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fanboyoff1 · 8 months ago

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Landoscar- Losing your bags at the airport (1.7k words)

Hello all! This is based off that one tweet about Lando losing his bags at the airport and Oscar staying with him. Disclaimer- I know nothing about airports, all of this was google searched stuff, so go easy on me. (I made it an American airport because dealing with a language barrier was too complicated lol) It's mostly fluff, but I suppose a bit of angst?

Also, this is my first fic I'm posting online, so please be kind ❤️

Lando sighed loudly, blowing hair out of his face as he exhaled. He wasn’t the biggest fan of airports by principle. They’re boring, the lines are long, and the whole thing seems so much bigger than it needs to be. But it’s kind of a necessary part of his job, so he’d mostly gotten used to waiting for stupid amounts of time at airports.

But this is just kinda ridiculous. He and Oscar had been waiting for Lando’s suitcase to show up at baggage claim for… well he didn’t know how long it had been, but it was longer than he’d ever had to wait before. Even worse, Oscar’s bag had practically been the first to get dumped out onto the carousel, because of course it had. They were going to the hotel together, so Oscar was staying with him. The Aussie was on his phone, sitting on his suitcase and texting someone. Lando hated the silence, so he tore his eyes away from Oscar’s gorgeous side profile and yawned.

“This is taking foreverrr,” he said, stretching from his place crouched on the floor.

“It’s been ten minutes,” Oscar corrected, not once looking up from his phone.

“Screen-ager,” Lando decided to retaliate. Oscar looked up now, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment clear on his face. Lando looked back to the baggage carousel, satisfied by getting a reaction out of the younger man.

Oscar cleared his throat. “How about we just wait a few more minutes and then go to the baggage desk.”

“Huh?”

“The baggage desk. Where you go if you lose your luggage. It’s right there.” He pointed, and sure enough, back against the wall and a few carousels down was a little front desk-looking thing, with neon letters spelling out ‘Baggage Desk’ above it.

“Oh,” Lando mumbled, adjusting his hat.

“I’ll just tell Zak we’ll be a bit later than expected,” Oscar said, giving Lando a blinding smile that made his stomach twist with that complicated more-than-just-a-crush feeling he preferred not to think about. He hummed in response, fiddling with his hoodie strings.

After a few more minutes, everyone that had been on their flight (aka about half the Mclaren crew, including Zak and Andrea who had ditched them first chance they got) had left, and Lando was getting more and more stressed out. He was biting his lip and running his hands through his hair repeatedly, imagining practically every worse-case scenario. What if his suitcase got on the wrong flight? What if there was something bad in there he didn’t realize and they wouldn’t let him get his stuff? What if some rando took his stuff?

He didn’t realize Oscar was talking to him until a hand waved in front of his face. He looked to his teammate who was already staring at him worriedly.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked, resting his hand on Lando’s arm. Lando managed a small, likely unconvincing nod.

Oscar let go of his upper arm with a gentle squeeze, and Lando might just melt away at the spot. “Well, I was asking you if you wanted to go to the baggage desk and ask about your suitcase?”

Lando nodded again and stood, walking away before even giving Oscar a chance to do so as well. He felt a bit bad as he heard Oscar scramble upright and start pulling his suitcase behind him, but it had been a long day and he really just needed to collapse into his hotel room now.

He reached the desk and made eye contact with a short woman, her long brown hair tied up in a low ponytail and wearing official looking clothes, who was standing near the back of the small room. She rushed forward and sat down in a swivel chair, pushing her glasses up.

“What’s your issue, dearie?” she said in a strong Southern accent, only slightly muffled by the thick glass separating them.

“Uh, can’t find my bag. Didn't show up,” he said with a guilty smile. He tried to turn on his charm as much as possible, his train of thought being, Maybe if I’m nice she’ll be nice back and then I can go to bed quicker.

“Alright love. Name?”

“Lando Norris,” he said. Oscar had reached him by now, standing so close to his side that their shoulders were almost brushing against each other.

The lady did some typing on her computer, then let out a little tsk sound in the back of her throat. “I’m sorry, it seems like your luggage got sent to the wrong place. We’re trying to get it here as we speak.”

Lando shot a glance back to Oscar, who raised his eyebrows. “Do you know what happened?” he asked the lady. He looked at the pin on her shirt, which said her name was Charlotte. Huh, she didn’t look like a Charlotte.

Charlotte gave a shrug in response. “Could’ve been anything. My guess, there wasn’t enough space in the cargo hold on your plane. It got placed on the wrong extra-storage space, and got sent somewhere else. You’ll have to wait until it gets here. That might take a while.”

Lando worked hard to suppress a groan. “Okay. Thanks.” He tried for a smile that ended up more like a grimace.

“You two can sit in one of those chairs on the right while you wait,” Charlotte said with a sympathetic smile. Lando turned to his right and flopped into a chair. At least they were cushioned.

This night was turning shitty fast. He just wanted to sleep, was that too much to ask? And what was even more awful about this was that Oscar had to stay with him.

“Sorry about this,” he told his friend, who looked at him confused.

“Why? It’s nothing you could control.”

“Yeah, I guess. It’s just…” he trailed off, not sure how to explain that somehow he was blaming himself for this. No, he’d never tell Oscar that, he’d think he was weird. The edge of Lando’s eyes were starting to water with tears, and he wanted to scream. You’re such a baby. What’s your problem? Bury it, you can’t do this right now. Crybaby.

“Hey, Lando, it’s okay,” Oscar said, reaching out with one hand. He touched Lando’s shoulder tenderly. “I don’t mind.”

Lando hugged his legs to his chest and buried his head in his knees. “I’m just having a bad day,” he mumbled, and for a second he wasn’t sure if Oscar heard him.

“That’s alright,” Oscar said, and he let go of Lando’s arm. Lando didn’t even get a chance to mourn the loss of contact though, because then Oscar’s arm was wrapping around his shoulders and gently tugging him closer. Lando practically fell onto his chest, and could feel his cheeks reddening.

“This okay?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“You can rest. You know, if you want. I know you’re tired.”

“Will you wake me up when my suitcase shows up?”

“Mm-hmm,” Oscar hummed, and Lando let himself sink into his embrace, their breaths and heartbeats syncing. Oscar was really cuddly, he thought as he drifted off.

# # #

“Hey, Lando, wake up.”

Osc, Lando thought and smiled. “Wake up, Lando.” Then someone was gently pushing his shoulder, and he blearily opened his eyes.

He took in his surroundings with a moment of slight confusion before remembering. The airport. His bags. Crying. Oscar.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” the man in question said, and Lando swore he felt his fingers brushing through his curls. “C’mon, your stuff got here.”

A part of Lando wanted to jump up and start doing a victory dance on the spot. The annoyance of getting up overruled it though. He was so comfy.

Wait, where exactly was he? He knew he was at the airport, but this was way too comfy for a chair. His eyes flickered around trying to figure it out, and oh God he was in Oscar’s lap. He quickly sat up, using his hands to push himself upright. However, he didn’t account for where he was putting his hands, and ended up putting half of his weight on Oscar’s thigh. Oscar let out a little grunt of pain, wincing.

“Oh shit, sorry sorry sorry,” Lando hurriedly apologized, backing up.

“No no, you’re fine,” Oscar reassured him, but his voice was strained. He looked at Lando with a smirk. “Are you trying to sabotage me, Lando Norris?”

“I’m sorry!”

Oscar just giggled and stood. He reached a hand out to Lando, who took it. He used his free hand to grab his suitcase and took off confidently to the left, not releasing his tight grasp on Lando’s hand.

“Uh, where are we going?” Lando asked, desperately trying to stop the stupid butterflies rising in his stomach. God he was so childish, they were literally just holding hands. But they were holding hands.

“To get your bag. Obviously.”

With no further explanation, he proceeded to get dragged through what felt like half the airport. Not that he minded. Every once in a while Oscar would look back and give him a trademark Osc Smile that made his insides turn to mush, so that made up for the mystery part pretty well.

Finally they reached their destination, some obscure part of the airport. A few official people gave him his suitcase along with many apologies and a crap ton of airline points (not that those were especially helpful to him, Mclaren paid for most of his flights anyways. It was a nice gesture though.) He accepted the apologies quickly, not wanting to drag out this process any longer than necessary.

Then they were in a taxi headed to their hotel, and the exhaustion was coming back ten-fold.

“Tired?” Oscar asked once Lando had yawned for the fifth time.

“Just a bit,” Lando quipped.

“Want to sleep again?”

“You’re fine with it?”

“Of course.”

Lando hesitantly let his head fall on Oscar’s shoulder. Oscar’s arm found its way around his shoulders again.

Just before Lando fell asleep again, he felt a feather-light kiss pressing against his head, and he scooted closer to Oscar with a sigh.

Here are some people who said they were interested: @slugesh, @peppysinc, @sunnykasarova, @alto-the-avocado, @lailau7904, @standgrand, @chamberkat

#lando norris #oscar piastri #landoscar #f1 #f1 fanfic #formula 1 #let me know what you think!#f1 rpf #f1 rpf fanfic

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imaginesbymonika · 10 months ago

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She’s electric | Part 1

Pairing: Liam Gallagher x fem!bassist reader

Plot: Liam’s hatred for Blur runs deep. However, no matter how much he hates them and their stupid music - he cannot seem to hate their bassist.

A/N: i’ve got a disgusting crush on that old man (please don’t tweet him)

(1995, at the after-show party of the Brit Music Awards)

God.

Liam shakes his head in disapproval. Just looking at them made him want to hurl his drink against one of those huge pretentious speakers, the ones blasting nothing but stupid pop music. How the actual fuck did Blur manage to win 4 bloody Brit Awards tonight? His eyes move from Damon’s figure to the woman standing next to him and he brings the beer bottle up to his lips again. Y/N. Fuck. Never in his life did he feel so irritated by a woman.

She’s throwing her head back in laughter and Liam bites his lips in sheer annoyance. He silently observes how she takes a step to the side before walking over to the nearest bar, she says something to the bartender and her index finger goes up to point at something that's written on the chalkboard. Liam takes one final deep breath from his cigarette before ultimately making his way in her direction- his iconic walk and bitter face paint the picture of a man who’s about to show her his absolute worst behavior.

“Congrats on ya’ little bands award.”

“Thanks.”, is all she says as she takes a sip of her drink. Her gaze moves up to meet his. “That’s it? Yer not going to brag about it?” But Y/N merely scoffs:” I’m not like you, I don’t need to rub our success into everyone's faces.” Maybe he would have laughed at that if her words didn’t upset him as much as they did:” Come on. You must be feeling all arrogant about it- getting all the awards us better bands didn’t.”

Y/N chuckles dryly and takes another sip:” But you’re not.” She notices how his cheeks turn red in bitterness. It was almost too easy. “You guys are alright.”

She feels how around her some people are beginning to look their way, after all, it’s not typical to see an Oasis singer talk to a Blur bassist. Everyone is well aware of how the two brothers feel about their rival band.

Y/N takes a pack of cigarettes from her purse and puts one in between her red-painted lips. The anger is practically radiating off of Liam at this point. “Just alright? We’re better than alright. You’re just delusional.”, his angry gaze shifts to the cigarettes. He scoffs again, but can’t help himself:” Can I have one?”

It makes the woman chuckle in response and without letting out another word she hands him the pack and a lighter. She observes him as he takes one out and lights it up. There is a moment of stillness between the two, and when they make eye contact again there’s an emotion in Liam’s eyes that Y/N can’t quite read.

“You know.”, he lets out a sigh that could be perceived as defeat:” You’re a lot more tolerable than I thought you’d be.” It almost makes her laugh:” Am I supposed to say thank you?” Liam rolls his eyes but there is a hint of a smile forming on his lips: “You’re not supposed to say anything, love. I’m being serious. You’re not half as annoying as your little band is.” He exhales the smoke and watches how it vanishes in the air.

“What an honor.”, Y/N says:” The great Liam Gallagher thinks im not entire shite.”

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up. But you know we make the better music.”, he takes another drag of his cigarette. Leaning against the bar he orders himself a new beer. “I’ve been trying to talk to Damon for months now, he always brushes me off.”

At that, Liam’s eyes widen and he narrowly leans forward, looking like a shark who smelt fresh blood:” So you agree with me.” The grin is primarily predatory.

“Not entirely.”

“What do you mean, not entirely? Either you agree with me, Princess. Or you don’t.”

“First of all, don’t call me Princess, you arrogant prick.”, her voice is angry, however, Liam catches a glimpse of a tiny grin forming on her features. But it quickly disappears behind the champagne glass:” I am not drunk enough to deal with someone as pissed as you!” “I’m not pissed, Princess. I’m just saying we were robbed.” “Please. You’re so pissed, it’s making me pissed.”

Liam takes a deep breath, almost as if he was trying to steady himself:” I don’t know why I am still talking to you.” At that, Y/N just chuckles drily. Does he really think, that she hasn’t noticed the way he was staring at her all night? “Well, then go. You came to me.”

The singer studies her for a second and opens his mouth to say something in return, but gets cut off by Damon’s voice. He is yelling her name from somewhere and Y/N twists her head to look for him. Once she spots him she sighs and quickly opens her purse:” One last thing before I leave.” She takes out her pen and snatches Liam’s forearm. With one swift movement, she signs her name on his skin:” For our number 1 fan.” She chuckles softly before vanishing into the crowd.

“No, wait.”, Liam calls out but she is already gone. His eyes move down to the writing on his arm, his fingers are softly moving over the ink. He takes another drag of his cigarette and shakes his head in disbelief, however, he can’t shake this new feeling off of him. He was still pissed about her band and their wins. But she… she has a smart mouth, is drop-dead gorgeous, and is a damn good bassist. He hates her already.

An hour later Y/N crosses her arms and places her head on Damon’s shoulders. Currently, Brad Pitt is talking something about something and it is possibly the most monotonous thing in the entire world.

“Who the hell ya’ staring’ at?” Liam can’t help but cringe slightly at the sound of his brother’s voice, who is now standing beside him. “None of your business, mate.”, he mutters, rather angrily. But Noel shakes his head:” Bullshit! I know that look. You ogling the bassist of Blur again, weren’t ya’?” Noel raises an eyebrow:” Thought you hated that band.”

“I do hate that band, she’s just- different.”

“Yeah, different because you think she’s fit, mate.”

Liam’s eyes widen at his brother’s bluntness and he furrows his eyebrows. He suddenly feels extremely exposed. Y/N sighs and lifts her head before scanning the room for the exit sign and quickly making her way toward it. People in the crowd attempt to stop her in hopes of getting to speak to her, but she just brushes them off.

“You’re going after her, or what?”

Liam glances at his brother before lighting up a new cigarette:” What d’ya mean? I’m not going to follow her around like some abandoned puppy. I ain’t going to chase her, you wanker.” Noel laughs at that:” Oh come on. Don’t lie to me, mate. You’re obsessed with her, go on. Follow her.”

Liam swallows thickly. He does want to follow her, there was no denying it. He wants to continue their discussion, listen to her snarky tone, and see that smart mouth in action again. Noel watches how his brother throws the cigarette into the nearest ashtray before wordlessly making his way toward the exit as well.

#oasis #liam gallagher x reader #liam gallagher #noel gallagher #oasis band #oasis x reader #Liam Gallagher imagine #blur

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lazyjellyfish300 · 1 month ago

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𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 🌸 . ⿻ 🍨

🍦shiu kong x fem wife!reader

🍦shiu & your baby girl wait for the ice cream truck in an adorable snapshot of domestic bliss.

🍦words 1.1k

🍦cw: you have children together, fluff, shiu being a sweet, doting, father. 🖤

🍦a/n: apparently ice cream trucks in neighborhoods are not really a thing in japan so bear with me as this is extremely self indulgent. ice cream dividers: @/sweetmelodygraphics . sparkle dividers ~ @/anitalenia

🍦a continuation of this universe: first date | adopting a dog | trying for a baby

Some men are just meant to be fathers. Your darling husband, Shiu, is definitely one of them.

Sunshine spills across the charming hallways of your Victorian home, glowing with the rejuvenation that arrives with the spring time, cherry blossoms in full swing, little sparrows and warblers tweeting from the branches.

You stand in your kitchen, hair clipped back in your silk cream pajamas on a lazy Sunday, wiping down the marble countertop while you hear the soft cooing of your one year old baby girl and Shiu coming from the living room.

"Baba." Your daughter babbles as she sits in his lap, glossy eyes wide as she looks up at her daddy.

"Not yet, baby cakes. They'll be comin' any minute. Look." He moves the lacey curtain and turns her to give her a good view out the window.

"They'll drive down our street. Riiiight over there." He points and she slaps a chubby hand against the window as he chuckles, nuzzling his face into one of her piggy tails wrapped in a baby pink scrunchie.

"Should we listen for 'em?"

"Baba." Your daughter gurgles, folding her arms.

"Okay, okay. We gotta be patient." He playfully tsks as your baby gets restless, moving her away from the window so as not to leave any more messy fingerprints.

Next to Shiu, your basset hound, Stella, watches on peacefully with her chin on the windowsill where her flabby cheeks rest like puddles of caramel, the glass fogs up with her heavy breathing as she pressed her wet nose against it. Her permanent bored expression keeps silent vigil on the empty street as she too anticipated an afternoon treat, courtesy of the cash in Shiu's pocket.

Shiu gasps. "What's that?" He smiles patiently, waiting for your daughter to catch on.

"Baba?"

"No, princess. Shh, shh...what's that sound?"

Shiu leans in close, holding a hand to his ear like a secret between them while your daughter squirms his lap. Stella huffs blandly, lifting her head.

Finally, a distant piano ragtime medley breaks the silence.

"That's them! Are ya ready, pumpkin?"

Your daughter gives Shiu a chipmunk smile, unaware of what's happening and just happy to feed off of her Papa's energy.

"Find your shoes, babydoll."

"Baba?"

"No, your shoes, princess. Did Stella hide 'em again?"

Stella sniffs, jumping down from the window and waddling to the front door as if she was wiping her paws of all responsibility, impatient for the ice cream man.

"Ah, here they are."

Shiu helps your daughter put on her little flower sandals, wrestling as she tried to slip out of his hands like an adorable, chubby, mischievous bar of soap.

"Alright, there. Hold on, gotta go find Mommy. I'll be quick, I promise. We'll get your ice cream, cutie. Don't you worry."

