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the challenging part for me when it comes to writing enemies to lovers is balancing just how mean they are when they insult each other without crossing the line to a point of no return.
#like i want them to have that /hatred/ than just annoyance#i want them to butt heads because they 'despise' each other#but i don't want them to say words that ends up becoming unforgivable#bc i really hate it when they've so obviously hurt each other#but then they're somehow fucking in the next paragraph#and then suddenly all is forgiven LAKSLAKSKLAS#and gosh have i read those#like damn i didn't know the degradation kink ran that deep LMAO#like i'm all for hate sex#but forgiving them right away???#honestly it's kinda the same with angst to fluff fics ngl#ramblings
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he drives me crazy, it’s so beyond me 𖦹 LN4
PAIRINGS: lando norris x fewtrell!reader
SUMMARY: you’ve been hating on lando for a very long time now, since you were kids to be exact. only to realize that those hatred is only a mask for what you truly feel for him.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: i’ve been on a slump lately, have so many works unfinished but i don’t really have the drive to finish them lol but my break from uni is near, so maybe i’ll get the motivation to finish all of it. for the meantime, hope you’ll enjoy this one! :)
REMINDER: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.
WORD COUNT: 3.3k
WARNINGS: typos, cursing, and playboy lando
Growing up being Max’s younger sister meant that you were always surrounded by his friends, and none of them irritated you more than Lando Norris. From the very beginning, something about Lando rubbed you off the wrong way. Though you had never understood why, there was something—an inexplicable annoyance that only grew stronger with time.
As kids, you tolerated him, well mainly because Max adored him and that they are racing karts together. You can’t just tell Max to stay away from Lando for no apparent reason, that would make look like an absolute ass. But as you all grew up, Lando’s behavior began to infuriate you even more, and it just got worse when he got to F1. He began dating girls and moving on as quickly as the seasons changed, never seeming to care about the trail of broken hearts he left behind. It wasn’t just his carefree attitude towards relationships or life in general; it was the way he would tease you every fucking chance he gets. If you tripped over a pebble or on air, he’d make a joke about it. Making fun of every little thing that he would notice about you. You just couldn’t stand it, and you couldn’t stand him and his whole existence.
But somewhere along the line, something strange started to happen. With all the teasing and eye rolls, you found yourself paying a little too much attention to him. Too much for your liking. It was almost as if you were noticing the first time how his aquamarine eyes sparkled everytime he laughed, or how his curly hair seemed to suit him perfectly. It made you mad—so fucking mad that you wanted to scream. How could you, of all people, start to like Lando Norris? Your public enemy number one.
Then the realization hit you like a shit ton of bricks. You were developing a massive crush on the one person you were supposed to hate. Surprised by the sudden realization, and you being you, instead of acknowledging it, you decided to bury it deep down, covering it with even more layers of loathing. If he said something stupid, which he always does, you’d snap back at him twice as hard. If he smiled that cocky grin, you’d glare daggers at him. But inside, your heart would be pounding, and it drove you crazy. It’s pretty much a fucking miracle that you have been able to stay sane.
One day, after a particularly annoying comment from Lando about your choice of outfit, you finally snapped. “You know, Lando, if I wanted your opinion, I’d ask for it. But I didn’t, so why don’t you just keep your mouth shut for once?” Then you rolled his eyes at him. You’re going out today, you don’t need this kind of negativity. “Besides, don’t you have your own fucking house? Why are you even here?”
Lando grinned, clearly enjoying how riled up you were. “I’m just saying, those shoes look like something a hobo would wear.”
You groaned in frustration. “God, you’re such an asshole, Norris! Do you ever stop to think before you speak?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” He shot back, winking at you.
You felt your cheeks flush, and not from anger. You wanted to punch him, but at the same time, there was this insane urge to grab him by the collar and kiss him just to shut him up. But instead, you turned on your heel and stormed out of the room, muttering under your breath about how he was the most annoying person on the planet.
But then there were those moments when you saw the other side of Lando, the one that made your heart ache in a way you couldn’t even fucking explain. Like the time when he won his first race in Miami. The whole crowd erupted in cheers, everyone was celebrating his win and you found yourself smiling as he won his first race, a huge smile on his face as he celebrated. Your first instinct was to run up to him and give him a hug and tell him how proud you were. But then, almost immediately, you wanted to wrap your hands around his neck for making you feel this way. He had a unique talent for pushing all your buttons, and yet, no one could make you feel the way he did.
After the race, you all went out to celebrate, and as usual, Lando couldn’t resist teasing you. “Come on, admit it, you were impressed, weren’t you?”
You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the small smile from tugging at the corners of your lips. “You were okay, I guess,” you said nonchalantly.
“Okay? Just okay?” Lando feigned hurt, clutching his chest dramatically. “I expected more from my biggest hater.”
“Well, don’t expect me to start fangirling over you now,” you shot back, though your heart wasn’t really in it.
Lando just playfully winked at you, and excused himself, walking away and waving at someone else. You couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to admit it. To finally confess that maybe the reason why you hated Lando so much was because you love him in a way that no one else could. But you quickly dismissed that thought, shaking your head. There was no way you’d ever let him know how much he affected you. Not when he had the power to break your heart with a single word.
As the night went on, you couldn’t help but steal glances at him. He was the center of attention, as always, and yet, for a moment, his eyes caught yours, and he smiled. Not a teasing grin that he would always send your way, but a genuine, warm smile. It made your stomach do flips, and you quickly looked away, mentally cursing yourself for being so weak.
In the middle of the night, you found yourself lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the day’s events in your mind. You hated how he could get under your skin so easily, how he made you feel things you didn’t want to feel. It was maddening, infuriating, it drives you nuts, and yet…you couldn’t stop thinking about him. How was it possible to love and hate someone so much at the same time? You didn’t know. You don’t have an answer for the lingering questions in your mind and it drove you crazy.
“Why him?” You whispered to yourself that night, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. “Out of all the fucking people in the world, why does it have to be him?”
You knew Lando could be a major asshole, but somehow, he was your asshole. No one else could make you feel this crazy mix of anger, frustration, and affection all at once, and despite all the annoyance, deep down, you knew you loved him. It made you mad, and yet, in some twisted way, it also made sense. No one else could make your heart race like Lando did, that can make you feel so alive, so frustrated, so utterly confused—and most importantly, no else could break your heart like Lando Norris, and you were beginning to think that maybe, you didn’t want anyone else to.
It has been three months since Lando’s first win, but the tension between the two of you hadn’t eased. In fact, it felt like it was growing stronger, pulling you into a confusing spiral of emotions. It was one of those days that you were grateful enough that you were back in uni, and have to forget about him even for a short period of time.
Though it didn’t last long, you can’t stay and hide in uni forever. So here you were, officially back home for a break, and you decided to stay at Max’s for the time being. Prior to arriving from uni, Max had already asked you if you wanted to come with them on their holiday trip, but you passed on it, making up some silly excuse and wanting to get the rest you need since you haven’t had the proper rest back when you were in uni. You wanted to avoid being in the same place with him as much as possible, you definitely don’t trust yourself to keep up the charade of hating him when your heart was screaming the exact opposite.
It was when they’re already back from their trip, and as usual, Lando is at Max’s place. You found yourself in exactly in the situation you’d been dreading. Max had invited Lando over to help him with something, and you figured you could just stay in your room, far away from the inevitable teasing from him. But when Max suddenly had to leave to deal with some urgent matter, you were stuck. It was just you and Lando, alone in the living room, with a show neither of you cared about playing in the background.
Lando being Lando, of course he wasted no time in getting into your nerves. “So, how long are you planning to hide up there?” He asked, his tone annoyingly casual as he sprawled out on the couch.
“I was not hiding,” you retorted, focusing on your phone and pretending he wasn’t there.
“Sure, you’re not,” he said with a smirk. “You’ve been acting pretty weird lately. You didn’t even come to the trip that we invited you on. Is everything alright?”
You nearly choked on your words. How could you even begin to explain what was wrong—that you were utterly terrified of how much you liked him? That every time he teased you, your heart skipped a beat instead of fuming with anger? That you couldn’t fucking stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss him.
“Everything’s fine,” you lied, hoping he couldn’t see the turmoil behind your eyes. God, you just wanted for this conversation to end or better yet, wishing for the ground to swallow you whole right then and there.
“Uh-huh,” Lando said, clearly unconvinced. He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”
Your heart thudded painfully in your chest. “Oh my god, why do you even care?” You shot back defensively. “You’re just here to annoy me, right? So why don’t you just go call someone and bother them instead?”
Lando’s smirk faded slightly, and he studied you with an intensity that made you uncomfortable. “You think I just want to annoy you?”
“Yes!” You exclaimed, frustrated by his persistent questioning. “That’s what you’ve always done ever since, isn’t it?”
Lando shook his head, looking more serious than you’d ever seen him. “No. Not really.”
The shift in his demeanor threw you off balance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He hesitated, running a hand through his beautiful curly hair that you want to touch so badly. “It means that maybe I didn’t just do it to annoy you. Maybe there was another reason.”
You blinked, your mind racing to keep up. “What reason?”
Lando sighed, leaning back on the couch and staring at the ceiling. “God, this is harder than I thought,” he muttered to himself before finally looking at you. “Look, I’ve known you since forever. Yeah, I used to tease you because you were Max’s younger sister and it was fun. But somewhere along the way, it wasn’t just about teasing anymore. I think I did it because…I didn’t know how else to get your attention.”
Your breath caught in your throat. “What are you saying, Lando?”
“I’m saying that maybe I’ve had a crush on you for a while now,” he admitted, his voice quieter than usual. “And I’ve been acting like an idiot because to be fairly honest, I didn’t know how to deal with it.”
You stared at him in utter shock, your brain struggling to process what he’d just said. All this time, you thought your feelings were unrequited, that he was just being his usual annoying self, but now, everything was different. The anger, the frustration, the confusion—it all made sense now.
“I…I don’t know what to say,” you whispered, still reeling from his confession. “Honestly.”
Lando smiled softly, a hint of nervousness in his expression. “You don’t have to say anything, I just want you to know. I get it if you don’t feel the same way, or if you’re too mad at me for being a jerk all these years. But I wanted to be completely honest with you for once.”
The room was silent for a moment, the air thick with tension and unspoken words. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “Lando, I—“
But before you could finish, Lando suddenly stood up, crossing the room in a few quick strides. “You know what? I can’t fucking take it anymore.” And with that, he grabbed your face in his hands and kissed you, pulling you into a kiss that was both urgent and tender at the same time.
For a split second, you were too shocked to respond. But then, your body seemed to take over, and you found yourself kissing back, all the frustration and anger melting away in the warmth of his embrace. It felt like everything you’d been holding back, all the mixed emotions you’d been burying, finally broke free. When Lando finally pulled back, you were both breathless, staring at each other in stunned silence.
“Why did you do that?” You asked, your voice shaky.
“Because I’ve wanting to do it for a long fucking time,” Lando admitted, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. “And because I couldn’t stand the thought of you hating me for real.”
You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I don’t hate you, Lando. I…I think I might be falling for you, and it’s terrifying to tell you honestly.”
Lando grinned, his usual cocky demeanor returning. “Well, that’s a relief. Because I’m pretty sure I’m falling for you too.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension between you dissolving into something warmer, something that felt a lot like hope.
“You’re still an asshole, though.”
“And you’re still a pain in the ass,” Lando shot back, his grin widening.
This time, there was no venom behind your words, no hidden frustration like it was used to. Instead, there was a new understanding between you—a mutual acknowledgment that maybe the thing you’d both been fighting against all these years was exactly what you needed. When Lando leaned in to kiss you again, you realized that no one else could make your heart race like he did, and no one else could make you as crazy or as happy.
However, Lando’s confession and that unexpected kiss did leave you feeling more confused as ever. As much as you wanted to believe in the moment, in the warmth of his touch and softness of his lips, a familiar fear gnawed at the back of your mind. After all, this is Lando Norris that you’re talking about—the guy who seemed to switch girlfriends at lightning speed. You’d seen him charm his way through countless girls, only to move on without any second thought. The idea of being just another name on his list made your chest tighten with fear and anxiety.
As you sat still, still close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body, Lando looked at you with a hopeful expression, waiting for you to say something. But instead of responding with the excitement that was bubbling up inside you, all you could think about were the stories, the rumors, and the heartbreaks you’d witnessed.
“Lando,” you began, moving away slightly, creating a small but significant distance between you and him on the couch. “I don’t know if this is a good idea.”
“Why not?” His smile faltered, concern creeping into his eyes.
You bit your lip, trying to find the right words that won’t hurt him. “Because…” you trailed off, “I know you, Lando. I know your way with girls. Yes, I can’t deny the fact that you’re very charming and sweet when you want to be, but the way you get bored and move on quickly scares me. I…I don’t think I can handle being just another girl you get tired of.” You breathed out.
Lando’s expression softened, and he reached out to take your hand, but you hesitated. He noticed this right away and dropped his hand to his side.
“I get why you’d think that. I haven’t exactly been the most reliable guy when it comes to relationships, am I?” You nodded and he chuckled, “but this…this is different.”
“Is it?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Or are you just saying that because I’m here and it’s convenient?”
Lando shook his head, gaze so intense that you might melt and turn into a puddle any second. “It’s not like that, I promise. I know I’ve messed up before, but I’ve never felt this way about anyone. You’re not just another girl, and I’m not just saying that. I’m really serious about you.”
You wanted to believe him, you really did. But the fear of getting your heart broken, of being left behind like so many others, made it hard to fully trust his words.
“But what if you get bored? What if this is just a phase for you, and once you’ve had your fun, you move on to someone else?”
He looked at you with an earnestness that you weren’t used to seeing him. “I can’t blame you for being scared. But the truth is, I’m scared too. I’m scared because I’ve never wanted someone so much, something to work out this badly. I don’t want to mess this up. I know I have a reputation, but I don’t want that to be who I am with you. I want to be better—for you.”
You stared at him, your heart warring with your head. Could he really mean what he was saying? Was it possible that he could change, that you could be the one he was serious about? But even as the doubts swirled around you, there was a part of you that desperately wanted to take the leap, to believe that maybe this could be different.
“I don’t know if I can handle getting hurt,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough for that.”
Lando took a deep breath, his expression sincere. “I can’t promise that I’ll be perfect, but I can promise that I’ll try my best not to hurt you.” He said, tucking a few strands of your hair behind your ear, “I care about you too much to let that happen. But if you don’t want to take the risk, I’ll understand. I’ll back off if that’s what you want.”
You could see the honesty in his eyes, the vulnerability he rarely showed. It made your heart ache, knowing that he was giving you the power to decide where this would go. It would be easy to walk away, to protect yourself from the possibility of pain. But then again, what if he was telling the truth, what if this was real.
“No, I don’t want you to back off,” you finally said, your voice steady despite the nerves twisting in your stomach. “But I need time, Lando. I need to see that you’re serious before I can let myself fall for you completely.”
Lando nodded, relief washing over his face. “I’ll give you all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.”
You smiled, feeling a bit of the tension ease, though the uncertainty still lingered. “Good. Because I’m not sure I could handle it if you did.”
As the two of you sat side by side on the couch, the show was still playing in the background, the atmosphere between you had shifted. There was no rush, no need to force anything. It was just the two of you, slowly navigating the complicated mess of emotions that came with falling for someone who scared you as much as they made you feel alive, and maybe that this was the start of something real.
#Spotify#f1#formula 1#formula one#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#formula 1 fanfic#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 x reader#lando norris#lando norris 4#ln4#lando norris x female!reader#lando norris x you#lando norris x y/n#lando norris fic#lando norris fanfic#lando norris imagine#lando norris x reader#ln4 x y/n#ln4 one shot#ln4 imagine#ln4 fic#ln4 x reader#ln4 fluff#ln4 x you#fewtrell!reader#lando norris x fewtrell!reader
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🧡❤️Dating Your Enemy's Sibling
*part of the reverse trope series*
Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Verstappen!Reader Genre: Fluff/Humor/SMAU Summary: How to get under your enemy/rival's skin? Charles answer was to start dating his younger sister. But now, he's glad he found love along the way. He only had to tell Max about the relationship when you won a race. That's won't be any time soon though . . . right?
*in honor of Lando's first win - here's this next installment of Reverse Tropes! I know that Max and Charles really aren't enemies. Maybe I should have done like a Pierre and Esteban thing, but I don't write for them. So here we go and please enjoy!*
TAG LIST IS CLOSED
Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen.
Predestined rivals, written in the stars, invisible string, yada-yada-yada.
Putting it simply, Charles had an apt for pissing Max off and vice-versa. The world thought they would kill each other in karting, especially after the 2012 incident. The population sighed in relief when Max was taken from F3 and put in a Formula 1 car, while Charles took a bit longer.
And then Charles made it to Formula 1 in 2018. However, he was put in a HAAS, a car that was not really made to play with the other cars in the front of the pack. The earth was saved yet another year.
Well, until 2019 when Charles suddenly became the “It Boy” for the Prancing Horse. Meaning, that he could finally go back to terrorizing the grid and Max. But with terrorizing the grid came loads of trouble and hatred.
And more pissing off your rival.
Charles seethed on the podium as he listened to the Dutch national anthem and watched Max point to the stupid “H” on his race suit. He held in a scoff. At least the Ferrari logo was much better looking than that.
It wasn’t fair. He had the racing line and Max pushed him off. If his mind wandered, it would go back to a certain kart race back in 2012 where he pulled the same move. But that didn’t count because the race has already finished. Charles would have rather been disqualified instead of having to go through the torture of being up on the podium in second.
First loser as they call it.
The Monegasque driver held no happiness in his body as Max started spraying his winner’s champagne. Charles just picked up his bottle and drank it.
Still wasn’t as sweet as victory champagne would be.
He deliberately separated himself from Max as they stood for a picture. The visible gap made it much more hilarious for everyone around them.
When the festivities finished, he hightailed it out of there, just wanting to avoid the Dutchman presence. Charles sighed loudly as he walked back to the garage, definitely not in the mood to talk to anyone.
“Charlie!
The Monegasque stopped in his tracks, annoyance almost wracking his entire being. Can people just let him wallow in defeat? He straightened his shoulders and turned around, PR smile plastered on his face. However, the very fake smile turned into a real one when he noticed that you were almost jogging to catch up with him.
Y/n Verstappen.
You had always been a part of his childhood. Where Max was, you were one step behind him, following him in your small racing overalls. He remembered how little you always seemed compared to your brother. But size didn’t matter on the karting course.
