#i'm thinking about adding gifs to my posts | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vinedvengence · 3 months

Text

Spores and Stars

Chapter 1 - Acclimations

Chapter CW's: mentions of trauma, physical assault, potentially distressing trauma-related dialogue, night terrors/trauma related nightmares, grief, choking/asphyxiation (in a dream but still lol) A/N's in tags for background info

Vrisryn was irritable, to say the least. It had been over a hundred years since the elven druid had last felt any anxiety or fear even remotely close to the levels of stress which they’d endured throughout the last 24 hours. Circumstances beyond their control had become a theme in their life long before this, but a being abducted by mindflayers while on a routine stop in the city only to awaken on their crashing nautiloid? That definitely warranted a top 3 spot in the stories of unfortunate events which had become such a trademark experience for them.

Surviving the nautiloid crash and escaping illithid captivity was only the start to their newfound troubles. Other discomforts and concerns took form in the shape of discovering the fate that awaited those who become infected with illithid tadpoles, as well as the strange companions they had reluctantly picked up along the way—the abrasive but adept githyanki, Lae’zel; the untrusting & mysterious half-elf cleric, Shadowheart; the seemingly clumsy but endearing human wizard, Gale; and the pale, snide high-elf Astarion, who Vrisryn couldn’t help but notice hosted unnatural fangs and two inauspiciously placed puncture wounds along his neck.

How subtle, they had thought to themselves when his dagger pressed along their neck–right before they rightfully headbutted him off of their person. Vampirism and the undead were not completely unfamiliar subjects for a druid of the Circle of Spores, and while the potentiality of being in proximity to such undead didn’t particularly phase the wild-elf, they couldn’t say for certain that the other party members would be as unbothered as they were by such a discovery. They chose to act oblivious to the matter for the time being. A notion for him to share and a trouble for another day, they figured after he had agreed to travel with the group.

Vrisryn was not fond of being close to people, and traveling with others was a foreign concept altogether. Circle of Spore druids were particularly known for their preference of solitude, and even among their circle, Vrisryn was considered a recluse. Despite the wild-elf’s natural charisma, socializing was NOT something Vrisryn found enjoyable—let alone comfortable. They considered such things a necessary nuisance. Between the circumstantial & personal risks that forming close bonds carried for them and the fact that they had spent roughly the last century relatively alone in the wilderness, they had little reason to welcome any opportunities to grow close to people. Any form of socializing or interpersonal connection was something that they had learned to allow only when absolutely necessary.

Vrisryn had no interest in close bonds with others. The bonds they had forged with nature and the wilderness had sustained them more than well enough the last century. Companionship with people was not something they had sought for since their youth; connection and intimacy had long-since been cast out of their mind and heart, believing that such frivolities to have been privileges long-since spent from the past. Even when it came to acquaintances within their Druidic Circle or work, they kept most exchanges to solely business-related matters; where they could name many associates, they would be hard pressed to claim any being as something even remotely akin to a friend–short of potentially Psilofyr, whom they refused to acknowledge as such.

No—the druid had not felt any sense of true connection or understanding since the few years they had spent recovering from and adjusting to their spellscar in a myconoid colony. They had found themselves in the care of the strange creatures and the mad-mushroom deity after the traumatic loss of their prior life to the Spellplague which infected their homeland during the Year of Blue Fire. Where it stood now, they had grown to prefer solitude, and worked intentionally to maintain that detachment from others. It was a choice that had served them well both in their heart and with their druidic work.

They didn’t see it as a sacrifice, but rather, as an act of acceptance of their own fate. Death had made it clear where they stood in the story that was their life. And who were they to disrupt nature’s holy balance by protesting death’s decision, let alone for the sake of their own selfish emotions or desires? The bitter acceptance of their circumstances had taken a long time to adopt after they had recovered from their creeping madness, but once it settled into their soul, they found them disconnected from the reverence they once held over the living, as well as life itself. Being invested in other people was a luxury and a distraction that Vrisryn could no longer afford. They had come to find that their indifferent attitude towards subjects such as death, violence, or tragedy—as well as their general interest in the macabre—tended to fend off most that dared to seek connection with them, anyway. It was easier to remain on the outskirts, misunderstood, and drifting along nature’s intended course.

Now, these damned tadpoles and their ability to psychically link any fellow infected threatened all of the security and familiarity Vrisryn had previously found through isolation.

So: irritable would be one way to describe Vrisryn’s mood as they settled into camp. The first day of traveling with others had been treacherous and wearing. Between the tadpoles themselves, the forced acquaintances (not to mention the subsequent bickering amongst them–who knew less than a handful of strangers could find one another so disagreeable), the skirmishes within the decaying temple, and the literal skeletal withered freak that had crawled out of the sarcophagus in the crypt underneath? It was safe to say that exhaustion had crept up on the druid faster than ever.

Vrisryn was also clearly weaker than they had been when they were kidnapped; the effects of their newfound tadpole infection wiping away much of their prior strength and stamina. Some cantrips and basic first level spells were all the druid could manage to produce at the moment, and it was a miracle that their Spellscar wasn’t already rearing its head given the circumstances. By sunset, a migraine had seeped its dreadful way into Vrisryn’s skull. Whether it was from their Spellscar, the tadpole’s squirming, or sheer stress and exhaustion was unclear—but it had become disorienting enough that the druid had demanded they make camp for the evening far earlier than they otherwise would wish to.

Thankfully, reprieve was found nearby at a scenic spot along the nearby river. The druid had felt suddenly lighter upon finding the idyllic strip of land, and its vantage point and the stretch of woods separating it from the main roads made it easy to feel safe within. As safe as one could hope to feel given the circumstances, at least. They had begun the work of setting up a firepit and bedrolls before any further input from their traveling companions could be made, short of an abrupt noise of displeasure from Lae’zel. Such expressions had become white noise by that point due to the frequency of such exclamations.

Vrisryn adorned a smug look while taking in the sight of their traveling companions settling into camp for the night, recalling how much they had each begged them to move on and away from the scene while they searched desperately for their own headpiece and armor once outside of the decrepit temple. Each companion had exclaimed that the search was for naught, and each had shut their mouth as Vrisryn continued to procure bags and effects that belonged to each of them. In true nature, they had found their belongings last, after four hours of increasingly frantic searching – three hours past finding Lae’zel’s, Gale’s, Asterion’s, and Shadowheart’s own possessions. It was always satisfying for Vrisryn to watch others eat their own words around them.

Afterwards, Vrisryn wandered aside the river, leaving without a word in search of a shred of privacy as their exhausted party members hitched tents, organized camp supplies, and unpacked their personal belongings from bags nearby the fire.Hiding behind the mass of rock that separated this stretch of the river from the eyes of the rest of the camp, they stared into clear water at their own dirty, knackered reflection. The druid ran a hand against the top of the cold, calm river, just barely grazing it as they said a tender thanks to the universe for the reprieve of the nature around them. Vrisryn could hear the muffled, occasional banter and bickering of their traveling companions nearby; but it was mostly blocked out by the gentle babbling sound of the river mixing with the stream of thoughts bombarding their mind. Everything felt incredibly raw after this day, and they found themselves overwhelmed with the unfamiliar sensations and the sheer weight of the emotions of it all. Their lungs and stomach felt tight and tense, and the migraine had become nothing short of excruciating. They weren’t adjusted to feeling so strongly about anything these days. Their anxiety built as the implications of the current circumstances sank into their reality.

It was most common for them to experience the symptoms and side effects from their Spellscar at night, particularly after stressful days. That being said, resting within the eyes and ears of others tonight was a huge risk. Despite their fatigue, Vrisryn worried over whether they’d be able to find any rest this evening. Typically, they were still able to restore energy from trancing as any other elf; but ever since they had retained their spellscar, they had discovered that their body required the type of sleep that human and half-elves needed. Often, this would occur after their more arduous travels, unnerving experiences, or grave wounds. They hoped to the hells and back in spite of the obvious odds that their body would not require such deep vulnerability tonight, equally fearful of if they’d even be able to settle enough to trance. If they did find reprieve only to wake their newfound companions with any of the side-effects of their Spellscar, who knows how those around them would react to such a thing? Especially given the events that had already unfolded through the day—they found it easy to assume that the best case scenario in that situation would result in being abandoned.

Usually the druid would be thankful for a chance at abandonment and its promise of sweet isolation, but the circumstances were too dire to take such risks right now. Despite their longings for solitude, they needed all the brainpower they could get if they wished to find help with this whole tadpole problem and refrain from turning into a mindflayer. There was power in numbers. Still, they all had little reason to trust one another, and these new associates would likely see no reason to stick around with someone who held such baggage and risk.

It could potentially even be fatal to show such vulnerability; particularly, in the case of the blade-happy githyanki who would likely mistake the unfamiliar Spellscar symptoms as proof that Vrisryn was transforming into an illithid and react far before clarification could be given. Astarion had all but started their introduction with a blade to Vrisryn’s throat, so they couldn’t imagine he’d be particularly willing to stick around at any sign of further risk or burden either. Though, they also felt he could be just self-absorbed enough to completely overlook any effects they’d endure through the night. Shadowheart and Gale seemed the most fond of the druid at this point, and while they had sensed a kindred spirit of sorts in each, they by no means felt they knew either well enough to place even the slightest bit of trust in their character. Abandonment was still far more likely than acceptance, and despite their nature, their wisdom of the daunting odds stacked against them made it impossible to justify any permanent disbanding from their companions for the foreseeable future.

It’s also not as though Vrisryn could fault their companions if they did react that way in that event. The druid wasn’t particularly fond of this newfound situation either, nor trusting of those embarking on the journey with them–they too would be equally willing to cut off or cull any signs of danger or unneeded weight among the others at this point. Though, that could be the exhaustion speaking more than their actual beliefs or morals. They weren’t squeamish to the idea of violence any more than they savoured such measures. But any way they spun it, they found themselves at the same conclusion that these were still far too dire of circumstances to throw caution to the wind.

Vrisryn cupped their hands beneath the cold water, splashing it along their face as they stared out across the river, still lost in thought. The scent of vittles cooking in the fire wafted from nearby had grounded them back to the present somewhat. The sky was darkened now, with only a sliver of burnt orange-daylight left along the horizon as the speckles of stars and a bright, full moon washed across the sky overhead. The elf exhaled before stripping from their scale mail armor and washed themselves off quickly in the river, dampening their hair in the process but not bothering to clean it. Afterwards, they slipped into simple, comfortable threads that had been picked off the belongings of those they’d fought earlier in the day. Death’s blessing serves life’s purpose yet again, they thought to themselves reverently. Blessings be to the eternal cycle; may the spores of rebirth favor the fallen.

Turning from the corner of the rock, Vrisryn all but jumped out of their skin at the unexpected sight of the aforementioned skeletal enigma they had freed from the dank crypt earlier in the day standing nearby. The undead's blackened eyes stared intently at the druid, obviously having something he wished to say. Oh hells, they thought tiredly as they shook their head and sighed once more, approaching the creature with their arms crossed and a lifted eyebrow.

“We meet again, as predicted,” the undead greeted in its strange diction. “I shall be here in thy camp, for whenever thou hast need of my services.”

“Not to be rude, but… what exactly are you?” Vrisryn replied somewhat wearily.

“There are many answers to that question. None are important.”

“It’s important to me. Nature has an order, and while I have no issue with undead… Skeletons aren’t supposed to be able to talk.”

“Correct.”

Vrisryn squinted in displeasure.

“…Are you going to explain further?”

“No.” His response was firm, with a tone cautioning to not press the matter further.

Vrisryn narrowed their eyes at the undead before letting the subject drop with a roll of the eyes, too exhausted from the day to press the matter. He clearly wasn’t any threat, at the very least.

“What kind of services can a skeleton even offer?”

“Should thou or any of thy compatriots perish, I will cleave soul to body once more.”

This piqued Vrisryn’s attention immediately. A flicker of something between hope, excitement, and dread settled into their stomach at the prospect of such magic. The ability to retether the dead to life again, despite the circumstances? It was frowned upon within their circle to seek such channels, as it was considered an offense akin to stealing food from the mold and mycelium they worshiped. Yet, a part of Vrisryn’s heart had always hoped to find one capable of such skills… after all, if one was capable of such a feat, was there a chance that he could…?

“That’s incredibly powerful magic. Why is it so easy for you?” They questioned, failing to mask their obvious intrigue.

“Because it is my calling,” the withered man in front of them retorted matter-of-factly. “There is little else to explain.”

“You mentioned a cost. What is it?”

“A matter of coin, 200 gold, to be precise.”

“Could you… revive others, besides the companions I carry now?”

An unreadable expression passed over the wrinkled, misshapen face in front of them. Something between disappointment and understanding, perhaps even pity–though, Vrisryn themselves could not decipher the look.

“No. The threads of fate have already woven thy story; I shall only offer aid to thy chapters' future, not those of thou’s past.”

Reality quickly settled back in where the flicker of hope had taken hold moments ago. Disappointed but not surprised, Vrisryn’s expression sobered again. They nodded curtly, wincing as their head pounded harder with the motion, tadpole squirming behind their eye, before walking away from the undead man and back towards camp. There was nothing else to say on the matter, and the being didn’t seem privy to share much else at the moment anyway.

Returning in search of food, Vrisryn found Gale was standing in front of the campfire, clearly brooding. Each companion had set up their personal spots rather efficiently. To the side, Lae’Zel had somehow managed to create or procure a whetstone and was sharpening her blade, visibly irate in her own right. Shadowheart seemed deep in a prayer or perhaps meditation, and Astarion had buried his face within some large, dusty book. Vrisryn approached Gale first, though they had only done so to obtain some of the food nearby, not for conversation.

Just as they came from behind the wizard, he let out a deep exhale, and spoke:

“Go to Hell.”

“And a good evening to you, too.” Vrisryn answered sarcastically, bemused by the unexpected greeting as they reached for a serving of their supplies.

“Hah! You’re a good sport,” Gale responded, before beginning his tirade.

“Go to Hell. An everyday expression. So trivial, it’s almost meaningless—but we’ve seen Hell. It’s real. And it isn’t trivial.”

Vrisryn watched the flames in silence, taking a bite of the roasted sausage and carrots they’d obtained, unsure of what to say or where this exchange was leading. Still, they stood watching and listening to Gale intently, enticed by his sullen remarks.

“Devils, dragons, mindflayers — they used to be abstracts. Pictures on a piece of paper… What a difference a day makes. Now, we have tadpoles slithering through our heads like carnivorous foeti,” Gale turned now to face the druid, heavy and worried brown eyes locking with theirs. “That’s not abstract.”

There was a profound sadness and lethargy in the man’s expression that Vrisryn could tell was borne far before the illithid experiences they shared. Despite this, the flickers of orange from the nearby fire across his face painted the wizard in a charming light, Vrisryn noted. He had a comforting, charming visage, in spite of his pessimistic words and downtrodden aura. At least everyone in this little entourage is easy on the eyes… they thought shamelessly. Little victories, I suppose.

“We’re in deep shit, Gale; I can’t argue with you on that. Brooding will get us nowhere. Action will,” they finally offered, unable to spare any words of real comfort or reassurance at the moment amidst the waves of pain shooting through them. There was a moment of weighted silence between them once more as they both stared at the fire.

“This ballet of flames invites reflection,” Gale replied after some time. “But point made; you’re right. Let’s be up with the lark – find a healer before the wee one gets hungry.” He tapped his head with a smirk, emphasizing exactly who the wee one in question was. Vrisryn winced again as their tadpole squirmed almost in response, causing further tension in their sore skull. They felt dizzy for a moment from the pain, but if Gale had noticed anything, he made no sign of it. His back was now turned to them as he cast his thoughtful gaze silently towards the fire.

Behind them, Vrisryn noticed that Shadowheart had stood up from her prayer at some point during their conversation. The half-elf was eyeing the two of them suspiciously, though she turned her head away as soon as Vrisryn went to meet her eyes. Putting aside her seemingly aloof and untrusting nature, Shadowheart had earned Vrisryn’s trust the most thus far. Clearly the feeling wasn’t yet mutual, but Vrisryn wasn’t particularly bothered by that. Maybe it was the druid’s bias for clerics due to the deep gnome–Smilvi–who had helped nurse them both physically and emotionally, during and after their creeping madness in the Underdark.

Favoritism for clerics aside, Shadowheart had proven fairly trustworthy and sound of mind with strong, individual morals that the druid could respect. Regardless of her icy exterior, they had gotten the impression that Shadowheart harbored a secret softness, as well as some sense of care or favor for them. At the minimum, she had at least been kind & respectful. She had gone as far as to show concern over Vrisryn’s well-being when the decision to recruit Lae'zel was made. Even if it was only due to their help on the nautiloid or a need to not face the odds ahead alone, the consideration was welcomed. Plus, they could understand her wariness and respected her obvious affinity for privacy.

Vrisryn walked in the cleric’s direction despite the beckoning of the nearby bedroll they’d laid out for the night. They figured they might as well make a round along the camp to check in with all of their company before settling down for the evening. At the very least, doing so reduced the risk of being bothered by one of them with questions or concerns later. Vrisryn doubted they’d be particularly understanding towards any disruption of the limited rest they’d be getting tonight.