Your daughter stomps her feet as she waits by the entryway, giggling as she starts messing with a pair of your high heels on the shoe rack while Stella groaned impatiently, seemingly displeased with being left the role of nanny in Shiu's absence.

"And then you and I..." Shiu announces in a huskier voice as he briskly walks past the countertop, offering a sly smile all for you.

"...will take some time for ourselves after the princess goes down for her nap." He gives you a kiss and your hip a heart-shaped squeeze, gazing over you. "You okay, dollface?"

"I'm okay, honey." You manage a weak nod, a fond smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "Just...a little lightheaded."

Shiu looks to the small pile of dishes behind you. "Ah, don't worry. I'll take care of 'em. After I take care of you."

He winks, blowing you a kiss as he backs away before he puts the leash on Stella and takes your daughter by her little hand.

"Don't you go anywhere, Mrs. Kong."

"I'll be right here." You beam at him before your entire world walks out of the door, making the long trek down your private driveway to the approaching ice cream truck.

----

"Two mango peaches, one mango lemon...ah, heh...make that three." Shiu chuckles as your daughter double fists the ice creams in her tiny hands.

"Sorry. Kids." Shiu hands over the yen to the ice cream man who smiles politely, having witnessed this exact scenario too many times to count. "Oh, and a cup of ice, please. Thanks, man."

Stella has a neutral expression but her tail begins to wag ferociously as she eyes her special cup of ice, trotting happily next to Shiu and your daughter as they stroll back down your long driveway, the jolly music of the ice cream truck fading slowly into the distance as more residents from the neighborhood emerged to get their sugar fix.

You watch from the porch in the shade, tenderness bubbling in your chest as you watched Stella, Shiu, and your baby girl make their way back to you, stealing the kiss that Shiu has for you as soon as his feet hit the porch with your baby girl perched on his shoulders.

"Show mommy what you got." Shiu helps her down, and she proudly shows you the mango lemon ice cream like a found treasure.

"Ohhhhh, my absolute favorite! Thank you, babycakes." You give your daughter a smooch on the cheek, letting her sit on the bench in the front garden to eat her ice cream as Shiu wraps an arm around you.

"And thank youu, Shiu darling." You hum as you lick your ice cream, letting him have a little taste off your lips as you two watch Stella munch on her ice and your baby girl make a mess of her ice cream all over her button nose.

"Anytime, dollface." Shiu offers you some of his, brushing a wisp of your hair out of the way and tickling your nape as a mild breeze flutters by.

"Mmm...yummy. Peach?" You ask as you lick some of the sticky vanilla off your fingers.

"Mhmm."

"I'll have to try that one next time." You sigh as you lean back, taking a short breather as the sun soared overhead and disappeared behind a pillowy cloud.

"You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, Shiu." You smile at him and he smiles back, knowing what you need without asking, merely bringing you impossibly closer to seek more of his devoted touch that you could never go too long without as you close your eyes and let the crisp air of spring time relax you.

You leaned against your husband, in the sunlit garden of your dreams that didn't remain the kind that stayed behind your eyelids when you rested your head at night. A happily ever after next to Shiu Kong scorched in fog and smoke, immortalized in moonlight that only you two could make sense of the true meaning.

And a new beginning is fast approaching just over the promising horizon, like the rapidly budding cherry blossoms surrounding you as the huge rock on your ring finger sparkles iridescent glimmers of a trillion different stars over your soft tummy.

Once your daughter falls asleep, you can't wait to tell him.

#from my trees . ˚ 𖧷 ·𓇥 ° . ♡#shiu kong x reader #shiu kong x you #shiu kong x y/n #shiu kong fluff #shiu fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x fem!reader #x female reader #x fem!reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #dividers by anitalenia #dividers by sweetmelodygraphics

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circlebuttons · 11 months ago

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Rafe on Love Island US

-super duper short blurb

The social media challenges will definitely target Rafe.

It only makes sense that the producers would pick a tweet that is a personal testimony to his behavior on the outer banks. Rafe has already explained to you that his past isn’t anything to be proud of, making promises to show you his real record when you get outside, and openly answering any questions you have. You’re confident that you know the real Rafe and you accept every version of him. Therefore you’re not phased when another islander reads from a card how ““blank” is a conman that “blank” has fallen victim to since his rich family paid to have majority of his record cleaned. Can’t wait for her to find out the truth about the man she’s fallen for”. Since Rafe is the only guy who comes from a notably rich family the two of you are the only people it could be about. You watch as Rafe hardens up a bit at the comment and when the host asks for a response you throw your arms around him and say, “I’m already aware of everything. I think he’s done a lot of growing and if anyone else here had the ability to remove every bad thing about the themselves from the public they probably would too.”

The game moves on, but you hate how Rafe seems bummed out for the rest of it. You wait until everyone arrives back to the villa before you bring it up. “You know I don’t think you’re evil right?” You ask him quietly, while the two of you lay on your backs up in soul ties.

“I know, it’s just- like what are your people gonna think about me?” Rafe has opened up to you before about a lack in self worth. He’s open about how having such a dark past compared to you makes him feel undeserving of you and going back to the outside to meet a family who thinks the same is his biggest fear.

You role over to your stomach so that you can look at him, “My family is fucked up in their own ways, trust they have no room to judge”

“I should grow my hair out and make sure to meet them wearing my best polo, maybe bring them a pony” he comments with a dramatic sigh.

You swat at his shoulder, “Stop, they’re gonna see that I like you a lot and nothing else will matter”

“A lot?” he questions looking down at you with an exaggerated eyebrow.

“A lot” you admit, shying away from him until he reaches over to pull you on top of him. He has smile on his face for what seems like the first time all day. The two of you lay together for a while talking about everything there is to do on the outside like different dates and trips. You love listening to the way Rafe plans for you to come see the outer banks, he only mentions a few people he really wants you to meet, but wants to show you a thousand different places and you just sit pretty on his chest agreeing to any and everything.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x you #obx #rafecameronxloveislandreader #loveisland!rafe #rafe cameron blurb

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insomniac4000 · 10 months ago

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Hello! May I request a ff about chrizzMD where y/n participated in the 20v1 and everything kept going wrong for her but somehow she managed to win or something like that? Thank you very much x

I really enjoyed writing this. If anyone wants a sequel with their first date let me know

20vs1 ChrisMD

When Y/N saw the tweet that the one, the only ChrisMD was taking applications for a football themed 20v1 she immediately thought about entering. She had a following, it wasn't huge by any means, about 75k subscribers where she did book reviews and some travel to different destinations and attractions like odd museums, places off the beaten path. It was enough to make a living and that was enough for her, knowing not everyone achieves major success but she could do what she loved and paid the bills so she liked her life.

One of y/n's worst personality traits was her indecisiveness, she liked the thought of doing the video, it could be fun and of course she thought Chris was a very attractive man but on the other hand what if she made a fool out of herself? She went back and forth about this for days, it was her friends who eventually convinced her it would be a good opportunity. It was only when she had filled in the application and sent it off that she realised she was one day over the deadline.

“Fuck,” she said to herself when she read the line again and cursed her indecisiveness again. She pushed it all to the back of her mind however and once again just concentrated on her content, using a random number generator to chose the order of the five books she had just purchased to review.

To her surprise one day y/n received an email to the account she used for professional matters, when she looked at the address of the person who sent it her heartbeat quickened, she could feel it beating hard through her chest, it was from ChrisMD. She went to click on it quickly and in her haste clicked on the one wrong email at first, but she found the right link and read the words, trying to keep calm.

Dear y/n Thank you for your interest in the latest 20v1 video. We had more applications than we thought so firstly we would like to thank you for your patience while we went through them all. We didn’t expect the response we received and are sad we cannot have everyone in the video we would like to. However we would love to have you participate in the video, please respond to this email if you are free to film next week Thursday and we will give you further information and instructions. ChrisMD and his team.

The message was professional and a little cooperate but y/n had to real in her excitement, this was a video for content and Chris probably wasn’t truly looking for love in a video, then again who knows what would happen.

The day of the shoot y/n was incredibly nervous. She walked onto the pitch and met all of the other girls, Chris’s producer Jamie introduced himself to everyone and explained what was going to happen for the first round. The weather wasn’t great, it was grey and cloudy which wasn’t too unusual for London, everyone just hoped it wouldn’t start to rain.

“Oh my God there’s Chris!” A girl with an American accent enthusiastically shouted, y/n looked over and there was the small curly haired man, taking a seat next to Calfreezy and ArthurTV. Y/N had to admit that although she did find Chris attractive he was much, much more attractive in person than he was in photos, he seemed quite relaxed as he laughed at something Arthur had said. The girls were all lined up, y/n was firmly in the middle of the pack.

The first challenge was to go up and introduce yourself, you were to say a pick up line and then try and score a goal. Y/N watched on as she saw her fellow competitors go bye and soon enough it was her turn.

“Okay Chris next up this is y/n,” Jamie said off camera knowing this would be edited out of the video, the girl walked in front of the table and had a small nervous smile on her lips.

“Hello y/n how are you?” Chris asked smiling and nodding at the girl in front of him. She smiled and swept her hand through her high ponytail.

“I’m good how are you guys?” Her voice came out a little more high pitched than usual but at least it wasn’t shaky.

“Good thanks, so when you’re ready.”

“Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again wearing my Arsenal Jersey?” Y/N said, and Chris laughed a little bit, ArthurTV however wasn’t as impressed.

“Then why didn’t you just wear an Arsenal top?” The brunette asked, a confused yes slightly mischievous look on his face.

“Actually yeah!” Chris laughed along with his friend. Y/N looked down at her England top and panicked slightly, fumbling over her words.

“It’s the Euro’s I’m being patriotic,” she replied hurried.

“Fair enough, kick the ball when you’re ready.” Chris could tell the poor girl was really nervous, he had gone through all of the applications and knew a small bit about all of the girls there, he knew this wasn’t the usual type of content y/n was used to so understood her nerves, he wanted to make sure at least the girls all had a great time regardless. Y/N took a deep breath before running up to the ball, kicking it with her right foot she looked and put her hands on each of her cheeks when she saw it slam into the post on the right hand side.

“Unlucky! But you seem really sweet so I’m going to put you through to the next round,” Chris said, his hands clapped together in his usual way whenever he spoke in videos.

“Thanks!” Y/N replied and skipped a little when she went back to the waiting area to watch the rest of the girls.

The next segment was taking free kicks. Something y/n wasn’t looking forward to too much, she wasn’t much as footballer, she instead used to do dance and gymnastics when she was younger so the complete opposite end of the spectrum to football.

“Any tips?” Y/N as she placed the ball in the spot. “Just run up and follow through with your foot, like one swift movement,” Chris coached y/n nodded before muttering to herself. “I’m going to hit someone,” when the eventual video was released this utterance was clipped three times, which could only mean that her foresight was unfortunately correct. She had a good run up but looked in horror as the ball span and landed straight into Arthur’s face.

“OH MY GOD I AM SO SO SORRY!!!!” Y/N exclaimed through her hands which were over her mouth in shock. Both Chris and Freezy of course found this hilarious and Chris couldn’t stop laughing at the sight of his friend now rolling around on the floor.

“I am really am sorry,” the girl said over and over again as she walked over to the injured party.

“That was amazing, for nearly decapitating ArthurTV you’re through,” Chris stated clapping his hands in amusement.

“This is going to go on the shorts channel isn’t it?” Y/N replied blushing as she walked away, causing further laughs from Chris and Freezy. Round three was a talent round. Instead of doing something she did usually y/n decided to learn a new skill, she had spent hours and hours learning to juggle.

“Oh no she’s got more boys, quick everyone duck!” Arthur joked when y/n walked up.

“I’ll stand far away enough so no one should get hurt this time,” the girl explained. She started off well, juggling the three red balls with ease, that was until she dropped them, cursing as she did.

“At least I didn’t hit anyone this time,” she said sheepishly.

“You know what, I’m going to put you through to the final round,” Chris said with a smug smile on his face, y/n was as shocked as anyone and thanked Chris before calming herself. The last portion was a chat with Chris, Arthur and Cal. Y/N sat down saying hello again.

“So, you hit the bar, hit Arthur in the face, dropped your balls and you’re still here,” Cal started off the conversation.

“I know I can’t believe it!”

“He must really want to shag you,” Arthur added and the girl sat there open mouthed and Chris places his head in his head.

“Fuck sake,” the curly haired man uttered.

“I have had a shocker though, and I was late getting my application in. I must seem really scatty but I promise I’m organised,” y/n defended herself and Chris nodded.

“Give me some book recommendations,” Chris asked looking into y/n’s eyes. They were green with flakes of brown throughout, Chris loved how unique they looked.

“The ministry of time is a great escapism if that’s the kind of thing you’re looking for,”

“I am always looking to escape the intrusive thoughts,” Chris revealed and y/n couldn’t help but agree while feeling her heart a little.

“I get that too, but books are a great escape.” The talk they had wasn’t too humorous but it was deep and real and meaningful, as much as a five minute conversation could be. The final girls lines up, the three hosts looking over towards the two finalists. Chris had his hands clasped together as he faced the women.

“Well it’s been a fierce competition and you both did amazingly well but my winner and unfortunately a date with me is, y/n! congratulations!” Y/N smiled in shock and hugged her opponent. She ten made her way over to Chris and for the video they held hands and looked back towards the camera but both y/n and Chris felt a little thump when their hands intertwined. After the shoot y/n held back at Chris’s request, he had his phone in his hand and a sweet smile on his face.

“Thank you so much for coming. I know it was a video but if you did want to go on that date for real then I’ll be happy to,” Chris asked a little shaky. Y/N smiled and nodded.

“I’d love to.”

#chrismd fic #chrismd #chris dixon #chrismd x reader

170 notes · View notes

seeingivy · 2 years ago

Text

the met gala

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting series

content: the end contains some possibly triggering content. toxic man moment/unsafe situation so dni and protect ur peace if you need to.

an: fan service to the highest t. you want laufey? i'l give you laufey. you want sukuna? ill give you sukuna. did you ask for catoru gojo? no but i'll give it to you anyways. and the end is a nice yummy lil eren little fdklsfjdksljfkdlsjfkdsjk. also I changed real life met gala lore idgaf if they don't do real perfomances there bc they do now

songs mentioned: death of a bachelor by panic at the disco, seven by taylor swift, promise by laufey, and dorothea by taylor swift

previous part linked here

Eren waits for it in nervous anticipation. Because despite everything Hyla and Lana say, he knows for a fact that you won’t be staying silent. That Danny and Sareen wouldn’t let this slide and neither would you.

And it eats at him while he waits for the real response, beyond that video Connie posted of you, Mikasa, Connie, and Jean dancing to Girlfriend and your tweets about how much you loved the song.

He’s positive that a forty second video can’t be all you’re doing. People loved it and thought it was funny. But surely that can’t be it.

“I can’t believe all your friends sided with her. I thought you were close with Connie.” Lana mentions.

“I was. Before you did that.” Eren responds, clenching his jaw. He can feel anger surging through his blood, every minuscule fraction of frustration building even more - like it had been for the past three days since the awards show.

It's irritating how quick things crumble down. He figures this is what Sukuna was talking about. Because the last time he talked to Connie was when Mikasa called him and it was nothing short of irritating.

Eren’s phone rings in the middle of the night and he’s nearly scrambling out of his bed because he thinks it’s you. Nine hours after the awards show and you’ve finally gotten the chance to respond.

Except he sees Mikasa’s name flashing across the screen, accompanied with her contact picture which is you and Mikasa sleeping.

“Mika? What’s wrong?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you Eren?”

“Mikasa. Okay, I can ex-”

“You can explain? You can explain why you just humiliated Y/N in public? Are you serious?”

“I-I know it’s bad and she hasn’t picked up my calls and-”

“Eren. Is there something wrong with you? Because I don’t even recognize you right now. You would never do something like this, let alone to her of all people.”

“Did you just call me to yell at me Mikasa? You don’t think I feel bad enough about it already? You don’t think I would have stopped it if I had any idea it was going to happen?”

He hears the line get quieter and Mikasa murmuring over the phone, only to be met with Connie talking to him now.

“Hi Eren. It’s Connie.”

Eren sighs, the fact that Mikasa’s so put off she won’t even talk to him sitting wrong with him all together.

“Hi Con.”

“You okay, man?”

“Yeah. Yeah, is she okay?”

“Mika? You know her, she gets mad so fast and-”

“Not her.” Eren whispers.

“Oh. No, no that’s why we called. She won’t talk to any of us. We called to see if you would know what to do because we’re coming short on ideas.”

The words die on Eren’s tongue. The first line of defense when you get like this is always him, because he can always get you to talk.

Could always get you to talk.

“You tried Levi?”

“Yes.”

“Her brothers. You need to fly Falco and Colt out now. I’ll pay for the tickets. Get the shin ramen from the store, it’s her comfort food - put half of the spice packet in because she can’t eat it too spicy, make sure you boil the egg for six minutes because she likes it when it’s still a little runny, and chop ONLY carrots and green onions for the vegetables. And put on Spy Family, it’s her favorite show. Her favorite episode is nine, I think. It’s called Show Off How In Love You Are. ”

“Okay, that’s all great man. Really. Thanks.”

“Connie?”

“Yeah?”

The thought crosses his mind so fast and suddenly he's asking it.

“Do you hate me?” Eren asks, the whisper in his voice sounding so pitiful that he’s almost embarrassed.

“No, Eren. I could never. Just, I have to be here because she needs us right now. You get that.”

“No, no I do. Take care of her, please. Tell me how it goes.”

“Yeah man. Sure.”

Connie hangs up and the guilt eats at Eren.

Eren hears the resounding pounding of footsteps - only to be met with Myka, Hyla, and two other people he’s literally never seen before - standing in his bedroom.

The first thing he learned quickly about filming with these people? They have no concept of personal space or time.

“What?”

“Ricky and Y/N. They made a music video. Put it on.” Myka states, the group of them crawling onto Eren’s bed as he starts pulling up the video.

The thumbnail already has him sick to his stomach. It’s you kissing Ricky’s cheek. The video starts with you and Ricky’s hands, playing the piano together, and it takes Eren all but three seconds to realize that this is the horrible, gut-wrenching response he was waiting for.

His first cue? Not only are the two of you playing the piano together, but you and Ricky are wearing matching, beaded bracelets with each other’s names on them. Like the ones you and Eren have, the one he keeps on him at all times.

The camera pans up to the two of you and Ricky starts singing, which earns him a nice list of profanities from Lana at his side.