Most of the time, the two boys found themselves trying to shake you off and others were behind your kart, picking up the dirt that you sent their way. And that’s why Charles put your name down as recommendations for his Prema seat after he won the championship in 2017. Because of him, you were able to graduate to Formula 2 and were on the track to make a debut in Formula 1 in the coming years.
“Hey Y/n,” Charles said softly, still not in the mood to really talk to anyone. But for you, he’d always make an exception. And he was supposed to fly back with you and Max, something he was still dreading.
You look at the Monegasque with sympathy. Charles wasn’t able to find any type of pity in your blue eyes (that matched Max’s).
Your brows furrowed as to talked to him. “What Max did wasn’t the right way to race. But Formula 1 is getting more and more competitive.”
The man, er boy, wanted to huff. He did not need this conversation from you. He almost turned around, but the next few sentences stopped him from making any motions.
“Charlie, you’ve always found ways to beat him. If he wants to play like this, then you just have to give him a taste of his medicine, get under his skin. Do what you always do and somehow get around him.”
He cocked his head, before his eyes lit up.
Get under his skin.
You watched as Charles’s eyes filled up with some light, making the green in them really shine. You could almost see ideas concocting in his head.
Charles went to say something, but was interrupted by his team principle. He swerved to respond before he turned back to you. There was a glint in his eyes that you really couldn’t put a finger on.
His took a deep breath before asking, “Do you want to maybe get dinner with me?”
Your eyes widened. Sure, the Monegasque was very attractive, but those were not the words that you were expecting to come out of his mouth.
Oh.
Now you got it.
Your facial expressions melted a bit, eyes pointed toward the ground as you kicked at it. Your arms crossed as you huffed.
“Using me for gain over my brother wasn’t what I was meaning Charles. I was thinking more like unfollow him on social media while we’re on the plane or something.”
The harsh “Ch” that began his name had him wincing. Like your brother, you had a small lisp which normally softened the two consonants to the point where his name sounded like it was supposed to be. And what was “Charles?” You rarely ever called him that, choosing to pick the more boyish nickname.
Although, your idea about Instagram wasn’t a bad one.
Charles looked a bit guilty as he scratched the back of his head. He honestly was endeared by you and your determination to never give up. He found you, well, cute. You were still 19, younger than him by a bit more than three years.
But if you were cute back in 2012 hanging on to Max’s wet overalls after the puddle, and you were cute now trying to console him instead of celebrating your brother’s victory, you would still be cute in the following years.
He sighed, knowing that he had to leave soon or he was going to get an earful from Sebastian for being late to yet another meeting. The Ferrari driver stepped forward a bit, getting closer to you. He looked down at his helmet before looking back to your eyes.
“When I win and when I beat your brother, then can I take you out to dinner?”
You mulled over the question in your head.
If he beat Max before you went out with him, then that meant that he was actually genuine and wasn’t using it to his gain. You also smirked, knowing that indeed it would piss Max off whenever he found out. Your position as an annoying younger sister would still be intact and possibly stronger.
You held out your hand, which Charles took in an instant.
“Deal Leclerc.”
“Deal Verstappen.”
When Charles took the top step in Spa, pride filled his chest when he noticed Max’s glare at him. He had beaten the Dutchman at his home race. Albeit, it was a DNF for Max, but a win either way. He swayed back and forth as his national anthem played and then sang quietly along with the Italian anthem. Deep in his heart, he knew the true weight of the win.
For Anthoine.
He knew somewhere he made his French friend proud. Just like Jules. And Just like Papa.
Charles watched down below as you looked like you could hardly keep a smirk off your face. And it was bad too as you stood next to Max, who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there below Charles.
The Monegasque raised his eyebrows when you locked eyes. You just hoped that Max wouldn’t catch on that he was staring right at you. Thankfully, you were right next to a Ferrari manager, so Max could guess that Charles was looking at him.
When the winner finally got ready, you were waiting outside his garage.
“Hi,” you whispered, putting your phone away. Charles didn’t verbally respond, but he wrapped his arms around you. You melted in his arms, still smelling a bit of the champagne in his hair.
He looked down at you.
“Are you ready for dinner?”
Your eyes held a playful glint. “I hope you chose a good restaurant Leclerc.”
He scoffed, keeping his arm around your shoulders as the two of you turned to leave. “Only the best Verstappen.”
The dinner went really well, but you weren’t expecting it to be a continual thing.
And then Charles won in Monza the next week, and he once again asked you to dinner. And once again, the Monegasque set expectations higher than you every imagined. You were saddened when Charles wasn’t able to win any more races while your brother seemed to get better and better each race.
You could only giggle while you watched them still avoid each other in Singapore.
But, the dinners turned into texting, and texting turned to other dates, and dates turned into dating, and dating turned into a relationship, and the relationship turned into an almost five year commitment that you or Charles weren’t planning to end soon.
The relationship saw your brother become a world champion in 2021, Charles becoming a world champion in 2022, and you joining the grid as a rookie for McLaren after a disastrous attempt for an Alpine seat.
Charles had been furious and Max had almost found out about the relationship. The two of you were still scared that Max might hold some coldness for the past. But when he called Charles “Charlie,” the special nickname that you had for him, you thought that it might be a good idea to tell him.
“But mon ange, he will run me off the track if he finds out,” Charles whined into your stomach as you played with his hair before the Miami Grand Prix.
You rolled your eyes and tugged at the strands. “No he won’t. You have to worry about your teammate doing that to you instead.”
Another whine left Charles making you giggle.
“At least you’re starting on the front row. I have to start P5! Oscar has been making fun of me all weekend.”
The Aussie had been such a God send for you during your rookie season. The elder by a few months had taken you under his wing. The two of you had been so close to a win last year, and with the upgrades this weekend, you were sure that you or him would start on the front row.
And then you had to be hit during the sprint, which didn’t help the mechanics in the hours before the race quali. That in turn made your car feel weird and P5 was the best you could do. Maybe Charles was secretly transferring his unluckiness into you.
The Monegasque turned his head to look you in the eyes. You smiled as you leaned down to kiss the top of his head.
“We’ll tell him when I win a race. How about that?”
Charles knew that you were just unlucky as he was when it came to winning a race. Last year, you had been close in Spa, but a rouge rainstorm saw you spinning out on the second to last lap. Austin you had pole, but Max fought you on into turn one, making you go wide. You never saw your brother after the first lap as you fell down the grid. Charles held you each night as you cried.
The red-clad-driver sat up and held your head in his hands. “You’ll win soon enough. Maybe not this weekend because I don’t have any time to prepare.”
You laughed and just brought him in to a kiss. There was literally no way you could win this weekend. Beating Max Verstappen with pole from P5 on a track that he had a 100% win rate at?
Impossible.
Charles thought he was going to cry as he crossed the line in P3. From you winning or having to tell your bother that he defiled his baby sister, he didn’t know.
What he did know was that he was going to get out of his car and congratulate you immediately. What were the odds that you won on the anniversary of the stupid inchident, the first time that Charles had ever seen you with Max.
(And yes, he did remember the anniversary but didn’t want to bring it up.)
You, however, were frozen in your car. You took some deep breaths as you took the steering wheel off, stood up a bit, bent to put it back on, and straightened, holding your pointer finger up. Your fists clenched as you raised them, automatically hearing the crowds roar when you waved.
A tug on your sleeve brought you down into Max’s arms. You were a bit disappointed that it wasn’t Charles, but that would be too obvious.
“YOU DID IT!” Max yelled in your ear, well, your helmet as you hadn’t taken the neon thing off yet.
You really didn’t want people to see the tear stains on your face. But right now, you’d just stay in the protection of your brother’s arms. When he let go of you, he lifted your visor, twin eyes meeting yours.
“You did such an amaz-”
“I’m dating Charles.”
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
You took the moment of a frozen Max to turn to your team. You looked over your shoulder to see that the Dutchman was still stuck in his place as you got farther and farther away. You grimaced, knowing what was to come if Max and Charles met at any time when you weren’t there.
An arm around your shoulders brought you out of your head. The light blue caught your eyes, signaling that it was Charles. He patted your shoulders, trying to stay as inconspicuous as possible. You did feel a bit of pressure move your helmet, so he must have quickly smushed his face into the black swirls. A helmet kiss if you would guess.
You wanted to turn around to warn him of the imminent danger that was waiting for him in the form of Max Verstappen, but you were led away before you could.
Your fears immediately went away though when your eyes finally landed on your team. Helmet thrown to the ground, you made the decision to throw yourself at them as well. Your laughs could be heard as your mechanics lifted you higher as everyone seemed to want to congratulate you for their first win since Monza 2021, which you weren’t even on the team then.
When Charles stepped into the cooldown room, he could feel the awkwardness. It also didn’t help that Max was glaring at him from the corner. Charles was a bit worried. He thought that Max was fine with him now after they had both sort of mended their weird friendship during 2023.
He turned to you as you walked in, all sweaty.
Charles still thought you looked very pretty.
“Eyes off Leclerc.”
Charles froze in his place and looked between the siblings. He looked at you, then Max, then you, and then Max again. You winced, not looking him in the eyes. Realization flooded his body and he thought for a moment he was going to pass out.
“Mon Dieu.”
“We will be talking after this,” Max pointed, drinking from his water bottle, not taking his eyes off Charles.
When you were called to the little Jeeps, you quickly got into the bright pink Barbie-esque looking one, still buzzing from your win. Even if the two men behind you had put a damper on it.
Charles’s eyes only fixed on one of the cars, not even seeing the third one behind the second. He climbed right in, eyes closed as he sat down. However, his eyes shot open when the car tilted and a thigh was touching his. He gulped rather loudly, refusing to look to his right.
This was Vegas all over again.
Max kept his voice low. “When did it start?”
“2019. After Austria.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to get to know her more.”
“What was the reason Charles?”
The Monegasque sighed as he ran his hand over his face. “I was angry at you and wanted to get back at you somehow.”
He knew he was about to be punched on live television, but he continued hoping for redemption.
“But, I knew that was wrong. We didn’t even go out until Spa. And then again in Monza. And then it just happened.”
He turned to look directly at Max, knowing that he only had a few more moments before they had to go out onto the podium.
“Max I love your sister. I have the ring and everything. We’ve been happy for 5 years and have made it work. Please, she’s really all the good I have left. I would throw everything away for her. And-”
Max’s laughs stopped him from continuing. The Dutchman slapped a hand on Charles’s thigh, making him wince a bit.
The Red Bull driver’s eyes were crinkled with a smile as they pulled up to the parking spot.
“Just keep her happy, or I will run you off the track.”
“Y/n! I told you he’d threaten me!”
“Max!”
“Oh come on I did not!”
y/nverstappen4 has posted
y/nverstappen4 WE DID IT! P1 BABAYYYYYYY 🏆
nothing beats a podium with me on the top step surrounded by my boys 💙🧡❤️
liked by mclaren, team_quadrant, charles_leclerc, and 2,903,940 others
queeny/n LETS ACTUALLY GOOOOOOOOO
mclaren that's our girl 🧡 well deserved
lecstappenshipper this is basically a hard launch
y/nhaswins such a beautiful race y/n!!!!
charles_leclerc so so proud of you mon ange 🧡❤️ *liked by y/nverstappen4*
charles_leclerc celebrations tonight? 😈
y/nverstappen4 but of course
maxverstappen1 I know where you sleep leclerc 🙂
y/nverstappen4 DRINKS ON MAX TONIGHT
oscarpiastri YEAAHHHHHHH 🍾
maxverstappen1 what?
charles_leclerc thank you max ☺️
maxverstappen1 I NEVER AGREED TO THIS
oscarpiastri mega job mate 👊
y/nverstappen4 ossieeeeeee 👊 don't worry, you'll be up there soon! just gotta wrap your car in bubble wrap to protect it from evil ferrari 😠😤
charles_leclerc ☹️
y/nverstappen4 NOT YOU CHARLIE - THE OTHER ONE (LEWIS HURRY UP)
lewishamilton you don't think I'm trying 🤨
mcy/n she's so funny what the heck?? 😂
chefy/n we said - LET HER COOK
TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @myxticmoon @cherry-piee @blueberry64857959 @glitterquadricorn @lizzypiastri @sam-is-lost @spilled-coffee-cup @ilove-tswizzle @the-untamed-soul @allenajade-ite @starssfall @torchbearerkyle @judespoision @halfdeadsage @juniper-july19 @severewobblerlightdragon @thatgirlmj @gods-menace @ineedafictionalman @namgification @dark-night-sky-99 @samantha-chicago @2pagenumb @treehouse-mouse @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @kagatinkita @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @awekbachira @vellicora @skepvids @sunrizef1 @stan-josie @fanficweasley @hiireadstuff @barcelonaloverf1life @c-losur3 @graciewrote @bruhhhhhhhhehhhhhhh @tallrock35 @ashy-kit @kat-s2 @minkyungseokie @lozzamez3 @leslieis-crying @adventuresofrose @lighttsoutlewis
#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x female reader#charles leclerc x you#Charles Leclerc x driver reader#Charles Leclerc x verstappen!reader#max verstappen x reader#f1 x driver!reader#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#formula 1 x you#Charles Leclerc#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 imagine#formula one fanfiction#formula one smau#f1 x female reader#f1 x y/n#f1 x you#formula one x y/n#formula one x you#formula one x reader#charles leclerc fluff#charles leclerc fanfic
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oooh I have an idea for a modern!jace fic. I am a sucker for academic rivals to lovers so something like that. maybe reader finds out that jace is struggling (I thought a foreign language class since he struggled with valerian) or the teacher makes reader tutor Jace. I hope that made sense!
thank you xoxo
my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time
—
You despised above everything anyone who was from a sports team. They were loud, entitled, arrogant, and made college all about them. You had a special hatred for that one guy from the football team who was banging at your dorm door at 11pm on a Thursday, thinking he was at his ex-girlfriend's dorm.
But when Mr. Perron had asked you to tutor the center player of the hockey team in exchange for extra credits, you couldn’t refuse.
You thought it would be easy and that he would take your tutoring seriously — his place in the hockey team was on the line —, but Jacaerys Velaryon was a pain in your ass. He had difficulty concentrating after twenty minutes and kept arguing over the spelling of words.
‘’You can’t pronounce it like that,’’ you said for the third time since you sat at a table in the tutoring center.
‘’Why not? It’s written that way,’’ Jace argued back, pointing to the word in the textbook.
‘’Because that’s not how you pronounce ‘croissant‘! I don’t make the rules.’’ You held back an exhausted sigh, your patience wearing thin. ‘’If you go to Paris and say it like that, they’re gonna laugh at you.’’
‘’They’re gonna be too distracted by my charming smile to hear my wrong pronunciation.’’ He flashed his signature smile at you, the one that made most people swoon, but you shook your head, refusing to engage in anything other than what you were there for.
‘’Unfortunately for you, your charm will not work on Mr. Perron,’’ you said, making his smile disappear. ‘’And it definitely won’t work on the exam.’’
Forty-five minutes later, Jace still couldn’t seem to get the translations right. You felt like he wasn’t even trying, but he actually was. French was just not sticking.
‘’Look, I’m here to help you, but if you want to waste my time—’’
Panic set inside Jace. ‘’No. I really need your help,’’ he insisted, his eyes wide with desperation. ‘’I swear I’m trying. If I don’t pass, I’m gonna get kicked off the team. There’s five games left, and we are so close to the play-offs. Please, don’t let me fail.’’ He looked at you intently, almost like a puppy dog begging for a treat.
You stayed at the tutoring center for another hour. There was a slight improvement, but Jace would need a lot more hours of tutoring to pass his exam.
So, that’s what you did. Everyday at 7pm, he would meet you at the tutoring center and bring snacks from the campus café, claiming studying on an empty stomach was proven less effective by studies. You hated how he made crumbs on the table and how casually flirty he was, but his charming smile was growing on you and making you less indifferent by the day, much to your annoyance.
You quickly shook those growing feelings out of your heart, refusing to fall for a hockey player. He already had a ton of girls at his feet. The chances he would reciprocate those growing feelings were too slim to even consider.
‘’Thanks for helping me. It means a lot to me,’’ Jace said on your last tutoring session. ‘’I’ve improved a lot this week, and I would not have been able to get this far without you.’’
During your time together, you got to know him a little and no longer saw him as just an entitled college athlete. He was sweet and thoughtful, and a true mama’s boy. You tried so hard to cover your fondness when he answered his mother’s call during a session. He even had a cute picture of his family as his lockscreen.
You gathered your stuff, putting everything into your backpack. ‘’Can I ask you something? Why did you take French if you struggle with foreign language?’’
Jace groaned, embarrassment filling his body. ‘’Because it seemed easy…and girls like it when a guy speaks French,’’ he admitted, his cheeks pink as he covered his face with his hand.
‘’Watch them all fall for you when you pronounce ‘croissant’ correctly.’’
A small laugh left his lips, amused by your teasing.
The sound of his laugh made your heart flutter, but you played it off by facing the other way. He couldn’t know that his charm was getting to you.
‘’There’s one week left until your exam. You gotta keep studying if you want to pass,’’ you said to him. ‘’No relenting.’’
You slung your bag over your shoulder and walked to the door, preparing to exit, but Jace called your name.
‘’What do I get if I pass?’’
His voice made you slowly turn around to look at him. ‘’You get to stay on the hockey team?’’
Jace pulled back on his Wolves hoodie, making you daydream about wearing it and smelling his woody cologne and something that was just him. ‘’No. What else do I get? I need something to motivate me.’’
A smirk curled at the corner of your lips, the words leaving your mouth before you could stop them. ‘’If you get above 80%, I’ll suck your cock.’’
To you, it was a joke — just a joke —, but Jace never studied this hard before. He spent all his free time with his nose in his french textbook, and even brought it to the gym so he could study while running on the treadmill. His teammate made fun of him, but he didn’t care. The reward would be worth it.
On the day of the exam, he asked Mr. Perron if he could grade his exam immediately, needing to know if he could play tomorrow night. Jace waited impatiently as the man checked everything, nerves bubbling in his stomach. When Mr. Perron handed him his exam, he walked out and started looking for you.
He found you sitting in the quad, reading by yourself. He ran over to you, and shoved his exam in front of your face. At the top right corner was a bright red 81%.
