#listen i want to be besties with him and i should be allowed to be | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jolapeno · 4 months

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meet me in the city where we won't sleep

javier peña x f!reader | main masterlist

summary: home: a place where we feel most comfortable, loved, and protected — where we most feel at home. except javi, who has returned from colombia and feels his home is living miles away.

childhood besties!javi x f!reader

wordcount: 9k (i'm so sorry)

warnings: childhood best friend!javi. flirting. 18+ - although just a little smutty with fingers. brief mention of drunkenness years ago. emotions (ugh) and feelings (yuk) and idiots who just don't wanna confess things but really should. javi calls you flor and you call him a pineapple. alternating times.

an: originally started for april showers, it's taken me an age to get this done because i wanted it to be perfect. i really hope it is. the biggest thank you to @thetriumphantpanda who read all of this and gave me a gold star. it would have stayed in my drafts if not for you. thank you to @rhoorl for checking my spanish.

It would have been cliche to say he fell for you in a field of bluebonnets—your dress white, face glum, hands ripping up blooms from the soil that you clutched in your hand.

Lost, aimless, both in the blue of the petals and in your thoughts as you continued to yank stems up and bring bunches to your nose, unaware of him watching from the tree. His legs swung, and a smile slid into one cheek as the leaves rustled above in the warm breeze.

It took a while before you noticed him, practically half a field’s worth in your hands, hands wound around them as your dress swished at your ankles.

“What do you want, Piña?”

He supposed, for kids, that was an insult.

“What you doing in my field, Flor?”

Javi didn’t know your name then. Now he struggled to go a minute without thinking it.

Sitting still hadn’t seemed a possibility in the days since he’d been back.

And then, that’s all he’d done for the last eight hours before he was greeted by rain.

It’s relentless, an onslaught that blurs the world into a watery haze. The kind that soaks through every layer of clothing like a challenge; the type that drips from everything, making pools in the streets and turning them into dark mirrors, reflecting the grey and full clouds from above.

Not that Javi cares.

If anything, he likes it. Finds it cleansing, like the world is being washed clean, even if he knows how untrue that actually is as his eyes follow a bead rushes across the glass of the cab.

The driver has been mumbling about the weather for the entire journey—a thing he’s barely listened to since he’d recommended waiting for a break in the weather. It was likely they just didn’t wish to drop him where he’d described, rather hoping Javi would opt for someplace warmer, most likely smokier, so that he could call it a day too.

Javi doesn't do that now—smoking, that is.

Hasn’t done since he left that apartment that never felt like his, in a city that he’d spent years in that never felt like home. Threw them in the trashcan before his Pop had picked him up, craved and wanted all the way through dinner. He’d done it once, he’d do it again.

When the cab screeches to a halt, he pays, steps out (bag in hand) and spots the phone booth all in one fluid motion. It’s barely lit, front weathered by time and neglect. Smirk curling into his cheek as he remembers you telling him about it—that on cloudless days you can see it, likes to make stories about it as you enjoy a meal-for-one or crunches down cereal.

It hadn’t been a thing he’d thought much about.

Then, it was all he had thought about.

Standing there, making a story that could become real. A gesture, kind and deserving of someone who had put up with his shit since they were children. You’d always liked those big moments in the movies—his eyes glancing over at you, finding yours big, wide and shimmering with tears that wish to glide down your cheek.

Although, that had been well over a decade ago—the two of you had remained in touch, close, or as much as he could allow. Your visit to Colombia had still felt like the sunniest day, a bright spot in a sea of dark; a day that coloured his world in shades he hadn’t known existed, that dulled the moment he’d had to bid farewell at the airport.

It hadn’t been safe for you to do another, pleading in fact to not risk it. A thing, he suspects, is not a thing he’s been easily forgiven for.

He supposes it’s why he hasn’t told you he was coming. The flight had been booked, bag packed—fingers tapping, soul hoping you wouldn’t turn him away once he’d gotten here. To the phone box over the bridge from your place—the one obscured from view by the downpour that seemed never-ending.

Because, as soon as two weeks had racked up at him being home, he found himself itching to move, to be somewhere other than surrounded by fields and the watchful stare of his Pop. Parental worry a hard thing to hide from in a home washed in memories.

Sliding open the door, cramming himself into the booth, Javi had no concern about remembering your number. It was burned into him, etched into him with a blunt tool—almost studied, committed to memory while he ticked over godfathers and the weight of right and wrong.

He remembers when you’d changed it, when your voice informed him of the move, the chance—all excited tone, a pitch closer to a squeak than your voice: no more roommates, just me, myself and I.

He also remembers the ember inside of him pleased that Tom joined the underserving list, slid under Mia and Rich as you informed him you were single again.

Sliding quarters in, finger punching the numbers—he hopes you’re home. A niggling feeling threatens to unwind inside of him as the tone drills into his skull—attempts to drown out the rain rapping against the glass booth he’s standing in.

“Hello?”

“Flor?”

It kisses his ear, your snort. Light. Sweet. “Javier Piña, what do you want?”

You sound like you did in Colombia. Having half-expected the crackle meeting his ear to be down to the distance, rather than your shoddy home phone.

Pressing the receiver to his head, a smile there—desperate to flow out across his lips and exhausted face, he moves it back. “Tal vez te extrañé.”

“Mierda. I don’t believe you.”

Even amidst the noise of passing cars and the relentless drumming of raindrops, he catches the melody of your laughter—a symphony of joy that unravels a part of his soul. It releases it, unlocks it, beckons it to be free—metaphorically makes him release his shoulders, and take a breath. The part of him hidden away, floods back through him—no longer fearful of being taken, clawed or wormed from him as he handed other parts of himself to the job, the task, the goal.

Not you, though. Javi would never surrender you.

A pocket of sunshine he’d kept close to him like your chicken-scratch letters and your tipsy phone calls when he’d caught you coming in after a night with friends.

“Where are you, Piña?”

Wiping his mouth with his thumb, he pauses. Traces his index along the hair growing above his lip, glancing out through the rain-smeared glass, the one cracked in places. Not sure if any of the lights on the other side are hers, but lingering on each just in case.

“In a phone booth on a bridge…”

He hears you swallow, loud, almost difficult.

“…right across from your place.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Smirking, teeth nibbling at his bottom lip. “Are you lying to me?”

Smirking, he stares out again. “No.”

Because he couldn’t, not if he tried. Not just because you see through it, but because it wounds him to do so. Picks at him, and makes him bleed in ways that don’t ruin him in scarlet.

“Give me five minutes.”

The call ends before he can get in a bye.

The receiver placed back, bag straps cutting into his palms again as he exits, the heavens lashing against him as he slowly walks. Taking his time. Nervousness bubbling like a broth inside of him with each step, coming up to the top curve of the bridge, trying to look up, spot you—

Then he does.

Running, coat billowing behind—flapping in the wind as it breaks out over your face: that smile. The one that lit fires inside of him, the one first doing so at the time his bedroom at home had its last lick of paint, it now peeling, cracked.

Dropping his bag, Javi isn’t sure whether to brace or not—taking three more steps forward before you collide with him. Arms around him, chest to chest, your wet cheek sliding past his as your soaked clothes marry to his.

It would be odd to say it felt like home hugging you, but it does. It feels right, safe—a piece completing him as he digs his chin into your head.

“You smell the same,” you muffle into his chest.

Javi smiles, knowing the bottle on his dresser is the one from his younger years. Sun-ruined and likely faded, yet managing to linger on his skin enough to cause recollection.

Pushing past lilies, excusing himself through swarms of bodies adorned in black fabric, Javi found you sitting cross-legged between two tall stands of flowers.

Your eyes were puffy—red, swollen—and your dress was as black as his suit; your fingers were balled around a single lily and a scrunched-up tissue, the skirt of your dress skated over your bent knees.

“What d-do you want, Piña?”

But it didn’t land with the tone he had come to know.

Instead, he extended a hand you thankfully took, pulling you up from the ground before he opened his arms—letting you move in, slot yourself between them as they enveloped you close.

Letting his best friend fall apart at the back of the church, your sobs vibrated against his bones and his chin rested on your head as he whispered he had you, over and over again.

A thing you repaid when his mother passed a few years later.

Talking had always been a skill—unless he had to discuss feelings.

It wasn’t that it was easy to lie, or that he found the idea of feeling difficult—if anything, it was as though he felt too much. Guilt. Affection. Righteousness. Protection. Each one a little harder to carry, to wear.

More so around you. The walls had to be tighter, or they’d crumble into ruin, the dust spilling all his secrets before he’d confess whatever wasn’t already written over his face. But, you don’t needle him—instead, you make him a plate from leftovers, tell him about some gossip your mom had informed you of, until you offer him your shower, your sofa and bid him goodnight.

“You’ll be here in the morning?”

“Not going anywhere.”

Lingering in the doorway to your bedroom, fingers playing the piano on the wood. “You’ve said that before.”

He knows he has.

It rises up in him like a storm, whipping around his organs, making his chest tighten as he lies down in comfort but stares up at the unfamiliar. He can hear the rain, how it pitters and patters—how it likely streams down the windows behind your curtains.

He should find it odd that he'd rather fall asleep here, than in his bed back where he grew up. A strange solace in the unknown here, a quiet surrender to the whispers he usually has to hear when the night comes.

But, they're not here.

At some stage, he must sleep, before he wakes to the scent of coffee and soft sunshine. His ears catch the sound of you calling in sick—a cough, a put-on voice, one all removed when you throw a throw cushion at him and ask him what he wants for breakfast.

That’s how he finds his knee kissing yours under the small table as your spoon scoops cereal before letting it drop back into the bowl. Just like when you were kids. Just like when you were all excitable, too in a rush to sit for a moment, stomach likely fluttering with agitation.

“You keep staring.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Flor.”

The thing is, you’re not wrong.

Each time he has a second, he lingers—gazes. Metaphorically pinching himself as he forgoes digging a nail into his skin under the cuff of his shirt, just to make sure he isn’t dreaming. A thing he finds he’s doing now, after a night of laughing until you couldn’t keep your eyes open and a full day of exploring, you walk a little ahead before spinning on your heel to smile at him.

“I have to show you my favourite place—before you go.”

He hates that there’s an end date on this. Bought himself a few days of normal, before returning to something that feels anything but.

Scratching his jaw, brows raised and eyes wide. “You’ve replaced our spot?”

Rolling your eyes, you take his hand—fingers slotting, palm pressing against his. For a moment, a reflex, he thinks of pulling away. Thinking of what else sat as perfectly in his palm as you—a thing that took, but never gave. A thing that he held more than he had ever held a woman.

“My favourite place here.”

He expects a lot of things, maybe flowers, maybe a bar, but he finds himself inside a bookshop. One with floor-to-ceiling shelves, dark wood, the large window letting in light that barely reaches the back. He supposes it’s good they have a chandelier, one that sparkles, shines—like it’s as well maintained as the shelves.

“Books?”

“Books.”

Your finger prodding into him, facing him, body fully twisted. That smile there, the one which slides into one of your cheeks and makes his eyes flick from it to your eyes and then back.

It’s there when you turn on your heel down an aisle, it remaining when he follows—when he hovers close, so easily able to pin you, cage you in between his palms.

“Which do you recommend?”

Shooting him a look, you trail your finger over spines, over the shelf they sit on. “Didn't know you could read?”

“Funny.”

Grinning, you pull on one, handing it to him. His eyes take it in, the cover, the name, the author.

“I think you’ll like the characters,” you explain, eyes lighting up as you lean. “They're flawed but resilient.”

Chewing his cheek, he swallows. Listening, hearing you read the blurb after you lift the book in his hands so you can read it, word for word as he focuses on you. Noticing the way your eyes shine when talking about something you love, the way one of your hands begins to move as you describe the plot, and the characters. Realising, that he could listen to you talk about anything all day.

“You should read it,” you suggest, as he flips through the pages. Having never been much of a reader, time being a factor, his job has been the reason.

“Alright,” he nods, tucking the book under his arm. “I'll read it.”

Your smile brightens even more if that's possible.

“Chucho is gonna be so shocked when I tell him you bought a book.”

Frowning, he follows you, leading him down another aisle. “You talk to my pop?”

Shrugging, like it’s nothing. Like the words that are about to tumble out of your mouth don’t matter like they won’t stitch themselves to him and make him feel like pulling you to his chest.

“I check in—make sure he’s okay. Done it weekly since you left the first time.”

His face falls, descends slowly. He feels it—watches you take it in as yours slowly mirrors him. And, even if he’s been thinking it, it bubbling at the back of his throat, he finds himself unable to stuff it back down—to shove it between other regrets and unsaid words.

“I’ve really missed you.”

Each word lands, your eyes widening as your nose does a little twitch as they do, before you whisper, resting against the edge of a bookcase, “I’ve missed you too.”

Sat on the rock, the sound of a car door slamming disturbed the peace. Not needing to look, knowing that gait, that little kick of the ground as you stopped in front of him.

Hand shielding your eyes from the sun, flower tucked behind your ear.

“Hello, Flor.”

“Piña. Heard you were cursing Laredo.”

Smirking, you sat next to him, nudging him over. The two perched on a rock overlooking part of the city—as his head turned but his eyes stared at you from the corner of them.

“I give it a month and someone else will do something bad enough that people cross the street.”

Swallowing, he exhaled. “Thanks.”

“Did you love her?”

Turning his head, staring at you—eyes flicking from yours to a place on your face he shouldn’t look. “Not enough to marry her.”

“Then you did the right thing.”

A thing he only believed when your hand slid over his, hooking your little finger over his.

“It’s because you’re in love with me, isn’t it?”

Snorting, head shaking, your words washed back over him and he broke into a laugh. “Shut up, Flor.”

Nudging him, taking the flower from your hair and handing it to him. “It’s okay if you do, I know I’m a catch.”

He's embarrassed that it isn't until the second day that Javi finds the chance to really admire your place.

How it’s exactly what he imagined. So very you, all cosy, muted, with spots of colour. Plants and throw cushions, blankets and wicker baskets stuffed with things he suspects you have no recollection of.

What catches his eyes are the photographs, the memories frozen in time around your walls and on shelves. His eyes sweep over them, in a trance still from the scent of your perfume mixing with vanilla from a lit candle.

Each time he sweeps his sight over, he spots new things, remembering brief conversations, smirking to himself until his eyes land on a frame that makes his mouth part and his heart clench.

Him and you; you and him. Sunglasses far too big for your face, staring up at him as he beams at the camera. The backdrop of his ranch, his home, the one he so often left behind like it hadn’t mattered.

Done it weekly since you left the first time.

The words roll around his head now. All metal and round, bouncing against other thoughts, trying to dig his heels into the present and not wonder about what kind of calls you make—whether they’d be about him, whether you’d confess things you’d never admit to him.

Your clanging around is what pulls him to the present. The bangs of cupboards and pans clattering as he stares at it—as he notices how different his build is, how many years have passed. The occasional cursing from you is a rather nice anchor that keeps him in the present.

“Flor?” He waits until he hears you hum. “Order in again, I’ll pay.”

It’s here within the hour.

A favourite, you had told him. A quick apology that you’ll be messier than last night, that you’re dying of hunger. He reminds you he doesn’t care. Not as you slide the triangle slice out, the tip kissing your chin before it’s absorbed by your mouth, sauce lingering on your lips—dust from the crust resting on your nose.

He’s not sure what’s better, the taste of the pizza or the sight of watching you. Having the chance to watch you.

“So I have to ask.”

Grumbling, he pulls at the topping on his slice. “Here we fucking go.”

“Did you like the tie I sent you?”

Half-scowling, swallowing the mouthful of pizza—recalling the box on his desk, atop files and paperwork with a note attached: One down, three to go. Written in that same handwriting he could spot in a lineup—the one he had wished there and then would be etched into him, a mark left, a thing he could brush his thumb over when his heart ached and he felt lost.

“I was disappointed not to see you photographed in it.”

“You knew damn well I wasn’t going to wear a fucking pineapple tie to a press conference.”

Pouting, you smirk. Picking at another slice, staring up at him from the floor, all cross-legged. “Thought you might have for me.”

It’s there, ebbing—words that feel far more intimate than they should—crystallising, burning upon his tongue.

I’d do anything for you.