Do I look lonely? I see the shadows on my face People have told me I don't look the same Maybe I lost weight I'm playing hooky with the best of the best Put my heart on my chest so that you can see it, too I'm walking the long road, watching the sky fall The lace in your dress tangles my neck, how do I live?

His second cue? The dress you’re wearing in the video, the one with the lace, is one he knows all too well.

“Okay so, Eren. I have to find a dress to wear for the album premiere tomorrow. And it's my first album and it's special and I want it to be perfect. Something kind of soft and casual, since it’s just going to be just fans. Can you help me pick?”

Eren nods as he flops back onto the soft plush of your bed, eyes focused on all the little pictures and knick knacks littered over the walls of your childhood bedroom. Participation awards for sports, signed letters from your teachers, and pictures of you and Colt doing karaoke.

“Ew, Eren. Don’t look at those.”

“What do you mean? You were such a cute baby.”

Eren hopes your kids don’t inherit your messy hair genes as you walk up to his side and look at the picture - of you and Colt with little pink microphones in your hand and the little plastic crown on your head.

“You know, you still do that.”

“Do what?”

“Everyone else holds the microphone at the top, their fingers nearly wrapped around the wire. You’re like the only person I know who holds it at the bottom - like you’re doing in the picture.”

You roll your eyes as you gesture to the dress, asking for his opinion. Eren stands up, grabbing you by the wrist, to spin you around in the air. And he loves the sound of your laugh and how you berate him immediately after.

“Eren. Be serious. What do you think?”

“Perfect. Wear this one.”

“But it’s black - it doesn’t really fit the vibe that I wanted to go with.”

“Good point. No one should see you in this but me. Try another one on.” Eren states, placing a kiss on your neck before walking over to your bookshelf.

"You're no help." you whine.

"I'm biased. You look good in everything, sweetheart."

He’s running his hands against the spines of your books, clearly bent and broken from reading them so much as you try on the next dress.

“Love?”

“Hm?” your voice comes out, all muffled from the sound of the closet door.

“How many times have you read the Goblet of Fire? This spine is demolished.”

He feels your limbs wrap around his neck and a kiss on his cheek as you lazily murmur into his skin.

“Lots. Cedric Diggory was my first love.”

“Oh? Really?”

Eren turns around and makes it a point to pointedly glare at you, which you return with the sweetest, cheesiest of smiles as you tease him on.

“Oh, of course. I’ve always had a thing for Hufflepuffs.”

“Would you look at that? I’m a Hufflepuff too.”

“No, you’re not. You’re a Ravenclaw, Eren.”

“I was expecting you to say Slytherin.”

“No, I feel like that’s a cop-out answer. You’re intelligent, creative, and clever. Ravenclaw.”

Eren smiles as he brings his hands down to your wrists again, spinning you in the air again. He brings his hands up to your hair to tuck your hair behind your ears before responding.

“Nope. Very pretty, but too formal for something small like this.”

“I appreciate the honesty this time, mon chéri. I only have one more, so it better be the one.”

Eren leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“What was that for?”

“I love it when you speak French to me.” he whispers.

Eren watches you roll your eyes as you disappear into your closet again. He settles into the seat at your desk, flipping through the song lyrics in your bound notebook.

And he doesn’t miss the polaroids you have taped into certain pages - the one of the two of you at the vow renewal on your invisible string page and one of him at the piano on the New Year’s Day page.

“Okay, Eren. Good?”

Eren turns around to find you shyly smiling at him, hands tucked behind your back. It’s a soft white dress, with a lace neckline. Eren thinks it makes you look like an angel. He makes it a point to stand up just so he can push you onto the bed behind you and lean right over you.

“Eren.”

He leans forward and starts peppering kisses all over your cheeks and your face, leaving longer lingering ones in your neck that leave you in a fit of nervous giggles and saying his name so softly it only sets him off more.

“It should be illegal-”

Kiss.

“To look like this.”

Kiss.

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

Kiss.

“Doing what?”

“Trying to drive me crazy, love.”

“Am not, Eren. It’s just a dress.”

“It’s never just a dress with you. Be serious, Y/N.”

He watches your eyes go wide, a soft pink dusting your cheeks. Your hands are resting on his face and he swears they’re shaking, your arms trembling along with them. Eren brings his hand to your cheek, softly brushing across the skin once.

“Hey. What is it?” he whispers.

“You said my name.”

“I say your name all the time.”

“No, no. You always call me love or sweetheart.”

“Do you like it when I say your name, Y/N?”

He watches the blush spread across your cheeks again as you nod, the sweetest smile on your face.

“I like how you say it. Y/N.”

“I love your name. Though, it’s missing something.”

He watches you frown, the confused look spreading across your face.

“What’s that?”

“My last name at the end.” he responds, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“Ew, Eren. That was so corny.”

He brings his hands down to the side of your dress, where the zipper lies and starts pulling down. He watches the shock spread on your face, immediately pulling back.

“Are you crazy? Falco and Colt are still here even if my parents aren’t.”

“Falco is sleeping over across the street. And Colt is definitely at a party and pretending not to be. Who takes limes and salt to a study session? He definitely needs those for the drinks, silly girl.” he responds, sliding the dress off your shoulders and burying his face in the crook of your neck, leaving lazy kisses all over your skin.

“Eren.”

“Hm?”

“Chelseaiswatching.” you murmur.

“Huh?”

“Chelsea is watching.” you whisper.

“Who the fuck is Chelsea?” he asks, the panic laced in his voice.

You point over his shoulder and he immediately rolls his eyes when he sees her, bringing his hands up to pinch your cheeks.

“Are you being serious? You can’t kiss me back because your stuffed animal is watching?”

“Eren. It’s weird, I’ve had her since I was a kid. And my dad bought her for me.” you whine.

“And you think she’s going to narc on you?”

“No. It’s the principle, Eren! Don’t do inappropriate things when kids or kid-like things are present.”

Eren stands up, making it a point to pick up your stuffed animal and bury it in the back of your closet before he returns, hands on his hips.

“Okay. Anything else? Do I need to put tape over your posters of Loid Forger doesn’t watch us doing it?”

“Now that you say it, it’s actually-”

“Too bad.”

And well after being tangled in the sheets together, Eren pretends not to be offended when you pull on a hoodie and immediately get out of bed and reach for your notebook and your pen instead of cuddling with him after.

You crawl back in the bed next to him, where he immediately rests his head in your lap and starts groaning. You reach forward to push the messy hair out of his face and make a mental note to cover up the purple skin on his neck later so Colt doesn’t hang you at the cross whenever he comes back.

“Did I get you that inspired that you can’t hold me right now?”

“Basically. You’re my muse, Eren.”

“What’s the song called, Y/N?”

“Dress.”

“Clever. I wonder what it’s about.” he responds, pressing kisses along your thigh, consecutively going higher with each kiss.

“Eren. Are you serious? It’s only been like ten minutes.” you respond, the nervous jittery feeling growing in your stomach.

“It’s like vitamins. Can’t go without it.”

“Do not refer to it as vitamins. And you can technically go without vitamins, if you’re like really healthy.”

“Quit being a know-it-all. You know I meant like medicine.”

“Eren.” you respond, a warning tone in your voice as you keep scribbling your lyrics out.

“You get two minutes to finish what you’re writing and then I’m throwing that book out the window.” he responds, his breath on the inside of your legs tickling you.

Eren knows you’re trying to drive him crazy and not in the way he likes. And it’s working. And Ricky’s all too agitating singing voice doesn’t make it any better.

The death of a bachelor Oh oh Seems so fitting for Happily ever after (woo) How could I ask for more? A lifetime of laughter At the expense of the death of a bachelor

Eren watches you and Ricky dancing through the streets, while Ricky sings on and on about happily ever after, and he can’t help but slam the computer shut and all but push the group of them out of his room. And when he closes the door, all he can do is cry and hope they can’t hear him.

You peek out the window and count seven black cars and fourteen different people standing on the block, anxious faces craning up with shining black cameras in their hand. You feel a hand on your shoulder and know the ice cold hands can only be Ricky.

“Hey.”

“How many?”

“Fourteen.” you groan, giving him a frown as you yank your shoulder out from under his hand and walk past him.

You head to the vanity, where you’re going to place your last finishing touches on your outfit. Ricky’s quick to follow and lean into your space, with a smirk pressed on his face.

“Ricky.”

“Yes, babe?”

“Ew. Do you need something? Or are you all up in my space for fun?”

“For fun! You smell really good.”

You make it a point to lightly shove him back, which you both laugh at as you clip on the sparkly necklace, making it a point to not move suddenly at all from this moment forward.

It would be infinitely embarrassing if you ripped the first designer dress you wore. Especially when you have to return it later.

Ricky swings his hand around you from the back and holds a cupcake in front of your face, a glimmering blue candle lit in the middle. You give him a questioning look in the mirror.

“Baby’s first Met Gala!”

You snort as you blow out the candle, taking it from his hands and pulling the wax out.

“You’re welcome, by the way.” Ricky says.

“For?”

“The cupcake! And getting you invited to the Met Gala.”

You smack his shoulder, giving him your angriest look, before you both laugh.

“You’re a prick. I got invited all on my own.”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep telling yourself that.” he responds, sarcastically.

“What flavor is the cupcake?”

“Chocolate.”

“Eh. I like vanilla.” you respond, swiping the frosting off the top with your finger. But before you can lick it, Ricky reaches for it first and swipes it right off your finger.

“I mean, I was going to eat that, Ricky.”

“I only like the frosting of the cupcake.”

“Well, I only like the frosting too. Especially when it’s not the flavor of cake I like.”

You hand Ricky the rest of the cupcake and grab your purse as you head out. You press the button on the elevator and both slide in when it opens, the anticipation of the fourteen people waiting outside for you and the hundred more who will be at the event sitting on you. You must be making some weird face because Ricky catches on to it super fast.

“Just relax. It’s just paparazzi, not flying to the moon.”

“I know that. I just feel like I’m not entirely here at the moment. And they’re all going to ask me about Girlfriend and you and Eren and I just-”

You still haven’t encountered the press after the entire thing, despite most of the tabloids writing things in your favor. Because rehashing the worst thing that’s ever happened for you in the two seconds the paparazzi talk to you and have it become a whole convoluted story is not something you’re ready for.

After the entire thing went down, you retreated to your room for one day. One day. With full intentions to mope for the rest of your life, because you would never live this down. And because the entire ordeal was so overstimulating, so stressful that you need to rest.

Until Danny and Sareen dragged you out by the legs and forced you to film a music video with Ricky. Then go to his debut of the song and the music video in Times Square. And then they granted you your beauty rest, but then that stupid voice in your head got the best of you and you couldn’t help but watch what everyone said about the entire thing after the event.

People thought the entire Girlfriend thing was really tasteless. Because it was. Ricky did a bunch of interviews, where he just talked you up and how the entire thing was ridiculous in his opinion. They thought it was sweet of Ricky to come to your defense with Death of a Bachelor and that your official debut as a couple was one for the books.

You’ll take a win where you can get one.

Everyone sided with you, which was nice. Fans wise but also from your real friends. Connie, Marco, Mikasa, and Jean were at your side the entire time, which you appreciated.

Connie was the one that convinced you that “you had the opportunity to do the funniest thing ever” and filmed a video of you, Jean, Mikasa, and him dancing to Girlfriend and posted it.

Which was your favorite part of the entire thing, not because of the song, but because they were there for you through the entire thing. That Connie could make something mortifying funny for you. A bad memory a good one. A true testament to his support.

Unlike some people. People’s inquisitive eyes leave no stone untouched and now rumors of a fallout between you and Historia are flying around, when she’s the only one to not publicly come to your defense. And you get it, she doesn’t have to. What you don’t understand is why she won’t return any of your calls.

Ricky reaches down and grabs your hand, locking his fingers in yours as he gives you a smile, bringing you back down from the thoughts.

“I won’t leave you, okay? Danny and Sareen said I should handle all those questions anyways.”

“And if Lana comes up to me?”

“Spit in her face. She’s really annoying.”

“And if Eren comes up to me?”

“I’ll give you a big kiss.”

“Ew. Don’t do that.”

“I love it when you act disgusted by me.”

You snicker as the elevator rings and the door swings open. You’re immediately flooded with a mound of flashing lights as Ricky grabs your hand and drags you through the crowd into the fresh air. And it only gets worse outside because not only are the cameras outside bigger, but the reporters are louder.

Are you and Ricky official?

Eren and Hyla are rumored to be dating. Do you have any comments on that, Y/N?

Can you tell us anything about your upcoming record, Ribbons?

Ricky ducks your head into the car first before sliding in himself, tapping on the seat ahead of him as the car speeds off. You let go of Ricky’s hand, wiping the sweat against your dress, immediately freezing when you remember you’re supposed to return it at the end of the night.

“Now was that so bad?” Ricky asks, giving you a winning smile.

“Literally, yes! I wasn’t expecting them to be in the lobby.”

“Cmon, you nailed it. I was there, wasn’t I?”

“Quit trying to flirt, Ricky. You suck at it.” you grumble, which he laughs at.

The car comes to a screeching halt and you give Ricky a weary smile as he walks out first, making it a point to open the door for you on the other side. You wrap your arm around his as you both walk the carpet, giving glimmering smiles every time you walk a few paces.

You make mental notes of those standing on the steps behind you and you catch sight of them. Eren and Hyla, in the center of the carpet. Eren’s lifting his hand to twirl her in the middle, with consecutive clicks from the cameras. And you can see Sukuna right behind them, pretending to gag with Maki and probably ruining all the picutres.

You smile, making it a point to sit with Sukuna later because he’s so wildly unserious that it’s probably the only thing you could tolerate on a day like this. And it would really piss off Eren.

Mikasa and Jean are smiling at you from behind the ropes, Mikasa giving you a sweet smile and mouthing that you look great. She points at a spot towards the left and you nod, signaling that you’ll meet her there after.

Out of the periphery of your eye, you catch sight of it. The giant cat in the middle of the runway. You tap Ricky on the shoulder, pointing it out to him.

“Oh god.”

“At the Met Gala? That’s so unserious.” you respond.

“Ten bucks it’s Gojo.”

“That’s such a lame bet. I know for a fact that’s Gojo. He’s the only type of dumbass to show up to the Met Gala dressed up as a big white cat with blue eyes.”

You both lean closer together, making a point to make sure the paparazzi are taking pictures of you two all close to each other. The head of the cat pops off and surely enough, a very excited Satoru Gojo is now running in circles around in the middle of the carpet. And blocking every girl standing on the side.

You don’t miss Geto standing ten paces behind with Shoko, the two of them very loudly declaring that they, in fact, do not know or associate with that man.

“You owe me ten bucks.”

“I never agreed to that, Ricky.”

Ricky leans forward and plants a warm kiss on your cheek, earning a nice symphony of cooing from the photographers on the other side.

“Oh?”

“We both got it right. So we both get a reward.” he responds, tapping his left cheek.

You roll your eyes as you stand on your tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek and consequently wipe your glittery lip gloss off his face after. You give the cameras a smile and wrap your arm around his again as you walk farther down the carpet towards the interviewers.

“Y/N. You look gorgeous!”

“Thank you! So do you.”

“Is there anything you can tell us about your third upcoming album, Ribbons? What’s your favorite track on the album?”

“Thank you for asking! I think Ribbons is a mix of a lot of feelings I’ve had lately - specifically good, warm, and positive feelings. I-I think that being negative is something that’s really easy to do, especially when you’re in my position, but I try to keep my music feeling like sunshine on a nice day, because who likes to focus on the bad when you can just be the good. My favorite track on the album is seven, a song that I’ll be performing inside later today with one of my best, best friends who I wrote it with.”

“That’s sweet. Are any of these positive feelings a consequence of your new beau, Ricky James?”

And right on cue, Ricky’s on your side, tilted eyes glimmering in the camera.

“I know for a fact they are. She loves to write songs about me.”

“That’s a bold statement coming from you, Ricky.” you respond.

“I’m a bold guy.” Ricky responds, giving you a wink.

“Speaking of writing songs, Y/N. How do you feel about songs being written about you? Songs like Girlfriend?”

The reporter looks way too excited at this part now. You look at Ricky before answering, who gives you a subtle nod. The answer you practiced with Sareen and Danny.

“I think it’s flattering.”

“Really?”

Ricky slides his hand around your waist and smiles, finishing off the rest of the answer for you.

“Oh, it’s totally flattering. I mean, I’d be really intimidated if I was comparing myself to someone like Y/N here too. She’s quite literally at the top of her game, in every sense, and it’s easy to feel less than when you’re comparing yourself to a future triple threat. So we get the thought process behind it.”

“Ricky.”

“It’s true, Y/N. Personally, I think they should pick London Boy from her discography as the song selection. But that’s just me.”

You smile at each other as you give the interviewer a polite nod, giving each other a thumbs up as you walk around the floor. You finally get to stop near Jean and Mikasa, who are very obviously already wine drunk, from the way their cheeks are tinted pink.

“Wow, Jean. It hasn’t even been two hours yet.” you respond, placing your hand flat against his cheek to see how much his skin is burning.

“I hate this type of shit.” Jean responds, grumbling.

“Jean. How drunk are you? Don’t tell me you’re imagining cats walking around are you?” you ask, feigning concern.

“Huh? That cat isn’t real?”

“You’re actually seeing cats?!” Mikasa asks, catching on.

“THERE’S A REAL CAT HERE, MIKA. LOOK.” Jean says, pointing at Satoru who is now lying face down on the red carpet.

"Jean."

"Y/N. MIKASA. I'M SO SERIOUS I SWEAR THERE'S A REAL CAT. IT TALKED TO ME EARLIER. IT TOLD ME I SHOULD HAVE DRESSED UP AS A HORSE WITH IT."

“Oh, sweetheart. We should go inside, you’ve had too much. You always do this, Jean.” Mikasa says, shaking her head as she leads him in. Mikasa turns her head over her shoulder and gives you a wink, before she walks straight into the venue.

Geto and Shoko come up to your side after they catch you staring at Gojo - who's now doing the worm in his cat suit on the floor - as they both give you polite hugs. The three of you stand against the wall to watch him take the spotlight away from anyone who was hoping to have it.

“Can you believe you’re married to that guy?” you ask Geto.

“Please don’t remind me. It pains me everyday.”

“He wore the cathead to my house the first day he got it. I was hosting a vigil for one of my neighbors.” Shoko states, placing a cigarette between her teeth.

