#But I spent the whole night speaking with my friend instead | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nerdy-novelist017 · 2 months

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Apologies (Benny Cross x Shy!Reader pt 6)

Ahhh don't come at me for the lack of updates lately! 😅 I've been so distracted with watching the Olympics and my job. I'm not meant to work a ful-time job, your honor. I just wanna write silly fanfics all day and read all night pls and thanks ! Anyway, enjoy! 🩷

Benny x Bunny Masterlist

Word Count- 3.4k+

Summary- The last person you expect to be there to dry your tears is that stubbornly persistent biker of yours.

******

Pete never showed up to your fundraiser. You had waited the whole afternoon in the hopes that you’d see him, but he wasn’t there for your event. He wasn’t there for the bake sale, or the picnic. He didn’t even show up for the auction which you were sure he’d be interested in that since one of the items to be sold was an expensive golf club set. He must have had other plans, you tried to tell yourself. He must have been too busy.

You hadn’t seen Benny after that either, but you tried to find that as more of a relief than disappointment, after all, he was the reason you and Pete had a bit of a disagreement anyway. Part of you wondered if he only showed up for your tent since you hadn’t seen him anywhere else at the charity afterwards. Regardless, the hours passed at the picnic and you eventually helped everyone pack up before you left too, riding home on your bicycle. You tried to call Pete when you made it home, but his mother answered and told you he wasn’t home. You asked her to have him call you when he could. You ate dinner with your family and tried to not look too hopeful every time the phone rang because it was never Pete calling you back. You expected to go to bed with a sense of dejection, but instead you were surprised to feel something closer to . . . relief.

So the next two days went by quickly. You were too busy with work and household chores to notice that Pete hadn’t called you back. It was only when you had gotten up early to start on breakfast on the third day that he finally did ring you.

“I’m sorry I haven’t seen you much,” he told you over the phone. “I miss you.”

“It’s okay, I’m sure you were busy,” you mumbled as you stirred the pancake batter, phone receiver balancing precariously between your cheek and shoulder.

“I want to see you this weekend. I can pick you up around noon on Saturday if you’re free.”

You agreed a bit reluctantly, but he didn’t seem to catch it.

******

“Oh, are you going to teach me to golf?” you asked excitedly as Pete pulled into the country club parking lot. He’d been quiet to tell you where it was that he was taking you today, but you wanted to trust the spontaneity of the moment so you let him drive you to the mystery location. Out of all the places he could have surprised you with, this certainly wasn’t what you were expecting. Part of you was confused because you hadn’t expressed a particular fondness for the sport, but another part of you felt warmth that he wanted to share his hobby with you.

“Yeah, I thought you’d like to join me and the boys today.” He smiled at you as you both exited the car. “Sit in the cart and look pretty while you cheer us on.”

Oh. So he wasn’t even teaching you his hobby. You wanted to say something back, to tell him that you were willing to learn if he taught you, but his friends came over then, interrupting your chance to speak. Pete introduced you to them, five in total and you struggled to remember their names. But it didn’t matter much since all chances of you speaking were thrown out the window when they bear hugged each other, and turned to go out onto the field. You followed behind, quietly trying to find a place in their obviously-tight friend group. And that’s how you spent the next three hours: awkwardly existing in their world, sitting on the cart and watching them play. You were the only girl, and it was clear that they didn’t know how to involve you much in their conversations. And when you were able to pull Pete to the side for a moment, you asked if he could let you take a swing once, just to try it out. He nodded but said, “Well, maybe in the next game, this one I’ve got a bet on and every shot counts.” You didn’t ask again.

Even though you were still technically spending time with him, this didn’t feel in any way fun or exciting. You tried not to, but your mind drifted to your night spent at the bar with Benny and how fun that was, despite it being a bar full of bikers – a scenario you would have never thought you’d be in, let alone enjoy. As you sat in the golf cart, having nothing better to do than to watch Pete with his friends, you wondered if this was all he wanted you for. Were you really just a doll to him? A trophy? You didn’t get to play?

After the next game ended, you asked Pete if he could take you somewhere for lunch and he seemed almost reluctant to leave his friends. But in the end, he did agree, and you said goodbye to the band of golfers. You walked back to the parking lot together and when you spotted his car in the distance, you figured this was your chance to actually talk with him, not just listen to him speak.

“What do you want out of life, Pete?” you asked quietly as you slowed to a stop on the sidewalk.

“What?” He paused a few paces ahead of you, glancing back. “What kind of question is that?”

“I mean,” you struggled to gather your jumbled thoughts. “What kind of life do you want?”

His brows pinched together in confusion. “Well, I’m going to school for engineering so I’m going to do that.”

You waited for him to continue, but he just shrugged and motioned for the car. “You coming?”

Not seeing the conversation over quite yet, your feet remained firmly planted in your spot. “But what do you want out of life? What do you want for me in your life?”

“Geez, (Y/N),” he laughed humorlessly. “Where is this coming from?” His expression darkened suddenly. “Is this because of that dirty biker?”

It was your turn to look confused as you opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off. “Have you seen him again, hmm?”

“I . . . he was at the fundraiser–”

“What did I tell you?” He asked rhetorically as he closed the distance between you. “I don’t want you around that deadbeat again.”

“It wasn’t like I sought him out,” you defended, trying to ignore the rush of agitation at his choice of description. “I had no clue he would be there. I thought you were going to be there.”

“Well, I couldn’t be. You can’t just expect me to drop everything for you at such a late notice.”

“What was more important that you needed to be at?” You frowned.

He rolled his eyes, turning back to the car. “I have my own life.”

That’s when you realized that he was so . . . disconnected, uninterested. He may have wanted you but not in the way of getting to know you. His want was selfish, only born out of lust. He didn’t care about your hobbies or interests. You weren’t even listened to when you spoke to him. The realization was painfully obvious and you felt like a fool, like he had played you. And maybe he wasn’t even aware of it himself, but you could see it now: he didn’t care for you, not in the way you longed for.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, shaking your head as you watched him approach the driver’s side door. “I know that, but . . . I was just hoping to spend time with you.”

He turned back and threw his arms out dramatically. “I’m spending time with you now, aren't I? Will you just get in the car?”

You took a deep breath, looking down at your shoes. “I think I’m gonna walk home.”

“Are you serious?” His voice grew colder as he yanked open his door. “Because I didn’t go to your bake sale?”

You shook your head. “No, I like walkin’ and I just want some time to think–”

“You’re going off to find that biker, aren’t you?”

“What?” Your gaze shot back up to his. “No, I–”

“I knew this would happen.” He shook his head, an unamused smile flashing on his face. “He’s filling your head with all these dangerous ideas. He’s poisoning you against me. Me.”

“I’m not–”

“Get in the car.” You didn’t realize that it wasn’t a request anymore.

“Pete, I just don’t–”

“Get in the fucking car, (Y/N)!” He shouted, slamming his hand on the roof, and you jumped at the sound.

You stared at him, wide-eyed like a deer in headlights. You’d never seen any man act like this, especially not Pete. Panic turned the blood in your veins to ice and you were suddenly painfully aware of just how fast your heart was beating in your chest. Seconds ticked by, and he finally reacted to your speechlessness by rubbing a hand over his face, sighing loudly.

“Look, just get in the car,” he tried again, his voice barely controlled. “We came here together and I don’t want people to talk about how I’m leaving without you, okay?”

No, it wasn’t okay, you wanted to say, but your throat was suddenly too tight to speak. All you could do was stare at this man who you thought you had a pretty good understanding of, who you never thought would raise his voice at you, who would never command you to do something you very obviously denied. You shook your head, hand holding over your chest in an attempt to even out your heart rate.

He called your name, but you turned and forced your legs to walk, to move away from him. You just wanted to get home to the safety of your bedroom. Behind you, you could hear his car door slam shut and the engine whine as it fired up. He drove over to you, nearly hitting the curb as he weaved.

“Fine, walk home then!” he yelled and revved the engine, tires peeling out on the blacktop as he zoomed away.

That’s when the tears started falling. You sucked in a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and a sob choked into it. The sidewalk blurred from the stream of tears but you trudged on, wanting nothing more than to escape the prying eyes of the neighborhood. The action of Pete slamming his hand against the metal proof of his car replayed in your mind and something unpleasant gripped your heart at the realization that what you saw was his reaction to not getting what he wanted the first time. This was supposed to be the exciting moments of you relationship, the time when you were still discovering who each other were. If he could be so easily angered by you now, what would 5 years of marriage look like? What would 10?

And as you approached the intersection, a thought came to you and you felt sick at the possibility that maybe this is what your mother felt before she married your father. And your grandmother before she married your grandmother. Like a chain, these women with hearts and ambitions and dreams all just got married and became something their husbands wanted, lived a dream their husbands had. And maybe that was their dream, but what if it wasn’t yours?

The revving of an engine broke you free from your all-consuming thoughts and fresh fear spiked through you. Was it Pete coming back? But no, you realized. The engine was coming from the gas station you were passing on the corner, and it wasn’t a car, but a motorcycle. The rider pulled up to one of the free parking spots, cutting the engine and kicking out the kickstand. His back was turned to you, but you knew who it was already by the messy blonde hair and signature blue jacket lettered “Vandals” across the shoulder blades. You groaned because he was the last person you wanted to see right now but you needed to walk right by him to continue on your way home. And as ridiculous as it was, you wanted to cry harder at the thought of him seeing you crying.

When he dismounted, you quickened your pace, putting your head down in the hopes that he wouldn’t notice you. But of course, you heard him call out, “Hey, Little Bunny.”

You sniffed hard, quickly swiping your fingers across your cheeks as you heard him approach. Even though you didn’t slow your pace, he caught up to you quickly.

“You walkin’ home again?” His voice was light, teasing but you didn’t dare to look up at him. “You must really like–”

But he must have seen your tear-soaked face because he stopped, his hand gently grasping your upper arm. “What’s wrong?”

You bit your lip, and against your better judgment, you glanced up at him. That was all it took before his shoulders visibly stiffened, and his jaw locked tightly. “Who did this?”

“Nobody,” you muttered softly, voice cracking. “I’m fine.”

“Was it Pete?” his grip remained firm on your arm.

“Please, just leave it alone, Benny,” you whispered desperately, and his eyes softened as he released you. A painfully long beat played out between you as you watched him decide if he wanted to press you further for details. But to your surprise, he dropped it, instead, reaching out, his calloused thumb brushing away a solitary tear from the apple of your cheek. You flinched at the contact, not expecting him to touch you so intimately. As quick as he was to make contact, so was he able to let his hand fall back to his side, leaving you wide-eyed at the act.

“Let me give you a ride home, please,” he asked, his voice so quiet, so compassionate that you were honestly dumbfounded that this was a biker in a notoriously revered club standing before you. “I don’t want you to have to walk back when you’re upset like this.”

You glanced down the sidewalk, knowing you still had a few miles to go before you’d see your house in the distance. You sniffed again, “You won’t try to propose to me again, will you?”

“No strings attached, I promise,” he replied quietly.

You relented, nodding slightly, and you didn’t protest when he slid his hand into yours, lacing your fingers together and gently tugged you back to his bike.

******

Benny drove slowly back to your house, and you just buried your face against his jacket the entire ride, focusing on the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat. It gave you time to settle your breathing, to dry your tears, and when he finally did pull up to your house, a disappointed wave surfaced over you. He put both feet down to balance you both, but he didn’t cut the engine, and you didn’t release your arms from around his torso.

“Can we . . . keep going?” you asked hesitantly, unsure of just how patient he was willing to be with you.

“You wanna keep going?” he questioned over his shoulder, and you responded with a brief nod. “Where?”

“Anywhere, just not here.”

He pushed off the ground, revving the engine slightly and the bike picked up speed as you left your neighborhood. You tightened your grip as he drove you out of the city, down the long country roads, past barns and farms, out by the lake and through the winding back roads which cut the woods. He drove until the sun began to make its descent over the far wheat fields, the last warmth of those golden rays catching the two of you like a spotlight, like you were the only two people on stage. And you realized that’s what riding with Benny felt like: solidarity together. You’ve felt a strange sense of loneliness most of your life, even when you were surrounded by others who loved you, but with Benny . . . it was like you were finally being seen. No, not just seen, it was like you were finally being heard.

But reality came back too quickly when Benny pulled up to a stop light, hand moving to brush across yours as he asked, “You ready to go back now or d’you wanna keep going?”

Keep going, your heart wanted to shout, keep going and let’s drive until we hit the sandy beaches of California. But your head always won the battle in the end, and you only nodded mutely.

When Benny pulled up in front of your house again, he cut the engine, but remained seated. He held his hand out for you as you dismounted, and he wanted to say something – anything– to make sure that you were okay, to help you. But Benny’s not known for his good communication skills so he clenched his jaw tightly, frustration building in his chest. You needed him, you needed to be consoled, and he was so pathetic that he wasn’t even sure how.

Sure, he knew how to have someone’s back, especially in a fight. He knew how to throw punches and get back to his feet after getting knocked down. He could do that all day. But you staring at him with your Bambi eyes and heartbroken expression, he couldn’t take it. He just wanted to pull your tiny frame to him and kiss away the tears, to tell you that everything would be okay because he’s got your back. Then a horrible thought clouded his mind because what if he was the reason you were crying? A bitter taste filled his mouth at the possibility. And my god, how stupid could he be because of course he had to dig himself deeper into that hole when he had told you that he wouldn’t apologize for his conversation with your date. At the time he said it, he had no guilt or shame for his actions because he saw nothing wrong with it. He wanted you more than Pete did, he was sure of that. But now as he glanced at your sweet face, he realized that his actions could have hurt you. And all for what – his pride? That seemed so insignificant now.

“Thank you for the ride,” you said ever-so-politely.

Before you could turn to walk to your front porch, Benny’s hand reached out to lightly touch your own, and he blurted out, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I did to Pete. That was wrong, and I see that now. I’m sorry if what I did has hurt you in any way, that was never my intention.”

Your frown deepened, and Benny’s heart sank. But then you said, “I’m not upset with you, Benny, but thank you. That . . . that means a lot to me.”

He was at a loss for words, struck by your angelic voice and unwavering benevolence. He could only watch as you slipped from his grasp and turned away. You were walking away from him, but Benny couldn’t help but feel it meant something more than just putting physical distance between you. His mind raced with thoughts, trying to find something he could say to get you to stop, to be able to see your face again.

However, it seemed that fate had other plans because you halted in your tracks, hesitating a moment before spinning back around and approaching him again. He opened his mouth to ask if you were okay, but you cut him off as you leaned up and planted a quick kiss to his cheek. His heart skipped a beat at the gentle touch of your soft lips, and he widened his eyes as you pulled back, a shy smile on your face. He grinned because every time he thought he had you figured out, you continued to pull stunts on him. You were the most entertaining thing he knew.

You took a few steps backwards, but maintained his eye contact as you spoke, “Maybe . . . next time we could go a little faster?”

He knew you were referring to the bike, but God help him because heat burned in his lower belly, and he wanted to pick you up over his shoulder and carry you into your house where he’d show you just what speed he was capable of. He wasn’t sure you even knew what effect your words had on him, or if you even knew the sexual implications, but he felt himself losing a battle of will. “You want there to be a next time?”

You nodded and that adorable rosy color tinted your cheeks. “Yeah, if-if you do.”

He shook his head in disbelief that you were finally giving him a chance. Though looking at your sweet smile now, he didn’t seem to mind the extra effort he had to put in. “You wanna go fast? Look who’s the trouble now.”

You fought to control your smile. “Goodnight, Benny.”

“Night,” he replied as he watched you walk back up the steps to your house, his fingers ghosting over the spot on his cheek that you kissed, wondering if apologies were really that easy.

-Tag List-

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#i'm not super happy with this but yolo #i need to stop being a perfectionist #austin butler #benny cross #benny x bunny #the bikeriders #benny cross x reader #austin butler x reader #benny x reader #imagine #austin butler fandom

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asvterias · 1 year

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𝖯𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗒 𝖡𝗈𝗒 ~ 𝖩𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝖱𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌

Part 2 | Part 3

Warnings: Jealousy & Allusions to Sex/Sexual Thoughts

Pairings: (FWB) Jaime Reyes x (FWB) Black!Fem!Reader, Best Friend!Milagro x Best Friend!Reader

Summary: Being friends with benefits with Jamie is hard to keep undercover, in hopes of Milagro never finding out. The number #1 rule is to be strictly sexual and not explore romantic feelings for the other. What happens when that rule is broken?

Word Count: 2.5k+

Tag List: @drqcrys @mageneire @websterss @pxachy-tea @moralesszz @odiesdayoff @allthingsvicf @tinkerbelle05 @alienstardust @lemonyboy97 @alastorhazbin @writing-fanics @veronicarose20 @conicoroahre @gay-dorito-dust @presidentbarbieirl @kayla2233454-blog @sodacatz @n7cje

Author’s Note: Watched the Blue Beetle movie recently and I was hooked on Jaime Reyes. This is my first time writing for Jaime Reyes, so he might be a little out of character but hopefully you like it!

Spanish Translations

“Por qué me estás mintiendo, Jaime?” — “Why are you lying to me, Jaime?”

Sneaking around can be full of excitement alongside the adrenaline of the whole ordeal. You and Jaime were secretly fooling around, being extremely cautious around his sister who was also your best friend. You didn’t even know how you ended up in this complicated relationship with Jaime Reyes. It started with two people under the influence of alcohol, both with the straightforward intention of getting laid and it ended with a confused hangover and a hurried conversation of forgetting about the whole affair.

At first, you two had avoided each other like the plague, sometimes accidentally crossing paths whenever you visited the Reyes residence or from basic errands that needed to be fulfilled.

Then the longer you two distanced yourselves from each other, the more agonizing it felt for the both of you. One day, Jaime snapped which led up to you two heading to bed for a passionate night. The morning after having sex, you two discussed your unofficial relationship and coming to terms with being friends with benefits and nothing more than that.

It was a simple and easy rule to follow, right? Wrong! How very wrong that you were! Too bad that you were breaking the rule. How could you not fall in love with him? With those beautiful doe dark brown eyes, his long curly hair, and his alluring personality, not to mention being completely star-struck when riding his di—

Oh, his voice…him speaking Spanish to you while in the most intimate positions has you craving for more.

You always missed the comfort of his arms at night as you watched him get dressed and leave, heading back home to avoid suspicion from his family. If Jaime’s family ever caught wind that he was not technically single, they would go ballistic, eager to meet the person and neither of you wanted that unnecessary attention.

It was finally official, you certainly loathed mornings, especially when Jaime spent the nights before. There were rare moments when he’d be able to stay the night with you. Luckily for you, today was one of those rare days.

Normally, he would claim that he’s the big spoon, but his sleepy smile widens when you’re the big spoon instead. His favorite sleeping position is lying on top of the softness of your breasts. Sometimes he would wake up face first right in the plushness of your breasts, that was always a good way to start the morning, wasn’t it? Your hands would subconsciously tangle themselves through his thick curly hair, softly massaging his scalp, sending him into a peaceful sleep.

You stirred yourself awake, no longer feeling the presence of Jaime lying on top of you. You tiredly stretched out your limbs, wincing at the soreness from your breasts down to your mid-thighs. Jaime certainly wore you out last night.

Very faintly, you heard the quiet shuffling and muttering of words. Regretfully, you slowly open your eyes, your eyelids still heavy as you rub the sleep out of them.

“Hmm…morning Jaime.” You yawn, scratching your braids through the satin red bonnet.

“Did I wake you?” He mutters walking over, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead, and continuing the search for his belongings. You assumed that he just came out of the shower. He wore a towel around his waist, dripping wet, glistening over his abs and that sight made you think unholy things. There was no way that you were still thirsty for him. Come on, you’re still recovering from last night and you were greedy for more the following morning?! Have some self-control, for once!

You shook your head, disposing of the lustful thoughts. “Wanna stay for breakfast?” You suggest, nervously gnawing on your lower lip.

“I would love to, but I have to quickly run an errand for my mami and then head over to work with Jenny.” He dried himself off, putting on a pair of boxers and an undershirt.

He opened your closet, digging out his ironed suit that you prepared a few days ago.

“When are you off this week?”

“Today and Sunday are my only days off this week.” You inform him, watching him get dressed, “I could run the errand with Mrs. Reyes, so you’ll get a balanced breakfast before heading to work.”

“Oh, really thanks (Y/N).”

“Anytime, pretty boy.” You reply, taking your bonnet off. Jaime blushes at the nickname, feeling giddy whenever you use that phrase. “What time do I need to leave?”

“About a quarter past eight..” He murmurs observing his watch.

“Speak English, please.”

“It’s 8:15 and my mami needs to leave around 9:30.” He advises, looking at your vanity. “Where’s my necklace?” He turns to you.

“You have to come get it..” You tease, wiggling the piece of jewelry in your hand. He chuckles at your playful yet seductive tone.

Crawling to you across the bed, he gives you a soft kiss making you caress his face. The slow sensual kiss lasted a few seconds, and even though you wanted to stay in the loving moment, air had become difficult to maintain, both of you pulling away from the kiss. You flutter your eyes open, catching him staring into your eyes with a hidden glint that makes you flush, which makes those butterflies run wild in your stomach.

“Come here, I’ll help you put on your tie.” You offer, shuffling towards the edge of the bed.

He sighs, allowing you to fix the tie underneath his collar. Your faces were so close that you could have fainted right then and there, completely embarrassing yourself on the spot. You started to worry, wondering if he felt you staring at him. Turns out, he was admiring you and he wasn’t ashamed of it. Once you finished his tie, you cleared your throat and smoothed over his suit, straightening out invisible wrinkles.