“What were you two talking about?” Shadowheart probed in an accusatory tone as they approached.

“What do you mean?” Vrisryn replied, slightly taken aback by the cleric’s tone. That wasn’t a question they were expecting.

“You and Gale.” She clarified, casting a scowl toward the man’s direction. His back was still turned to them, lost in thought near the fire.

“We were just discussing the next steps.”

“I see,” She said, pausing for a moment to cast her glare back towards the wizard. “I’d be careful with Gale.”

“You don’t trust Gale?” Vrisryn asked, an eyebrow raised in question. The man hadn’t particularly struck them as fallacious or deceptive by any means, let alone given them any reason for concern.

“He’s a wizard. All they care about is power.”

“Well, I wasn’t confiding in anyone. I was just talking,” the druid replied defensively, shifting their weight and placing a hand against their hip with a look. The abrasive and negative attitude radiating off each member of their party was beginning to wear on their already thin patience, and they didn’t care for others questioning their judgement.

“So am I,” Shadowheart retorted coyly. “If we’re to survive, we need to trust each other… You seem reliable. I think you know how important it is that we find someone who can cure us. Best if we focus on that.”

“Let’s not abandon all caution,” Vrisryn warned. “This is unfamiliar territory, and there is power in numbers, Shadowheart.”

“Caution is a luxury we don’t have,” Shadowheart sighed. There was a glimmer of approval and understanding in her eyes at the response of Vrisryn’s words, however. “Let’s rest and wake up at first light.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Vrisryn replied as they walked away, shifting their attention now towards the pale elf with his head buried in a book. As they approached, Astarion clapped the book shut and tossed it on a nearby pillow.

“You know, I’ve been thinking…” he started.

Oh, here we fucking go, Vrisryn thought, sighing and preparing themselves for this nights next batch of draining social interaction. Couldn’t they just get a short, simple exchange with one person tonight? Whatever was coming from this exchange seemed to hold promise of being particularly tiring, even more so than Shadowheart’s distrust and Gale’s sorrowful droning. Not to mention that they still had Lae’zel to check in with.

“And I think there’s something I should tell you,” Astarion continued in a lulling tone. “Nothing big or terrible, just a… small, little detail about me that hasn’t come up naturally.”

The pale elf moved his hands and shifted his weight in nervous contrast to his inflection as he talked, flourishing the words with his body language. Vrisryn assumed it was an attempt at either some sort of seduction, or perhaps just some form of self-soothing. His anxiety was palpable, and Vrisryn could tell he was struggling to figure out how to approach this matter delicately. If they hadn’t been so exhausted and irate, they likely would have provided more in the way of encouragement or support. It was obvious this wasn’t comfortable for him, but Vrisryn was far too spent to offer such grace to these strangers tonight. Instead, they stared directly at the elf with a firm gaze and a growing annoyance while awaiting his confession, wishing for him to get on with it and spit it out.

“It’s just that I happen to be a — ah, what’s the best way to put this…? …A vampire? A-ha!” His gray-white eyebrows were raised and pinched in anticipation, and an almost shy smirk accompanied his nervous laughter. His eyes looked similar to those of a cornered animal, waiting to see if they needed to bite.

“Well… yes. Obviously.” Vrisryn replied dryly, expression appearing unwaveringly detached and disinterested. Astarions eyes widened for a moment, brows raising, clearly taken aback by the druid’s indifference. He cleared his throat before dropping the expression and replying:

“R-right. Well. Glad we got that out of the way! So… Was there anything else?”

“Hmm…” Vrisryn pondered for a moment, looking up and to the side as their mouth pinched to one corner in thought. They fiddled with the ball of their lip ring between their teeth as they thought.

“I’ve read some texts on vampirism while studying within my circle, but I’ve always wondered how much of it was accurate. Many of the script on the subject is either riddled with obvious bias, or baseless smut. So, I’m curious – how does one become a vampire, exactly?”

“Oh, it’s simple,” Astarion drawled, still fidgeting around in those oddly flamboyant, fluid-like movements as he spoke. Something about the motions amused Vrisryn.

“Just find a vampire that will drink your blood and turn you into a vampire spawn: their obedient puppet. In theory, the next step is to drink their blood. Once you’ve done that, you’re free and a true vampire.”

“In theory?” Vrisryn probed.

“People think that the biggest threat to a vampire is a cleric with a stake,” his eyes shot to Shadowheart with a look of distaste before locking back to Vrisryn’s topaz and green eyes.

“It’s not. The biggest threat to a vampire is another vampire. They’re scheming, paranoid, power-hungry beasts,” Astarion bent at the waist here, leaning in towards Vrisryn at this point. His red eyes lowered and appeared hungry, as if to further illustrate his warning, and his arms spread around him in a sort of shrug as he continued.

“So, why would any vampire give up control over a spawn to create a competitor? Trust me. It doesn’t happen.”

“Interesting… Tell me some more about yourself.” Vrisryn demanded, their interest suddenly whetted by the first bits of vulnerability offered by any of their companions that proved to be a distraction from the tadpole still thrashing in their skull.

Astarion was entertaining to speak to so far, and somehow Vrisryn found that talking to him didn’t unnerve them as much as talking to the other party members did. Possibly, it was just a side effect of the high-elf’s apparent comfort at hearing his own voice in social exchanges–or, it could simply be because vampirism was also particularly intriguing to Vrisryn. Vampires had always seemed to them to be a new, potentially even superior form of being that tiptoed between nature’s lines of both life and death. They had been curious about the conditions and effects of vampirism since they first read about it long ago, and Astarion’s willingness to share with them had pushed aside their usual reluctance for conversation for the moment. However, Astarion’s tone had shifted apathetically and defensively at their probing.

“What’s to tell? I was sired by a vampire named Cazador. Everything before that is so long ago it’s ancient history. And everything that came after? Well, I’d rather not reflect on it.”

“You must remember some part of your life before that?” Vrisryn questioned, unsatisfied with his lustlacker response.

“I was a magistrate, working to keep the peace in Baulder’s Gate. Imprisoning trouble makers– that kind of thing. I can’t remember much, truth be told. Centuries of torment will do that to you.”

Vrisryn had scoffed internally at the idea of this man as a judge; it was certainly believable given his attitude. Their judgment quickly resided though, as they related all too well to that last statement, and nodded once in response before continuing with their questions.

“How were you turned?”

“I was attacked. A gang of vagrants-a tribe of wandering ‘Gur’— took issue with a ruling I’d made. They beat me to death’s door when Cazador appeared. He chased them off and offered to save me; to give me eternal life. Given that my choices were ‘eternal life’ or ‘bleed to death on the street’, I took him up on the offer.”

Astarion looked down at the ground, his mind seeming to trail off somewhere else as he continued.

“It was only afterwards I realized just how long ‘eternity’ could be.”

“Well,” Vrisryn responded somewhat uncomfortably. The air had turned a bit too vulnerable for their tastes now, and the bitterly sad expression on the pretty spawn left them feeling unsettled.

“I appreciate your transparency. It, uh, may be best to keep this between us for now though, yeah? I had already figured that to be the case, but I don’t know how the others would react to the news of a vampire in our camp right now… everyone seems on edge tonight, and tomorrow will be even longer than today. We can discuss it more later; for now, let’s just focus on recharging.”

Vrisryn walked away without waiting for a response, eyes locked instead on the nearby bedroll and campfire awaiting them. However, just past the promise of reprieve, Lae’zel’s eyes burned disgruntled holes into Vrisryn’s person, causing them to shudder ever so slightly. There was no denying the gith’s menacing and intimidating aura. With another forlorn sigh, they moved towards the githyanki and prepared themselves for (hopefully) the last interaction of the evening. Vrisryn could already assume what the exchange would entail: complaints about the decision to make camp, an urging to hurry along to this crèche she kept mentioning, and a heavy dose of criticism over anything perceived to be unaligned with the githyanki’s desires.

“A monster forms inside us, and you think to be idle?” Lae’zel began to chide. “I knew your kind to be fragile, but I didn’t foresee the severity. Cease your chatter and be quick about your rest. We must locate a crèche.” “This crèche notion of yours - are you sure it’s our only option?”

“You would doubt me? I do not trust a common healer to extract a ghaik tadpole without killing its host. At a crèche, a ghustil may cleanse us - SAFELY.”

“Still,” Vrisryn countered, too tired to question what in the realms either a ghustil or crèche was.

“We’re hardly going to turn while taking a rest… are we?”

“The parasites inside us do not rest. Even as we speak, they defile our brains and warp our bones.” The strange, yellow-green irises paused for a moment, taking stock of the seemingly fragile elf in front of them before begrudgingly accepting that their alien companion indeed would need rest before they would be able to prove themselves to be of any further use to the githyanki. She flicked a hand as if to discard the thought from the air between them.

“Take your rest. I will stand watch. Should a single tentacle split your skull, I will not hesitate to end you.” Lae’zel retaliated.

“Well, thank Ao for that.” Vrisryn muttered as they strode wearily towards the bedroll by the fire, settling into it and laying their cloak across them as a blanket. They were thankful to finally be alone with their thoughts as silence settles into the camp around them, leaving only the sounds of nature's ambience filling the cool night air.

At least no one has to worry about being bitten by the local oversized-mosquito tonight with Lae’zel keeping watch…

Vrisryn had anticipated restlessness and insomnia when they finally laid in the bedroll, especially with Lae’zel’s promise of taking watch resulting in a perpetual feeling of being watched by a predator among the rest of the camp. The druid had turned back and forth uncomfortably for hours, the tadpole exasperating the pain in their head. However, exhaustion had ultimately won over both their anxiety and the tension of their migraine. The conversations with their party had drained them far more than initially anticipated, and their body slipped easily into a meditative trance once the comfort of the campfire and stars moving by overhead lulled their eyelids shut.

In their partially-awake state, the day’s events replayed themselves clearly and precisely. The disorientation and confusion upon awakening on the strange, fleshy nautiloid ship. The struggle to land the crashing monstrosity amongst devils, mind devourers, imps and illithids which they encountered alongside Shadowheart and Lae’zel. The intensity of the crash after; a mindflayer’s burning, hateful eyes the moment before they fell from the ship and were knocked unconscious; Shadowheart’s strange reluctance to share any information about the strange artifact she clung to. The exchange of finding Gale stuck in his portal, and the simple amusement that had stemmed from snarkily slapping his hand before helping him out of his portal; freeing Lae’zel from the tiefling’s trap, despite her refusal to thank them; exploring the abandoned temple on the hillside, and the fight with those who had taken hold within. Then, the experience of meeting Astarion.

Unbeknownst to Vrisryn, their enervation had caused them to slip into a full slumber by this point. While their mind replayed the event, their subconscious twisted from a mere trance into a full sleep as a dream subtly wrapped around their mind.

“Hurry, I’ve got one of those brain-things cornered!” Astarion called out from the cliffside in their dreamstate. “There, in the grass. You can kill it, can’t you? Like you killed the others?”

“Kill it yourself - you look capable enough.” Vrisryn felt their lips form dryly, mouth parched and chapped from the dehydration and stress of the day, the scent and taste of smoke from the crash overpowering their other senses. They were still wounded from the last three “brain things” they had encountered in the ship below and didn’t feel particularly inclined to help any more stragglers along the road. They were hungry, thirsty, lost, and irritable, and had shrugged carelessly at the pale elf before they turned to continue along the path in the opposite direction. As they moved, they thought to themselves how the dirt looked suddenly and unnaturally fluid; strange. Different. Wrong… What’s happening?

“Oh, and I was so hoping for a kind soul. Well, not to worry!” Astarion spoke snidely.

In a blink, Vrisryn felt a cold arm hook around their neck and yank them in a swift motion to the dirt alongside the stranger. They struggled against him with a grunt, head panging from the impact, and attempted to sit up as a dagger was pressed near their throat in retaliation of the movement. The rouge had used a knee to pin down their weight near their calf, locking them firmly and uncomfortably in his grasp. Vrisryn glared from under him nastily as they felt the same flash of panic overtake their whole body as it had earlier; this sensation was familiar, and while few would be calm with a blade pressed to their throat, Vrisryn had a uniquely personal reason to feel anxiety at the situation. The thought crossed their mind that this seemed far too vivid of a sensation for a normal trance, but before much more could be considered on a subject, they were pulled back to the dream.

They felt their head cloud with the sudden flashback to the last time they’d been in this situation; this was a stranger, but then, it was someone important. Someone close. A swell formed in their throat, which began to close around itself as their heartbeat quickened and a cold sweat broke across their flesh, body shifting into fight-or-flight. The slightest noise akin to a whimper left them as they struggled against him, attempting to roll out from underneath him quickly; but their movements were too frantic, too predictable. Astarion pressed them down more firmly with a hushed “Tsk!”, bringing his face closer against their lowered, pointed ear.

“Shhh, not a word. Let’s try to keep that lovely neck of yours in one piece, hmm?” He lulled, his breath and lips brushing ever so slightly above their ear.

“And YOU - keep your distance,” he spat towards Gale and Shadowheart, who were watching the events unfold with their hands atop their weapons. “No need for this to get messy.”

The events began to warp here; and deeper in Vrisryn’s subconscious, they felt the offputting sense that this was no longer simply a trance’s replication of their day, but rather something else entirely. If it had still been a trance, Shadowheart would have interjected here before Vrisryn inevitably headbutted the vampire off of their person and discussed things more civilly. Regardless, the subconscious awareness that this was not how the events had actually transpired did little to rouse Vrisryn from the distorted sleep. Instead, the pale elf in their mind nicked a part of Vrisryn’s neck, causing a pearl of blood to trickle down their throat as the features on the pretty elf’s face began to blur and morph unnaturally.

“Though, making a mess seems to be your specialty, darling. And to simply give you freedom is certainly more generous you’ve been towards others, isn’t it? Even death would be far too merciful for you, you wretched traitor.”

Vrisryn’s heart sank as their eyes attempted to focus on the shifting presence over them; Astarion’s curled, white locks had changed shape, sprawling far past his shoulders, morphed and shifting to a familiar walnut shade; his red irises now became amber, and previously palled skin was tanned and peppered with freckles and thick, plush fur. The voice speaking to them had shifted as it spoke as well. It was familiar, but different – deep, loud, and certainly not Astarion’s.

Treolam, their mind cried in realization. Their dream self had formed the name around their mouth to speak it at the same time, but no noise came out with the movement. Wetness pricked at the inner corners of their eyes, and their blood ran cold.

“What could you possibly have to say to me, my sweet slaughterer; my corrosive consort! Come back to tell me how my elders were right about you and your allegiance!?”

The apparition spoke harshly, but it sounded crude and particularly corrupt among the warm, playful, almost loving tone of the satyr’s voice. Tears began to spill from the druid’s eyes at the sight of him–in the dream as well as the waking world–and they struggled against the grasp atop them, reaching in an attempt to place a hand along the man’s bearded face to no avail. The pressure atop them was sharp and heady, and Vrisryn made a pathetic gasp as the blade cut a bit more into their neck, leaving little rivers of blood spilling from their skin. Suddenly, a thick ooze began to crawl across amber eyes above them in twisting, thorny patterns; first appearing as a bright-blue but then shifting to black, darkening them. A warped, wide smile was plastered on his otherwise pained expression.

“I thought you wanted to see me again, Vris! Do you know the trouble I went through to find you here? Amuremsis bet me I couldn’t find you again, and I bet you thought you lost me again, huh? Oh, little love, I told you before! So long as the fey runs wild, I will always be able to find a way back to you.”

Vrisryn choked at the reminder of these words; the precious and private promise he had sworn them in their youth was now being twisted and contorted in a foul meaning by this apparition. Yet, it felt so real; he felt so real. Vrisryn could smell the woody musk of him, feel the wirey yet plush fluffs of fur on his arms, limbs and torso against their flesh, see every freckle and callous against his leathery skin. Their heart ached to hold him, to kiss him, even in spite of his cruel words and the blade against their throat.

“Treolam, I–”

“Shhh shshsh, you have to listen, little lamb, NO SPEAKING,” he interrupted, dropping the blade in favor to wrap both his hands around Vrisryn’s neck in a chokehold that silenced them with a whimper. The placement of his grip threatened to block and even crush their airways completely, lest they remain still where they laid in the crook of the satyr’s elbow.

“It’s so important you follow these instructions! You don’t want to lose me again, do you? You still want and trust me, DON’T YOU?”

The entirety of his eyes had glazed over with a slick blackness now; tears of blood streamed down his face and dripped along Vrisryn’s cheek as he placed himself directly atop them, pinning them fully into the earth beneath them, which had become the consistency of a thick fluid and sank beneath their weight. It had the same sensation of sinking into mud or quicksand. He removed one hand which now was smeared in Vrisryn’s blood, replacing it with the dagger once more before issuing his commandments.