—
House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard@domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios@lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale @mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden @memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08 @mymultiveres @secretsthathauntus @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen @naty-1001 @katiepie67 @moshpot24x @hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler @saturn-sas @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag @wondxrgurl @aerangi @strmborns @astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection @withfireandbl00d @randomstory56 @JudgmentDays-Girl @darylandbethfanforever9 @darylandbethfanforever9 @aegonswife @dakotapaigelove @jays-bullshit @blublock404 @Icefyre19 @paulilvsremus @mfedits @aemondwhoresworld @angrybirdxx @YarianyIrizarry
All and more taglist: @kenqki@hawkegfs@gillybear17@black-rose-29@fudge13 @cece05 @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade @mellabella101 @vxnity713 @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @xyzstar @graceberman3 @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis @katherinejess @rafesgirlstuff @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity @Anouk nani-2305 @books0fever @papichulo120627 @qardasngan @ghostlyvoidydragon @M0rgans1nterlud3 @dahlia-blossom21 @Spacexdrago
#house of the dragon#jacaerys velaryon#jacaerys velaryon x reader#prince jacaerys#hotd jacaerys#jacaerys x reader#house of the dragon imagine#jacaerys velaryon imagine
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I can’t get over how funny but also how interesting Cucurucho’s intense hatred towards Tubbo is. Like you’d think Cucurucho would also hate Cellbit like that given how many times they’ve clashed, but they still regard Cellbit with more amusement than genuine annoyance. They chased Cellbit with a chainsaw during his first week on the island, but you could tell Cucurucho had fun tormenting him and was doing a lot of it for kicks. And yknow what? Cellbit gave them exactly the reaction they wanted. He was terrified.
But Tubbo? Cucurucho pulls a gun on Tubbo and he just goes “oh chill the fuck out and put the gun down.” They yell at Tubbo for his drill and he starts planning to build an even bigger one. And I think that’s what grinds Cucurucho’s gears so much. No matter what they do, Tubbo won’t give them the reaction they want. They can’t crack him. I think they know that if they threw Tubbo into a dark underground maze and chased him with a chainsaw a la Horror Movie Protagonist Cellbit he might get freaked out for a second, but then he’d just be like “what are you a fucking theatre kid?”
All this is to say I think Tubbo pisses Cucurucho off in a way few other islanders have been able to do, and because of that, they’re not going to stop until they find out exactly what will make Tubbo break
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Enemies (with benefits)
Pairing: Cold!Chris x Reader
Word count : 1,489
Summary: Chris and reader have always been enemies ever since they’ve known each other. neither knew why they had this burning feeling in their gut. So one day they decide to fuck it out. Until, eventually doing it regularly
Warnings: smut, p0rn with plot, a LOT of plot, angst, name calling (bitch, slut, etc.), p in v, rough x, mentions of safe word (not used), rude/cold!Chris, degration, friend with benefits, awkward, (implied) RichKid!reader, no love (😔), unprotected, creampie, no after care, no use of y/n, no oc
(A/N: this is my first ever fanfic that I’ve posted on tumblr. So ya, I’m shitting bricks. Please give me feat back on my writing, and what I can improve. Also English is not my first language so I’m sorry for any mistakes. Hope you like it!! :D)
PT1 PT2 PT3 PT4 FINAL
Ever since I can remember, I’ve known the triplets. The sturniolo’s and my family were always really close. And ever since I can remember, I’ve hated Chris.
Now, enemies was a harsh word. A bit of an exaggeration. It wasn’t like we were at war for opposing countries. We were more like rivals. In every aspect.
Sometimes it felt like the only reason Chris studied for school, was to beat my grade. He wasn’t really stupid, but he was definitely not book smart.
The problem wasn’t that. We’ve always lived normally, simply hating and avoiding each other. After all he was my longtime nemesis.
Until that one fateful night where we’d been at my house. My parents have a big business so they’d frequently be on business trips. And it just so happened that that night my younger siblings were not home, both of them being at their separate sleepovers with friends.
We’d been paired for some project. And naive me thought, that it’d be fine. We could be civil for a few hours. But I thought wrong. The hatred was too strong and the tension was too thick in the air.
Seemingly everything I did made him agitated. And vise versa.
Until he finally snapped and we got into a full fledged argument, wich turned into a yelling match. However it all went quiet when he crashed his lips onto mine.
Breathing heavily I had kissed back, hard. It was easier to battle about with a kiss, rather than screaming. And like hell was I gonna be dominated by Christopher fucking sturniolo.
So the night progressed. He had me, my face buried in the sheets babbling out nonsense and screaming his name. But not in anger like I usually would.
It had been months since that happened, and it still haunted me. The idea that it even happened. That his lips had been on mine, his dick literally inside of me, that I was literally under him, disgusts me to my core. But it didn’t matter. It was one of many times.
Sometimes it was a quickie, sometimes an all nighter. Sometimes Chris was dominant other times he was not. Sometimes it was at my place other times at his.
And it wasn’t like those cliché stories of friends with benefits where one fell in love. This felt more like an urge. Like neither of us wanted to actually hook up but we were irking to. This was better than having a yelling match. And on the rare occasions I was dominant it felt great making him shut up and take it. It felt equivalent to winning an argument. The whole point was to teach a lesson, and express annoyance and anger without directly doing that.
“Chris-“ I let out a sharp cry, even the pillow that my face was buried in didn’t really make the scream sound quieter.
His hips keep drilling into my core hitting all the right spots to make me weak in the knees.
Sex with him, objectively, felt good. In the moment. He knew how to please a woman. But he also knew that he was pushing it right now.
“Don’t fucking tell me to slow down.” He snaps his tone, and words as harsh as his breathing. “You have a safe word. Use it if you need to. And other wise, shut, the fuck, up.”
I only let out a sharp whine when he seems to pick up pace even more. He’s made a mess of me. We’ve been at this for hours. Literally.
I’ve come more times than I can count and Chris wasn’t showing any sign of stoping anytime soon.
My back arches perfectly, but I’ve been in this position for too long for it to be comfortable. Him leaning over my back occasionally leaving harsh slaps on my ass while his other hand stayed firmly im my hair.
His hand being tangled in my hair as he was both pulling it, but also pressing me down into the pillow under me.
I feel the ache in my cunt subside again, as a knot starts to form. I’m close, again, and I don’t know if I can keep going after.
“Chris” I scream his name loudly panting and moaning. “I’m- close” I can barely form a sentence. His thrust are hard enough to knock the air out of my lungs every time.
“Oh ya?” He harshly slaps my ass causing me to moan loudly. “How much more you think this pussy can take?” He huffs his tone ever so cocky.
He always did this. He liked being dominant and absolutely wrecking me as much as he can. And he knows I’m close to breaking, and that’s what makes it worse. I just know he gets a wired satisfaction out of exerting me.. using me, like this.
His hand stays firmly in my hair tugging harder. His other hand trailing from my ass to my clit as he starts to rub on it harshly.
I clench instinctively, my whining and moaning getting even louder. “I’m gonna-“ a harsh slap on my clit catches me off guard.
Chris keeps going. “Fucking slut. You like getting destroyed like this?” he mocks, his tone condescending as his pace doesn’t let up.
“Go on bitch, cum on my cock. Come again.” He urges. And the rubbing of his fingers on my clit and the relentless torture to my cunt is threatening to push me over the edge.
“Can I come in that pussy again?” He asks his voice coming out strained and harsh from the pleasure.
“Yes-“ I’m cut off, again. As i am physically not able to speak with the pace he’s going at.
And the combined pressure of everything pushes me over the edge. Suddenly the knot in my stomach snaps and my body goes limp after loud moans. He goes for a few more thrusts before I feel the familiar hot liquid fill my cunt.
After a minute where we catch our breaths he slowly starts to massage my scalp knowing he’s been pulling on it for at least half an hour straight.
He pulls out not really gently, but not harshly either.
Hook ups with Chris always felt like one night stands, when they were really regular.
I let my body fall limp fully laying on my stomach as I sigh, content in my position, not attempting to move.
I can practically feel Chris watching me.
Normally I wouldn’t be this much of a mess. But than again normally we didn’t go for hours. Normally Chris used a condom. But today was not one of those days.
Sometimes chris had enough common sense to at least pretend to care.
But right now he was just staring.
“You okay?” He asks his tone gentler and more quiet than usual. He knew he was pushing it, but did he really care tho?
I shiver as I feel his hand start to rub over my back. Ever so gently pinching the skin to ease some tension.
“Ya”
My breath is short as I’m still calming down not doing or saying anything else.
After a while I turn around slightly, wincing as I lay on my back. My back hurt from the previous uncomfortable position I was in.
I opened my tired eyes, looking up at him, my eyes meeting his. I knew I probably looked like a wreck right now. My hair a mess because of all the moving and position changes as well as his pulling. My face having dried mascara and tear stains on it from when I’d been crying.
I was too tired to even hide my body. I just turned around not bothering to hide my chest as I did, I was too fucked out to care.
His lips pursed, looking over my face. But he wasn’t concerned. But rather disgusted at the sight. He was glad he made me look like shit, but I could see in his eyes that he would much rather be anywhere else right now.
After sex was the worst for us.
The arguments leading up to it were normal. The sex itself was great. But afterwards…
Usually he’d leave. But today he had gone far. He’s done worse before. But every time he did he felt like he should give me proper after care. But I can see the annoyance radiating off of him, and I just know he does not want to be here.
And as harsh as it sounds, he couldn’t really care less what state he left me in. He’s told me multiple times.
“You can leave.” I mumble sighing. My throat felt horse from all the screaming, crying and moaning, that I’d been doing. I’ll need to get a water soon.
He gives me a simple nod, quickly changing, then going to my bathroom to fix his appearance.
And than he leaves.
The room is quiet. Nothing to be heard, nothing to be said.
Masterlist
A/N: hope you liked it, this was literally my first time writing smut🫣 also I don’t have a taglist yet, so i just added my moots. Tell me if u wanna be added, or removed :D
‼️please don’t copy my work/idea‼️
Taglist : @muwapsturniolo , @sturnad , @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 , @evie-sturns
#sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo x you#chris sturniolo x y/n#christopher sturniolo x reader#chris x reader#christopher sturniolo smut#christopher sturniolo#sturniolo x you#sturniolo smut#Spotify#smut
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Realization
Pairing; Yandere Miguel O’hara x reader
Synopsis; the aftermath of your escape attempt.
Word count; 1.1k
Reader description; Female/GN
TW; yandere themes, dark themes, kidnapping, minor talk of wounds.
Notes; {first part.}
"Are you comfortable?"
His query provokes annoyance. While, yes, the fluff provided by both the couch and large puffy blankets did satisfy you, you'd never express this to Miguel. Miguel is at your side, clad in a tight white shirt and Grey sweatpants. In his hands are a platter holding a drunk and a plate of breakfast.
"No." You retort; the way it's spoken is colder than you intended. But why would you care? He deserves every bit of hatred spewed from your lips.
The current time is eight in the morning, and the last thing on Miguel's today's list is fighting. Especially in your condition. Miguel releases an obstinate short-lived sigh, clearly not giving in to your stubbornness. He moves from your side to your front. Irratedly, you bark his name in an empty threat. "Eat." He persist, his voice losing a bit of the softness he talked with before.
"I promise I didn't drug it. If that's why you're not eating."
Ah, yes, you forgot being drugged was a possibility when he handles your food.
Back when you first got abducted, you understandably were resistant to any form of tenderness. You acted callous. Ignoring Miguel when you didn't require to communicate your needs. Miguel wasn't too appreciative. Nevertheless, he was understanding due to your circumstances, and for a while, he begrudgingly left you alone. One day, Miguel wasn't having the best day; to say the least, his day had been extremely stressful. All he wanted was to be comforted by your touch, and of course, you aren't giving him any, so he sought it.
You sat at the dining table, eating leftovers from the night before. Miguel entered the shared home, going into the kitchen. Wanting your affection, he forgets about your refutation and awkwardly leans down, puckering his lips to signal a kiss. You simply turn away. Pride wounded, Miguel retreats, angrily storming out of the room, and plops down on the couch. A couple of minutes pass, and you walk out of the kitchen, a glass of soda in hand, and sit across from him. Miguel eyes your beverage with a malevolent idea forming.
Fortunately, on Miguel's part, you leave for the restroom. In his impulsive state, Miguel quickly departs from the living room to the kitchen. This wasn't the first occasion Miguel thought of paralyzing you with a sedative. On top of the fridge were the pills. He flicks the bottle open, popping two tablets in his calloused palm. He returns to the living room, dropping them into the liquid, and using your straw, he mixes the drink until there's only a slight visible powder at the bottom.
Miguel rues his decision. Instead of earning your trust, he loses the faith that you had in him. The exact opposite of what he strived to attain.
Famished and tired of Miguel's whining, you begrudgingly accept the platter. You settle the platter onto your lap. On the plate is French toast, the mixture of butter and syrup creates a brownish-orange color. On the side is cold tea with a handful of ice cubes floating at the top.
Grabbing the butter knife, you slice the toast creating a rift and allowing the syrup to spill onto the glass plate. Bringing the fork to your mouth, you take a small bite. It tasted...fine. No bitter aftertaste of pills, just regular French toast.
Miguel intensely observed you, even taking a seat beside you. For someone who truthfully claimed to not have laced your meal, he certainly doesn't make it appear that way. "Do you like it?" He asks nonchalantly. Not wanting to give him credit, you merely respond with an "it's alright,"
Finishing up your meal, you return to watching your show. Miguel gets up, sauntering out of the room. You assume he was returning work calls since he was taking off the week to nurse you back to health. You dismiss it, giving all your engagement to the television.
Sometime later, you hear heavy footfalls from the hallway. You don't turn to see who it is because it's obviously Miguel. Miguel once again enters the living room, your name falling from his lips immediately. You continue to pay him no mind at all.
Miguel is quickly agitated, "Look at me, (Name)." You whirl around, giving in. In Miguel's hands again is a tray. this time it holds neither drink nor food, instead medical supplies.
"No." You absentmindedly mutter, sinking farther into the couch cushion. Miguel approaches you, places the tray aside on the table, snatches the remote out of your hand, and powers off the television. "Come on, lie on your stomach." He commands softly, throwing blankets on the other couch to have the couch bare.
"No," you repeat like a petulant child whose mother asked them to do something they didn't want to do.
"Now, (Name). The faster we get this over, the faster you won't have to deal with it the remainder of the day."
He was right. For once. You shakily sigh, doing as he advised. Miguel takes your place on the couch, peeling your shirt upwards. The contact of cold crisp air against your warm skin makes you shiver. Never have been so interested in the armrest's design. Every stitch, color, and material now is intriguing.
Miguel prepares the ointments and bandages. Then he unwraps the aged bandages in slow motion, hoping not to foist pain on you. Over a couple of days, Miguel has attended to your wounds on your back, and each time the sight never fails to have his heart sink into his stomach.
Trailing from your upper back to your lower is three gashes on both sides of your back, parallel to claw marks. The gashes are deep and bloody despite the amount of medication he's applied days prior. Miguel figures they must have been caused by him clutching you when you went tumbling on the concrete.
Now it's Miguel's turn to take in a quivering breath.
Miguel brings over a small container holding a clear ointment inside. He dips his finger in, scooping out a good amount. Miguel's thick fingers gently glaze your marks, earning him a whine. As he continues, all that escapes his lips are gently spoken "m'sorry"s or "forgive me, bebé."s
You want to hate him. Never think of the word forgive in a sentence when it involves him. But you can't; all you can do is forgive him because it's the only thing you can do to improve your situation. A situation you'll never escape.
You have to forgive him, but never will you forget. Even if you wanted to, the marks on your back will always be a reminder.
#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel x you#miguel ohara#yandere miguel o’hara#yandere spiderverse#yandere spiderman#yandere miguel o'hara#miguel spiderman#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel spiderverse#miguel x y/n#miguel o'hara#miguel o’hara smut#yandere tw#yandere#dilfartist
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but daddy i love him — sam winchester
cw : gn!empath!reader, light angst, fluff, some canon typical violence, demons, mentions of weapons, emotional manipulation/some emotional abuse in reader's past/presence, dean's kinda mean for a bit, kissing, food/drink mentions, poor editing, 11.3K words. listen to but daddy i love him by taylor swift. requested !
summary : you were raised sheltered from the world, but once you meet sam, you come to understand what freedom means. ౨ৎ . . . [ empath : has the ability to read and manipulate anyone's emotions. not the psychology kind lol ]
MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!
you’re not a demon, though you’re certainly no angel. in all technically, you suppose that you’re closer to a demon since they used to be human. not that you’d want to be put in the same box as any single demon, but you know that they feel some emotions. angels, you’re told, do not. to you, that’s quite a strange concept. someday, you’d like to meet one to see if it’s true.
and though you are not a demon, you’ve learned very well how to be like one, or at the very least how to feel like one. this is only helpful because your uncle, the demon who raised you (who is not your real uncle, nor related to you at all) wants you to be just like him. that implies being entirely uncaring and mostly unfeeling, with the exceptions for feelings being guiltless, hatred, annoyance, generally anything negative and parallel with aggression, and pleasure in the face of enacting pain or evil things upon somebody else.
having been surrounded by exactly that for as long as you can remember, you have no trouble pretending to be that way. in actuality, you find it totally impossible to embody it in truth. you, opposite to demons, are especially in tune with all aspects of your humanity. this does include the bad, but you’ve spent your life clinging to and longing for the good. plus, you don’t particularly enjoy experiencing the constant negativity that rolls off of most demons and right onto you. although your powers are geared towards other humans and you can’t read or manipulate demons’ emotions as easily, you learned to use your powers on them before anything else.
today, you accompany a crossroads demon, as per usual. your uncle has you trying a new tactic to aid in soul-collection. unfortunately for you, it's been working well and you have to pretend more often than not that your powers are failing you when they’re working just fine. you feel like a door-to-door salesman for guaranteed painful death and torture until one’s humanity is ripped away, all under the guise of pretty or petty dreams come true.
your accompanying demon, russell, is one of your least favorites. you don’t really like any of them, but unfortunately, russell is one of your uncle’s most trusted. you think it’s stupid, because you’re able to tell that he’s a coward and most likely not as trust-worthy as your uncle thinks. personally, you just find him annoying.
russell approaches the next house, knocking on the door as you lag behind. the man at the last house sold his soul in exchange to look ten years younger. not everyone exchanges their lives for such stupid reasons, but when they do, it makes you feel extra disgusted by the work you have to participate in. but for the sake of fooling your uncle, you pretend to enjoy it. someday, you might get away… you just don’t know what you’d do or how you’d survive.
the owner of the house opens the door, and the second she sees you and russell, dressed in suits and smiling all fake, her annoyance and skepticism immediately become apparent to you. your first order of business is to push that away and replace it with openness, curiosity, and a little bit of desire to get her to listen to you. since you “failed” at the first three houses and were successful at the last one, russell expects you to make this one work as well. it takes a bit of concentration to keep everything subtle and slow so that she doesn’t notice anything too strange.
when she greets you, she smiles a little and you know that you were successful. you let russell do all the talking as you continually feed the woman more desire and assuredness. little by little, you tug at her hesitation, pulling it away as russell gives her his pitch.
