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uluvjay · 3 months ago

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Just the two of us-L. Norris

Lando Norris x fem! Reader

Lando just won his second Grand Prix and all he has in his mind is getting you back to the hotel..

Warnings,: SMUT, P in v, Unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it!), fingering( F receiving), Cursing, teasing, edging, pretty much porn with a plot!! Prob some errors, I hope you enjoy!

You bounced on your feet next to Adam as you waited for Lando to move towards you two. The metal of the barricade pressing into your stomach as you leaned against it, watching as Lando emerged from his car.

He ran to his team first, hugging everyone that made the win possible before he made it to you and Adam.

He hugged his father close, patting his cheek as they pulled away and moved over to you. Your hands wrapped around his neck as his went around your waist.

“Congrats baby!!” You cheered, not even sure if he could hear you but the slight pat his gloved gave to your bum assured you that he caught some part of your words.

You kissed his helmet as he pulled back, catching your eyes he sent you a small wink as he turned around and began to remove his gear.

You couldn’t help the way your eyes were glued to him as he took his balaclava off, shaking his curls and running a hand through his hair.

The mullet had been doing things for you and you couldn’t wait to get him back to the hotel and into your bed.

You watched the Podium celebration before heading to his drivers room to wait for him, sitting on the small couch scrolling through Twitter liking all the supportive tweets from devoted fans.

Hearing the creek of the door your head shot up, an eyebrow inching up at the sight of your shirtless boyfriend. Trophy and shirt in one hand, while his phone rested in the other.

“Where’d your shirt go?” You laughed, moving to stand on your feet and head towards him.

“Got hot.” He shrugged, his cheeky grin pulling on his lips he sat everything down and pulled you against him.

He tucked his head into your neck, a relaxing sigh of relief coming from him as he finally got a second to be with just you.

“How are you feeling?” You asked softly, knowing he’d had himself worried about not performing well after the summer break.

“Okay, I’m glad I was able to get that win but now I’m exhausted. Can’t wait to get into bed and sleep.” He chuckled lightly.

He pulled back just enough to see your face, his eyes locked on yours as he smiled gently.

“I’m gonna shower and then we can head back?”

“Sounds good to me.” You smiled back, leaning in for what you intended to be a sweet kiss but he made quick work of moving his hand from your waist to the back of your head and pushing his lips harder against yours.

You finally pulled back at the feeling of him trying to push his tongue into your mouth, a giggle escaping you at his whine.

“Go shower big guy, that king sized bed and room service are calling my name.” You patted his chest and stepped back.

“Fineeee.” He groaned playfully, grabbing his change of clothes and heading for the small shower.

Opening the door to the hotel room Lando held it for you as you followed in behind him, watching as you beelined straight for the bed and plopped yourself on top.

He did his best to ignore the way the skirt of your dress flipped up showing the curve of your bum and lacy panties.

As much as he wanted nothing more than to roll your dress up and take you right then and there he could hear sleep calling his name.

He coughed as he walked past setting his things down and exchanging his jeans and T shirt for a pair of sweatpants.

“Are you changing darling?” He asked.

“Yeah, can I borrow a shirt?” You asked innocently, now sitting up to face him.

“By borrowing you mean stealing it and me never seeing it again?” He laughed as he picked you one from his suitcase.

“You’ll see it again..it’ll just be In my drawers rather than yours.” You smirked.

Lando handed you the quadrant shirt, watching as you stood on your feet and slipped off the sandals you’d picked for the day before pulling the sun dress over your head, bra quickly following as they both hit the floor.

He gulped at the way your breasts hardened from the cold breeze in the room, goosebumps covering your skin before you quickly pulled the dark shirt over your head.

“You okay?” You smirked when you caught his stare.

“Mhm, yeah.” He coughed turning away from you as he adjusted his pants to hide the now very prominent boner.

You shook your head at his antics, picking up your clothes from the floor and moving to put them in your own suitcase.

“What do you wanna get to eat?” You questioned after finding a comfortable spot on the bed, Lando climbing in right next to you with the tv remote in hand.

“You can order whatever, I’ll eat anything right now.” He laughed.

You could tell he was trying to act normal despite his tense shoulders, his eyes constantly dropping to your bare thighs that were just inches from his.

You nodded in reply, reaching across the bed for the room phone making sure the shirt you sported rose up more than usual letting him get a glimpse of your panties.

You heard the small groan he let out, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips as you played your games with him.

You returned to your spot next to him after ordering you both some pasta, wine, and dessert.

Lando was now laying against the headboard, his lower abdomen under the heavy duvet, you slid under it as well cuddling into his side as his arm moved to wrap around your shoulder.

“How long did they say?” He asked.

“About 45 minutes.” You replied softly.

He nodded in return his eyes glued to the show he’d picked, you decided to behave for a little allowing the both of you some time to fully relax before you started up again.

You could sense he was tired and needed some time to relax but as you counted down the minutes till the food was set to arrive you couldn’t help yourself as your hand moved from his lap to his stomach.

Truthfully he didn’t even notice your moves at first, not thinking much about your hand moving against his skin. That was until he felt your cold fingers beginning to trace the waistband of his pants.

A sharp gasp echoing from him when he felt your hand finally slip under the elastic of both his pants and boxers, his hand that rested behind you gripping the material of your shirt as pleasure begin to flow through him.

“Fuck.” He whimpered as you pumped him slowly, thumb moving around the swollen head of his cock.

His chest began to heave as he felt his orgasm getting closer and closer with every stroke of your soft hand he felt the world slipping away.

You watched as his head tipped back, soft curls tickling his forehead as beads of sweat began to gather at his hair line.

His sounds picked up, soft whimpers becoming moans as he was on the brink of his orgasm. It wouldn’t take much more to get him to cum and you knew it, flexing your wrist a bit more you had him ready until a knock on the door had you stopping your movements.

“Room service!” A woman called from outside.

“Foods here!” You smirked evilly, withdrawing your hand from his pants Lando let out a pained whimper at the loss of contact.

He stayed glued in his position watching you open the door and grab the cart from the Lady, thanking her politely before pulling it into the room and shutting the door.

He watched as you moved around as if he wasn’t even there, as if you didn’t just have him moaning and gasping on the brink of an orgasm with your hands shoved in his pants.

“Baby?!” He called catching your attention.

“Huh?”

“What the hell was that?” He exclaimed, voice shaky despite his attempted sternness.

“What was what?” You asked dumbly, eyes showing nothing but fake innocence.

He stood up at that, marching to where you stood he’d had enough. He allowed you to play your little game long enough, he was tired when you two got back not really feeling like sex was in the cards but now you had him wide awake and ready.

Reaching you he didn’t hesitate wrapping a strong hand around the base of your throat, the twinkle he saw in your eyes and the way you did your best to hide your smirk had him realizing this was exactly what you wanted.

“I’m not playing this damn game anymore Y/n.” He spat, “get your ass on the bed.”

“What about the foo-“ I don’t give a fuck about the food, on the bed.”

His shoulders relaxed when you quickly obeyed and took off towards the bed, with a sway to your hips and slight pep in your step he knew you were ready.

Stripping from his pants and boxers he made sure you were watching his movements, he made his way back to his side of the bed resuming his earlier position.

“Come here.” He called and you did as he asked.

Moving to his lap you cried out when he pushed your panties to the side, thick fingers running through your folds.

“Look at that, you’re absolutely soaked.” He scoffed, fingers continuing their slow and steady movements.

“That little game of yours get you like this baby? Getting me to the edge and stopping?”

You nodded pathetically at his words, the pleasure of his hands beginning to cloud your brain, hand reaching for his shoulder to steady yourself as your knees got shaky.

“Getting close love?” He smirked up at you, watching the way your chest heaved just like his had, how your hands were balled up just like his, your sounds getting louder by the second.

“Yes! Fuck yes.” You panted, hazy eyes locking with his.

You could feel it, it was right there all it would take was a few more strokes of his talented fingers but right as you felt yourself at the cusp everything went away.

“No, no, no, Lando please.” You begged trying to grab his hand but his reflexes were too quick for you.

He laughed, he actually laughed at you. His chest moving slightly as he put on a faux pout for you, his bottom lip sticking out as he cupped your cheek.

“Sucks doesn’t it baby?” He asked, his eyes now holding the evil look.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have teased you. Will you please make me cum?” You pleaded with the Brit, giving him your best puppy eyes.

“Hmm I don’t know..don’t know if you deserve it.” He spoke, voice dripping with a seductive venom.

“Please baby, I’ll be good I promise. Just want to cum and to make you cum.” You tried, scooting closer to him.

His large hands found a home on your hips gripping them tight, he pulled you down a bit to rub your dripping center over the tip of his angry cock.

Twin gasps escaping both of you at the bone chilling feeling, your nails digging into his skin as his dug into the material of his shirt you still wore.

He guided you until his cock was resting right against your hole, eyes locked on your face as you slid down on him.

Lando swore there was no better sight then the way your mouth dropped open in a silent moan, the air getting knocked from your lungs as you took him all the way, stopping once you reached the base of his cock for a second to adjust to his length and thickness.

“Fuck.” He breathed, hands dropping to cup your plump ass cheeks.

He moved you back and forth slowly, a hot cry leaving you as the mixed pleasure of him hitting so deep and your clip rubbing against his pelvis.

His own head dropped back at the pleasure, feet planting themselves on the bed as he began to thrust up into you.

Your body falling against his completely as you cried out wordless moans, the lingering tension from your missed orgasm adding onto the already powerful pleasure.

Lando could feel his own body quivering at the pleasure, his abs tightening with each thrust, doing his best to hold himself off until you came for him.

“Doing so fucking good baby.” He groaned out, pulling your face out of his neck he locked your lips in a hot kiss, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip dragging another moan from you.

“Shit Lando.” You cried, arms wrapping around his neck as you held eye contact, beginning to rock your hips to match his thrusts.

Hearing your breath hitch with every thrust mixed with the way your cunt hugged his cock he could tell you were close, his lips moving to kiss the spot below your ear.

“I want you to come for me now, can you do that baby?” He cooed in your ear, basking in the whine that left your lips at his words.

“Uh huh” you babbled to him, hips moving faster as you chased your high.

“Good girl.”

Those two words were all it took to finally push you over the edge, your mouth dropping into a silent scream as your body shook against his.

He fucked you through your high, his sharp and steady thrusts never stopping even as your moans of overstimulation picked up.

“Lando! Fuck, I can’t take anymore.” You cried, hands tangling into his curls.

“I’m almost there love, just need you to be a good girl for me.” He panted, his hips begging to stutter as he felt his climax strongly approaching.

“Come for me champ, fill me up.” You spoke in his ear just like he had for you.

He groaned at your words, his grip on you tight as he thrusted a few more times before finally coming to a halt with a deep groan.

His spent body dropped back against the headboard as you laid on his chest, his hand coming to stroke your hair as you both came down from your highs.

After a few moments of silence he finally spoke up, “Well that was some celebration sex for sure.”

You both laughed as you slapped his chest lightly, “shut up.”

It was silent for a little while longer until he tapped your bum twice, “We gotta get you cleaned up.”

You groaned at his words not sure if you were even capable of moving let alone standing on your legs right now.

“I know, I know but we need to eat some food too.” He cooed and you couldn’t argue with that as the scent of the pasta across the room hit your nose.

Shifting to straddle him again you whimpered at the overstimulation, taking a deep breath before you pulled off of him.

A groan falling from Lando as he watched a mixture of your releases land on his softening cock, he placed a sharp swat to your ass when he saw a smirk itching to tug at your lips.

“Keep it up and I’ll fuck yoy even harder in the shower.”

“Promise?”

#lando norris #lando norris x you #lando norris smut #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando x reader #f1 smut #f1 x you #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic

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fans4wga · 1 year ago

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"The studios thought they could handle a strike. They might end up sparking a revolution"

by Mary McNamara

"If you want to start a revolution, tell your workers you’d rather see them lose their homes than offer them fair wages. Then lecture them about how their “unrealistic” demands are “disruptive” to the industry, not to mention disturbing your revels at Versailles, er, Sun Valley.

Honestly, watching the studios turn one strike into two makes you wonder whether any of their executives have ever seen a movie or watched a television show. Scenes of rich overlords sipping Champagne and acting irritated while the crowd howls for bread rarely end well for the Champagne sippers.

This spring, it sometimes seemed like the Hollywood studios represented by the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers were actively itching for a writers’ strike. Speculations about why, exactly, ran the gamut: Perhaps it would save a little money in the short run and show the Writers Guild of America (perceived as cocky after its recent ability to force agents out of the packaging business) who’s boss.

More obviously, it might secure the least costly compromise on issues like residuals payments and transparency about viewership.

But the 20,000 members of the WGA are not the only people who, having had their lives and livelihoods upended by the streaming model, want fair pay and assurances about the use of artificial intelligence, among other sticking points. The 160,000 members of the Screen Actors Guild-American Federation of Television and Radio Artists share many of the writers’ concerns. And recent unforced errors by studio executives, named and anonymous, have suddenly transformed a fight the studios were spoiling for into a public relations war they cannot win.

Even as SAG-AFTRA representatives were seeing a majority of their demands rejected despite a nearly unanimous strike vote, a Deadline story quoted unnamed executives detailing a strategy to bleed striking writers until they come crawling back.

Days later, when an actors’ strike seemed imminent, Disney Chief Executive Bob Iger took time away from the Sun Valley Conference in Idaho not to offer compromise but to lecture. He told CNBC’s David Faber that the unions’ refusal to help out the studios by taking a lesser deal is “very disturbing to me.”

“There’s a level of expectation that they have that is just not realistic,” Iger said. “And they are adding to the set of the challenges that this business is already facing that is, quite frankly, very disruptive.”

If Iger thought his attempt to exec-splain the situation would make actors think twice about walking out, he was very much mistaken. Instead, he handed SAG-AFTRA President Fran Drescher the perfect opportunity for the kind of speech usually shouted atop the barricades.

“We are the victims here,” she said Thursday, marking the start of the actors’ strike. “We are being victimized by a very greedy entity. I am shocked by the way the people that we have been in business with are treating us. I cannot believe it, quite frankly: How far apart we are on so many things. How they plead poverty, that they’re losing money left and right, when giving hundreds of millions of dollars to their CEOs. It is disgusting. Shame on them. They stand on the wrong side of history at this very moment.”

Cue the cascading strings of “Les Mis,” bolstered by images of the most famous people on the planet walking out in solidarity: the cast of “Oppenheimer” leaving the film’s London premiere; the writers and cast of “The X-Files” reuniting on the picket line.

A few days later, Barry Diller, chairman and senior executive of IAC and Expedia Group and a former Hollywood studio chief, suggested that studio executives and top-earning actors take a 25% pay cut to bring a quick end to the strikes and help prevent “the collapse of the entire industry.”

When Diller is telling executives to take a pay cut to avoid destroying their industry, it is no longer a strike, or even two strikes. It is a last-ditch attempt to prevent le déluge.

Yes, during the 2007-08 writers’ strike, picketers yelled noncomplimentary things at executives as they entered their respective lots. (“What you earnin’, Chernin?” was popular at Fox, where Peter Chernin was chairman and chief executive.) But that was before social media made everything more immediate, incendiary and personal. (Even if they have never seen a movie or TV show, one would think that people heading up media companies would understand how media actually work.)

Even at the most heated moments of the last writers’ strike, executives like Chernin and Iger were seen as people who could be reasoned with — in part because most of the executives were running studios, not conglomerations, but mostly because the pay gap between executives and workers, in Hollywood and across the country, had not yet widened to the reprehensible chasm it has since.

Now, the massive eight- and nine-figure salaries of studio heads alongside photos of pitiably small residual checks are paraded across legacy and social media like historical illustrations of monarchs growing fat as their people starve. Proof that, no matter how loudly the studios claim otherwise, there is plenty of money to go around.

Topping that list is Warner Bros. Discovery Chief Executive Davd Zaslav. Having re-named HBO Max just Max and made cuts to the beloved Turner Classic Movies, among other unpopular moves, Zaslav has become a symbol of the cold-hearted, highly compensated executive that the writers and actors are railing against.

The ferocious criticism of individual executives’ salaries has placed Hollywood’s labor conflict at the center of the conversation about growing wealth disparities in the U.S., which stokes, if not causes, much of this country’s political divisions. It also strengthens the solidarity among the WGA and SAG-AFTRA and with other groups, from hotel workers to UPS employees, in the midst of disputes during what’s been called a “hot labor summer.”

Unfortunately, the heightened antagonism between studio executives and union members also appears to leave little room for the kind of one-on-one negotiation that helped end the 2007-08 writers’ strike. Iger’s provocative statement, and the backlash it provoked, would seem to eliminate him as a potential elder statesman who could work with both sides to help broker a deal.

Absent Diller and his “cut your damn salaries” plan, there are few Hollywood figures with the kind of experience, reputation and relationships to fill the vacuum.

At this point, the only real solution has been offered by actor Mark Ruffalo, who recently suggested that workers seize the means of production by getting back into the indie business, which is difficult to imagine and not much help for those working in television.

It’s the AMPTP that needs to heed Iger’s admonishment. At a time when the entertainment industry is going through so much disruption, two strikes is the last thing anyone needs, especially when the solution is so simple. If the studios don’t want a full-blown revolution on their hands, they’d be smart to give members of the WGA and SAG-AFTRA contracts they can live with."

#sag-aftra strike #sag strike #fans4wga #writers guild strike #actors guild strike #union solidarity #wga strong #i stand with the wga #wga strike #writers strike

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dcxdpdabbles · 6 months ago

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DCxDP Fic Idea: New Management

It starts off small, in controlled, barely noticeable areas of Gotham.

Over days, the litter and trash vanish, the sidewalks are washed and cleaned, and even building yards long since abandoned are trimmed. No one notices at first because Gotham is so used to ignoring how dirty everything is until Poison Ivy makes a public announcement thanking the person who cleaned up Gotham's parks.

You know, while she was tearing up that one street with her vine monster.

After the Bats had her locked away pending a trial, they stopped to look around and realized, yes, someone had been cleaning house. No one really knows who, but things have started to change. Streetlights are replaced, graffiti is painted over, and cracked windows are fixed. It's a nice thought, but all this had the gangs up in arms, especially when their tagging disappeared.

To control the goodie-two-shoes, a few gangs burn down a few local parks- mostly the ones near or around Crime Alley- and they also loot the smaller businesses. It's a warning that the mystery housekeeper should be reminded of their station, but- well, it's all for nothing because, like magic, the following night, the damage is repaired and somehow better than before.

What's crazy is the water change. Everyone notices that right away.

Gotham's water system was just as corrupted and descriptive as its class system. If you were one of the elites- your water was clean and crisp- if you were one of the poor- your water was practically tar with how contaminated it was. Anyone in between got a fifty-fifty chance of drinkable water, depending on what side of the city they lived on.