“You can never forget me, you can never forget what you did. YOU killed us, all of us! You left me, and you failed to protect anything you loved. You always will, you know this. STOP LYING TO YOURSELF THAT IT WAS OUT OF YOUR CONTROL! You killed us all–your kin, your clan, your home. You broke us! You destroyed us! You ABANDONED us! You let me and Amuremsis go–you should never forgive yourself for what happened. You can never escape this. We will haunt you fore-”

Suddenly, the crackle of a firelog buckling into the embers of the dying fire back in reality jolted Vrisryn from their slumber. Their eyes shot open, and for a second they remained still and rigid, as if the apparition from the dream still had them in his chokehold. Cold air highlighted the wet tears streaking their cheeks, and their chest moved with heavy, short breaths. After just a moment they realized that it had been a nightmare, and their hands shot towards the sides of their head frantically; feeling for the all-too-familiar halo of the static, icy sensation which they’d come to associate with the activation of their spellscar. Their fingers met only flesh though, and they exhaled the breath they had subconsciously held with relief before glancing around camp to get their bearings. Lae’zel was still up, keeping watch as promised, though she had been turned towards the surrounding woods rather than towards the party at the moment. No one else was awake yet.

Luck is on my side tonight, they thought.

They couldn’t have rested for more than three hours. Typically, they would want to trance for another hour or two to feel fully rested–but despite the nightmare which always accompanied their body’s affliction with sleep, they found themselves fully awake. Their migraine had faded to a dull, hazy feeling, which was uncomfortable but bearable. Their body still felt heavy, though Vrisryn felt that had far more to do with their nerves about being in the company of others and the tadpoles in their head than anything else. The others were still asleep, and based on the coloring of the sky and the stars’ placements, dawn was not far off–two hours at most.

Regardless, Vrisryn knew rest of any sort would be lost to them now, and they opted instead to take this chance for some well-deserved solitude before their companions awoke and their adventure began once again. Pulling the sack of camp supplies close, they reached for another log to add to the dwindling fire, as well as some bread and cheese to curb their appetite. They wiped the remnants of the nightmare induced cold sweat off with their shirt before switching back into their armour and walking to where Lae’zel stood watch.

“Do githyanki not need sleep? I can watch until everyone else is up, if you want to rest a little.” Vrisryn offered genuinely, their raspy voice morphing into a yawn at the end of the question. Though it was extremely subtle, Vrisryn could detect the faintest expression of exhaustion on Lae’zel.

“Tch’! There is no need for rest in the astral plane–sleep is considered a triviality in a realm where time ceases to exist.“ A small sigh escaped her mouth after the claim, giving proof to her own exhaustion.

"Though I admit that it seems my body will need sleep in this Fay-run. I accept your offer; but do not think me to be vulnerable. Even in sleep, I shall wake to tear you from navel to neck should you provoke such a need.”

“I don’t think anyone here wishes to raise your ire, Lae’zel. Go - rest. I’ll just be scouting the area nearby.” The druid shifted into wild shape before Lae'zel could respond, assuming the form of a red-coated wolf.

Lae’zel had looked befuddled for a moment, and Vrisryn considered that they may have never witnessed someone use wild shape before. Regardless, she walked away with another “Tch,” before settling into a bedroll within her tent. Vrisryn was starting to become more and more unbothered by the githyanki’s mannerisms and threats, figuring it was just the only way that she knew how to communicate. She was not the first gith Vrisryn had encountered, and what little Vrisryn could recall of the Githyanki’s alien culture was not for the weak of heart or stomach. The others the druid had met first hand were far more provokable and venomous than Lae’zel seemed, at least.

It would be unfair to expect their companion to be anything but what they are. As they had told Shadowheart at the start of this, dangerous company was exactly what you needed in a fight – and Vrisryn had no qualms with the blunt or brutal nature of their companion, given what they appeared to be up against. It would just take time to grow accustomed to such aggressive reception, especially during such early hours.

The elf turned their attention now to their surroundings, sniffing the air in their new form. The heightened senses from the wolf-shape flooded their mind with various sensations and impulses. No danger, though; nothing but prey. The instinct of their wolf form took over, and the higher parts of their mind figured they’d earned some down time to enjoy the canine form. It was comforting to be in wild shape, blending into nature fully and thoughts of tadpoles, illithids, healers, and the uncertain road ahead blurring as a new purpose took over: a hunt. The wolf was easy to be lost to, and Vrisryn particularly favored this form when they felt the urge to run.

It was the perfect form to take for this morning, where the need to vacate their current surroundings and the company inhabiting it had itched as uncomfortably under their skin as the tadpole did from behind their eye. Even in wild shape, they could feel it; though, the instinctual pull towards the hares, boar, and deer inhabiting the woods around the camp and the hunger in their stomach helped to detach from the sensation and its accompanying thoughts. Wide, heavy paws hit the ground in a full sprint and hot air panted from the canines mouth. A flood of scent washed in, and in spite of the worries that Vrisryn hosted, the wolf version of them hopped around delightedly, a playfulness taking over the form they now inhabited.

The druid spent the next hour and a half hunting in the woods surrounding the camp; though, they released each prey they caught. They felt no hunger for food, only for relief this morning. In wolf form, it was easy to let worry melt away and enjoy the innately optimistic nature it offered. They had nearly lost track of time frolicking with a fawn when they noticed the orange sunlight creeping halfway up the horizon. With a whine and a yawn, they shook their thick coat and stretched their form lazily. They allowed themselves a quick roll in the dirt, and after a few playful sneezes as well as a friendly nuzzle against the fawn they'd been playing hide-and-seek with, they began their trek towards camp. For the first time since they'd embarked that morning, they took their time walking along the woods.

Everyone back at camp had woken and began packing their belongings, eating, and bickering once more. Vrisryn's wolf-heart panged with an urge to run away, to return to the solitude and comfort of the woods nearby; but their higher logic still won in spite of it. As they returned towards their belongings, Shadowheart caught sight of them first; and to Vrisryn's surprise, the cleric gasped, grasping at one of her hands suddenly and looking utterly... frightened.

Granted, Vrisryn did forget that not everyone was used to wild animals just walking up on them. They shook themselves out of the wild shape, lifting themselves from the dirt and brushing off the debris before locking eyes with a now very-relieved Shadowheart.

"Sorry - I forgot you hadn't seen me in that form yet. I always forget that most people are intimidated by the presence of wild animals," they contended.

Shadowheart threw her gaze up and to the side, thick plaits swaying behind her shoulder with the movement as she scowled.

"It's fine, though I almost sent an arrow your direction. Best warn me next time you intend to take such a form."

Vrisryn nodded, and moved towards their bag to organize their supplies for the day and begin planning what direction they would embark in next. Lae'zel was rushing them each to hurry up, and Astarion was complaining loudly about having to start traveling so early. Gale was barely awake yet, sleepily munching on food and seemingly tuning out all else.

It appeared it was going to be a long day indeed.

to be continued...

#bg3 fanfiction #bg3 tav #bg3 tav fanfic #uhhh honestly i have NO idea how to tag this so LMAO #bg3 #vrisryn #my character #my writing #idk why i'm adding tags for anything other than my own blogs organization but i'm doin it anyways #bg3 vrisryn #^ usin that tag just incase something crazy happens n people actually read this or sumn lol #A/N this was extra fun to me bc the whole astarion confessing to being a vampire on the first long rest ACTUALLY fucking happened to me lma #A/N it was very clearly a glitch and happened on my reload (my og run w vris corrupted) but it humored me so much i finally was like #A/N alright fine i'll fucnk write this shit!!!! fine!!!!#A/N i've wanted to start actually posting my work about vris somewhere for a hot min now so i figured i might as well throw it here #A/N like ahhh yes a sideblog dedicated to vris the perfect place to infodump into the void #A/N who knows maybe one day someone other than me will read it too lol #A/N also i like the idea that lae'zel did actually notice that vris was like crying/distressed in their sleep #A/N but she ignored it thinking it was simply like a show of weakness and was disgusted by it rather than thinking it was the tadpoles LOL #my posts #spores and scars #spores and scars ch1

0 notes

peaktora · 2 months

Text

𝐂 𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐘 ˚◞♡ ⃗ satoru gojo

𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 ┊ your husband is unbearably clingy.

𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 ┊0.9k words. no pronouns used or specified gender for the reader. intended lowercase. established relationship (#married).

a/n. — i’m warning u guys right now that this is not proofread 😭 .. i literally just typed this up rq and posted it bc it’s been too long since i’ve last posted something on here

p.s. the prompt was in my notes from a longgg time ago, but i believe it’s from @/creativepromptsforwriting .. if not please lmk !!

"c'mere, hold my hand," satoru pleads for what has to be the third time. he pouts at you, who’s sitting on the countertop.

your brows furrow as you look up from your phone, "but, you're washing the dishes?”

he twists the faucet handle, and a steady stream of water flows down. after a brief glance at you, he places the plate beneath the water and says, "i know how to multitask, baby."

clinginess is defined as “the tendency to stay near someone for emotional support, protection, ect.” but there has to be another term for what satoru is, because you can't give any of those things while holding his hand right now.

you let out a deep breath and turn off your phone, watching as the screen fades to black. "satoru, there's no way i'm sticking my hand in that dirty dishwater," you say, sliding your phone into your pocket.

he practically shoves the plate into the drying rack. "i can't believe this," he huffs. "we literally had vows."

“what are y—“

“we had vows that said you’d love me in sickness and in health.”

"well…are you sick?" you ask, crossing your arms across your chest.

he pauses his task of washing dishes, leaving them untouched. leaning over the sink, he rests his arms against its edge. he steals a furtive glance at you, only to find your gaze locked onto him. with a hint of hesitation, he softly mumbles, "no..." before you can respond, he interrupts, "but i’m in health, and the vows said that you have to love and cherish me in this state too."

you lean back, searching your mind for what the alternative of holding his hand would be. because in no world would you hold his hand in dishwasher. then, it hits you. "for now, would a hug make you feel better?"

he answers your question with a hum, and you can't believe he's debating whether or not to accept your offer after all that drama over holding hands in dishwater. even so, he adds, "i'll have to give it some thought."

two can play that game.

“it’s okay,” you say, gracefully hopping down from the counter. a smirk spreads across your face. “i could just go—sit on the couch?” slowly, you start to walk in his direction and make your way over to the living room.

he doesn’t say anything, letting you do as you please. it’s not until you start to pass by him, that you get the reaction you wanted.

or atleast, somewhat similar to what you wanted.

"on second thought—" he exclaims, and the dishwater swirls around him as he turns around, his hands still wet and dripping.

you cringe as small puddles gather on the tiles. "hey—" but he interrupts you as he reaches out to grab your wrist. “ew—I—what the hell?”

you instinctively try to pull back, but he slips his wet hand in yours; sealing your fate.

“satoru—”

“what happened to nicknames?”

“satoru.”

"’m not sure who that is. i go by a lot of names, but not that one. lets go down the list, yeah?” he clears his throat. “i go by "babe, baby, swe—"

"you should consider adding "gojo" to that list."

"now, when have you ever called me gojo?”

"right now, in exactly ten seconds.” your husband gasps, hanging his mouth open. “satoru go—"

“woah woah woah—what’d i do to deserve this treatment?”

“you put your dirty dishwater hand in mine.” you jerk your hand back, struggling to escape free of his grip.

his grip tightens on your hand, “if you’re feeling like not loving me today then just say that.”

“hey—don’t discredit me. i offered you a hug and you said you had to “think” about it.”

“cause holding your hand ‘s better.”

you sigh, “after you’re done with the dishes, you can hold my hand as long as you want.“

he lets out a soft, thoughtful hum—the same hum that got you both into this situation in the first place. at the same time you shake your head, a mischievous twinkle appears in his eyes, and a smile twists onto the edges of his lips. "deal" he says, shaking your hand. “but before-“

you tsk, making him drop his excuse.

“wh—“

"the quicker these dishes get done, the quicker you’ll be able to hold my hand. so get on with it—go," you playfully command, and his grip loosens in response. seizing the opportunity, you slide your hand out of his grasp. you look down at it, seeing bits of food that’ve stuck to your palm. gross.

you walk over to the sink, feeling the cool water flow over your hand, washing away the food and dirt that clung to your skin. as you stand there, you hear satoru's voice grumbling from behind, "i hate doing dishes,” and you can’t help but snort.

before you know it, you feel his presence close behind you, his body pressing against yours. his arms encircle you, creating a cozy pocket of space between the counter and his body. satoru leans over your shoulder, gets a sponge from the soapy water, and starts washing a bowl. you simply lean back and look at his features.

the sight almost makes you want to stay in his arms forever. that is, until you realize the predicament you're in.

“you did not,” you whine. you desperately try to break free from the cage he’s trapped you in, but your attempts prove more and more pointless.

"oh, yes, i did," he declares with a smile. “what did you say earlier?" he clears his throat before proceeding. "the faster these dishes are done, the sooner you'll be able to hold my hand," he says, mockingly imitating your tone. "so, the faster these dishes are done, the sooner you can leave and do anything you want."

you sulk and moan while you reluctantly grab a dish and a spare sponge from the sink. “i hate you.”

“i love you more.”

#(っˆ ³(ˊ ᵕ ˋก ) ⇢ ˗ˏˋ 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐀 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 ࿐ྂ #i have a essay due in a couple hours and i’m over here writing fics .. 😣#gojo x reader #gojo x reader fluff #gojo angst #gojo x you #gojo headcanons #gojo scenarios #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jujustu kaisen #jujustu kaisen x reader #jujustu kaisen headcanons

3K notes · View notes

chuluoyi · 4 months

Text

LOVER'S QUARREL

- fushiguro megumi x reader

“i can't do this anymore.” you and megumi are just too different; he's stoic, you're bubbly, he prefers solitude, you love being social. it starts with fights, words you don't mean, and ends with an event that would haunt him for a long time to come.

genre: angst, breaking up, post-breakup feelings, mentions and description of injury and blood, hurt/comfort, fluff in the end (you make up!)

note: dear god i’m finally getting this out of my drafts. loosely inspired by real life events i’ve seen around my friend’s relationship sooo it might hurt a bit 🤏🏻 but who can say no to angst to eventual fluff? tagging @lees-chaotic-brain and @kasumitenbaz (as per request in the ask!), you two are always here for my megumi works, thank you!! :3 and thank you for dropping by for the event!

a part of 1K MILESTONE EVENT

series masterlist | oneshot masterlist

Everyone pointed it out as a joke, that you liked him way more than he did you.

And you used to never let it ruffle you. To you, Megumi’s sternness and silence meant that he was comfortable with you. You never wanted him to change his ways just because now you were seeing each other.

But when you thought it over now, as you stood before him with an aghast expression and knives stabbing your kind, soft heart, you couldn’t help but do a double-take.

You were the one who confessed first. Most of the time, you were the one who initiated dates. You always texted him first, asking about his day, and even when he brushed you off, you would keep being this ball of sunshine and wished him a good day.

You never realized it before… that through everything, it has always been you. Unfailingly.

So how dare he spout this now?

“I can't do this anymore.”

"You... can't?" you spat out, feeling the first tendrils of anger course through you. "What exactly it is that you can't do? What do you even mean?"

"Look," Megumi stared at you squarely, and you thought now, that it was the coldest of eyes, straight and true. "It's always been like this between us lately. It's only right that we end this."

This, he said. He didn't even want to define your relationship anymore.

You scoffed. "And why do you think we always end up this way? Have you ever considered, even once, that it's because you make no effort at all?"

"I'm trying," Megumi quickly replied, almost in a hiss, and you almost recoiled. "But I just see that we'll end up nowhere, that's why I'm bringing this up now."

Oh, that freaking hurts. You boyfriend had just told you that this relationship would go nowhere. Right in your face.

Your eyes stung with tears, yet you fought to hold them back, fixing your gaze on the lamp overhead and inhaling deeply.

"You're... selfish," you stated, filled with ire. "You're always walking around eggshells around me, never telling me what is it that you really want—"

Megumi's unclouded eyes fixed on your trembling form. "We just disagree on a lot of things. You know it and it bothers you. It bothers me too. Rather than forcing our relationship, I think it's better—"

"It's always me!" you yelled then, lips quivering and eyes watering, unable to hold your emotions back any longer. "All dates, lunches—everything!" you locked your eyes with him, in mocking disbelief. "How can you say you're trying when, in truth, I'm the one putting in so much for us?!"

In that very second, Megumi thought that he hated seeing you like this. You were supposed to be the cheerful one in this relationship, and when he agreed to go out with you, he made an unspoken commitment to himself that he would at least not make you miserable.

And yet...

"...I'm sorry."

Came his reply, and you were sure that this was it.

And to rub the salt in your wound, he added, "I can't lie to you and say I haven't thought this for a while too."

As tears welled within you, you wondered and questioned what you lacked that led to this. However, the overwhelming sense of betrayal consuming your thoughts ultimately prevailed over any other emotions.

Now he could've appeared before you as a stranger and you wouldn't bat an eye, as the cold steel in his tone said, "And if blaming me is what it takes to make you feel better, then so be it."

You couldn't pinpoint the source of your sudden boldness, but in the next hot minute, you marched past him, your shoulder harshly colliding with his in a deliberate, almost spiteful manner—which, indeed, was your intention—and then you ran.

Which led to the next scene: you found yourself bawling your eyes out in the girls' lavatory.