The Mexican boy faces you again. “What time do you get off on Saturday?”

“Probably by 10 or 11 pm.”

“Perfect! I’ll see you Saturday night.” He promises, giving you a reassuring nod.

“Yeah,” You agree with a lovesick smile on your face, “I’ll see you Saturday.”

You handed him the necklace but he stopped you, “Keep it, it looks better on you anyway.”

You tilt your head to the side, feeling yourself tingle with goosebumps as he appears from behind you and he gently brushes your braids away. You gathered your braids together, bunching them up into a messy makeshift ponytail, giving Jaime area to put the necklace on. Once he clasps the jewelry on your neck, you release your braids as you grin at him.

Smiling sweetly in response, he steals one last kiss from you and hurriedly leaves, shutting the front door. Even though you two were friends with benefits, he still was the kind and sweet man that you knew all those years ago.

You sigh, lingering your fingers on the necklace, fawning over the mere kiss that he shared with you. It was an empty kiss so it should be treated as meaningless, but it hurts your heart for you to wish otherwise.

Later that evening, Milagro helped you pick out an outfit for your blind date. Jaime tagged along with Milagro, under the impression of wanting privacy from his family.

You and Milagro picked out a nice evening dress, concluding that it was the perfect dress.

“You look so sexy in this.” Milagro squeals, momentarily catching Jaime’s attention. His eyes shift from his sister to yours, scanning the outfit that you are wearing, shamelessly checking you out. You did a little twirl to display the entirety of the dress, your eyes solely locked on Jaime to figure out his reaction. She was right, you looked so sexy in the dress. Maybe too sexy for another guy.

He noticed the mischievousness in your body language and decided that two could play that game.

“So…” Jaime ponders, lightly gritting his teeth, using his phone as a distraction, “What do you know about this guy?” His question was directed to you, attempting to conceal his jealousy. Slow and steady wins the race.

You turned to Milagro who spoke for you, “Duh, dummy, we don’t know who it is, that's why it’s called a blind date.”

“Wait! You’ve never even met this person before?” His eyes widened in surprise, processing the newfound information.

“Jaime, are you slow or something?” His sister asks. She rolled her eyes and continuously tapped her forehead, “Think, dear brother. Just think.”

He fakes grins at his sister and looks back at you. “It could be dangerous for you.”

“Okay, and I have a taser in my purse if anything goes wrong. I can take care of myself.”

“Why are you so interested in my best friend’s love life all of a sudden?”

“Just looking out for her.” He mumbles.

“Hmmm…” She sounds skeptical, surprisingly trusting her brother’s word.

All of a sudden, Milagro’s phone rings, indicating that her pizza order is ready. “I’m gonna pick up the pizza. Be back in 30 minutes.” She grabs your car keys and her wallet, leaving the apartment.

As soon as the door slammed shut, Jaime spoke his concerns for you.

“So…you’re going out with someone else.”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Then you should also know that I’m going out with someone else.” He boasts proudly with a tight-lipped smile.

“Oh, really?” You bite the inside of your cheek as jealousy boils through your veins at the thought of Jaime seeing someone else. Surprisingly, you managed to keep your jealousy at bay, refusing to let Jaime have the upper hand here.

You realized what he was doing, and he wasn’t going to win. It was so obvious that he was lying to you. So he decided to stretch the lie, just to witness your breaking point, “Her name is Maria Gonzalez, her family just moved to the neighborhood and we hit it off great. I also have her number.”

You remained nonchalant, continuing your mascara on your left eye, “Okay…good for you then?”

“That’s all you have to say?” He scoffs, folding his arms.

“Well, what do you want me to say? You want me to act jealous and forbid you from seeing this other girl?” You click your tongue, “Now that you mention it, no new family is moving into your neighborhood otherwise Mrs. Reyes would have told me, and I would have offered to decorate welcoming baskets with her and Milagro.”

Shit! You caught him in his lie. His eyes widened in surprise at your quick response to his lie.

As a matter of fact, he was more proud than scared of your realization of his lie. Your intelligence and ability to understand between the lines were one of the many traits that he loved about you. Intelligence is the glue that holds it all together, not that there aren’t many more characteristics from you that he adored. He would never put any other characteristic above the other, harboring his mutual love for all of them. After all, you attended Harvard, majoring in nursing, and left with multiple degrees.

“Por qué me estás mintiendo, Jaime?” You looked at him through the mirror with a pointed look.

Switching back and forth between English and Spanish daily was a neat trick that you mastered with ease. To be honest, Spanish was a beautiful language, and you just wanted to experience the full meaning of it.

You learned Spanish for your best friend and her family, wanting to connect with them on a personal level. At this point, you became fluent in Spanish and could hold decent conversations with the Reyes family in their native language. The Reyes family even made jokes that you would someday marry a Latino.

“I don’t know..” he shrugs his shoulders, “Maybe…I’m just confused right now.”

“May I remind you that you wanted us to be a casual fuck from time to time, and besides we also agreed on seeing other people.”

“Yeah, but—“

“Yeah, but what? You want to change your mind now?”

“Actually, I do.”

You paused from doing your mascara, making eye contact in the mirror with him. Of course, you weren’t expecting that answer. His statement rendered you speechless, allowing the silence to overtake the room. You gulped silently, intently watching him stalk toward you, almost in a patronizing manner to tease you even further. You were frozen, unaware of what he might do to you and it somewhat turned you on. The small thud of the mascara tube dropping on the vanity brought you back to your senses.

“…We shouldn’t do this, Jaime.” You lightly warn the boy. Jaime remains silent, making you consistently aware that he is gorgeously checking you out from behind. He made you so flustered to the point that you were stupidly smitten with him that it was almost ridiculous. It was a miracle that you couldn’t see a black girl’s blush.

“Milagro‘s gonna be back soon.” Your tone was soft.

The air was still tense as he nodded, his eyes still intently focused on your physique. Nervously, you began to play with your braids as your body squirmed under his gaze. The things that Jamie made you feel were out of this world. You held your breath, dilated dark brown eyes studying his every move that he made. It was the familiar gust of his infamous cologne that gave his sudden presence away, noticing his breathing was lingering on you. You shudder, minor goosebumps forming on your arms.

“Then, we just have to be quick, don’t we?” You swear that you could’ve felt his hard dick straining against his pants.

“Listen here Jaime—“ You were cut off by his hands roughly wrapping around your throat, raising your head, catching an upside down angle of the 22-year-old. A warm pair of lips was planted onto yours, reclaiming full jealousy as he slipped his tongue in your mouth. In a matter of seconds, the inviting kiss escalated into sexual tension, quickly heating the aura of the bedroom.

likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

#blue beetle 2023 #jaime reyes #jaime reyes x reader #jaime reyes smut #jaime reyes x black!reader #jaime reyes imagine #jaime reyes x black!fem!reader #blue beetle x reader #blue beetle x fem!reader #blue beetle smut #blue beetle imagine #blue beetle fanfic

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flemingsfreckles · 1 month

Text

Replacement Part 7

Read the rest of the series HERE!

Warnings: alcohol consumption, internalized homophobia, discussion of past emotional/physical abuse, description of a panic attack at the end

WC: 3.0k

A/N: okay I think I confused people, Part 6 has been out for a bit, I just failed to add it to my master list, it’s now on there, so if you missed it read that first.

Jessie had said you two didn’t need to spend the whole night together, but somehow that’s what ended up happening. You spent nearly every minute of that wedding side by side, with the exception of when Jessie was standing beside Janine at the altar. The closeness between the two of you had started even before the wedding day.

“Heard you’ve found yourself a date to the wedding this weekend.” Coffey had come up behind you after training one day, slinging her arm across your shoulders. You just squint in her direction. “Fleming?”

“Oh, that’s not a date, she just needed someone to go with, she wanted the company, she’s new here and still doesn’t know the team well, I think she also knew I didn’t know the Canadian side of Janine’s friends and family well, so I think it just made sense, Janine also teased her for not having someone to go with-”

You trail off your words when you hear Sam start to laugh. “Okay,” she pays your chest hard with her hand. “Whatever the excuse is, enjoy your evening, it’s good to see you two getting along, a lot of people would envy you getting to be her date.”

“It’s not a date.” You shove her off as you speak through your teeth at her, feeling your face start to heat up.

“Whatever you say. You two have gotten pretty close recently.” Sam rolls her eyes as she heads toward the showers while you split off going toward your cubby. She wasn’t wrong, you and Jessie had spent a lot more time together recently.

Jessie coming over had become more and more common in the past few weeks. On your off days, the two of you would grab a coffee, walk around, and usually end up back at your place. Jessie continued to claim she didn’t have her apartment unpacked yet so it was always your couch you ended up on.

You had developed a full on friendship with Jessie. And while you loved the time the two of you spent together, the closer you grew, the more panic alarms went off in your brain.

Just last week the two of you were both on the couch, just a couple inches from each other, the popcorn bowl being the only thing keeping your thighs from resting against each other. Jessie had been on a mission to force you to watch all the classic movies after she learned you hadn’t seen most of them when you were younger.

And while the television was playing the movie, you weren’t focusing on anything besides the woman sitting beside you. You held your breath at every movement she made, adjusting the blanket or the way she sat, each movement she made had you on edge. Each noise she made, a satisfied hum, a small snicker at something funny, little comments or fun facts she knew about the movie, all of the noises were slowly becoming engraved into your mind.

You nearly sent yourself into a coughing fit when you reached into the popcorn bowl to be met with the warmth of Jessie’s hand instead of the feeling of the popcorn. Jerking your hand away you muttered an apology to her before waiting to reach your own hand back into the bowl. You ignored the feeling for the rest of the night, and again and again when those feelings of warmth keeps arising when you’d see Jessie, hang out with Jessie, even think about Jessie.

Today when Jessie knocked at your door her knock was frantic. You quickly scrambled to the door, opening it to see an equally panicked looking midfielder, coffees in one hand, a notebook in the other.

“Hi?” You say, taking in the unusually frantic appearance of Jessie.

“I need help.” She says breathlessly before pushing her way inside. “I have to write a speech.”

“For?”

“Janine’s wedding.” She says, dropping the coffees on the table and opening the notebook she had brought.

You can’t help but stand there in shock, “That’s tomorrow Jessie!” Jessie who was normally so put together, so organized, had failed to write a speech she’s known about for months until the night before.

“You don’t think I know that!” Your eyes widen at Jessie as she raises her voice at you, loud in volume and higher pitched, her emotions coming though. She wasn’t one to yell often, on the pitch she’d get hot headed but hardly would she lose her temper off of it. “Sorry, clearly I’m stressed, but sorry.”

You spent the next hour trying to calm Jessie down. She vented about her nerves and her inability to put her feelings onto paper, you sat and listened, watching as she paced the length of your kitchen. You didn’t say much but you tried to help her get her thoughts and feelings into an organized speech. It took nearly 3 hours but before you knew it Jessie was reading through her speech to you for one final time, as you nodded along approving of every word she had written.

“I promise it’s perfect.” You gave her one final confirmation after listening to the speech again and again. Jessie was finally satisfied with it, she had packed up her notebook, thanking you tirelessly as she made her way to the door.

“Thank you again.” She said, her hand coming to rest on your shoulder. You give her a smile and a nod, as you do you swear you catch Jessie’s eyes drop to your lips for a moment before darting back to your eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She said with a smile before turning and heading down the hallway.

You now sat in the rows of chairs, among many of your Portland teammates. You watched as the ceremony started. You’d been to weddings before, they were cute and all but they never got your heart racing, they never gave you the desire to be up at the altar yourself. The issue was, this time it wasn’t the actual ceremony and vows of endless love that got your heart racing. It was the brown haired freckled girl standing just feet away from Janine who was causing the swell of emotions to build up in your chest.

When she had walked down the aisle, her arm linked with one of Janine’s husband’s groomsmen, you felt your heart beat harder. As she walked down, closer and closer, your heart rate picked up and when she glanced over to you with a smile your stomach flipped and you felt your knees grow weak. It was different seeing Jessie dressed up, her hair done, nearly curled and framing her face, her make up was natural and subtle, but it was the dress that was captivating you. You tore your eyes away to watch the rest of the bridal party walk down the aisle, followed by Janine, but that only kept your eyes off Jessie for a couple minutes.

You couldn’t seem to keep your eyes from wandering to her throughout the ceremony. No matter how much you would remind yourself to look at Janine and her to be husband, you’d catch yourself staring. She stood with a smile across her face as she watched her best friend get married. Your eyes spent way too long admiring the dress Jessie was standing wearing, suddenly feeling like your own dress shirt and pants were nothing in comparison to hers. She looked gorgeous and you knew it, her toned arms on display as they held flowers at her waist where the dress perfectly hugged her shape. It’s as if nothing and no one else exists at the ceremony, it’s only you, sitting staring at the beautiful woman in front of you. On a few occasions Jessie’s eyes would catch yours, making you instantly drop your eyes to the program, your lap, or directing them back to the sky, feeling embarrassed being caught.

The ceremony ends and you find yourself and the rest of the guests being ushered off into a cocktail hour before the reception. You stand around a small table and watch as the rest of the room interacts, making small talk with the other guests of how you knew Janine. You listen to stories of her childhood friends, her friends from school, neighbors, people from every walk of life who were here to celebrate her. You were never one for small talk but you manage for about an hour before your saving grace arrives at your side.

Feeling a poke in the back and a familiar voice fills your ears. “Hi.” You turn and Jessie is standing in front of you, her arms open. It had become common for her to greet you with a hug, so you moved into her giving her a hug before pulling back.

“You look good, that shirt was a good choice.” Jessie says as you watch her eyes scan you up and down. She had asked what you were wearing the other day and when you admitted you weren’t sure, she FaceTimed you and made you show her all the options. She hadn’t told you what to wear, but you had noticed the way she stared at you for an extra few seconds when you had put on the white top with the blue accent. You had kept her reaction in mind this morning when you had tossed it on. You can feel the heat from her gaze, you’re sure your cheeks are flushed.

“Oh thanks.” You clear your throat. “You look really great Jessie.” You compliment her back and you notice the way she bites back a smile as she gives you a quiet “thank you.”

“I need a drink, this is a lot of people and a lot of small talk, do you want one?” Jessie points over her shoulder toward the bar.

“Yeah, sure, that would actually be great.” You follow Jessie through the crowd of people and hop in the queue for drinks.

One drink quickly became two, and two became an unknown amount. You both had a few at the cocktail hour, followed by a few during dinner and before you knew it, the real party had started and you were watching your teammates dance around from the comfort of your chair. You smiled as you watched Jessie get dragged around the dance floor by Janine before she finally broke away and made a dash in your direction.

“Save me.” She whispered as she sat down in the chair next to you.

“Oh come on, it’s not that bad.” You rolls your eyes at her.

“Says you, you’ve hardly gotten up to dance yet.” Jessie reaches in front of you on the table, taking the drink in front of you and finishing it off in a single sip, causing you to raise an eyebrow in her direction.

“Hey!” You take the glass back from her quickly. “And that’s not true! I danced with Sam a bit ago, but then she ditched me so I came to sit back down.”

“Would you rather be dancing?”

You shrug, you liked dancing, it was fun, freeing, but the crowd of strangers deterred you ever so slightly. “I mean, I’ll maybe go once Sam or someone is free again.”

“I’m free.” Jessie directs a hand at her own chest.

“No, don’t be silly.” You shrug her off and direct your eyes back to the dance floor. “You don’t want to dance.”

“I’ll dance with you.” Jessie stands up, holding out her hand to you. You look between her face and her outstretched arm. Her expression is hard to read, she’s smiling at you but part of you can tell she probably had no interest in dancing herself.

“Only if you’re sure?” You look at Jessie, not wanting to force her to be uncomfortable. She nods quickly and smiles at you, confirming she wants to dance with you. “But let’s get drinks first.” You shake your empty glass in her direction before standing up.

You both grab drinks and make your way to the dance floor. It starts out silly, the two of you standing an uncomfortable distance apart while both half dancing, half standing there. But the longer the night goes on, and the more alcohol that gets put in your system, you both let loose slowly. Your bodies get closer as the night continues on and before you know it, Jessie’s front is nearly flush with your own as the two of you continue to dance in the crowd.

A slow song begins to play and it breaks both of you from your trance and you take a step back from Jessie, only now realizing how close your bodies had been and only now realizing how much you longed to be back with your body up against hers.

“Com’ here.” Jessie grabs your hand, she makes her way off the dance floor as the couples begin to slow dance.

“What, where are we going?” you giggle as Jessie pulls you through the reception. “Jessie.” you whine her name while still stumbling behind her.

She pulls you around a corner, putting herself against the wall and pulling you into her. “Hi.” her grin is huge across her face, shadows on both of your faces as the light from the moon outside crept through the window.

Your head was spinning, from the drinks and from Jessie's stupid beautiful face in front of you. The stupid beautiful face you couldn’t fall for. And while the thought of your mother screaming at you that you could never date a woman, never kiss a woman had started in your head, that sound faded as you watched Jessie lean in as she brought her lips to meet yours. On instinct your eyes closed, and you kissed Jessie back like your life depended on it. Melting into her warm lips, your hands coming up to rest on her hips, gently pulling her closer into you.

You can’t tell if the kiss lasts a minute or an hour. The intoxication of the alcohol you’d consumed and the intoxication of Jessie’s lips caused you to lose all track of time. You were floating for the few moments your bodies were connected.

When you pulled back it took only a few seconds for those voices, those lectures, that hatred of yourself, to come flooding back into your mind. Where Jessie’s hand gently held your cheek you now felt the too familiar sting of your mothers hand. It was as if someone had sucked all the alcohol from your system in an instant, incredibly aware and sober to the fact that you had just kissed Jessie, a girl, your teammate. The fact that you had kissed her and you liked it.

You just stared at her. Your mouth hung open, unsure of what to say or what to do. She still had a silly smile on her face as she looked back at you. Her smile fell quickly as she must’ve realized the terrified look across your own face.

“I have to go.” You try to step away from Jessie but she grabs your wrist.

“Wait.”

“No Jessie, we can’t, I can’t, I have to go.” You repeat again having to fight back the waver in your voice, blinking hard to avoid tears. You pull your wrist from her hand and walk in the direction of the exit.

You walk and walk and suddenly the walk turns into a jog before a sprint, fighting tears all the way. Thankfully, the venue wasn’t far from your apartment. You manage to keep your composure until you unlock your door.

When you get inside your apartment it feels like the world is closing in on you. You can hear your heart, pumping blood loud in your ears, it drowned and muffled any other sounds. You bent over, resting your head on the cool countertop, suddenly feeling a wave of sharp heat across your body.

You were sweating. In an attempt to cool yourself off you started to peel off the shirt and pants you were wearing. The very same shirt you had put on because of Jessie. Your panic increased as your hands shook making it harder and harder to undo the buttons on your chest.

You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, you could only picture being 16 again, your parents in front of you, shaming you, screaming at you, you remembered the feeling of being told you no longer had a home there, all of it, you couldn’t think of anything else. Your hands continue to tremble as you pull your belt off and let your pants fall, nearly tripping out of them, your head starting to spin. You tried to fight off the lightheaded feeling, blinking hard as you made your way to the couch despite the tunnel vision you were experiencing.

The couch is a temporary sanctuary, you lay in your underwear and tank top on the fabric and try to focus on breathing. You’re not sure how long you sit, the room spinning around you.

You couldn’t call Janine, it was her wedding you had just ran from. You couldn’t call Sam, she was still at the wedding. You certainly couldn’t call Jessie. There was no one you could turn to, no one to confide in at the moment, so instead, you sat loathing in self hatred.

You sat staring at the ground in front of you, not able to break your stare, as the memories of your parents telling you everything that was wrong with you rang through your mind. The sound of your phone ringing from across the room breaks your mind from the fog it was in. You push yourself up from the couch and walk over to it to see Jessie’s face and name on.

Her face brings up mixed emotions, on one hand, it brings you happiness, deep down you know hearing her voice would be relaxing, she’d know how to calm you down. On the other, she’d make you spiral all over again, her voice would remind you of how she had called after you to wait as you had bolted from the reception. Instead of torturing yourself more, you walk away from the phone, letting it ring and ring, and move to your bedroom.

It wouldn’t fix anything long term but sleeping would at least help you get away for a couple hours.

