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fernandopiastri28 · 5 months

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you love me (i really do) ~ lando norris

~ part 1 ~

warnings: drinking, angst

Everything came back to her now about that night in a flash, the night Lando got a podium in Singapore. It had seemed like a blur in the moment, since the celebration had been so quickly swallowed up by endless shots, blaring music, too much touching, and the way Lando’s touch felt hot and heavy all over her.

He’d wanted to celebrate it, that’s obviously why he was crazy drunk- his eyes bright with the sort of excitement only a champion had. He’d been so happy, soaking up every moment of attention that blared on him. Sure, Carlos had won the race, but Lando had been enjoying each second like he was the one taking home the first place trophy.

The photos and videos seemed endless. There was him getting out of the car, his toothy grin, the way his face lit up in pride as he raised the trophy high above his head. Each scroll past the photos felt like more of her restraint being chipped away at her body.

Her situation had become so direly drastic to the one she’d found herself deep within only a matter of hours ago. Her surroundings went from the blinding neon lights of the club, to the sudden dim shade as her head remained buried under layers of thick blankets. Her neck craned at an uncomfortable angle to look at her phone screen as her thumb idly swiped through twitter. It seemed like a bad dream, a bad hangover at that- all regret with all good memories just narrowly out of reach.

Seemingly, the whole platform had been going crazy over the ‘CarLando’ podium. The memory of seeing it first hand was beyond hazy for her, but seeing the photos now- it must’ve been the best of his career. Standing on the second step next to his best friend, champagne coated his face in a glimmering sheen under the luminous night light celebrations.

Each new piece of media that appeared on her timeline caused her resolve to falter slightly more, being steadily replaced with the desire to bombard his phone with strings of apology texts. She shouldn’t have walked out on him, she shouldn’t have left without an apology, she shouldn't have ignored the three times he’d tried to call her presumably just after he’d woken up in an empty bed.

But she also shouldn’t have slept with him.

He was her best friend and not even a day ago, he was on top of her, all over her, inside her. Who’s to say when he did it with her would’ve been different? It was likely the exact same as every other time for him- have a good race (sometimes even if it had been a shitty one), get drinks, wait for a flock of attention from girls, give the most basic of compliments, ‘ you have beautiful eyes,’, ‘you’re fucking gorgeous in that dress,’, and wait for them to fall to their knees for him- literally.

Maybe it would wash over, maybe he’d be fine by the Japanese grand prix, Qatar at the least. He’d be fine, he always was. He somehow managed to consistently pick himself back up after each bad race, getting over a one night stand would be much easier than that.

Right?

Japan was the race directly after Singapore, and she didn’t attend. Lando wasn’t going to miss her, she’s pretty sure of that. After the initial few calls he’d attempted to make to her the morning she left him in the hotel, he’d gone seemingly radio silent. He was posting regularly on instagram, liking stupidly immature tweets, even hinting towards big upcoming projects for quadrant. He was.. normal. Unaffected clearly.

She took a flight to Australia, reckoning it was just about the safest place she could escape from Lando. The Australian grand prix was way back at the beginning of the year, and unlike his teammate, this wasn’t even his home, and he had no reason to go there.

She could camp out here for as long as she pleased- or at least until the middle of march when the 2024 Australian grand prix would be taking place. From the 24 of september until the 20 of march (give or take a few days), she had just about 6 months to sort herself the fuck up with him, or just escape somewhere else.

Trying to ignore all the information and blast of new media as the Qatar grand prix approached was near unignorable. McLaren was clearly confident about the track, and they believed that even under the unideal conditions of the track and the surrounding environment, that the cars were designed to fit each aspect of the Lusail Circuit.

And she wasn’t necessarily purposefully ignoring anything Lando related- in actuality she sometimes found her fingers hovering over a new interview of his. It was refreshing to see him happy, looking a whole lot better than she’d been feeling the last few days. So when her calendar pings as a reminder that qualifying was happening at 7 am, despite the stupid hour she’d need to be awake for it- she watched it anyways.

Lando narrowly ended in 10th after his lap times were deleted. Oscar suffered the same fate, but still had the advantage of being 3 places ahead of his senior teammate for the sprint shootout. Unfortunately he suffered again in the sprint shootout, Oscar starting in pole position while he came narrowly behind in second. Considerably an impressive feat, but for someone who wasn’t satisfied if he was not very first- Lando couldn’t have seemed more disappointed.

The sprint was worse for him afterwards, dropping from 1st to 2nd as Max took his spot. Oscar retained his pole, keeping his pace throughout the whole race to eventually take home his first win (even if ‘ it wasn’t a real race’) as a rookie. Lando, once again, was not thrilled. After being in the sport for 5 years, he was still chasing the high that would accompany a win.

On the day of the actual race, Lando performed only slightly worse than Oscar- the two of them securing the second ‘McPodium’ of the season with Oscar on the second step and Lando in third. Beneath the sheer exhaustion, near matching grins spreaded across both of their faces as they proudly held up their trophies. There was no doubt that Lando would every let the fact that his rookie teammate got win before he did- that much was evident in all the post race interviews.

There were certainly moments where she contemplated sending him a message, congratulating him on another podium to add to his collection. It did feel wrong though, appearing again out of nowhere when he achieved something notable. She didn’t want to come across that she’d only be there for him when he was successful. In actuality, she really just wanted to be back in his life. Surely a week without contact wouldn’t end the multi-year friendship they had.

But after all, a lot can happen in one night. Maybe Lando would gradually just turn into a distant memory of hers- somebody that she once knew.

At COTA, Lando secured his fourth podium in a row. He’d gotten 2nd in Singapore, 2nd in Japan, 3rd in Qatar, and back up to 2nd in America. This time, Oscar doesn’t join him on the podium, Lewis does instead. Two multi world champions- one a recent 3 time champion, the other with 7 titles- and Lando right there next to them. He’d be next, she was sure he would be.

It’s quite the sight, the three men stood up on their respective steps. Lewis- the past of formula one. The man who ruled the sport for years, taking home win after win. Only challenged by the very race winner of Max Verstappen. He was the face of formula one for the time being, and likely could be for the following few years. There were only a few talents in the sport who had the potential to fight Max for those future titles- and Lando was certainly one of them. He had a good car, a teammate who could challenge and push him to be a better driver, he had the determination- the drive to win.

Mexico wasn’t anything to write home about. She tried to not watch it, getting an icky feeling each time she saw Lando on screen because the only place her mind would go to was how sweet his mouth tasted. It seemed that the only thoughts that would flood her brain each time she saw anything related to him, her body went into a sort of remembering state when all she could think about was how she’d felt that night. He ended in 5th, so maybe she should’ve just not watched the race. His face was hardly shown beyond a clip of him just before getting onto the car, and then in the post race interviews. At least she didn’t stay up all night thinking about it.

Brazil on the other hand was a race worth watching- Max in 1st, Lando in 2nd, Fernando in 3rd. The gap between Alonso and Norris is insane, especially given Fernando was a 2 time world champion with more than 20 years of experience. He’d be next, she knew it. He’ll be a world champion soon, and her only wish was that she’d be smart enough and brave enough to reach out with congratulations. She also hoped that he’d be happy to receive one from her.

Notably the worst race of the season is Las Vegas, given that Lando crashed on Lap 3. He slammed straight into a barrier, his car almost flinging backward with the power of hitting a wall at 180mph. It was the only race she didn’t want, but hearing about it afterwards sent a cold sweat down her back. A sharp inhale filled her lungs and her hand stayed attached over her gaping mouth. She didn’t check how bad the crash was initially, and wad glad when she heard he was out without any injuries.

Finally, the season finale in Abu Dhabi occurred. After such an intense season (that she’d shamefully tuned in for more than she would’ve liked to admit post Singapore), it was almost a relief when the race ended, because of the realisation that she wouldn’t have to hear about Lando for a few months, until preseason testing at least.

With the slight friendship (and possibly to be further blossoming) she’d managed to accumulate with Oscar, she’d found out the Brit was basically doing a world tour over the winter holiday. Places such as Bali and Vietnam, then all the way over to Finland- or an adjacent. She’d be safe, the only two drivers who would be in the same continent as her would be the two actual Australian drivers- Liam in New Zealand if he counted in the f1 drivers realm.

So she took the few weeks she had off of work- which wasn’t ever really solid as it seemed her career was all over the place, she took those solid-off holiday weeks to venture out to familiarise herself better with Australia. Sydney- she knew well, Brisbane maybe even more so. Melbourne the most due to attending the grand prix there every year for the past 6 seasons. But in all her time spent in Australia, she’d never truly gotten around to exploring Western Australia.

So she did what any right minded person visiting Perth who had connections to F1 would do- she reached out to Daniel and asked for any recommendations for her holiday. But instead of simply giving her a list of places to eat, shops to visit, sights to see, he straight up invites her to spend a week at his farm.

Yep, Daniel Ricciardo, farm owner.

Obviously, she accepted the invitation due to lack of other plans and pure interest about what a f1 driver of over a decade could possibly need a farm for. So the next day, her legs awkwardly cramped up in between her suitcase and the back of the passenger seat in the taxi. Her fingers idly drummed against the window as sparse pellets of rain hit against it. The sun blared down through the glass despite the rain- clearly a perth summer was no joke when it came to heat.

The timing of the car finally slowing down just in front of Daniel’s farm/house/home situation perfectly aligned for when her phone died. Manoeuvring her feet out of the tight squeeze where her suitcase was crushing her legs was her first problem, actually picking it up to carry out of the car was a whole different one. Once again, luckily for her Daniel was standing at the door, his signature grin lighting up his face.

After a tight hug and a quick exchange of the past few months they hadn’t seen each other for (the time post SIngapore), he picked up her suitcase with ease and lugged it inside. The inside of his house was nice, beautiful even. That was expected for a millionaire- but it wasn’t the typical too much money, not enough actual taste , it was classy and elegant, while maintaining a certain homely charm.

“This is beautiful, Dan,” She murmured, shaking her head back as she gathered her hair into a ponytail. He barked out a laugh as he kicked off his shoes, 2 scuff marks on the ground ruining the otherwise picturesque place.

“Thank you,” He grinned, “I try my best- or more so Heidi does,” Ah, that made more sense. Not that Daniel didn’t seem capable of designing a nice place, but the fact that it was actually his girlfriend made a whole lot more sense.

Nudging her shoes off and over to join next to his, she gently stretched out her limp to relieve the formed tension in her back, “Heidi does a fantastic job then,” Her eyes travelled around the living room, taking in each piece of wall art and decorative choice.

Daniel’s dirtied socks glided smoothly along the marble floors, “Can I get you a drink?” He hummed, one hand on the kitchen island to steady himself as the other opened the fridge door. He grabbed out a beer can for himself and so out of pure convenience and not wanting to seem ‘fussy’, she asked for the same.

The harsh, bitter taste of beer abused her throat, an unpleasant and unwelcome decision at only 3 in the afternoon. On the other hand, getting her first drink down then meant that as the night progressed further, and drinks got heavier- she’d be somewhat prepared from such a light percentage drink.

The rest of the evening was spent outside on the balcony, sipping beer and discussing the end of the season- how it had felt to get back to racing for him since the last race she’d actually seen in person was in Singapore where he’d been replaced with Liam.

They spoke briefly about Liam at that, Max too- mainly his dominance that season, partially about him as a person in general. They moved to speaking about Oscar’s rookie year, and then unsurprisingly, the topic landed onto Lando.

Finally, in the last hour before midnight, with her legs tucked up to her chest, she looked to her left where Daniel was in a rocking chair next to her. “I hooked up with Lando in Singapore,” She murmured, her index nail scraping along the condensation lined glass where only the last few drops of her whiskey-coke remained. “We hooked up and then I just left him there,” Daniel’s eyebrows shot up, his lips parting in shock.

“I knew that,” He eventually exhaled, his words completely different from his surprised reaction. “LN told me pretty much the day after it happened, and for the following weeks too,” Shit, that felt awful to hear. Part of her had wished that Lando had magically stopped caring the day after it had happened- she wanted it to be easy on him unlike how it was for her. It was her decision to have left, he shouldn’t have to continue to feel so deeply affected.

The wrinkles in the corners of her eyes deepened as she looked down, a comical laugh escaping her lips. “Why’d you react like that then?” Her lips feel cold as her throat remains hot from the intense burn of the vodka shots they’d stupidly taken a few hours prior. “You looked.. shocked,”

“I was,” He admitted, downing the last of his drink before resting it on the corner of his armrest, the corner of the glass hitting the wood with a clink. “ I am , I’m shocked you’re actually admitting you just abandoned the bloke after a night together. He thought you would never mention it again- never speak to him again,”

The edge of passive aggression in his voice is noticeable even to the most clueless people. It made her squirm in her seat, the palms of her hands get sweaty, and a bitter taste filled her mouth. Daniel wasn’t the type to ever get mad with anyone, or even be any bit confrontational, so the way he was speaking to her seemed so out of Ricciardo fashion.

“I know,” Her voice was barely a low hum, self disappointment pulsing through her body. “I’ve felt like shit ever since- if that means anything,” When her eyes lifted off the wood panel of the balcony fence and towards Daniel, he was looking far out towards the night sky.

His gaze met hers though, his bottom lip grazing under his teeth. It was strange seeing him that serious. “Doesn’t really mean too much to me, I think Lando needs to hear that,” Yeah , apologising to Daniel wasn’t going to do much was it? Lando was the one she’d left.

“He actually cares?” Her voice came out more surprised and untrusting than she’d expected. The scrunch of his eyebrows and twist of his lips in confusion gets her to keep talking. “Yeah, like.. I guess I just assumed it would be just like any other hook up for him,” Her hand carded through her hair, pushing it off her forehead.

“He cares more than anything,” Daniel murmured, a slight laugh attached to his voice. He wasn’t mad at her at all, fully understanding her scepticism about how real the younger driver’s feelings were. “I know he doesn’t seem as if he cares about each girl he gets with- but he cares about you,” Their eyes meet in a sort of sad and poetic way.

Daniel knows better than anyone the way she feels toward Lando, how she’s felt towards the Brit for years. Up until that night in Singapore, she’d waited for the day she could look at her best friend and not feel the most excruciating twisting in her stomach and cracking of her heart because he was the one thing she wanted, and the one thing she couldn’t have.

“In Vegas when he crashed, he asked for you,” The Aussie's voice had lost its humour, any sense of fun from earlier in the night having fully faded away. “So many times. He was hysterical, couldn’t understand why you weren’t there to hold his hand,”

Holy fucking shit. She wanted to cry, a tightening sensation formed in her throat, becoming painful to swallow. “I should’ve been there,” She bit down on the inside of her cheek, the sharp metallic taste of blood spilling onto her tongue. “I fucking should’ve reached out when I heard,”

He squeezed her hand tightly, his thumb squishing her hand up to reach the tips of his index and middle. “You had no way to know, you weren’t expected to be there either. You have your own life, Lando needs to know that,” She can’t shake it from her head though. “You’re not in the wrong, you don’t owe him to be there whenever he needs comfort. I think he just needs to know you’re not angry at him,”

Angry? Why on earth would she be angry? Lando hadn’t done a single thing wrong to her, she did owe it to him to be there when he crashed, when he was scared and alone. “Yes I do,” Her eyebrows drew to a pinch, a look of frustration clouding over her vulnerable near crying expression.

“ You don’t”

I do, Daniel. You don’t get it. I left him, I left him there alone straight after-

“He told me he loved me,”

That got a genuine look of shock from the Australian. “Shit. I didn’t know that,” His voice got breathy and harsh around the edges.

“Yeah.”

“Do you love him back?”

“Yeah.”

His hand left hers, moving to rub over his face. “Jesus,” It was so quiet between them that the noise of the near midnight light breeze was louder than either of them. “Does he know that?”

The muscles in her neck tensed with a deep swallow of the spit gathering in her mouth. Gross. “No. I don’t think he knows I heard him either,” She’d never felt more shameful. Her mind had been so fuzzy with alcohol and lust that it had just been too much. “I didn’t think he was serious. I didn’t think he could seriously love me,”

God, she needed to shut up before she began bawling her eyes out to Daniel.

“Why not?” She didn’t quite know how to answer his question. There were probably a million and one things she could give as half arsed replies to why she didn’t believe she and Lando should be together. The distance, constant travelling, lack of affection and physical ties. But Daniel could see right through her, he could see her lies.

“I’m just nothing like the girls he’s been with before. I didn’t- I don’t understand why when he could have absolutely anyone in the world, he’d want me,” She corrected herself, feeling far more vulnerable then she’d ever allowed herself to be in front of anyone before.

They’re no longer looking at each other, both too focused at staring up at the stars above them. “You make him feel safe. You’re the only one he’s always felt like a real person around. He’s not a race car driver with you, he’s not famous with you, he doesn’t have to perform and impress you, to you- he’s Lando, he’s your best friend. And to him, you’re home,”

It’s difficult to form a single thought after that. So after the conversation pulled to a complete close, they both agreed it was late and they needed their rest. With a suffocating hug and reassurances that she’ll be okay, they parted ways- Daniel into his own room and her into the spare bedroom. His snores seeped into her room, yet they weren’t what kept her from sleeping.

Lando was.

She swore she could hear him everywhere, even smell him. She wanted him laying down right next to her, his arms around her waist as she slept with her head on his chest. He was the only thing that could calm her down, make her mind shut up for a bit so she could just rest.

Her head had begun pounding and her mouth became infinitely dry from the excessive drinking, so with a struggle to stand up straight, she headed downstairs to the kitchen. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness and her clammy hands gripped onto the handrails as she took each step one by one.

Passing through the kitchen, she grabbed a glass out of a cabinet and poured a glass of cold water. She chugged it down eagerly, getting a refill before heading into the living room to sit on the couch and drink the rest. As the couch became visible to her poor sight, she saw a figure sitting at the end further away from her. A mop of curly hair was on top of the figure’s head- Daniel.

Clearly he’d been unable to sleep like she had. Maybe he felt lonely too. Heidi was back in Portugal over the winter break, so he hadn’t seen her in a few weeks. He was probably in a similar boat as her right now.

She felt so empty after the past few weeks, and the hug she’d gotten from him only a few hours hadn’t quite been enough, so she set her glass down and stepped closer. The noise of her glass hitting the table grabbed the shadowed figure of Daniel’s attention, his head turning to face her. “Daniel,” She mumbled weakly, sprawling onto the couch next to where he was sitting and wrapped her arms loosely around him.

When he didn’t hug her back, she whined and dug her head into his chest. “Please Dan, I need a hug,” Her voice sounded so desperate as it hit her ears. “I just.. I want my brain to shut up for once, I- I’m just so tired,”

“I’m not Daniel,” Her heart pounded in absolute panic. Her chest rose and dropped quickly as she attempted to think of all the possible explanations. This couldn’t be real, this couldn’t be an intruder. God, how had she been so stupid as to not switch on a light or anything before practically hurdling herself at this guy? If she died right now, it was all on her for being a thoughtless idiot.

But in a moment of clarity where her mind considered who could possibly be at the house that wasn’t an intruder, she scanned through each person Daniel knew with curly hair and a British accent. Lewis? Didn't have curly hair. George? Also without curly hair. Ollie? Too young for Daniel to be friends with.

Oh.

“Lando?” A sharp exhale left her mouth as his name slipped out. She twisted her head to look up at him, his features only slightly visible in the near pitch black room. Sure enough, big green eyes and plump pink lips stood out to her. Her face crumpled, her heart thrumming in her chest. “ Lando”

He clearly had recognised her too, his lips parting as his expression softened. His eyes felt like a million knives jabbing into her, his intense stare mapping out her whole face. The smell of his cologne was harsh on her senses, yet was the most comfort she’d had in months.

“Why are you here?” Her tone sounded accusatory, which clearly wasn’t intentional. The comment landed poorly, his expression contorting strangely. Not helpful .

“Spontaneous Australia trip,” He didn’t owe her an apology, but something was nagging at him to stay, to engage in the conversation. It was the most he’d seen of her in nearly 4 months. He couldn’t even begin to express how good it felt to hear her voice after so long. “Came to visit Dan, maybe Osc next. Dan always tells me if I’m ever in the country I can just come over.. so” He trailed off when she didn’t reply, and his mouth clamped back shut.

Just as it seemed he would get up and leave, his actions tense and rigid around her, his arms wrapped tightly around her. Quiet. Her mind finally went quiet. It was so peaceful for once. “I’m so sorry for everything,” Her voice was hardly a whisper, her mouth slightly muffled by the thick fabric of his hoodie. “I’m sorry for leaving, I’m sorry for not contacting you, I’m sorry for ignoring you when you tried to call,” Her breaths became more frantic, tears piling up in her eyes as she looked up at him.

“I’m sorry for- for hurting you, I’m sorry for not being there when you needed me,” Her mouth and lips were so painfully dry, her tongue darted out to wet her lips before forcing out the final apology. Just as she was about to, his mouth opened as if he was about to talk. “Don’t say it’s okay,”

She knew him well enough to know exactly where he was going. He would apologise for absolutely everything that had ever happened to him, even if he wasn’t the one in the wrong. “Most of all,” Her throat tensed as he stared her down intensely. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I loved you back.”

His lips shaped into a huge smile after a few seconds of emotionless shock, as if the news was the most impossible thing he’d ever heard.

“And you shouldn’t forgive me,” She shook her head insistently. That was another thing hse knew about him, he was the most forgiving person ever. She could absolutely ruin his life a million times and with a single ‘ I’m sorry’ , they’d return back to being best friends.

“But-”

“You can’t,” Not only did she not believe she deserved his love, she didn’t believe she deserved any sort of forgiveness from him, much less for him to still love her after all this. All she wanted was for him to not have any hurt from the whole ordeal anymore.

Lando tilted his head, his bottom lip tucked under his adorably gapped teeth. “You don’t get to decide that for me,” His eyes seemed impossibly bright despite the darkness, “Cause I want to love you, and it seems as if you love me too,” His right hand cupped her cheek, his thumb rubbing over her chin.

That was correct, she still loved him more than anything. She could fight those feelings away, give him all the excuses under the sun as to why she wouldn’t be with him- but her heart and mind wanted different things. Logically, dating a formula one driver who’s whole life revolved around travel and constant adrenaline- her life that consisted of a lot of mundane jobs and chilling at home, they just clashed .

The illogical part of her, the part that was thinking with her heart, believed that nothing would be better than to attend races, watch from the grandstands, and kiss him after each race. She could comfort him if he had a bad race or quali, she could be there to celebrate with after a podium or even a win.

Right now, and maybe always, what her heart wanted was significantly outweighing what she thought was good for her. “Yeah, I do love you,” It didn’t feel or sound weird like it had when she’d told Daniel about it the night before. It felt good, really good. Very right too, because in all of her years of friendship with Lando- ever since she’d realised her feelings for him- she hadn’t ever admitted to herself that she loved him.

But of course she did, it was clear as day. If she ever heard of anyone ‘liking’ someone the way she ‘liked’ Lando, she’d know immediately it was love.

Her confession felt even better when she saw how his face managed to light up even further.

There was more she could’ve apologised for, and she could easily keep going, but she was quickly shut up with two lips pressed up against her own. Lando tasted just as sweet as he always did, a tinge of mint presumably from gum earlier on.

Her lips didn’t adjust into the kiss at first, until he began to pull back and her lips secured over his bottom one, keeping him there. It took a few moments to warm up to it, but her mouth starts moving in time with his. It’s so quiet in the living room that the only noise is the quiet hums and sighs they both let out. “I’m really sorry,” She murmured again

His hands moved to position her body to be straddling him, not necessarily to make the kiss sexual, but to make the angle more comfortable. “I forgive you,” His teeth tug on her bottom lip, drawing out the kiss for longer. He grinned against her lips, kissing her softer over and over. “And I love you,” He murmured again. “So- please- stop- apologising,” He kissed her in between each word, trying to push forward his point.

It felt like a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders, “Okay,” Her cheeks felt hot to the touch, painted a darker shade of rosy red with each kiss. “Sorry,”

Lando groaned, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her in for more kisses. “For each time you apologise, I’m gonna shut you up with kisses,” He threatened, nudging her cheek with his nose.

“Sorry, but I’m gonna keep saying sorry then. Sorry, sorry, sorry” He kept his promise, kissing her after each and every apology. “Mmm, yeah. Sorry,” Her fingers slid into place in his mess of curls, tugging gently to keep him in place for each kiss.

“Bad idea.” He clicked his tongue, tilting his head to avoid her kisses. “No kisses till you stop saying it,”

That worked.

“Okay, I’ll stop. I promise,” She held out her pinky finger to further the promise. He kissed the tip of her finger and then held it tight.

“Good,”

“ Good ,” His lips slotted back into place with hers, his hands resting on her hips as hers tangled further into his hair. “You’re so pretty,” He hummed, licking into her mouth with slow and calculated moves.

“Hmm, you’re prettier,” Her whole body felt hot, but so cosy on top of him. She hadn’t quite realised how tired she was until that very moment, her words slightly slurred and her eyes heavy. She rubbed at her eyes, blinking away exhaustion.

He shifted underneath her, tucking his hands under her thighs to help wrap her legs around his waist. “Arms around my neck,” He whispered, intentionally keeping his volume to a minimum so as to not wake her up more.

Her body felt limp as she rested all her weight onto him. He lugged her upstairs, opening the door with one hand as his other arm remained around her waist. “Lannnn,” She whined as she pressed more kisses to his neck.

“Yeah baby?” He murmured as he laid her down on the bed, her body heavy and weak as it hit the mattress. “What’s up?” Her arms dropped down to her sides as they unlinked from around his neck.

“Stay,” It wasn’t a suggestion or question, more an incredulously desperate request. “Please, want you to stay,” She tugged at the hem of his shirt, wrapping it around her fingers.

He gave her a knowing look before nudging her over in the bed, crawling under the sheets next to her. “You’re not going to walk out this time?” He raised his eyebrows, his teeth poking out over his bottom lip when he grinned.

“I’m gonna say it,”

“Don’t” His voice went serious.

“I’m gonna say it,”

“Do.. not.. say.. It,”

“..Sorry,”

Lando let out a long groan, hauling himself half on top of her to smother her with his arms. “You are such a pain in my ass,”

“You love me,” She pecked him, fighting back sleep just so she could keep kissing him

“I do love you,” He caved and removed his arms, placing them on either side of her face to corner her and kiss all over her flushed face.

“I love you more,”

“Not possible,” He tutted, “And you need to sleep- now,” He nuzzled into her neck, his nose bumping against her ear.

“I just wanna stay up kissing,” She scrunched her nose up, her lip raising in disappointment.

Lando’s laugh was breathy against her skin, his hand idly swiping across her stomach to maintain some sort of touch. “Tomorrow. We’ll spend all of tomorrow kissing- I promise,”

That was satisfactory enough. She stared up at the ceiling, a complete different scenario from when she’d done exactly this last time with Lando laying on her. This time, there wasn’t a single cloud of doubt in her mind. She knew how much he loved her, she felt right being so close to him, not worried for how things might change between them and if it would be awful the day after. She just needed to keep faith and keep communication.

As she felt her eyelids getting too heavy to keep hers open, she swiped her hand over Lando’s forehead to push his hair up and place a kiss there. He looked up at her slightly, and with a smile, “Oscar lives in Melbourne,” He looked confused, probably thinking that he was mishearing her from lack of rest. “Huh?” His voice all deep and scruffy from sleep.

“The flight from Perth to Melbourne is over 3 hours- you can’t really just pop down the street to go visit Oscar,” Lando laughed weakly at that. He shrugged, wiggling up closer towards her so his chin was over her shoulder.

“He’ll come visit- he’ll be ecstatic to know that we’re on good terms again,” Her hand drifted up under his shirt, her thumbs pressing into the joints of his back.

“Oscar and ecstatic are two words that absolutely do not go together,” She mused, a complete disconnect from her mind and whatever her hand was doing. All she knew was that Lando was enjoying it based on the noises he was letting out.

“A half smile may dance across his mouth at the joyous information,” God , Lando had such a strange way with words.

“You’re weird ,”

“You love me,”

“I really do,”

#formula1 #formula one #f1 #f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #lando x reader #f1 2024 #lando norris

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verareids · 3 months

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nights like these - spencer reid x gn!reader

spencer gets back from a rough case and reader comforts him. tags/cws: hurt/comfort, use of 'y/n', gn!reader, fluffy angst, mention of case involving kids but no details wc: 1008 a/n: Definitely not my favourite fic I've ever written and I haven't written anything in a while but it is my first Spencer fic so yay! Also, I was picturing late season 3/ season 4 Reid but it doesn't really matter. also posted on ao3

When the jet lands in Quantico at 12:47am Spencer is exhausted. After a truly grueling case he couldn’t even bring himself to read on the flight home. He’d just sat staring out the window. Kids. It’s always the cases involving kids that will fuck you up the most. JJ and Morgan have both tried their hand at comforting him and received a concerning lack of response. The rest of the team had been able to get some rest. Spencer hadn’t been so lucky. Every time he’d close his eyes he’d see their faces, hear their screams. Morgan stands up on the other side of the booth and the sudden motion pulls Spencer out of deep thought. He grabs his bag and prepares to get up when Emily shuffles past him, squeezing his shoulder on the way. The team clambers out of the jet and ends up in the bullpen, getting their things in order before they’re able to go home. Spencer walks out though the doors, heading for the elevator when the sound of JJ’s voice brings him to a halt.

“Reid…” JJ steps in front of him. “You heading home?” Spencer stops and stares at her incredulously.

“Yeah?” His tone showing only a hint of irritation. JJ looks back up at him, choosing to brush past his attitude.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Her concerned stare feels as though it’s piercing right through him and suddenly he can’t quite meet her eyes.