“anything you could ever dream of for the small price of your soul!” he lies about how small of a price it is and you mask your abundant discomfort. the more and better you do for your uncle, the more he lets you off of your figurative leash. the woman, mrs. hadley, as she introduced herself, is on the verge of saying yes. you’re seated in the living room as she goes on about how her one wish is for her young son to be treated well at school. you debate sabotaging the deal to save her, when the door bangs open and two men burst into the house, both sporting various weapons.
mrs. hadley screams and your concentration snaps. immediately, her fear and confusion wash over you, along with everything else that the two men and russell are feeling. suddenly quite overwhelmed, you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment before remembering you’re under threat. russell curses loudly, and when you snap your eyes open, he’s halfway across the room as he sprints full speed for the back door.
“sam!” shouts one of the men, nodding towards you and the frightened mrs. hadley as he takes off after russell. the other man, now dubbed sam, points his knife at you and begins rehearsing a latin exorcism.
“i’m not a demon, i swear,” you say, slowly standing and putting your hands up in surrender. his eyebrows furrow in confusion. you also sense his urgency and protectiveness, but you don’t sense as much aggression in him as you’d expected. the rush of that which you’d felt before must have been from the other man.
“then what are you?” he asks, voice gruff as he slowly approaches, trying to carefully manuever in between you and mrs. hadely.
“i’m human,” you answer, honest but withholding the full truth. “i promise,” you plead, trying to gauge his reaction without actually manipulating his feelings. when sam reaches mrs. hadley, he holds his arm in front of her protectively. there’s still fear and utter confusion rolling off of her.
“wh–what the hell is going on?” she asks, voice panicked.
“it’s alright,” sam reassures, trying to be as gentle as possible. “you just can’t make that deal. it’ll get you killed.”
“what? killed, i– but it seemed– it seemed fine?” you can feel doubt creep into mrs. hadley as well as she questions why she trusted you and russell so much without any real reason.
“trust me, whatever they promised you, it’s not worth it,” sam emphasizes. mrs. hadely goes to speak again, but sam returns his attention back to you. “what are you doing with a demon?”
“i… they have me trapped,” you say in a half-lie.
he clenches his jaw, but most of his distrust subsides because he feels more concerned for mrs. hadley than you. he tucks his knife somewhere accessible, and turns to the woman to comfort her. he tries to explain without too much detail that she should never sell her soul to anyone, but that it’s best if she tries to forget this all. but it’s clear to both you and him that she’s just panicking more and more. you easily read the way that sam wants to help her and it makes you want to do the same.
you mean to just send mrs. hadley a touch of calm and comfort, just so sam can get through to her. but you yourself are panicked and overwhelmed, never having been in such an out-of-control situation, and your strong desire to help her comes out unfiltered and unhindered by your usual careful control when you deal with humans. suddenly, mrs. hadley is grinning from joy, even laughing a little. for a moment, this seems fine to you. you fixed her fear, didn’t you?
but sam turns even more confused and worried. this, in turn, confuses you and breaks your concentration, and she falls back into an even stronger fear as she realizes starkly that she’s been experiencing emotions that aren’t her own.
she bursts into tears. “what– what was that?” she cries. you feel quite overwhelmed by her strong emotions.
you frown deeply. “i– i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to– i mean, i was just trying to help. i didn’t want want you to feel so afraid. i can help, though, i promise. i just– i was distracted and humans can be so sensitive.” you begin to approach with your hands still in the air, but you halt when her fear spikes even more and sam’s hesitance returns in full. they don’t want you near. you consider manipulating both of their emotions, just to get them to allow you closer, but you think better of it at the last second. they might grow even more wary if they notice the change in their own feelings.
“did you do that?” sam asks.
you deflate in guilt. “i’m sorry,” you say again, filling your voice with sincerity, “i didn’t mean to scare you,” you look at mrs. hadley, then proceed carefully, “but i can help, just a little, i won’t do anything crazy– i– i can’t do anything crazy, i promise. and i can make sure that no one ever bothers you again. you don’t have to let me close if you don’t want me to, but i really can help. just to… to calm things down a little and– and leave a little room for you to process. or, of course, i can just go and you’ll never see me or that guy again.” you look between sam and mrs. hadley, trying to calm yourself so you can get a proper read on both of their emotions without overloading yourself with all the information. mrs. hadley is just about as confused and scared as before, but you think that sam’s reassuring presence is helping her. you’re not so sure that your words have done anything to help. sam himself is still hesitant, but as some of his wariness slips away, you think he might be willing to hear you out or at least let you go unscathed.
“oh, you’re not going anywhere,” comes a gruff voice from behind you, along with the kiss of cold metal on the back of your neck. it’s a gun, you presume. you slowly lift your hands back up, having forgotten about the other man’s presence when he disappeared to take care of russell. you turn your attention to his feelings instead of the other two in case you need to use your powers to try and save yourself. he’s got aggression, calm anger, and a whole lot of protectiveness practically spilling out of him. he thinks you’re dangerous. he’s not necessarily wrong, but you really aren’t a danger to them, not unless you have to be.
“i’m telling the truth, i swear. please, just– just let me go.” you keep your voice steady, but pleading, trying not to let on just how scared you are but also appeal to their sympathy. you’re in danger, something that you’re completely unused to despite the way you grew up all around it.
“and let you get back to those demon bitches? not a chance. what even are you?” the man’s voice is unforgiving as he digs the gunpoint further into your skin, pressing for answers. you wince.
“dean, wait,” sam interrupts, “i don’t think they’re trying to hurt anyone,” he says, trying to reason before dean gets any more violent.
“sam, they’re clearly working with demons. i think that qualifies as trying to hurt people. we don’t even know if they’re human,” dean counters.
you’re about to speak again in your own defense when a familiar voice fills your ears.
“it’s always you boys, isn’t it? i should have known that the winchesters would crash my little soul-collecting party,” your uncle drawls.
“crowley,” sam growls, and you’re suddenly flooded with his anger.
your uncle completely ignores sam in favor of dean. “i kindly ask that you let my sweet pet go, squirrel.”
dean turns around, pulling you with him. “so they’re with you?” dean asks, voice accusatory.
“they are. and if you don’t hand them over, i will knock you out cold without a second thought. your choice, of course, darling,” crowley quips. you’re highly confused. the three clearly know each other, but your uncle has never mentioned anyone like the “winchesters” before. dean grows even more suspicious of you, sam confused and worried, and you know very well that crowley is only barely covering up his total anger. he’s anything but pleased to have found you in this situation.
“tell me why, and i’ll hand them over,” dean bargians, not realizing just how much he’s pissing crowley off. your uncle doesn’t even wait to answer before sending dean flying across the room and grabbing your wrist.
“let’s go,” he grumbles, tugging you along with him. you glance back at sam, who moves forward, trying to stop crowley until he too gets flung into the wall.
“uncle!” you shout in protest. “wait, i need to–”
“absolutely not,” he shouts back, “what the hell were you thinking? how’d you mess up a simple deal so horribly?”
“i’m sorry,” you apologize, suddenly remembering yourself. he’ll only grow more angry if you continue to protest.
“damn those winchesters,” he grumbles to himself. as he drags you home, he continually complains about them, cursing that you got mixed up with them and pounding into your head that you should never, ever get involved with the winchesters.
⟢⟢⟢
honeybee cafe is just about the only solace that you have. it’s away from your uncle and the other demons, the place you always come when you’re allowed out without supervision. on top of that, it’s small and quiet, and you never visit during crowded hours. technically, you’re required by crowley to stay somewhere with other people so you can practice your powers on them. you picked this cafe for it’s cozy, quiet atmosphere, and the general lack of patrons from one to three pm. that way, you’re never overwhelmed by too many emotions. it’s usually just you, another regular or two, and the few workers. maybe it’s a little odd, but you feel secretly close with the people whose emotions you tune into over and over again. and you certainly don’t manipulate their emotions as crowley likely wishes you would.
you always sit in the corner furthest from the door, facing the rest of the small shop so that you can keep an eye on anyone who comes in or chooses to stay inside. sitting with your favorite beverage and a book you picked up from the library beforehand, you relish the comfort and warmth of the sunlight coming in from the window behind you. your room at home has no windows, and that just about kills you. you love windows.
only the soft tinkle of the bell on the cafe door interrupts the focus you lend to the book in front of you, and you look up on instinct. your breath catches in your throat as you immediately recognize the man who walks in. he doesn’t notice you, but you watch him as he orders a coffee. as he waits off to the side, you turn slightly, and you’re too late to cast your eyes down before he catches your gaze. his face lights up in recognition and surprise. he takes a step towards you before he’s interrupted by the barista’s call of his name. quickly, he takes the cup from their hand and thanks them before turning back to you. you weren’t planning on speaking to him, not after your strange first encounter and crowley’s warnings against him, but you feel an odd sort of relief when it becomes clear that he wants to approach you, to talk to you. he had left an impression on you when you’d met. he’d just seemed so… good.
his eyes flicker around the cafe as he comes closer, likely looking for signs of demons.
“i’m alone,” you assure him, smiling carefully as he gets close enough. he nods, slowly sitting across from you when you nod at the seat. “though i have to be back by evening or someone will come looking for me,” you explain, mouth forming a small frown as you think about it. he’s confused and concerned as he looks at you, and it feels sort of nice to guess that he’s maybe worried about you.
he seems unsure of what to say, so he just jumps right into it. “i never caught your name. i’m sam winchester, though i’m sure you got that before. can i ask… are you an empath? i did some research since we last met.” he gives you a tense sort of smile, not because he’s nervous, but just because this second meeting feels very awkward.
you nod and give him your name before anything else. “and yes, i am an empath,” you confirm, unsure if you should explain further or not. he seems to understand well enough.
he’s a bit more hesitant the next time he speaks. “and can you explain your… situation? you said you were trapped, and crowley seemed very possessive of you… but i thought i heard you call him uncle? whatever it is, i can help you get away from him, my brother and i have dealt with crowley too many times to count.”
his immediate offer to help and instinct to suggest you just leave crowley are both sort of overwhelming to you, but a part of you likes his words.
“oh. i– well, it’s complicated. crowley, he’s– he’s sort of my only family.” sam’s eyebrows raise a little in questioning. “we’re not actually related, or anything, but he raised me. he’s– well, he’s taught me everything i know and… i can’t– i can’t really leave. besides, he’s really not all that bad,” you try to excuse, suddenly feeling oddly defensive in a way that you can’t really explain. “and i get days to myself like this, i– i have my freedom, i just… before, i didn’t want you to think i was trying to hurt people, or that i like to, but uncl– crowley doesn’t really know… that i don’t like the things that he… that he asks me to do for him.”
suddenly, this wave of sad understanding rolls over you from sam, and you’re not sure why. his face doesn’t change much as he listens, but to you it seems like he thinks you’ve said something so sad.
“but it’s alright,” you quickly try to amend, “he thinks i’m weaker than i really am. that way he doesn’t suspect when most demon deals i’m a part of fail. i have to… i have to get some to work so that he thinks i’m trying, but i promise i try to hurt the least amount of people possible. and.. and he still lets me have my days out when the deals fall through. i botched two yesterday, but i’m still here, aren’t i?” you attempt at sounding lighthearted, but sam’s sadness doesn’t go away much. instead, you just feel compassion blooming from him as well.
“i understand,” he says kindly, “i didn’t think you were trying to hurt people. i believe you.” he’s completely sincere and you realize that that’s not something you’re too used to from almost anybody you talk to.
“thank you,” you sigh in relief, smiling and trying to show him that you’re sincere too. “your brother? dean?” sam nods. “he didn’t believe me,” you state.
sam cringes a little. “he can be like that. he–” he purses his lips, looking for the right words, “he doesn’t trust very easily. he’s very suspicious of people he doesn’t know.”
“i don’t think he really thought i was a person,” you say, starkly honest in a way that surprises sam for a moment. you don’t quite understand what his surprise was for, but he quickly shoves it away before you can ask about it.
“he’s– he’s working on that. i’m sorry he made you feel that way,” sam says, truly feeling apologetic.
“well, i didn’t feel that way. just him. i know that i’m a person,” you smile, trying to reassure him and wishing he didn’t feel sorry.
sam smiles back a little. “right,” he nods, “well, i’m still sorry he thought that way about you. he’ll come around.”
“thank you, sam. but you don’t have to feel sorry, it’s not your fault he felt that way,” you assure, completely sincere and trying to work out why sam would feel sorry about something he didn’t cause, nor that he agrees with. he’s already proved himself to be kind and believing enough.
“sure,” he agrees, trying to figure out the right way to explain what he means as he begins to understand how truly sheltered from normal human interaction you’ve been. “but i know how it feels to have someone doubt how human you are and that it’s not a good feeling. so i’m just sorry and empathetic that you had to experience that.”
you nod in understanding. “ah, well, that’s kind of you… you’re right. it wasn’t the most pleasant thing to feel, but i understand that dean was feeling sort of afraid and definitely mistrustful. you didn’t really find me in the most trustworthy position. but if i meet him again, i hope you’re right that he’ll come around. i really am just a person, but i get that i’m, you know, not one hundred percent normal. really, empathy’s a very human thing, mine’s just… exaggerated, i guess.” you look at him, head cocked to the side in confusion. “but you, sam? why would someone doubt how human you are? you feel things just like a human.”
sam gives you a half smile. there’s a tinge of bitterness when he answers, but the way he talks and feels makes it seem as though time as softened most anger or sadness. yet, it also feels as though he’s never really talked about this much.
“i used to have psychic powers. i’d have visions, these premonitions before people died.” he explains it as something so casual, and he’s trying to feel that way about it, but he really seems to care. “in a way, i was barely different from you. of course, i’m still not. we’re both people.”
“really?” you ask, curious, “i didn’t know other people had that sort of thing. and your powers? they’re gone now?”
“it seems like it. i haven’t had a vision in a long time,” he answers.
“you seem relieved by that,” you note. sam picks up on the tinge of sad disappointment in your voice.
“i am,” he answers honestly, “but not because it’s bad to have those sort of powers. i just didn’t really enjoy getting visions of people dying violently.” he gives you a tight-lipped smile to show you he’s okay being lighthearted about it all.
you relax. “right, of course. that must have been hard,” you give him a small, kind smile, “i can feel that it was hard. i’m glad you don’t have to go through that anymore.” you’re all sincerity, and sam smiles right back.
“can i ask what it’s like for you? to have these powers?” he asks, careful and kind. he wonders if you get headaches or terribly tired of feeling other people’s emotions all the time, but he doesn’t want to make you talk about it if you’d rather not.
you’re slightly taken aback by the question, and not because you don’t want to talk about it. you just never really have at all before. you realize the simultaneous oddness and loveliness of this conversation. not once have you spoken about your powers with another human before, much less one who has some understanding about them.
“well… i guess i’ve never really thought about it much. just because i’ve never known anything else. i honestly don’t remember much from when i was young, but crowley’s been teaching me how to use them for as long as i remember. it’s both better and worse with practice, i guess. and the way i learned was kind of odd.” you pause, unsure if sam wants to really hear about it all. but he gives you an encouraging nod and you feel genuine interest coming from him, so you continue.
“i started learning with demons, but they feel a whole lot less than humans do. and i can’t feel or manipulate their emotions as easily or strongly since my powers are geared towards humans. but since that’s how i learned, it’s decently easy now, though it technically takes more effort than it does for humans. now i’m practicing on people, and it’s sort of too easy. it takes much more control because i’m used to exerting more power on demons. and humans feel things much more strongly, and are much more sensitive to change. i’ve gotten much better, but if i’m distracted or overwhelmed, my control slips. that’s what happened with mrs. hadley.” suddenly, you remember her. “is she okay?” i made things worse for her, didn’t i? you think.
“she’ll be alright,” sam says. “she was shaken up, but she was doing much better when i left. don’t worry too much about her.”
you almost want to ask again, if she’ll really be okay, but it seems that sam will most likely give you the same answer he just did. “okay,” you relent. then you realize you did more explaining about how your powers work than what it’s like for you. “to really answer your question; it’s my norm, and i’m not sure what it would be like without them. but sometimes i think it might be nice if i didn’t have them. i would’t have to help the demons, and it can be… overwhelming. i’m used to the demons; their emotions are easier to tune out. but with people? well, they just feel a lot. of course, i’m used to my own feelings, but to feel that, plus everything else around me, especially when someone could be feeling so much all at once is just… it can be a lot. i’m learning how to tune it out, but honestly, i’m still figuring it all out.”
sam thinks you look a little embarrassed when you finish, and he certainly doesn’t want you to feel that way. “that makes sense,” he reassures, “i barely had any control over my own powers. i can’t imagine how difficult it is to be in control of something so complicated and fickle as emotions. most people can barely deal with their own emotions. being able to feel everyone else’s too can’t be easy at all.
you nod in simple agreement. “it isn’t. but i’m also glad for it. sometimes, unc– crowley has me use it for his, you know, demon things, and i don’t like that. but i think my powers are part of the reason why i’m able to hate it. i’m so connected to humanity, the good and bad in everything that people feel, that no matter how i grew up, i’ll always have empathy in its rawest form. and though i don’t get too many chances, and i mess it up sometimes, i can help others when i’m away from the demons. last week, there was this girl in here,” you smile lightly at the memory as you begin to recount it to sam, “she was smiling and nice to everyone, but i could feel how just sad she was. i paid for her drink and told her she looked pretty, and the way that it made her feel… i didn’t even have to use my powers. she was just so grateful and happy that she teared up. and i barely did anything at all. that’s what keeps me going,” you say, completely honest, “knowing that i can help and that it’s my choice when i do it.” you feel like some huge weight has been lifted from your chest. you’ve never said this all aloud, and certainly not for someone else to hear. but something about sam and his sincerity and goodness makes you feel comfortable enough to say almost anything at all.
sam looks at you with a sort of admiration and total understanding, and that alone is almost enough to overwhelm you. it seems like, in all your experience in feeling, sam is showing you more, all by himself and without even trying. to be understood, so fully in so little time, is not something you’d ever felt for yourself before.