#jessie fleming #jflem #jessie fleming x reader #jessie fleming imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #jessie fleming blurb #canwnt x reader

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kira-fluff · 1 year

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hi,can you do yn who sleeps with no pants pt3 with kenma and suna please?

sleeping with no pants on | fem!reader x haikyuu!!

a/n: i finally got my new laptop today so it's back to writing ^^

tw: language, NSWF, kenma's is a lil more than that lol (why? idk)

pt. 1 pt. 2

kenma kozume

you liked to sit and watch while kenma gamed, smiling as you heard the curses he said under his breath at a loss, or the smirk at a triumphant win. you laughed to yourself as you sat this time at 3am, recalling how kenma used to wake up early just to play his video games when he was younger. now that he was older, he had the luxury of playing as late as he wanted. the two of you hadn't been dating for very long, still very much in the kiss-hand-holding phase, so you balked in surprise when kenma suddenly said, "hey, are you sleeping here tonight?" while his eyes were still glued to his screen. you choked on your words. this was a big step for you, but not one you didn't want to take. you were just surprised at how causally he had brought the whole topic up. it seemed to shock you too evidently because he then added, "you don't have to though." you shook your head, "no, no, I want to. it's getting late, ken. lets get to bed." normally, kenma would fight tooth and nail to get even one more hour of gaming time like you were his mother, but he also knew it was out of concern that you often asked him to finish for the night. however, this time, kenma felt no need to continue pressing the buttons in rhythm with his console. you decided then and there that you would take the leap, and change in front of him. slowly, you lifted up your shirt. the rustling of fabric caused kenma to turn around in time to see your breasts bounce free from your bra. he whipped his head back in time for you not to see, his ears beet red. "kenma?" you said quietly. "..hmm?" "I-uh--well. so, when I sleep, I can't sleep when I have pants on..." kenma swallowed. "no problem." in all honesty, kenma didn't wear them either. he wore clothes for comfort, not for style, and the same was for sleeping. being able to be free from the confines of clothing was one of his favorite reasons for finally turning to going back to sleep. when you pulled down your shorts, exposing your panties, his eyes pooled with a dark gold. still, he pushed the thoughts away and instead decided it was time for him to head in too. after removing his sweatpants after turning off the light, he heard a little gasp as he slipped into the covers. kenma's bare leg had rubbed against your own. he wasn't wearing pants either? you could scarcely hold yourself together as you searched for things to think about other than the fact that your boyfriend was lying down next to you, pant-less. that morning you awoke in kenma's arms, the warm feeling of his chest against your back. <3

suna rintarou

you and suna ended up sleeping at each other's houses for the night several on several occasions. after watching movie with your best friend since middle school, it was pretty much a given that you didn't care much what the other did. still, you hadn't really reached the gap where you could step in and possibly admit your feelings for him. so, whenever he spent the night or vice versa, you would slide into the bed you both agreed to share (because who really cares?) with your complete pajama set on. you figured you would be going too far if you decided to be comfortable and take off your little shorts. this, of course, made it difficult for you to sleep. you moved around in an effort to get more comfortable, but all that did was rearrange your shorts so they were almost reversed - front in the back, back in the front. you sighed. "why do you keep rolling around like a burrito?" "that makes no sense." you said. "burritos are rolled." he said in the obnoxiously snarky way he speaks when he thinks something is obvious. "why are you awake arguing with me about burritos?" you muttered. "because you woke me up."m "it's just hard for me to fall asleep right now. it's too.. hot in here." "liar. the a/c is on full blast." he said. you sighed again, "well I'm just uncomfortable, ok?" he sat up a little, resting his head on the palm of his hand, his head turned to you. "why?" "it's really stupid and embarrassing." "everything about you is stupid and embarrassing." he smirked. he was rewarded with a flick on his forehead. "shut up, rin." his stare urged you to speak once more. "well," you began, "I can't sleep if my pants or shorts are on." he was quiet for a moment before his voice came out in a rasp, "well then don't wear any." you looked his way, noticing his eyes glowing in the moonlight creeping through the blinds. "but we're...friends." he swallowed thickly. "doesn't mean you can't take your shorts off--" he cut himself off. "it doesn't mean you can't be comfortable. there's covers anyway." you stared at him in apprehension before bringing your hands to your hips below the covers. slowly, you pulled them down, only the sound of the sheets and fabrics ruffling. suna sounded a bit like he was getting hot too because he was panting a bit when you turned to him. you looked at him with a questioning expression. "sorry.." he muttered, "kinda hard to breathe in here with the air quality and stuff." you were well aware the windows were closed and that was probably bullshit, but you decided not to press further. "well, anyway. thanks. goodnight." you smiled meekly, turning to your side. what you weren't aware of was that suna wasn't able to sleep a wink that night, much less when you shoved off the covers while sleeping (I guess you were actually a little bit hot). suna was suffering, truly, as he tried not to stare at the bottom half of you - only panties covering you. the morning couldn't come soon enough for him.

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sailorholly · 6 months

Text

Between Us Pt. 4

Summary: You and Spencer had a casual relationship. A misunderstanding ruins it all.

Pairing: Spencer Reid × F. BAU Reader

Warnings: Friends with benefits. Pregnancy.

See my Masterlist here

Part 3

Hotch was the first person you told. You didn’t want to hurt the baby by running after an unsub in the future. You swore him to secrecy, still struggling with how to tell Spencer. Hotch made sure you were okay. He didn’t like Ashley and Spencer rubbing their relationship in your face right after he had called it quits.

“Unnecessarily cruel” he had called it. You didn’t think Spencer was aware that he had hurt you or that you have feelings for him. He would never do that on purpose. He probably thought you didn’t care, you did a good job of pretending not to. You broke down telling Hotch everything. You hated crying, but you sobbed in his office for thirty minutes. Thankfully, you came in an hour early to speak with him. These pregnancy hormones were awful.

Your first ultrasound appointment is in two weeks. You were grateful for the extra time to work up the courage to tell Spencer. You wanted him to come to the appointment with you. He would be a great dad, it was a shame that you weren’t together.

Now you’d have to watch him be the perfect dad to your baby while he was dating someone else. That hurt more than anything. You spent the whole week avoiding him. Every interaction he had with Ashley made you sprint to the bathroom, tears streaming down your cheeks. If anyone noticed that Hotch made you stay behind instead of going out to catch the unsub like usual, they didn’t say anything.

Things got tricky when the team went out for drinks after work on Friday like you did every time you weren’t out on a case in a different state. You were too tired to go. But Penelope begged you to come. You told her you would go, but you had a little headache, so you didn’t want to drink. That way she wouldn’t be suspicious.

Spencer noticed you were behaving strangely. You had been running to the bathroom to cry often. You hadn’t been drinking while going out. But he knew your dad was in poor health, so he tried not to linger on it. But he was worried about you. He was sure you would tell him when you were ready.

Spencer spent his free time with Ashley. She was a sweet girl and she really liked him. He felt guilty that every time he was with her, he compared her to you. She didn’t cook like you did. She didn’t let him ramble for hours. She didn’t laugh at his jokes. Her hair wasn’t as soft as yours.

Her kiss on his lips felt like poison where yours felt like coming home. He knew sex with her would be vastly different, so he avoided it. He told Ashley he wanted to take things slow, that he didn’t want to ruin it like he did with you.

Ashley tried her best to seduce him, but he would reject her every time. He found it odd that she would always bring you up. She would ask questions about what his time with you was like. Were you a better kisser? Were you good in bed? Did he have feelings for you? Spencer found himself lying to spare her feelings.

Spencer stared at his phone for an hour. “We need to talk” was all your text said, but it terrified him. He worried about it all night after you invited him for breakfast the next morning. Was it your dad? Did you have an illness that you needed to tell him about? The possibilities were endless.

“I don’t understand why I can’t go, I’m your girlfriend after all. I don’t like that you will be alone with her.” Ashley whined. Spencer was so frustrated with her. He rolled his eyes when he told her that they weren’t that serious yet. You were still his friend, and whatever you wanted to discuss was private. He let her know that he wouldn’t be telling her what you said unless you told him he could.

Spencer sat across from you filling his plate with the breakfast you made. He missed your cooking. Your stomach churned with nerves. This whole set up was a little too familiar for your liking. It reminded you of the last time you and Spencer were alone other than at work. He sat quietly, patiently waiting for you to tell him your reason for inviting him over.

You sat in silence for what felt like hours, too nervous to say anything. Spencer excused himself to go to the bathroom. You decided when he came back you would have to tell him. “What’s this?” He interrupts your stream of thoughts, walking toward you holding the pregnancy test you took earlier.

You took it last night and forgot to put it away. You were going to keep it as a sentimental thing. It was silly now that you thought about it. Especially with Spencer holding the test in his large hands looking at you wide eyed. “Surprise!” You say, standing to face him. “I’m pregnant.”

Tags

@cindylynn @wheredafandomat @multifandom-worlds @loz-3 @megharat-barnes-reid @kats72 @mochie85 @cakesandtom @spenciesprincess @kimm4710 @tmilover1993 @nomajdetective @cynbx @comboboo @134340ona @wannabewolf @weirdothatwritess @silver-tongue-taken-to-bed @freegardenbanananeck @lover-of-books-and-tea @maybe-not-this @drewsandsebastianswife @lamentis-10 @lizzyk137 @hypotheticallyspeakingwitch @rosylnsworld @amortencija @ah-blossom @xblueriddlex @dreamsarebig @khxna @diasnohibng @nommingonfood @sp3ncelle @pleasantwitchgarden @isakslilsmile @lavvylove @creaming4daddy @justdianaz @aubs444 @im-this-girl

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fanfiction #between us

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bountycancelled · 9 months

Text

something more than friends

(lucy gray baird x reader)

tip me on kofi if you feel so inclined

requested: yep, I hope you like it anon♡

content: a little bit of angst but mainly fluff, men (derogatory), kinda lovesick!lucy gray, jealous lucy gray (we love to see it), pretty intense description of kissing but no smut.

warnings: a very brief mention of drinking, internalised homophobia but it doesn't last long, gay stuff (duh), lowercase intended I know boo I'm annoying.

a/n: I haven't read the book yet so idk much about the covey so their appearance may ooc but that's solely due to my lack of knowledge on them

lucy gray baird never faltered when she sang.

there were very few things that could get under her skin when she was on that stage, strumming her guitar and twirling in her skirt as the district folk stomped along to the beat.

sure, sometimes drunkards and the occasional hung up ex would try to cause a scene, attempting to gain her attention from below, but she would simply roll her eyes, waiting for someone to take care of them so that she could go back to doing what she did best. performing.

so what exactly had happened to make the lucy gray baird, forget a line in a song?

she was quick to remedy her mistake, carrying the tune in such a way that most patrons didn't even notice her mess up. but ironically enough, the very cause of her brain fog noticed. you.

you gave her a worried look, but she brushed it off, willing herself to continue playing as if nothing was wrong. and technically, nothing was wrong. you were there, in the far back of the crowd, wearing a white dress with a drink in your hand. and Lucy Gray didn't mean to be cliché, but you really did look like an angel, something divine that she had the honour of setting her eyes on.

but obviously, she wasn't the only one who thought that.

you were speaking to some man. which was fine, you were always the most gorgeous girl in the room in her eyes and she knew that she wasn't the only one who appreciated your beauty, you were always needing to awkwardly laugh at men's advances and brush them off as best as you could, but you weren't doing that tonight.

you were laughing, a genuine laugh, leaning in to hear his voice over the music, over her singing. she wanted to jump off of the stage and break her guitar over that assholes face, and she couldn't explain why.

she had always known that one day, you'd settle down with a kind man who cared for you (not nearly as much as she did, but that was okay) and then she would see you less and less. but knowing didn't make the taste in her mouth any more bitter.

the first time you told her about a crush that you had, on a boy named Tom, she spent the whole night convincing you that he just wasn't right for you. you believed her of course, rejecting him swiftly the next week when he asked you to go on a walk with him, walking instead with lucy gray, hand in hand.

but then, she did it every time you spoke about a boy, and you started to believe her less and less. 'I think you're just jealous lucy gray, and you don't anybody taking my attention away from you.'

you were right, she was jealous, and the thought of you, with a man, it disgusted her to her core. which is why she took off as soon as her set ended, not even staying for the applause as she searched for you outside.

there you were, and thankfully, you were alone, no undeserving man in sight.

she ran up to you, her brown eyes seemingly sparkling even in the darkened night. "how'd you enjoy the show, darlin'?"

her heart jumped when you smiled at her, your eyes crinkling in joy as you took both of her hand in yours, squeezing them affectionately. "you have the voice of an angel, lucy gray. and I envy the lucky fella who's gonna marry you, and have to serenade them whenever they want."

lucy gray rolled her eyes in a good natured fashion, trying to ignore the knot in her stomach when you mentioned her getting married. "I already serenade you, sweet thing. and im not gonna let some wedding band stop me."

you laughed airily, leading her by the hand towards the lake, where you spent most nights together. you sat down at the edge, laying your head in her lap when she sat beside you. her hand went to your hair, and she fought the urge to by giddy at the sight of your head in her lap, you were just... perfect.

"who was that guy that you were talking to back then? when I was singing, I mean." she asked, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.

you thought back to about an hour prior, picturing every person that you had been with throughout the evening as you tried to recall who she was asking about in particular. "oh! that was matthew, his dad and my dad go way back, but the two of us never really shared their closeness for whatever reason. but after speaking to him tonight I'm a bit upset that I never tried to grow a friendship with him earlier."

she nodded, her cherry glossed lips pressing into a thin line. "he doesn't just wanna be friends with you though, I could see it." you scoffed playfully, raising a brow at her curiously. "you were all the way up on stage, in the middle of your favourite song to perform, and somehow, you could tell that much from so far away?"

she opened her mouth to defend herself, but after realising just how insane the notion sounded when you phrased it in that way, she quickly closed it again. "I'm not gonna let any man take me away from you, lucy gray, believe me when I say that I can't live without you."

your words sent a fury of butterflies in her stomach, and she swore that felt dizzy as you picked your head up, moving your face so close to hers that your noses were almost touching. she wanted to kiss you. god, what the hell was wrong with her? how could she be thinking of you in this way?

despite her inner conflict, she made no moves to create some distance between your faces, selfishly wanting to stay like this for as long as you'd let her. "I wish we could get married." she sighed, her eyes widening at her own words. "I meant- not like, I didn't mean- not in, like, a husband and wife typa way-"

you cut her off with trying to, with a tilt of your head making her suck in a sharp breath. "you don't wanna do husband and wife things with me?" you asked, and she could swear that your voice had a certain tone about it, one that made her cheeks feel blazing and her breaths shallow.

she shook her head, her usually fierce tone reduced to a meek almost whisper. "we can't do those stuff together."

you were too close for comfort. she could feel the tip of your nose against hers and if you leaned in any further, she was sure that she would combust. "who cares if we can't? the more important question is, do you want to?"

inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. she had forgotten how to breath. this wasn't right, she knew that, so why were her lips on yours in a flash, her hands in your hair, around your waist, holding your hands, touching any part of you that she could reach as the two of you kissed? in public, no less?

she couldn't find it in her mind to stop, not when your soft, sweet lips moved in tandem with hers as if you were molded to fit each other. when you pulled away, with lucy gray chasing your lips with an involuntary whine, you held her by the shoulders, a look of concern on your face.

that was when she felt it. the guilt knawing at her stomach, and the tears that flowed down her face. was she crying because of how overwhelming her feelings were for you? maybe it was because she knew that you would have to hide... whatever had just happened between the two of you.

you leaned your forehead against hers, you sweet voice easing her fear. "I love you." she nodded, not being able to say it back just yet, but she could only hope that you knew. she moved to kiss you again, being startled out of her mind by a girlish scream in the distance.

it was maude ivory, eyes wide and hand slapped over her mouth in shock, with an equally suprised tam amber standing next to her. lucy gray felt sick to her stomach.

"I knew it." tam Amber said with a shrug, moving to sit next to the two fo you as she stared out at the moonlit lake. "no one looks at their friend like how lucy gray looks at you."

"can I be the flower girl? and the maid of honour? and the priest?" maude ivory rambled, laying half in lucy grays lap and half in yours. you simply laughed, explaining that her dream wasn't exactly possible but flower girl was certainly doable as lucy gray watched, tears threatening to fall from her eyes once again. only this time, they were of relief.

the joy she felt in her chest, at the thought that you could be... together in front of the covey was the best gift she could possibly be given. you and her, together. not just as best friends. although it was hard to wrap her head around it, she knew that it was exactly what she wanted and she had it on good authority that you wanted it too.

#tbosas #the hunger games #lucy gray fluff #lucy gray x reader #lucy gray baird #lucy gray my beloved #lucy gray angst #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games headcanon #tbosas x reader #tbosas x you #wlw #lucy gray baird x reader #lucy gray baird x you #coriolanus x reader

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biolumien · 3 months

Text

to call home.

pt 4 to the samurai!hoshina fic. pt 3 is here.

notes: i will attempt to tie this up with a neat bow in pt 5... i forgot how frenetic multichapter fics can be... i much prefer the single stuff...!

samurai!soshiro hoshina x fem!reader definite descriptions of gore and blood word count: 1426

“for the last time, hoshina, i do not want to hear about your current wife problems,” gen narumi grumbles. “i cannot begin to tell you how fucking little i care.” he crosses his arms. “you’re here every single fucking day. i told you that we signed off on the alliance papers, right? it’s all in order? your wife’s the one that’s supposed to be going through those. she should be seeing right through your bullshit. i’m not your fucking friend.”

“please,” hoshina says. “it’s not like i have anyone else to talk to about this.”

“talk to the the old man,” gen deadpans. “what was his name… hibino? the blacksmith?”

“he’s madly in love with ashiro and is of little help to me,” hoshina replies flatly.

“ugh.” gen rolls his eyes, leaning forward. the front of his kimono slips a bit, revealing more of his chest as he leans against the table. “so what the hell’s the issue now?”

hoshina sighs.

“we sparred the other day. she seemed upset,” hoshina says. “i just wish she’d tell me what she was actually thinking instead of just… staring at me like that.” that look that you give him, where it seems like you want to rip out his stomach and devour it whole. that look that you give him, where you so clearly just—want him dead, more than anything.

“did you do something to piss her off?” gen asks.

“no. i just…” hoshina worries his lip. “we haven’t even really done anything.”

“not even sleep together?”

“no, that we did. because we had to,” hoshina says.

“ugh. of course you can make even the act of sleeping with someone sound dastardly unsexy and so fucking boring,” gen yawns. “what’s the problem, anyhow? we don’t marry for love. it’s duty. i thought you knew better than to believe in childish notions about true love.”

“i believe in true love as much as the next person,” hoshina says, “which is to say that i don’t. not in this life. not in the next.”

gen rolls his eyes.

“why don’t you just talk to her?” gen asks, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. hoshina supposes that it is, but something about gen saying it to him filled him with some kind of petty rage.

“i’m glad that you seem to think it’s so simple,” hoshina states flatly. “given that you don’t have a wife yet–”

“just can’t keep your mouth shut, huh?” gen’s glare was unimpressed, his hand lowering to the wakizashi at his side. “get out of here before i stab you.”

“ouch, so prickly,” hoshina sneers, but gets up anyway.

gen stares up at hoshina, yawning inelegantly.

“i think instead of pussyfooting around this whole thing with your wife you ought to talk to her, quite frankly speaking, about the kind of relationship you want with her. that’s my advice.”

“hm. that might sound good coming out of anyone else’s mouth but yours,” hoshina says with a leering smile, but the longer he thinks about it, the more gen seems to be right. he’d never truly tried to get to know you, right? nights spent in his own quarters were usually quiet—because he’d always attempted to respect your privacy to the best of his ability.

you’d wanted nothing to do with him, after all—you barely even mentioned the night you spent together. was he really so clear and obvious in the ways he tried desperately to avoid conflict?

…

probably, now that he thought about it.

as he settles down for the night, though, something doesn’t feel quite right. he chalks it up to simpler paranoias at first—general anxieties and unrest, the way you’d stared at him during dinner, with a stare so vicious it could kill on its own—up until he hears a bloodcurdling scream.

he bolts out of bed immediately, snatching up his wakizashi and katana, storming towards the source of the noise before he hears the clashing of blades—or a singular crack of one.

hoshina watches as you cleave an assassin by the neck with a sweep of your naginata, blood splattering across your kimono as you heave out a low breath. as he approaches, you raise your naginata in sudden alarm before lowering your blade.

“shinobi,” you say, sharply exhaling.

“so it appears,” hoshina says, drawing his katana, stepping behind you with his sword raised in a ready stance. “are you hurt?”

“clearly not,” you say, voice cold even now. “they breached the maids’ quarters. seems like they thought i’d have switched rooms or something out of paranoia.” you level your naginata, adjusting the sleeve of your kimono as you slam the blade into the wall, with an accompanying thud from another assassin.

“a bad actor, you’re saying?” hoshina’s eyes glance across the darkened hallway, his ears straining for any possible sound. he thinks he hears the thudding of footsteps somewhere close, and he raises his sword defensively. “from within the house?”

“i don’t know,” you respond. “this could just be your family’s enemies. representatives from the narumi clan?”

“doubtful,” hoshina says. gen wouldn’t be that stupid. “my talks have been going well.”

“well clearly, someone’s fucked up somewhere,” you shout back at him. he wonders why you look beautiful in this moment, blood staining your white kimono and across your face—and then your eyes widen in panic, your lips parting to let out a shout. “soshiro, behind!”

he whirls around, his blade sinking into the chest of a faceless attacker—he feels the sinking of his blade into the flesh, and he grits his teeth.

“you saved my life,” hoshina says, not turning to face you.

“you’re welcome, jackass,” you respond. “keep your eyes and ears open. i’ll fucking kill them all.”

hoshina laughs. the venom in your voice, usually targeted at him, now freely dished out to your aggressors was a terrifying sound and sight. he thanked the gods at least that he wasn’t your enemy—at least for the moment.

the house was in disarray—screaming punctuated with the sound of blades, and the darkness made it hard to tell what was really going on, shadows mixed with dark shapes creating an inky blur of sound and physical sensation—but he could carve a path of bodies through it, coat the ground with enough viscera that there would be less sounds of clashing blades.

as his blade finds the neck of another assassin, hoshina exhales.

is it over? hoshina wonders. he strains his hearing for the moment, hearing no more footsteps. and yet the air is abuzz with energy–and something doesn’t feel right.

though, he amended, it hadn’t felt right since he’d gotten ready to go to bed. there was terrible unrest. something in the air.

“it’s over, i think,” hoshina says warily, still keeping his sword drawn.