Yuji and Nobara saw everything unfolding right before their eyes. They hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but you and Megumi were literally breaking up right the middle of their shared classroom, and it was hard not to follow the discourse until the end.

"Are you okay?" Nobara had come to your side, ensuring privacy by locking the restroom door out of your consideration. You were a sobbing mess, attempting to wipe the overflowing tears away while letting out all your emotions.

"He's..." Your voice faltered amid sobs as you gazed at your steadfast friend, your throat clogging up. "He said... he's been wanting t-to... break up with m-me..."

"That's okay, that's okay..." Nobara brought you to her arms, patting your back in reassurance. "Fushiguro is insensitive like that... don't cry over him now. He's just a wimp, okay?"

"Why is it me?" you asked her, voice brittle, still shaking with tears. "I t-tried everything! Being the supportive girlfriend..."

"If he can't appreciate what you did, then the problem lies with him," your friend stated, traces of irritation brewing in her resolute gaze. And as she firmly grasped your wrist, her next words resonated. "Not you."

. . .

"Do you really have to break her heart like that?" Yuji fidgeted with his hoodie, staring at his best friend with a blend of confusion and sympathy.

Megumi sighed, finally ruffling his hair into a mess, as if expressing his own state of mind. “This is for the best.”

Yuji’s eyebrows visibly creased. “How is this ‘for the best’? She’s miserable, and you…” he assessed him, scanning him from head to toe, “it doesn’t seem you’re faring any better too.”

“The longer she is with me, the unhappier she will be.” Megumi glanced at the bathroom’s direction. “She can deserve better.”

He was always too quiet, too boring, not able to match your energy too. He couldn’t fault you for expecting more, whereas he was just not exactly built for your expectations.

Megumi really thought he wanted it to end. At one point, it even felt like a chore, but…

How strange. Why did it feel like something was clawing at his chest?

Time heals. Megumi knew that by theory, but he really did see it firsthand when he saw you all giggling and happy again three weeks after he initiated the breakup.

With Hakari.

“Yo, what are you glaring at?” Panda asked, but Megumi didn’t pay him any mind.

An upperclassman, Hakari Kinji, was naturally cool and talented. He was laid back, knew how to have fun—all in all, a total opposite of Fushiguro Megumi altogether.

Three weeks. It’s only been three weeks since then.

“Megumi?”

Wait… Aren’t three weeks too fast to get over your ex?

“Megumi!”

“Huh?” he turned to the sentient panda with a jerk. “Oh, what is it?”

He looked at him with a concerned gaze. "Why do you look so scary? It's almost as if you're about to punch someone..."

But who was he to argue? He had no right to be upset now.

"Is it Kinji?" Panda gasped, finally putting two and two together when he followed his line of sight. "Oh Megumi... but you—"

"Just shut up, please," he blurted then, a hint of annoyance in his tone. With that, Panda didn't pursue it further, leaving him with his thoughts.

From where he was at the field, he could clearly see your radiant smile for Hakari. It was clear that the two of you shared a degree of friendship, but Megumi never knew that you two were that close.

...huh?

Why did the sight irritate him so suddenly? Why did his chest twinge again?

What a fool. You're the one driving her away, you idiot.

Suddenly these memories popped up one by one—

Of you suddenly hugging him from behind in an attempt to surprise him.

How he pressed his lips on the crown of your head when you fall asleep on his shoulder.

How you would give him that dopey smile when he pulled you close.

But on harder days after missions gone wrong, he’d ignore you altogether— the slight disappointment in your smile then. How your expression fell when he told you to go. How you slumped and looked back in hopes of him changing his mind.

“Haaaah.” Megumi turned away, unwilling to keep watching you any longer. Why? Why hadn’t it occurred to him before now?

Why did he long for you now? Why not before, when you were still his?

They were right. It seems people tend to desire what isn't meant for them.

What could have been more painfully awkward than being sent into a mission with your ex-boyfriend?

You would kill Gojo for this. Or at least give him the lowest possible score in his teaching evaluation for the year. How could he? Your breakup was an infamous public spectacle, so this setup was undoubtedly intentional!

You were losing your head over this, and yet your ex-boyfriend...

"Keep your guard up," Megumi reminded curtly, in a warning tone. He looked as vigilant and straight as always, as if he wasn't even bothered.

You threw him a dirty look, offended. "You don't have to tell me twice."

This just cranked up the discomfort to an excruciating level. The mix of unresolved tension and memories—okay, you might be an emo, but how were you supposed to be cool with all of these hanging in the air?

Your site of exorcism was an abandoned warehouse, and the cursed spirit in question was supposed to be a grade 3. You two were grade 2 sorcerers now, so you were a perfect fit to exorcise it. But there was indeed this unease in the air that you couldn't put your finger to.

"Isn't it awfully too quiet?" you unwittingly muttered, staring at the darkness of the wall. You couldn't feel any cursed energy belonging to any possible malevolent entity, and that was what unsettled you the most.

Megumi frowned at your line of sight. "It is. Stay close."

You blinked at what he said, and before you knew it, the familiar scent of him being near to you made your entire body burst with this equally familiar warmth. When you looked up to him, seeing the solid sharpness in that dark eyes of his and his jaw set, dead butterflies in your chest rose back to life again, against your heartbreak and better judgement.

Stay close, he said... So he is worried...

And in an attempt to hide how flustered you were, you looked down.

You walked a few good steps, when suddenly he asked, "So, are you with Hakari-senpai now?"

"Huh?" You spun around, your expression a mix of surprise and confusion.

"You two seem close."

Seem close? Seem close... wait, so Megumi had noticed...?

Suddenly, you felt incited and it made you angry. "That's none of your business," your voice carried a sharp edge, hissing. And you knew you were being a bit mean by adding, "You broke up with me, so why do you even care?"

In that moment, Megumi could've sworn his chest throbbed. Your cutting tone pierced directly into his heart, lodging itself there.

You had all rights to be annoyed, and he knew that. Why did that question even slip out of him?

"Nah, nevermind," he mumbled in response, looking away.

Awkwardness lingered afterwards. You hated this, but no, you weren't above being petty. He had broken your heart and it still stung even now. If your intentionally biting words did to him even a fraction of what he made you feel, then you would find a small sense of satisfaction in it.

But you weren't able to ponder about your mess of feelings further when Megumi abruptly yanked your arm, his voice soaking with urgency, "It's here!"

Sure enough, the grotesque cursed spirit with the shape of a giant bee broke through the walls with a bang. The two of you immediately readied your fighting stance. Megumi was ready with his divine dogs, while you with your cursed weapon.

For a while, you engaged the cursed spirit with all you had. You were trying to focus on the enemy, but you couldn't help but notice the way Megumi always looked at you every few seconds, checking for any signs of injury or harm.

Frankly speaking, he trusted your strength and knew that you were a capable sorcerer. You had been paired in a mission before and he knew both your potential and shortcomings. It was just there was something about this place that had his senses on high alert.

And his fears were proven true when you yelped and were flung onto the grimy floor. "Y/N!"

"I'm fine!" you shouted in a rush, scrambling to your feet. However, as you spun towards him, your scream tore through the hall as you caught sight of the bee lurking behind him. "Megumi!"

He got distracted. The bee quickly latched onto him and almost stung him, until he wrestled it off and summoned Nue and exorcised it.

You went to his side that instant. "Are you okay?!"

"I am." But then he winced and almost fell on his knees if you didn't have a secure grip on him. He savored your touch and breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that now you two were safe.

"Megumi! Oh god!" Panic surged through you as you pulled him close. His side was bleeding, and you widened your eyes at the sight.

"I'm okay, I promise," he rasped, looking you in the eyes. "What abo—"

Then you saw it, the flicker from deep from that corner of platform, and suddenly, you grasped the source of the unease that had been lingering within you all this time. It wasn't the bee Megumi had just exorcised—

At that moment, there was no room for thought, one thing was certain: you didn't want him to get hurt more.

He didn't manage to finish his sentence when suddenly you pushed him away with so much force he never thought you had. Everything crashed so suddenly, he didn't have the time to brace himself or grab you with him, as another cursed bee appeared out of nowhere and—

Reality flashed before his eyes as he stared at you in sheer horror. At how the cursed spirit tore your body, sinking its hollow stinger in you.

You didn't really know what happened next. Everything was muffled—the frantic movements around you turned into a blur, along with Megumi's yells. Otherworldly pain coursed through your entire being and your ears rang, then everything in your line of sight became distorted and faded, along with your consciousness. Next and the last thing you knew was Megumi's battered face, a final imprint before you succumbed to the void.

Megumi had exorcised the remaining cursed spirit and staggered to his feet—falling a few times, but he made his way towards you through gritted teeth. You are hurt. He forced himself to get to you and pull you into his arms.

And suddenly, suddenly, nothing mattered anymore as overwhelming terror consumed him upon seeing you. Blood streamed from your abdomen so much that it made a continuous pool.

"You stupid—!" He choked out, voice hitching. You were no longer conscious and it devastated him even more. "Hey, hey? Wake up—hells—"

You, who did everything you could to save your relationship. You, who cried tears for him when he blatantly broke your heart. And you, who put himself first—and now facing the consequences.

It crashed upon him in that very second, the clarity. What was he thinking back then? He still loves you.

"If you die on me, I won't forgive you."

Megumi scooped you in his arms, pressing you close to his chest, the blood seeping from his wound be damned as he looked at your serene face. His heart shattered in the worst way possible and he almost wheezed at the sticky sensation of your blood—and how lifeless you felt in his grasp—but he willed it away.

"Don't," his broken rasp echoed the walls as he took each step to get both of you out of this hellhole. He winced and hissed at his own injury, chewing his lip in frustration, at how helpless he was.

"Don't leave me."

It was like a distant, hazy memory.

Was it a memory though? No. It seemed far too real for that.

The throbbing headache pounding through your skull and shivers that wracked your body pulled you back to reality. There was a heavy pressure on your abdomen and any movement sent sharp pain shooting through you.

You gradually opened your eyes, squinting against the brightness. You were in a hospital gown, an IV was injected on your arm, and the sterile scent made your stomach twist, as nausea creeping through your guts. Your vision was still blurry as you tried to look around to find someone who waited for you. As you slowly turned your head to the side, you saw him, sitting in the chair right next your bed.

Megumi was sleeping in such uncomfortable position, his head resting on the edge of your bed. He appeared peaceful, almost childlike, devoid of his usual stoic demeanor.

Your heartstrings were tugged at this rare sight. He also sustained injuries and yet... he was waiting for you to wake up, here.

Your chest swelled with warmth, which was quickly followed by a sting of heartbreak. Still, you two broke up...

You jolted, and the inadvertent movement sent a wave of pain that seemed to paralyze your nerves, causing you to whimper. The noise woke Megumi from his slumber, as he shot his eyes open in alarm, catching your hand in his.

"Hey... Are you okay?" Megumi worriedly looked down at you with a visible frown, and the grimace of pain on your face, accompanied by trembling lips, was enough of an answer. He hastily scrambled out in slight panic, "I'll get Ieiri-san."

When Shoko came and got you the painkillers, your pain receded somewhat. Through it all, Megumi stood there, casting concerned glances in your way.

"Bedrest for the week," Shoko stated firmly, assessing your wound with a no-nonsense expression. "Your injury isn't minor—it's serious enough that you're strongly advised against excessive movement."

You could only nod in response. Megumi bowed. "Thank you, Ieiri-san." Once the doctor departed, silence settled over the room once more.

“Why did you do that?” he quietly asked then, referring to what you did for him. And when you turned to him, you saw it clearly.

He looked pale, and there was this haunted look in his eyes. It broke your heart a little.

"You were hurt." Your voice came out dry, and you realized firsthand just how parched you were. Seeing Megumi looking down never quite sat right with you. He was meant to be an unwavering presence, someone strong enough to sway your convictions.

However, a pang struck when he countered with stern eyes, "You didn't have to do that."

...he was right. You didn't have to. What he didn't know was that you were still holding on these stupid feelings, which drove you to shield him. It made you ponder: if your roles were reversed, would he not step in to protect you at all?

"Why are you here?" You weren't sure if the bitterness in your tone was evident, but you continued anyway. "You don't have to be here either."

"Don't have to?" His gaze bore disbelief, as if not believing your words. "I'm—"

"If it's because I saved you, Megumi—"

“Do not even think, even for a moment, that I won’t be concerned over you.” His voice, deep and hoarse, struck you to the core, silencing your words. “Never. I always, always want you to be safe.”

Your mind became a blank slate. Suddenly, all that mattered was his voice.

"Don't you realize how terrifying it was? Seeing you like that?" Megumi spat, his green eyes shining with intensity, teeth gritted and fists clenched. "How could you even think that I wouldn't be here—" his breath hitched, and then his lips trembled slightly, "—for you?"

You blinked quickly, a feeling stirred within you—stemming from that cursed, fragile heart of yours to be exact, evident from the rapid thumping in your chest.

You dumbly uttered, "But we are—"

"Oh, Goddamnit." Megumi cursed, and honestly you were taken aback. It wasn't really in him to swear, so this really bugged him. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, and despite the situation, your heart skipped a beat at the sight. Even a mess in a hospital gown, your ex-boyfriend was still undeniably attractive.

He stared at you squarely in the eye, unflinching, steadfast and true, the very image of Fushiguro Megumi you admired from afar and fell in love with in the first place half a year ago. "You don't have to... say anything, if you don't want to. Right now... just hear me out."

And the things he said next... all of them, you could say, caught you entirely off guard.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not trying hard enough, and—damn it, for making you sad. I never, ever wanted to see you that upset."

Megumi drew in a sharp breath, averting his gaze. "And for days, I've wondered if you and Hakari-senpai are now a thing... and you know what? I hate it so much. I know I have no grounds to feel this way, after what I did, but..."

And like a train wreck, his final words hit you hard. Tears welled up in your eyes in immediate response.

“I'm a loser, and a coward too, maybe,” he shrugged, a tinge of self-deprecation in his tone. “And I suck at telling people my feelings, but I love you. I still do.”

A sob slipped out of your throat and you hastily pulled the blanket over your face, much to his surprise. He thought he had worsened things, with the way you were turning away from him.

But then, from beneath the blanket, in a croaky voice, you proclaimed, "Fushiguro Megumi, you're a complete and utter idiot."

And Megumi didn't know that he had been holding back his breath as he chuckled heartily, relieved that you would still take his ass back after this prolonged mess. He knew he still had a lot to make up for and was determined to show it through his actions.

"Maybe I am, yeah."

"That's possibly the longest shit you have ever spouted in one breath."

"Yeah..."

But he got his chance back, and he knew that you would be alright. Both of you are.

On one sunny day...

"Hey, are you alone?"

Megumi glanced up from his phone, only to be met with a random girl standing in front of him, batting her eyelashes with an ambiguous intent. He blinked at her curiously.

"No. Can I help you?"

The girl twirled her hair suggestively. "Ah, you see... I see you all in your lonesome and I think you're quite cute—"

The hell? Megumi frowned, and he was really about to give this bimbo a piece of his mind when—

Oh, oh. Forget that. Megumi's attention snapped to you on the opposite side of the crossroad. All pretty and dolled up with that crop tee and miniskirt he once mentioned would look great on you by a slip of tongue—that accidental comment earned him your teasing quips for weeks already.

"Sorry, I'm here for my girlfriend. Bye."

Abruptly dismissing the girl, he didn't catch how comically offended she was for being turned down in a span of 20 seconds. He took big strides towards you, as you crossed the street, and you immediately beamed when you caught the sight of his face.

"Megumi!"

Ah, this is going to be a good day, he thought. As he gazed at your pretty face, and caught your hand in his, clasping it tightly, reveling in your scent and the warmth of your presence beside him—

He was content, and once again it dawned on him, that he likes you so, so damn much.

"Let's get started on our date, shall we?"