“i know what you mean,” he says, and you absolutely believe him. you want to know him, more than you’ve ever wanted to know anybody. you want to know all about what he feels and why and what he likes and how he knows what you mean without being able to read your feelings like you can his. and you know that he feels just about the same way you do. he wants to know you just as much as you want to know him.
and so you talk and talk and talk until you realize that the sun is dipping low in the sky because you begin telling him how much you love windows. then it’s a sort of frenzy; you’re worried you’ll be caught and try to leave right away, but sam catches your wrist, his calloused hand so gentle on your skin. he asks for your number, but you don’t have a phone, so you tell him to come back at the same time next week if he can. then you rush out and he watches you go.
the next week, sam appears in the cafe doorway at 1:24 pm, and he looks all soft when you smile at him wide. before you have to go again that day, he hands you a cheap phone with both his and dean’s contact already in place. he tells you it’ll make things easier because he might not be able to make it again next week. he doesn’t know when he’ll be on a hunt or not. then he tells you not to call dean unless it's a true emergency; dean still isn’t sure about you.
when you go, you forget to ask him how to use it. so, when he texts you on thursday to tell that he’s on a hunt, and might not make it to your meeting spot on sunday, you’re very unsure what you’re supposed to say. figuring out how to use the phone itself isn’t difficult, but you’re unaware that your simple response of “that’s okay.” is a bit bare-boned and dry in response to his kindly worded message. over time, you get used to how sam talks over text and learn how to emulate it.
and when sam calls you for the first time, you’re completely taken aback. you’d seen people talking over phone calls many times, but you’d never actually done it yourself. you accidentally hang up on him four rings in, but he calls you back a moment later. your surprise is delighted when you hear his voice through the speaker. then you discover it’s just like a demon call without all the blood involved. you also discover that, while you can pick up on emotions from his voice, you can’t really use your powers at all through the phone.
he regretfully interrupts your long spiel about the different pastries you’ve tried from honeybee cafe, telling you he has to go. you ask why, confused that you can’t just keep talking since you’re now able to through the phone. you love talking to him, and you think he enjoys it too. then he tells you that he was just calling to see if you could meet a different day this week, like he asked at the beginning of the call, and that dean expects him to be doing research for a case right now. you ask why he didn’t just text like normal, why he’d call if he didn’t want to keep talking.
“i do want to keep talking,” he reassures, “it’s just that i don’t have the time right now, but i thought calling might be a little easier than texting this time around. but i can call you again later tonight?”
“okay,” you respond, happy enough with that solution. after that, you call him any time you have something to say. he laughs to himself, completely endeared when you call him to tell him that you saw a very cute cat, then hang up seconds later before he can even respond.
eventually, you come to learn that he can’t actually pick up most of the time, but he tries to as much as possible, and that calling is nicer when you both have the time to actually sit down and talk. as you get to know sam, you learn many, many things along with all the questions he answers about himself.
most amazingly, you learn what it feels like to fall in love with someone fast, and what its like for them to fall right in love with you too. whatever connection that you and sam felt the first few times meeting each other very easily and naturally turns into love. there’s this tug between the two of you, pulling you closer to each other every time you meet. his hand brushes over yours and you smile at him brightly, and you constantly think about each other when you’re apart.
sam tries to take things slow, feeling a little bit like he’s taking advantage of you and your sheltered past. but you know what you want, what you feel, and what he feels too. he wants you just as much as you want him, and you see no reason not to give each other just that.
and it’s so glorious, because you don’t have to read his emotions to know that he loves you back. he makes it so abundantly clear with the way that he acts around you, the way that he looks at you, and the way that he kisses you. you’ve learned that you’d do just about anything for him. you’ve learned how to feel this wild joy that you didn’t know how to feel before.
and it’s true that you’ve learned other, less pleasant things. you hate aiding demon deals even more than you thought. you’ve begun to think that, maybe, almost everything crowley’s raised you to view as the facts of the world, aren’t nearly as true as you thought. you’ve learned that maybe you don’t really owe him so much for raising you or teaching you to use your powers, and you’ve thought the scary thought that he might’ve done it all just to use you. you’ve learned that you should be able to do anything you’d like without having to fear the king of hell’s wrath. that you want to, probably should, get away from crowley, and that feeling like you don’t have a choice isn’t healthy or good for you at all. you’ve learned that you’re still too scared, but you’d rather be with sam, and that every day you spend with him, you become braver.
you’ve also found out that loving in secret can be hard, and that you want to see sam all the time, not just the times when both of you can sneak away. apparently, dean’s still having trouble “coming around” to the idea of you. he doesn’t know that sam’s yours and you’re his. he’s worried that you’re manipulating sam in caring about you, but sam’s reassured you that his love for you is the realest thing that he feels. you couldn’t be more grateful for the fact that he trusts you so much.
he trusts you so much that every weekend possible, he meets you in the cafe or the nearest motel and you spend hours just talking or laying in comfortable silence together.
he always books the room with the best view from the window and opens the curtains before you get there so that the sunlight bathes the room in warmth and light. today, the late afternoon light is especially pretty, tinted orange and casting a bright hue over yours and sam’s skin as you lounge in the bed together.
his arm is wrapped around your shoulders, both of you propped against the wall with several pillows. you hold his other hand, playing with his fingers and relishing in the feeling of his pretty nose against your cheekbone. because he can’t resist you, he likes to keep his face as close to yours as possible so that it’s very easy to kiss you. his lips will brush against your cheek constantly, and other times he lifts his hand from your upper arm to gently nudge your face closer to his so that he can seal his lips over yours.
you’ve already talked about lots of things today; the best toppings on salad, sam’s most recent case, the symbolism of rhododendron flowers in the book you finished three days ago, and surely more. but the last hour has been quiet, filled with more rustling of blankets, soft sighs, and occasional whispers more than anything else. you’re content, and sam is too, for the most part. often, you try not to be reading sam’s emotions, but spending so much time with him and being so close to him has put you almost irrevocably in tune with his feelings, and you can feel that something’s nagging at him. it’s both good and making him nervous at the same time, but you don’t say a word. you wait for him, until he’s ready to say whatever it is.
it’s when he presses another kiss to your temple that he speaks, voice a more steady volume rather than a whisper this time. “honey?” he says like a question, signaling to you that he’s got something to say, maybe something important that he wants to ask.
“yes, love?” you respond, trying to sound receptive to whatever it is he wants to talk about.
“i, uh, i asked dean if he’d try and meet you, and i managed to convince him. he– he doesn’t know that we’re together, love, but i told him i ran into you again. i think… i think he probably suspects that there’s more to it than that, but he hasn’t said anything about it and i’m taking that as a good sign. would you be okay trying to meet up with him?” he asks, careful and tentative. you can tell that he’s scared to interrupt the balance of things, but that he really wants this. you know how much he hates hiding this all from dean.
“of course,” you assure him quickly. you want the same as him. you don’t want to have to stay furtive and distant from sam so much. but you also have a question. “are we… going to pretend? you know, not to be together?”
sam’s face falls a little at that thought, and at the hint of sadness in your voice when you ask. “i don’t want to,” he starts.
“but you’re nervous,” you gently interrupt.
“a little,” he admits, giving you a small smile, “but i was going to say that it’s up to you. dean could… i don’t know, freak out and i don’t want you to have to worry about that if you don’t want to.” you nod at his words, feeling a bit embarrassed at your interruption. while you try not to let your ability to discern his feelings dictate exactly how you interact with him, you’re still learning that sometimes what someone feels doesn’t always let you predict what they want to say. and of course, he’s sincere about his concern for you, as always.
“well,” you consider his words seriously, “maybe we don’t have to tell him out right, but if he asks? we don’t have to lie?”
“of course, honey,” he nods, “i’d never lie about being with you if he asked directly,” he promises, sealing it with a chaste kiss to your lips. if there’s one thing you know, it’s that sam is proud of loving you, and one of his least favorite things it’s having to hide it. he wants dean to know, he just doesn’t want him to say something scathing to you or try to keep him away from you.
“okay,” you smile. you understand his hatred for hiding it and his nervousness well. you’d be more nervous than he is now about crowley discovering what you’re doing and who you’re meeting with when you’re out on your own. “but you don’t have to worry, sammy. we’ll try to keep him from asking unless he’s reacting well. if he’s still too suspicious, i’ll know and make sure we won’t act in a way that will make him ask. we have time,” you assure.
now sam feels conflicted, because he’s both relieved by your reassurance and sorry you’d have to hide that he’s yours and you’re his. then he’s suddenly hit by this desire to hide anything at all. he doesn’t want to hide from dean or let the way that dean feels get in the way of him seeing and loving you whenever he wants. he wants to show dean just how good you are and how good you are for him.
“thank you,” he says sweetly, “but i don’t want to keep hiding it from him, not for any longer. you’re too important to me for that.”
you want to melt right into him. “you’re important to me too, sam. really, really important. we’ll do this on your time, yeah? whatever you want.”
“yeah,” he smiles, “and we’ll do other things on your time, and others on ours,” he says assuredly.
you give him a nod as he reminds you that he’s by your side as you build up the courage to get away from crowley. sam has always been cautious about the topic, never saying too much until it was you who brought it up. the first time you told him you’d been thinking about escaping crowley, about realizing you don’t owe him your service or that he doesn’t treat you well, you had felt this surge of pride rush off of sam and onto you. outwardly, he was gentle and quietly encouraging, and he’s been just that since. he reminds you that you should do things at your own pace, but he’s there to do everything he can to help you. the more time you spend with him, the readier you are to stay with him, and just him. unlearning the things that you’ve had beaten into your head for as long as you can remember is nowhere near easy, but it’s undeniably better with sam by your side.
and less than a week later, you’re nervous and wishing for that exact comfort as you wait for him and dean to meet you in the cafe. you sip on your usual order, glad for its familiarity. after ten long minutes, your head shoots up at the sound of the door’s little bell ringing, signaling the arrival of sam and dean. dean walks in first, eyes scanning the small coffee shop until he sees you. you try not to look too nervous as you stand and send him an amicable smile.
you glance at san as he comes up from behind dean, giving you a reassuring smile. the sight of him relaxes you a bit, though you’re so in tune with his emotions by now that his own nervousness immediately washes over you. as dean approaches you try to get a read on his emotions as well. he’s less hostile than you expected, moreso careful, defensive, and begrudging. there’s also a hint of willingness along with it all, and you cling to that. there’s even some trust thrown into the mix, though you assume that it’s reserved only for sam.
“hi,” sam says kindly as he and dean take the seats across from you. you sit along with them.
“hi, sam,” you answer, reciprocating his friendly smile. “hi, dean,” you then say, turning your head to look him in the eye.
“hi,” he echoes, voice gruff. he settles his elbows onto the table top, trying to look casual and at ease, like he’s the one in control of the situation. “let’s, uh, skip the pleasantries. sammy here tells me that we should be protecting you from crowley. i don’t trust you and i’m not convinced you even need protection at all, given that you were helping him with his little demon deals. i’m also not convinced that you’re not using your freaky powers to make him trust you.”
“dean,” sam hisses. you feel a spike of anger from him when dean uses the word ‘freaky.’
“it’s okay,” you say, smiling a little at sam. you honestly appreciate dean’s frankness. “i understand that. i know we didn’t meet in ideal circumstances. i might not trust me either if i were you. and i’m honestly not sure exactly how i can convince you to, but i’d be grateful if you’d let me give it a shot.” dean looks completely skeptical. “without my powers, of course,” you rush to assure him.
“and i’ll know that how? you can literally change the way that i feel. it’s not really a good look for you,” he points out, earning a glare from sam that he completely ignores.
“you’re not entirely wrong,” you acknowledge, “but that’s a lot easier said than done. first of all, the effects of my powers are only temporary. i can only use my powers on you when i’m around you and focused enough. aside from that, you’d most likely be able to tell if i did use them.” dean raises his eyebrows in suspicion, so you go one to explain further. “you’re aware of what i can do, and you’re rightfully wary about it. that means you’ll most likely pick up on even minute changes in your emotions that i make. when you’re aware like that, you can overpower me. my abilities are strong, but frankly, authentic human emotions are stronger. long story short, i can’t do much at all to you. and while sam’s less wary than you to begin with, he’s still aware enough that the same applies to him. either of you would know and be able to overpower my hold on your emotions if i tried anything. the most i can do is get a read on what you’re actually feeling.”
dean still looks skeptical, but you sense a bit of his unease being to slowly slip away. “how do i know you’re telling the truth?” he demands.
without a word, you send just a small wave of trust and comfort through him. for a moment, he relaxes, but just as quickly, his scowl deepens and his own distrust replaces your influence. your affect on his emotions is easily pushed away.
“that’s what it would feel like if i were trying to get you to trust me with my powers. that was about as subtle as i can be with emotional manipulation, and you still noticed. all i can do is tell you that you’re still skeptical, but a little less than when you walked in here. and i can hope that means that you’d be willing to hear me out. i really, honestly could use the help.” you add as much sincerity to your voice as you can, relying on almost all logic to convince him.
dean scowls even more when you mention his feelings and read them accurately, but he does seem to realize that you read a whole lot more than what you actually said aloud. he also can’t say that he thinks you’re lying. it was easy for him to pick up on your influence. almost immediately. “fine,” he grumbles. “no promises, though.”
you nod, relaxing a bit despite his words being less than kind. “that’s fine,” you accept. “thank you.” you glance at sam, suddenly feeling unsure. he gives you a sweet nod and smile and you take a deep breath before forging on. “i don’t know how much sam told you about my… situation. but… for a long time i just didn’t really know i had any other option than to stay with and help crowley. and you don’t have to believe me, but, for the record, i really don’t enjoy helping him. but i think that he’d freak out if i left. and maybe send an army of demons after me, which i do realize would be highly inconvenient for you…,” you trail off, feeling more and more nervous. you take a deep breath to recollect yourself and give your full explanation as to why dean should be compelled to help you.
“but crowley’s also bound to find out that i’m holding my powers back and purposely sabotaging his demon deals. and let’s just say that nobody wants that. he wants my powers and i don’t know what lengths he’ll go to to get them. so… if you help me, you’ll be keeping my powers out of the hands of the king of hell, which means slowing down his demon deals and making sure i’m not doing whatever evil demon-y things you think that i might.”
you can see dean contemplating, sense his feelings shifting. he intertwines his fingers and looks at sam with a raised eyebrow. sam nods, his expression completely serious. dean turns back to you.
“alright,” he says, “this is nowhere near the worst deal we’ve ever made. we’ll take you with us, keep crowley and his demons at a distance, and you can get out of our hair and onto your own life once things settle down. sound good?” he asks the question like he’s already made the final decision.
“thank you,” you sigh, shoulders sagging in relief. it’s not perfect since he still doesn’t know that you’re totally in love with sam and he’s totally in love with you, but it’s a better start than just about anything else. then it suddenly hits you that you’ll really be walking away from crowley, and that scares you. sam manages to catch your gaze. he looks at you with a hint of concern, but also relief as well. you can see him asking with his eyes, should we tell him? it’s you that gives him an encouraging nod this time. if you want, you’re saying.
he gives you a smile, and you know it means that he’s going to tell dean, right here, right now. you’re about to smile right back, but your gaze catches on movement behind him. your face drops, and you feel the blood drain from it. you don’t catch sam’s worried look that he gives you before he twists in his seat to see what you’re looking at. everyone reacts just a little too late, and crowley slides into the seat beside you.
“well, hello boys! darling,” he looks at you pointedly before turning back to the brothers. “not quite the trio i expected to find today! or ever, considering the fact that i expressly ordered you to stay away from the winchesters, isn’t that right, darling?” he doesn’t even look at you, but you cringe away from him slightly. a wave of protectiveness rolls off of sam as he clenches his jaw, resisting the urge to pull you right away from crowley.
you avoid crowley’s question entirely. “what are you doing here, crowley?”
“crowley? what happened to uncle? you’re breaking my heart, darling,” he drawls, faking a dramatic offense. “just because it’s one of your free days doesn’t mean i can’t visit you, does it? especially not when i get a report that the winchesters are headed inside your favorite cafe. as your caretaker, i was very alarmed. these two are quite dangerous, you should know.”
sam looks at you carefully, wanting to speak up for you, but not wanting to say what’s yours to say or decide what’s yours to decide.
“i’m leaving with them,” you say to crowley, blunt and too scared to force out any words that aren’t simple. “i don’t want to keep helping you collect souls.” pride and relief wash over sam. it feels good to sense.
but crowley’s anger is the opposite. he’s red-hot mad. “after everything i’ve done for you, you’re going to try and leave with the bloody winchesters?”
“i never asked you to do anything for me. it’s not like any of it was ‘for me’ anyway. it was all for your own gain. sam’s done more for me than you ever did.” you let that last sentence slip out without trying, but you find yourself too angry to be in complete control of the things you say. angry, and afraid.
both dean’s and crowley’s eyebrows shoot up. “sounds like you’ve been spending time with dear sam now, have you?”
you swallow, biting the inside of your cheek before speaking. “i– i have. and i’ve learned much more important things from him than i have ever did from you. so you can just give this up and make things easy. i’m not going back with you.”
“i raised you,” crowley growls. “do you know how much i hate children? but i still raised you, taught you to use your powers and made you stronger than you ever would’ve been without me. what the hell could this giant twat have done for you that’s better and more important than that? and don’t dare say something horrible like love. have you never considered the power that you’d have by my side? clearly you learned nothing of loyalty! you’re completely thankless and a complete dimwit if you thought i was going to just let you go. i’m taking you back, whether you like it or not, and you’ll stay in your room until i’m positive you won’t set foot near dearest dean or your stupid, freakishly tall boyfriend. is that understood?”
“no,” you choke out, reaching for sam’s hand across the table. crowley looks like he’s about to explode. dean quickly puts his hand out to interrupt.
“we’re getting stares,” he says, “we can take this outside.”
“no,” sam counters, standing and pulling you up with him, guiding you to stand by his side. “we’re gonna go. and you’re not following, crowley, unless you want my demon blade shoved up your ass.”
“do i look like i care about stares?” crowley seethes, standing and grabbing your other wrist. you yank at his hold to no avail, and sam moves to break his hold as on you he continues to speak. “i will toss both of you winchesters and everyone else in this godforsaken place across the room until you’re all knocked out cold, if that’s what it takes.”
“let me go,” you insist, voice almost a snarl, right as sam tells him to get his hands off of you.
crowley ignores you, even as you struggle against his iron grip. “you first, moose,” he says through gritted teeth.
the second that dean steps closer to the three of you to intervene, crowley flicks his free hand and sends dean crashing into the farthest wall. a few disjointed screams ring through the cafe and spikes of fear wash over you from all the innocent civilians. sam’s anger grows by tenfold and all of it has you squeezing your eyes shut for a moment. you know that crowley wasn’t bluffing when he threatened everyone in the cafe, so you untangle your hand from sam’s and stretch your arm out in front of him before he can lunge at crowley.