“maybe,” you say, your voice terse.

hoshina leans down, examining one of the bodies, trying to look for an insignia, anything–but the assassins knew better. they bore no symbols of other houses, their weapons nondescript.

and then he hears you shout, and he turns to see you gritting your teeth as you swing your naginata at the same time as the final assassin’s blade connected with your side, having been knocked slightly askew–

you’d saved him.

hoshina moves on instinct as you collapse to the ground, gasping in uneasy pain, trying to hold your side, pulling away to find your hand and sleeve coated with blood. his sword finding the assassin’s stomach–it wasn’t an elegant cut by any means, and he grimaced at the sound of ripping flesh, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care as he rushed to your side, just trying to take in the sight of your blood spilling against the floor.

you cough.

“soshiro,” you whisper, looking up at him. “am i going to die?”

“no,” hoshina says, but the truth is he’s really not sure. he checks your wound–it’s deep, but if a doctor could stem the bleeding, there’d be a chance you might live. “that was stupid of you, you know. you didn’t have to do that.”

you cough, laughing weakly as you press your hand against your side. he pulls you up, holding your head in his arm.

“it’s my duty as your wife,” you say.

“you don’t have to do it if you don’t love me,” hoshina replies softly. your eyes flick to his face, narrow a little before you look away.

“it’s a shame that i think i do,” you say, and there’s not even a shred of resentment in your voice.

#kaiju no 8 #soshiro hoshina #soshiro hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro x reader #kaiju no 8 x reader #x reader #kn8 x reader

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willowser · 11 months

Text

you had only to look at me—

part one.

bakugou x f!reader

wc: 7.4k+

tags: nsfw (18+), childhood best friend bakugou, oral (f!receiving), m!masturbation, lots of "first time" talk, more angst, more virgin bakugou.

even before i was touched, i belonged to you; you had only to look at me. — the burning heart, louise glück.

this is a repost.

you and bakugou avoid each other just like you did in middle school, only it's a little too easy this time around.

he's terrible at texting back in general, and because you're not initiating any conversations on your own — or sending funny memes or bringing up all might in some capacity — the radio silence draws ever on and on.

the closest you come to interacting with him is getting a snapchat from his mom, his figure in the background at their kitchen table. all you can see is the floof of his hair and the outline of his shoulders, but you're so bothered by the fact that he's home and didn't tell you that you don't even respond.

it officiates things in a bad way; he's really, actually not speaking to you.

and it's — fucking annoying.

at least in the past the distance was mutually and wordlessly agreed upon; you didn't talk because you were busy or didn't have time or anything new to say, but whenever he's come home — because he so rarely does — bakugou has always made his usual, god-honest attempt to irritate you.

and he still is, but this time he's doing it all wrong.

you go through the five stages of grief rather quickly, jumping from denial to anger overnight. several times, you type out something to text him, each message different than the last:

i know you were at your mom's jackass ☠️

it's really not a big deal and i think we should just forget about it, if that's what you wanna do ?

if i crossed some kind of boundary with you then i'm sorry and i won't say that again so you better call me before i put your baby pictures on the internet. i'm serious.

you're my best friend and i don't think it's weird that it happened. if you're being dumb because you're embarrassed, then don't be because i thought it was really hot

unsurprisingly, you don't send any of these and instead just stew in your own aggravation. lunch with him after the whole thing had been just as empty and awkward, and you think he chose the place near your apartment just so you could walk home and he didn't have to spend another second with you.

three months go by, which isn't long compared to other stints you've spent not talking to one another, but this one drags. like a lot. the only good that comes from it is that you graduate from anger to acceptance, finalizing a future without him in it.

except for the few times he invades your brain like a little parasite, red-faced and shuddering, gripping you like a lifeline, and then your stomach flips so hard that you feel sick and it takes genuine effort to check out of that daydream and back into a bakugou-less reality.

and then he shows up at your apartment, uninvited.

his mom hosts a sunday dinner that you don't go to, for several potential reasons. one would be that you'll have to see bakugou and pretend like nothing's happened even though you're still a little peeved; two is that you'll both ignore each other, and that'll reverse all your progress because he's been ignoring you already.

three is that he might not show up, and then you'll have to pretend that it doesn't bother you all night long.

none of that sounds better than watching trash television and falling asleep on your couch, so you tell mitsuki that you're very sick and very sorry, and that you'll make it up to her later.

because of this, the first thing bakugou says to you after you swing the front door open is, "you're supposed to be fuckin' dead."

suffice to say, you're surprised to see him; still outfitted in his hero costume, mask shoved up his forehead so that his hair is wilder than usual. there's kohl smudged around his eyes, messy, and they look brighter and harsher because of it.

there's also a family-mart plastic bag in his right hand.

"what?"

he just grunts, eyes snapping over your figure, dressed down in a too-large sweater and athletic shorts meant for running even though you've never done so in them.

in his hands — still gloved — the plastic crinkles obnoxiously as he holds it out. "old hag told me to bring this to you."

a can of low sodium soup, two apples, gatorade, and something over-the-counter for nausea. there's something else at the very bottom that you don't get the chance to inspect before he interrupts with his big, fat mouth.

"y'look fine to me, so why the hell didn't you go?"

you frown at him and — don't know what to say. clearly, it seems he's going the pretend-it-never-happened route, which is infuriating because he could just as well have done that months ago. even still, he won't hardly meet your gaze, staring for only a moment before rolling his eyes and huffing, sticking them anywhere else. if you peek close, real close, you'd say his ears are a little red, but maybe you're just looking for — something.

you shrug. "didn't feel like it."

he shakes his head like that's the stupidest thing he's ever heard, eyebrow arched. "why the hell not?"

"because, bakugou, i just didn't feel like going, i don't know what else to tell you." you huff, shrugging again when he doesn't say anything. "thanks for the stuff. is that it?"

his lips twist as he thinks, giving you another once-over before sighing. under his tank-top, you watch how his chest expands, the grimace that ripples over his face as he reaches a hand to lightly feel at his right side. "need your help with somethin'."

now you're just being petulant; you snort, raising your eyebrows as his eyes narrow at the sound. "me? are you joking? you need my help with—"

he groans loud enough to drown you out. "y'gonna let me in or y'just gonna run your mouth?" and so you step aside to wave him in wordlessly.

the backpack on his shoulder dumps to the ground by the door and he strolls into the kitchen like he owns the place, despite the fact that he's never been here before. you've lived in the unit for a year, but meetups are so infrequent and showing it off to him was never considered — until now; watching him shuffle through the bag on the counter, your nerves spike at the reality check.

alone together, again. in your apartment. well after dark.

that image of him is so — invasive, sweeping in at the worst times: between your legs, face as red as his eyes, the little moan he kept trying to swallow. how embarrassed he seemed when you asked if he felt good, if you felt good, and the fact that he still admitted it despite everything.

your entire body blazes like a flame to gasoline, and you try to focus on what else he's taking out of the bag, oblivious.

does he think about it at all? the way you have? at the root of the situation, that's what has been most bothersome: is he grossed out? simply embarrassed? does he feel taken advantage of? did he enjoy it and just doesn't know how to say it? the not knowing is driving you insane.

"i got—" bakugou awkwardly angles his body, gently touching at his side again. in his hands is a simple pack of first-aid supplies, like a wound wash and bandages and medical tape. "need you to change this shit for me."

"oh?" is all you can manage to say, still distracted, and whatever is obvious in your voice has his eyes snapping to you from across the kitchen, adam's apple bobbing. you clear your throat, struggling for normalcy. "the hell did you do?"

he's — going to take his shirt off. clearly, by the way he stretches out his shoulders and then slowly reaches behind himself to grab the material by the back, carefully pulling it up over his head with a low, stinging hiss.

bakugou's always been a lean kid — guy — but pulled so taut like that, after years of working out muscles you didn't even know he had, he looks — stupidly shredded, and the slow reveal of his tight stomach is not helping you to focus.

you just never realized how hot it was, because you never looked at him like that. until recently.

his mask comes off with his shirt and he tosses both onto the kitchen counter — again, as if he pays the bills here — and his hair is a mess and he usually doesn't care, but he runs a hand through it several times before finally looking back at you, eyes outlined in black.

"y'gonna help me or...?" he shrugs, trying to appear impassive — but it's too obvious; something's shifted, for the both of you.

you don't trust your voice anymore, so you just shuffle over to him, frowning at the dirty, worn bandage that's already unsticking from his skin. with his teeth, he pulls off his gloves and it's a wonder why he even wears them, really, because his hands are filthy underneath, covered in soot and black-stained grease.

standing like he is, arm slightly raised, you can see all his sweat, muscles shifting under his skin as he breathes, and his hairy armpit is staring you in the face and you don't know when he stopped being 12 and started being 20 and when he became such a man. it's not fair, that he should suddenly be so — attractive.

"you're disgusting," you tell him — and mean it — and it's met with such hot and irritated surprise that you have to keep talking before he explodes. "you should probably take a shower before putting on a new bandage."

it's road-rash up his right side, still shiny and wet and blood red. still raw. just looking at it is enough to make you cringe.

bakugou huffs, exasperated. "okay, gimme a towel then."

"i didn't mean take a shower here!" you squawk, taking a step back as if to further yourself from the suggestion.

detonation imminent; bakugou curls his hands into fists and the same muffled warning you've been getting your whole life crackles. "okay," he says, voice thin and razor sharp. "you're coming back to mine then?"

your whole life flashes before your eyes — or at least the few minutes it took for him to lose his shit between your legs. "what? no, why would i?"

"i need your help with this, dip-shit!"

"you're saying there's no one else that can—"

"if you want me to fuck off, just say so!"

things go silent, startlingly so. totally still, except for the rising flush across his face, one that you used to read as annoyance but are now translating into something else you never could have expected from him: embarrassment. it's starting to give you whiplash, how much you're discovering despite knowing him all your life.

"closet is at the end of hall," you say in surrender. "bathroom will be on your left."

bakugou mutters a quiet, angry little "jesus" before stalking back to the front door to get his bag, and then he's disappearing into the dark of your apartment.

you slump down on your couch and — struggle. watching the tv and absorbing nothing; it's a rerun anyway. the sudden, overwhelming urge to cry washes over you as the shower spray sounds in the background, followed by a low-timbered swear and the clatter of several bottles against the tub.

it's easy to butt heads with bakugou. you don't think there is any other way to interact with him, really, because he's so argumentative and that used to be okay, but now things are — off. you don't know what he's doing, what he wants, why he's here and in your shower when he could be at home or getting patched up at his agency. all the conclusions you can come to are frightening, a little, and they're hard to fathom; is he — does he want more?

is this just because he's a guy that got some action and is looking for a second round, or is this because it's you?

this stupid situation has only added an unnecessary amount of drama to your life, and you think maybe the pretend-it-never-happened route is the smartest path, even if you can't stop thinking about him and the strength coiled in his biceps, in his shoulders, and how tall he's become and — when did he lose most of the baby fat in his face, and when did he get such a sharp jawline?

how much is he working out, to get his body like that? he used to be a skinny, scrappy little thing and now — he can probably lift a truck over his head. must run all the time, though he's always been active, and you've never looked before, but you wonder how nice his ass is.

what he looks like under the shower, soapy and wet.

furiously, you blink out of your daydream, feeling like a foreign body in your own skin; if someone would have told you only a handful of months ago that you'd be having weird, sensual thoughts about your best friend, you would have laughed so hard you'd cried. or puked.

but if anyone else stands in that picture with him, your heart squeezes painfully. traitorously. already, you've shared so many memories with him; the start of elementary school, learning how to swim, giving each other equally bruised faces, staying up all night to study for important exams, tackling middle school graduation side-by-side, him making himself at home in your first apartment, just as you had done in his.

the devil on your shoulder asks: what's a few more firsts?

it seems like the shower stops in record time, but when you hone back in on the tv, the episode has changed and new drama is settling in. distantly, the rattle of the doorknob is more aggressive than it needs to be and when the echo of a swung-open door trails down the hallway, your heart suspends in your throat. never have you had to think this much just to be around him, and it's bothersome.

clean and relaxed, he's — softer; you spare a quick glance at him when he comes to stand beside the couch, distracted by the show on screen, and his hair is damp, starting to stick out again the more it dries. his muscles aren't made of marble anymore; still there and rippling, but he breathes calmly and his skin is baby smooth, tender. you eye his tummy and the line of fine hair running down into the waistband of his sweats, and do your best to ignore the sudden desire to kiss right above his belly-button.

"since when are they talking again?"

just as he looks at you, your gaze shoots back to the screen, eyes narrowing as you try to rapidly remember what's happening in the day-to-day for stay-at-home, pro-hero wives.

"uh," you blink, distracted — and he notices, "what do you mean? they've been hanging out, like, all season."

bakugou watches the tv in silence, occasionally glancing down to the bandage in his hands as he carefully spreads it out, as he dampens the towel with the antiseptic and dabs at his wounds.

"even after she hit on whatshername's husband?"

"yeah, that was a misunderstanding," you frown at him but he doesn't see it. "remember when they went to that dinner party and all hell broke loose because—"

his flat look serves for a rude interruption. "they go to a lot of fuckin' dinner parties."

"i know, but," you scoff, annoyed, "have you even watched this season?"

bakugou scoffs, mocking and over-dramatic, "yeah, as if i've got all day to sit on my ass and watch your stupid girly—"

"you're watching it right now."

"because you've got it on!" he huffs when you sink into the couch, resolutely trying to ignore him. “start it over then, if you’re gonna cry about it.”

you gape up at him, going as far as to pause the show so that maybe he’ll acknowledge you and all your annoyance; he doesn’t. “start it over? this is, like, episode 26!”

“so? got a hot date or what?”

he’s not at all interested in the answer and that’s obvious when he spins around and holds out the bandage expectantly, staring down at the scrape — glowing red and angry, a mirrored wound you can feel scabbing across your own skin; itchy and irritating.

finally he looks at you properly, frowning softly and — you see him then, can feel the tension lining his body as you carefully tape on his bandage. trying to hide how uncomfortable he is, though you he’s never had to do so with you in all of — forever. it’s nauseating, and again you're struck by the image of him, only now it's of the horror that had been on his face afterwards, at what you’d done.

it pushes everything over the edge; quietly, so that your voice doesn’t expose anything, you say, “you haven’t spoken to me in three months.”

silence weighs in the air immediately, heavy, and you watch him try to appear unbothered, shrugging as he stares back at the unmoving tv, jaw tight. “phone works both ways.”

“yeah, but,” your hands drop as he steps away to pull on a loose shirt, and you curl your fists into your own. just as he has. “i’m always the one having to reach out—”

“so why didn’t you?”

“what?” frustrated, you massage your temples, trying to soothe the nuclear headache threatening to incinerate you. “are you seriously trying to—”

“what’s the big deal?” he huffs, slumping down into the far corner of the couch before cringing, swearing as he gently touches at his bandage. “you’ve gone longer than that without talkin’ to me, so…”

the tone of his voice is infuriating, as if this is somehow all your fault — and maybe it is, because you shouldn’t have crossed such a boundary with him, but — he can be such a dick.

“it’s not just me bakugou, you could have just as easily picked up the phone, too!” your teeth grind when he shrugs again, leaning his head against his fist as he looks anywhere else. it almost looks like guilt that's dragging his expression down, but you know better than to assume he could feel such a thing. “you always—”

“jesus, if i always do this—”

“shut up for a second, damn!” and then because you can’t stand the stupid look on his face, you kick him in the thigh for good measure; it garners a warning glare, his teeth bared.

he easily catches you by the ankle when you try to kick him again. "tell me what the big fuckin' deal is."

"the big deal? oh, you mean besides the fact that you totally came in your pants?"

it stuns him for a second, eyes wide and face pale, before he's yanking you across the couch, narrowly avoiding the knee aimed for his gut. "you—fucking—!" a smack lands across the back of his head when he ducks and he plants a heavy hand over your face, forcing you to close your eyes and turn away.

"you're gonna blow my head off!"

"if i wanted you dead, you—" he intercepts the hand you blindly reach up with, crossing it awkwardly over your chest so that you're pinned down like a wild animal. "you would be!"

"kiss my ass, katsuki." you snark, and it does something to him, your use of his first name, because he's still for a moment before sitting back and collecting your wrists correctly, to hold against the couch arm above your head.

"you're such a fucking—" he swoops in so low that his nose almost brushes yours and he grabs the front of your sweater with his free hand, like he's gonna shake you down for some lunch money. "fuck, i could just—" and then he groans long and loud, so annoyed he can't find the words.

"yeah, well—"

"shut up," he lightly knocks his forehead into your cheekbone with another dissatisfied sound, letting out a heavy sigh as he sinks his face down into your neck.

all your muscles tighten on instinct, waiting for the sharp bite that's due any second — but his fingers only uncurl from the material of your sweater, slowly slipping around to tangle into the hair at the nape of your neck. his pull there is a little tight, enough for you to know he's got you, but not so much that you're head is aching; you can't imagine you have a sensitive scalp, anyway, after growing up around him.

you want to say something — which is an annoying realization because now you feel like too much of a talker — but you just focus on the heave of his chest over yours, the breath that moves through him. the minute jostle of his hips as he settles further into the space between your legs, almost comfortable. the slight swell of something unfamiliar against your inner thigh.

bakugou presses his face a little further into you, warm, and the tip of his nose drags along the column of your throat. successfully sedating you, distracted by the feel of his parted lips against your skin.

your body is hot all over, very suddenly; the sweater now feels like a death trap and hopefully you don't smell weird, though it's never been a worry before, not around him, and your adrenaline is rushing and you're kinda tired of acting like you don't know why that is.

fuck pretend-it-never-happened. it's been a long three months.

he's almost entirely pressed against you, but there is a small gap of space that closes when you open your legs a little wider, hitching them around his waist as his breath stutters against your neck.

it's happened so quick, so effortlessly yet again; you give a purposeful roll of your hips upward and are lost in him all over.

only — it's different than it was before because straddling his lap hadn't done much for you, but now the weighted outline of him is right against your center and the pressure that drags across you sends tingles up your spine and has your toes curling in your socks. when you let out a tiny gasp at the stomach-flipping sensation, tension coils in every curve of his body and the grip around your wrists and in your hair only tightens.

you can't help it; you let out a "katsuki" in the same heady tone as you did in his apartment and it has him falling easily into the slow grind you've been unable to stop thinking about. what shifts across his face is obvious, against your throat, like the scrunch of his brow and the slow drop of his mouth. he tries to muffle his breathy "oh" into your skin, but it echoes throughout your entire body, has an ache beginning between your thighs that he's already soothing.

the nip comes then, teeth sinking gently into your neck as you weakly cry out in surprise, but it's only for a moment before his tongue — wet and heavy and wide — is tasting over your jugular, lips closing around your skin as he sucks experimentally. you let out a proper moan then, squirming against his hands and up into him so that the pressure doubles for the both of you.

katsuki finally relinquishes your wrists, carding his hand down your body before coming to squeeze your hip, your thigh, locking your leg tight around his waist. "yeah," he rasps, voice deeper than you've ever heard it as he presses his forehead into yours. "how do you fuckin' like it?"

being bitten, he means, vengefully, but you're spread open beneath him and he's rutting the hard length of himself against you roughly, eagerly, and panting open-mouthed and you tighten up at the aggression in his tone and in his hands and his very being and —

"fuck," you gasp, loud and wanton, "fuck, katsuki—"

and then you are kissing your best friend.

the boy from down the street that always ruined your hair and taught you where to place your thumb if you were gonna throw a punch. that used his empty pen cartridge to blow spitballs at you and mocked you for losing crane games, even though he ended up giving you the stupid stuffed animal anyway. that had to be king of the castle, with his stick-sword and cardboard shield. that demanded you be his queen, weeds he picked for you woven carefully into your hair by his hands.

katsuki kisses like he's shy — another term you've never thought of in relation to him and all his fire and brimstone; it's slow and a little delayed in comparison to what his hips are doing, as if he's in his head too much and is trying to figure how to move his lips and when. tentative and chaste, until you run your tongue along the seam of his mouth and pry him open a little more.

it's making you hungry; that possessiveness from before is creeping back in, eager to have him in ways nobody else has. you arch into him, biting at his lips and sighing into his mouth as goosebumps break out across his skin.

with a slant of his head, he deepens the kiss and you can feel his nostrils flaring, the fingernails scratching against your scalp, the bruises he's probably leaving on your thigh. he lets up only to breathe, panting into your ear when he begins to bite and suck on your skin again; your earlobe and neck and even the cut of your jaw. like maybe he's hungry, too.

you fist a hand into his shirt just to tug it up his body, feeling the strong contract of his stomach when your fingers ghost against him. katsuki gets the hint quickly, rising up to his knees to tear the material off — much more harshly than he did before, which has you eying his crinkled bandage — and you move fast to take advantage of the new space.

it gives him pause when you yank down your shorts, pulling your legs back to slip them off and fling them somewhere across the room. his face goes red again, and his heaving chest, too, and his eyelids flutter as he takes in the sight of your flimsy, damp cotton underwear. you start to pull the sweater up your stomach, but he's watching so intently — so ravenous — that you get shy, without a bra underneath the too-hot fabric.

in any other situation, katsuki would have grabbed onto this moment, your hesitation, and held it over your head to come back and poke at. cataloged this little weak spot for future arguments, but now —

not once has he ever been gentle with you in anything; it's enough of a surprise that that's even a possibility for him, for the two of you, but he presses his body back into yours and kisses you deep, calloused fingers tracing over the new skin exposed to him. he doesn't try to push the sweater up any further, but one hand slips up your back, to splay between your shoulder-blades like it had before, and he's so close and you've never known him to be this — careful. with anything.

"y'r so—" katsuki rolls his hips again and groans, whispering against your lips. "fuckin' soft."

his sweatpants are still on and you don't know why, but when you reach down to help tug them off, he grabs your wrist before they can go too far.

he presses the heat from his cheeks into your own, like he wants to share it. "you done this before?"