It became an identifier, really. Depending on how often you were seen at stores buying bottled water, people could tell how well off your family was.

That's why, on a random Wednesday, Gotham lost their collective mind that the entire water system was fixed. Regardless of class, every household had clear, scent-free water from the tabs.

The few who wandered outside trying to figure out what in the world was happening were left stunned at the sight of Gotham's surrounding bodies of water.

They were clean.

All the rivers, the harbors, the silly little fountains found around Old Gotham- everything. It was safe to swim in them now. That was just wrong.

"What's happening?" Jason growls, crouching at one of Wayne Manor's main windows. His eyes are barely visible over the edge, allowing him to peek out into the yard, but he must not be fully visible, lest he become a target.

"I don't know," Tim hisses, taking a similar position on the second floor. He grips the communicator with a white-knuckle grip, trying his best to ground himself. "I just don't know. There are no witnesses, no evidence, no clues whatsoever on who's doing this to the city!"

"I don't like this!"

"No one does, Jason," Bruce intervenes; the accompanying sound of keys typing is familiar background noise. He's still in the cave, attempting to run through all reports of horrified Gothamites on social media, trying to find a pattern. "Babs? Do you have any new updates?"

"No!" She hisses, her typing sounding far more aggressive. "I can't find anything on those responsible. Nothing on the internet, nothing on public camera feeds, and nothing on rumors through dark web chats. It's like I'm trying to track a ghost!"

"This isn't natural, B," Steph cuts in. She's hiding in her bedroom closet, voice low in case her mom hears. After they realize some new lunatic is running loose in Gotham, her mom calls her back home to barricade them. If they had a bomb shelter, they would have been in it long ago.

"It's worse than we think," Duke huffs. He's somewhere near the top floor, having chosen a higher vantage point, hoping his meta powers would spot someone coming towards the manor. "I think I see glimpses of blue in the sky. If this continues at this rate, we'll have a clear blue sky in about two hours."

Multiple gasps of horror are heard throughout the communication lines. Bruce starts to type faster, barking orders for everyone to remain where they are and not go gather information. They had no idea what they were dealing with.

Damian stands with a confused Cass, Dick, and Alfred. The only bats not originated from Gotham, so while they can claim to have years in the city, none of them truly know. "I do not understand. Is this not beneficial to Gotham?"

"It may be too much at once, Master Damian." The Bulter tells him carefully. He only speaks that slowly when Alfred thinks of every word before saying it. "Whoever is behind this must not be from Gotham. If they were, they know that people would lose their collective minds upon the improvements."

"But who could be responsible?" Cass asks, watching Jason duck and army crawl to a new window once some sunlight manages to break through the clouds where he was originally hiding.

"I wish I knew Miss Cass."

Meanwhile, Danny Fenton leans back in his computer chair in a dimension of hope and a skip away. He laces his fingers together, bending them until satisfying cracks are heard. It was a productive hour of work, but he thinks now that his virtual city had cleaner water, his NPCs should start healing and developing better.

He was suspicious of Madam Gotham—a new ghost that appeared within his territory of the Ghost Zone—but after a quick conversation, he decided to befriend her. Danny is glad he did, seeing as she was in danger of fading away. Her core had suffered severe damage due to denying her obsession for so long.

Danny could do nothing for her. Madam Gotham needed professional help that only certain Yetis could offer. Although the Yetis usually turned away anyone not of their kind, with Danny backing her up, they had been willing to take in Madam Gotham.

She had been stubborn, though, refusing to get help because she was too busy playing her silly little game. The computer she played it on was unique to her realm and could not withstand the cold temeture of the Far Frozen. Danny was literally watching her melt—a horrific reminder of Dani and her siblings' disabling—before he could take it anymore.

Only after agreeing to watch her video game did she decide to be moved to the Far Frozen to receive medical treatment. Now, Danny never really liked those farming simulator games, but this was different in the sense that the city was already there.

His job was to further develop the city into a utopia. It was interesting to learn what modern issues the city had and how he could make decisions based on point costs on what to fix.

He gained points from making his citizens happier, supporting the Bats—the city's defenders—or choosing to develop options that significantly raised the value of his city.

It was rather addicting, really. He could see how Madam Gotham got so sucked in, even though it didn't really have much action for him to make. Mostly, he would let his citizens react to his new choices and use his points to delete trash and gunk.

There were some side quests he liked to work on, too, like helping certain citizens with drug addiction, depression, anxiety, or anger issues. Danny has no idea why Madam Gotham allowed so many to develop so badly, so every day, he would give them all one good luck point to brighten their days.

He had three full tabs of characters, a brief explanation of their lives, and whatever issues Danny could make them go through. He would tackle the number of homeless youth next by fixing up the city's affordable housing and infrastructure.

It was a bit narcissistic of Madam Gotham to name her game town "Gotham City," but it's better than any name Danny could have come up with.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #New Managment #Part 1 #Danny is playing sims with Gotham #Everyone Gotham born is freaking out #It's not natrual #Gotham was actively making things worse for them #Danny is not aware that he's a managing a actual city

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dollerinna · 4 months ago

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WOULD YOU LIKE AN ALMOND JOY .ᐣ

( black noir x gn!crime analyst reader )

summary: after a long day of work, you try to unwind by watching your comfort show, but your solitude is interrupted by yet another visit from noir, who seems to be finding more and more excuses to spend time with you… (includes a C.AI bot as part 2 below!)

wordcount: 2k

tags: brief mention of NSFW pop-up ads, nerdy n’ socially awkward reader, noir’s disdain for almond joys but he makes up for it at the end <3

It had been a long day at the crime analytics office in Vought. As the sun began to set, exhaustion crept over you after reviewing incident report after report. Your eyes strained from the blue glare of your computer screen. You knew you had promised your boss you would organize the ever-growing database, but the tiny voice of procrastination was pleading for rest before your overworked brain turned into a pile of mush.

Rather than more paperwork—you, being the slacker of all slackers in this department, decided a well-deserved break was in order. And what better way to recharge than turning off the noggin and filling it with good ol’ fashioned mindless entertainment?

With a few tired clicks of your mouse, you booted up your go-to streaming site, which was none other than 123movies. Scrolling through the options, your cursor hovered over the play button of your favorite trashy drama. The kind of cheesy, perfectly predictable melodrama spun from the worst of amateur YA plots. It was practically comfort food for your fatigued mind, just what you needed to loosen up after the mental marathon that was this long day.

As the opening credits began to roll, your computer began to whir and hiss like an overtaxed engine, emitting gusts of unusually hot air from the vents. Suddenly, its screen slowed to a sluggish crawl, cluttered with a barrage of not-so-savory pop-up ads. Barely a minute in, the pixels already scrambled to form images better to left unseen—half naked women in risqué yet tacky mermaid-like attire, claiming they were ‘just around the corner and ready for a good aquatic fuck.’

First of all, what the absolute living hell is an “aquatic fuck”??

Did you even want to know? And most importantly, what happened to the ad blocker you installed just the other day? Judging by the contents, you had a sneaking suspicion that slimy, sea-dwelling degenerate, The Deep, had tampered with your computer… yet again.

“For the love of-… what’s with all these pop-up ads?” you muttered under your breath as excessively explicit ads crowded out the episode. Your eyes darted furtively around the room to check for wandering glances, hoping against hope that none of your coworkers had noticed the unwanted filth invading your screen. Heart pounding, you squeezed your chair closer to your monitor into a makeshift barricade, shielding the display as best you could while hastily clicking away at the intrusive ads.

As you hurriedly closed the remaining windows, an ominous shadow fell across the screen. Dreading what—or who—might be behind you, you slowly swiveled your chair around to find Black Noir's stoic stare boring into your own.

You stifled a yelp as you instinctively clutched the armrests, catching yourself on the edge of your seat before an ungainly spill to the floor. Noir had a way of materializing without warning, and it never failed to unnerve.

“N-Noir!” you managed, inwardly cringing as your voice broke on his name. “Fancy seeing you in these parts. I was just taking a quick break and y’know- stretching ‘em brain cells.” You tried for a lighthearted chuckle, but it emerged as more of a strained squeak that faded into an anxious hum.

With a jerky flurry of clicks and the browser minimized from view, whatever dignity you still retained disappearing along with it. All that did remain was you praying to the heavens above that he hadn't noticed its questionable contents (even if he most definitely had and simply chose not to comment)

When Noir offered no response, you of course charmingly barreled ahead in your frazzled daze. “But anyways, s-sorry about that… how uh, can I help you today?” your words tumbled out in a breathless rush, punctuated by a shrill laugh you hoped disguised the mortification simmering beneath.

Noir cocked his head, observing you with that same silent intensity. You fidgeted, hands twisting in knotted discomfort, the heat in your ears now engulfing your entire face. Was it the invasive pop-ups that had you squirming in your seat? Or the fact he could snuff out your existence faster than you can say “workers’ comp”?

Either way, beneath the weight of his stare, you already felt as if you were some peculiar, freakish creature pinned for study, rather than some bumbling employee just trying to unwind and watch their comfort show.

And to him, you indeed were a fascinating, bizarre little human.

Mercifully, Noir chose to extend a folder toward you, putting an end to your somewhat pathetic withering. You accepted it with a wordless nod, nearly sagging in your chair as tension drained from your shoulders.

Whirling towards the familiar clutter of your desk once more, you pretended absorption in the folder’s material, hoping this signaled Noir’s leave. After all, has anyone seen the state of you? It certainly wasn’t a flattering one. Yet from the corner of your eye, you detected no movement, no receding footsteps—his shadowy form remained statuesquely in place.

Believe it or not, this has been becoming a thing, a growing habit of late—and a suspicious one at that. Lately his breaks had grown longer, minutes lengthening to quarters of an hour, all spent hovering at your desk as you worked. However, his focus was solely on watching and observing you. He never exhibited a hint of thought or motive for his reason there, only leaving you with questions that seemed to multiply by each and every visit.

Noir, on the other hand, was somehow utterly convinced that you and him were two peas in a tightly-knit pod. He swore you two were best of buds for life—even if "life" so far had only amounted to the past two weeks' worth of half-hour stretches where he silently observed your work from the corner.

Ironically, you didn’t have the slightest inkling of how he really felt. Instead, you always assumed that he, like most supes, regarded you as little more than a puny mortal—a fragile, near-useless sack of flesh and bones whose skull he was one misstep away from caving in with bare hands.

But nope, Noir was simply here to bless you, the nerdy but cute crime analyst, with his presence—his rather… unsettling presence.

The familiar hush settled as you reluctantly returned focus to the task at hand. Hocus-pocus-focus, you chanted mentally, peeling away the last shreds of stray thoughts to tap into the zone of productivity. Unfurling the dossier Noir provided, you began sifting through documents for insight on his purpose in approaching you. Meanwhile, a flick of movement in the edge of your vision revealed Noir's attention veer off course, the almond joy perched beside your keyboard capturing his notice.

You tensed, hocus-pocus-focus breaking, all too aware of past disappearances of snacks in these briefings. Sure enough, his hand drifted noiselessly toward the candy bar, no doubt spurred by ingrained impulse to dispose of it per his usual custom. But you'd grown wise to his methods by now.

Not again, you sighed inwardly, snatching the almond joy and cradling it protectively as if it were your dear, beloved child.

Noir made no move to withdraw, palm outstretched expectantly. You frowned, struggling to keep frustration at bay. "Please, come on- not this time!.. It's my last one for the day." Brows pinching, your tone threatened to rise before steadying with a slow and calm inhale. No use losing composure over candy, no matter the principle. So all you could do was peer beseechingly at Noir in silent appeal, legs jittering restlessly under your desk in building apprehension.

Unfortunately, you found no signs of leniency in his obscured face—only his hand beckoning relentlessly for the almond joy. You plea was once again met with stony resolve, as if he was internally distressed by the mere presence of it. What was he? Deathly allergic to almond joys or something?

With a resigned breath, you delivered the almond joy towards Noir's waiting glove, unable to hide the disappointment dimming your features. Your lips curled into a slight pout, gaze sinking heavy into your lap at being parted from the treat. Though Noir was never one for words, it really didn’t take a rocket scientist to see you felt bullied into submission by his demands. At the end of the day, what power did a measly analyst like yourself hold against one of the Seven? As your fingers uncurled, releasing the candy into Noir's grasp, you couldn't help but feel a bit put upon, even if that wasn’t his intention at all.

Noir was well aware of the upset feelings his request had caused, so in an attempt to remedy the situation, his arm was sent in a backwards reach for the notepad he often used to communicate. However, he found himself at a loss as words eluded him, his thoughts swirling in frustrating circles of “What should I even say?”—muddled and incoherent. For a moment he stared at you, mask betraying no emotion as he grappled to find the right words, despite the prick of guilt nibbling at his conscience. Then, lacking any better option, he simply tossed the offending candy into the trash, perhaps with more force than intended.

Clearly, socializing was not Noir’s strong suit.

With no further acknowledgment, Noir spun on his heel and marched away. You watched his retreating, rigid form with discomfort clenching your insides, eyes falling onto the lonely candy discarded in the trash, its colorful wrapper mocking your current disheartened state.

Wearily, you turned away from the almond joy, redirecting your attention toward the computer as a means to divert your now soured mood. Maximizing the browser, you hoped that your planned show may have had time to load during the interaction. But upon inspecting the screen, you found the video remained stubbornly stalled, stuck on buffering dots and refusing to roll despite the minutes passed.

Just. Peachy.

One (super)human encounter had sucked the very life source out of your dog-tired body, and now this. It was really shaping up to be one of those days.

Thoroughly worn out, you gently laid your head down onto the desk, pillowing it against the crook of your folded arms as eyelids slid shut. All you craved was to simply sleep away the remaining time until you could finally escape this wretched shift and retreat to the sanctuary of your home sweet home.

─────────────────

As your shift wound down to its end, you were finally stirring from your slumber. Rubbing the sleep from your bleary eyes, your blurred vision sharpened to show your colleagues had long since departed while you were snoozing away.

Rising and squaring your shoulders, you began to gather your belongings in preparation to leave as well. Once you had collected everything and lifted to your feet, something in the far corner of your desk caught your eye. Approaching for a closer look in the dim lighting, the fuzzy outline gradually came into focus—a cluttered collection of Hershey's Kisses, their jumbled placement grouped to form the shape of a heart.

You blinked in bewilderment, rubbing your eyes once more to ensure you weren't imagining things. Stepping closer, you spotted a sticky note nestled within the heart of chocolates, scrawled upon in a crude, blocky hand. At first, you assumed it was some silly prank from one of your coworkers, but you knew you recognized the handwriting anywhere—it was Noir's.

Gingerly, you plucked the sticky note from the desk, lifting it to your line of sight to read the message. “Kisses taste better than almond joys…Sorry.” you read softly, your voice trailing off as confusion crept in.

Designed as a very apparent flirty gesture, the intent behind the note and chocolates still managed to whoosh straight over your head. As always seemed the case, even the most painfully obvious social cues could so easily evade your understanding—this proving no exception.

You slipped the sticky note into your pocket, then selected a foil-wrapped Kiss from the pile. Gently rolling the chocolate between your fingers, you unwrapped it and popped one into your mouth. You took time to savor its light cream filling beneath a smooth outer shell, face crinkling in thought and head tilting as you considered your verdict. “Eh… I’d beg to differ.” you mused with a shrug, slinging your bag over your shoulder as you took your leave from the office.

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Pssst- likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated in this household and keep me motivated! <3

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a C.AI bot as your very own part 2 where you thank Noir the following day:

a/n: saw somewhere that kisses don’t contain nuts but then I also saw someone else say they actually do??? So let’s just pretend the kisses Noir chose are completely nut-free for the sake of the plot 😭

also, the reader is very much based off Anika if it wasn’t obvious enough haha! She’s so y/n coded 😤💗

♡ divider credits: @/ianrkives

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motorsportbarbie13 · 15 days ago

Text

What's A Soulmate? - Part 2

In which you accidentally spend an extra year traveling the globe.

Warnings: Heavy on the mutual pining. JFC you two are down bad for each other. Pairing: Lando Norris x SainzSister!Reader Word count: 3.3k words

Part 1

Master List

July 2020

Austria

“He’s 5 seconds ahead, Mr. Norris. Oh my God, he’s 5 seconds ahead of Lewis!” You murmur, hands clutching at the elbow of Lando’s dad as the Austrian Grand Prix winds down.

“He’s got this, our boy is going to get his first podium of his career.” The pride and confidence in Adam’s voice sends a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over.

Somehow, your one year stint as your brother’s personal assistant had turned into two when you realized you had fallen in love with the world that you had found yourself in. Carlos had been resistant at first, wanting you to go back to university to get your degree but after a year on the road, you simply hadn’t figured out what it was you wanted to do.

In the end, it had been Lando who had been the one to convince Carlos to agree to one more year traveling with them. University would always be there, he reasoned, and what was the use in sending you away if you didn’t even have an idea of what you wanted to do? Wouldn’t the real world experience you got working with elite athletes all over the world count for something when it was time to settle down and get a real job?

In truth, Lando just hadn’t wanted to lose you. In the year that you had been in his life, the friendship that had blossomed between the two of you was one of Lando’s most important and meaningful relationships that he’d ever had. You could look at Lando and tell that something was off just by a singular tick of his jaw muscle. He could look at you and tell that you were losing your patience at his antics by the way your shoulders bunched up by your ears at the end of the day. So it had been completely selfish when Lando had gone to bat for you, simply because he didn’t want his best friend to leave his side.

It had worked and Carlos had agreed, also not really wanting to lose you as such a fixture in his life as well. You and your brother worked together so well, you anticipating his needs before they were even a thought in his head. If he had his way, you’d spend the rest of your career managing his but he knew your parents would never go for it.

Now, here in Austria, your best friend was one single lap away from landing his first F1 podium. Carlos was running in 5th and the energy in the McLaren garage was simply electric. The mechanics and engineers were all on their feet, waiting for the stewards to give the okay for them to run out to pit lane. You were tucked back in the garage standing next to Lando’s dad, who had traveled to Austria this weekend to see his son’s race.

The checkered flag waves and tears stream down your face you’re so proud of both of your boys. P3 for Lando, P5 for your brother. Lando’s first podium of his career. The enormity of the moment washes over you as you follow Adam out into the pit lane. You watch through misty eyes as Lando pulls his car into parc ferme behind the little cardboard 3 sign. The pride that swells in your chest threatens to overtake any and all other feeling it’s so significant and strong.

Here was the boy that you had spent countless nights consoling after DNFs and poor finishes, leaping out of the car after putting his car on the podium. You follow Lando’s dad over to the barricades, waiting patiently for Lando to get out of the car. His helmet is ripped off in record time as Lando’s eyes search for his team. The entire McLaren garage is there, waiting to celebrate this career best finish with him. Your stomach digs into the metal barricade, the cold steel biting into your bare skin, as you lean forward to catch a better glimpse of your sweaty best friend.

