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pit-and-the-pen · 1 month

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Don't Go

For day three of @acotar-omegaverse-week :All tied up

Summary: Azriel helps you with your heat….maybe more than you expected.

Warnings: smut (18+), alpha/omega dynamics, mating, knots, p in v sex, slightly rough, slight breeding kink, biting, cum eating

WC: 3.4k

divider by the lovely @tsunami-of-tears

18+ below the cut

You don’t know how you had lost track of the days. You normally kept a perfect record of your cycles, in a house full of alpha’s it was necessary to avoid any awkward situations. But here you were in the middle of a walk with Azriel when you felt that thin layer of sweat bead across your forehead. The way your skin suddenly felt too tight on your body let you know it had nothing to do with the summer sun and everything to do with the fact you had miscounted by a week.

“Azriel.” You tried to whisper, pulling on the back of his shirt. He turned around and his eyes instantly went to your face, where you could feel the sweat starting to collect. “I need to go home. Now.” His eyes dilated as he caught your scent. The full wave of your heat washes over him as he faces you. He quickly nodded at you before pulling you tight against his chest and winnowing you both back to the river house.

You were clinging to him so tightly that he had to pry your hands off of him to get you to lay down in your nest. Being very careful not to accidentally step in it.

“Do you remember what we talked about last time?”

His words floated through the air. You tried your best to remember what he was talking about.

“Do you still want my shadows here?” He saved you the energy of having to remember. Now you want to sink into the ground. YOu had asked him at the end of your last heat if you could borrow his shadows. After Nesta had found you basically pawing at Azriel’s door during your last heat, you had the idea of them being around to keep you in check. A guard that wouldn’t be affected by an omega in heat.

You nodded. Mortification quickly overrides the pain.

“I need you to say it, my sweet omega.” And those words coming off of his tongue sent a hard cramp through you. Your core clenching around nothing.

“Yes. Please.” You were forcing yourself to stay seated on the ground, to wrap a blanket tighter around yourself to keep from jumping Azriel. Those two words, my omega, had every part of your brain buzzing. But you were early enough in your heat to remind yourself that Azriel didn’t want you that way. His face when he had found your scent in the hallway last time was more than enough confirmation.

“Alright. I’ll have the maids bring you some food and water. Okay?” He got up to walk out of your room, some of his shadows staying behind, already curling up around your body as you closed your eyes and tried to get the last little bit of lucid sleep you could get.

----

Every second was torture. His shadows wrapped around your feet keeping you rooted in place when all you wanted was the male across the house. His shadows smelled like him and it did nothing to soothe your raging omega instincts. It’s not like you haven’t thought of Azriel like that before. That forest, smokey and downright mouthwatering smell that lingered on your skin for days after you would hug him.

The shadows at least let you have your hands. Which were doing absolutely nothing to help the cramps wracking through your body. You currently have two fingers buried inside of yourself. Slick coated your thighs and the blankets underneath you, but it still wasn’t enough. YOu tried your best to muffle your moans and cries of Azriel’s name. A small part of you was ashamed for even thinking of him but it was impossible to think clearly with the black wisps curled around your ankles and torso. The weight felt wrong. Your body is crying out for a different weight, a warmer weight that wouldn’t be coming. Neither would you apparently. No matter how hard or fast you fucked yourself on your fingers, it still isn’t enough. Fuck it. You were about to crawl out of your nest and beg Azriel to help but the shadows wouldn’t let you move. Tears leaked out of your eyes as you struggled against them.

Just when you were about to give up, you felt one of the shadows brush across your wrist. Settling around your skin in a way that pressed your hand further inside of yourself. Then the pressure was gone, letting your hand slip back out. It happened two more times before you realized what was happening. His shadows were helping you. And it worked for a little. That peak became a little bit closer to your grasp but it slipped away again. Your body all but screaming for Azriel. Having his shadows wasn’t a replacement for the real thing.

You were writhing in pain less than an hour later. The shadows had let up enough to let you pad off to the bathroom, helping you draw the coldest bath the house would allow for. Again, it helped only for a moment before the water felt too heavy on your skin. You tried to get out, body feeling so weak that you just slumped back down into the half filled tub. Your arms were shaking with how badly your whole body was hurting. You could only pull your knees tight against your chest as sobs started to slip from your mouth. You rubbed at the gland on the side of your neck, itchy and tight. If you had any more energy you would have been shocked with how raised the skin was. But you could only sob harder as you scratched at your mating gland.

A heat had never hurt this badly before. You had been alive for half a century, this was far from your first time alone. You couldn’t place just what exactly was different this time but something was. A small knock from your door had you flinching.

“Sweetheart. It’s me.” Azriel’s voice called from the other side of the door. Your body almost buzzed in excitement before horror washed over you. His voice was tight. Signaling that he didn’t want to be here. Why was he here? It was then that you noted none of the familiar shadows were in the room. They must have gone to get him when you failed to get out of the tub. Something that had a small part of you preening. Alpha’ here to take care of us. That small voice in your head purred. But he wasn’t your alpha. Wanted nothing to do with you in that way. Another sob slipped past your lips that had him knocking on the door again. You didn’t answer. More content with sitting in the tub then having to face him. Another moment went by and you heard the door click open.

The smell from his shadows had been bad but him standing in the doorway was a new level of hell. You tried to scramble to the other side of the giant tub, desperate to put any space between the two of you.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m just going to help you get out. Is that okay?” He paused, hands outstretched towards you. You ran your eyes up and down his tall frame and tried to remember how to speak. You could only nod, not trusting your voice. Azriel picked up a towel that was on the ground and approached the tub. When he picked you up, he made sure that none of your skin touched. He was so repulsed by you that he didn’t even glance at your nakedness. You knew he didn’t feel that way about you but it hurt something inside of you to see him not even react. He was an alpha, he should at least have a little reaction to an omega in heat. Regardless of how he felt about you.

You tried to blink back the tears but you were in too much pain to stop them. You just wanted to sleep. Just wanted to be wrapped in his arms. You felt the slight fan of air from his wings as they flapped anxiously behind him. He deposited you back into your nest, carefully wrapping the towel around you to keep you covered. You expected him to run out of the room after but he was lingering at the edge of your bed. Watching as you buried yourself into the blankets.

“You don’t have to stay. Az. I know you don’t want to be here.” You sniffled, instantly kicking yourself for how pathetic you sounded. His wings twitched again.

“What do you mean, princess?”

“I know you don’t want to be here right now. So just go. Thank you for helping me”

He froze. And for the first time you looked at him. His eyebrows pulled together, making his forehead wrinkle slightly. His cheeks were slightly flushed and you continued looking down. You sucked in a breath as you realized he was rock hard. You couldn’t force your eyes to look away. Not even as he spoke.

“I thought you didn’t want me.” His words were tight. “Until my shadows started telling me every detail. Reporting back to me how sweetly you were calling my name. They were telling me how good you smelled, how wet you were for me.” His voice dropped an octave and it had your skin flushing. You didn’t have a response.

“Do you want me to help you, omega?” You had to be dreaming. You must have fallen asleep or maybe you hit your head while you were trying to get out of the tub and this was a hallucination. Either way, you knew it couldn’t be real. Azriel wasn’t here in your room, inches from your nest offering to help you with your heat.

“Omega?” The word was sharper this time and had you answering before you could think.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes I want you to help me, alpha.” And he was all over you then. His lips caught yours and you could have sobbed in relief. His hands chased away the scorching heat that trailed over your skin. But did nothing to help the emptiness you felt between your legs. He nipped at your bottom lip, teeth digging in in a way that had your back arching off of the bed. His scarred hands snaked up to rest on your breast. A hand going up to squeeze your nipple. You moaned his name and he pulled away from you, panting.

“I’m going to ask you one more time. Do you want me? Saw the word and I’ll walk away.”

A twinge of panic rushed through you at the idea of him leaving. So you didn't answer, only reached out for the collar of his shirt and pulled him back to you. You flipped him onto his back and crawled into his lap.

“Yes. Yes. I’ve wanted this for so long.” You were trailing kisses over his collarbone. You started undoing the buttons on his shirt, kissing each inch of newly exposed skin until he was pulling the shirt off the rest of the way. He lifted you with one hand as you helped him slide off his pants. Not caring where they ended up as you saw his cock smack against his abs. Your mouth watered at the sight, slick dripping down your leg. He was perfect. Thick and long, a slight curve. And at the base you could already see the thicker red skin of his knot.

You didn’t waste any time before you took him in your hand, lifting your hips up to guide him to your entrance.

“Need to stretch you out first.” He gritted, a hand on your hip stilling your motion.

“No. Need you now. Want your knot, alpha.” You whined, your free hand trying to bat the hand on your hip away. You didn’t understand why he wasn’t letting you sink down. You felt so empty. So close to what you wanted and he wasn’t going to let you have it.

“I’m yours.” He said as he locked eyes with you. His hand didn’t leave but the force behind it was gone. Letting you, finally, fill yourself up with him. Your brain had stopped working. All thoughts are gone from your mind except for how perfect he felt inside of you. You chased away the last of the cramps as you started to ride him. Rocking your hips back and forth against him. A string of curses and garbled versions of his name left your lips as he tangled a hand into your hair, pulling your head back. His tongue lightly swiped over your scent gland and you exploded around him. Your orgasm leaves you seeing stars. That didn’t stop either of you. In one motion he had you pushed onto your hands and knees. The impact cushioned by the plush blankets underneath you. His thrusts were ruthless. The room filled with the sound of your bodies colliding with each other. Slick was still leaking down your leg as he wrapped your hair around his hand, pulling your back against his chest. His free hand trailed between your legs, rubbing circles on your clit until you were bucking into him. His lips were all over your neck until they landed near your ear.

“Look at how perfectly you take my cock. Think of how good you’ll take my knot.” You whined and he nipped at your earlobe. “Do you like the idea of that? Me filling you up until you're round with my kids?”

“Yes. Fuck. Wanna be full of you alpha.” You screamed for him. You could already feel your second orgasm rushing toward you, having no moment to come down. You could feel the edges of his knot started to catch on each thrust. You were about to beg for more, for him to fuck you harder, but a sharp feeling on your neck had you freezing in place. Not the right side of your neck, not the one that would bind you two together. Not the side you wanted him to bite.

“Mark me, alpha. Want you. Bite me. Please. Az. Please.” You babbled. Tears streaming down your face again, but this time because you wanted him so badly. He was right there but it wasn’t enough. You wanted him permanently. Wanted your scents to fill the room, wrapped together.

“Want me to mark this pretty neck, sweet omega?” You shook your head, crying out your pleas. He growled, the sound rattling your body.

“Fuck. Just a little longer. Gonna cum with me?” You would have done anything he said at this moment. His knot almost locking you in place now. He was close and you could only moan and whimper as you felt it stretching you with every thrust. A few more well timed pushes of his hips and you fell apart. Right at the same time you felt him filling you up. The same moment you felt his teeth latch into the right side of your neck. Your vision blurred as tears sprung in your eyes again. The feeling so perfect that you barreled straight into your third orgasm. His mouth was clamped onto your shoulder, tongue soothing the bleeding skin. He rocked his hips back and forth as much as the knot would allow. You swore you could feel him pushing his cum further into you.

You reached back and pulled Azriel off of your neck, joining your lips. You could taste your blood on his lips but you didn’t care. Didn’t care about anything else as you pulled him closer to you, tried to turn your body towards him as much as your current position would allow for.

The tow of you stayed like that until his knot went down. Until he was pulling out of you. You felt his cum drip down your leg and whimpered at the feeling of losing it.

Azriel only kissed your forehead, kissed down the path the tears had left on your face. He kept kissing down past your collarbone, your chest, until strong hands were pushing you to lay down for him. He placed sucking kisses to your plush thighs, down your legs and back up. This time his tongue collecting the trails of slick that coated your thighs. All the way until he got to your dripping cunt. You were about to say something to him, about to plead for him to hurry up when he licked a long stripe through your folds. Your hands shot to the back of his head as his tongue darted into your opening. Pushing his cum back into you.

“Alpha.” You cried out. Eyes screwed closed as you felt wave after wave of pleasure coarse through you. There was something else there, some new edge of desire that had you reeling. You could feel his own heightened emotions. Arousal leaked off of him as he reached down to stroke his cock. He moaned into your folds, making your back arch off of the bed as you started to ride his face. He took every thrust perfectly. Not missing a beat as you used him to get off. Loud noises of your slick filling the room as you ate you out like a man starved. It was eventually too much, you were teetering from the edge again and knew it wouldn’t be enough. You needed him inside you again.

You pulled him off of you, a motion that had him growling until you parted your legs for him. It took him no time at all to cage you in, arms on either side of your head. You wrapped your hand around his leaking cock and guided him to your entrance. He pushed in so slowly you were a writhing mess underneath him as he sheathed himself full inside of you. HIs own moans matching yours as he threw his head back. Eyes squeezed closed as he started to move again. You went to wrap your legs around his waist before he stopped you, wrapping a hand around your knee to push it up against your chest. You didn;t think it was possible for him to go deeper but as he threw your foot over your shoulder you swore your vision blacked out at the pleasure. You couldn’t move. Only take everything he gave you. Each punished thrust of his hips against yours and you mewling against him. He took his time, long strong thrusts that had you clenching around him. Your nails clawed at his back, searching for any purchase against the torturous pace he set.

“Good omega. Being so good for me. Can you take my knot again?”

Your voice was long gone, hoarse from the screams and cries of pleasure so you could only nod, could only dig your nails into him harder to show him your agreement. He grabbed your other knee and pressed it against your chest, pulling you into a mating press that had you gasping for breath around the pleasure. You didn’t think you could cum again, but Azriel’s long strokes had you writhing underneath him. Begging for more.

“Gonna fill you up again.” He growled in your ear. And then his knot caught again. The feeling pulling shudders from your body. A soft cry escaped your mouth as you came again. Not as hard as the first times but enough that it felt you panting underneath him. Clawing at his hair to bring his lips to yours again.

Once both of you had calmed down a touch, he rolled the two of you over so you were on your side, legs tucked in behind yours perfectly. A part of you preened at the way he fit so well behind you, the way the two of you seemed to fit together. LIke you were made for each other.

“I think we very well are.” He said into your ear, so close that his breath on your neck made you shudder. You didn’t think you had said the words out loud but all questions left your mind as he starting trailing kisses on the back of your neck, along the angry red skin of your newly marked mating gland. And that little press of his tongue, the way your scents filled the room. Not two scents anymore but one perfectly blended thing. It was that fact that had you drifting off to sleep in his arms. Heat perfectly quelled for the time being.

tag list: @ninthcircleofprythian @nocasdatsgay @sarawritestories @readychilledwine @milswrites @daycourtofficial @tsunami-of-tears

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ohmyeyesmyeyes · 10 months

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change my mind - ln4

summary: inspired by 1D's song of the same title - are we friends or are we more?

warnings: f!reader, hints at anxiety and insomnia, that vegas crash, angst, miscommunication (it gets solved dw), swearing, maybe a little bit of awkwardness, fluff. also feel like it drops off towards the end so i might have to come back and edit it at some point

word count: 9.7k

Since the crash it felt as though you’d been holding your breath. Right from when the camera on the straight seemed to jolt from an unexpected impact; on the way to the medical centre; in the car to the hospital. In fact, it only felt like you’d released that breath when Lando had given you the key to his hotel room and you’d shut it behind you.

Then, and only then, it felt like you could breathe.

Your head thudded against the door, the view of The Strip visible even from where you were stood – the neon lights were difficult to miss in the night, even more so when the entire room was still shrouded in darkness. You inhaled through your nose, ensuring to fill your lungs with some much needed air, before breathing it out through your mouth.