"have you?"

he frowns at your non-answer. "i asked first."

you have. three times, technically, though a phantom pain echoes in your stomach at the memories, and you feel an odd emptiness in your chest that makes you really glad to have the sweater still on. your answer leaves you a little ashamed, under his gaze, and you purposely turn from it. "would...that bother you?"

before, you wouldn't have cared, didn't care, nor were you even thinking of him when it happened. wherever he must have been; u.a, probably, getting ready to make his lifelong dreams a reality while you trusted a boy that didn't look at you the way katsuki is now. that didn't hold you and touch you and kiss you the way your best friend has.

he scoffs, though it doesn't sound as careless as it usually does and he squeezes his eyes shut so you can't read them. the truth that's hidden there. "no," he lies, "why would—" but he doesn't finish, just sighs.

"it was awful anyway," you tell him, offering a small smile when he peeks down at you. he doesn't say anything, so you kiss him once, twice, until his tension is melting away. "should have been you."

the grip on your thigh turns almost painful and he grinds into you so roughly that you both gasp, loud in the tight, barely-there space between you. "yeah," he rasps, sucking another bruise into the hollow of your throat. "fuckin' should have."

you try to imagine it; eighteen and nervous, naked in front of him for the first time since you were seven and got into paint from his mom's workshop, when she made you both strip down in the same room, furious. how different he might have been with you then, how much more unsure. kinder than your ex, without a doubt, even for katsuki, and he probably wouldn't have even gone through with the whole thing, considering how uncomfortable the first time is.

or maybe it wouldn't have been, with him; maybe he would have looked into it, taken the time to wind you up the same way he is now so that you were eager and wet and ready. looking down at you with his wide, almost-black eyes in the dim light of a table lamp. another first to share.

"if i'd have just," he huffs, allowing his sweats to slip down past his hips. shoulders trembling when he makes you moan out his name again. "fuckin'—grown a pair 'n told you—"

the weight of him becomes more obvious, the straining bulge he's rocking into your core, and seeing it is — really getting to you; wearing such tight boxers, you can tell just how close the pink tip of him is to his waistband, nearly peeking out from just how hard he is.

it takes a shrug to get him out of your shoulder, so you can press your lips back to his. "can still be you, katsuki," you breathe, biting on his bottom lip until his tiny frown is gone. "if you want, it can still be you."

for a minute, he indulges himself in the greedy kiss you're giving him, testing strokes of his tongue against your own as his hips stutter out of rhythm — but it's when your fingers brush through the hair at the base of his stomach, trying to slip a hand into his boxers, that he's gasping into your mouth and pushing his body up and away.

determination settles over his face then — along with his vibrant flush — and he doesn't say anything as he grabs you like it's nothing and scoots you up the couch so that your back is pressed to the arm, propped up. once he settles between your thighs, he just rests his face into the plush of your stomach — which is humiliating and has you squirming, but the firmness returns to his hands; holding your hips so that you'll still, so that he can kiss right above your belly button, just as you wanted to do to him.

heat flares in your own cheeks — and down your chest and in your ears and searing on the back of your neck — when you feel the first puff of his warm breath against your underwear, where you're sensitive and slick and aching.

this is completely new to you; your ex-boyfriend probably never considered tasting you here, certainly not with the same desire that's painted across katsuki's face. you have to slap your hands over your eyes and bite your lip, embarrassed, suddenly, at how desperate the simple press of his mouth to your underwear makes you.

"hey, hey," katsuki grunts, pinching at your hips until you peek at him through your fingers. the highlights of his cheeks are crimson and his eyes are black, glaring with an intensity that makes you shiver. "it's my fuckin' turn."

to make you fall apart, he means, just as he had.

at the first hot drag of his tongue against the material, you squirm, leaning your head back so that your expression is hidden. another grunt comes from him, you think in dissatisfaction, but he continues, laving until your mouth is falling open and the fabric between you is drenched.

he's gone just long enough to be replaced by the ghost of his thumb, touching you much too-gently. hunger has you stealing another look at him, watching behind your hands as he stares, blatantly, at the mess he's already made of you, stroking the pad of his finger against the sodden material in interest.

discovering; a curious swipe over where you're aching has you sighing and trembling and his eyes jump back up to your covered face, open mouth curling into the faintest smirk as he does it again and again and again. it's bullshit — how quickly he's figured you out, almost as if your body was meant to be unraveled by his hands — but then again, it didn't take you long either, did it?

"katsuki," you hiss, digging a hand into the hair at the crown of his head, tugging on it until his smile is dropping and his eyes are lidding. your body is on fire and your legs are trying to close around his head, hips squirming as he toys with you, like the little brat he is.

deadly serious, he grabs your underwear and holds it tightly in his fist so that you can wiggle one leg free, and then he's tugging it out of his way and devouring you whole.

it's sloppy, the mixture of spit and slick as runs his tongue through you, wet and wide, and you're so sensitive that you squeak out in surprise, fingers tightening. a groan punches from deep in his chest and your hips buck at the vibration of it, drawn so tight already.

"oh my—" you gasp, dropping your other hand from your face to grip the couch; eyes closed, you're somewhere else entirely, lost in the clumsy swirl of pleasure between your thighs.

katsuki raises his head to breathe, reaffirming your grip in his hair by wrapping his fingers tight over your own. at the shiny sight of his mouth, you can't help but to whimper with a needy roll of your hips, until he's simply sticking out his tongue and allowing you to ride it, to use it as you need to. it's embarrassing, how desperate you are, but his eyes are knife-sharp and trained on you and you've never experienced anything like this.

he moves then, slipping one hand further up under your sweater, cupping your breast carefully as his lids flutter — and the other is shoved between his hips and where they're pressed into the couch. you tighten up at just the idea of him rutting into his hand while kissing your messy slit, moaning openly, head falling back as your eyes start to roll.

this is — fuck — you've never been so turned on in all your life and it's driving you crazy; at one point in time, the thought of bakugou like this would have grossed you out, but now you think it's only like this because of him. anyone else wasn't right, not the way he is, and he's maybe a little impatient and unwieldy, but it's katsuki. between your legs with his mouth on you — something he wanted — and his fingers are brushing over your nipple and the other is down his pants, wrist flexing and —

"fuck, oh fuck, i—" you try to sit up, chasing blindly after the high, but he forces you back down. a long groan is muffled by your skin and when he lifts his chin just a little, a glob of spit falls off his lips and the sight makes your toes curl before he presses back into you and sucks.

everything goes blank as you free-fall into him and you cum quietly, muscles so taut in your body that your voice can't even squeeze out of your throat. the minute you're able to breathe, he's biting a mark into your thigh and yanking you back down under him, lips slick against yours.

tasting yourself on his tongue has you coming out of the heady haze, ravenous; katsuki helps you to shove his boxers down, though he can only gasp tightly when he grinds against you, coating himself.

"'m not—" his soft hair tickles your face when he shakes his head, arms trembling beside your head. "i won't be able to—"

"keep going," you breathe, smearing your mess over the tip of him and down his length as he groans. "i don't care, keep going."

he smashes his lips to yours, though he's only able to meet the pump of your hand a few times before dropping his forehead to your shoulder, spine curling, fingers digging into your hair. katsuki swears long and low, eventually letting out a soft sound you wouldn't have expected from him as his entire body tenses and he spills onto your stomach.

"goddamn it," he moans into the fabric of your sweater, weary, after a long moment. "now 'm fuckin' tired."

and for some reason that makes you laugh, though the lust is dissipating and your nerves are trembling at the memory of how this ended last time. katsuki pulls away suddenly, making your stomach drop, and he doesn't look at you as he detangles himself, awkwardly shuffling away from the couch and out of sight.

you frown down at the mess on your stomach, the way it's pooling in your belly-button — and you'll be damned to let him leave you like this, but just as you finishing reciting over and over what you want to say, he appears, towel in hand.

it's still damp from his shower and you tense on instinct, waiting for him to start twirling it with that stupid grin on his face, but katsuki only arranges your legs so that he can sit between them, carefully wiping you off as his cheeks burn. and you just watch him, the way he runs a hand over your skin to make sure he got it all before helping to finagle your underwear back on properly.

then he just looks at the tv, unmoving. if he's trying to appear casual at all, it's a piss-poor job — but he's never been able to keep his fat mouth shut for long.

the look he gives you lacks its usual heat, though you can't tell if that's just because he's drained or if he's withdrawn for another reason. "what now? six months, a year before you talk to me again?"

and you're annoyed all over again.

"what?" you return his weak glare, sitting up properly so that you're right in his face. "are you kidding me? you didn't talk to me either."

"the hell did you want me to say?" he scoffs and — you could slap him, for ruining everything so quickly. wipe that stupid look off his face with your fist. "'sorry i busted a nut, you free for dinner?'"

"yeah!" the shrill tone of your voice makes his eyes widen, and you throw your hands up in the air, incensed. "that sounds wonderful in comparison to coming home and avoiding me."

"i didn't avoid you," he mutters, though his eyes drift back to the tv. "just didn't have shit to say."

"bakugou," you slap your hands over your face for the second time, though this one is much worse than the last. "how is that fucking fair? what did you want me to say?"

and now — his eyes are full and furious, mouth curling down into an ugly frown that you've so rarely had the pleasure of seeing on his face; every time his mother made you go home and when you told him you weren't gonna try to test into u.a. when he overheard your girl friends teasing you for liking an older boy in your school.

when he was losing you, you realize.

"'m not doin' this shit with you," he mutters, definitive, before swiping his shirt up off the floor and standing. "not doin' this bakugou shit."

"oh my god," you groan, rising, too, because your stomach is twisting at the thought of him leaving again, no matter how angry he's making you. "what does that even mean?"

you trail him as he stomps into your kitchen to grab his work shirt and mask from the counter, trying to interrupt him at every turn, and the scowl on his face only grows when you shoot to stand in front of the door, just as he reaches for his bag.

"you can't—"

"this," he seethes, gesturing to you and then himself before gritting his teeth so hard that they should shatter. "this is why i didn't wanna fuckin' talk to you."

you knew he didn't. the minute lunch ended and when you made out his shape in mitsuki's snapchat: you knew. but hearing it from his mouth is as much of a confirmation as it is a kick in the gut.

there's more he's struggling to say, mouth shifting as he chews on the words and the skin of his lips. his gaze jumps from you to the door to something on the counter before he's swallowing again, staring down at you with brand new eyes.

the light in the kitchen makes them shine, angry and sad. "i can't—" he sighs, nostrils flaring like he's mad at himself for struggling. "go back to bakugou, not after—" a vague hand waves toward the couch. "maybe this is just, i don't know, whatever to you, but i — fuckin' can't."

tell me what the big fuckin' deal is; earlier, he'd demanded it of you, why the silence mattered so much this time when it didn't seem to matter before. in the midst of your anger, you didn't think twice about his wording but now —

he wanted you to say it. katsuki wanted to hear you say that it hurt to be without him for so long, and he kept his distance because he was afraid that you wouldn't.

"you're so stupid," you mutter it quietly, and his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, enraged, but before he can get another dumb word out, you loop your arms around his neck and just — kiss him.

not crazy or wild or lust-driven, just your lips to his, slowly working him out of the shell he's tried to hide behind.

the bag in his hand hits the ground with a soft thud and then his arm is wrapping around your back, tugging you to him as he finally breathes and opens his mouth — and lets you in.

when you cup the sides of his neck, katsuki inhales sharply through his nose, pulse jumping under your fingers, and his lashes flutter against your cheeks as he opens his eyes. he pulls back enough so that you can stare at each other and you realize that eyeliner is still clinging to his lids, making him seem sharper than usual.

you're a little stunned, then, at how beautiful he is.

"i can't go back to bakugou either, dumbass." gently, you knock your forehead into his, smiling at the pout on his face. "you've totally screwed that up for me."

"yeah, well," he huffs, "about time. only took you all my goddamn life."

"sorry i'm late."

"what else is new?" he rolls his eyes and you squeak, indignant, before sticking your tongue out at him, patience worn thin already.

you expect a bite or a pinch to the cheek or another rough violence that falls along the lines that have made up your relationship thus far — but instead there is only something soft that reflects in his eyes and the shy kiss he presses to your lips, something that he's kept safe just for you, guarded, with his stick-sword and cardboard shield.

#narrator voice: willow did not have the spoons to extend the ending #whoopsie #okie okie part 2 #✿ willow writes #✿ one shot: bakugou

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sainns · 6 months

Text

UNTIL I OPENED MY EYES.

𝓢. ㅤㅤwhy did it take you so long to realize that this isn't healthy?

NRKㅤ✶ ㅤ (⠀femreader⠀) . . . toxic situationship!riki, riki is toxic obviously, implications of lovebombing, bittersweet ending imo, no part two.ㅤ1374 words

you always thought that you had a bit more respect for yourself before you got together with riki. maybe it was your fault; you’d never set explicit boundaries or gotten mad at him for anything that he’s done, instead brushing it off as him not being fully ready for a relationship yet.

and that was okay with you, you could understand why he didn’t want to date you. you were content with the small affections he would give you when you were alone, simply ignoring every red flag, no matter how bright they were.

you let him treat you poorly simply because you’ve liked the boy for almost as long as you’ve known him. it was easy to forget about him pretending to not know you in public when he would bring you your favorite foods on days when you were stressed. it was too easy to forget about him only messaging you at atrocious hours of the night when he would watch your favorite shows just so you could talk about it together for hours.

you were fine until you found yourself upset more often than not. all because of him and his actions towards you, it was embarrassing to say the least. the one friend you had told about riki was iroha, and she despised him (with good reason), she was always urging you to get out of this relationship, but you didn’t listen.

eventually, though, you stopped enjoying the limited time that you actually spent together because it somehow always ended up in an argument, him storming out and you ending up alone like you always were when it came to being with him.

“you can’t seriously be mad at me right now. you’re making a big deal out of nothing,” he scoffs, running a hand through his messy hair.

you're used to this. you're always the dramatic one, everything you do is wrong. he's never wrong and if you so much as imply that he is then you're the bad guy. you're just disregarding his feelings and being an awful person.

“i just – i don’t understand why you would do that. it’s like you’re actively trying to ruin my relationships with people,” you’re sitting on your couch as you watch riki pacing in front of you. he stops when you speak, furrowing his eyebrows as he turns his head to look at you.

you can feel a pit form in your stomach.

“i didn’t know you were in a ‘relationship’ with him,”

“it's not like that, he’s just my friend, ki,”

he hums, nodding his head, “uh huh,” he stares you down. it feels uncomfortable, it’s like he’s trying to think of the worst thing he could possibly say to you, “you don’t treat him like a friend. you’re around him all the time, god. you’re, like, almost as clingy with him as you are with me. it’s weird,”

you resist the urge to scoff, knowing that he’ll only use it against you — “wow, so i can’t say what i feel now? you’re just gonna be a bitch about it?” — like he always does.

you guess you’re silent for too long because he mumbles something under his breath, you aren’t sure what, and he speaks to you once again, “yn, seriously. what’s your fucking problem?”

“what’s your problem? you’ve been really mean to me lately,”

“whatever, dude. if i’m so mean then i’ll just leave,”

you don’t bother trying to stop him as he grabs his stuff angrily. he slips his shoes on and his hoodie that was sitting next to you before he took it. you watch him intently, taking note of the crease between his eyebrows and his darkened eyes. you know what he looks like when he’s mad and this isn’t it, you don’t know what he’s feeling right now.

in all honestly, you don’t know anything about him. this whole thing was superficial; you like him but he doesn’t like you. he only likes the attention you give him, the way that you’ll drop everything just for the chance to be in his presence. it boosts his ego and it hurts yours.

iroha told you, she warned you multiple times that the longer you stayed with him the worse it was going to get, but you crave his attention. no matter how hard you tried to stop, you just couldn’t do it. not when he would text you saying that he missed your voice, that he missed hanging out with you.

maybe there’s something wrong with you. realistically, you know that there isn’t, that this isn’t totally your fault, but it truly felt like it was. why doesn’t he like you the way that you like him? what is so wrong with you that he can’t like you back? he used to compliment you all the time in the beginning, he told you everything a girl wants to hear from the boy she likes, but eventually he stopped. maybe it’s because he realized that he already had you hooked, he didn’t need to put in all that ‘extra’ work.

it’s only been seven months since you and him started whatever this is, and it’s been three months of you feeling the most unwanted you’ve ever felt in your life. you can’t believe it’s taken ninety days for you to realize that maybe it isn’t worth it. it never was.

“text me when you fix your shit, alright?” you’re broken out of your thoughts when you hear his voice again. you focus on his figure, staring at him. he wasn’t worth all of this pain, as dramatic as that sounds. you could easily find somebody else, somebody who actually cared about you.

“i don’t want to text you. i don’t want to do this with you anymore,”

you can tell your words surprise him. his eyes widen briefly and you can see him flinch slightly, as if the mere thought of you breaking it off is hurting him. sure, you’ve tried ending things before but this is the first time you’ve sounded so sure of it. this time you really weren’t going to text him, you weren’t going to call him, and you weren’t going to beg for his attention.

“seriously?” his voice is the softest you’ve ever heard it and it almost makes you change your mind, but you don’t.

“yeah,”

he walks back towards you, cautiously, like he’s afraid you’re going to do something to him if he gets too close. once he sees that you aren’t going to hit and scream at him, he kneels down in front of you, his hands resting on your thighs.

“baby, this isn’t even a big fight, what do you mean? are you for real dumping me?”

you laugh bitterly, pushing his hands off of you, “i can’t dump you if we weren’t ever dating, riki,”

“you know what i mean, yn,” you can hear the annoyance creeping into his voice, the sweet and vulnerable tone from earlier disappearing as quickly as it came. this solidified everything for you; no matter how nice he pretends to be, he will never treat you right. his mood changes every time your mouth opens, every time you try arguing your side. he isn’t healthy for you.

“just leave already. i don’t want to do this, i’m serious,” you push him back gently, making enough room for you to stand and walk over to the door, pulling it open, “please, just go. you never had a problem with it before,”

he stares at you for a brief moment, not even having the decency to make eye contact with you as he says, “you’re being fucking dramatic, but fine. don’t text me when you realize you fucked up,” riki stands, finally leaving. he bumps his shoulder against yours when he exits, pulling the door out of your grasp just so he can slam it shut.

you blink, scrunching your nose up at his display of pure immaturity. despite that ending though, you can practically feel all of the tension leaving your body. you feel like you can finally breath again. you’re glad you finally opened your eyes, that you got out of the lovesick haze he had you trapped in for so long.

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monzabee · 1 year

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you'll change your name or change your mind - cl16

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Summary: The one where you find your way back home, even if the journey takes longer than you think.

Pairing: charles leclerc x fem!bianchi!reader

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: mentions of jules and his accident, ANGST, talks about college acceptances in the US but it’s not accurate because i’ve never applied for US schools, mentions of alcohol and underage drinking/clubbing (only in the US though), mentions of a fake id, mentions of cheating, fighting, charles being stupid and not realising it, talks about processing grief, GRIEF, survivor’s guilt, talks of therapy, friends to lovers y’all.

Request: “The Charles fanfic was so good!! Can you write more angsty but happy needing Charles? I think it’s be cute for a man who loves Monaco so much to got to wherever his girlfriend lives Ike London or nyc often and deal with that. Maybe she hates monaco lol” + “if your requests are still open, max or charles + “you have to promise you won’t fall in love with me.” thanks!”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! i decided to give into the whole angst thing and i can honestly say that i’m having a great time. i wanted to include Jules somehow in this one because i’ve been seeing some edits on tiktok and let me tell you proofreading was a bitch because i kept crying. also, my spotify kept bringing up lorde and hannah montana songs, so there you go. this was definitely a hard one to write and i know it’s messy, but all feedback is appreciated. thank you, anon, for the request, i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

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

Monaco is full of memories. It’s filled with memories of your childhood, your parents picking up you and your siblings from school in Nice, and getting the train to Monaco for your brother to compete in karting races. It’s filled with laughter, and ice cream, and friends. It’s also filled with fears, loss and uncertainty, and you suppose that’s why you didn’t ever want to go back. But you find your back there every time, even if it is only for a couple of days at a time. Although it reminds you of the bad times, it’s hard to erase the good ones completely.

Charles is just one of the people Jules brought into your life. He was right there since your birth – apparently, the Leclercs were visiting your family in Nice when your mother suddenly went into labour. You will always be thankful to Pascale and Hervé for stopping Jules from choosing your middle name to be Michael Schumacher. Neither Charles, nor you will forget the type of shenanigans you got up to as little kids, there is only a year difference between the two of you after all. There’s that one time you stole Charles’ kart and tried to go down the road, in which he caught you but instead of ratting you out to Lorenzo and Jules, who were supposed to be looking after you by the way, he helped you get it down the stairs and passed you his helmet as he explained how to go about it. Neither of your brothers were impressed by your ability to go fast or Charles’ sudden interest in maybe becoming a race engineer if the whole driver thing doesn’t work out. There was also the time when the two of you, along with Arthur, snuck out from a family friend’s wedding to only get lost in a city in the South of France; Charles got so stressed that he forgot how to speak French and proceeded to ask how to get back to the venue in Italian for the rest of the night. Needless to say, the two of you are there for each other no matter what; you stayed together through heartbreaks, wins, losses, losing Jules and Hervé, funerals, weddings and much more. The majority of your time together is spent in your family’s house in Nice. Charles doesn’t mind the half-hour journey, an hour if he decides to go back but he hardly ever does. Sometimes, he manages to convince you come to Monte Carlo for the day by bribing you with promises of sunsets and ice cream, but he will always drive you back if you insist you want to go home without any complain.

