#this took me two hours to write holy crap | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

xxsquiddkiddxx · 1 month ago

Text

Heels ~ Viktor x Reader

Pronouns for reader: She/Her

Relationship type: Platonic, romantic feelings, slight enemies to lovers if you unfocus your eyes a bit

General Idea: Viktor used to hate the sound of those damn boots of hers, but now he's grown to find an odd sense of comfort in the noise. Along with... a series of other feelings.

Content Warnings: Fluff, swearing, Viktor being sassy, s1 Viktor, Takes place between S1E3~E4, Viktor's kinda down bad but in a denial way, Viktor also isn't good at realizing he has feelings for the reader, Jayce needs a 32hr nap

A/N: My Viktor headcanons got a LOT more love than I thought they would... so I decided to write some more Viktor XD

(Nobody's POV, but it's mostly told. through Viktor's thoughts)

~☆~

The lab was pretty much silent. The only sounds heard were the sounds of Viktor tinkering with a Hextech device and the occasional flipping of pages as (Y/N) read some notes that Jayce had written. It was late, definetly past midnight as the two worked.

"(Y/N)," Viktor says, breaking the silence. The girl's head pops up at the sound of her name. "Come here for a second? I need a second pair of hands."

"Be right there." She says, finishing the page she was on. She stands up and walks towards him, the sound of her boots hitting the tile as she walks.

Clack

Click

Clack

Viktor used to hate the sound of her boots. "Those damn boots are so annoying," He had complained to Jayce during the first week of (Y/N) working as a part-time assistant. "Click clack click clack, drives me insane!" He had mocked before sighing.

"Viktor... don't both your boots AND your cane make that noise as well?"Jayce had responded, raising an eyebrow with a teasing smile. This made Viktor at a loss for words.

"Well... It's annoying when she does it!" He had sassed back in response, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

That was 3 years ago. Now, he found a weird sense of comfort in hearing the sound of her boots hit the floor. He couldn't explain why, enjoyment of familiarity maybe?

"What's up?" (Y/N) says, standing behind Viktor. The smell of her perfume was almost overwhelming to him, overloading his senses. Which was weird, seeings as it must've been almost 13 hours since she'd last applied perfume. And that doesn't last long... was he delusional? Or maybe just tired? Whatever. It doesn't matter.

"Yeah, I just need you to hold this in place." Viktor says, not even looking up from what he's doing. He gestures to a little piece of metal he's holding. (Y/N) leans over Viktor and holds the piece in place as requested. The scientist trys his best to ignore the feeling of her closeness and the racing of his heart... holy crap was it warm in here? It must've been. Although it seemed strange to him that it was magically warm in here all of a sudden. This spirals him into a memory, a memory that took place a little less than a week prior to now.

Viktor sat at his desk, for once not to work on Hextech, but to run his hands through his hair and stay deep in thought.

"Viktor?" Jayce asked. "Are you OK? You haven't been as focused as you normally are today. Did something happen?"

"I think... I think there's something genuinely wrong with me." Viktor says. "Like... maybe I'm coming down with something?? I don't know." Viktor stands up, leaning on his cane slightly for support.

"Oh?" Jayce asks, raising an eyebrow. "Could you, uh, possibly elaborate on that?"

"Well, for one everytime Ms.(L/N) comes near me I about have a damn heart attack." Viktor says, his cane clacking softly on the floor as he paces. "Like yesterday, perfect example. She accidently brushed my hand when she was passing me a paper and I actually thought I was dying."

Jayce suppresses a smile, trying not to laugh. Was Viktor really getting THIS worked up... over a little crush? "Oh?" Jayce says, still suppressing a smile. "Is that it?"

"Whenever she's near me, I swear to the gods that I become hyperaware of... like... everything." Viktor says. "Like the room feels warmer, her perfume or her shampoo is ALL I can smell, I'm almost convinced I know every single speckle of color in her eyes... I think I might actually be going crazy." Viktor says, stopping his pacing. "I'm positive. I've actually hit the breaking point and am decending into insanity."

Jayce now can't help but laugh. Maybe it was his lack of sleep from working on Hextech for days on end, maybe it was the seriousness in Viktor's voice about his "decent to madness." Jayce's laughter came out as almost wheezes due to how hard he was laughing.

Viktor throws his hands up in exasperatedness. "Jayce!" Viktor scolds. "This ISN'T funny! There's-"

This just makes Jayce laugh more and more. "Yes it is, Viktor." Jayce manages to say through wheezes. He's holding onto the desk for support as he laughs. It gets to the point where passersby become mildly concerned for the scientist's wellbeing. "I assure you you're not decending to madness."

"Then what the hell is going on????" Viktor exclaims, collapsing into his chair.

"Relax you just have a little crush, it's fine." Jayce says, wiping the tears of laughter away as he tries to steady his breathing.

"Viktor?" The sound of his name snaps him out of the memory. "You good? I think I said your name like five times." (Y/N) says with a chuckle. Viktor shakes his head slightly.

"Uh, yeah. I'm fine." Viktor says, continuing what he was doing. He tried to ignore the slight shake in his hands, the side of his own hand pressed against Ms. (L/N)'s own hand. When he's done. He about throws the screwdriver down. "Thank you for your assistance." Viktor says, the weight off his shoulders earning a little sigh of relief.

"Was that all you needed?" (Y/N) asks.

"I'm pretty sure, yeah." Viktor says. (Y/N) hums in response, walking over to her desk. Click, clack, click, clack. Her boots echo in the room. She grabs her coat and walks towards Viktor again.

"I'm gonna head out then." She says. Click, clack, click, clack. The sound of her boots ring in Viktor's head, a haunting sound that he didn't actually mind having on replay in his brain. "You should too soon." She says, her voice kind and soft.

Viktor's stomach feels like it's about to leap out of his body. Even though it was scientifically impossible, he couldn't help but worry about it. "I will soon." He says, the softness in his voice actually shocking him. Normally he'd just lie out his teeth and sleep in the lab, or not sleep at all. However, when he said that he would... he truly meant it. His eyes move away from the project and to (Y/N). "I'm just gonna finish this little bit up."

(Y/N) smiles, it's tired and small, but it's still a smile nonetheless. Seeing her smile along made the corners of his lips feel like they were moving on their own. He suppresses a smile the best he can, but it still shows on his face. "Goodnight, Viktor." She says, her voice still soft. She didn't speak full volume, and that for some reason made Viktor's heart rate skyrocket.

"Goodnight, (Y/N)." He says, the same tone and volume as (Y/N). She turns and walks out of the room. Click, clack, click, clack. He listens to the sound of her shoes until they completely fade out.

"Relax you just have a little crush, it's fine."

Viktor didn't have a crush on (Y/N)... did he?

~☆~

For more fics: my masterlist

Feel free to request fics!!!

~Squeed

#hyperfixation #fanfic #fanfiction #arcane fanfiction #arcane #arcane leauge of legends #arcane lol #viktor #viktor arcane #fluff #tooth rotting fluff #viktor x you #viktor x reader #viktor fanfiction #i love my pretty princess

478 notes · View notes

dee-the-red-witch · 8 months ago

Text

Holy crap. I actually finished writing a story for the first time in AGES.

So, I'm gonna trat you all to the teaser for the draft post. Want the rest? Go hit the post link.

Old Ghosts

I'd felt bad about leaving this one to wait for so long, but to be fair, I hadn't known. You hear enough 'spectral hitchhiker' urban legends that you just tend to throw it off and dismiss it out of hand. Until someone had mentioned where. That was when memories clicked back together like tumblers in a lock and I knew where I had to be going next.

Central Washington. Just a bend of the road in westbound I-90, a bit west of vantage, still east of the pass by a good hour and change. It was the detail of the old power station and the trestle bridge that ran over the freeway that really picked it out in my head.

The problem was, it took timing. you didn't find ghosts by looking for them, you found them by being in the right place at the right time. I knew both, one from motorist stories, and the other from what I vaguely remembered, but it had to be exact. It was the fourth time when I finally got it right. Coming from the east, headed west, all intent on getting to Seattle before 9pm, and then there I was, entering the turns just past the windmills that now churned along the side of the road just past sundown, the sky that deep deep early spring blue that it hits just in between the sun disappearing and full black settling in. Thankfully they still hadn't installed the giant LED streetlamps over this stretch of I-90 yet. I don't know if those coming on would have broken the mood or not, but as I moved onto the shoulder and slowed down in the last turn right at the power station I could feel it. That tight whine in the back of the ear that I'd always associated with high-tension lines and towers, but had, in the last couple years, become an indicator of a few other things as well. I brought the car into the last turn, a left that took the freeway under the old trestle bridge now trail bridge in a few hundred more feetand parked it on the shoulder next to the guard rail, switching on the hazard lights and doing my best to hopefully be far enough off the freeway for anyone who slid a little too far right on the corner.

I stepped out, feeling the March wind rip at my skirt and coat, and was immediately glad I'd grabbed the thermal leggings underneath this time around. At least there wasn't snow. and then I saw it about fifty feet ahead of me- part of the guardrail twitched for a second, like a slightly-out of tune tv station, intact one moment, and a wide open broken gap in the rail the next, then back to unbroken steel on 4x4 supports. Fuck. I'd have to time this. I slowly approached it, keeping a count in my head. solid for thirty seconds, then intermittent flashing, then broken for a clean five seconds, back to intermittent and then solid. on a loop, thankfully so I wouldn't just be guessing, but still it was tight enough that I had reason to worry. try and walk though at the wrong time and I'd just hit the barrier of the rail and probably throw the whole thing off, wreck tonight completely. I watched it loop again, checking against the count in my head. When I got to twenty seconds of solid I closed my eyes and started counting down. Sometimes going in blind helped. Eight seconds. I took two steps forward, edging closer. Five. one more step, lining myself up with the gap I remembered. Three. Deep breath. One. I stepped forward, hard and fast, boots turning the loose roadside gravel ans I walked straight forward, through air that seemed to almost resist me for a moment, and then nearly fell down the steep slope on the other side, eyes opening in startlement as I slid for a few feet before catching myself.

Want more? Go get it here: https://www.patreon.com/posts/old-ghosts-102735746

#writing #fiction

34 notes · View notes

hoffmanxfurthermore · 6 months ago

Text

Deadly Fun

Christian Bale as Patrick Bateman x reader.

Content: stranger sex, hookup, present day, knife play, afab reader, p in v penetration, oral (f receiving), KNIFE PLAY(like seriously don't read if you're sensitive to stuff like this)

Word count: 1.8k

Author's Note: holy crap I write something other than Mark Hoffman what? So this takes place present day, in the age of cell phones and dating apps. This is slightly inspired by a tiktok i saw a while back of what Patrick would be saying if American Psycho took place present day. Also a while back I read a fanfic, can't remember who wrote it, of Patrick getting mad at something and using a knife on his partner. So also slightly inspired by that too. Enjoy! Also peep the Ice Nine Kills reference.

It's a hot Thursday afternoon in June, and you find yourself alone in your apartment, craving something different. Something that would push your boundaries and satisfy your deepest desires. As you scroll through a certain dating app in your phone, you come across the profile of a man named Patrick, a 27-year-old with dark brown hair and a slender build, dressed in a nice business suit. Swiping right on his profile, you're immediately met with "it's a match!"

Never being one to send the first message, you place your phone on your bedside table and crack open a book. Within seconds, your phone buzzes with a new message.

The more you two message each other, the more your interest is piqued. After agreeing to meet at his place, you change your clothes. The lazy sweats and big t shirt come off, replaced with a black cocktail dress, black stockings, and a pair of black pumps. You spend an hour on your hair and makeup, hoping to make the best impression on Patrick.

Texting him that you're on your way, you climb into your Uber that takes you across town to his apartment. Upon arrival, you remove your shoes at his request.

His apartment is spotless, not a spec of dust on any surface, his furniture arranged perfectly, like a model home for selling. If you'd stepped into this place with no one else here, you wouldn't think someone actually lived here.

Patrick leads you to the nice leather couch, pouring you a glass of red wine, which he delicately places on a coaster upon the coffee table. In person, he is even more handsome, making you nervous. His warm brown eyes have your knees weak as you converse with him, just getting to know one another.

Standing up, he makes his way towards the huge stereo system on the other side of his living room. It's old fashioned, you hadn't seen one like that since the one your father had when you were just a kid.

"Do you like Ice Nine Kills?" He asks, holding up a disc as he switches the stereo on.

"Not really," you admit. You never really got onto the whole metal scene. All the screaming just made no sense to you. You're more of a softer, easy listening type of girl.

"Their early work was a little bit too scene for me, but when The Silver Scream came out, I think they really came into their own. Commercially and artistically. The whole album has a refined, melodic sensibility that really makes it a cut above the rest."

Clicking a few buttons on a remote control as he sits back next to you, he smiles at you as a song begins playing. Not your thing, but you listen attentively, giving it another chance. It's a track you haven't heard before.