It’s there, unwritten, pulsating and breathing in the space between you and him, existing, never diminished. Memories where it’s been all but similar rising like lava, singeing him, threatening to burn away the walls he throws up for the sake of friendship.

Because he knows what people think. Saw it hung in his pop’s eyes at his Tia’s wedding when you came as a guest, an uninvited plus one that was welcomed like you were already part of the family. Heard it, in the wind between the grass before he’d left the first time, a farewell outdoor thing, your parents crestfallen, as though they’d assumed—like he imagined a lot of them—the two of you would have figured it out by now.

Watching you stand, hand outstretched for his plate, you take it with a smile. A shout of two options for drinks, an unsurprising one chosen by him—it bubbling in the glass when you hand it to him, settling in beside him.

“Not sure I told you, but you have a nice couch.”

“Most expensive thing in this place—probably better than my own bed,” you smirk, sipping your drink. Head rolling towards him, brows raised, eyes that bit wider. “So, are you okay?”

You’re the only one who could ask and get a reply, he supposes. Those same words were said to him a handful of times, down the phone from Murphy, over the table from Pop, even on aisles of the supermarket when he’d been staring between brands he hadn’t heard of.

“I gave you a day to tell me, and since you won’t, I’m gonna ask. Are you okay, Javier Peña?” you continue, body shifting, thigh pressing against his—heat radiating from between yours to his. “Because you’re methodical. You’re not… get on a plane and fly to a different city just because.”

“You not happy I’m here?”

Grinning, all teeth—it reaching and hanging in your eyes. “Los más felices. But, are you?”

Yes. It’s all he thinks.

Chewing his tongue, his eyes drop to his soda because he’s unsure how to say that. Not as he watches the bubbles float up and burst—the song that had been playing coming to a stop, allowing the rain to play an interval against your windows.

It doesn’t make sense, in some ways: how he’s kept you—been able to keep you close. Somehow not ruined you, twisted this thing between the two of you, made it rot, sullied it with disappointment and selfishness.

“I am now,” he replies.

Good, you breathe. Letting it sit, simmer. Paper over any cracks as your eyes sparkle and remain fixed on him, tracing him as though not completely sure he’s real.

That is, until you grab the remote, excitedly telling him about the night of television they have ahead of them. A blanket, at some stage, finds itself over him, you nestling into his side—like when they were teens before the world became a problem and narcos were all he hunted.

For a while, you catch him up, explain plots and characters. Then, you fall silent, brows crinkled in concentration. His eyes slide to the side to watch, to spot the little things you do as she settles in closer, brings your legs up, and rests almost all of yourself against him.

Between one show and another, he feels the rhythm of your breathing change, your body relaxing further against him. He glances down and finds your eyes closed, features soft and serene in sleep. Realisation dawns on him—you’ve fallen asleep. His heart does a slow tumble in his chest, a wave of warmth spreading through him. All of a sudden aware of the gentle weight of you against his side, the way your hand is loosely holding onto him. He watches, just for a moment, taking in the sight of you, so peaceful and trusting in your sleep. This moment is so intimate, so precious, he wants to freeze it in time.

What else is a guy like you gonna do…

This, he thinks. Looking at you, asleep, peaceful—curled into his side, fingers around his forearm.

Smiling, he takes the remote from your fingers, turning the volume down as he gets more comfortable—pressing a soft kiss to your hairline.

He carried a single red rose down the side of your house—nudging open the window the rest of the way, climbing in like he had done years ago.

He didn’t need eyes, didn’t fancy having to explain to his parents how he could do that to that nice girl and her family. Javi had faced enough judgement, enough stares.

The only eyes he wanted were staring at him, remaining so as he stepped close and handed you the flower with the thorns picked free. “Come with me.”

Sighing, eyes averting, you swallowed loudly in the thick quietness. “You don’t want that. Your best friend following you.”

Eyes flicking up to meet his, you took another deep breath. Fingers flexed at your side, weight shifting from one foot to the other before you exhaled—louder than before.

“I don’t want to follow you, best friend.”

Then don’t be just that, he thought, thumb swiping over the tips of his fingers as he hovered, waited. Then he took a step closer, and another. The gap closed, becoming shorter and shorter—

“What are you doing, Piña?”

“Kissing you.”

Lips pursing, trying not to smirk, you took the rose and put it on your dresser. “Don’t feel your lips on mine, Javier.”

And then he kissed you, his fingers clutching at your jaw—body pressed against yours, tasting your whine, your moan.

He felt your fingers clutch at his shirt as he told you to be quiet.

Laid you on your bed of flowers, knees digging into stitched roses and sunflowers, as you arched off the bed when his fingers slid between your thighs—like he wished he’d done a handful of times before now.

He’s not sure of the time when he wakes, but it’s dark.

A contentedness in his bones that doesn’t fade as he begins to blink, as he takes in his surroundings and remembers where he is. Feeling you, warm, pressed as close against him as humanly possible. Able to see the outline of you, before his eyes manage to paint the rest, how his knee has slotted between your legs—bodies a mess of limbs that takes him back to years ago.

Javi notices how the television is switched off as you try to move, to wiggle and escape. His shirt discarded, the cool air misting over him, pebbling his skin as he slides his arm around you, pinning you tighter to him.

Brain all addled with dreams and sleep, as his awakening state tries to remind him what he’s doing.

What door he’s trying to open all over again.

“Javi…”

Not Piña, Peña or Javier. Javi, all soft and whispery, like honey dripping into his ear as he turns his head to find your stare in the dark. Somehow finding it shimmering, fixed, more than awake.

Then you whisper his name again, and it’s heavenly, a piece of it anyway. A sound he realises he’s missed more than he cares to find words to describe as he hears you push out a breath—fingers finding his arm, stroking, sliding their warmth up and down the muscle of his arm as he swallows.

It’s slow, hand cupping your cheek as he shifts his body, and finds yours moves with him. The beginning of a partner dance, one it feels you’ve both practised in small spaces but never actually have as he slides his lips over yours. Moulds them to yours. Tasting faint mint on your tongue when you deepen it—when you pay attention, listen, taking each cue you give him from the movement of your mouth to the way your hands grasp at him to come closer.

A whimper tries to break through, to escape through messy kisses and tangled bodies, but it vibrates through him. Makes him shudder with how much he wants you, moving your knee, hooking it over his hip as he slots his waist between your thighs and you gasp at the feel of him flush against you.

Practically whine.

Nose brushing your cheek, palm flat, fingers spreading out over your hip as he feels you roll your body into him, he smiles—breathy, teeth nipping at his bottom lip. “Forgot how soft you are.”

You hum, head-turning, mouth latching itself back to his.

“Forgot how good of a kisser you are.”

Snorting, he lightly bites your lower lip. “Best remind you then.”

“Best do,” you whisper, pulling him by his hair back to your mouth.

You write a poem against his lips, signing it with your tongue against his as his fingers snake under the band of your sleep shorts, tasting your moan, your hiss and whimper when he touches you like he’s wanted to since he landed back in the States.

When two fingers slide slowly inside of you, curling, the sound of his name is like a fucking sin he wants to be draped in, wrapped in, even dressed in. Him seeking, searching, finding that spot that has your legs opening for him, nails scraping against his scalp.

“More, Javi. Please—”

“You’re so tight, Flor,” he croons, burying the words in your neck, the tip of his tongue swiping over your collarbone as you grab a handful of his hair. “Feel so good around my fingers.”

Your hips writhe, roll them against his hand, gasping. Making a mess, dripping, practically gushing over his hand, as he fights pulling his hand free and getting a taste.

“Be better—dios mio—around your cock—”

Smirking, teeth nipping at your neck, “I remember.”

Head lifting, thankful the night sky is clear, that the moon is draping you in a slither of milky light so he’s able to see your eyes flutter shut. Able to witness what his fingers do to you, the effects of their teasing and the languid movements as he finds that angle, the one which makes you grind against his palm, and has your chest heaving.

He moans your name against your tongue, drinking down a blend of pleases falling from your swollen lips as he plunges deeper, walls squeezing him.

There he thinks, lips pressing kisses to your shoulder, as you dig your nails further into his scalp, tensing, bearing down on him to the point he hopes you’ll leave a mark, leave a cut, a signature of this moment he can run his fingers over.

“Kiss me,” you gasp, all wrapped in desperation as you pull at his shoulder.

His mouth only just pressing to yours when your cry buries against his tongue, when you flutter and arch as he continues to work you through it. His name breaks through messy kisses, it escaping effortlessly like it doesn’t wish to be buried anymore.

You don’t let him pull away, hooking one leg around him. Watching, not able to take your eyes from him as he retracts his hand—as he licks your pleasure from his fingers and you stare with a twinkle in your eye.

“You best fuck me now.”

Smirking, a low laugh escaping. “Yeah? Want me that bad, Flor?”

Lifting onto your elbows, he waits for a taunt, a tease—something that’ll bring him down a peg or two. What he finds, instead, is your fingers slowly crawling up his bare chest, around his neck, your chin tilted up.

“I need you, Javi. Need you to fuck me.”

“Yeah?”

“And then I wanna get on top,” you whisper, dragging each syllable out, “and fuck you until the sun comes up.”

“Murphy is a nice guy.”

Eyes narrowing, he shot you a glare—watching as you shimmied your jacket from your shoulders. Bare arms, bare legs—except for the thin tank and shorts adorning your body—that had him thinking un-best friend things.

“You jealous, Piña?”

“Of a married guy? Fuck no.”

Grinning, you moved closer—boxing him in. Staring into his eyes, in a way that made him feel like he was being seen, read, and admired all at once. “Is that because you left a bite mark on my hip?”

Tracing his fingers along your neck, he felt himself smile. That flutter in his chest again, the one which had appeared one day when the two of you were teens and hadn’t gone away since.

“Ask me to stay,” you whispered, hands on either side of him—all boxed in. “Ask me, Javi.”

Running his tongue over the front of his teeth, he raised a hand, knuckles brushing over your cheek. Wanting nothing more. A week gone too quickly. Already feeling the pressure slip back over his muscles, seeping into his bones. But he knew. He pictured it, the things he had nightmares over—even when you were far away, never mind when you were asleep in the room next to his.

“Too dangerous.”

“That it? I can learn—”

“No.”

“No?”

He stared. Thought of the things he had done. The people he had already let down. The things he had let happen to people who deserved far better. It layering, and layering, and layering and—

Nodding, disappointment spread, before it was washed over in acceptance. “What’re we eating?”

When he wakes, he expects to find you dressed in corporate and apologising in a voice that’s accompanied by a pout at the foot of your bed. The place the two of you found yourself on at 4 am.

Instead, you fake another performance. Earn an Oscar over the phone before switching to the excitable one you present to him when you sit at the foot of the bed.

There’s something there. It hangs in your eyes. A secret, a thing shifted and dislodged now your mask has slipped from the few hours of sleep and the ruining of your sheets.

But he doesn’t ask, because if he does, he fears he’d tell you things in return. Alter the way you see him. Change it, taint it. Practically ruin the man you think he went to be and the one he's returned as.

It'll hurt him if you look at him with disgust. You’ve burnt him after all, left him winded, air knocked from his lungs each time he’s laughed. All but imprinted into his mind, a thing never filed but rather pinned up and forever there, like artwork on a fridge.

“Wanna get a coffee?”

Hands pulling on a pair of jeans, buttoning them as he sees the peaks of your nipples through your white tee. And he knows your face is bare and you're dressed in clothes you just pulled out without thought—yet, you are, as always, the prettiest damn thing he’s ever seen.

A thing he thinks when he showers.

When he smiles as he scrubs the shampoo into his hair, feels the soreness at parts from where your nails had dug in. He doesn't stop beaming when he smears his palm across the glass, takes in his appearance as you open the door, a towel hung low on his hips, eyes dropping down.

“Now who's staring, hermosa.”

“Don’t be a work of art to be admired then.”

He dresses in record time, your hand swinging beside his, so within reach, so easy to grab. But he doesn’t.

None of last night mentioned, even if he knows he’s left bruises on your inner thighs from keeping them apart; even if you've left scratch marks on his shoulders from when you sunk down on him, head thrown back, jaw elongated as he rolled your nipples between his fingers.

Javi doesn't even mention it when he hears you gasp at the taste of your coffee, a noise similar to when he'd licked a stripe up your pussy, when he tasted both you and him.

It was just like in Colombia.

A thing buried, hidden underneath other topics the two of you don’t discuss. Dead parents and a town you both ran from. A thing he almost wants to change, correct, but then you stop outside a flower shop.

The sign battered, peeling. Hidden between two nicer shops, yet the scent made his nose twitch.

“You should buy me flowers.”

“Should I?”

Smirking, teeth biting your lip. “Por lo de anoche.”

Head shaking, he finds himself following anyway. Unable to stop his eyes from falling to the back pocket you shove your phone in, hand reaching, palm pressing to the globe of your ass as he hears the muffled sound of a giggle—

“Piña.”

“Flor,” he whispers, practically breathes it against your neck.

The bubble expands, knowing at some point it’ll pop. Too happy, he thinks. Too settled for a man who has a solo flight back. It’s why he drops his hand, lets you move further in, watching as you scan over already-made bouquets for one he knows you won’t find.

Because they don’t know you. Not like him. There’s not years between you and this shop—this place.

His fingers lightly roll over a stem, staring at the flower, before he has pulled it free from the bucket, and then another, and then another. Not at all a florist—or someone artistic enough to make a bunch—but a person who at least knows you. Knows that in each of the pre-made bundles there’s a flower you dislike, one that’ll remind you of something, someone.

“Here.”

You blink, eyes widening as they move from the bunch in his hand to his face. “Javi…”

“There your—”

“Favourites,” you finish, eye narrowing, lips still parted. “You remembered all my favourites?”

Shrugging, aware of how close he is to real—to something that could shatter, break. A thing he’ll do, just give it time. Feeling it wrap its tendrils around his chest, around his heart, squeezing and squeezing until your hand slips in his. Palm to palm, fingers finding their way between his slowly, cautiously, your eyes not leaving his face as you do.

“Didn’t know my pussy was good enough for flowers, Piña,” you comment, voice low, a smirk there.

“You deserve more than flowers.”

“I’m that good?”

Shaking his head, hand still in yours, he presses a kiss to your forehead, swallowing. “Siempre has sido.”

“Hello?”

He heard the hiccup, the slur of his name as he smirked against the phone—finger and thumb massaging his forehead as he heard you hiccup again. “Flor?”

“Piña, did you know that I miss you?”

Adjusting the tie around his neck, staring down at the pineapples—the box open, atop a bunch of files, in the office he should have been thankful for. “You sound like you’ve had a good night.”

You howled, the laugh all high-pitched. “Maybe I have—maybe I haven’t. What I do know is that I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“No. I love you.”

Smirking, thumb tracing an outline of one of the pineapples. “You’re drunk.”

“Still love you.”

Swallowing, he let out a heavy exhale.

“You doing okay, mi Piña?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer, how to respond. Head tilting back in his office chair, the ice melted in his whiskey and the hour so late he wondered why you were still up as you extended his nickname out into as many syllables as you could.

“I am now—okay, I mean.”

It needs to be left alone.

He knows it. Reminds himself of it when it rears its head at every second he doesn't. Because, it doesn't need to be needled, or picked at until it bled.

But, Javi picks at it all the same when you avoid his question again.

His hand slides over his face, index finger tracing a line down his nose as he waits until your laugh fades. Your fork twists the spaghetti round and round, and when it falls, it simply lands on the table between the two of you—the air tinged with the scent of dinner and the flowers from the shop.

“When were you going to tell me you hate your job?”

Your smile shrinks, like the sunlight being muted by the night. Spine straightening, chin lifting. The walls coming down both literally and figuratively, seeing you prepare for war when he’s army-less and unafraid.

“Si significo algo para ti, no lo hagas.”

He snorts, resting on his arm, letting the sheets fall to his waist. Because of course, he cares, and of course, he wants to do this. Balling up the hand beside his hip, seeing the murkiness in your eyes, the joy snuffed out and hidden, as though the hatchets were coming down to protect against his storm.

Javi says your name, softly, honeyed—delicately drip-feeding the air each letter until it’s out there existing.

One by one, it happens. Your eyes avert, chin dipping down; your tongue drags across the front of your teeth and then your arms fold. “I hate my job. Happy? I wanted it so bad—and now I have it, I hate it. I hate going in, I hate doing it. I can’t tell anyone that because it’s all I wanted.”