Your heart was still racing, something squeezing in your chest, and the exhaustion seemed to blanket you in that very moment, your brain constantly replaying the sounds and the mangled sight of his car. It seemed intent, however, on showing you flickers of his face as he’d climbed out of the Medical Car, trying not to wince at the ache in his bones as his Dad pressed him into a hug or as any part of him made contact with the hospital bed.

In all honesty, you didn’t think you’d ever been so anxious before. Those paralysing seconds where the only thing heard on the radio was static just seemed to have occurred so long ago, but that one moment seemed to cement the dread poured into your chest from then on.

Until now, until he’d given you the key to his room, until your eyes seemed to find all the McLaren paraphernalia and kit thrown carelessly over the back of chairs, on hooks, folded neatly inside a suitcase. Then all of the tension you’d harboured, not wanting to overstep or interrupt the medical exams just to ask him if he was okay, to hold his hand – you weren’t even sure if the latter was for his sake or yours.

You sighed, pushing yourself off the door and flicking on the lights. The mess was even worse in the light, and it wasn’t just limited to McLaren merch – there were undies and socks (it was unclear if they were clean, and you weren’t about to figure that out) scattered about, random pairings of t-shirts and joggers near the open suitcase, but not in it.

You rolled your eyes, putting your bag on the desk, and reaching for the TV remote to switch on the F1 TV channel as background noise. You didn’t really know why he’d given you his key, but you supposed it could have had something to do with the look on your face, or how your hands had been a little shaky, or how you’d barely spoken a word to him – not for lack of him trying or anything: Lando had actively tried to ask you questions, but with all the medical staff and McLaren members surrounding him, that task had been a little difficult.

And the first thing that had sprung to mind when you’d stepped into the lift up to his room was to run him a bath because after that rather bruising session, it was probably the best soother, but now that you’d been faced with this absolute calamity (you’d seen teenage boys’ rooms tidier than this), you weren’t entirely sure how you could not at least help him pack – to an extent.

Clearing the space off the floors and making sure he slept in a bed not made out of his own clothes was a start.

You shrugged off your jacket and hung it on the back of the door before stepping over some clothes and opening the bathroom door. You’d prepared to be met with more remnants of a burgled wardrobe, but contrary to the living space, there was nothing in the bathroom except a Spider-Man wash bag – potions and lotions neatly stacked inside.

There were some bottles in the corner shelf in the tub, the hotel logo branded on the front, and after running the tap until the water started to get warmer, you put in the plug and poured in some foam before returning back to the living space.

Your eyes immediately seemed to zip to the TV above the desk, Ted Kravitz wandering down the paddock talking to someone holding a framed photo of…Valterri’s bum. You blinked, automatically moving to the kettle and flicking the switch on.

Coffee was a must for you to stay awake longer.

And it was then that you started to pick up some clothing off his floor, collating the articles on top of his bed and you’d made it through three quarters of the entire pile when the buzzer for the lock on the door went off.

It was Lando. Decked in a jacket definitely not his own, with the way it seemed to dwarf him: the sleeves had been haphazardly pushed up his forearms, probably to make use of his hands, and the body of the jacket hung past his hips.

When he turned to face the room after locking the door behind him, his eyes seemed to stick first on the empty floor before trailing to you, something soft. He had bags under his eyes, and you could tell he’d been wearing headphones in the meeting because his hair had flattened slightly in the middle.

You didn’t move from where you’d sat, but from the unreadable expression on his face and the way he seemed to hesitate, it had you questioning whether he’d intended for you to still be in his room when he came back – but then he wouldn’t have given you the key, surely?

His lips twitched, and that second-guessing seemed to vanish completely at his lame attempt to smile for you – even though it was clearly forced with the entire whirlwind of the entire race, but there was a hint of authenticity because of the softness in his eyes, and without even meaning to, you felt a smile begin to creep on your own face.

At that, he seemed to gain movement in his legs, and made his way to the desk, head snapping up to the TV for a brief second, before shedding the jacket and putting his key down.

It was his sluggish movements that seemed to have that knot of anxiety punching its way through your stomach once more (it had dwindled somewhat when he’d walked through the door), and you inhaled somewhat sharply, “Are you okay?”

It was the first word you’d spoken out loud, and the roughness of your voice seemed to shock both of you, because you blinked, and he spun on his heel, eyebrows raising. You felt yourself wince, and you swallowed out of instinct–

“Just a bit achy–Can you stand up a second, I just–” He sighed, cutting himself off and stepping forwards.

You furrowed your brows, placing the shirt in your hands on the bed, and doing as he said, and it was barely a second when–

Oh.

He’d almost instantly tugged you into him, his arms settling across your shoulders, his chin tucked against your temple. He was warm and soft, even despite the hard ridges you knew existed under his fireproof shirt. Something felt off, though, and it was with a hurried hum that you realised you hadn’t reciprocated it.

It was a bit of a shock, being hugged by Lando so tightly, so close. Even more so because neither of you had ever really touched before; there’d been the odd shoulder brush when you’d been standing next to each other, the odd purposeful hand touch when one of you had slapped the other’s out of the way – but it had never been this: his chin touching your temple and his hands strong across your back and shoulders, pulling you as close to him as he could manage.

And then you seemed to regain sense in your arms because you automatically seemed to reach one arm across his back and the other slung across his waist, head tilting a little upwards to somewhat nestle itself into the crook of his neck.

If you were being honest, hugs weren’t usually your kind of thing, but you could tolerate (a tad of an understatement) it from Lando, even in his post-three-lap-stint and slight stench of sweat.

You stayed like that for a while, the knot in your chest easing gradually now you’d got your hands on him, and by the time he spoke up, disrupting the peace that you’d managed to find, you felt like you had to blink yourself awake, “Feel better now. I’m sorry I ruined your first race.” He mumbled, stomach tensing as he spoke.

You took a moment, “You didn’t ruin it–”

“I did.”

You pulled yourself away from him, but almost like he’d practised it, his hands clasped onto yours, preventing you from moving too far away, and he brought them up to around shoulder height between you both, his fingers twiddling with yours to distract himself, “Well, then, I forgive you.” You shrugged.

His hands were slightly rough to touch, and a little colder than yours, and you tried not to let the absentminded way he was playing with your hands cloud your brain because it was distracting, especially with the way his thumb seemed intent on stroking repetitive patterns across the back of your hand. Not to mention the way his eyes seemed to flit between your mouth and your eyes, as though he wanted to watch you speak and commit it to his memory, as you spoke.

It sent your blood thrumming a little.

He nodded slowly, as though he was digesting your words, but he took too long to say something else so you said the other thing that had been on the tip of your tongue, “I’d have lost interest in it anyway, ‘cos you weren’t driving.”

He smirked at that, “No you wouldn’t have.”

He was right – to an extent. The only positive about the Vegas track was that the drivers were racing in the Championship and sport you’d been following closely for years. But other than the investment in the championship, that was about where your interest in that specific race ended – with Lando’s crash.

“Well, I’d have rather gone with you than sit in your garage without you on-site.” You admitted, honesty dripping from every word, “Especially because I probably wouldn’t have known if you were okay if I stayed.”

He swallowed, your eyes unconsciously watching his throat bob, “How come?”

You pulled your joined hands down, shrugging and avoiding eye contact in order to actually gain the courage to say what had immediately come to mind.

Why was it so difficult for you to actually say what you felt? God forbid you actually want to let him know what he meant.

“You’re important and I care about you.” You rushed out, chewing the inside of your cheek nervously.

When he didn’t say anything you pulled your hands out of his and were about to change the entire conversation back to the bath you’d run him when his eyes crinkled out of the corner of your eyes. He had one of those cheeky smiles on his face, like he was aware he probably shouldn’t have been smiling like that at that moment in time, but thinking that only seemed to make him worse. And when you fully turned to look at him again, you were struck with the thought that you’d never known anyone to smile with their entire being like Lando Norris seemed to do unfailingly and everyday.

His happiness was just so infectious that it was part of the reason you liked him so much – but it also made you want to…protect it, you guessed. And when he stopped smiling earlier, after you’d been told to meet him in the medical centre, the world seemed to shake, because he was very rarely ever smiling.

He didn’t stop smiling, even when you looked straight at him, not impressed with his silence in the slightest and huffing to let him know.

“What?” You asked, one eyebrow raised and slightly self-conscious of what you were doing and wearing and what you probably looked like after the day you’d had.

He shrugged, shaking his head, smile never drooping one bit, “You care about me.”

It wasn’t a question, more so a statement of shock – repetition to drill it into his head.

You nodded, swallowing, slightly embarrassed at having to say it again, “Yeah.”

He nodded this time, pushing himself onto his tiptoes for a second, “I care about you too. You’re important to me.”

You won’t deny that your heart did a little skip at his words, or that your cheeks threatened to blossom with heat, or that hearing him say those words to you didn’t send your pulse spiralling a little out of control.

It was an unfamiliar feeling, being this vulnerable to someone not related to you. It was weird, but because of who it was and because of the circumstances, it felt oddly right.

“That’s nice.” You muttered, crossing your arms and avoiding looking at him.

You didn’t know what to do with yourself. It wasn’t as though he’d confessed his undying love for you or anything, but it was nice to hear. You knew where you stood with him.

“It is.” He agreed.

There was a beat of silence, and you took the liberty of changing the subject before it could get too awkward too quickly, “I ran you a hot bath, by the way. It felt like the right thing to do after….”

“Thank you.” His tone was a little sombre, but still every bit sincere. A cloud seemed to hang over the both of you for a second, “Sorry I didn’t get to talk to you when everything went–”

“You don’t have to keep apologising.” You breathed, sitting back down on the edge of the bed and resuming some folding to give yourself something to do.

“But I do–”

“Shut the fuck up.” You laughed a little, immediately dropping your expression to correct yourself, “With respect.”

Lando smiled a little at that, “If you insist, but–” You groaned, rolling your eyes, “I just want to check in and make sure I didn’t scare you, y’know, would you still come to another race?”

You blinked, “Course I would.”

There wasn’t really a doubt about it. The scare of the day had worn off in the span of your conversation, it was just that period of not knowing, and the fact that a TV screen didn’t do the cars justice in the speed. They went so much faster than you initially expected.

“Good.” Then, “Are you okay, though?”

“Yeah, it was just a lot, that’s all. Like, the impact, the broken car, then you were talking about everything that hurt but somehow you weren’t injured? I don’t know.” You sighed in resignation, “Do you ever get scared in the car?”

He seemed to think about it for a moment, “The day I get scared is the day I stop driving. Fear in the car makes you crazy.”

“What about when you lose control and you know you’re gonna crash out?”

You watched him closely as his throat bobbed and he slowly stepped over to the bathroom doorframe, leaning against it to look at you thoughtfully, “There’s definitely a moment where my heart sort of skips a beat, kind of like when you miss a step on the stairs, but the adrenalin doesn’t really let me get scared at that moment. It’s scary when I watch it back and realise if I’d have been a metre or so closer I might not be here. But I don’t like thinking about it if it doesn’t happen.”

You paused the folding, “When you said your heart does that skip, can you think or is your mind just blank?”

“Blank. It happens so fast. I know I have to move my hands, though, but I think that’s partly just instinct driven into us from when we were kids. I don’t really have to think about that, but–” He pulled a face, running a hand over his chest and huffing a laugh, “If it’s fast I’m thinking ‘fuck, this is gonna hurt’.”

That made you laugh.

Then he looked over his shoulder and you stood up, taking the hint.

“Wai–What’re you doing?” He stood up straight, watching as you made your way over to the desk to pick up your bag.

You pulled a face, pointing to the door, “I’m gonna go, and you’re gonna have a bath.”

“No.” He shook his head defiantly, walking over to you with a frown on his face.

You blinked, “Yes.”

“No.”

“I didn’t realise that when bathtime was mentioned that you’d stomp your foot and pout at me.” You smothered a smile behind your hand, eyes sparkling with amusement as Lando went to defend himself, only to realise that he had in fact reverted to pouting (as far as an adult man could when sulking).

“No.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I thought you might stay over tonight?”

You froze. Then promptly unfroze, “Why?”

“For a sleepover, I don’t know.” He shrugged.

“I don’t think—” You halted, taking in the way his face seemed to fall slightly, “Do you want me to stay?”

You didn’t not want to. You’d admit that much to yourself. The idea of sharing a bed with someone you trusted platonically and had a crush on was about as appealing as the guaranteed night of uninterrupted sleep (that didn’t run the risk of being crushed, someone breathing heavily in your ear, or someone talking in their sleep).

The corner of his mouth twitched as he tilted his head, “I’d like for you to stay, but I want you to say you want to stay because you want to, not just because I want you to and you feel obligated to stay.”

You took another step forward, about to say yes, before he interrupted again.

“Um–” His voice was slightly high in pitch, a sure sign that he’d begun to panic slightly, but before you let him succumb to (clear) disappointment (it did wonders for your ego) and potentially embarrass himself, you cut over him.

“I’m gonna go get my PJ’s–” he grinned, “and then I’ll come back here–” began taking off the legs of his racing suit, “for a sleepover, or whatever, sound good?”

“Sounds incredible, darling.” He winked, throwing you a charming smirk that had you standing in the doorway (for longer than what was probably deemed appropriate to gather yourself), and he turned into the bathroom, disappearing from sight.

***

Walking back into Lando’s room with wet hair, a clean face, the PJ’s you’d packed (not expecting a sleepover), your current book, and a hotel robe, all felt very intimate. It might have had something to do with the fact that you knew he’d also be freshly washed with wet hair and wearing his PJ’s and in bed — waiting for you.

And when you rounded the corner after buzzing yourself in, Lando was sitting against the headboard, one arm slung over the top of his head and his other hand clutching his phone. He must have been anticipating your arrival if the way he threw his phone further down the covers was any indication, and the way he smiled at you, dimples on show and everything, had you turning to avoid looking at him and hanging the robe over the back of the bathroom door.

The boy is too cute.

“Fancy seeing you here.” He grinned, unconsciously rubbing a palm down his arm and still maintaining a mischievous smile.

“It’s almost like we planned it.” You threw over your shoulder before climbing onto the bed.

He breathed a laugh, “Almost. Cute PJ’s, by the way.” He trailed his eyes meaningfully down your figure as you threw the duvet over yourself, getting comfy.

You’d not packed sexy PJ’s by any means. In fact, you hardly owned a proper pair of pyjamas, and rather just threw on a random t-shirt with whatever bottoms were comfiest and warmest, hence the fact you’d packed a pair of faux-boxer shorts and were wearing a Quadrant Bleach tee that Ria had given you a while ago.

“Rumour has it you couldn’t decide what merch to give me so Ria took it into her own hands.” You gestured to your shirt, smiling rather pointedly in his direction. He squirmed a little, and it was then, as he curled in on himself slightly, that the duvet fell around his torso from where it had been pulled right up to his chin to keep a draught out.

He was fucking shirtless. And when that seemed to register in your head and through your eyes, you were squirming. His pecs, bronze skin and moles were on view and you suddenly had no clue how to act.

Luckily for you, Lando seemed to have the same problem for whatever reason.

“Yeah. I had one of pretty much everything lined up for you, but it wouldn’t have been ‘financially viable’ apparently.”

Oh. You felt your brows shoot up in pleasant surprise.

“I didn’t know that.”

“That was the point.” Lando said, rather self-deprecating, “It looks good on you, though.”