"Is this about that movie, Saw?" You ask as the song is about half over.

"The Jig Is Up," he smiles at you, "my favourite song on the album."

His charming smile and intense gaze send shivers down your spine. You two sit on the couch, chatting and flirting, and the tension between you builds with every passing minute. As the wine flowed, so too did your inhibitions. Your heart races as you lean in closer, your breath warm on Patrick's neck.

"I've been wanting this all night," you whisper, your lips brushing against his ear. "Take me, now."

Patrick seems taken aback by your sudden advance, but nonetheless, he smiles.

With a growl, Patrick pulls you onto his lap, crushing your mouths together in a passionate kiss. Within seconds, your dress is unzipped and pulled off of your body, leaving you in only a pair of black lace panties and matching thigh-high stockings. His hands roam over your body, squeezing your breasts and pulling at your nipples roughly. You moan and arch your back to offer yourself to him. Your hands fumble with his belt, desperate to free his throbbing cock from the confines of his trousers.

In one swift motion, Patrick stands up, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. He carries you to the bedroom, kicking the door closed behind him. The wine is left forgotten as you fall onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and hungry mouths. Patrick's hands wander, exploring every inch of your body. He cups your ass, squeezes your thighs, and traces the outlines of your pussy through your soaked panties. You undo his tie, throwing it to the ground as you frantically start undoing the buttons of his shirt.

"Watch it," he snaps, jumping off the bed, "it's a Dunhill. Very expensive." Scooping the tie off the floor, he folds it neatly before placing it onto the dark wooden dresser that rests along the wall. You watch as he slowly undresses, till he's wearing nothing but his skin. Your eyes scan his body, slim and toned, as you lick your lips and stare at him with your "fuck me" eyes.

Climbing on top of you, his lips make contact with your neck, causing a small whimper to escape your lips. Taking that as encouragement, his teeth nibble at the sensitive skin of your collarbone.

"Fuck..." You gasp.

Writhing beneath him, you feel desperate for release. With a wicked glint in his eye, Patrick reaches into the drawer of the bedside table, pulling out a knife. Your eyes widen at the sight, your breath quickening as a mix of fear and excitement courses through your veins.

"Trust me..." he whispers.

Patrick runs the sharp edge gently down your bare chest, following the curve of your breasts before sliding it lower, teasing your taut stomach.

"You have no idea how much I've thought about this," he whispers hoarsely, his breath hot on your skin. "Seeing that look in your eyes as I play with my knife, it drives me wild."

Whimpering, your body trembles as Patrick lightly drags the flat of the blade over your sensitive nipples, teasing them to hard peaks. The cold steel contrasts with the warmth of your flesh, sending shivers of anticipation down your spine. You squirm, desperate for more. Patrick obliges, dragging the knife slowly down your body, over your belly, the tip dipping beneath the waistband of your panties.

With slow, deliberate movements, Patrick slides the knife under the elastic, slicing through the fabric with ease. The sharp tip of the knife grazes just above your clit, causing you to gasp. You lift your hips, helping him remove the shredded remnants of your underwear. The stockings stay on your legs, and Patrick takes a moment to admire the view.

Leaning down, he places a soft kiss on your inner thigh, his warm breath caressing your sensitive skin. Moaning, your hips buck involuntarily as you crave his touch. Patrick smiles against your skin, the knife still in his hand, as he drags the tip lightly down your slit, spreading your wetness.

"Such a delicious sight," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Your pussy is so wet and ready for me, baby."

With that, he plunges his tongue into you, licking and sucking at your swollen clit while a single finger enters your dripping cunt. Crying out, your hands tangle in his hair as you pull him closer. The combination of his skilled tongue and the danger of the knife heighten your senses, taking your pleasure to new heights.

As your impending orgasm builds, Patrick adds a second finger, stretching you, filling you.

"You're so tight.. fuck..." he grunts between licks.

He pumps his fingers in and out, scissoring them to touch every sensitive spot. You arch your back off the bed as you moan, pleading for more.

"Please, don't stop," you beg, your voice hoarse with need, "I'm so close, Patrick, you're gonna make me cum... please make me cum..."

Obeying your demand, Patrick increases the pace, adding a third finger to stretch your pussy further. He curls his fingers, searching for that magic spot, and when he finds it, you scream. Your body shakes uncontrollably as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you, your orgasm more intense than anything you have ever felt before.

But Patrick isn't done yet. As you ride out the waves of your orgasm, he positions himself between your legs, ready to claim you with his cock. With one smooth thrust, he penetrates you, filling you completely. You gasp as your eyes roll back in your head, feeling his length buried deep within you.

Patrick begins to move, slowly at first, pulling out until just the tip remains inside before slamming back into you. Raising your hips, you meet his thrusts with your own, your nails digging into his back as you whine for more. The sound of your flesh slapping together fills the room, along with the grunts and moans of pleasure.

Reaching down, Patrick picks up the knife, pressing it gently against your throat as he fucks you hard. The cold steel contrasts with the heat of your joined bodies, providing a deliciously dangerous sensation. Staring at his face with wide eyes, your breath hitches in your throat.

"That's it, baby," Patrick growls, "Take it all. My cock... and my knife.... they're yours."

The passion escalates as Patrick quickens his pace, thrusting harder and faster. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper still. You can't get enough, you want more.

"Cum for me," you cry out desperately, "Fill me with your hot load."

Your words send Patrick over the edge. With a roar, he releases, jetting his warm cum deep inside you. Feeling his cock pulse as he cums triggers another orgasm deep within your core. Your bodies shudder together as you ride out the intense release. The knife, resting beside you, now forgotten as your passion consumes both of you entirely.

Collapsing onto your heaving chest, Patrick gasps for breath, his spent cock still buried inside you. Running your fingers through his hair, matted with sweat, your body glows with satisfaction.

"That was..." you begin, struggling to find the words.

"Incredible," Patrick finishes your sentence, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.

"I knew you'd be intense," you giggle, "but this..." You gesture towards the knife on the bed. "I didn't think I'd be into that."

A smile plays on your lips as you trace the contours of Patrick's strong back.

"There's more where that came from," Patrick promises, his tone laced with lust, "Much more."

And as you lie there, sated and spent, the night was still young, full of endless possibilities and untamed pleasures yet to be explored.

Patrick quickly rises and begins dressing.

"You need to go, I gotta go do something." He looks determined. Like he's about to be late for something.

"What is it?" You ask, confused at his sudden change of tone.

"I have to return some videotapes."

#american psycho #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x reader #slasher x reader #smut #fanfic #fanfiction #Spotify

41 notes · View notes

leahnardo-da-veggie · 5 months ago

Text

Writer Questionnaire

Double tagged by @the-letterbox-archives! It's all under the cut cos this is looong.

Part 1

q1) is writing a hobby or way of life?

Creativity and imagination is a way of life. Writing's just my chosen method of expressing it.

q2) a journal full of writing notes or a clean, completed manuscript?

Completed manuscript haha. I'm not Tolkien, nobody's gonna wanna read my version of the Silmarillon.

q3) who (or what) is your writing inspiration?

Err- Real life, I guess? My dreams, too. I take what I see and make it into a story.

q4) which is worse: someone you “idolise” reading your first draft or listening to you sing?

My first drafts tend to be really neat, so singing. My singing's atrocious.

q5) has writing from someone else’s pov ever changed your own perspective?

Not for writing, but debating? Yeah, sometimes getting put on opp for a case where I'd rather be gov makes me see a whole new world.

q6) tumblr, ao3, livejournal, or ffn?

Tumblr. I like the community here :)

q7) ao3 wordcount, and are you satisfied with it?

Err- My AO3 contains things I would rather not share with this mostly family-friendly blog, but my wordcount's about 30k there. In total, though? 250k words or so.

q8) what movie/book/fic gripped you irrevocably?

Lolita, definitely. I read it as a 13 year old, then as a 15 year old, and as a 17 year old, and it still breaks my heart every time.

q9) what’s the highest compliment you could ever be given, and have you been given it?

The highest compliment would be for someone to say I made them cry/rage/laugh from my writing, and I'm pleased to say I once managed to send a friend into a fit of fury from my writing (it was Heroes that did it, mind you. She really hated Mara.)

q10) what defines your writing style?

I experiment a lot with styles, but I'd say I have 2 main ones. The more high-fantasy descriptive style, and something lighter and more fast-paced.

Part 2:

how long have you had your writing tumblr/writeblr? a fast and loose estimate is fine!

7months or so!

what led you to create it?

I wrote something I was insanely proud of, and felt the need to show it to the world.

what’s your favourite thing about the writeblr community?

The mutual interaction! So fun to watch my brain rot over someone else's OCs, and vice versa.

what’s one thing you’d like your mutuals to know about you?

I'm a nice person, I swear. If I've ever accidentally upset any of you, just tell me! I'll try my best to rectify whatever I did.

is there anything you’d like to see more of on your dash?

Not more, but I'd like to see less politics. My life's stressful enough without that stuff

which wips or writing projects are you noodling about, lately?

I'm still dying from The Fae Prince, because holy crap that came out of nowhere and took my brain by storm.

how long have you been working on them?

I never work on projects for long, sadly. I just don't have the attention span for them! My oldest active project right now is Mind of a Mercenary, and it's 7 months old (I started it on New Year's Eve last year)

do you remember what inspired them/what got you started?

Yeah. Luna's been a fav of mine since I was a 14 year old, and I always wanted to tell her story. I felt I hadn't done it justice the previous two times I wrote it, so I tried again!

how much time, in your best estimation, do you spend thinking about them?

I only actually think about writing when I'm actively writing, haha. So about 2 hours a day?

when someone asks the dreaded, “what do you write about,” question, what do you usually say?

Horror and fantasy! It's pretty easy cos I'm a stickler for those genres.

name any characters you created. side characters, protagonists, antagonists, characters who’ve never been written, the first original abomination you ever pulled from your ass; whomever you’d like!

Hmm... In order of species, Ina Angelborn, Kimael Angelborn, Isobel Angelborn, Hash Brown, Hans-el Ko-clan, Miphala Sa-clan, Cefalin Sa-clan, Katherine Tan (yes Kat's Chinese, get with the program), Michael Woods, Iraela Foundling, Ramaeria Foundling, Maizen Carver, Sonder Woods (no relation), Mara Ng, David I-forgot-his-last-name.

who’s the most unhinged?

Iraela would like to be first place, and Mara would like to think she's last, but I'm afraid first and last gotta go to Ina and David respectively.

who comes the most naturally for you to write?

Naturally, Hans-el, as long as I don't take too close a look at what I'm typing. Otherwise, Luna. Her inner monologue sounds an awful lot like mine.

do you ever cringe at them?

All the time.

how much control do you feel you have over your characters? do they ever “write themselves,” refuse to cooperate, or do things you didn’t expect? to what degree? are some less cooperative than others?

That depends. The more I write about a character, the more they refuse to follow instructions. That's what makes Ina so damn hard to write. Woman's lived in my head for a good 15 or so years, now.

what makes you want to follow another writeblr account? do you follow ‘em as you see ‘em, or take time scoping out the blog to make sure you align with its content? do you follow based on wips, or vibes?

I follow them as I see 'em!

what makes you decide against following?

Too much politics. I cannot express how much I hate to see politics on my dash. I have real life for that stuff. Also too much religion/ideology. The only things I tolerate on my dash are fandom, cats, and writblr stuff.

do you interact with non-mutuals often?

Occasionally? I mean, I do try to reach out to whoever I see in the community, even if I haven't followed them yet.

do your mutuals’ characters occupy space in your noodle?

My noodle is currently occupied by JavaScript, so no. But soon, I will have time to go binge everyone's writing again, and I will find my next obsession amongst my moots' writing!

Tagging @cowboybrunch, @theink-stainedfolk, @urnumber1star, @mundanemoongirl, and @gioiaalbanoart (open tag too!) Feel free to choose between part 1 or part 2, or even do the whole thing!

#writing #Tag games

6 notes · View notes

bots-and-cons · 2 years ago

Text

Hi, I'm sick

This is just me venting a bit, but I'll put the important stuff here so you don't have to read the whole thing if you don't feel like it. I'm sick, pretty tired and don't have much motivation for anything, so Idk if I'm gonna post much this week.

I've been sick for like 4 days now and I'm so annoyed, because I don't have the motivation to do anything. I want to write and do school work, but I'm feeling like crap so I haven't done anything for a couple of days now. Or at least I haven't done things I want to do. I've been doing laundry, washing the dishes and making food. When I made the big pot of soup on Sunday, it took me probably a couple of hours because I was in a lot of pain. Idk why though, like sure you can get some joint pain when you have the flu but holy shit I was having a hard time moving the whole day. Peeling potatoes and carrots and stuff was a really bad time.