“It’s okay.”

Snorting, fake smile sketching across your face as your eyes harden to the point they’re brittle. “It isn’t. I left. I turned my back and got as far out of there as I could, and now I’m stuck.”

It breaks him a little.

Seeing it then, the many shards inside of you that you’re trying to keep whole. The pieces that are so worn and tired from doing their best to fit, but struggling to do so.

It’s why he protests that you’re not. He tries to rationalise and says the same words he knows you’d say to him if he called—if he had told you the truth about everything when he was over there. He tries to add kindness to his words as you continue to stare at him like you wish your bed would swallow him whole.

“—You’re saying this like I didn’t say the same thing to you, and you went and did another five years.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?” you spit, standing now, finger pointing and nose flared. “Because your job means more?—”

“No, because I’m a fucking idiot, Flor. You’re not.”

You mutter under your breath, curse him—a blend of poisonous Spanglish that has the heel of his palm pressing against his forehead.

Because it’s like last time.

The words surge up inside of him—except you’re both older now, both carrying more pain and hurt from a world that continues to pile on when bones are already struggling. Walls threw up, keeping him out in all the same ways—except now his mess is also between your thighs, and you aren’t half as good at hiding how his words hurt you.

“Come home with me.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

Folding your arms, your head shaking. “I can stick it out—work my way up, it’ll get better—”

“You know it won’t. Know how well that went for me.”

Then you scoff. It blended with razors and sharpened to injure. “No, I don’t. Because you don’t talk about what happened.”

“You read about it.”

“But that’s not your story, Javi. That’s theirs.”

For a moment, he sees it. How hollow you look, how weak, sad and broken. So he repeats it, the request, the offer. Come home with me. But the door shuts, locks, a bolt thrown over.

And everything, all of it, splinters; it doing so before your mouth even opens and he sees what his request has done.

“I’m not coming home just because you’ve decided you want to play happy fucking families, Peña. The world doesn’t stop turning just because you’ve decided to run away, and it doesn’t begin turning again because you’ve come home and decided what you want.”

“That isn’t—”

“You left. You left me.”

“—Flor—”

“—and I asked you to let me stay—when I knew you were hurting. I asked and you said no—”

He whispers your name, broken—like it shatters the moment it greets the air.

“—I wasn’t good enough then. So why am I now?”

Shaking his head, legs flung from under your sheets, he stands—aware he’s half-naked, aware this isn’t the time as you step back.

You shake your head, tears dangling, resistant to fall. “I bet you’re not even staying.”

“I am—”

Head tilting, a crystal tear falling down your cheek, you scoff. Loud. Brutal. “Have you even unpacked? Or did you just get on a plane here?”

Swallowing, Javi rolls his jaw. Fingers flexing at his side, staring, urging himself to find words as his tongue thickens in his mouth. Because he’s staying, he’s staying, he’s staying—

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Flor—”

“Save it.”

The door of your bedroom slamming behind you is the final sound that echoes out between you both.

It was different.

Hearing you cry down the phone—than when the two of you were younger.

When your first love broke your heart and he lay beside you on sheets covered in stitched flowers. Your head turned to him, the bedroom door open, as you teased your lip between your teeth. The tears had dried, but the rest had still been there, written in markers across your face as you sighed, staring, waiting for him to answer. “What do you want, Piña?” you’d asked, and he’d swallowed that he wanted to punch them.

Now, though, there were miles between the two of you. Distance far more than there had ever been—cities, a whole country.

“I’ll be home soon—can visit you.”

He heard you laugh, it hanging, echoing. “Yeah, yeah.”

“I mean it.”

“You mean a lot of things, Javi.”

“Flor—”

“I wish you'd never kissed me.”

It's a whisper, the way he said your name. It cracked, snapping as it left his tongue.

“I should go shower, early morning and all that.”

He asked you to stay and he heard you sigh.

“What do you want, Piña?”

Swallowing, Javi tapped his fist on the desk—tiredness having crept over him, the last ditch at doing right in Colombia suspended over him. Tell me I’m doing good, that it's worth losing you, Flor. “Have a good day, Flor.”

It’s weeks.

Eight weeks and four days to be exact.

At some point, it becomes less of a want to get in touch and more of a need not to. Your number is always there on his fingers, but his digits never dialling it when his Pop nips out to go to the store, and he’s left alone with his thoughts and memories in a house stuffed full of them.

Javi doesn’t expect anything else.

Having woke that next morning to find a note attached to the book he had bought: Had to go to work. Have a safe flight. Speak soon—a thing he both hoped and prayed for, even as he nursed a drink on the short flight and chain-smoked at the airport before he did the drive home.

Home.

A thing it felt even less of when he arrived this final time. Pulling his truck into its place, dust swirled and kicked up around him. Staring at the house that hasn’t changed much, just the paint thinning, the sun-dyeing it.

Each day that ticks by, he thinks of you. Each week that’s collected, he fights with himself when he’s sat alone at the dining table about flying back out and apologising.

Because he knows what he did.

Did the same thing back then—assumed and foolishly acted as though your wants never mattered. But they do matter. A thing he rehearses in his head when he’s feeding the animals; a thing he runs over when he’s repairing a door here or a fence there.

One week adds up, then another, and another.

If his Pop thinks things, he doesn’t share them. Just shakes his head occasionally, not asking what is wrong, likely knowing. Suspecting he wears it like the rest of his shame, brightly coloured and decorated in bright lights.

A fool’s outfit, he thinks. A thing he is, a thing he knows. It carved into him at this point. Scratched into the skin and muscle, yet everyone else sees the word hero.

It’s eight weeks and four days when the door of the party opens, the sun streaming in—illuminating the back of a person in a dress adorned with flowers. It takes a second, the condensation on his beer dripping down his wrist as he stares, trying to place the shape and the style of the hair. Not wanting to imagine, not wanting to jump ahead of himself until he hears your mom say your name, all excitable—practically a shriek.

He’s not prepared.

Yet, it’s out of habit he moves.

Like the two of you are magnets, that realised they were supposed to be a pair. The music doesn’t quiet, and the room doesn’t hold its breath, but Javi does—and he suspects you do too.

Just as time comes to a slow stop—the hand in his watch takes an age to flick to the next second as his heart hammers into his ribs. Staring, fingers itching to reach out and ensure you’re not something he’s fabricated, not a mirage from wanting so badly and convincing himself he’d never have it.

“Hi.”

“Hello, Piña.”

It weighs heavy then—clots on his tongue. Almost shapes itself into bile and rests horridly against his tongue as he follows you around, hand close to reaching out to place on your lower back, but stops when he remembers where he is.

Home.

A thing it all of a sudden feels like when you turn your head, lift your chin and stare at him—eyes full of forgiveness, and understanding. “We should talk, right?”

Right, he thinks. Trying to stop the twist in his chest from tightening, trying to stop the dread from filling him and drowning from within. Conversations never go well. A thing he thinks over, and over as his hand strokes over his face, following, one foot after the other, until the warm sun kisses his skin and he finds himself leaning against the side of the building.

“I didn’t come for you.”

He says nothing, not sure if there are any to say.

“I quit. Moved back a week and a bit ago—” your hand comes up to halt him, half-pleading with a tilt and a raise of your eyes. “—and I needed to find things for me, first.”

Folding his arms, he stretches his legs, lets himself elongate, and tries to fill his lungs with air.

“Because I’d have resented you for being right.” Your chin dips, eyes following. “A thing I would do, because you, Javier Peña, know me. And sometimes I really hate that.”

Exhaling, he finds you do the same. Head tilting, lips rolling as you take him in, trace him with your eyes as though you can't quite believe he's real.

“Did you know that every person I’ve been with, it gets to a point where I think ‘Fuck, Javi wouldn’t do this to me’?” Meeting his gaze, you exhale. “And then, no matter how much I felt for them, it goes.”

“Flor…”

Swallowing, you offer the smallest smile. “It’s never gone for you, though. Not when you left. Not when you came back, and left again. Not eight weeks ago when I should have asked you to stay.”

Tongue sticking, flat against the roof his mouth, he grabs your hand—holds it. Runs his thumb over the knuckles as you avert your eyes.

“I live in Laredo now, further north. Did you know I’m so good at what I do, people seek me out?” you say, beaming, letting him pull you closer. “Think they’d have cloned me you if I’d asked for it.”

Dragging his knuckles down your cheek, he’s unable to stop the way it flares up in him—that joy, that ember of happiness—when you smile.

“Because I don’t think I find the idea of being yours that terrible—”

“That so?”

Shaking your head, fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt, he watches your smile falter—just for a moment. “Don’t do this, if you’re going to up and leave again, Javi. Because I’d have died happily not telling you what I feel for you.”

“Not doing it again to you.”

“Okay. Then,” you sigh, sliding your arms around his neck, his hands finding a home on your waist. “Well, I guess I should tell you that I really like your moustache.”

“Just really like?” he teases, swaying you as you purse your lips together.

“Fine. I love it.”

Smiling, walking you back until your back meets the wooden railings. “I love that you love it.”

Rolling your eyes, forehead meeting his chest, he feels the laugh roll through you. Rumbling.

“You owe me flowers.”

Snorting, he rests his chin on your head. “I’ll buy you a field, Flor.”

“That’s a good start.”

Thought so, he thinks. Wrapping his arms around you, keeping your head against him, rocking you, like he's wished to do so many times before now.

Home now feeling right.

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cieloclercs · 6 months

Text

what would you say (if i told you i love you)? — charles leclerc

PART: 7/7 (read part 6 here)

summary. in which childhood best friends blur the lines between what they’ve always known, and something more

warnings. angsty but with a lil catharsis at the end (yes it’s a happy ending i’m too weak to keep the angst up 😔) swearing as per, your bestie and charles SCHEMING, y/n being a teenyyy bit annoying but it’s fine she’s heartbroken we accept it 😚

pairing. charles leclerc x artsy!reader

face claim. tara michelle

author’s note. FINAL PART!! it’s been a long time coming (sorry about that sixth form’s been kicking my ass 😔) but thank you to everyone that has been interacting with this series! i love and appreciate you all sooooo much!! 🫶 anywaysss i hope you guys enjoy the finale of what would you say (if i told you i love you)? 💗

liked by charles_leclerc and 37,846 others

yourusername happier than ever 🩶

view all comments…

username me when i lie:

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username it’s so weird to me that everyone says she loved him like they confirmed anything? they were literally just friends 😑

username that may be so, but when two people look at each other the way y/n and charles do there’s NO WAY they’re just friends…

yourfriend you know there’s something called taking my advice maybe you should try it sometime 😃

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username PREACH

leclerc_pascale ma fille pour toujours / my girl forever 💗

yourusername 🫶

username hey y/n! if you are truly happy then i am so proud of you <3 but i know that sometimes say things to hide the pain they’re actually feeling. what i’m trying to say is please don’t think you need to act as if you’re doing great all the time! we all love and support you no matter what, and all we want is for you to be happy! 💗

yourusername i think this is the sweetest comment i’ve ever received?? 🥹 thank you so so much for your kind words and for checking in! i love you ❤️

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*yourusername liked this comment

charles_leclerc all i want is for you to be happy.

*charles_leclerc deleted this comment

username CHARLES WE SAW THAT

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username he really thought he could hide from us 🙄 rookie mistake

liked by formula1updates and 107,837 others

f1gossip BREAKING! Charles Leclerc and Y/F/N, best friend of Y/N Y/L/N spotted together in Monaco! Do we smell a backstabber? 👀

view all comments…

username YOU WHAT NOW

username THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING

username i actually have no words.

username oh 😃

username guys it might not be what it looks like!! we don’t know the whole story

username well it looks pretty incriminating to me…

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username yes!! first of all no one knows the full story, and second y/f/n has been nothing BUT supportive of y/n throughout this whole situation! switching up on her now is really unfair ☹️

yourfriend this is unbelievable. f1gossip you have no right to post this without any understanding of the full story.

username yourfriend stop trying to play innocent we all now you’re a fake backstabbing skank 🤮

username username if you can’t think for yourself without trusting everything the TABLOIDS tell you then just do us all a favour and shut the fuck up 🥰

yourusername

seen by charles_leclerc and 21,673 others

responses:

yourfriend thank you, y/n

liked by formula1updates and 22,736 others

f1gossip Charles Leclerc spotted with a HUGE bouquet of flowers outside Y/N Y/L/N’s apartment in Monaco! Is reconciliation on the cards? 👀

view all comments…

username OH MY GOD IT’S FINALLY HAPPENING

username CODE RED 🚨🚨 THIS IS NOT A DRILL GUYS I REPEAT THIS IS NOT A DRILL

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username tbh if charles leclerc turned up at my door with flowers i’d melt. no matter how angry i was 🤷‍♀️

arthur_leclerc FINALLY

username ARTHUR 😭

username arthur bestie what are you doing here 😭

username he’s so us

username he stans charlesy/n just as much as we do 🫶

one week later…

liked by charles_leclerc and 647,937 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername i’d say i love you too ❤️‍🩹

view all comments…

charles_leclerc thank you for giving me a second chance, mon amour ❤️

yourusername always 💫💗

charles_leclerc i love you so so much

charles_leclerc i’m the luckiest man in the world

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username hold up so everyone was talking shit about y/f/n but the whole time she was actually plotting to get charles and y/n back together… 😳

username yep…everyone say sorry and thank you y/f/n right now!

username sorry yourfriend and thank you for doing god’s work 😔🙏

yourfriend you’re welcome guys ☺️

arthur_leclerc DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW LONG I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS MOMENT

arthur_leclerc ELEVEN FUCKING YEARS

arthur_leclerc I DESERVE COMPENSATION FOR EVERY TIME I’VE HAD TO LISTEN TO YOU TWO PINE OVER EACH OTHER BUT NEVER DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT

yourusername way to expose us arth 😔

charles_leclerc sorry? 😃

username CRYING ARTHUR IS SO DONE WITH THEIR SHIT

username arthur is the true winner in this situation 😭

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username yourusername charles_leclerc LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO THE POOR MAN. YOU’VE BROKEN HIM

joris_trouche it’s about damn time

yourusername ok lizzo

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username FINALLY

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username ok but did you NEED to put us through all that pain? 😅

username it’s called character building bestie! we survived the charlesy/n friendship breakup so now we can get through anything! 😃

username the first picture 🥹🥹

leclerc_pascale Ma belle future fille / my beautiful future daughter 💗😉

charles_leclerc maman 🤦‍♂️

arthur_leclerc just propose already you’ve been saying you want to marry her since you were sixteen

charles_leclerc ARTHUR

yourusername CRYING 😭

yourfriend ARTHUR YOU DID NOT 😭😭

username IM SCREAMING ARTHUR WHY WOULD YOU EXPOSE HIM LIKE THAT

username poor charles can’t say anything without arthur exposing him 😔

landonorris i better be invited to the wedding 😏

carlossainz55 me too! 😘

charles_leclerc absolutely not.

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scuderiaferrari Our favourite couple ❤️

yourusername 🥰🫶

username even ferrari’s a charlesy/n fan

scuderiaferrari username *Biggest fan 😉

lorenzotl congrats to my favourite sibling (and charles) 😚

yourusername love you enzo ☺️💕

charles_leclerc rude??? 😒

username i love how they left us in suspense for a whole week after that gossip post and only NOW decided to confirm it ☺️☺️

username ROLL THE DAMN CREDITS.

taglist: @cxcewg @incoherenciass @formula1mount @allywthsr @meabhcavanagh @driveswiftly13 @zzblooda @gaslysainz @be-your-coffee-pot @siovhanroy @hwienv @xoxozoedagyal @alireads27 @glow-ish @eviethetheatrefreak @nmw-am @buendiabebeta @laneyspaulding19 @imthebadguyyy @marialovesf1 @f1wintermoon13 @topaz125 @aundercover @sainzluvrr @sunny44 @justdreamersdream @lordperceval-16 @needtokeepfeelingsincheck @midnightappleade @remuslupinsbitch @taylorslovesswifties13 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @lillianacristina @lifeless-firefly @bbygrlllllll @405rry @1655clean @drthymby @ang-26 @dhe3reads @mishaandthebrits @caitdaniels @missenclod @lovely-blackinnon @smnthnclj @sofs16 @dark-night-sky-99 @c3leste888 @christcat @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @cixrosie

thank you all so much for the love on this series! i’m going to miss it 🥲

382 notes · View notes

nahoney22 · 5 months

Note

Hey bestie ❤️ Back again with another ask (and perhaps a bit of a challenge should you choose to do this 😏)

Could I request a lil bit of smut for f!reader x Tech in an established relationship please? Maybe the reader is having a hard time focusing on work and Tech devises a.... Solution 👀 involving rewards for good behavior and punishment for the opposite. Maybe include some spanking? 👀👀

Thanks love ❤️

Punishment and Reward*** 🌊

🫧 Pairings: Tech X Female Reader

word count: 1.9k

prompts: None

Summary: Finding it difficult to concentrate on the ships operations for you to pilot the Marauder, Tech hatches an idea that may help you focus more with some rewards.

warnings: NSFW, 18+ only. Fingering, dirty talk, explicit sexual content and language, spanking, sexual rewards and punishments, soft!dom Tech, sub!reader, established relationship, cum denial. Not proofread.

authors note: I love this idea bestie! Enjoy @arctrooper69 - hope this is okay!