The way your heart tumbles down to your toes when his gaze finds yours sends heat rushing to your cheeks.

“We did it!” Lando crows, throwing his arms around his team.

Adam is next and fresh tears roll down your cheeks at the tender hug that is exchanged between father and son. You’ve spent quite a bit of time with Adam and Lando this weekend and the bond that they share is something that is so special, it’s a blessing to watch.

And then its your turn. The shy smile that flits across your face feels out of place in front of the boy that has your entire heart. “I’m so proud of you.” You murmur, eyes shining up at him, when his arms snake around your neck as he pulls you into a sticky hug.

“Thank you.” He whispers back, lips dusting over your cheek in a very non platonic way that has your heart skittering into your throat. “I couldn’t have done it without you, pretty girl.”

It’s just a quick moment between friends and it’s over before it really means anything to anyone else besides you and Lando but that moment after his first podium is something that you’ll hold on to for years to come. He’s your best friend and nothing more, you try to remind yourself as you watch him complete the rest of his post-race duties. Of course you were proud of him, that wasn’t weird to say. The hug that you shared, the quick peck on the cheek, both were the actions of two people that were practically inseparable but nothing more than friends.

Lando never takes his eyes off of you the entire podium celebration.

Italy

September, 2020

“There is absolutely no fucking way I am getting on the back of that thing with you, Norris.” You stand just outside the McLaren motorhome, hands on your hips, staring at Lando like he’s gone completely insane.

“Oh come on.” He groans, rolling his eyes. “Don’t be such a baby. The fan stage is like a million miles away and we’re going to be late.”

You stared at the electric scooter, one of twenty that had been gifts from Lando’s dad from his new company that had just launched. It was big enough to fit the both of you and was certainly fast enough to get you across the paddock to the fan stage in plenty of time but the idea of you zipping around with Lando Norris of all people piloting the electric scooter had anxiety settling deep in your stomach.

“This is not going to end well.” You grumble. “If you break me, Carlos is going to be very unhappy.”

Lando turns on that megawatt smile he’s known for, aiming it’s full strength right at you, something that you are utterly unable to protect yourself from. “You know I would never hurt you, pretty girl.” He coos, using that nickname that he’s grown so fond of lately.

Which is a problem because you two are supposed to be strictly friends. You knew Lando was a flirt, had seen it in action so many times in the clubs on unsuspecting girls that you had lost count but he never seemed to turn on the charm with you like he did the other girls. Which was totally fine with you because there was no way you would want to get involved with someone you worked so closely with. Despite your close friendship, there was always an element of a professional boundary that you didn’t really want to cross. And Lando seemed like he didn’t want to cross it either.

So, you ignored the swooping stomachs and toothy grins that he aimed your way, telling yourself that it was just because he was your best friend and saw you as the same. Even if he had tried to pursue something, it would have been a bad idea. You couldn’t imagine what you would do without Lando in your life and if a romantic relationship went south between you two, well…that simply wasn’t an option and you would’t even consider the fall out. It made you too anxious.

Throwing your hands up in defeat, you approach the scooter somewhat apprehensively, not missing the way Lando’s grin grew about five sizes when he realized he had won the argument. But he wasn’t just happy that he had won the argument, he was ecstatic that you would now have an excuse to touch him, something that he lived for like a man starved. You never put a toe out of line when it came to your working relationship and Lando tried his best to respect that, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable in any way. Carlos would have his head and his balls if he ever made his baby sister feel any other way than safe but more than that, he valued your friendship more than anything else. If you wanted to maintain a strict platonic relationship, that was what Lando was going to accept.

Lando is up on the scooter first, one foot braced on the pavement as you gingerly take one step and then another onto the back plank of the machine. Your fingers grip at his waist as you struggle to find your balance. “There you go.” Lando says, kicking off the pavement while engaging the little throttle on the handlebars. “Just hold on, I’ve got you.”

You hate to admit it, but Lando was right: this thing was fun. You two rocket through the paddock, picking your way carefully though the late afternoon crowd. Your arms are tight around his waist as you lean into his strong frame, your safety utterly dependent on the man in front of you.

Lando nearly bins it into Red Bull’s motorhome when you rest your chin on his shoulder, he’s so distracted. The sound of your laughter in his ear combined with the way the tips of your fingers grip at the waistband of his jeans send his senses into overload.

“I hate to admit it, Norris but I think you were right.” You laugh, the whisper of your breath sending a shudder down Lando’s spine. “This thing is kind of fun. Do you think your dad would give me one too?”

Not if Lando had anything to say about it because as far as he was concerned, riding through the paddock on the back of his, arms clinging desperately to his body, was the only way you’d be getting around on one ever again.

October 2020

Portugal

The pulse of the music in the club thrums through you, the alcohol you’ve consumed tonight blurring the edges of your vision in the most comforting way. You’ve been in Portugal for less than 24 hours and you already are in love with the country, having arrived ahead of media day tomorrow.

From your spot on the couches in the VIP section, you watch as Lando approaches, your drink in one hand and his in the other. He had convinced you to come out with a few of the drivers tonight, using the fact that there had been a two week break before this race that you had spent in Spain while he had been in England. It hadn’t taken much to convince you as you had missed Lando during the break, even though you’d never admit as much.

“Thank you, Lan!” You shout over the music when Lando hands you the glass full of vodka and sprite.

“Anytime, pretty girl.” Lando says, slipping into the booth next to you.

The burn of the alcohol slips down your throat as you listen to Charles prattle on beside you about something, focus really on the way Lando’s arm is pressed into your bare one. You had spent the entire break desperate for a break from his presence, the way he consumed most of your thoughts was starting to border on obsessive and you had thought you had done a good job of getting him out of your system.

It only took 3 vodka and sprites for you to realize how wrong you were. This silly little crush had to stop though, you knew that. And if Lando had been aware of your feelings, he probably would have told you the same. He was always flirting with pretty models in the club, enjoying his status as a rich, single, professional athlete. There was no way he’d want to tie himself down to one girl, especially not to someone he probably saw as more of a sister than anything even remotely romantic.

So you took what you could get: his friendship and basking in any and all attention he gave you. You tried to tell yourself that the sudden attention Charles was showing you tonight was a good thing, that you needed to find a distraction to get your mind off of the one person that seemed to wholly consume your every thought.

“Do you want to dance, amor?” Charles murmurs in your ear, fully aware that your brother is sitting less than 20 feet away, watching the exchange with daggers shooting out of his eyes.

Next year, Carlos was leaving McLaren and joining Ferrari but if he kept hitting on his little sister like he was, Charles was going to have some issues with his new teammate.

Grasping at the opportunity to get away from Lando and the model that had appeared out of thin air that was sitting pretty on his lap, you practically leap up out of the booth, following Charles out onto the dance floor. The music pulses sensually around you as Charles brings his hands onto your hips, swaying to the music. With your drink in had, you attempt to lose yourself in the music and the feeling of Charles’ hands on your body, ignoring the fact that it isn’t working.

From his spot at the table, Lando grips his drink so hard he’s surprised the glass doesn’t shatter. The moment you had gotten up from the booth with Charles, he had practically dismissed the girl that had been trying to stick her tongue down his throat in favor of watching you dance instead.

“Everything okay there, Lando?” George asks as he takes the place vacated when Charles and you vacated the booth. “You look a little annoyed.”

Lando shoots his friend a withering look before allowing his gaze to find you and Charles again. “‘M fine.” He grumbles.

“Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?”

Lando swings his head to look at George like he has three heads. “What are you talking about, mate?”

“I see the way you look at her. Everyone does. You two are the worst kept secret on the grid.”

Lando sets his drink down without taking his eyes off of you. “She’s just a friend and my teammates sister. Do you see the way Carlos is glaring at Charles? That would be me on the receiving end of that. No fucking way.”

George just raises an eyebrow at Lando’s protest. “Whatever you say mate.”

December 2020

Bahrain

“Lan, can we talk?” You ask, hands wringing together in front of you.

The harsh lights above you light up the paddock, bathing the darkened desert in a fluorescent glow. You’d been looking for Lando for almost thirty minutes now, somehow losing him after qualifying had concluded an hour before.

Lando instantly clocks the anxiety in your entire body as he exits out of McLaren’s hospitality building, brows knitting together as he approaches you.

“Of course we can. Everything okay?” His heart thumps against his chest at the look of worry playing on your face. He doesn’t miss the way you worry at your lip before you answer him.

“I just…we need to talk.”

Lando grabs your hand, leading you away from the crowd. Even though the activities for the day have concluded, there are still so many people in the paddock and you know this isn’t the ideal place to have this conversation but you know if you don’t have it now, you’ll chicken out. Again.

Lando leads you towards pit lane, knowing that most of the crowds have moved on from the garages and that you’ll find a quiet spot there. The silence that settles between you is not wholly unusual but tonight it feels different. Heavy almost. Lando can feel the bad news coming from a mile away and he suddenly just wants time to stop. Whatever you’re about to tell him is going to be bad, he can feel it deep in his bones.

He finds a bit of pit lane that is deserted, save for a few mechanics chatting away after wrapping up their duties. “You’re making me nervous.” Lando admits as you hop up onto the low wall.

Lando steps between your legs, settling his hands on your hips as he looks up at you. This show of affection isn’t unusual between the two of you but truth be told having him touching you tonight makes what you have to tell him a bit harder.

The words you have to tell him die in your throat as you lose yourself in his eyes for a moment. They’re darker blue gray tonight, the star filled night sky above making them seem like the ocean right before a storm. Which you supposed was appropriate for what you had to say now.

“I’m not coming back next season.” You whisper.

The words hit Lando like a physical blow. “What?” He stutters, fingers digging into the flesh at your hips almost painfully.

Tears threaten to spill at the heartbreak in your best friend's eyes. “All this time spent with you and Carlos these past two years has changed me, given me so much purpose and direction and it’s time I move onto the next step.”

Next step? Move on? Lando’s breath caught in his throat. You couldn’t move on from this. From him. He couldn’t lose you, his best friend in the entire world. You couldn’t leave him. His vision blurs a bit at the news and he’s forced to close his eyes for a moment. Panic races through him, bitter and quick like a snakebite.

“What does that mean?” He grits out, the question coming out more harshly than he intends.

“I’m going to study public relations in New York City in January.” Your voice is small in response to his obvious anger.

Lando’s entire world tilts beneath his feet.

“New York City?” He breathes, eyes shuttering closed to hide from you.

You nod, a single tear slipping down your cheek at the absolute devastation on Lando’s face. You reach up to cradle his face in your hands, needing to touch him right now. “I won’t be gone forever and I’ll be at every race during the summer and all of the North American ones, I promise. It won’t be that bad.” The words tumble from your lips and you’re not entirely sure who you’re trying to convince that it’ll be okay.

Lando’s face crumples as he leans forward, burying his head in the crook of your neck. He wants to ask you to stay. He wants to beg you not to leave him, that he needs you and doesn’t know how he’s going to function without your content presence. He knows he can’t though, he can’t say a single thing. He never would ask that of you because he knows you’d do it in a heart beat. He knows you’d change all of your plans for him if he told you how he felt. How he’s truly felt for damn near two years now. No, your friendship is too precious and your future is too important for him to tell you how head over heels in love he is with you.

So, he keeps quiet and says the most soul crushingly thing he’s ever had to tell you. “I’m going to miss you so fucking much, pretty girl.”

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#f1 #lando norris #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine

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misstycloud · 4 months ago

Note

Yandere cowboy had me sobbing, please please please do a part two

Maybe Y/n comes back to the town because one of her grandparents is ill and she needs to take care of them, and cowboy keeps being like "...pay attention to meee"

I AM DROOLING OVER THIS MANN

Scenario: if (Y/n) has to come back to the town in order to care for her ill grandparents.

If yandere cowboy chose not to go after you or if she came back before he had the chance to do so, it wouldn’t be long until the news of your arrival reached his ears.

It’d be a solid five minutes of him contemplating everything before he starts rushing to your grandparents house. Whoever is with him when that happens think he’s possessed, but when they learn the reason for his sudden departure they’re not surprised. After all, you’re the only thing he’s been able to talk about; ever since he met you till you left. It was the worst when you left. He’d barricaded himself inside his house the rest of the day and refused any visits form worried friends and family.

Oh, all the citizens in town noticed the drop in his mood. You’d be stupid not to see how much he was hurting. Yandere cowboy’s family heard him cry himself to sleep every night after your departure. He didn’t smile unless he was talking to someone(he didn’t want to put his heartbreak on display for people to witness) and his work lost the energy it once had. To sum it up, he was a husk of a man.

When he learns you’re back he initially believes you’ve changed your mind about your relationship. But when you open the door(annoyed at his constant knocking) and he tries to embrace you, you tell him the true reason why you came back and his smile instantly drops. He attempts to play it down with a laugh, well that’s definitely embarrassing.

You say to him that you don’t want him near you. You need to take care of your grandparents, there’s no time(and it would be inappropriate) to run around like hopeless lovers everyday. He can’t stand outside the house and pray for you to become something more. At first you try giving back or ignoring the various gifts he sends, but since the very obvious ‘no’ doesn’t go through his head, you decide to throw them away.

The cowboy doesn’t understand why his previous signs of affection doesn’t work anymore. You loved when he invited you to go swimming in the creek, the flowers he sent you(hand-picked of course!), and the cheesy pick-up lines he’d learned from the only movie his family had on vhs tape. Why aren’t you recognising his efforts?

He is literally on his knees for you, begging you to talk to him. It only gets worse after you reject his gifts, he comes to your grandparents house everyday and refuses to leave until you give him the time of day. You have to yell at him to go home or he’ll be there until sundown. Worst case scenario you have to chase him away with the shotgun your grandfather had locked in the living room cabinet. Sometimes that doesn’t work either, the cowboy knows you’re not really gonna shoot him. Honestly, you kind of want to prove him wrong at times. The rinse and repeat is getting quite tedious.

There doesn’t seem to be a way for you to get rid of this clingy cowboy.

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morose-melodies · 2 months ago

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i need dottore,tartaglia,pantalone and capitano(those were in my mind for a while and its killing me) with a reader who always tries to escape.using different tactics each time but always ends up failing.and one day,the reader hads enough and snaps "if you didnt take away and acted like a normal person from the start,i could have loved you"

İf you dont want to or dont feel like writing,thats ok👍

failing attempts | various! yandere! harbingers x reader

CAPITANO

this was escape attempt five.

you truly were optimistic, but capitano wouldn't let you leave him so easily.

your escape attempts seemed to be getting more and more desperate and, therefore, more dangerous to you.

you had attempted to jump out of a window the night before, just as he was arriving home from a mission. the sheer terror he felt as he watched you lean out of the second-floor window was insurmountable.

now, not only was the front door locked shut from the outside, but the windows were now barricaded too. you were a danger to yourself.

and all capitano ever wanted was for you to be safe and with him. was that too much to ask for? was that so terribly wrong of him?

the captain didn't want to take extreme measures to keep you home; he didn't want to lock you in a room, nor did he want to tie you down. he wasn't the sort. He just wanted you to stay without any excessive force.

but you were pushing him into a corner.

this morning, you had darted out of the backdoor, still in your pajamas and without shoes, into the cold.

you didn't make it far at all. you had barely made it over the garden fence, and you were stumbling now.

the captain... sighed as he followed after you. it wasn't an extreme chase; you hadn't even tried to fight back as usual when he caught you; you just stumbled on about something incomprehensible as he wrapped you up into his coat and lifted you into his arms.

"that was terribly immature of you," looking down at you, the captain felt sorry for you, "I would like it if you would stay home but if you plan on leaving, please do wear proper clothing next time. i can not bear the thought of you dying out in the cold."

"if you didn't take me away," at this point, perhaps death was better than being stuck with him, "and if you acted like a normal person," but, you wanted to go home - you wanted to be with your family, "I could've loved you."

capitano's mind blanked. he had given you a chance to come with him freely; he had been kind to you, so were you not lying?

it didn't matter now, did it? "(y/n), you do understand you've caused all this trouble, correct? should you have been a bit more understanding, you wouldn't be in this situation. i love you. Is that not obvious? i only want to see you thrive and to be happy."

he was at the point of no return; he could only go backward from here.

DOTTORE

to take time out of dottore's day, to make him leave the manor to come find you for what seemed like the millionth time - he was admittedly quite frustrated with you.

he found you hanging from the gate, your coat caught on the spike of it.

he grinned - this was a funny sight, but, at the same time, it wasn't funny at all. he was actually very disappointed in you.

dottore approached the gate, standing behind you, "tell me just how long have you been hanging here for?"

your nose was running, and you looked absolutely defeated. when you don't reply, dottore clicks his tongue, shaking his head, "Would your life not be simpler if you just accepted your situation? This is such a pitiful sight, (y/n)."

dottore unlocked the gate and walked outside of him, and he helped you down and brushed off the snow that piled on your coat.

"let's go, (y/n)," dottore grabbed your forearm and prepared to pull you back towards the manor, "I've had enough of your antics - perhaps a night or two in the basement would do you well."

"no-" you tugged back, attempting to free your arm from his grip, "stop it! you make me s-so sick! just let me go!"

"(y/n), please. you've done nothing be give me grief," dottore sighed, tugging you along with him, "I don't understand why you feel that being stubborn will get you anywhere."

"you... don't understand?" you grumbled, digging your feet into the snow, trying to pull your weight, trying to stop dottore from getting you back inside, "you're kidding me! i hate you! You're disgusting and unlovable!"

"(y/n), lower your voice - I'm exhausted and you're giving me a migraine," dottore sighed, stopping and getting a better hold on your arm before tugging you along once more.

"if you have yet to notice, I'm quite content with just having you near. i don't exactly need your love to make me feel any better than i do now. hm, that's the sort of effect you have on me."

you went quiet and dottore assumed you had worn yourself out. he brought you inside and sat you down in front of the fireplace, his hand rubbing circles on your shoulder.

"I could've loved you... maybe if you hadn't taken me away..." you trailed off, holding your hands in front of the fire. Why did he continue to act as if he cared for you? "maybe, um, if you were normal, I could've loved you."

dottore smiled at you, though you couldn't see it, "whether you love me or not is trivial - i have you, (y/n), and that's what I need. you, (y/n), you're all I need."

PANTALONE

pantalone was above getting dirty.

it was nothing personal. he'd do just about anything else for you! he just couldn't imagine himself running around late at night trying to find you.

what was the point when he had other fatuus to do such things for him? they have yet to fail him.

so, while you were out, trying to leave pantalone as multiple fatuus' chased after you, pantalone was running you a warm bath and set a pair of clean clothes out for you.

he knew you'd come back filthy. You always did.

he wondered what he could do to keep you home. He wasn't one for forceful methods; he would hate to hurt you. you were his pride and joy.

pantalone would sigh deeply, dipping his hand into the bathwater to make sure it was still warm.

you never wanted anything from pantalone... well, except for that one time, you asked for a can of soup, but then you used it to smash the bathroom window open and jumped out...

that didn't exactly count.

he heard the front door open and knew you were being dragged in now. the guards weren't gentlemen, quite the contrary, in truth.

you always looked so sad and defeated after the caught you.