“I’m sure. I’ll see you tomorrow, JJ.” He walks past her towards the elevator, pressing the button when her voice stops him in his tracks again.

“Spencer, just…” JJ’s voice trails off as he turns to look back at her, she tilts her head sympathetically. “I know you don’t want to talk right now but… try to talk to (y/n) at least, don’t bottle it all up.” He forms a tight-lipped smile and nods.

“I will, thanks.” He replies slightly dismissively and turns to step into the elevator as the doors open and shut behind him.

Spencer walks through the parking lot faster than usual, wanting nothing more than to just get home. Maybe he’d find you waiting for him there, sitting on the couch with a book, or maybe watching a movie. He’d sit down next to you and let you run your fingers through his hair, scratch his scalp, kiss his face, make all of the horrible images fade away. However, when he does get home, there is only silence. The lights are off, save for one lamp you had left on so that it wouldn’t be too dark for him. Spencer hangs his bag on a hook and removes his converse, placing them neatly by the front door. He tries to keep the sound of his footsteps light as he moves to turn off the lamp.

Once he finally enters the bedroom he finds you there, sleeping ever so peacefully. He lets out a long, shaky sigh, looking over at the digital alarm on the bedside table, 1:40am, of course you’re not still awake. Quiet as he can, he removes his work clothes and gets ready for bed. When he lays down beside you he rolls onto his side to look at your face. All of the emotions he’s worked so hard to hold back over the last few days come flooding back with stinging eyes and a lump in his throat that he can’t force away. He studies your face, your quiet, relaxed form and decides he shouldn’t wake you. You have work in the morning – you both do – and it wouldn’t be wise to disturb your sleep to burden you with his work problems, although he knew it to be much deeper than that. Spencer exhales a shaky breath and resigns to closing his eyes and willing himself to sleep. He’s moments away from slipping into unconsciousness when a soft hand delicately brushes the side of his face.

“Spence?” He allows his eyes to flutter open at the sound of your voice and meets your drowsy, half shut eyes – his breath catching in his throat at the sight. When your lips stretch into an adoring smile he notices the stinging feeling in his eyes come back full force. “When did you get back?” You ask while your thumb runs a gentle line under his bottom lip causing him to bite it softly.

“Only five minutes ago.” Spencer replies with a shakiness he doesn’t bother to hope you won’t notice. Nothing ever gets past you. As expected, he watches as a subtle frown takes over your features.

“Bad?” You ask. A simple question, yet his eyes still well up when he nods in response. You don’t ask if he wants to talk about it, you know he doesn’t. “What do you need?’ Your hand moves again, this time to brush back a strand of hair that had fallen over his sullen face.

“You.” The way his voice cracks breaks your heart. You pull him into your chest and he rests his head there. When you run your fingers through his hair you feel his strong hands clutching the back of your shirt, pressing your body against his as close as possible. Tears stain your clothing as he breathes shakily against you.

This is the hardest part of Spencer’s job. Over the years he has developed an incredible ability to compartmentalize. He is generally pretty skilled at separating work from personal life. With a job like his you can’t afford to bring it home with you, but even with that mindset, there’s no way to stop it from getting to you occasionally. Nights like these are inevitable. You continue to thread your fingers through his curls as you feel him getting heavier against you as he slowly drifts to sleep. Staring straight up at the ceiling you can only hope that your presence will help keep the nightmares at bay. You whisper comforting words into his ear while you lay silently praying that tomorrow will be kinder to him.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid angst

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0blobthefish0 · 3 months

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Elliptical Inclinations

main masterlist

Toxic!Regina George x Plastic!fem reader 1, 831 words

a/n - inspired by @a-simple-imagine version of Regina George because it's honestly god sent and I can't stop reading it. And I apologise for the later than normal post 😅

Slowly, you began to realise that you were no longer asleep; aware that your eyes were closed, aware that you were not in your own bed, but a familiar one nonetheless. Warm vanilla fills your senses and a hollow pit begins to give way within your stomach and you open your eyes to find that the night wasn’t as dark as you had thought.

Moonlight swims through the room from the open window and you sit up in the large bed, the duvet folding at your waist, and glance to your side, Regina is sleeping peacefully. Her blonde hair fanned out over her silk pillow, the muscles in her face relaxed, and you can’t think of a sight more beautiful.

But why do you feel so ill?

An uneasy feeling falls over you. She’s going to kill you. It was a fact. There was no doubt about it. Loving her was going to kill you, realising this was not the issue, you just couldn’t leave. Of course you knew that you shouldn’t be doing this, it was the Regina George for fucks sake. Even more so after all this time - nothing had changed - and yet here you were, again.

An addictive poison; Regina George was going to be the death of you.

You tear your eyes off of her, take in a deep breath and, for the first time ever, you slip out of her bed and pull on your clothes and silently leave her mansion of a house. There’s a lump in your throat as you pause outside her gate, a part of you is relieved, another worried about your journey home, a bigger part wants you to stay, but you turn on your heel anyway. Leaving her alone, just like she always did you. One small step at a time; that’s how you were going to get away.

Your step should have been smaller.

When morning came, Regina sat up in her bed, just like you had done hours earlier, staring at the empty pillow beside her. Her eyebrows are furrowed and her mouth slightly agape in silent confusion. A sickening feeling overwhelms her as her eyes search her room, your clothes are gone and hers are folded neatly by the door. She can’t think straight and anger washes away the confusion.

You left. You’re gone. You’re not where you’re supposed to be. Have you finally had enough? Has she finally broken you? Anger can only last so long, especially when it’s only covering the fact that she’s upset. Regina can’t fully comprehend it, can’t fully understand it. Did she care for you?

No.

She couldn’t. Didn’t. But still she found herself becoming short of breath. Once the tears started to fall, Regina couldn't help everything that came with it. She cares for you, she does, that’s what she tells herself after she’s exhausted herself into falling back asleep. Too tired to wipe the tears away, but no reason to, really, when her pillow is already soaked with them.

Monday arrives. Regina eyes you as you sit down at the table, a bright smile on your face as Karen talks your ear off. She doesn’t know why, but she expected you to be a bit more sad. Maybe she wanted you to be sad. It irritated her, really, that you were being so… normal. So indifferent. What were you playing at?

Your eyes meet hers and it’s like that evening never happened. You look the same as last week, nothing different in your eyes, in the way that you look at her. Not even a hint of guilt. Did she misjudge you? Completely read you wrong? Did she not mean anything to you at all? If anything, you didn’t mean anything to her. You didn’t. Really.

---

The week went on just as it had done last week and you were back in Regina’s bedroom. Karen was playing with your hair as you intently listened to Gretchen and Regina talk shit about anything and everything that had happened within the week.

Being here, in this room, you couldn’t take it. You were slowly being suffocated by her and, if you didn’t keep your senses sharp, you could fall back into her trap. As if she could hear your thoughts, blue eyes catch yours and you almost instantly look away.

“Where’s my phone?” You hear Karen ask as she moves her head side to side in an attempt to look for it.

“I’ve got it, babe,” you answer her and pass it behind you. You feel her press a light kiss to your head as a thank you.

“Gretch..,” she begins as the light of her phone illuminates her face, “don’t we have that thing?”

“What thi- oh. I am so sorry, Regina, but we gotta go like right now.” Right on cue you hear a car horn blare from outside. “Y/n/n, you want a lift home?”

“Yeah, sure,” you smile thankfully and quickly grab your bag. You follow the two as they bid their goodbyes to Regina, you only give her a smile, and rush down the stairs.

Uncharacteristically, Regina seems to be walking you all to the door. Her close proximity to you was causing the hair on your arms to stand on end and an uneasy feeling began to settle in your stomach. You ignored it, it was probably nothing, you were only anxious because of what you did happened last week.

As you stepped off of the last stair you felt your left shoe slip off. Turning a blind eye to the fact that Regina had stepped on the back. It was probably an accident anyway. You slide your shoe with your foot a few paces ahead before realising that it would take more effort to put your shoe back on and quickly crouched to fix it. Gretchen and Karen moved out the front door, unaware of your misfortune.

Regina stayed by your side.

You give a small thanks to the blonde when you stand back up. She’s wordlessly staring at you, the intensity of it makes you hold back your step through the door.

“Y/n/n, you coming?” You hear Gretchen shout and you turn your head away from Regina and toward the open door. A hand instantly wraps around your upper arm and you look back to see begging, blue eyes.

“No, sorry, Gretch- I’ve changed my mind!” You hear the car horn sound twice in reply before revving off.

“Did the others go?” Ms. George calls out from the kitchen, her heels clacking against the floor, and Regina pulls her hand off of you before her mother can see.

Regina says nothing as she moves up the stairs and you send Ms. George a small smile.

“Y’know, Y/n, I’ve never met anyone like you.” The older woman starts from the kitchen door frame. “Regina’s never had a friend like you.” What? You only nod your head before following Regina’s path up the stairs.

Regina’s shut her door behind her and you’re forced to knock. No reply comes and you hesitantly push it open. She’s sitting on her bed, phone in her hand.

“Lock it.” She demands, eyes not leaving the screen. Slowly, you turn the lock from behind you; the sound of it is almost deafening in the tightening silence.

She’s angry. Maybe.

It’s hard to tell sometimes.

You watch her intently, you stay pressed against the back of her door, and you feel like prey. A few minutes pass, she’s still scrolling through her phone and you have not moved. You aren’t sure what to do. Why did you even stay? You promised yourself that you were done. Maybe this was closure, but you feel like you’re in danger.

Finally, Regina drops her phone and turns to you. The look on her face causes your heart to squeeze painfully.

“Tell me-” she begins, but her voice gets caught. She swallows, her throat bobbing. “Tell me you love me.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise, “What?”

“Tell me that you love me, Y/n.” She almost begs and you search her watery eyes.

“I-”

“-Say it. Please.” And your stomach erupts with butterflies.

“I love you.”

Regina lets out a sad laugh, it’s something you’ve never heard before, and reverts her gaze from you. It makes you feel rejected.

“You don’t mean it,” she sounds so wounded, you find yourself moving over to her. To sit next to her, be close to her, comfort her.

“Of course I do,” you reply softly and she refuses to look at you.

“Why did you leave then?” Her question hits you in the chest and it brings tears to your eyes.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying,” she pauses, “you don’t love me.”

“I do,” you say earnestly, “I do love you.”

She turns to you, finally, and you suck in a shaky breath as you take in her appearance. She’s beautiful. Ethereal, even. Her salty tears prick at her blue eyes, making the colour pop, and you quickly move to wipe a falling tear from her cheek. Her own hand closes around yours before softly turning it around and pulling it down to press a gentle kiss to your palm. The action causes your heart to lurch. How could you not be in love with her?

“Show me,” Regina lightly commands in a whisper, her blue eyes boring into your own, “show me that you love me.”

And you do.

Your hand keeps hold of hers and you move your other to push through the back of her hair and draw her in closer. Until she’s so close you can feel her breath fanning across your face. You pause, staring at her now, waiting for her to close the gap. Her teeth show in the smile that she gives you and she kisses you with it. You meld into her as her other hand finds your thigh to give it a light squeeze.

This is how it’s meant to be, you feel at ease when you’re with her.

---

And you wake up, once again, in the middle of the night. Regina, asleep by your side. And she’s done it once again. You’ve fallen back into her trap, back into the vicious cycle that you can’t seem to break no matter how hard you try to distance yourself from her. You aren’t even sure if you want to leave. She always manages to get you to crawl back to her. She’s got her perfectly pink nails dug in your back, and you don’t mind that you’re bleeding. Regina loves you. She does. In that way that is so authentically Regina George and you can’t get enough of it.

And, so, you fall back into the pillow and face her sleeping form. A piece of blonde hair has fallen over her face and you reach out to softly tuck it behind her ear, where it belongs.

Because you’re desperately and irrevocably in love with Regina George.

#female reader #x reader #reader #reader insert #wlw #blob's fics #mean girls 2024 #regina george x reader #regina george

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callsign-rogueone · 8 months

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what was I made for? - g.t.

Garrick Tavis x Marked!Pacifist!Reader (continuation of keep her safe) The aftermath of War Games has you questioning your purpose, and what your signet truly is. wc: 4.4k 🏷: FOURTH WING AND IRON FLAME SPOILERS (I have 50 pages left, but I just can’t do it. send help.) canon-level violence, injury, canon character death, self doubt, anxiety. oops, I made Dain tolerable again. angst, then happy, then more angst. I also skipped over a smut scene / just made a reference to it happening, so if anyone wants that as a separate post, lmk and I can make it happen 👀 thank you to everyone who liked/reblogged/commented on part 1! it means a lot to me 🫶

Riorson House is more your home than Basgiath ever has been, but it’s become foreign to you in the three years you’d spent at the college. It feels like you’re hallucinating as you wander the halls.

Maybe everything that’s happened in the last few days has been a hallucination -- it wouldn't be the first time Varrish or Carr had pushed you to delirium with the amount of pain you’d taken for others.

Maybe it’s a dream. That’s it. A really bad dream. Any moment now, you’re going to wake up in Garrick’s bed and get ready for morning formation, and you’ll forget the sight of Liam dying by breakfast, when you’re sitting across from him at the table like you always do. Violet’s screams of pain will stop playing in your ears, replaced by her laughter at one of Ridoc’s jokes.

But no matter how much you pinch at your skin, you aren’t waking up. This is reality.

“I hear you’re a mender, too,” someone says in a gentle voice, bringing you out of your daze. Violet’s brother, Brennan.

“Does it ever get easier?” You ask quietly. “Does it always hurt this much?”

“Mending becomes easier. Seeing that kind of stuff every day doesn’t,” he replies, and the exhausted look on his face tells you he’s being honest. “But it shouldn’t hurt. Tell me more about that.”

“The second person I mended was a scribe who’d fallen from a ladder in the library and broken her leg. I did everything right, the bone set properly, but my leg hurt for a week, right where she’d broken hers.”

Brennan is silent, letting you continue.

“They broke Garrick’s arm in RSC. I was able to fix it for him, and I took the pain, but they broke it again two hours later. I mended him and Xaden over and over until I collapsed. I didn’t wake for two days. They both still think it was just exhausting for me. They don’t know about the pain.”

The tears are coming openly now, dripping down your cheeks, and you bring a hand up to wipe them away with the sleeve of your flight jacket. “But it isn’t all bad. I couldn’t save Liam, but I was able to make him more comfortable in the end. I took his pain away, and let him go in peace.”

You don’t tell him what death feels like. No description you could give could adequately prepare anyone for the cold sensation that still lingers in your chest. It will likely remain there for the next few days.

“Hey,” he says softly, “We’ll figure this out, I promise. For now, just try to get some rest.”

You nod quietly, looking back up at him. “Can someone please tell Garrick that I’m okay?” You ask in a small voice, folding your hands in your lap. You’d been heartbroken to realize that the rest of the squad had left for Basgiath before you woke, leaving you here alone.

You didn’t get to say goodbye to any of them, and you don’t know when you’ll see them again. Or if you’ll see them, you think, but you push the thought away quickly. They’ll survive. They have to.

Brennan cracks a smile - everyone in the rebel cause is aware of how deeply Garrick loves you. “Of course.”

———————————————————————

“Cadet Mairi died alongside his dragon, who was attacked by a drift of Gryphon riders. Cadet Avan attempted to mend them, and died trying,” Xaden says levelly, staring down the group of professors on the dais. “They both died honorable, but preventable deaths.”

Garrick knows Xaden is lying, knows you aren’t dead — or you hadn’t been when they left for Basgiath, at least, but his friend’s words have him on edge. Have you woken up yet?

Chradh speaks into his mind, sending a wave of hot rage through him. “Relax.”

“Relax?” He echoes, irate. “You’re telling me to relax right now, when-”

Chradh doesn’t bother to argue with him. “She is safe under the care of the silver one’s brother, where she will remain until the moment is right. It is better this way. She won’t be in pain anymore.”

Chradh doesn’t elaborate further. Fucking dragons and their constant need to speak in riddles.

The rest of the quadrant spends the night drinking and congratulating themselves on surviving, but Garrick doesn’t touch a drop of alcohol. The three of you were supposed to do this together. It wouldn’t be right to celebrate without you.

———————————————————————

“We’re gonna start from square one, with something that can’t hurt you,” Brennan says, placing two halves of a cracked plate on the table in front of you.

It’s simple enough to make the pieces rise into the air, using the same magic required to make a pen write for you. You concentrate, willing the halves to fuse together. They touch, and you think you’ve done it, your heart leaping, only to fall as they crash back down to the table again, splitting into even more pieces.

Brennan touches one of the shards, and they glue themselves back together perfectly; no cracks, no trace of the plate ever having been broken. “That’s what I thought.”

“Let me keep trying,” you begin, heart pounding. Brennan can’t think you’re a failure, not this early.

“You could sit here with this plate all day and it wouldn’t change,” he says gently, confirming what you know deep down. “I don’t think you’re a mender. I think you’re something else entirely.”

You sit with the information for a moment.

“Signets take the form of our base need as a person,” he says. “We need to find out what that is for you.”

You already know. “I wake up every day grateful that Xaden bargained for our lives, but I have done too much harm in my time at Basgiath. The crown has done too much harm to Tyrrendor. All I’ve ever wished for is to fix that, to undo the pain.”

“To undo the pain, or to help move forward and grow?” He asks gently.

You aren’t sure.

———————————————————————

You go through your morning stretches, as always, focusing on your breath to distract from the pain in your side.

“Your mate has returned.” Tab says, interrupting. “Thought you’d like to know.”

You bolt upright, running through the house toward the gates, bypassing Xaden to sprint straight toward Garrick.

He wraps you in a warm embrace, resting his chin on the top of your head. You still fit together like puzzle pieces, even after months apart.

“You’re alive,” you breathe. “Nobody would tell me anything, I was worried sick,”

“Of course I’m alive, angel. Had to come back to you.”

You trace the Lieutenant’s patch across his collarbone, memorizing the shape. It looks natural on him, like it’s always been there. It sounds good, too. Lieutenant Garrick Tavis.

“I need to tell you something,” you say quietly, “I haven’t been entirely honest with you about-“

Footsteps approach. “Sorry to break up the reunion,” Felix says, “but Avan, we need you.”

There’s something in his tone that has your heart pounding. Which of your friends is it going to be this time?

“Tell me later,” Garrick says. “Go. Do what you were made to do.”

You know he means well, but his words tie your stomach in a knot. What you were made to do. Were you truly made to endure the suffering of others?

———————————————————————

Every muscle in your body feels like it’s on fire as you slump into a chair, sitting down for the first time that day. If you’re lucky, you’ll be able to get some sleep before you’re needed again.

“There you are. I didn’t see you in battle brief.” Garrick says, relieved.

“Haven’t been going,” you mumble. “They need me here. Bren’s teaching now, so s’ just me and one other mender.”

He realizes no healers had come with the riot from Basgiath. You likely haven’t left the infirmary since they’d arrived.

“Come to bed,” he coaxes softly. “You need sleep. You can't pour from an empty cup.”

Yes, you can. You have been for months.

He takes your hand, not giving you a choice. You lean into him as he leads you up the grand staircase to a room near Xaden’s. Your muscles protest every step, but you keep quiet.

You haven’t been in here for years, not since you’d left for Basgiath as candidates, but it’s exactly the same as you remember; dark drapery, bookshelves, a neat display of the knives that he hadn’t taken to school with him.

The sight has you in tears.

“Whoa, hey,” he says softly, pulling you closer, and you whimper in pain at the pressure against your ribs. He lets go immediately. “Angel, I’m sorry — are you hurt?”

You sob, the dam finally breaking and grief flooding out of you. You haven’t seen each other since that horrible day, you haven’t seen anyone from the squad you went with to Resson, haven’t had anyone to talk about it with, until now.

You shake your head, tears dripping down your cheeks. “I couldn’t save Liam. I tried, I really did. All I could do was take his pain away.”

So Xaden had told Basgiath the truth, to some degree: you tried to fix Liam, and couldn’t. The boy’s death had hurt you badly enough that Xaden wouldn’t let you return to the school.

“There was nothing else you could do. Nobody could save him, not after Deigh…”

“I know that, but it wasn’t just him. Everyone I’ve ever… fixed, I’ve taken the pain from their body into mine, and I can’t get rid of it for days.”

Garrick’s heart breaks. So that’s what Chradh meant when he said you wouldn’t be in pain anymore if you left Basgiath. Those eight-hour days of mending infantry may as well have been torture for you.

Torture. RSC. You’d healed his wounds, Xaden’s, Bodhi’s, Violet’s, time and time again without complaint, and he knew it took a lot out of you, but not that it hurt. “Angel, why didn’t you tell me? If I’d known…”

“I wanted to,” you sniffle, “I wanted to tell you a year ago when it started happening. I thought it was normal, that I was just weak, until Brennan told me that this doesn’t happen to him. He just gets tired, like everyone else does when they use their signets too much.”

You try to steady your breathing, but the pain in your not-broken ribs is too overwhelming. “I’ve spent hours practicing and I can’t even fix a broken plate. I’m not a mender. I don’t know what I am. Nobody does, not even the professors. Brennan thinks it’s getting better, but I don’t have it in me to tell him that it isn’t.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. He wants to pull you into an embrace, wants to stroke your hair and tell you it’ll be okay, but he doesn’t want to hurt you any more than he already has.

“S’ not your fault.” You sniff.

“But it’s not yours, either,” he reminds you gently. “You’re so strong, angel. You crossed the parapet, ran the gauntlet, you bonded a dragon, and you’ve endured everything else. Please don’t ever think for a second that you’re weak.”

He takes your hand in his, watching your face carefully, but you don’t wince at the touch. “We’ll talk to Brennan tomorrow, together. For now, I just want you to get some sleep, okay?”

You nod silently, having run out of tears.

“Attagirl.”

As you settle into bed next to him, freshly showered and wearing one of his warm sweaters, you swear the pain has dimmed.

———————————————————————

When Garrick takes you to see Brennan the next morning, he isn’t alone. Your professors are seated beside him, along with some of the Tyrrish elders.

Devera speaks first. “We owe you an apology, Cadet Avan. The faculty was unaware that Carr and Varrish were using your signet as a method of punishment, or that it pains you to use it.”

“And I owe you an apology,” you say quietly. “I should have come back after the War Games.”

“That was my decision,” Xaden says firmly, “and I stand by it. She was in no condition to return to the school, much less to graduate and be stationed at an outpost across the continent from her support system, while still feeling the coldness of Cadet Mairi’s death.”

How does he know that you could feel it? Had you told him in your delirium? Had Brennan told him? Had you even told Brennan?

“Your friends have effectively plead your case, and we agree that you have satisfied all the requirements for graduation from the Rider’s Quadrant.” Emeterrio says. “Congratulations, Lieutenant.”

Garrick slips your flight jacket onto your shoulders, and you notice the Lieutenant insignia has already been sewn on, to match his. When did he…?

You accept the handshake Devera offers you, still a little dazed, but there’s one more order of business to address.

“May I rejoin my old squad?” You ask the table of professors quietly. “They are family to me. I would like to ride with them again, and aid them however I can.”

They exchange hesitant looks, and your heart sinks. Do they not think you’re good enough?

“I don’t see why not,” Brennan says firmly enough for everyone else to agree — he outranks the professors with the years he’s been part of the movement.

You exhale in relief.

Garrick cheers. “The dream team is back, baby!” He pulls you into a gentle embrace, knowing you’re still in pain, but wanting to hold you close.

You laugh, not minding the ache in your ribs.

Xaden is unimpressed. “When have we ever once called ourselves the dream team?”

“We haven’t, but I’m starting now. It’ll stick. I’ll have it embroidered on your flight jacket, Xay.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Xaden replies, setting off a brotherly argument behind you.

You look to the leadership once more, bowing your head in respect. “Thank you. For everything.”

Devera gives you a warm smile. “I am glad to see you have found your place here, Lieutenant. Remember that your empathy is a gift, even in times of war.”

Empathy.

“Am I dismissed?” You ask.

“Yes, Lieutenants, you are all dismissed,” Emeterrio answers dryly, looking over your shoulder at Garrick and Xaden. The latter has the former in a playful headlock, messing up his hair.

“Human boys,” Tab says, exasperated. You laugh in agreement, leaving them in the Assembly room to sort themselves out.

It’s easy enough to find who you’re looking for — he’s the only person sitting completely alone in the mess, a textbook open in front of him that he isn’t reading. He’s gazing into the distance, eyes unfocused, but he looks up when he realizes you’re standing in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, “about what I saw in Varrish’s office. I had no idea how much you all have endured. What we are taught in Navarre is only one side of the story, but you showed me the other.”

“I’m glad I could help change your mind.”

He reaches into the pocket of his flight jacket and extends a hand. Your protection rune sits in his palm, complete with a new leather cord. “A peace offering. I stole it back from Varrish, and Brennan mended it.”

You smile, taking it from him and slipping it back over your head. “You’re turning into quite the rule-breaker, Aetos. But thank you. It means a lot to me.”

You’re about to leave, but something compels you to impart a piece of advice. “I know how it feels when people don’t want to trust you because of your family history. It’ll take a while for some of them to warm up to you, but you can make it go a lot faster if you keep yourself out of trouble.”

———————————————————————

Your first flight back with your squad is supposed to be easy, a surveying flight with a small riot, just to check their perimeters, but you can’t seem to quell your anxiety as you take off.

“We will be fine, gentle one. We’re in strong company,” Tab reassures. He stays close to Chradh, knowing Garrick’s proximity will calm you. “How does it feel to be back?”

“Good. I’ve missed this.”

“You have always enjoyed being up this high,” he agrees. “Shall we review some of our basic maneuvers?”

“Sure.” Maybe that will settle your nerves.

“Hold on.” Tab dips, practicing all the angles — banking right, left, up, down.

“Something is wrong,” you blurt, and Tab straightens his path immediately, falling back into the formation. Every nerve in your body pulses with a sensation you’ve never felt before, standing on end. “Something really bad is going to happen.”

You’re right.

“Wyvern,” Tab warns just as they come into your line of sight. They charge straight at the front of the riot, where Sgaeyl leads the pack.

You’re outmatched, nearly two dozen of them and only ten of you. You’re going to die here. At least you’ll be with your best friends.

“That kind of thinking isn’t helpful!” Tab scolds, tightening the formation.

One gets too close for comfort, spewing blue flame, and Chradh banks hard - too hard. You gasp in horror as Garrick is thrown from his seat down to the ground below.

“Dive!” You yell, and Tab follows without hesitation, making a near-vertical drop.

You’ve never been so grateful for the running landing they’d taught you last year. It had been excruciating to execute on top of the pain of unbroken bones, but it’s just manageable now after a few days off from the infirmary.

Clutching Failsafe for dear life, your only defense, you sprint toward Garrick’s limp body, ripping off your goggles.

His heart still beats, but multiple bones look broken, his breathing labored. Touching him is almost unbearable, which tells you he won’t last much longer if you don’t do something.

Deep breaths, like Brennan had taught you, to accept their pain as it entered your body, holding it before batting it away like a fly.

You still haven’t figured out how to make that work.

Hot tears roll down your cheeks, and you start to berate yourself; Why can’t you do this? Compose yourself. Garrick is going to die if you can’t pull it together. Garrick is going to die, just like Liam did, because you aren’t strong enough to fix a fucking plate.

Anger overcomes you for the first time since you’d watched your parents die six years ago. You scream, a sound like nothing you’ve ever heard before splitting the air. The pain dissipates almost instantly. For the first time in two years, your body isn’t aching, and you sob in relief.

Garrick bolts upright, gasping for breath as spring blooms across the snowy plain, trees with bare branches suddenly teeming with green leaves.

Tab roars in pride and the rest of the riot joins in, the cliffs shaking from the volume of their celebration.

“Lifebringer!” He thunders into your mind.

Your head snaps upward, and you realize that the ground is littered with motionless wyvern.

Garrick pulls you to your feet, brushing the tears from your cheeks. “Come on, angel,” he says, grinning, “we have a war to win.”

You’re still dazed as Tab brings you back to Riorson house, Garrick helping you dismount and leading you inside.

“We have a weapon,” Xaden says, actually smiling as he faces the assembly. “Something, someone, that can destroy wyvern in their tracks.”

Garrick keeps you glued to his side as Xaden tells the elders what happened, but it’s all in one ear, out the other.

You’re dismissed after a few minutes, heading back out to the mess, where your friends gather around one of the large tables in the library.

“Tab called me lifebringer,” you say, confused. “What is that?”

“I thought it was just folklore,” Violet says from a few rows down, scanning the shelves, and everyone turns to her, listening. “Lifebringers are said to influence healing and growth. In some cultures, they’ve been credited with ending famines by rejuvenating harvests, and saving the innocent from the grasp of Malek and his Death.”

“Wicked,” Ridoc appraises quietly.

“Aha.” Violet produces a thin volume, cracking it open to the right page. The illustration there looks uncannily like you.

“Only the purest of heart can be lifebringers, those who hold no malice toward their fellow man. The weapons they carry are sharp, but unused,” she reads aloud. “Garrick gave you Failsafe as just that — a failsafe. You never drew blood with it. You never hurt anyone except in challenges, when it was kill or be killed, and even then you held back.”

Bodhi speaks next. “With most signets, the stronger the wielder’s emotion, the more powerful the ability becomes. You feel empathy for the wounded, so you can fix them and ease their pain, but when you thought Garrick was going to die, that was another level of distress, and I guess it was enough to overcome the dark magic.”

Garrick squeezes your shoulder in reassurance that he’s still very much alive beside you.

Violet closes the book, setting it down.

“I’m not in pain anymore,” you whisper, still dazed. You’ve almost forgotten what that feels like, having spent the last three years holding both your own and that of all your friends.