6K notes · View notes

lunavrse · 28 days

Text

WHAT YOU HEARD

LANDO NORRIS

summary ★ : streets are saying yn finally broke up with her loser boyfriend and guess who couldn't be happier? if you guessed lando, you'd be wrong, it's actually her (but lando's a really close second).

category ★ : smau.

notes ★ : disregard all times and dates, they don't matter. all spelling mistakes are intentional. with that out of the way, finally someone other than charles even though i still have like 2 drafts for him that i need to finish. ntm on the banner and article 😶‍🌫️. when you get to the hello kitty reactions pls just scroll💀 it was funny when i made it but now it's just... and i cba to remove it. sorry this is so short 🙏.

yn_ln added to their story.

user00: oooh, girl's night????

user01: love seeing my fav wags out and about

user02: what happened to your foot? hope you're okay🫶

yourfriend: lils on her phone probably texting alex🙄 they make me sick w how cute they are

user03: y'all look so good🥴

user04: I just know that club's hot as satan's arsehole, how do you look so good? what's your secret🎤

alex_albon: please bring my girlfriend back in one piece🙏

yn_ln: nah, she's my girlfriend now😪

user05: no ezra? break up abeg

maxfewtrell replied to your Close Friends story : did you forget she's on your cf

landonorris: do you think i'm stupid? obviously i removed her before posting this

maxfewtrell: so you do have a working brain cell🤗 congrats🎉

monaspencer replied to your story : wasteman is hilarious but deserved.

alex_albon replied to your Close Friends story : may your efforts fail 🤞🙏

alex_albon: nothing personal mate🤷‍♂️

landonorris: WOW🤣🤣

landonorris: WDYM nothing personal, you're literally cursing me😒

randomfriend replied to your story : VINDICATION!!! i knew you couldn't read🥳

alex_albon replied to your Close Friends story : why did he have to be such a simp, now i owe lily and mona money

yn_ln: you're a millionaire, you can afford it, so suck it up king👑🫶🏽

yn_ln: i actually don't want to know...

monaspencer replied to your Close Friends story : you just made me 200€ richer😘

lilymhe replied to your Close Friends story : now alex owes mo and i money, thank you🙏🏻

yn_ln: glad to be of service?

landonorris replied to your Close Friends story : i wonder who that handsome guy is

yn_ln: some stray i found wandering around and out of the goodness of my heart, i decided to bring into my home

landonorris: you're not funny

yn_ln: then why were you laughing at all my jokes earlier?

landonorris: i was laughing at how bad they were😕

yn_ln: sure...

charles_leclerc replied to your story : tangled on a date? how romantic

yourfriend replied to your Close Friends story : this doesn't look very "im done w yt men" 🤔

yn_ln: you're in my business, don't do that😁

yourfriend: but it's so interesting 🥴

⤷ end note ‧ ★ : made a cute lil divider so hopefully it distracts you from everything else😋. honestly this took so long bc i was mostly working with vibes, no writing, no thoughts, just vibes. i don't know how some of y'all are so fast, like you guys amaze me, my goal is to just get more than 1 smau per month out. also i will no longer be writing for charles leclerc bc someone said he looked like noah schnapp and i can't unsee it 💀💀 gonna have to change the drafts🥲

#lunavrse writes(?)⋆#f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 instagram au #f1 smau #f1 social media au #formula 1 smau #formula 1 x reader #instagram au #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris insta au #lando norris instagram au #lando norris smau #lando norris social media au #smau #social media au

1K notes · View notes

yellowharrington · 2 months

Text

wildflower and barley -- joel miller x reader

pairing + fandom: joel miller x reader, the last of us (hbo)

word count: 5k+ oops

warnings/notes: smut smut smut!!! minors DNI, 18+!!! no outbreak!au. age gap (it's implied reader is in her 20s while joel is 45) and mentions of joel being kinda perverted and liking it lol. drinking (both reader and joel, not excessive), use of a dating app like tinder but not specified, unprotected PIV w creampie and oral (m+f receiving), do not fuck your tinder hookups without protection i'm just horny and gross. excessive use of darlin' as a nickname. implied that reader likes men. she/her pronouns used, afab!reader (with mentions of body parts), no use of y/n. if i missed anything lmk!

a/n: heavily inspired by this post by @yesttoheaven about joel's tinder profile!! it has been rotting my brain since i saw it which literally inspired me to write my first fic in the tlou fandom ever so please be gentle with me. i imagined show!joel because i've never played the game so do with that what you will. please reblog and leave comments if u enjoy it <3333

divider by @cafekitsune

summary: after deciding to change your age range on a dating app in hope of a change of scenery, you stumble across joel miller.

No one likes using dating apps.

Swiping left, left, left mindlessly at troves of men holding fish, showing off their trucks, or with deer heads mounted to the walls behind their selfies holding guns.

This was Texas, after all.

Having just moved here, it was a little shocking, to say the least. But you were getting used to the “eligible” bachelors that were your age generally looking and acting the same. When you did end up finding someone of interest, you were usually turned off pretty quickly by whatever shitty pick-up line they had chosen. Or, your personal favourite, “wanna fuck?”

No thanks.

It was an idyllic summer evening, the hot stuffy air of Austin flowing in through your windows. You laid in bed, propped up on the pillows against your headboard and sorting through the faces that adorned your screen. No one particularly interesting, as usual, and every profile was starting to melt together to look the same.

You sighed, looking into your settings, adjusting and increasing different metrics to hopefully change the pool just enough for there to be someone new or interesting.

Age range: 25-30

Your eyebrow cocked as you looked onto the screen, pulling the slider more to the right experimentally. No one was here to see you, and even though it was slightly embarassing to be interested in older men, you’d be lying if you said it didn’t pique your interest to imagine it. Even just to try, and see, if they ever really did grow up. You imagined it was wishful thinking, but increased the range anyways.

Age range: 35-45

Feeling the need to throw your phone across the room after doing that, you placed it face down under your pillow and slid out of bed. No use in swiping through them now, and you were getting tired of looking. A pint of Ben and Jerry’s and a new episode of your favourite show was waiting for you downstairs.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

Joel Miller does not use dating apps.

He barely knows how to send a text on his phone, let alone navigate the world of online women. Not to say he didn’t explore the options, so to speak, but they usually were not ones that were single, his age, and in his area. Unless the ads on those sites were real, that is.

“It’s starting to get sad,” Sarah had remarked at breakfast, when they got on the topic, and Joel feigned hurt. Hand over his heart, he dropped his fork onto the plate. “It’s not sad, Jesus. I’m just busy, is all.”

“Busy not gettin’ busy,” Sarah remarked, and Joel’s eyes widened. “Hey now! None of that.”

A blush spread up his cheeks and ears as they continued to eat breakfast in slightly awkward silence, before Joel took his plate to the sink. “Okay, off to school, you. And no more conversations about my dating life. Ever.”

Sarah laughed as she finished off the last of the juice in her glass. “I’m just saying, dad. You can if you want to. Might be nice for you.”

Joel planted a soft kiss to her head before she bounded out the door, rolling his eyes and calling out a ‘love you’ before she closed the door swiftly behind her. Joel stared at his cell phone on the table. Maybe it would be nice.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

The following evening, you were a little too excited to see the dating app specimens you had acquired. Not sure what to expect, really, and you went in with no expectations. It’s not like they’d magically all be tall, dark, and handsome, but some variety never killed anybody.

Paul, 41

Daddy, but not yours. No libs allowed. 6’ because that matters.

You sighed deeply. Some things never change.

After swiping through much of what you were used to, a profile managed to catch your eye among the sea of disappointment.

Joel, 45

Just a Southern gentleman trying this out for the first time. Contractor of over 10 years. I love my daughter, BBQ, strong coffee, and sleeping in.

Now that was the most interesting thing you’d seen in a while.

He didn’t look a day over 40. His eyes creased at the corners when he smiled wide in his photos. He looked tan, a product of the Texas heat and his job, you thought. His features were accompanied by salt-and-pepper facial hair and messy curls that looked soft and pliable. His photos showed off his physique incredibly, tight wash-worn t-shirts pulling over his arms and shoulders, looking big, broad. He was no doubt the most handsome man you’d seen on an app, maybe ever.

When you swiped right before you could think too hard, you were surprised to see the green “Match!” Flash across your screen.

Your fingers ghosted over the keyboard on your phone, thinking of a witty thing to say, probably for too long.

Your phone buzzed as you saw a notification pop up.

Joel has sent you a message.

Hey, darlin’. How are ya?

You felt your face warm at the sweet message, when was the last time someone had called you darlin’? Ever?

Hey cowboy. I’m great, how are you?

He was certainly an eager responder, taking only a few seconds to reply. You found yourself smiling down at your phone screen.

Cowboy… I like that. I’m better now that I’m talking to you.

Oh, Joel, who told you to say that? 😂

No good?

Not bad. 6/10.

Only 6/10? I’ll work on it. I like to think I’m better in person.

I would love to find out.

You found yourself emboldened by how easy the conversation was flowing. Joel was certainly easy to talk to, easier than the other matches you had going for you, and infinitely more handsome.

Oh, would you? Alright. I’d love to take you to dinner sometime. If you don’t mind being seen with an old man such as myself in public. Or meeting a stranger from the internet.

He’s a very handsome stranger. I would love to go to dinner with you. Know any good spots? I’m new around here.

There’s a great barbecue spot in downtown Austin. If you’d prefer something fancier, let me know.

I love bbq. Just tell me where and when, cowboy.

Tomorrow, 7pm ok?

You sent him your phone number in the message. Fuck it.

Sounds great. Text me the address, I’ll be there. :)

Joel’s reply didn’t come. Instead, a text appeared at the top of your screen with an unknown number.

It’s Joel. This the right number?

Yup. You found me.

Great. Talk tomorrow sweetheart. Looking forward to it. :)

He texted you the address of the restaurant, right before you opened the contact card, saving his name as “cowboy ♡”.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

Cowboy. Cowboy. Cowboy. It was playing over in his head like a broken fuckin’ record.

Joel was positively freaking out about this date.

Sarah had managed to secure a sleepover at her friend’s place, so the house would be empty for the night. He had been busying himself with cleaning the entirety of the house, even taking the time to mow the grass before work and vacuum the family room. He can’t remember the last time he vacuumed anywhere.

Would she even make it back here? How does this work? Will she want to sleep over or hang out on the couch or should he be making a dessert for after?

His mind was brought out of it’s craze by Sarah jumping down the stairs. She plopped her bag down on the freshly wiped countertop.

“Careful,” he warned, putting a hand up. “I just cleaned that off.”

“I can tell. It smells like the cleaning aisle threw up in here.”

He smirked before patting her head with his hand, as she aggressively smoothed out her hair. “Dad! Don’t!”

“When do you wanna go to Ellie’s?” He asked, more gaging how long he has left to get ready than actually asking.

“Probably soon. Why? Tryna get rid of me?” she poked her dad in the side, but when she flinched away instead, a large smile spread across her face. He was tense.

“What’s your deal?” Joel hated the way she knew him so well sometimes.

“Nothing.“

“Are you going on a date?”

Silence fell over the kitchen between the two of them, as Joel’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “How did you know?”

“Oh my god, you actually took my advice,” Sarah laughed, watching her dad’s face burn red with embarrassment. “Just don’t do anything weird on communal surfaces, please.”

Joel shook his head at her suggestion, already becoming annoyed with the whole prospect. He was so nervous, about what to wear, how to act, what the expectation was… let alone, what would happen if they made it back to his place at all.

Although, when he was able to shake his nerves for a second, he was just really fucking excited.

“Wear those dark jeans, and that green shirt you wore to Tommy’s last week. Looks good on you.” Sarah smiled as she put her arms around Joel’s middle, while his worries melted away with her touch. “She’ll love you, I promise.”

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

It had been such a long time since you’d been on a proper date, you were starting to lose your mind at the simple process of deciding what to wear.

Clothes were strewn across every surface of your apartment, shoes matching with jeans that matched with cardigans, tops that matched with belts and jackets.

It’s 87 degrees at 5 o’clock, idiot. You’re not wearing a jacket. Relax.

Exhausted of picking out outfits and making decisions, you collapsed on your couch and took a look at your options. You landed on an easy sundress, putting the rest of your clothes back in their respective drawers, and pulling out all of the products you were expecting to use to get ready.

You scrolled through your phone aimlessly as a notification bubble popped up on the screen.

We still on for tonight darlin’? Or did you change your mind?

No worries if you did. I respect that.

You let out a cackle at the message, thinking about how he must look right now. Was he nervous? Scared? Was he just looking for a controversially young fuck?

You weren’t… completely against that.

Didn’t change my mind, wouldn’t in a million years :)

Meet you there. Can’t wait to see you.

His eagerness to meet up would’ve been a red flag if it were any other run of the mill guy, but something about Joel felt special. There didn’t seem to be any funny business with him; too sincere to try anything other than just a good old fashioned date.

You too, cowboy.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

When Joel showed up at the restaurant, he clenched a small bouquet of pink peonies in his right hand and checked his watch obsessively. The minutes ticked away, as he kept a high alert for anyone who could be his potential date. He knew what you looked like, of course, but this being his first time doing anything of this sort is making him hyperaware of anything going awry.

When he does lay eyes on you, his whole gaze softens. A pink sundress, hair pristinely styled and a bounce in your step that reminded him of summer. You looked like an angel, the sunset behind you painting the sky tangerine, which reflected off of the shine against your supple skin. So young, beautiful, it was taking his breath away.

“Joel?”

Your voice matched your sweet demeanour, and he was taken out of his waking daydream.

“Hi,” is all he can say, letting his breath out as he relaxed. “Yes, hi, sorry. I’m Joel.”

“Hi,” you laugh back, eyes darting to the flowers in his hand. They matched your dress.

“These are for you,” he gets the hint, extending his arm out, and you can see the veins bulging in his forearm. He looked so much stronger in person, it was making your knees go weak.

“Thank you, wow,” you held them up to your nose to smell the sweet aroma. “I love peonies.”

“Me too,” he smiled, showing off a string of pearly white teeth, that contrasted with the pink of his lips and the even tan of his skin.

“Shall we?” He extended his arm to you for you to grab onto, and you got to feel the warmth of his skin for yourself. Your hand wrapped around his forearm as he opened the door of the restaurant for you, leading you inside and catching a glimpse of the backs of your thighs as you walked in front of him.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

When you were finally sitting, the conversation flowed easily. He was truly a Southern gentleman, like he had said. It wasn’t normal for you to open up so quickly, but Joel was so easy going and smart, he asked the right questions and knew when to listen. He knew how to listen, a warm gaze and a nod along, asking follow up questions to your answers and easily getting to know you.

You asked about his daughter, his family, his work. He was happy to tell you.

“So, what’s a man like you doing being single in this city?” You take a sip of the wine in the glass in front of you, burgundy staining your bottom lip.

He takes a bite of the food in front of him, a napkin pressing to his lips quickly after. “Been busy,” he started to say, honey brown eyes meeting yours for a second. His gaze sent an electrifying pulse down your spine.

“And, well, when Sarah’s mom left there was a ton to do,” he says it nonchalantly, as if that should be something normal to happen. “House, work, school, she keeps my hands full. Hasn’t been a lot of time.” His syrupy drawl is pulling you in, you’re enticed by the way he speaks to you. So easy, warm, soft. You wonder what his hands feel like on your body, lips pressed to your neck, torso pressed against yours.

“Sorry, that’s a lot of information for a first date,” he laughs to cover the awkwardness, and quietly curses himself for going into so much detail about his precarious family situation and basically admitting to you that he hasn’t fucked anything other than his hand in the last 5 or so years.

“No, it’s okay,” you slide your hand across the table, palm up, urging him to slot his hand into it. He takes it, easily, enveloping yours. His fingers find the pulse point on your wrist. You let your eyes drift up to his, drinking in the way his chest fills out the shirt he chose.

“What’s your story?” He asks earnestly, giving your hand a squeeze. “Can’t imagine there isn’t a long line of people outside waiting to take my place, darlin’.”

You blush furiously at the nickname, and let your eyes meet his once again. “You have no idea the… mess that is out there,” the wine is calling your name to take another sip at the mere thought, but you refrain. “Certainly not too many I am interested in.”

“So, is that why you’re on a date with an old man on a beautiful summer night in Austin?”

You could tell Joel, in a twisted way, liked that you were younger than him. It made him feel younger by admission, that you’d want to spend time with him.

“You’re not that much older,” you laugh, not even believing it yourself as the words left your lips. “And I like to try new things. Don’t you like trying new things, sometimes?”

It was his turn to let his face go red at your insinuation. If only you knew how ‘new’ this really was for him, how much he was pushed out of his comfort zone right now.

You didn’t notice.

A little more polite small talk and exchanging of stories was all you could take before the tension was becoming too much. After another glass of wine and a shared plate of sky-high chocolate cake for dessert, you were enjoying his company and could tell he was enjoying yours all the same. When you met his gaze again, hands still intertwined, you could tell there was a question on the tip of his tongue.

“Would you want to…“ - a nervous pause, with a halo of lust - “come back to mine for a nightcap? I’ve got an empty house this evening.”

You couldn’t help but smirk, knowing in your heart that Joel must’ve made arrangements for his family not to be home in anticipation. He had to have planned for you, known in his heart you’d say yes.

“I’d love that.”

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

Joel’s home is unmistakably him. It smells like a pine candle that sits near the front door and a faint aroma of laundry detergent. There’s photos everywhere, him and his daughter, his brother’s family. Big windows were letting in the twinkling lights of the city outside, the inky sky making them look brighter against its canvas.

“You have a beautiful home,” you say, although it seems a little formal for the situation. What else do you say to a grown-up in their house?

“Thank you,” he takes a bottle of whiskey from the bar cart and pours two rock glasses, handing you one. He flicks on a lamp, ambient light filling the room and painting his skin amber orange, as he joins your side by his kitchen table.

“I did a lot of the construction myself, the decorations are my daughter.” He points lazily to the trinkets on the shelves and photos on the wall. “I don’t really have a good eye for that type of stuff.”

You take a sip from the drink and it coats your throat, burning down as you suppress a cough at the taste. You nod along as he explains the design choices he made in the home, and you play along, knowing it’s likely out of anxiety.

“What about upstairs?”

Your eyes are innocent as they meet his, although you understand the implication you’re making whole-heartedly. He puts his glass down on the kitchen table and you follow his lead, his strong hand around your wrist as he leads you up the stairs wordlessly.