"oh, (y/n)," pantalone held a hand to his chest as he stood from where he kneeled at the side of the tub, he stepped forward and wanted to embrace you but you were a mess, "you're a mess."

he frowned at you, as the guards released you and shut the bathroom door behind them as they left. "you must be cold, oh dear," his heart ached for you, such a pitiful sight you were.

you were so lucky that he loved you.

he attempted to remove your top, but you tensed, making it hard for him, "do-don't touch me."

"but you're filthy," pantalone reasoned, once again trying to remove your top but you wouldn't budge, "(y/n), I'm doing this because I love you so very much. please, don't make this hard."

"I don't-" you stepped back, shaking your head at him, "I don't want your help. g-get out, just leave."

pantalone's lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at you, "what's the matter? i-i'm not mad at you, not at all. I understand that i must be lacking something-"

"get out! my gosh, wh-what's with you!? just leave!"

"(y/n)..."

"get out! get out! leave!"

"please, calm down. let me help you undress, alright? You're in a bad mood, i get it. That's no excuse to be rude to someone who loves you dearly," pantalone spoke to you as if he were your mother.

he reached forward and tugged off your shirt with extra force; it wasn't much force; it was just in case you were prepared to tense up again!

"there we go," pantalone cooed as he eased you into the warm bath. he washed your hair for you, making sure to scrub extra hard to get the muck out of your hair.

it was, in a way, soothing...

if only...

"if you hadn't... taken me away and, um," you sniffled, raising your hand to wipe at your nose, "if you were normal... i could've loved you."

instead of offending, that pleased pantalone. what he was hearing was 'you liked him for who he was' and there was nothing better than hearing that.

hm, if only he hadn't taken you away.

"that is the kindest thing you've ever said to me," pantalone smiled, "thank you, (y/n)."

CHILDE

it was a sort of game to childe at this point.

how many times could you attempt to escape this week? how many times would you curse him to hell? how many times would you glare at him today?

he had to find humor in it, or else, he'd lose his mind. after all, there was no easy way to cope with the love of his life hating his guts.

in truth, he had been a bit overbearing the past few days - there was a snowstorm outside and he couldn't allow you to be out in that sort of weather alone.

so, as he stared out the window, looking at the rapidly falling snow, all he could think about was if only something was different. perhaps if the two of you were childhood sweethearts, maybe if the two of you had met before he fell into the abyss, or maybe if the two of you were neighbors.

he, at one point, had gotten so desperate to keep you home that he bent to your will - anything you asked, he did. you never really asked much of him, though...

well, unless telling him to go away was a question.

he was so busy thinking of all the "what ifs" that he didn't notice you running past the window and into the snowy woods.

well, he did, but it just didn't click for him at the moment.

and when it did click? he was out the door, tugging his coat on, not even bothering to shut it behind himself.

"c'mon, (y/n), now is not the time for this!" he called out, watching as you ran around a tree and seemingly "disappeared."

he knew you too well. you expected him to run around the tree to look for you, but he wouldn't; he watched as you emerged from the other side of the tree and pulled you into his open arms.

you can't use the same trick twice on him.

he held you against his chest - he didn't mind that you were nudging at his chest, trying to get away from him. "c'mon, it's pretty cold out here. I'll make you tea when we get back inside."

"no! im not going back!" you nudged harder at his chest, trying to get out of his hold.

"I said we're going back in. we really need to talk ab-"

"there's nothing to talk about! you're not normal and i won't love you!"

he thought had heard it all from you, so, hearing this wasn't anything new, but, what was new was hearing you say:

"if you wanted me to love you, maybe you should've been normal," you paused, and childe's hold on you loosened, his arms going slack at his sides and he looked down at you, "if you didn't take me away... and maybe if you acted like a normal person from the start-"

once again, you paused and took a step back away from him. childe didn't want to hear what you were going to say, even as he imagined what you might say, his chest ached... he wouldn't be able to handle it, "(y/n), let's just go in, okay? i don't want to hear it from you."

"- i could've loved you."

oh, it hurt so badly.

childe tried so hard to be unbothered, so, why was he so hurt from hearing this? he loved you, and he's tried everything to make you understand just how much he loved you, and now you say that you'll never love him.

it hurt, of course, but he's come so far.

childe strongly believes that people can change, anyway. so, he'd keep trying his absolute hardest for you until you buckled and confessed that you loved him back.

but, in the meantime...

"you can still love me," he said, with a weak smile, "I've been good to you, (y/n) and I think I deserve some credit for being so patient, right?"

624 notes · View notes

peachesofteal · 11 months ago

Text

The Pit

COD masterlist Part 1/2 - Part 2

Ghost/Soap/female reader 6.3k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI, dub con, kidnapping, manipulative hurt/comfort, whump, the guys shave you, humiliation, forced orgasm, predator/prey, medical inaccuracies. Clothed males/naked female. The Pit by Silversun Pickups. Horror-ish. Misery inspired.

Winter in the mountains can be cruel.

This is something you’ve always known, even as a child. You were raised with it. Chose to return to it after school, decided to make a go of it, of a life here, as an adult. You knew what you were getting yourself into, long cold winters that felt both bleak and promising, unblemished blankets of snow possessing the ability to be stunning, while also lethal. Winters were dangerous, silent killers that left corpses in their wake and no amount of lupine or paintbrushes, glacier fed lakes or springtime moose calves could make up for the hell that winter wrought. Winter brings most living things to the knife’s edge of survival, forcing most to bow beneath the weight of its fury, backs breaking with the burden of just existing in an environment that truly acts, and feels, inhospitable.

Although, there are those who do more than survive the cold, violent stretch of winter.

There are predators who thrive.

“You closin’?” Your coworker, the new one, asks from where she’s settled across the dark wood bar, two amber Budweiser bottles empty in front her idle hands, eyes wandering to guys posted up by the loneliest pool table in fifty square miles.

“I am.” She casts the only window in the entire place a surreptitious glance, fingers peeling away at a label. It’s snowing, has been for hours, flakes fat and wet, fluffy enough that the density of the snow on the ground is light, but dangerous, as it hides the real risk underneath; packed snow sitting with a slick sheen of ice on top.

“You still trying to make it over Fall River pass tonight?” You nod.

“Yeah. Supposed to see my brother and his new place this weekend.”

“Fall River? Is that even open right now?” Andy, a regular who lives a few streets over from you, chimes in, twisting an empty rocks glass in his fist. You pull the bottle of Jameson from the rail and tip it vertical, honey brown liquid sloshing like a wave until his glass is halfway full, and he gives you a flirty kind of smile, the same one he’s been giving you for a year now. Yeeesh.

“It is. I could go around, but it just takes too long. And it’s Friday. I’m not trying to be stuck on the highway with weekend traffic.” You complain, and they both commiserate your opinion. The traffic is brutal, especially in the winter. Driving in hazardous conditions is considered to be a talent more than an innate ability here, and people often overestimate their aptitude for it, causing crashes and delays that get the highway shut down for hours, or even days, at times. You shrug. “I’ve had my snow tires on for weeks. Might as well get some use out of them.” Andy snorts.

“Like you haven’t been gettin’ good use out of them? First real snow was before Halloween this year.” You nod. He’s not wrong. You did get dumped on two weeks before the end of October, twenty-three inches piling up within two days, before half the area was even ready for it. You throw him a polite smile, one that you hope reads like ‘okay thanks for the concern, we’re done now’ and he sighs. “Well, drive safe.”

Fall River pass, it turns out, is not open. It’s closed by the time you split off from the interstate and start the windy, switch-backed trek in your jeep, flashing orange and yellow lights dotting the top of a barricade just barely visible through the speckled snow flying by in your headlights.

Fuck. You could have sworn the DOT website said it was open. You take a deep breath, quelling the anxiety that roils your stomach. Okay. Not the end of the world. There’s another road. A less maintained option, but… you’ll be fine. You’ve driven in worse.

The other road, a sharp, narrow, desolate path that cuts through a large swath of unmanaged forest just outside the national park, is easy at first. You’ve been driving the same jeep for years, a 2007 two door Wrangler, and you know how it handles like the back of your hand. With snow tires, it could pretty much cut through anything, even unplowed, fire watch roads like this one.

Which is why, after the first few miles, your nerves fully settle, and you allow yourself to relax a little bit behind the wheel, easing the jeep across the dips and slicks in the road as you cautiously build speed, snow falling fast through night, growing thicker the higher you travel into wilderness territory, and the farther you left modern civilization behind.

An hour creeps by, and then two. Long enough that you’ve now realized you’re the only one using this road, fresh snow blanketing the woods around you, topography and vegetation starting to change as you encroach on what you assume must be eleven thousand feet. You’ve seen this road on google maps once, or twice maybe, having noted it for future travel just in case of a situation like this. It runs perpendicular to Fall River, and eventually meets another, one that must be similar, on the other side of the range. The secondary road is one that takes you along the ridge, and then down, you’re pretty sure, although you can’t be one hundred percent certain, because you lost cell reception before you even turned off from Fall River.

Still, won’t hurt to check and see if you have this area downloaded.

You pull your phone from the center console, thumbing at the screen, allowing your eyes to linger too long without looking back up through the windshield. No one else is out here. It’s not like you need to worry about oncoming traffic. The little SOS insignia blinks at the top corner, and you tap on the map icon, hoping it will bring up your geo location so you can glance at the satellite image of the area.

You’re so fixated watching the little circle of death try to load, that by the time you look up and see the tree laying across the road, it’s far too late. You do the first thing you were always taught not to do in winter conditions, and slam on the brake, shoving the pedal to floor, heart rate sky rocketing as you panic and lose total control of the jeep. You spin, shoulders and chest jamming against the seatbelt, headlights flashing off into the woods, illuminating an endlessly dark web of trees, bark and branch scratching across the paint as you careen off the road, tipping too precariously onto two wheels and then rolling.

Time, your life, stands completely still for a moment. You see every individual fiber of the pine needles, every uniquely designed snowflake, every single droplet of blood that floats away from your face and through midair as you crash through the forest, your grasp on consciousness slipping farther and farther away, the jeep finally coming to a stop on its side, your head cracked against the driver’s window, stars and streaks spawning out across your vision, headlights finally blinking out completely, leaving you alone in the dark. Your head spins like you’re still rolling, and the only sound in the dead silent snow is your harsh breathing, frantic terror bubbling up through your throat as pain surges through your body.

It's freezing, but you feel surprisingly warm.

You’re going to die out here. No one knows you took this road, you don’t have service, by the time they find you, it’ll be too late. You’ll be a bled out, frozen corpse, long gone and-

You lose your train of thought quickly. Everything starts to fracture, fissures forming in your consciousness, part of you already losing the battle to the inevitable, darkness pulling over your eyes like a knit hat, lungs heaving just a little harder with each breath.

You could just close your eyes. Just for a moment.

Light sweeps across the ground, flashing across your face. You think, if you were truly with it, in your right mind, you’d think it was too bright. You’d say it was blinding.

But you can’t formulate anything of the sort, mind too busy slipping away, falling into an inky black depth, just barely on the verge when you feel a gloved hand on your skin, the lilt of an accent on the wind.

Sleep.

You’re drifting. Falling through a stardusted, molasses filled haze, your mind ebbs and flows with consciousness; soft and warm feelings contrasted with sharp pain that bites through your body as if it’s slowly trying to eat you, chipping away piece by piece.

There are words, voices. There are hands too, fingers walking across your skin, limbs being moved, arranged, always with pain that’s followed by a hushed whisper of apology, a confusing sentiment in the dark. Your eyes won’t open. Your mouth won’t work. Your head is stuffed with cotton, wispy strands of connections that can’t quite get there, scrounging along the walls of your skull, trying to meet in the middle. You’re drowning, sinking to the bottom of a macabre pool, the one that’s infected your synapses and kept you just inside the shelter of delirium.

You try to call for help, but you can’t.

You try to swim to the surface, but the grisly black of your mind is never ending.

You’re dying, the tiny sliver of rational thought assures. Or you’re already dead.

Despair swells, and if you could feel your face, you’d think you were crying, lost to the sweeping desolation of your pain. It steals your breathe. Your sense. Everything becomes secondary to the obliterating agony that you feel.

Something touches your cheek. Your eyes fight to open, straining against the heaviness that weighs on them, just barely blinking wide enough to let some light in, your vision fuzzily trying to focus.

Wood beams come into view. A ceiling? Where-

You try to turn your head but an electric shock rattles through your brain, forcing you to slam your eyes shut again, world spinning on an uneven axis as something on the edge of your sight shifts. A monster. A man?

Something is said, whispered, and then everything fades away, your mind and body slipping beneath the waves of darkness.

The next time you surface, you manage to cling to consciousness long enough to take stock of your surroundings, realizing you’re tucked into a soft, warm bed almost immediately, something hot near your feet, pillows fluffed beneath you. A hand stitched quilt is spread across the top of copious other blankets and sheets, and your fingertips scratch against the fabric. Flannel.

You’re also awake long enough to truly experience the pain you’re in.

One thousand tiny knives rattle around in your skull, slicing into the soft matter of your brain, tearing you apart piece by piece, everything in you unmoored and off balance. Searing pain radiates up your leg, through your arm and wrist to your head and neck, and when your instinct urges you to try to move, your body screams in protest, the pain so intense that you cry out.

That’s when you see him.

A man steps towards you from the edge of your peripheral, and you freeze in terror.

“Shhh. We’re not goin’ hurt ye. Ye had a terrible accident. Pure luck we found ye when we did, dove. Ye would’ve died out there.” He coos in an accent, inching closer, and you manage to get a better look at him, recognition failing immediately. An accident? An accident… memories come flooding back, broken clips of the jeep spinning, rolling, the woods, the fear. Who is he? Where are you? Brilliant blue eyes look down at you with concern, handsome face tweaked into worry, furrow in his brow partially covered by the long strands of an overgrown mohawk. He’s pretty. “Can ye follow my finger?” He presents one in front of your nose, but it splits into two, and then three, just the attempt to focus enough to make your head throb, and a whimper escapes from your throat. “I know, I know.” There’s a ceramic mug in his hand, and he carefully lifts it to your lips, encouraging you as he tips it back, warm, sweet liquid washing down your throat. You can’t even move your arms to push him away, and when he seems to be satisfied, his thumb wipes the corner of your mouth. “Good love. Well done.” You feel woozy all of the sudden, maybe even a little nauseous, and you think you could be hallucinating when another man appears at the foot of the bed, handsome, but in a rugged way, watching you with honeyed brown eyes, the broadest, biggest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Those bones need setting.” He says, and the pretty one grimaces, fingertips trailing along your cheek.

“Maybe tomorrow. I’m still worried about the concussion.” His thumb cards across your brow.

“It’s been three days, Johnny. Can’t put it off too much longer.” Three days? Your brain latches onto the time. Three days of what? Since when? You’re starting to fade, trying to focus on what they’re saying but losing the battle horrendously when the blankets shift, warmth tucking down around your waist and shoulders, unable to react or even speak when they both press a kiss to your forehead, affectionate and longing touch that startles you until you’re losing the battle to sleep.

It's snowing.

You don’t have to see to know. There’s something about how it hangs in the air, how the world sounds during a snowfall that blankets everything: houses, trees, mountains… your mind.

You love the snow. Even as a child, winter was your favorite. Winter brought you a sense of calm, of peace. It’s what brought you back here, kept you here, even amidst the perils. The feeling of a forest, lying still beneath the soft spun expanse of white, the crisp smell of the air the morning of a big snow, the eternal quiet that exists in the night when everything is dampened by the weight of a million, billion, uniquely crystalized webs of frozen water.

This snow feels different. It doesn’t feel like a velvety white, candy-coated dream world; but a nightmare… one filled with pain, anxiety. Where are you? What’s happened?

And why do you hurt so fucking bad?

“You’re awake.” A deep voice says from your side, and you flinch on instinct, immediately wishing you hadn’t as lightning sharp pain zings through you, your voice breaking with a cry. “Easy.” He cautions, and your head stops swimming long enough for you to realize it’s the brown eyed man, the bigger one. He’s sitting in a chair that looks far too small for his width, watching you with an intensity that makes you feel exposed.

“Where… am I?” You manage to choke out through stiff lips, your head spinning and the world tilting at the same time. It sours your stomach, more than you thought possible, and you try to swallow the burn of bile that’s racing up your throat.

“Are you going to be sick?” He strokes your face, the touch nearly sweet, but confusing, and you hold your tongue, unsure. He sighs, expression shifting into disapproval, and then a frown. “Tell me.”

“N-no, I don’t-“ You can’t even finish your denial before your stomach is heaving and he’s springing into action, shifting you onto your side where a clean bucket sits right next to the bed. You wail in misery, pain shooting through your leg and arm, your ribs, bile and spit leaking from your mouth.

“It’s alright, that’s it.” A hand soothes up and down your back as you dry heave, sputtering on nothing, tears dripping to the wooden floorboards with a splash.

“Nnrgh-“

“I know, I know. Poor thing.” He coos, and it sounds… endearing, so sweet yet… frightening, like the poison of a predatory, a pretty display meant to draw you in before it snaps a set of jaws shut around your face.

Somewhere, nestled inside the last shards of your sanity, an alarm bell whistles, but the intensity of your pain quickly drowns it out, and you cry aloud.

“Hurts.” He rolls you back to your original position, arranging you like a doll. “It hurts.”

“I know it does, sweet girl, I know. We’re going to fix it.” A cloth dabs at your forehead and then down to clean your mouth, just as the man with the mohawk appears on the bed, one knee down, leaning over you, worry rife in his features.

“Poor baby. Were ye sick again?” Again? You blink up at him. What is going on? He presses a glass to your lips, urging you to drink, and then pulling it away after you’ve had a few sips with a gentle “not too much.”

“Who are you?” The water is cold, refreshing, but a ting acidic, and you wonder if it’s well water, maybe?

“I’m Johnny.” He’s setting up something beside you, organizing it, but you can’t turn your head to look, and can’t quite catch it from your peripheral. “An’ this is Simon. Or Si, but ye probably willnae be callin’ him that quite yet.” Quite yet? What? Did they find you? Did they rescue you? Why can’t you remember?

“What happened.” You try again, gritting your teeth.

“Ye had an accident, remember? We talked about it yesterday. Ye rolled off the road, ended up nearly down the mountain, in the thick of the trees. Ye’re lucky the one didnae impale ye.” Impale?

“And you found me?” You're starting to feel tired again, all the sudden, woozy and weird, exhaustion pulling at your limbs. Shouldn't you be in a hospital? Why haven't they taken you to a doctor?

“Aye, we did. Pulled ye out, brought ye home.” Home?