I really hope I'll get better by the weekend, because I need to go to the school next Monday and Tuesday. I have to be there, because we have group presentations and I already missed the last two school days because of the train worker strike. I only have school 4 days a month, and the rest I have to do on my own. We get assignments and stuff for between the lectures, and a ton of reading that we have to do. I've enjoyed it so far and it's really nice to be doing something again.

When I heard that I wouldn't be able to go to the school when the train worker's strike was happening, I didn't take it very well to say the least. I don't deal well with change, I had a panic attack and cried for over an hour, because I absolutely hate it when my plans change suddenly. My mom was suggesting alternative ways to get to the school, but I couldn't handle it at the time, so I just went to sleep. I was semi-okay the next day and I attended the lectures online since it was an option for two of the four lectures. Then of course I got a call from the social worker I've been in contact with about some additional benefits. She told me that I should go on a sick-pay of sorts and slow down my studies. The thing is, if I wanted to go on that particular sick-pay I'd only be allowed to get 12 credits in the time I need 33, so I really can't do that. I couldn't explain that to her on the phone because I was so stressed already, I just started crying and she just kept telling me to slow down my studies.

I thinks it's pretty fucking stupid to tell me that, since I'm doing well enough so I can study more. Plus, I need the 33 credits since I want to get into the degree program for the fall. It just pissed me off and added to an already stressful situation.

I would not deal with social services if I didn't have to. I'm just not in good enough place that I'd be able to work and study at the same time so I have to live on benefits for now. I hate it, but I also know my limits and I know it wouldn't end well for me if I started working too.

I've had a pretty stressful couple of weeks and now I'm sick, so the stress if probably catching up with me. Thanks if you read this, and I wish you a good rest of the week, and remember to drink water :D

#ony speaks

13 notes · View notes

herofics · 2 years ago

Text

Hi, I'm sick

#ony speaks

4 notes · View notes

mstopportunity · 7 months ago

Photo

Adding the full text under a readmore for screen readers.

A Twitter thread has gotten some attention recently, where my former-coworker / current-best friend, Marty, recounted the day he realized just how bad, and insidious, workplace sexism could be.

After noticing that a client was treating him like crap while his email signature was accidentally set to my name, we came up with an experiment. We switched signatures for a week. Nothing changed, except that our clients read me as male and Marty as female. I had one of the easiest weeks of my professional life. He… didn’t.

But I knew long before this experiment that my life at this company was always going to be harder. I knew this on my second day.

Our boss was my age. A wealthy and privileged entrepreneur, he lived his life by the Holy Bible of Tim Ferriss’ 4 Hour Workweek. Our job was to professionally edit and rewrite customers’ resumes. Marty was still living across the country on my first day of work, with plans to move locally and work from our “office” (my bosses’ apartment) in a few weeks. I asked my boss what Marty was like. He told me, “Oh, he’s a good writer, but he tends to get over emotional about things and let that get in the way of his writing. He’s kind of a girl like that.”

I stared at him, not quite believing what he had said. To me. The only girl he had ever hired. He knew immediately that he had fucked up. He stuttered, tried to backtrack, un-backtracked, ultimately apologized and acknowledged that it was a wrong thing to say. But that didn’t matter. Message received. I put up my walls, and buckled in to try to survive at this job. This wasn’t my first time at this rodeo.

When I did meet Marty, we clicked. We bonded over being awestruck at the casual and not-so-casual moments of sexism my boss would treat me to over the few years that I worked there. Even his compliments were… fun. After a few weeks, I survived the rigorous training process and another male coworker, hired at the same time, did not. My boss complimented me and himself, saying that “I wasn’t going to consider hiring any females, but I’m glad I did. You should be proud, I had thousands of applications but yours stuck out to me, and made me decide to give hiring a girl a try.” Interesting. “Why weren’t you considering hiring any women?”

“Oh, you know. We’ve always had fun here, and I didn’t want the atmosphere to change.”

I would like the record to show that I have the filthiest mouth in the tri-state area, and one of my pasttimes has always been trying to come up with jokes off-color enough that I can actually embarrass Marty. I would also like the record to show that I developed a trucker’s mouth and bawdy sense of humor precisely because I’ve always had to act “like a man” to be found funny and be accepted in male spaces.

I kept working there and taking his money, despite the bullshit I lived with on the daily. When Marty and my boss would talk over me, I’d just get louder. When they drifted off and stopped paying attention while I was talking, I’d rewrite it in an email and force my words in front of their eyes. When my boss Pinkwashed my writing to make it sound more “feminine”, I snuck in and changed it back. And one day, I lit into Marty, telling him that he had a bad habit of talking over me and ignoring me. To his credit, and probably the reason that we are still friends, is that he listened. He took it to heart. He started using his voice to bring attention to me in meetings. I’ve seen him do the same for other women in mixed settings since. I’m grateful for that.

But I never really felt anything like despair, until our experiment ended after a week, and we decided to go to our boss so that we could tell him exactly what it was like writing while female.

He didn’t believe us. He actually said “There are a thousand reasons why the clients could have reacted differently that way. It could be the work, the performance… you have no way of knowing.” For the first time in two years, I *almost* lost my cool. I wanted to grab him by the arms and shake him, scream in his face until he heard me, stress cry and scream at the sky until the world made sense. But I did not cry. That would be breaking The Rules that had kept me alive in this company for this long.

But I will always wonder. What did my boss have to gain by refusing to believe that sexism exists? Even when the evidence is screaming at him, even when his employee who makes him an awful lot of money is telling him, even when THE BOY on staff is telling him??

I never did figure it out. Instead, I quit and started my own business writing blog posts and web copy as a freelancer. In an office of one, I can finally put my walls down.

315K notes · View notes

daystar-daydreamer · 2 years ago

Text

The Destruction of Pompeii, AD 79 by Lauren Tarshis

Category: Early chapter book

Genre: Historical action-adventure

Rating: 🌟🌟🌟🌟🌑 4/5 stars

Recommended for: 6-9

The beast beneath the mountain is restless... No one in the bustling city of Pompeii worries when the ground trembles beneath their feet. The beast under the mountain Vesuvius, high above the city, wakes up angry sometimes -- and always goes back to sleep. But Marcus is afraid. He knows something is terribly wrong -- and his father, who trusts science more than mythical beasts, agrees. When Vesuvius explodes into a cloud of fiery ash and rocks fall from the sky like rain, will they have time to escape -- and survive the epic destruction of Pompeii?

SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT

This book is waaay below my usual reading level, but it was a “gift” of sorts. I’m at a library right now. A little girl snuck up behind me as I outlined a series about Ignatius (Before he became a Fragokinetic) going up against various Greco-Roman monsters, and announced her presence by plopping this down on my keyboard. I finished this in half an hour, and figured I could write a review just as quickly.

Firstly, I really, really like Marcus and his father. It only took the author less than a hundred pages to establish that they’re just plain good, right to the core. Have you ever heard of a trope called What You Are in the Dark? It’s when a character has the chance to do something selfish or to neglect doing the right thing, and if they do, no one will ever know. These two chose to do the right thing every single time. Not only did they do the right thing, they did it even though even though going back to Pompeii was possibly the most dangerous thing they could’ve done short of hiking up to the top of the mountain and jumping into a sulfur pit!

Furthermore, Marcus is brave, loyal, and just so sweet! He’s nice to animals (Except when he chucked that snake, but it was for a good cause), he helps an old lady up even after she yells at him, and he gives her an apple. That doesn’t sound like a big deal, but here’s an excerpt from the book:

But just the thought of the juicy apple made his stomach flip with joy. Festus fed his slaves nothing but watery gruel and old cheese.

He’s also quite bitter about the hand he’s been dealt, which is more than understandable. In fact, I think it makes him a better character than if he’d been all sunshine and rainbows: He’s unhappy, but he’s still sweet and helpful, and I always appreciate that sort of thing. Characters who manage to be nice even when it seems they’ve hit rock bottom are underrated.

The prose is lackluster compared to the sort of books I’m used to, but that’s probably because it’s for younger readers. Admittedly, I skimmed a lot, especially the backstory and exposition bits. I always skim those, but in a book this short, it’s a lot more noteworthy than it is in 300+ page novels like Song of the Abyss and A Pocketful of Murder (The two biggest offenders when it comes to infodumps... At least according to my notoriously unreliable memory).

Another more major complaint is that I really wish we could’ve gotten more from Marcus and his father. They get like, what, two hugs throughout the entire book? That’s just not enough! And the scene in the temple was also a missed opportunity. Marcus’s father could’ve urged him to save himself, and Marcus, in turn, refuses to leave without him. We do get a little bit of that, but the exchange as long as it is satisfying to read: Not at all. The conversation should’ve gone on longer, and maybe ended off with an emotional sucker-punch.

All in all, though, I enjoyed his a lot more than I thought I would, and it was mostly thanks to Marcus and his father.

... *proofreads review before I post* Well, I think, from now on, I’m gonna start taking notes on the books that take more than an hour to read, and maybe that’ll have me putting out more reviews like this. Holy crap this is long!

Now I’m gonna go track down the kid who gave me the book; she’ll probably want it back.

#(I read Wimpy Kid several years ago)#(The phrase 'old cheese' or anything along those lines still makes every hair on my body stand up)#middle grade #middle grade books #kidlit #chapter books #I survived series #I survived #bookblr #book blog #book review #four stars

0 notes

emmet-appreciation · 3 years ago

Text

Mun donut just wanted an excuse to ramble about Emmet’s dialogue. And also I guess tips for those who might have a hard time writing Emmet

I’ve been musing Emmet for upwards of two years now, and while I am certainly far from the best portrayal of him (seriously, some of you guys are so cool), I think it’d be beneficial to at least have one post analyzing his speech patterns on here.

If anyone is interested in seeing me list references and overanalyze Emmet’s speech patterns, I’ll have it all under the cut :)

// I’m making too many edits to this so I’ll just list the changes at the end of the post Last edit: 19.07.2022

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

To preface, Emmet is very clearly autistic. Please keep that in mind while portraying him and make sure you aren’t falling into ableist stereotypes. There are many wonderful autistic (as well as other wonderfully neurodivergent) people in this community, so I’d suggest looking to them for advice or guidance (though, you should make sure they are alright with sharing, of course! Please do not nag people who do not want to talk.)

I also highly suggest reading this post outlining some of the ableist characterizations in the submas community and why they are harmful. Please try to commit its messages to memory, they are CRUCIAL!! For those of you hesitant to read such a long post, I’ll also include a shorter list of the posts’ relevant points here as well:

Emmet’s “simple” speech and smiley demeanor have made infantilizing characterizations an easy pitfall for some to fall through. Autistic and neurodivergent people have been infantilized as a form of ableism, so please ensure you steer clear of that!

Seeing Emmet express strong negative emotions in an unhealthy way can be a harmful or insensitive characterization if taken to an unrealistic or extreme point.

Before proceeding with writing, ask yourself why you’ve decided to portray Emmet in a certain way, and if that “reason” perpetrates narratives that may be harmful to neurodivergent (as well as mentally ill) communities.

Now, with that out of the way, I’ll actually start this ramble haha.

Let’s Talk References!

There are quite a few places that you can turn to for references, but my go-to source is Bulbapedia! It’s one of the most reliable sources we have in the Pokemon community, too, so if you want canonical lore about anything, you can go here as well! If you have not consulted Emmet’s quote page, bookmarked it, or left it sitting on your browser window for the rest of eternity then I suggest you take a minute to do at least one of those :>.

There are also multitudes of resources for you to stream official content online, which has been compiled in this neat little masterpost. It includes links to find things from Pokemon BW and BW2, Pokemon Masters, the Pokemon Anime, and Pokemon Special. I highly suggest scrolling all the way down to the reblog portion- @/mala-sadas linked an awesome website that host Pokemon Special Scans- not to mention a whole bunch of spinoff mangas. There shouldn’t be any ads either :>

Any sort of canonical information would be ideal to use as reference, though I personally would advise against using the anime. It’s entertaining to watch, but there is much more nuance to be found in his other portrayals.

Unfortunately I haven’t read that much fanfiction lately, but heart hungry like a fire (cw cursing, only a sprinkle of angst) definitely has my favourite interpretation of Emmet :). Other than that, try reading fanfiction where the submas are portrayed similarly to how you’d like to portray them!

Keeping his autism in mind also, I’d also like to direct you to @/1863-project’s posts on Emmet (if you have not heard of her, please visit her blog! She’s a very nice and funny person and is always happy to inform people about submas, trains, and autism :>). She’s made many a post about autistic submas and the important ones are linked on her pinned post, but I’ll link some of helpful ones down here as well:

Emmet from Pokemon Gen V is Autistic, Fight Me - This highlights the specific Autistic traits that Emmet exhibits (Scripting, Stiff Dialogue, etc) and gives possible reasoning as well. Cool, huh?