“it’s okay, sam,” you say, voice surprisingly calm. you stop struggling and sam looks at you with such desperation and pleading that you almost want to let him fight. but you don’t want him or anyone else hurt. “i’ll be okay. and i’ll be back.”
“no, don’t do this,” sam starts. crowley doesn’t wait for you to answer as he begins dragging you away. you stumble more than once, looking over your shoulder to see sam start after you. “you don’t have to do this.”
“don’t, sam,” you beg. “it’s okay, i promise.” your voice raises to a shout to make sure he can hear you as crowley pulls you through the door and away from sam.
⟢⟢⟢
you know without a doubt that sam’s looking for you. that he’s pouring every minute into finding you, that he’s probably skipping meals and losing sleep because of it. but you also know that you won’t be easy to find. either way, you’re getting out. out of this godforsaken room with no windows and drab walls and out of this life, away from this fear. and you’re going to do it yourself.
it’s not easy, per se, but it’s not difficult either. just tedious and time consuming. it’s fortunate for you that crowley’s narcissism can blind him to certain things, like the fact that you’re much more adept at using your powers than he thinks you are, or that the demon guarding your door, hazel, hates him for giving her such a boring job. he doesn’t even think that you’re capable of manipulating his emotions, given his extra power as king of hell, and that’s exactly why it works when you do.
your escape plan is simple, though not foolproof. but it seems to be working so far. each time that crowley checks on you, you boost all of the hatred and annoyance in both your guard and him. this makes crowley snap at your guard constantly, berating her and blaming her for things she didn’t do. in turn, this makes her hate crowley even more, to the point that her rage no longer needs to be manufactured. hazel hates him more than enough on her own.
even more subtly, you’ve done your best to appeal to her, mostly by complaining about crowley through your shut door and lessening her annoyance as you speak. at first, she’d tell you to shut up, but now, she listens if you don’t talk for too long, sometimes even complaining back.
but today, when she began complaining about crowley to you, unprompted, you decided you’d throw all of your effort into escaping. she’s particularly spiteful, all on her own, and all day, you boost that feeling, complaining along with her and building up the sense of comradery she’s starting to feel with you.
crowley stops by, and you can feel her anger acutely. you do as you’ve done every day, making him annoyed so he says something scathing. with the strength of her hatred, you’re impressed that she doesn’t say something back, something that would likely get her killed by his hands.
instead, she waits until he’s gone, and begins to mutter to herself how she’d love to cut that haughty smirk from his face. you lean against the door, making noise so she knows you’re there.
after a few moments, you speak. “you could just leave,” you suggest casually. she scoffs, trying to sound annoyed at you. truly, you can tell just how much she’d like to do exactly that.
“and risk getting hunted down by his minions? not a chance,” she growls.
“i hate him just as much as you do,” you remind her strategically. “if he’s not in charge, you wouldn’t have to worry about his minions, right? whether it’s now or later, i’m getting out and i’m making him pay. he doesn’t know that i have the power to turn every single one of his demons against him. he thinks i’m weak, but i can topple his kingdom, and i will.” you infuse your words with venom and conviction, just how any demon would like. then you fill her with conviction too, making her believe your words easily. “all i need is to get out of this goddamn room.” to you, her silence is loud, but her feelings are louder. hazel grapples with her hatred and her fear and her utter spite.
“i know you have the key,” you remind her. crowley would never bother to be the one to unlock it each time you need food. “we can both disappear, right now. crowley will get what he has coming for him, i’ll make sure of that.” you send her a wave of boldness and reassurance, confidence that this would be a good decision. it’s easy to feel when you tip her over the edge. a split second later, you hear the door unlock and come face to face with her determined expression.
“this isn’t a favor to you. it’s for me,” she says, voice low and harsh. “i’ll be waiting to see what you do to him.”
easily, you act just how you know she’d want, eyes and voice ruthless like how you learned to be growing up trying to convince crowley you were like him. “trust me. i’ll rip his kingdom apart brick by brick,” you snarl. she nods, and you brush past her, feet light and quiet as you make it out of the building without incident.
once outside, you break into a run, unable to stay calm enough to walk. clutching the small bag of belongings you took, you make for the road. it’s a bit of a ways away, but you reach the highway, panting and desperately looking out for a car that’ll pick you up and take you to the next town over. all you need is to get on the train and head for kansas. you have the way to sam’s bunker memorized.
too afraid not to keep moving, you walk along the side of the road, listening intently for any car or truck. the area is quiet, frustratingly slow, and the few cars that pass you by choose to ignore the thumb that you stick up in the air.
it’s practically torture, walking and walking and waiting. waiting for something to go wrong, for crowley and his demons to find you within mere hours of your escape. your anxiety builds as your hunger and thirst do, and you want to sit down in the grass when you pass an exit sign signaling another five miles to the town with the train station.
but you don’t think you can stop, even with your parched throat, heavy feet, and anxious heart. it’s a strange feeling; elation mixed with nerves so strong you think you could throw up.
you perk up at the sound of a rumbling car engine, but deflate in disappointment before it even comes into sight from around the corner. it’s headed in the wrong direction, straight back towards the place you want to get away from. for a moment, you wonder if you should try and hitch a ride anyway, in case they can drop you off in a different town with a train station. then the car comes into sight, its sleek black body reflecting back the mild sun of the afternoon. you gasp, an impossible hope entering your body.
it had taken you a moment to recognize it; sam’s never driven the impala to see you before, but he’s shown you pictures of his brother’s beloved car. praying it could really be him, you wave your arms in the air, heart beating wildly.
the car slows and breaks a little ways away from you, and before it even comes to a full stop, the passenger side door swings open, and sam comes running out. he looks nowhere but you as he runs across the wide road.
“sam,” you gasp, voice barely loud enough for him to hear. you match his pace, running to meet him. he practically crashes into you, enveloping you in his arms and sighing out your name. you hug him back just as tightly, pressing your face into his neck.
“i’m so sorry,” he breathes out, “crowley was hard to find and–”
“shut up, sam,” you grinned against his skin, the affection clear in your voice. “don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault. it was my choice and i knew i’d be able to find a way out. and i knew even better that you’d look for me.”
he barely parts from you, just so he can gently place his hands on the sides of your face and really look at you. “you’re amazing. i–” he stops himself from saying sorry again. “i know that wasn’t easy for you, none of it. but you did it. you did it, all by yourself. i’m so proud of you.”
your heart lurches at his words. they feel too good to hear, too sweet, too full of relief. tears spring into your eyes as you really realize just how difficult it all was, as you’re hit with exhaustion from the walk and the fear and the uncertainty of it all.
“thank you, sam,” you whisper. it’s true that you did it all for yourself, but it may never have happened without him. “you helped me. so much, sam. and i missed you a lot, and– and–” you decide that if you keep talking, you’ll cry. so instead of that, instead of trying to come up with something to bring justice to the way that you feel, you kiss him. you remember that sam knows how you feel because that’s how he feels too. and though you can’t quite show him that in the way you experience his own feelings, you can show him by kissing him, and kissing him hard.
he melts into you, his hands impossibly soft, yet steady and so sure on your face. he kisses you back with the same ferver, right there on the side of an empty highway with his brother likely watching. he doesn’t care, not about any of it.
when you finally part, breathless, dean clears his throat loudly, and you grin at sam a little bashfully. he grins back. you peek around his shoulder to see dean leaning against the car’s hood, trying and failing to hide his smile.
“while i hate to break up the lovefest, i’m not sure how long we’ve got until crowley sends that army of demons you mentioned. let’s hit the road, kids,” he calls out to the two of you.
in the car, it seems clear that dean’s attitude towards you has improved significantly since your last meeting. maybe it was seeing the way crowley treated you, watching you give yourself up in defense of sam and the others in the cafe, or seeing sam this past week and a half and coming to understand how much he really cares about you. whatever it is, you completely welcome the hesitant sort of affection that begins to permeate dean’s wariness of you.
then, there’s sam, sitting all content in the passenger's side and unable to stay still. he keeps turning to look at you, as if he has to be sure that you’re really there, sitting pretty in the backseat of the impala like he’s imagined a million times before. the only thing keeping him from sitting next to you is the fact that he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands and lips off of you, and that would be a bit too much with dean in the car. so instead, he smiles at you all soft and listens intently when you explain how you got out. he tries not to talk too much to avoid bothering dean, but you can tell that dean doesn’t mind one bit hearing the happy tone in sam’s voice as he talks to you.
and for you, to be flying down the highway and looking at your sam, your revelry, your wild joy, you finally understand what freedom really feels like. what it feels like when it’s yours.
#sam winchester x reader#sam winchester fluff#sam winchester x gn!reader#sam winchester x you#sam winchester#supernatural angst#sam winchester angst#sam winchester fanfiction#supernatural fluff#sam winchester headcanon#sam winchester fic#supernatural fanfiction#sam winchester oneshot#spn fanfiction#supernatural oneshot#sam winchester scenarios#supernatural scenarios#sam winchester imagine#supernatural sam winchester#spn sam winchester#supernatural#supernatural requests#sam winchester supernatural#supernatural x reader#spn fanfic
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Why Blitzø Likes Stolas
I've made jokes about Blitzø liking Stolas bcuz his type is tall, rich, powerful demons with musical talent, and that's probably kinda true, but I wanna talk about the real reasons Blitzø likes Stolas. Tldr at the end.
I think one of the major reasons Blitzø likes Stolas is how kind, sincere, and affectionate he is. Stolas is always making sure he is okay and is very passionate about litterally everything he does (dramatic little bitch, lol). And while he's ignorant ("my impish little plaything"???), he does mean well. Taking Octavia to Looloo Land to make her feel better, Going full demon mode to save IMP, his attentiveness to Blitzø during his mental breakdown in Seeing Stars, him absolutely adoring Octavia, him helping Ozzie when he gained no real benefit, etc, etc.
Also, expanding more on the affectionate part, Blitzø is shown to not get much affection or love in his life at all. His family situation was a giant mess (his dad literally sold him for 5 bucks and a condom Jesus Christ-), and Stolas is a very loving and affectionate person. Obviously, this is shown with Blitzø, but also with Octavia ('my precious little starfire', always staying patient with Via, even if he can be a bit dismissive, going full demon mode when Blitzø said he lost Via), and even his plants (he raised the flesh-eating plant since he was a kid, he pets the plant, on his insta he called a puprle rose "a handsome little rose"). And yeah, he's going to be affectione with Via, that's his daughter, but in Hell, (or maybe just from Blitzø's perspective, it'a hard to tell honestly) that's shown to be a rarity. So obviously, he's going to admire that about him.
And also, compare that to Blitzø's life. His dad saw him as less than, something happened that made his sister hate him, his mom seemed to be a good parent, but she's dead, his best friend and former crush hated his guts for 15 years, his daughter does care about him but she also mostly just shows anger and annoyance with him, and even Moxxie, who'd I'd argue is his best friend, gets annoyed with him constantly (I would too tbh but this isn't about that). Stolas just being his loving and affectionate self and being so happy to see him and always being so sweet to Blitzø is like a breath of fresh air to him.
Another thing is that Stolas shows clear interest in the things he likes. Take horses as example, bcuz we all know Blitzø is obsessed with them. Most of the time, his friends are pretty passive about it, but Stolas actually indulges him. Some of this is from their instas, but Stolas got him a horse Hoodie, he draws horses with him, and Stolas even got inspired to draw because of Blitzø.
(Also, plz note that in another post he commented that it smells like Stolas, and I want everyone to appreciate how happy he looks in this photo while smelling it again)
Blitzø probably admires Stolas's theatrics as well because despite growing up in a Circus where you were supposed to be dramatic and showy, he was still always taught to ignore or hide his true emotions (Cash ignoring that he didn't want to go to the Goetia Palace because "MONEY"). And while Stolas was raised the same way, he still wears his heart and emotions on his sleeve and is always showing them, whether it be positive or negative
And we all know thst Blitzø has major self hatred issues, but Stolas was genuinely interested in Blitzø as a person. Laughing at his jokes, asking how his day went, and with all of this, you can't help but wonder if Blitzø was figuring out that he did too. I think that's why he was so heartbroken about Ozzie's. Because to him, Stolas hiding his face was just proof that Stolas didn't care. That he was just a little plaything. But, Blitzø liked that Stolas liked him for who he was, and that he didn't have to pretend to be someone different.
Yes, ik Blitzø wasn't here for some of them, and he thinks that Stolas is just faking all of this. BUT, Blitzø can notice things subconsciously, and the stuff that Blitzø wasn't there for was to talk about Stolas's character as well. That's why I wanted to talk about this, to talk about what Blitzø sees in Stolas and his character.
Feel free to add anything if you want! I'd love to hear your guy's opinions, takes, and thoughts on the ship. I'm probably gonna a make a post on why Stolas likes Blitzø at some point, lol
Tldr; Blitzø likes Stolas because he's kind, sincere, loving, affectionate, passionate, caring, dramatic, and likes Blitzø for who he is.
#stolitz#blitzo#blitz#helluva boss blitz#helluva boss blitzo#helluva boss blitzø#blitz helluva boss#blitzo helluva boss#blitzø#blitzø helluva boss#stolas goetia#helluva boss stolas#stolas helluva boss#helluva boss#helluva boss analysis#anaylsis#media analysis#helluva boss notes
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She’s electric | Part 1
Pairing: Liam Gallagher x fem!bassist reader
Plot: Liam’s hatred for Blur runs deep. However, no matter how much he hates them and their stupid music - he cannot seem to hate their bassist.
A/N: i’ve got a disgusting crush on that old man (please don’t tweet him)
(1995, at the after-show party of the Brit Music Awards)
God.
Liam shakes his head in disapproval. Just looking at them made him want to hurl his drink against one of those huge pretentious speakers, the ones blasting nothing but stupid pop music. How the actual fuck did Blur manage to win 4 bloody Brit Awards tonight? His eyes move from Damon’s figure to the woman standing next to him and he brings the beer bottle up to his lips again. Y/N. Fuck. Never in his life did he feel so irritated by a woman.
She’s throwing her head back in laughter and Liam bites his lips in sheer annoyance. He silently observes how she takes a step to the side before walking over to the nearest bar, she says something to the bartender and her index finger goes up to point at something that's written on the chalkboard. Liam takes one final deep breath from his cigarette before ultimately making his way in her direction- his iconic walk and bitter face paint the picture of a man who’s about to show her his absolute worst behavior.
“Congrats on ya’ little bands award.”
“Thanks.”, is all she says as she takes a sip of her drink. Her gaze moves up to meet his. “That’s it? Yer not going to brag about it?” But Y/N merely scoffs:” I’m not like you, I don’t need to rub our success into everyone's faces.” Maybe he would have laughed at that if her words didn’t upset him as much as they did:” Come on. You must be feeling all arrogant about it- getting all the awards us better bands didn’t.”
Y/N chuckles dryly and takes another sip:” But you’re not.” She notices how his cheeks turn red in bitterness. It was almost too easy. “You guys are alright.”
She feels how around her some people are beginning to look their way, after all, it’s not typical to see an Oasis singer talk to a Blur bassist. Everyone is well aware of how the two brothers feel about their rival band.
Y/N takes a pack of cigarettes from her purse and puts one in between her red-painted lips. The anger is practically radiating off of Liam at this point. “Just alright? We’re better than alright. You’re just delusional.”, his angry gaze shifts to the cigarettes. He scoffs again, but can’t help himself:” Can I have one?”
It makes the woman chuckle in response and without letting out another word she hands him the pack and a lighter. She observes him as he takes one out and lights it up. There is a moment of stillness between the two, and when they make eye contact again there’s an emotion in Liam’s eyes that Y/N can’t quite read.
“You know.”, he lets out a sigh that could be perceived as defeat:” You’re a lot more tolerable than I thought you’d be.” It almost makes her laugh:” Am I supposed to say thank you?” Liam rolls his eyes but there is a hint of a smile forming on his lips: “You’re not supposed to say anything, love. I’m being serious. You’re not half as annoying as your little band is.” He exhales the smoke and watches how it vanishes in the air.
“What an honor.”, Y/N says:” The great Liam Gallagher thinks im not entire shite.”
“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up. But you know we make the better music.”, he takes another drag of his cigarette. Leaning against the bar he orders himself a new beer. “I’ve been trying to talk to Damon for months now, he always brushes me off.”
At that, Liam’s eyes widen and he narrowly leans forward, looking like a shark who smelt fresh blood:” So you agree with me.” The grin is primarily predatory.
“Not entirely.”
“What do you mean, not entirely? Either you agree with me, Princess. Or you don’t.”
“First of all, don’t call me Princess, you arrogant prick.”, her voice is angry, however, Liam catches a glimpse of a tiny grin forming on her features. But it quickly disappears behind the champagne glass:” I am not drunk enough to deal with someone as pissed as you!” “I’m not pissed, Princess. I’m just saying we were robbed.” “Please. You’re so pissed, it’s making me pissed.”
Liam takes a deep breath, almost as if he was trying to steady himself:” I don’t know why I am still talking to you.” At that, Y/N just chuckles drily. Does he really think, that she hasn’t noticed the way he was staring at her all night? “Well, then go. You came to me.”
The singer studies her for a second and opens his mouth to say something in return, but gets cut off by Damon’s voice. He is yelling her name from somewhere and Y/N twists her head to look for him. Once she spots him she sighs and quickly opens her purse:” One last thing before I leave.” She takes out her pen and snatches Liam’s forearm. With one swift movement, she signs her name on his skin:” For our number 1 fan.” She chuckles softly before vanishing into the crowd.
“No, wait.”, Liam calls out but she is already gone. His eyes move down to the writing on his arm, his fingers are softly moving over the ink. He takes another drag of his cigarette and shakes his head in disbelief, however, he can’t shake this new feeling off of him. He was still pissed about her band and their wins. But she… she has a smart mouth, is drop-dead gorgeous, and is a damn good bassist. He hates her already.
An hour later Y/N crosses her arms and places her head on Damon’s shoulders. Currently, Brad Pitt is talking something about something and it is possibly the most monotonous thing in the entire world.
“Who the hell ya’ staring’ at?” Liam can’t help but cringe slightly at the sound of his brother’s voice, who is now standing beside him. “None of your business, mate.”, he mutters, rather angrily. But Noel shakes his head:” Bullshit! I know that look. You ogling the bassist of Blur again, weren’t ya’?” Noel raises an eyebrow:” Thought you hated that band.”