“You needed an outlet,” Xaden says. “Pain makes it harder to channel, and you were in pain 24/7, which is why the professors thought your signet was underdeveloped. Getting angry, and getting that energy out of your body allowed you to use the full extent of your power.”

“If I had known this earlier, do you think I could have…” you don’t finish the sentence. Everyone in this room knows how hard you’d tried to save Liam.

“Maybe,” Violet says quietly, “but that is not a path you want to go down. Trust me.”

———————————————————————

“Do you want to explain why the hallway was full of sunflowers when I went to bed last night?” Xaden asks slyly, dropping into a seat in front of you with a plate of eggs and bacon.

You burn with embarrassment.

Bodhi grins. “You see, cousin, when a man and a woman love each other very much, - ow, fuck!” He exclaims, rubbing the back of his head where Garrick had whacked him.

“At least they didn’t set the vale on fire,” another of your squadmates says, looking at Xaden and Violet pointedly. “You still owe me for putting that out, by the way.”

Your eyes widen as you connect the dots. “So all that dry lightning last year was you two…”

“Okay, changing the subject!” Brennan says loudly, not liking the way this conversation is headed. “We need to figure out how to use your signet without endangering Tavis’s life again.”

“Well, it sounds like they already found another way,” Ridoc says, grinning, but he squeaks out an apology as Garrick begins to rise from his chair.

You tug your boyfriend back into his seat by the sleeve, looking past him at Brennan. “I think I need to work a few days in the infirmary between flights,” you propose. “If I build up enough pain, I could probably-“

“NO,” the whole squad says at once, Tab included.

“Your healing is only to be used when absolutely necessary,” Xaden orders, and even though you’re on equal footing now, both newly-minted Lieutenants, you agree quietly without protest.

“See, that’s your problem,” Sloane says, and all eyes turn to her. “You defer to literally everyone. You’re an officer now. Act like it.”

“Pardon?” You ask, looking at her in disbelief.

“That’s exactly what she’s talking about,” Imogen cuts in. “Pardon? You can’t even discipline a first-year cadet. Do you really think any veteran rider will ever listen to what you have to say?”

“Enough,” you say firmly, your nails digging into the wood.

None of your friends intervene, not even Brennan. This has to be another nightmare. There’s no way they'd hang you out to dry like this. Right?

Sloane isn’t finished. “It’s a miracle you made it out of Basgiath alive. You’re too soft. If you won’t kill anyone, what are you going to do when it’s between your life or someone else’s? Their life or his?”

The mention of Garrick is your last straw. “That is enough from both of you, Cadets,” you reprimand. Thorny vines burst from the seams of the table, whipping out toward them, and they stagger back to avoid being cut.

You startle, your heart pounding against your ribs as you realize what you’ve done.

Sloane is the first to apologize. “I’m sorry. We didn’t mean any of it. I just thought that provoking you might…” she doesn’t finish the sentence, looking down at the still-twitching vines covering the tabletop.

“We definitely took it too far,” Imogen adds, sounding genuinely remorseful. “That was a really fucked up thing for me to say. I’m sorry.”

Bodhi waves a hand, and the vines slither back into the table, as if they were never there.

Your eyes widen at the blood on his cheeks — he’d been caught in the crossfire. You touch his face with a shaky hand, only brushing your fingertips across the skin, and the scratches disappear instantly, leaving no trace of the harm you’d done.

Somehow that makes you feel worse.

“Well,” Garrick says in his section-leader voice, “that was certainly informative, but none of you are to ever disrespect her like that again. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” both girls answer quietly, heads lowered in shame.

Your breathing has steadied enough to speak. “I understand why you did that, but I’m not going to tell you that it was okay, because it wasn’t.”

With that, you take your plate and leave. Nobody follows you.

———————————————————————

The balcony door slides open, soft footsteps approaching.

“I want to be alone, Gare,” you say quietly.

“Not Garrick,” Xaden replies, settling down next to you on the stone floor, “and you may want to be alone right now, but you probably shouldn’t be.”

“I didn't mean to hurt anyone, Xay. You know that,” you whisper. You don’t move your gaze from the potted plant in front of you, as if you’re worried it will lash out at you — or him — if you turn away.

“I know, angel. I know.” He exhales deeply, a gentle cloud forming with the warmth of his breath.

There’s a moment of quiet before he speaks again, just the sound of the cold wind over the valley and the distant footsteps of cadets running on the trail below. “Working through this is not going to be easy, but if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

You’ve come to hate that notion, everyone’s insistence that the pain you’ve been through has primed you for more pain, different pain. Why can’t it ever end?

#garrick tavis x reader #fourth wing x reader #fourth wing fanfic #fourth wing reader insert #garrick tavis #fourth wing #reader insert #imagine

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scary-grace · 2 months

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the new postmodern age (chapter one) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Written for @threadbaresweater's follower milestone event, and the prompt 'a day at the beach'! Congratulations on the milestone, and thanks for giving me a chance to write this fic.

dividers by @enchanthings

Before the war, you were nothing but a common criminal, but in the world that's arisen from the ashes, you got a second chance. Five years after the final battle between the heroes and the League of Villains, you run a coffee shop in a quiet seaside town, and you're devoted to keeping your customers happy. Even customers like Shimura Tenko, who needs a second chance even more than you did -- and who's harboring a secret that could upend everything you've tried to build. Will you let the past drag both of you down? Or will you find a way, against all odds, to a new beginning? (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3

Chapter 1

You believe in second chances.

Before the war, you were living on the margins, just like the rest of even the pettiest criminals were. No one would hire someone with a record, even if the record was for something nonviolent, and that meant that you were always hungry, always freezing in the winter and getting heatstroke in the summer, always one step away from doing something worse and getting put away for good. You were going nowhere fast, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get back on your feet. It was a struggle to get up in the morning.

But after the war, something changed. Not a lot, but enough, because after a heartfelt public plea from the hero who saved the day, the world decided to care a little bit about people like you. The government passed new anti-discrimination laws, including one banning hiring discrimination against people with criminal records, and for nonviolent criminals like you, they opened up an extra opportunity – a choice between job training or a startup loan for a small business, so you could pay down your fines and restitution while adding something good to society. Sure, it was all in the name of preventing new villains from being created, but you’ll take it. You took it, picked up a loan, moved out of the city to a small town on the coast, and decided to open up a coffee shop.

You’re not really sure why you picked a coffee shop. Maybe because the town you moved to didn’t have one yet, or maybe because you used to hang out in them a lot when you had nowhere else to go. And the program you’re part of worked exactly like it was supposed to. You had to hire people to help you get the building you chose up to code, and that meant you met people in your new community. You showed those people that the criminals they hated were people, too. You’ve paid most of your fines and you’re able to break even anyway, and even though there’s a sign on the door telling everyone that you’re a convicted felon and you have to answer any questions you’re asked about it, you have customers.

Not just customers – regulars. People whose kids you’ve seen grow up, people who talk to you when they see you out and about. After five years of trying, you’ve finally carved out a place where you belong. So yeah, you believe in second chances. How could you not?

You stand back from your front window, admiring the latest addition. There’s the sign identifying your business as one sponsored by the Nonviolent Criminal Reintegration Act, but just above it, you’ve added a bigger sign: Free Internet Access. Osono, whose bakery makes the pastries you sell, studies it alongside you. “Free access? Shouldn’t it be access with purchase?”

“I thought about it a lot, but no.” You’re sort of lying. You thought about it for two seconds and that was it. “This is better.”

“It’ll attract riff-raff.”

That’s the kind of comment that used to really piss you off, but you know Osono. You know it’s just a blind spot, and you know how to respond. “Most things are online these days. Job applications, apartment listings, information on government assistance. When I was in trouble before, free internet access would have helped me a lot. And I usually bought something anyway, even if it was just a cup of coffee.”

“Not a pastry?” Osono nods at the trays stacked on her cart, and you remember that she’s waiting for you to open the door. Oops. You unlock it in a hurry and prop it open with a rock you pulled up from the beach. “Where were you getting food?”

“Wherever I could.” You were hungry a lot. And sick a lot, because sometimes you had to eat things that were expired. You don’t like to think about that very much. “I stole sometimes so I wouldn’t starve. I’ve paid it all back by now.”

“You know how to take responsibility,” Osono says. She slides back the door on your pastry case without asking and starts loading things in. “I wish more of them were like you.”

“Most of us are,” you say, as gently as you can manage. “We just need a fighting chance.”

Sometimes people forget that you’re a criminal, that you’ll carry your record around for the rest of your life. You can’t let them forget. Osono nods in the way that tells you she’s humoring you and lifts a tray of pastries you haven’t seen before out of the cart. “These are a new recipe I’m trying out. What do you think?”

“They’re pretty,” you say. “Is that chocolate in the filling?”

“And cinnamon. They aren’t vegan, but there aren’t any common allergens in them.” Osono passes you the recipe anyway, and you scribble down the ingredients on the back of the name card you’re making, just in case someone asks. “Tell me how they do, all right? If they sell decently I’ll add them to my rotation.”

“Will do.” You help her with the last few trays. “Thanks, Osono. Say hi to the kids and Naoki for me?”

“Will do.” Osono wheels the cart back out the door, then pauses to study the internet access sign. “Good luck with this.”

“Thanks.”

You wait until the delivery van pulls away before you start rearranging the pastries to your preferred setup. You add “new arrival” to the label for the new pastry, then touch the lettering to turn it a pleasant but eye-catching green before placing it front and center in the case. Then you set up your espresso machine, wake up the cash register, switch on the lights and take down the chairs from the tops of the tables – and only then do you switch on the other sign in your window. It’s seven am. Skyline Coffee and Tea is open for business.

It’s grey and cold, and the low tide is closer to noon today, which means you’re in for a busy morning as the people who walk the beach daily stop in for food and coffee first. Only one person orders one of the new pastries, but almost everyone comments on the free internet access. They say the same kind of thing Osono said, and you say the same thing you said to her if they hold still long enough for you to answer. You say it nicely. It’s an effort to say it nicely, sometimes, but it’s worth doing.

Past noon, things slow down a bit. You decide to speed-clean the espresso machine, and you’re so focused on your work that you don’t notice the customer. It’s possibly also the customer’s fault, since he’s peering at you from over the pickup counter instead of standing by the cash register, and when he barks the question at you, it startles you badly. “What’s the password?”

“On the WiFi?” You tuck your burned hand behind your back. “No password. Find a place to sit down and have at it.”

The customer looks disconcerted. Or at least you think he does – the lower half of his face is covered with a surgical mask, and given that he doesn’t have eyebrows, it’s hard to read his expression. “Why?”

“Why isn’t there a password?” You haven’t gotten that question yet. “I want people to be able to use it if they need it.”

“They’re gonna watch porn.”

“Me putting a password on the WiFi wouldn’t stop that,” you say. “And I’m not the internet police. If somebody starts acting up, I’ll deal with it. If not – just use headphones.”

The customer’s expression twists. “I didn’t mean me.”

“Sure.” You’re not a moron. “It’s not my business what you do. Unless your business starts messing with my business. Seriously. Knock yourself out.”

The customer turns away, and you spend a second being extremely grateful that you went for single-occupancy bathrooms instead of multiple-stall bathrooms before you go back to cleaning the espresso machine. Your hand hurts, but it’s nothing running it under cold water won’t fix later. When you straighten up, there’s someone at the counter.

It’s porn guy, who you really shouldn’t call porn guy. Innocent until proven guilty and all that. You dry your hands and hurry over. “What can I get for you today?”

“Black coffee.”

“Sure. Anything else?”

The customer glances at the pastry case and shakes his head. Then his stomach growls. He knows you heard it. What little of his face is visible above the mask turns red. “No.”

“Tell you what,” you say. “I’ve got these new pastries the bakery wants me to try out, but next to nobody’s tried one yet. If you agree to tell me how it was, you can have it half off.”

“I have money.” The customer shoves a credit card across the counter to you, and you see that he’s wearing fingerless gloves. Or sort of fingerless gloves. They’re missing the first three fingers on each hand. “I don’t need help.”

“No, but you’re helping me out.” You add the pastry to his order and discount it by half, then fish it out of the case with a pair of tongs. “For here or to go?”

“Here.” The customer watches as you set it on a plate. “What is that?”

“It’s babka.”

“I can read. What is it?”

“I don’t really know,” you admit. Maybe that’s why people aren’t buying them. “The filling’s chocolate and cinnamon, though. It’s hard to go wrong with that. It’ll be just a second with the coffee.”

You fill a cup, then point out the cream and sugar. Then you realize you still haven’t tapped the customer’s card. You finish ringing up the order and glance at the cardholder’s name. Shimura Tenko. He hasn’t been in before today. You’re not the best with faces, but you never forget a name.

Shimura Tenko sets up shop at the booth in the farthest corner, and although you sneak by once or twice to check on him, you’re pretty sure he’s not watching porn. People don’t usually take notes when they’re watching porn. It looks like he’s working or something. Working remote, but he doesn’t have internet access at home? Or maybe he does, and he’s just looking for a change of scenery. That’s a normal thing to do. A change of scenery is one thing Skyline Coffee and Tea is equipped to provide.

Speaking of that, it’s been a while since you changed out the mural on the café’s back wall. Your quirk, Color, lets you change the color of any object you touch, and choose how long the color sets. You’ve used it for a lot of things over the years, but now you mainly use it to create new murals every few months or so. The back wall’s been a cityscape since the fall, when you saw a picture of Tokyo’s skyline at night and got inspired. Maybe this weekend you’ll switch it out for something a little softer. If people wanted the city, they’d stay there instead of coming here.

Customers come in and out, a few lingering for conversations or to test out the free WiFi, but Shimura Tenko stays put, somehow making a single cup of black coffee last until you give the fifteen-minute warning that you’re closing up shop. Another person might be pissed about someone hanging out so long without buying anything else, but you’ve been there. You let it go, except to ask him how the babka was as he’s on his way out the door. He throws the answer back over his shoulder without looking your way. “It was fine. Nothing special.”

Fine, sure. When you go back to clear his table, you find the plate it was on wiped clean. There’s not even a smear of the filling left.

“Check this place out!” Your probation officer leans across the counter, eyes bright, out of costume and way too enthusiastic for eight in the morning. “It’s looking great in here. You changed something. New color scheme? New uniform?”

“Nope.” You don’t get nervous for your check-ins, but you don’t like the fact that they’re random. Today’s not a good day. “There’s some new stuff on the menu, and in the pastry case. Maybe that’s it.”

“No,” Present Mic says, drawing out the word. He turns in a slow circle, then whips back around with a grin. “When did you repaint that wall?”

“I didn’t paint it,” you say. It’s best to be honest. “I used my quirk. I’m not making money off of it and it’s not hurting anyone, so it falls within the terms of my probation.”

“Take it easy there, listener. I’m not trying to bust you,” Present Mic says. Heroes always say that. You know better than to buy it. “It looks good. Really brightens the place up.”

“I thought it could use it,” you say. “It’s kind of a rough time of year.”

Cold weather always brings you lots of customers, but people are sharper, unhappier, and if they’re in the mood to take it out on someone, they pick somebody who can’t make a fuss or hit back. Somebody like you. You’ve learned not to take it personally. “Not too rough financially. You’ve made all your payments on time. I checked.” Present Mic is peering into the pastry case. “How’s that free internet access thing going for you?”

“Not so bad,” you say. “The connection’s pretty fast, so I get people in here who are taking online classes, or working remote. I’ve only had to kick one person out for watching porn.”

“Yeah, he filed a complaint,” Present Mic says, and your stomach drops. “You made the right call. Don’t worry.”

You’re going to worry. It’s going to take all day for that one to wear off. “I haven’t had problems with it otherwise.”

“Why’d you do it?” Present Mic gives you a curious look. “Free stuff brings all kinds of people out of the woodwork. Why give yourself the headache?”

“I want this to be the kind of place I needed,” you say. “Somewhere safe where nobody would kick me out if I couldn’t buy more than one cup of coffee, where I could use the internet without getting in trouble for it. A headache’s worth that to me.”

It’s quiet for a second, but Present Mic being Present Mic, it doesn’t last. “You really turned a corner, huh? Hard to believe you were ever on the wrong side of the law.”

“We all could be there,” you say. “It only takes one mistake.”

Present Mic sighs. “You’re telling me. Did you catch the news last week?”

“The thing with Todoroki Touya?” The surviving members of the League of Villains all went through their own rehab, and they’re on permanent probation – and last weekend, Todoroki Touya, formerly known as Dabi, lit somebody’s motorcycle on fire after they followed him for six blocks, harassing him the whole way. “I saw. Is he getting revoked?”

“Nope. The other guy was way out of line, and the panel ruled that the majority of people – former villains or not – would have reacted similarly under that kind of pressure.” Present Mic rolls his shoulders, and his leather jacket squeaks. “All I can say is, he’s lucky we’re in the business of second chances these days. Or fifth chances.”

“Why so many?” you ask. “The rest of us are on three strikes, you’re out.”

“Yeah, but you have to mess up a lot worse for it to count as a strike,” Present Mic points out. “If I had to guess, I’d say it’s a guilt thing. This whole rehab thing is Deku’s idea. And Deku never got over what happened with Shigaraki.”

Members of the League of Villains died leading up to the final battle, but of the five who made it that far, only one of them was dead at the end of the war – Shigaraki Tomura, their leader. To most people, it was good riddance to the greatest evil Japan has ever seen, but Deku’s always been publicly against that viewpoint. Insistent that All For One was the true villain. Regretful that the war ended with Shigaraki’s death, too. “Since he couldn’t save him, he’s stuck on saving the other four,” Present Mic continues. “Which equals infinite chances. So far Todoroki’s the only one who’s needed them.”

You nod. Present Mic stretches. “Let’s take a walk,” he decides. “I’ll buy coffee for both of us.”

“I can’t leave,” you say. “I don’t have anybody else to watch this place. If a customer comes by –”

“Half an hour, tops. Come on.” Present Mic produces a wallet from the inside of his leather jacket. “The sooner we leave, the sooner you can come back.”

You lock up, hating every second of it, and follow Present Mic into the cold, a to-go cup of your own coffee in your hands. Present Mic runs through the usual list of questions, the ones that cover your mindset as much as they cover your progress on your program requirements. Some of them are about how you’re getting along with the civilians in town, and you know he’ll be checking in with some of your customers, seeing if their perception lines up with yours. It feels invasive. Intrusive. Some part of you always pushes back. You always quiet it down. You made this bed for yourself, coming up on a decade ago. Now you have to lie in it.

“I’ve got some news,” Present Mic says, once he’s finished with the questions. “The program’s considering early release for some of the participants.”

“Why?”

“The legislative review’s coming up, and they want success stories,” Present Mic says. “You know, people who clawed their way out of the criminal underworld to become productive members of society. I’m putting your name on the list.”

You almost drop your coffee. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Mic says. He seems taken aback by your surprise. “I mean – you’re kind of who this thing was designed for, listener. You caught your first charge when you were underage, for a nonviolent crime, and the rest of your case is a perfect example of just one of the many problems Deku won’t shush about. Now look at you. You’ve got your own business, you’re paying back your debt to society, you’re participating in civilian life. There are civilians who don’t do that much.”

Of course they don’t. Actual civilians don’t have to prove they have a right to exist. “If you’re approved for early release, the government will waive interest on your startup loan, and I heard a rumor that they’re considering wiping charges off people’s records,” Mic continues. “It’s a pretty good deal, listener. And you’re making a pretty weird face.”

“Sorry,” you say, trying to fix it. “I mean – felonies are a forever thing. They don’t get wiped.”

“It’s just a rumor,” Mic says, and pats your shoulder. “Even if that doesn’t pan out, you could use a break on the interest. Anyway, it’s not a sure thing, but I put your name up. You’ve got as good a shot as anybody.”

You think that’s probably true, which is weird to think about. You’ve been behind the eight ball since you were in high school. Present Mic throws down the rest of his coffee, then turns back the way the two of you came. “Let’s go. I saw a pastry I wanted to buy, and I bet you have a customer or two.”

You’ve heard things about other program participants’ probation officers taking things without paying, but you got lucky with Present Mic – he always pays. Sometimes he even gives you a hard time for setting your prices too low. And he’s right about the customers. When you get back, one of your regulars is sitting cross-legged, leaning back against the locked door with his hood up and his laptop open.

It’s Shimura Tenko, who you never saw before you started offering free internet, and who’s turned into a regular ever since. The two of you don’t talk the way you do with some of your other regulars – something about the mask and the hood and the gloves tells you that Shimura isn’t looking to make friends. But he shows up two or three times a week, orders black coffee, and camps out in the corner of the café until closing time. Sometimes you can talk him into a pastry, and it’s always a babka. Whether he orders one or not, he’s always hungry when he comes in.

Shimura looks up as you and Present Mic approach. His eyes narrow, then widen abruptly, almost comically shocked. Then he slams his laptop shut, rockets to his feet, and books it, vanishing down the street and around the corner. You feel a surge of frustration. “Can you not scare my customers?”

“I’m out of costume. Even when I’m in, nobody’s scared of me.” Present Mic is lying. You’d have been scared out of your mind to run into him back in the day. “Damn, that guy was skittish. What’s his deal?”

“He’s one of my regulars.” Was one of your regulars, probably. People don’t react the way Shimura just did and come back for more. You unlock the door, feeling strangely dispirited. “Which pastry were you thinking about?”

Present Mic sticks around for an hour or so, long enough to talk to a few customers who don’t run away from him. Most of your regulars have seen him before. He leaves a little bit before noon, after eating three pastries he paid for, and as usual, the café quiets down in the afternoon. You don’t mind. Today wasn’t a good day even before Mic put in a surprise appearance and scared off a customer for good. Days like today, you’d rather have the place to yourself.

Sometimes in the midst of proving you’re a model citizen to anybody who looks your way, you forget that there’s a reason you weren’t. It wasn’t a good reason. Your family wasn’t rich, but you always had what you needed and some of what you wanted. Your parents weren’t perfect, but they loved you. You weren’t the most popular kid at school, but you always had someone to talk to. And none of that mattered, because you felt hollow and miserable and lonely no matter what else was going on around you.

Nothing you did or said could make you feel better. Everything felt the same, and everything felt awful, and no matter how hard you tried to explain, to ask for help, to raise the alarm, you couldn’t get your point across. You had a good life. What did you have to complain about?

The judge who handed you your first conviction said pretty much exactly that. You’ve heard that the sentencing guidelines for minors have changed, that untreated mental health issues are considered a mitigating factor these days, but back then it didn’t matter at all. You got help at some point. You take your meds like you’re supposed to, and you did therapy until you realized the people who monitor your probation were reading your notes. And you’re older now. You know the hollow feeling goes away. But that doesn’t mean it’s any easier to tolerate when it’s here.

You’re hanging out behind the counter, staring at your most recent mural and wishing you’d chosen something less cheerful than the field of wildflowers that’s currently decorating it, when the door opens. You barely have time to get your game face on before Shimura Tenko steps up to the counter. “Um –”

“How many heroes are you friends with?” Shimura asks shortly.

“I’m not friends with Present Mic,” you say. “That was a spot check. He’s my probation officer.”

Shimura blinks. He has crimson eyes and dark lashes, matching his dark hair. “Huh?”

“My probation officer,” you repeat. “I’m a convicted felon.”

“Don’t lie. They’d never let a convicted felon run a coffee shop.”

“I got a loan,” you say. “Through the Nonviolent Criminal Rehabilitation Act. It says so on the sign.”

“Your sign says free internet access.”

“Underneath that.” You wonder if it’s really possible that Shimura didn’t see the other sign. Maybe he was just too hyped at the prospect of free internet to look any harder. “How long have you lived here?”

“Five years.” Shimura looks defensive now. “What’s it to you?”

Five years, and you never saw him before today. He must keep to himself. “Nothing. I just – I thought everybody around here knew. I’m not very quiet about it. I’m not allowed to be.”

“Why not?”

You don’t want to do this right now, but rules are rules. “Part of the Reintegration Act involves educating civilians about where criminals come from – like, how a person goes from you to me.”

Shimura snorts. It’s rude, but not anywhere close to the rudest thing someone’s done to you when you talk about this. “The government thinks the people who are best equipped to educate about this are the actual criminals, so I’m legally obligated to answer any questions people ask me – about my record, about why I did it, about the program and why I’m doing that. So they understand what’s happening and why it’s happening. For transparency.”

“And that means anybody can question you, any time,” Shimura says, eyes narrowing.

“Yep. Stop, drop, and educate.” You wait, but he’s quiet, and you’re tired enough and hollow enough that the suspense gets to you first. “You can ask what I did. I have to tell you.”

Shimura nods – but then he doesn’t ask. About that, at least. “It’s dead in here. Did Present Mic clear everybody else out?”

“No. It gets quiet on sunny days when the tide’s low.” You nod through the window, and the sliver of beach visible between the buildings across the street. “I was thinking about closing early.”

“Why?” Shimura’s voice holds the faintest shadow of a sneer. “To walk on the beach?”

To lay facedown on your bed and wait for tears that won’t come, and won’t make you feel any better if they do. “Now you’re here, so I’m open. Do you want the usual?”

Shimura hesitates. Then he shakes his head. “Go home.”

“I’m open,” you repeat. You don’t want him to complain to Present Mic like the actual porn guy did. “Do you want the usual or do you feel like something new?”

“The usual.”

“Come on,” you say. He glares at you over his mask. There’s an old scar over his right eye. “There’s nobody here. Nobody’s going to catch you drinking something that actually tastes good.”

“The usual,” Shimura Tenko says, and crosses his arms over his chest. “And –”

He glances at the pastry case, and you see his expression shift into disappointment. It makes you sadder than it should, but you can fix it easily. You slide the babka you saved on the faint hope that he’d come back out of hiding and into full view. “One of these?”

Shimura stares at it for a full fifteen seconds before he looks up at you. “You saved it for me.”

“Yeah.” You pride yourself on knowing what your regulars like. You don’t want someone you see a few times a week to leave unsatisfied. “One babka and one black coffee, coming up.”

Shimura holds out his card, then hesitates. You’ve never seen him look uncertain at all. “And whatever you think tastes better than black coffee. One of those.”

“Really?” You can’t hide your surprise, or what an unexpected lift it is for your mood. “You won’t regret it. Which flavors do you like?”

“I don’t care.” Shimura waits while you swipe his card, then tucks it away. “This was your idea. I’m going – over there.”

He gestures at the back corner. “I know where you like to sit,” you say. “I’ll bring it out.”

As soon as he leaves, you get to work. You need to nail this. He’ll laugh at you if you bring him a tea latte, so it needs to have an espresso base. What goes well with babka? You already have chocolate and cinnamon on board – what about caramel, or hazelnut? Does he even like sweet things? He must, if he keeps ordering the damn babka. Maybe hazelnut, but what if he’s allergic? You pitch your voice to carry and see him startle. “Do you have any allergies?”

“Not to food.”

You wonder what he’s actually allergic to as you start pulling espresso shots for a chocolate hazelnut mocha. You really hope Shimura likes Nutella, because that’s exactly what this is going to taste like. Using bittersweet chocolate syrup instead of milk chocolate fixes it partway, but when you pour off a tiny bit to try it, it still tastes a lot like something you’d eat out of a jar with a spoon.

Whatever. You’re committed now. You don’t have a choice. You pour it into a cup, make some vague gesture at foam art, and carry it and the black coffee through the empty café to Shimura’s table. “One black coffee and one drink that actually tastes good.”

Shimura eyes the second cup. “What’s in there?”

“You said you didn’t care.”

“Yeah, well, now that I know you’ve done time I’m not sure I can trust you,” Shimura says, and you lock your expression down. That one hurt. A lot. He drags the cup towards himself with his right hand and lifts it to his mouth as he pulls down his mask with his left, but you’ve lost interest in the outcome. You turn and head back to the counter, trying not to feel like someone’s slapped you in the face and convincing yourself at least a little that it works.

You screw around behind the counter, taking inventory and counting down the minutes until last call, but Shimura’s back at the counter with forty-five minutes to go, an empty cup in his hand. It’s not the cup you put the black coffee in. “Fine. You win. I want another one of these.”

“Yep.” You set your clipboard aside and head back to the cash register to ring him up. “For here or to go?”

“Here.”

“I’m closing soon. To-go’s probably better.”

“Are you kicking me out?” Shimura asks. You look up at him, make eye contact, and whatever he sees in your face sets him off. Not in the way you thought it would. “Before, about the doing time thing. You know I was kidding, right?”

“Sure you were. Do you want a receipt?”

“Hey,” Shimura snaps. “It was a joke.”

“Not a good one.”

“Yeah, it was. If you –” Shimura breaks off, his scowl clear even from behind the mask. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I wouldn’t have said that if I didn’t get it.”

“Get it,” you repeat. “You’ve done time?”

“Yeah.” Shimura Tenko covers the back of his neck with one hand. “No charges, but – yeah, I did time. So it’s funny.”

“It’s still not funny.” You lift the empty cup out of Shimura’s hands and turn to start making a second Nutella-esque mocha, trying to decide if you feel better or not. “It’s just not mean.”

A shadow falls across you as you work. Shimura’s following you along the edge of the counter. “So am I getting kicked out or what?”

“Yes,” you say. “In forty-five minutes, when I close.”

Shimura’s eyes crinkle ever so slightly at the corners. You wonder what his smile looks like under that mask, but you’ve got espresso shots to pull, and you need to focus if you don’t want to burn your hand. You look away, and when you look back again, he’s at his table, laptop open, mask on, chin propped in his gloved hand. No charges, but he’s done time. You didn’t expect that. Even though you’ve spent the last five years of your life trying to prove that you’re no different than anybody else, it still catches you by surprise to learn that one of your customers is like you.