You snort at the thought of Gojo, in his fully exuberant energy, trotting into a room of people mourning with the cat head on.

Megumi and Yuuta join the group of you as you now watch Yuuji - whose actually dressed in a nicely styled suit - have a dance off with Cat Gojo on the red carpet.

You nudge Megumi in the side.

“Can you believe you’re dating that guy?”

“We’re breaking up.” Megumi responds, earning a laugh from the group.

“I can’t tell what’s worse. The fact that they’re dance battling at the Met Gala or that Yuuji is horrendously losing to Gojo wearing a twelve pound cat-suit.”

“Yuuji losing.” you all respond in unison.

“I think Cat Gojo is going to haunt me in my dreams.” you respond.

“Get this, Y/N. It’s not Cat Gojo. It’s Catoru.” Yuuta responds.

“Don’t tell me he trademarked it already.”

“He did.” they all respond in unison.

"Geto. Shoko. When you burn that thing in the flames of hell, I want a video." you state.

"That's a promise, kid." Geto responds, with Shoko giving an affirmative nod.

You turn to your left to find Ricky standing at your side, with his arm wrapped around John. Historia’s ex-boyfriend. You give the group of them a polite nod as you walk away and join Ricky at your side.

“Y/N. This is my friend, John. He’s been looking forward to meeting you.”

“Hi. Y/N.” you respond, making every effort to emphasize the flatness in your voice.

“John. Nice to meet you.” he responds, holding his hand out which you refuse to touch.

“Play any chess games lately?” you ask, making a pointed reference to Historia’s song.

He glares and you watch the smile on Ricky’s face drop. You give your best, sickly sweet smile as you wait for a response.

“That’s right. You acted in Attack on Titan so you must be friends with Historia.”

“Very good friends.” you respond.

“Okay John, we’re going to go in. I’ll see you in a sec, yeah?” Ricky responds, hands increasingly hard on your biceps as he drags you a few paces away.

“Ouch, Ricky. Get off.”

He’s leaning close to you, whispering in your ear earlier like you two were when Satoru came in, except this is nowhere near as fun as last time.

“What’s your problem?”

“What’s yours? He’s not a good guy, Ricky.”

“I’ve made every effort to be friends with your friends. You could and should be doing the same for me, Y/N.”

“And I will. For your friends who aren’t groomers, Ricky.”

Ricky glares at you before giving you a smile and pressing a kiss to your forehead with the paparazzi so close, before dragging you into the venue with him. You settle into your seat next to Ricky, craning your neck to see where the rest of your friends are sitting, all the way on the other side of the room.

You turn to the girl sitting next to you and whisper in her ear.

“Hi. I’m Y/N.”

“I-I know who you are. I’m a big fan.”

“I’m really sorry to ask you this then. But you see that guy right there, pink hair, those two little scars near his eyes. Could you go and switch seats with him? He’s sitting in between Megumi Fushiguro and Yuuta Okkotsu, so I can at least promise it’s a better seat than this one.”

She looks over and gives you an affirmative nod. You squeeze her shoulder as you watch her stomp over, Sukuna turn back to give you a questioning look, before letting the girl take his seat and striding over to sit next to you with two cups in his hands.

He sits on the chair to your left, making it a point to spread his legs as far as he can on his chair, and glare at Ricky as he sits down.

“What do you want, doll?”

“Nothing. I got bored.”

He shrugs as he places the second cup in front of you, which you pick up. And then immediately spit back up, because it’s just straight vodka.

“Shit. My bad, doll. That’s mine.”

“You’re drinking straight vodka? No chaser?” you ask.

“Imagine doing this shit sober. I’d drive myself half insane.” he murmurs.

You switch the cups and drink yours again, pleasantly surprised by a warm, sweet latte.

“Sukuna. How’d you know?” you ask.

“Eren told me.”

You look over at him, giving him your best glare.

“As if you’d talk to Eren.” you snort, craning your neck to find him on his phone, next to Hyla’s who is fixing her hair.

“We talk. It’s just not pleasant.”

“Yeah. My preferred coffee order is just so horrible to talk about.”

“You wouldn’t believe it. Poor guy mopes about you so much it even makes me depressed.”

Ricky taps aggressively on your shoulder, leaning over into your space.

“I’m going to go sit with John.” Ricky states, angrily.

“Okay?” you respond.

“Okay? That’s it, Y/N?”

“Do you need a formal, written invitation? Or does she need to hold your hand and walk you there so you don’t get lost?” Sukuna responds, glaring at him.

Ricky gets irritated at Sukuna’s response and storms off, which just has Sukuna moving his chair so that you can both prop your legs up on it. You’re both switching off on sharing your drinks - mixing Sukuna’s alcohol with your latte and watching all the performances.

“Are you performing?” Sukuna asks.

“Yeah. With Marco, right before Eren.”

“Real cute. Is it that same fluff shit you always write?”

You smack him hard on the shoulder.

“Asshole. That fluff shit is Multi-Platinum, dumbass.”

“I get that. But I’m saying, you should write something more serious than that. Instead of penting up all that rage in your forehead, you should write it in a song. Quit letting real stupid girls call you stupid in songs.”

“I can’t. My record doesn’t really like the idea of that.” you respond.

“So? You’re the artist and it’s your music. Write whatever you want. Don’t be a chickenshit.”

“It’s not that simple, Sukuna.”

“No. It literally is. You’re just chicken.”

“It’s not about chicken, Sukuna. My record was the one who took a chance on me and to some extent, I have to follow that. And they’ve made me Multi-Platinum so far so who am I to not listen to them?”

“God. You’re pathetic.”

“And you’re an asshole, Sukuna.”

“Do you want to kiss now?”

You reach forward to smack his face, which elicits a laugh from him.

“You never change, do you Sukuna?”

“Best thing about me, doll. You should learn to piss people off like I do. It’ll actually relieve some of that tension. And flirting is good for your health.”

“We can’t all afford to be feather rustlers like you.”

“You could. I’m sure people would eat it up - the whole sweet girl saying her mind type thing. I’ll give you lessons on how to talk your shit sometime instead of letting idiots like that do it for you.”

He points over at Ricky, whose glaring bullets at the two of you. You give him a gesture, which he completely ignores as he turns over to whisper in John’s ear.

“Out of all guys, you had to pick that one? When you tweeted that you were charged with murder, I thought you were being serious and got really excited for a second.”

“Danny and Sareen picked him. That’s not my fault.”

You feel a tap on your shoulder and see the usher, signaling that it’s time for you to perform. You nod and turn to Sukuna, who's already getting up from the chair. He presses a kiss to your cheek before you walk off to the other side where Marco’s waiting.

Eren’s sitting towards the end of the bench, hands pressed under his legs, when he watches you take the stage with Marco, a glittering smile on your face.

And in your billowing, white dress, there’s only one thing Eren can focus on. The fish tattoo, right on display. He instinctively reaches for his own, hidden under the fabric of his clothes, and thinks about how your sweet, flowery smell was always overwhelming, even in a disgusting tattoo parlor.

And when Eren catches sight of Marco at the piano, Eren knows you’re a temptress to everyone and not just him. Exhibit A? You convinced Marco to sing in public with you.

“Hi everyone. My name is Y/N.”

Everyone breaks into a loud applause and Eren thinks that the wolf-whistling in the corner is Mikasa, who he’s convinced is shit-faced by the way her cheeks are glowing pink.

“Thank you. Um, can we just take a minute to give a second round of applause to my sunshine boy, Marco, here? He’s not a big singer and I’ve all but forced him to do this with me, so let’s all give him some love.”

The crowd claps again and Eren knows for a fact that the wolf-whistling this time is Jean, who is actually plastered.

“This song is off my new album, called Ribbons, and it’s called seven. The idea of this song kind of came up randomly. I told Marco that it was kind of sad that I don’t have any of the childhood friends I did when I was a kid anymore. And Marco just responded by saying, ‘what do you mean, we’ve been friends since we were seven?’ And long story short, I jumbled out a nice mess of lyrics with Marco and Armin produced it after that and the song was finished. We hope you like it!”

Marco starts playing a soft piano tune, accompanied by your light strumming on the guitar, and some part of it is so familiar, so you that it makes Eren’s heart ache. Not that Eren’s a big hater of your new, more pop songs like London Boy, but Eren’s always enjoyed your soulful, soft songs like this more.

They remind him of the soft parts of him that you only shared with him, when you used to be next him when he slept at night.

Y/N: Please picture me In the trees I hit my peak at seven feet In the swing Over the creek I was too scared to jump in But I, I was high in the sky With Pennsylvania under me Are there still beautiful things?

Eren fights the urge to snort. Of course, there’s still beautiful things. You’re standing right there.

And Eren knows he’s way too sensitive for this because hearing your soft, echoing voice when he’s about to sing a song about the last time he kissed you has him pushing his face into the table. Because there are tears in his eyes.

Y/N: Sweet tea in the summer Cross your heart, won't tell no other And though I can't recall your face I still got love for you

Marco: Your braids like a pattern Love you to the moon and to Saturn Passed down like folk songs The love lasts so long

When you both finish, Eren watches you give Marco a big hug and a kiss on the cheek as you both walk off together. And then Eren’s trailing up to the stage where Historia’s waiting, the orchestral suite setting up their instruments and he feels his hands shaking at his sides. Historia gives him a smile, which he appreciates as he takes the front stand.

He hates it up here. He knows that flowery scent in the air is you. He manifested it by thinking about it and now it's suffocating him.

You lean against the wall with Marco, hands linked together, as you watch Eren readjust the microphone to his height and Historia sit at the piano. You make a fleeting second of eye contact with her and give her a smile, which she halfheartedly returns.

Eren’s hair is shorter, he’s cut it from the last time you’ve seen him. And he looks kind of tired, though you’re sure you look no better.

“My name is Eren Jaeger. This is my new song, Promise, that I co-composed and wrote with my friend, Historia.”

You lean your head against Marco’s shoulder, who is giving you a warm squeeze on the shoulder, as you listen.

I made a promise To distance myself Took a flight, through aurora skies Honestly, I didn't think about How we didn't say goodbye Just see you very soon

You pinch your eyes shut as you feel the breath constrict in your throat and tears warm in your eyes.

“You okay?”

“It’s Eren. Of course, I’m not okay.” you whisper.

No matter how long I resist temptation I always lose It hurts to be something It’s worse to be nothing with you I’ve done the math There’s no solution We’ll never last Why can’t I let go of this?

As Eren goes on and on, that soft voice that’s lulled you to sleep hundreds of time is haunting you. And Marco’s reflexes to wipe your tears away fast are the only reason that people don’t catch on.

When Eren finishes, his green eyes meet yours and he gives you a painstakingly long look, before walking away.

You don’t see him again that night. Or for a while. You figure it's better that way. Being in the same room but not talking is like nails on a chalkboard.

You lean over the counter, scrolling through the set of pictures Ricky just took, as you wait for the timer on your computer to count down.

Ricky circles his arm around your shoulder, as you both watch the seconds on the timer run out and the little display of confetti go around the screen.

You refresh the tab on your Apple Music and you see it - your name and album cover displayed in bright colors right at the top banner.

“How does it feel?” Ricky asks, watching you refresh your Spotify on your phone and watch the songs turn from grey to white, meaning they're now able to be played.

“Good. I hope Historia calls me after she realizes that dorothea is about her.” you murmur, the notifications on your phone buzzing from Reiner, Levi, and Mikasa. You open Levi's first.

levi: We love the record, kid.

you: it's been out for five seconds.

levi: Just shut up and take the compliment, sometimes.

you: I love you, levi. give kisses to hange. i'll call you guys tomorrow.

“She will. Just relax.” Ricky states, as he watches you push up on the counter, legs dangling in the air after putting your phone down.

He reaches for the lowest drawer, pulling out a dark black box and placing it flat in the palm of your hand.

“What’s this?”

“A gift, before you go on tour. And I wanted to ask you something.”

You nod, encouraging him to go on, as you look at the bracelet - a chain-linked, chunky silver bracelet with a heart charm right in the middle.

“That’s custom made. From Tiffany, because it’s your favorite right?”

“Yeah. Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

“Well, I’m really proud of you. Ribbons is a great record and I’m sure you and I will be competing for Record of the Year in a few months.”

You smile as Ricky leans closer, hands on both of your sides of the counter.

“I think you’re really great. And-and I know we’ve been pretending but some part of this became really real for me and I think it did for you too. So I think we should quit playing around and do this for real.”

You feel your throat dry as Ricky smiles at you, so excited and earnest, that you almost feel bad. For how you’re going to shoot him down.

“Ricky. Oh. Um. Listen. You’re really great. I-I really like you. But I-I don’t know if I can do that right now.” you respond.

“That’s okay. I don’t expect anything from you and I’m willing to be patient and all that. We’ll figure it out.” he responds, yanking the chain out of the box and reaching forward to secure it around your hand.

“Listen. I-I don’t know if it’s all that. It’s just, I don’t. I like you Ricky but not like that. I just can’t do that right now.”

Ricky leans back in confusion, dragging the necklace off your hand as you give him your most sincere smile. And you can’t help but feel bad for not liking him back. When he’s helped you out more times than you can count, with red carpets and defending you when he didn’t have to.

But you can't help these sort of things.

“Listen. I-I can go home. I’ll take the trash and then leave so you can be alone, yeah?”

“Okay. I appreciate that. Thank you for being honest.”

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“Of course. And thank you for taking it well, I still appreciate what you’ve done and have a lot of love for you.” you respond, squeezing his shoulder as you walk past.

You take the half filled bag of trash and walk out to the garage to swing the door open. There’s a decent amount of rain pouring down and you quickly scamper out admist it. You throw the bag over your shoulder and quickly run over to the chute to throw it down before running down to the door.

Except when you reach for the handle, it doesn’t pull down. You jam it down, more aggressively this time as the heavy drops start matting your hair to your forehead. Giving up on the door, you run to the other side and rap your knuckles against the window, where Ricky’s back is still turned.

He turns around and gives you a look, half opening the window.

“Hey. Sorry, I accidentally locked the door on the way out.”

“That wasn’t an accident. That was me.” Ricky responds, glaring at you.

“Huh?”

“That was me.” he responds, again.

“Listen, I can’t really hear you and it’s really cold outside. Can you just let me in?” you ask.

“Sorry, Y/N. I really like you but I just don’t know if I can do that right now.”

"Ricky."

He closes off the window and walks away all together.

You can feel the panic setting in your chest - at the fact that you’re standing in the pouring rain in Seattle and you don’t know where to go. And that Ricky, nice and sweet Ricky, just locked you out.

You hunch over on your knees, yanking your phone out of your pocket to call Mikasa. She picks up on the first call and you can hear her and Jean screaming through the speaker.

“TOP TEN ON THE CHARTS I KNOW THAT’S RIGHT.” they both scream, the sentence going over you’re head.

“Mika. Mika, wait.” you whisper, the tears starting to fill your eyes.

You’re thrown off by the screeching of tires and doors closing and you march over to Ricky’s side door. You lightly crack it open and spot seven paparazzi cars, parked straight on Ricky’s porch.

Meaning. Not only did Ricky lock you out of his house in the pouring rain but he made sure to call the paparazzi so they can catch you the first chance he got. You quickly shut the door and run to the backside of the house, into the back streets by Ricky’s neighborhood. And the panic's starting to make your legs shake.

“Mika. You’re not still in Seattle, are you?” you ask, the panic laced in your voice.

“No, babe. We’re in Tampa right now for Armin and Annie’s thing. We left a few days ago.”

“Do you know anyone who is? This is urgent, Mika.”

You hear Mikasa murmuring over the phone and suddenly Jean’s on the line, his voice more firm and collected than Mikasa’s. You can suddenly hear her panicking in the background, talking to a third voice you can’t identify.

“Marco says your options are Eren or Historia. They’re both still in Seattle, though I think Eren’s closer to where you are. Call us when you’re safe. Immediately, Y/N.” Jean says.

“Okay.”

You can hear the sound of raised voices from the direction you came and you quickly hunch to the side. You try your best to wipe the wetness of your phone as you scroll for Eren’s contact and dial.

He picks up on the first ring.

“Y/N?” he asks, voice raspy like he was sleeping.

And at the sound of his voice, months after the fact, when you’re soaked to the bone in the rain, you can’t help but cry.

“Eren?” you ask, voice breaking.

“Y/N. What is it?” he asks, voice suddenly louder.

“I need your help.”

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"No. No, I'm not hurt, but I could be? I don't know, Eren I-"

“Say the word. What-what is it? I-I’m there. Just tell me what you need me to do, love."

“I need you to come get me, Eren.”

“I’m coming. Stay exactly where you are and on the line with me.”

next part linked here

taglist:

@k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @cutiejg @bokutosthings @bookwrmm @mblrrr @wheredidmycrowngo @somethinginyoureyes7 @chilichopsticks @okaystopwhore @you-always-made-me-blush @itzmeme @firelordazulaaaa @whoami-72 @g-ghostly @intimacywithceline @erensmoodygf @cocomellxn @princess-ackerman @jaegerfiles @cacapeepee @squirrelspoetry @rui-0836 @moonmalice @invisible-mori @sofiasber @bbybeeb @timetobegone @tee4str @ttokki2 @leave-rae-alone @ec3lipsy @officialsimpp @gojojang @yookayyo

lmk if you want to be added to the taglist by either commenting on this or the masterlist <3

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crooked-wasteland · 2 years ago

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The Anti-Bojack: Anti-Intellectualism and the Death of Substance

In the blog essay “Staging Philosophy: the relationship between philosophy and drama”, Kristen Gjesdal opines on the home of philosophy. Many today would consider philosophy a relic of a bygone era with names such as Keikegaard, Voltaire, and Neitzsche. Many don’t know, however, of the close relationship philosophy has always held with the arts. Gjesdal mentions Ibsen in the article, discussing how many playwrights of the time were avid students of philosophy and how many philosophers regarded the arts highly. Nietzsche spoke of social leaders, specifically the religious leaders of his day in Beyond Good and Evil when he wrote, “Men, not great enough, nor hard enough, to be entitled as artists to take part in fashioning man.” Frankly denouncing the power and influence held by the religious men which he felt was more appropriately left in the hands of artists. In fact, Nietzche considered art the definition of culture and hence why he says that artists are the ones who should be responsible for shaping society and defining what it means to be “man”. As such, the expressions of art, poetry to cinema, is a definition of man and inherently a philosophy.