“It’s not anything,” - he clears his throat - “special,” he shows you around the second floor, finishing at the door of his bedroom that has been left slightly ajar.

You step in quietly, leading him inside as you take in the bedroom. Neatly folded clothes, a made bed that looks well loved. Blue sheets and fluffy pillows, big bay windows that let the moonlight in.

“I think it’s nice,” you say simply, letting yourself turn around to meet his broad frame. He looks down at you slightly, eyes meeting yours as your hand drops from his grasp and snakes around his neck. His hands come up the sides of your dress, pulling it up slightly, but landing on your waist.

“Is this okay?” He asks tentatively in the dark of the room, his lips so close to yours already you can practically taste the whiskey on his lips for yourself. You answer him by pressing your tentative lips to his, slotting them together easily.

Joel’s grip on your waist tightens momentarily as he takes you in, pulling you as close as he possibly can. He can smell the perfume on your neck and the wine on your lips from earlier, and it’s making his need for you increase tenfold.

You pull him into you as you stumble back to let your knees hit his mattress, sitting down and letting your hands come to his belt buckle. Your hands came to undo it as he pulled his t-shirt off to throw onto the floor beside him, bending down to help you pull the dress over your shoulders to meet his t-shirt.

You made quick work of his jeans, pushing them to the ground and looking up at him with a keen glance. You could see the breath making his belly rise and fall, anticipating your touch on him any second.

When your hand wrapped around the base of his cock, his breath hitched and his head rolled back. He was already half-hard only from kissing you, so a few pumps made him easily ready for your mouth.

“You’re so big,” is all you can think to say, head spinning from the sheer size of him right in front of your face. Your mouth watered at the way his hand palmed through your hair, pulling you in closer to him for some relief.

It was intoxicating to him, the way your mouth fit around his cock. Such a beautiful sight to see, your head licking and sucking at his tip, gathering spit there to lubricate him. His knees were going weak as he watched intently, no thought able to cross his mind, other than maybe how long it had been since he’d had anyone to do this with. He was going to have to pace himself if it was all like this.

Your mouth constrained around the length of him, taking him deeper and deeper with every bob of your head. Filthy sounds were filling the room now, of your eager mouth pulling him in as best you could. His hand stayed steady at the back of your head, not pushing, just softly pressed there for support. His other hand found your shoulder, pushing down your bra strap.

“God, darlin’,” was all he could choke out, using his hand to pull you off of him. Your hand lazily stroked him as you looked up at him, spit collecting at the corners of your mouth. “I’m not gonna last long if you keep doin’ that,” his laugh eased some of the tension in the room, as you took your other hand and wiped the spit away.

He leaned down, pressing a fervent kiss to your lips before using his own hands to unclasp your bra and let your breasts free. His lips traveled to the side of your neck, before he was kneeled down between your legs, sucking your nipple into his mouth. He lapped at you, all consuming, as his hand came up to grasp the other breast that wasn’t being serviced. He moaned at the noises you were making, lewd whines into the night air that only encouraged him.

His lips made their way down your body to your clothed centre, your back against his soft sheets. You looked down at him intently, watching as he pulled your panties down your legs and immediately delved into your pussy with broad strokes of his tongue.

Your body jerked upwards at the contact, hand fisting the sheet beside you as he lapped at you, like a man starved. His expert tongue found your clit easily, sucking and licking at you for what felt like hours. You thought about his heavy cock between his legs, begging to be touched, hard as ever as he licked at you desperately.

“Joel,” you whined out, feeling your hand reach down to grab at his curls and push him deeper into you. That only made him moan, one hand lazily fisting his cock as the other came up to dip a finger into you, allowing you to see stars when you screwed your eyes shut.

His fingers were so large, pressed into your core as you fucked yourself on them and his tongue in tandem. He was groaning and grunting, and you hoped his neighbours couldn’t see into the window at the desperate filth that was going on in his bedroom.

“Fuck, Joel, please,” you begged, but he had no mercy, and your orgasm was creeping up on you. He was ready to watch you come undone, pushing a second finger into you and furiously sucking on your clit. His other hand left his own pleasure and wrapped around your breast, pressing and playing with the hard nub there, pinching to provide a little bit of sting to it. It was sending you into another dimension.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” and his voice is gravely and debauched, enough to send you into your first orgasm, chanting his name and pulling on his hair. He was happily licking at you, fingers still pressing in and out as to not mess up the rhythm, as you rode out your orgasm against his face.

When you started to come down, he finally detached himself from you before standing up between your legs and pressing his broad palms to your thighs. He stayed there for a moment, cock still hard and heavy between his legs as you gazed up at him, out of breath from his work.

“You’re really good at that,” was all you could think to say, head clouded with arousal. You moved up on the bed a little, opening your legs and pressing your knees apart to show your pussy to him again.

“Please fuck me, Joel,” you breathe out, letting your hand find your own clit to rub it teasingly for him. It was still so sensitive, but the way he was looking down at you, eyes dark and stormy with need, you could almost come again just from that.

He put a knee down on the bed and crawled on top of you, his lips finding yours once again as your hands found his face. You held him there, savouring the kiss as his tongue crashed against yours, all warmth and spit and the taste of you. His hand found your breast and continued to play with your nipples, softly, coaxing more moans into his mouth from yours.

He leaned back and slipped his cock inside of you, filling you up immediately and making you gasp. He groaned into the side of your neck, tonguing the side of your ear and kissing you feverishly as he pumped in and out of you.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him impossibly close, your moans filling the room as he rocked in and out of you. He kissed your jaw and chest, before reaching down between your bodies and pressing his thick finger to your clit again, using the wetness there to draw circles around your sensitive nub.

“So pretty,” he smiles into your neck, your hand on the back of his, playing with the now-sweaty strands of hair on the nape. “So pretty for me, taking my cock,” the dirty talking is welcome as he continues to bring you closer to a second orgasm, your breath hitching once again.

“Come inside of me,” you say it like a whisper, a secret in the stillness of the room, and Joel is unsure he even heard you correctly.

“Are you sure?” He says it not accusingly, but in a way that conveys he feels like he just won the lottery.

“Yes, please, fill me up.”

You can see the way his eyes darken more, shifting so he’s on his knees and using your body to fuck himself on his thick cock. His hand continued to play with your clit, bringing you so close to your orgasm that tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. His cheeks were getting hot as he thrusted in and out furiously, and you could almost see the stress melt off of his face as he came close to his own undoing.

The white-hot feeling washes over you once again, eyes shutting before you’re back on your elbows and watching intently. Your whole body feels like it’s on fire as his thrusts become sloppy, your name pouring out of his lips like a prayer. You’re clenching around him and letting him ride out his high alongside you, slowing after his hot cum coats your walls and leaves you full of him.

He collapses on top of you, cock softening inside as you both catch your breath together. Your chests are sticky with sweat as you breathe, taking in the smell of him, and the feel of his warmth on your body.

He pulls himself from you and flops beside you, still taking a moment to admire you. You look over at him, a lazy smile on your face as your hand reaches out to caress the skin of his chest. He takes the time to run his fingertips up your arms and back as you lay there in silence together, just soaking in the moment in a post-sex glow.

“I guess I should get going,” you say after a few beats, sitting up to grab your dress off the floor. You cringe at the thought of throwing your underwear on and leaving, this being just another random hookup for you that never lead to anything. Joel was sweet.

A confused look spreads across his features and his brows knit together, before sitting up next to you at the edge of the bed.

“I mean, I don’t know how these things usually go,” he laughs, as his hand finds your lower back. “But you don’t gotta run outta here like a scared animal or somethin’.”

You look up at him again, unsure of what to do next. In your, albeit limited, experience with dating app hookups, you were expected to leave pretty much right after.

“Oh, um,” you look around the room at the soft worn-in sheets and the TV across from Joel’s bed. You take a look at him again, your eyes meeting his to match his gaze, where you can tell he’s mentally begging that you’ll stay the night.

“I mean, if you don’t mind, I’d be happy to stay.” Joel smiled lopsidedly and let his hand rub soothing circles at your lower back.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he laughs, stepping over to go into the bathroom and warm up a cloth for the mess spilling out from between your legs. “I wouldn’t mind wakin’ up and doing all that again tomorrow.”

You laugh and lay back onto his bed as he presses the warm cloth to your pussy, his lips once again finding yours to pull you in for a sweet kiss.

You nod, sliding between the comfortable sheets as Joel runs downstairs to grab your abandoned drinks as well as a couple of bottles of ice cold water. He slips into the sheets next to you, not bothering to throw on any pajamas (not that you were complaining), and settling in beside you. After a few gulps of water, you nestled into his chest and let your hand find his tummy, resting on it as you listened to the even pattern of his breath.

“We should do this again. Like, after tomorrow morning.” you say quietly as you’re drifting in and out of sleep. His fingertips continues to slide across your arm and give you goosebumps as you snuggled closer into him, hearing a laugh exhale out of his nose and feeling a kiss press to the top of your head.

In his sleepy, deep southern drawl, he replies. “Don’t have to ask me twice, darlin’.”

#joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x female reader #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fanfic

2K notes · View notes

maxtermind · 1 month

Text

if you never bleed, you're never gonna grow

★ : summary :: as the roar of engines fades, the defeat on the track are mended in the arms of their significant other (when they lose a race) ★ : feat :: max verstappen, lewis hamilton, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris ★ : genre :: hurt/comfort; angst; fluff ★ : word count :: 2.7k

Max Verstappen

Max had never felt so distant from you. He had the win in his bag, he started good and was going to give it his all but was forced to retire due to a sudden engine failure while leading the race.

He was rightfully disheartened. The post-race meeting only added to his frustration as blame was thrown around instead of taking responsibility. It only got worse when he walked out of it with a, ‘This is such a waste of time.’

As he ranted in the car, his anger palpable, you listened silently, and caressed his hand when, had gotten a call from his dad.

“Just let it ring,” you whispered from the passenger seat. Your attempt was futile though before he picked up the call and put it on bluetooth in his ear.

You waited until you reached home before discreetly ending the call, giving Max a moment to compose himself. He didn’t let you hear anything but as he sat in his seat, rubbing his face to get rid of his emotions, you knew the conversation had affected him deeply.

Opening his car door, you pulled him out using his hand before getting home before you both took a shower in silence, allowing Max the space to process. It wasn't until you were tucked under the covers, clean and warm, that he finally spoke.

"I just hate feeling like I let everyone down," Max confessed, his voice heavy with guilt.

"You didn't let anyone down, Max,” you reassured him, kissing the top of his hand. “You gave it your all out there.”

"I still feel like I'm constantly disappointing everyone," Max muttered, his voice thick with frustration.

"You're not a disappointment, Max. You're a phenomenal driver, and sometimes things just don't go our way.”

"It's hard to believe that sometimes," Max admitted, his gaze distant and you realized what exactly he was thinking about right now.

"Your dad's words don't define you, Max. You're so much more than that," you said firmly, refusing to let him internalize the negativity.

"It's just… I've always looked up to him, you know? His opinion matters," Max confessed, his tone tinged with sadness.

"But you're your own person, Max. And you're incredible in your own right," you reminded him, squeezing his hand gently.

"I know, but… it still hurts," Max admitted, his shoulders slumping with the weight of it all.

"I wish I could shield you from all of this," you murmured, feeling a pang of helplessness. Your boyfriend nodded softly, looking so so so small that it was physically hurting you to even keep looking at him, his eyes reflecting the turmoil within.

"Hey, look at me," you said, gently tilting his chin up to meet your gaze. "You are loved, Max. Don't ever forget that." "Thanks, Y/N. I needed to hear that," Max replied, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Anytime, Max. I'm here for you, through the highs and the lows," you said earnestly, offering him a comforting embrace.

He looked conflicted for a second and you were sure whatever he was about to say was going to officially break your heart into two. Max's voice was barely above a whisper when he admitted it, his expression pained,"It's just… seeing them celebrate my failure, it stings."

"I know it's tough seeing those celebrations, Max, but remember, those people celebrating are just haters who can't accept that someone is doing better than them," you said firmly, trying to inject some perspective into the situation. "Their joy comes from a place of envy, not genuine happiness. Don't let their negativity dampen your spirit."

"I hope you're right," Max said, his voice tinged with doubt. "Thanks for always being there, babe. I don't know what I'd do without you," Max said sincerely, his eyes reflecting gratitude.

"You'll never have to find out, Max. I'll always be by your side.”

Lewis Hamilton

Your heart dropped the moment you saw the tire puncture Lewis’ car in the second last lap of the race. His frustration and curses echoed through the headphones, reaching you with a painful clarity.

“Don’t tell me to calm down! This is all so shit!” Lewis’s distorted voice cried through the radio. “I was so fucking close!”

As much as it hurt you to listen to this, you decided to keep your emotions at bay so you could handle your boyfriend’s better. Silently making your way through the people in the paddock to the back.

The chaos and disappointment from everyone forcing your chest to hurt a little. The only thought in your mind was how Lewis was probably feeling much much worse than you right now.

You heard his car before you saw him, and when you did, the defeat etched on his face made you want to cry. Lewis seemed drained and defeated, devoid of the usual fire.

“Baby?” You called, catching his attention. He nodded at someone before making his way towards you. Pulling you into a less crowded area before wrapping his arms around your shoulder.

"I don’t think I can face the interviews and media circus after this," he confessed, his breath warm against your neck.

"Should I go get the getaway car ready?" You joked, delighted to hear a small huff from his mouth.

“Can’t really leave before that though,” Lewis replied. “I’m beat, just wish it wasn’t this close to winning.”

Realizing he needed encouragement, you took a deep breath and spoke softly.

"Lewis, it's incredibly tough luck to have a tire blowout so close to the finish line, especially when you were leading so strongly," you said, feeling his grip tighten around you. "But these moments, they test your resilience and determination."

He nodded, his shoulders relaxing a fraction as you continued to rub his back.

"I know it's hard, Lewis, but remember, every setback is just a setup for a comeback," you whispered soothingly.

"I just had my heart set on this win," he murmured, disappointment evident in his voice.

"I know, love, but sometimes things don't go as planned," you replied, offering a comforting squeeze.

"It's like the universe has it out for me today," Lewis said with a bitter chuckle.

"Maybe it's just testing how badly you want it," you suggested optimistically. "Well, it's certainly made its point," he said, a hint of bitterness lingering.

You were about to speak again when he interrupted.

"I just wish it had been enough."

"It will be next time," you said confidently, refusing to let him dwell on the defeat.

"I hope you're right," Lewis said, a hint of determination creeping back into his voice. "Thanks for always believing in me.”

"Always, Lewis. That's what lovers are for," you said, smiling warmly at him, admiring his eyes that had some of their shine back intact.

Carlos Sainz

The relief you felt when Carlos walked out of the safety car before making his way towards you was indescribable. From the moment his car collided with another due to a racing incident until now, with his arms around your shoulders, you hadn't taken a single calm breath.

It was probably less brutal than what was shown on the screen, given that it happened so fast that none of the drivers had even processed what was happening. Still the incident had left you with a knot of dread in your stomach.

Carlos was okay, you repeated to yourself, but it didn't quell the pounding of your heart or the trembling of your hands. You were trying to stay composed but it was really hard while your boyfriend talked to someone from the team, frustrated that he had to retire so soon.

"Hey, at least you're still in one piece," you pointed out, trying to inject a bit of humor into the situation but it sounded dry and that was when Carlos took a good look at you, his gaze sharpening as he realized how shaken you were. "Babe, are you alright?" Carlos asked, his concern evident in his voice as he reached out to touch your trembling hand.

"I'm fine, just a bit shaken," you admitted, forcing a shaky smile as you tried really hard to stay in the present and not let your brain run rampant.

"I'm so sorry you had to see that," Carlos said, his eyes filled with regret as he pulled you into a comforting embrace. Knowing that he would’ve been the same if it was the other way around.

"I promise I'll be more careful out there," Carlos vowed, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

"I'm just glad you're okay," you whispered, burying your face in his chest as you finally allowed yourself to let go of the tension you had been holding.

"It's not your fault, Carlos. These things happen in racing-”

"I know, but I hate putting you through this," Carlos said, his voice filled with remorse. "Let's forget about the race for now, okay? We'll focus on us."

"That sounds perfect," you agreed, feeling a sense of peace wash over you as you leaned into his warmth, longing to put the ordeal behind you.

"I love you so much," Carlos said earnestly, his eyes filled with love as he looked at you. Hands holding you tight against him, grounding you so you could understand that he was real and wasn’t going anywhere.

"Let's get out of here and grab some dinner, just the two of us," Carlos proposed, eager to shift your focus away from the day's events as he led you towards the exit. Mentally making a list of things he would tell you to take your mind off of what happened today.

Charles Leclerc

You found yourself seething almost as much as Charles after yet another podium slipped away due to a messed up pit stop. It lasted more than a fucking forever at such a pivotal moment in the race.

It really made you wonder whether his team was even working with him or deliberately against him to make sure that neither of them could score more points. He had opted to stay silent, shutting out the media and team meetings, and unfortunately, that meant withdrawing from you too.

“Charles?” You asked after giving him ample time to process the race in the sitting room all alone like he requested.