A ‘thank you’ was on the tip of your tongue, but before it could slip out, your brain seemed to take on another direction, one much bolder than what was characteristic of you, “I don’t know, I think LN4 stuff’d look nicer.”

It shocked him as much as it shocked you — that much you could tell by the way that his eyebrows seemed to disappear under the damp curls that had hung across his forehead from where he’d clearly initially combed them backwards. His mouth seemed to drop a little, and his cheeks reddened.

But you barely had time to school your own face into one of confidence to fully own what you just said before he was spurting words out himself.

“Wanna test that theory?”

And he was climbing out of bed before you could even utter a word of protest.

You’d never been so thankful that he didn’t have eyes at the back of his head because when he took a step away from the bed, clad in nothing but black boxer briefs that clung almost maddeningly to his thighs, you practically had a heart attack. It was hard to rip your eyes away, if you were being honest.

But the very second he turned back to face you, throwing a long-sleeved tee in your direction, you somehow managed to look at him without even a smidge of blush on your face or without wearing an expression that assembled one of sheer awe.

Then you blinked and the t-shirt was hitting you in the face. It was a black 100 Race one.

A new one.

And because it hit you in the face the first thing you noticed was the smell. Now, Lando Norris was not a smelly person, at all. In fact, that t-shirt smelled so unfairly divine that you wanted to eat it. Melt it into a smoothie and drink it. In a normal way.

You had it in your hands and were looking pointedly at Lando for about seven seconds until he got the hint to turn around and close his eyes.

In return for his previous goodwill, you threw the Quadrant shirt at his back and climbed out of bed to assess it in the mirror. It was a slightly smaller fit than the other t-shirt, so it didn’t hang past your hips, or over your hands like you’d expected.

Oddly enough, it was almost a perfect fit.

Lando walked into the background of the mirror, catching your eye as he nodded appreciatively.

“Better than Bleach?” You asked, pushing the sleeves up to your elbow before climbing back under the covers.

His answer was him folding the Bleach t-shirt neatly and placing it on the desk.

“Way better.”

There wasn’t anything said for a while after that. Lando got back under the covers, snuggling down into his pillow and browsing through his phone, while you opened your book and kept your bedside light on to read for a while.

Until Lando seemingly couldn’t take the silence and turned his phone off, rolling towards the middle of the bed on his front and looking up at you.

He was content on letting you read for a while, eyes fluttering shut every now and again as though he was trying to fight sleep, when he muttered something under his breath.

“Sorry?” You bent your head, finishing reading the sentence before turning to see him blinking slowly, lashes kissing his cheeks as he rested his face against his elbow.

“Do you read every night?” He repeated, not in the least bit offended you weren’t paying him attention.

You hummed, nodding, slouching further into the mattress.

“How come?” He asked, fingers stretching to gently twiddle a small section of your hair before dropping it.

“I have trouble sleeping sometimes, and reading helps.”

“How?”

You shrugged, “It gets my brain to shut up.”

“Does anything else help?” He mumbled, eyebrow twitching.

You wanted to say yes. That some other things could help, but for one, you didn’t have the results to back up that claim, and two, you weren’t about to suggest trying it to Lando.

“I don’t think so.”

Lando hummed and didn’t say anything else, giving you the opportunity to switch off your bedside lamp, shrouding the whole room in darkness. Despite the coolness of the Vegas nights, the heat of another body under a duvet was enough to send your skin tingling with goosebumps and bury yourself deeper under the covers.

A gentle tugging on your hair once you’d settled was what had your eyes opening.

You hadn’t really been trying to sleep, per se, but Lando hadn’t so much as moved a muscle since you’d switched off the light, and his silence had you assuming he’d been trying to sleep, at least until his fingers had delicately begun twisting your damp hair.

If you hadn’t found it so shocking, it would have been soothing.

It took a while for your eyes to adjust, but once they did, all you could make out was the faint outline of Lando’s head and the gleam of his eyes from the light from The Strip.

Your eyes immediately scrunched shut, unable to tell if he thought you were asleep.

Then—“pretty” he breathed, your heart stuttering wildly in your chest.

He thought you were sleeping.

And he stopped twirling your hair, nestling his cheek into the pillow.

***

You woke up early and with Lando’s arm slung lazily across your waist, one of his legs stuck across yours. You froze momentarily, not having any recollection of exactly when you’d both ended up with him half draped over you, but considering you couldn’t remember much after hearing his whisper, you assumed you must have just gone right to sleep.

Which meant this happened in the night.

You tilted your head fractionally, eyes slipping over to where Lando was now on his stomach, cheek squished right into the pillow and a crease between his brows.

And then that short moment was interrupted by something uncomfortably occurring in your chest.

Your free hand (the other was sandwiched between your hip and Lando’s, nicely toasty of you did say so yourself) blindly reached for your bedside table, scrabbling at an uncomfortable angle until you found your phone. It took a while to manage to slide it across the wood for you to pick it up, and you groaned at the time displayed on the screen.

08:31.

You didn’t need to leave for the airport for another twelve hours, and had already mostly packed in your room. The only issue apart from your current predicament was the rumbling of your stomach, prompting some encouragement to get out of bed.

Which you absolutely did not want to do.

It was warm and you were being cuddled by a sleepy Lando, you weren’t about to risk waking him up. Even though it was your first race, you knew how exhausted he usually was the day after.

So you opted for scrolling on your phone, not before removing your hand from between you both and instead using it to hold the forearm he’d thrown over your waist.

The hotel corridors started to get a little noisier, doors shutting and opening, footsteps thumping, at around half nine/ten o’clock.

It must have been the neighbouring slam of the door that had Lando jolting awake — jumping as though he’d been thrown down the stairs in a dream. You stifled a laugh, trying not to smile at his rapid blinking, until his eyes settled on you, brows accusatory when he realised you were on the brink of laughing at him.

He groaned, slamming his face back onto the pillow and yawning, his arm briefly tensing as he stretched.

“How long have you been awake?” He mumbled, tilting his head so as to not muffle his words against the pillow.

“About an hour.”

He frowned, removing his arm from your hold and flipping himself onto his back, yawning, “How come you didn’t wake me up?”

You blinked, “Because it was half eight and you were asleep.”

He nodded, scratching the back of his head, “You hungry?”

“Yeah. You want to get breakfast downstairs, or–”

“Room service is good with me.”

Lando turned to hide his smile as he reached for the phone. Selfishly he wanted to stay in bed longer – the outside world was chilly – and there was the added bonus that you were there. Obviously he’d want more time with just the two of you, because outside this room, you guys barely got time for a conversation without being interrupted.

That was excluding the scheduled takeaways you both had every time he was back in town (it had started out as a joke because you were both so busy and no one seemed to be able to decide on specific dates, so you’d taken it into your own hands and…here you were), and he suspected that was when the more serious feelings started.

So, no, he’d rather not go downstairs where other people would interrupt and he’d barely get to talk to you.

“D’you know what you–What’re you doing?” He furrowed his brows,, about to hand you the menu when he stopped short of everything and watched you wander over to the front of the room.

Out of bed. Wearing his shirt.

Looking fucking incredible.

And he was thinking he could probably get used to this.

But his brain was going haywire because he didn’t want you to leave.

You said nothing, which did virtually nothing to ease his sense of panic, until you held up the TV remote, running a tired hand through your hair before tiptoeing back to the bed and sliding back under the covers like you belonged there.

“No.” You hummed, taking the menu from him and simultaneously flicking through the TV guide for something to watch.

“Did you sleep okay last night?” He found himself asking, noting the still-sleepy look about you – but not necessarily the bad kind of sleepy. You looked well-rested with rosy cheeks and bright eyes.

Pretty.

“Yeah. It was cosy.” You flashed him a warm smile, eye contact brief before going back to the menu, “What about you?”

“I’ll probably just have pancakes–”

“No,” you breathed a laugh, “Did you sleep well?”

Oh. He could feel his cheeks redden at the mistake, and nodded. In truth, he didn’t think he’d ever slept so well, even despite being a small bundle of nerves from the mere knowledge that you’d actually changed your mind and said yes to a sleepover, and the fact that you were less than three feet away. That was ignoring when he’d woken up to find out you’d been awake for so long and not wanted to wake him up or move him from where he’d (rather sheepishly) managed to hug you in his sleep.

“Cosy.” Was all he said, taking the menu back from you, “What’ll it be for you?”

“Pancakes, too, please.” You grinned at him, turning back to the TV.

He nodded, numbly reaching for the phone on his bedside table and rattling off the order, making sure to add in a glasses of milk and orange juice to accompany it.

When he’d finished and turned back to the TV, to you, there was a question written on your face as you pointed to the TV.

The Hangover.

“When in Vegas, right?” You asked, raising a brow and awaiting his answer.

He’d seen that movie a million times, had even watched it on Thursday (he’d never tell you that), but there was something about the hope and excitement written on your face that had him nodding along, not wanting to disappoint you this early in the morning.

God, he felt so bad when he crashed yesterday.

Not only had he ruined the race experience for you, but he’d worried you. You hadn’t even needed to say anything after the whole debacle (he hadn’t actually given you a real answer when you’d asked him why he wanted you to come with him to the hospital and whatever) for him to read it on your face.

He’d had every intention of whispering reassurances and holding your hand or doing something to have you closer than the edges of a constant small crowd, but he’d been strapped down and people had been talking over each other, and he just hadn’t had the chance.

Until the car ride back to the paddock. Sure, Jon was sitting next to him, but he’d kindly and rather respectfully chosen to ring Zak and give him an update, and then Lando took that brief moment of opportunity to hold your hand. He didn’t say anything, but almost as soon as his hand had touched yours he felt better – lighter. And he noticed that the weight on your shoulders and the crease between your brow lessened.

He sighed wistfully, tuning back into the film, but it was barely five minutes later when there was a knock on the door.

Room service.

He stopped you from moving, taking it upon himself to answer the door (he couldn’t tell if he was imagining it or not, but he swore he could feel your eyes on him as he walked past the end of the bed).

He cracked the door open, eyes on the floor where he expected the tray to be, only to look down and see a pair of trainers that most definitely belonged to Max.

His eyes shot up, and he hid himself behind the door, careful of you back around the corner, but wanting to shield himself from any passerbyers in the corridor – a photo of him answering the door in nothing but his undies would be pretty embarrassing – and glared at his friend, confusion clearly evident on his face.

Max was grinning like a madman, trying and failing to sneak a look behind Lando, “So?” He whispered, and Lando felt himself already getting irritated at the clear insinuation of that one singular word.

“No.” He answered, closing his eyes briefly and resting his temple against the door.

Max was quiet, “No.” He repeated, an element of disbelief etched on his face.

“No.” Lando groaned quietly, “Is that all?”

“No.” Max hissed, “Why not?”

Lando felt himself shrug, “Didn’t come up.”

Max blinked, rather frustrated, “You were supposed to make it come up.”

“Well I didn’t.”

“Clearly.” Max folded his arms across his chest and Lando rolled his eyes, “How come you’re only wearing your boxers?”

Lando looked down, brows furrowing, “What’s wrong with boxers?”

“The lack of other clothes? You always wear PJ’s.” Lando watched as the penny dropped in Max’s head, his eyes widening and his mouth forming an ‘o’ shape. Then he frowned, “Show off.”

Lando shook his head, “And what about it? I just wanted to be sure.”

“And are you?”

Lando chose not to say anything, just threw a cautious look behind his shoulder – one which prompted Max to jump to his reassurances.

“She does, okay?” He whispered softly, a pitiful look on his face, “I know that because of the way she looks at you when you’re not looking. She cares about you, man.” There was a pause, and Lando was too nervous to even look straight at Max, so he chose to focus on a spot above his head, completely missing the way Max hesitated, “She told P.”

Lando felt his neck practically snap to look at Max, nervousness completely abolished. His heart started thrumming with anticipation and the only thing he was capable of doing was staring so hard at Max the man’s skin prickled, “What?” Lando breathed, hoping he hadn’t just heard things in a mad craze.

Max screwed his eyes shut, shaking his head, “I shouldn’t be telling you this–”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Hagrid, but the situation is kinda dire here.” Lando cut in.

Max rolled his eyes, “Yeah, it’s kinda hard not to notice you’re a fucking chicken.”

“I’m on the brink of an anxiety attack.”

“Get a grip.” Max glared, half wanting to smack some sense into Lando and the other half wanting to laugh at the petrified look on his face.

“I can’t.” Lando threw the door open a little further out of frustration, hands going to grip Max’s shoulders in desperation.

Max breathed. He blinked. And then Lando thought he made an expression that looked as though he’d just suffered the most painful bout of trapped gas, “Don’t tell anyone–”

“Oh, thank fuck.”

“But P told me that they had a girls night with Ria, and they got to talking about guys, and P asked her if she had her eye on anyone and she got all blushy–”

“Get on with it.” Lando clenched his jaw, eyes darting down the corridor.

“I’m getting to it. Can she hear us? Actually, it doesn’t matter – but she got blushy and quiet and it turns out she’s liked you since we all went out for dinner the day after Silverstone, y’know, because she couldn’t go to the race, and you guys sat next to each other and she just liked you.”

(You could hear every word of what was being said.)

Lando felt his lips part in shock. Silverstone was towards the start of the season and there was one race left of the season.

July, August, September, October, November. You’d liked him for five months and hidden it from him that well? Since July? You guys could have been together-together since July?

Lando could feel his brain start to explode. His thoughts were getting louder–since July?–and Max’s face wasn’t doing anything to help it. If anything his big eyes were making it worse.

“Yeah, I know, it’s hard to believe.” Max muttered, and it seemed to snap Lando out of his shock-induced reverie.

“Oi.” Lando defended, “Did she say what made her like me?” He slowly took his hands off his friends shoulders.

Max nodded, “You talked to her the whole night. You were kind, funny, endearing, cute, nice to the waiter. Apparently she felt kind of bad you didn’t talk much to anyone else–”

“I didn’t talk to anyone else because I really liked her already.” Lando whispered, trying not to smile.

Max smirked, “Well, you need to tell her that, not me.”

Lando nodded, “Yeah. Bye.” And shut the door in Max’s face, taking a second to breathe and plant a small, non-suspicious-granting smile on his face before bounding around the corner to his side of the bed, flashing you a wider grin as he threw himself on the bed.

You swallowed, anxiety twirling in your stomach. You knew that telling P that stuff was likely to get back to Max, and then there was a chance that Max had told Lando – but you were shocked to find that Max had just chosen to hold onto that information out of loyalty to you. It warmed you, knowing you’d got a friend in Max, but it was also a little frustrating because you’d specifically been counting on P telling Max telling Lando. Maybe put a few feelers out.

And there was nothing reported back, so you just assumed Lando didn’t like you like that.

But he apparently did?

It was a tough thing to accept (a good thing to accept, you guessed), but not at all what you expected. You’d been planning for heartbreak (not that you'd planned to tell him), but now within the span of a two minute conversation, you had liberty to not expect disappointment.

And that was a little intimidating.

But Lando hadn’t stopped smiling since he’d put himself back on the bed, not bothering to get back under the covers considering it had been Max at the door, not room service–

“Who was it?” You asked, wanting to keep up the pretence of not having heard every word of their private conversation.

Lando hummed, one arm draped over his hair as he ripped his eyes away from the screen, “Sorry?”

He was looking at your mouth when you spoke, “Who was at the door?”

Then his eyes zipped to yours, “Just Max, he wanted to know if we were having breakfast downstairs. Sent him on his way.”

You nodded.

You could mention what you just heard, ask him if he remembered the dinner out. No, not subtle enough. He’d clock onto it immediately.

But you couldn’t just not say something.