Bojack Horseman is an openly philosophical series that plays with existentialist schools of thought. Having liked several tweets endorsing the comparison of her work to that of Raphael Bob-Waksberg, Vivienne Medrano demands her work be valued the same way. From being favorably compared to Bojack Horseman to being praised as the “Anti-Bojack”. Which begs to question, what does that even mean? First let’s discuss the Philosophy behind Bojack Horseman, then compare the tweets Medrano liked and her series to that of Bojack directly, and then study the overlapping themes and why Medrano’s style of writing makes her storytelling a mockery to the art.

Existentialism in particular has been the darling of the theater for about the last 150 years, though generally ridiculed by “proper” society. For a philosopher to be labeled a nihilist or existentialist was often a denouncement of their school of thought, often for their general rejection of fundamental social structures like ethics. In 1942, writer Albert Camus published his essay The Myth of Sisyphus, rebranding traditional existentialist concepts as Absurd philosophy.

Camus begins his work poised with the question of suicide and whether life is worth living at all. He argues that life is inherently meaningless, an idea originating with Kierkegaard, but while the latter sided with finding purpose in constitutions like religion, Camus argues that religion itself is a philosophical suicide. In the Routledge encyclopedia of philosophy by Charles Guignon, he writes of the criticisms levied against existential and absurdist philosophies in a society awash in moralist anti-intellectualism. He opens this section by saying, “Existentialism has been criticized from a number of different angles. One line of criticism holds that the emphasis on individual freedom and the rejection of absolutes in existentialism tends to undermine ethics; by suggesting that everyday life is ‘absurd’ and by denying the existence of fixed, binding principles for evaluating our actions, existentialists promote an ‘anything-goes’ view of freedom that exacerbates the nihilism already present in contemporary life.” Which comes from this negative misreading of nihilism.

In their video Nihilism: Are We Missing the Point, youtuber Michael Burns of Wisecrack tells an anecdote of his time in grad school where he paraphrases his professor as saying, “This idea of the constant misreadings of Nietzsche’s writings on Nihilism leads to, his words, angry seventeen-year-old atheists.” Which tends to be the issue when discussing concepts such as nihilism, existentialism and absurdist philosophy. Nietzsche, the credited father of the school of thought, is often taken out of context or his views distorted by society’s sensibilities. For one, the quote given earlier extends further into a condemnation of religion by saying, “Such men, with their "equality before God," have hitherto swayed the destiny of Europe; until at last a dwarfed, almost ludicrous species has been produced, a gregarious animal, something obliging, sickly, mediocre, the European of the present day.” Which many an angry seventeen-year-old and moralist has seen as an endorsement of the might-is-right philosophy that nihilism is credited with.

To a lesser extent, Camus writes in The Myth, “I must say what counts is not the best living, but the most living”. It feels like it should be rather straightforward then, the concept of the thought. More equals better, and Camus practically says as much when he later writes “Why should it be essential to love rarely in order to love much?” However, if one follows the first quote to its natural conclusion, he continues, “The most living; in the broadest sense, that rule means nothing. It calls for definition.” His wording may come off confusing as the essay is translated and the theories involved are dense, but Camus clarifies that “most” could mean the sheer number of experiences or the depth of the experience. He is not saying one or the other is the correct answer, but that both are equally valid ways to live one’s life. The focus, then, is not on directing anyone how they should live, but in the manner they should do so. He says, “It is not up to me to wonder if this is vulgar or revolting, elegant or deplorable … Suppose that living in this way were not honorable, then true propriety would command me to be dishonorable.”

Camus, and even Nietzsche, argue that truth is the only ultimate value. It throws back the moralist dilemma by arguing that living to a code of ethics or values when one is not truly that sort of person is to live reprehensibly. Better is it to live authentically “without appeal” as Camus says, than it is to live the lie of following the rules.

Thomas Polzler from the University of Graz in Austria wrote a 2014 article titled “Absurdism as Self-Help: Resolving an Essential Inconsistency with Camus’s Early Philosophy”. Personally, I fundamentally and adamantly disagree with his assessment that there is any sort of inconsistency in Camus’s writings. Camus’s books of The Stranger, The Plague, and The Fall are not inherently inconsistent, but depict his philosophy in layers.

Like water painting, Camus starts with a thin veneer of color, a loose and almost detached protagonist in Meursault from The Stranger. He is a man aware of the absurd as an individual, the story maintaining the focus of a man living aware his life means nothing and thus seems to have an almost neurodivergent disinterested in the world beyond himself. What he feels in the moment is all that matters, so when he commits murder out of feeling uncomfortable from the heat of the sun and the painful blinding of the light, he is then juxtaposed with the ethical society he exists simultaneously within and outside of. Meursault is held up as a sociopath for not wishing to see his mother’s body the night before her funeral and smoking by her coffin. Because he does not cry at her passing, he is deemed a danger to society. Because he goes on a date to a comedy picture the day after, he is denounced as a menace. None of which has anything to do with the man he killed. The trial highlights the absurdity of ethical society and how the moralists demand the appearance of values over actually having them.

In fact, the trial of Meursault closely resembles that of Bojack and Sarah Lynn. The end of season 3, Bojack and Sarah Lynn go on a cross-country drug-fuelled bender to apologize to people Bojack has hurt in the past, stopping at the Griffith Observatory where Bojack has a profound revelation. He talks about living in the moment and how neither the past or future really matters at all. What you did and your legacy don’t matter if you cannot exist now. It is this moment that he realizes Sarah Lynn is not responding. It isn't until season 6 that it is shown that Bojack waited before calling the police and thus played a hand in Sarah Lynn's death. He is taken to civil court by Sarah Lynn's mother and step-father and made to pay them a fine for his involvement. However, is it really justice when Sarah Lynn's mother exploited her in the business and never once supported Sarah Lynn for what she wanted and what her dreams were, or even just who she was? Can one argue that it is justice when Sarah Lynn was sexually abused by her step-father throughout her childhood? Yes, Bojack does have responsibility in Sarah Lynn's death, but so do her parents. The absurdity of it all being that in no way could there ever be justice for Sarah Lynn.

Brief mental health sidebar. While I have to expressly disagree with Polzler’s reasoning, I do agree with his conclusion. Philosophy and especially Absurd existentialism are powerful tools in the journey to self improvement. It is both the line from Bojack where Diane says "That's the thing. I don't think I believe in 'deep down'. I kind of think all you are is just the things that you do." And Dr. Wong in Rick and Morty when she says, “You seem to alternate between viewing your own mind as an unstoppable force and as an inescapable curse. And I think it is because the only truly unapproachable concept for you is that it's your mind within your control … You are the master of your universe.”

It may be shocking to know that Medrano was not a fan of Dr. Wong, considering the scene all about telling and not showing Rick’s problems. However, this is after two and a half seasons of witnessing Rick’s shortcomings and Dr. Wong is not telling Rick’s problems, but rather identifying the solution. In both the words of Diane and Dr. Wong, who we are, comes down to the choices we make. There is no moral argument being made with either of these comments. Bojack asked Diane to tell him that he’s actually a good person deep down. That he means to be good, that despite his actions he doesn’t want to hurt anyone and that his bad behavior is the fault of his emotionally unavailable and narcissistic parents. So really, he isn’t a bad person. Whereas Dr. Wong calls out Rick’s behavior as a choice because Rick knows he is making these choices.

The difference between Rick and Bojack is the level of personal awareness and responsibility. Rick knows he has the power to change, but simultaneously so miserable but is so afraid of change that he turns himself into a literal pickle and risks his own death over confronting his own choice to stay the way he is. It is easier for him to justify his lack of trying by simply claiming this is just what it means to be as smart as he is. Whereas Bojack feels helpless. Bojack was not set up for success as a child, his success was never validated by his mother and thus he never valued himself, and every time he tries to change he has no internal fortitude to keep from backsliding at the first sign of defeat. Rick knows everything that is making him miserable is himself. Bojack externalizes his misery and thus also externalizes the solution to his problems, which is why he lets himself return to square one whenever things don’t go his way.

Absurdism is the recognition that life is meaningless and thus we have two choices: Live or die. But these concepts are not so straightforward when discussed. To live, in Camus’s philosophy, is to live authentically to oneself. That may sound like Rick’s situation of accepting things as they are, but that is only true in the case of the individual genuinely wanting to be that way. Authenticity is a dichotomy consisting of both how we behave and how we feel. In the case of Rick he lies, cheats, manipulates, and behaves cruelly towards his family. However, it is implied and later revealed that Rick genuinely cares about his family, but is too afraid of experiencing loss to really let them in. So he’s abusive and insulting, keeping his family at an emotional distance that keeps them around, but never too close, making Rick miserable. He really wants his family, so his feelings are at odds with his behavior. So in reality, him claiming “this is just how things are/who I am” is just as weak an excuse and removes agency over oneself as Bojack saying “It’s because my mother was never there for me.”

The actions both Rick and Bojack partake in are what Camus would call a philosophical suicide. Concisely put, to commit a philosophical suicide is to remove one’s sense of agency in their own life. How can one claim to be living when they have no effect on anything including themselves? You would exist in a void no different than a dreamless sleep. Your actions are meaningless, your thoughts are meaningless, your feelings are meaningless because you are a passenger to the act of living. Everything else has power, everyone else can influence you, so you may as well be nothing. Camus includes religion in this section of his philosophy, as living for something other than yourself is the same as not living at all. And this encompasses Ethics.

There is a massive difference between being kind because you are supposed to, and being kind because you want to. This delves further into living inauthentically and how that mere act alone results in misery. Even if one is to behave in a way deemed “right” without making the choice, they will inevitably become resentful. There is no such thing as faking it until you make it. One has to actively choose and change themselves on a fundamental level to find happiness, and that takes work. Just as Dr. Wong says, “It’s just work. And the bottom line is some people are okay going to work and some people, well some people would rather die.”

Which gets to the main point.

Medrano’s liking of a series of tweets calling Blitzo the Anti-Bojack has both infuriated and confused me. I suppose that I should be embarrassed at the latter since it's obvious both Vivienne and her fans lack basic media literacy. It’s actually rather spectacular just how badly they misrepresent the situation of the characters in the narrative. I can only break this down comment by comment.

For one, Bojack’s entire character is that he doesn’t intentionally hurt others. He has his reasons that fundamentally comes from a weak sense of self associated with a child who never had the emotional support he needed growing up. Those aren’t excuses, those are the reasons. Bojack has an unhealed inner child who wants to be a good guy, but he is so caught up in his self-loathing and resentment that he doesn’t do anything about that inner child. Instead he indulges these immature emotions through self medicating with drugs and alcohol, lashing out, promiscuity, and careless spending. These are the symptoms of the problem, the problem does lie in past trauma. The issue is Bojack doesn’t see the solution as himself, but someone or something else. In my post comparing Bojack and Todd’s relationship to Blitz and Moxxie, I pointed out how Bojack and Blitz treat their “closest friends” exactly the same by verbally abusing them and tearing down their abilities. While not always consciously intentional for Bojack, it is to keep Todd feeling codependent on Bojack and thus never leaving him which is abusive and manipulative. For Blitz, the narrative says it's because he is aware of his behaviour and is intentionally pushing Moxxie to be better, which is abusive and manipulative.

My point herein being that these are the same people. There is no Anti-Bojack happening here. If anything, Blitz is more malicious in his abuse seeing as he appears actively aware and intentional in how he mistreats Moxxie. Bojack is abusive towards Todd, but in a way that is a reflection of Bojack. And the series acknowledges how Bojack's inability to be alone actively harms his other relationships. Not just Todd.

In one way, however, Blitz absolutely is the Anti-Bojack. Blitz externalizes the source of his behavior to a character failing on Moxxie's part. And the series reaffirms and justifies Blitz's abuse as okay.

The other misconception of this post is thinking that an explanation is an excuse. Creative Screenwriting did an interview in 2019 with Raphael Bob-Waksberg’s process and philosophy of writing Bojack Horseman, quoting him for the title of the article, “Characters should be understandable in their vulnerabilities.” What Medrano’s fans fail to do, fundamentally, is understand. Their opinions and twitter orations are so barren of understanding that one must ask if they simply choose to ignore what does not serve their narrative or if they really are just incapable of comprehension.

They see Blitz’s mother’s death as a reason for his attitude more than his behavior. His behavior then necessitates that it needs to be excusable. As such, Blitz cannot actually make mistakes. Things happen by chance rather than a deliberate choice on any of the characters’ behalf. The fire in Oops wasn’t a mistake made by Blitz, if it is anyone’s mistake, it is the no-named imp who lit the candle before getting to the room. Blitz didn’t intend to bump the other performer, he just happened to turn at that moment. His mistake, then, is one that only makes sense on a metanarrative aspect. His mistake was deciding not to confess his feelings to Fizz. Which… no. As novel as the concept of the butterfly effect was in 2015, the fundamental nature of something inconsequential being attributed to a disaster negates blame. No one is going to blame the butterfly for a hurricane. Similarly, Blitz’s decision to not confess has nothing to do with the fire, in fact the fire itself is not even his accident. His contribution begins and ends with accidentally bumping the other imp; a situation that would have been entirely harmless if not for another character’s unrelated decision made off-screen.

Additionally, Blitz is a heinously insufferable individual who has been nothing but insulting and abusive to his “friend” throughout the series. He sexually abuses Moxxie in Harvest Moon by touching his penis against his will. He threatens to rape Moxxie and Millie in Murder Family. Blitz humiliates Moxxie through emasculation by masculinizing Millie over Moxxie, mocking Moxxie’s anatomy through his weight and genital size, and degrading Moxxie’s hobbies and abilities. Often without any prompting whatsoever and for Blitz’s own personal enjoyment. Blitz simply is a malicious individual, and at one point the series seemed to know that. The issue isn’t that Blitz is an awful person, it’s the lack of acknowledging that fact. The fans and Medrano conveniently ignore who this character is and what he has done to justify him instead of seeking to understand him. This is a running theme throughout the show.

I also briefly compared the scene in Oops to Herb and Bojack in this post, but I didn’t focus so much on the characters and more the metanarrative reason why Bojack worked and Helluva Boss didn’t.

Here, let’s look at why Bojack went to see Herb: Because Herb told him to. Unlike the scenario between Fizz and Blitz where they didn’t see each other for fifteen years and then conveniently run into each other and just so happen to be spotted by Crimson and Striker who, for some reason, know all about Fizz and Ozzie being a thing and they just keep Blitz around because … he’s the main character. Sure, one could argue both Crimson and Striker have a personal thing against Blitz, makes you wonder why they didn’t, you know, do anything to him? No torture or revenge of any kind, he’s just there now. Conveniently tied up and kept with Fizz instead of literally anything else they could have done with him. There is no internal logic to the characters as to why things turn out this way. As seen in the Mammon episode, it's a metanarrative compulsion to make sure Blitz is in every episode regardless of whether it makes sense or goes anywhere, or not.

Another sidebar, but the fact that so much of the series is not able to be explained within the narrative and requires an understanding of how Medrano and her team formulate a script is a huge issue. It removes the ability to properly dissect the characters as individual people and necessitates a reading of them that is how Medrano wants the audience to think about them. When it comes to the character dissections, it is effectively impossible to have a complete or coherent reading in regards to the literary philosophy of the Death of the Author. You have no story or character if you remove Medrano. The world as a whole completely falls apart unless you inject it with her metacommentary and narrative intention like one would preserve a corpse through glycerin. There is absolutely no substance here. And the longer she goes on, trying to compile the whole show into a coherent narrative of its own is like building a skeleton with a human ribcage, an ostrich spine, an elephant skull and the lower half of a barbie doll.

Bojack calls Herb after finding out he is dying from cancer, Herb tells Bojack to come visit him. He refuses to talk to Bojack any other way, and Bojack is compelled to go by his guilt, not ego. Herb calling him to his house obliterates Bojack’s ego, this is Herb’s home and he is the one being summoned. This is where Herb has the most power compared to, say, over the phone. This is not only a move of superiority on Herb’s part, but an act of submission on Bojack’s. Herb forces Bojack to come to him. Once again, this is what power dynamics look like. But, despite the resentment and awkward bitterness, he does want to see Bojack.

I don’t know how many times I can articulate this. Herb is the one in control and he is the one who wants to see Bojack and he is the one calling the shots. Not at all comparable to Fizz being kidnapped, forced to interact with Blitz and then wholly reliant on him due to the narrative in order to facilitate this forced reconciliation. Herb and Bojack are people with complex feelings and agendas. Blitz and Fizz are two dolls being smashed together and held in place by the will of a childish god.

Second, the reason Bojack calls Herb is because he feels guilty, not for abandoning Herb but because he betrayed Herb. He told Herb he would stand with him and walk off the show if they tried to fire his friend, but according to Bojack, he was a coward and didn’t keep his word. He feels guilt for that, he regrets it. But when he apologizes to Herb for it, Herb corrects him. It isn’t because Bojack didn’t keep his word, like the horse man thought, it was because he thought the betrayal was more important than their friendship.

He’s a coward, but not for staying on Horsing Around. He’s a coward because he didn’t believe in their friendship. They were together for years and Herb thought that meant something, but Bojack avoiding Herb and never reaching out to him showed how little their friendship meant to him. And it wasn’t because Bojack didn’t care, Herb knows that. And that fact is necessary to understanding the sequence. Bojack didn’t value the friendship because he thought he was valueless. He avoided Herb because he thought Herb would never forgive him, because that is how little Bojack thinks of himself. Him calling Herb is the active display of him still not forgiving himself, so he needs Herb to do it for him. And Herb knows all of this.

“You know what your problem is? You wanna think of yourself as the good guy. Well, I know you better than anyone else and I can tell you that you're not. In fact, you'd probably sleep a lot better at night if you just admitted to yourself that you're a selfish goddamn coward, who takes whatever he wants, and doesn't give a shit about who he hurts. That's you. That's BoJack Horseman."

Bojack has no value in himself, leaving him extremely fragile. So he took what he wanted, he took their relationship and defined it for both of them. He ran away, protecting himself while determining that this is what Herb would want, and left Herb alone and powerless even in his closest friendship. Which is why Herb demands Bojack come to see him, it’s Herb reclaiming his power in the relationship. And all of this only has any meaning if you clearly define the fact that Bojack apologized for the wrong thing.