“You don’t have to worry.” Simon, the bigger one, tells you. “We’re going to take care of you.” Take care of who? Everything is foggy, clouded, and you try to shake your head in confusion.

“I don’t… why-“

“Storm is pretty bad. One of those, once in a lifetime types. Pass is closed.” You close your eyes. Of course. The pass is closed. You guess you’re lucky. They could have left you to die, and you could have never been found. You could have frozen to death. Bled out.

“Thank… thank you.” Johnny hums, and then you ripple in shock as he leans forward and brushes his lips against your mouth in a kiss. This… this is not normal? Are Scottish people just… more affectionate?

“Want ye to know, if we didnae have to do this, we woudnae.” What?

“Do what?” Simon casts you a mournful glance, rising from the chair. He’s got piece of leather in his hand, like a cut from a belt, and your eyes dart between them, fear freezing solid inside your pores. Do what?

“Bite down on this, precious.” Simon instructs, placing the swatch against your bottom lip, and you jerk away in protest, pain burning through your body.

“Do what?” You try to sound strong, demanding, but it comes out a little less than timid, and he gives you a sad smile.

“Your femur is broken.” A warm hand rests on your leg, over the covers, and you try to click the pieces together. “And I suspect your radius is, too. We need to set them.”

Oh. Oh no.

“N-no, no, you… you ca-can’t.” You stutter. They can’t. A doctor should be doing that, shouldn’t they? Johnny hovers over you, placing his palm on your belly, stroking upwards to the middle of your chest, the other holding firm across your collarbone. His touch is gentle, but strong, and his thumb rubs in a cautious motion against your skin, lightly grazing the underside of your breast. It feels weird, and wrong… intimate in a way that makes you shiver. “Please. Please, please… don’t-“

“It’s alright.” He shushes you, and the pressure increases against your body as Simon wedges a thick finger between your teeth, slipping the worn leather in your mouth, bracing around your wrist, his other hand holding your elbow. You gasp for air, adrenaline fueled by pain and fear coursing through you, and Johnny coos, telling you ye’ll be alright, that ye’re with them now, and they’ll take such good care of ye.

“Take a deep breath.” Simon urges, and you stare at him, wide eyed, pulse thundering in your ears.

“Ye’ll probably pass out, bonnie. We’ll get the second one done while ye’re down, and I already gave ye somethin’ for the pain.” He assures, like it’s supposed to relieve you, and your nostrils flare as something tightens against your arm. Simon’s grip.

This can’t be happening. This has to be a nightmare. How can this happen? No, nononono-

There’s a crack. A crunch. Burning, obliterating torture rockets up your arm, exploding inside you like a shot. You scream and bite down at the same time, raw misery trying to claw it’s way out of your throat. You think you’re crying, hallucinating from the pain, having a heart attack, fucking dying, all at once. It hurts, it hurts so bad, stop, please-

“We’re sorry, we’re sorry.” Simon soothes, thumb wiping your cheek, but you can hardly hear him, your brain starting to sever itself from reality, floating away as you slip inside the dark tomb of your mind, losing yourself to the fog as they both stare down at you, sickeningly saccharine concern layered overtop the faces of wolves, predators licking their maws in preparation for a meal.

You sleep and wake in a haze.

You sleep. Your dreams are torments, visions of being chased through the mountains by monsters, being pinned to the ground, teeth tearing into your throat with no preamble, or nightmares of drowning, being swallowed by the ocean, lungs sputtering with concrete laden sea water.

You wake. Your vision blurs, mind scrambled by pain, vaguely aware of being moved, carried to the bathroom, held upright over a toilet, gentle touch soothing up and down your back, heavy palm cupping curve of your skull when your head is tipped back and something is dribbled past your lips. You blink blearily with stone weighted lids, taking in the room bit by bit, the wrought iron bed frame, crackling flames sparking in a fireplace, mountain of pillows sagging with the imprint of your body. Your limbs are wrapped and unwrapped, immobilized, and shifted, and the pain is enough to make you gasp for air, tipping you over into the decaying depths of unconsciousness again and again.

You sleep. Restless, chilled. Ice spreads from the nerves in the tip of your nose to your brain, your fingers, and you try to burrow it deeper, seeking the comfort of the pillows, but finding warm skin and muscle instead. In your sleep, it’s lovely. It’s comforting. Even when you’re rolled to your side, something sticking under your tongue, you chase the heady thick heat that seems to roll off the limbs around you.

You wake. There are voices, deep and rumbling, bouncing through the room. Warm water dabbing down your neck, your belly, your legs. You’re too hot, uncomfortable and smothered until you hear a sharp pitched snarl accompanied by a yank, and then there’s a void of emptiness around you.

You sleep.

You wake. The pain starts to change, melting into something that’s consistent, throbbing, but a little less sharp, unless you move, and then it shrieks through your nerves like an electrical shock, vibrating your jaw shut.

You sleep.

You wake. They’re there. Simon is dabbing a cool washcloth across your forehead. You try to flex away on instinct, but firm hands stop you, holding you in place.

“Hey there, dove.” Johnny whispers, smiling. It’s a shy kind of smile, sweet, and the world spins. You grapple with reality, trying to remind yourself where you are, what happened. The fire snaps and pops behind Simon, who stands at his side, massive hand on his shoulder. “Made ye some breakfast. Think ye can eat somethin’?” Breakfast? A steaming bowl of oats sits cradled in his hand, spoon at the ready. Nausea roars, enflamed by the pain in your bones, and you shake your head. “Ye need to eat. Been givin’ ye soup for the past few days, but ye need more carbs.”

“I- I don’t understand.” You try to explain your confusion, hundreds of questions brewing on your tongue, trying to spill out.

“You’ve been in and out consciousness for the last week.” Simon explains, and your eyes widen.

“What?” Panic knots, twisting you up tight, heart fluttering in your chest.

“We had to sedate you. Needed to keep you still through the first part of the healing process.”

“You… you drugged me?” You stammer, and Simon smiles, but it’s not sweet like Johnny’s. It’s severe. It’s dangerous.

“Soft calluses form around fractures, after they’ve been set.” He sits down on the other side of the bed, across your hips from Johnny. “Your breaks aren’t in casts, so we needed to minimize your movement until the calluses could strengthen.”

“Ye willnae be able to walk on the leg, or lift anything with that arm, but we’ll help ye.” Johnny assures. “We’ll be here for ye, as ye get better.” The words don’t compute, and you look at both of their faces, sweeping back and forth, blue eyes to brown, brown to blue, until the only thing that you can think of blurts out of your mouth:

“Where’s my phone?” There’s a flash of discontent in Johnny’s features, but it’s quickly smoothed away, and you wonder if it even there in the first place.

“I imagine it’s somewhere near where your jeep rolled. We weren’t exactly concerned with finding it, considering we were trying to save your life.” Simon’s hands flex in the sheets, and then relax, serious look on his face, and guilt swamps you. Right. They saved your life. You could have died. And the pass is closed. Maybe this is all… as normal as it can be, given the situation. Calm down.

Still…

Didn’t Johnny kiss you?

The spoon clinks against the bowl, jolting you back to the moment, eyeing the scoop of oats as it drifts closer to your mouth, lips parting on instinct.

The first bite is difficult, an insipid, unsavory lump sliding down into your stomach, toothy grin stretching across Johnny’s face as you swallow. The second bite is easier. So is the third, and you manage a few more after that until you start to feel wooly, head fuzzy and stomach sick. “I can’t.” You bleat, and he nods sympathetically.

“Alright, ye did good.” Sleep tugs, insistent again, strong surge of fog pulling at your eyes, and you yawn.

“Tired?” Simon’s already moving, hovering, patiently adjusting your pillows and lazily urging you into them. “You should rest.” You’re too weak, too miserable to argue, so you let yourself fade to black, easily falling back into the webbed slush of sleep.

You drift in and out for days after that. A bright spot of consciousness here and there before it dissipates and you fall into oblivion, and you find yourself embracing it as often as possible, trying to escape into yourself, away from wooden beams and potential predators that flank you.

You’re content to let it stay that way, hiding away behind closed lids for as long as possible, until the morning you feel the washcloth.

“Sh-sh-shhh.” Johnny hums when you garble out a distressed question, tipping a glass to your mouth. Cold liquid rushes across your tongue, and you have no choice but to swallow, confusion webbing across your thoughts. Simon has the blankets pulled away, chilled air nipping and your skin, and you moan. It’s strange, like you’re exposed, half floating like you’re high, and half spiraling through your pain.

“It’s okay, we’ve got you.” They’re repositioning you, arms and legs like a little doll, and you frown. “Jus’ need to get you clean.” Clean? The washcloth coasts across your neck and down to your chest, warm water soaking a trail down your breasts. You’re naked, fully, a hot palm against your hip, skin on skin contact registering as you blink fuzzily, watching the way Johnny focuses on you, concentration shining in his stunning blue eyes.

Water sloshes. Squeezing and dripping, and then the warm, nearly hot cloth is being pressed against you, stroking over your nipples, washing the underside of your breasts. It feels nice, and you whine a little when it pulls away. Simon chuckles.

“Do ye like that?” Johnny coos, reapplying the cloth to your belly. “Does that feel good?” Does it? Is it supposed to? Your vision doubles then realigns, and you stare at the underside of Simon’s jaw, mesmerized by the scar on his chin, the width of his neck. He readjusts you, again, slowly moving your knees apart, spreading your legs, and heat climbs through your bones to your cheeks.

You’re naked. They’re fully clothed.

“We’re goin’ clean this up a bit.” Simon murmurs, a thick finger tracing along your slit, through the soft curls between your legs, and you balk. Clean what? How?

“My… my-“ you can’t even get the words out, too embarrassed, and he nods, sliver flash of a razor twinkling in his hand. The air in your chest sputters.

“Your hair.” Johnny works the washcloth back and forth, water dripping down your skin to the towel that’s been placed under your hips, you can only lay there in mortification when you feel yourself getting wet, tepid arousal roaring to life between your legs. “If you’re a good girl for us,” Simon continues, spraying a big glob of shaving cream into Johnny’s palm, “we’ll give you a treat afterwards. How’s that sound?”

“A treat?” You squeak, and then whimper, Johnny’s fingers creeping down your slit, rubbing the cream across your pubis and labia, heel brushing against your clit. You make a noise of a protest, but it falls on deaf ears.

“Ye’re alright.” He coos, bumping against the swollen bud again, and you try to stop the moan that builds in your chest with no success, slamming your eyes shut and trying to disappear into the pillows. “It’s natural, dove. Ye dinnae need to feel embarrassed.” He leans forward, slotting his mouth against yours, lips soft and fragrant in a pillowy sweet kiss that lasts too long, his eyes blissfully closed in front of your almost crossed ones.

“Please…” you whisper, but you’re not sure what you’re asking for, and Johnny coos at you, bending at the waist to get a better vantage point between your legs. You shake your head, eyes wide with disbelief, with fear, your mind trying to catch up, trying to rationalize what’s happening at the same time as your body is betraying you, slicking the cream that’s lathered between your thighs, clit pulsing with desperate need.

“I- I don’t want you to… shave me.” You whisper. You don’t want them to touch you… there, and the panic that’s pulsing between your ears continues to rise as your protests go unnoticed. Just saying it out loud makes you want to die of embarrassment, and Simon clucks.

“We have to take care of you, sweet girl.” Simon grips your thigh, fingers pressing into flesh, and the cool blade of the razor moves against the grain with a flick of his wrist, drawing back to a bucket for a rinse before a repeat, breath frozen in your chest as he slowly eliminates the curls of your pubic hair. “It will be easier to do that, to see what you need without all this.” He hums, the smile of a wolf coy on his face. “Stay nice and still for us.” They work in tandem, perfectly synchronized, and your unwanted arousal starts to overpower the pain that’s radiating from your broken bones. It’s been so, so long since you’ve been touched by anyone, and your body does not care that you didn’t want this, or agree to it, too eager to be satisfied, to be touched in anyway it can get, and it gets worse, more intense the longer it goes on, the precise movements of their hands, the slow and methodical approach to your cunt. “Almost done.” Simon tells you, and the side of his finger passes over your clit unintentionally, and you whine. “I know, I know. You’re bein’ so good. Such a good girl.” Your good hand is shaking, gripping the sheets, and when he finishes, Johnny wipes you down with a clean cloth, passing over your clit again and again, electric shocks sparking in your belly. You’re paralyzed, helpless, and yet… soaked. Desperate. The warring emotions tear at you, shame and fear and desire rendering you speechless.

“I think ye need some relief, dove.” Johnny hums, looking from your pussy to Simon, both of them tilting their heads to stare between your legs. “Poor thing is so swollen, Si.”

“Do you want to touch her, Johnny? Give her a reward?” Simon asks him, so sweetly, and Johnny shimmies down to be eye level with your pussy, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

Half of you screams no. Half of you shouts yes.

All you can do is watch, helplessly, as they settle themselves between your legs, Simon over Johnny’s shoulder, tempering his frenzied excitement with assured patience.

“Will ye show me how?” He’s eager, and you frown, confused.

“Johnny’s never made a girl come before,” Simon tells you gently. “You’ll be his first.” Oh my god. “Will you help him? Tell him what feels good?” Your brain melts. You don’t know what to say, mouth half open, staring at the both of them, and after a few seconds, Simon sighs like he’s exasperated with you, before ducking back down next to Johnny and murmuring softly to him, probing along your cunt, finger dipping into your hole, swirling in the wetness gathered there and then moving up to your slit. You gasp, eyes nearly rolling back in your head.

“She likes that.” Johnny groans, breath blowing over your exposed flesh, and Simon takes his hand, thumb over thumb, guiding him in small circles around your clit.

“Nice an’ slow at first, when you’re rubbin’ her clit. Feel how hard it is?” He instructs, pressing a kiss to the side of Johnny’s head, and he nods enthusiastically, looking up at Simon with wide, puppy dog eyes, sappy and saturated with love. It’s sweet, and affectionate, like they’re the only ones in the room, in the world… and you’re intruding on a private moment between these two men and your body. Like you’re a bystander. Or a doll. It’s confusing, your brain trying to sort everything that’s happening into neat little boxes that keep overflowing or falling apart, fracturing under the weight of your helplessness, the shock and fear that’s nearly made you dizzy. “See how her little hole is clenchin’ like that? It’s ‘cause she’s empty, needs to be filled up. When she comes, she’ll get real tight.” He explains, your body enflaming in mortified heat. They’re pushing you closer and closer to an orgasm, and Simon increases the speed as your hips jolt.

“Fuck.” You hiss.

“That’s it.” Simon coaches. “Are you close, sweet girl? Gonna come for us?” You shake your head, but even if you wanted to close your legs, you couldn’t. You’re trapped, lost in a sea of wild waves that break directly over your head, one after another until you’re drowning, gasping, muscles so tight they burn, pain in your arm and leg a secondary concern behind the pressure in your belly, the zap of your clit as they drag you too easily to the bottom, before sending you breaking through the surface.

You come with a distressed moan, hips jerking, and then a raspy plea for them to stop, telling them it’s too much, you’re too sensitive, to which Simon wraps his hand around Johnny’s wrist and pulls his hand away.

“We can’t overwhelm her just yet. Gotta wait until she’s healed up, hm?” He murmurs, reaching for the cloth. You blink at the ceiling, drifting, floating away, little boxes in your mind broken up into gnarled pieces that don’t make sense.

What just happened?

You stay silent, blank, as they settle you, cloth cleaning between your legs, blankets being fussed with around your body, pillows plumped. Simon curls some of your unruly hair behind your ear, swooping down until the breadth of his body blocks out all the light in the room, lips brushing over your ear. “What a good girl you are, dove. Did so well, letting Johnny give you an orgasm. So sweet for him.” He tucks you in a little tighter, and Johnny ducks around him, kissing you gently, like you’re made of glass, thrilled smile tugging at his cheeks, unfettered joy the last thing you see before your eyes slip shut.

The next time you wake, Johnny is in bed with you. It’s dark, a flickering orange glow casting shadow across the room, and you startle at the weight of his arm stretched across your chest, cradling you close, half curled around you like a cat. You turn, face to face, his mouth slightly agape, breath blowing over your cheek. You can’t get enough leverage on one leg to slide out from under him, and when you squirm, he only tightens his grip, pinning you to the bed. You’re overheated, and when you peek over his shoulder to get a look at the fire, you see Simon instead, sitting upright in a chair, fully awake, watching you. White hot fear shocks your system, forcing your eyes down in disbelief, surprise, his chair creaking in the night. Your breath stops in your chest, and then there’s a hand smoothing over your forehead, as he leans past you to brush his lips against Johnny’s, and then rough stubble presses against your cheek with a jagged whisper.

“Sweet dreams, little dove.”

#peaches writes #dub con #ghost x soap x reader #soap x ghost x reader #ghoap x reader #john soap mactavish #ghost x reader x soap #simon riley #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #Ghoap #soap x reader

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judespoets · 3 months ago

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the alchemy | jude bellingham

summary: “where’s the trophy? he just comes running over to me”

paining: jude bellingham x fem!reader

category: fluff

warnings: not proofread

the day was finally here. the day you have been waiting for your entire life.

you were sitting in the stands together with denise and mark, your parents in law almost and jobe, your little brother, well the one you never had yourself.

all of you were sitting on the edges of your seats in wembley stadium, watching one person and one person only, jude.

it would be selfish of you to say it’s the day you’ve always dreamt of, but it kind of was. since jude and you were kids, the two of you would watch the champions league final together, recreate the best moments and dream of jude playing in it one day.

and now, after all those years of dreaming, the day was here.

you were sure he would win, but dortmund put up such a good fight, during the first half you weren’t sure of that anymore.

but in no time it was the 98th minute and real madrid was currently winning 2:0.

you were so excited, you were only watching jude walking and running around the field, you could see him trying to hide his smile.

it was bittersweet, just a year ago you were packing all your stuff into boxes to move from dortmund to madrid, now he was playing against them in the champions league final, everything was unbelievable at this moment, surreal even.

and then something snapped you out of your thoughts, the final whistle, you were never this excited about hearing that whistle in your entire life.

you stood up, throwing your hands up in the air, immediately making your way down a little bit to stand at the barricade to have a better look at your boyfriend who just won the championship league.

you watched him closely as he fell down to his knees, hiding his face in his hands and his friends approaching as they all tried to lift him up, wanting to throw him up in the air, you couldn’t wipe the stupid grin off your face.

but jude shook his head, he looked like he needed to do something else before anything else as he suddenly started running, sprinting almost.

and there he was, the man you loved, running towards you before even celebrating the biggest day of his career.

it all went by so fast and the next thing you know is having him in your arms, hugging him tighter than you probably ever did before, hiding your face in his neck.

“i love you so much, thank you for coming, baby” you heard him say in your ear.