You bring the second drink by his table, then start working through your closing checklist. He stands up with five minutes to go, just like clockwork. He leaves without another word, as usual, but when you step outside, he’s still standing there. “You didn’t ask why.”

Why he did time? “Neither did you,” you say.

“Yeah, but I won’t break probation if I don’t answer.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” you say. It’s not quite dark, but the sun’s almost down, and the shadows are growing long. Late March already, but it feels like you’ve got a long way to go before spring. “If I want people who meet me to look at the person I am now, I have to do the same thing for them.”

Shimura Tenko makes a sound, half-laughter and half-scoffing. “They sure did a number on you,” he says. You turn and walk away, and his footsteps follow yours. “Hey. Come on. There’s no way you’re that sensitive.”

“I’m not,” you say. “I’m just having a bad day.”

A bad day, and you never get a day off. Even if the café’s not open, you’re still in sunshine mode every second, making sure that the people who want to treat you like a criminal look absolutely insane for doing it. You fought hard for this life. You’re glad you fought for it. And today more than usual, you’re just really tired. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Yeah,” Shimura says. You’re glad he doesn’t try to apologize again. You know it would be painfully insincere. “How did you know?”

“Hmm?”

“The pastry. How did you know I’d come back?”

“I didn’t,” you say. “I just hoped you would.”

You don’t know why you hoped. Maybe because he’d clearly been waiting a while when you and Present Mic got back. Maybe because you remember how much it mattered to have somewhere else to go, whether you had a place of your own or not. Maybe because you’ve gotten sort of a sense of him over the past few months, and you know he’s the kind of person who pretends not to want the things he wants. Wanting the coffee shop he hangs out in to be open and to have his favorite pastry available is such a reasonable thing to want. You were hoping he’d come back so you could give it to him.

Shimura doesn’t say anything. You keep walking, and he doesn’t follow you. When you glance back over your shoulder as you round the corner, you see him standing just outside of Skyline Coffee and Tea, staring intently at something. You can’t say for sure. But you’re pretty sure it’s the sign that explains about the NCRA.

A while back, you read that some countries set aside two days to commemorate a war. One day to celebrate that it ended, another to mourn that it happened at all. When it comes to the war you lived through, Japan does things differently. There’s just one day, a national holiday, where every government office closes and most businesses do, too. For most people, it’s a day to celebrate. There are carnivals, street fairs, concerts, parties. It’s been a holiday for exactly four years and a whole host of traditions have already sprung up around it.

But there’s one person who never celebrates, and it didn’t take you long to come around to his way of thinking. On April 4th, the fifth annual Day of Peace, you close the café early and make the trek to Kamino Ward.

You’re not sure how Kamino Ward became the place. Maybe because the final battlefield’s been overtaken by celebrations, and at least some people still see Kamino as hallowed ground. The place where the Symbol of Peace made his last stand. The place where the Symbol of Fear passed the torch onto his successor. You get there a little while before sunset, and you join the hundreds of people who’ve already gathered there. The crowd looks smaller than it did last year, and it hasn’t grown much by the time Midoriya Izuku, known to the world as Deku, climbs onto the steps leading up to the All Might statue’s plinth.

Someone hands him a microphone, which he takes with hands that tremble ever so slightly. He’s only twenty-one, and he looks old before his time. “I’m here,” he starts, then swallows hard. “I’m here because we didn’t win. Not really. If you’re here instead of at a party somewhere, I think it’s probably because you lost something. Something, or someone, who was important to you. Something you can’t get back.”

It’s quiet. It’s always quiet after he says something like that. “I’d like to think we did something. That we changed for the better,” Deku continues, “but I think we can only say that if we don’t forget what we had to lose for it to happen. So, um – you know the drill. If you brought a candle, great. If you didn’t, we have some. You can say the thing you lost if you want – we have a microphone – but when you’re done, light the candle and put it down somewhere that feels right to you.”

He takes a deep breath, lets it go. “And then you can go. But I’ll stay until they all burn out.”

People swarmed the first two years. This year they form a line, stepping up to light their candles one by one. You never know what to say when it’s your turn, because it’s not something specific you miss. The way things used to be was awful. You don’t miss that, and you weren’t close enough to anybody to lose someone who mattered in the war. But April 4th has never felt like a happy day. It feels wrong to you to be setting off fireworks and throwing parties in response to a war that almost destroyed the world.

A lot of people say names when it’s their turn to light a candle. Some say places. Some share an ideal they lost, a hero they venerated who fell from their pedestal, a dream they had that will never come true. Each lost thing named is met with respectful silence. But just like last year and the year before, there are three names that aren’t, no matter who says them. “Big Sis Magne. Bubaigawara Jin,” says Toga Himiko as she lights her candle. Say Todoroki Touya and Sako Atsuhiro and Iguchi Shuichi, who still answers to Spinner, as they light theirs. “Shigaraki Tomura.”

There’s always whispering after their names, especially Shigaraki’s. But Deku always goes last, and Deku always shuts them up. He lights his candle and grasps the microphone, speaking clearly, firmly. “Shigaraki Tomura.”

You remember what Present Mic said, about how Deku never got over failing to save Shigaraki. Deku was sixteen when he won the war. Still a kid. Was saving Shigaraki really his job? Maybe that’s the point of all this. It was everyone’s job to stop villains like Shigaraki from being created, and you all failed, so it fell to Deku – and he failed, too. It’s one big, sad, ugly mess. When you’re honest with yourself, you’re not surprised that most people try to cover it up with fireworks.

People begin to filter out of the memorial park, and you find a place to sit down. It’s not like you have somewhere else to go. The others who say settle in as well, in small groups amidst the rows and clusters of candles. You’re within earshot of one of the groups. Without meaning to, you find yourself listening in.

“They’d have hated this,” Todoroki Touya is saying, his voice low and bitter. “Every second of it.”

“Big Sis Magne wouldn’t have. And Twice would have liked it,” Toga Himiko says. Her voice is soft. “All the candles. He’d say it’s like his birthday.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Todoroki Touya’s voice goes even quieter. “Do any of us know when his birthday was?”

It’s quiet. “Shigaraki would hate this,” Todoroki states. “You know he would. What did he tell you to tell Spinner, Deku?”

Deku doesn’t answer. Spinner does. “Shigaraki Tomura fought to destroy until the very end.”

“Yeah,” Todoroki says. “To destroy. And Deku made him a martyr.”

“He destroyed a lot of things,” Deku says quietly. “All For One is gone. One For All, too – there’s never going to be another Symbol of Peace. He destroyed the way we saw villains. We don’t just get to look at what they’re doing right now. We have to think about how they got there. And he destroyed how we saw ourselves.”

“Yeah?” Spinner says. “How?”

“We didn’t think we were responsible for other people,” Deku says. “Now we have to be.”

It’s quiet again. This time it’s quiet for a while. “Whatever,” Todoroki says. “I’m going home. See you all at the next sobfest.”

“He always says that,” Spinner says, once his footsteps have faded. “He’s gonna get tanked at home and text us just like he did last year.”

“I miss Tomura-kun,” Toga says, her voice softer than before. “I thought we’d all be together at the end.”

“I know,” Deku says. “I’m sorry.”

“And you’re sure –” Spinner breaks off. “You’re sure you couldn’t get his ashes or something? So we could –”

“There was nothing left of Shigaraki,” Deku says. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Spinner says. Toga sniffles. “We know.”

The group splits, Toga in one direction, Spinner in the other. A moment later, Deku walks past you, and you do everything you can to fade into the background short of turning yourself camo-colored. It doesn’t work. “Did you hear all that?” Deku asks. You nod. He sighs, or sniffles, maybe. He looks younger up close. “You were here last year, right?”

“And the year before,” you say. The longer you look at him, the worse shape he’s in. “Um, are you okay?”

“It’s just –” Deku’s eyes well up, suddenly. “It’s hard. I can’t say what I want to say to them.”

“Why not?” you ask stupidly, and he shakes his head. “Um – do you want to sit down?”

You wouldn’t ask another hero that, but you feel like it’s worth the risk. Even though he’s twenty-one, you can’t look at him and see anything other than a kid, and it feels wrong to let a kid stand there and cry. Deku sits down next to you. “I know I’m not supposed to ask,” he starts, his voice watery, “but you never say anything when it’s your turn. Most people don’t come here. Even the ones who lost somebody would rather be at a party somewhere. Why do you come back?”

You have to think about it for a second. Deku cringes. “Sorry. You don’t have to answer.”

“I sort of do.” It might hit your probation requirements, and even if it doesn’t, you should explain anyway. “What you said earlier, in your speech – I’m one of the people the world got better for. My life would have been awful if it had stayed the same. But in order for me to have this life, we had to have the war.”

“What did you do during the war? Were you in a shelter?”

You shake your head. “The shelters banned people with criminal records,” you say. Deku’s eyes widen. “Nowhere would let me in.”

It wasn’t all that different from the way you were living before – not much food, not very safe. The only difference was a sharp increase in the number of abandoned buildings for you to crash in. But it looks like you’re making Deku feel worse, not better, and you scramble into part two of your explanation. “I’m one of the NCRA participants. That program only exists because of the war – and you, because you won’t let people forget why the war happened. So I want to remember why the war happened, too. And I want to honor it. Them.”

“Him,” Deku corrects, and your stomach clenches. “I wonder what he thinks of all of this. If it’s enough. If it’ll ever be enough. I mean, obviously it’ll never be enough for him, because he doesn’t – I mean, I can’t ask him, but I know he can see it. I don’t know where he is, but if I could just ask him –”

You didn’t realize Deku believed this strongly in the afterlife. You sit quietly, and after a few seconds, he remembers you’re there. He glances at you, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “Do you not get to talk about it very much?”

“No,” Deku admits. “People want to move on. And I don’t really blame them. But I can’t. Not until I know for sure.”

It’s quiet for a little bit. He wipes his eyes. You watch the candles flicker down a few millimeters more. “You’re in the NCRA,” Deku says finally. “For job training, or did you get a loan?”

“I got a loan,” you say. “I run a coffee shop now. With free WiFi.”

“Do people like it?”

“I think so,” you say. You think of the kids who come to study, the people who use the WiFi for remote work, the old people who walk the beach every morning and stop by for coffee and pastry afterwards. “I have regulars, anyway. And people talk to me now. They never used to.”

“People talk to me now, too,” Deku says. “It’s nice.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “It is.”

It is, but it’s not quite what you meant, and you don’t want to interrupt when Deku starts talking about the NCRA. It’s not just that people talk to you. They talked to you before, but now they see you – not as a criminal, but as a person like them, minus the squeaky-clean record. That’s new, and that’s good. You know even less about Shigaraki Tomura than Deku does, but even if he’d hate what’s happened to the world he wanted to destroy, you’re thankful anyway. The world is better now. It’s better because of Deku, and Deku’s the way he is because of Shigaraki.

There are fireworks going off over the bay, distant enough that you can’t hear the sound. Closer than that, you hear music and laughter from a street party you passed on your way here from the train station. Deku trails off after a while, and you don’t speak up again. The two of you sit in silence until the last of the candles burns away.

You get home late, and it’s an early morning opening up the café. Luckily for you, everybody else is also running late courtesy of the holiday yesterday. Osono comes by fifteen minutes off-schedule and full of apologies, and while you’ve got your doors open by seven, it’s not until seven-fifty-eight that your first customers come through the door. It’s a double shot of espresso kind of day, and while you’re pulling them, your customers tell you about the parties they went to last night. When they ask what you did, you tell them you went into the city. It’s not a lie.

After the slow start, the shop stays quieter than usual, quiet enough that when Shimura Tenko rolls up just past noon, there’s still plenty of babka left in the pastry case. You start his order before he’s even opened the door – one black coffee, one Nutella-flavored nightmare – and he stops to drop off his stuff at his usual table before he comes up to the counter. You can tell he’s disquieted by something. “Did Present Mic come by and scare everybody off again? How are you going to keep this place open if no one’s here?”

“Mornings are a lot busier than afternoons,” you say. “And spring’s my quietest season, anyway. No tourists like there are in the summer, and it’s not very cold.”

“Yeah.” Shimura glances around, still displeased. “This place had better stay open.”

“It will,” you say. “One shot of espresso or two?”

“Three.”

“Three? It’s your funeral,” you say, but you pull the extra shot. “Late night last night?”

“I went to a party,” Shimura says. You nod. “It was my birthday.”

“Happy birthday.” You cancel half his order. You give people a free drink on their birthday, if you know it and they come in. “Your birthday is April 4th? That’s a tough draw, especially the last few years.”

“You’re telling me.” Instead of retreating to his table like usual, Shimura hovers at the bar. “What about you? Did you go to a party?”

You shake your head. “I went into the city.”

“Which city?”

“Yokohama,” you admit. Shimura’s eyes narrow. “I go to the vigil at Kamino. I have every year they’ve done it.”

“Really,” Shimura says, skeptical. “Why?”

Deku asked you the same question. You have a feeling Shimura won’t like the answer, but it’s the only one you have. “My life is better than it was before the war, because of what happened in the war. I want to be thankful for that. It doesn’t feel right to me to go to a carnival.”

Shimura doesn’t say anything, just watches you. It makes you feel weird. “If I’d known it was your birthday, though, I’d have gone to a party for that. It was your birthday way before it was the Day of Peace.” You’re babbling, and Shimura still hasn’t said a word. “Not that you’d invite me to your birthday party or anything.”

“I didn’t know you’d want to go,” Shimura says slowly. The espresso machine beeps, and you focus on it way harder than you’d do under ordinary circumstances. “Look, I – it wasn’t my party. Just a party. It’s not like I went in a fucking birthday hat.”

“That would look pretty weird with your hood still up,” you say. Shimura makes an odd sound. You look up and see the corners of his eyes crinkling again. “Still, though. I’ll remember for next year. I’ll get a cupcake or something. Even if you don’t want somebody who’s done time at your birthday party.”

Shimura laughs at that. Actually laughs. Your chest constricts, filling with warmth in a way that feels out of proportion to the situation at hand. “I only want people who’ve done time at my birthday party,” he says. “Don’t try to give me that drink for free. You letting this place go under would be a shitty birthday present.”

“Too late. It’s already free and I’m not rerunning the sale.” You pour the black coffee and set it down on the pickup counter, followed by the godawful Nutella drink. “Happy birthday plus one.”

Shimura rolls his eyes, but they’re still crinkled slightly at the corners. He doesn’t respond until he’s already halfway back to the table, and he’s so quiet that you have to strain your ears to hear. “Thanks.”

You should say something. Something like “you’re welcome”, or “any time”. Something that sounds like good customer service, instead of what you’re worried will come out of your mouth if you open it right now. The conversation is over. Nothing else needs to be said. You turn to face your small workspace, searching for a distraction. There has to be something you can clean.

It’s been so long since you had a crush that you barely remember what it’s like, but you’re pretty sure you have a crush on Shimura. As far as crushes go, he’s kind of a weird pick – because he’s a customer, because he’s not the friendliest, because he hasn’t given any indication that he likes you at all. He likes babka and free internet and the horrible off-menu mocha you make just for him. That’s it.

It feels weird to have a crush. Weird in how normal of a thing it is to do, when you’ve been so focused on looking normal and pretending to be normal that you haven’t done anything actually normal in a while. But maybe this is a good thing, and maybe it’s okay. You might get released early from your NCRA requirements, and even if you don’t, you’re doing well. You can afford to like somebody again.

The café stays quiet, and with two hours left before closing time, you’re getting bored. Bored, and you haven’t switched out the mural since before your last check-in with Present Mic. Now’s an okay time for that. You scribble a sign to prop up on the counter – I’m here, just yell – and head towards the back wall. You have to pass Shimura to get there, and as you do, he looks up. “I’m not looking,” you say. “I’ll just be over here.”

“Doing what?”

“A new mural,” you say. “Pretend I’m not here.”

Shimura decides to start right away, and you flex your fingers more out of habit than anything else. Then you set your hand on the wall and activate your quirk, changing the entire wall from the wildflower mural back to the same blank neutral as the others. That’s a good start. Now you just need to figure out what you’re going to do with it.

Actual muralists sketch and line their work. They work from references and they draft the design before they actually start painting. You know that because you used to want to be a muralist yourself. You could sketch and line things, but these days you’re more about feelings than anything else, and feelings take color. You block the wall into a few sections – you remember to do that, at least – and fill in general colors, running your fingers along the edges to blur them together. Grey base and sides. Dark-colored middle. The entire upper half of the wall is light. It’s not until you’ve added the half-circle above the horizon that you get a real understanding of what you’re making.

It's another cityscape, or the ruins of one, something you saw in photos or maybe in person. It looks a lot like the sunrise view from Kamino Ward, the sky on fire with deep purple and orange and pink and gold, the reflection of those colors splashed across the sea, the wreckage of the city bathed in morning light. You’ve done enough therapy to psychoanalyze yourself, and it’s not hard to see what you were going for with this. Things are horrible. Things were horrible for a long time before today, but the sun is still rising, and the sunrise is still beautiful. And it’s a lot easier to see now, with all the other stuff out of the way.

“That’s not paint.”

You weren’t expecting Shimura to say anything, and you weren’t expecting him to pay attention to what you’re doing. But when you look back over your shoulder, you see him staring, his phone set aside, the lid of his laptop shut. “It’s not paint,” you say. “Just my quirk.”

“How does it work?” Shimura asks. You turn back to your mural, and you hear him get to his feet. A moment later he’s standing beside you, answering his own question. “You can change the color of things you touch. And decide how long it stays that way.”

“Yeah.” After using it your whole life, you’re pretty good at it. You can fine-tune stuff, enough to add shading to the buildings and the rubble at the sides and bottom of the mural without compromising the light from the sunrise. “Not a very powerful quirk.”

“You could still cause trouble,” Shimura says. You could. And you did. “This is how you got your charges, isn’t it? Stuff like this.”

“Graffiti? Yeah,” you say. You remember the rush you got the first time you tagged something, the first time you spilled your thoughts and feelings in a way no one could ignore. “Except when you do that, you get charged with trespassing and vandalism, and when they figure out they can’t remove it, you get charged with destruction of property. Throw in malicious unlicensed quirk usage and – boom. Felonies.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Me or them?”

“Giving somebody a felony for painting stuff on walls.” Shimura studies what you’ve done so far. “All of these have been yours, right? Is this the same stuff you were painting before?”

“Not always,” you say. This conversation falls under your NCRA obligations, but it doesn’t feel like it’s the reason Shimura’s asking – and it’s not the reason you’re telling him. “When I first got into it, it was just words or sentences. Stuff I couldn’t figure out how to say out loud. The first time I really got busted, it was for tagging the side of my parents’ house.”

“Your parents called the cops on you?”

“And pressed charges,” you say. He’s staring at you again. You pretend you don’t notice and fuss over the shoreline in the mural. “I got better at it when I was older. The art got better, anyway. But I got in more trouble because of where I put it. And I guess what was in it.”

“Anything I’d have seen?”

“I don’t know. Where did you hang around?” you ask. You got booked in most of the big cities in Japan during your criminal career. “Uh, I did the UA barrier. The one with the – you know.”

“The human shields?” Shimura bursts out laughing. “Did you have a sibling in Eraserhead’s class or something?”

“No, I just thought it was stupid to do the Sports Festival a week after what happened,” you say. Shimura snickers. “It felt like they were using the kids as props to distract from how much of a mistake they’d made, and I was mad about a lot of other stuff, too, and – yeah. I kind of went off.”

You really went off. There’s no other way to describe triggering the UA barrier on purpose at two am so you could make a crude mural of All Might, Endeavor, Hawks, and Best Jeanist hiding behind a bunch of kids in school uniforms. Shimura is still snickering. “Damn. I’m surprised they call you nonviolent with how bad you hurt their feelings.”

“They had to replace the whole barrier,” you say, and Shimura wheezes. “I’m not trying to be funny.”

“No, but it is funny.” Shimura glances at you over the edge of his mask. “And now you run a coffee shop and make things like this.”

He looks away from you, back to the mural. “Is this something real? It looks familiar,” he says. Before you can answer, his eyes widen, and he says it himself. “Kamino Ward. Why would you paint it like that?”

“It’s how I see it in my head. Or how I feel it. I don’t really know.” You reach out and use the tip of your index finger to highlight one of the buildings that’s still standing in sunrise gold. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know.” Shimura reaches out and touches it with one gloved hand. “People are going to be pissed at you.”

“If they recognize it.” You’re not too worried. “Most people just look at the colors.”

“I recognized it.”

“You’re not most people.”

You instantly wish you hadn’t said a word. Shimura Tenko glances at you quickly, then looks back to the mural. “Yeah,” he says. “I was there.”

Your stomach drops. “You were?” you repeat hopelessly, and he nods without looking your way. “I’m sorry. It’s – insensitive. I’ll take it down –”

“No.” Shimura catches your wrist before you can make contact with the mural. “Leave it. I was gone for this part. It’s a nice view. The horizon, I mean.”

That’s your favorite part, and you’re not even done with it yet. “I still have some stuff to add,” you say. Shimura nods but doesn’t let go of your wrist. You pull at it slightly. “I need this back.”

“Fuck. Sorry.” Shimura recoils like you’ve burned him, then backs away. Way too far away. You’d say he was making fun of you, except you can see his eyes over the mask, and they’re expressive in spite of his complete lack of eyebrows. “Sorry. I don’t usually – touch people.”

“It’s okay.” Your wrist feels tingly where his hand made contact, and there are butterflies in your stomach. He doesn’t usually touch people, but he touched you. “Thanks for stopping me.”

Shimura turns away completely. “I have to work.”

“Yeah. I didn’t mean to distract you.”

“I know.” Shimura slides back into his booth. You turn back to put the finishing touches on your mural.

He’s right about it. In the hour left before you close, at least one customer who trickles in gives you a hard time for putting up something so upsetting. You listen to his concerns, but you stick to your guns, and when he sits down to wait for his order, you see him watching it. Just like Shimura is, the screen of his laptop long since gone dark.

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #tenko shimura x reader #shimura tenko x reader #shigaraki tomura #shimura tenko #x reader #reader insert #coffee shop rehab fic #man door hand hook car door #a bisquared production

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novemberevenings · 8 months

Text

somewhere between the stars | chapter 1

Azriel is your best friend. The best, most brilliant, and dearest friend you have ever known. It gets harder and harder to separate your platonic and romantic feelings for him.

A/N: first chapter of this series!!! honestly wanted to write my own rendition of an angsty, mutual pining fic w my azzy <3 anyways this first part isn’t the longest but i’m posting it to motivate myself to write the next part!! (btw italics indicate a flash back!)

The night sky seems peaceful tonight, almost as if it were at ease. A chill night breeze brushes past, swirling in the soft grass in greeting. The branches of a nearby tree sway, the only sound being the soft caress of leaves. Lying with your head laid back against the grass, eyes closed in a mix of exhaustion and ecstasy.

At the feel of a soft, scarred hand brushing against your own, you open your eyes and tilt your head to the side. You’re greeted with a familiar and comforting sight. Your best friend's questioning gaze and furrowed brows make you quietly ask, “What's going on in that head of yours?”

It’s a phrase that you both have claimed as yours. When either of you needs to be dragged out of your thoughts, the other won’t hesitate to ask to ground you back to the present.

He’s quiet for a moment, trying to find the words that are jumbled up in his head. He turns to look at the sky once again before asking, “Do you think they’re watching us?”

“Who?” His question puzzles you, not quite understanding where it's coming from.

“The stars, the moon. I dunno, maybe the entire sky.” You’re used to his weird questions. It’s become a thing that you’ve got going on between the two of you. “If they are, I hope they don’t snitch on us.”

This earns you a light chuckle, his head slightly shaking from laughter. Realistically, the sight of two younglings watching the stars at night shouldn’t be a problem. But for a boy who has to wake up for training early in the morning and a girl who has to continue with her apprenticeship, they could get punished for being out this late at night.

“I like to think that they are. Watching over us, I mean.”

“Az, that’s kinda really creepy.”

He laughs indignantly, lightly shoving at your shoulder. It’s silent again, but you can tell he wants to say more, so you wait. “There’s just… so much out there, you know? It’s so big, and there’s so much we don’t know. I like thinking that, somewhere out there, someone’s looking out for us.”

You take a second to just marvel at the way he thinks. A sudden feeling of gratitude and pride washes over you at being one of the few people who gets to see this side of him. The side of him that’s bright and curious, hopeful.

You turn your head back towards the sky, looking at the stars and the empty spaces between them. Your best friend’s words are still in your head, trying to form an answer.

When you look back at him, you find his gaze already on you. He looks at you just like how he looks at the night sky, with reverence and utter devotion. It compels you to reply, “Well, regardless of who’s out there, I’ll always look out for you.”

He gives you a soft smile, the one that you’ve come to treasure and look forward to. “I’ll always look out for you, too.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Tucked into a corner in the library at the House of Wind, your eyes roam over the page you’re reading. You were catching up on some old texts, brushing up on your knowledge of some spells. As the sorceress of the Inner Court, you always wanted to ensure you could protect your family.

A clock nearby chimes, and you poke your head out to check the time. It was almost time for dinner, but you still wanted to finish the chapter you were reading. Going back to your book, it wasn’t long until the doors to the library slammed open, surprising a couple of priestesses nearby, an arrogant General waltzing in looking to find you.

“You know, Cass, they expect silence in a library.” Closing the book with a resounding snap, you stand up from the cozy armchair you’d been sitting in, returning the book to its rightful place on a nearby shelf. “Lovely to see you too, my dearest Y/N.”

You half-heartedly roll your eyes at him but take the arm he’s offering as he leads you out of the library. The two of you exchange stories of the day, Cassian recounting training with the Valkyries that morning. You listen to him intently, but you stop in your tracks when he says, “Az is coming home tonight.”

“He is?” Your eyes widen as relief washes over you, not realizing how worried and tense you have been throughout the past week since Azriel was gone on a mission.

“Yeah, sent Rhys a message ‘bout an hour ago.”

At your look of shock and surprise, Cassian follows up with, “He didn’t tell you?”

You softly shake your head, dismissing him. “I’m sure he was just really busy with work. It’s fine, Cass. Nothing to worry about.”

Your soft, encouraging smile did nothing to ease Cassian’s worry, but he didn’t push on the subject.

There had been this rift growing between you and Az. Both of you had been quite busy with your duties, Az especially. But you can’t help but feel there’s something else that’s causing this, and you hate it. Your friendship with him is one of the best things in your life, and the idea of losing him was… devastating. You don’t think you would be able to survive it.

But you plan on fixing it as soon as he gets back. A simple conversation will fix this, you’re sure.

“Alright, come on then.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It was a calm night in the House of Wind. Everyone had gathered for weekly family dinner, and all was well. Everyone except for Azriel, that is.

To say you were tense and anxious would be an understatement. Even a blind man could see just how worried you were. While everyone else was lounging in their seats and sipping their glasses of wine, you sat with your back straight, hands fiddling with each other nervously.

“Loosen up a little, Y/N! Cauldron, you look like someone just killed your puppy.” You roll your eyes at Cassian’s teasing. Sometimes, you worry your eyes would be stuck at the back of your head whenever you’re with him.

“Oh, give her a break, Cass. We all know why she’s acting this way.” Mor says, trying to lighten your mood.

And it’s true. Everyone gathered around you knows exactly why you were so tense and worried. Despite Azriel sending you a message that he would be back tonight, your worry would not disappear until you saw him with your own two eyes, safe and unharmed.

It was no secret to anyone how close the two of you were. Best friends ever since you met each other in Windhaven. Your friendship was one of the constants in your life, forever a source of comfort. He was your closest confidant, the shoulder you could always lean on, the first person you celebrate the good news with, and the first person to wipe your tears away when you cry.

He wasn’t just your best friend. He was… your best everything.

You tried your best to enjoy the night, joking with your family and catching up on each other’s day. Although your worry wasn’t completely gone, the presence of your family always put you at ease, love pouring through every interaction.

“As I was saying, wing-warmers should totally be a thing. You don’t know just how much the cold affects our wings. I feel like an oversized icicle flying around the–”

Cassian stops mid-rant as a figure appears in the doorway. Everyone follows his line of sight at his silence, your head quickly snapping towards the doorway.

And just like that, a week’s worth of worry and anxiety melts from your body. The sight of Azriel in his leathers, all seven siphons gleaming, is one you’ve longed for.

“Az,” you sigh softly in relief.

“Hi,” he replies. That soft smile you think is reserved just for you spreads across his face, eyes crinkling a little at the edges.

That one word was all it took for you to fly out of your seat, running towards him at full speed. He catches you, bringing you into his warm embrace immediately. You tuck your face into the crook of his neck, wrapping your arms as tight as you can around his neck. In response, Azriel buries his nose into your hair, tightening his grip around your waist.

You pull back slightly, your arms holding his shoulders so you can better scan his body for any injuries.

At the worry in your face, Azriel asks, “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

You notice his attempt to lighten your mood and snark right back at him. “Nothing, just thinking about how much you stink.”

He lets out a chuckle, and you can feel his chest vibrate from your proximity. “And here I thought you missed me.”

You stay in his embrace for a little longer, feeling grateful that he’s returned unharmed, and take a moment to just look at him, reminding yourself that he’s back. A cough sounds from somewhere behind you. “Hello? Care to share him with the rest of us?”

Rhys’ impatient yet teasing tone makes you and Azriel laugh, pulling apart to let the other members of your family greet him.

You stand back, watching him embrace everyone else. Finally, you feel settled, like a part of you was missing, and now you’re whole again. You try your best not to think too much about what that might mean, wanting just to enjoy the fact that your best friend is back.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

#azriel/reader #azriel x reader #acotar #azriel imagine #azriel shadowsinger #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #azriel x you #azriel #azriel shadowsinger x reader

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keysorsomething · 10 months

Text

Before the Sun Rises / Caught

1 | 2 | 3 | 5 | 6 | 7

The double feature chapters I wrote :) Just wanna say thanks to everyone who's supported these fics, it makes me very happy to see all the likes and reblogs !!