There’s an alternate universe where Bojack doesn’t go back and apologize at all, and he and Herb rebuild their friendship anew in Herb’s last days and they simply, quietly agree to start over. Because that’s not off the table. Herb still values the telescope. He still values their friendship. Bojack, once again, takes it away. And Herb, a dying man, fights viciously to keep hold of it. Him not forgiving Bojack is not wanting his friend back, if anything, it’s because he desperately wants Bojack back that he won’t forgive him.

The telescope isn’t just a metaphor when it breaks. It's the symbol of their friendship the entire time, and the physical actions taking place over it are a screenshot of what happened. Bojack took their friendship and left with it. But it meant something to Herb, and you would only know that by how he fights over it now. And when it breaks it shows that, because of Bojack and his cowardly need to run away from his problems, their relationship is now, finally, beyond repair. Not because Herb didn’t forgive him. It wasn’t over when Herb didn’t forgive him. The telescope is literally on the shelf the entire time.

Bojack ended it, not Herb.

But just like Bojack, Medrano and her fans believe that forgiveness is the end all of the story. It’s why so many people were not invested in Fizzarolli and Blitz makeup. Because Fizz just forgiving Blitz makes everything they went through meaningless. It strips the characters and what they went through of depth and nuance in a single moment. It also validates Bojack's general mindset in the belief that one moment can fix a systemic problem. In this case, Medrano isn't the Anti-Bojack, she just is Bojack.

The issue between Herb and Bojack wasn’t the job, or even the time. It was Bojack. And it is the failure of Bojack identifying the part of himself that resulted in this outcome, and not making the choice to do anything different that results in the end of everything. Maybe Herb would never have forgiven the Bojack who left him. But that’s why Bojack needed to be a different Bojack. And he wasn’t.

Wrapping this back around to the start of the essay and how Absurdist philosophy plays into Bojack intrinsically, Herb says exactly that truth to Bojack. That if Bojack was only honest to himself and lived authentically, maybe he would be able to sleep at night. Because being good is less important than being real.

This reminds me of Jean Baptiste Clamence from Camus’s The Fall. A Frenchman in the seedy center of Amsterdam, a city encircled by canals like the rings of hell. He spends his nights in the bar just outside of the red light district, drunk off his ass, it is uncertain if he is actually telling his story to anyone at all. Over the course of four nights, he tells his story of his fall from grace. His self exile to Hell after being unable to cope with his guilt. He tells so many stories of himself, egotistically claiming he has the lost panel of the Ghent Alterpiece in his apartment, the piece titled The Just Judges.

Even his name is a plea for repentance. John. Baptist. Clemency. He claims to sleep with Judges looming over him. Words endlessly flow from him and he confesses his sins.

It’s when he fesses to witnessing the suicide of a young woman in Paris that he explains why he ran away to Netherlands. He says how she called for help after jumping into the water, but he quickly fled the scene, hearing the splashing below become eerily silent. One could argue that he couldn’t do anything. In the Paris winter, the freezing water of the canal could kill them both, let alone the dangers of trying to save someone who is drowning. The main concern being the victim drowning their savior in a frenzied panic of keeping themselves above the water. It could be said that he did the only thing he could. However, he knows she was aware he was there, so she called out to him specifically when she came to her senses. No one witnessed the incident or knew he was there but her, and no one could fault him for doing nothing.

But he feels the guilt in himself, and thus runs away.

Jean-Baptiste, Bojack and even Diane all have the same mentality. They fetishize their misery and trauma, making themselves important through the loops of suffering they inflict on themselves. Thinking that because the events happened to them, it must mean they are somehow special. That their damage meant something out of all the other people on this planet who suffer. That because they felt alone and responsible, they are a mythical chosen one selected from the masses to do something. They find value in the negative self-image they have, their pain being their purpose.

Because if it didn’t matter, why did it happen to them?

This is where I normally would keep just ripping apart the arguments, but frankly, there isn’t one anymore. For one, the original poster just blatantly lacks any fundamental understanding of Bojack as a series since the entire premise of the show is every season Bojack tries to change.

On a narrative basis, the lack of intentionality on Blitz’s part absolves him from needing forgiveness. Fizzarolli forgiving him holds no weight because Blitz didn’t intentionally set the fire, he didn’t see Fizz in the explosion when he ran away, he didn’t not try to see Fizz in the hospital and then Medrano puts the cherry on top about how Fizz’s life is actually better because of everything that happened. It’s equal parts boring and vile. The conflict is artificial, the resolution is repulsive and contrived. There is no depth to these characters and Medrano actively removes depth, either because she herself lacks the ability to comprehend it or because she knows her fans are incapable of doing so.

Also, let's just not comment on how this line explicitly overshadows Fizz's trauma. Everyone knows you don't end an apology with "but". That negates the whole apology. This is literally "I'm sorry you got hurt and I can never make that up to you, BUT my mom's dead so you don't even know what it's like being me and feeling responsible for that."

While the writers of Bojack sought to make their characters understandable and thus empathetic, they at no point excused or retconned the behavior. The writers on Bojack didn’t do anything to justify their characters in order to control how the audience felt about them. They were showing that the characters were well rounded, had reasons, why they had those reasons, what core memories made them who they are today. And the audience had the choice in how they responded to the characters. Medrano needs her audience to feel the same way about her characters as she does in order for the story to work, because she has never put forth the effort of actually telling this story.

One does not need the interviews with Bob-Waksberg to understand his cast and their story. Everything a viewer needs to know can be found in the show proper. There are not huge points of context happening just over there, off screen, between episodes and relegated to background details. Everything relevant to these characters and their stories is in the show. That has not and at this point never will be the case for Helluva Boss. So in many ways, yes. Helluva Boss is the anti-Bojack.

That's not a good thing.

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laikabu · 11 months ago

Note

Hi! I just uploaded the first two chapters of my labru baby fic 😭 I’m sorry I took so long!! Thank you for letting me write about your characters. I hope I did them justice. Also, my friend said you tweeted about my other fic! My twitter isn’t public, so I couldn’t respond, but thank you 🥰 https://archiveofourown.org/works/57795706/chapters/147102496

oh my god… its you! i really liked your other two fics so i’m really happy you wrote this so thank you omg. it has everything… very good kabru inner thoughts… kabru and marcille tension… falin very clearly being the kids’ favorite… mithrun epic divorce guy… kabru slipping back into formal speech as a defense response… old man sappy autistic sex…

anyway, my thoughts in case people want to read it and dont want to be spoiled, it’s quite long LOL

this was such a nice read!!! i was always curious how people would characterize my fankids n you did it really well!! pumori being fussy toddler and makalu going through his rebellious phase… kabru being worried he’s turning into milsiril with how he’s harsh on his son… also kabru being nosy… pumori calling her older brother lu…

i also loved how you characterized laios in this, he’s always so intuitive of caring for those he loves when he’s aware something is wrong, coaxing it out of kabru in his own weird way to figure out how he could help…

makalu being fascinated with death is a really interesting angle. he was born in a former dungeon where death was forbidden. he’s fascinated with monsters and lives with a father who loved monsters but repelled them and another father who wanted nothing to do with them, relieved that he brought children into this world safe from ever encountering them… not ever expecting that one of his kids will grow up to actively want to see monsters

i really like the part where makalu and his friends were bothering mithrun, because he would totally do that. i haven’t put it into text yet but i always imagined him admiring mithrun because pattadol(who he liked to bother because he was fascinated by her fairy) hyped him up, meanwhile mithrun just found him a little annoying. i also really liked that you pointed out his dry sense of humor, because he does have that in canon and i don’t see a lot of people play around with it

i can’t wait to find out what falin and makalu talked about! and what spell he was learning… ahhh

#makalu #pumori #labru #so ppl in the tag could see this fic

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charlesollielandooscararthur · 3 months ago

Text

Weirdo In The F1 Paddock

summary:Oscar and Lily find tweets about a man slapping y/n’s ass at the paddock, with fans criticizing her lack of reaction. They realize she never told them and worry she’s hiding how much it affected her.

warning: Sexual Harassment (an unwanted slap on the ass)

y/n walked through the paddock, the buzz of the F1 weekend all around her. The sun was shining brightly, casting a warm glow on everything, as the usual chaos of the race weekend unfolded—teams prepping for the race, fans crowding at the barriers, and cameras capturing every moment. It was a familiar scene for her, but today, something felt different. There was an extra layer of tension in the air, and she couldn't shake the feeling that eyes were on her more than usual.

She wasn't one to shy away from attention, but this was different. As she made her way to the VIP section to meet Oscar, someone suddenly brushed past her.

"Hey, beautiful."

y/n turned, startled, just as she felt a sharp, unwanted slap on her ass. Her body stiffened, and her first instinct was to spin around and give the person a piece of her mind. But the guy—mid-30s, wearing sunglasses despite the clear sky—was already grinning, thinking he was being funny.

"What, no response? Come on, don't be shy." he said with a smug grin, completely oblivious to how uncomfortable and offended y/n felt.

y/n's eyes narrowed, and her jaw clenched. She wasn't one to tolerate disrespect, especially not in public, and certainly not from someone who thought they could get away with that behavior just because she was in the spotlight.

"You better back the hell off," she snapped, her voice cold, but controlled. "I don't know who you think you are, but that was not okay."

The man didn't seem to take her seriously. He leaned in a little closer, not picking up on her obvious irritation. "Oh, come on, I was just having some fun. No need to be so uptight."

y/n's patience was running out. Her face hardened, and she took a small step back, crossing her arms as she tried to maintain composure.

"Do not touch me again." Her voice was low, steely with no room for argument. Her eyes were sharp, glaring at him, letting him know she wasn't afraid to cause a scene if necessary.

But the guy wouldn't back off. He stayed where he was, continuing to grin like a fool.

"Why are you so upset? You're gorgeous, no need to act like that. Come on, I just wanted a picture with you."

Before she could retort, the man reached for her arm, attempting to pull her closer for a selfie. That was the final straw. y/n yanked her arm away and stepped back.

"Listen, I don't care how many people follow me on social media, or how many races you've been to. You do not touch me without my permission."

Her voice wasn't loud, but it was commanding, and the intensity in her tone made the man hesitate for a moment. He looked at her, realizing for the first time that she wasn't someone who was going to smile and laugh it off.

y/n glanced around, spotting a security guard in the distance who had noticed the scene unfolding. She didn't need to say a word—the guard was already walking over.

"I think you should leave." The security guard stepped up next to y/n, his presence immediate and authoritative.

The man seemed to hesitate, his arrogance slipping for a moment, before he gave y/n a dismissive look and turned to walk away. "Fine, whatever." He muttered under his breath.

y/n, still seething, took a deep breath, trying to steady herself as the guard stayed by her side. She wasn't one to make a scene—she preferred control, but there were times when it was necessary. And today, she wasn't going to let some arrogant idiot think he could just disrespect her in front of so many people.

The security guard looked at y/n, offering a reassuring nod.

"You okay?" he asked, his tone soft but respectful.

y/n gave him a tight smile, grateful for his intervention. "I'm fine. Just don't let people like him in here again."

He nodded. "Don't worry, I've got you covered."

As the man walked away, y/n took a moment to gather herself. She'd had enough of the unwanted attention, but this was nothing new—she'd been dealing with it her whole life. The difference now was that she didn't need to tolerate it. She wasn't just someone's sister. She was y/n.

Taking a deep breath, she continued walking toward the VIP section, her stride even more purposeful now. She could feel the eyes on her, but this time, it didn't bother her. She'd handle whatever came her way.

That night, after the chaos of the race weekend, y/n lay quietly in bed between Oscar and Lily, the quiet hum of the hotel room lulling them into a false sense of normalcy. The sound of the outside world faded away, replaced by the soft whispers of the city streets below and the occasional distant cheers from the race fans still lingering in the area.

y/n, however, wasn't asleep yet. Her mind was still racing, her body exhausted but her thoughts keeping her awake. Oscar was next to her, scrolling through his phone, while Lily lay on the other side, also focused on her own device. Despite the overwhelming feeling of exhaustion that had come with the long day, y/n's thoughts refused to slow down.

She kept replaying the incident in her mind: the slap, the way it had felt, how she froze, and how everything that had happened afterwards seemed like it came out of nowhere. It wasn't like her. Normally, she was so quick to shut anyone down who even dared to look at her the wrong way. No one ever had the nerve to disrespect her, let alone touch her like that.

But this time was different. She didn't know why it had shaken her so much, but it did. And that realization alone made her feel vulnerable. Vulnerability was not a feeling y/n was used to. Vulnerability was for the weak, for people who couldn't handle themselves. And she had always prided herself on being anything but that.

She couldn't shake the tight feeling in her chest, the fear that someone might see her as less than the confident, untouchable person everyone had always known.

She felt a wave of shame wash over her as she remembered how she'd brushed it off. Why hadn't she said something? Why hadn't she told anyone?

Oscar and Lily had no idea. They didn't know what had happened, and y/n had convinced herself that it was better to keep it to herself. She couldn't burden them with something that, to her, felt embarrassing. She was supposed to be the one who handled things, not the one who needed to be protected.

Eventually, exhaustion won, and she drifted into a restless sleep, trying to push away the thoughts that kept her awake.

A few hours later, Oscar and Lily were still awake, the glow of their phone screens casting a soft light across the dark room. Oscar was scrolling through Twitter, as he often did to unwind, when he stumbled upon a thread that caught his attention.

There were dozens of tweets about y/n. Some were sweet, others were typical fan comments about how stunning she looked at the race. But then there were others—tweets and even videos from fans who had been at the paddock earlier that day. There was a clip of y/n walking alone, and the comments... they made Oscar's stomach churn.

The video itself was harmless enough, just y/n walking through the paddock, but it was what came next that made Oscar's blood run cold. There were multiple tweets from fans who had witnessed the incident with the man. It seemed like everyone was talking about how a random guy had slapped y/n's ass and how she had just walked away, seemingly unbothered.

Oscar's jaw clenched as he scrolled through the responses. Some fans were concerned, others were criticizing her for not reacting more strongly. But what really made his heart sink was how no one had seen what had truly happened. No one knew how vulnerable y/n had been, how shaken up she had felt.

Oscar could feel his anger rising. He had been right there and hadn't seen a thing. He had no idea. Neither did Lily. Neither of them had even noticed anything out of the ordinary. It was frustrating. Why hadn't she told them?

Lily, noticing his growing frustration, sat up beside him. "What's wrong?" she asked, her voice soft with concern.

Oscar showed her the screen, and Lily's eyes widened. "Oh my god... why didn't she say something?"

Oscar rubbed his face, trying to process everything. "I don't know... but it's like... it's not even about what happened. It's the fact that she's not saying anything. She's acting like nothing happened."

Lily frowned, her fingers scrolling through the tweets as well. "I don't get it... Why would she hide something like this?"

Oscar sighed deeply, setting the phone down on the nightstand. "I don't think it's about hiding it. I think it's more about how she feels. y/n's always been the one who shuts people down. She's the one who everyone knows can handle herself. She's... she's so confident. But maybe something like this makes her feel vulnerable, and she doesn't want anyone to see that."

Lily's expression softened as she processed Oscar's words. She knew how strong y/n was, how she had always been the leader in their group, the one who everyone looked up to. But to see her like this... it was hard for both of them to imagine.

"But she doesn't have to handle everything on her own," Lily whispered. "We're her family, her team. She doesn't need to carry all of it alone."

Oscar nodded, his eyes filled with concern. "Exactly. We're here for her, no matter what. But if she doesn't tell us... how can we help?"

The two of them fell silent for a moment, both of them lost in their thoughts. They didn't know what to do. They didn't know how to reach y/n when she was so closed off.

Later that night, as the hotel room grew quieter and the only sounds left were the soft breaths of their steady sleep, Oscar and Lily exchanged a final glance. They knew they would need to have a conversation with y/n, but they had to be careful. She had always been fiercely independent, and this time, it was clear that she was hurting.

The morning light filtered in through the hotel curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. Oscar and Lily were already awake, lying on their sides, quietly watching y/n sleep. She was curled up between them, her face peaceful, though they both knew there was something she was hiding, something that wasn't as peaceful.

Oscar reached out, gently brushing a strand of y/n's hair from her face, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary. She looked so different in her sleep—vulnerable, soft, not the confident, untouchable y/n the world knew. And it broke his heart.

Lily, sensing his unease, gave him a small, knowing look. She had been thinking about it too, and they both knew they couldn't just let things go on like this. y/n couldn't pretend that everything was fine forever. They wouldn't let her.

When y/n began to stir, shifting beneath the covers, her eyes fluttered open slowly, the sleepiness still clinging to her. She blinked, taking in the sight of the two of them, and for a moment, everything felt normal again. But the tension from the night before was still hanging there, just under the surface.

"Morning," she mumbled, her voice still thick with sleep.

"Morning," Oscar replied softly, his gaze lingering on her face.

Lily smiled at her but didn't say anything right away, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the corner of the blanket. She could tell something was still bothering y/n, even though she tried to hide it behind a smile. But today, they weren't going to let her push it aside anymore. It had been a long night of thinking, and now they needed to talk.

"y/n," Lily began, her voice gentle but firm, "We saw what happened last night... the tweets and the video. You should've told us."

y/n froze at the mention of it, her entire body going tense, and she immediately looked away. Her heart rate picked up, but she refused to let it show on her face. She wasn't ready to talk about it, but she could feel her two closest people watching her, waiting for her to say something.

"I... it was nothing," y/n said, her voice betraying her. "It's just... nothing happened. It was a mistake. That's it."

Oscar's expression softened as he reached for her hand. "y/n, you're not the only one in this relationship. We're here for you. Don't push us away. You don't have to deal with things alone."

She could feel the pressure building in her chest, the weight of his words. She wanted to deny it, to tell him she was fine, but she knew deep down she wasn't. She wasn't fine. Why couldn't she just be fine?

Lily leaned in a little, her voice lower this time, more tender. "We're a team, remember? You're not alone in this. If someone crosses a line with you, we deal with it. You don't have to be the strong one all the time."

y/n let out a shaky breath, her fingers curling around the edge of the blanket as if she could somehow hold herself together that way. She hadn't realized how much tension she had been holding in her body until now. She wanted to be angry, to shut them out and act like everything was fine, but she just couldn't anymore. It was exhausting pretending.

Oscar and Lily both gave her the space she needed, but they didn't let go of her. They were there, quietly watching her, waiting for her to open up.

Finally, y/n spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I felt weak. It's so stupid. It shouldn't have bothered me. But it did. I'm not used to feeling like that. Vulnerable. Helpless."