The first time you bring up the topic of moving, you’re in your last year of high school; by that time, Charles is already racing in Formula One, so your time together is limited to breaks between the races. However he tries his hardest to be there for you, from talking you through breakdowns that occur after long study sessions, to looking up pre-med programmes for you to apply all over the world. You never wanted to live your entire life between Nice and Monte Carlo in the first place, so is he is more than happy to help you explore your options. Your application results arrive when he’s on break between the races, so the two of you sit on the small table in his Monaco apartment’s kitchen, the light from your laptop lighting up both of your faces as you open up the emails one by one. You’re most anxious about your application to Columbia, which is 3.462 miles away from Nice, and 3.993 from Monte Carlo. By the time you finish opening up all the emails, both of you are sitting there with a silence between you. The acceptance letter still open on your laptop is congratulating you for your offer to join Columbia’s pre-med program the following September.

“Yes,” He looks at you expectantly, “Accept it, Y/N, you shouldn’t be even thinking about it!”

“Yes?” You let out a nervous laugh. “It’s not that simple, Charles–”

“But it is!” He argues, a big smile on his face. You can tell he is proud of you by the look in his eyes and the way his emotions carry through his voice. “It’s your top choice of school!”

“It’s also in New York, it means that there will be an entire ocean between us!”

He shrugs. “So?”

“So?” Your eyes widen in surprise, you start staking your head a little without being aware that you are doing it. “Doesn’t that scare you?”

“Chérie,” Charles coos, pulling your chair by its leg to bring you closer to him and wrap a supportive arm around your body. His chest rumbles from his low laughter as he presses kisses to your hair. “We’ll be fine, look at everything we’ve been through, and we’re not even that old.”

You scoff, hitting his chest in an attempt to get away; you start furiously typing on your computer. “You are old,” you point to him with a tilt of your head, “I’m not, though.”

He rolls his eyes and turns his concentration to the tab still open on your computer, “You’re going to accept the offer, though, right?”

You end up accepting the offer. Charles and his family is there alongside yours to send you off on a plane to New York City. Both your mother and Charles’ have tears in their eyes as they say their goodbyes, with your father giving you a similar look. Being the youngest of four siblings, it must’ve been hard to send their youngest all the way across an ocean, but they let you know that you have their support in every step of the way. With Charles’ schedule for the remaining races scattered all over the world, he tells you not to force yourself and to enjoy your first months as a college student.

You surprise him in Austin, though. Arranging this surprise is definitely not the easiest, but you ask Lorenzo for his help and he is more than happy to make arrangements for you. It’s the end of Friday’s last practice session when you surprise him in the Alfa Romeo garage. He almost walks past you, to get rid of his helmet when you say his name, but once he realises it is you he quickly pulls in for a hug. “What are you doing here?” He asks you while laughing with glee.

“Heard there’s an immunology seminar in town about the effects of talking a shower and then going out without drying your hair.” You answer with all the seriousness you can muster.

“Really?” He asks in confusion, taking his helmet and balaclava off and trying to fix his sweat-soaked hair.

You hit the back of his head lightly, shaking your head in disbelief. “No! I came here to see you race, you idiot!”

He shakes head in understanding. “Oh, oh!” His eyes widen once again with recognition this time.

“Yes, oh, now come on, we’re going out.” You’re quick to add, “To dinner because airplane food sucks. We’re going out clubbing after the race, though.”

True to your word, you go clubbing after his race on Sunday, which Charles is not entertained by. He’s paranoid by the fact that you are in the club with them in the first place, which should not be happening because you’re underage. He keeps silent as you show the bouncer your id, which he knows is a fake, by the way; as he sends Lorenzo an incredulous look, his older brother’s reaction consisting off a shrug of the shoulders makes him more paranoid.

“Y/N, you should not be drinking.” He voices his concern, as you’re on your second drink of the night. “This is wrong.”

“How is this different than me drinking back at home?” You argue with your eyebrows raised. “You don’t tell me I can’t drink when we’re back home.”

“Because it is legal for you to do so there!” Charles exclaims, somehow gathering the attention of some of the clubbers nearby, but he offers them an apological smile and then turns back to you with his voice lowered. “You’re not twenty one, ergo – you shouldn’t be drinking.”

“Pfft,” You shrug him off, “You’re stupid, and I’m bored. You want to dance?”

You help Charles to move into his flat in Italy when he starts racing for Ferrari. Though he still lives in Monaco full-time, he rented a small place in Maranello to stay when he’s travelling. It’s an emotional event, which has both of you sitting on the floor of his new apartment going through boxes of old photographs. He finds one of his brothers and Jules with you, standing in front of a karting ring with big smiles in all of your faces. You fingers involuntarily trace over your brother, your eyes misting when you think about the day.

“He was so young,” You whisper, having to swallow a sob which threatens to escape.

Your eyes linger on the photograph for a while, and Charles quickly understands that you were not talking about the photograph as the tears you were trying to hold back find their way onto your cheeks. “He was.” He agrees; there aren’t enough words in the world to describe what losing a family member does to a person, and he understands you in a way most people cannot.

You offer him a sad smile through your tears. “He would be so proud of you.”

“He would be also so proud of you,” He whispers right back, leaning closer to you so that he could wipe away the few stray tears. “In fact, I am pretty sure he is.”

“Stop it.” You laugh softly through your tears as you push yourself to get off the floor, and dry under your eyes with your fingers as you look across the room. “Oh my god, Charles, we have so many boxes to go through.”

He gets up after you and looks around the dusty living room as he attempts to get rid of the dust on his clothes. “We do, don’t we?” He watches as you kneel in front of an unopened box and slice through the tape with a knife, and starting to go through the items in the box. He watches you go through the items silently for a while, noticing how seriously you take the task. His eyes linger on the frown on your face for a while, the way your eyebrows scrunch in question, or how you tuck a stubborn piece of hair, which escapes from the braid in your hair, to the back of your ear. He stalks closer, gently gripping one of your wrists and pulling you to your feet. “Dance with me.” He asks – which comes off less as an ask and more of a demand, which causes you to playfully roll your eyes at him.

“Charles, the boxes–” You try to argue.

His laugh is laced with mischief. “The boxes will still be there, chérie, just one dance won’t change anything.”

You try to come with arguments in your head but all your attempts are quickly thrown out the window when you realise just how green Charles’ eyes actually are. “We don’t have any music.” You try to offer as a measly argument.

Charles raises his eyebrows as he wraps his arms around your waist after making you wrap yours around his neck. “We don’t need any music, Y/N.”

So you give up in any attempts in stopping him, as he starts to slowly sway both of your bodies from side to side. You let out a chuckle when he stars, terribly, humming to an old song you used to hear on the radio. “This is stupid.” You mumble as you keep up your pace with his movements.

“You seem to keep calling me that.” Charles recalls, making both of you laugh in recognition. “I need to tell you something important.”

“So tell me,” you encourage him, motioning him to continue.

“I met someone.” He announces, a small smile playing on his lips.

You breath get stuck for a moment, in which you remind yourself that Charles is waiting for your reaction – most likely a supportive one at that. “Wow, Charles.” You breath out and give him a smile, which you successfully manage to pass off as a supportive one, hoping he doesn’t notice the way your voice breaks off in the end. “I’m so happy for you.”

You’re not stupid – thinking that either of you could stay single forever is an unrealistic one. But it hurts to imagine him with another person while he looks at you like that makes a part of you crumble up into a ball on your bed and cry. And that’s just what you do when you go back to the hotel that night (because the house is still unliveable when the two of you decide you’re done for the day). You try to keep your sobs as quiet as possible because you know Charles is in the hotel room next to yours. As you’re looking out the window, watching the night sky light up with stars in Maranello that night, you tell yourself you, somehow, need to move on from your best friend.

The next time you see Charles is during Christmas time. You have a tradition – Lorenzo, Charles, Jules and you, a tradition, which Arthur joined once he was old enough. It’s a peculiar one. While it’s not uncommon for most families to watch Christmas movies during this time of the year, your choice of movie has not Christmas elements in it at all. Every Christmas, the four of you watch The Sound of Music. It’s a silly tradition which was born out of boredom and lack of movies one Christmas, but it’s a tradition you managed carried out every year.

You can still remember Lorenzo complaining because “It’s three hours of songs about whiskers and bass clef.”

While Jules gives his best friend an unamused glare, both you and Charles try to mimic the Frenchman who you idolise. “It has nuns, songs, Nazis and familial love, Lorenzo, what more could you ask for?” He shrugs as he turns his attention back on screen, “Plus, Julie Andrews is hot.”

“Why would she be hot?” You remember asking, the woman on the screen not seeming uncomfortable by the weather.

“No reason,” Jules assures you, wrapping one of his arms around you.“Watch the movie, shortcake.”

And yes, while it might be stupid to watch the same movie, which has no Christmas value at all, every year on Christmas day, it’s a reminder that you have each other even if you’re not always together. So when you sit down to watch the movie that Christmas, there is a bad feeling in your stomach when you realise Charles is not there to watch it with you. If his brothers also find it weird that he’s not there they don’t make a comment, neither do you, for that matter. You try to push it to the back of your mind and enjoy the moment, telling yourself that even if this is a tradition between the four of you, it’s not the end of the world if you fail to do it. So you smile, and have fun throughout the day – when you’re watching the movie, or when you decide to hold a gingerbread house competition (Arthur wins, by the way), or when you sit down to have dinner with your families, and it makes you feel a thousand times better.

It’s late when he comes home that night, Lorenzo and Arthur have already passed out on the couch with you trying to read the anatomy textbook on your lap in the low light.

“Hi.” He greets you as he gives you a tight-lipped smile.

“Hi.” You whisper back, trying not to wake up the boy sleeping next to you. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah, it was a good day.” He answers truthfully, and then motions the book resting on your knees. “Aren’t you going to go to sleep?”

“No, I think I’m going to stay here tonight.”

He doesn’t argue as he presses a kiss on your temple. “Okay, good night, chérie.”

One thing about Charles, is that he is very secretive about his relationships – to the point where he won’t introduce someone to you or his family if he doesn’t think the relationship is going somewhere. So, when he brings over Charlotte for lunch the next day, there is a buzz around the house. The lunch goes well, you think. Charlotte is sweet, and the two of you talk about many things including your universities; she’s very impressed that you want to go into the medical field and you tell her that architecture must be a pain in the ass to study and she agrees with a loud laugh.

When Pascale asks them what they did for Christmas yesterday, Charlotte leans against Charles’ arm as she answers, “Oh, nothing. We just stayed home and watched that old movie – what was it again?”

“The Sound of Music.” Charles answers, his eyes are focused on his hands, and you know this, because your eyes don’t heave his frame until Arthur forces you to carry the dishes into the kitchen.

“We’ll do them, maman,” he announces when Pascale attempts to tidy up the dishes, “Y/N will help me, won’t you?”

“Yeah, sure.” You nod, the voice coming off from you not matching the sunny disposition you present to the rest of the room.

You carry the dishes Arthur passes to you to the kitchen, holding your breath in an attempt to keep the tears at bay, and you succeed, too. At least until Arthur comes after you, carrying more dishes and places them next to the other ones near the kitchen sink. You start scrubbing them with intensity, your sniffles and the sound from water whooshing around in the sink filling the room. Arthur pulls you against him as you lean your forehead to his shoulder, or where you can on his arm due to your height-difference, as you start quietly sobbing. Arthur turns the tap on as he lets you cry into his shoulder.

The two of you return to the dining room after the dishes are done, and continue the conversation as if nothing happened. After Charlotte announces that she should be on her way, you walk her to the door with everyone, the two of you exchanging numbers as she makes you promise to go shopping with her the next time you’re in Monaco. You agree with a chuckle and tell her only if she teaches you how to draw because your “Anatomy notes are seriously suffering.” After she gives Charles a kiss and leaves, Charles turns to you.

“It’s just a movie.” He says in a low voice.

“You’re allowed to have fun with your girlfriend, Charles.” You assure him and pat his shoulder for good measure. Then, you turn to Arthur, who is watching the exchange with a confused look on his face. “Want to play a round before I leave?”

“Sure,” he agrees and the two of you move into the living room to play a round of F1 on the PlayStation. He sets it up for you as you try to get comfortable on the couch, trying to get rid of the feeling of unease as Charles watches you from the other side of the couch. “Who do you want to pick?” Arthur asks you, the cursor hovering over his choice – who is of course his brother.

You stay quiet for a moment and answer him in a calm voice, “Give me Max.”

Charles scoffs from the other side and pushes himself off, his arms crossed over his chest. “Rich, Y/N, just rich.”

“What?” you ask him with faux innocence and a shrug of your shoulders.

His voice is accusatory when he snaps, “Stop being childish for a moment.”

“Oh, I’m being childish?” You ask him, getting off the couch as well.

“Yes, you’re being extremely childish right now.” He agrees, nodding his head. “Glad we at least agree on that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask again while narrowing your eyes.

He scoffs, “It’s just a stupid movie.”

“I didn’t say a fucking word about the movie, Charles.” You point out, mimicking his pose as you cross your arms over your chest. In reality, it’s a short attempt at trying to hide your shaking hands. “But it’s not a stupid movie, it’s tradition.”

“Traditions can be broken from time to time.” He argues.

“I didn’t say they couldn’t.” You shrug, trying to appear indifferent to the man in front of you.

“Maybe if you tried to stick around for more than three days at a time, you wouldn’t be so upset about these type of things.”

Your mouth hangs open in shock. “Excuse me?”

“Charles, maybe you should–” Arthur tries to stop his brother, but Charles waves him off.

“Sometimes I think ‘Did I do something?’, but then I realise that maybe the problem is not me–”

Though you’re shocked by his words, you find yourself assuring him, “It’s not, it has nothing to do with you.”

Both you and Arthur can see something snaps in him, causing him to raise his voice. “Then what is it? Tell me so I can fix it and you can stop running away!”

You shake your head, your arms which are wrapped around you becoming tighter as an attempt to provide yourself some sort of protection. “You can’t fix it, Charles.”

His arms become undone as his fists ball on either side of his body. “You don’t know that–”

“No you can’t!” You scream, somehow more tears flowing from your eyes. “You can’t bring Jules back because he’s dead, and you can’t fix me because I’m not a toy! You think I want to live this way? You think I want to go back every damn time I set foot in this city because I just hate it here? I can’t bear the thought of staying here because of the fact that my brother died while I was here and I didn’t get to say goodbye to him.” You point a finger towards him, your voice gradually becoming louder to match his. “He was dead by the time I got back to the hospital and they told me he couldn’t hold on any longer, how do you think that makes me feel every time I feel like I’ve overstayed in this city, huh?”

“You need to stop living in the past, Y/N.” He shakes his head. “Don’t you see you’re letting the past hold you back?”

“‘Letting the past hold me back’ do you even hear yourself right now? I am trying my best to move on!”

“By moving across the ocean?” He asks you, “By leaving the people you love you behind?”

“You– you can do this!” You scream as you walk towards him and jab your finger against his chest. “You told me to take the offer, you told me to move away because you were so sure we’d be fine.”

“Well maybe I was wrong.” He whispers, grabbing both of your wrists to stop you from poking him and curling his arms closer to his chest.

Your eyes widen with a furious look in them, which makes him realise he sees more of Jules in them than before. “Screw you, Charles.” You struggle against his hold, hitting his chest with your fists with every word as you scream, “Screw you for trying to dictate how I process my grief, and screw you for acting so indifferent.” You win your struggle in the end, taking advantage of the fact that he is both distracted and speechless to get out of his hold and quickly grab your things.

“Where are you going?” He asks you as you’re putting your coat on.

“Anywhere but here.” You snap at him, refusing to meet his eyes.

Arthur quickly comes near you with a concerned look, “You shouldn’t be driving right now, at least let me drive you.”

You give him the warmest smile you can muster up, “I’ll be fine, ThurThur,” your eyes find Charles’ as you continue, “Don’t ever change, okay?”

After the disastrous Christmas last year, you two didn’t talk for a whole year, even though the people around you tried their hardest to bring you to talk to each other. Even Charlotte tried to trick you into spending time, claiming that she had a work emergency just as you arrived at the lunch you two scheduled to find Charles sitting there – you quickly left without being seen and spent the day walking through the marina because “Fuck Charles if he thinks you can’t spend more than three days in Monte Carlo.” He spends Christmas with Charlotte again, but unlike this year, you don’t feel sad about his absence, choosing to call it growth when reality it’s actually packing it away to deal with it another time.

The two of you eventually do make up, though, when you go to one of Arthur’s races to support him and run into Charles on the track. You talk between breaks, both of you succumbing and apologising to each other for the things you’ve said – him more than you, but you still apologise for the way you’ve acted afterwards. Arthur has a strange smile on his face when he finds you, releasing a relieved breath when you told him that you’re fine and you’re going to take baby steps.

“Good,” he smiles, “maman was about to lock you onto Charles’ yacht.”

Your therapist calls is ‘survivor’s guilt’. Yes, you have one of those now because although you want it to be false, you think a part of what Charles said might be right. She explains to you that it’s a natural response where someone has suffered a loss and you didn’t. This confuses you, though, because even if the loss in question is the death of your brother, you weren’t there to experience it with the rest of your family. Dr. Gambini is there to explain that “Although it implies experience, it doesn’t necessarily mean you can’t not feel the loss of something you didn’t get to suffer.” So, you go through the therapy experience to try to understand your own feelings, which makes you think maybe it is what you should be focusing on in the first place. It’s an overwhelming feeling, understanding things about yourself which you didn’t before – the things you used to feel slowly gain meaning as you go about it. You’re proud of yourself when you talk about it to your parents, and they tell you that they are proud of you for giving it a go. Charles joins you in one of your sessions – it’s Charlotte’s idea, actually. He tries to understand why, and how he can help you – he leaves the session feeling proud of you for taking care of yourself.

A few months later, you get a phone call from him when you’re in the middle of the week when you are studying, while all of your friends are away for spring break. His voice is thick with tears as he tells you that it’s over between him and Charlotte, but refuses to give you a reason when you ask why. It leaves you confused in New York, but when he asks you if you can come home for the weekend, you don’t hesitate to book a ticket for the next flight out. He’s shocked to find you standing in front of his door, but pulls you in for a hug anyway. Neither of you care about the duffel bag that hits the floor at your feet, even when you’re stumbling over it to get to him. You don’t talk, but hold each other throughout the night. He offers to cook for you, but you decide that ordering pizza is a better solution than trying to each what Charles attempts to cook. So, you end up deciding on pizza and a movie.

You look at him confused when you realise which movie he’s selected, “It’s not Christmas, Charles.”

He sits down on the couch, and pulls you under his arm as he reaches for the pizza box sitting on the coffee table. There’s a nostalgic smile on his face which you cannot understand. “I owe you two screenings of this movie, Y/N. Now eat your pizza and watch it.”

So, the two of you watch the movie in silence – with silently laughing in relevant scenes and Charles even attempting to sing the Lonely Goatherd, which leaves you in tears because of how much you’re laughing. At the end of the night he walks you to the guest room in his apartment and pulls you for one last hug, whispering, “Thank you for coming,” into your hair.

“Of course, Charles.” You whisper, turning your head and softly pressing a kiss to his shirt-covered chest. “Try to get some sleep, okay? I’ll see you in the morning.

He’s in the kitchen when you wake up in the morning, focusing so intently on something on his phone to notice you. You ruffle his hair as you make your way through the kitchen to make some breakfast for the two of you. “Good morning to you too, you grump.” You tell him, when you finish getting out the ingredients for the breakfast you have in mind.

“Morning, chérie.” He answers, in a non-committal voice.

“And to think I was going to make you pancakes.” You sigh as you halt the movement of your hands and lean against the counter.

A playful smile is on your lips when Charles excitedly raises his head. “Pancakes?” He asks in a soft voice.

“I was going to add chocolate chips, too, but you didn’t say good morning to me and now I don’t think I’m in mood to be honest with you.” You shrug, starting to put away the bowls you took out.

He quickly comes behind the counter to tickle some sense in you, and you use the bowl in your hands as a shield as you start laughing. He gives up after a while, pressing a kiss to your temple and fixing some of your hair which fell out of place during the ‘fighting’. “Good morning, how can I help you?”

“Wow, you actually want to help me cook for a change?” You coo, ruffling his hair again and hitting his hip with yours to get him out of your way. “Go wait on the other side, you grumpy baby.” He complies to your directions to sit on the other side of the island, but doesn’t bother with his phone this time. You make a motion towards his phone on the island with your head as you crack the eggs into the bowl. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, just some problem with the car.” He answers. “I might need to go to Maranello for a day or two. When is your flight back to New York?”

“Oh– I can change it if you know the date–” You start to say, but he quickly cuts you off.

“What? No, I don’t want you to go back.” He quickly says, shaking his head. “I just thought you might want to come with me rather than stay here.”

“Oh,” You say, looking around. “It’s not a problem, I can stay and study.”

There is a confused look on his face. “Stay? Here?” He asks over and over again. “Here? Stay? Alone?”

“Yes, Charles, I can manage to stay by myself.” You sigh. “I did it last summer for a month, you can trust me, alright?”

“You were in Monte Carlo for a month, last summer? How did I not catch you at all?”

You let out another sigh, “In case you don’t realise, I’m very good at avoiding you.” You continue when he gives you yet another confused look as you start mixing the batter. “Charlotte told me to meet her at a restaurant but it was a set up for me to meet with you, so I got in the car and drove away. It was probably the closest we got to each other.”