"Still struggling with your research?" Tech's voice sliced through the silence of the cockpit as he stepped inside.

You sigh miserably. You were trying to keep yourself updated with the ship's manifest as well as learning all types of models of transportation, modifications… literally anything. All because you wanted to learn to fly the Marauder. Yet your boyfriend wanted you to learn everything there was to possibly know. But, if Omega can do it. Why can’t you?

“No Tech, I haven’t. I just can't seem to concentrate," you confessed with a grumble, tossing your datapad onto the control panel with a defeated thud.

“But there is nobody else here to distract you.” He states and although this was true, you just weren’t retaining enough information about, well, anything.

You lean your head back on the chair and close your eyes. “I know, I just can’t do it, Tech.” You mutter. “I’ll never be a pilot.”

Tech studied you for a moment before an intriguing idea crossed his mind. "What if I proposed a solution?" Although his suggestion may seem innocent to others, you saw the glint of desire flash in your boyfriends eyes.

You arched an eyebrow, intrigued by his offer. "I could quiz you on ship protocols," he proposed, his voice laced with a hint of excitement. "And in return, I could provide a reward for your efforts."

The notion of a reward piqued your interest, stirring a flicker of excitement within you. "I'm listening," you replied, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

As Tech approached you, his confidence radiated in his every movement. With gentle fingers, he lifted your chin, his eyes sparkling with anticipation behind his goggles. "Shall we commence?" he murmured, his voice sending a thrill through you.

Standing up, you allowed him to assist you in shedding your pants, a rush of excitement coursing through you at his touch. His gaze lingered on the red silk panties you wore, a smirk playing on his lips as he admired his favourite garment of yours.

"Now, assume the position," he instructed, his tone firm as he sits down and pats his lap.

Biting your lip, you complied, positioning yourself over his lap, feeling the warmth of his body beneath you. His arousal pressed against your stomach as Tech traced his fingers teasingly along the curve of the back of your thighs.

"We'll start with something simple, darling," he began, his voice thick with desire. "What is your approach to navigating in space?"

The question caught you off guard, puzzling you as you rake your mind for answers. “I-Is that an easy question?”

“Oh yes,” he purrs, admiring the view of your exposed rear, “if you wish to be a pilot, you must know this.”

Taking a deep breath, you focused, determined to impress him. "Um... I would start by checking star charts," you ventured cautiously, feeling his approval in the subtle hum of encouragement for you to go on. "Then I'd check the onboard navigation systems, and if I were part of a unit, I'd maintain communication with mission control for precise navigation."

Tech's fingers continued their gentle exploration as he nodded approvingly. "Very good," he murmured, his voice sending chills over your body. "But let's make it a bit more challenging, shall we?”

“Do I not get a reward for that?” You ask curiously.

Your eagerness betrayed you, prompting a teasing response from Tech as he cupped your arse cheek. "You think you deserve a reward for answering such an easy question correctly?"

Your heart skipped a beat, a pang of embarrassment washing over you. "I... I just thought..."

Tech tsked softly, his hand offering a gentle caress across your bare flesh. "Well, since you provided a satisfactory answer," he conceded, "I suppose you've earned a small taste of your reward."

Anticipation surged through you as you waited, your gaze fixed on the floor beneath you. The sound of him moistening his fingers, sucking on them, sent a shiver of excitement down your spine. He pulled your panties aside and began to caress your folds, making you gasp. "T-Tech..." you whimpered, feeling his arousal pressing against your stomach harder.

He hummed in satisfaction, his touch sending waves of pleasure through you. "Now, for my next question," he murmured, his voice low and seductive, "How do you ensure the safety of the crew during re-entry and landing?"

Your mind struggled to focus, overwhelmed by the sensation of his fingers dancing over your sensitive flesh; slow and circular motions. How could you possibly concentrate with the delicious distraction of his touch on your pussy?

Pushing past the heated sensations, you forced out your answer with stuttered breaths. "I would closely monitor systems and environmental c-conditions during re-entry," you managed, your hips involuntarily bucking as you craved more of his touch, "and follow - oh fuck, ngh- procedures to ensure a safe landing."

"Well done, my darling girl," Tech praised, his voice warm and lustful. "That earns you another reward."

You moaned softly in anticipation, whimpering as you felt his soaked finger teasing your entrance before slowly pushing inside you. Your walls clenched around his digit as he skillfully manipulated you, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from your lips.

"It always fascinates me," he murmured, his voice dripping with desire, "how responsive you are to me even after I have claimed your cunt on several occasions."

"M-More, Tech, please..." you begged, your body burning with need.

"No, no. Not yet, darling," he teased, almost mocking you as his spare hand tangled in your hair, holding you in place. "You know the rules. More rewards come with correct answers. Now, let us move on to the third question."

Obeying his command, you awaited his next question, the heat between your legs intensifying with each passing moment.

"How do you ensure the integrity of the steering mechanism during maneuvers?" he prompted, his finger continuing its relentlessly slow rhythm inside you.

Your mind raced, struggling to recall the information. "I don't know, Tech," you groaned, frustration mounting.

But he refused to relent, applying a little more pressure with each passing second. "Think, darling. You know this. I explained this two rotations ago.”

Your pussy throbbed with need as memories flooded your mind, and with a surge of determination, you offered your response. "I would…I would conduct calibration checks and visual inspections," you managed, the words tumbling out as your arousal clouded your thoughts.

"What else?" he pressed, his finger curling inside you.

"I would m-monitor performance parameters during maneuvers," you gasped, the sensation overwhelming. "And conduct post-mission inspections to detect any anomalies."

“You are such a good girl, so clever. That is correct.” His praise had you moaning his name, blushing as he leaned over you and placed a kiss on the back of your head whilst he pressed a second finger inside you, filling you up one by one. Your body goes limp as he starts to pulsate in you, whispering words of praise as your heat squelched with every movement. “Stars, you are so wet my love. Let’s answer some more questions.”

As the questions continued, each correct answer earned you another finger, until you were completely stuffed with his digits. His relentless pace left you gasping for air, your body trembling with pleasure under his skilled ministrations.

But when you stumbled over the next question, Tech's patience wore thin. With a tut of disapproval, “You are taking too long to answer,” tech tuts at you, threatening to pull his fingers out from your sopping hole but he doesn’t. Instead, he lets go of your hair and spanks you. You squeak at the sudden sensation, arse cheek stinging. “That’s right, every time you take too long I will spank you.”

You bite your lip, almost drawing blood. “Who says that’s a bad thing?” Your teasing response earned you a raised eyebrow from Tech, and before you could protest, he withdrew his fingers completely, leaving you feeling empty and desperate for his touch. But, he doesn’t completely leave you gagging for a touch as he spanks you once more making you moan.

"No, no, Tech, please don't stop," you pleaded, the sudden loss of sensation leaving you feeling needy and vulnerable. You were on the brink

But Tech was firm. “Answer the question on the rayshields,” he commands, giving your left cheek another firm spank, “and then I may satisfy you again.”

You winced at the sting of another spank, yet finding it incredibly pleasurable at the same time. Your mind races to provide the correct response. But you couldn’t focus all too well when you see him stick his fingers on his tongue, licking your slick off with a soft moan. “You taste divine.” The sight sets your blood on fire and it spurred you on to give an answer.

Thankfully, he seemed satisfied with an answer you gave and after a tantalising pause, he slipped a single finger back inside you, drawing a whimper of relief from your lips.

As Tech's fingers worked tirelessly inside you after more correct answers, although you earned some light spanking in the process (he doesn’t need to know if your stalling was intentional or not) you were coaxed closer to the edge as you felt a wave of ecstasy building within you. Your body trembles that almost makes you feel delirious.

"Answer this simple question and I will let you cum. Would you like that, darling?"

You struggled to form coherent thoughts, the overwhelming sensation of pleasure clouding your mind. "Y-yes, ask me, please?" you pleaded, your voice trembling with need.

With a chuckle, Tech teased, "Do you deserve to cum?"

The desperation in your voice was palpable as you cried out, "Yes! Please let me cum. I've been good for you."

His laughter was low and husky as he praised you, his fingers curling inside you with renewed intensity. "Yes you have," he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. "You've been so good for me, darling. You deserve every moment of pleasure."

His words sent your blood on fire, his arm wrapping around your chest as he drew you closer, his fingers never relenting in their rhythm. The promise of release hung desperately close, driving you to the edge of madness as you yearned for the sweet release only he could provide.

"F-fuck, don't stop," you whimpered, your body trembling with anticipation. "I need it, Tech. I need to cum so badly."

With a final, expert twist of his thumb against your clit, the coil of tension within you snapped, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through every nerve ending. You cried out his name in a crescendo of ecstasy as waves of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you completely spent and breathless in his arms.

As you came down from the dizzying heights of pleasure, Tech's words washed over you like a soothing balm, his praise and adoration filling you with warmth and contentment. “You did so well for me, I told you, you could do it. You are so clever and beautiful.” Cradled against his chest, you felt a sense of utter bliss wash over you, knowing that you had pleased him.

He kisses your cheek softly. “See? Even with the hardest of distractions you did exceptionally well. You should be proud.”

You could only give a breathless laugh in reply, nestling your face into the crook of his neck as you came down from your high. Maybe you should find other ways to get some rewards from Tech in the future.

🌊 More Tech Works

🌊 Masterlist

🌊 Tags: @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @jesseeka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @lamiliani @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @thesith @raevulsix @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot @imalovernotahater @sithstrings @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @mysticalgalaxysalad @yunggoblin @photogirl894 @lulalovez @thiswitchloves9904

#bad batch tech x reader #the bad batch tech x reader #tech x reader #tbb tech x reader #tech the bad batch #the bad batch

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eddiemunsons-missingnipple · 1 year

Note

Listen hear me out you're with older eddie and everyone just assumes he's very rough and dominant but really he likes it when you slap his face and spit on him he practically begs for it while you ride him

Oh, I'm listening 😌 ya know anon you sound exactly like one of my besties...suspish🤨

Sub!Older!Eddie munson x fem!reader

I'm so sorry, btw this was also kind of rushed, so I hope you enjoy it. 18+ no minors

You don't know why everyone was a little intimated by your boyfriend. Maybe it was his choice of clothing or music. Maybe it was the faded scar on his eyebrow from a bar fight. Maybe it's because his face always had a scowl, and he never seemed to crack a smile until you're around.

Everyone in town seems to think he's this mean and rough person, but that's the farthest thing from the truth. Eddie's not like what the others would describe him to be. He's soft-spoken, gentle, and incredibly smart.

They also would assume he dominated you in the bedroom as well. You heard the gossip around town, and the little comments made your way as you passed by. Mainly from men with nothing better to do. Truth be told, it's the complete opposite for you both. If they only knew he is practically on his knees every night begging you to degrade him.

Eddie was a dominant person in every aspect of his life except when it came to sex. That's when he let you have complete control and use him, however you wanted. Even if that meant only getting yourself off and leaving him to finish the rest himself.

He loved it when you mock him if cums too early. He wants to be overestimulated to the point where it's becoming painful. He wants you to spit on him and cuff him to his bed. He loved it when you collar him and used your paddle.

At the beginning of the relationship, your sex life was amazing, but you always felt like he wasn't satisfied enough. You could tell he wanted to confess something but was too afraid. Then, one day, he blurted it right out. You didn't know if he meant to say it or if he was just too caught up in the moment.

"Slap me." He grunts out causing you to pause for a moment as you're bounced on his cock. You wondered if you heard him correctly at first until he said it again. His voice came out strained and desperate. His eyes look up into yours, pleading for you to do it.

You hesitated just at first, not knowing how hard you should slap him. You pulled your hand back and gave his cheek a firm light tap. The slap wasn't hard, but it was enough to leave his cheek a little pink.

"Y-yeah, again, just a little harder, baby, please." He bites down on his lower lip and thrusts upwards allowing his cock to hit that sweet spot on your walls. He thrusted up again harder, squeezing your hips tighter when he feels the sting of your hand against his face.

He feels like he could cum right now having you fulfill a fantasy he's kept to himself for so long. A small whimper left his mouth when he felt you clench around him. You both were breathing heavy in eachothers face, mouths parted slightly.

You never thought you would be into something like this. Seeing Eddie a complete mess underneath of made you wish he'd ask to do this much sooner. There was still some guilt on your part. What if you end up hurting him?

"Eddie, I don't want to hurt you." You confessed pausing your movements once more.

"It's okay if it's too much, and I want you to stop. I'll just shout Ozzy or some shit. " He insisted desperately.

You shook your head, "Okay, promise me you will?"

"I promise, sweetheart." He reassured, patting your thighs for you to continue riding him.

He laid back against his pillow with a big grin plastered on his face. You giggle a little as you proceeded to move up and down on his cock. Eddie helped by gripping your hips and lifting you up and back down on his hard length. His fingers dug firmly into your plush skin.

"Fuck, slap me again." He whined.

You tried to gain your composure long enough to do as he asked. His cock hitting deeper inside you making it hard to focus. Your thighs begin to tremble and burn. You pull your hand back again, slapping him right across his cheek. He threw his head to the side, moaning in response as tears leaked from the corner of his eyes.

He looks back up at you in awe as you move up and down on his hard length. His cheeks an angry shade of red now. The same cheeks you like to pepper with kisses early in the mornings before work. You can't deny you don't love this. That having him at your complete mercy didn't turn you on more.

It didn't take long before he was cuming deep inside you. As a matter of fact, he had been trying to his best to hold it when you began slapping him the first few times. He ended up cuming before you, which embarrassed him a little.

Eddie felt bad for doing so, especially after you indulged in his secret fantasy. You decided quickly as a punishment to try to make him cum as many times as he could. You wanted him sore but begging you not to stop. You had him filling you up with cum over and over again. Turning him into nothing but a whimpering mess as he came for the fourth time.

After that night, you both quickly moved on from slapping to cuffing him to his headboard. Eddie would asked to be blind folded and gagged while a vibrator was strapped to his cock. He wanted to be called names.

You'd make him cum over and over until he had tears streaming down his face. Until his mind would go all foggy and he couldn't put together a cohesive sentence. His cock being so sore afterwards that even the cool air would cause him to wince a little.

What you both loved to the most was how close this brought the two of you together. You loved taking care of him and washing his hair. Making sure he was okay and if he needed anything. He always just wanted to cuddle afterward. Which you happily obliged every single time until he was softly snoring in your ear.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #joseph quinn #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #my writing #older eddie munson #older!eddie #sub!eddie #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader

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walpu · 5 months

Note

walp walp hear me out

remember that trailblazer scene with firefly and how she just just gets stabby stabbed by the creature (memory zone meme i think)

and + Aventurine having access to the 'real' dreamscape, combine that with bodyguard! reader who will go through hell and back to make sure Aventurine will. Live.

reader follows aven during the entirety of the Penacony quest, including when Black Swan teleports the both of them to the real memory zone. (also, does anyone else feel like bodyguard! reader and Trailblazer would be besties... no, just me?)

now, keep in mind, Aven and reader have a... complicated bond. IPC workers here and there say their dating, the Trailblazer has straightup asked if they would just get a room (you get their vibe, you can go along with the secret assassin! bodyguard! reader req i sent in)

a little bit more insight on their dynamic (again, going with the assassin reader thing, its already known between the two atp, so this can be set after that period), Aven wants to love reader, wants to hold them close, and wants their affection, but dammit, he just cant bring himself to. Not when he's sure he'll just hurt everyone that comes close to him (his sister, cough cough)

and reader has the same mindset, they love Aven, as a boss, as that annoying but endearing friend, and perhaps as more. But they have blood, the lives of people that they've unlawfully taken, not to mention, they are 100% sure Aven would never love a person who killed just for monetary income.

now, here's where the real show starts. There's also another assassin (seriously, Duke Inferno should save his manpower) following reader and Aven. Safe to say, only one is making it out alive. How the assassin followed the two of them? No fucking clue, but somehow it does.