Cross-posted on ao3

Before the Sun Rises

You awake the next morning with no pressure on your chest and nothing in your arms. Still half-asleep, you look around the room. You’re disoriented, like when you take a three-hour nap in the middle of a weekday and wake up covered in sweat and unaware of the concept of time. One thing you catch is that the room is still dark, but you would guess that it’s always dark in here. You haven’t seen a window, after all. You start to rub the sleep from your eyes, fighting a yawn as you try to find the man who seems to have disappeared into the night. Melting into the darkness, as he had each time before.

“Nikto?” You ask, sitting up. Or at least you try, before strong hands meet your shoulders and shove you back into the pillow. You spot his blue eyes staring down at you almost ridiculing, clearly not pleased with your attempt to get out of bed. It’s almost startling, the speed and force with which you’re slammed back, not the hardest you had been slammed into something, but it was sure lacking any form of gentle grace you would expect from the motion. In this context at least. But you’re too tired to really think about the strength in him like you had before or to think about how he had seemingly teleported into your sight and personal space with no sign of where he was prior.

“Stay,” Nikto’s voice growls out. You look up at him, confused and groggy. He lowers himself back on the bed, and then back onto your chest. “I was not done,” He huffs, taking the sleeve of your shirt between two fingers. He pulls on the fabric, turning it over in his hand. His eyes narrow at it, as if your sleeve had offended him.

“Okay,” You mumble, letting your eyes fall back shut. You spend a while like that, enjoying it. Laying on your back with him on your chest, feeling the gentle pull of his hand as he busies himself with your shirt sleeve. It’s a moment of peace, expanded when he stops pulling at your sleeve - it was actually kind of annoying - and instead, his hand rests on your bicep, unmoving. He lets out a soft sigh, and you assume he closed his eyes too. Your breathing synchronizes, as your hand goes back to rubbing his shoulders like you had been doing the night before.

“You will come back tonight,” He states firmly, breaking the shared moment of silence. Your eyes shoot open and your hands pause, unsure how exactly to respond. You did want to come back again. Hell, you wanted to move in with him. You dare to even think you want the world to melt away, for time to be this moment and this moment alone, always and forever, but should you really let him boss you around like that? Should you just agree? Should you agree enthusiastically, with a ‘yes, sir!’? Or do you say no on principle?

“Can you ask nicely?” In a patronizing tone is what comes out of your mouth instead. Like a mom talking to a toddler who just demanded ice cream or something. You don’t have many references for modern-day parenting in the army. Maybe you shouldn’t compare those two things, that was kind of weird. But it wasn’t mansplaining patronizing - and you knew mansplaining, since that was the only thing that came out of Graves’ mouth - it was the other kind. You had no other words for it.

Nikto groans, presumably rolling his eyes, “You will please visit us again tonight,” He corrects, but he doesn’t seem all too happy about it. “пожалуйста?” He breaks out the big guns. How do you deny a masked man who’s speaking in his mother tongue? It may be your biggest weakness.

You sigh, conceding, “Okay. I will,” And he lets out a pleased rumble. A sound you could very much get used to.

“Now go back to sleep,” He huffs grumpily. “пожалуйста..?” You almost listen instantly, but then another thought pops into your head.

“What time is it?” You ask, the thought of being caught once more nagging at the very back of your psyche. He lets out another less-than-pleased huff of a breath at you, this time through his nose. But, hey, is he really blaming you for worrying about both your careers? His head shifts so his eyes meet yours better, and you see a small smudge of eye black left over from him watching it on his right eyelid, hugging the lash line. It almost looks like eyeliner. You also see the curve of his nose. That is skin that is clearly scarred, looking like it would be rough to touch. Healed burns, probably. Chemical burns that stretch over from the right of his face. You aren’t too sure how the mask is doing that, as all of the points where it attaches to the blast plate seem intact, and it’s only a small dip from where it normally sits. You decide not to comment on it, however.

“Early. Four-fifty or so,” He replies firmly. “I would not let you overstay your welcome,” His words are aggressive in phrasing but soft in tone. An odd combo he seems to use often, which you can’t be sure if that is just him or because he isn’t a native English speaker. But, his brows soften too, his hand sliding up but hesitating to make contact with your face or hair. It retreats away. When you look into his eyes, you feel like he wants nothing more than to touch you, and you feel he agrees that this moment is ever so precious. But he doesn’t want to touch you. Perhaps he’s afraid, or perhaps he doesn’t like his face being touched, so he won’t touch yours. The Golden Rule and all that. But you still smile softly down at him, gently rubbing his back. A silent encouragement to do as he pleases, one that is not listened too. After just a beat, you speak again. There’s no point in making the fleeting movement a whole ordeal.

“Well, wake me up when I have,” You tell him, trying to keep your voice low and comforting, the way he likes. He nods in response, eyes staring up at you warily. You both share for a moment the fear of being found out, but you don’t voice it to him. And he does not voice it back.

“Of course,” Nitko mumbles, sliding back into the position he was before your question. You chuckle, wrapping your arms tight around him as he matches the gesture, and lean your head into his. You take a deep breath, letting the whole moment sink into you. The warmth and weight of the man on your chest, the sound of his breathing, the feeling of the cold, hard blast plate against your cheek. It’s all the best thing to ever happen in this place, and you have a feeling it’s the best thing to have ever happened to him.

You sigh, it's nice to share this moment with him. Every moment over the past few days had been precious. You let your head fall back - you had been keeping it up to look at him - but keep your eyes on him as best you can. You still your hand on his back, letting your arm fall limp. He shifts his head slightly on your chest, fully committed to using you as a pillow. The image of him and his peacefully rising chest is wiped away by your eyes falling back shut.

---

Caught

You reawaken to a soft patting of a gloved hand on your cheek. Your eyes open to Nikto just a few inches from his face, his hand gently twapping your cheek to wake you up. You groan, your muscles stretching as best you can under the weight.

“It is time you leave,” He mumbles, but you can see the disappointment in his eyes. “You do not have much time to get back to the barracks before the rest wake up.”

You pout, blinking up at him, “…How come you get a room all to yourself? It’s not fair,” You mumble, closing your eyes. His bed was so much more comfortable than your cot. And it was so much better than sleeping in a room with multiple other people. Just you and him. There’s a moment where you desire much more of this. So much more of this, in a much more domestic manner, but that fantasy is short-lived by a second round of pats on your cheek that don’t relent until your eyes open back up.

“It was a specific request,” Nikto replied, eyes narrowed on you as he tries to keep you from falling back asleep. As always, they are an icy blue that doesn’t match the feeling of having them on you at all. But by now they feel so much cooler than before, like a warm hug or a heated blanket instead of a hot iron. “I told them I would not take the job if they did not accommodate me.”

You nod, rubbing your eyes with a huff. That makes sense, you think. He seems like the guy to do that. Your eye opens now that your hand isn’t over it, and he hasn’t moved. Something a part of you deep inside is grateful for. You don’t know how well you could cope if he was gone just like that. Like how he had appeared earlier. That thought doesn’t last long, none of them do. He was just so much to think about. His eyes are wide, wild as they look down at you. He seems to think that you’re a lot to think about too. Or perhaps you’re assigning that to him, like when people speak for dogs and cats. You’ve been doing that with him a lot more often since that night in the armory. His eyes get a little less wide, and then even less wide. Until his eyes look closed, but you can tell they’re still partly open. God, he has pretty eyelashes.

He then, all at once, presses his still-masked face into yours. The fabric of the mask covering his mouth is rough against your lips. There’s no movement under it, almost as if he’s just smooshing his lips into yours like he isn’t sure how to do it. You feel the cold metal of the blast plate pushing into your forehead like a headache. It almost hurts, but there’s no way it’s enough. Somehow being too much and too little, but not just right. Your hand goes up to cup his cheek, but you don’t get the chance too. You didn’t even get the chance to close your eyes or lean into the kiss. It’s gone all at once, the same way it came. The pressure on your chest where he was laying there, on your forehead where the protruding parts of the metal dug into your skull, the rough fabric almost painfully hot on the skin of your lips, all of it. He pulls away before you can fully process it, before you can take it in for all of its glory. He rolls off of you, laying on the bed next to you facing away, partly curled up. You have to take a moment before you can do anything. You just kissed the Nikto. No, you were just kissed by The Nikto.

“Nikto?” You ask, voice soft and wavering, like if you speak too loud you’ll create a rip in space-time and it will have never happened. He cuts you off before you get any more in.

“Go,” He responds gruffly, and you nod, pulling off the bed. You’re a little stunned, and you do have places to be. You’d be worried that he was upset with you, but you have a feeling he’s just processing it, the same as you. Maybe he’s worried you’re upset with him? You almost feel like you need to cover up, and are subconsciously pulling the covers with you as you try to. You notice when you almost trip, but you catch yourself and throw them back on the bed. You take a deep breath, trying to ground yourself before speaking. And before leaving. You had appearances to keep up once you got back to the barracks and you had the three musketeers riding your dick.

“Okay,” You squeak, backing away. Your voice sounds so much more pathetic than you wanted it too, and you really can’t be having that. “See you tonight,” You say very quickly, hoping he’ll know you aren’t upset with him. You then promptly spin on your heels, and swing the door open. You go to step out of the room when you come face to face with a chest. You look up with a soft curse, only to find judging blue eyes staring back at yours from under a makeshift mask. The eyes are hard, angry. You’re in trouble.

“Oh, good morning, Colonel,” You manage to get out through a panicked breath. His arm is raised, you had interrupted him mid-knock. He lowers it, and it’s easy to tell his scowling down at you, eyes narrowing further. He bends slightly at the waist, and you hear the fabric shift and Nikto starts to speak when the room behind you goes silent. König looks behind you, and then back down at you, inching ever closer.

Then, you hear your voice hissed through teeth, a heavy Austrian accent filling your ears.

#call of duty #nikto cod #cod mw2 #nikto x reader #nikto #cod nikto

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thecapybara526 · 2 years

Text

A Drop in the Ocean pt. 2

Avatar: the way of water

Neteyam x reader, Lo’ak x reader

Note : I don’t know how to link part 1 but it shouldn’t be hard to find as this is only my second time ever posting. Please read part 1 because there has been changes made for my story to work. Thank you so much for the support on part 1!

Tag list : @whos3rn

Part 2

After you and Neteyam talked, everyone was sent to bed. You usually slept in the Sully hut with Kiri, but after yesterday's events, you figured they might need some space. You hated sleeping in your hut, though; it was lonely with the ghosts of the life you used to have. Your parents loved each other, and their story was so cute. They didn’t have the traditional “love at first sight” kind of love. Where you see each other and you know they are the one. Although that is sweet, it’s not always realistic.

Your mother had eyes for a different Na’vi, and was not even interested in your father. Your mother pinned for this man for so long that she gave up and decided to swear off men. Your father always noticed your mother, her pretty hair, her eyes, her bow skills, and most importantly, her smile—all the traits you luckily inherited. Slowly your father started to flirt with your mother, spend time with her, and before she knew it, she was in love. She always said it snuck up on her.

You quickly got up and left before the burning in your throat and chest became tears in your eyes. Usually, Kiri, Lo’ak, and Tuk would be around in the morning while Jake, Neytiri, and Neteyam did their rounds around the clan. Today was different, though. The whole Sully family was still in their hut. You peeked inside and saw they were in deep conversation and slipped away quietly before they noticed.

…

Neteyam was shocked at what his father had just said to everyone. “We have to go; we must leave our home and disappear.”

Tuk started to cry, and Neteyam pulled her to him, cradling her head.

“This isn’t fair; this is our home!” Kiri cried. She was angry. Kiri looked at her mother for help, but Neytiri was staring at the ground, her face blank. She was trying to keep a brave face for her children, but inside she could feel the wounds already in her heart tearing deeper.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I have to agree with Kiri. You are Olo’eyktan. What will the people do.” Neteyam pleaded with his father. Not only that, but he was the next Olo’eyktan. The Omatikaya was his clan to protect one day, and he wasn’t going to abandon them.

“The decision has been made. This is to protect the people. This is to protect you. This family is our fortress. As long as we are together and safe, that is all that matters.” Jake stood up. He was upset and scared but couldn’t let his guard down. He had to stay strong for his kids and also Neytiri.

“And what of Y/n? Is she coming too?” Kiri asked, her eyes full of concern; she wasn’t going to leave her sister.

This made Lo’ak head snap up, he was sad about leaving, but he never felt like he truly belonged here. The thought of leaving you behind… it made his throat tighten up.

“I do not think it is fair to strip her from her home. She will make the choice herself whether or not she wants to stay.” Neytiri finally spoke. It killed her to think of you not coming, but it was only fair. She would not take you from the forest if you did not want to leave.

When Lo’ak heard his mother's words, panic set in. What if you didn’t come with them? What if you stayed and he never saw you again? What if you forgot about him? Or worse, found someone else to be with.

Neteyam was just as troubled; after yesterday, maybe you wanted no part of this life. Running from the Sky people, constantly being in danger from his fathers past. You didn’t have to suffer the same fate as them.

Kiri and Tuk immediately left to find you; they couldn’t just stand there lost in thought like their brothers panicking. By the time they found it was too late. Jake and Neytiri had sat you down and started to talk to you. Neteyam and Lo’ak caught up to Kiri and Tuk, planning to convince you to come.

Kiri noticed the panic and worry on Lo’ak and Neteyam’s faces. They were both scared, scared to lose you. Their faces started to crumble when you started crying and hugging their parents. Did this mean goodbye? Lo’ak couldn’t take the pain in his chest and walked away, refusing to watch. While Neteyam stood watching, begging from afar that you would come with them.

…

You sat there for a good five seconds trying to process what Neytiri and Jake just said to you.

“I know this is hard, but we want what’s best for you. You don’t have to leave your home because of us.” Jake said, placing a hand on your shoulder

Tears started to flow down your face. It wasn’t because you were devastated to leave the forest. Of course, you were sad, but the forest reminds you so much of the life you had with your parents. The thought of losing the Sullys and not going with them upsets you.

“No, no, please, please take me with you. I’ll be good. I’ll do my part for the family. Please don’t leave me behind!” you hugged both Neytiri and Jake. You loved Jake and Neytiri. They took you and treated you like their own. Neytiri was the last link you had to your mother, and losing her would kill you.

“Y/n, of course, we would not leave you.” Neytiri took your face in her hands. “We are simply giving you the option. Is this what you want?”

You calmed down a bit, realizing they weren’t telling you they were leaving you, but they were offering you to come with them. You started to smile; they cared about you as much as you cared for them. Jake and your father were so much alike, protective and caring but also tough. Neytiri was just as fierce and strong as your mother but also sweet.

Not only that but Kiri, Tuk, Neteyam, and Lo’ak. You couldn’t imagine a life without them.

“There is nothing here holding me back from leaving. Where ever the Sully family goes, I will go.”

Neytiri and Jake smiled; they were hoping you’d say yes, mainly because Neytiri wasn’t blind to how Neteyam and Lo’ak have looked at you lately. She was happy that one of her boys would potentially end up with you.

…

Kiri, Tuk, and Neteyam were relieved when they saw you come out of the hut smiling along with their parents.

“Y/n will be coming with us,” Jake announced, shaking you playfully by your arms. You laughed and wiped away the lingering tears.

Tik and Kiri immediately ran up to you, engulfing you in a hug.

“Thank you, great mother!” Kiri exclaimed, you laughed and caressed Tuk’s little head. “I’m so happy you’re coming with us Y/n” Tuk buried her head into your side.

“Me too, I couldn’t leave my sisters,” you smiled. The rest of the Sullys walked to their hut to gather whatever they were bringing.

Neteyam was standing not too far away and approaching you. You could see the relief radiating off him. You were happy to see him but where was Lo’ak?

“I’m happy you are joining us.” Neteyam said with a shy smile.

“Me too, I couldn’t stay. Especially with you all leaving” you looked down suddenly nervous from him staring at you.

“I have to say..” you looked up at him again as he spoke softly. “It would have been a lot harder leaving if you would not have agreed to come,” and with a touch of your shoulder, he walked past you to his hut.

You stood there for a couple seconds after processing what he said to you. Neteyam. Neteyam. You kept repeating his name in your head. Your thoughts were abruptly stopped when you saw Lo’ak walk by in a hurry. Lo’ak. Right. Where was he, when you were talking to Jake and Neytiri.

“Hey! Lo’ak!” You called to him; you swore you could see his eyes jump to you for a second before continuing to wherever he was going. Did he just ignore you? You felt a needle pierce your heart a little. Hell no. You were about to chase after him but you heard Neytiri call you to.

This isn’t over Lo’ak. You thought to yourself.

…

Lo’ak had been ignoring you all day. Anytime you tried to talk to him, he brushed you off. At first angry, but now you were just sad and frustrated. Why was he upset with you? Was he mad you didn’t stay and take the heat with him from his parents for putting everyone in danger yesterday? Whatever it was, he couldn’t even look you in the eye.

Neteyam and Kiri noticed Lo’ak suddenly distancing himself from you. It was weird the trio was not attached to the hip. Y/n had been with Kiri all day, and when she asked you about Lo’ak, all you did was shrug your shoulders.

It was starting to piss Neteyam off. He didn’t like seeing you upset; when he talked to you, you were friendly but very uninterested in the conversation, like something else was on your mind.

Before dinner, he grabbed Lo’ak’s arm. “I advise you to talk to Y/n and fix whatever happened,” he said sternly to his brother.

Lo’ak shrugged him off, “what are you talking about? Nothing happened.” He scoffed.

“Y/n’s been upset all day. Fix it.” Neteyam gave his brother a look and walked to dinner, leaving Lo’ak with his thoughts. He didn’t realize he was upsetting you. He couldn’t stand the pain he felt when he looked at you, knowing he was leaving you. Then he started to get annoyed. Why was Neteyam so worried about you being upset?

At dinner, Lo’ak kept stealing glances at you, hoping you would look at him. But you kept your eyes trained down at your food or next to you to talk to Tuk and Kiri. If Lo’ak wanted to ignore you, you could ignore him better. Neteyam noticed the looks Lo’ak was giving you. His tail flicked side to side on the ground in annoyance. Lo’ak was such a skxawng , he thought. Your head tilted up when you heard a smack on the ground. Neytiri held Neteyam’s tail down, “stop,” she hissed and ran her hand down his tail. You laughed and looked up at him and Neytiri. He was already staring at you. He gave you a small smile and kept eating.

Without meaning to, your eyes shift to Neytiri's left, catching Lo’ak’s eyes. His eyebrows shot up, excited you finally looked at him. He tilted his head to the exit, eyes widening a little bit for a moment. So now he wants to talk.

You took a deep breath and excused yourself. Not long after, Lo’ak followed. Kiri looked at Neteyam, giving him a look. Neteyam shook his head, meaning give them space. However, he didn’t like the thought of you and Lo’ak alone. He knew you two needed to talk.

…

Lo’ak led you towards the forest. It was dark, so he didn’t take you far. He climbed up one of the trees the two of you frequently visited together, and he sat down, legs hanging off a branch. You sat next to him.

“Well?” You questioned after a couple of minutes of silence.

He took a deep breath. “I-I’m not mad at you.” He was still looking straight ahead.

“Okay, so why are you ignoring me?” You didn’t understand.

“Y/n.” He turned to look at you, “please don’t stay; I know it’s not fair for me to ask. But please come with us.”

Your eyes widened—what a skxawng. You started to laugh a little, covering your mouth. Lo’ak’ turned away from you, embarrassed. Why were you laughing at him.

You grabbed his chin, turning his face back to look at you. “I’m coming with you, Lo’ak.” You smiled at him.

A grin broke out on his face “wait, what? But I saw you crying and -“ you cut him off.

“If you had just asked me instead of ignoring me, you would know that at the end of that conversation, I decided to leave with you guys.” You dropped your hand from his chin, but he caught it. Your breath got caught in your throat. Finally, noticing you were sitting close to each other, thighs brushing together, his beautiful eyes looking at you tenderly. Your face burned.

“I'm sorry, okay? I’m sorry for ignoring and upsetting you. But I’m so happy that you are coming with us.” He spoke looking down at your two hands together.

There had been so many small moments between you and Lo’ak your entire life. Helping each other when you first learned to fly your ikrans, little touches of hands or stealing glances at each other during dinner.

Your heart beamed. You liked Lo’ak since you were little, but we’re sure if he felt the same way. Sometimes he treated you like Kiri, like when you almost fell off a tree branch and Neteyam caught you. He just laughed and told you to keep up. He would also sometimes flirt with girls around your age. While other times he treated you differently, like now. It made your head spin.

“Let’s head back before we get in trouble.” He kept your hand and helped you up.

“Yea..I think we’ve been in enough trouble lately” you smiled, and the two of you walked back to camp. You were on cloud nine until he dropped your hand when the two of you arrived back.

Neytiri approached the two of you, placing her hand on your heads.

“Head to bed. We are leaving early tomorrow.”

You nodded and looked back at Lo’ak, but he was already walking behind his mother, back to their hut.

…

You stayed in your hut that night. It was possibly the last time you would sleep in it. You lay down, and right before you fell asleep, you heard a noise. You turned to the opening and see Neteyam.

You sat up, “what’s wrong?” It was late, why was he here.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted to check in on you” he smiled, and you felt your body relax. You motioned him to sit down next to you.

“Uh, I’m fine. A little sad but at the same time excited.” Rubbing the back of your neck, he was sitting right in front of you. He always looked at you so intently while you talked. As of he didn’t want to miss a word you said.

“I’m excited, too; I can’t help but feel sad. I hate that we’re leaving.” He looked down between his legs.

“Of course, Neteyam. This is your home. Your clan, you were going to be Olo’eyktan one day. Whose knows, we could come back and the clan would absolutely choose your father to be Olo’eyktan again.”

He looked up at you and smiled. “thank you, but I came in to comfort you.” He laughed and bumped your shoulder.

“Well, lucky for you, I’m fine. I’m more than happy to comfort you.” You tilted your head at him and smiled widely. Your cheeks burned a little.

Neteyam had to look down because of how you were looking at him at that moment would make him spill out everything he’s wanted to say to you since you were 14.

“Okay, well. I’ll let you get some rest. Goodnight Y/n” you wished him a goodnight as he left.

You laid back down, and you couldn’t stop the smile that was creeping onto your face.

…

Okay! That’s all for today. I want to update everyday, as of right now. Please let me know if you want shorter chapters or if there are typos. Also does anyone know why it says “replies are turned off” and how do I turn them on.

I hope you enjoyed and please let me know if you enjoyed or want me to continue! (PART 3 IS UP)

#lo’ak x reader #neteyam imagine #lo’ak #avatar the way of water #neteyam x reader #avatar x reader #avatar 2 #avatar imagine #avatar way of water

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ickyarson777 · 3 months

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Many Eyed Vessel Fic Thing???

This title will change later I promise.

Anyway! I did some thinking about This Post and I’ve decided I’m gonna go all out and write a fic about it. This prompt is something I think about all the time, so I was very excited to receive it to say the least :)

That being said, I have no idea how any of this is gonna play out. Right now I’m thinking kinda slow burn entities-to-lovers type of thing??

Here it is though!! I promise if you like it, I’ll do my best to keep up with writing, and please, let me know what ya’ll want!! I’m here to please ;)

Chapter 1, 2

Tried to stay as gn as possible, no mentions of y/n or names, readers is just called ‘human.’

Word count: 2,132

Content warning: Maybe a bit of dread, spooky horror type stuff. Bit of violence, not anything horrible at all.

I glance around me as I walk through the quiet woods. Rays of light filtered through the leaves of the trees behind gradually being drowned out by the darkness of the shadows ahead of me.

I had traveled to a new city, and decided to take some time to explore the smaller nearby towns. London was great, but it was nothing compared to the smaller communities that were just outside of the larger city. The town I was in was smaller in comparison, greatly so. A couple of small neighborhoods, a few streets of shops, convenience stores and restaurants. On one side however, there was a forest that wrapped around half of the town.

Anytime I was in a small town like this, I always took the time to learn the local rumors. Any scandal, or story going around. As I was making my rounds through this small town, I’d heard tell of the forest containing monsters, creatures. Things that were definitely not meant for the human eye. Angels, demons.. it had me absolutely captivated. I needed to know more. So of course, after a good night's rest, I packed a backpack of supplies, put on some thermal wear, considering it was a chilly, bleary fall day, and made sure I had food and water to last the day.

And then I drove out to the edge of the forest, and began walking.

Immediately the air turned colder. I had this sense that I definitely shouldn’t be here, that something definitely didn’t want me here. Multiple something’s at that. It was exhilarating.

I stepped farther in, glancing around slowly. The day was already dark, but the canopy of branches were so tightly woven above, the forest seemed to be bathed in midnight, though I knew it was barely a quarter past ten in the morning. Luckly, it wasn’t dark enough that I couldn’t see, so I continued on.

It wasn’t a quiet walk, branches and leaves snapped and crunched beneath my feet, and I could hear birds singing their sweet songs. For how terrifying the image of the dark forest was, it was still peaceful here, even if I did have a small feeling of dread brewing beneath my subconscious.

I walked further in, approaching a small stream, and stepped through. The water wasn’t deep, barely reaching the middle of my shins at the deepest. I could feel the temperature of the water through my boots, which I was very glad to be waterproof. Freezing cold, of course it would be in weather like this. I crossed to the other side of the stream, and whatever sense of peace I’d had before was ripped away from me.

For a moment, I hesitated, unsure if I should continue. I glanced around, trying to steel my nerves. ‘Calm down,’ I thought to myself. ‘You hear a couple rumors about monsters in the woods and you’re scared straight. What kind of explorer are you if you can’t walk through the woods by yourself..’

I shook off the fear and continued walking. I came to a clearing, where the trees opened to reveal the sky above, still overcast with dark clouds. I’d checked the weather before coming out here, there wasn’t supposed to be any rain, but looking at the sky now, I wasn’t so sure. I take a deep breath and keep walking.

At this point, I’m maybe half a mile in, knowing forest monsters, they’re sure to be a bit further in than that. I think aloud while walking, about anything and everything, home, my family, my friends. I’ve been studying abroad for a couple months now. As an anthropology student, traveling has been an incredible experience for me, but that didn’t mean I didn’t miss home.

Eventually, a couple miles into the woods, I begin singing to myself. Nothing particular, and everything at the same time, I sing nursery rhymes and lullabies, and find ways to rework the words, making myself laugh. I counted on like this for another half a mile before I realized suddenly that there’s no longer any sounds around me. The birds have gone quiet, and the wind has hushed entirely, the rustle of the leaves above me silent. I pause for a moment, glancing around me carefully.

Suddenly a horrible, piercing screech sounds and I’m filled with an absolutely overwhelming sense of terror. I make a split second decision and decide to walk in the direction of the horrible sound.

As I come closer to the location of the sound, I begin to notice there’s a slight path that’s been worn into the ground here, and I come up on a large rock formation. Not quite a cliff but not just a boulder either. It looks easy enough to scale, and I silently assume someone might’ve already been doing just that, seeing as the slight path seems to end here.

I take a breath, tighten the strap of my backpack, and begin to climb. Quickly enough, I reach the top of the formation and glance down below me. I stare in horror at the thing I see before me. The thing was at least eight feet tall, and covered in a thick black substance. It’s face could’ve been white, but it was now stained, smeared with whatever covered the rest of it. Its eyes, mouth and nose, or at least what I assumed it was, were nothing but dark empty sockets. It’s body was large and bulbous, segmented, almost like the thorax of an insect, and decorated in skulls, mechanical limbs jutting out at odd angles, and there were many of them, spindly, covered in grime and gore down to the jagged needle-like tips. It clutched a battle ax, dark and covered in rust and dirt.

“What the fuck,” I whisper into the air.

In a split second the thing whipped its head towards me, its empty eyes taking me in. I take a step backwards and almost fall from my perch on the rock, forgetting where I stood.

It begins stepping towards me on its multiple long spindly legs, slowly at first, but then it begins picking up speed. I watch it, safe from its grasp high above it on the rock, but then tense as it shoots one of its legs out into the rock, embedding itself there. I stare in horror as it begins to climb.

“Oh fuck, fuck,” I say out loud, panicking slightly.

I turn and begin descending back down the rock the way I’d come. At the last couple of feet, I let go, dropping to the ground just as the thing makes its way over the top. It doesn’t even bother climbing back down, just throwing itself off and continuing its pursuit, I watch, terrified for a moment before turning and running. I don’t even bother trying to remember which way I’d come from, running in zigzagging patterns, trying to throw off the monster. I can hear it, the metallic grinding and groaning of the half organic half machine thing that was hot on my trail.

I wasn’t even looking where I was going, vision slightly blurry, eyes stinging with sweat that fell into them occasionally. I hear the thing even closer to me now. I gasp out in shock as I hear a sharp whirring sound pass my ear, knowing it was right on top of me, trying to grab me. With every fiber of my being, I pushed myself to run faster, lungs burning and adrenaline coursing through my veins. And then BAM! I slam into something.

I glanced up quickly, thinking I had run into a tree, but realizing a tree would’ve hurt a bit more, and probably wouldn’t have grabbed my arm, and pulled me behind it.

The hands that grabbed my wrists left dark black stains on my skin. I pause for a moment, letting my vision clear. The figure now stood in front of me, facing away, towards the monster. He’s tall, much taller than me, wearing a black cloak and black pants. One shoulder of his cloak is covered by a stark white pauldron, lined with deep red and encrusted with rough gold ore at the curve of his shoulder. He raised a hand towards the monster.