A Verrrry Short Look At A Verbal Tic - crying why is the title so good for this one?? But yeah it’s just a brief overview of Emmet’s “verrrrrrrry” verbal tic

A Few Lists of Train Terminologies - Many people seem to struggle with Ingo and Emmet’s train lingo so I think it’s worthy to add here as well. (The last two links are probably more relevant for the purposes of this post, though)

Man, I totally forgot to link a particularly fun ramble made by my friend @/kotekie!! I’ve talked about it here before but it deserves a spot on this post:

Ingo, Emmet, Dialogue, and Truth and Ideals - A ramble about how Ingo and Emmet’s dialogue actually ties into the Truth/Ideal theme that BW/2 has going on. Reading this can give you a certain mindset to frame their dialogue in, so I highly recommend checking it out!

Analysis Time!

Arceus, you thought I would’ve already gotten here by now, right? This is just me rambling about things I’ve noticed specifically about Emmet’s dialogue and what I try to apply when I go in-character with him.

Let’s start with his dialogue after he beats you on the Super Multi train:

First of all: AW,, HE IS SO ENDEARING I AM GOING TO CRY-

Second! This is a clear example of one of the trademark aspects of his speech: short and choppy sentences. His ideas tend to spread out among multiple different sentences. For example, the “I won against you. But this is not the end.” bit could be combined to form a single sentence, but Emmet tends to stop his sentences after one idea / clause (making them very short). Thanks to this, his speech is extremely direct. What he says, he means. There is verrrrry little extraneous details added. In short: keep his dialogue short, and to the point.

It’s a very striking quality that very few Pokemon characters have, and it’s most definitely the reason why I latched onto his character over three years ago.

He also will occasionally emphasize a certain point with a shorter sentence (sometimes with a repeated word) afterward, such as here:

and here:

also here:

and also his semi-rare use of “yup/yep!”:

But wait! There’s more :>

We see that he has two main scripts in the games- one for himself:

and one for Subway procedure:

Looking through the things he says throughout the games, it seems he uses the first one to introduce himself (naturally), though it’s not unusual for him to start his sentences with “I am Emmet.” This has made way for some portrayals to make him refer to himself in the third person, which I think is pretty neat (though he hasn’t really done that in canon).

The subway procedure script replaces the self script when he is battling someone he’s already battled before, like we can see in his pre Super Multi-Train battle dialogue:

At this point, he’s already infodumped about himself so he goes to the next best thing: subway procedure :)! He also tends to use this script when he’s with Ingo, as Ingo mainly does the introduction for the two of them and gives Emmet the space to chime in when he needs to.

I’ve also noticed that during moments of strong emotion he does tend to drop the choppy sentences thing and use more commas, as we see in his dialogue after being beaten in the Super Multi-Train:

Three commas! Three! This is also the longest sentence he has in the BW/2 games (and is probably comparable to the length of his sentences in Pokemon Masters- where his dialogue is notably more relaxed). I think this is meant to convey how fast he’s speaking, as he's too excited pause in-between sentences as he normally does.

Since I’ve also went through the hassle of linking individual manga chapters, I’d also like to analyze some of their appearances in the manga as well! (Note that I’m not using an official translation, so the specifics wording you see here may vary from other translations that exist on the internet!)

Here, when they introduce themselves, Emmet doesn’t use “I’m” or “I am” before he says his name, which could possibly a nod towards his tendency to speak in shorter sentences? Hm.

Once they start watching White test out the Battle Subway, we can see Emmet getting rather impatient and excited to see her get better at battling- interrupting Ingo and also bluntly stating his opinion on her skills. Though, this iteration of Emmet is a lot more mischievous than other canonical media (which makes sense- the manga did make a lot of characters sassier, haha).

We can also see that his usual “choppy” speech pattern has been downplayed in the manga, though Emmet’s blunt and excitable personality shines through brightly!

I’m only putting this here because this is peak sibling dynamic. Specifically using Ingo’s words to tease him is absolutely HILARIOUS to me, and one of the reasons why manga Emmet is my favourite Emmet.

Is that it? Yeah I think that’s it. Feel free to chime in with your own opinions and thoughts and criticisms if you’d like!

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

Edit History:

- Clearly, I wrote this while being kinda tired. I fixed up some of the weird wording haha - Added a new reference from @/1863-project, it was made after the post was created and it’s very useful I promise!! - The links to the manga stopped working so I updated it with a new streaming site, hopefully with actually working links now. Also added a ramble from my good friend @/kotekie because I think it shows the functionality of Emmet’s speech in contextualization to BW/2’s themes as well as contrasting it to Ingo’s. - Added in the “Please Be Careful About How You Portray The Submas” post in the beginning. It seemed kind of odd to say “don’t be ableist” without giving some concrete ways to help avoid that. - Changed my sad links to the manga on a site with nsfw ads to just one- the Submas Official Masterlist post :), including the addition from @/mala-sadas because I just adore jb2448.info.

387 notes · View notes

enden-agolor · 3 months ago

Text

Okay. So uhh firstly

trigger warning for talk about animal death and physical injury

I would first like to clarify this is not me fishing for sympathy or attention. I also don't want it to come off as me venting. I am simply explaining what the past few months have looked like. I'm sorry to anyone who may get uncomfortable reading this. I've been hesitant to post an update because I don't want to distrupt the art flow, and because idk if I should even talk about it. But people asked so...

ANYWAYS, for those who do not know, back in April our pomeranian Shiro was mauled to death by our neighbors pitbull. It also bit Andy's thumb off when he was trying to save him.

Since it was asked a few times, yes Andy's thumb has recovered really well! His surgeons did a really fantastic job and there's like no visible scarring from where they reattached it. Holy crap though having to wait at the hospital for nearly 30 hours to get done was insane. Longest 30 hours of our lives. I think he got out of his cast finally sometime in June? So his thumb has been working for a while now. Obviously since he's writing and gaming again. Two major surgeries in one year this guy is a champion.

Okay here's bad stuff and then I'll get to more good afterwards.

As for the more legal update about getting justice. I don't have any good news at all. The justice system in the US is awful. The neighbors who did this are the most disgusting people I have ever known in my entire life. And that is really saying something.

They did get evicted though, but it was kind of an 'at what cost' sort of deal because I had to be verbally threatened in person by the dad of the young girl who caused this before things really took a turn against them. I am not joking when I say these people do not feel any empathy or guilt at all. We couldn't even get an apology. The things he called me and said to me were absolutely insane. Insane enough for Andy and I to reach out to the court system to try and get a restraining order which did not happen because again, the justice system here is terrible. You have to provide a LOT to get a restraining order apparently. Sounds ridiculous, I know. Anyways, that was back in May.

This is a reminder to never trust your dog around ANY dog you don't know. And it's also a reminder that truly evil people exist in our world, and you never know who they are. I never want to be the reason someone has a bad day, and those people probably make everyone they come into contact with have a bad day. A local resident told Andy he knew the man who threatened me and said he's just a horrible person all around and most people have a problem with him. Being an awful person must run in the family, clearly.

AAAAANYWAYS... On a positive note:

The FDAU has been such a good distraction from this nightmare. There is not a single day that goes by where we do not think about this, so having this AU to focus on outside of it has really helped with the healing process. It's why it means a lot to us that so many of you actually gave it a chance and are currently enjoying the fic. Also all the art is wonderful, and always makes our days a bit brighter.

As of now, Andy and I are doing okay. We really are. We've been doing a lot more traveling and stuff. Lots of walks at the places we used to take him, as well as going to completely new places.

Here are some pictures 😁

So yes, we are okay. Thanks a ton for reaching out to those of you who did. It means a lot. Anyways I'm gonna stop talking about this and go back to minecrap story mode posting 🤪

Okay so.

NOT a fun post but to the people who have been asking about y'know. That incident back in April. And wondering how Andy and I are doing? I'll make a post about that later today. I really appreciate that some of you actually remembered and care enough to reach out. And to those who were apologetic, unsure if asking was appropriate, it is. I just haven't been sure how to respond for a while. But I'll be making an update later about it and will just reblog it from this post. I just wanted to post this as kind of a warning for the next post I make which will not be pleasant.

#okay this will be the last time i post about this #i feel bad making such a negative post but 🙈#it is what it is #tw animal death #tw injury

78 notes · View notes

raainy-daze · 2 years ago

Note

Yo yo, guess who?

Leo x male!reader: reader had an idea and asks Mikey to draw/paint a red-eared slider shell pattern on his back and surprises Leo with it! Bonus if he has Mikey add red eye stripes, and double bonus if happy churring and cuddles ensue. Dunno if turtles have clingy instincts, but maybe Leo could take a deep dive in these hypothetical instincts and just incoherently latch on to Y/N for a couple of hours and make happy noises.

(*one of the brothers approaches*

Leo: *hiss*)

~🌺👸

Painted Shells

rottmnt leo x male!reader

summary: you think it’d be funny/cute to imitate your boyfriend, so you ask mikey to assist with your newest idea.

word count: 462

warnings for minor swearing

a/n: i’ve been forcing myself through a minor writer’s block these last few weeks, and i apparently just couldn’t figure out how to write this as a oneshot or anything, so it ended up being in this form, i hope that’s okay!

i’m finally back on requests you guys - i’m going to clear out my inbox before opening them again, but yay! sorry i was consumed by seasonal stuff. halloween’s soul itself possesses me every year ANYWAYS ENJOY

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

when you had the idea, you had gone to mikey immediately. he agreed, of course, and preparation began.

preparation consisted of two steps

step one: acquire paint actually safe for your skin

that wasn’t too hard. most craft stores sold body paint, it was just a quick errand.

step two: distract leo

also simple enough. you just had to send him out for pizza - he always took unreasonably long on tasks like that. he always got into some sort of trouble every time he even stepped outside.

all the guys did, actually - but that’s besides the point

so, you set your hoodie aside, and set to work. (or rather, you sat down down while mikey set to work)

(you paid him in candy)

you actually did the eye stripes, which weren’t in the original plan. you got bored while waiting, so you took some of the paint and just started on your eyes.

when mikey was done, you handed him a handful of starburst and left him to his own devices

you wound up waiting in leo’s room while the paint was drying - speaking of paint drying, it felt like it was taking forever.

(you had this thought about ten minutes in.)

leo’s return to the lair was hailed by several crashes, followed by “I DIDN’T DROP THE PIZZA THIS TIME!”

a few minutes later, he was in the doorway. “hey, i brought you a slice.”

he didn’t even process the paint for about ten seconds

“and then the guy gave me the box, and i swear to-“ *pause* *blink* “HOLY CRAP”

he kind of starts laughing at first - not in a mean way or anything, just from being caught off guard

“did you get mikey to do that? what the hell, (y/n)?”

he was grinning. “holy crap, that’s cool!”

cuddling ensued

this is absolutely an ego boost for him, you know

his arms were around your waist from the front, and you were patting his shell with one hand, your pizza slice in the other.

“y’know, i didn’t think this would make you so clingy.”

“i am not clingy”

“you are literally clinging to me right now. this is the definition of clinging. please be careful, i don’t know if the paint’s entirely dry.”

you remained this way for a good hour and a half.

you noticed donnie sneaking a picture for blackmail when he walked by the door, but you weren’t going to mention it.

“this is kind of gay.”

“you’re gay.” leo’s voice was muffled by your stomach, which he was pressed against.

“how could you even say such a thing, babe?”

it occurred to you that you would have to wash this off at some point. that’d probably be a nightmare.

oh well, that’s future you’s problem.

#tmnt x reader #rottmnt x reader #reader insert #male reader #m!reader #tmnt x male reader #rottmnt x male reader #leo x reader #tmnt leo x reader #rottmnt leo x reader #leo x male reader

805 notes · View notes

yournameoneverypage · 3 years ago

Text

If It Isn't You

Shawn Mendes x female reader.

Secondary (anon) prompt: "There are two steady heartbeats."

Word Count: ~6.2k ( HOLY CRAP! )

Warnings: Angst to fluff.

A/N: You should all know by now that I can't seem to write a short story, but even I'm shocked! 😜 This is the first time where I’m fusing two requests because they work well together. I always proofread, always more than once, but if I’ve missed anything, please forgive me. I hope you all like it!!

/// ❤️ \\\

You weren’t sure how to feel as you looked at the little window of the third pregnancy test you had taken, only to see a third plus sign. Granted, the first test you took you may have taken too soon after missing your period so you couldn’t be certain it was a true positive. Or maybe you were just too terrified at the time to entertain the thought of what it would mean.

When you started puking up your guts one morning a week later, and then again every morning thereafter, you took two more. And now you had no choice but to accept your fate.

You had always been safe. Or thought you had. You tried to recollect if there had been a time when you had been careless or impulsive, or if there had been any concern about a broken condom.

There was no question you would be keeping your baby. That was the easiest of the decisions you would have to make going forward. The most difficult? Do you tell Shawn?