After i assume beating the living shit out of hordes of memory zone monsters, the assassin appears, and just when Aventurine's unsuspecting?? Boom, goes in for the kill.

Yeah, too bad. Aven's not dying. But reader is! Yeah, in a act of (cliche) protection, reader allowed themselves to be the one to suffer from the attack. (Bonus if they get decapitated, or just stabbed like how Trailblazer was by Cocolia). Aven will never forget the way that he just- watched reader's body fall, the light just gone from their eyes.

Anyways, he doesn't even get to hold their body. You just- poof into bubbles like Firefly did. The last thing he has left of his beloved bodyguard? Just a simple red earring, matching the one he wore. Nothing left.

Okay, im also going to cope here that the whole shitshow with Aven and Acheron did not happen, he returns to the room that reader had, and he just... stands there. He takes in the way that half of the room was messy, half of it was untouched. So much like them, unpredictable and just had a touch of the weirdness he loved so damn much.

(Bonus if you want a happy scenario, reader's alive and well, afterall, dying in the dreamscape doesn't kill anyone. Reader is probably smiling very awkwardly while they stare at a teary eyed Aventurine, then they make out /hj)

yay another rant, i had this idea for days, the decapitation part may or may not have been plaguing me (should i be concerned), anyways, thanks for listening to my word vomit, stay safe and stay healthy <33

feel like falling on my knees and begging to forgive me for taking so long this spring doesn't let me breath istg. I've got this request before 2.1 and only got to it now that's why Aven is ghosting me.

bodyguard!reader "dying" in the dreamscape to protect Aventurine

sort of a sequel to this but can be read as a separate work as well, the main thing you need to know is that reader was originally an assassin sent by Duke Inferno but they've changed their mind and stayed by Aven's side

notes - gn!reader, angst, unestablished relationship, no beta

You both knew the trip to Penacony would be difficult. You, in particular, knew that something big and very sinister is coming, judging by the way Aventurine danced around the subject, not giving you full information.

You may not know all the details of Aventurine's plan but you know him well enough to realize that he's planning on doing something extremely reckless and dangerous.

So you do your best to protect him. To shiels him from any possible danger, to keep him within your reach.

Of course Aventirune notices. How can he not notice when he already keeps his eye on you most of the time anyway. And just as you're trying to look out for him, he wants to looks out for you.

This mission already could be considered suicidal and he doesn't want you to be caught in this. Better to keep you in the dark, away from it.

Yet he can't help but selfishly enjoy your attention, your tenderness. You go out of your ways to make sure he's fine and he feels so undeserving of it. How can you be so kind when he's keeping so much from you?

You've seen him at his worst and you've stayed. You've proven so many times that you care for him not because it's just your job, not because of his money or status but because it's him.

He still struggles to believe in it sometimes. When he feels doubtful , he rubs his cheek against your shoulder in a playful cat-like manner and watches your reaction. Amusement you're trying to hide. Adoration you can't hide.

How can he doubt you? You're the one who should be doubting him.

He wants to melt into you, to be even closer than the two of you already are, but how can he love you without putting you in danger? Without draining your luck, without cursing you?

Sometimes he sees the same struggles in your eyes. When you carefully trace his face with the tips of your gloved fingers, your gaze sometimes lowers and you pull your hand away, as if you're ashamed.

But of what, of what? The blood on your hands? He has it too!

He wants to tell you this, to hold you tight, to never ever let go. The wish is so primal that everyone else can see. The memokeeper giving him a knowing smile as soon as she sees you two together, the masked fool taunting him about the only one willing to listen to him being his loyal dog ("though, judging by the way you look at them, little peacock, you're the one on the leash here~" she says. It feels like even a lower blow than the comments about his past. At least he expected those, but being taunted about his obvious feelings for is new), mx. Stellaron asking you two to get a room with a deadpun expression.

The worst one is the doctor though. Asking Aventurine to focus on the mission, then, in a softer tone, suggesting to tell you more about the plan. "It's foolish to keep it from your most trusted person, gambler. In the end, it may hurt them even more than your obsessive concerns".

If Ratio of all people gives you relationship advice you're doing soooo bad.

Yet Aventurine can't bring himself to listen to his words. He wants you safe and well, and he's sure (he's not sure) he's doing the right thing.

And yet he's wrong. He can't shield you, he can't. One of the richest people in the IPC, one of the Ten Stonehearts, the blessed one, yet he can't protect the one he loves no matter how much he tries. He's cursed, doomed, isn't he?

Damned Duke Inferno. He's dead, annihilated, and yet, somehow, one of his wretched dogs, his sneaky little assassin, finds you two in the depths of the memory zone. Such dedication to the cause!

There are two gunshots. Inferno's little rat and you strike at the same time. Them, aiming at Aventurine, and you, aiming at them. Only one bullet reaches it's target though.

It all happens so fast. You react immediately, covering Aventurine with your body. You move instinctively at the same second you shoot.

When their bullet hits you, you don't even feel it. Maybe because it's still a dreamland? The pain just won't come even though your back feels like it's on fire. You don't understand it yet but your body already starts disappearing.

All you can focus on is Aventurine's wide shocked eyes. His beautiful, beautiful eyes.

You smile weakly at him. That's all he can see before you're gone. He doesn't even have time to reach out to you, to hold you. As if he ever had the privilege of holding his loved ones in their final moments.

You just poof into the blue bubbles.

He rushes into the real world, in your room, praying to any deity that may here for you to be alive and well. It was a dream, not a real world. You can't die in a dream, not really. You weren't even killed by the memory zone meme, surely you're fine!

Yet you're not. You're not here, not anywhere in the hotel. You're truly gone.

He feels everything and nothing at the same time.

Of course, of course, of course he wasn't able to protect you!

How lucky he is, he has avoided death once again! His beloved died to protect him but he has survived! He's so blessed, truly, so blessed!

He finds himself on his knees, on the verge of hysterical laughter. The only thing you left behind is a small red earring he has gifted. And he clatches it so tightly his hand bleeds. Perhaps the pain is the only thing keeping him sane at this moment.

It feels like a cruel joke. It doesn't feel real, it shouldn't be real.

Wait... That's it! It isn't real. It's impossible to die in a dream! It was his theory all along, after all. It must be true. You just can't be dead, you can't, not you too.

His plan hasn't changed, he tells Ratio when he comes to check on Aventurine. He just needs to reach the real Penacony. To reach it and to find you there. You're strong and brave and so wonderful. You're out there somewhere, he just needs to help you to get back to the real world.

He holds into that idea like a madman. It doesn't matter how dangerous it is. It never did, to be honest. But now it's like he can't focus on anything else.

He hasn't feel so despaired in years. He just needs to find you, everything else is meaningless.

So when it's time for the final act, he gets on stage, fears not and doesn't look back.

He still holds his hand behind his back though. Clutching your earrings for dear life.

#i forgot if the bodies of those who died in the memory zone disappear #if not let's pretend the hounds took it for investigation #hsr #aventurine #reader insert #aventurine x reader #honkai star rail #hsr aventurine #walp's writing #no beta we die like sunday

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holllandtrash · 1 year

Text

muse | charles leclerc social media au

pairing: charles leclerc x singer!reader

after stepping back from music following a bad break up and a label drop, y/n returns and is on the search for a new muse, you just never thought you'd find it in italy sabrina carpenter faceclaim - a lot of reading with this one im so sorry

there is a spotify playlist to go along with this au if you're wanting to listen to the songs used/mentioned throughout, listen here (i suggest it bc the lyrics of some songs are important hehe)

yourusername

liked by kendalljenner, sofiacarson and 571,392 others

yourusername thanks for letting me take some time away♡ new things are coming, stay tuned

view all 5,104 comments

sofiacarson we missed u

dovecameron welcome back b❤️❤️

ynismygf SHES BLONDE AND WE'RE GETTING NEW MUSIC? im screaming

happy4u if we get a break up album im gna use it as an excuse to break up w my boyfriend

yourusername added to their story

yourusername

liked by zendaya, sofiacarson and 612,201 others

yourusername lately

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zendaya 🔥🔥🔥🔥

ynfanclub girl drop the album

yourusername girl its been 2 weeks i dont have an album

yourusername

liked by dovecameron, scuderiaferrari and 412,049 others

yourusername when in italy...drop a new song for the first time in 8 months

view all 6,302 commens

dovecameron okay girly pop off

ynfanclub I THOUGHT WE WEREN'T GETTING A BREAK UP ALBUM

yourusername ITS JUST ONE SONG ynfanclub IM SCREAMING

ynismommy italy is good for her, i support this

yourusername added to their story

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, zendaya and 653,092 others

tagged: scuderiaferrari

yourusername these last few days have been incredible, thank you italy for being so welcoming and thank you scuderia ferrari for allowing me to sing a few old songs on stage to celebrate your old company

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scuderiaferrari anytime 🫡🫡

charles_leclerc see you in the paddock?

yourusername what is a paddock formulayn charles is flirting with her and she has no idea

dovecameron shes baaaack👀👀 we except an album soon

yourusername hehe

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, zendaya and 731,029 others

yourusername new music may come sooner than we thought

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goldenyn SHE FOUND A MUSE SHES BACK TO WRITING

formulayn i bet you ANYTHING its charles, y/n probably took one look at him and was like yep i could write 10 songs about you no problem

yourbestfriend the flowers...👀 girl call me

yourusername added to their story

paddockupdates

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paddockupdates Y/N L/N sporting an all red attire at Circuit of the Americas!! Guess that week in Italy really did turn her into a Ferrari Fan

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yourusername i love sports

liked by charles_leclerc

charr16 love to see her at the races but also..bestie...we need more music

formulayn Y/N is at a race i repeat, y/n iS AT THE RACE

charles_leclerc 📍circuit of the americas

liked by yourusername, scuderiaferrari and 541,850 others

charles_leclerc P1 and Fastest Lap 👊🏁 What an incredible race❤️

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scuderiaferrari ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

yourusername gooooo charles !!

formulayn girl just say you love him its okay we all do

teamcharles maybe y/n is the teams good luck charm, she should go to more races

yourusername i agree

charles_leclerc added to their story

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, zendaya and 673,102 others

yourusername woman of the hour ep...drops friday

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formulayn im really reading into the whole red theme a bit too much

leclerrspaddock same

dovecameron i've been waiting for this one

charles_leclerc can't wait

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yourusername

liked by sofiacarson, charles_leclerc and 635,208 others

yourusername happy woman of the hour release day ♡ thank you to the fans who have been so patient and supportive throughout my entire break (and my return to the studio) thank you to my friends for deleting numbers and blocking the pages i couldn't bring myself to and thank you to my muse❤️ i can't wait to write more songs about you in the future

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charles_leclerc this is my favourite album

sofiacarson ❤️❤️❤️❤️

formulayn IS THAT CHARLES IN THE LAST PIC i can't breath

scuderiaferrari already added to our garage playlist🫡

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charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, scuderiaferrari and 650,920 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc woman of the hour

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yourusername thank you for being my muse❤️

charles_leclerc anytime

pierregasly does this mean we get tickets to her concert

yourusername only if charles wins the wdc

formulayn so they met that first week in italy and fell in love and have just been secretly dating this whole time...cool cool cool cool cool🥹

goldenyn im glad she put her energy into charles instead of a break up album🥺🥺 y/n deserves to be happy

scuderiaferrari mom and dad

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masterlist here

#charles leclerc social media au #charles leclerc instagram au #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc #formula 1 #formula 1 x you #f1 social media au #f1 requests #f1 one shot #f1 #f1 instagram au #holllandtrash #singer au

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merakiui · 8 months

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bestie if you EVER make a full length fic for the isekai leech twins protag who is engaged to azul you have to do me a solid and tag me! i want it soooo bad please lmk if there are any more crumbs

I think it would be fun to write! I'll be sure to tag you if I ever do! :D although rather than just a oneshot, I'd like to make it a series. Perhaps something small with just a few chapters. Aaaa but the more I think about it, the more exciting the plot can become.

✧ Mr. Leech hires Mama Rosehearts to be your personal tutor, in which you're then introduced to her highly intelligent son Riddle. The two of you become friends; you're just trying to network, but to Riddle you're the best thing ever and one of his first friends. The twins hate this development.

✧ Mama Ashengrotto dotes on you SO MUCH. It embarrasses Azul, but his mother can't help it. She just thinks you're so darling and so kind to her Azul, something she appreciates greatly. Originally Azul had no interest in you, so she was responsible for coordinating meetings for the two of you.

✧ Mama Leech is especially fond of you. You're her only daughter, so of course she's pleased to bond with you more. She likes having mother-daughter days with you, where the two of you can dress up and have breakfast or sit in the gardens and read together. No boys allowed. The twins tried to sneak into the last mother-daughter outing and were promptly sent away. T_T they try to spy and are always caught. While she's happy that her boys want to spend time with you, she also wants to have one-on-one time with you as well! You can come to her if you have any issues; she'll always listen, and sometimes she worries that her boys aren't being nice. She makes sure they treat you with kindness all the time.

✧ Papa Leech has a soft spot for you. He treats you as if you're his own daughter. Anything you want you'll have, whether it's a dress or a necklace or, strangely, brass knuckles???? He's not sure why you want them, but you tell him they look cool (the truth is that you're getting them so you can ultimately prepare for the bad ending should that ever happen LOL). He gets them, but he makes you promise to only ever use them for self-defense purposes. Floyd thinks it's so unfair that his father spoils you so much when you aren't even related by blood. >:/

✧ After your engagement to Azul, the twins have seemed much more invested in your life than they were before. They're also very handsy. You shake them off, but your scowl has yet to deter them. They just seem like you're annoying brothers to you, but the truth is they're trying to keep you from bonding with Azul. Azul didn't really care about this at first, but now he feels oddly annoyed and jealous whenever he sees the way they interact with you.

✧ Floyd acts like he doesn't like you, but he's so bad at hiding his very obvious affections for you. He gets flustered whenever his parents dress you up for nice events. You just look so pretty and sweet in your dress. He prevents anyone from getting too close to you at these social events by constantly hovering by your side. Somehow Azul always manages to steal you away when he's also in attendance at these events.

✧ Jade has a collection of items stowed away in an unlabeled box. They are things he's collected over the years and would like to give to you: a pretty stone, a bracelet, a charm, a hair accessory, dried flowers, etc. Though he's good at seeming indifferent and cool, he gets really flustered over the idea of presenting you these courtship gifts. So he pays attention to your tastes as they change throughout the years he's known you, and he buys or makes a little present for you for every year. <3

#twisted chit chat #feverish-dove #orz so many ideas...

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happyk44 · 4 days

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Thinking about Percy who ties his personhood and identity/sense of self to the relationships he has (Sally's son, Grover's bestie, Annabeth's boyfriend) because it's easy and aligning himself to them provides a clear picture of who he's supposed to be. But often where he ends up short with this is in his concept of Nico's protector, because it's not mutual. At least not in his perception of it. Aside from the beginning of TTC, Nico does not see Percy as his defender the way Percy does.

On one hand, it provides a relief because it gives him space and leeway to develop a relationship with Nico outside of preconceived notions, but on the other hand, it denies him the framework he's used to having for developing relationships with other people. Nico sees himself on more equal footing with Percy, and while Percy would never deny Nico his strength and power, his capabilities are often ignored in order for Percy to showcase himself in the role of Nico's protector. I can see this kind of dynamic providing a stressor for both of them. Nico doesn't want to be denied his agency and will get frustrated with Percy for assuming less of him, where Percy will get frustrated with Nico for not stepping back and keeping himself safe the way he thinks Nico should.