Your hands darted out to fiddle with the edge of the duvet, where it was tucked around your torso. You weren’t even paying attention to the film anymore. You don’t know how long you let your mind run rings around your anxiety, but it was Lando’s hand creeping closer towards yours out of the corner of your eyes that had your head quietening. You watched him push his hand across the covers until it got within a centimetre of yours.

You could feel the warmth from his hand radiating on your skin, and his hesitation was clearly an opportunity for you to pull your hand away.

So you placed your palm on top of his upturned one. And he closed his fingers over your knuckles.

“You okay?” He asked softly.

You couldn’t look at him, but you could feel his concerned gaze burn against your cheek, “Yeah, just thinking.” You took a breath, looking up at him, “Do you ever wish we could have met earlier?”

He was nodding before you’d even finished talking, his entire face sincere in a way you didn’t think you’d ever seen, “All the time. I think meeting you earlier would have just made my life a lot easier.”

You tilted your head, squeezing his hand as you felt some colour rush to your cheeks, “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, “You make me feel calm, like, I look at you and I just feel better.”

He was looking at you like he was expecting you to say something back immediately, but your mind had gone blank.

So blank.

And then you felt his hand slowly slipping from your grip, his shoulders moving back to the centre of the bed from he’d leaned across to hold your hand, and you squeezed his hand, not wanting him to move away. You just needed a second to gather your thoughts.

“I need t–”

A knock at the door sounded.

Lando’s eyes darted from you to the door, back and forth, clearly torn. It wasn’t exactly a secret that you were about to say something serious – something that would change the entire dynamic of your relationship – but the interruption…

And at the thought of cold food after your stomach had been growling for the past hour, you made the decision for him. You unlaced your hands, pushing yourself off the bed and opening the door before you could change your mind or look at his face.

Neither of you said anything for the rest of breakfast, and nothing but an awkward, tense silence seemed to envelope the room.

The next time you saw him was when the group had decided to go for a last minute stroll, one of the stops being the shopping centre in the Venetian. Lando was walking with Max,;Ria with you behind them, and the rest of the group were trailing behind, occasionally laughing loudly. They were pretty raucous, and you and Ria were far enough behind Max and Lando that they couldn’t hear what you were talking about.

Ria had linked your arms, a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she pulled you closer after Lando had thrown another anxious glance over his shoulder to check on you, “Lando keeps checking you out.” She whispered.

You shook your head, momentarily biting the inside of your cheek, “He’s making sure I don’t run off.”

She frowned, looking back at Lando, who seemed to spin quickly after getting caught, “Why would you run off?”

You shrugged, trying not to think too much about it, “I overheard him and Max talking this morning about him liking me, and then Max told him about that night when we slept over at P’s place–”

“Yeah, because you wanted P to tell Max to tell Lando–” Ria nodded along.

“Exactly. Anyway, it turns out Max never told Lando, so since July, Lando’s been clueless about it all, and we had sort of a chat when he came back, and I was going to tell him–” Ria shot you a look, “I was, because if i didn’t tell him then, I never would’ve.” You groaned, “But then room service came and we haven’t talked since. But I think he knew I was going to say something, but–I don’t know.”

Ria seemed to think about it for a second, “He probably thinks you changed your mind.” She muttered.

You nodded, “I know, that’s the thing. I chickened out of telling him and then I thought he’d think I changed my mind, and then my brain seems to want to tell me that because he thinks I don’t like him anymore he won’t like me anymore, even though he’s not like that. At all. But now I can’t tell him because there’s people everywhere.”

Ria patted your arm, pulling out her phone, “Do you know what you’re gonna say to him?”

“No, I’m hoping it’ll come to me in the moment.” Even the thought of it sent a knot of anxiety plummeting in your stomach.

“Okay, this is what’s gonna happen: when we get to the shopping centre, everyone will want to go to the craziest shop they see first, okay? You say you want to get a drink first, and Max’ll get Lando to go with you.”

You nodded, “Okay.”

“I’ll text Max. You have to promise you’ll do it, though. Everyone needs to be put out of their misery.”

You raised a sceptical brow, “Everyone?”

She nodded, “Neither of you are subtle.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

As it happened, Ria’s theory was right. About seven people made an immediate beeline for the nearest shop with lights in the front and an array of weird things in the window (in all honesty, you were too nervous to even pay attention to what it was, it could have just been any high street shop).

You turned to Ria, “I’m gonna go get a coffee, I’ll meet you back here?”

She nodded, finding Max, who seemed to be on the lookout for her, and winked.

You took a deep breath, already beginning to walk away from the group. You’d all craned over a map on the way in so you knew vaguely which direction you were heading in, and when a hurried pair of footsteps jogged closer, your nerves seemed to only get worse.

Then Lando stepped next to you, and oddly enough, the anxiety you’d been holding onto all morning seemed to evaporate. And then it seemed to come crashing back in when you actually took in the expression on his face.

There was a slight downwards curve to his mouth, and his eyes were wide, brows furrowed. He looked a little frantic. And sad.

You wanted to drag your hand down his face and wipe it off.

In fact, you hated it so much that you stopped mid-step and grabbed his forearm without even thinking about it, “Is everything oka–”

“Are we still friends?” He breathed, eyes darting around your face.

You blinked, mouth parting at the loaded question. If you said yes you’d basically be rejecting him and that was the last thing you wanted to do; if you said no, you didn’t know what would happen. He could take it the wrong way and assume you didn’t want to be anything at all, but you were going to tell him – you had to, you promised Ria.

Even if it meant breaking his heart a little bit first, it’d have the best outcome.

You turned back around briefly, eyes scanning for a more private alcove, and dragged him to the nearest corridor, out of any possible stray eyes. It was a bit busy today, with the race last night–

You pushed him against the wall gently, hands wringing together. He slumped, clearly trying not to get too defeated by your silence after he’d spoken. But then his eyes dropped to your hands and he straightened, something unreadable on his face.

“I don’t want to still be friends.” You said, sighing and crossing your arms.

It was his turn to speak now. You seemed incapable of saying anything else at that moment.

He swallowed, brows furrowing. His face looked less despondent, so you took that as a win. He seemed to have been expecting you to say something like that (that was why he phrased the question in such a way!) because he pushed himself off the wall a little, “In what way?”

You rolled your eyes, “In an I like you way.”

“Romantically?” He took another step closer, a cheeky smile starting to curve at his mouth, and you said nothing at him.

Only this time it was of your own will.

He huffed a laugh, “I just need to hear you say it.”

“Romantically.”

It felt like a relief getting those words off your chest to the person you needed to say them to.

He seemed to think so too, because he grinned. Wider than he had before – like he had done last night, when he’d smiled with his entire being. His eyes crinkled in that way you adored, and his smile seemed ot reach his ears, “Thank fuck.” He breathed.

Then that was all he said.

You raised your brow, “Dude.” You encouraged, gesturing to him to go on.

He pulled a face, “Don’t ‘dude’ me.”

“You haven’t given me a reason not to ‘dude’ you.”

“I like you too, dickhead.” He grumbled, “A little less than before you called me ‘dude’, though.”

“I’m liking you less by the second.” You stated, trying not to laugh at the situation, “Romantically?” You checked, echoing his earlier question and also mocking it slightly.

“Romantically.” He clarified.

You both went silent, just drinking each other up in a way you hadn’t been able to five minutes ago. He looked gorgeous, as per usual. His hair was a little messier than it usually would be, probably a combination of the last-second plans and the fact that he wasn’t going to be showing his face on international TV. His face looked less restrained, like because he knew he didn’t have to hold back from looking at you everywhere, it was a weight lifted from his chest. His eyes were still smiling, glimmering a little, and his smile was softer – more secretive. His hands were flexing at his sides, as though he didn’t know what to do with them.

His hoodie hugged his shoulders, practically begging you to run your hands over them – but you didn’t. He looked snug, again, and before you could restrain yourself, you reached out and took one of his hands. His response was immediate, clasping his hand around yours and looking at you with a burning intensity. Only, you used your other hand to pull up his sleeve.

His forearm was tanned beautifully, veins completely visible. You’d never been allowed to just twist his arm around to your desire and simply look. You swallowed, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip and he caught it with his teeth.

You nudged your head closer, his nose softly bumping against your cheek.

Blood seemed to pump through your veins even faster than it already was. You could feel where you’d both stepped into each other, where his legs were pressed against yours, where your hands were still gripping, your other hand slipping off his forearm.

You could feel his breath tickle your cheek and your eyes fluttered shut briefly before snapping open. He was still looking at you, and in that split second he used the leverage of your conjoined hands to pull you even closer. You stumbled a little into him, tripping over his trainers, chests colliding. Your free hand slapped out to stop your falling, landing directly on top of his shoulder to brace yourself.

If anything, his little pull seemed to work because you were closer than before. All you had to do was lean closer–

“I want to kiss you but I want to take you on a date first.” He whispered, sucking the inside of his cheek nervously.

You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes, “Because you’re a gentleman.”

He nodded, leaning closer despite his words. His eyes seemed to be zeroed in on your lips, and your mouth curved into a smile almost instantly at that observation. Then he smiled, nodding, your foreheads touching, “Yeah.”

“What kind of gentleman would you be if I wanted you to kiss me but you said no?” You breathed.

“Not a very good one.”

Lando’s lips were softer than you imagined, but there was a soul-crushing desperation behind it – a need, maybe the thought that someone could walk past the end of the corridor at any second and ruin this little pocket of relief, so he needed to make it last. You were eager, meeting him with an equal force that seemed to knock the air out of your lungs and weaken your knees – but his hold on you, he was touching you everywhere: one hand was on your cheek and laced in your hair, the other holding your back and pushing him against you – and you were practically leaning on him.

You didn’t know if it was the culmination of pent up feeling being released, or the fact that you were kissing him, but it felt euphoric; the way you seemed to move together was almost as if it had been rehearsed – which was insane, if you really thought about it. But you couldn’t, because he was practically kissing the breath out of your lungs, and you don’t know when it happened but you were pressing against him roughly, one hand on the back of his neck and the other wound in his hair.

And then you pulled away, breathing heavily. Your pulse was hammering and your blood was singing. You knew your cheeks would be red and your lips would be swollen, hair messy, but in that moment you couldn’t honestly find it within yourself to care.

And then he smirked, taking in your appearance.

His hair was practically everywhere. It looked like he’d just rolled out of bed after a deep sleep on one side of his face, and his cheeks were flushed, as were the tips of his ears and the slither of chest you could see from where his hoodie had slipped and been tugged.

Then you smacked him on the arm – not very hard. More of a light tap. He hissed nonetheless, smirk dropping but eyes still glazed over and watching you with what you now knew was lovesick intrigue.

“You’re a fucking chicken.” You pointed at him, “We could have been doing that last night.”

His expression dropped, eyes refocusing, “No, we could have been doing that since July.”

You tilted your head, “Maybe August, because I would have had to actually make sure I liked you.”

His expression dropped a little, an inquisitive smile still on his face, “Did you hear that entire conversation with Max?”

“It was hard to miss.”

“Oh.” He nodded, a smile on his face as he looped one hand around your shoulder, pulling you closer. You thought he was pulling you in for another kiss, your hand pressed comfortably against his chest, and he was an eyelash-length away from it when he stopped.

You were about to groan.

“What do you mean you had to make sure you liked me?” His brow was arched, but his tone wasn’t malicious or suspicious in any way. If anything it was coated with a thinly veiled layer of curiosity.

You shrugged, “Crushes go away. This kind of seemed to stick.”

“Lucky for me.” He kissed you, hands pressed against your cheeks in a display of faux passion and drama, before letting you go, hands not leaving you or letting you stray too far.

“So you never said when you started to like me.” You murmured, just loud enough for him to hear.

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head and avoiding eye contact.

“Now is not the time to get shy on me.” You breathed, a hand going to hold his sleeve.

“I’m not shy, I just—” He shook his head, self-deprecation evident, “If I had to say, probably May.”

You stalled, not able to say much, “Monaco?”

“Yeah.”

Then something warm seemed to bloom in your chest and you felt your eyes soften and a small smile creep in your face at the admission, “When we met?”

He inhaled sharply, “Pretty much. I think the crush started when you offered to help me take my helmet photos.”

You laughed, “Those photos were pretty funny.”

He nodded, eyes darting again to the end of the corridor, “We can talk about all that later—”

“Agreed—”

“But I just wanna kiss you again.”

You just pulled him in.

#lando norris oneshot #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine

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dixonsbrat · 1 year

Text

𖥔 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍' 𖥔

summary ; steve comes home to find you more than just asleep

pairing ; steve harrington x girlfriend!reader

notes ; female oral seggs, slightly pervy steve, kinda exhibitionism, somnophilia. let me know if i forgot any !

do not transfer, translate or share my works to any other sites.

the air was sticky, cascading a blanket of humidity over your body. a light sheen of sweat present on your now dewy skin. it was hot — too hot for your liking — and you cursed your shitty old air conditioner for breaking at the hottest time of the year.

given your losses, it was enough to warrant your desire of wearing absolutely nothing while having to spend the day cleaning your small apartment. you weren't sure how you had let things get so far behind, but with multiple loads of washing and a kitchen sink filled with dishes, you weren't about to slug yourself around and torture yourself with unnecessary layers of clothing.

you danced around the kitchen, twirling on the tips of your toes as you placed dishes into their designated spots. sticking the occasional finger up at the broken air conditioner for damning you to endure such insufferable temperatures, and for making steve take on more shifts at work so that you could afford to fix it.

after hours of cleaning, the warmth finally starts to take its toll, tiring you out until you couldn't possibly stand on your feet any longer. you seek refuge in the bedroom, falling into a heap on the bed where your book from this morning still laid.

the sheets are soft against your bareness, fitting into every curve and crevice. the window above your bed is open, letting in small gusts of summer as you slowly flip through the pages once more. but not even the words of your favourite author could keep you awake, and your eyes begin to flitter closed.

it's not until the late afternoon that steve finally ventures home from the video store, climbing the staircase in the building and letting out an exasperated sigh when he reaches the door to your apartment. his fingers are tired from constantly prying open video covers and sifting through tapes to scan — all he wants is to see your face.

his shoulders fall when he enters, expecting you to be sitting in the lounge reading a book or baking away in the kitchen like you always were — you loved to surprise him with new recipes — but you weren't doing either of those things.

he's surprised by the silence, and even more so when he makes his way to the bedroom and sees you in bed. the furrow in his brow quickly dissipates, and breath catches in the back of his throat. your face is all cute and puffy as you sleep, lips swollen and cheek squished against your book, but he's mostly surprised by the view he had been granted the second he walked in the door.

another gust of warmth dances across your body, causing your nipples to taut. it was a new sensation, one that you seemed to like, as you stir from your sleep, tossing and turning to get more comfortable atop the sheets. spreading your legs open for some sort of relief while also giving steve the perfect view of your flower as he stands at the foot of the bed. he swallows hard now, his jaw tensing as a heat begins to build up inside his pants, his member straining against the compact of his jeans.

there was nothing steve loved more than the sight of you opening up for him, showing off your velvety centre and letting him bury his head between your thighs. he loved the sight of you — the taste of you on his tongue — and as he stood there watching as you had unintentionally given him the thing he desired the most, he couldn't not think about how you tasted in that moment.

slowly, he slips off his shoes, unbuckles his belt and lets his jeans fall to the floor in a heap, giving his shaft some release as a growl forms in the back of his throat. his family video vest and polo shirt following suit, and with careful motions, he crawls across the bed towards your middle.

he wanted, no needed, you on his tongue now.

he moves forward enough to wrap his hands around the underside of your thighs, large fingers holding them apart in case you felt the urge to close them on him. then, taking in the sight of your beautiful sleeping face once more, knowing how much you were going to love his little wake-up, and with a smirk splayed across his lips, he slowly swipes his tongue across your goodness.

he revels in the taste of you. sweet on his tongue and already slightly wet. you must've been having a good dream.

it takes you a moment, slowly stirring from your sleep, grasping at the sheets around your head while steve laps up your taste. he begins to move his tongue at a faster pace now, making sure to get you nice and wet before starting on your sweet little bundle of nerves.

the instant contact sends a rush of goosebumps across your skin and sets you alight with ecstasy, a whimper leaving your lips as you finally come to. your chest is heaving, rising and falling so dramatically that it takes you a moment to collect yourself.