The words felt foreign coming out of her mouth, but once she said them, they hung in the air, heavy with the truth she had been too scared to admit. She had always been the confident one, the one who took charge, who made people respect her with just a look. But now, that one incident had shattered that image. She felt like she had lost control, and it scared her more than anything.

Lily's hand reached for hers, and y/n squeezed it tightly, as if it was the only thing anchoring her to reality. "You're allowed to feel vulnerable, y/n. We're not asking you to be strong all the time. We just want to be here for you when you need us."

Oscar nodded in agreement, his voice soft. "You don't have to be the one to fix everything alone. We've got you."

y/n felt her eyes well up, and she quickly blinked it away, but it was useless. The weight she had been carrying finally started to slip off her shoulders, and she let out a shaky breath. "I didn't want to seem... weak. I didn't want you to think I was... less than what you all expect me to be."

Lily gently cupped her face, her touch soft and reassuring. "You are never weak, y/n. You're human. And being human means having feelings. And you're allowed to feel them, especially with us. We don't want to see you hurt."

Oscar sat up a little, his thumb brushing across the back of her hand. "We're not going anywhere, okay? We've been through too much together. You don't need to carry this alone."

y/n finally let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. For the first time in a long time, she didn't feel like she had to be the strong one. She could lean on them, let them help her, and it felt... good. It felt safe.

#f1 #f1 imagine #lily zneimer #oscar piastri

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filialdisciple · 1 year ago

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dumb rotmhs fanfic idea where chung myung doesn't reincarnate and instead turns into a lost ghost on mount hua.

that is, until his spirit stumbles into yu iseol chasing after their lost plum blossoms technique that he begins to slowly regain his memories.

Got inspired by @dew-in-the-morning's tweet here!! You can also read the original fic thread :DD

»—————————–✄

yu iseol doesn't know who the one-armed stranger was. she had opted to ignore him when she first noticed his presence in the far distance upon arrival at the clearing. but he'd been observing her for almost two hours now, and it seemed as if he had no intentions to leave at all.

"come out." she tells the one-armed man, but frustratingly receives no response at all.

she makes a move towards him but he disappears within a blink.

a part of yu iseol becomes unsettled, but she decides to brush it off as nothing more than a one-off encounter.

she's quickly proven wrong.

the following night, she once again finds him in the same spot, facing her direction. it continues that way the next night until the next week. the man is consistently there and always leaves whenever yu iseol outwardly acknowledges his presence.

after almost two weeks of this occurring, yu iseol decides to stare just as intently at the man as he did at her sword.

she doesn't often feel conscious about how others perceived her, but something about the way the man's eyes visibly narrows when she swings or stabs her sword makes her every move feel like they were being scrutinized and dissected.

and that her results were unsatisfactory if the random clucks and tsks she hears off to the side whenever she overextends her swings were any indication.

the man's robes were clearly from mount hua. but she quickly realizes that what she initially thought were shadows on his garbs were actually dark blood stains.

then a sense of uneasiness washes over her when she notices that she could see the edges of a tree through him.

it seems that her nightly companion was some sort of supernatural entity.

she doesn't feel any true fear though because no amount of malice or resentment was ever turned her direction since she began seeing the man.

"who are you?" yu iseol finally asks.

but, as expected, the man disappears and she's left alone in the clearing.

%%%

"are there ghosts on mount hua?" yu iseol asks the sect leader much to his bemusement.

"perhaps." he replies to her after a beat passes. "what brought this on?"

yu iseol silently huffs at the admittedly lackluster reply, but responds politely, "i just saw something."

before she could turn away, the sect leader hums pensively and gently adds,

"maybe what you saw was the ghost of an ancestor watching over you."

clearly, it was intended to be an acknowledgement of her nightly sword training and visible efforts towards attaining mount hua's swordsmanship.

yu iseol, however, took the message quite differently.

that night, yu iseol lets out a breath and lowers her sword as she once again catches sight of the semi-translucent man observing her from behind a tree.

her attention zooms in on the bloodied embroidery of a plum blossom on his chest and the sword sheath strapped to his waist.

she steels herself as her eyes locks onto sharp, pink ones. she was certain that whoever this man had been, he was a strong swordsman with the way he held himself even in death.

and if the way he attentively observed her sword training was a potential indication....

"excuse me," yu iseol begins, fists clenched, "do you know how to make plum blossoms bloom?"

there was a long pause between them. for a moment, yu iseol worried that she was mistaken and that the spirit of this ancestor would disappear as he usually did.

but then the one-armed man steps forward for the first time into the clearing and replies by unsheathing his sword.

it glints against the moonlight despite its translucency and yu iseol knows that she couldn't miss the next moments no matter what.

the ghost of her ancestor holds it aloft in the air for a brief moment. And then he swings his sword into an arc.

in yu iseol's chest, the uncertain flicker of hope ignites into an unstoppable wildfire.

#ghost mentor pbss au #i think cm would ask yu iseol to train her other martial siblings #but i'm not sure if everyone would take her seriously yet.#i wanna say that yu iseol in this au participates in the southern edge sect-mount hua disciple tournament and stuns everyone HAHASKLDJSD #mount hua might still be poor in this au tho #yu iseol #chung myung #rotmhs #rotbb #return of mount hua sect #return of the blossoming blade #return of the blossoming blade fanfiction #dumb rotmhs fanfic ideas #tin writes #also i wrote this in one go on twt so sorry for any errors HAHASDLKJSD

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miss-bushido · 9 months ago

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our bodies are oh so close and tight

written for @steddiesmuttyseptember week three, using the prompt 'rough' Title from the song 'Paradise by the Dashboard Light' by Meatloaf

Also inspired by this tweet from @_cydonic: “young, bratty Steve who always calls for his father's car when he's working so that Mr Harrington's long-time, trusted driver Eddie can fuck him nasty in the back of the rolls 🥰”

Rating: E

“Going somewhere, Steven?” his Mother asks as he walks past her in the living room, adjusting the sleeves of his navy blue blazer. She doesn’t look up from her latest bodice-ripper romance book, so he knows he can be vague in his response.

“Yes, Mother. Just out to meet the guys.”

“Mmm, make sure you drive safely.” He can see her interest in the conversation is waning as her eyes keep moving over the words on the page. She even reaches for her glass of Chablis. It must be a very interesting passage.

“Eddie will make sure that I get there in one piece,” Steve answers. There is no response to that. His Mother sips her wine, and is now fully engrossed again in her story.

It’s just as well. He doesn’t think she’ll even wait up for him. She never does.

And he doesn’t know what time he’ll come back home. Not that the Harrington’s ever cared when their son came home. He tested it once: stayed out for three days, sleeping in a different girl’s bed every night. When he finally came home, they barely registered it.

This kind of parental neglect has been going on since Steve can remember. Their wealth let them spoil him with all the toys, experiences, cars and vacations a young man could want. There were a myriad of tutors, nannies, personal assistants as well. Their boy would never want for anything.

Except for affection and love from his parents. The Harrington’s did not give this to their only child readily, and on some level they must have felt guilty over it, because they let him do whatever he wanted. Steve was spoiled and willful and bratty, and no one was around to check him on this attitude.

Until the Harrington’s hired their chauffeur, that was.

Eddie Munson was like nothing and no one Steve had ever encountered before. He was in his mid-twenties, with dark hair and deep brown eyes. He had an air of something about him: a hint of danger that only Steve picked up on.

He also didn’t take any shit from The Brat, as he had christened Steve.

The first time he’d tested Eddie was about six months after he’d been hired, almost three months ago now. He’d walked over to the garage where the Harrington’s cars were kept, just as Eddie was finishing wiping down the interior of the Rolls, his tongue poking out in concentration as he moved the damp rag over the steering wheel.

“I want you to drive me somewhere,” Steve said by way of greeting, brushing a piece of imaginary lint off of his blazer.

Eddie moved out of the driver’s seat, rag in hand. His hair, usually kept hidden by his chauffeur’s cap, was loose and long, brushing the tops of his shoulders. The white tank top he wore showed all the tattoos he’d kept hidden under his chauffeur’s jacket, along with the strong arms he had. “I just finished detailing the car, so it’ll have to wait-”

Steve sighed heavily, as if this was the most inconvenient thing in the world. “I don’t care. I want you to drive me-”

“No,” Eddie said.

“No?” Steve repeated, hazel eyes wide. No one had ever told him ‘No’ before. “Who do you think-”

“I don’t know who you think you are,” Eddie cut him off, voice even with a hint of anger, “but I’m not the one.”

“I’m your boss’s son, is who I am,” Steve answered, eyebrows furrowed as he came closer to Eddie.

“You’re a brat, is what you are,” Eddie retorted.

Steve blinked dumbly, not sure what to do. This conversation was not going how he’d expected it to go. “What did you say?” he asked, moving so he was in Eddie’s personal space.

Eddie stayed where he was, which was also unexpected. So the two were almost chest to chest. “I said that you’re a brat.” He leaned in as he spoke. “Just because I drive you and your family around doesn’t mean you get to treat me like shit.”

Steve blinked again, but this time at the closeness of their faces. He could see a spray of freckles across Eddie’s cheeks, how pink his lips were, the hint of red in his cheeks from his anger. It made something stir in his gut, an unexpected feeling of arousal.

It wasn’t that Eddie was unattractive: he was actually pretty gorgeous to Steve’s mind. It wasn’t even that he was a guy: Steve had experimented with a few guys in the past. He just hadn’t ever expected to be attracted to someone who would speak to him like this. Like he wasn’t important. Like he wasn’t the spoiled and bratty son of the richest man in town.

“Get away,” Steve managed, pressing his hands on Eddie’s chest to shove him back. He managed to move the chauffeur about an inch before Eddie recovered and grabbed both of Steve’s wrists in his strong hands and pivoted so that he shoved Steve’s body up against the car. Eddie’s left thigh was between Steve’s legs, unaware that he was pressing against Steve’s crotch.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Eddie growled, tightening his grip on Steve’s right wrist. “Do you understand me, brat?”

Steve breathed heavily but didn’t answer. No one had ever been this rough with him before. And he found he kind of liked it. In response to Steve’s lack of one, Eddie pushed his body against Steve’s. The motion of him doing that produced delicious friction of Eddie’s thigh against his crotch that made Steve moan, closing his eyes at the feeling.

Eddie’s eyebrows raised at this development. “You like that, huh, brat?” He asked. When Steve didn’t immediately respond, Eddie moved his thigh again, feeling Steve’s erection clearly now. “You like it when someone corrects your behavior?” He was whispering in Steve’s ear now, his whole body pressed against him.

“Maybe…” Steve managed, his voice already sounding wrecked. He turned to look at Eddie, and felt a shiver run through him at the predatory look the chauffeur was giving him. “Maybe I do.”

“You want me to correct your behavior, huh?” Eddie asked. “Put my hands on you? Punish you?”

“Fuck,” Steve breathed, biting his lip at the imagery.

“First things first,” Eddie said, his left hand moving off of Steve’s right wrist, sliding down Steve’s body before he cupped Steve’s erection. He squeezed lightly, making Steve moan filthily, the sound echoing in the garage. “You don’t get to shove me around. Only I get to do that to you.”

“Yes,” Steve breathed, hips moving against Eddie’s hand. “Yes, God, I want that so much.”

“Good boy,” Eddie said, continuing to palm Steve through his pants. “Second thing: if you piss me off, if you keep acting bratty, I’m going to take it out of your ass.” As if to prove his point, Eddie moved them away from the car so he could give Steve a hard slap on the ass.

“Oh my God,” Steve shouted, his cock kicking in his pants. He’d never been spanked before, and didn’t know if it was because it was new or because it was Eddie doing it, or both, but he felt like he could come in his pants from just that by itself.

Eddie bit his lip at the display before him. He had his boss’s son in the palm of his hand, quite literally. He didn’t know Steve had it in him to be this pliable, this slutty. He found he really liked the power he had over him. “Third thing,” he said, his right hand moving in circles over Steve’s cheeks. “I’m the only one who gets to fuck you from now on. I’m the only one you’ll spread for. My pretty little whore.” He punctuated this by giving Steve’s earlobe a bite at the same time as he slipped his hand inside Steve’s pants, stroking his thick cock quickly. “Say it,” Eddie demanded, spanking Steve again as he stroked him.

“Only you,” Steve panted, head tilted forward, his right hand gripping the driver’s side mirror. He shoved his pants down with his left hand, his cock and Eddie’s hand wrapped around it springing free. The slick sounds of his precum sliding up and down his cock could be heard. “Only you get to fuck me,” he continued. “Eddie, fuck, I’m gonna come soon.”

“I can see,” Eddie breathed. He pushed his own pants down so his erection could be taken care of too. He wrapped his right hand around his cock and began stroking himself, getting off on getting Steve off. “Next time, I’m going to fuck you in the backseat, and you better not get cum all over the leather, or I’ll have to punish you.”

“Eddie!” Steve shouted as he came hard, gripping the mirror tightly as he bent forward. His cum dribbled over Eddie’s hands, some of it dripping onto the garage floor.

“God you’re so fucking hot,” Eddie groaned, forcing himself to stop stroking himself. He brought his hand up and licked all of Steve’s release into his mouth.

“I want more,” Steve pleaded. He looked up at Eddie, lust and longing written all over his face. “I want to be in the backseat with you now.”

Eddie pulled Steve in for a kiss, his tongue sliding into Steve’s hot mouth. “You ever been fucked before, brat?”

“Once,” Steve breathed, gripping Eddie’s tank top as they kissed. “I think you’ll be better at it, though.”

Eddie smirked. “Damn right.” He slapped Steve’s bare ass again before he said, “Get in the backseat and bend over.”

Steve kissed his once more before he complied, opening the back door and sliding in so he was facing the passenger side door. He grabbed the edge of the leather seat, and arched his back, waiting for Eddie.

Eddie slid in after Steve, closing the door behind him. “Fuck, your ass looks so good.” He ran a hand over his cheeks, pleased to note the pink spots where he’d spanked Steve. “I have to have a taste.”

Steve cried out, gripping hard to the seat as Eddie spread his cheeks and began tonguing his asshole. No one had ever done this to him, and it was a revelation in pleasure. He felt the wetness of Eddie’s spit, his tongue working inside Steve, punching in and out of him. “Eddie!” he moaned. “God, fuck, it feels so good!”

“This is just the warm up,” Eddie murmured, almost losing himself in eating Steve out. “You taste so fucking delicious. Some day I’m going to eat you out all night.” He felt Steve’s hole clench around his tongue at this. “Sounds like you want that too, huh?”

“Want that, want you, want all of you. God, please, Eddie. Please fuck me!”

Eddie grinned, giving Steve one final lick before he straightened up. “Since you asked so nicely…” he murmured. He reached into his back pocket, pulling out the little tub of Vaseline he kept there. It helped keep his hands smooth and soft after he worked on the car. Eddie uncapped it and scooped out a generous amount on his right pointer and middle fingers.

“This’ll be cold,” he warned Steve as he rubbed the lubricant over his hole. He slid both fingers inside Steve slowly, adding lubricant and getting him adjusted quicker. He heard the little hiss of pain Steve made and removed his fingers as quickly as he could. “Are you okay?” he asked. “Do you want me to stop?”

“If you stop, I’ll shove you again,” was the answer. Steve turned his head from where it was currently pressed against the seat, giving Eddie a knowing grin.

Eddie grinned back, returning to the task at hand of getting Steve’s hole nice and lubed and stretched for him. “There’s that brattiness we talked about,” he said, adding more Vaseline to his fingers as he slipped a third one inside of Steve. He slowly fucked Steve on his fingers, feeling him clench each time. “Someone should fuck it out if you.”

“Is that gonna be you?” Steve asked, practically drooling all over the leather.

“Does my little brat want that? Maybe I want to hear you beg a little first,” Eddie said, pulling his fingers out. He rubbed some Vaseline along his cock, which was red and aching from being ignored for so long. “And loudly. I want to make sure I hear you.”

“Please fuck me, Eddie,” Steve begged, the desperation in his voice taking on a fever pitch. Part of him knew that begging was part of the roleplay they’d stumbled onto, but he also was desperate to feel the other man inside him. “Please, please, pleas- oh fuck, yes!”

On the last ‘please’, Eddie began to push inside Steve, groaning loudly at how tight and hot he was. He slid in slowly and then slid back slowly, almost pulling out. “Is it good? Is it okay?” he asked, his own voice ragged, his hands clutching desperately at Steve’s hips.

“Don’t stop!” Steve begged, pushing back.

It was all Eddie needed. He thrust back inside of Steve, setting a rough rhythm as he fucked him. “You’re so tight,” he breathed. “Such a tight little whore. Can’t get enough of me, can you?” He heard Steve gasp, felt him clench around him. “Say it,” he ordered, delivering a slap to Steve’s ass again.

“I can’t get enough!” Steve yelled, a desperation in his voice. He was leaking precum everywhere all over the seat. Eddie’s words about punishing him if he got cum all over the backseat reverberating through his head. “I want all of you. Only you, please. Please Eddie!” He didn’t know what he was begging for at this point, but that didn’t matter as long as Eddie didn’t stop fucking him.

Eddie felt a shudder run through him, his hips snapping hard against Steve’s as he kept fucking him. “I’m gonna cum in your tight hole,” he panted. “I’m gonna fill you up, make you mine.” He reached between Steve’s legs and began stroking his hard cock, trying to match the rhythm of each stroke to each thrust. “I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else.”

“Only want your cock, your hands, your mouth, oh fuck, Eddie! Eddie, I’m-!” Steve’s words cut off as he came hard while Eddie stroked him, thick ropes of cum spurting out of him.

Eddie gripped Steve’s hip tight with his other hand, the rhythm he’d built up beginning to falter. “Take all of it,” he groaned as he went over the edge, coming so hard inside Steve that he saw white. His whole body shuddered at his release. “God, Steve,” he gasped, trying to catch his breath. “You’re fucking incredible.”

“So are you,” Steve panted, trying to catch his breath. He liked the way his name sounded in Eddie’s mouth. “I want some more.”

Eddie groaned as he pulled out, licking his lips at the sight of his cum leaking out of Steve. “You’ll get some more, brat.” He pinched Steve’s cheek, grinning at the outraged yelp he gave. “First, I gotta clean the car up before this becomes an issue.”