“Wow.” He looks at you with wide eyes. “Just, wow.”

You roll your eyes and glare at him. “Stop looking at me like that. My classes are all online this semester and Dr. Gambini thinks it’s good for me to spend more time here; it’s supposed to help me get closure, or something.”

He gives you a big smile. “I’m proud of you, Y/N.”

“Yeah?” You ask him, his smile quickly mirroring on your own lips.

“Yeah.” He breathes out. “And you can stay here all you want! And cook me breakfast, you know.”

You let out a laugh this time. “I can get my own place, Charles.”

“But then who will cook me breakfast?” He asks with a small pout.

“You are a child, Perceval.” You laugh at the way he looks at you, with his elbows bent over the counter and his upper body leaning over the stove. “I’m only cooking you breakfast; you have to promise you won’t fall in love with me after this.” You joke.

You turn around to look in the cupboard for the chocolate chips as you hear him mumble, “Too late.”

You almost hit your head at the open cupboard door when you turn right back to look at him. “What?” You walk towards the island as you mumble out, “No, no, no, no, don’t say that. You just broke up with your girlfriend, Charles.”

“We broke up almost five months ago.” He announces, no hint of joking in his voice. “Right before the Abu Dhabi race.”

“That’s not true.” You say, shaking your head. “I spoke to Charlotte; she told me everything was fine.”

He shrugs, then offers you an explanation. “We announced it a couple of months later, but we’ve been broken up for a while.”

“But then why did you call me a couple of days ago to tell me it was over?” You ask him, visibly confused.

He looks guilty as he admits. “I– I don’t have a good answer for that.” He stalks over to the other side of the island again to trap you between himself and the marble in an attempt to prevent you from evading. “All I can say is that I love you.”

“Oh, wow.” You say, suddenly you can find the right choice for words. “Say that again for me?”

“I love you, Y/N.”

“Now in French?”

“Je t'aime.”

“In Italian?”

“Ti amo.” He laughs this time, leaning down towards you to bring his face towards yours. “You done?” You nod your head with a giggle escaping past your lips. “This would be a perfect time to say something, you know.”

“Oh, right.” You nod in acknowledgement. “Thank you.”

“What?” He asks in horror.

“Yeah, thank you. You know, for the–”

“Chérie!” He exclaims with his eyes wide.

You continue your giggles as you place your hands on his cheeks and pull his face towards you, resting his forehead on yours. “I love you too, chez moi,” my home/place. The pancakes are long-forgotten when you pres your lips on his to give him a kiss, somewhere in the universe your twelve year-old is high-fiving with herself, but you are happy to be finally home.

#monzabee #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #formula 1 #fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #imagine #fluff #angst #smut #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc angst

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xrenjunniesx · 1 year

Text

the deal

lee jeno, strangers to lovers

when a boy you didn’t know all too well asks for your number, you decide to make him work for it. when he asks for the second time, you make a deal with him.

word count : 1,766

the house party was crowded. people were bumping into one another and the smell of everyone waa unpleasant to say the least. spilt drinks and broken chips were on the floor everywhere, along with the glitter from when two girls had came in and practically thrown the glitter they said they planned to put on their dresses - but this house was for sure going to have glitter found for the next ten years at least.

you didn’t have a reason to be here, but your friend had so desperately wanted to go, so who were you to say no?

you wanted to leave within one hour, because somehow your friend got drunk instantly and was currently off with a boy equally as drunk as her, chatting it up and most probably going to spend some time in the bedrooms together.

you had spent majority of your time now doing laps of the house, trying to find someone you recognised, but there wasn’t anyone. most of the people you knew were either drunk or in their own group, which yoh didn’t want to disturb.

so when you saw jeno, one of the boys from the universities basketball team, and also the bestfriend of the guy holding this party, eyeing you from the side of the room, you gravitated towards him.

you two hadn’t spoken much at school, or ever really, but he seemed like a nice guy from what you had heard about him. other than the fact that he never dated anyone who asked him out, which pissed a lot of girls you were friends with off, you had only heard positives about the guy who was still staring at you.

once you were practically in front of him, he grabbed your hand and pulled you closer, helping you narrowly avoid a guy who was drunkly walking past. you looked up to thank him, but fell silent when he was looking at you so intently. his hand still holding yours, and at this point you weren’t sure what to think.

“you keep staring at me,” you started, to which he hummed and took a sip from his red cup. his hand let go of yours and he slipped it into his pocket, turning his whole body to face yours. “I was wondering why?”

he smiled, looking around briefly before leaning down, faces close as he whispered into your ear above the loud music. “you’re really pretty.”

when he pulled away to see your reaction, you instantly looked away and turned your body to face the crowd of people instead. he laughed under his breath and leaned into to whisper into your ear again. “could I get your number, pretty?”

“you have to work for my number, jeno.” you shot back, not even looking at him. when you did turn to see him though, he was smiling such a precious smile you almost wanted to give your number.

but you had heard enough stories of guys asking for girls numbers at parties just to never actually contact them, so you didn’t want to even bother. if he were to talk to you at school and still attempt for your number, maybe then you would give him your number.

you mainly stuck to your friends at school, and didn’t really speak to people you weren’t friends with - jeno included. so you were fully expecting jeno to not even bother to speak to you on monday, when you two were back at university.

. . .

“hey” you turn to your side and jeno was standing there with a sweet smile. he pulled the chair beside you out, eyeing you before sitting down. when he didn’t sit down yet, you realised he was asking.

“you can sit..” He sat down next to you and began to unpack his things. you just stared at him. ‘did he really want my number that badly?’ you noticed his friends came in a few minutes later and judging by their confused expression, he didn’t tell them.

one of his friends came down to the seats you two sat at. “why are you sitting here?” haechan, the guy who’s party you were at merely two nights ago, asked.

jeno turned around to face them, “I wanted to sit here.” he said, before turning back to his laptop and pressing the on button. haechan looked at you and his eyes widened slightly before he started smirking. he shoved jeno’s shoulder and told him he was sitting at the back with jaemin.

“what was that about?” you asked jeno. jeno looked at you with a slight blush on his face. ‘what was going on?’ you wondered. ‘does jeno like me or something?’

“I’m not sure, he’s just being weird again.”

you only nodded and turned your attention back to your laptop, opening up the recent writing piece you had written for this class.

as you edited your writing, you saw out of the corner of your eye, jeno kept glancing at you. you smiled to yourself. maybe you were being delusional, but this boy was awfully obvious about this crush of his. but then again, you weren’t going to say anything until you were one hundred percent sure.

“you keep looking at me, jeno,” you look at him and his eyes widen in surprise to being caught, “what do you want to ask?”

“… what do I have to do to get your number?” you grinned and leaned your arm on the back of your chair.

“you have a basketball game coming up, yeah?” he slowly nodded, already seeing where this was going. “win the game and you get my number.”

“that’s not fair, we are going against the literal best university team.” he argued but you kept smirking.

“better start training hard.” you said, looking at him with a slyest of smirks.

he rolled his eyes, and copied your position, leaning his arm on the back of his chair as he turned his whole body to face you.

“it’s unfair to only get your number, what about something else?”

“what else do you want, jeno lee?”

“a date?”

“that’s all?” you say, frowning. he looks a bit shocked but he covers it quickly by speaking up again. “what about a kiss and your number?”

“deal. but you have to win, jeno.”

“I’ll try my hardest.” he says, putting a hand on his heart making you laugh under your breath.

. . .

over the time of him preparing for the game, he continued to sit next to you in classes you had together, and you began to really enjoy his company. the basketball game had ended a few minutes ago, and jeno’s team had won by one point. At the end of the game, you saw jeno looking around the crowd fanatically, and when his eyes landed on yours, he had smiled so brightly.

you agreed to him prior to the game that if he won you would wait for him outside by his car, which you had seen so many times from when he and you walked back to the parking lot together after class.

you leaned your back against the drivers door, looking down at your phone to pass time as the parking lot gradually got more and more empty.

soon enough, you heard the basketball team cheering as they left the stadium. you put your phone in your pocket and looked up, seeing jeno in the distance, talking to haechan and jaemin.

When he looked over to his car and saw you, leaning against it with your hands crossed, looking back at him with a smile, he immediately said bye to his friends and ran across the parking lot.

you saw how his friends watched and laughed to themselves before walking over to the rest of basketball team which had gathered back up again.

“am I holding you up, jeno?” you asked as he came to your side, slightly out of breath, clearly still tired from the game.

“no, i’m not going with them tonight anyway.”

“why’s that? don’t you guys always go and celebrate after a game?”

“I’m about to celebrate with you right now, aren’t I?”

you grin and shove your hands into your hoodies pocket. “do you want my number first or the kiss?”

“the kiss.” he said, already approaching you quickly. you put your hands on his shoulders and tugged him close to you. his arms hugged your waist while your lazily kept yours over his shoulders.

he leaned down, his lips ghosting your lips. you were the one to fully connect your lips together, but he was quick to follow. you both kiss each other with such a rush and adrenaline, but it was somehow one of the best kisses you’ve had.

you heard cheering from a far but you brushed it off, hugging jeno tighter as you tilted you head to the side and continued to kiss him until you were both running out of air.

as you pulled away, jeno turned his head and looked over to his team, so you did too. the team were the ones who were cheering, and even though they had begun walking off, haechan, jaemin and a few others you didn’t recognise were cheering loudly for jeno as they walked away.

you laughed and moved one hand off from his shoulder and up to his chin, you gripped his chin and turned his head to face you again. you kissed him again but it was less fast this time.

when you pulled off his lips, he continued down to your neck, placing kisses all over your neck, which made your breath hitch in surprise.

jeno was breathing heavily when he pulled away, as you were too. you reached down to your phone and pulled it out, passing it to him once you unlocked it.

he hummed and grabbed his own phone out, passing it to you. as you exchanged numbers, you both remained quiet. when you returned his phone and got your own back, jeno spoke.

“I know this wasn’t part of the deal, but can I take you on a date anyway?” you beamed up at him with a happy smile.

“right now?” you asked, and when he said yeah, you instantly agreed. before you could walk past him to go to the other side of the car, he gripped your hips and pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips still ghosting your forehead when he pulled off.

“I like you so much, you don’t even know how long I’ve been crushing on you before I even spoke to you.”

#nct #nct dream #nct dream imagine #nct fluff #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct dream imagines #jeno imagines #jeno imagine #jeno scenarios #nct jeno #jeno fluff #jeno x reader #jeno

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trippinsorrows · 4 months

Text

with me + part three

authors note: hi! its me again. i had some free time and most of this chapter was completed, sans gaps and editing, so i figured why not?

thank you everyone for all of the kind words, like im still so floored just how many people like the random shit that comes from my head!!!

also, some tags don't seem to work for some reason, like when i type it, the hyperlink doesn't appear so super sorry to those impacted by that!!!

warnings: angsttttt, language, suggestive content

song inspo: with me by destiny’s child

word count: 4.2k

taglist: @pixiedust4000 @southerngirl41 @yolobloggers @msbigredmachine @wonderingfashion

You were sixteen years old the first time you drank alcohol. Truly, a result of peer pressure. Alcohol never seemed as amazing as your friends tried to preach it to be, not with the amount of hair you’d held back while your friends retched their entire days consumption in toilet bowls.

Just didn’t seem all that appealing.

And then it was homecoming, and your school won the game, qualifying them for state. The whole town was in celebration, but no one was as lit as the football team. And, of course, dating the quarterback at the time and as cheer captain, your presence was damn near a requirement. High school politics and all.

So, you, Amir, and your closest friends spent the night house hopping, partying at one place for a little while before moving on to the next. And at some point, at some stop, you’d been convinced to try a beer. Honestly, it was disgusting as fuck, but a small part of you didn’t want to be the one prude of your group, so you downed it. And then another. Followed by another. Which preceded one more.

And by the end of the night, you truly were white girl wasted.

You thank God that you had good friends at the time who made sure you made it home safely, because you absolutely did black out. Amir did too, hence him not being the one responsible for your care.

When you woke up that morning, the first thing you did was dart to the bathroom where you emptied your guts. The second? Panic. You were terrified of your mother finding out that not only had you engaged in underage drinking, literally violating the damn law, but you’d gotten so wasted that you blacked out. It was incredibly stupid and highly dangerous. Your chest tightened and stomach coiled at how she would react if and when she realized what you’d done.

That was the most scared and nervous you’ve ever been in your entire life.

Well, up until now.

Because all you can focus, think, and obsess about is the fact that Joe will be in your state, in your town, in your damn apartment in a matter of hours. He’d text you in the middle of the night a screenshot of his flight information indicating an arrival time much earlier than you were hoping for.

Dread swept over as you sent him a message asking if he would stay at the same hotel he usually used when visiting, not that it got much use. He typically stayed with you during his visits. But, you offered to meet him there instead, feeling more comfortable if you were out of this setting, not in your apartment that had some type of reminder of Callie in damn near every room.

It took longer than you liked for him to respond, and his answer only served to increase your anxiety and trigger some anger.

No. I’m coming to you.

That was it, no explanation to your follow up texts which you know he read cause bastard had his read receipts on. Just radio silence.

That pissed you off even more, because why the hell was he ignoring you? Wasn’t he about to come talk to you about something anyway?

Oh.

Your stomach tightens. Not knowing what the hell he wants is driving you insane. You know why you reached out to him, but why did he seem so keen on speaking to you? It’d been nearly five years, what could have happened to trigger this sudden desire to reconnect?

And why the hell did he respond so quickly to your initial message? Truthfully, you expected no response whatever, convinced that he’d probably changed numbers after his massive increase in fame. Or, for him to at least hit you with the ‘who is this’? But, he didn’t, he called you and immediately knew who you were.

A tiny gasp leaves your mouth. That must have meant he still had your number saved, the same way you still have his in your contact list.

You….you don’t know what to make of that, don’t know what to make of it at all.

“Mommy, why am I spending the night with Aunt Mariah?”

Callie’s soft voice temporarily eases you from your panic, granted it also makes you aware of how she’s clearly unhappy about this. You know why too. Sundays are always your ‘special days,’ where you spend the entire day together doing the most random of things from baking, to playing game, to random dance parties that sometimes result in neighbors politely asking you to keep the noise down. It’s a tradition, and this is the first time since starting said tradition that it won’t be happening.

Closing up her drawer where you were just digging for some pajamas for her, you move to sit next to her on her bed. Her head is down as she plays with the stuffed animal in her arms. “I’m sorry, baby. I know this is our day, but mommy just has some business she has to take care of.”

She keeps her head down, voice low. “Can’t you do it tomorrow?

Fuck. You hate disappointing her. “I wish, baby, but it can’t wait.” More like he won’t wait. You’re not sure what you would have proposed regarding a time to discuss, well, Callie, but it certainly wouldn’t have been the next damn day. “Hey, how about this? Why don’t you and I stay home tomorrow and have a special special day on Monday?”

At that, her head lifts, eyes sparkling with renewed excitement. “Really?”

“Yup. Mommy can take some time off, and you can miss a day of school. It won’t kill us.” You rarely ever take time off as it is, mostly because a teacher’s salary isn’t anything to write home about. You have to work your ass off to keep a roof over your and Callie’s head. But also….you’re not even sure what frame of mind you’re going to be in following this meeting with Joe, so better safe than sorry. “But only if we can watch The Lion King first.”

Clearly pleased with this compromise, she offers you her pink finger. “Deal!”

You two seal the deal with a pinky swear as you hold her into your side and sigh heavily. You wish that you two could stay like this forever. “I love you, Callie. Okay? Always remember that.”

________

“He’s what?”

You anxiously chew on the nasty ass protein bar Mariah offered you after you realized you’d barely had anything to eat today. It was a part of the latest dietary plan she was following, probably something she found from one of those weird ass dieting groups she was a member of on Facebook.

You loved Mariah, dearly, but as you two grew older, especially after having her baby boy, Micah, she’d become increasingly insecure about her body. Always the smaller, thinner, more athletic of the two, you knew that she struggled with how much weight she’d put on over the years, especially when her plan to drop the baby weight didn’t pan out. You're not sure she’s lost any of it, to be honest.

It wasn’t even a massive weight gain, and truthfully, you thought curves suited her well. But, it didn’t matter what you thought. What mattered was how she felt, which wasn’t the best, despite your best efforts to build up her confidence.

“He’s coming into town,” you finally answer, debating if you should offer her the rest of this grass in bar form. Why the hell is it so damn grainy?

“Today? He’s coming into town today?” You nod. “I’m sorry, I must have missed a couple chapters.”

“More like volumes,” you murmurs, sourly. It’s a great opportunity for you to set aside the dirt bar and explain to her everything she’d missed, from Callie’s initial inquiry to your calling him, to him sending you an itinerary for a flight arriving in roughly three hours at this point.

“Holy shit,” she whispers, careful of her volume despite Micah and Callie being occupied in the living room watching Bluey. “What are you going to do? What are you going to say to him? This is….this is bad, girl.”

“You think I don’t know that?” You lay your head against her kitchen island and force yourself to take three, big, deep breaths. “I don’t think I can do this.”

You hear her exhale. “Don’t say that.”

“I’m serious, Mo. I—” You lift your head and try your best not to cry. Tears won’t do anything to help the situation. “I don’t know what he wants, but it’s obvious he’s angry with me already, and I can’t imagine when I tell him about Callie that he’s gonna feel any better.”

“You think he’ll be upset?”

“Of course, he will.”

“No, not that. I mean, yeah definitely, about that. But, I mean, you know….that you kept her.” It takes a minute for you to process what she’s asking, and it’s a question you hadn’t thought about in some time.

You’d been so consumed about how upset he would probably be that you kept Callie hidden from him that you hadn’t considered the alternative. What if he was more upset she even existed in the first place?

The thought alone takes you to a dark place. Feelings of rejection and abandonment that you yourself experienced and probably haven’t fully processed. Feelings you swore with your life you’d always protect Callie from.

And always will.

“Then he’ll continue to not be a part of her life.” Your voice is sound and resolute. Mariah also recognizes that all too familiar look of determination that fills your face.

“But what will you tell her then?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll figure it out.” A motto, a mantra, an oath. You’ve hit hard times before and always pulled through. This will be no different. Whatever's needed to keep your daughter from the trauma you experienced, you’ll do. No matter what.

Mariah knows better than to try to reason with you right now, not that there’s a ton of that needed. As a mother herself, she fully understands the intrinsic desire and borderline need to protect your child. She just also knows that you can be stubborn, and when you put your mind to something, nothing and no one can change it.

She just wonders how that’s going to bode over with whatever is about to go down.

You finish off the conversation with thanking her again for her last minute availability. You know you could have asked your mom as well, but she would have had questions, questions you don’t have the answers for nor the desire to explain just what’s happening.

Hell, you don’t even fully know what’s happening.

As the time gets closer, you realize you need to get home and straighten up. Maybe vacuum or some shit.

“Will you call me before I go to bed?”

“Of course, I will, mama.” You push back some of her hair, hating to see her sad again. She’s wearing that pout that you just realized is similar to Joe when he scowls. Shoving that from your head, you add, “and don’t forget about our big day tomorrow.”

That seems to win you a small smile, enough to make you feel less shitty about ditching her, even if it’s completely beyond your control. “It’s gonna be so much fun!”

“You bet your butt it is, kiddo!” You bring her in for another hug, holding her close and tight. “I love you, Callie Bear.”

“I love you too, mama.”

Callie expressing her love for you is the soundtrack in your head as you drive home and even as you move around your apartment, dusting and vacuuming. You even clean the baseboard, something you’re sure you haven’t done since you first moved in when you were 22.

You even make the controversial decision to leave up the photos of Callie or both you and Callie together in the living room and don’t really do much to move aside the indicators that a child lives here. Like her toy bucket near the TV or pink kiddy cups lined up near the kitchen sink.

It doesn’t make much sense to you to hide these things when the sole reason you even reached out is to make him aware of why those things are there and who they belong to. You’ve stopped letting yourself try to figure out why he wants to speak to you or why he’s upset, realizing it was only making your anxiety ten times worse to the point where you felt like you were going to vomit.

Recognizing you have some time before he arrives, you decide to take a shower that’s much longer than necessary and will probably have you upset at yourself when you get your next water bill.

But, it’s a nice distraction. Being fresh, clean, and moisturized is always a nice pick me up. Granted, you find it almost silly as you struggle to figure out what to wear. It’s Joe. Not Beyonce. Also, your outfit should be the last thing on your mind, as you eventually settle on a graphic shirt and some shorts.

And realizing you have nothing else to do, you plop down on the sofa and wait. Wait for whatever the hell is about to happen once you open that door. Strangely enough, your anxiety seems to be settling. Granted, you wonder if that’s being replaced with denial, because you’re also starting to tell yourself that it won’t be that bad.

It may not be, but that’s not a good hill to die on. Preferred but not reliable.

Needing another distraction, you scroll aimlessly through your Instagram, liking a few posts of friends, family, and former classmates from both high school and college. It’s interesting seeing how everyone ventured down different paths, some homemakers, some business execs, and of course the aspiring musicians aka unemployed.

And then there was you, the small town teacher raising her secret love child of a WWE superstar in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.

Your stomach twisting and turning tells you the anxiety is returning, but it doesn’t have as much time to heighten because the doorbell rings.

He’s here.

There’s this irritating yet quiet ringing in your ears and anchor on your chest, both of which make it harder to untangle your limbs and move off the sofa. It’s like watching yourself slowly make your way to the door, the tremble in your hand noticeable as you undo the lock and start to turn the knob.

I love you too, mama.