"w-when did you get home?" you ask between heavy pants, a moan escaping you at the end when he hits your most sensitive spot.

he pulls his tongue away momentarily and you instantly regret asking the question, wanting his touch back on you. his hair tickles your thighs as he moves to press a chaste kiss on your lips, letting you get a small taste of yourself, "a few minutes ago. i couldn't resist..." he smirks before delving right back into your sweetness, this time with the help of this thumb on your clit as he works magic on your core.

"well, i'm glad you couldn't - fuck, stevie." you cut yourself off, the pleasure consuming your every last thought.

steve rubs small circles on the nub, as he tongue-fucks your hole, insatiable moans leaving you. your back arches, hips jutting, and fingers snaking through his hair, gripping onto the loose chocolatey curls as he pushes you closer to your high.

“fuck, right there,” you cry as the pressure grows, a pulsing inside daring to break free.

you can feel the ball inside your stomach, a coil begging to snap, as your hips jut into steve’s face once more. hands now grabbing at the sheets, the pillows, anything to help you ride it out. “god, you’re so fucking beautiful.” steve mumbles, his big brown eyes staring up at you through his lashes and dishevelled hair.

it’s then that the orgasm hits, crashing down over you like a wave as you hold his gaze. he doesn't take his eyes away for so much as a second. he watches you intently, thumb still working you as his tongue licks up your slick. the only sound in your otherwise quiet apartment is the mixture of moans and curses leaving your lips.

steve doesn't stop, wanting you to get the most out of your orgasm, as he takes in the sight of your shaking body. your eyes now rolling into the back of your head as your mouth forms the most perfect 'o' shape. it was a sight he would never get sick of, one that would continue to consume his every thought for as long as he lived.

as your high comes to an end, steve can feel you pulsating on his tongue and presses a soft kiss to you before eventually pulling away. a roguish grin immediately takes hold as he moves to lay with you, slumping down on the sheets.

still breathless, you pant, "that was the best wake-up i've ever had."

"maybe you should be naked when i come home more often," he chuckles softly, brushing the hair from his forehead.

turning to him, a smile present on your lips, you say, "maybe i should."

#— 𝐯𝐞𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 .ᐟ ᡣ𐭩 #— 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 ᡣ𐭩 #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #— 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐟𝐰 .ᐟ

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kxttqi · 9 months

Text

christmas sickness 。

↪︎ fluff, established relationship

↪︎ gojo satoru x f!reader

↪︎ getting sick on christmas sucks…but not with your loving boyfriend around.

↪︎ a/n: merry early christmas ! i was lowk giggling the entire time i was writing this i love gojo sm

Weeks of anticipation for your favorite holiday had finally come to an end. Snow was softly falling outside of your window adorned with sparkling tinsel. The Christmas tree you had decorated with your boyfriend stood grandly in the corner of the room, the shiny glass ornaments reflecting the twinkling lights situated around the room. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could ruin the festive spirit.

Right? Wrong.

You woke up to a stuffy nose, sore throat, and a dull headache. Groaning softly, you turned to your side, hoping that the discomfort would magically disappear. But as you attempted to sit up, the ache in your body intensified, making it clear that this was no ordinary morning grogginess. Of course, the universe had chosen this particular day to unleash a relentless cold upon you. You felt a sharp pang of disappointment; all those days of excitement leading up to this moment, and now you were confined to the bed, wrapped in layers of blankets. You grabbed your phone from the table to dial Gojo’s number. He picked up almost immediately.

“Good morning, baby! I’m coming over soon, just need to pack those gingerbread cookies I baked yesterday.”

“Satoru, I’m sick,” you said hoarsely.

There was a moment’s silence, interrupted by a rather violent sneeze on your end.

“...Screw the cookies, then. I’ll be over in five.”

He cut the call, leaving you to bury your face in your soft pillow. All the decorations seemed to lose their glow; even the elegant angel tree topper appeared to be staring mockingly at you. Five minutes felt like hours, and your spirits were drastically low by the time Gojo came bursting into your room. He looked at you, clad in your reindeer pajamas and surrounded by used tissues.

“You look terrible.”

The remark earned him an angry glare from you. Gojo giggled, throwing himself onto your bed.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he said, leaning in to place a kiss on your forehead. “You still look adorable. Come on, quit sulking. Christmas isn't cancelled just because you're feeling under the weather."

"That's easy for you to say," you pouted, blowing your nose into a tissue.

Gojo's expression softened as he rubbed your back soothingly. "What can I do?"

You looked at him doubtfully, then shook your head. There was no point asking him; even if there was something he could do, you didn't want to burden him. You weren't going to let his Christmas get ruined just because of you.

"Nothing. I'll be fine."

Your voice was faint, and the way your fingers fidgeted around the tissue only highlighted your unease. A deep sigh left you before you could stop yourself, and when Gojo didn't seem satisfied with your answer, you gave him a tired smile.

"Really. I'm fine," you insisted.

Gojo reached out and gently stroked your cheek. Your eyes lowered, too overwhelmed to face the intense blue stare which was fixed upon you.

"It's Christmas. It's not fair if I have fun and you don't," he said. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

Your gaze flitted back to his, and for a while, his eyes studied yours with a searching glint. His mouth broke into a dazzling smile, and the sight made your lips quirk upwards, even though the corners were trembling. His arms slipped around your shoulders. In an instant, you were enveloped by his warmth, and his familiar scent sent a wave of comfort washing over you. Despite everything, the mere sound of his voice had always managed to make you feel safe, and as his arm tightened around you, you nestled deeper into his embrace, resting against his chest.

"Sleep," you answered, closing your eyes. "For about twenty hours."

A loud laugh rang by your ear. You felt him shift beside you. When you opened your eyes, you were met with the sight of him rummaging through a bag by the side of the bed. He pulled out a box, adorned with shimmering silver wrapping paper and a bright red bow.

"What's this?" you asked, your voice still raspy.

Gojo's smile grew wider as he handed you the gift.

"Open it and find out."

You carefully tore away the paper, revealing a small white box underneath. Your heart fluttered with anticipation as you lifted the lid, revealing a beautifully crafted snowglobe inside. The glass orb was filled with swirling flakes of snow, creating a mesmerizing winter scene. But what caught your attention was the tiny figure in the center of the snowglobe. It was a miniature replica of Gojo, dressed in a winter jacket and his silver hair perfectly tousled. And right beside him, frozen in a moment of pure joy, was a tiny version of you. Every detail, from the intricate embroidery on your dress to the in gleam in Gojo's eyes, was painstakingly crafted.

"Satoru, this is... amazing," you breathed, your voice filled with awe.

He chuckled, his voice filled with pride.

"I had it custom-made just for you. And for the record, this was entirely my idea."

“Does it kill you to be humble for once?” you sighed, but couldn’t help the smile making its way onto your lips.

You couldn't contain your excitement as you shook the snowglobe gently, watching the delicate flakes twirl and dance around the figures inside.

"It's perfect," you whispered.

And before you knew it, his lips were on yours with an intense urgency that leaves you breathless. The fiery passion in his kiss burned through you, consuming every inch of your body as if he had been waiting for this moment since he stepped foot into your room. His hands gripped your waist with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine, his lips moving against yours with a desperate need. You pushed him away softly.

“Satoru, I’m sick, you shouldn’t-”

He cut you off with another kiss, more gentle this time.

“I couldn’t care less. Let me have this.”

Your protest died in your throat as you melted into his embrace, your hands finding their way to his hair. Despite the lingering discomfort, his touch seemed to numb all your senses, leaving you wanting nothing more than to lose yourself in him. He broke away from the kiss, resting his forehead against yours. His breath was warm against your skin, his fingers tracing soft patterns on your waist.

"I bet you're feeling better already," he teased, his eyes sparkling.

You rolled your eyes, but the slight blush creeping onto your cheeks betrayed your attempt at nonchalance. He chuckled, his fingers gently brushing away a stray lock of hair from your face.

“Merry Christmas, love.”

#꒱ kat's journal #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen

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delayed-affection · 6 months

Note

if u feel comfortable writing about it could you maybe write and imagine about joe burrow and him being their for his girlfriend whiles she’s struggling with a depressive episode thank u in advance 🤍

Help

Oneshots Navigation

Joe Burrow x reader

Warnings: depression

Word count: 1.1k

It comes in waves, one day you’re fine and happy but the next you want nothing more than to just be gone.

You’ve done everything that they’ve said to do; you’ve gone to therapy, taken the pills they’ve prescribed you, tried to get back into the things you’ve loved before but nothing has worked.

You’ve managed to live life without breaking down in front of everyone, in front of Joe.

He knows about your struggles with your mental health but there’s only so much that he can do for something he can’t control and knows so little about.

He’s seen the days where you struggle to get up and do the simple things in life and it kills him to see you like that. He just doesn’t know what to do when it gets like that.

And today was one of those days, you managed to pull yourself out of bed and to work but it was the hardest thing to do.

All you wanted to do was go home and rot away, hoping that tomorrow will be better, that you won’t have to bully and force yourself out of bed.

But it wasn’t, it was worse.

You woke up today feeling like absolute shit. A wave of fatigue and exhaustion hit upon waking, washing over you like a cold and heavy blanket as your eyes open.

The mere thought of getting out of bed is almost too much to bare right now, every muscle in your body feeling like a lead weight.

There's no motivation here, just a deep-rooted desire to fall back asleep and go back to the peace and comfort of dreams.

You wrap yourself up in the blanket lying in bed, the room is pitch black with the only light coming from your phone that lights up every once in a while with a notification.

You haven’t gotten up since you opened your eyes, however they weren’t open for long. You force yourself back to sleep, wanting nothing more than to be in an unconscious state.

You wake up a couple hours later and feel way worse.

You felt completely lethargic and mentally wiped, and you couldn't think of anything that could stir them out of this state.

Feeling like a zombie, just going through the motions and barely functioning at a most basic level. You felt like you were just existing, not truly living. Everything seemed pointless, and you couldn't find the energy or desire to do anything at all.

You begrudgingly sit up, trying to fight off the feeling that's been weighing you down. You don't have the energy to do much else but try to cope with your feelings.

You sit there on your bed, feeling overwhelmed by the sense of hopelessness that has consumed you. It feels like nothing will change and you’re just waiting around for things to magically get better.

You find yourself spiraling deeper and deeper into a dark hole of despair and there seems to be no way out.

You lie back down with a huff, feeling completely defeated. Wishing it would just go away and you could finally be happy.

But it doesn't look like that's going to happen any time soon. Closing your eyes and you try to block out the world, hoping that maybe things will be different.

You know deep down that nothing will change. You are stuck in this state and have no idea how to escape it. You just feel hopeless and resigned to your fate.

You can hear the front door open and close, Joe is home. Laying there silently, you listen to the sound of his footsteps coming closer to the room.

You feel anxious and nervous, unsure of how you should act when he walks in. Should you just keep pretending like you’re asleep, but you also know that you need to face him.

You’re afraid that he'll be angry or disappointed with your lack of motivation to do anything.

The bedroom door opens, and Joe walks in cautiously. He can tell by your breath and movement that you’re awake, but he decides to act as if he doesn't know that and gently sits down next to you on the bed.

He doesn't say anything at first, just gives you a comforting pat on the shoulder letting you know that he's here. He knows that it can be difficult to communicate when you’re in this state, but he wants to let you know that he cares and supports you.

You feel your heart melt a bit at his gesture and you can't help but lean into him slightly, seeking comfort from his closeness. Feeling slightly embarrassed and guilty for not having the energy to do much lately.

You can’t help but feel like you’re letting him down by not being more productive or active. You’re glad he's understanding and patient, but you feel like you’re being a burden on him and that you should try harder.

Hearing you start to cry, he immediately holds you close. He lets you cry without trying to stop the tears or make you feel bad about them. He just holds you gently, letting you let it all out and offering a strong and secure presence.

He reassures you that it's okay to cry, and he just wants you to feel better. He's there for you and he's not going anywhere, no matter how bad things get.

He wants you to know that you’re not alone, and he's there to support and love you no matter what.

He continues to hold you until the crying subsides, feeling you calming down as he does so. Once your tears have stopped, he pulls you close again and strokes your hair lovingly.

He wants to make you feel better, and he knows that sometimes you just need physical reassurance and comfort to feel more at ease. He just wants to be there for you and make you feel like everything will be okay.

You begin to relax in his arms and feel a bit better.

"Everything's going to be okay, baby, I'm here for you." He whispers placing a kiss on the top of your head.

You sigh as you lean into him, letting your mind go blank.

He continues to whisper to you, "I love you and I'll always be by your side, no matter what."

He keeps whispering these words of encouragement and love, and you can feel your spirits starting to lift.

It feels good to have his comforting presence so close to you, and you feel supported and reassured by his kindness. He continues to hold you close as you breathes out a deep breath and relax.

You feel safe and supported by his love, and your stress and anxiety slowly begins to fade away.

You start to feel better, way better than you did before, and you’re grateful that you has someone so understanding and supportive like him.

#joe burrow x yn #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow #nfl oneshot #cincinnati bengals

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hey-august · 27 days

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I’ve been wondering, we’ve talked about Buggy and his maybe sort of but maybe not lack of experience and it depends on what one likes I know…. But how good would Buggy be at cherry popping himself? How would that poor son of a bitch react when someone stammers and tells him they haven’t done this before?

I can imagine him being suave and cool when it’s a one night stand or in the heat of the moment, but being completely out of his element when someone he likes confesses this to him in a not yet sexual setting and saying they want HIM to be their first, just turning into a mixed of deeply touched, incredulous (“Wait. With no one? You?! But you’re *gestures with both his hands and then makes a noise that sounds like something blowing up, roughly translating into “A fucking hot smoke show.”*) and inadequate, because his brain already jumps to you recounting your first time with “A dirty, scummy clown.” To someone who could offer you waaaay better. The difference between “I am going to give you the best experience and blow your socks off.” One night stands and “Wait. You want… me? ME? That can’t be right.”

Oh, anon, I love this TOO MUCH. Confident and insecure Buggy in one? Yes please. I think these are scenarios we need to be visiting and revisiting often........

WC: ~550 Warnings: NSFW but not really smutty, Buggy x GN!reader, mentions of sex and alcohol

Oh this poor guy. His ego is inflating as quickly as the self-imposed pressure is crushing him.

That awkward red-faced confession - which had to be repeated because Buggy almost missed it the first time - was not one of the things Buggy expected to come out of your mouth. A mouth that he had already been imagining su-

No no no, he couldn’t think about that now. Not when you just admitted to being a virgin. Buggy was still coming to terms with the idea that you liked him. (In his mind, you barely tolerated him.) Now you’re saying you want him to be your first?

Fuuuuuuck. Fuck yes and fuck no.