“I do hate that band, she’s just- different.”
“Yeah, different because you think she’s fit, mate.”
Liam’s eyes widen at his brother’s bluntness and he furrows his eyebrows. He suddenly feels extremely exposed. Y/N sighs and lifts her head before scanning the room for the exit sign and quickly making her way toward it. People in the crowd attempt to stop her in hopes of getting to speak to her, but she just brushes them off.
“You’re going after her, or what?”
Liam glances at his brother before lighting up a new cigarette:” What d’ya mean? I’m not going to follow her around like some abandoned puppy. I ain’t going to chase her, you wanker.” Noel laughs at that:” Oh come on. Don’t lie to me, mate. You’re obsessed with her, go on. Follow her.”
Liam swallows thickly. He does want to follow her, there was no denying it. He wants to continue their discussion, listen to her snarky tone, and see that smart mouth in action again. Noel watches how his brother throws the cigarette into the nearest ashtray before wordlessly making his way toward the exit as well.
#oasis#liam gallagher x reader#liam gallagher#noel gallagher#oasis band#oasis x reader#Liam Gallagher imagine#blur
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AAAAA—
I’ve been searching for Sonic x reader req’s…
can I ask for a Shadow x reader where both were experiments for Maria’s cure? Where Shadow had a slight hatred and annoyance towards them because at times Maria would give time for them to hang out. Then blah blah blah after her death and the fall of the ark. He sees them again where they have a flower shop now, then finally after years Shadow gives in to apologize as he realizes he’s not the only one who mourns for Maria.
゚ ⋆ ゚ ☂︎ ⋆ ゚ 𝐏𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬. 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐠.
it’s been years since you saw his face, and even longer since you’ve seen hers.
⋆°•☁︎ content . shadow x gn!reader, angst, so so so many mentiona of the word “flower” (it’ll drive you insane) warning. brief mentions of vomit.
☂︎ wc. 1.8k ☂︎ a/n. huehehe flowers go brrrrr. i got kinddd of experimental with this one and tried to branch out more emotionally. i hope you like it ^^ wouldve wrote in some more but i didnt want it to be too long… my fault :( i just love angst lol
likes, reblogs, and especially comments are extremely appreciated!!! (i like chatting to you guys!)
“[Name], ah, this is really, really cool!” Her fingers weave the stems together like a beautiful melody, overlapping with one another to form a gorgeous pattern in her palms. “When you were learning this at first, you should’ve told me! I could’ve learned it with you!” She gives you a fake little pout, soon to be replaced by her ever-shining smile. “Now I can make you and Grandpa flower crowns all the time! Though, I don't think he’ll wear them…”
And you can’t wait for the moment that she hands you one of her own, one made on her own time, with no assistance from your end. A true testament of her love for you; one you would never doubt, gift or not.
Paired with your hydrangeas and carnations, roses and daffodils. Every little flower at your fingertips; ones you thought she would adore. Put and grown with love right on the Ark, with the help of Professor Gerald. The fact that you had decided to cultivate life on the Ark caught his attention, and it might’ve not been possible without his assistance with your little hobby. Your garden wasn’t just that, though. It wasn’t a simple piece of eye candy for passersbys; they weren’t allowed to take a single step in it.
It was for flower crowns; something you had learned just to impress her. A secret hobby, just for the two of you to play around with. No one else.
Not even Shadow.
“Oh, and I can make some for Shadow too!” Her fingers graze over the petals on her newly made crown, a mixture of light blue flowers and red ones, along with your favorite color. Three colors mingled into one beautiful piece.
Shadow… You haven’t seen him for a while.
Even if you didn’t want to admit it, you two had always been competing for her attention, her love, but she had managed to share it between the two of you. Was it greedy of both of you to ask that from her? Her saccharine self? It’s not like you’ll ever know the answer now.
You’ve never gotten along with Shadow, despite you two coming from the same origin. Natural competitors. But neither of you had ever engaged in any sort of conflict directly, maybe a snide remark or two from him but that would be all. Most of the hatred was from him. Deep down, you know you wouldn’t be opposed to being his friend.
So why does he look at you so harshly?
… It doesn’t matter. As long as you can act as her medicine, her cure, helping her heal from both her illness and what bothers her, that's good enough for you.
It’s been fifty years. Fifty years. You don’t want to remember the specifics, but it’s been more than that now. A couple of years of change, you’re sure.
Your left hand clasps over your right, your fingertips rubbing over your knuckles slowly. Everywhere you look, it’s her. Every flower in your shop; it’s almost like you can see a glimpse of her figure and face through the petals.
Hydrangeas. Carnations. Roses. Daffodils. Every little flower at your fingertips; ones you knew she adored. Grown with your everlasting love for that girl clad in blue; remembering the click of her heels as she would run over to you with a new crown in hand. You wish you could’ve kept each one she gave you, even if they would’ve all wilted by now. Wilted flowers have their own kind of beauty in a way, but maybe it’s only you who sees it.
Remembrance is an aching feeling. Swirling around in your stomach, at times even threatening to spill out of your mouth in the form of vomit and puke. Pouring itself out of your body through tears and bile. And no matter how hard you try, it seems to stay present. Even after all these years.
Before that emotion fills your mouth again, the sound of the bell rips you from your thoughts, the door swinging open. You swirl your body around, putting on a smile to greet your new customer. It’ll be another day, just like the last one.
… What?
“It’s you.” He says, clearly in disbelief at the person he’s seeing, just over the counter. “Hmph. So that idiot was right.”
Is… Is that him? Him?
Shadow?
“Are you in shock that I’m still alive?” Not at all, no. But the words don’t pour out of your mouth, instead letting out shaky breaths as he looks around your humble flower shop; similar to how one would gaze at a picture frame of an old family member. Solemn. Melancholic.
“I’m not here for some stupid greeting. I came for… A bouquet.” He almost seems uncertain about his reasoning. Even after seeing you, he doesn’t look angry. Not even surprised. Curious? You had heard his name throughout the years, but to meet him not anywhere else, but here, now.
Remembrance is an aching feeling.
“Those.” He points to a bunch of delphinium together, a light, bright blue. “And these.” His fingers graze over a dark red bunch of roses, his ear twitching at the sound of your immediate shuffling, going for the delphinium first. Something’s telling you in your heart to not get so close to him. It’s the aching; you’re sure of it.
Naturally you would question why he would need such a bouquet, but it’s not your place to wonder in that manner, especially now. Just do your job and go.
Shadow stares at a certain flower you keep away from the door, away from prying eyes, but still on sale for people to take.
You keep it away on purpose.; those kinds of flowers are your favorite ones. Sometimes if work is slow for a peculiar day, you’ll get lost within the petals, tracing over every groove of the plant, and even the stem itself, taking note of the way they feel under your fingertips.
“These too.” His footsteps almost echo through the store; or is it your imagination weighing heavy on you? Your head turns to see he’s going up to your favorite flower, picking one up by its stem to twirl it over between his fingertips, before dropping it back down. As you make your way over, he seems to notice and backs away from you, retreating to the counter. So even he doesn’t want to chat.
Fine with you. If he hadn’t bothered to come by all of these years, why did you expect him to care? But there’s a back thought in your head, telling you you’re lying about those statements of yours.
No matter.
As you pick up your favorites from its spot, settling a couple into the growing bouquet, you finally notice the mixture of flowers. How important they all are.
Delphinium. Roses. Your favorite.
These are the ones Maria always made flower crowns with.
You hesitate on looking his way, already noticing his gaze stuck on your back, so you keep picking the flowers up, settling them snugly into the bouquet in a sort of pattern.
“I’d like some bits of chrysanthemums in there too.” He suddenly mutters, and you comply with his request, making your way back over to the counter afterward.
The chrysanthemums are a bright yellow, reminding you of the way her blonde hair flowed, mingled with the colors of whatever crown you had made her at the time. You wouldn’t be surprised if she had begged Professor Gerald for a way to preserve them. Thinking about such a thing is so melancholic.
You take the time to wrap a red ribbon around the neck of the bouquet, securing it with a bow to make it more presentable, but knowing Shadow, if he’s any bit of the man he used to be all those years ago, you assume that these blossoms would be going into a vase anyway. He’s not the type of person to leave a bouquet out, is he?
While you mutter the price under your breath, Shadow slips out the exact amount onto the counter, his motions swift. He outstretches his hands, not a single change in expression as he accepts the flowers, then settles them into his arm, hugging it close to his torso. He wants to get this over with; you can tell.
The silence between you two is unbearable. Would it cause that much harm to ask about his flower choices? Why the ones she-
“Yes, Maria liked these ones.” Shadow utters, his fingers brushing across the delphinium. His brows furrow, remembering bits and pieces of both of your pasts together. “She always made those flower crowns with you.”
Of course, he will mention her; how could you be so stupid?
“She made some with me a handful of times.” Shadow says plainly, clearly not enjoying looking back on those memories. Not that he would mind if it was just him and Maria, but that activity was plagued with you. His own thoughts of you. After all of these years. “I think she preferred to make them with you.” He scoffs. “Said it was your special hobby together. I never cared for your hobby.”
You bite your tongue but decide not to say anything as the seconds pass with silence. Suddenly, a deep sigh leaves his lips, your little flower shop falling still with his sudden change in demeanor. The way his shoulders fall, with his head hung low, not daring to look you in the eyes with a small flick of his ear in your direction.
“I’m sorry.” Shadow murmurs. “For all this time I thought of you as just a nuisance.” He shakes his head, pushing up against the counter with his free hand. “But she wouldn’t want me to think of you that way… I don’t want that for myself either.”
Shadow tosses a crisp fifty on the counter along with his still-present payment; clearly overspending for his single bouquet. “Goodbye.”
Your fingers press nervously into the table, nails scratching at wood, eyes plastered onto his distancing figure as he walks away, bouquet in his arm.
Say something. Anything.
His footsteps slowly die out, turning around slightly to meet your eye. “What was that?” Shadow cocks his head to the side, eyes widened slightly, clearly in shock at your goodbye.
It’s customary for business owners to want their customers to come back. Repeated business means more profit. More money to tend to your shop. More happy customers. More smiles. More flowers. Her flowers. A way to remember her by.
Maria.
So it’s as simple as that.
Please come again.
A small grumble rises from his throat as he turns away from you. “I’m gonna ask for the same thing next time, okay? Remember it.” Shadow doesn’t let you get another word out, as the bell chimes above him, pushing open the door to leave you standing there in awe.
That remembrance doesn’t ache as bad anymore.
#sonic x reader#sonic#shadow the hedgehog x reader#thank you for your request!#sonic angst#maria robotnik#maria sonic
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hey i was wondering something and i wanted to know your opinion on it
Why is it problematic to say i hate men but not white people or straight people
(i'm a trans south east asian man btw)
I'd say on, like, a casual exasperated level, its not problematic to say "I hate [x]." It gets problematic when your venting about a group becomes your sole lens of viewing + interacting with that group.
Like, its entirely alright to be frustrated with behaviors common to cishet white men and express that in a vent by saying you hate them. But... its like how people make the correct point that they shouldn't be expected or obligated to give all their energy to coddling people with power over them, but translate that into "i never have to care about a member of this group at all" which directly conflicts with just. being in a community? Like women should not be expected to be caretakers for men, but people in a community need to take care of each other. When the only way you engage with a group of people is by expressing hatred and asserting how much you aren't obligated to care about them, its easier than people think to find yourself dehumanizing them.
Which does not mean "you are just as bad as a racist/misogynist" or "you are oppressing them"; you are An Individual whose biases are not necessarily backed up by powerful systemic powers. But, for one, its very easy for those biases to be used by systemic forces: with men, misandry is very easily used to justify all kinds of violence towards marginalized men & people perceived as men. You also have situations where people will say the Holocaust "wasn't as bad" as, say, US slavery, because it was "white on white violence," or saying the Armenian genocide also wasn't that big of a deal because "it was done to Christians and Christians are always killing people" (two real things I have seen been said). And, again: if you are going to care about community and restorative/transformative justice and all that, you need to be able to give a shit about all kinds of people who you live with. You need to be able to see them as whole beings you are capable of connecting with on some level. You don't personally need to date or befriend men, but you do need to be able to give a shit about men in your community.
Its fine to feel annoyance and anger and use "hatred" to express that. But the problem occurs when people take "its okay to be angry with your oppressors and not spend all your energy coddling them" and make that the end-all be-all of their relationship with people of whatever group; revolutions can't accomplish compassionate goals when they are run on hatred. Very hooksian concept but "love" (as in "a combination of care, commitment, knowledge, responsibility, respect and trust", not in a strictly emotional sense but as an action) is a skill that is as vital as understanding class dynamics and protest tactics. Maybe you don't need to love everyone, but try to have the capacity to love anyone; the ability to physically care for someone you don't emotionally like is, I think, a vital step towards truly challenging and bringing down the kyriarchy.
Basically its about recognizing when your venting stops being an outlet and starts being a way for unproductive feelings to shape how you view other people.
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The seeds of Celebrimbor's tragedy and its implications
The hardest part of the episode was,undoubtedly, Annatar's manipulation of Celebrimbor and how he managed to not only isolate Tyelpe from all his people and well wishers but them from him as well. Valandil's death is a close second.
In the beginning, Celebrimbor is shown to be celebrating what is, until now, his greatest achievement and almost everyone he cares for is by his side.
But he senses his new friend Annatar's obvious unhappiness and leaves them all behind to follow him.
I liked how we were shown that Celebrimbor, while easy to trust others, isn't a fool for he can understand very well that Annatar can plant his ideas into the minds of others.
But Annatar is two steps ahead for a reason which is why when he fails to persuade Celebrimbor, he decides to take the reigns of the forge, of which the latter is supposed to be the master and he has been merely welcomed to, into his own hands. As for Celebrimbor, one supposedly harmless lie only leads to another.
Celebrimbor is trapped from all sides by Annatar. Doubting the authenticity of the rings is inconceivable for it would bring to question both his work and his capabilities as a smith. The achievement of his lifetime cannot be faulty so the fault could either be with his chosen partner or with himself. This fear is what Annatar preys on and creates doubt in Celebrimbor's mind about himself. By placing the blame of the faulty Dwarven rings on his shoulders, Sauron exploits Celebrimbor's guilt and makes him succumb to the pressure of creating the Nine.
He only begins to suspect that there is more to Annatar than meets the eye when he interacted with Durin - an outsider who isn't part of the bubble Celebrimbor has been confined to by Annatar and isn't in thrall of him. This is probably why Annatar wanted to meet Durin himself instead of letting Celebrimbor do so for not only does he seek to isolate Eregion geographically by breaking the bridge but also mentally and emotionally by preventing contact with anyone who might burst the bubble. Be it Durin or Narvi, he doesn't want anyone else to have Celebrimbor's ear.
This annoyance is also an indication of the hatred he will eventually go on to harbour for the Dwarves for while the Rings can amplify their greed for gold, their will is untameable and cannot be subdued, much less dominated by Sauron.
Meanwhile, when he realises that Celebrimbor might suspect him, he begins to poison the minds of the people who belong to Celebrimbor's household,have worked by his side and honed their skills for years, against him. He creates an illusion of danger to position himself as a safer option for them. Thus, the person whom Celebrimbor allowed into his home and on whom he showered his hospitality, generosity, trust and friendship, completely invaded his life and has set the wheels in motion for its destruction.
For no fault of his save for his kindness and good intentions, Celebrimbor has been left stranded and is all alone to deal with Annatar's sinister machinations. What's more cruel is that he couldn't even realise when the latter was mocking him on his face for being manipulated.
If this is just the beginning, then as feared, we will be left wrecked by the finale. The sparkle in Celebrimbor's eyes and his passion for his craft has begun to diminish. Throughout the episode, I just wanted to jump into the screen and take poor Tyelpe away from there, away from the impending doom.
Hats off to Charles Edwards for he is going to tear our hearts to shreds with his acting. And this is,indeed, a psychological thriller as the showrunners promised with major stakes.
#the rings of power#trop#rings of power#sauron#celebrimbor#annatar#trop meta#charles edwards#trop spoilers
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hai :3 can i request an enemies to lover miguel o hara fic where they get stuck in a closet together and reader kinda has to sit on his lap because there isnt any space and so after a few minutes of being in there, reader pisses off miguel and miguel kisses them to shut them up and then the rest is history ig 🙇♀️
PLS AND THANK YOU! 🙇♀️
also pls make the reader speak spanish im BEGGINGGG.
CLOSET
hi! ofc you can! I did my best! I’m sorry that it sucks and is cringy😀😭
Miguel O’ Hara x Hispanic Reader
Masterlist
Warnings: Suggestive Language, Maybe a glimpse of smut, and Miguel being an asshole
You were one of Miguel’s first recruits, you had been working in the spider society for as long as it had existed, you and Miguel were close (or you would like to consider that) since you both shared the same culture and language and it was easier for you to communicate with him when your English wasn’t as good as it is (since in your universe Spanish was the predominant language) and he would be one of the few people who could understand your accent or you speaking Spanish when you forgot a word.
He took it as his personal job to teach you English until you perfected it and people who didn’t know you wouldn’t be able to guess that it wasn’t your first language( though sometimes you still would forget words in English or express yourself better in Spanish) you would both mutually bring food for each other or bond over music, so yeah you considered yourself close to him.
That was until he started becoming way more stressed about everything, yeah he has been a sour asshole ever since his canon event, but people were at least able to get small responses and have conversations that weren’t all about work with him, but as the spider society grew, he felt a lot of pressure on him and started drowning himself in work to the point that he would isolate himself for days until he got everything he needed done, he could spend weeks without sleeping and eating, and obviously as he became more stressed his memories started to impulse even worse emotions on him than they did before.
Of course this made you and your other teammates worried about him, so you started to bring him lunch, make sure he slept, and just went to see if he was okay, but you checking up on him started to annoy him as he got more irritating because of the lack of sleep and the accumulation of stress, so one day he just decided you annoyed him and soon that annoyance turned into hatred, or that’s what he thought it was.
This made him become snappy at you and we all know he can be the greatest asshole, at first you’re patient with him, thinking it will pass, but as it gets worse you reach your ending point and lose all patience starting to respond to him the same way he talked to you.
The sudden change weirded everyone out, but they also noticed that ever since you started hating Miguel back, his mood became even worse, well everyone noticed except for you, which surprised everyone since you were one of the smartest people in the spider society.