Nico is more informed in certain situations than Percy, especially when coming across mythical figures. So while Percy would be content to listen to him and allow him to present a strategy, I think he'd become agitated at the idea of Nico being a participant in that strategy. To which Nico would become agitated at Percy's dismissal of him. He would see this as Percy not trusting him, where Percy would see his refusal to stay in the background as a direct defiance to Percy's assumed role in his life.

When it comes to Percy tying his sense of self to the people he cares about, he doesn't tend to notice he's doing it. Sort of seeing himself in the framework of "Who am I? Oh, I'm Sally Jackson's son" versus "Who am I? Im Percy Jackson". It's not odd or abnormal to him, so he can't see it, and thereby he's not able to verbalize or explain his behaviour with Nico in a satisfactory manner.

Not to mention, I think Nico calling him out on his behaviour is a stressor in and of itself, so his mood spikes and instead of trying to analyze why he's acting like this or focus on Nico's words, he just doubles down on it instead and/or splits. And then they fight and argue and Percy just thinks "this fucking little shit" the whole time, annoyed and pissed with Nico. Then, when Percy settles down by himself a few hours later, he's suddenly swamped with intense depression and misery for failing Nico over and over again.

Despite this, he still can't analyze himself. He just sees himself as a failure undeserving of being someone's protector, much less Nico's. He notices the intensity of his emotions, notices the sudden shift in mood, but it's so normal to him and so overwhelming, he can't wonder about the why. Not to mention, wondering about the why requires introspection that Percy despises because looking inwards just shows he doesn't really know the answer to "who am I?" He's Percy Jackson, sure. Sally Jackson's son, Grover Underwood's best friend, Annabeth Chase's boyfriend. Two time saviour of the world. Child of the ocean.

But who the fuck is he outside of other people?

Who he is when he's alone?

#happy talks pjo #bpd!percy #nico di angelo #percy jackson #😊😊😊

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lemotmo · 2 months

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They got an ask about Buck/Eddie being written like Hen/Chimney. Because of course 🙄

A. Good evening anon, my week has been pretty decent, thank you. I hope yours was as well. Buck/Eddie are not written or played remotely similarly to Hen/Chimney. Their dynamics are purposely different. I don't know if you belong to the group of viewers whose knowledge of the show only consists of 6 episodes from season 7, but based on your ask, I'm going to assume that you are. But even if your knowledge is relegated to season 7 exclusively you should still be able to see the difference. Hen and Chimney are your textbook besties for life. They support each other. They cry with and cheer for one another. And sometimes even share one braincell. But they have always been shown to have lives separate from one another and their friendship (that's part of the show history you're deliberately avoiding). I believe Chimney has had one scene with Denny (Hen and Karen's son) throughout the entirety of the show's run. Buck and Christopher's relationship is its own unit within the show. They have episodes and arcs devoted to the two of them (that pesky show history again, sorry). Buck is not written as his sudo uncle. He's not written as his dad's best friend who occasionally babysits. He is a coparent. Eddie and Buck had one episode, Eddie's first episode, and it wasn't even the full episode, where they weren't written as immediately living in the pocket of each other. The show made a point of developing Hen and Chimney outside of their friendship. The show has deliberately chosen not to do that with Buck and Eddie. It's a season after season writing choice. It's why Kenny, Aisha, and Tim can all easily use the word friendship to describe Hen/Chimney. It's also why Oliver, Ryan and Tim cannot use the word friendship to describe Buck and Eddie. It's why in interview after interview they all struggle to describe it. The word friendship does not feel right or remotely strong enough to describe their relationship. And they all know it (again, it's that lousy show history).

It's okay to say you don't want Eddie to be canonically queer because you know what that means for Tommy. That's okay. You're allowed to hate it solely for what it means to that character. We all hate something that is canon. I hate several canon things. I won't tell you all of them, but I will share one that seems minor to a lot of people, but fills me with rage. When the show had Buck tell Eddie that he thinks Natalia 'sees' him I wanted to burn the studio to the ground. Evan Buckley looked Eddie Diaz in the face and actually said out loud that someone he just met is the person who makes him feel seen (even typing the words out made my face hot). Eddie Diaz who knows Evan Buckley better than anyone else in the world had to listen to those words be said about someone else. I hate it. I hate it so much that any time anyone mentions that scene around me all my friends groan because they know I'm about to go on a rant. I don't pretend I hate it for any other reason except it made me upset on Eddie's behalf. That's it. To me it felt wrong, wildly out of place, especially considering Buck had known her all of 5 minutes, and I thought it was stupid. That's it. I don't try to convince everyone that my feelings towards that scene are about some greater morality point. I hate it because I hate it. And that's all that matters. I don't know who told you all that you're not allowed to not want Eddie to be canonically queer because you know they'll put him with Buck. That's the reason you don't want it. Say it. You can. No one will judge you for you saying that. People are judging you because you're pretending it's all this other greater good for television bullshit. It's not. It's not because television needs a straight/queer bestie combo, those are everywhere, including 911, hello Hen and Chimney. It's not because television needs a straight man who's not afraid of his emotions. It's not because putting them in a relationship would ruin one of the best platonic relationships on television. It's none of those things. It's because he would be with Buck. Period. Just own it. It's fine.

The only problem with admitting it means you're also admitting that once his arc with Buck is complete there is no purpose for Tommy. That's why you don't want to admit it. You guys have spent the entire hiatus letting people convince you that he's becoming an integral part of the show. That he's going to have storylines and episodes devoted to him and his past. He's not. Even if they keep him around as a boyfriend for a bit he will still just exist on the fringes of the show. He will never be important as a stand alone character. The show has given zero indication that he is anything more than a plot point. They just haven't. And maybe you all are correct, and Tim has spent the downtime thinking of ways to make him more permanent. But that is very unlikely. Everything we've seen so far, including the decision to release that deleted clip, seems to indicate he has a very particular story purpose, and once they've told that particular part of the story, his services will no longer be required. You can hate it. You have absolutely every right to hate it. It doesn't matter if I, or anyone else, ever understands why you hate it. You can hate it. But it won't make it less true. It will just be part of the canon that you hate. And that's okay.

Okay, I wouldn't know what to add to this to be honest. Every single thing that has been on my mind for some time now is right there, in the answer above. The only difference is that the OP managed to summarise all of it in a few paragraphs. It would probably have taken me hours and pages of text to say what they just said in their answer.

I just want to add on thing. It's true, we all have canon parts of the show that we hate. Mine is the lawsuit arc. I can't watch it anymore. I can't even read fics that deal with the lawsuit. That is how much I hate it. I hated how they made Buck sue the Fire Department and how they made him tell that lawyer all about his friends' private lives. I absolutely detest it, because it made me dislike Buck during that time. And I've always loved Buck, even season 1 Buck. I eventually got over it and forgave Buck around the same time Eddie did. I will always hate that arc, but I also realise that it happened and that it will forever be a part of Buck's character arc.

This will be part of the canon that I hate. And that's okay. It won't make me love the show any less, but it will always be there.

What are the canon parts of the show that you hate(d)?

Remember, no hate in comments or reblogs. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of the anonymous OP’s posts, you can find all of their posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

#anonymous blog I love #insight into 911 fandom & season 7 and 8 #season 8 speculation #buddie speculation #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #comparing Hen and Chim to Buddie #tagging buddie because this is relevant to their development in season 8 #bt fandom #nonnies galore #911 abc

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deliciousangelfestival · 5 months

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In another scenario, if both of them became parents, Bucky would be the one who was excited about everything and allowed their kids to do whatever they wanted. While Y/N shook her head and said, "Oh no, oh no."

Angel, I have an idea based on this 👆👆👆

The story set the same AU with The Gentleman 2024 or not, since I still don't know if Y/N ended up with Eddie or Bucky.

BUT....

If Bucky and Y/N have ended up together, in my brain they have three kids together.

And their kids are mischievous like their dad. Y/N is angry and want to give their kids a punishment. She turned to Bucky and said "Bucky, this is your turn to back me up."

Instead, Bucky said "Eh? What they did is pretty chill compared to what I did when I was a teenager." Their kids laugh when they heard that, while Y/N have another headache "Oh no."

Omooo... This is such a cute story, bestie.

It's not just you. Even for me, I still don't know what to decide Y/N ended with Duke Eddie or Mob! Bucky 😭 Should I make a poll?

Back to the story, the scenario is if Y/N ends up with Bucky and their children.

Mischief Makers

Characters: Mob!Bucky x Female!Reader

"I can't believe all three of you ended up in detention?" You were shocked when the school principal called you.

Your eldest daughter crossed her arms; when she did this, she looked just like her father. "I can't help it that they don't understand my fanfiction. I wrote 3,000 words, a lot more than my classmates who only wrote 1,000 words."

"Oh yeah? The story about post-apocalyptic zombies, and you insert yourself as the main character, and half of the story is about romance with the hero?" You retorted. You knew your eldest was creative, but still, bringing it to school? Not the right place.

"Hey, stories like this made a box office."

You sighed heavily, then turned to your son, the second child. "And you, do you really have to say to your teacher that he has smelly armpits in front of the class?"

Your son replied, "Everyone knows that this teacher has bad body odor. He was standing near my table. I've been holding my breath for 15 minutes!!! I couldn't stand it anymore. That's why I said that, so he would move."

"Ugh, my head." You massaged your temples.

Then, you addressed the last person, your youngest daughter. "And you, what did you do?"

Your youngest child laughed, showing no guilt. "I drew monkey butts on the board. Haha."

"Hahahaha." Finally, the other adult joined the conversation. It was your husband, Bucky.

You glared at him. "Bucky. You're supposed to back me up."

As always, Bucky would never be mad at his children. He said, "Eh? What they did is pretty chill compared to what I did when I was a teenager."

"Hihihi." Their kids giggled when they heard that, while you felt another headache coming on. "Oh no."

The kids thought they could get away with it since their father didn't give them a warning. So it was your turn, as always, to be the strict parent. "No Wi-Fi for a month for the three of you. I will change the password today."

"NO!!" Then all three of them turned to Bucky. "Dad..."

Bucky raised both of his arms. "I'm sorry, kids. Listen to your mother. And none of you have apologized yet."

"We're sorry."

Bucky nodded. "Good. Go back to your room and reflect on what you did."

The three kids lowered their heads and went back to their rooms with low spirits.

You were still angry until you felt a hand wrap around your waist. Bucky hugged you from behind and rested his head on your right shoulder, his way of trying to calm you down.

"This is all because of you. You spoiled them too much," you said.

Bucky chuckled. "Let them be mischievous for a while. I was the same too."

"Yes, it's because of me that you changed."

"That's right, my dear." Bucky kissed your cheek.

Extra Story:

If Y/N ended up with Eddie Horniman, their three kids wouldn't make any trouble. Instead, their kids became role model students at their school.

#mob!bucky #bucky x you #the gentlemen 2024 #eddie horniman x you #bucky x y/n #james bucky buchanan barnes #buckybarnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky fandom #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #theo james #sebastian stan fluff #bucky fluff

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the-l00ker · 3 months

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I love how all the winner of the life series could essentially be the main character of their own story.

AND I'M HERE TO EXPLAIN IT TOO YOU!

Grian, the obvious, the original, there in the series because of him they're going through death games because of him and he's the only one who remembers the first one and is the only one who remembers the initial reason why they're there.

He was not doomed by the narrative. He doomed everyone else in the narrative and he asked to watch them die over and over again it's his fault he is the Doom in the narrative.

He's like a psychopathic main character trying to make everything right but it's not working out

Scott, because if Grian isn't the main character then it's Scott.

He figured out what Grian what Grian was BEFORE THE OTHER EVO MEMBER DID-

He knew that something was fucked up and he went against the Boogeyman causing him to move down a placement every other game. To be infected with coral diseases, and give his soul mate intentionally mental harm so that they'd hurt themselves to spite him.

He does everything for his friends, even if they don't remember. He does what he can for his husband, even as he watches him fall for a man other then him everytime.

He's making SACRIFICES for Grian mistakes, making sure that the next winners dont wake up in a cruel soulless void like he did.

Pearl, waking up after winning only to find out that the man she'd been made to hate so much actually let her win, and let her know the truth, and it's her own BROTHER'S FAULT/BESTIES FAULT THAT SHE HAD TO ENDURE ALL THAT.

She's now left with thought of what happened after Evo, how she hated someone that care so deeply for her safety that he literally committed suicide, and how her brother/bestie betrayed her.

Martyn, has been dealing with the voices inside his head for ages now. It is recognised by the previous winners so Scott teams with him to set him free.

He is now left, the winner of a game that he never wanted to play, a broken man. What happened to Ren? What happened to Evo? WHAT DO YOU MEAN I'M A LISTENER?!

It's Grian's fault that he has to deal with the voices in his head? Scott a man who cared for him so much he betrayed in an instant because of the voices he couldn't control? He'd Crawley thrown pearls to the side when it was clear she needed him most?

He has to now look Jimmy in the eyes, knowing what they are and who they used to be and continually failing to protect him, only spurred on by the fact that Scott never gave up on Jimmy too so why should he?

Scar, being the initial Collateral Damage to Grian's doings, once he wins he'll have to grapple with the fact and face his new reality. Like an ordinary man being hit with 10 to 15 trains.

He sacrificed himself in the first game for what he thought was his forever partner, his soul mate, only to be cheated on 2 games later? He was isolated and seen as a liability. You'd have to look pearl in the eyes and recognize their past actions of both torturing themselves and another.

The only man who had faith in him was Scott, allowing him to win that game but at what cost? Did he really have to know?

He's tired of not understanding... And the watchers will use his envy, hatred and raw confusion to there advantage, Grian's foil.

Cleo, seen as the underdog yet brash ally, she clawed her way to victory easily, within a day even.

She's immune to the Watchers effects, as you can see how the other winners were left poisoned.

Her friend Grian, the reason why she's here.

Scott, someone who tried to save her, by giving her knowledge.

Pearl, an evil to ally. An unwary friend.

Martyn, her soul mate and by technicality ex, driven into madness.

Scar, He's Scared he's anxious and he knows just as much as she does. He feels useless because others have treated him as such. Her own son, plagued with self-deprecating thoughts.

And the watchers taunt, as she has to put the piece back together of what they've broken. So that they can overcome and win.

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darklydeliciousdesires · 7 months

Text

La Dolce Vita - John Shelby/Cosima Changretta (OFC).

So, I decided to begin this new little series of mine, besties. It shan't be delivered in regular chapter form, but a series of one-shot parts that will tell the story of John and Cosima's marriage, beginning from their wedding day. I hope you enjoy it :)

Words - 3,682

Warnings - Each part will be adult only content, from swearing to eventual smut and violence. Minors DNI.

Part I - Inferno

The blood of a thousand men could stain a thousand streets, cold, hard warfare spinning out of control in a haze of spatter and gunpowder, yet sometimes all it took was the presence of a woman to end it all.

And it had.

It didn’t mean the woman in question had to like it, though.

“No.” The word fell from his lips with mild irritation as he took in the sight before him. “You will not wear black.”

Cosima didn’t even attempt to hide her distain. “Why not? This is a death, after all.”

Luca couldn’t help but feel entertained by her words, even though she was rapidly whittling him down to his very last nerve. “You are so dramatic, la mia sorellina.” She always had been. “It’s about time you were somebody’s wife, and you will make a good wife, too. Every man betrothed to an Italian woman should recognise how damned lucky he is.”

“And me?” Her cadence rose sharply, her voice bordering on shrill. “What about me, Luca?”

9:23am and already, he wished he’d had the sense to bring some aspirin with him. “You will do as you are told, Sima. And wear white while you do it.”

The silky drawl of her brother never rose beyond the smooth hush he spoke with, but his words packed the same punch as they would have had he yelled them. He was also the only person alive who she allowed to shorten her name. People had called her Cos in school, swiftly ending up with a slapped face for it. Her Italian fire had been lit pretty much since the day she’d been born. “I wish I’d brought mama with me now.”

His lip curled, a soft rumble of a laugh echoing his throat, sucking on the matchstick he pulled from between his lips as he pointed it at her. “We both know why you didn’t.”

“Yes,” she chirped, admiring her reflection in the mirror, “you’re paying.”