Buggy was willing to let you live with the bad decision to “date” a clown (again, tolerate). But this was a way worse decision. One night stands and quick fucks went hand in hand with bad decisions. If anything, poor choices made those fleeting sessions better. That wouldn’t apply here.

Then again, he could do it. Buggy knew how to make someone see stars. How to make their legs shake and tremble worse than being at sea in a maelstrom. How to tease and taunt out tears of frustration and bliss. How to make people doubt their path in life - maybe they should run away and join the circus after all.

But…

You deserved better. You deserved someone who meets your standards. Someone who isn’t wearing the same clothes from yesterday. Who didn’t drink flat beer for breakfast. Who washed their hands more than once a week.

Despite all that, you wanted him. You were insistent and, fuck, that determination in your eyes was sexy.

Okay. Buggy was going to make it happen. And it was going to be amazing. The best performance he ever put on.

His bed sheets were dirty though. Stained and crusty. Embarrassing. Your bed…was a hammock. It’d be possible, but not what Buggy wanted to give you. Maybe he could rent a room on the next island. Whenever that would be.

It took the guy a few days to figure it out. And to give himself a few extra pep talks. Eventually, everything was in place. An out of the way room on the ship was off-limits to everyone but you two. And it was perfect. For five minutes.

There was a mouse in the nest of blankets and pillows. He broke the cork in the wine bottle. Then spilled the wine. The string lights fell and some of the bulbs shattered.

It would have been awful, absolutely terrible, and proof of his failure, if it wasn’t for your laughter. If it wasn’t for how you were so careful catching the scared critter. How you cheered when Buggy finally pushed the cork far enough into the bottle to actually pour a drink. How you told him to just pour the wine in your mouth if he was going to spill it everywhere anyways. How you tried to return the favor, but you were too cautious and the wine dribbled along the bottle and none of it made into Buggy’s mouth.

When Buggy scooped you in his arms and carried you over the glass shards and back to his room (which did have clean sheets, just in case) he knew that tonight would be special, no matter when or how it happened.

#buggy smut #buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #buggy the clown #buggy x you #x reader #buggy op #opla buggy #one piece buggy #buggy the clown smut #one piece smut #hey-august buggy short stories

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toxictigertonic · 25 days

Text

Three count em THREE whole people said they liked my headcanons and wanted more so I'm back with more, this time for how they sleep bc I think it's funny.

COYLE

- Like a damn ROCK.

- But also, extremely vigilant at the same time.

- You could pick him up, shake him, scream in his face, he sleeps. Door cracks open a little? Floorboard creaks? He's up and ready for a fight.

- I really hope he'd sleep in boxers but he strikes me as a butt ass naked kinda guy. Enter his room at your own peril he WILL fight naked.

- Sleeps with his arms to his side, stiff as a board. Dead center of the bed though so good luck if you're looking to share with him.

- Sleeps like that partly bc of military and partly bc if he sleeps on his side he drools.

- Snores like a fucking lawn mower. Has woken people up from a sound sleep bc of it. People are holding grudges.

- The sunglasses and hat stay ON.

- No blankets, no sheets. You can guess how awful this is with the whole sleeping naked thing.

- Sleep walker. Again, awful when you remember that he's nakey.

- One pillow. There is a perfectly head shaped dent in it from his bald ass dome.

GOOSEBERRY

- How many pillows can you fit on a bed? Okay now double it.

- Her bed has the comfiest blankets and the biggest quilt ever.

- Futterman gets his own pillow, so she sleeps on her back with one arm up on the pillow and the other resting on her stomach.

- This is because if he doesn't have his own pillow he'll complain. Also he'll get lost in the mess of blankets.

- She still does the Futterman voice in her sleep. Futterman talks in his sleep. Futterman does not say nice things in his sleep.

- She also talks in her sleep but she's talking about making sure the children are safe or that her pie needs to come out of the oven while Futterman says things about dental hygiene (and how you'll be taught about it whether you like it or not)

- The ONLY one of the prime assets that brushes her teeth before bed. Doesn't wash her face though.

- If she didn't have Futterman to worry about she'd be a side sleeper, pillow tucked under her head and blanket tucked up under her chin.

- She'd have one stuffed animal me thinks. I'd say it's the duck but that feels too simple. How about a mmm ratty old cat.

- Wakes up with the blankets off of her everytime. She doesn't know how it happens but it does.

- Wears the cutest pajama set ever. Futterman deserves pajamas too.

- Sleepytime tea connoisseur. Chamomile with cinnamon and honey every night.

FRANCO

- Again, God help us where do I begin.

- He is my little skrunkly so I say this all with love. Maybe. Potentially. Maybe a little hate.

- Would absolutely spend the money to get an adult sized crib to sleep in. Maybe Murkoff got him one just to make him a little less of a brat (affectionate).

- Sooooo many stuffed animals. So many. From classic stuffies to weird stuffed animals you never would've thought existed.

- He cuddles with the same one every night though, without fail. According to character ai it's a pink elephant so I'm going with that.

- I feel like he'd have a special pajama set for each weekday. Or he'd wear whatever the hell he was wearing during the day to bed. Not sure which.

- If he doesn't have the binky he'll resort to thumb sucking, he won't sleep if he can't have one or the other.

- Also needs sound to sleep, a silent room makes him antsy. Typically has cartoons going.

- (Sad one for those of you who like angst) Dreams about what life could've been like if he had a happy family. Wakes up in tears every time.

- (Cute one to apologize for that) He's clingy as all hell. If someone were to sleep in the same bed as him they'd become his human teddy bear. Good luck getting up this mother fucker has Grip and is so starved for positive attention.

- He wakes up groggy as hell. Give him 30 minutes after he's gotten up bc before then he barely remembers where he is.

- Kicks in his sleep. And they're not gentle kicks either that little bastard is MEAN.

- Drools, sorry not sorry.

- If you pet his head he'll be out like a light :)

Let me know if there are any specific headcanons you'd like to hear out of my noggin because I promise I have plenty. I can talk about these freaks alllll day.

#leland coyle #mother gooseberry #phyllis futterman #dr futterman #franco barbi #il bambino #outlast trials #outlast #give me reasons to talk about Frankie on here please #my friends are getting sick of him

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pablitogavii · 1 year

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Her babysitter

"Thank you so much for letting her stay with you for a few days Pablo! Promise it won't be longer than a week sweetheart!" your mom said petting your head and you rolled your eyes feeling once again 'dumped' to the side because of some 'important business trip'.

"Yeah right!" you snarled walking away and Pablo looked after you with clenched jaw feeling guilty for noticing the way your perky butt bounces as you stomp away.

"No problem. I have a free week anyways!" Pablo said while escorting them out and walking back to the living room where you already grabbed a tub of ice cream and ate it with a spoon.

"I see you already found my secret tub of ice cream, huh preciosa? Do you mind sharing some with me??" Pablo said looking at you while you licked the spoon feeling his pants tighten. Damn it! He needed to get it out of his head at once but it was no use!

"Mhm.." you said moving towards him and dipping your spoon into the half melted vanilla ice cream before bringing it into his mouth. Pablo was took by surprise but took it nevertheless thinking about how good it tasted especially with a hint of 'you' in it.

"It's really delicious but you shouldn't eat too much and ruin the dinner" he said taking the spoon away with the tub and you rolled your eyes calling him annoying.

"Seriously!? Enough with the eye rolls! Good girls don't behave that way.." he whispered the last part into your ear you felt your skin fill with goosebumps in response. You might hate the fact that your parents constantly dump you places..but when it was at your handsome neighbors house, you don't exactly mind that much.

You always hated how he would act like you're a child just because you're 16 and he turned 19 recently! But now he was calling you a good girl..maybe things changed??

After dinner, you were sipping on some apple juice while he put the dishes in the washing machine. He was usually shirtless around the house and your eyes were enjoying the way his muscles would flex with every movement he made.

Then it came to mind..be his good girl and see the reaction?

"Thank you for the dinner Pablo.." you said shyly and he raised his head up and looked at you with a small smile plastered on his handsome face.

"Of course! Do you want to watch a movie before going to bed??" he asked and you jumped in excitement rushing to pick something while he chuckled walking after you.

"I want to watch this one! It's the newest horror movie that came out!!" you said but Pablo already saw the trailer and thought it was not a very good idea.

"This is not the time for that movie preciosa..maybe something less scary huh?" he said tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear and although you blushed at his gesture, you were not gonna let him keep treating you like a child just because he was your babysitter now!

"Would you stop treating me like I'm fucking four! I want to watch this move and if you're too scared then I'll do it alone in my room!" you spat and Pablo's jaw was clenching. He imagined tossing you over his lap and spanking your little butt for those foul words leaving your sweet mouth but instead he just grabbed the remote and pressed play.

The movie was terrible..so much gore..jump scares..and overall terror. Pablo caught you jumping up a few times and he was smirking in amusement. You were too stubborn to accept it but deep down you knew now that Pablo was absolutely right.

"Alright, that's over..time for bed" he got up while you were still curled up in a blanket on the sofa too scared to move and go down the dark hallway leading to the guest room you started calling your own.

"Everything okay preciosa?" Pablo said waiting for you to admit that you were scared but that never came as you just got up and walked away bravely while he chuckled.

"Goodnight Pablo.." you whisper when he passed you to go to his own room which was across the hallway and he turned around smiling warmly.

"Goodnight preciosa" he said entering his room the same time as you. You laid in the cold dark room for an hour trying desperately to fall asleep but it wouldn't happen. You could hear every little creek and everything scared you making your brain hyper alert on every detail. You wondered if Pablo fell asleep already..?

Knock Knock

"Come in preciosa.." Pablo's groggy voice said and you quickly opened the door not wanting to be alone in that dark hallway for long.

"Um..I..can't sleep Pablo" you say shyly playing with the edge of the big t-shirt you used as your pajamas.

"And why is that huh?" he said with a proud smirk and you felt angry that he was teasing you now so your stubbornness took the best of you as you said that he was mean.

Then just as he was about to answer something fell outside from the strong wind and you screamed rushing to his bed and he collected your small body in his strong arms (gif).

"Shh..shh..it's alright" he said kissing your shoulder and you felt your whole body heating up. Were you really sitting on his lap with his arms around you and his lips left a kiss on your skin!?

"Please don't be mad at me..please don't be mad..but I'm scared from the movie..and I don't want to sleep alone!" you admitted everything not caring if he teases you or not but just wanting to say like this forever.

"Shh..I'm not mad preciosa..just..lay here with me?" he said gulping a little when our eyes met before quickly looking away. I saw him stare at my lips multiple times..but he wouldn't always restrain himself..why was he doing that??

"Um..thank you" you sniffled and he dried your tears but still keeping you on his lap and soon enough you were both kissing each other feverishly like your life depended on being close to each other like this.

"F..fuck! You taste better than I imagined!" Pablo groaned when you pulled away for air and he was holding your hair in the tight grip messing it up completely.

"Hmm..I'm hot Pablo..all over.." you whined blushing hard when you saw him smirk while shamelessly observing your body pulling on your t-shirt until it was on the floor and you were sitting there in your matching pink set.

"I can fix that preciosa..just relax" he said with a low voice before flipping you over and getting on top starting to suck marks all over your sensitive neck. Your mind was sent into oblivion...

He was kissing from my neck to my lips repeatedly while my eyes were closed and I focused on his heavy breathing remembering how many nights I wondered what he would sound like in these situations.

When he started to kiss lower, I became a little self conscious never have done this before so I placed my hand into his hair and called his name softly. He immediately stopped looking up with me with kind eyes.

"Um..nobody..ever touched me like that" you say and he smiled moving up and kissing your lips lovingly again.

"It's okay preciosa..we don't have to do anything tonight if you don't want to okay? I can wait" he said and you blushed feeling nervous but also wanting desperately to have Pablo be the first one to make you feel good.

"Hey..look at me! I'm not mad at you okay..I'm very patient for something I really want..and if I was able to hear you moan my name at night whenever you would stay over for months, I can wait until you feel ready okay?" he said giggling a little while caressing my now completely red face. Did he really hear me moan his name!?

"Um..I'm..I'm ready..just..take it slow" you say and he smiled nodding his head and kissing your lips and then your nose.

"Don't be embarrassed with me preciosa..I think you're perfect" he said and you smiled finally moving your hands from your chest and he slowly took off your matching set kissing down your body.

"We won't go all the way tonight..we will prepare you for that slowly but I will make you feel good okay?" he said inches away from your swollen clit and you moaned nodding your head in agreement.

When his lips finally attached to your heated core, your head was thrown back and you started seeing stars on the celling of his bedroom. He was lapping at your core like a starved animal pinning your hips down whenever you would try to instinctively move away.

"Mm que deliciosa.." he groaned ending vibrations all over your body before continuing to suck intensively on your core and you arched your back feeling heat collect in the pit of your stomach.

"Uh..uh" you whined and he looked up at you to make sure you're okay before continuing to do his work diligently smirking when he felt your juices spilling out of your hole as he licked your clean.

"Good girl! Give it all to me baby.." he spoke and that was enough to send you over the edge as your thighs shook as your hand gripped his hair out of instinct.

"Awe look at you shaking preciosa..shh..shh..so sensitive and perfect" Pablo kissed your thighs moving up and laying beside you quickly pulling you on top of him for cuddles.

"If you want me to go?" you said after a few seconds unsure of what he was thinking. Meanwhile Pablo was in awe at how lucky he was that you were finally in his arms.

"You're not going anywhere!"Pablo said and you blushed nodding your head and nuzzling your nose into his neck.

The next morning, you woke up first smiling at how tightly Pablo was holding onto you while gently touching his sleeping face. After a few seconds, you placed a finger on his lips and he woke up playfully biting it making your squeal.

"Mm morning preciosa" he said tightening his grip even more while kissing your lips gently.

"You're squishing me Pablo!" you say and he giggles kissing all over your neck and face before letting you breathe.

"Good!" he said and you blushed leaning in to kiss his shortly again which he welcomed. Your moment was interrupted by his phone beeping with a message.

"It's your mom saying she will pick you up soon.." Pablo said answering shortly before putting it away and bringing all his attention back to you.

"And what if I don't want to go...?" you say touching his abs while he caressed your head kissing it gently.

"You first didn't want to stay, remember??" Pablo teased and you blushed hiding your face into his neck again while giggling.

"You're the best babysitter Pablo" you smirk looking up at him and he blushes a little shaking his head at your little comment.

"Eres mala..muy mala preciosa" he said hovering on top of you and kissing your lips passionately. You instinctively opened your legs for him which made him proudly smirk down at you.

"Although you're very hard to resist preciosa mia..we don't have the proper time right now" he said knowing that your mom will be here any minute now. You whined at those words touching his face and pulling him down for a kiss.

When you finally got up and your mom was at the door, Pablo politely greeted her and said goodbye to you. You were almost inside the car when you saw Pablo at the window looking at you longingly and you lied that you forgot something.

You ran inside all the way to the living room before jumping into Pablo's arms and kissing his lips lovingly. He chuckled holding you up with his hands resting on your butt and his lips devouring yours.

"What are you doing here preciosa?" he said

"I forgot something" you giggle kissing him again and he chuckled putting you down after a few more sweet kisses.

"Here you go..if your mom asks" he said giving you a water bottle which you took and blushed when he winked at you playfully.

"I'll see you soon!" you say very much excited for it.

"You will preciosa" Pablo said before you closed the door and left with your mom. You had your face glued to the phone screen texting with Pablo and already missing being surrounded by his strong arms.