Your globetrotting, world famous, now ex- boyfriend. The man you had believed, with every ounce of your existence, was meant to be your happily ever after. You had even made it to the stage in your relationship where you thought he was close to proposing.

You had weathered so much together, navigating his fame and everything it had entailed, including periodic bouts of social media brutality. You stood by each other through it all because it was worth it. Or so you promised, whispering affirmations of love and devotion into the skin and mouths of one another in those quiet moments when you shut the world out.

You still couldn’t comprehend how it all went so wrong, so quickly. You had had your share of healthy arguments and fights, but you had always worked through them after a brief cooling off period, neither of you wanting to ever go to bed angry, and it had only made you stronger. But this fight, the fight that had ended you, was something else entirely.

Abrupt, dizzying. Sharp, and unceasing. Surging, spiraling, and climactically, an explosion. He had stormed out of his condo, fiercer than a hurricane, your condo, after he had asked you to move in five months earlier, and you had been left alone with your anger and anguish, and exhausted to your very bones. He hadn’t returned that night, and had stayed gone for another 24 hours without so much as a text to tell you where he was or when he would be home. It was Brian who’d had the decency to let you know that Shawn was at least alive.

By the morning after that your things had been packed and you had left to stay with your ex-boyfriend, the ex before Shawn, and still good friend, Luke, in his guest room.

There were other friends you could have asked to temporarily house you, but you knew choosing Luke would aggravate Shawn the greatest, and at the time you had been enraged (and worried sick) by his… abandonment.

Shawn had never forbidden you from having certain friends or for spending time with who you wished to, he wasn’t that kind of man, but Luke had frequently been a point of contention between you, even though you had always taken Shawn’s feelings into consideration and limited your interaction with the other man who loved you.

The longer you stayed in Luke’s house, the guiltier you felt. And once enough time had passed where you realized Shawn wasn’t coming to apologize and bring you home, that’s when you knew it was over. You blamed yourself then, wondering if you had found anyone else but Luke to take you in, would Shawn have come for you then? Had you made the biggest mistake of your life by throwing that in his face?

Luke would have let you stay indefinitely, but you couldn’t offer him even a sliver of hope that your feelings for him might regress to what they were before Shawn, now that you were no longer with Shawn. You had loved Luke, but never like you loved Shawn. You would never be able to love anyone the way you loved your tall, curly-headed, big-hearted, Canadian boy.

So, you had quickly, fortunately, found a sublet, a small studio apartment, which would do until you figured out what your future would look like without Shawn in it.

You sighed heavily, wearily.

Shawn deserved to know he was going to be a father and to choose how much he wanted to be involved in your child’s life, but you were still hurting, aching, and keeping it from him, as spiteful as it might be, would serve him right.

He had moved on so fast. Faster than anyone should have after ending a significant, more than two-year relationship. Your heart had not only been broken but had been ripped from your chest.

Shawn was only two weeks into the first leg of Tour, and he already had some girl trailing after him all over Europe. That should have been you, was supposed to be you.

Tears fell from your eyes, streaking your cheeks; you didn’t even bother wiping them away. You had already cried so much, you were surprised you had any tears left.

You told yourself you had time to decide when and how to tell him, for you would wait until he returned from Tour. This was something he didn’t need distracting him until he had time to truly digest it.

Six weeks. Six weeks to summon the courage to face him without falling to pieces.

In the meantime, you would need to make an appointment with an obstetrician, and then start looking for something bigger than a studio.

///

Your best girlfriend in Toronto, Mia, who you had confided in and sworn to secrecy, sat beside you, rubbing your back in soothing circles, while you held your face in your hands. Your obstetrician’s words continued to play on a loop in your head.

There are two steady heartbeats… There are two steady heartbeats… There are TWO steady heartbeats…

Twins. Of course. Damn Shawn’s little swimmers for being so strong.

You were going to be sick. Again. Morning sickness, in part, but also from the realization which had finally struck its mark. You rushed for the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet in time.

“I can’t do this,” you sobbed to Mia, while she held your hair back. To yourself, heartsick and trembling with despair. To Shawn, who should be there but wasn’t.

You collapsed onto your bottom, your back thudding against the wall, your nausea having passed for the moment.

Mia retrieved a washcloth and ran it under the warm tap. Pressing it to your face, gently wiping away tears and snot and vomit, she whispered, “You know he would never let you do this alone.”

“I want him to want to be with me because he loves me, not feel obligated to be here because I’m pregnant.”

“He loves you.”

“Does he?”

“How can you even question that?” she huffed. “What you have-”

“Had.”

“Have. It’s still there.”

“Is it?”

“I’ve seen your love story unfold, bubs. There is no way in hell he doesn’t still love you and want you with every breath he breathes. Tell me you don’t feel the same.”

When you couldn’t, she continued, “Exactly. Call him. Tell him. Don’t wait.”

“He’s touring.”

“The hell with Tour,” she grumbled.

“I won’t do that to him. I can’t. It means too much to him.”

“You and your babies mean more.”

“And his fans. I don’t want to take him from them. They’ve waited so long to see him again.”

Mia handed you a glass of cold water and glowered until you took a long drink. When satisfied, she sat down on the floor beside you, hip to hip.

“And now there’s that… girl...” you quavered.

“I’m gonna rip his sac off when I see him again,” Mia seethed.

You puffed out a small laugh. “No you’re not.”

She rested her head atop yours, which had found her shoulder, and took your hand in hers, intertwining your fingers.

You sighed then, covering your budding baby bump with your other hand. “He isn’t missing much right now anyway. This isn’t the fun part.”

“Damn Shawn and his super sperm.”

You snorted, and you and Mia dissolved in a fit of giggles.

You were lucky to have her.

///

Tour had ended and you had swelled around your middle like a balloon.

You had made it through the first trimester and were into your second. Your morning sickness and fatigue had abated and you were feeling well and energetic. There had been no other complications.

Your little blueberries were now avocados, and healthy and strong, especially for twins. Your obstetrician was pleased. You were carrying high and had only gained eleven pounds thus far thanks to a healthy diet and moderate exercise.

It was a blessing, your pregnancy, in the sense that it simply was, but also because it had forced you not to languish in the aftermath of your breakup. You wanted to give your babies the best start in life as possible, which meant it was essential that you take good care of yourself.

You had been given the option of learning their gender at your last appointment but had declined. It didn’t feel right without Shawn, none of it did, but especially that. Even if you and he reconciled enough to only co-parent, you felt he should be at the appointment to discover if you were having boys or girls or one of each, for you had at least been told they were fraternal.

Shawn would be back in Toronto soon, if he wasn’t already, and you could no longer keep your pregnancy from him. You just weren’t sure the best way to go about telling him.

A text first, asking him if he’d be willing to see you. And you’d go from there, depending on his reply, because you knew he would. You knew even if you had texted him while on tour, which you nearly did, a million times, that he would have responded.

Afraid of what his response would have been is what had kept you from hitting send, every time.

You were still staring at your phone, rereading the text you had composed for the third time, when there was a knock on your door. You were too preoccupied to wonder who it could be.

You hadn’t expected Brian to be on the other side.

Brian, who had been a wonderful friend to you while you and Shawn had been together, who had stayed in contact after the breakup to see how you were doing and to let you know how Shawn was, and how Tour was going, even when you didn’t ask.

“He always delivers, you know that, and onstage is the only place he’s been happy since…” He cleared his throat. “But his spark is missing.”

You had been Shawn’s spark. That’s what Brian had been importing, how your significance in Shawn’s life had been felt by everyone around him; the unadulterated joy and solace you had brought him was now absent.

You had been trying to avoid seeing anyone from Shawn’s life, especially now that you were unmistakably showing. You didn’t want him to learn about your babies from anyone but you. You were careful when you went out, even though photographers usually left you alone when you weren’t with Shawn.

One glance at your extended stomach and Brian was cursing his best friend. And then he was cursing you, but in a much gentler way.

“Aw, damn it, bub,” he breathed, entering your apartment. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“He left. And he didn’t come back.” Tears fell, unbidden, from your eyes.

“He’s a fucking idiot,” he soothed, brushing knuckles across your cheeks to wipe away your tears. “You still should have told him.”

“I didn’t want to ruin Tour.”

“You wouldn’t have ruined Tour,” he attested. “Maybe you two would have gotten over yourselves a lot sooner and made up already.”

“My pregnancy would’ve been nothing but a distraction and you know it,” you said, leading Brian further into your living space. “Shawn would’ve mother-henned me to death instead of focusing on the shows.”

“He definitely would have,” Brian smirked, eliciting a small chuckle from you.

You swiped the remaining tears from your face. “I don’t think all the international travel, insane levels of activity and excitement, punctuated by long tour bus drives, and the fan frenzy would have been good for the baby, do you?”

“Probably not,” he agreed. He couldn’t help but wonder, “How did you manage to keep it a secret?”

“Extreme caution and luck?”

Brian’s eyes grew serious again, reiterating, “You have to tell him.”

“I was about to. I mean, I was getting ready to,” you said, showing him your phone, still open on your as of yet unsent message.

“Sweetie, you don’t need so many words so carefully arranged. Just tell him you miss him. I miss you. Three little words. And he’ll come running. He’s destitute. Put him out of his misery, would you? Put all of us out of our misery. He’s pissing everyone off. Insufferable bastard,” he mumbled, before wrapping you in a hug and kissing your cheek.

“Brian?” you spoke, as he was walking back toward the door. He turned to you. “Why did you come, and not Shawn?”

He returned to stand before you. “It’s not because he doesn’t want to. He’s beside himself, believe me, but he needed to know if you still loved him, if you might take him back, before he came groveling.” He offered you a tender smile with that.

Your heart ratcheted and your face grew warm. “I still love him.”

Brian’s smile grew. “Of course you do.”

“Do you have to go so soon?”

“The sooner I get back to Shawn, the sooner he’ll be on his way over. I’ll hold him off best I can while you freshen up. Not that you need to, bub, you’re as lovely as always, but I just thought maybe you’d want to.”

You found yourself nodding at that.

“Be easy on him, eh?” he appealed, looking again at your belly, which he absolutely wanted to touch. After all, he was basically going to be your child’s uncle. But if he got to feel Shawn’s kid move before Shawn did, his brother from another mother would have his nuts. “He’s going to be a little overwhelmed.”

///

Brian had been able to buy you an hour and half, barely. Apparently it had been quite a struggle. Now, sweets. Now would be a really good time, he had texted. He might very well kill me.

You had showered, shaved, and exfoliated. You had left your hair down and had applied only a light moisturizer to your face. Your skin had been so nice lately, you didn’t really need makeup, - one of the advantages of pregnancy, - and Shawn had always told you how beautiful you were without it anyway. You chose to dress in a dark green, wide leg, no sleeve, maternity jumpsuit because it was cute on you and incredibly comfortable.

Finally, you had sent your text to Shawn. It wasn’t ‘I miss you’, as Brian had suggested, even if you did, desperately, and it wasn’t nearly as brief, but it was certainly shorter and less complicated than the first one you had considered.

What would you say if you could say everything you needed to, to the one you needed to?

I’m on my way, had been his immediate response. If his emotions were even as half as chaotic as yours were…

Get here safe.

Now you didn’t know what to do with yourself. You rearranged the pillows on your bed as well as the smaller ones in the corners of the couch, you straightened things that didn’t need straightening. You cracked open your balcony door to allow fresh air into the suddenly stifling room.

Shawn only needed to take one look at you to know. But you couldn’t do this just anywhere, especially not in public. People couldn’t see you together until Shawn and his team figured out how to spin it. You had always hated that part. How Shawn lived his life outside of his career shouldn’t be anyone’s business or concern but his own, and yours when you had been together.

When you weren’t in Europe with Shawn as you had planned to be, he and his team let the speculation stretch that you had only been delayed. You wondered if Andrew had been waiting to see if you and Shawn reconciled and for you to join Tour before deeming it necessary to release any sort of statement, for you had been soundly together for two years and had been unafraid to show your love.

When the rumors of Shawn’s… indiscretion surfaced, social media erupted, and suddenly you were being pursued by entertainment reporters and shutterbugs for a statement, for photos, for any sort of reaction. When you wouldn’t give it to them, they disappointedly withdrew.

It became more important than ever for you to stay out of the public eye once you could no longer hide your baby bump.

So this was how it had to be.

The knock you had been anxiously anticipating finally came, and you almost couldn’t answer. You paused too long with your hand on the knob, until you were startled by another set of knocks, more urgent. You heard your name fall from his lips, followed by a desperate plea to open the door.

Shawn had imagined he would draw you into his arms and beg and plead, his lips against yours, the moment he laid his starving eyes on you. Instead, his face paled, his eyes clouding with utter devastation, when he looked upon your slightly rounder figure.