Quietly, in a dark, melodic voice, the man breathed a few words in a language I didn’t recognize. before him, the monster stared, twitching and writhing in its place, swaying on its many legs. It took a gentle step forward, lowering itself and pressing its face into the palm of the man's hand, before turning, lurching forward and walking away from us.

I stand there, taking heavy, shaking breaths. The man doesn’t turn to face me until the monster is out of sight, and when he does, I gasp.

His body is completely covered in black paint, there are streaks running through it, lines of sweat showing pale skin underneath, his chest is broad, toned, but not overly muscled. His hands are large, the paint of his palms, light and mostly missing, though the lines of his hands are deeply stained with dark paint. There are silver rings on many of his fingers, the edge of them tarnished from the paint, like the chains on his chest, stretching across his chest, underneath the cloak is a leather strap, perhaps holding the pauldron in place. He was beautiful, by all accounts, but his face left my jaw slack. The paint covered him up to his upper jaw, if there was more paint, I couldn’t tell as the top half of his face was obscured by a mask. Stark white, a huge contrast to the black on his skin, beautiful and intricate deep crimson lines swirling and curling along the bottom edge of the mask, forming a crescent around his mouth. Six holes in the shape of eyes line the front, dark black and almost sleepy in shape, dark red lines, perfectly symmetrical in shape crossed over under and above the eyes or the mask, forming a sigil or sorts.

I notice my mouth is open, and snap it shut quickly before opening it again, trying to think of something to say. Luckily, the stranger beats me to being the first to speak as words fail me.

“Are you hurt?” He asks simply, voice soft, reverberating through me and sending a shiver down my spine.

Slowly, I shake my head, still staring in awe. “Uh.. what.. what was that?” I ask softly.

Rather than answering my question, the stranger turns, beaconing me to follow him. “The people of the town don’t venture into these woods, you’re not from here.” What he says should’ve been a question, but I can tell he’s stating it as a fact. “You seem well prepared, well traveled in your own right, but that’s no reason to wander into an unknown wood.”

I follow after him, unsure of where we’re going. “I’m studying abroad,” I tell him, struggling slightly to keep up the pace with his long legs. “Heard some of the locals mention monsters in the woods, and I wanted to see for myself. Clearly… they weren’t lying.”

He glanced back at me over his shoulder. “What is it with humans always putting their noses where they can’t protect themselves?” He says it softly, almost in an endearing way.

‘Humans?’ I think to myself.

Before I realized it, we'd approached the stream I’d crossed when I first arrived.

“This is not a safe place for you,” the man says softly. “You are incredibly lucky to have escaped that creature with your life. Leave this place please, and do not return. There are… worse, more terrible things than that one in these woods.”

I turn to face him, ask him what else there is, but he’s gone. Not a single trace of his existence, no rustle or crunching of leaves underfoot, no thud of footsteps on the forest floor. For all I knew, I could’ve played the whole situation off as a psychotic episode. But I knew better. The dark handprints around my wrists and the blood that dripped from the small cut on my ear told me all the truth I needed.

I turn to walk to my car, opening my phone and pressing the call button. The phone rings for a moment before my mother picks up.

“Hello?” She says.

“Hey, Mom,” I say, opening the door and tossing my backpack into the back seat. “So you know how I said I was passing through this small town? I think I’ve changed my mind. I might spend a little while longer here. Something about it…” I mutter glancing into the trees, almost convincing myself that I can see him, blending into the dark shadows of the woods. “Something about it just captivates me.”

OK!! Short little thing to get the story started, let me know if you want more!! I whipped this out in like 20 minutes, and thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it.

#sleep token #sleep token iii #sleep token vessel #vessel #iii #ii #iv #sleep token ii #sleep token iv #inhuman!vessel #vessel x reader #sleep token vessel x reader #ooh scary monster #it was the chokehold monster in case y’all couldn’t tell 😼#ANyway

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sitp-recs · 1 year

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🎶 HD Wireless 2023 - Sitp Recs

After a short hiatus I come bearing Wireless gifts! I was hoping to get started today but a power outage gave me some free hours (and a charged phone) on Thursday night so here we are. The fest has been posting for the past two weeks and these are my favorites so far. I was thinking I might just update this list as I go on through the second half (instead of creating a new one) so pls expect a few reblogs. The idea is to celebrate these amazing works and invite folks to check them out before reveals! Keep in mind that as usual, my picks are 100% personal and based on my own preferences. I strongly recommend checking the full collection. Enjoy!

Fic:

🚬 Don’t hate him when he gets up to leave by @deliciousblizzardshark (M, 2k)

The linens are white and empty, sunlight slanting through the window illuminating a bed that has been deserted. Draco knew Potter would leave; he’s always gone by morning. Draco doesn’t even remember what he looks like in daylight.

🦵Wrong in all the Right Ways by @phdmama (E, 4k)

Draco is pretty sure that Potter is trying to kill him. Not in, like a murdery sort of way. There’s been too much atonement and forgiveness and redemption for that. Too many difficult conversations that ended, more than once, with awkward hugs. Maybe even some tears. They’re not friends obviously, but at the very least, they’ve moved past the past. (Mostly.) So no, Potter’s definitely not trying to kill him in a permanent death sort of way, but more like… In a horny sort of way.

🌃 All I Think About by @skeptiquewrites (T, 4.4k)

Sometimes all it takes is one perfect late summer night in June.

📱 Mirrors inside me by @cavendishbutterfly (E, 6k)

Draco’s been in love with Potter forever. And just because they work together, and they fuck, and they text and break up and get back together regularly doesn’t mean Potter needs to know. In fact, it’s a pretty good reason why he shouldn’t.

🎹 About This Place by @academicdisasterfic (E, 10k)

Harry left everything, including Draco. Harry’s returned to everything, including Draco. Things are never quite so simple, though perhaps they could be. Based on ‘You and I’ by Lady Gaga for Wireless 2023.

🌈 I only want the ones I envy (I envy) by porcelainheart3 (E, 13k)

Despite this arrangement he has with Draco, conducted entirely in the privacy of a dusty stationery cabinet, Harry is definitely not gay. But to appease his friends, he agrees to go on one (1) date with a man. Just to be sure.

🥃 if i could never give you peace by poisonivy206 (E, 17k)

Eleven years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Aurors Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are forcibly brought together by a new case that's bound to reopen old wounds. Enter a Firewhisky problem, prejudices that never really go away, and an obsession as old as time.

🚙 Rich Friend by @sorrybutblog (E, 18k)

As far as Harry can tell, Draco Malfoy is still rich as hell. He’s just not a wizard anymore. Featuring: Draco Malfoy trying to make it as a Muggle pop star, Harry Potter as our confused and horny hero, bad driving, good music, and the mysterious magic of falling for someone.

🍫 Waking Up Slow by @sweet-s0rr0w, art by @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm (E, 22k)

'Twas the night before Christmas, although it’s July / Draco’s a shopkeeper, no-one knows why / There’s hiking and witch caves, freak snowfalls and more / Bad Christmas jumpers, nosy neighbours galore / Narcissa’s here too, but… something’s amiss / And what’s in those chocolates that’s making them kiss?

🪩 Take You Home by @lqtraintracks (E, 26k)

Everybody’s a little fucked up after the war, Draco especially. What starts as hate sex after a night out, eventually turns into something else, something more like comfort. And even though his friends all tell Harry he’s just being used, all Harry’s doing is making sure Draco gets home in one piece. He’s not falling helplessly in love.

🐍 Sun Thief by @floydig, art by BlackRose532 (E, 28k)

It’s 2005, and Draco Malfoy says, “Fuck the Ministry,” Harry works as a handyman in muggle London, and Draco should really stop pissing off the Squib gangs. Or: Harry beats up a pimp and isn’t sorry about it, Draco deals black market potions, and they’re shagging. Again.

🍊 Nothing But You On My Mind by @moonflower-rose (M, 29k)

Potter has been in Australia on an internship for almost a year, and Draco cannot wait for him to get back home. They'll finally have a chance to talk about their feelings for each other. What could possibly go wrong? Loads, as it turns out.

🌊 What We Left Behind by peachydreamxx (E, 33k)

Harry's recovering from an injury. Malfoy's recovering from heartbreak. Beaten down and bruised, Harry takes up Malfoy's offer to stay at his secluded seaside cottage in Dorset. It'll be good to get away from it all. It's only for a few days, and it's only so he can heal. Nothing else. Digging up past feelings will only make matters worse, and besides, Malfoy doesn't feel the same way. Does he?

🏝️ LA, Who Am I To Love You? by @epitomereally (E, 42k) ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

Harry’s summer in LA is not going as expected. Pansy Parkinson keeps inviting him to parties in the Hollywood Hills and harassing him to finally go to the physical therapist, Blaise Zabini keeps slipping new strains of his company’s magical weed into Harry’s pockets in hopes of an endorsement, and Draco Malfoy keeps having sex with everyone but Harry.

🧩 The Waiting by @oknowkiss (E, 43.5k)

It’s been almost ten years since Draco Malfoy disappeared during a routine Curse Breaker training exercise. Harry, his partner in more ways than one, is determined to figure out why. As the past resurfaces and the present fades into confusion, Harry discovers the only thing more unreliable than memory is love.

🐶 Everybody Hates a Tourist by @wolfpants (E, 51k)

On a stag do in sunny Brighton with the Gryffindor lads, the last person Harry expects to run into is Draco Malfoy. After a glimpse of Malfoy’s Muggle life in Britain’s gay capital, Harry’s curiosity gets the better of him and he finds himself returning to the seaside again and again, drawn to the city, drawn to this new version of Malfoy that Harry barely recognises from school.

Art:

📸 Alive by @itsphantasmagoria (E)

Harry is lost after the final battle, but he finds comfort from an unexpected source.

🎙️ Why don't you like me? by @caroll-in (T)

Failing to ask Harry out, Draco deals with his feelings in a very dramatic fashion.

🥂 Shivers and Cold Champagne by @maesterchill (T)

Sometimes, you meet someone in the club, and you just know...they’re all in.

🕶️ keep driving by @babooshkart (M)

cocaine, side boob, choke her with a sea view

#hd wireless 2023 #sitp recs

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multifandomfanficss · 1 year

Text

Home Is Wherever You Are P2

Adrian Chase/Vigilante x Reader

With a very heavy emphasis on platonic!Christopher Smith/Peacemaker

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Adrian Chase Masterlist

Prompt: You take Adrian, Gut, and Chris school shopping. It might be harder to keep the timeline in tact than you originally thought.

Warnings: mentions of/implied child abuse, panic, meltdown, crying, divorce, mentions of August Smith, cannon typical Peacemaker violence and language, homophobia

A/N: I’ve decided to start with biweekly updates! I’m post on Saturday and Wednesday. I’ll also be posting on my new AO3 adriansglasses. I’ve actually added all of my old work there as well. Hope you guys enjoy!

“You’re the most attractive person I’ve seen in my entire life.” Adrian smiles at you.

“Shut up. No, I’m not.” You blush hiding your face from your boyfriend.

“Don’t hide.” He pushes your hands away from your face. “Please don’t hide your pretty face. It’s like the prettiest face I’ve ever seen and even if it wasn’t- which would be totally absurd like have you even seen yourself? You’re so hot- anyway more to the point. Your personality is so attractive to me that you’re automatically that much hotter. That’s just math babe. Do two wrongs make a right?” You laugh at his comparison. To someone else that may not make sense, but to many people Adrian never made sense. To you, he always made perfect sense.

“You’re too nice to me.” You say smiling at him.

“Well you’re the only one who’s nice to me sometimes period and your pain in the ass loves you very much.” He kisses you.

“I never said you were a pain in the ass!” You laugh. He gives you a look.

“Okay, I may have said it once or twice, but I didn’t mean it. I was just teasing you.” You kiss him on the cheek as he holds you close.

“It’s okay. I know I’m annoying and hard to deal with sometimes.” You turn his face to look directly in your eyes so he knows you’re serious.

“Not to me.”

September 1st, 1994

You woke up to the sound of the chunky alarm clock on the nightstand. You could hear somebody cooking downstairs. You used the bathroom and made your way to the kitchen to find Diane making breakfast.

“Morning! I’m running a little later than usual this morning, so all I could really manage was toast and eggs. Hope that’s okay.” She gave you a sympathetic smile.

“That’s more than okay. I usually skip breakfast half the time anyway.” You admit.

“You shouldn’t do that. Adrian’s always trying to skip breakfast. He doesn’t like most breakfast foods. I’ve been trying to make sure he eats more of them.” You have to bite back a comment about how his future self is still just as annoyed by the concept. You think back to all his rants about how breakfast doesn’t make sense because it’s foods you can only eat in the morning. He was always annoyed that he couldn’t order pancakes at dinner time or a burger for breakfast unless he was in a diner. It just didn’t make sense to him. ‘What?! Suddenly diners don’t have to follow the rules?! It’s all just a bullshit societal construct!’ You could hear his voice now.

“You could have called me down to help.” You say as the food sizzles in the pan.

“You were sleeping. You had a long day yesterday. I need your help with something while I’m at work anyway.” She says, turning to take the toast out of the toaster.

“What can I do for you?” You ask without debate. She’s helped you a lot and she is Adrian’s mom after all. You never thought you’d get to meet her outside of an ouija board. It’s the least you can do in your current situation.

“I have an envelope in my room for you with back to school money in it. It’s mostly just tip money I’ve been saving up from the restaurant. If you could bring the boys into town to get school clothes that would be wonderful. Adrian needs a little bit of everything. He just went through a big growth spirt. Dorian mostly needs new sneakers, but he should get a pair of jeans and maybe a couple shirts. There’s enough money in there to get a few things for Chris because God knows his father won’t do it. There should also be a little leftover if you want to get anything for yourself.” She says, beating the eggs.

“For me?” You question.

“You showed up with no clothes. You can have some of my old clothes, but I doubt you have the style of a divorced mom with two and a half kids. You should get one or two things you actually like.” She laughs.

“No, Diane I- I couldn’t-“

“Yes, you can and you will. This is basically just payment for the nannying gig.”

You smile at her. “Okay, fine. Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

After cooking breakfast and saying goodbye to the boys, Diane was off to the office for the day. She was a secretary at a nearby law firm. Waitressing was only her second job to help pay the bills after her husband left for another man.

“Dorian, do you know where Adrian’s shoes are?” You ask as you chase Adrian around the living room, trying to get him ready to leave. He had so much energy. You couldn’t say you were surprised.

“That’s not my name.” He sat there with his face in his gameboy, barley giving you the time of day. He was just radiating 12 year old angst. Honestly you couldn’t blame him. He was 12, Chris was 13, and they were both about to enter 7th grade. That’s hard enough on its own. It’s probably a lot harder when your mom is asking you to help look after your 3 year old brother because your dad just left because he’s gay. It’s 1994 in Evergreen, Washington and his best friend’s dad is the biggest homophobe in the country. None of this must be easy on him.

“What do you wanna be called?” You ask. He tears his eyes away from his gameboy to give you a look. It’s almost like nobody’s ever asked him or cared for his opinion.

“Gut.” He answers.

“Yeah that’s a much cooler name. My dad says Dorian is a pansy name.” Chris says, continuing to channel surf.

“Christopher Smith that is not nice and will not be tolerated when I’m around. Understand?” You know you can’t tell him his dad is wrong. You know if he challenges his dad now he might not make it back alive, so you hold your tongue for now.

“You can’t tell me what to do.” He huffs.

“Actually, as your babysitter, I can.” You turn to Gut. “Okay Gut, where’s your brother’s shoes?” You try again.

“By the door, under the bench.” He informs you.

“Thank you.” You smile, bringing Adrian to sit on the bench, so you can put on his shoes. There’s two pairs under the bench. You lift them up for him to choose between. One pair has dinosaurs on them and the other pair lights up. He very excitedly points at the light up ones. You can’t get him to sit still long enough to put on the shoes, so eventually you inevitably drop one.

“Motherfucker!” Adrian exclaims in his loud toddler voice.

“Adrian!” You say in shock. You want to laugh because this is so him, but you don’t wanna be blamed for this one. He’s only 3. He giggles at your reaction of the forbidden word.

“Motherfucker!” He says it again in a fit of giggles.

“Buddy, you can’t say that. That’s a grownup word. If you say it too many times you have to go to work and pay taxes.” You try to persuade him against the word.

“What’s taxes?” He asks.

“Taxes are what grown ups have to pay to people. They give a lot of money that you don’t have, so you shouldn’t say that word. Also not paying is a crime. I don’t wanna pay taxes, so I’m not gonna say it.” You try to bargain with him using toddler logic.

“But Dor and Chris say it!” He objects.

“Well, Dor and Chris are gonna have to pay taxes soon.” Adrian begins to cry. “Why are you crying, buddy?” You wipe his tears.

“I’m scawred!” He cries.

“Of what?” You ask.

“Taxes!” He cries.

“It’s okay. You didn’t say it enough times to have to pay taxes.” You pull his small, hiccuping body into your arms, not quite sure what to do. You feel kinda bad. Parenting is fucking hard. They say never parent your boyfriend, but you were taking it to a whole new level. You don’t think this is what they meant.

Finally you had wrangled the boys together and you were on your way to the store. You had to walk because Diane had the car at work and you obviously didn’t have one, but the store wasn’t far.

“Why do we have to walk? This is fucking stupid.” Chris complained.

“Chris, knock it off. We’re at the repeating age.” You gesture to Adrian, who was jumping around the cracks on the sidewalk. Luckily he wasn’t paying attention.

“Hey, Adrian!” Chris grabs his attention.

“Chris!” Adrian runs up to him, on his wobbly little legs.

“Don’t you fucking dare-“ The words came out of your mouth before you even had the chance to realize it.

Gut laughs. “You’re the one who actually said fuck in front of him.”

“Fuck!” Adrian repeats.

“No no no no no!” You try to stop him.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” He says as he hops up and down with each fuck.

“No! I said…duck! I said duck!” Gut and Chris break into a fit of laugher.

“Rey’s lying, Adrian.” Gut tells him. Adrian stops giggling and his entire body language changes. He starts to cry, trying to walk away. His little legs don’t carry him very far. You turn to Gut and Chris.

“Please just stop! I just wanna get through the day. Would it kill you to just be nicer to him?!” You don’t mean to lose your temper with the boys, but you know this is only the start to a lifetime of bullying and provoking Adrian. You sigh, dropping your attitude. They’re all just kids. “Stay here for a minute.” You turn in Adrian’s direction and start racing after him.

You try to scoop his little body into your arms, but he screams at you. “NO! NO!” Okay. He’s not great with words, but he totally has no down. You decide to give him some space. Even if he’s not his adult self yet, he’s still a person. You know how easily overwhelmed he gets as an adult. You can’t imagine how upset his 3 year old self is.

“Buddy, I’m really sorry.” You apologize. Your heart breaks. You hate knowing you made him cry.

“P-p-pweas don’t weave!” He begs you not to leave through his tears.

“Hey…what’s going on? Why do you think I’m gonna leave?” You question him.

“Daddy lied to m-mommy and now he’s not here!” Adrian cries. Oh fuck. Of course he couldn’t fully grasp that his father had an affair and that’s why he’s gone.

“Adrian, listen to me. I will never leave you for something like that. I’m sorry I lied to you. Lying isn’t nice, but I’m here for you. I will always be there for you. Even if I’m not here with you, right next to you, I promise I will always love you.” You try to keep yourself from crying now. You can’t help, but think of your version of Adrian at home without you. You try to keep your tears in and stay strong for the younger version of the man you love right in front of you. They feel like different people, but they’re not. This is Adrian and you need to help him.

“Lying isn’t nice!” Adrian repeats, sniffling as his tears slow.

“You’re right. It’s not. Do you want a hug or do you not want to be touched?” You ask.

“Hug!” He cries, crashing into your open arms. You hold his little body as he cries.

“Even if you can’t see me, I’ll always be with you. I love you.” Everything about this is so fucked up. You shouldn’t even be here. You’re messing with Adrian’s life. You’re messing with Chris’ life. Everything about this feels so wrong, but when he’s crying in your arms like this all you can think about is the restless nights when you’d cuddle with your boyfriend and he’d shed a tear or two about his childhood. You knew how much it effected him even now and you just wanted to protect him from all that was to come and heal all that had already happened, but you knew you couldn’t do that. Time had to run its course.

After you helped baby Adrian collect himself you joined Chris and Gut back on the sidewalk and continued your way to the store. Town was small, so the walk wasn’t long, but luckily you had a new Walmart nearby. In your day this Walmart was shitty, but in 1994 it was new. You let Gut and Chris walk around on their own with the promise they’d meet you in the men’s clothing section. You were going to take Adrian to the toddler section. Toddler clothes were cheaper and he was growing fast, so you picked out a couple different outfits for him. You grabbed some basic pants and socks that would match everything and let him pick his own shirts. He settled on a shirt with a spaceship on it that said ‘I’m so cute it’s out of this world’. He also picked a Barney shirt and an Aladdin shirt after making a comment on how both Jasmin AND Aladdin were pretty. You then brought him to your side of the clothing department to grab a shirt or two you liked before meeting up with the boys. After settling on some basic shirts, you were on your way to meet Chris and Gut when you passed the electronic isle and you caught Chris staring at a tape recorder. Even from a distance you could tell he was about to cry as he put it back on the shelf. Gut was nowhere to be seen, probably waiting in the men’s isle like was supposed to. He usually listened better.

“Hey, Chris…”

“I’m not crying!” He wipes his eyes.

“I know.” You give him a smile.

“I just got dust in my eye. They need to clean these shelves better.” He crossed his arms across his chest. You crouched down in front of Adrian.

“Hey, Ade. Why don’t you go pick out a movie for us to watch tonight from the clearance bin?” He wiggled excitedly before taking off towards the bin of cheaper VHS tapes.

“Stay where I can see you!” You called after him. He did just as you said and stayed in your line of vision as you talked to Chris more privately.

“Level with me. I know you weren’t crying, but if you had been crying…hypothetically of course…you could tell me anything. You know that, right?” You weren’t sure if you were breaking the timeline, but at this point you didn’t care. Chris deserved to be able to trust someone in his life.

“I wasn’t crying.” Chris tried to walk away from you, but you caught his arm in your hand.

“Chris, wait-“ He hissed as you made contact with his shoulder. Your jaw drops and you can almost feel tears in your eyes. You pulled up his sleeve to reveal small, circular burn marks. They were burns left behind from where his father had put out cigarettes in his arm.

“Stop starring at me like I’m a freak and just let me go.” He pushes you off of him and he walks away. You knew this job would be hard, but it’s a lot worse than you expected. You had no idea it would be this awful constant moral battle between letting these kids get hurt and keeping the timeline in tact. After realizing you were all alone and you could still see Adrian, but he wasn’t paying attention to you, you started to cry. After taking a deep breath you wiped your tears and picked up the tape recorder, putting the shirts for yourself on the shelf. Fuck it. Chris deserved something his dad couldn’t ruin. So what if you had to wear Diane’s maternity clothes and any clothes her husband left behind? You knew how much he loved music. He deserved this. Timeline be damned he deserved one fucking thing in his life untouched by his father. You hid it in the cart under some of Adrian’s clothes before heading to him digging around in the clearance vhs section.

“Rey!” He called for you as soon as he saw you.

“Adrian!” You called back, pretending to be happy. “Did you pick one?” You ask.

“This one!” He says, excitedly shoving the tape in your hands. You couldn’t help, but smile a real genuine smile. In your hands was a copy of the movie Adrian told you was his favorite growing up; The Brave Little Toaster.

“Have you seen this one?” You ask.

“No!” He smiles, hardly able to stand still.

“You’re gonna love it.” You smile, placing it in the cart. You take his hand and you both head to the men’s section to get clothes for Gut and Chris. Gut picked out a Green Day shirt, while Chris picked out a Nirvana shirt. You were happy when Chris didn’t pick up the Green Day shirt because you knew having that might get him in trouble in the next 10 years when they come out with American Idiot. His dad’s gonna hate that. These were of course considered hot new bands and most of their most famous songs weren’t even out yet. After picking out a couple more clothing items you headed to checkout. You were thankful Adrian was being such a distraction because Chris didn’t even see you put the tape recorder in the bag. With the remaining money, you took a bus to Fennel Fields for dinner where you told Diane you’d meet her on her night shift.

“Mommy!” Adrian yelled running up to her as soon walked through the door. It was nice to see him with his mother.

After grabbing a pizza you headed home. When you got there you pulled Chris aside and gave him the tape recorder.

“Happy birthday.” You said handing him the Walmart bag.

“It’s not my birthday.” He gives you a strange look.

“I know. Just think of it as an advance on your birthday gift.” You smile as he starts to open it.

“Is this mine?” He asks in shock. You nod. “Why did you do this?” He asks.

“Because you deserve something that’s yours that you enjoy.” You say as you watch his eyes well up with tears again.

“I’m not crying.” He says again.

“I know. But even if you were…it’s okay…” He stares at you for a moment before bringing you into a wordless hug. You stand there for a moment, shocked. You never expected this from him, but you wrap your arms around him anyway.

“Thank you.”

“Of course. You deserve it.” You remind him. You know it won’t change the timeline much, but this time, you hope it does something.

After tucking Adrian in, you leave Gut and Chris to play video games until Diane gets home. You head to your room, flipping onto your bed with a sigh. You just hope you did the right thing. You open your phone and head to your voicemails. This has almost become routine.

“Hey babe, it’s me. I’m just calling because I know you had a bad day today and I was thinking…” You close your eyes, as the voicemail plays and you begin to cry. You’ll see him again one day. You have to. You didn’t know how or when, but you had to. You’d figure it out. You’d make a plan.

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fernandopiastri28 · 3 months

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quand c'est? - part 3~ ln4 x op81

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

Yeah, yeah, he’s an idiot and should just accept defeat. He shouldn’t push himself so far. It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before, so the attempt is mute. Oscar knows he won’t listen to him, he should just give up while he’s ahead.

warnings: major illness, cancer, sickness, major angst wc: 2267

Lando ends up back in bed, a pair of Oscar’s boxer’s awkwardly sagging around his ass and a plain black quadrant shirt on. He’s been loaded up with pain medication and he can still taste the powder of the tablets lingering on his tongue. Oscar’s off in the gym doing a workout with Kim and had only left after much insistence from Lando.

He’d tried to check his phone, catch up on anything via social media he’d missed or answer some messages from family and friends, but it felt as if just looking at his phone screen was burning his corneas and brain, so he settled for staring up at the ceiling.

He thought about Oscar for a bit, but thinking about his boyfriend for too long resulted in him being half chubbed up against his thigh at seven in the morning. He could’ve done something about that, maybe it would’ve helped reduce stress from his body, but he was too tightly strung to do anything to himself- he genuinely thinks it would’ve killed him if he put his body through something as strenuous as wanking.

And that’s genuinely fucking embarrasing, so he tries to sleep away the shame.

Lando’s woken up by a heavy mass crawling on top of him. “Morning,” He grumbles as Oscar drapes himself half onto Lando.

“Morning,” His voice is less thick with sleep, but he’s clearly tired and panting, “You feeling better?”

“Mhm,” He shifts to wrap his arms around Oscar. His shirt is slightly saturated with sweat, as is his hair, but it’s nothing he hasn’t gotten used to. It’s part of being and/or dating an athlete. “Somewhat,” He adds- he feels far from ‘better’ or ‘good’, but it’s more manageable.

“Feel up for anything?”

Lando quirks his eyebrow, very forward, “Early morning sex?” It’s uncommon for them to have sex in the middle of a race weekend due to the imminent aches that Lando has to suffer post penetration, but honestly, it couldn’t be worse than his head right now, and if it makes Oscar happy- he’s down.

Oscar’s cheeks go splodgy red, “Tha-that’s not what I meant,” Lando isn’t sure why he gets so flustered and awkward about it. They hooked up for the first time in silverstone 2023, and that was over a year ago. Since then, they have been many cases of slow and languid sex before the race weekend and last night rushed fucks at the end of it.

“Okay? Then what did you mean?” His fingers drift through Oscar’s fluffy swoop, already dried and not showing a trace of being sweaty. Lucky bastard.

“Uh, a shower maybe?” They basically just had a shower, Lando doesn’t see the point. Maybe Oscar is testing his abilities to see if he can withstand a shower this time around. “Or get up and ready for the day if you just want to skip to that- we have some media stuff around midday, so I was thinking we could just wander around Orchard road until then,”

Lando thinks about it for a bit. He likes orchard road, pretty much each building is an architect's dream and an engineer's nightmare. Plus, there are quite a few luxury shops, so he could go get some new clothes and shit- but, it’s always so busy whenever he’s been in the past. Busy means being recognised, being recognised means having to take photos and autographs, interacting with fans means being peppy and.. and being normal Lando.

He can’t be normal Lando today, his body can’t even fake it.

“Not Orchard road,” He shakes his head, mumbling into Oscar’s arm as his nose juts against it. “I can’t do- can't deal today,” And of course Oscar is sickeningly understanding.

“All good, Lans,” God, he loves when he calls him that. It just sounds so good with his accent. “I’ll let Jon know, yeah?”

“Why?” Lando feels dopey, his mind clogged up with drugs.

“He’s your trainer, he needs to know if you’re unwell,”

“Yeah- okay,” His eyes blankly focus on his nails, where they’ve grown out too long like Oscar’s always are. They gently scrape down Oscar’s back, faint red lines appearing in its wake.

They stay like that for a few minutes, Lando unmoving and silent. “What’s going on in your mind?” Oscar’s got his eyes on Lando’s unfocused ones. “You look so out of it,” His thumb slides across Lando’s cheek, and he struggles to bring his mouth to answer.

His tongue rests heavily in his mouth, and it feels like his brain might throb out of his ears. He hadn’t noticed that he was coming off the painkillers because it had been so sudden, and he’d been trying so hard to just focus on Oscar.