Again, she prompted his smile. Few did, really, save Anna Maria, his wife, as well as his sons, Joey and Guiseppe. “I am, cara mia. Listen, if you want the black dress, I’ll buy it for you. You won’t be married in it, though. Imagine if mama was here, eh? She’d be, ah, much more vocal than I about it.”

This was true. Audrey would have taken over rather than sitting quietly like Luca. “I’m beginning to think she’d fuss much less than you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Try on the next dress, for the love of god.”

Huffing and cussing in their native tongue, Cosima flounced back behind the privacy screen, getting herself out of the dress, the nearby assistant helping her into the white lace gown. Her face was a picture of utter contempt upon emerging, raising her middle finger when Luca quietly applauded her appearance.

“Perfect.”

“I fucking hate it,” she sneered, the assistant’s eyes bulging a little at her coarse language.

“Cosima, you would hate even the most exquisite of gowns, crafted by the finest of designers,” he pointed out, standing and walking to her slowly. He reached beneath her chin, raising it up, placing a little kiss upon her forehead. “You look beautiful. La belladonna. It is done.”

His word was final, and she knew this well. It did not mean she had to be quiet or graceful in her compliance, though. Being wed to a Shelby, after all they had done, the war that had seen the deaths of both her treasured brother and beloved papa, was not a fate she relished in.

Negotiations in order to cease the bloodshed and forge ahead in a new bond, running Shelby gin into New York with the assistance of her family and their connections had been sealed by a proposed joining of their families through marriage. Her marriage, to John Shelby.

How she had screamed and complained when Luca had informed her of this truce sealing union. Glasses and ornaments had been smashed in tempestuous fury, Cosima’s ire reaching the kind of decibels that had taken Luca and Audrey much effort and nips of gin to quieten, the youngest of the Changretta clan storming from her mother’s home, walking the streets, chain smoking in blind fury.

The only silver lining? At least Luca had not decreed that she marry the man who had killed her father, not that she actually could. For his sins, Arthur Shelby breathed no longer. Neither did Grace Shelby, nor Esme Shelby, the late wife of the man soon to be her husband, the gypsy beauty getting in the way of a hit meant for John on Christmas Day and lamentably not surviving it.

And Cosima thought her hand dealt was bad. For John, it was decidedly bleaker by far.

His brother was gone, his wife was gone, his sister-in-law was gone, and his fate was now bound to a person belonging to a family whom he couldn’t stand with any ounce of tolerance. Tolerance was what he had to show, though, in order to keep relations smoothed over, before anybody else ended up dead.

“It’s a fresh start for us all, John boy,” Tommy began, standing in front of his brother, straightening his tie. “I don’t expect you to be happy about it, but...”

“Good, ‘cos I ain’t,” he cut in with, his jaw tightening, refusing to meet his brother’s eye. “Esme is barely fucking cold, and you’ve got me marrying some wop bitch. Trust me, Tom. I ain’t fucking happy in the slightest.”

The elder Shelby truly had no comeback for that. He knew his actions were a slap in the face to John, to Arthur, to Esme and to the love of his life, but there was no other way around it. He didn’t plan on losing anybody else to a war that could be negotiated through. It had been tough to bargain, but peace had been restored finally, Tommy reasoning that scores had been settled upon both sides of the divide.

They were more than even. In fact, they truly weren’t, two lives on the Changretta side, three on the Shelby, two innocent women coming into the crossfire and dying because of it. He was not prepared to lose more. If he could also turn a very tidy profit while not losing more, then so be it.

Finally, he managed to catch the icy stare of his brother, Tommy squeezing his shoulders. “Give it time. At least you’re getting wed to an attractive woman. Could have matched you to a right scrag, but I didn’t.”

She could have been the queen of fucking Sheba for all John cared. Her beauty or lack thereof was neither here nor there. She wasn’t Esme, and that was all there was to it. “Gotta habit of this, you have, marrying me off to some bird I ain’t ever clapped eyes on until I get to the altar, all for the sake of keeping the peace.”

There hadn’t been an actual altar at his wedding to Esme, but this time there was no room for negotiation. The priest local to the district Cosima Changretta lived in had been given a hefty bung to marry them, regardless of the fact that John was a non-practising Catholic. Usually, Father David would have required he at least attend weekly mass for a few months prior to the wedding, but this wasn’t possible when the union had been set up to take place within the space of a week from its original incarnation.

Through his disesteem, John wasn’t blind to see the benefits of joining the families in order to broker peace, though. He just wished there was some other way, one that didn’t involve him forsaking his late wife’s memory, or literally getting into bed with a member of the very family who had taken three members of his.

With a red rose buttonhole pinned to his charcoal suit – those specific flowers at Cosima’s request – they headed out to the waiting car, ready to be ferried across Birmingham to the district of Bournville, to St Francis of Assisi.

“Holy shit, the waft of that bloody chocolate," Polly spoke from the back of the car, the famous Cadbury factory emitting the heady scent of it’s delicious confectionary. “Making my mouth water, it is.”

“Well, as long as the air smells like Dairy fucking Milk, all’s right as rain, ain’t it, Pol?” John muttered, watching the little black and white houses dotted along the main road pass them by. It was such a different landscape than the one he was used to, the village of Bournville so very picturesque and quaint.

Polly tutted. “Oi, less of your fucking lip, our John. Don’t make today any harder than it has to be by being a surly shit about it.”

“Yeah, but...”

She cut his protests dead with her usual blunt retort. “We know, for the love of god! You’ve vented your spleen so hard at this, I’m surprised you have one left! This isn’t ideal, but it’ll bring us peace and let me rest my fucking head easy at night, not worrying when the next of my fucking nephew’s is going to end up riddled with bullet holes. Now, put your fucking face straight. We’re nearly there.”

He could have begun his protests once more, vented at how it wasn’t right that he was being thrown into wedlock again just four months after his second wife had died, how at thirty years old, he shouldn’t have already had to attend the funerals of two Mrs. Shelby’s, but he knew it would serve him little good.

Arriving at the church, they made their way inside, John surprised to be greeted kindly by Audrey Changretta, who was standing talking to the verger.

“A lot of water has gone under the bridge, John. All I want going forward is for you to be a good man to my Cosima. Can you do that for me, love?”

His heartstrings were yanked upon hard, knowing how much his actions had devastated her. She looked weary from it all, the sparkle in her eyes non-existent. He’d never wanted her to be hurt in all of this, the teacher he held so many fond memories of, the woman he had steadfastly refused to murder in cold blood. “I can. I promise I will.”

She patted his cheek, smiling thinly. That smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, and for that he couldn’t blame her. “Thank you.” She exchanged nods with Polly and Tommy, the Shelby’s moving into the church, smiling to their family and friends as they passed the pews, the Changretta presence outnumbering them by about two to one.

He and Tommy stood to the side of the altar, Polly taking a seat at the first pew between Finn and Ada, the latter giving the groom-to-be a bolstering smile. It had little of its desired effect, John feeling a cold swirl of discomfort growing chillier by the moment. “Forgive me, Esme. I fucking wish this weren’t happening just as much as I wish you were still here, love.”

His deeply lamenting thoughts were banished by the sound of the organ keys pressed upon, the church filling with music as the congregation stood, Father David quickly shaking both his and Tommy’s hands before his focus shifted towards the doors, beaming as he watched Cosima escorted in by her brother. The bride looked exquisite in her white lace gown, her cascading veil shrouding her face, the dress very quintessentially Italian in fashion.

John didn’t dare turn around and watch her walk to him, only aware of her arrival at his side from the strong plume of Chanel perfume entering his nose, finally turning to see Luca gently lift her veil, kissing her cheek and whispering a few words in Italian to her. He then moved to John, surprising him by offering his hand.

“To famiglia, eh?”

“Yeah,” he coughed, shaking it. The Italian’s grip was like Iron, his face unflinching. There was no true warmth there. “To family.”

Luca moved to sit at his mother’s side, John finally letting his eyes fall to his left, taking her in for the first time. His throat tightened in an instant. He’d thought Esme to be the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, the guilt of the fact that Cosima Changretta was the biggest knockout he’d ever witnessed hitting him hard.

As for his soon to be wife, when her piercing blue eyes found his, the sensation of her heart skipping on three consecutive beats made her feel a little nauseous for a moment.

He was gorgeous.

Why did he have to be gorgeous? It would have made hating him so much easier if he’d been ugly.

“At least I will have something nice to look at, while I’m throwing plates at his head.” She thought, turning to the priest and smiling as best she could, given the circumstances.

The ceremony was a long, tedious affair, the bride wishing for a traditional mass that bored the balls off John. He did well to hide it, though. What he failed miserably at was looking in any way, shape or form happy when they were pronounced man and wife, offering her a chaste kiss to the cheek, a speedy peck of non-affection. Cosima was relieved he hadn’t leaned to her mouth. She wasn’t ready for that yet.

Taking his arm, she walked back down the aisle as the newest member of the Shelby family, her eyes sad as she looked at her mother and brother. They smiled at her with loving pride, Cosima dropping her chin, lest they see the tears in her eyes as she walked alongside her new husband, a man she couldn’t stand. True, she knew nothing of John Shelby, other than what he’d had a hand in taking from her.

With every step, she had to physically prevent herself from gathering the bridal lace swathing her slender curves and running, back to Acacia Road, back to the family home. This was where she desired to be, out in the flower filled back garden tending to her roses, taking cuttings of herbs ready to be brought into the kitchen and tutored by her darling mother in everything from Carbonara to baked Ziti.

She longed for the scents of her mother’s pasta, to hear her father’s key in the door, his whistled tunes filling the homestead as she’d wipe her hands upon her apron and run to greet him. Her papa, the man she loved and respected the very most. Gone.

“You erm, you look beautiful, Cosima.”

His face did not match his compliment, Cosima looking up at her new husband, her face stony. “I know. Shame my dream wedding didn’t come with the dream groom, though.”

John sniffed, his eyebrow tilting a fraction. “Ahh, you might still get it yet. We can get divorced and give it another go with other people. Who knows? I could nail it lucky the fourth time around.”

Her eyes widened. “You’ve been married twice before?”

“Ar.”

“And what the blinking hell happened to them?” she demanded, wondering just what her brother had gotten her into, marrying her off to a man who was on his third wife.

“They died, if you must know,” he frowned, reaching the end of the aisle, the door opening, a cascade of confetti hurled at them from the throng of guests exiting behind them.

“Lucky them.” Her mutter was drowned out by the sound of happy cheers, or at least she thought it had been. Her new husband had heard it, though, wanting nothing more than to slap her in her rude mouth for her coldly delivered statement.

“Great, got myself hitched to a stunner and she’s a right nasty little mare.” he spoke, certainly loud enough for her to hear, releasing the hold upon her arm and moving to receive congratulations from his family. Cosima narrowed her eyes at him in his wake, turning to smile brightly at her friends, her hands taken in theirs, cheeks kissed, her heart thrumming with waves of sadness. A right nasty little mare. That’s what he thought of her, Cosima’s indignance burning brightly for a while, not able to reflect upon the fact that what she’d said had indeed been very spiteful.

At twenty-three, she truly should have known better. With two dead wives behind him and a bitterness that still lingered beneath the surface between the two families, she guessed he was likely as thrilled to be married to her as she was to him. An apology perhaps wouldn’t go amiss.

Once they’d posed for a few photographs, the bride and groom were shown to the waiting Rolls Royce Silver Cloud, John holding the door open for her, following her in and staring stonily out of the window as they pulled away from the church.

She felt awkward and ashamed of her words, moving her thumb back and forth over one of the large thorns the florist had neglected to remove from the bouquet of red roses. “John, I apologise for what I said, about your late wives being lucky. I only meant that... I don’t know what I meant, actually.”

She was met by a cold, two worded statement. “Fuck off.”

Deserved, to be fair. Predictably, Cosima let it spark at her kindling rather than rushing for water, though. “That’s impossible, now I’m your wife. Don’t bloody pout at me. I said something regrettable, but because of your family I don’t have Angel or my father any longer. You yourself are directly responsible for the former. If you hadn’t beaten him within an inch of his life, he wouldn’t have lay vulnerable in hospital, ripe for the plucking. And let’s not forget that scumbag of a brother of yours, who killed my papa.”

He tutted, chewing his toothpick with hostility. “Don’t act like you’re the only one who lost somebody you loved. Fucking gone right over your head, ain’t it? Because of your family, I lost me wife, brother and sister-in-law. We’re in the same boat, Cosima.”

“You started all of this. You could have just let Lizzie be happy with Angel, but no! You had to burn his restaurant to the fucking ground. What is it you dumb Shelby fucks say, hmm? By order of the Peaky Blinders, that’s it! Your way or the highway!”

Bile began licking at his insides. “Your brother weren’t good enough for Lizzie. She’s a good woman, and he was a fucking duplicitous shit. Didn’t even have the balls to use his real name for half his dealings. At least we stand by who we fucking are.”

Her rage escalated by the second, staring at him incredulously. “My brother had the sense to be clandestine, and you will not speak of him like you knew him! So, he partnered with your enemies, so fucking what? The way you Shelby’s conduct yourself, you make enemies left and fucking right! You took my family away from me for nothing. Nothing!”

John eyed her viciously, his eyes losing any trace of warmth. “They fucking deserved it, and you, you spoiled little wop bitch? You deserve nothing less than every fucking ounce of my contempt. We’re married in name only, believe me. Ain’t no way I’m gonna be a good husband to you, no matter what I promised your mom.”

“Fine by me!”

The air virtually crackled with their mutual distain, Cosima shuffling as far as she could get away from him, muttering cusses in Italian.

“I know what testa di cazzo means,” he spat.

“Good!” she fumed, “I want you to know I think you’re a dickhead!”

The reception was being held at a small hotel local to the church, Cosima storming out of the car and not looking back, fixing a huge, fake smile to her face as she was welcomed by the staff. Immediately, her eyes locked onto a waiter carrying a tray of champagne filled flutes, taking one and knocking it back. A second was reached for, John arriving at her side.

“Whiskey please, mate. Fucking large one.”

The waiter nodded. “At once, sir.”

They stood together to welcome their guests, both repelled by one another’s presence, going through the motions of everything. Cake cutting, first dance, spending as much time as they could away from one another. It was while John was seeking the solace of quiet and fresh night air much later that evening, standing on the rear patio of the hotel smoking a cigar, that he found himself joined by the last person he expected.

“Can I give you some advice, John?”

Turning to Luca, he raised an eyebrow, the tall Italian continuing. “If you want a quiet life with my sister, you need to keep her in the lifestyle she’s become accustomed to. I love that girl to her bones, but she’s a fucking spoiled princess.”

His eyes widened. “You can say that again.”

Luca’s mouth twitched, removing the toothpick he’d been idly chewing on. “My father bent to her every whim, being his only daughter. She was daddy’s little girl. Roses, diamonds, furs, French perfume, she loves all of that. You treat her good and she’ll be sweet with you. And make sure she has a garden. That kid lives for horticulture.”

Luckily, he was wealthy enough to provide such luxuries for his new bride, not that he wanted to. Not that she deserved even one of them. “Noted.”

He nodded, turning to leave his new brother-in-law to it, pausing suddenly as he pointed the toothpick in his grasp at him. “Oh, and John? She’s got a thing for hurling plates. Learn to duck.” Laughing to himself, he carried on back into the hotel, while John felt a prickle of annoyance at his statement, or rather how much pleasure he’d derived from delivering the news that Cosima was nothing short of a bad-tempered handful.

Standing out there alone, he did hope that one day he might see her as something different. Whether that day would come swiftly or not was anybody’s guess, though.

#john shelby fanfiction #john shelby x ofc #peaky blinders fanfiction #luca changretta fanfiction #john shelby smut #john shelby fanfic #john shelby fic #john shelby x oc #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fic

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jomamaofficial · 4 months

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A Hero's Burden (Midoriya x GN!Reader Angst No Comfort Oneshot)

A/N: FIRST OF ALL, SPECIAL THANKS TO @caramello07, BECAUSE THIS ABSOLUTE LEGEND HAS BEEN HELPING ME CREATE THE PLOT AND BETAREADING MY WORK. LITERALLY, BESTIE, YOU'RE A REAL ONE 🫶🫶.

Hello hello my lovely readers! Thank you for being patient with me. My exams are around the corner so I have been so, so busy with that. But I always pop in to see you guys leave the most beautiful feedback and comments, it makes my day <3. I hope you enjoy this just as much as I did. I really put my heart and soul into this one.