Steve pushed himself up onto his knees, a dull ache in his backside. “So much for the detailing. I got cum all over…” he trailed off as he felt Eddie’s arm wrap around his waist.

“It lets me know I did a good job,” Eddie whispered in his ear, giving his earlobe a light bite. “And I lied: I hadn’t finished detailing the car.”

Steve turned his head to look at Eddie. “Why’d you lie?”

“Because you were being bratty like usual,” Eddie answered. “Are you mad that I lied?”

“No,” Steve said, fully turning to kiss Eddie on the mouth. “Especially not after this.” He deepened the kiss, placing his right hand on Eddie's face.

Eddie broke the kiss to ask, “Did you actually want me to drive you anywhere?”

“I did, but I think I can have a better evening if I stay here with you,” Steve said, giving Eddie’s lower lip a small bite.

“Brat,” Eddie replied, spanking Steve on the ass again, a grin on his face. “Go upstairs and get washed up. Once I clean the car, I’ll be up.”

“But don’t you want to shower with me?” Steve whined, kissing Eddie on the neck, the jaw, everywhere but his mouth. He gasped when Eddie gripped his hair and tilted his head back.

“Do what I say,” Eddie growled, licking a line up Steve’s neck. “I haven’t finished punishing you yet.”

Steve groaned with longing. “Okay,” he breathed, following Eddie out of the car after they both pulled their pants back up.

He was about to go upstairs when Eddie grabbed him by the blazer and pulled him in for a blistering kiss. His hands roamed everywhere on Steve, and when he pulled back, nuzzling their noses together, he started to say, “If it’s too weird or too much…”

“I guess I’ll wait to shower with you after all,” Steve quipped as he pulled out of Eddie’s grasp, a big grin on his face. As he walked upstairs to Eddie’s apartment he heard behind him: “That ass better be on display when I come up there.”

“Why don’t you make me?” Steve called back as he hurried up the stairs, already beginning to shed his clothes.

Now back in the present, Steve waits outside at the edge of the walkway. Soon enough, he sees a pair of headlights coming down the driveway, circling and pulling to a stop right in front of him.

Eddie, his Eddie, steps out from the driver’s seat and walks around to the other side, opening the right back passenger door for Steve. “Your chariot, my liege,” he jokes.

“Cute,” Steve replies, running his fingers across the waistband of Eddie’s pants. He is rewarded when Eddie bites his lip, trying to keep his composure. Steve slips his hand further down to palm him over his pants.

Eddie gasps loudly, glaring at Steve as he slides coolly into the car. “Brat,” he hisses. It is said with all the love and affection Steve has always craved.

And it solidifies his decision to tell Eddie he loves him tonight.

After a few spankings, of course.

#steddie smutty september #my fic #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson

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mrspasser · 1 year ago

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The things he does for his pack

Pinterest showed me a tweet from someone who fed his co-workers pot brownies because he didn't want to be the only one dirty on the random drug test. I had some thoughts about that and the result is this Sterek fanfic :-)

Read it on A03

There’s a chilly wind blowing that he can barely ward off with the upturned collar of his jacket, his ass has gone numb from the hard bench and a few rows below him there’s a man eating nachos with the most obnoxious artificial flavouring Derek has ever smelled.

The things he does for his pack…

At least the game isn’t a total shit show. He isn’t all that fond of lacrosse - he was on the basketball team himself, but most of his pack plays. Boyd is the newest recruit and though he’s sitting on the bench next to Stiles right now, he’s scheduled to take his place in the goal for the last two quarters. Jackson, Isaac and Scott each usually play the whole game and Stiles plays a quarter here and there - as long as he doesn’t annoy the coach too much.

They’re ahead, with only a few minutes left of the second quarter. The Beacon Hills Cyclones started off strong and scored six goals already, to a meagre two of their opponents. If they keep this up, they’ll win the game by a landslide. Stiles might even get to play.

Besides him, Erica cheers loudly as Isaac scores the seventh goal, right before the referee blows his whistle. The team gathers around their coach to hear his instructions, though a few of them are more focused on the water cooler than game tactics. They’re laughing and bumping into each other, ignoring Finstock when he calls them to order. It seems like they think the game is won already. Derek hears both Scott and Jackson berate their teammates. If they win this game, they’ll compete in the state championships, so there’s a lot riding on this game.

“Go get ‘m, babe!” Erica yells when Boyd jogs towards the goal after the break. The young werewolf looks back and lifts his stick in response and Derek gives him a supportive nod. Boyd joined the team mostly because of his pack mates and the role of goalie fits him well. He’s not flawless, he doesn’t have enough field experience for that, but his werewolf reflexes make up for a lot.

The game restarts and it only takes a few minutes to see that a good part of the team doesn’t have the same focus as before their break. “What the fuck are they doing?” asks Erica, gesturing towards the field where two players seem to be performing some kind of dance. It’s uncoordinated and barely recognizable as dancing, still, it is anything but lacrosse. Jackson yells at them until they get back in line, which they do with a lot of giggling.

Derek frowns at the spectacle below. The visiting team scores two goals in succession: the first is a clever trick shot that he really doesn’t fault Boyd for not catching and the second shot goes in because one of the Cyclones actually hinders his own goalie on purpose. To say the team isn’t happy with that is an understatement. Within minutes the whole game is in disarray and when one of the players stumbles off to the sideline to be sick, the referee calls the whole thing off. It’s a big mess. Derek’s proverbial hackles go up: this whole thing reeks. Something is wrong, but what?

Down on the field Jackson yanks his helmet off and tosses it down on the ground, swearing loudly. Both Isaac and Scott take it upon them to direct their unruly teammates back towards the locker rooms. “It’s like herding cats,” Derek hears Isaac complain when some of his teammates start up an impromptu game of tag and run back onto the field, leaving the young werewolf standing.

Coach Finstock is almost purple from all the yelling he does and all over the bleachers there’s confusion and amused chatter to be heard. Most people have left their seats and gone down to the field. Erica stands next to her boyfriend, who is gesturing angrily at some teammates who stumble past.

Derek gets up and scans the field for his pack. He has a nagging suspicion of foul play and it bothers him that he can’t sense any danger. As far as he can tell, it’s just the humans and his own pack on the field. There’s no-one else. The werewolves all seem to be acting normal, which leads him to believe there was something that affected the humans.

Stiles. Where is Stiles?

Now that he thinks of it, Derek kinda expects Stiles to be at the forefront of this whole mess, yet the lanky human is nowhere to be seen. That can’t be right. The nagging sense of discomfort that sat low in his belly turned into alarm.

The Alpha werewolf lets his enhanced senses work for him as he urgently searches the crowd, though it still takes him a while to spot the Cyclones’ number 24. Stiles is lying underneath the bench, curled up against some bags of sport’s gear. He took his protective gear off and cuddled with the shoulder pads in his arms like it’s a teddy bear. Derek rushes over, unsure of the condition his pack member is in. It’s only when he’s close that he can hear his slight snores over the din of the crowd. Relief swoops through his stomach.

“Stiles!” There’s no reaction, not even when Derek calls his name a second time. He crouches down to shake the boy’s shoulder. “Stiles! Wake up!”

Stiles wakes up with a mumbled “Huh? Wazzit?” and a lolling search of his head towards the sound. His eyes blink open unevenly. One eye focuses on Derek and a lazy, contented grin appears on his face. “Der-bear.”

Derek rolls his eyes at the stupid pet name, though he can’t hide the relieved smile that breaks through. He helps Stiles roll out from under the bench, preventing him from bumping his head into it when he tries to sit up. “What are you doing on the ground?”

Another loopy grin. “I was sleepy.”

If Derek didn’t know any better, he’d say Stiles was drunk. He’s acting even more uncoordinated than usual and he has trouble focusing his vision. Thing is, he can’t smell any alcohol on the boy, just sweat and sweets. And he knows Stiles isn’t a big fan of drinking, having seen from up close what alcohol can do to a man. Derek has to hold Stiles by the arms to keep him sitting upright; he would pitch right over otherwise. “Stiles? What happened?”

“I dunno,” Stiles answers, slightly slurring his words. He grips onto Derek’s forearms and tries to look around him at the field. “Is the game over? Did we win?”

Derek jostles him a little to get his attention back on him. “Stiles. Focus!”

Erica and Boyd come up to them, giving Stiles a scrutinising look. “What’s wrong with him?” Erica asks, cocking her head as she looks the boy over.

“I don’t know,” Derek grits out and tries to get Stiles to stand up. It’s like wrestling an octopus. The boy is not cooperating at all and after a few moments Derek gives up and lets him sit down on the bench. At least that way he isn’t on the ground anymore. Stiles immediately tips over to lean against Derek’s hip, all heavy and loose limbs.

Boyd chuckles lowly. “Dude, is he stoned?”

“Stoned?!” Erica bends over to grab Stiles by the chin so she can look into his face. “He is!” she cackles in delight. “His eyes are all red!”

Stiles grabs Derek’s leg for stability, winding his arm around it, and sits up a little straighter. “I have red eyes?” He looks up at Derek and grins. “You hear that, Sourwolf? I’m the Alpha now!”

Boyd crosses his arms in front of his chest and regards them with a knowing smile. “He’s baked.”

“No, I didn’t!” Stiles flails and Derek has to grab him by the back of his jersey to prevent him from headbutting the werewolf in the crotch. The boy refuses to let go of his leg. “Greenberg did the baking. They were delicious!”

“What are you talking about?” Derek keeps him upright as much as he can, which is surprisingly hard when Stiles resembles an octopus ragdoll.

“Pot brownies.” The voice of Jackson cuts through and all heads turn to the team’s co-captain that comes walking up to them. He’s looking cross. “Fucking Greenberg fed the whole team edibles before the game.”

“They were very edible,” Stiles mumbles. His voice kind of gets lost under the astonished exclamations of his packmates. He snuggles a little closer to Derek’s leg.

“Why would he do that?” Derek growls. It’s clear the rest of the team didn’t know anything of this plan, which basically means the guy poisoned his team mates.

“To fuck with the mandatory drug test they were gonna have us take after the game,” Jackson explains curtly. “A random check. We weren’t supposed to know about it, but Greenberg got into the coach's papers or something.”

Derek huffs. “That doesn’t explain why he fed the whole team drugs. Why risk getting kicked out of the competition?”

“Dude’s a stoner. He didn’t want to get caught.”

Erica laughs. “That is kinda genius, if you think about it.” At Derek’s ornery look she explains: “Chances are they would dismiss the test if the whole team tested positive. They’d think it was a faulty test, or something.”

“Yeah, or they would just suspend the entire team,” Boyd corrects her. “Where is that asshole now?” he asks Jackson. That is something Derek wants to know too.

Jackson points a thumb back over his shoulder. “Back at the locker room. Coach is ripping him a new one. Scott and Isaac are with them.”

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed deeply. His first reaction was to join coach Finstock in yelling at this Greenberg idiot, but was it really his place to do so? After all, most of his pack was unharmed and the one that did get affected was just high as a kite. And cuddly. He grips the back of Stiles’ neck to keep his head still, so he wasn’t affectionately rubbing his face on Derek’s hip. He sighs. “Let’s go home.”

That does get Stiles’ attention. “Home?! I can’t go home!” He clumsily tries to get to his feet, using various body parts of his Alpha as a handgrip. Derek hauls him to his feet with a hand in his armpit before it can get any worse. “My dad can’t go home! I mean, I can’t go there. My dad is at home.” He pauses for a second. “Which means he can’t go home either, because he’s already there. Huh. What was I saying?”

“Well, you can’t stay here either,” Derek answers impatiently. “You’ve got to sleep this off, or something.”

“I don’t know, I kinda like him like this,” Erica smirks. She shows her teeth when Derek glares at her.

“I can sleep here.” Stiles tries to turn to pat the bench he’d been sleeping underneath earlier, almost falling over the thing in his attempt. Derek gets a hold of his arm and resigns himself quietly to not letting go until Stiles was safely at home, in bed.

“Guys! We’re getting a rematch next week,” Scott announces from afar, jogging over to them. Isaac follows him in his wake. “What’s the matter with Stiles?”

“He ate three pot brownies, that’s the matter with Stiles,” Isaac deadpans after one look at his pack mate.

“He ate three?!” Erica guffaws.

“They were really good!” Scott hurries to say. “Besides, I had two and I feel fine.”

“That’s because you’re a werewolf, dumbass,” Jackson hisses and for once Derek is glad that Jackson said something so he didn’t have to.

“Oh. Right.” Scott has the decency to look abashed. He moves a little closer to his friend, who resorted back to leaning up against Derek for support. “Will he be okay?” he asks the older werewolf.

“Should be fine,” Derek grunts. “Just has to sleep it off.”

“Oh, yeah, that should work,” Scott nods sagely. Then his face clears. “Shit! He can’t go home, his dad will know he’s high!”

“Yeah, Der! Dad will know!” Stiles agrees vehemently, turning fast to slap Derek in the chest for emphasis. “Ohh, I feel sick,” he groans immediately afterward, his face turning white as a sheet.

Recognising what is about to happen, Derek moves them a step away from the others and holds Stiles steady as he suddenly lurches forward and pukes on the grass. Behind them, the werewolves make various noises of disgust. Derek isn’t a fan of the stench of vomit either, but Stiles is trembling on his legs like a newborn foal and making pitiful noises in between heaving up the contents of his stomach, so he supports him with a hand underneath his chest and rubs comforting circles on his back with the other.

When his stomach is finally empty, Stiles leans forward with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. Scott helps his friend drink a cup of water from the team’s water cooler. Stiles is too out of it to do much to help. “I feel like shit,” he says in a wobbly voice.

“Yeah,” Derek agrees gently. “Let’s get you home, alright? You can stay at the loft until you feel better.” The boy will probably be alright after a good sleep.

“Thanks,” Stiles sighs and closes his eyes. He even starts tipping forward alarmingly.

“That’s it,” Derek decides out loud and scoops Stiles up so he can carry him to the car. “We’re out of here.” He walks off in the direction of the parking lot, Stiles dozing in his arms, trusting the rest of his pack to sort things out when it comes to grabbing their stuff and finding their own way back to the loft.

Stiles wakes up a little when Derek positions him carefully in the front seat of his car. “Der?” he asks, his head lolling back against the seat.

“Hmm?” Derek reaches across him to fasten his seatbelt. From the corner of his eye he can see Stiles following him with his eyes, a smile on his face that’s a cross of loopy and fond.

When Derek leans back, sitting on his haunches next to his car, Stiles strains forward in his seatbelt conspiratorially. “Don’t tell Scott, but you’re my favourite werewolf,” he whispers.

Derek huffs a laugh despite himself. He shakes his head and gets up to close the car door.

“You gotta promise, Der,” Stiles urges. “You can’t tell Scott!”

The werewolf nods indulgently. “Sure.”

But Stiles isn’t happy with that answer. “You gotta promise!” When Derek doesn’t react to him sticking out his pink, he shakes his hand in front of his face and urges: “Pinky swear that you won’t tell!”

“Stiles, come on, lets just get you home.” Derek is a grown ass Alpha werewolf. He isn’t gonna pinky swear with a teenager that’s still pretty baked.

Stiles points at him with a stern finger. “Pinky swear or you’re no longer my favourite werewolf!”

And Derek…. Well, he can’t help it. As much as Stiles can be annoying and a handful, he’s also smart, loyal and, God help Derek, funny.

“Can’t have that, right?” Derek chuckles and hooks his pinky finger around Stiles’. He’s awarded with a bright grin when he declares solemnly not to tell Scott that Derek is Stiles’ favourite werewolf.

With Stiles satisfied, Derek can close the car door and finally get into the car himself. Stiles watches him start the car with bleary eyes. He’ll probably fall asleep soon.

“Don’t puke on the upholstery,” he warns his young packmate, just to be sure.

“I promise,” Stiles responds, as serious as he can while breaking into a yawn. He’s still a bit pale around the nose, though Derek suspects he can keep himself collected during the short ride to the loft.

It’s quiet for a bit as Derek navigates the school parking lot and drives out onto the main road. “Hey Der?” it sounds softly from the seat next to him after a few minutes.

“Yes, Stiles?” Derek signals for a corner.

“Am I your favourite human?”

The tentative way the words are spoken makes Derek look over. Stiles actually seems bashful, it’s an odd look on him.

Derek hesitates for a second, but… Whatever. They’re alone and there’s a chance that Stiles won’t remember this conversation by tomorrow anyway. The werewolf puts his hand on the boy’s knee and squeezes. “You are, Stiles.”

“That’s nice,” Stiles says in a whisper. He sounds pleased. And half asleep, that too. However, half asleep as he is, Stiles still holds out his hand with his pinky outstretched. “I won’t tell Scott,” he promises when Derek hooks his own pinky in after just a short moment.

“Good,” Derek agrees with a smile. The childish secret between them makes him feel oddly giddy.

The boy sleeps for the rest of the ride and doesn’t wake up when Derek lifts him from the car and carries him up the stairs. He gently tucks Stiles in in his bed, figuring he can stand to have his bedding smelling like his favourite human tonight. When he gets back downstairs, his betas look at him questioningly, but they don’t say anything, especially not after he gives them his credit card to order dinner.

Stiles wakes up around nine PM, hungry like a wolf. He scarfs down the pizza the pack left for him in a remarkable show of restraint and resigns himself to their teasing easily. It looks like he indeed doesn’t remember all that much from what happened. More importantly, besides ‘feeling a bit crunchy’ - Stiles’ own words - he’s not much worse for wear from the whole thing. Perhaps Derek really doesn’t have to go after that idiot of a Greenberg.

By eleven, Derek evicts his pack from his home. He loves them, honestly, but there’s only so much teenage bullshit he can stand. He makes Scott drive Stiles home in the Jeep, not listening to Stiles’ protests and even flashing his red eyes when the boy doesn’t give in quickly enough. Stiles wrinkles his nose at him, though he complies easily after that.

Around midnight, when Derek is reading in bed, his phone lights up with a message: [ FYI. I changed your name in my contacts from Sourwolf to F.W. So now we match! ]

Derek texts back a question mark. It’s a common occurrence when texting with Stiles.

A moment later there’s a reply. [ Can’t have Scott find out, can we? ;-) ]

It’s only then that Derek notices that the name on the texts doesn’t say Stiles, but Favourite Human. He has no idea how or when Stiles got a hold of his phone this evening.

He thinks about changing it for a second, but puts his phone back on the nightstand instead and shuts off the light so he can go to sleep.

The things he does for his pack.

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