“Empty,” His voice is hardly there, much like how it sounds after a party that consists of a lot of screaming.

Oscar licks his lips, pressing a chaste kiss to Lando’s lips. “Don’t feel up for talking?” His face is bare centimetres from Lando’s, and his features are all fuzzy being so close up.

He shakes, I’m not up for anything. It’s too many words for now, so he stays silent. It’s weird, only minutes ago he’d be considering the aspect of having sex, now he can hardly blink on command.

Maybe this is what it’s like being properly sick, and he’s just always gotten lucky with only having brushes with bad colds.

Oscar rolls off him after a little bit, and Lando’s eyes shut again. He doesn’t notice how much time passes- seconds, minutes, hours. It feels like it’s only been a 10 minute power nap when he’s awoken by Oscar again who tells him it's ten am and they actually need to get a move on.

He’s in a very typical Oscar outfit- black castore shorts and a team supplied papaya polo shirt. He has an 81 cap in his hand, his other hand on his hip. “Lando,”

“Oscar,” Lando slurs as he tugs the blanket further over his head.

“Lando, if you’re not up for the race today- just tell me,” He sighs, a frustrated one. “I’ll tell Jon, the team just needs to know now so they can get Pato race ready,”

He doesn’t get a reply, “Lando, wake up, mate,” He’s getting increasingly more irritated, and so is Lando. “Lando, wake up, Lando- fucking hell. Lando!” His voice is about as loud as the Oscar Octaves go, and Lando genuinely wants to smack him across the face.

Lando groans, a weird strangled noise of pure affront, “Shut the fuuuck up, Oscar,” He pushes the covers down and just stares at Oscar. “Fucking hell,”

Brown eyes meet green eyes- very unfocused green eyes. Green eyes that have no emotion behind them. They’re open, they’re there, but it doesn’t look like Lando is actually seeing anything.

“Jon’s looking for you,” God damnit Jon, does the man have anything better to do with his life?

Well. He is employed to pretty much hound Lando like a dog, so he is actually doing his job.

That makes one of them.

“And you need to get dressed, we’re just gonna head straight to the motorhome and shoot some stuff, alright?” Oscar sits on the edge of the bed and Lando’s lip juts out slightly. It would be unnoticed by anyone else, but Oscar knows each and every quirk of Lando’s. “C’mere,” He opens his arms.

Lando shuffles to prop himself up, not able to quite sit up. He makes a slight scoot forward before letting out a harsh breath. He’s not sure how much he’s going to be able to do today at this rate.

Oscar meets him halfway and embraces him. “You can’t race like this,” He hums, “You’re burning up- you could hurt yourself,” Lando allows himself to fully zone out, the words going in one ear and out the other.

“I’m.. gunna get dressed,” The words fall out of his mouth awkwardly, like they haven’t had time to fully form before they’re said.

Oscar moves back, standing up too. “Great,” He knows there’s no use in trying, so it’s better to just cheer Lando on where he can- make him feel somewhat better.

Oscar goes to the front door to put on and lace up his shoes while Lando debates what he wants to wear. Despite the uncontrollable sweating the night before, he’s feeling on the edge of a shiver, so after a long debate, he settles for a random pair of black jeans and an orange hoodie, the sleeves rolled to his elbows.

He shuffles into the bathroom, staring at his appearance for what feels like a concerning amount of time. It feels compulsive, in a way, like he physically cannot control his eyes to look elsewhere. He goes into autopilot as he reaches for his toothbrush, squirting toothpaste onto what he hopes are the bristles.

He turns the sink on, waving the toothbrush around in a hope to get it wet enough. He could’ve just settled for a dry brush, like he’s caught the younger boy doing a few times, but the thought makes his body physically cringe. According to Oscar, it’s better for your teeth, to Lando, it’s psychotic behaviour.

Lando gets impatient after a minute of brushing and spits out the toothpaste from his mouth into the sink, wiping his lips clean with a towel after. By this point, his eyes are working again and he can see. His headache has also weaned off somewhat, so that’s exciting.

He emerges from the bathroom, trying to remember what he needs to pack for the day. Phone, paddock pass, hat, journal, camera. Phone, paddock pass, hat, journal, camera. Phone, paddock pass, hat, journal, camera.

He can’t find his pass. Fuck. Where the fuck is it.

He grabs his pillow, tossing it to the ground with the thought his pass would be under it. It’s not a crazy thought, it’s happened once or twice before. He looks under the bed, which is a difficult task as it hurts to move usually, so squatting down and tilting his head towards the ground feels hellish. It’s not on the desk, not yesterday’s bag or jacket.

It’s just- gone.

“Lando, Lando,” Oscar repeats, walking up behind him. A hand loosely wraps around Lando’s bicep and he jerks at the feeling. “What’s wrong? Have you misplaced something?”

“Yeah, my- my pass,” His eyebrows knit together, a look of frustration and anxiety painting his features.

“I have it, I saw it on the ground this morning and grabbed it because I knew you’d forget it,” The aussie calms him, handing it to him as proof. Lando presses his fingers into the card tightly, squeezing it as if he’s worried it might fly off.

“Thanks,” He smiles, relief flushing his system. “I love you,” He looks over his shoulder, pecking Oscar on the lips. “Sorry- for being mad earlier,” Deep breaths and sighs break up some of his words, but Oscar can understand him all the same.

“It’s all good- you’re not well. I understand why you’re just a bit out of it,” Oscar holds Lando’s hand, squeezing it gently. “Just get your shoes on and we can head off,” Lando’s nostrils flare in effort as he steps towards the door, bending down to get his shoes on.

Oscar looks hesitant to ask if he needs help, his mouth opening and closing a bit like a fish, “I’m okay, I’m good to go,” Lando stands up, steading himself with a hand on the wall, out of sight of Oscar.

Oscar pauses in front of him, and for a few seconds they just stare at each other, then Oscar slides his hand up Lando's cheek and kisses him softly. Lando melts into it, moaning embarrassingly easily and quickly. God, he hadn't realised just how much he needed this until now.

They physically have to pull off each other after a few minutes, Oscar’s face flushed pink and Lando’s chest heaving through desperate shallow pants. “You’re so hot,” Lando bites his own bottom lip, grinning hard.

“Don’t-” Oscar warns, “Don’t do that face or we’re not gonna leave for another hour,”

Lando wants that insanely bad, but he genuinely thinks his legs would buckle and break underneath him if he tried, so he’s the one who opens the door and leads them outside of the room.

They go down the elevator, down to the ground floor where they’re practically attacked by fans. Their hands get separated, Oscar being pulled into a different direction by a pack of young boys while Lando’s swarmed by a group of teenage girls.

Lando’s sure he’s taken about 30 photos and signed about 20 shirts by the time they’re able to get properly outside and into the car. Oscar takes his hand back, squeezing it harder, “Sorry about that, I know you wanted to avoid the fans today,” He murmurs, doing his best to comfort his unresponsive boyfriend.

Lando’s tongue drags over his teeth, recognising the gap in between his two front teeth, the slight difference of lengths between each tooth, the ridges in them. He moves to sucking on the inside of his bottom lip, pinching it with his teeth. The pain is distracting from another uprising headache.

He won’t say anything to Oscar this time, he’ll just tough it out.

#oscar piastri #lando norris #lando x oscar #landoscar #f1 #formula1 #formula one #mclaren #f1 2024 #fernandopiastri28 #sickfic #fanfic #ln4 #op81

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ravenclaw-writes · 1 year

Text

Morning After

| Part 1 |

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Sirius Black

Description:

Remus finds himself facing the aftermath of having sex with your best friend ... while listening to your other best friends have sex in the next room. Was this a one time thing or does Sirius want more?

Occurs directly after the events of Shared Walls but can also be read as a standalone.

Word Count: 6,184

Original Publish Date: 2023-01-15

A/N: Hi! Final fic from my AO3-to-tumblr transfer. Now I'll start posting here at the same time as my AO3 goes live. This one was a big ol request from all the original readers of Shared Walls, which was originally just going to be a one shot. Had a lot of fun writing this one, softer than my usual stuff but these boys deserve good things too <3 Enjoy and thanks for reading! :)

| MASTERLIST IN BIO |

| Read on AO3 |

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Remus woke to the delicious smell of eggs and bacon.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. The spare room was still dark, but he could tell by the light coming through the gap in the curtains that it was probably close to mid-day. It had been a while since he had gotten a nice lie-in. With a shiver, he realized that there wasn’t even a shred of blanket on his body. He was also naked from the waist down. Confused, and still half asleep, he rolled over to face the other side of the room. Ah.

Sirius was still there, and had somehow managed to cocoon himself in the comforter, creating a giant mass of blanket. Feeling rather exposed, Remus looked around his side of the bed and found his pyjama bottoms hanging off the end. He sat up, stretched, and put them on.

“Moony,” Sirius groaned, his voice muffled a little from the duvet. “Stop moving.”

Remus chuckled. “Time to wake up, I can smell breakfast," he said, giving Sirius' cocoon a couple of pats.

This caught Sirius’ attention and he began to wriggle out of his blanket wrap. Finally free, Sirius sat up, stretched his neck to both sides, cracking it, and did the same to his back. Remus eased himself off the bed, walked over to the window and flung the curtains open.

Sirius hissed and covered his eyes. “Merlin, warn a guy before you do that!”

Remus smirked. “That’s what you get for taking all the blankets.”

“Maybe I just liked looking at you.”

Remus’ cheeks flushed and he tried to deflect it. “Perv."

Sirius smiled. “Only for you.”

Remus rolled his eyes and tried not to read into the comment too much. They've always had playful banter like this, just because they've slept together now doesn't meant their dynamic has changed. Right?

“Come on, let’s go eat, I’m starving.” Sirius pushed himself off the bed. He grabbed his pyjama pants off the ground and put them on before making his way to the door.

“Wait!” Remus called, reaching his arm out to catch Sirius’ attention. Sirius turned around and raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t we like,” Remus found himself getting self conscious. “I don’t know, talk about last night?” He asked, not knowing if he wanted to know the answer. But of the two of them, he tended to take on the rationalist role. Someone had to ask.

A pause. “I mean, what is there to talk about? We were both worked up, just happened to be together.” Ah. So playful banter remains that: playful.

Remus tried not to show that the words stung. He knew it was a gamble last night, but actually hearing the words was different. “No, not that part,” He started, trying his best to seem like he agreed with what Sirius had said. “I meant that we’re about to go have breakfast with the two people you got off to last night.”

A hint of a blush started to creep up Sirius’ face but he tried to play it off. “I could have sworn you were also a little turned on.”

Filled with a sudden wave of confidence, Remus walked closer to Sirius. If he didn’t want to come up with a game plan then fine. He knew that Sirius was the one who was loud last night. To a certain extent, most of the embarrassment fell on his shoulders, not Remus’

“Oh I was more than a little turned on,” He got closer, and paused as he passed Sirius so that his next words were spoken directly into his ear. “But I think that had more to do with feeling your hard cock against my ass," he said, toeing the line between playful banter and a come-on. Maybe he just needed to let Sirius know where he stood with this new development. Was it still a development if it was only something that happened once?

Sirius’ eyes widened, and Remus chuckled before he continued to the door and left the spare room.

*** *** ***

When Remus arrived in the kitchen, he realized that coming without Sirius ended up working in his favour. Made it seem like they didn’t fall asleep together … just fucked. Which he guessed was better. Less questions. Questions that he didn’t even know the answer too. For all James and Lily knew, Sirius could have gone back to his own room after they finished.

Remus spotted a pot of coffee ready to go, freshly brewed. He poured himself a cup, wrapping his hands around the mug, feeling the warmth. He inhaled the scent and sighed contently.

James was sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through the morning edition of the Prophet and nursing a cup of tea while Lily continued cooking their breakfast on the stove. Remus had an image flash in his mind of the two of them, years from now, in the same routine but with little Potters running around. James and Lily were going to be the best parents, Remus had never been more sure of anything before.

Remus took a big gulp of coffee and hummed at the taste. He wished for more simple mornings like this.

Lily peered over her shoulder and smiled, a knowing look in her eyes. “Sleep well?”

Remus choked on air, and tried to play it off by taking another sip of coffee. “Could have been better, I kept hearing something banging against the wall,” he tossed back, suppressing a laugh as James spit his tea back into his cup.

“You ought to let that owl out of her cage, James.”

Remus turned to the direction of the voice and saw Sirius leaning casually against the archway into the kitchen. He had no right looking that sexy with bedhead. Remus could see a hickey he didn't remember giving peeking out from the neckline of Sirius shirt.

“Funny you should say, normally she’s fine. She must have heard something in your room.” James offered.

They were dancing around the subject. It was understood that everyone knew what happened last night. But how do you tell your friends that you got off to them having sex on the other side of the bedroom wall? Do you tell them at all? Was anyone going to bring up the fact that up until last night Sirius had offered no indication that he was interested in men?

“I should certainly hope so."

Remus’ eyes widened at Sirius' words and if he had been taking a drink it most certainly would have been spit out. James’ eyes focused in on his cup of tea. Lily snorted.

Sirius chuckled and pushed off the wall, walking towards the pot of coffee. He peered into Remus' mug as he passed. "Ah, I see someone likes their coffee how they like their men," he said directly into Remus' ear, pausing to nip at his earlobe.

Black.

Remus felt his cheeks heat up. Payback for my cock comment, he guessed. Was this past playful? This was Sirius though, he could make anything seem flirty.

Lily looked over her shoulder as Sirius walked away. "Something you'd like to share with the class, Black?"

"No," Remus said at the same time as Sirius;

"Well actually-"

Remus lightly hit Sirius' chest with the back of his hand in a signal that he should stop talking. Sirius held up both hands in defence.

The kitchen fell silent, just the sound of Lily's cooking. The banter had successfully delayed the awkwardness, but without it the four were left with their thoughts. Or maybe that was just Remus.

Does Lily feel weird? She's a girl, girls feel weird about things like this. What about James? He's always territorial over Lily. Merlin, does he think that Sirius and I are interested in her? Fuck, what if he thinks we're interested in HIM? Is Sirius interested in him? Is Sirius interested in me? Since when have I been interested in Sirius? Does Sirius even-

Remus was pulled out of his spiral by a knock at the door.

"I'll get it!" James announced, standing up so quickly that his tea slightly sloshed out of his mug on the table.

Sirius peered over Lily's shoulder and tried to snag a piece of bacon off the plate by the stove. "Hands off, Black," she tutted, hitting his hand away.

"Look who showed up after all!" James exclaimed, reappearing in the kitchen with Peter in tow.

"Peter!" Lily smiled and left her station at the stove to give him a hug. Sirius took this opportunity to grab some of the bacon he had been eyeing. On his way to the table he sneakily handed Remus a piece. Remus willed himself to not blush. It was just a piece of bacon for fuck's sake.

Peter gladly accepted Lily's hug. "Mum had to come home early and let me tag along so I could come here!"

"Brilliant, Wormtail!"

*** *** ***

The rest of day went by fairly easy. Having Peter there made things slightly less awkward but Remus could tell that Lily was itching to talk to him about what the hell had happened between him and Sirius. Remus was avoiding her. He was telling himself that it was because he really didn't want to talk about the fact that Lily had indirectly been involved in his hookup with Sirius and not because he was avoiding the topic of Sirius as a whole. The former did play a role, but not as much as Remus was telling himself it did.

Before he knew it, they were all calling it a night again. Sirius made a joke about silencing spells and Lily flushed. Thankfully, Peter didn't clock it.

The sleeping arrangements were what they would have been if Peter had been there from the beginning. Sirius in his room, Lily with James, Peter and Remus in the spare. As anticipated, Peter's snoring was as bad as it was in their dorm.

For the second night in a row, Remus couldn't sleep. He was under the covers on the bed, laying on his back, staring at the ceiling. He couldn't help but think about what had happened in this bed less than 24 hours ago.

"Touch me, please, fuck,"

"Don't fucking stop,"

"Fuck, I'm going to cum, please let me cum plea-"

Remus was getting hard. What if he - no. No. He couldn't go into Sirius' room. It wasn't like last night where Sirius had a real reason to come in. Well, he could blame Wormtail's snoring...

Fuck it.

Remus quietly got out of bed and stepped over a sleeping Peter on the air mattress. He slowly opened the door, and left the bedroom. With a quick Lumos, he walked down the hallway, past James' door, and a little further: Sirius' room. Remus hesitated, realizing he didn't exactly have a game plan. What was he going to do, walk in and say "Hey Sirius, I can't sleep 'cause Wormy's snoring and also I can't stop thinking about what you sound like begging me to let you cum, mind if I come in?" Maybe skip that middle part. That could work, yeah.

Remus raised his hand to knock on the door, and jumped back in surprise when the door opened, revealing a pyjama-clad Sirius. Sirius swore and put a hand on his chest.

"Merlin! Moony, don't sneak up on me like that!"

"How was I to know you were going to open the door right as I got here?"

"I thought you had super-hearing! You should have heard me," Sirius teased, catching his breath. Remus rolled his eyes. "What were you doing here anyway?"

Remus felt his hands get a little clammy with nerves. "I, uh, couldn't sleep?" It came out as a question and Remus mentally face palmed for his lack of game. Had he not just rehearsed what he was going to say?

Sirius cocked his head to the side. "Oh?"

"Yeah, um, you know how Wormtail snores."

Sirius chuckled lightly. "I'm sure the entire Gryffindor Tower knows how he snores."

There was a pause, an unspoken question hanging in the air.

"Did you want to come inside?" Sirius asked.

Inside you.

"Yeah, that would be nice."

Sirius stepped aside and let Remus enter the room, closing the door after him. Sirius had his curtains drawn, his desk chair turned to face the window. Sirius and his stars, Remus thought fondly. As much as Sirius loved to diss the Blacks and their celestial naming conventions, it wasn't the only reason he was top of the class in Astronomy. Remus wished he knew what was going through Sirius' head when he stared up at the night sky.

Remus put out his wand, letting the the moon provide the lighting. He had been in Sirius' room before, but he was always surprised at how much Gryffindor paraphernalia he had strung about. It was extremely comforting though, knowing Sirius had a place where he could be himself. He didn't need to used a permanent sticking charm out of spite, but Remus knew these decorations would remain for years to come. As long as Sirius needed a place, the Potters would provide. A mother's love: the muggle permanent sticking charm.

Realizing he'd been snooping in silence, Remus turned his attention to Sirius. He had a funny look in his eyes. "What?" Remus asked.

Sirius just shook his head fondly and sat on the bed. It was rumpled, he hadn't made it today, or maybe he had just crawled out from under the covers. Either way, it made things feel more intimate than if the bed had been made. Something about the physical proof that Sirius existed in this bed.

The atmosphere was getting to be a lot more awkward than Remus had anticipated. In his brain it was just going to be an exchange of greetings and a shag. He forgot to factor in small talk.

Remus perched himself at the end of Sirius' bed. "Did you want to talk about last night?" Remus' eyes shot up at Sirius' words. He was not expecting Sirius to be the one to bring it up. Sirius must have taken Remus' stunned silence as an answer and started rambling, "Or not, that's totally cool, we can pretend that it didn't happen if that's what you want -"

"Is that what you want?" Remus asked, trying not to show that his stomach was currently doing summersaults.

Sirius started picking invisible lint off his duvet cover.

"Sirius, why were you at the door when I got here?" Remus continued.

"I was going to see if you were awake."

Remus started schooching his way up the bed, closer to Sirius. "Well, I am," he said, now sitting beside Sirius, their backs against the headboard.

"I can see that," Sirius teased, bumping his shoulder into Remus'.

The beat of silence was thick. Remus felt a tightness in his chest, he could feel his heart beating.

"It's not what I want." Sirius said, responding to Remus' earlier question.

Remus swallowed thickly. "I -" he started, looking straight ahead, too scared to look over at Sirius. "I don't want to either."

Confessions out in the open, they were back where they started: unsure as to what the next move was.

Remus finally turned his head to look over at Sirius, only to find him already looking back. Eye contact was too much, Remus was having to remind his body how to breath. But he caught Sirius' eyes glance down. It was quick, fleeting, like he was holding himself back, unsure. Remus realized with a start that Sirius might be just that. He didn't know much about Sirius' sex life, just his reputation. Even then, it was only ever girls. Remus knew Sirius liked girls. He knew that Sirius had snogged girls at parties. Did he kiss them during sex or was it just a quick shag? Remus thought back to last night. They hadn't kissed. Hell, they hadn't even looked at each other. He wouldn't have called their hookup intimate. But right now, with the way Sirius was looking at him, how he slowly wet his bottom lip? This was intimate.

Sirius wanted Remus to kiss him. And fuck did Remus want to kiss him too.

Remus angled his body slightly and started leaning in excruciatingly slow. His heart was pounding, he felt like his entire body was shaking. He could feel every cell in his body. There was a knot the size of a tennis ball stuck at his sternum. Remus silently told himself to get a grip, this wasn't his first kiss. Why was he so nervous? They had already fucked for Christ's sake.

And then, as soft as a whisper. The flutter of eyelashes against a cheek. The brush of a small exhale. Remus felt Sirius' lips press nervously against his own. Their lips slotted together, and Remus was delighted to discover Sirius' lips were as soft as they looked. Their lips didn't move, it was just a press. Remus slowly pulled away with a wet sound as their lips detached. Suddenly his blood was flowing again, going straight to his brain. It was a headrush, kissing Sirius. He still felt as if his whole body was vibrating at a low frequency.

Sirius let out a nervous breath, the sound akin to a sigh of relief. Remus noticed that Sirius' hands were shaking where they rested on the bed. The two of them looked up at the same time, making eye contact. The kiss hung between them before they both let out a shaky laugh.

"Have you ever-" Remus asked.

Sirius shook his head. "No. But I've wanted to."

Remus nodded, understanding. There was a different kind of rush from a first queer kiss.

"Can I, uh, - could you - can we -" Sirius started a couple sentences, unsure how to phrase his want.

"I'd really like to kiss you again, if that's what you're asking," Remus provided, holding back a smile. For once in their relationship, Remus was the more experienced one.

Sirius' cheeks reddened slightly. "I'd - yes, yeah."

As the last word was leaving his lips, Sirius leaned in, reaching his hand out to cup the base of Remus' neck and desperately pulled him closer.

The second kiss had a completely different energy than the first. Their mouths moved together messily, trying to find a rhythm. Remus reached out for Sirius' waist and pulled him closer. Sirius' other arm wrapped over Remus' shoulder, melting their chests together. Remus hummed at the contact and Sirius responded by opening his mouth slightly, introducing his tongue to the kiss. Remus gladly accepted.

They continued to explore each other's mouths, and Remus could feel himself starting to get hard. He tightened his grip on Sirius' waist and Sirius let out a slight moan in response. With some shuffling, Sirius lifted one of his legs over Remus' lap and positioned himself so he was straddling Remus.

Remus groaned at the new position and wrapped his arms around Sirius, his hands splayed across Sirius' shoulder blades, pressing him closer. Sirius started needily grinding himself against Remus. Remus was delighted to find out that Sirius was just as turned on as he was and pressed his hips up in time with Sirius' movements.

Remus broke the kiss and began trailing his lips down down Sirius' neck, starting at his jaw, just below his ear. Sirius stretched his neck to the other side to give Remus more access.

"Sorry that I left a mark last night," Remus muttered, his tongue lightly grazing the hickey at the bottom of Sirius' neck, exposed by the stretched out collar of his shirt.

"Shit, Moony, I'm not," Sirius responded with a slight chuckle.

Remus groaned into Sirius' neck and tightened his arms around Sirius. "I'd love to mark you up, let everyone see," he admitted.

"Please," Sirius breathed.

After the go-ahead from Sirius, Remus playfully bit down on a spot just beside the mark from the previous night. Sirius' breath hitched and his nails dug into Remus' back through his shirt. Remus started sucking on the skin until he was certain there would be a deep bruise. Happy with his work, Remus gave it a lick. He moved his hands down Sirius' back until his fingers reached the hem of Sirius' shirt. He gave it a little tug.

"Can I take this off-"

"Fuck, please, yes," Sirius all but begged. Remus laughed lightly and helped Sirius pull the shirt over his head, tossing it away.

Remus paused to drink in the sight of Sirius without a shirt on. There had been an urgency to their actions last night, so much so that the pair had remained half-clothed. It was sexy, sure, being so desperate for each other that they couldn't waste time with removing all their clothes. But this moment was charged with something else. Remus had finally been given permission to look. And oh was it a sight. He had seen Sirius shirtless before, sharing a dorm for 7 years would do that, but he had never looked at Sirius' chest. There were a couple of freckles ghosting his upper chest. Some small, pale scars acquired over the course of their Marauder antics at Hogwarts littered his sides.

Remus placed his hands on the small of Sirius' back and Sirius shivered slightly. Remus gave him a look. "Your hands are cold," Sirius explained with a small laugh.

Remus apologized and started kissing down Sirius' chest, starting between his collar bones. He paused every so often to suck a light mark onto Sirius' chest and was met with a gasping moan each time.

Eventually, Sirius had had enough of Remus' light teasing and started pawing at Remus' shirt. "Take this off, please."

Remus was happy to oblige and quickly pulled his shirt over his head, throwing it to the side. He could find it tomorrow.

Once they were both shirtless, Remus returned his hands to their place on Sirius' back. Sirius wrapped his arms over Reums' shoulders again, pulling their chests flush together, and reattached their lips.

Remus moaned into Sirius' mouth at the contact, loving the feeling of Sirius' chest against his own. Remus had never really been one to pay much attention to nipples, but there was something so deliciously erotic about the feeling of Sirius' hardened buds against his own bare chest.

Desperate for more, Remus trailed his hands along the waistband of Sirius' pyjama pants until they met at the front, right above the drawstrings. He let his fingers wander, lightly palming Sirius through the fabric. Remus made a mix of a gasp and a groan when he could feel that there was nothing else under the sweatpants, just Sirius.

Sirius mewled into Remus' mouth at the contact. Remus took this moment to break the kiss. Sirius' cheeks were flushed, his eyes hooded. Seeing Sirius like this flipped a switch in Remus' brain.

"Fuck," he moaned, closing his eyes, pressing his forehead against Sirius'.

Sirius laughed, an exhale out of his nose. Remus felt it, the air cold on his wet lips. "I think that's the idea," Sirius teased.

Remus couldn't help the smile that formed when Sirius said this. This was uncharted territory in their relationship, yes, but it was still them. It was still just Padfoot and Moony, Remus and Sirius. And of course they were the type that laughed during sex.

"Oh shut it," Remus joked back.

Sirius tugged at the hair at the base of Remus' neck. Remus opened his eyes and pulled away from Sirius slightly, just to get a better look at him. "Make me?" Sirius asked, cocking his head to the side.

Remus suppressed a laugh, "Was that you trying to be sexy?"

Sirius frowned, "Yeah. Or, no? Was it sexy?"

Remus' smile broke free. "Mm, just a little. Needs some work."

Sirius groaned in defeat and pulled away from Remus, dramatically falling backwards on the bed. Remus gazed fondly at his best friend, splayed out on the bed, his messy hair haloed around his head. He really was breathtakingly beautiful. Sirius brought his arms up to his face, crossing them to cover his eyes.

Remus untangled himself from Sirius' legs and leaned over Sirius' chest, caging him against the mattress. He started peppering kisses down Sirius' stomach. Sirius gasped at the contact and went to move his arms away from his eyes. Remus snapped a hand up to hold Sirius' arms in place. "Keep them there," he said into Sirius' skin. Sirius moaned in agreement and Remus let go. "Good boy," he said, recalling the praise from last night. Sirius made a sound in the back of his throat.

When Remus' lips grazed Sirius' waistband, he quickly undid the drawstring and slipped his fingers under the fabric. He gave a little pull as a silent request and Sirius lifted his hips off the bed, allowing Remus to pull down and off the sweatpants, tossing them in the same direction the rest of their clothes had went.

Finally, Remus got a good look at Sirius' naked body. His cock was hard and thick, the swollen head sticky with precum. Remus leaned down and gave the tip a swipe with his tongue, loving the salty taste of Sirius.

"Oh, fuck, please," Sirius moaned. Remus pursed his lips and continued to lower his head, letting Sirius' cock push into his mouth.

Remus continued to lower his lips over Sirius, taking more of him in his mouth as he went. Remus didn't have much experience sucking cock, but he felt that his knowledge of what felt good to him could at least lead him in the right direction. And judging by the sounds coming from Sirius, he was doing something right.

Remus hollowed out his cheeks and started bobbing his head. He pointed his tongue and used it to tease at the underside of Sirius' dick as it pumped in and out of his mouth.

"Fuck, Moony, you're really good at that," Sirius laughed breathily.

Remus flicked his eyes up to look at Sirius, happy to see that he had kept his arms over his eyes in a makeshift blindfold. Sirius' lips were parted, his mouth open in pleasure.

Remus pulled off of Sirius with a pop and Sirius whined at the loss of contact. "Lube?" Remus asked.

Sirius pulled his arms off his face and started to sit up. "If you pass me my wand I can-"

Remus shook his head, "I want to do it myself this time."

Sirius blinked a couple of times before answering. "Oh, fuck - I mean - Merlin, yeah that would be so - in the top drawer, shit-" he groaned and let himself fall back onto the bed.

Remus chuckled at Sirius' fluster and leaned backwards to reach the top drawer of Sirius' bedside table. He grabbed the half-empty bottle and brought it back over to where Sirius lay.

He popped the top and slicked up his fingers. Sirius' eyes tracked Remus' every movement and he spread his legs in anticipation.

"Mm, excited are we?" Remus teased, running his other hand up and down Sirius' upper thigh.

Sirius hummed in response. "I haven't done it this way in ages."