After last night, you will never again be grumpy for being left by your parents..especially with your new babysitter ;))

#pablo gavi x you #fc barca #fc barcelona #fc barça #gavi #gavigif #pablo gavi x y/n #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi #pablo gavi icons #gavi x vini #gavi x yn #gavi x you #gavi x reader #pablo martín páez gavira #pablo gavira #gavira #pablogavixreadersmut #pablogavixreaderfluff

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here2bbtstrash · 2 years

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it's sweet (explicit)

genre: a fluffy lil sickfic

pairing: taehyung x reader

summary: you forgot to call out sick from your dick appointment, but he stays anyway.

word count: 4.3k

contains: no smut just fluff????? new year new me 😎 but as this is fuckbuddies to maybe-lovers and there are certainly a few references in here to sex, because of who i am as a person, it's enough that i'm tagging it explicit anyway lmao. but this is all fluff! reader has the flu, tae is a sweet sweet boi and takes care of her, it's all a bit sappy~ 🤧

A/N: happy new year!!! and a very happy belated birthday to my capricorn prince 💜 this soft little idea got stuck in my brain and wouldn't let go, and i had a lot more fun writing it than expected. plus i feel like i only wrote tae as a menace in 2022 (sorry to tae 👹) so i had to right my wrongs with this one lmao. it was a nice interlude before i jump into LDOMLT ch11 (the final chapter 😭) - i hope you all enjoy and that your 2023s are off to a pleasant start!!!

read on AO3!

~*~

You genuinely enjoy being single.

With your last relationship officially in the trash, you’ve found yourself settled into a comfortable peace. There’s no man in your life to mess up your plans, to force you to have to compromise or share anything, to suck up your energy and domestic labor like some kind of emotional vampire. You can do what you want, whenever you want, and you have a reliable rotation of both sex toys and fuckbuddies to keep you physically satisfied when the need arises.

Being single, you have come to learn, is fucking great.

Except when you get sick.

A knock at your apartment door drags you out of your DayQuil-induced slumber. You move to sit up with a sniffle before letting yourself drop back into your veritable nest of blankets on the couch, struck with the immediate recollection: it’s just the food you ordered. You’d specifically put in a request that they leave it at the door, but maybe the delivery person is just being nice and letting you know it’s there.

Except then they knock again.

And ring the doorbell.

“Jesus,” you groan to yourself, aggressively enough that you’re nearly sent into a fresh coughing fit, but you manage to choke down the spasm in your lungs as you drag yourself to standing. You cross the short distance from your couch to the front door, sure you look like death warmed over, and swing the door open.

At first, you’re certain it’s the DayQuil fucking with you.

“Taehyung?”

The corner of his mouth pulls up as he blinks sweetly at you, expressive almond eyes peeking out beneath untidy dark hair— extra fluffy today, like he’s just washed it and waltzed out of the house without any styling. His clothes tell the same story, a plain gray hoodie and joggers, creased a little like he’d just pulled them off his bedroom floor, though everything looks fresh off the runway on him.

As your eyes trail down his frame, you take in the container of ramen you ordered, held easily in one of his large hands, his long fingers hooking over the side.

His presence is typically a welcome one, particularly on Friday nights like tonight, but those are circumstances where you tend to be a little more… put together. So why is he here tonight?

“When did you start working for D—”

The food delivery service name dies on your tongue as your thoughts finally catch up with your mouth. He’s here tonight because it’s Friday, and this is what you do on Fridays. He’s here because you didn’t cancel. You’d had the thought in a drowsy half-awake state between naps, then had promptly rolled over and pressed your face into the pillow, telling yourself you’d remember to text Taehyung when you woke up.

Which of course, you did not. And so here he is, having clearly intercepted your delivery. And, it now occurs to you, having to witness how absolutely godawful you must look in your stained sweatpants, your hair surely a mess from a day spent napping on the couch.

“Oh fuck,” you mutter, quickly crossing your arms over your baggy t-shirt, suddenly very aware of the fact that you’re not wearing a bra. Why that matters when you’re standing in front of a man who regularly leaves hickeys all over your tits, you’re not sure, but in this moment it somehow feels like it does.

“Tae,” you take a step back, trying to keep him out of your germ radius. “I’m so sorry, I forgot to text you. I’m super sick, I think it’s the flu. You should go.”

He frowns a little, his eyes jumping from you down to the takeout container in his hands. “This is like, barely warm.”

That makes you smile a little despite yourself. A very Taehyung greeting.

“Yeah, well.” You roll your eyes. “I pay twice as much so it can take an hour and be cold by the time it gets here. Makes sense, right?”

His dazzling smile at your sarcastic remark only heightens your own self-consciousness, and you quickly extend a hand for the container.

“Sorry to make you come all this way. Hopefully next week I’ll be back to normal.”

Taehyung nods, yet makes no move to hand over the soup he’s currently holding hostage. “You should rest. Let me heat it up for you.”

You can’t help but wonder what he expects to happen when he crosses the threshold, and that makes you heave a sigh, then quickly bury the cough that chases after it into the crook of your elbow.

Thankfully your voice doesn’t give out when you manage to answer him. “I’m serious, Tae. I’m not—” you pause, considering how to phrase it: desperate to be railed? “—you know, the way I usually am on Fridays. Nothing’s gonna happen tonight. Except maybe you’ll get sick.”

He shrugs, like there are worse things. “I get it. But you shouldn’t be alone.”

At least he’s been sufficiently warned, you think to yourself, and then you relent, leaving the front door of your apartment swung wide as you step back across the living room to promptly collapse onto the couch again. You bury your face in the blankets with a muffled groan as you hear Taehyung shut the door behind him, then make his way into the kitchen.

As is typical with any man that enters your kitchen, you expect to have to walk Taehyung step-by-step through how to do everything. But, to your surprise, he asks no questions: he seems to find a good-sized pot and figure out how to work the stove all on his own, and you can hear him humming softly to himself as he goes.

Truly a credit to the male species, you think to yourself with a bitter laugh.

You collapse back against the cushions, a little too aware of the fuckbuddy in your kitchen to be able to drift off to sleep entirely. Nevertheless, you still find yourself slipping into a haze, your eyes dropping shut just to snap open again at the tap of a bowl being set down on the coffee table in front of you.

Your eyes widen as you sit up and stare down at your ramen, only to find two halves of a soft-boiled egg staring back up at you. You’d ordered from your favorite place in the city, which is easily the best ramen you’ve had in your life, but you know those fuckers charge extra for an egg. Which is why your cheap ass never orders one.

But here one is. So that means…

Taehyung drops down onto the couch next to you before you can even finish compiling the thought in your brain, but he must be able to read the look on your face. “Oh, do you not like eggs?”

“I— no,” you answer quickly. “I mean yes. I mean, I like them, I just… Thank you.”

You glance up in time to see him shrug, his mouth twisting a little, like he’s suddenly made shy by his own kindness. “Gotta get your protein in,” he offers casually, and you laugh over the steam rising up from your bowl.

He keeps a tentative cushion’s distance away from you, but you can feel his eyes watching as you take your first sip of the rich, warm broth. While you slurp it down, you tell yourself not to get greedy with Taehyung’s time: you expect this will be it, that with his act of kindness done for the day, he’ll get to his feet and be on his way. As soon as your front door slams shut behind him, he’ll probably be pulling up his text messages with one of the many other options that must be available to him.

You try to ignore the way that thought makes your stomach twist, to just eat your damn soup and not think about it. It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.

But to your surprise, Taehyung leans forward and snatches the TV remote off your coffee table with a triumphant sigh before slumping back against the couch, like he’s settling in. “Do you wanna watch something?”

You shake your head as you take another sip before answering. “You really don’t have to stay, Tae. I can appreciate that I’m not a lot of fun to be around tonight. And obviously you didn’t come here to watch me eat ramen.”

Already starting to scroll through your streaming services, Taehyung runs his free hand through his hair with a knowing, slightly horny smile. “Depends on what you mean by eat ramen.”

You nearly choke on a noodle, but he’s otherwise distracted, mouth dropping open a little as he clicks into one of the options.

“Oh, I know what we can watch.”

When he pulls up A Charlie Brown Christmas and promptly presses play, you can’t help smirking. “Christmas? You’re, what, five days late?”

Taehyung’s mouth opens again, like he’s going to say something, and then he just smiles that same self-conscious smile. “Ah, I just like the music.”

His long fingers splay out in front of him, miming along to the opening melody while he adopts the faux-cool expression of a jazz pianist. You hide a giggle in another sip of broth, and he quickly shrugs the impression off, crossing his arms over his chest as if to keep his limbs under control.

“And it’s cute,” he adds, voice halfway between shy and sentimental. “The little tree.”

It occurs to you now that you’ve never seen Taehyung so… your brain can’t find the right word. He’s just different tonight.

You nod as you slurp up a strand of noodles, and you can’t deny that he’s right as the movie plays on. It’s been years since you’ve seen it, not since you were a kid, but it’s just as enjoyable now, somehow timeless. You find yourself smiling softly as you finish your meal and settle back against the couch, tugging the blanket up to your chin.

All at once, Taehyung jumps up, and you watch dumbfounded as he silently scoops up your dishes and disappears off to the kitchen. When you hear the tap switch on, your jaw drops in sheer disbelief, and you sit up again, peeking over the back of the couch to get a glimpse of him: he’s pulled on the dishwashing gloves you keep tucked next to the sink and is making short work of not just the bowl and the pot, but the takeout container too, and your various other sick-person dishes you’d regrettably let pile up. Humming to himself along with Vince Guaraldi, like it’s something he does every day.

Your head spins as you drop back down against the cushion. What is happening? Did you take too much cold medicine?

That thought only reverberates louder in your brain when he returns, still humming the last few notes of the song. This time he chooses to settle in right beside you on the couch, as if entirely unconcerned about the contagious virus running rampant in your body— he just pulls you into his side, one arm wrapped over your shoulders, fingertips casually starting to play with the ends of your hair. Like it’s that easy.

You glance up at him, shaking your head a little, and Taehyung looks down to meet your gaze. “What?”

“This is just…” An incredulous laugh cuts off the end of your sentence. It’s hard to believe you’re looking at the same person. This can’t be the man who wraps his hand around your throat as he spits into your mouth, who will keep you in his bed for hours until you’re crying from overstimulation, who fucks you so good you can hardly walk the next day.

“I didn’t expect you to be like this,” you admit, pairing the words with a finger driven gently into Taehyung’s ribs. He squirms a little. “You’re… sweet.”

Taehyung’s lips part, and then he pauses, clearly considering how exactly to answer you. His mouth turns up soft at the corners, hesitant, as if he’s embarrassed to say what comes next. And then he says it. “You didn’t seem like you wanted sweet.”

The words settle over you, offered quietly in the low, rich tones of his voice, and as you keep gazing up at him, it strikes you: he’s not wrong. If he’d pulled this cozy domestic housewife act on you any earlier, on a normal Friday, you would’ve sent him packing without hesitation.

That thought makes you a little sad.

You tuck back in against Taehyung’s side, trying to refocus on the TV screen as you snuggle in under the blanket. Pressed close like this, you can feel the sturdy thud of his heartbeat in his chest, at a rhythm not dissimilar to yours.

“Well, I won’t tell anyone,” you breathe, and you swear you can hear him smile.

His touch lingers as the last few minutes of the movie play on: slipping from the ends of your hair to trace over the fabric of your shirt, then sliding further up to dip beneath the collar of it. The talented fingers you’ve become well-acquainted with work their magic in a new way, pressing firm circles into the muscles of your shoulders, muscles you didn’t realize were pinched so tight until he starts to work them open.

“Fuck,” you murmur, shifting a little to allow him better access as he continues. “That feels so good.” You can’t quite help the laugh that flutters out after your words; it’s certainly not the first time he’s made you say them.

There’s a small huff of breath from Taehyung beside you, and then his hand moves up to cup the back of your neck and give a gentle squeeze. It’s a comforting motion, and just arousing enough to make you sigh a note, your eyes briefly dropping shut. When they flutter open again, you realize the movie has ended, that he’s looking down at you, a knowing smirk toying at his lips.

“Don’t start,” you warn, unable to keep your voice entirely serious. “I meant what I said, I’m tapped out for the night.”

Taehyung raises his palms in the air, as if to claim his innocence, and you find yourself instantly missing the heat of his hand on your skin. “All I was thinking is that I kinda want dessert. Too tapped out for that?”

“I’ll never say no to dessert,” you admit with a soft smile. “I think I have ice cream in the freezer.”

Something glints in Taehyung’s eyes at your words. All at once he untangles himself from you and, rather than standing up and walking the long way around like a normal human, chooses instead to vault himself over the back of the couch, as if to get your freezer as fast as possible. You tip back against the cushions, momentarily overcome with laughter, and thankfully, it doesn’t trigger a cough attack.

After a second, you cocoon the blanket around yourself, then get up to follow after him, dropping unceremoniously down onto one of the barstools tucked on the far side of your kitchen island.

Taehyung glances up, clearly surprised, then continues trying drawers until he finds the silverware and retrieves two spoons.

“Just want to keep you company,” you say by way of explanation as he hands you one, and you reach down to pry off the lid of the pint of chocolate ice cream he’s set down on the counter. It’s only as you glance up again that you realize he’s grabbed something else, too, and is continuing to rummage through your cupboards. “Wait, what are you doing?”

There’s an innocent look on Taehyung’s face as he rights himself, the handle of a pan clutched in one hand. “I found something when I was looking for the ice cream. It’s my favorite. And I thought it might make you feel better, too.”

“Uh huh,” you intone, though your mouth is already starting to tick up, endeared. “A completely selfless act, I’m sure.”

“Of course it is,” he answers with an over-exaggerated wink, flipping the pan cooly in his grip. You squint at the bag as he thuds it down on the counter beside him, then sets the pan on the stove and flips on the burner beneath it.

Hotteok. You’d completely forgotten you’d even picked the bag of frozen sweet pancakes up a few weeks ago, that you had purposefully tucked them into the back of your fridge for a particularly good— or bad— day.

“Chef Kim,” you ask, feigning the tone of a journalist conducting an important interview as you fish your phone out of the pocket of your sweatpants. “Can I interest you in some background music, or do you prefer to cook in absolute silence?”

Taehyung glances back over his shoulder at you, his grin nearly too big for his face. “How about Sinatra?”

You raise one eyebrow at the admittedly unexpected suggestion. “Frank or Nancy?”

He pauses for a moment, as if considering. “Either.”

It’s only a few taps, and then Come Fly With Me is floating out of your Bluetooth speaker, and Taehyung is singing along to himself as he drops a frozen disc onto the heated pan, occasionally turning back to deliver lines to you with an extended hand.

You roll your eyes as you drag your spoon through the top layer of softening ice cream, sucking it into your mouth in an attempt to hide the grin that’s spread over your face.

By the third song you find yourself humming along too, trying not to put too much strain on your still-weak throat. The kitchen has started to smell of sweet, toasted dough as Taehyung works diligently at the stove, and he finally flips the burner off before turning back to you, a plate in each hand and a thick pancake stacked atop each plate.

“Sous chef, will you please apply the ice cream?” he asks, eyes wide and blinking as he sets the dishes down.

Quickly playing along, you nod as you begin to scoop a healthy amount onto each plate. “Yes, chef!”

“And sous chef, do you, uh… have any chocolate sauce?”

You bite back a laugh as his roleplay falls apart as quickly as it began. “It’s in the fridge.”

Taehyung promptly turns and pulls the door open, eyes searching the shelves before he finally spots the dark brown bottle and lets out a triumphant hum. He nudges the fridge shut again with his hip before striding back toward you.

