, calming himself down before speaking to his son. He didn’t want to go about this the wrong way.

Bakugou picked up the pillow as he sat on Katsuo’s bed beside him, placing the discarded item back onto the bed. “Why did you yell at Mom?”

Katsuo crossed his arms over his chest. “‘Cause she wasn’t being fair.”

“So she deserves to get called a ‘bad mom’ because of that?”

“No…” Katsuo mumbled after pausing for a moment.

Bakugou sighed, lifting Katsuo and repositioning him on the bed so that he was facing him. Katsuo kept his eyes glued down, not wanting to make eye contact with his incredibly intimidating father. “Suo, look at me.”

Katsuo hesitated but nevertheless he looked at his father. “Why did you call Mom a ‘bad mom?’”

Katsuo fidgeted with his thumbs before upsettingly blurting out, “Because she’s always caring about Suki more than she cares about me!”

“And did Mom say she doesn’t care about you?”

“No…”

“Katsuo,” Bakugou paused to make sure his son was looking at him. “Do you know how much your mother loves you?”

Katsuo simply shrugged. Bakugou shook his head slightly, reaching behind in his back pocket to grab his phone. He opened his photo album, one with just you that contained hundreds of photos in fact. He showed a picture where you were very pregnant with Katsuo, your hands cradling your swollen belly as you grinned at Bakugou’s camera.

“Here’s Mom carrying you in her belly before you were born.”

Katsuo’s eyes widened at the sight of your stomach, looking up at his father. “I was in there?!”

Bakugou nodded, this time swiping to a video of you holding a newborn Katsuo, tears streaming down your face as you looked down at your son. Your sobs were audible, looking over at Bakugou who was recording you. “Katsuki!”

Bakugou’s laughter was heard on the other side of the video and Katsuo watched as you looked back at his baby self in the video. “My baby,” you murmured, kissing his cheek and pressing your forehead against his little one.

“I was her baby,” Katsuo whispered astonishingly. “I thought Mom was lying when she said that.”

“Katsuo, you’ll always be our first baby. You’re our first born. But now Suki needs Mom’s attention, too. Did you see how little you were in that video?” Katsuo nodded. “Well, Suki needs Mom’s help to grow big and strong like you. But she’s lucky cause she has a big brother to help her, right?”

“I guess,” Katsuo huffed. “I’ll start being nice to her…”

“Good,” Bakugou patted him on the back. “Now go apologize to Mom. You didn’t mean what you said, right?”

Katsuo shook his head aggressively. He jumped off his bed and stood to his feet. “I’ll go say sorry.”

Before leaving, he crawled under his bed to retrieve something. When he crawled back out, in his hands was Suki’s missing banana toy that Bakugou had been tearing the whole house apart to find. Katsuo handed the toy to his father, threw open the door, and rushed downstairs until he stood in front of the dining table. His chest rose and fell quietly as he caught his breath from moving so fast. You turned around, not expecting his presence so suddenly. “Suo!”

Katsuo frowned at the sight of your slightly puffy eyes, understanding that you had been crying. And it was his fault that you were crying. He looked down at his feet. “I’m sorry, Mom. I shouldn’t have called you a ‘bad mom.’”

You smiled softly, looking at your son lovingly. “It’s okay.”

He shook his head. “It’s not okay. I shouldn’t say things I don’t mean. I just… I was jealous of how you’re always with Suki. But I know that she has to be big and strong like me.”

Your smile widened as you reached out and caressed his cheek. “It’s okay, baby. I forgive you.”

Katsuo perked up. “So am I really still your baby? Even if I’m not little like Suki?”

“Of course.” You pulled him into your embrace, his little arms attempting to wrap around you as he hugged you back. “I already said you’ll always be my baby and I mean it.”

You pulled away, kissing his cheek which caused Katsuo to break out into an even wider smile as he threw his arms around you into another embrace.

You laughed, hugging him once more, holding him onto your lap. You looked up, noticing a smiling Bakugou holding an asleep Suki in his arms. He sent a wink your way as you smiled gratefully at him.

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