Please let me know whether I should lowkey create a YouTube channel where I read out my work the way I intended to.

As always, my Ask Box is open for any requests or just a conversation. I absolutely adore all of you, and I want to take this time to thank you guys for your support. Seeing your comments and messages motivates me to write :) <3. Please remember to take care of yourselves, and enjoy. As always, I would love to see your thoughts in the comments :).

TW: Death and bleeding, SUICIDAL themes.

CW: SPOILER: Season 6, Izuku’s Vigilante arc, swearing, difficult friendship dynamics.

Masterlist

Word Count: 3242.

Summary: Heroes always win. Every folktale, every comic, everything in our life tells us the same thing: good reigns over evil. But the harsh truth comes crashing down in a dark warehouse, where the facade of invincibility crumbles. Amidst the shadows, surrounded by those who once vowed to protect, you can only helplessly watch as your best friend, Midoriya Izuku destroys himself under the weight of this flawed, and broken system. With the entire hero society relying on him, how can he stop giving everything he has? In a world where heroes are human and kindness is a liability. You try to help him, yet even the strongest bonds can shatter under the weight of despair.

——————————————————————————————————

How does it feel?

When everything in front of you disintegrates into pieces, whilst you can only sit there and watch?

It feels like a dark warehouse. Cold and wet.

Sunken in, casting a dark shadow, impersonating the night sky, your eyelids were heavy, succumbing to the shared lethargy that lurked in the heavy air. Your brain did not allow you to rest however, listening only to your palpitating heart, because what if the villains found you whilst you were fast asleep?

Heroes were there to protect you.

But why were you still so afraid? The nation's best heroes had congregated together, sharing the same space as you, breathing the same air as you.

They would never let harm come your way– it was their duty to protect you.

So why were they hiding from that harm, sitting with their knees held close to their chest?

Heroes were there to protect you, but that claim was voiceless in the presence of reality: heroes were hidden– whispering and begging the ground to stay silent as they shuffled in the shadows. Villains ran loose– mocking the hopeless souls that they trampled on, with every free, and unabashed step they took.

Death had not only taken multiple heroes on the battlefield; it had also snatched their facade.

They were not invincible. They were not untouchable.

The world had just forgotten that their heroes were only human after all.

A phone rang.

Roaming eyes halted. They could not speak.

“It’s mine”, Hawks said.

Breaths were held.

“It’s from All Might”.

You leaned in closer.

“Midoriya-kun came into contact with the second hired gun.”

Your chest ceased to move.

“...and he won instantly.”

“Young man-”

“He didn’t have any information.”

The sky wept.

The moon and stars had masked themselves under the darkness that shrouded the city. If they could not see you, they could not harm you.

Toshinori Yagi had just watched the last remains of Midoriya Izuku’s innocence drain into the gutters of Musutafu.

“He might explode too. Be careful.”

He felt the impact of his student’s departure faster than he could comprehend. Therefore he took the chance to call after Midoriya, summoning the scarce energy he had left, ignoring the rising threat in his weak chest, which was ready to surrender to the bloody phlegm building inside of him.

“Wait a minute!” Toshinori ran after him– though Midoriya had only moved for a second.

“Food!” he gasped, his hands lifting a box wrapped in a blue cloth. ““Please, my son, you haven’t eaten…”

His hands tightly grasped around the soft, crisp fabric that was decorated with orange carrots, and white bunnies with pink noses. When he first saw it, Toshinori chuckled to himself before deciding to buy it– this was made for Midoriya, his rising hero, the purest of hearts.

“All Might.” Midoriya did not look back. “I’m fine now. You don’t have to follow me.”

Toshinori’s shoulders slumped down and his brows lowered, pulling closer together. Midoriya was walking away from him without a second glance.

Midoriya had not met his eyes once today.

“I am fine now.” The wind howled louder than his voice, unconvinced.

“Young Midoriya, please...”

The energy around Midoriya had increased, visible power– venomous and hostile– overflowing from his tense body that was moments away from breaking.

Toshinori had to stop him. Or history would repeat itself.

“Midoriya, please, don’t d-”

“I can move at the same level as your 100%...” Midoriya whispered, more to himself than to anyone else. “You don’t have to worry…”

His tattered clothes soaked in the rain, his sound of his heavy steps getting quieter and quieter.

“Please”, Toshinori begged, “wait a minute…”

But before he could finish his heart’s plea, the one who it was meant for had already left, pushing everything away, leaving everyone he had burdened in the dust.

The lunch that his mentor had lovingly made for him now belonged to the sidewalk and the merciless rain. Soon, it would also flow into the gutters of Musutafu.

The warehouse door crashed open.

“Midoriya is nowhere to be found!”

All Might ran in, his hands against his knees, gasping for the still and stale air.

“He-” he huffed again, regaining his breath,” he, he left… I tried to contact him. Phone… off… he’s nowhere to be found… sent class after him… didn’t find him either”

Your eyes twitched at the blank stares that his words had harboured. No one batted an eye.

They were too busy counting the days until they would be found by the real threat.

All Might’s concern for Midoriya ran thicker than blood. And had you looked past those deep-set eyes, you would have noticed the faint veins that bordered his gaze; something was stolen from him. Midoriya had been stolen by the expectations of the world, held hostage in his own mind.

“I know where he is.”

Orudera Chūgakkō. Memories had been etched into the red brick walls. You pushed against that same black gate, its groans and creaks forming the haunting symphony that would promptly begin at eight o'clock sharp.

Lessons would start at eight-thirty, and the low murmurs of the class would subside as your sensei would come in, dropping her bags next to her desk. You would all stand up together, reciting the same monotonous ‘Good Morning Shima-Sensei’ before sitting back down. If she was in a good mood, the class would commence. But if she was (more likely than not) in a bad mood, the entire class would get a scolding.

“You cannot wish your teacher a pleasant good morning, but you can chat to your friends with double the energy?! Do that again. Now! Show me some respect.” And you would all stand for another five minutes, smirking and giggling, repeating it again.

What once felt like a tedious task now brought a smile to your face as you reminisced about the moments spent in the classroom before you.

Birds would chirp, filling the classroom with a sonorous melody. The walls would be decorated by the younger children who drew rainbows and flowers and butterflies with every colour they could get their hands on. There wasn’t a speck of grey or black found in these drawings.

It was so fun to be a child– just a few years ago, your life was filled with colour.

Everything now was grey and bare.

At ten o’clock, the bell would ring and children would scream as they ran towards their friends, ignoring the poor teachers who repeated: “children, please don’t run in the hallways, children please, you may get hurt!”

The large corridor was so full with a sea of chuckles and laughter.

Today, undisturbed dirt coated every surface on the corridor. A desolate strip led down to the most frequented stairs of your past. Its laborious steps led to a place that no student visited as much as you did. On the sixth floor, the rooftop brought you closer to the blue sky and the fluffy clouds. You and the sun would overlook the vast plains of never ending buildings, glistening under the morning glow. People would walk, cars would drive; the hustle and bustle of everyday life resided on the grounds below you. So how could anyone truly feel alone? How could anyone ignore the true beauty of your favourite spot in the whole school?

You now understood that beauty was in the eye of the beholder– the painful truth.

Sleepless nights were spent wondering, what would have happened if you did not visit the rooftop on one particular day? What would have happened to the nameless boy who had stood there, head hanging low, body quivering, feet on the ledge of railings.

Who could have guessed that this stranger would end up as the only friend you ever had?

You could recognise him in total darkness and in different bodies, for Midoriya Izuku’s pure heart could never change. It would always draw you towards him.

You ran up the swindling stairs, the steps leading up to the sixth floor seeming longer and steeper than before. Serenity only belonged to the past– this place brought nothing but a looming sense of dread, weighing you down as time ticked by.

The closer you got, the weaker your heart felt. You had read about it somewhere– our bodies always knew what would happen, so they could prepare us for the worst.

But the thought of losing him before you could see his eyes, your beacon of light and hope, would rend a part of you forever.

So you carried on walking, ignoring the foreboding pricks cultivating in your body.

Those eyes… you could not live without them. They were an open window into the bright and welcoming flame that resided within him. He would give warmth to those who needed it without asking, never expecting anything in return.

Kindness had no price.

So Midoriya Izuku would live with kindness in his heart, even if it meant that it would be vulnerable and open for everyone to use as they pleased.

Midoriya Izuku was priceless. There was no one like him in this world filled with deceit and hate. But the world did not like those who were different from the rest.

He gave and he gave. Yet what would happen when he gave every piece of himself to a world that never gave back? What would happen if he finally had nothing to give apart from his soul?

The world is cruel.

They would steal everything he had. And that is how you found him, through the already opened door, standing under the thundering sky that showed no forgiveness to the young man who would once smile at them too.

Tip tap, tip tap, your eyes were blurry, but not from the rain. They had betrayed you, yes your gaze. For the man in front of you was not the man whom your heart could recognise from afar. You were so close, yet your hearts held distances, akin to the stars. Blood wept, following the course of the pouring water, revealing wounds, neglected but vain. They cried for attention they would never get, as the man who was once a stranger, had become estranged from them.

“Deku…” you did not want him to turn around, praying for this to be a mistake. FOr him to look confused, asking you, “who’s Deku?”

This can’t be your Deku… he couldn’t be your priceless hero…

His head barely turned, but you caught a glimpse of his glowering eyes.

They donned an arcane mask of toughness. His front, unbreakable on the surface, yet unfortunately flawed. You could see right through it, uncovering the secrets that he hid in plain sight.

Immense pain had found an abode in his glassy, teal eyes; exhaustion chipped away at the shell that kept him put up to protect himself from the looming danger that would attack as soon as it smelt his foetid weakness. Midoriya let it happen once, jeopardising everyone around him.

He wasn’t going to let it happen again.

“Go away,” Midoriya cautioned.

His heart expended too much energy pushing everyone away. He could only hope that you would listen to him– he didn’t want to hurt you.

“Deku…” you pleaded, eyes misting over as you cautiously step forward, hands stretching wearily towards his shoulders, taking care not to brush past those fresh, untended marks that showed through the rips and tears in his clothes.

“Please Deku… let me help you.”

Midoriya stiffened under your touch, guilt overtaking his body.

You couldn’t be seen with him.

The eyes. They were everywhere.

They tracked his every move. And if they saw you now, he would never see you again.

You felt a strong jolt push you back into the wall, your head crashing against the stone walls, losing your grip on him completely. Your hands felt empty– he had disappeared from under your touch.

And it all happened so fast.

Midoriya stared at his hands, his blood fleeing from his extremities. The realisation slowly dawned upon him, raising his heart beat, shifting the energy around him– he was a monster. Mioriya began gasping for air, choking on his own spit and tears, his vision tunnelled in on the surface of his palms.

A monster.

That’s what he was.

Your body lay limp in the rubble of concrete and dust, you swore you felt something wet on the back of your head, but your eyes urgently searched for Midoriya, who was pale and frozen near the edge of the roof.

His feet began to sway, and his eyes began to flutter shut. You overlooked the jolts in your body for your mind could not bear this sight again. Despite the clear warnings your aching flesh had given you to rest, you still ran towards him, clutching his body before he fell onto the ground.

Only in your arms had the outer shell of this vigilante’s stone defence fallen, emerging a broken child who had just caused immense pain to his best friend.

“I’m so sorry”, he whispered through his dried throat, quivering as the walls in his mind closed in on him. “I’m so sorry, Y/N, I’m so sorry”, he repeated, again and again, trapped in a cyclical doom which served only to condemn him.

He was a monster– that depraved voice screamed.

He was a monster– that depraved voice echoed as it stalked him in the depths of his own mind, following him into his deepest, intimate fears. Clutching it, taking over.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…

He was disturbingly light in your arms; you just noticed his hollowed cheeks.

Midoriya’s strained forehead loosened as he broke down in your hold, tears running down his thinning face. Your heart beat alongside his, yet you did not dare to glance into his emerald eyes, for they had been robbed of their precious shine. You placed your finger over his mouth as he opened it to say something, a silent reminder– everything will be alright.

“Give me your pain, Deku, please…” you begged, stroking his curly hair away from his eyes. “I can’t see you like this anymore”.

A singular tear dropped on his cheek, stinging him with regret.

“You don’t have to carry that burden alone, Deku… It’s too big… too big to carry alone. You give too much, you don’t know when to rest. You break yourself, for people who don’t deserve it and you take on things bigger than you can ever manage! You think you can do everything Deku, but you can’t!” you cried, unable to stop.

“You don’t need to work this hard, Deku, you don’t. You’re forgetting who you were, Deku. You’re not indestructible! You’re not untouchable, you’re not All Might! You can get hurt, you- you can bleed, you can die for god’s sake, Deku, you can die!”

Your voice began raising uncontrollably, as you held his face, shaking him.

“You’re just a kid, Deku. My Deku… the sweet boy who I love. My best friend…” you grabbed his hands, squeezing them as you took deep breaths, your throat aching.

“But you’re unrecognisable now… You’re destroying yourself thinki- thinking that you’ll survive but what if you don’t. What if you don’t survive, and all of your friends, your teachers, your mom, they’re all just waiting for you to come back.”

Your eyes solemnly scanned his wrist, eyebrows furrowed and lowered. A litany of cuts, healed and unhealed, adorned his wrists, glaring at you. Your trembling fingers gently ran over them, hovering so as to not agitate them.

“But since you wanted to prove that you’re a hero, you go around picking fights that you can’t win.”

The scars on his wrist opened wounds of the past.

Your hands that held his wrist felt empty again. Midoriya averted his eyes from yours, before pulling his sleeves down, stretching the thinning material of his hero-suit, until it covered his exposed skin.

The rain’s sobbing grew louder with every moment that passed by in dismal silence.

“What would you even know about my life, Y/N?" he asked, his voice drowning in the cacophony of the storm.

Just like that, all of the progress you made had collapsed in front of your eyes. Midoriya had rebuilt the cage around his heart

“Deku, what happened?”

Your hands, which reached out for him, were immediately shaken off.

“What would you know about my life? About my struggles?”

His legs faltered when he tried to run away, cramping as a warning: Midoriya couldn’t move, he had used up all of his energy.

“Deku plea-”

“You said what you wanted to say, Y/N. Thanks for reminding me that I can’t let my guard down, even near people I thought I could trust. I’m not ‘indestructible’, I’m not All Might, I never claimed that. But unlike you, I have the world's burden around my shoulders. If you were putting everyone around you in danger, you'd run away too Y/N. But you wouldn’t know that because you're not the one giving everything your body can give, just to find out it's never going to be enough. You’re not the reason this entire city has turned into a ghost town. But what would you know, Y/N?”

He turned around, gaze hardened into stone.

“You're quirkless".

Blood rushed into your cheeks, your heart beating fast.

You must have misheard.

“You don’t mean that…”

He didn’t. The sweet boy you had met years ago on this same rooftop would never use that against you. He didn’t mean it.

"Now, I know why I was treated the way I was when I was younger, Y/N. The quirkless really don't know anything."

You couldn't have misheard that.

You had been beside his side to see every intimate detail in Midoriya’s life– every victory, every laughter, you celebrated together. Every shove and every taunt, you endured together.

“The Quirkless Duo, aw what are you going to do now? Cry?”

“I wonder how your parents feel, only having one useless kid that can never protect them.”

“Ya’ know, if you want a quirk, there might be another way. Take a swan dive off the roof of the building, and pray for a quirk in your next life."

We are born into this world completely alone. And we die in this world completely alone.

Only fools believe that they can escape that.

‘What would you know, Y/N, you're quirkless.’

You were truly alone in every stage of your life.

"You're becoming exactly what we feared, Midoriya.”

He stopped in his tracks, swallowing the rising bile that crept up his throat.

“If I knew this is what I'd get after standing up for you those countless times where I got hurt, where I got kicked and punched and teased everytime I defended you, I would have just let you jump off that roof.”

The wind wailed through the night sky, moving everything in its path.

“You're no hero Midoriya. But you’re right about one thing. You’re the fucking reason everything around you is getting destroyed.”

It was funny to think that their first and last meeting would be on this rooftop.

Midoriya looked at the world, greyer than it had ever been.

It had lost life.

He waited until he heard the door shut behind him.

This life truly had nothing to live for.

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