The words went straight to Remus cock. His hand lightly cupped Sirius' balls and his fingers inched closer to Sirius' hole. "Oh?" He asked. Sirius flushed in embarrassment. Remus started to push at the ring of muscles. "Have you fingered yourself, then?" Sirius didn't answer. Remus pushed a single finger inside Sirius. "You have, haven't you?" Remus got all the way to the first knuckle before pausing. Sirius whined in protest. "Come on, you can tell me."

"Yes," Sirius whispered.

Remus smirked. "Sorry, I didn't hear that." He pressed his finger further inside Sirius. Sirius made a sound that was a mix of a moan and a whine. Torn between pleasure and embarrassment.

"Fuck off, I know you did."

"What if I just want to hear you say it again?" Remus asked. Sirius moaned as Remus started pumping his finger. "Will you say it for me? Tell me what you thought about while you fingered yourself."

Sirius shook his head. "'s embarrassing," he said.

Remus added a second finger. "Oh? Now I have to know. Come on," Remus pushed his fingers deeper. "Be a good boy and tell me, yeah?"

"Fuuck," Sirius moaned out, closing his eyes in pleasure. "You, ok? I think of - fuck right there - I think of you."

Remus smirked. He was hoping for that answer. "Yeah? What was I doing? Come on, use your words."

Sirius' cock twitched. "This. I pretended it was your fingers. Stretching me out," Sirius paused. Remus could tell there was more he wanted to say. He started scissoring his fingers, trying to get the rest out of Sirius. "And you were - ah - you were telling me how good I was being for you." Remus added a third finger at the end of the confession.

"See, that wasn't so hard, hmm?" Remus teased, pressing his fingers deeper, searching for Sirius' prostate.

Sirius whined and started wiggling on the bed. "Please, Moony I'm ready, I need you," he begged. While Remus wanted to keep teasing Sirius, his cock was straining in his pyjama bottoms. He was getting to be just as needy as Sirius.

Remus pulled his fingers out of Sirius and tugged off his bottoms, trying not to show how desperate he also was for this.

When his pyjama bottoms and underwear joined the rest of their clothes on the floor, he turned his attention back to Sirius. He was still on his back, half sitting up, propped on his elbows. He had a hungry look in his eyes as he traced over every inch of Remus' body.

Remus gave his cock a couple tugs as he looked down at Sirius. "That's so hot," Sirius moaned.

Remus chuckled and hooked his arms under Sirius' legs and yanked him up the bed. Sirius lost his balance and let himself fall back on the bed. Remus grabbed Sirius by the thighs and spread them so that Sirius' ankles pressed against Remus' shoulders. Remus grabbed the bottle of lube from where it lay discarded on the bed and applied a generous amount to his cock.

He pulled Sirius closer and lined himself up with Sirius' hole. He glanced up to look at Sirius and was struck with the realization of the intimacy of this. This was more than last night. It wasn't just I'm-horny-and-you're-the-cloest-warm-body, this was a purposeful decision for it to be with each other.

Remus met Sirius' eyes. "This still ok?" He asked, just wanting to be sure.

Sirius started nodding eagerly. "Please, yes, more than ok," he rambled.

Slowly, Remus started pushing in. Sirius' eyes squeezed shut. "Fuck, you're so tight," Remus moaned.

"I think you're just huge," Sirius supplied.

Remus accepted the compliment and continued to ease himself into Sirius. "You can take it," Sirius let out a long moan in response.

Remus pressed the last inch of his cock in with a quick thrust, earning another moan from Sirius. "See? I knew you could do it," Remus started slowing pulling out and pushing back in. "Such a good boy," he praised.

"Mmhm, so good," Sirius agreed.

Remus started picking up his pace, loving that he was able to see Sirius' face change in pleasure with each thrust. And after a particularly pointed one, "Oh, fuck yes, right there, do that again Moony, pleeaase."

Remus would never get sick of hearing Sirius beg for more. "Yeah?" He teased, hoping to inspire a more vocal Sirius.

"Yeah, yes," Sirius whined, clenching slightly around Remus.

"You feel so good," Remus groaned, getting lost in the feeling of Sirius.

"Moony?" Sirius asked, and Remus slowed slightly. "I wanna be on top, let me be on top."

Remus' eyes rolled back. "Fuck, yeah," He pulled out of Sirius and sat back on the bed, his back against the headboard. Sirius sat up and crawled up the bed. He put a thigh on either side of Remus and positioned himself over Remus' cock before slowly easing himself down. Remus reached up and pushed back Sirius' hair from where it was stuck to his forehead with sweat. Once fully seated, Sirius reached up to grab the top of the headboard as leverage and began bouncing on Remus, his eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in pleasure.

It was the hottest thing Remus had ever seen. "Fuck, you look so good like this," he said.

Sirius opened his eyes, and Remus stood corrected. This was the hottest thing he had ever seen. Overcome with feelings, he wrapped his arms around Sirius' waist, pulled him closer and hungrily pressed their lips together.

Sirius melted into the kiss. It was sloppy, Sirius was still bouncing up and down. It was more tongue than lips, but it was exactly what they both needed. They needed to be close, connected in every possible way. Remus squeezed his arms tighter around Sirius. Sirius arched his back in response so that his cock was pressed tightly between their chests, getting the friction he so desperately wanted.

Remus broke the kiss but kept their foreheads pressed together. He cast his eyes down to watch Sirius' cock slide between their chests. "Needy little thing, aren't you?" he asked. Sirius mewled in response. Remus let some saliva pool in his mouth before slowly spitting it down, letting it land on the tip of Sirius' cock. Sirius gasped.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuuck," Sirius' bounces started to speed up and lose their rhythm as Remus' spit slicked up his cock. Remus started to thrust up, matching Sirius' movements. "I'm so close," Sirius panted.

"Me too," Remus groaned.

"Kiss me again?" Sirius asked. He didn't need to say it twice. Remus eagerly pressed his lips against Sirius' again. He lightly bit down on Sirius' bottom lip. Sirius gasped and his hands lost their grip on the headboard and fell to Remus' shoulders.

Sirius clamped around Remus again and dug his nails into Remus' shoulders. Remus growled into Sirius' mouth.

"I'm gonna cum, Moony, I -" Sirius pleaded against Remus' mouth.

"Do it, cum for me baby," Remus let the pet name slip out but before he could think too much about, Sirius was babbling out a mix of swears and unintelligible noises, his cock spurting between them.

The feeling of Sirius' cum sliding between them, the rhythmic clenching of Sirius' hole as he came, and the sheer closeness of him was too much for Remus and he came hard and deep inside Sirius. Still desperate for him to be close, Remus tightened his arms around Sirius and pulled him down on his cock in time with his thrusts, ensuring that his cum went as deep as it could.

After they both came down from the intensity of their orgasms, they stayed connected, foreheads pressed together, panting into each others mouths.

Sirius was the first to speak. "Fuck," he sighed. Remus burst out laughing, and Sirius hissed, the laughter making Remus' cock push into him. "Sensitive."

Remus calmed down and apologized. They stayed like that for a moment until the cooling cum on their chests started to get uncomfortable. Sirius peeled himself away and off of Remus, wincing a little. He reached to his bedside table and grabbed his wand, muttering a quick cleaning spell.

He lifted himself off of Remus' lap and rolled himself over so he flopped on the bed beside Remus. He sighed and let out a low whistle.

Remus chuckled and pushed his back off the headboard so he could lay beside Sirius.

On their backs, they turned their heads to face each other. Sirius' cheeks were still flushed, a couple loose strands of hair stuck to his forehead. Remus smiled fondly.

Sirius returned the smile and closed his eyes. "Kiss me again?" He asked softly.

Remus lifted his head off the pillow and leaned over to softly press his lips to Sirius'.

"I've wanted to do that for a while now," Sirius said when Remus pulled away.

"Have sex with me?" Remus asked with a laugh.

Sirius shook his head. "Kiss you." Remus' heart fluttered. He reached out to tuck Sirius' hair behind his ear. "I'd never kissed a bloke before though," Sirius continued, his eyes still closed. "And I didn't want to fuck it up."

Remus moved closer to Sirius on the bed and rolled onto his side to fully face Sirius. "I can promise you that you didn't." He said, pressing another kiss against Sirius' lips. Sirius hummed and rolled on his side, facing away from Remus. He wiggled backwards and snuggled up to Remus.

Remus sat up slightly and reached for the bunched up duvet that was now at the foot of the bed. He pulled it up and tucked himself in with Sirius. He wrapped an arm around Sirius' waist and pressed a kiss to his neck. Sirius hummed.

Neither of them knew what this meant for their friendship. But they could have that talk tomorrow. Right now they just wanted to sleep, content and cozy. Together.

#marauders #marauders era #the marauders #harry potter #james potter #remus lupin #sirius black #peter pettigrew #wolfstar #remus x sirius #wolfstar fic #wolfstar smut

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haerinari · 11 months

Text

DAY 25 — ANATOMY CLASS

PAIRING: professor!yeonjun x student!fem!reader.

GENRE: smut, school au, kissing, unprotected sex, little age gap.

WARNINGS: smut

A/N: guys i’m really sorry for not posting yesterday. i was EXTREMELY exhausted and i didn’t get the chance to finish this fic of kinktober 2023, but don’t worry because i will keep updating. anyways, enjoy 💙

the first day of seventh grade you remember all the girls talking about the professor of the anatomy class. “he is so hot!”, “oh my god, if he is my professor i will study”, “i like anatomy class since today”. and when you got the chance to meet him, you knew why all the girls were falling for him.

his name was Choi Yeonjun, he was a very, very young man, tall, brown eyes, beautiful pink lips and a very charming smile. the days that you had anatomy class, were the best. paying attention to what he was saying, no, paying attention to him. paying attention to the was his hands move while explaining, paying attention to his full lips, and sometimes looking in parts you shouldn’t, but it was impossible to ignore them. now you were on the last year of high school, and luckily Mr. Choi was still your anatomy professor.

“Today Mr. Choi was looking hotter that today” your friend Chaeyoung said. “I know I can fuck him before graduating”

“God Chae” you said laughing. “What are you saying”

“Really! If i don’t fuck him it would be a waste, besides, he is hotter that any boy in our grade” she replied.

“You have a point in that tho” you said.

Today was wednesday and it was the first anatomy class of the week, you went to class with Chae and both of you sat in the back of the class.

“Good Morning class, today i’m gonna be handing you back your exams” Mr. Choi said.

“I hope i got a good grade” you whispered to your friend. “I study really, really hard for this exams”

“I bet that you had the best grade y/n, you always have good grades” chae answered.

“Okay so, Son Chaeyoung” he said. “Hwang y/n”

both of you went for your examen, not wanting to see your grades until you went back to your desks.

“okay, at the count of tree” you said.

“1…” she started.

“2…”

“3!” you both said.

you opened you exam, excepting everything except this. you jaw dropped, you looked at Chaeyoung and you saw a smile on her face.

“I GOT A 98!” she gasped, standing from her desk and jumping in excitement. “What about you?”

“55…” you said in a low voice.

“What?!” she exclaimed. “No, that’s totally impossible y/n. maybe he changed our exams, that 55 must be mine”

“No, chae. i really got a 55”

how was that even possible? you were good in anatomy, you never had bad grades. what happened now?

“Miss Hwang, i want to talk you later” Mr. Choi said.

“Okay” you answered to him.

the class continued normally, but this time you didn’t really pay that much attention. honestly, that grade had taken all your happiness away. what did you did wrong? you studied for weeks to approve this exam.

at the end of the of the class everyone packed their things and started leaving, you said goodbye to Chae and stayed on your sit waiting for your professor to talk.

“Mr. Choi, if you’re keeping me here because of my exam, i swear to god i don’t know what happen” you tried to explain.

“Don’t worry about the grade y/n, you will pass anatomy anyways. And please, call me Yeonjun” he said.

“Okay uhhm Mr. Ch— I mean, Yeonjun, i study really hard for this exam. what did i did wrong?”

“Oh, you did nothing wrong y/n” he said stepping behind you. “I just knew that if i wrote a bad grade on your exam you would stay”

“Does that mean i have a good grade?” you asked.

“Do you want to have a good grade?”

“Of course i want” you answered.

you wanted to have a good grade, but having this time alone with your professor wasn’t actually very bad. was this going to end like those porn movies you watched? the ones that ended with the hot profesor fucking his inocente students.

i mean, it wasn’t a bad idea. Yeonjun was hot, like, super hot. but he was your professor. if this was going to end like you were imagining, things will have to spice up.

“So why are you keeping me here, profesor Yeonjun?” you said turning your head to look at him. looking up with doe eyes watching him looking directly to you.

“You know why i’m keeping you here pretty” he said tilting you head with his finger on your chin.

you were going to be fuck by your profesor, but you didn’t want to make it that easy.

“of course, to talked about my grade” you replied innocently. “tell me Mr. Choi, what do i have to do to have a better grade?”

“go sit on my desk” he said.

you got up from your desk and went to his, sitting on the border with your legs lightly open. yeonjun came just after you, standing between your legs with his face very close you yours.

“i like when you play that innocent game” he said with a small smile.

his face got even more closer to yours, putting your lips together forming a kiss. his lips felt so soft against yours, one of his hands on the back on your neck and the other one on your thigh. His hand began to run along the edge of your skirt, slowly lifting it trying to get deeper. His fingers reached your panties, lightly touching the wet spot that was forming on your cunt. he moved you panties away, his middle finger touching all your slit. you could fell that he was smiling between the kiss, you must be very wet.

yeonjun started rubbing circles in you clit, his lips moved from your lips to your neck, sucking it and probably leaving dark spots in it. one of his fingers slipped on your hole while the other one was still rubbing you clit.

“fuck” you said.

“you wanted to have a good grade, didn’t you? take it like the good girl you are.” he said on your ear.

he inserted another finger, fucking you faster this time. you head started to fell dizzy, he was so good with his fingers. you had imagine this scene thousands on time, you favorite hot professor fucking your rough on his desk, but you didn’t know it was actually going to happen.

your stomach felt like it was doing back flips, you wanted to last longer but with his fingers doing magic on you pussy it was almost impossible.

“i’m gonna cum” you moaned.

“no you’re not, i don’t want you to cum like this?” he answered.

“what?”

yeonjun quickly took his fingers out of you, leaving you a sensation of emptiness on your pussy. a part of you felt mad, but the other one knew that something better was coming.

“bend over the desk” he said with a serious voice. “i’m gonna fuck you properly.”

you did exactly what he did. the right side of your face hitting the cold desk, your skirt lift up, exposing you ass and cunt for the view of your professor.

you heard him unbuttoning his pants, he stroke his dick a few times near your ass and then inserted his cock inside you. his dick fill you up so well, his tip hitting your sweet spot with every thrust. you were a moaning mess, and hearing how yeonjun groaned every time you clench around him made your pussy wetter.

“fucking slut, clench around me like that against and i’m gonna cum” he said.

his big hand reached you hair, pulling your head up until your back was press against his chest. all that could be heard on the classroom were your moans and the sound of skin hitting against each other. yeonjun’s right hand traveled down your stomach, finally getting to your clit while he was fucking you harder. his left hand was around your neck, making pressure around it and making it hard to breath. the over stimulation was causing tears around your eyes, you hard gasps and moans telling you that you were about to cum.

“pleas let me cum this time” you barely told him, the pressure on your neck wasn’t letting you talk properly.

“cum around my dick, cum like the good intelligent student that i have” he encouraged.

with a few more thrusts to came hard on yeonjun’s cock, seconds after his cum filled you up making a mess between your things. you legs were like jelly, you couldn’t even stand properly. your professor was giving small kisses on you jaw and neck, his strong arms holding you so you don’t fall.

you started to finally catch your breath, your heart beating from crazy to normally again. you couldn’t believe you just do that.

“if this is going to happen every time i have bad grades, i will mess it up on purpose next time” you said.

“be a bad student and you won’t be able to walk in weeks” he replied.

“is that supposed to be bad?” you smiled.

“you tell me” yeonjun said.

all the things you would have to explain to chaeyoung…

#choi yeonjun #yeonjun #txt yeonjun #txt imagines #txt #kinktober #smut #tomorrow x tomorrow

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mango-parfait · 1 month

Text

10 Years

Part 1/?

Pairing: Keegan P. Russ x Lyusya 'Lou' Melnikova (OC)

Warnings: MDNI 18+, strong language, canon typical violence, war related topics, mentions/descriptiond of a miscarriage, implied trauma, hunting of an animal.

Word Count: 2.8k+

A/N: Just a bunch of drabbles I've written of Keegan and Lou with the intention of exploring their relationship during the years right after ODIN, to the current events in Cod Ghosts. I thought that they deserved a little bit of spotlight instead of gathering dust as unfinished drabbles. The years will not be in order unless I ever decide to continue the series. Thank you to @moosch, (And a few other mutuals) for encouraging me to post this because I'm way too scared to do it ;;u;; And also thank you for encouraging and enabling my russian literature brainrot that has influenced my writing style <3

Chapter summary: Lou goes out hunting beyond the walls of Fort Santa Monica. Her mind racing and muscles tensed and tight - Keegan had called her a liability, looking at her with a look she could only describe as contempt. Her mind wanders, memories comes back. Keegan comes looking for her to bring her home.

Year two, 2018, Fall

Leaves crunch under her boots- a sound filled with the childhood joy of running and leaping into gathered leaf piles in the backyard of her home, now just a thrum in Lou’s mind. Instead of the passing of a season, it’s a bone cracking under her weight. Orange hues of the trees and foliage- a reminder of lasers coming down from the sky, it’s still hard to forget the sound the ground made when it cracked open, and the screams of the people around her.

"Eyes on the ground, Lyuda. Look for movement in the leaves, dips in the soil. Nature tells you everything you need to know." Her father’s voice rings in her ears. Rough and scratchy, an indication of one cigar too many. Back then, she'd do anything to avoid going into his study every Saturday morning because of the smoke and stench that clouded every inch of nose - but now, she'd give anything to see him again.

She walks on, each step a tense moment- her eyes darting around the ground. Tracking for games, tracking for Federation movement, it was the same. Maybe there’s game out here in the safe zones - a deer maybe, or a squirrel, or a rabbit. Maybe she’ll get a rabbit or two and bring it back to the guys at base, Merrick would be happy, so will Ajax, Torch, Kick and-

Her chest surges in anger and bile rises in her throat. She swallows it down and presses her rifle closer to her body.

Keegan.

"Civvie like you shouldn’t be here, could’ve left with the trucks to the camps and yet you chose to stay. Dumb move, rookie."

His voice, low and serious- as it always was, rings out in the silence of the barracks hall. Cerulean eyes burning into hers as he folds his arms across his chest, gazing down at her with a dissatisfied look- or perhaps disgust, she cannot remember.

"Elias thought he was doing you a service, taking you in and then throwing your ass at me to babysit. You’re not Ghost material, you’re a liability, should’ve left when you could."

No, her mind is wandering. He didn’t say all that- he wouldn’t.

"You’re a liability, not a Ghost."

That was all.

Reaching a small stream, she kneels down to brush her fingers along the dirt. A dip. A tiny indent in the soil, a rabbit maybe- It made sense for animals to gather near a stream for a quick drink.

She crumbles some of her biscuit rations onto the dirt and puts a good amount of distance from the stream to hide behind some boulders.

She waits, her mind starts to wander.

Anya, her baby sister- only a teenager when Lou left Russia to study in America. She promised that she would be home for New Year last year. Now she’ll never see her again. Was her hair still as golden as the wheat fields and eyes as brown as wet soil? Whatever she’s doing now, hopefully she's happy doing it.

Time passes as Lou sits quietly in her hiding spot, eyes scanning the stream to see whether any animals have taken the bait. A rabbit appears and she readies her rifle the way her father had taught her as a young girl.

But she doesn’t listen to her father's words this time- it’s the Ghost Sergeant's. The anger surge in her chest once more at the thought of him.

"You’re a liability."

Oh, she should’ve socked him in the jaw for calling her that.

The Sergeant knew how to get under her skin, spot her weaknesses and make her correct it immediately, his gaze always hard, sometimes even bored- either way, it's hard to read his expressions sometimes. He was strict and had taught her how to fire a rifle more efficiently, tackle long distances, control her breathing, to kill quickly, to survive one more day- one more op.

To survive.

To fight.

To live.

"Tuck your elbows in. Hips tight. Shoulders don’t pass your heels. Stock against your shoulder. Again. Do it again. One more time. Nice shot. Good job. Not bad."

Four months as his mentee. ‘Rookie’- he called her, part of the team and not yet part of it. The name had stuck and everyone started calling her that. It had even gotten to Elias, his hard face blurting out said nickname in a mission debrief. She hated it.

A bullet fired from her rifle- the rabbit falls. Perhaps this will do for now, Lou can clean the carcasses and then bring them back to the butcher’s for processing and get meat jerky out of them. More meat in her ration packs and something she can share with the guys. Picking up the carcass and clearing it out right by the stream, her focus remained sharp as the carving knife in her hands twists and cuts its way through the tendons of the rabbit- stripping it of its skin.

Keegan had asked her once whether she had any knowledge of wildlife during a training hike after she had pointed out bare patches of grass in a passing field, saying that it was caused by one too many deers going through the same route over and over again.

"No, sir. I just read it in a book once."

She wasn’t really sure why she lied to him.

Dunking the rabbit into the water and letting the water carry its blood along its streams, she keeps the image of the sergeant’s face in her thoughts. The day he called her a liability, his brows were furrowed a little more than usual, the frown was obvious even with the knit layer of his skull mask. The op wasn’t a tough one- if it could’ve been considered an op, just some quick scouting trip to a mall with minimal Federation patrols that they avoided easily. Afterwards, it was just a matter of setting up a vantage point, collect intel for Command, pack up and head home. It was easy, even for a rookie like her.

But she couldn’t recall what she had done wrong to make him call her a liability- maybe she adjusted the scope on her rifle incorrectly, maybe she had worn her shirt inside out. Or maybe he just felt like saying what he always thought. Either way, Lou couldn’t deny the emptiness in her chest when he said it to her face getting back to Fort Santa Monica, his eyes burning down at her as he folded his arms.

All she could do was just stare up at him with confused hurt.

She impatiently digs the knife into the carcass, incision ragged and forced to get its guts out.

Her father’s voice rings in her head once more. "Be careful, daughter. Nice and easy- like painting a brush or like when you’re helping mother sew." She ignores him again.

The way she twisted the knife felt like the first person she had killed. A federation soldier- most probably a recruit sent out to scout the area where the hospital was. She would’ve let him pass if he didn’t choose to turn the corner that led to the room where she was hiding with a couple of the kids.

A stab into the neck with a crooked screwdriver, she held onto him even when her hands were slick and slippery with his blood. Only letting go when his body went limp in her arms.

A liability. Liability. Might as well make it a cuss word at this point, judging from how much it pissed her off. How can she be a liability when she went through basic training, did so well at long distance shooting that Elias had a long talk with about joining the Task Force?

Why a liability when she went through another month of training under Elias just so that he could start her way up to becoming part of the Ghost team?

Why a liability when she had suffered what she had suffered in No Man’s Land for four months when ODIN’s missiles scorched and cracked land for miles?

Why a fucking liability when she has fought, killed, starved and scavenged for those four months?

Dipping the carcass into the stream once more, Lou watches the blood staining the water and lets itself be led away by the current. The sight reminds her of sooty tiled floors of the bathroom in the ruined hospital, her lower half soaked in the blood that pooled beneath her. A miscarriage- that was what the medical staff told her. They said that it wasn’t her fault, supplies were running out, and with Federation soldiers constantly swarming around the hospital- it made it hard to scavenge from the other buildings in the vicinity.

The memories of deep dark blood made her nauseous and Lyusya takes in a deep breath, exhaling slowly. The baby she had lost, Constantine for a boy and Anya for a girl.

The mother she could’ve been. Now she’ll never get her chance.

So why would Keegan call her a liability when she had suffered what she suffered. What was all the pain, tears and blood for then? If she had gone through all of that just to be tossed into civilian camps and coaxed to live like normal then all that she had gone through in No Man’s Land would’ve been for nothing.

Nothing at all.

Memories return. The piercing pain on the day it happened was like a million daggers to her stomach. The pitiful stares of the women as they tried to help her. Tried to. There was nothing much they could do.

Dirty bathtub. Tap not working. Ash and soot in the air. Blood flowing from between her legs. Gunfire in the distance. Her mother's face comes into view. She'd be there to wipe her tears and clean the blood off her.

“Rookie.”

Her thoughts come to a complete silence. The voice- so familiar. So hated.

Keegan.

She turns to look over her shoulder, unable to mask the scowl on her face.

He’s unmasked this time, dark stubble all throughout the jaw and around the lips. The blues of his eyes dimmed significantly without all the black fabric covering his entire body she sees him in so often. The bane of her existence fully clad in issued USMC shirt and pants with his dog tags hanging off a beaded chain around his neck.

Keegan wasn’t smiling, but she could detect the tiniest hint of amusement in his eyes. Oh, how she must look to him right now- the woman that attacked him in No Man’s Land, his rookie- cleaning game by the stream on an autumn morning just outside base.

“Knew you were lying to me about not knowing how to hunt.” Keegan takes a few steps forward and tilts his weight ever so slightly to loom over Lou to see what she was doing- it took everything in her not to bristle at his intrusion, he was not a welcomed sight at the moment.

“Ajax said you were outside for a walk. Never heard of someone going for a walk with a pocketful of knives.”

She turns away from him and lowers her gaze back to the task at hand and gets to cleaning the second carcass. “Just needed to clear my head, sir.”

“To hunt?”

“I was hungry.”

“That you have to hunt?” He takes another step closer and kneels beside her to watch. If he couldn’t sense her irritation growing just by being near her, then it’s clear that he’s deliberately ignoring it. “Could eat the chow back at base.”

“No.”

“No?”

“The rations are not sustainable, sir.” She hurriedly follows up, dumping out some bullshit excuse.

Keegan snorts and then stays silent. Watching her cut the guts out of the rabbit carcass with such practice and precise movements as if she had done this a million times. When he guessed that Lyusya knew how to hunt, he pictured coffee by the campfire, holding daddy’s guns and cheering him on- something he’d see in a movie.

How much did he know about the woman that he saved from No Man’s Land? Not much, that’s for sure. Something’s off about her today- he already knew why.

A gust of wind passes and Lou could smell the sea on the man. She knew he’d gone for a naval op with Merrick to do some scouting on a Federation submarine last night- they’d left out the details because she was a ‘rookie’. A full night of swimming, scouting and fighting. What the hell is he doing here then?

“You could have just asked to use the shooting range for a bit, clear your head that way.”

“Out here is better..” She plucks the carcasses out of the stream. “Go back to base without me, sir. I won’t be long.”

He stands up with a grunt and places his hands on his hips, eyes scanning their surroundings. The safe zones outside the Fort were as safe as they could be - if the Federation keeps to their word. As nice as this patch of grassland was, it wasn’t as safe as his rookie would like to think.

“Like hell you are.” He tells her with a sigh, frown forming on his lips- she’s so fucking stubborn sometimes. “You’re lucky enough to catch game out here, but it’s gonna run out the longer you sit on your ass. Time to go.”

Lou doesn’t look his way- the scowl on her face is better hidden from his eyes as she works on wrapping old newspaper around the carcasses and places the bundles in a canvas bag.

And to be honest? She doesn’t want to go back anytime soon. Her heart aches to wander around the open fields a little bit more. To be able to feel like a girl once more, not the broken woman she was after ODIN, and certainly not the woman that’s training as a recon sniper, fighting to survive one more day and being trained by the blue eyed son of a bitch that called her a liability.

Fuck, she’s so pissed about that and him being here right now isn’t making it easier to not snap.

“Just leave me alone.” She stands up and sweeps dirt off the knees of her pants. “Why do you care? I'll be back in an hour.”

He huffs and folds his arms, eyes glaze around their surroundings once more. “You're not making this easy.”

“A liability never does, sir.”

His eyes narrow at her, only to be received by defiance. But Keegan's eyes didn't hold any malice just irritation and maybe a tinge of confusion. He remembers what he said to her after their mission- the hurt on her face was enough to be seared into his memory.

A year since ODIN, a year of constant fighting. This war was expensive, tiring and a drain on resources. Keegan was tired- he’s been tired since Sand Viper. If it weren’t for the loyalty for his fellow marines and the entire Ghost Team, he would’ve packed up long ago. Move to the property in Missouri that’s been on his mind, and maybe even raise some chickens.

But here is his little rookie, the woman who spent her childhood in drama school reciting Shakespeare and reading Classics like drinking water, a woman who could- with every chance she got, choose to leave when she could. But she didn’t. Elias told her that she'd make a recon sniper, and like a little puppy, she lapped up the compliment like canned wet food.

Keegan had never meant to hurt her the way he did. She could’ve lived a normal life again and yet- she’s here.

His rookie.

One can’t help but shoulder the responsibility.

“Whatever you are, it's time to go back to base.” He turns to walk back in the direction of the fort, its walls safely within sight.

Lou was reluctant. She could follow- then again, she could turn in the other direction and walk further into the treeline. But when Keegan turns - she freezes, her mind fights to stay.

“Come on, rookie.” He says to her, voice unexpectedly softer. “I'm not leaving you behind.”

He doesn't walk until she does. A couple of steps in his direction, a tentative gaze in his direction- he continues down the trail back to the fort with her in silence.

-End-

#keegan p russ #cod keegan #Keegan p russ x fem!oc #Keegan x Lou #call of duty ghosts #cod ghosts #call of duty Keegan #fic tag #call of duty oc #cod ghosts oc #Oc: Lyusya Melnikova #Keelou #mangoart #they'll get along better through the years trust me!!

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