“gosh, jude, i’m so happy, look what you just did, i love you so so much.” you answered, completely unaware of all your emotions. you were just so happy and proud.

as jude let go of you he took your head in his hands, kissing all over your face just before planting his lips onto yours, pulling you into a passionate kiss.

“i love you, please come to the pitch after the trophy ceremony, okay?” he said before recognizing the calls of his teammates and returning to the pitch to clap all the other players.

“of course, my love.” you answered as you waited, watching your boyfriend lift the proudest achievement of his career so far.

you had dreamed of this for so long and now it was even more magical than you imagined.

#jude bellingham #judespoets #jb22 #jb5 #real madrid #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham fluff #the alchemy #taylor swift

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lovesickhughes · 3 months ago

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late nights | nico hischier

a/n: i have risen from the dead ! i wrote this fic inspired by one of my old ones from my previous blog and thought who better to write for this than our beloved nico ! not edited so i apologize for any mistakes ! i hope you enjoy & please send in requests ! 🤎

warnings: none! absolute fluff 🤎🧸

tags: dad!nico x fem!reader

word count: 1.1k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The wails of your newborn stirred you awake from your peaceful sleep. It had become a routine, the moment you had found a position that was comfortable for your healing body and your eyes grew heavy, the deafening sound of an upset newborn brought you right to your feet, rushing into the nursery to aid your newest addition to your growing family. What had made it even better, the clock on your nightstand had read three-thirty-five, exactly twenty-four minutes since the last time you had gotten up to soothe your daughter to sleep.

You drag your hands down your face, then up towards your hair, entangling your fingers within and pushing it out of your face in frustration. Becoming a parent was something you had always dreamt of when marrying Nico. You knew from the moment your relationship grew serious that he was going to be the father to your children. But the extensive diaper changing, shocked you; who knew a small human could make that much of a mess, simply from breast milk. You knew you were going to be a good mother, learning each day that your daughter grew, but when all of your diaper changes, feeding, cuddling and soothing went to waste by the loud, heart-wrenching wails, it made you doubt your abilities. You questioned what it was that you were missing to decode the newborn, and how others made it seem so simple.

You had tried every “New Mommies Club” suggestions, articles from professionals, and even resorted to your own Mother’s tactics; letting your baby cry herself to sleep.

That lasted a mere five minutes before Nico urged you to check on your daughter, warning that he would find a way past the door you barricaded with your body, whether you were in the way or not.

You listened to your daughter let out one more scream before both Nico and you cradled her and rocked her to sleep.

You quietly padded your feet along the dark, hardwood floors of your bedroom, slowly pulling the door to the hallway open, being mindful of your husband, Nico soundly sleeping with his back turned to face away from you. However, that was after he had gained your attention by planting soft kisses to your shoulder to wake you and alert you of your crying daughter.

Walking the short distance to your daughter’s nursery across the hallway of your home, you push the door open, seeing your daughter maneuver beneath her zipped up sleep onesie. As you approached, and turned the dim light beside her crib on, you watched her mouth open with a distressed look on her face, letting out a tired cry, making your heart ache and tears well in your eyes. You wished it was easier, you wished you could have a simple solution to allow her to sleep, yet nothing seemed to work.

Your bottom lip pushes out as you pout and reach to grab your daughter from her crib, bringing her close to your chest and instinctively rocking her softly. Her cries were muffled by her face being against your chest, but she still let out soft whines.

You rubbed your hand against the fabric of her onesie, making more attempts to put her to sleep while pacing the room. By surprise, it hadn’t worked, so you walked towards the reading chair Nico and you had placed in the nursery when decorating for your expecting child.

Pulling a blanket from the basket beside the chair onto your lap and up to your shoulders to provide your baby and you more heat and comfort, you hum her favourite lullaby to calm her.

After finishing the song, you planted a kiss to the top of her soft, peach-fuzz hair, “my angel,” you cooed, “please do Mommy a favour and go to sleep, it’ll be so good for you.” you attempted, although you knew she wouldn’t understand a single word that came out of your mouth. Your daughter still fidgeted in your grasp, making small noises, which you knew meant she wasn’t tired.

“Why doesn’t Mommy pass our little munchkin over to her Daddy so he can try to put her to sleep?” You hear from the doorframe. You look over to see a shirtless, half-asleep Nico rubbing his eye to come to his senses as he enters the room to where you were, reaching his arms out towards you.

You frown with empathy, knowing Nico’s efforts were because of his delicate and precise attention to you. It’s what you loved most about him. He knows every little quirk and pet peeve you have, knows you inside and out, so when he watches you carefully hand your daughter over him, he gives you a sad smile, seeing the exhaustion written on your face.

Your daughter was only just past three months old, and ever since she has entered the world, she has been destined to be Daddy’s princess, and Nico loved it. He knew there would never be a moment missed where he wouldn’t do anything for his daughter.

Nico placed your daughter against his bare chest, whispering soothing words into her little ear as he slowly paced the nursery, and after only a few minutes of you watching Nico work his magic, your daughter was sound asleep in her crib, and the two of you exited quietly back to your own bedroom.

Nico finds himself under the covers again, the duvet covering just up to his hips, exposing his bare and toned chest, and you slide yourself into bed, laying against his chest with his arm falling behind your back, rubbing your side.

“I don’t get it,” you mumbled against Nico’s chest, feeling the vibration of your own voice reverberate against your cheek and Nico chuckles at your remark.

“She’s a Daddy’s girl, what can I say?”

“It’s not fair,” you protest, “just wait until we have a boy, then he’ll be all over me and want nothing to do with you.” You affirm with a confident nod, lifting yourself up to look into your husband’s eyes.

Nico only grins, revealing his mood-changing smile, making your heart melt.

“So you want to have another? You just gave birth, which is pretty life-changing if you asked me.”

You shrug nonchalantly, “only 2 more months until we can start trying again. I want to keep making mini-versions of us.” You smiled.

“I would give anything and everything to continue growing our family with you.” Nico says as he reaches his hand to your cheek, pulling your face down to his and connecting your lips into a soft, but intimate kiss.

You both pull away at the same time, cheekily grinning at one another.

“Anything and everything.”

#nico hischier #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier fic #nico hischier fluff #nico hischier fanfiction #nico hischier blurb #nhl blurb #nhl x reader #nhl imagine #nhl fic #new jersey devils

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blockedbykei · 4 months ago

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𝐜𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬

— inumaki toge x gn!reader

— synopsis: inumaki seems to say "okaka" a lot when he plays. but he only hopes to calm down in your arms right after

— warnings: nothing but fluff (ikura is caviar, okaka is fish flakes)

"toge, you in there?"

you've been knocking outside inumaki's room for five minutes now. you could only hear the muffled sound of mario kart beneath the slit of the door, and an "okaka" being loudly said ever so often.

panda stands behind you, his furry hand on your shoulder. "step back, i can break his door."

"i- panda, no!" you place a hand on his large chest, pushing at him lightly away from the door. "i got it. i-it's okay."

another yell. "ikura!"

your fist raises to knock three times on his door, pressing your ear on the wooden barricade. the volume of the game lowers, and you can imagine inumaki looking at the door with one side of his headphones removed from his ear.

"toge?" you call out again. "can i come in?"

a few seconds pass, then a muffled "salmon."

panda nods to you and walks away to find maki, you assume, as you twist the doorknob and enter his dorm room.

your eyes scan the room first, seeing a poster of one of his favorite mukbang youtubers eating an unhealthy portion of samyang pinned on the corner of his room beside the window. two of his bookcases hang above his bed, the first being novels you've recommended (that made you blush a little), the second one (beneath) are full of cases that contained the games he loved to play.

his bedsheets are disarray, unmade. pillows unfluffed with a dent of his head still left behind. his phone is charging by his bedside table, far away from him, which explained the multiple texts left unseen.

his clothes are crumpled at a chair beside his tv, all used from the previous days. you think of getting him a laundry bag to make his room more appealing. there's a minifridge beside you, and without opening it, you know they're full of convenience store bought onigris, leftover takeout, and probably the pasta you made last night (as well as an entire case of cough syrup and sprite).

but the thing that captured you the most is the picture frame that was placed on the same cabinet his tv resides— you and inumaki a year ago, on one of the carnivals just almost outside of tokyo, with you holding a teddy bear he'd won after multiple attempts, your vacant hand slung around his shoulders; face sweaty and beaming with your eyes closed. and him, his hand wrapped firmly around your waist, and the other holding the zipper down to reveal his smiling mouth, revealing the serpent fangs that was stretched upwards, a dimple below them.

you walk towards inumaki, who's holding one of the nintendo switch consoles in his hand, mario kart paused. you smile down at him. "hey toge."

"kelp."

"you've been in your room for ten hours."

he looks down, abashed. "...bonito flakes."

"you have to eat," you sit down beside him, cross legged. he doesn't have his cover over his mouth, so you could see him pout dismissively. "you have to eat."

your reiteration makes him whine and gesture towards the paused game at his tv, before he crawls to reach his phone and unplug it to open his notes app and type: but i'm playing.

you know he's whining it.

"you have to eat, toge," you reprimand. "or else i'm taking this away from you."

his eyes widen. "okaka."

you give him a deadpan stare.

but he pouts again, his hair falling over his ears like a puppy who's been scolded. toge opens his phone again. can i at least finish this game?

"okay."

he takes the console again and presses play. you rest your shoulder on his, resting your back against the end of the bed, head falling back. when toge plays, his attention is undivided— it was hard to get him to talk to you while he played, so when he had to pause it, he ends his conversation in a hurry. but he still acknowledged your presence, which was evident with the way he slumped against you too, placing his temple on yours, little huffs leaving his mouth.

inumaki places 11th five minutes later.

pettish, he shoves the blue switch console to the side, falls on his front, and muffled his whines on his carpet; you wince because you imagine how dirty it must be. but you can't help but laugh at his sour mood caused by his loss when he begins to roll around and kick his legs as if he's throwing a tantrum.

"toge," you laugh, placing a hand on his back. he stops moving, but still faced down. "it's okay, baby. you can play again."

toge slams his fist on the floor.

he huffs. "ikura."

"what was that sweetie?"

toge lifts his head up to glare at you. but his attempt to show his annoyance was, althought successful, futile in scaring you through his intense stare. his hand snatches his phone and types again.

babe i hate this fucking game i want robux

you giggle. "okay i'll get you those."

he pouts again. his lips puckering. you know what he wants.

toge pushes himself up to slump his body forward on you, his chest on yours, arms coming up to wrap around your torso and nestle his face on the space between your shoulder and jawline. he presses chaste kisses on the skin of your neck, sniffling childishly, whining.

"watcha want, toge?"

you wrap your arms around his waist, slotting himself between your open legs and whines more. you feel his mouth move against your skin. you roll your eyes.

"what're you tryin to say?"

"kiss," he mumbles. "i want."

your hands press on either side of his cheeks, lifting his head up to place your mouth on top of his, kissing him as he wishes. toge smiles against you, humming in satisfaction, taking a deep breath as if inhaling your scent.

when he pulls back, he rubs his nose against yours. your thumbs trace the corner of his mouth, on the blue tattoos; you kiss them feverishly.

"can we eat now?" you say. "i'm starving."

toge smiles. "salmon."

reblogs and feedback are appreciated <3

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #inumaki toge x reader #inumaki toge #inumaki x reader #toge inumaki #toge x reader #toge inumaki x reader #inumaki fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk inumaki #jujutsu kaisen inumaki #inumaki drabbles

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monstersholygrail · 5 months ago

Note

*rolls into chat*

Hi. I'm sharing this because of your last post btw

Firefighter centaur!

Reader has to help him get all the gear off after a long tiring day because that's a LOT of hair for someone who works with fires and accidents.

*welcomes into chat with open arms*

And omg this is so good!! (I went off, my bad!) I also had to re-write this entire thing when I was almost done because my tumblr crashed and I’m absolutely devastated but worth it for firefighter centaur.

Imagine firefighter centaur works in forest fires so it’s all the more dangerous and on such a bigger scale when he does get called in. Which of course makes reader even more nervous whenever there’s a fire.

Constantly pacing the living room of your shared home, biting your nails, with your eyes latched firmly on to the tv. Not being able to look away for even a second. Just waiting to hear any news about the crew of centaur firefighters as they come in and out of the blazing flames.

Your heart drops heavily into your stomach as you catch sight of him, being able to recognize him anywhere. You find yourself unable to breathe as you watch your partner jump over a burning trunk with ease. All while carrying a handful of nymphs to safety. A couple in his arms and a few riding his back.

Watching your partner be so heroic like that takes your breath away. Or maybe it’s just because you’re relieved he’s alive. Either way it sends a violent need to thrum through your body. A need to go to him and be near him, no matter the risk. You don’t hesitate for a moment and you’re out of the house before you can even turn off the television.

There’s barricades all over the place when you arrive at the scene. Your eyes search frantically around the area, looking for just one feature that you’re familiar with to find him. But your heart is hammering within your chest and your mind spins with more horrible ‘what ifs’ by the minute.

Given your state, it was no surprise to you that he found you first, calling out your name. You whirl around till your eyes fall onto him. Both of you immediately start heading toward each other. You meet in the middle, arms wrapping tightly around each other. Your firefighter centaur smells so thickly of smoke you want to choke. But none of that matters because he’s in your arms and in one piece. No matter how much of his fur is singed.

“What the hell are you doing here? You could have been hurt!” Your partner shouts, sounding almost as frantic as you feel. He leans back enough to cup your face in his hands, looking as though he’s wondering if this is real.

“I saw you- I saw you come through the fire. And there’s so many things on you that it could’ve caught onto. I had to. I had to come. I had to see you and make sure…” you ramble on, words spilling from your mouth. Your mind unraveling now that you know he's sate. "You're alive."

His face softens considerably and he brings you back into his arms.

"Well you got here just in time. I think the fires coming down anyway." He holds you tight and you clutch onto him just as fiercely. Using his strong hold to assure yourself he's really here.

After you both get back to the firehouse you slowly and gently help him take off all his gear. You can tell he's seriously exhausted. Eyes drooping, shoulders slumped, and tail swooshing lazily.

You let him relax as you get started on cleaning up and preparing his gear for washing. It's a rigorous ritual all on its own and you know he's in no state to take care of it right now. But when he blinks his eyes open and realizes what you're doing, it doesn't stop him from trying to do it anyway.

“Hey, stop that. I can do it fine,” he sluggishly tries to interrupt, not wanting you to do his work for him.

All you have to do is shy away from his mindlessly wandering hands, bringing his gear with you. Unintelligible grumbles leave his lips in response.

“I know how to do it. Watched you so many times it would be an insult if I didn’t. I got this,” you assure him.

After all he went through he doesn’t have the energy to fight you on this. When he doesn’t reply you go back to helping situate his gear. You hear the heavy clops of his hooves and a moment later his arms are wrapping around you from behind, his head resting comfortably on top of your head.

“Thank you,” he says softly, those two words alone dripping with appreciation and love for you.

The firehouse is empty, you two being the last ones left to finish up for the night. It’s in that moment, his body curled up around you as you help him in a way that means more than he can describe, that it was as if neither of you had ever felt safer.

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godihatethiswebsite · 4 months ago

Text

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Two - The aftermath

So many of you came out of the woodwork for this story and I couldn't be more grateful for all the kind words of encouragement! I'm truly flattered by the amount of love this received for being something that randomly popped in my head on a whim ❤️

I'm glad I was able to get this part out so quickly. It might be a tick before part three, but I've already got some of it worked out. I'll still try to keep chipping away at it while I work on my other series~

Trigger warnings: swearing, angst, depression

“I saw them the other day.”

“...saw who?”

“My scent matches.”

There’s a pregnant pause as your therapist of four years takes the information in, caught off guard by the abruptness of the statement but also the further implications behind the words.

Dr. Miranda has been your life raft and confidant ever since you’d first gone to your family with the appalling reality of your newfound situation. An omega like yourself; she specializes in the treatment and rehabilitation of women who've endured abuse at the hands of their packmates and the dredges of society. Highly recommended by the United Designation Resource Center for psychological trauma.

It had taken you over a week following the incident to gather the strength to confront your fathers on the thorny subject - too ashamed of admittance and too anxious of their response. And even then it was done over the phone in the most uncomfortable video call of your life, the dour atmosphere so at odds with that blessedly clear mid-afternoon sky, its temperate climate and soft summer breeze carrying along an enchanting melody of carefree innocence.

Inside, it was raining.

The wretched bond was a gravity well, sucking you down into a chasmic abyss and siphoning your once bountiful vibrancy. Responsibilities fell by the wayside, locked away in your self-imposed prison as if the globe would simply stop moving if you only ignored its rotations. Not until both your fathers made the three hour flight up north did you muster the courage to finally remove the makeshift barricade guarding your front door, talking through the deceptively difficult act with them on the other end of the phone as the two alphas supported you during the twenty five minutes it took to overcome the all-consuming panic and usher them inside.

They stayed with you for the better part of the month, taking over where depression had failed you in your efforts to function alone. Your parents allowed you space to look after yourself, clearing away the physical filth of your living quarters and, in doing so, sweeping away the cobwebs of your teetering sanity. They scrubbed at putrid greasy plates while you scoured tainted flesh under a scalding hot stream, the dead skin cells contaminated by his poisonous touch spiraling down the drain along with your tears.

The harsh truth of the matter is that there is no escape from your own body. You come screaming into this world given one to do with as you will, to mold and shape based on lived experiences with no regard for the decisions and circumstances made outside your control. There is no space to slip between the weaved threads of time, no hands to turn counter clockwise when you make a mistake. Just a grim acceptance that the life you once aspired to was forevermore out of reach.

There was only so much to be done given your situation. As much aid as your family offered, they were as helpless of bystanders as the soul in your meat suit. Chores were completed, accumulated bills paid, a hearty meal piled high on your plate combating the recent gauntness of your face. You were cherished and fussed over like the wee babe found scattered amongst family photos in your childhood home, cradled in their arms when the horrid presence came calling, dragging a hot poker through your insides and causing mental anguish at all hours of the night.

The more time they spent around you, the more apparent it was that you could no longer stay there. The closer the proximity to your bonded alpha the more power he held to disrupt your life.

That's how you landed in Dr. Miranda’s lap. Before you'd even set foot on the tarmac arrangements had been made for a new life in a new city on the other side of the country - spiriting you away on a mission to regain your independence, the distance easing the damage he could do even as the strained bond churned.

Initially dreading having to confess the horrors you’d endured to some random unknown, she’d worked diligently to soothe your broken nerves in both demeanor and environment. A kind omega in her early forties, the subtle crows feet and laugh lines only accentuated her cheerful personality, disarming in her ability to draw out your insecurities and work with you through the trauma in a way that didn’t feel intruding.

Dr. Miranda was a veritable well of understanding, always encouraging of whatever pace you set, careful of the fragile boundaries constructed to guard your heart from further damage.