So thats why everyone refused to go to a mission with Miguel when he asked them to, arguing that they already had a mission, or that they had something really important to do, until Miguel had no other option but to take you and you had no other option but to go with him.
“Do i reaally have to go with him? I mean can’t he just ask Ben instead?” You said to Jess
“Nope honey, Ben has a really important therapy session”
“Okay? so then ask Gwen? Pavitr? Hobie? anyone else?”
“He already did, they’re all busy”
“Then why can’t you go”
“As important as the spider society is, I have an ultrasound appointment today, so I can’t go even if I wanted to”
“Well the world just hates me then doesn’t it”
“Maybe it does, or maybe it’s doing you a favor”
“Trust me, being alone with him is not a favor, i don’t want to be screamed at about how i’m annoying and a fucking- what was the word? uhm una carga? how did you say that?”
“A burden?”
“Yeah that! I don’t want to be called a burden and shit like that”
“You’re no burden, but I’ll tell you what you sound like, a teenage girl, come on, you’re an adult, you can take things in a professional way”
“Well the one that’s childish is him not me”
“Uh huh, well i’ve gotta go, good luck!”
“Yeah whatever”
You were now approaching Miguel’s office while wishing you were dead ‘Puta madre neta me lleva la verga, ahora si ya no tengo de otra más que ir’ (Fuck this shit, now I really don’t have any option but to go), you were starting to grow nervous as you approached his door, you hadn’t been alone with him since your last fight where he directly called you annoying and a burden, but now you had no other option.
After finishing the mission without actually talking to each other unless necessary, you both came back to the HQ, when you arrived it was weirdly quiet and no one seemed to be there doing their duties even if it was not that late, which was really weird, that was until you saw Peter B. approaching you with a worried look
“Hey y/n, have you seen MayDay? I can’t find her, usually it takes me an hour, but it’s been four hours and I haven’t been able to find her and I’m starting to get worried” Peter said to you while still running up to you and then catching his breath
“Oh, um I’m sorry but we just got back from a mission so we haven’t seen anything, but we can help you look!”
“No we can’t” Miguel said
“Yes we can, anyways where was the last place that you saw her Peter?” You said after glaring at Miguel as if looks could kill
“Well, I think it was in that one room that has a closet.. I always forget what it’s called”
“Okay yeah, I know which one you’re talking about, let’s go take a look”
Miguel followed them even if he said he wouldn’t be helping, Mayday being on the loose could press a lot of buttons and break a lot of things and cause a lot of problems, so there he was, inside of the closet with you, while Peter “looked” around the room, until they heard a loud noise of the door closing and now he was trapped inside with you, the worst thing is that because of the lack of space you ended up in his lap.
“Great, just what I needed”
“You know I’m not happy about being here with you either okay?”
“Oh is that so? or was this your little plan to get me trapped with you and to get all up on my personal space”
“WHAT? I would NOT do that, and I do NOT want to be in the same room as you you fucking asshole!”
“Oh yeah am I an asshole? sorry I couldn’t understand you with that accent”
“WHAT? okay now you’re being unreasonable, you want me to say it in Spanish? I will, Yo no planee esto wey, yo no quiero estar en el mismo lugar que tu, yo no quiero que me hables, yo no te quiero hablar y mucho menos molestar tu pinche espacio personal, así que neta hazme un favor y cállate un rato que ya no te aguanto cabrón, neta deja de cagar el palo y de ser un pendejo de la nada y ni me trates de culpar porque yo ni se que chingados te hice para que me odies tanto-“. (I didn’t plan this, I don’t want to be in the same place as you, I don’t want you to talk to me or to talk to you or even less to be all on your fucking personal space, so please do me a favor and shut up a little because I can’t deal with you anymore, please stop being such an asshole out of nowhere and don’t blame me because i don’t even know what the fuck I did for you to hate me so much-) That’s when you felt something on your lips, and it took you some time to realize he was kissing you, Miguel O’Hara was kissing you, you sure as hell felt as a teenage girl, butterflies in your stomach and everything.
On the other side Miguel was starting to get nervous as you didn’t return the kiss, he was starting to pull away and about to say he was sorry and he didn’t mean it when he felt you pulling him close and kissing him again, at first it was just a sweet kiss, but then it started to get heated, he couldn’t help but moan when he started feeling you grinding against him, with each second passing making him harder, he started kissing your neck and sucking “Fuck Miguel- you’re gonna leave marks” but he didn’t care, he continued, hearing your moans was paradise to him, he wanted to take you there so bad, until, they heard a knock “Um guys? are you okay?” Peter B said as he unlocked the door and opened it making Miguel groan in annoyance “This isn’t over.” he said before the door completely opened and revealed a Peter with a smiling Mayday in his arms.
#miguel o’hara x reader angst#miguel o’hara angst#miguel o hara x reader#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o’hara x reader smut#across the spiderverse#miguel o hara x reader smut#miguel o’hara x reader fluff
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Co-Workers to Lovers; Albert Wesker
Warnings: Cheating boyfriend (reader's bf, not Wesker), alcohol consumption, implied nsfw.
Working alongside Albert Wesker was… interesting.
He was cold, rude, blunt, and so on with all his workers, except for you.
He wasn’t a lot nicer, but there wasn’t the same amount of judgement, hatred, and annoyance in his tone when he spoke to you.
If it wasn’t for the fact that he would kill them, your co-workers would joke that he has a sweet spot for you.
It wasn’t like you didn’t have one for him also. Most of your co-workers hated you for the special treatment you got from Wesker, so he was basically all you had at Umbrella.
Your boyfriend wasn’t fond of your work-relationship with Albert, something about how he “didn’t trust the creep” and how “he’s trying to steal you from me”.
You never believed any of that, but then again, you never believed that your boyfriend would cheat on you either.
Well, until the night you came home from work earlier than usual to the sound of moans from your bedroom.
At first, you thought maybe he was masturbating. After all, it had been a while since you two had last had sex. Work Albert had been keeping you busy.
The moment you heard the female moans, you knew what was happening, but you couldn’t stop yourself from entering the room.
“Really?” You asked him, watching his face morph from pleasure, to shock, to anger.
“You’re home early!”
“Clearly.”
Without another word, you left the room as your boyfriend of three years rushed to put his pants on and chase after you, but before he could reach you, you had already left, beginning to walk in the pouring rain.
You didn’t know what to do or where to go, so you ended up back at work. They had beds for those doing 24-hour shifts, so you could just take one of those.
“I thought you finished for today. Why are you here, and why are you wet? You’re dripping on the floor.” Whilst his words would seem annoyed, there was an underlying tone of concern in Albert’s tone.
“My boyfriend cheated on me; I walked here in the rain. Sorry, Sir.” You whispered, avoiding eye contact.
Had you been paying attention, you would have noticed the way his jaw clenched in anger, but all you heard was an annoyed sigh followed by you being told to follow him.
He took you to his office, bluntly telling you to sit before leaving the room.
You waited, eyes still staring at the floor rather than the room around you.
You were embarrassed more than anything. First your boyfriend cheats on you for God only knows how long, and now you’re crying to your boss.
“It’s not your fault.” Wesker’s deep voice sounds from behind you, the weight of a towel being placed on your shoulder pulls you from your self-deprecating thoughts.
You shrug and he sighs again, taking a seat in his chair.
“Look at me.” You do.
It isn’t easy for him, not at all, but he does do his best to put on a somewhat kinder face and try to comfort you.
“He’s a moron. Don’t worry about that idiot. You deserve better.” He says. “You deserve me” sounds his internal voice, but he ignores it.
With a quiet sigh, you nod and agree. “Thank you, Sir.”
“Albert is quite fine, Dear.” The name causes you to blush and you silently pray that he doesn’t notice or will just pass it off as you being cold, but he isn’t stupid.
“Thank you, Albert.”
Wesker can’t deny the way his body reacts when his name rolls from your tongue, but he can sure as hell ignore it. He doesn’t need feelings. He isn’t capable of them, he tells himself.
“You can stay in my office for the time being. I finish in an hour or two, I’ll drive you back to my place.” It wasn’t an invitation, it was a demand, but one that you didn’t want to turn down.
“Thank you.” You repeat, and he simply nods, passing you some dry clothes, and leaving to return to work.
Once he finished work, Albert gathered his things and lead you to his car.
Being the gentleman he is, although it was only for you, he held the door open for you, enjoying the way you blushed and muttered a thank you.
The drive was quiet. It was late, dark, and you were both deep in your thoughts.
He was wondering if he had made a mistake inviting you to stay at his home until you were back on your feet. He didn’t know how long he could go without kissing or touching you, but it also didn’t sit right with him making you stay at Umbrella offices where it wasn’t safe, or with your cheating boyfriend.
However, all you could think about was how good he looked driving, his hands tightened around the wheel and the gearstick. There was something oddly attractive about it.
Despite him being deep in his own thoughts, he didn’t fail to notice and couldn’t help the smirk on his lips which made you blush once again.
“We’re here,” he said, quickly moving to open your door for you and lead you into his mansion house, enjoying the shock on your face.
“Thank you, Albert,” you smiled at him as soon as you two were sat with drinks in your hands. “It means a lot to me. More than you can imagine.”
“It’s no problem, Dear.”
Over the weeks that you had stayed at his place, it was safe to say that you and Albert had grown closer, the same as your feelings had grown more for one another.
Albert was working more to keep himself busy, as were you, but the drives home were becoming more and more painful each time.
It was obvious to him that you had feelings for him, but he was him. Albert Wesker isn’t exactly the king of relationships, or even friendships; he had betrayed everyone in his life, after all.
He couldn’t resist, however, placing his large hand on your thigh as he drove, enjoying the way you tensed up beneath his touch and a blush ran to your cheeks, but you remained silent.
Having enjoyed your reaction, this was something he began doing every journey. He loved seeing you flustered, even more so when you stuttered when he spoke to you during the drive.
“No need to stutter, Dear. It’s only us.” He would say with a smirk.
You didn’t know how much longer you could last without touching him either, but you were afraid of rejection. Sure, he touched you, but what if he didn’t want you to touch him.
He could sense your hesitation and didn’t expect you to ever do anything, at least, until you laid your hand on top of his that rested on your thigh, your head lying on the glass of the window. It was clear you were tired, and perhaps that was why you were doing it.
You fell asleep that drive, the sound of rain and feeling of Albert’s hand touching your own lulling you into a deep sleep, one that he didn’t want to wake you from., so he didn’t. Instead, he carefully lifted you and carried you to the room you had been staying in. Your room.
Your relationship grew closer from there. You trusted him and, scarily enough for him, he trusted you also.
You went out one night with your friends, Wesker telling you to call him when you were ready to come home, and he would pick you up; he didn’t trust anyone but himself to get you home safely.
You had talked about him all night, leaving your friends wondering what was happening between you both. That was when you finally admitted it to yourself: you loved him.
Whilst the thought had always been there, completely admitting it to yourself was terrifying, but it had to be done.
However, the only way you felt you could properly think on this was by drinking more.
When it reached 3am, you texted him telling him you’ll get a cab since he was likely asleep.
Don’t be stupid, I’ll come get you. I can’t sleep. Where are you? Came his immediate reply. He would never admit it, but he stayed up worrying about you.
He was there moments later, helping you into the car so you didn’t fall with a sigh.
“Are you mad at me?” You asked upon realising that he wasn’t touching you for the first time in weeks.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Then why aren’t you touching me?”
“You’re drunk. I’m not touching you whilst you’re drunk, Y/N.”
A blush ran up your cheeks at the realisation and your drunk self couldn’t stop the words leaving your lips.
“But what if I want you to? What if I want you to do more than hold my thigh?” You’d regret that in the morning, but you were too drunk to care.
Albert’s hand tightened on the wheel at your words, doing his best to calm his breathing before responding.
“You’re still drunk. I’m not taking advantage of you whilst you’re under the influence. If you still want it tomorrow, then I will.” Were the final words for the night before you fell asleep and he, yet again, carried you inside, the smallest smile on his lips.
The following morning you were terrified of facing him, remembering what you had said, so you stayed inside your room until noon when a knock came on your door.
“I know you’re awake, Y/N. We need to talk.” Came his stern voice that had both your heart and thoughts racing, assuming the worst.
“Okay.” Came your meek response as you opened the door, allowing him into the room.
It was silent for a few moments, before you offered him a seat beside you.
“Did you mean what you said last night?” He asked, staring at you. “Be honest, I won’t be offended if you say no.”
His words confused you, but as you stared at him, you couldn’t help but notice the way his pupils dilated whilst he stared back, lips slightly parted. You weren’t dumb, you knew what that meant. He wanted you the same way you wanted him.
Rather than responding, you closed the gap between both of you, his hands instantly moving to push the straps of your dress that you had failed to change out of down your shoulders.
Once you pulled away, breathless and half undressed, he chuckled quietly.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He teased, but you ignored it and pressed your lips to his again in desperation.
Maybe it had always been him since you met him. Maybe your cheating ex-boyfriend was just what made you realise that.
One-shot (Cheating Heart) coming soon!
#resident evil#resident evil x reader#resident evil imagine#resident evil imagines#resident evil fanfic#resident evil fanfiction#resident evil smut#resident evil wesker#resident evil albert wesker#albert wesker#albert wesker x reader#albert wesker imagine#albert wesker imagines#albert wesker fanfic#albert wesker fanfiction#albert wesker smut#wesker#wesker x reader#wesker imagine
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Can we have bestfriend headcanons for rollo please???? i need to be friends with this guy so bad you don't understand
***Warning: Glorious Masquerade spoilers in the final few headcanons!***
Curiouser and Curiouser...
The best way to sum up this relationship is that Rollo is the mom friend, and you are his child. (If you were to ask Rollo, he would say you're an idiot, but you're his idiot.)
From an outsider's perspective, it's hard to tell that you're friends at all. He always has that hard-to-read face on him, plus those grimaces he gets whenever the slightest annoyance or inconvenience makes itself known.
You've gotten used to his quirks though, so you can read his emotions a lot better than most. When the corners of his mouth twitch, that's him trying to smile! When he taps a finger against his arm? He's thinking hard about something.
He dislikes it when you call him "bestie" (so, of course, you make sure to do it often). Rollo corrects you with his name each and every time.
He finds physical affection just as repulsive. Rollo's constantly shying away from your touch, insisting that it's unhygienic and immodest to even so much as brush shoulders by accident.
There was an incident when you hugged him once and he got oddly quiet, then asked "... What is this?" to which you had casually responded, "Affection."
"Disgusting," Rollo had declared, handkerchief to his nose. "... Do it again."
He's one of those old-fashioned people who insists on keeping in contact via letters and cards instead of text messages, email, and/or social media. Rollo claims that stuff "rots your brain cells" and "promotes a vain, degenerate lifestyle".
You thought it silly and inefficient at first, but over time you've come to appreciate the time and thought that comes with each letter. Receiving a note from Rollo is the best part of your day--you love catching up with him and sending him back updates of your very own.
He's a busy guy and follows a strict schedule, so more often than not you're the one that's following him around as he does his various tasks. You lend him a hand too, though Rollo takes care to not burden you too much. These are his responsibilities, so he should take charge of them.
You occasionally climb up the bell tower with him (the view up there is amazing!) and all the gargoyles clamor to greet you. Rollo has to remind them not to overwhelm the guest.
When there is time, you sit down at a cafe and share a meal. Rollo introduces you to his favorite places and makes recommendations (though he usually gets the exact same thing). You try to push him to vary up his diet a bit more, tearing off pieces of your own lunch or offering him bites of whatever it is you're having (even though he insists he'll have none of that).
One day, you caught Rollo parading through the streets on horseback. He introduced his steed to you, instructing you on how to safely pat it and feed it an apple from your hand. The horse seemed to like you, so Rollo hoisted you up and let you ride it around the city for the rest of the day.
He's still not very good at expressing himself. When you sense that he's feeling down in the dumps, it takes quite a bit of coaxing to get him to talk about it with you (if at all). In his mind, he shouldn't be troubling others with his own matters.
Sometimes you're not successful at convincing him to open up, so you settle for giving a gentle reminder that you'll be there for him no matter what. You wouldn't want to push him to talk when he's not ready to!
... On the other hand, when Rollo wants to talk, he'll rant and rave for what seems like forever. You patiently nod your head and listen to everything he spews out, from his express hatred of a certain lizard to how the local goats almost ate his stationary set.
There are rare times, though, when Rollo shares his passions and ambitions with you. The relaxing gardening he has been doing as of late, how beautiful the Bell of Salvation is today, his plans for the future... It's in these moments that you can truly appreciate how solemn and thoughtful he can be.
Rollo often nags you for little things: there's a crease in your shirt, your room is slightly messy, there's a hair out of place, etc. But hey, it's fine. You know he does it lovingly, even if the comments come with a slight frown.
He also tends to lecture you about your own safety, often warning you to keep away from "suspicious individuals" (and, of course, mages). Rollo lets you know that if anyone gives you trouble, you should inform him right away and he'll come storming over to give them hell. Yes, he's the overprotective friend that will throw himself into the crossfires to defend your honor--
This man comes to hangouts with everything you could possibly need in case of an emergency. Got a scrape? Boom, first aid kit. (He even patches you up personally.) Hands dirty? Hand sanitizer and wet wipes for the rescue. You start calling him “dad” as a joke every time he produces exactly what you need.
Rollo has the tendency to (sternly) speak up for you, especially in cases when you're too meek to speak up for yourself. It has big "EXCUSE ME! They asked for no pickles" energy.
Once a year, you join Rollo for a very special trip. You always stop by the same florist's shop, always watch him select the same bouquet of white lilies, always walk quietly alongside him down to the local cemetery. You don't follow him to the grave, but you let him know he can take as long as he needs with the visit, that you'll wait for him at the gates.
You watch the clouds slowly pass by and the sky change colors from cornflower blue to the shades of sunset. Night has started to trickle in when you hear his approaching footsteps. The flower bouquet is gone, deposited as an offering to a boy that has become one with the stars.
Rollo emerges, and you pretend to not notice the wetness to his eyes, the silvery shine upon his cheeks. You know if you point it out, he'll only become defensive and deny it.
"Ready to go?" you ask every year.
"... Yes," he replies, just the same as always. (Rollo will then try to subtly wipe away at his tears.) "Thank you for accompanying me. I do apologize for imposing on your time."
"Don't," you tell him. "I've always got your back, just like you've always got mine. That's what friends are for, right?"
#twst#twisted wonderland headcanons#twisted wonderland#twst headcanons#Rollo Flamme#Reader#self insert#disney twisted wonderland#Rollo at the Writing Desk#curiouser and curiouser#spoilers
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