He pressed a hand against the door jamb. “Were you even going to tell me?” he exhaled, voice cracking.

“Of course,” you breathed. “You’re here. This is me telling you.” You wanted to touch him, more than anything, wrap your arms around him and have him hold you to his chest. It’d been too long since your senses were filled with him. “I know you're… surprised, to say the least, and- and upset, and I’m sure you… have questions, and I- I would understand if you just want to start yelling-”

He was quick to shake his head. “No,” he whispered, his chest tightening, as memories of the last time he had seen you resurfaced. “That won’t get us anywhere good. But… yes.”

“Then maybe you could stop white-knuckling the door and come inside?” you asked softly.

He relaxed his grip, stood tall, and trailed after you into the kitchen. You were aware of his nearness at your back and were reluctant to turn around. Maybe if you didn’t, you’d feel his hand on your hip or his breath on your neck.

You sensed when he had retreated, even before he quietly cleared his throat and murmured, “You should have called me the second you knew, the moment you even thought you might be…

“Please don’t tell me you knew before Tour,” he wheezed.

You turned to him then, and met his eyes so he could see the truth in yours. “No. You had already left. You were a few days gone when I realized I had missed my period.”

“You should have called then.”

“I wasn’t even sure then. Maybe it was the stress of all that had just happened between us, and nothing more.”

“When you were sure…”

“You were four thousand miles away, and I didn’t want to tell you over the phone; it didn’t seem right, something this important.”

“Instead, you chose to keep it from me. Something this important.”

“I didn’t want to disrupt Tour.”

“That’s your excuse?”

“You’re saying I should’ve called my global pop star ex-boyfriend and said, ‘hey, you knocked me up, what are you going to do about it?’, right before he’s supposed to meet and greet one hundred fans who are only asking for two minutes of his undivided attention, and then get onstage to play a show in front of thousands of people?”

“Yes.”

You could feel the tension rippling around him.

You were getting too close to how your last fight had started, that prickling of negative emotions. There was still too much to work through to allow it to happen again.

You dared to reach for him, to place your hand gently against his chest. His breath caught and he instinctively, yet cautiously, covered your hand with his.

It had been too long since his last touch and your emotions were raw. You withdrew your hand before it became too much.

“Do you want to sit?” you stammered.

He shook his head, but at least your touch had focused him, settled him, like it always had in the past.

The pregnancy fatigue may have ebbed, but you still had days where you tired easily. “I’d like to sit,” you said softly, absentmindedly rubbing your hand over your stomach, making for the couch.

“I’ll get you something to drink- or, are you hungry?”

Mother hen indeed. “Shawn. Sit down.”

He obeyed, sinking into the other end of the couch. You angled your body toward his and he mirrored the action. It wasn’t a very big couch, not much more than a loveseat, and Shawn was a very long guy, so it wasn’t surprising that your knees touched. Neither of you shifted away. That small point of contact was familiar and grounding and would help you through the rest of your conversation.

“I should have told you the moment the tests came back positive. I’m sorry. I am, truly... And you’re right, not wanting to tell you over the phone, even though it felt honest at the time, was a really bad excuse.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I meant it when I said I didn’t want to disrupt Tour. I didn’t want to distract you from what you’d worked so hard to put together. And you were so excited; to travel again, to see the ‘boys in the band’ and your fans. And for the shows. Especially for the shows. I didn’t want you preoccupied with thinking about me, and being torn between Tour and wanting to be here for this pregnancy, because even though we had broken up, you still would’ve wanted to be here.”

Shawn’s hands twitched. He wanted to get on his knees before you and touch his child, cry into and kiss your stomach, but he held himself back.

“How did we get here, Shawn?” you murmured. It wasn’t so much a question as it was a thought spoken aloud. “It’s been you and me against the world for two years. We’ll go down in history together, remember? This never should’ve happened.”

“It’s my fault,” he croaked.

“You have a tendency to take more responsibility than your fair share. We’re both to blame. I’m not innocent in this. It was something I had done that began that horrific fight in the first place, and I’ve never been sorrier.”

This is where it had gone so wrong.

You had had a lot of time to reflect on that night. You had found your way to the realization that you should have been the one to apologize to him instead of stubbornly waiting for him to come crawling after you.

That’s not to say he didn’t have anything to apologize for, you both had huge amends to make, for all the hurtful things you had thrown at each other out of anger and frustration, fear and exhaustion, but you should’ve been the one to reach out first.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffled, trying so very hard not to cry before you made it through everything that needed to be said. And you were. So sorry. The sorriest you’ve ever been.

Shawn’s voice wavered. “You confided in Luke when you should’ve come to me.”

“I know.” You felt wretched. “I was wrong.” Your heart was twisting in your chest, but it was necessary to sit with that guilt, to accept it, if you and Shawn had any chance of coming out on the other side.

“You’ve never given me any reason not to trust you… Why couldn’t you trust me?”

“I do,” you wheezed, reaching over and putting your hand on his knee that was touching yours.

He covered your hand with his and slid his fingers between yours. “For Luke to come to me to tell me what you were going through,” he whispered. “For Luke to tell me what was happening in our relationship…

“It tore me up.”

Your eyes fell, repentant. Shawn tipped your face up with a finger under your chin. His eyes met yours. His softness with you affected you more than his temper had.

“Recording, touring, none of it mattered- matters more than you. You know that. I would have made time to put everything else aside if you would’ve just said something. My love, you need to tell me when you need me.

“As angry as I was with you- no,” he quickly corrected, “I wasn’t angry, not with you, not really. I was disappointed, crushed… My anger- I was more angry with myself for not paying better attention. I felt like I had failed you.”

“You have never failed me. Don’t you ever think that. It was a difficult time. You were overwhelmed and stressed out.”

“Don’t make excuses for me, please. This is the part I need to take responsibility for.”

You nodded then.

“I know I wasn’t easy to live with those few months before Tour, with long hours in the studio working on the new album, the bad days when I came home upset, having made no progress. And then with Tour itself getting all twisted up... I know I took my frustrations out on you- that never should’ve happened- and I will forever be sorry for that.

“And that damned night- Everything I said came out… wrong.”

“I said some ugly things, too,” you whispered.

“I never should have left.”

“I understand why you did. We've had fights before where we’ve needed to walk away and calm down, but that night… you didn’t come back, Shawn. I waited, but you didn’t come back. Not even a text to tell me when you were coming home.”

“I know,” he trembled.

“So I did the absolute worst thing I could have done and went running to Luke.”

“He was there when you needed someone…”

“Now it’s your turn to stop making excuses for me.

“I shouldn’t have confided in anyone who wasn’t you, let alone Luke. If I could go back and change things, I would, without question. And I should have waited longer. I should have waited for as long as it took for you to come home, because I knew you would. I was just hurt. It’s a reason, but it’s not an excuse. You have never failed me, Shawn. I failed you by doubting you.”

“I fucked up.”

“We both fucked up,” you exhaled.

“When I got home and most of your things were gone…

“And when you wouldn’t answer my texts, I called Luke and begged him to ask you to give me a chance to apologize.”

“What texts?” you gasped.

“Wanting you to come home- pleading-”

“I never got any texts.”

“What?” he wheezed. “But- you blocked me.”

“I would never block you- I was desperate for you to come and get me… Every day I woke up I prayed for it to be the day that you would stop punishing me and just call.”

Suddenly it occurred to you what must have happened, Shawn too, if the way his eyes darkened was any indication, and you bristled.

“I don’t understand why he would do that.”

“You’re not that naive, darling,” he voiced gently.

No, you weren’t. You huffed. You just didn’t want to believe Luke would ever have purposely sabotaged your relationship with Shawn. Especially not after two years. You would never be able to forgive him for what he’d done.

As if reading your mind, Shawn said, “He told me I didn’t deserve you.”

“What?” you choked.

“And, I thought, maybe he was right, maybe I didn’t deserve you… after the way I had treated you.”

“You know that’s not true,” you breathed, instinctively reaching out to cup his face. If anything, you didn’t deserve him. He leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering closed.

Your voice wavered when you implored, “Can we fix it, Shawn? Can we fix us? Do you want to?”

It pained him that you would even ask that. He eased away, you withdrew your hand, and his eyes looked deeply into yours. “Of course,” he vowed.

“Who was the girl? In Europe?”

His eyes fell and he stood from the couch. He took a few strides away, anxiously rubbing the back of his neck.

You found yourself standing from your own sudden restlessness, and stepping closer to him. “So, the rumors were true?”

He turned to you with beseeching eyes. “She meant nothing to me,” he promised. “I didn’t even entertain the thought of her-” he tangled his fingers in his hair and tugged, “at first.”

You shook your head and held your hand up to stop him. “You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“I want to. I need to…

“I never encouraged her. But she kept showing up in every city, at every show, outside every hotel. And I was lonely, and missing you, so damn much; it was unbearable. I regret it. I hated myself, berated myself for it when it was over.

“It only happened once.”

“You were gone for two months.”

“It only happened once.”

“Once, with her?”

“With anyone. I never took anyone else to bed; please believe me.”

He had never lied to you before. The tightness in your chest eased. You could forgive him for one indiscretion. Even if there had been others you would have forgiven him. You weren’t together when it happened. It wasn’t as if he had cheated. He had never been unfaithful to you.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t owe me an apology,” you whispered.

“Yes, I do. We may have not been… together, but I was still yours. I will always be yours.”

You wiped the tears from the corners of your eyes. Mine. He’s still mine. Your breath trembled.

“You’re the only one who means anything to me, everything to me. You, and… our child.” He almost reached for your stomach but tightened his fists instead.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Shawn,” you muttered quietly, affectionately. “Just touch the belly already. You’re making me crazy with your indecision.”

Shawn laughed then, a full, happy, relieved laugh, a song you had fiercely yearned to hear those past two months, and finally he reached out and placed his large hand over the swell of your abdomen.

“Oh my God,” he exhaled, reverently.

“For the record, you can take responsibility for this.” You pointed to your stomach. “This is all your fault,” you smirked.

He laughed again. “I’m proud to take all the blame for this…”

You dipped the pad of your thumb in the cleft of his chin and smiled tenderly.

“When is he due?” he wondered.

You quirked an eyebrow. “He?”

“She?”

“They.”

“They?”

“Twins.”

“Twins??” He stumbled a step back and reached out to place his hand on the countertop to steady himself.

“You’ll be a daddy in twenty, twenty-two weeks.”

“The second I put them in there, I was a daddy.” Before you could even groan, Shawn laughed. “Okay, I heard it… But now you can call me ‘daddy’ and it doesn’t have to mean some weird kink.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you chortled.

“But you love me?” he asked, as if he was afraid you’d say no, reaching out to capture your hand and drawing you closer, closer, and into his arms.

“I never stopped loving you,” you breathed, sliding your hands to the nape of his neck.

His arms around you tightened, his hands splaying across and moving tenderly up and down your back, as your lips fell together. Too long. Too long without his kiss, without his touch, without his scent, which engulfed you as your embrace and kiss deepened.

When he began to lift you, you shrieked his name and laughed and tightened your arms and legs around him. You knew he had you securely; he was strong and you trusted him. And it wasn’t the first time he’d picked you up to carry you somewhere. You blushed.

He chuckled into your neck and placed you atop the kitchen counter. Standing between your legs he simply allowed his eyes to roam over your features, his hands along outer thighs and hips.

You drank in the sight of him as well, heart swelling. Your hands trailed down the front of his shirt and you whispered, “That had to have been the worst of us, right? If we can get through that, we can get through anything...”

His grip on your hips tightened. “I don’t want to be your ex.”

“I don’t want you to be my ex.”

He smiled adoringly. “I want to marry you.”

“I want to be married to you,” you smiled back, cupping his face, guiding his lips to yours for another soft kiss.

“Do you want our wedding to be before or after you pop?” he smirked.

You began to cry.

“No, no, my love,” he wheezed, trying to catch your tears. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. Was it what I said about popping? I’m sorry, darling, I didn’t mean it that way. You’re more beautiful than ever.”

“That’s not why I’m crying,” you wailed.

“Then why are you crying?”

“I’m pregnant, Shawn, I’m always crying!”

He tried not to laugh and you feebly shoved at his chest.

“Does two mean you’re going to be twice as hormonal?”

“I hate you, and your little swimmers!” you grumbled.

His eyes and his smile softened. “We’re having a baby,” he exhaled. “Two babies.” He crouched down enough to again caress and press kisses to your bump. He wouldn’t be truly satisfied until your very skin was under his lips. “What are they? Boys or girls?”

“I don’t know,” you said, running your fingers through his curls. “I didn’t want to find out without you.”

He surged to his full height, and cupped your face, and kissed you again, fiercely at first, but then softening, becoming unhurried, as your arms slid along his ribs and your hands fisted in the cotton stretched across his upper back.