He simply hummed before taking a sip of whatever his glass held before you carefully took it from his hand and put it on the table. Crawling into his lap to make sure he knew he could lean on you.

"This isn't the solution," you whispered, pointing to yourself. "Talk to me. Mid-life crises are lighter when shared."

“I don’t think I have the brain to make a correct decision ever.”

"Hey, don't say that," you said firmly, looking into his eyes with a mixture of concern and determination. "You're one of the most talented drivers out there, Charles. One pit stop mishap doesn't change that," you assured, brushing a stray hair from his face.

"But it keeps happening, Y/N," Charles replied, his voice heavy with frustration. "I know, love, and it's unfair. But you can't let it define you," you said, cupping his cheek in your hand.

"I understand how frustrating it is, Charles," you said, your voice soft but determined. "But dwelling on what went wrong won't change anything."

"What do you suggest, then?" Charles asked, a hint of desperation in his tone. "Let's analyze what happened today. Break it down step by step," you suggested, gently guiding him to a more constructive approach. "Let's start with the pit stop. What went wrong there?" you prompted, encouraging him to identify the specific issues.

"It was a miscommunication between the crew members," Charles recalled, his brow furrowing with concentration.

"Okay, so how can we prevent that from happening in the future?"

"Maybe we need to implement clearer communication protocols," Charles suggested, a spark of hope flickering in his eyes.

"That sounds like a solid plan. Let's discuss it with your team tomorrow," you said, nodding in agreement.

"But what if they don't listen to me?" Charles wondered, his confidence wavering.

"You're their driver, Charles. Your input is invaluable. They'll listen," you assured him, offering a reassuring smile.

"I feel a bit better now," Charles admitted, a hint of relief in his tone. “I was just so lost, I should've talked to you a bit sooner.” Your boyfriend whispered before leaning down and dropping a soft lingering kiss on your lips, conveying what words couldn't. "I'm lucky to have you, Y/N."

"And I'm lucky to have you, Charles. We make a great team," you replied, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

Lando Norris

The usual smile was off of Lando’s face. He faced an unavoidable collision with another car in the chaotic start of the race, resulting in damage to his car and an early retirement. Though he tried to maintain a facade of normalcy, the tension in his jaw and the sharpness in his gaze betrayed his true emotions.

Lando was typically a laid back playful guy who was always joking around, had retreated into himself on this dismal day, with even the reporters giving him a wide berth. No one has seen him this dejected before and it was killing you.

However, as soon as the race concluded, it was clear why he was keeping up appearances. Lando pecked your cheek and told you to stay put before following the rookie who had collided with his car.

Alarm bells rang in your head and you were right behind him, stopping him using his shoulder.

“Babe, maybe it's best to cool down before confronting him.” You saw him sigh and open his mouth to retort but you were quicker. “Walk with me.”

You understood him obviously, knowing that the incident was beyond his control and shattered his hopes for a strong finish.

"I can't just let it slide, Y/N," Lando said, his voice tight with frustration as he glanced back towards the rookie's garage.

“I understand, Lando, but lashing out won't change anything, you said gently, placing a comforting hand on his arm, relieved when he finally started walking away.

"I just feel so helpless," Lando admitted, his shoulders slumping with defeat.

"You're not helpless, Lando. You're just taking a moment to process everything," you reassured him, placing a gentle kiss against his lips.

"It's just hard to stay positive when everything feels like it's falling apart," Lando confessed, his usual optimism dimmed by disappointment. "I just hate feeling like I'm at the mercy of circumstances.”

"I know, love. But remember, you're not alone in this. We'll figure it out together," you assured him, intertwining your fingers with his. “You, me and the team. He’s going to face penalties anyway.”

"I just wish I could turn back time and avoid that collision," He sighed, letting you drag him to a park nearby for a walk.

"I understand, love. But dwelling on what could have been won't change the present. Let's focus on what we can do now," you suggested, leading him away from the chaos of the race track.

"But what if this affects my standings in the championship?" He wondered aloud, his brow furrowing with worry, a pout evident on his face.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, babe. Right now, let's focus on taking care of you," you said, your voice filled with determination. "Let's just take this walk and clear our heads, okay? If you still want to talk to him later, I’ll support you."

He was extremely grateful that you pulled him away at the time because not even an hour later, the rookie approached him and apologized for his mistake.

1K notes · View notes

sardonic-the-writer · 3 months

Text

𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀 𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐳𝐛𝐢𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ warnings: mentions of cannibalism and porn

↳ song: hit the road jack—ray charles

↳ notes: i can't believe i'm posting this (derogatory)

masterlist | commissions | carrd

• You had decided to move into the hotel after a particularly flashy poster caught your eye

• You were just walking to your run down apartment from a shift at your work, messing with the frayed ends of your sleeves, when a burst of neon red and yellow entered your field vision

• It was a poorly drawn advertisement colored head to toe in bright hues and glitter, advertising a hotel that would offer you a shot of getting out of hell

• With a shrug and a tug of the poster, you slipped it off the brick wall and into your pocket

• It’s not like you had anything else going on, and a free room was a free room. Besides; if the redemption thing turned out to be real, that would just be an added bonus

• Upon arriving at the doorstep of the hotel a few days later with a duffel bag in hand and the other rapping against the front door, you were nearly knocked over by a thin demon with red cheeks excitedly asking if you were there to check in

• “Oh my gosh hi! How are you! Because you look amazing and oh my gosh I’m so happy you’ve decided to check in!” She all but shouted in your ear. Cringing slightly, you leaned away from her embrace to slip inside

• “I’m guessing you don’t get a lot of guests?” You asked slowly as she closed the door behind you, some nearby dust stirring up at the action. The inside looked to empty to be a hotel

• “Nope!”

• Your first sign that you were getting more than you had bargained for should have been the sound of scuttling feet as a small demon made her way across your feet to impale a bug on her claws. She was lightly scolded for ‘accidently frightening our new addition’ before running off with the insect

• "Sorry about that! Nifty is really passionate about her job." The demon next to you laughed nervously. You just shifted your weight and nodded awkwardly in response

• Looking a few feet over to the living area, there was a lanky fellow covered in fuzz and lounging on a sad looking couch. He was flicking through channels on a T.V. You caught them occasionally landing on one and laughing before moving on, never staying entertained for too long

• The demon caught your eye, and waved two of his four hands at you in a lazy greeting

• “Oh, that’s Angel Dust! Our other resident." The woman, you now knew as Charlie, fussed. “He’s been with us for a few months, and has shown incredible progress! Something I’m sure you will find yourself doing!” She bounced on the balls of her feet happily while steering you around by the shoulders

• “Uh huh.” You couldn’t help but nod slowly, only now noticing that the channels Angel had been focusing on were blasting various types of porn shows

• A hasty tour was promptly carried out through the rest of the building. You were shown different rooms, all in various states of decay, while simultaneously meeting the other hotel inhabitants

• A fierce lady with a spear— Vaggie, as she had been introduced as —didn’t seem too up for conversation, only giving Charlie a peck on the cheek and you a suspicious glare before climbing a pair of stairs to take care of something else

• Back downstairs, the local bartender didn’t even bother to look at you, instead mumbling something under his breath while playing cards with a snake like demon

• “Don’t take it to heart. Husk is a big sweetheart, really.” Charlie waved at you with a closed eye smile, missing the way that Husk flipped her off grumpily. “And that’s Sir Pentious over there! Besides Angel Dust, and now you I guess, he’s our only guest.”

• The snake simply offered a loud and hissing hello before demanding with theatrical outrage that Husk was cheating. At least you think it was theatrical outrage. He seemed high strung either way

• But by far, the most memorable staff member you met on the tour was a tall demon with a red suit and fluffy ears; the likes of which you and Charlie had barged in on as he ate a plate of what looked like flesh. Whether animal, or something else, you couldn’t tell

• “Finally, this is our facility manager, Alastor! He helps out with all kinds of things here, and will be a key element in your redeeming process.” Your cheery guide announced. She seemed to ignore the slight tension in the air as the other member in the room smiled tightly, but the feeling disappeared as the tall demon stood up in greeting

• “Why Charlie!” Alastor’s voice crackled with heavy static, reminding you of audio from a gramophone. Or perhaps one of those old fashioned radio’s. “If I knew we were having company, I would have made myself more presentable!” He chuckled without ever looking anywhere but you

• You had to tilt your head up to look at him completely. There wasn’t a wrinkle on his suit, and every one of his hairs sat perfectly on his head. Even his monocle appeared to be freshly polished

• “Presentable.” You said slowly and without emotion, aware of Alastor’s highetened gaze on you. “Right.”

• Charlie was quick to get you to your new room after that

• It was weird, trying to fall into a rhythm with a group of people that had already become so aquatinted with one another, but you managed

• The trust exercises were cheesy and took too long, chores were a daily task for everyone, and Alastor snuck around in the shadows too much for your liking, but at least you had a place to live

• Besides. Who was to say you couldn’t make a few friends along the way?

2K notes · View notes

little-buzz · 3 months

Text

Imagine being the youngest patron in the Hazbin Hotel

I needed to get out my idea because the Hazbin Hotel fixation is starting. I have my issues with the show, but so far, I've enjoyed it! I'm considered the baby in my friend group, which stemmed these headcanons in the first place. Anyway, I let me know your thoughts about this post!

Hazbin Hotel x Reader (platonic)

You were banished to hell in somewhat recent years, so you’re considered the baby of the group. You’re not treated like a child, per se, but the guys frequently tease you about it. Husk calls you ‘kid’ to piss you off, as does Angel. You’re certain they only know you by that nickname and not your actual name.

No one understands the references you make, whether it be from a meme or films. You consider it really unfortunate when they look at you weird or if Charlie awkwardly laughs at your comment. Charlie humors you with your references, but she still doesn’t understand your slang.

You like to spread some harmless mischief in the hotel when you’re bored. You have added googly eyes to the booze in Husk’s bar, which he didn’t think was funny. At least Angel found it humorous and Charlie kept you from Husk’s wrath when he realized it was your doing.

You like to play with Keekee when you have time to spare. You balled up a piece of paper and throw it for her to chase. You made the poor choice of getting catnip for her. You didn’t think Husk would react to the plant as well. He threatened you to keep his secret. Because you value your limbs intact, you didn’t spread that information around.

You force the group for a movie night, which doesn’t involve sex-related films (much to Angel’s dismay). You pick out a movie you think mostly everyone will enjoy. Charlie and Nifty are usually the most excited to watch the one you picked. You find the film hard to enjoy because Angel and Pentious are relentlessly commenting about the scenes. No amount of shushing from Vaggie will stop their annoying chatter. There is a silver lining though because you watch movies with the girls every so often without their presence to ruin the film.

1K notes · View notes

httpsserene · 7 months

Text

𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝟏 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥

𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝟑: 𝐨𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐩𝐢𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐱 & 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: your boyfriend has to make an appearance at some sponsor event. he's gone ahead and bought you an alluring outfit, but he failed to mention how seductive he looks in the new fitted suit his team got him. you two won't be staying long, but you increase the pace by riling him up, mostly unintentionally. so it's your fault that he makes you ruin his loaned mclaren. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. explicit. squirting. car sex. semi-public sex. ooc (out-of-character) oscar. overstimulation. mild possessive behavior. mild jealousy. vaginal fingering. vaginal sex. condom usage. the audacity of men. lando norris’ savior complex /jk. author’s overuse of italics and run-on sentences. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 5k words 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: oscar piastri x fem!black!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: water • tyla

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: what can i say, y'all. back at it with the unhinged thirst. every time i do one of these, they've been getting shorter and shorter. don't be afraid, for #4 (dr/mv) i'll be back on my game, they deserve it. yes gremlin lando appearance. also, i cannot imagine oscar ever acting this way, that's why i put the ooc tag? it's definitely a fun read tho (i think), along with the smut! thank you, loves, for the support on this event!

want to be added to my general taglist? or my f1 kinktober taglist? send me an ask!

thank you to my betas! @biancathecool for helping with my grammer and @barnestatic for her wonderful spoiled brat idea :))))

cross-posted on my ao3, httpsss

if you want to look at what i'm planning for ktober, or catch up on previous uploads here's my f1 kinktober masterlist and my general masterlist for all of my works!

oscar is known for his unfazed, composed and collected demeanor. he’s aware that some people say he has no personality–but, he’s just an introvert at the end of the day. oscar’s a man of few words: that’s what people who aren’t well acquainted with him would say. if you’ve had the pleasure of sticking around oscar long enough for him to become comfortable with you, you’ll learn that oscar has an incredibly complex personality. he’s overly sarcastic, has a niche sense of humor, and can ramble endlessly at you. but, he’s still a fairly calm and quiet individual. which is why the way oscar is about to scream at the top of his lungs in the middle of this mclaren event, would be considered uncharacteristic of him.

he originally invited you to join him tonight thinking that having you by his side would eliminate the social exhaustion he experiences at these types of sponsor events. however, the aussie failed to realize that you may introduce a…different problem, to tonight’s business party. when oscar asked you to join him two weeks ago, he was prepared for all of your objections–you’re both chronic homebodies, and you both hate partaking in small talk with balding, later-aged, cologne-drenched, white men who don’t know when to let a conversation die. he chose the perfect time to ask you (after you emerged from the bathroom post-self-care bath), and addressed all of your grievances.

oh, you don’t have anything to wear? he already bought you an outfit, had it altered to perfectly fit your measurements, and bought you a pair of heels and a purse to match. oh, you won’t be able to get your hair done in time? he already scheduled an appointment with your usual hairstylist the day before the event, paid all of her fees, and tipped her very nicely. oh, your nails aren’t done? he booked you a spot at your preferred nail salon for a premium mani-pedi, and has a few nail inspiration photos picked out if you can’t decide. if you need your lashes done or need to get waxed, he can make the call right now; he has them on standby to fit you in.

knowing the amount of phone calls oscar had to partake in to arrange all of this causes you to fold and agree to join him. there’s nothing more the two of you hate than making phone calls–well, besides the pr events.

oscar had chosen an alluring burnt-orange mesh corset and matching ruched ankle-length skirt that looks beautiful against your warm, soft and shining brown skin. your hair is silk-pressed, length reaching your mid-back and your edges are laid in a minimal manner, matching the simplicity of your makeup look. simple gold rings are spread across a few fingers, ears accessorized with a pair of small good hoops oscar gifted you, and his initials rest in the dip between your clavicles attached to a thin gold chain. objectively, you're considerably modestly dressed, the only skin you're showing is on your arms, shoulders, a smidge of your decolletage, and the tops of your feet in the low-heeled strappy sandals.

this is the start of what oscar failed to account for. he didn’t expect the outfit to hug your curves like plastic wrap. the whole night he’s had to forcefully deny himself the opportunity to stare at your ass, but that doesn’t mean the other men at the event have the same courtesy. he’s taken to burning holes with his eyes into anybody who lets their gaze linger over your form for a second too long. on a regular day, oscar is generally unaffected by anyone who appreciates your body (they can look, but the second they try to touch–you let them know exactly how they had you fucked up), but if he catches one more mclaren engineer undressing you with their eyes–he will make zac fire all of them; he’ll plan his own race strategy and do his goddamn pitstop by himself.

oscar also didn’t account for how your timid and sweet attitude would have everyone enamored with you; at first, watching everyone eagerly attune to your shy words was amusing to him, but it quickly became a nuisance. he was originally leading you around the room, doing his rounds at any important figures’ tables, and everything was fine. and then, oscar had made the obvious mistake of making you laugh–a pleasant stream of giggles spilling from your lips, dimples deepening, and smile widening at whatever small joke he made. he’s always thrilled to see how you throw your head back in amusement, how your hands clap together gleefully, and how your eyes squint in from the force of your laughter. as he shakes himself out of your dazzling trance, he attempts to rejoin the conversation–but every single person at the table remains entranced and wide-eyed at you.

this would be completely fine, of course, if it was a one-off occasion; but it’s not.

suddenly, every person oscar tries to thank for supporting mclaren, starts ignoring him and paying more attention to you. he’s literally the pilot of the car that these people are spending an absurd amount of money on, but they can’t even bother to try and pretend to listen to him. men and women alike are finding any excuse to prolong conversations with you, and even lean within your personal space with the excuse that ‘they can’t hear you very well because you’re so soft spoken.’ nobody can invade your personal space, but oscar. he has no choice but to do the very thing he hates–pda. you continue to circle around the room, his hand constantly resting on the small of your back or the dip of your waist. when you’re in the middle of listening to some completely unnecessary story a man is telling you, oscar constantly adjusts your hair, plays with your rings, and smooths down your skirt if he feels like they’re trying too hard. you banish oscar to getting you a glass of water when he begins to interject in conversations in a passive-aggressive manner.

his third strike off the night, might actually be an overall win in his books. when you saw oscar in his new fitted suit, you stared him dead in the eye and told him to ‘get naked and rail you’. it’s this beautiful deep cream color that pairs perfectly with the dark orange tone of your outfit, but the vest underneath the suit jacket highlights his tiny waist so clearly that it makes you want to scream. in between socializing, you overwhelm oscar with compliments, unable to stop telling him how handsome he looks. you surgically attach yourself to his side and hug his arm; taking an occasional squeeze of his bicep, playing with his cufflinks, and tracing the veins on the back of his hand. oscar practically runs to get you a refill of water because he’d be unable to stop himself from getting fully hard if you touched him any longer–the trousers hide nothing.

he can feel your burning gaze from across the room, and turns back to watch you after asking a waiter for water, and catches your eyes roaming the length of his body. in high-definition, he sees your tongue wetting your lips before you bite at your bottom lip–and then, your attention is stolen away from some random man who’s introducing himself to you and the group of ladies you found yourself accosted by as soon as oscar left your side.

and, that’s it for oscar. he thinks he may have heard his last-fucking-button being pressed inside his head, and seethes. he goes to push off from his leaned stance against the counter and makes to start his warpath, but a hand grasps at his shoulder. oscar turns around snappily, biting out an irritated and sarcastic, “can i help you?”