She operated as part of a larger business that provided therapeutic services and catered to all designations alike. You’d been thrilled to find there was a separate entrance away from the cacophony of the common room, bypassing the headache of having to wait amongst strangers and leading directly to her office in the back right corner of the building.

The space itself was considerably cozy, low lit warmth all plush and homely. The spacious couch against the back wall invited you to stretch out comfortably, decorative pillows available in a colorful assortment of textures - catering to a discerning omega’s personal preferences. A small diffuser wafting light refreshing mists operated as both a handy descenting spray and an emotional pick me up. Every accommodation purposeful, given special care for your emotional easement and wellbeing.

You appreciated the effort she put into making her office feel more like a living room than a sterile setting. It was easier for you to converse when it felt like you were speaking with a friend.

Bit by bit, Dr. Miranda coaxed you from the sheltered recesses in which you’d burrowed; not just a guiding hand through the concrete dust and collapsed rubble, but a mentor recovering your confidence, reminding you of the path you once walked independently and peeling back the suffocating layers that kept you from standing on your own two feet.

In hindsight, you probably could’ve broken the news of your scent match a bit less abrasively - probably should’ve led with it too.

The pair of you had been engrossed in a topic that was moreso a follow up from your last session rather than anything of actual import. Your brain had been functioning on autopilot the past twenty odd minutes, making sounds vaguely human enough to get by without requiring proper attention. Honestly, most of her words had been drowned out by the incessant buzzing in your ear that had been slowly growing in volume, throat clenching and knuckles flexing, more aware of the sweat dripping down the back of your nape than anything she had to proffer.

Eventually the dam just broke. The words slipped out like grease, lubricated in a film of oil too slick to be contained and begging to be addressed.

There’s a struggle on her face to try and maintain some level of professionalism after the sudden revelation. Knitted eyebrows spiked before smoothing back down, jaw almost dropping until she remembered herself and switched it from an ‘o’ to a relaxed flat line. She mirrored your own position on the couch from her velvet wingback chair, sitting cross legged with an air of casualness. Her only remaining tell was her hands fidgeting in her lap as if her fingers itched to shake you down like a coconut tree or pry your brain open like a valuable specimen.

Knowing the scarcity of scent bonding, this may have very well been the first time she’s come across this scenario - whether in her personal life or from her spot opposite you in her seat.

“How are you feeling about the encounter?” A loaded question if ever there was one, giving you plenty of breathing room to start the conversation however you needed and giving her a chance to compartmentalize.

You tried to focus on the initial emotions, remembering that first brush of sweet alpha pheromones on your olfactory senses. The rush of endorphins as your inner omega staked her claim with that first gulp of built up citrus infused drool.

“I didn’t know I could feel like that...” There was a breathy quality to your tone as you visibly brightened, gazing at the plush rug in the center of the room without actually viewing it, a glow to your smile that was soft in your reminiscence. “They don’t prepare you for that first whiff at the Academy. It’s almost like…”

How could you explain in the span of a few sentences what the most ardent poets struggled with over the course of a lifetime?

“It’s like when someone grows up not being able to breathe properly and they don’t even realize it’s a problem. To them it’s normal to be in a constant state of dyspnea because that’s all they’ve ever known. No one else might be complaining about it, but no one’s asked them about it either. They just assume that's how your lungs are supposed to function and carry on none the wiser.”

Dr. Miranda nodded along, ever patient as you attempted to spew out your thoughts in an at least semi-coherent structure.

“But then, one day, they’re walking behind a guy who’s fumbling with his attempt to shove a small object back in his pocket and watches as it falls to the sidewalk. They pick it up off the ground like a good citizen; strike up a conversation. Ask him about the strange contraption the guy calls an inhaler - learns there's another way to breathe. And so they go home and tell their mom what’s been going on with them and she takes them to see the doctor who gets them one of their own. And when that first dose of medicated mist gets sucked into their lungs…”

The image of a wide eyed innocent gasping in a world full of untold possibilities as if reborn from the ashes of their previous life, no longer chained down by the invisible restrictions tethering them to the globe, eyes glistening full of wonderment at how something so small can be something so cosmically life altering.

With each new breath, they soar.

You’re pulled out of your musings and back to reality as your own lungs expand, something weightless shimmering in your gaze, glassy eyed and perfectly at ease. “Now I know why they call it living.”

The words are floated around the space with a sort of reverence akin to hearing a favored childhood fairy tale read aloud at their mother’s knee. Something wistful and longing and filled with effervescent hope.

“Sounds heavenly...” Her own voice was just as breathy, living vicariously through the moment she herself hasn't experienced. Curling her legs up under herself, Dr. Miranda encouraged, “tell me more.”

“There were two of them,” you went on, smile turning playful and newly invigorated. “The first one was just this big bulk of an alpha. I mean, seriously, he was properly huge!” Animated arms opened wide for emphasis, your grin reaching almost the same diameter. “Built like a fucking linebacker or something. I can only imagine what he must do for a living. Kinda gives off scary vibes, but like… in a non sketchy way? He dresses a bit like a drug dealer, but feels more like a gym teacher. Maybe that’s just me being biased ‘cause he smells like a cupcake, I dunno.”

The energy you gave off was infectious. Dr. Miranda couldn’t help but join in with amused laughter, endeared to the way you were lighting up the room. It wasn’t often she got to see you like this, glimpsing the lighthearted woman you were before the accident. It was a welcome sight after so much negativity. “And the other?”

“Fuuuuck me, Doc.” You groaned good naturedly, head falling back to rest against the spine of the couch as your limbs went limp. “Swear to god he was the prettiest guy I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life. Gorgeous smile. Like, I’ve always been a casual fan of coconut, but after that encounter…” You shuddered. “I just wanna roll around in an entire box of fucking samoas.”

“And do these tasty specimens have names?”

Just like that, you wilted.

The temperature shifted rapidly, a violent change that dragged out of your whimsy and back into a world where life didn’t discriminate between those deserving of heaven and those who broke their way in to taint the ghosts at peace.

She picked up on it immediately, back straightening as if you weren’t the only one in the room with a chill suddenly dripping down their spine.

Your admission came from a voice far more fragile than she’d heard in a very long time. “...I never got to ask.”

Recounting the excruciating memory was like shoving needles underneath your nailbeds, bringing up the other person in the room keeping you from wanton bliss, describing the torture you’d endured witnessing them existing with their own omega unaware of the damage she’d inadvertently done. You relayed their moment of recognition and sympathy. The confusion on the poor omega’s face.

How you turned tail and fled like a coward from the scene.

“I panicked,” came the strained confession, stumbled out in a frantic rush that spoke volumes of your frazzled mental state. “I-I didn’t know what else to do! I couldn’t just waltz up to them all willy nilly and throw a wrench in whatever the hell kinda life they’d already built. I mean, she was right there! How was I supposed to fawn over the men who should’ve been mine to keep when they were never mine to begin with?!”

You flinched away from the unwanted flashback of silvery bite marks, the pale white indents plastered on her skin displayed proudly beneath the collar of her coat like an olympic medal. So at odds with the ones mirrored on your own flesh, hidden now under a thick cotton turtleneck that you fought the urge to scratch.

Dr. Miranda listened closely, keen eyes analyzing the familiar body language and monitoring your growing levels of distress. She watched as you picked apart a loose hanging thread with jittery deftness until inevitably too much unwound and fluffy white stuffing poked out between the seams of the pillow clutched like a life jacket to your chest.

“I can only imagine the hurt you must’ve felt in that moment…”

Where once your voice had been full of life, now there was only a grave emptiness. Color had been sucked from your aura the same way it had been from the room. There was no hiding from your devastation in the tiny office, the frayed threads of the cashmere pillow a reflection revealing the true turmoil roiling beneath the skin. It rotted from the inside out, exposing the vulnerable squishy interior and keeping you reliving the same brutal lacerations again and again and again.

“...I hadn’t even considered it a possibility, you know…?”

Hadn’t allowed yourself the concept of hope.

“And suddenly it was right there - the answer to all my problems. For a brief moment, I was shown a glimpse of a better life. A future… one where I didn't wake up with earth shattering headaches and relentless nausea and I’d actually have energy to do more than just be a useless fucking couch potato and there could be laughter and healing and–”

You weren’t sure at which point in your stream of consciousness you’d started crying, nor when you fitfully clawed into the padded fabric, shredding the delicate material as it twisted and stretched in your trembling hands.

“I wish I never ran into them at the store... I wish I could’ve kept living in stupid fucking ignorance. At least then they could’ve just stayed made up characters in my head. Anything would’ve been better than this–” you spat angrily, chucking the mangled remains of the pillow on the ground and gritting your teeth through the onslaught of tears. “Having them ripped away from me like some sick fucking joke! Like the universe hasn’t already crushed my hopes and dreams and laughed in my face for wanting a normal fucking life!? Well guess what, gods? You win! Okay?! You fucking win! Take my heart! I don't want it anymore!”

Consoling arms encapsulated your quivering form, the comforting florals of Dr. Miranda’s airy omega scent projecting like a protective blanket and overpowering the tart bitterness of your once sweetened pear turned ashen in your mouth.

The floodgates opened. They couldn't be stopped.

“I’m just so fucking sick of this!” Your screams of devastation become muffled against the softness of her pink knitted sweater, harsh blubbering sobs broken up by heaving gasps as you mourn the life you’ll never have. “I hate him... I hate him! I don’t wanna do this anymore! I just want my fucking life back!”

There are no words that can fix the lesions of the heart. There’s no comfort of a better tomorrow that she can wax poetic whilst drying your tears. Sometimes grief cannot be mended - only managed. And sometimes that means accepting the bad days with the learned knowledge that not all anger is made of evil.

Holding you close, lulling you into a guarded safety with a placating purr, she grants you reprieve from the mask that you wear.

Not much more was discussed in the aftermath. The remaining time was dedicated to helping you stabilize from the emotional trauma, bringing you down carefully to avoid dropping into a catatonic state. She’d witnessed it with you before - at the start of your visits. When the grief was still too near and your triggers splayed out like a million mouse traps all primed to go off. Avoiding them was all but impossible in those early days. Three hours of your life were forever lost to time, the only proof of its occurrence the foggy aftermath filled memory of cold dampened skin and sweat soaked weighted blankets clutched tight in a dark room, uncontrollable trembles wracking your form and a bone deep exhaustion as if you’d just ran ten miles.

Dr. Miranda never once left your side.

Trudging your way back to your vehicle, the air inside the car was only mildly warmer than its outer counterpart, sinking into the rigid cloth seats and listening to the laboured clicks of the old engine grappling to turn over in the bitter cold. Snowflakes gathered on your coat began to melt as it finally gave way, puttering to life and filling the space with dense heated air.

You huffed out a loaded sigh, absentmindedly scratching at the already abused skin as you felt his presence poking experimentally across the bond. As if you didn’t have enough on your plate without him adding his delightful input, sniffing around your emotions like a trained bloodhound attuned to your melancholic brooding.

He was a spiteful thing; had been since he first opened his eyes the next morning from his drug induced stupor and found the pretty thing he’d coveted had just up and vanished. You never knew when he’d invade the sanctity of your mind. The flicker of amusement from his end was the telltale proof this was all just a sick game.

The bonds didn’t allow any actual communication. There were no words passed back and forth, no sudden powers of telepathy. Just intense sensations - emotions conveyed as though tangible and speaking ideas down an invisible phone line.

The whole point of a mating bite in the first place was to bring a further cohesion to the packs. As an omega, you were the fixed point in space around which all other members orbited. A mediator of sorts; it was your job to smooth the serrated edges of an alpha’s instincts, regulating their emotional needs and nurturing them to achieve a sense of balance - and vice versa.

An omega’s naturally empathetic nature meant you were frequently prone to becoming easily overstimulated. It was an alpha’s duty to soothe your frazzled nerves.

He liked to abuse his privileges.

Sometimes he went days without pestering, others his tiresome machinations seemed unending. The longest reprieve had been just shy of three weeks, lured into a false sense of optimism that just maybe he’d overdosed and freed you from his haunting clutches. His return was a hot knife stabbing into your skull, grinding and drilling like a makeshift lobotomy for the clinically insane.

You were grateful for the miles between now softening the blows. Once he’d begun to feel the strain on the flight to your current city whittling away at the strength of your bond, he’d lashed out in unbridled fury. You’d spent the first leg of the trip huddled on your knees in the airplane stall, his mental punishment sawing into your ribs and expelling the simple breakfast you’d eaten an hour prior.

Sobs of anguish turned to tears of relief as time went on and his reach stretched thin across the continent.

The bond withdrawals came afterwards. His presence still lurked in the tether that binds you, but no more than a casual thought in the back of your mind, the quiet voice that whispers on the edge of a canyon daring you to ‘jump’.

The bond withdrawals were now the worst of your worries. It was hard to function on a day to day basis when the same distance granting you a second chance caused you to become physically - sometimes violently - ill. Instances like that, Zofran was your best friend.

Buckling your seatbelt, you waged an internal battle over whether or not to do the responsible thing of making a second attempt at grocery shopping (despite your best efforts over the past two days, you hadn’t yet figured out how to miraculously will food to materialize in your barren pantry). Statistically speaking you were most likely safe from another encounter… unless they’d pulled a you and hadn’t left with their wares either.

But if you didn’t have the luxury before to keep putting it off then you certainly hadn’t acquired it now.

Math was on your side as you emerged with a full cart of goods and a lack of new therapy material. You’d still been the most skittish paranoid thing ever, scurrying quickly through the aisles like the CIA was out to get you, scanning your periphery and emerging quickly from the self checkout lanes to hurry towards your car. But just because you’d been successful in your venture doesn’t mean you weren’t followed along by fuzzy raised brows and curious - if not judgemental - looks.

It was an odd notion - being terrified of the one thing that should’ve made you feel secure. It was all you could do to distract yourself from the frustrating realization that this was a game you’d be playing for the foreseeable future unless you shelled out the extra cash to bypass doing the chore yourself.

That would have to be a worry for another time. Right now, all you desired was to curl up in your tiny studio apartment with a home cooked microwaved meal and lose yourself in the diversion that was the food network channel.

But first: caffeine.

You ignored the nagging ghost of responsibility tugging at your ear as you pulled into a parking spot alongside the main road, stepping out of the warm confines of your car and hurrying inside the nestled hole in the wall you frequented a few times a week for a caffeinated boost.

Large crowds still bothered you even with the reassurance he wasn't there, as if he could somehow physically slink out of the bond formed between you and hide amongst the chittering rabble waiting for an opportune moment of weakness to strike. Thankfully you’d arrived after the mid afternoon rush - although there were still a few stragglers with the same mindset as you eager to escape the frosty air with something warm on an otherwise picturesque snowy winter’s day.

The chiming bell above the door hailed your arrival, festive drink flavors assaulting your nose and instantly watering your mouth. Smoky chestnut praline, rich peppermint mocha, enticing caramel brulee. Cranberry laden pastries, chewy gingerbread cookies; all folded together in a Christmasy mix laced with the pleasant aroma of freshly ground coffee beans.

Your mind zeroed in on exactly what it wanted, pinpointing the most succulent fragrance amongst the bountiful bouquet, cutting through the sea of heavy pheromones belonging to the other patrons and hitting something raw inside your weary soul.

The veritable nectar of the gods.

A rich shot of bold espresso. Sweetly caramelized with smooth, creamy, chocolatey undertones. It zapped your spine with a jolt of adrenaline, awakening your senses while simultaneously soothing them. The first relaxing sip of a perfectly hot beverage. The golden liquid flowed down the back of your throat and alleviated the tangled knots still keeping you on edge, settling like a sturdy hand on your shoulder and allowing you the chance to breathe easy.

Something about the blend had your inner omega preening, ears perked up and startling a small purr from your chest that had you blinking down at your torso in surprised confusion. You’d barely stepped foot inside the cafe and suddenly the craving had expanded tenfold, something ravenous and feral urging your steps towards the counter that you had to fight to withstand.

Shrugging off the intense hunger as a simple lack of shoving something slightly more substantial in your mouth before leaving this morning, you adjusted the strap of your purse more securely on your shoulder and raised your eyes level to the awaiting interior.

Right into the most alluring shade of brilliant azure - sparkling like sapphires and already fixated on you.

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reiding-writing · 6 months ago

Note

AHHHHH UNSUB READERRRR such an elite concept, could I maybe request soccer calling her post transfer just to talk to her?? of maybe the team catching wind that he's been in contact with her after the case??

THE PHONE CALLS

spencer & gn!unsub!reader || 0.9k || bloodied roses event!!

WARNINGS: just morgan prying and getting absolutely nowhere with it

a/n — ik it was just a typo but calling spencer ‘soccer’ had me laughing for like five minutes thanks for making my day 😭🙏

main masterlist!! ⋆｡°✩ unsub!reader masterlist!!

Spencer had spent a lot of time on his phone recently.

An abnormally long amount of time for somebody who’s sworn off technology in favour of the more ‘traditional’ methods of doing things.

5PM. On the dot. Every single Wednesday. Rain or shine, office or case, Spencer Reid was talking to somebody over the phone.

There were a few theories floating around.

A hidden partner? Almost immediately shot down with how rigorously timed the calls were.

His mom? She had just as much of a hatred of phones as he did, and everyone knew he sent her letters every day anyway.

A doctor maybe? A therapist? A librarian from somewhere in rural Russia that had the singular print of some random piece of literature that Spencer was trying to get his hands on?

It was honestly anyone’s guess.

The fact that he was being oddly secretive about it wasn’t helping anything either.

It was like he was scared of the team finding out. What was there to be ‘scared’ of? They we’re practically family, he surely knew that they wouldn’t judge him for whatever it was, so why was he keeping everything under lock and key?

Hotch told people that they should just leave it, that he’s entitled to his privacy and doesn’t have to tell anyone anything that he doesn’t want to. But that doesn’t exactly fair too well when you’re talking to a group of people who analyse human behaviour for a living. And Hotch wasn’t even following his own advice.

And Hotch wasn’t even following his own advice.

“That’s good, that’s great news,”

Spencer wasn’t exactly quiet either.

He’d practically barricaded himself in the break room to be able to take the call privately, but his voice was still easily heard through the glass, and it wasn’t exactly helping to dim the over-active curiosity of his teammates.

“You know what I mean, it’s progress, it shows that they’re trusting you,”

His pacing also left something to be desired, rhythmic and almost mechanical like it was a way for Spencer to blow off whatever nervous tension had built up during the course of the phone call.

“Alright, yeah, I’ll speak to you next week okay?” A small pause. “Okay, bye,”

Most of the team scrambled to make themselves look busy as Spencer pocket his phone and emerged from behind his self-imposed glass wall, but there was always one who didn’t know how to follow a crowd.

“Alright, you’ve kept your secrets long enough, who is it genius?” Morgan’s voice wasn’t accusatory as it was curious, and he gestures outwards for Spencer’s answer. One that doesn’t come.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I talk to a lot of different people,” He re-takes his seat as his desk with a small shrug, lips awkwardly pressed into a line.