When you parted, your cheeks were wet, as were his, from a mingling of tears that had fallen from both your eyes. You wiped the wetness from his face, as he did the same.

Shawn finally, truly glanced around at where you had been living for the past month. It was a beautiful space, if too small.

“Let’s go home,” he breathed, easing you from the countertop and setting you again on your feet.

Home.

“What about my stuff?”

“This isn’t your stuff, Love. Your things are in our home, with me.”

“I’ll need my clothes, at least.”

“I’ll buy you new clothes. All the jumpers, and stretchy leggings, and oversized shirts you want, and cute little dresses that will show off your belly this summer,” he beamed. “I want everyone to see what we’ve done.”

“Shawn,” you breathed, tears beginning to gather again.

“Let’s go home,” he said.

You nodded.

“I’ll run you a bath, with bubbles. Maybe make you something to eat while you soak in the tub. You should tell me all the things you’ve been craving and I’ll run to the store.”

You silenced him by running the pad of your thumb along his bottom lip. “That’s not what I need.”

He pecked your thumb. “What is it you need?”

“You. Just you.” You kissed him again. You would spend all night kissing him to make up for lost time. “Although,” you murmured when you eased away, “a bubble bath in our tub does sound incredible.”

“I’ll get in the bath with you then; you can have us both,” he grinned. “And after… we’ll curl up in our bed that’s much too big without you and I’ll spend some time getting to know our babies. I’ll introduce myself and then sing to them and tell them how the past ten weeks without their mommy were the absolute worst of my life.

“And finally, maybe,” his voice soft, eyes imploring, “you might allow me to relearn you, and… your body… to discover all the little changes I didn’t get to see happen as they happened.”

“I missed you,” you professed, breathless with your happiness.

“Oh, darling,” he sighed, his eyes reflecting his devotion, “you have no idea…”

///

@mendesblurb @benito-mi-vida @weedangel-x @monikamendes @mendesficsxbombay @hiding-behind-a-flower @silverswallow @chocochipcookie305 @misti-ka

#shawn mendes #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes request #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fiction #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes x you

1K notes · View notes

scarlettriot · 3 years ago

Text

Stood Up

Pairing: Sero/F!Reader

Summary: When you find your dating making out with someone else at a Halloween party, Hanta swoops in and reclaims your evening, rekindling an old flame.

Contains: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Demisexual Reader, Astronomy/Greek Lore Nerd Sero, Old flame

Warnings: 18+ Below the cut, Minors DNI! Swearing, Demi Problems, Praise/Smidge of Degradation, Name-calling (slut & whore), Pet names (Love, good girl, pretty girl), Car Sex, F Masturbation, Oral M Receiving (Road Head) I think that's everything

A/N: This took me much longer than I expected. It's also my first time writing Sero. Given the season, I decided to add a touch of Halloween and costumes to this one.

If you'd like to read other's in the Stood Up series, here are the links:

Stood Up - Bakugo - WC 3,502

Stood Up - Kirishima - WC 3,612

Stood Up - Kaminari - WC 2,461

Word Count Starting Below: 3,494

Denki Kaminari's annual Halloween bash was in full swing by the time Hanta had arrived. He'd come straight from patrol, wrapping himself up in his own tape making a half assed mummy costume for himself. Not like anyone would notice with the flashing colored lights, loud music, and abundance of liquor.

However, Hanta didn't even make it up to the double glass front doors of Denki's home. Not before doing a double take at the very familiar pirate that ran by him.

"Y/N?" You stopped allowing him the chance to catch up to you, "Holy shit, it is you, when the hell did you get back?"

Three years you'd been gone, working in America. Time differences and busy schedules made it so the two of you barely kept in touch. It was a shame, Hanta thought, considering how close the two of you used to be.

"I- uh- just a few weeks now. I heard you were helping out with the disaster relief after that storm."

It had to be his eyes playing tricks on him, the funny colors of the dancing lights were what made your cheeks look wet, right? Those couldn't have been tears.

"I was, yeah, but I got back yesterday. I didn't know-"

"Get the hell outta here!" His head snapped back towards the front of the house, just in time to see Eijiro, dressed in an impressive werewolf costume, literally throw someone out of the party. The guy drunkenly stumbled off, Eijiro walking over towards where Hanta was standing with you. "Y/N, you good?"

You nodded while Hanta tried to piece together what'd happened. "Sorry, it took me a second to find the bastard. Do ya wanna come back in? I'll make sure he leaves."

"No, Eijiro, thanks though. I'm just gonna head home."

The wolfman frowned but understood. "We'll have a smaller party for ya! Just the gang as a welcome home! You know Denki will look for any excuse to throw a party." He turned his gaze on Hanta. "A mummy, really?"

"You've been a damn werewolf for the last two years! You don't get to give me crap."

Eijiro poked the fuzzy pointed red ears carefully set into his spiky hair. "Mina and I worked real hard on this costume... seemed like a waste to only wear it once."

"We both know you haven't just worn those once, big man."

That got a chuckle out of you while all Eijiro could do was shrug and try to hide a shit-eating grin.

He asked you again if you'd like to stay and once more you said you were going to just head home. It was when you specifically said you were going to be walking home that Hanta spoke up offering to drive you back to your home since it was Halloween and people were creeps.

You were a damn pro hero but he still didn't feel right about just letting you walk home alone.

When you agreed he told Eijiro he'd be back soon and walked over with you to his car.

>>><<<

A part of you missed the old station wagon Hanta used to drive, not that this BMW he now drove wasn't absolutely amazing, you just sort of missed the comfort of the old car.

He waited until he'd reached the end of Denki's long, winding driveway to finally speak. "So, you wanna tell me what happened back there, or am I just supposed to pretend like Kiri didn't kick someone out on your behalf?"

"You could probably just ask Kiri and he'd tell you."

"I could, but, I'd like to hear it from you."

You knew you could tell him, there was nothing you couldn't tell Hanta. There was once a time when the man knew every single detail about your life. Sure, time and distance had put a strain on that relationship but you were back now. There was no reason why you couldn't at least start rebuilding what you and Hanta once had.

"Y/N, if you don't wanna say anything-"

"I was just casually seeing this guy. You know me and dating, how we don't always work out." You said abruptly and he quit talking, "And so, we weren't like official but we said we'd go to this party together. Well, I got here and went looking for him and found him making out with one of Hawks' sidekicks. I got a little upset when he noticed me and, well, he just said he found someone better."

Hanta actually stopped the car, pulled off to the side of the road, threw it in park, and looked right at you because he knew what found someone better meant exactly. You'd used those words in high school when that guy from Shiketsu that you'd been seeing got pissed off that you wouldn't put out and ended it with you. You went to his dorm crying because he 'found someone better', is what you told him. It took him a few hours to get the truth out of you.

You'd always been the kind of person to love with your entire heart but sexually, you'd confessed that you felt different from all the other kids your age back then. Not having the same urges and desires that everyone else seemed stricken with.

"Hanta, it's fine, really. Kiri heard the whole thing and, well, you saw what happened."

"Doesn't make it right! So, you went on a couple dates with a guy, that doesn't mean he just gets to expect you to put out for him! Even if you weren't demi, no one gets to just assume they deserve sex."

His lips were pressed in a narrow line, nostrils flared once in annoyance. He was usually so calm and laid back that you thought it rather cute when he got overprotective. "It's alright, Hants, really."

He still gave you a look that said he disagreed but then shook his head, dropping the subject for now at least.

"Still like those late-night drives?"

"I love them."

"Good."

Hanta waited for a car to pass and whipped the car in the other direction.

It wasn't long before he had the windows rolled down, conversations filling in the blanks of lost time, in between belting out choruses of your favorite songs. Minutes slipped by the further he drove, you lost track of both time and kilometers, letting him tell you all about the ridiculous antics the group had been up to.

Eventually, you caught the scent of salty air and even in the dark, you had a pretty good idea where Hanta was going. He followed a winding road, making two left turns and then a right leaving you on a stretch of road that paralleled the ocean.

You let your head fall against the seat, eyes falling shut and inhaling that wonderful smell you missed so much. Hanta had just one hand lazily on the wheel, his elbow resting out the open window, a relaxed smile was illuminated in soft orange lights off his dash.

You let your head roll onto his shoulder, not as easily done without the bench seat in his station wagon but it worked nonetheless. "Thanks."

His free hand came to rest on your knee, "Anytime."

He turned the wheel, pulling over and parking in front of a small beach access that you guys had found at 3 in the morning five years prior. Hanta kicked off his shoes, leaving them in the car to avoid them being sand-filled and you did the same with the knee-high boots purely because you longed to feel the sand between your toes.

The wooden planks were worn, parts buried beneath the sand until eventually, none remained. Breaking waves flooded your ears and you made a run for them! Before you could reach the lapping water though, tape had wound around your middle and yanked you backward.

"Not happening!" Hanta said firmly. "Last time I let you talk me into late-night swimming we didn't have a change of clothes either and we both got so sick! I think I might have actually died without Bakugo's soup!"

You chuckled, remembering being nineteen and curled up with Hanta on the sofa in the living room of the apartment you all shared for nearly a week. The sniffles didn't cease for almost three weeks.

"Okay, okay, no swimming." You flopped back down into the sand, his tape still attached meaning the cellophane hero was pulled down with you. "Tell me about the stars then, Hants. Who's out tonight?"

Astronomy was a hobby of Hanta's you learned about after moving into the dorms your first year. It wasn't uncommon to find him out on the roof most nights, laying on his back and looking up into the clear night sky littered with twinkling stars, usually with a joint pressed between his lips. It became almost a habit for him to grab you on his way up, pulling you along because you were more than happy listening to him tell you about each constellation and the stories behind them.

It was around this time of year, in your final year of high school; somewhere between him recalling the greek mythos of Aries and Sagittarius that you noticed your heart beating a little faster. You realized something had shifted between the two of you, and, holy shit, was this what it felt like to have a crush! When the hell did that happen?

You'd entrusted everything to Hanta back then, and now, laying in the sand shoulder to shoulder while he talked about Draco, that familiar feeling stirred again. You remembered what it was supposed to be like when you weren't forcing it for some random guy. How simple it was supposed to be.

You inclined on an elbow and he stopped mid-sentence. "Eh, everything alright?" You nodded but he looked anything but convinced, mirroring your position and asking you again.

It was easy for you to lean forward, to brush your lips against his for the first time in three years. And, when you pulled away, he looked about as shocked as he had the night you'd done it when you were eighteen.

"You- you still like me?"

When you left for America, you'd both agreed to put a pause on your sort of relationship. Free to date and screw whomever you pleased because three years was a long time and it just seemed like a fair decision to make. The realization that he might now have someone else special in his life dawned on you...

"Yeah but I totally understand if things are different now and I shoulda asked- oof!"

He kissed you so hard you toppled back into the sand, quick pecks, one right after another, ending them with a long one that nearly left you breathless.

"I didn't know how to bring it up. I didn't want to make you feel awkward about things or make you think I expected something. I thought that maybe since we didn't talk for a while your feelings might have changed."

"I can say with confidence they haven't."

"Thank fuck." He groaned and captured your lips in another searing kiss.

It was easy to lift his shirt off, the shreds of tape that remained were now covered with gritty sand that clung to your fingers as you traced the chest and torso you knew so well. Gliding over defined muscles, lingering on old scars and mapping out new ones he'd collected in your time apart.

His own hands were busy flicking open the brass fastenings of your corset, huffing about it being so much more difficult to get to your chest and something about it being very unfair.

By the time he'd undone the last one, bright headlights shown across the beach. "Shit."

Giggling ensued from the walkway and you both sighed, at least it wasn't the police or a hero patrol. Hanta gathered his shirt and ran back to his car with his hand in yours.

"I thought our days of being caught were over."

"At least it wasn't Mr. Aizawa this time."

A chill ran down your spine remembering the night and the lecture you'd received when your teacher had caught Hanta sneaking out of your room early one morning.

"So, uh, do you still plan on going to Denki's party?" You asked innocently enough but Hanta knew you far too well.

"I think I'm gonna miss it this year." His hand found a home on your upper thigh. "Apparently, you and I have a lot of catching up to do. Lost time to make up for and all that."

"Too bad you don't have that old station wagon anymore. If you did, we wouldn't have to wait to get back."

Dark eyes glanced over at you not so subtly parting your legs.

"I dunno. It's not too often I travel in the backseat of my own car but I've been told it's pretty roomy. Lots of legroom."

Your hand ran over your legs, dipping down to lightly brush your more sensitive parts, thankful you opted for the thin pair of black leggings rather than the dark skinny jeans. Your fingers danced again and this time you let a soft moan pass your lips. "Eyes on the road, Hants."

"That's a little hard to do when I've got you spread out in the passenger's seat." He grabbed your free hand and pressed it against the bulge in his pants. "You've got me distracted, filthy little woman."