“woah! calm down now, mate. thought you were going to bite my head off for a second,” it’s lando, “if i were anybody else i’m sure there would be an unfortunate tabloid of ‘how oscar piastri is the most rude f1 driver on the grid’” lando jokes teasingly, yet a hint of seriousness leaks into his tone.

oscar nods, understanding the underlying warning within the brit’s teasing. he apologizes softly to lando, before glancing back over at you, and can infer that you charmingly informed the man that you have a boyfriend—based on the way you point in his direction. oscar watches the polite smile fade from your face as the man continues to bother you, and the murderous look rises to his face again.

“OKAY”, lando claps abruptly, startling not only oscar, but everyone in a 10 foot radius. lando waves everyone else’s eyes away, smiling like he didn’t do anything, and speaks underneath his breath, “go. i’ll cover for you.”

oscar’s mouth drops open, baffled, “what?”

“leave—get your girlfriend and go,” lando says matter-of-factly, his smile becoming genuine, “zac probably won’t like to hear that you looked particularly murderous, and he definitely won’t like hearing that you slaughtered our sponsors, and that i let it happen.”

oscar snorts before he thanks lando sincerely, and the brit dismisses him, “i’m just looking out for my rookie teammate as the senior driver for our team. i can’t let your horny teenage mindset become common knowledge to our esteemed guests.”

“first of all,” oscar says dryly, his grateful mood dissipating at the mocking, “i didn’t even know you knew the word ‘esteemed' existed,” lando scoffs, “and secondly, you are literally only two years older than me.”

lando looks at oscar with a blank stare and deadpans, “do you want to leave or not?”

oscar daps up his teammate in farewell, and makes his way over to you as quickly as he can without seeming desperate, your glass of water left behind on the counter. your back is facing him as he approaches and you're still unwillingly participating in conversation with the man who can’t take no for an answer. as he gets closer, he can piece together the conversation; the dude doesn’t believe you have a boyfriend and you must be lying to him, and you’re adamant that your boyfriend is very real.

“look, bro. even if i was lying about having a boyfriend, why would i give you my number now? like, i’m just supposed to forget how you’ve been harassing me—“

oscar rests his hand on your side, and when you turn your head to see who’s touching you, he leans down and kisses you. it’s a kiss deep enough to let everyone know who you’re leaving with tonight, but not deep enough to be salacious (he can hear lando’s cackle from the other side of the room).

you melt into his kiss before he pulls away, leaving you dazed and disoriented, stumbling into him. oscar drapes his left arm around your shoulder, guiding you to tuck into his side, while he offers his right hand to the offending man for a handshake. “it seems i haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you yet. i’m oscar, i drive for mclaren,” he introduces himself, sounding overly pleased.

the man angers, ignoring oscar’s extended hand and cockily states, “you should already know who i am. my family nicely lent you the mclaren you drove here tonight!”

“ah,” oscar smiles viciously, “if ‘your family’ kindly lent me the car, that would explain why i only remember your father’s name–and not his arrogant, disrespectful, and narcissistic trust-fund son’s name.”

the man stomps his foot in rage, like a spoiled brat, and questions, “who do you think you’re talking too?!”

oscar smirks, “nobody important, apparently,” (one of the ladies listening whispers a quiet ‘damn, that’s crazy’), oscar continues, “don’t worry, mate–i’ll make sure your father’s car returns home to him safely. should i bill you for any cleaning, in case i make a mess of it?”

the guy stumbles over a response before he scoffs and stomps away. oscar shrugs uncaring, before addressing the group of ladies who were cliqued to the side watching the whole interaction, “well. if you all don’t mind, i’m just going to steal her away from you ladies, if that’s okay?” (like there’s an option). the ladies fawn over oscar’s protectiveness before they let the two of you go, and then he starts herding you towards the exit.

it’s torture. in every five steps the two of you take, you're interrupted by various guests trying to catch you one last time. oscar feels like they’re all intentionally aggravating him; patting you on the arm, commenting on how eye-catching you look, and using the fact that the two of you are leaving to press a kiss to your hand in goodbye. you two burst out of the main doors and sigh in relief, for different reasons–for you, it’s because oscar didn’t give one of his sponsors brain damage, and for oscar, it’s because he’s one step closer to getting you in his bed.

you grasp at oscar’s hand, and he starts to lead you down the steps towards the valet, and as you fall into step at his side, you speak softly under your breath, “i can understand why you kissed me like that inside because the dude was being an asshole–even though you were marking your territory like some kind of dog–but, please; don’t tear this poor man’s throat out for helping me into the car.”

the australian remains quiet, properly chastised and works on releasing the pent up effect of the annoyances from inside the venue. everything is going well; the valet asks oscar for his parking ticket, and he goes to grab the keys, but stops just before he makes to start heading to the car, and turns back to you two and says, “i don’t know if i told you when you walked in but–you look incredibly beautiful tonight, miss. you could be a model, seriously. like, you should feel so lucky to have a woman like her–”

all attempts of oscar finding his peace are thrown out of the window. he interrupts the dude’s rambling, and bites out, “hey man, y’know what. i can just take the keys to the car. we can walk to it.”

the valet stutters, confused, “a-are you sure, i mean it’s like pretty far in the back. i can run and get it no pro–”

“it’s FINE! i mean, it’s cool, we can use the extra steps, y’know. enjoy the breeze and everything,” oscar says, slightly maniacal. there’s no breeze, it’s warm. the valet’s and your eyes meet for a second and a shared thought of “he’s trippin” is passed telepathically.

the valet concedes, not wanting to upset the f1 driver any farther and tosses him the keys. as the two of you are passing by, oscar hands the man a bill that’s probably too big based on the man’s astonished gasp. you call out to the man, continuing to walk further in the lot, “sorry about him! he just gets a little touchy about strangers driving his car, y’know?” oscar grumbles lowly next to you, and you smack him on the arm, “what did you want me to say? ‘oh sorry, my boyfriend just wants to fuck me really badly to soothe his needless jealousy?’”

“as long as he knows who’s the one who gets to take you home and fuck you.”

“oscar!” you squeak, “we both know we’d die of embarrassment if you said that. i can’t even imagine those words coming out of your mouth, in that order.”

you guys eventually puzzle out where the car is after several remote beeps of the car’s horn, and find that it’s literally tucked away in the last row, far corner with no surrounding cars for two rows.

oscar doesn’t open your door like he usually does, and leads you around to the driver's side. he opens the door, pushes the seat back as far as it goes, and sits down. without saying anything, he loosens his tie and goes to unbuckle his belt before you reach down and grab at his hand, bewildered, “oscar jack! what the fuck are you doing?”

he blinks, “i’m fucking you, right now. it’s too long of a drive back—i’m going to crash the car if you keep sitting next to me in that goddamn outfit. i was going to take you to the bathroom inside, but i figured you’d at least prefer the car. you can be a little louder here.”

your mouth dries, “you said they loaned you an incredibly rare, vintage mclaren, babe. i’m not gonna-“

oscar wrestles his way out of his suit jacket, spreads it underneath him on the leather seat, and pats his lap. “problem solved.”

shifting your weight, you glance around nervously. oscar is right, you would prefer the car over the bathroom. all those people inside who could overhear, gossip, and spread the news of how rookie mclaren, f1 driver, oscar piastri, had you yelling his name in the middle of an event. you’d pass.

“oh, c’mon now, babe. you didn’t think i saw the way you were eating me alive with your eyes inside,” your boyfriend teases, “i know you‘ve at least gotten a little wet for me already, haven’t you?”

that’s all it takes; the australian acting possessive and feening to get inside you is more than enough to have you straddling his lap and pulling the car door shut with a slam.

oscar tugs you into dirty make out, and you get lost in his pink lips, tugging teeth, and explorative tongue. the last of your breath tapers out in a reedy moan, and you break the kiss to pant against his lips, and oscar laughs. his laughter spreads through your chest, and it has your hips rolling against the bulge you feel underneath you. his amusement is cut off, and his hands fly to grip at your hips. he starts tugging you against him in a filthy grind, and choked off moans from the two of you start to fill the car.

you press kisses to oscar’s jaw line, paving a path down to his wide strong neck with your tongue. you suck on small patches of skin, not using enough suction to leave a mark, but enough for oscar to become aware of the fantasization that you could. the aussie gasps at every random suckle of your lips as he scrambles to pull the skirt up your legs. you shift your hips up to make it easier for him, as your hands feel down his torso to his belt. it unbuckles fairly easily, and you shove it out of the way, to unzip the slacks and pull his cock out.

oscar moans, throwing his head back at the feel of your hand on his length, and you get entranced in the trap that his pale thick neck is, again. you hum against his neck, introducing teeth alongside the ache of the suction of your mouth, and bully the collar of his shirt out of the way to find a space to leave a few marks. oscar’s breath freezes at the first hickey he feels you leave, but the rapid inhale he takes next clears his mind enough to have his right hand pull your panties to the side, and move to caress your heat.

you shudder on top of him, your breathy sigh amplified within the car. oscar sinks two fingers inside of you, and a much louder moan is tugged out. your hands fly up to grasp onto his shoulder, and your head tilts backward away from his neck in pleasure. his fingers thrust into you gently for a few beats slowly working to open you up for him and once he feels your cunt starting to relax, his thumb reaches to press at your clit. whines fill the air, as you lean all the way back, resting your back on the steering wheel allowing oscar all the space he needs to stretch you out. his fingers start curling as they drag out of you, and you can feel the pads of his fingers rubbing over a soft spot on the front of your walls.

oscar’s eyes were stuck marveling over the overwhelmed expression on your face, but once he starts feeling wetness dripping down his arm he glances down, and curses out a rough, “fuck, baby—you’re dripping all over me.” your cheeks burn hot, and you can’t tell if that’s out of humiliation or the effect of his awe-filled voice. your right hand releases his shoulder, and bats at his arm, before tugging at his wrist to pull his fingers out, “that’s enough, mmm, just get in me already.”

oscar eagerly draws away; he uses his clean hand to tug his wallet out of his back pocket, and tugs a condom out with a smidge of struggle before handing it to you. you snatch it out of his hand, biting it open and rolling it over his cock, and once it’s on, you tease, “jeez, osc. you really were planning on jumping me in the middle of the event tonight—grabbing a condom and everything; you think i’m that easy?”

he chuckles, satisfied, his hand drenched in your wetness rubbing over his cock to get him slick, and teases back, “you’re about to ride my cock in the parking lot of said event, pretending to be worried about ruining the seats of this vintage car. i’m not calling you easy, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared, does it?”

your cheeks are definitely burning from humiliation this time around, but you huff, ignoring him checking you. you tug his hand away, raising your hips, and guide him to your entrance with your own hand, before slowly sinking down.

twin sets of moans fill the air as he bottoms out; one of his hands reaches to palm at your ass (it’s sticky, so it must be the one he fingered you with), and the other grips at your waist tightly. you squirm on top of him, knees barely managing to find enough room to prop on the seat to give you a stable base. once you feel stable in your cramped position, you give a testing grind of your hips, and from there, it’s lights out.

oscar lets you set the pace for a few thrusts, suffering in the languid rock of your hips; you’re torturously tight around him, and he can only groan at the feeling of you wrapped around him. his chest heaves, before he brings both hands to halt your hips, and starts fucking up into you rough and quick. a scream jostles out of your throat at the unexpected change of speed, but you just take it with no complaints, allowing yourself to go limp against the wheel of the car to hold your body upright. he moves your body for you, pulling you downwards to meet his upward thrusts; and you feel him constantly applying pressure against that one tender spot right under your navel.

your boyfriend revels in the sound of the moans he’s punching out of your throat, admiring the way your head is thrown back—mouth open wide, eyes scrunched tight, lips bruised and bitten to hell. it’s a lewd picture, painted by himself. the car rocks along to his frantic rhythm, windows fogging, and sweat begins to form on both of your skin. the aussie’s core tightens; he won’t last much longer, you’ve had him half-hard the whole night.

a frustrated grunt escapes oscar, and you hum questionably about to ask what’s wrong–but his right hand leaves your waist to furiously start circling your clit, and an ear piercing shriek leaves you. “c’mon now, babe. ah-be good and come f’me yeah? im so close, baby–please,” he babbles, the last shred of sanity leaving him. his hips don’t falter once–to you it feels like they’re moving quicker, every sensitive spot receiving attention from the sharp snaps of them.

you cry out, it’s all too much; your hand reaches down to press against his navel in a feeble attempt to stop him from stroking so deep and roughly, and incoherent pleads try and tumble out of your mouth, “mm! osc–no! ah–too much, baby! it’s too much–hngh–feels weird–s-slow down!” it’s like his ears are filled with cotton; he can hear you begging down at him but can’t make out what your saying over the blood rushing in his ears. he’s trapped staring at your pretty cunt, watching the obscene amount of wetness coming out of you–the suit jacket underneath him is completely ruined, and he off-handedly thinks it won’t be saving the leather upholstery.

your legs start quivering and trembling–it damn near looks like you're freezing to death, even though the car has become as humid as a sauna. your own orgasm shocks you, and your eyes roll back erotically–unable to give oscar any warning. and in your last moment of awareness, you realize that something feels different, but it’s too late.

you choke on your scream of, “oscar, fuck!” as fluid gushes out of your cunt, and the first wave is enough to completely drench oscar’s pants, and oscar finally returns to the moment in amazement. he eagerly brushes his hand against your clit, and shortens his strokes to quick little jabs to force more of your juices out, and you can only ride along. you try to slam your legs shut, to jostle oscar’s hand away, but it’s futile with his torso propping you open for him. you’re sobbing messily, as he forces more liquid to spray from your cunt–and he moans out his own orgasm, ripped from him in surprise. the australian halts his stimulation this time around when you frantically tug his wrist away when the pleasure melds to pain, and allows himself to get a few more jerks of his hips in.

you fall forward, collapsing into his chest–the squelch of your thighs meeting his pant-covered ones has him humming and grinding his hips into you as gently as he can. the two of you shake against each other, hearts rabbiting as you catch your breath. oscar’s hands rise to rub at your back, bringing you down from the aftershocks still trembling over your body.

“i-i’ve never squirted before,” you whisper into his neck.

your boyfriend hums softly, “did you like it?”

he feels you nod against him shyly.

“then, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he comforts, knowing if he seems approving of it, you’ll be quicker to accept it as something good, “how i’m going to explain the ruined suit and car seat to mclaren on the other hand…”

a shaky laugh from you causes oscar to smile, “i told you you shouldn’t fuck me in the car.”

“how was i supposed to know that tonight would be the night i’d made you gush all over me?! i was hoping that when the time came we’d at least be on a couch,” he whines.

“shut the fuck up,” you joke, “i want a live play by play when you explain the cleaning bill to zac.”

the aussie pauses, faking thoughtfulness, “maybe i should send the bill to the trust-fund baby. zac would back me up–he’s american, he’d probably find it hilarious.”

oscar gently shifts you over to the passenger seat, and you tug your skirt all the way down, and he fights his way out of his slacks that stuck to his thighs with your wetness. he manages to wrangle them off and kicks them to the side of the car floor along with the soiled suit jacket, after fishing the keys out of them, sitting out in his boxers, and glances over to see you adjusting your appearance as best as you possibly can.

“you want a mcflurry?” the aussie offers.

“as long as we can get a fry with it,” you smile at the random shift in conversation, allowing him to hide his embarrassment.

oscar turns the keys in the ignition, and the engine rolls into life with a deep, vibrating hum. he catches your legs pressing together tightly, and you squirm at the purr of the engine under your seat.

“well,” oscar starts nonchalantly as he reverses out of the spot, “you have the time that it takes to get from the drive-through to the flat to finish eating–because as soon as we get home, i’m taking you to bed and learning how to make you squirt, consistently. i don’t care how long it takes, or how many orgasms you have–i’ll keep going ‘til you come dry, babe.”

taglist: @lorarri @soph1644 @jaydensluv @fanboyluvr @nissaimmortal @redgonerogue @hollie911 @saintwrld @buendiabebeta @butterfly-lover @lana-d3l-rey @dylan1721 @spicybagel14 @dhhdhsiavdhajj @miahgonzalez16 @jjaekin @dkbj14 @f1lover55 @f1lov3r @mindless-rock @biancathecool @barnestatic @sweetpiccolo-blog @my-ylenia @zaynzierulez @reblog-princess

2K notes · View notes