“You take the same phone call every single week at the same exact time, that’s not ‘a lot’ of people pretty boy, it’s one,” Morgan leans forward in his chair, elbows on the table. “So, who is it? A girlfriend?”

“No—” Spencer shakes his head almost too quickly.

“A boyfriend?”

“No it’s not—” Spencer sighs exaggeratedly. “It’s nothing like that, it’s just an acquaintance,”

“An acquaintance you talk to every single week no matter what, even when we’re in the middle of a case,”

“I like having a fit schedule,”

Morgan shakes his head with a laugh. “Nothing about this job is ‘scheduled’ Reid, you’re telling me you only keep a schedule when it comes to this specific acquaintance of yours?” His raises his eyebrow unbelievingly, but Spencer doesn’t back down from his stance.

“They have a much stricter schedule than I do, we talk when they’re available,”

Morgan gives a small breathy laugh and a slow, almost mocking nod. “Right, sure,”

“I’m telling you the truth, I don’t know what else you want,” Spencer shrugs again, this time with a small air of exasperation.

He wasn’t technically lying. You did have a strict schedule at the facility you’d been moved to, and you used the one phone call you had a week so that you could speak to him. He wouldn’t want you to waste it by him not picking up. That wouldn’t be fair.

“Whatever you say pretty boy,” Morgan fiddles with the pen in his hand before pointing it across the bullpen in Spencer’s direction. “But rest assured, I will find out who you’re talking to, even if it means having Garcia hack into your phone records,”

Spencer hopes for both of your sakes that Morgan doesn’t find out who he’s talking to.

Although the threat of Garcia didn’t really hold any value, not that Morgan knew that. All they would find was a psychiatric institute, and for all he could’ve been speaking to absolutely anyone there, patient or staff.

So for the time being, your weekly talks remained something kept held close to his chest, something that would hopefully stay that way indefinitely.

#unsub!reader ᝰ.ᐟ #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #ꫂ bloodied roses

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sluggzillaa · 5 months ago

Text

You Smoke?

Word Count: 3.6k

✧ Pairing: Joost Klein x GN!Reader

✧ Summary: You and Joost have been apart of the same friend group for a while now but haven't had the chance to get to know each other. Thats till they both go on a smoke break.

✧ Warnings and tags: pet/nicknames(Sweetheart and star) , smoking(cigarettes), just some fluff, acquaintances to lovers, cursing, alcohol consumption, implied smut , panic attack, fainting, claustrophobia, no pronouns, angst if you squint

✧ Authors note: I've recently gotten into Joost and his music. I'm usually not into blonde men but he flipped a switch for me. Enjoy this thing my brain came up with, i'm very proud of it. If I made any mistakes or missed a warning PLEASE LET ME KNOW. Also, my requests are open so please request something so I have an excuse to post more. ps, MINORS SHOO!

⋆.ೃ࿔*

“Say it!”

“Okay, okay I will”

It's a Tuesday night and everyone is tipsy. You and your friend group had spent the majority of the day helping your friend Joost with a video shoot. You then all came back to Apson’s apartment to relax and have a couple drinks. A couple drinks then turned into a bunch of shots. Now you're all sharing stories, obviously extremely dramatized due to the liquor in your system.

“So I bring this girl home after a gig at Bolwerk” Joost starts

When Joost talks, everyone in the room listens. He is constantly the center of attention. He commands a room.

“We get to my place; getting in the mood.. I leave her on the couch so I can get a rubber, but when I get back this girl is passed out!”

“What did you do after?” Apson questioned

“Opzouten! I went to bed and put her in a cab in the morning”

The group laughed and went into separate conversations. Joost stood up from his seat and grabbed his bag.

“Alright, i’m gonna go have a smoke”

“Mind if I come too?” You speak up

He nods towards the balcony and steps out. You follow and close the sliding door behind you. You admire the city as you learn over the railing. Joost looked through his small bag. He let out a sigh and cursed to himself.

“You got a lighter?” he questioned

You nodded and passed him the lighter that was in your pocket. He pulled out two cigarettes , placing one between his lips and handing you the other. He lit his, taking a drag to ensure an even burn. He inhaled then blew out the remaining smoke. He held the cigarette in between his lips and leaned over towards you. You placed the cigarette between your lips and looked up at him. He cupped one of his hands to the side of the cig and turned the lighter on. You scanned his focused face but your attention was stolen by him eyeing you. You took a pull and watched as Joost moved away, still never peeling his eyes from you. You leaned over the railing and watched cars pass below you.

“I had no idea you smoked” Joost broke the silence

“Well we don’t speak much to know anything about each other”

“Which is odd since we hang out so often”

“You hangout with the group often, we don’t hangout at all” You corrected

He chuckled at your snarkiness and finally looked away from you. He admired the skyline and took a drag from his cig. He turned back to you again.

“I know everyone in the group pretty well, besides you”

“What are you getting at?”

“Maybe, we could get some drinks or go out to eat or something”

“You’re making it sound like a date, Klein”

“You’re the one whos thinking of it like that”

⋆.ೃ࿔*

You agreed to hangout with Joost but tried to find something that didn’t seem so ‘datey’. You decided on going to a local venue where a few underground hardstyle artists were playing. You knew you both had a love for music so you made your plans based on that.

You stood in front of the barricade as you watched people trickle in. You quickly took notice of a familiar blonde haired man walking in, dawning a pair of shades and an ushanka. He searched the crowd till his eyes finally landed on you. A smile pasted itself on to his face and he sped to you.

“Hallo!” He greeted

“Hey.. what's with the shades?”

“I didn’t want anyone to notice me”

“Yea, because no one is going to recognize that bright mullet and your very.. Distinctive style”

He gave you a sarcastic laugh before taking his spot at the barricade. He looked around and took in the venue.

“So do you know anyone in the line up?”

“Nee, but it's always good to support new artist”

You nodded in agreement

“I remember when I was in their position, it always feels good to know that people who are bigger in the scene are interested in your art” He continued

“Enough about me, tell me why you chose this spot”

“Well, I always come to shows like these. It's such a fun atmosphere.. Plus I know how passionate you are about music so I figured it was the perfect way to bring both of our likes together”

“You're very smart”

The comment slightly threw you off but you ignored it and tried to get back into small talk. Before you could even get a word in, the show started. The speakers immediately started blasting music and the room was now lit up by the stage lights above. Joost noticed the crowd begin to get rowdy so he quickly stood behind you and placed his arms on either side of you, hands gripping the barricade. You looked up at him and gave him a thankful smile. You turned back to the front of the stage and moved your body to the beat of the music. Joost looked down at you, ensuring you were comfortable and safe. He eventually let loose and enjoyed the music along with you. The bass and the volume of the music made it extremely difficult to communicate but you did what you could.

“Joost!.. JOOST!” You attempted to grab his attention

“Yea! What do you need?”

“Can you get me a drink?”

“You’ll be good on your own?” He questioned, you gave him a sly look and rolled your eyes

“I am a grown woman, I can handle myself”

He nodded and pushed through the crowd so he could get to the bar in the back. Once he left, you attempted to assimilate yourself with the crowd. Unfortunately, The crowd was getting even more hyped and seemed to lose any sense of awareness for others. Before you knew it, you were pushed into the center of the pit. You were being heavily shoved around and elbowed painfully. You tried to push your way out but the more you struggled, the more it became harder to get out. You’ve been in pits before but only when you intend to; you had never been forced into one. The large amounts of people and the pushing began to make you hyperventilate. Your chest was heaving and your heart was racing. There was a sudden ringing in your ear and before you knew it, black.

You weren’t sure how long you were out but you woke up to a bright light in your face and feeling insanely sweaty. You sat up and the light was moved from your face. The first person you saw was Joost, looking insanely worried. This was the first time you’ve seen him with any other reaction but happy. Once he realized you were awake, he quickly rushed to check on you, looking all around for any marks on you or any signs you needed to be rushed to a hospital. The medics urged him to give you some space but he ignored them.

“Holy shit, are you okay?”

“Like I would fucking know.. What happened?”

“You passed out in the pit, Why the fuck would you do that after I left?”

“First of all, I got pushed into the pit.. Second of all, I don’t need your constant protection”

He donned an amused smile and looked up at the medics, ushering them away. He tucked his arm under your armpit and slowly helped you get up.

“Still just as independent as you were before you went out.. Come on i’m taking you home”

“No it’s fine, I’ll get a cab”

“I brought my car. Turn off your ego for a second and let me do something for you”

⋆.ೃ࿔*

Joost pulled up to the front of your apartment building and put his car in park.

“Do you need me to take you upstairs or?”

‘I’ll be fine but thank you”

He nodded and stepped out of the car. Right as you were about to open your own door, he quickly swung it open.

“As the gentleman I am, I should be opening doors for you”

“Joost stop making it weird”

You stepped out of the car and shut the door, snatching it from him. He rolls his eyes and walks you to the door.

“Let's do that again”

“Maybe not THAT.. I think we should just get coffee next time” He joked

You nodded and stopped at your building's front door. Before you opened it, you turned back to Joost and placed a quick peck on his cheek. You gave him a soft smile and opened the door.

“Thank you.. Text me so we can figure out the next time we can hang out”

Joost just stood there, frozen in place. No matter what you said he would just nod in agreement.

⋆.ೃ࿔*

You had spent the last week texting back and forth with Joost. It first started off with him checking in on you after what happened at the concert. It then turned into him just talking to you randomly. Now you two can’t go a few hours without talking. After being in the same group for so long, you finally feel like you’re actually getting close to him.

Star: I just finished all my paperwork

Moon: You’ve been working on that stuff for 2 days straight

Star: Yea but its finally over

Moon: Good good

Star: I am really bored right now though

Moon: I’m at the studio right now finishing a project

All the guys just left so it's just me right now

Star: Are you asking me to pull up to the studio?

Moon: Maybe

Star: I’ll see you in 15

⋆.ೃ࿔*

You knocked on the door of the studio and waited for Joost to open. He wasted no time; he practically swung the door off its hinges. He greeted you with a wide smile and ushered you inside. You greeted him with a nod and walked in. You spun around, giving yourself a mini tour of the studio. It was decorated with LED lights and had few plants in the corners. You looked at one of the walls which had a comfy looking brown couch against it. Joost sat down in his chair in front of the control panel. He patted the chair next to him, signaling you to sit. You plopped down in the chair and watched him as he quickly opened his music program on his laptop.

“Listen to this and tell me what you think”

You nodded and followed his every move. He placed the laptop on the desk in front of him and quickly pressed the spacebar, causing the music to play. The song was slower than what you were used to with his music. His voice was very soft, following the beat. The lyrics were extremely heartfelt. Full of love and passion. It was very enjoyable, arguably one of his best songs. He leaned forward in his chair and watched your facial expressions. The song came to a stop and he immediately bombarded you with questions about your opinion.

“It's a very beautiful song.. I love it”

“You don’t think it's missing something, though?”

You shook your head and leaned back in your chair. Joost rubbed the back off his head, thinking. Suddenly something clicked in him. He grabbed your hand and forced you out of your seat. He opened the door to the booth.

“I need you to go into the booth and record something for me, please”

“Fine but you owe me”

He gave you an excited nod and rushed back to his seat. You walked into the booth and shut the door behind you. You looked out the window and spotted Joost ushering you to put on the headphones. Once you did, he spoke through the intercom.

“Okay, so what I want you to do is say ‘Joost, take me to the moon’ but in a soft voice.. Not a whisper though”

You giggled at his specific instructions and gave him an understanding nod. You got up to the mic and gave Joost a thumbs up, signaling that you were ready. A red light turned on above the mic, showing that it was on and recording. You gave yourself an assuring breathe before continuing with the phrase.

“Joost, take me to the moon” You attempted to put on your most calming yet slightly sensual voice

You looked over at him through the window, He just sat there staring at his laptop with an earbud in. He nodded to himself and waved for you to come back out. You hung the headphones back up and walked out of the booth.

“How was it?” You asked

“Fucking perfect.. It was exactly what the song needed”

You smiled to yourself, excited by the praise. He packed up his stuff and grabbed yours as well. He shut off the lights in the studio, The only light in the room being an LED lamp he has on the desk next to all the tech. He stood for a second just admiring the silhouette of your features. Weirdly enough, you did the same. You took notice of the way his nose buttons out and how he constantly had a dimple peeking. Though you couldn’t really see them, you felt his eyes meet yours. The two of you moved together ever so slightly. You two were already so close, if you kept going at this pace you would be directly on top of each other. He placed his hand on your hip and the other on the small of your back. You turned your head to the side and dared to lean your face closer. Right when your lips were going to slightly touch, his ringtone loudly filled the room. He let you go and rushed to grab his phone from his pocket, it was Aspon.

“Shit.. Hallo?” He answered the phone and walked to the other side of the room

You huffed and turned away from him, attempting to snap yourself out of this flustered state. He said goodbye to Aspon and turned back to you.

“Let’s get going”

You nodded in agreement and opened the door. You made your way downstairs and waited for Joost to lead you to the car. The car ride was pretty quiet besides you helping him with directions. You didn’t once acknowledge what happened upstairs. He pulled up in front of your apartment building and put the car in parked. He got out of the car and walked over to the other side, opening the door for you. You stepped out and walked with him to the front door.

“See you soon?”

“Yea, i’ll text you when i’m home.. Okay star?”

You nodded and headed back inside.

⋆.ೃ࿔*

He didn’t

He hasn’t spoken to you in a week. He hasn’t even made any plans to meet with the friend group. You haven’t heard a single thing about Joost. You knew it was kinda awkward after what happened but you didn’t think it was that bad. You spent day and night last week waiting for any sign of him. The more time that went by with no contact, the more time you began to gave up. That was till you actually gave up. You no longer spent your mornings trying to get pretty in case he wanted to hang out. You no longer tried looking for new ideas of things you could do together. You just stopped trying all together. You had no interest in putting so much effort into someone who obviously didn't care much for you.

You laid in your bed on your laptop, doom scrolling. You hadn’t found a way to stop until your phone chimed. You turned your head to the device and saw a text from someone you haven’t spoken to in a while.

Moon: You busy?

You stared at the text and contemplated whether you should answer or not. It was like his words were a spell, pushing you to respond. You picked up your phone and quickly got to typing.

Star: No

Why?

Moon: I’m having a get together for the release of my new song

Star: Okay

Moon: And I was wondering if you’d like to come

Star: Where is it and when?

Moon: At my place

Tonight at 8

Star: I’ll see

He sent you one last text but you didn’t bother to check. You wondered how he had the balls to contact you after leaving you in the dark for so long. You also wondered how he had so much control over you to make you give in so easily.

⋆.ೃ࿔*

You knocked on Joost's apartment door. You had only been here once before for a get together that Ski had invited your group to. You don’t really remember it much because you started drinking as soon as you got there.

Joost opened the door. A slight smile creeped onto his face. It immediately dropped when he realized you weren’t as happy to see him as he was you. You walked straight inside and looked around to see if you recognized anyone. To your surprise, no one was even there. You turned to him with a confused yet slightly confused face.

“Where did everyone go?” you questioned

“You’re the first one to arrive”

You scoff and walk further into the apartment. You spot the bottles of alcohol and mixers on his dining room table. You grab a cup and begin to fill your cup with a mix of vodka and cranberry juice. You took a sip, making a face at the taste of liquor. You turned back around and trailed to the couch. You plopped down and leaned against the arm of the seat. Joost walked towards you and gently sat down onto the cushion next to you. There was a moment of awkward silence before he finally decided to break it.

“I’m sorry”

“About?”

“The other night..”

“Are you really sorry about the other night or are you sorry about going ghost?”

“Both?”

“What exactly are you sorry for?”

“Um..”

There was a moment of silence again. You watched him as he fidgeted and bit the inside of his cheek. He finally turned to you. His cheeks were a light shade of pink and his eyes were slightly wider. You sat on your legs and leaned closer to him.

“Are you sorry or do you just regret something”

“Maybe I do have some regrets”

“Was it not kissing me?” You said boldly

He kept quiet but his eyes kept flickering to your lips. You leaned closer, practically being pulled towards him. He let out a desperate sigh and leaned into you. Your lips brushed against each other. You closed your eyes, preparing yourself to finally get to kiss him. Then the bell rang. You pulled away and threw your hands up in defeat. Joost got up to answer the door. You grabbed your cup and walked out to the balcony. After that, there wasn’t a moment where the door was closed. The apartment was now full. Everyone was packed in like sardines yet everyone was still having a great time. Joost pushed through the crowd and rushed to you.

“I’m about to release the song, come!”

You stood up from your chair and followed after him. The two of you stood with your group of friends. He grabbed his laptop and pressed the upload button. Once it was up, he pressed play and allowed his song to fill the room. It was a slow and sweet melody. Everything you said in the studio stood to be true. It was a perfectly beautiful song. It was full of love and passion. The song was coming to an end, a part you had never heard.

jij bent het mooiste waar ik mijn ogen op heb gericht, mijn ster

(you're the most beautiful thing I have laid my eyes on, My star)

Your mind went cloudy. The name took you by surprise. To anyone else it would seem like a random nickname, but to you it meant so much more. In the background you heard your voice closing out the song.

Joost, Take me to the moon

Everyone clapped and cheered for Joost. You turned to him with a dreamy expression on your face. He was just smiling down at you, tuning out the entire room. He made your blank expression turn into a wide smile.

⋆.ೃ࿔*

Joost said goodbye to the last few guests and turned to you. You stood directly behind him with a huge smile on your face that hasn’t gone away since he revealed the song. You threw your arms around his neck and pulled him into a long awaited kiss. His eyes fluttered shut as he melted into the kiss. He placed one of his hands onto the small of your back and the other on the back of your head. You reached your hand up and combed through the blonde’s mullet. He took a sharp breath in through his nose whilst pulling away. He gave you a goofy love struck smile. You panted as you attempted to catch your breath. You giggled at the sight of the very red Joost.

“So is that why you didn’t speak to me all week?”

“Yea.. I just got so caught up in making it perfect for you, Schat”

You pulled him back into the kiss, this time it was even more heated and passionate. He trailed his hands down and placed them on the back of your thighs. He tapped on your skin, signaling you to jump up. You did as you were instructed and wrapped your legs around his waist. He held onto you and walked you over to his room, never once breaking the kiss.

⋆.ೃ࿔*

joostklein

The Netherlands

♡ ❍ ➣

205,750 likes

joostklein “Love letter to a star” Out Now! ✨

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June 15

bbnomula: I LOVE JOOST KLEIN

nelib0st: who’s the song about

yungpepsi: Omg is joost dating some1

missharli: Beautiful

ticetip: JOOST LET ME BE YOUR STAR

#fanfic #x reader #oneshot #joost klein #joostice #justice for joost #joost #europapa #i love joost #fluff #joost x reader

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