You appreciated him testing the waters, a subtle way of checking if you liked those nicknames he used only in private with you, giving you a chance to protest if your likes had changed. They were one's that only felt right coming from him and you were eager to hear more.

Forgoing your own high, you leaned over the center console as best you could, undoing his belt first, followed quickly by his zipper letting his strained cock be free.

His grip tightened on your leg when you kissed the tip of him. "Just like old times, huh?"

A chuckle turned quickly into a moan, taking him in your mouth, pushing yourself further on his cock, fighting your gag reflex to get him down your throat. Hanta reclined his seat further, giving you more room to work with.

Your legs clenched tighter with every groan you pulled from him, wiggling your hips in the seat, letting a hand fall back between your own legs. There was an attempt of a moan around his cock when his fingers coiled in your hair. "Such a good slut. Keep fuckin' goin'." He let you continue at your own speed, needing to focus as best he could on the road rather than what you were doing but, damn, you were making that increasingly difficult.

He wasn't stopping you though. He rarely did. You'd sucked him off on countless drives before and only stopped when- "That's it." He lifted you off him by your hair at the same time he pulled off the road. There was a convenient turn-off, hidden by overgrown brush you noticed before he shut off the headlights.

Hanta took you by the chin, smearing drool. "Backseat, pretty girl." He reached into the glove box and pulled out a foil wrapper, "What do you say we test out that legroom?"

He wait to watch your smile grow wide before crawling into the back because he had to be the first to go if this had any chance of working. Once situated, pants under his thighs, he patted his lap for you to climb over.

You slid easily onto his lap, hands traveling up and over his shoulders, kissing hard while you rocked your hips against impossibly hard length.

There was so much comfort in the familiarity of him. It wasn't awkward to fall back into rhythm with Hanta, to remember that he loved the feeling of your nails dragging down his chest. And he was just as eager to get your shirt off, reach your breasts he'd missed so much, and get his tongue on your nipples.

Your head tipped backward, loving the pace he set, hips bouncing creating the perfect tug on your nipples between his teeth.

"Love, if I promise to buy you a new pair, can I rip these damn leggings? They're just so thin and-"

"Please." Your breathy moan had him smirking and with a single grunt the leggings were ruined, cool air from the vents had only a moment to touch your bare ass before Hanta's hands reclaimed it.

There was no way he hadn't felt your arousal before ripping your clothes off, you soaked through your panties and leggings, you knew that, but that didn't stop him from commenting on how soaked you were now on his fingers. "Want me inside you, whore? I think you do."

You nodded with a whimper and he slipped a finger in. "Hants, noo- I- I want your cock, please."

"You're gonna take my fingers like a good little slut first." You clenched at the words falling from his mouth. "So fuckin' tight you can barely take a finger. How'm I supposed to fit in here if you can even take a single finger? Need you to loosen up, alright." He pushed another finger in, scissoring the two inside you.

"This gonna make you cum? You need this bad, don't you? Tell me. Tell me how bad you need to cum."

"I want it. Please, please, I need it. I'm so close," You babbled and ripped the foil open with his teeth, rolling it with one hand on his cock. In an instant, his fingers had been replaced with this dick. Sticky fingers on your ass helping you ease down on him with a hiss.

"Fuck," Hanta let out a throaty chuckle, "You still fuckin' feel the absolute best." He dropped a kiss between your breasts, letting you adjust to his girth. "Perfect. Good girl. Such a fuckin' good little slut."

He wasn't about to last long. Not once you started bouncing up and down on him, your tits right in front of his face.

"Couldn't even wait for me to get you home, had to fucking tease me in the damn car." He held onto the fat of your ass, pulling you along him and slamming you down hard.

"Kinda pathetic how desperate you are. Fuck. Kinda hot too."

When the top of your head bumped the roof of the car, he scooted lower, trying to give you as much room to ride him however you pleased.

"What do you need? You wanna cum, don't you, pretty girl, what do you need?"

"Faster, faster please."

Hanta shifted even lower, making you grab onto the two headrests while he thrust his hips up into you at a rapid speed. His thumb on your clit was the additional stimulation you needed to fall over the edge. Nails clawing at the black leather as he continued to moan below you now chasing his own release.

You stayed poised above him, using every last bit of strength to stay upright until his mouth was rambling and his cock pulsed inside of you. Fingers bruising your skin before holding your pelvis snuggly against his.

He was bent in a way that looked entirely uncomfortable and yet he still smiled so widely. Reaching up to brush hair out of your eyes, "You okay?"

"Perfects, Hants. A little sore but I'm sure you are too." He moved off his lap, letting him slip out of you with a groan, "Is your neck gonna be okay?"

"I'll be fine. Having you back, love, is more than worth a little bit of a neck cramp."

As he tied a knot in the condom, depositing it into a plastic bag he had tucked away under his seat, Hanta raised a brow, "Love, really, are you alright? Please, tell me if I hurt you at all."

"No! I'm good, why?"

"You're sitting silly."

You were sitting a little odd, perched on your knees rather than sitting on your ass because the leather was chilly and you told Hanta as much making him laugh. "Wait, I think I can help." He leaned back to the front of the car, flicking a button making it glow. Once he tucked himself back in his pants he hopped out of the car and you could see him rummaging in his trunk through the rear window.

"I keep forgetting to take this out from our camping trip a couple months ago. Guess it turned out to be a good thing." He laid the blanket down over the passenger's seat, declaring that should help a bit.

You wrapped the now toasty warm blanket around your bottom half while Hanta drove back towards the city, your head on his shoulder, his hand on your thigh.

"So, shopping tomorrow? I believe I owe you a pair of leggings..."

"It's a date."

#mha #mha smut #bnha #bnha smut #hanta sero #sero #sero smut #hanta sero smut #sero x reader #sero x y/n #hanta x y/n #hanta x reader #mha x y/n #mha x reader #smutober #kinktober 2021

577 notes · View notes

seinfeldsimp · 2 years ago

Text

a series of orchestral events - the beginning

jerry seinfeld x reader

warning: some suggestive stuff, not the best writing but at this point idc. i’m having fun

as we go, the series will have an out-of-order timeline, but the same ‘you’ will be there. formatted like pulp fiction, in a way!

“george!”

the short man you hoped was your brother turned around. oh good, you thought, it is him! “oh my god, it’s been forever!” you practically swallowed his body in your arms, hugging him tightly.

“yeah, yeah, whatever,” he mumbled, his annoyed tone contrasting from the tight hug he returned.

a couple of seconds passed, and he was the first to break away. “okay, c’mon,” he said excitedly. “let’s drop off your bags, and i already told jerry we’d meet him as soon as your flight landed.”

“awe, c’mon,” you whined, “i can’t even rest for a second? that plane ride felt like an eternity.”

“oh, you’ll have two months to lay around and do whatever, you’ll live,” george said, punching you in the arm. before you could argue again, he took your bags from the ground and sped to the exit of the airport. “c’mon, i’ve been in a 30-minute parking space for almost an hour.”

“holy crap, george, that’s your sister?!”

you smirked. “i got the good genes,” you teased, “but george gets to live in the best city ever! i have to stay at home, at least until i finish school.” kicking off your shoes, you plopped yourself on the couch in the apartment. “i did not wear the right shoes for traveling. my legs are killing me.”

“yeah, who cares about you and your long legs, you spider…” george mumbled, talking to himself after a few more insults.

jerry walked around george, patting him on the back before sitting next to you. leaning back, you closed your eyes.

you didn’t really want to look at him that closely, not yet at least. the university you went to rarely ever played good entertainment—especially for being in the fine arts college—but on occasion you’d walk home after night practice and catch the johnny carson show playing late at night in the lobby of your building. a very handsome gentleman in a sport coat with jeans caught your attention immediately; more or less for the atrocious outfit, but he was actually quite funny. the bits he had in his stand-up had your face hurting from holding in your laughter. his smile, his huge eyes, you really fell head over heels. you knew nothing would come of it; he was literally a celebrity, probably untouchable.

then, he said his name. jerry seinfeld?

doesn’t george know someone named jerry seinfeld? no way would this be the same guy…but it’s the same name, i’m positive.

yeah..it’s the same guy. and i’m in his apartment. jesus christ.

seeing jerry there, and knowing george was friends with him…the very fact made your heart ache terribly, and you didn’t know what to think.

“did you fall asleep?”

your eyes opened. “no, i just got lost in my thoughts, sorry…” you turned your head, showing a slight cringe to your face. “the travel’s made me a little weary. did you say something?”

jerry had his head resting on his hand that was propped up on the back of the couch.

“how old are you?” he asked.

“i just turned 22.”

“what are you in school for?”

“music. i’m on my summer break right now, but i have one more year before i graduate.”

a scoff resounded. “music? i didn’t know that was possible. what do you play?”

“i play piano,” you said, leaning your head back and closing your eyes once again.

“can’t you just play in the department stores for experience, or something?”

you internally rolled your eyes, and before you could defend yourself, jerry kept talking. “i mean no offense, but isn’t that just a big waste of money and time?”

“i take that with full offense,” you said, scrunching your nose. jerry laughed as a sigh escaped your lips. not that you were surprised by such a reaction, especially from someone with his personality. “i love it too much not to study it. i want to be in a symphony too. have you heard of carnegie hall? do you even know what a symphony is?” you opened your eyes and looked at him, your last couple of questions dripping with sarcasm. “put any piece of music in front of me, and i can play it in seconds. i promise you.” you wiggled your fingers and smiled. “i have good fingers, if you know what i mean.”

another scoff left jerry’s lips. “well, looks like it wasn’t a total waste. we’ll have to put that to the test at some point, won’t we?”

holy shit. sleep deprived me is like drunk me, and i’m just saying shit!! at least he’s into it, i think.

i’m gonna be so embarrassed when i wake up tomorrow.

george almost spit his coke out. “don’t hit on my sister, jerry! you don’t see me hitting on your mother, do you?”

“well no, because she’s my mother—“

“and she’s my sister!” he gestured to you with both hands.

“talk about a buzzkill,” you muttered, pointing a thumb toward your brother.

“don’t even think about it, daddy long legs.”

jerry rolled his eyes and stood back up, taking his empty dish with him while you laughed lightly. this cannot actually be happening in real life. a buzz suddenly filled the room for a second, and you turned your head to see jerry speaking into an intercom next to his door.

“elaine?”

“yeah!”

“she’s gonna get a kick out of you,” jerry spoke to you. “you and george coming from the same mother and father…she’ll be stunned.”

“sometimes, i think i’m adopted,” you said.

“that’s one thing we have in common,” you heard george mutter. sitting up in your spot you turned your head toward him; he was sitting on the table behind you.

“what?”

“we both think you’re adopted.”

“verrry funny, costanza,” you replied.

the woman from the intercom arrived at jerry’s apartment, and to your surprise, you instantly felt jealous.

despite these strong feelings, you couldn’t focus on them for too long. jerry said your name and you stood up from the couch, reaching your hand out for the woman to shake.

“hi, i’m elaine,” she said, “so…you’re george’s sister?”

“yep!” you replied. “blood related and everything. somehow.”

elaine scoffed. “no way..!” she let go of your hand and pushed you back, to your surprise. “his sister?! howcome he never mentioned—“

“shut up,” george mumbled.

“no, it’s fine,” you laughed, “we’re both so busy i’m not surprised he didn’t say anything before. i’ve barely mentioned him to my friends at school.”

“oh, you go to school?” elaine asked. “what do you study?”

“she’s a pianist,” jerry said from the kitchen, faux posh tone seeping through. “one with the orchestral people.”

“hey,” she laughed, “maybe you know the maestro.”

“the maestro? has he conducted anywhere big? is he.. based here…?” your words fell on deaf ears; you saw them all start to giggle.

jerry patted your shoulder, “no no, he’s just a guy who takes his job a little too seriously.”

“his name is bob cobb, but he’s a conductor for a community orchestra here, and likes to be called ‘maestro’ at all times,” elaine said.

a cringe followed with the statement. “god, that’s so embarrassing,” you laughed. “that’d be like if i forced everyone to call me the pianist. bleh.”

as the laughter died down, you turned to george. “speaking of which, george, as much as i’ve enjoyed meeting your friends—i’d like to go to your apartment and check out the keyboard you bought.”

“ooh, we’ll have to go to george’s sometime and hear you play a song!”

elaine exclaimed. “wouldn’t that be something, our own personal concert!”

“yeah, maybe!” you replied. your sleep depravity was hitting you harder than you thought. “george, can we please go to your apartment now? are you ready to hit the road yet again?”

with an annoyed yes, you both said your goodbyes to his friends and proceeded to leave the apartment back to george’s car.

if that was one evening of chaotic conversation, what the hell was the rest of your break going to look like?

#seinfeld #jerry seinfeld x reader #seinfeld x reader #jerry seinfeld #elaine benes #george costanza #x reader fic

34 notes · View notes