Callie’s sweet, reassuring voice floods into your head providing the sweet relief needed to return from dissociation and snap back to reality. Eyes shutting, you take another deep breath and carefully swing the door open.

Truth be told, you weren’t quite sure what you expected to feel upon seeing Joe again, not sure what you should feel. This was a reunion, but only in name. Nothing about him being at your doorstep was warm and inviting. That much is obvious by his stoic, unreadable facial expression, which isn’t entirely out of character. Contrary and both similar to his current heel portrayal, Joe has always been more on the quiet side, not as easy to read. More open and warm once you get to know him.

You’d found that out firsthand.

Taking in his countenance, you can’t avoid observing the rest of him. He’s somehow even bigger than the last time you saw him in person, almost taking up your doorway, rippling muscles on full display in the plain, black fitted shirt he wears. His hair is pulled back as usual, clean line up, and beard fuller than you remembered him liking it. He’s aged, obviously, but well. Very well.

Heat rising to your cheeks, you step to the side, allowing him inside. You hate how you close your eyes as you inhale his scent.

He always did smell so damn good.

The physical distractions dissipate when he’s inside, the door locked, and it’s just the two of you.

You notice almost immediately how he seems to be intent on keeping his back toward you, playing it off by taking in your apartment. Not that much, if anything, has changed. He can’t be that damn interested.

It was painfully clear that Joe was already frustrated with you just by his texts, but his anger is even more palpable in person, borderline suffocating.

Just what the hell did you do to upset him so much?

Clearing your throat and crossing your arms over, you decide that someone needs to say something because this silent shit is not working for you.

But then Joe angles his body, still not looking toward you but something else. And that’s when your anxiety starts up all over again.

You watch him, intently, as he walks over to the side table near the sofa, the one that has pictures on it.

Pictures of Callie.

He picks one up, and you’ve never been so still in your life. It’s torture, not seeing how he’s looking, unable to read his facials, clueless to what he must be thinking. He’s quiet for too long, so you decide to bite the bullet and say something.

“I—”

“Is she mine?”

Waves. Heavy, plunging waves of emotions splash at you with a ferocity that nearly floors you. His question, so simple, isn’t what you expected to leave his mouth. It’s posed so quietly, lowly, emotion evident but not enough for you to know which one. Anger? Sadness? Confusion?

It stumps you, and for a second, you try to convince yourself that he doesn’t mean what you deep down know what he means.

“What–what are you talking about?”

He curses quietly, and you hear him say your name before he asks again in a dangerously calm voice, “is she mine?”

You recognize this tone, the tone he takes when he’s trying his best to tame his temper, but there’s no guarantee that he can. And that in and of itself is not a good sign, Joe rarely ever gets mad. He’s irritatingly adept at maintaining his composure in all situations.

Except this one.

You just want to take a nap, take a break from all of this. Everything seems to be happening so fast, too fast. It wasn’t even 24 hours ago that Callie first asked about her father, and now the man is standing in front of you asking you to confirm she is his daughter. You’re so confused about everything. How could he tell so easily? You always said and thought she favored him, but did she favor him enough for him to take one look at her and know she’s his daughter?

That doesn’t even seem possible nor plausible.

You have so many questions, but there’s no need in delaying the inevitable.

Rip the Band-Aid off.

“Yes.”

It’s at that moment he finally decides to turn around, and you can see the moment it happens, the moment the floodgate of emotions rush through him like a tsunami. He’s shocked. He’s confused. He’s angry.

“How did you find out?” Putting the pieces together is a slow progress, but one that’s progressing nonetheless. He clearly came here with that question prepared and ready to launch. He knew about Callie, knew when you texted him, knew when he decided to call. Knew before he even walked in and saw a picture of her.

He just needed you to confirm as such.

That seems to be the wrong question, because anger is suddenly more prominent, both vocally and physically. “You’re seriously asking me how the fuck I found out I have a daughter?” Any attempt to control his anger is out the door, replaced with visceral emotions. “No, the real question is why the fuck you didn’t tell me I have a child?”

You’re not sure what it is, the emotionality of it all, the fact that you’re face to face with the man you’ve worked so hard over the years to get over, or even just the fact that he’s speaking to you this way. Maybe all of it. Regardless, you’re not about to just take it lying down. “First of all, watch your tone. You’re not going to talk to me any kind of way. Second of all, you are married, Joe. What was I supposed to do? Send you and your wife copies of the sonogram?”

“Don't put this on that,” he dismisses, swiftly and curtly. “Jadah has nothing to do with you telling me I'm a father. Don't you think I had a fucking right to know?”

“Of course you had a right.” He did. He does. You won’t deny him that, but it’s also not as cut and dry as he’s making it out to be. “But—”

“There’s no but, Y/N!” He cuts you off, and you have to take another deep breath. This time though, it’s not to lessen anxiety. It’s to calm your own anger that’s rising. Who the hell does he think he is to speak to you this way? Like you’re some damn child. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Are you going to actually listen to me, or are you just going to keep yelling? Cause I don’t respond to disrespect, Joe. You know this.”

He actually smiles, smiles at your words. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? I’m disrespecting you? You keep my child from me, and I’m disrespecting you?” He scoffs and looks up at the ceiling, probably to settle himself. “Did you know when you ended things between us?"

The surprising questions just keep on rolling. “What?”

“I swear to God.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. “Did you know you were pregnant when you told me to leave? Is that why you did it? So I wouldn’t find out?”

This time, you’re the one scoffing, trying to rationalize how he could even think to ask you this. “Seriously, Joe? I told you why I ended things.”

“Yeah, well, you’re clearly not the most honest fucking person, so I don’t even know what to believe anymore.”

You hate the fact that his words don’t further anger you but instead sadden you. You see how he’s looking at you, with a level of disdain and disgust. It’s such an unfamiliar experience, an unwanted one. “So, I’m a liar now?” It should have come out much stronger, firmer, showing him that you’re not putting up with his bullshit. Instead, it’s a damn near whisper.

He looks at you like you’ve grown two heads, like he doesn’t get what you’re not getting about this. “What do you call what you did?”

Your head is starting to hurt. This is going exactly how you feared it would go.

Bad.

It’s all becoming too much, your voice weighed down with the emotions of it all. You feel like you’re on the verge of tears, and you hate that. You won’t let him see you cry. “We’re not….we’re not getting anywhere here, Joe. I think—”

“You should get a lawyer.”

Your heart stops. “What?”

He runs both hands over his face, the heaviness of this conversation clearly weighing on him as well. “We need to figure out some type of custody arrangement, and I don’t think us handling it with each other is a good idea—”

“Custody?” The room is starting to blur again, items moving wayward and sideways. The ringing in your ears is also returning. “What—you—you want to take her from me?” You need to sit down, your legs feeling like they’re ready to give out at any moment. Take her. He wants to take her from you. Unable to control yourself, you snap, “she doesn’t even know you!”

He matches your tone and volume precisely, clearly unwilling to back down. “Exactly, I’m her father, and she doesn’t know me because of you!”

You can barely believe the words coming out his mouth, incapable of processing that he’s actually standing here threatening to take your child from you. This has gone from bad to worse in a matter of seconds. “So, you think taking her away from me is the way to get to know her?”

His volume levels down a bit, and you could have sworn you saw a glimpse of sympathy. “I don’t want to take her away from you, Y/N. I just can’t trust you to not keep her away from me.”

This is disastrous. You never could you have envisioned this conversation playing out the way it is. Desperate, you move over to him, needing him to see you, to hear you, really hear you. “You’re here now, aren’t you? Isn’t that enough?”

His answer surprises you with its austerity. He’s so angry. “No, because it took almost five fucking years for you to call me in the first damn place.”

He moves away from you, obviously headed for the door. He has nothing else to say. Your head is throbbing, vision still murky, but you manage to rush past him, obstructing his leave. “Joe….wait.”

You’ve never felt so small, so desperate, so helpless in your life. It’s reminiscent of the last conversation you had with him five years prior, that same boulder on your chest, bigger now. Much bigger.

“Please.” You’re not even trying to hold in the tears anymore. That’s not even important. Not in the slightest. This is your child. “Please don’t take her away from me. She’s my baby, Joe. She—she’s never even been without me before.”

He looks at you, and you can see it now. Finally see it. Finally see past all of the hurtful threats, the dismissiveness, the refusal to hear you out. He’s not angry. He’s hurt. “And she’s never been with me.” He moves past you, but not before one last statement. “Maybe now you’ll know how I feel.”

________

just curious, ya'll think joe trippin? personally, i'm team callie cause both reader and joe are wrong in one way or another but im also biased so ignore me.

#roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns x black!reader #roman reigns #roman reigns fic #arisnotebook

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drdemonprince · 17 days

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i read in the comments to my last ask about "ordinary unhappiness" the idea of depression as a lack of agency and i feel like that is true? when i feel miserable and in pain, it's not because something is sad but because something is either unachievable or impossible (or at least there is the perception of it). and like i think that's what you were getting at too? this thing that drives you to keep going, this lack of satisfaction. i simply don't have anything i can give into such that i would ever even feel a lack of satisfaction. i've never had anything to give myself into and feel frustrated and perhaps sometimes successful in but instead i just envy the people who do have those things. nothing i've ever done has felt maintained a sense of emotional connectiveness in that way (positive or negative). i guess to wrap this back around to another potential talking point, i'm curious how you find that in your life? is it weird for me that nothing has ever felt worth putting myself whole ass into? idk, i find it envious you've got both writing and gay hypno fetish stuff you're able to just throw yourself into so wholly and utterly

Passion isn't inherent, it can be a choice too. I only look like I care a ton about writing and gay hypno stuff because I have deliberately chosen to pursue those passions, for many years, and cultivated a deep interest in them, anon.

When I was in my early twenties, I felt completely empty. I was a void. If you've read the first chapter of Unmasking Autism, this is the period I'm talking about in that book. I went away to graduate school (because I was good at academics, and I had some illusions about what a career in that field would do for me), but I had absolutely zero zest for the subject of psychology at that point. I had no research ideas. I read psychology books and publications purely out of obligation. I did what was required of me, but nothing additional beyond that, and I spent the rest of my time sitting at home, sometimes literally staring at the wall and crying. I had no friends or hobbies, aside from taking long, long depression walks listening to podcasts in order to fill the silence.

This was when I was at my most depressed, and my most suicidal. Just existing was a pain. I'd sob in bed at night and cry out begging for God to kill me, and I didn't even believe in God. The only thing that distracted me from my pain was a guy I was seeing, who was beautiful and very cruel and inconsistent, and I clung to him through all kinds of lies and abuse because it felt as though my happiness was located inside of him.

I had a friend that I wrote to about how miserable I was, and all the twists and turns that my horrible romance was taking. Her name was Heather. (Unlearning Shame is dedicated to her). She told me hey, you're a really good writer, did you know that? I really enjoy reading your emails, even when you're speaking about the most pitiful anguished shit, you really put it poetically and have a ton of insight. You should write more.

For a while, I ignored her. I didn't care about writing. I just wanted to get my pain out on the page because I had nobody to talk to, and oodles of time to waste. I had nothing otherwise that I felt I HAD to say. I had no PASSION. I did not feel like I was put on this earth to do anything. Other people seemed to have these drives, and I had nothing.

But then one day in a fit of depression I stopped by a bookstore right near my apartment, The Armadillo's Pillow, just to get outside of the house. I happened upon a book I had loved in high school, Jonathan Franzen's The Corrections. I took it home. I read it. It transported me for a few hours away from my pain. I went back to the book store and picked up some sci-fi. A John Varley collection, I think. I was also swept away from my suffering, even when the stories had flaws that I noticed. I was interested in the actual craft of storytelling: what worked and what didn't. And there was finally some beauty in my head instead of the usual dreariness and self-hatred and emptiness.

And so. I made the choice to write. I could have taken it or left it at that point. I didn't care about anything. Caring is a muscle that you have to flex. And when you're depressed, it can be very hard. I needed a lot of nudges from the external world and other people, to realize that I had some things I did gravitate toward, even if I didn't realize it.

All that time of course I WAS driven to write. I was churning out 5k word letters to Heather every day practically. I was reading stupid shit online. And when it was put in front of me, and I had no reason to feel guilt about not working hard enough on other things, I reached for books. But I didn't feel passion strongly under the heavy blankets of my depression. Or usually at all, really. I am a quite internally muted person whose emotions are suppressed. But they're there. Speaking to me softly. And to overcome my depression, I had to decide to listen to them instead of ignoring them all of the time, and give them kindling, and then fan them into a flame.

I started blogging regularly while I was in graduate school (right here, hello, you can check my archive dating back to 2011), and finding a reason to live. When I was writing, I felt like the world was interesting, and beautiful. It gave me new things to do. I attended literary readings and book launches all over town. I submitted work to magazines. I bought old copies of magazines and read them. I inhaled books. I listened to fiction podcasts. I joined writing groups. At first, it felt like a slog, like anything else. Doing these things, I was not "happy". But I was interested. I liked learning about the world of publishing, critiquing people's stories in my head, and commisserating with other Tumblr writers about the stuff that got featured on the Prose tag that sucked.

After YEARS of doing this, of choosing to fan my passions, it became a genuine motivation in my life. But even then? I lose track of it sometimes. I get busy, or there's no place comfy to sit and read in my apartment, and I forget that I like writing and reading for months at a time. And then I have to choose it again. It takes effort to care about something, every time.

It's the same way with hypno. I did have a fetish for this stuff all my life long. But it's a passion that people always thought was weird and gross, and that I thought was bad. I didn't tell anyone about it until my late 20's. I felt ashamed masturbating to it or looking up hypno content online. For years I snuffed out that flame of passion until I could barely feel it anymore. It wasn't until I was super depressed AGAIN in my later 20's that I took a bunch of weird off-label anti-depressant drugs under the table and had a weird dreamy headspace overtake me and make me insanely horny that I remembered how much I loved hypno, and because I was in search of an escape from my tormented brain, I sought hypnotists out.

And I had the time of my life. But I also had boring, awkward encounters, bad hook-ups, and had to do a ton of work.

My passions have drawn me out of depression because I needed them to. I had to find them, listen to them, and then give them lots of food. And it's one of the few things that a person does often have agency over, no matter how dispiriting their circumstances. You can make choices about where to put what attention you do have, in what free moments you do have. When you're on the bus or in line at the grocery store and you're thinking about how much you hate yourself, you can try to think about a story you read or a sexual fantasy you had, instead. It's a lot of work. But it's better work than the work of hating yourself, which takes a whole lot of energy and attention itself.

I hope you can find something like this for you. It doesn't really matter what it is. It can be some hobby you've always wanted to try, or something "childish" you've suppressed. Having a passion isn't like being chosen by the universe to care about something. It's not like love at first sight. Nothing fucking works like that in life. It's always work. It's always a choice you have to make, because no one else will give it to you. But there can be hints that you can follow, sometimes.

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screeblees · 1 year

Text

Angry ! Yandere x Comfort ! Reader Headcanons

Angry ! Yandere is Male and Reader is Gender Neutral

I used three quotes from @aonungstoefungus post “Yandere Prompts” you can see here. I really liked all their prompts!

Find my Masterlist here !

Please enjoy!! <33

❥ Angry ! Yandere who spent his life filled with anger always raging just beneath the surface of his skin, resting right under the boiling point.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who blew up rather often in his youth, fighting his peers like there’s no tomorrow, swinging fists and rocks and gripping his opponents hair in his hands. By the time they were pulled apart, the other was almost always left with a black eye or a broken nose at the least.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who tried every breathing exercise, every meditation method, every mindfulness activity, every health coping habit, every anger management program, every “calming” drug he could get, every single thing he could find. Yet nothing, nothing, ever helped.

Until you came along…

❥ Angry ! Yandere who felt a blanket of soothing fall over him the very first time he heard you speak in your almost melodic voice - melodic to him at least, it worked on him so why would anyone else’s opinion matter?

❥ Angry ! Yandere who feels the overwhelming need to be in your presence otherwise risking himself only becoming more irritable (than he normally is). Even if you don’t know he’s there, it still helps to just listen.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who became aware that it isn’t just your voice but you, as a whole; your scent, your voice, your tone, your kind demeanour, your actions, your expressions, just you in your entirety. And he can’t get enough.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who is known for his barbarian behaviour at any perceived slight done towards him. This infamous reputation helping to ensure most steer clear of him, even you, at first. Although you tried to avoid him, it seemed like he was everywhere you went, even places he’d never dared to go before, even out-of-character for him to be in. ( “What’re you lookin’ at?” )

❥ Angry ! Yandere who was pleased when you eventually accepted that he was just everywhere you went and weren’t even cold towards him when he approached you for himself instead of eavesdropping on all your conversations or creepily watching from afar! Or maybe you were just too scared to talk back to him in fear of pissing him off and being at the receiving end of his violence. Oh well, you’d accepted him now.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who realises it isn’t just tranquillity that he feels around you - his heart now feels like it would burst out his chest and for once it wouldn’t be in anger, but in absolute obsession. Of course he’d like to call it love but he knows it is more than that, you are the air he had gone so long without and had now taken a breath of, you are the balance and stability he had never had in his life, in fact, you are his life, his whole world. He’s even waxing poetica in his head for you, that’s how lovesick you make him.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who began recording you talk whenever he’s close enough for a microphone to pick up. Listening to his library of you to keep his head level all day, and to get to sleep at night (among other nightly activities).

❥ Angry ! Yandere who is very forward about wanting to be your friend, inserting himself into conversations and making a point to talk to you at some point every day - the times you speak directly to him helping them feel the most soothed he’d been in a long time.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who’s volatile mood is entirely dependent on you; if you give him your full attention and maybe even a smile then he’ll go about like he’s the most peaceful, untroubled soul around, barely anything will change his mood (other than you, of course) - on the other hand, if you give him minimum attention or he can’t find you, he’ll be twice as furious and violent as his worst day before you came along. So although you could make him seem like a steady, quiet person and bring out the best in him, you also have the potential to turn him into hell’s own with the suffering that will be caused by him for the rest of the day, maybe even the rest of the week.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who scared most of your friends away, leaving you rather isolated from your peers and only more open to him hanging out with you during the school day. Your remaining friends either being entirely online or skittering away at the sight of him, neither of which he really minded as they made way for him.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who was ecstatic to find that you even talk in your sleep, taking great joy in visiting you when you’re deep in REM sleep just to listen to your sleepy mumbles, and if he’s feeling brave he may hold your hand. He found comfort in knowing that no-one else got to listen to you whisper what he likes to call sweet nothings. (They’re for him and only him.)

❥ Angry ! Yandere who seethed when he saw someone take interest in you. Who the fuck did they think they were. The next time you saw them they’d been beaten black and blue and avoided you like you’d give them the plague. (No-one gets to have you but him.)

❥ Angry ! Yandere who eventually realises the only way for him to really have you is to take you.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who follows you home one night and just sweeps you off the street, he’s truly sorry for being rough with you but it was for your own good, you needed to be home with them and there was no way you’d come willingly and you would not want to see how irritated that would make him.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who’s furnished basement was just the perfect place to keep you, he’d cleaned up the place and made sure it was escape-proofed and child-proofed. He wouldn’t want his sole source of comfort going through unnecessary harm (or having the tools to leave him).

❥ Angry ! Yandere who was on a high after bringing you home knocked-out, tied up and blindfolded for extra safety, which broke almost as soon as you woke up. Your scared, timid voice was endearing at first, but he grew irritated once you began screaming and crying and making your throat go hoarse (despite your intense fear).

❥ Angry ! Yandere who had previously planned to be lenient with you realised that was not going to work. Clearly you needed strict rules, boundaries and schedule and so he would supply you that, some of said rules being;

Speak when spoken to

No even trying to escape

Be respectful

Don’t dare hide anything

Speak like you did before

Answer calls on the first ring

If you want something, ask for it

Don’t flinch away

Stop fucking shaking

Accept your punishments

Don’t run.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who grows sharp with you, finding himself having to punish you far more than he’d thought within your first few weeks together. Maybe being even a little sadistic in his retaliation… ( “What, you thought you were just gonna get away with that?” )

❥ Angry ! Yandere who found himself mocking and insulting you in response to your shying away from him or showing your fear of him, especially before and during punishments in which you would shake. ( “Aw, you gonna cry? Go ahead, its not gonna change anything.” )

❥ Angry ! Yandere who always felt much better after taking his anger out on you during punishments, then lovebombed you with his gifts and touch. The gifts could range anywhere from something he stole from your house to something really nice he bought with his own (partially stolen) money. He really enjoys having an arm around your waist or shoulders or a hand on your wrist or thigh (or even your neck), he loves you being in reach of him and it makes him feel secure to grasp onto you, to have you grounding him. (Even if he’s a little strong on the grasping).

❥ Angry ! Yandere who believed himself to have semi-successfully trained you to behave for him, to stop trying to hide and escape and rebel, but still, any hint of your mind straying from being a good soother for him pushed him to the boiling point, spitting threats promises at you of what would happen if you continued that line of thinking. ( “Don’t even fucking look at the door. I am trying to have some faith in you after all.” )

❥ Angry ! Yandere who enjoys spending hours downloading content for you to consume and talk to him about (once you’d accepted your situation). He asks probing questions just to hear you talk more and loves having you as his own personal sleep aid asmr and podcast throughout the day, urging you to rant to him once he comes home each night as he cuddles you in your chosen seating, whether that be the couch, the bed or even the floor.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who finds classmates remarking on the consistent calmness he presents in himself now that he has you all to himself all safe at home with your melody on speed-dial. After all, you and your calming aura is all for him and only him to enjoy, how much happier could he be…?

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