“Plating is key,” he muses. You answer with an appreciative nod and a giggle when he uncaps the sauce, then leans down close to the plates, feigning intense focus as he drizzles each dollop of ice cream with stripes of chocolate.

Once his artful design is complete, he steps back, his tongue toying at the corner of his mouth as he spins one plate to admire his handiwork.

“What do you think, chef?” you tease, and he nods once, decisive.

“It’s perfect.” He glances up, shooting you a grin that knocks the breath from your lungs, and you try to collect yourself as he nudges a plate toward you, encouraging you to take a bite.

You carve your spoon through the pastry, right down the middle where it’s stuffed full of sweet brown sugar syrup. The flaky layers pull apart at the impact, warm enough that you can see steam rising off of the golden dough. You pair a small piece of pancake with a wedge of ice cream on your spoon, then bring both into your mouth at once, and the contrasting mixtures linger on your tongue: hot and cold, sticky sugar chased by rich chocolate. It’s so good that you can’t help but make a soft, appreciative noise as you press your hand to your mouth and chew.

“Do you want to know something?” Taehyung’s voice pulls your attention back, and you look up at him.

“What?”

“Today’s my birthday.”

There’s a split second where you wonder if this is another imagined scenario, and then your eyes widen as you take in the look on his face and realize he’s entirely serious.

“Wait, Taehyung, really?”

He nods once, bringing a spoonful of ice cream to his lips.

“I-I had no idea,” you stammer, suddenly feeling like an asshole. His birthday, and he’s here waiting on you hand and foot, while you haven’t so much as said a word of felicitations. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, he’s waving away your apology with his spoon, then proceeding to answer around his bite of food. “It’s not like I expected you to know. I don’t really make a big deal of it.” He shrugs. “I tend to… I don't know. I get sort of melancholy this time of year. The holidays, my birthday. It’s a lot all at once. A lot of pressure. To be happy. To have everything figured out.”

Nodding slowly, you let his words fully wash over you before you respond. “I get that,” you finally murmur, working off another piece of hotteok. “Nobody ever talks about it, but I feel like birthdays are kinda weird as an adult. You have enough of them and it just starts to feel like a day, you know? Not special.”

“I usually find myself just hiding out, waiting for it to be over,” Taehyung admits.

You take a second to think back. “Yeah. I didn’t even do anything on my birthday this year.” A self-pitying laugh rises up before you can stop it. “Honestly, this whole year was such a flop. I’m glad it’s nearly done.”

Taehyung makes a face like he can’t disagree. “Hey, sometimes that’s life.” He pauses, brow furrowing slightly, then reaches a palm across the table. “Can I play a song?”

“Go ahead,” you offer, pushing your phone into his hand. You scrape your spoon along your dwindling dessert, and haven’t even managed to bring the assembled bite to your mouth before the music changes— from one Frank Sinatra song to another, this one with a driving blues rhythm.

Taehyung is already on his feet, hips starting to sway. “Ah, come on. You have to dance with me.”

He’s closed the distance between you before you can even protest, his hands smoothing across the blanket still wrapped over your shoulders.

“Let me take your coat, ma’am.”

You shift off the stool and onto your feet with a smile as he unwraps the blanket from around you and tosses it toward the back of the couch, missing by at least a foot.

“Why thank you,” you tease, feigning some kind of Transatlantic lilt to your voice that makes him really laugh. “Such a gentleman.”

Taehyung turns to face you again, and then you feel his large hand pressing to the small of your back, warm even through the fabric of your shirt, and your heart stutters a little. You take his other hand in yours and let him lead, let him pull you all the way in until you can turn your head and press your cheek to the firm plane of his chest.

Frank Sinatra croons on about how you can’t let life get you down, and suddenly there’s a weight settling in the pit of your stomach.

“I feel bad, Taehyung,” you admit, and when you glance up at him, he’s looking right back down at you. “That you’re here with me tonight.”

“Why?” he asks, like he really doesn’t know.

“Because,” you shake your head. “I don’t know. There’s a million better places you could be. I can’t even give you birthday sex.”

“I wouldn’t have stayed if I didn’t want to,” he answers simply, then leans back, guiding you under his arm for a spin.

A little giggle bubbles up in your chest, catches on the first syllable of your reply as you twirl. “A-are you sure?”

Taehyung nods, thoughtful, when you come back to center again. “This is a good reminder that… I like taking care of people. It’s been a while since anyone’s let me.” The hand holding yours gives a gentle squeeze, and you can’t help but squeeze back.

“Well, thank you for taking care of me,” you answer softly. “You did a good job. Pretty sure I’m on the mend already.” You blink up at him through your lashes, and the way his eyes are fixed on you makes your heart squeeze, too.

It’s nearly overwhelming, taking him in like this, close enough that you can see every stray beauty mark kissed over his handsome features. Fluffy-haired, big-dicked Kim Taehyung— who would’ve thought?

Taehyung’s adam’s apple jerks in his throat as he swallows, and you feel a sudden rush of heat all over, one you don’t quite think you can blame on a fever. It hardly even occurs to you that the two of you have come to a complete standstill now, barefoot in the middle of your kitchen, Taehyung’s palm pressed to your back, the fingers of your joined hands now shifting to lace together.

“Taehyung,” you’re breathing his name before you even realize it. “Would you… want to stay here tonight? Like, sleep together, literally?”

The smile that flashes over his face is nothing short of brilliant. “Yeah, okay.”

Your voice dips a little lower, teasing, as you smile back. “I really do think I’m feeling better, so. Maybe in the morning I can take care of you, too.”

Taehyung’s fingers brush the length of your jaw, then reach up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear as you continue.

“I’ve got this spray that makes my throat totally numb, so.”

He pauses, his mouth so close to yours that you can feel his breath ghosting over your skin, but he can’t quite keep a straight face. “Fuck, why is that so sexy?”

You’re laughing against his lips when he kisses you.

#taehyung fluff #taehyung x reader #taehyung x y/n #bts fluff #bts x reader

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sgtcosmo · 8 months

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under the weather - 141 headcanons

cw: none, just pure (established relationship) fluff <3 only pronoun used for reader is 'you'

a/n: i'm sick as shit rn and i've been laying in bed all day thinking about how the 141 would care for gn!reader while they're sick, so this is a lil bit self-indulgent hehe!! also, thank you for the love on my first drabble that i posted a couple days ago, it makes me so happy :') enjoy these!

gaz:

-he's an absolute sweetheart all the time already, but when you're sick? oh my god

-checking in on you every 10 minutes, even if it annoys you. he has to know that you're doing okay!!

-i hc him as being a great cook, so he definitely makes you some good ass homemade soups

-THIS ONE MADE MY HEART MELT WHEN I THOUGHT ABOUT IT but he would absolutely read to you. it'd either be wherever he left off in the most recent book he's reading on his own, or he'd grab one of your favourites from the shelf and start from the beginning

-lets you use his lap as a pillow while he reads to you, holding the book with one hand and playing with your hair with the other

-rubs your back soothingly when you're having one of those god awful coughing fits

-when he goes to the store to get you medicine and such, he'll facetime you the whole time. he'll show you the medicine and snacks/drinks at the store and let you pick which ones you want (he also wants to make sure that you're alright while he's gone <3)

-gives you his warmest and nicest sweaters to wear, doesn't care if they get dirty

ghost:

-runs you a bath and lets you soak in the warm water while he washes your hair

-will absolutely make you a hot cup of tea with honey to soothe your sore throat

-canned soup kinda guy. he'd still try his best to make it as appetizing as possible though, adding in extra bits that he knows you like

-you're not lifting a finger once he finds out you're sick. your household chores? they're his now. those errands you were supposed to run today? oops, he's already got his shoes on and keys in hand

-will not let you out of his sight. always keeps a watchful eye on you, no matter what. he took over your duty of washing the dishes? he's bundling you up in 10 blankets on the couch in the living room so he can turn around every 30 seconds and silently check on you

-would probably set reminders on his phone so you take your medicine exactly when you're supposed to, even if it's 3 am. he's up and fetching everything you need before you can even complain about the reminder going off and waking you up

-picks you up and carries you around the house so you don't have to walk

soap:

-still cuddles and kisses you, despite your attempts to push him away to prevent him from also getting sick. he doesn't give a shit

-plays video games with you, or watches you play. i feel like he'd be a try-hard at games and wouldn't take losing lightly, but he'd let you win just because you're sick. if you call him out for it, then he'd probably just make some half-assed excuse and say he must be having an 'off day'

-i feel like he's a canned soup-er, like ghost. will make a bowl for himself as well though so he can eat it with you

-pillow fort? pillow fort. makes a huge one in the living room with a big nest of blankets in it for you both to cuddle in. he even makes a little window through the pillows so you can see the tv and watch your favourite movies

-will order your favourite take-out for you once you feel well enough to eat something other than soup

-would make you laugh so much that it sends you into coughing fits (laughter is the best medicine, after all ;))

price:

-much like ghost, he'd keep a very watchful eye on you and check in on you often

-definitely a homemade soup guy. if there's a specific canned soup that you want, he'll make it exactly how it is, but better

-cuddles with you under a pile of blankets as you watch shitty rom-coms together

-lets you lay on him while you sleep, even if it's for hours at a time. he'd keep his arms wrapped securely around you and kiss the top of your head occasionally

-is willing to do anything and everything you need in order to get you back to good health as quickly as possible. just say the word and he's got it

-would buy medicine in every flavour it comes in just so you can try them all and see what one tastes best so taking it isn't such a miserable experience (i feel like soap would probably do this too? but he'd treat it more as a fun taste test ranking kind of thing)

-will go on short walks outside with you in hopes that the fresh air will make you feel better. he's bundling you up like nobody's business if it's cold outside, though

#kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john price #cod headcanons #simon ghost riley headcanons #kyle gaz garrick headcanons #john soap mactavish headcanons #john price headcanons #gaz headcanons #ghost headcanons #soap headcanons #price headcanons #simon ghost riley x reader #gaz x reader #soap x reader #price x reader #ghost x reader

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boldlyvoid · 8 months

Text

Yours, mine & ours | Part 1: meeting matthew

Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington | Single Dads fic

Summary: Eddie has a 6-year-old brother in need of a new legal guardian

Warnings: set in 1993, Eddie was never a part of the upside-down shenanigans, foster care, child neglect, death of a parent, Al Munson is a monster, Wayne Munson is the loveliest man on earth

Word count: 4.7k

Masterlist

When he got the call from Child Protective Services, his first thought was: “Do they have the right Eddie Munson?” His second thought was: “of course, my dad would have another one of his offspring taken away.”

“So, will you take him? Or should we set him up with one of our emergency families until we can find a permanent foster placement for him?” The woman asked, as kindhearted as possible.

“Uh… yeah? Do you have to like vet me or check out my place?” He asks, worried he won’t have enough time to make his trailer look presentable. He’s only had it a few months now, just a few spaces down from his uncle Wayne, but that didn’t stop the ‘Eddie tornado’ from wreaking havoc on the space in such a short time frame.

“A small one. I’ll bring Matthew with his things and I’ll take a look around, make sure it’s up to code,” she explains. “I know you were also taken in by a family member when you were a kid, so I’m sure you know what it’s like. He’s had a very rough day and I would like to have him settled with someone he can trust tonight.”

“Yeah, yeah I remember… How old is he?” He asks, unsure if she’s said it already or not. His mind was in a bit of a fog, this was all a little surreal. He was 27, how the heck did his dad have another kid? What did he get out of jail? What did he do this time? His mind is absolutely racing.

“6,” she says and he can tell she’s frowning about it. “I don’t think he’s ever been to school…”

“I missed a lot when I was with Al, too,” he shares. “I’ll get him enrolled. 6 is what? Kindergarten?”

“It is, he should be able to catch up quite easily, he’s a very sweet and quiet boy. I think he’ll greatly benefit from being around children his own age.”

He knows that’s true. “Okay, well, I’ll clean up a bit and get things ready here… when are you bringing him?”

“We’re just in Indianapolis, so I’ll be there in an hour-ish?” She says, more so asking if that works for him.

“Sounds good.”

“Thank you, Eddie.”

“Anytime.”

He hangs up the phone on the receiver and looks around the room. He’s fucked. There’s no way he can clean everything and make it look presentable in an hour.

But he’s damn sure going to try.

He throws all his clothes in the washing machine, he rushes through dishes, and he runs the recycling and a few garbage bags down to the trailer park's dumpster. He tidies his room, and sets up a few spare blankets on the couch so that the kid knows he has a spot to sleep tonight before they get him set up with more… and just as he’s changing his shirt to something less heavy metal, there’s a knock on his door.

“Coming!!” He shouts as he slips into the shirt and makes his way down the hallway. He’s barely got his arms in the sleeves as he’s opening the door.

He’s not sure what he’s expecting, but it’s still a shock to see a woman no older than himself holding a garbage bag in one hand and holding hands with a little boy in the other. She’s in a dress suit, hair all pulled back and a small smile on her face, “Eddie Munson?”

“Hi,” he says, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He looks down at his brother then, “You must be Matthew?”

He has the curliest hair, curlier than Eddie’s ever was at this age. He has chubby cheeks, big brown eyes and the longest lashes on earth that batt against those big cheeks each time he blinks. He’s adorable. How the hell could someone have a child so sweet and put them in this position? Was he this cute when he was little? Was this how Wayne felt when he was on his doorstep at 12? Or was he long past that cute phase and more into the annoying tween people felt bad for, stage?

Matthew nods, reaching up to brush his curls out of his face, he looks so tired. His eyes are red, he doesn’t smile, he’s in tattered old running shoes and pants too short for his legs and a sweater Eddie’s seen before… that used to be his. He left it when he was gathering things to leave for Waynes. It was too small for him then, but now it’s a bit too big for Matthew.

“Come in,” he steps aside and lets them in. “I uh, I cleaned as best as I could with short notice. I’ll do more tomorrow once I can borrow the vacuum from my uncle down the way, he’s at work right now. He works nights.”

“That’s okay,” she smiles, letting Matthew in first.

He takes a look around, arms crossed to protect himself. He doesn’t make eye contact, he simply wanders over to the living room to take a look at the figurines Eddie has on the shelves. Wayne would call them toys, they could be if they weren’t so expensive, but with their price tag, they are made to stay in their little acrylic cases and sit on his shelves collecting dust till he has the time to clean again.

“You like Star Wars?” He asks, trying to make conversation but Matthew just shrugs. “I’ll have to show you the movies sometime.”

“Okay,” he says, quiet and meek.

He doesn’t notice the social worker looking around. She opens the fridge, nods a bit and then closes it. She looks in the cupboards and drawers, and she notices that there are clothes in the washing machine tumbling around in soapy circles and she looks impressed. She keeps going down the hall, peaking in the bedroom, “Is it just you who lives here?”

“Uh, yeah, I just got the trailer a couple months ago… I was renting downtown for a bit but then I got the opportunity to own this place,” he explains. “I’m thinking I’m going to get a pull-out couch for me and he’ll have the room. That’s what my uncle did for me.”

“Sounds good,” she gives him a smile. “He seems like he’s good here.” She references over to Matthew who’s flipping through pages of a comic book, sitting criss-crossed on the floor. “Here,” she reaches into her pocket and hands Eddie a white envelope.

“What is this?”

“You’re not technically a foster parent, but because you’re under the poverty line and taking him in, I pulled some strings and you’ll be receiving a $500 allowance for him each month,” she explains. “It should help with groceries and clothes, and I can help you file for medical and dental benefits through some charities that focus on children going through tough situations.”

“Damn, okay,” he’s so shocked. Where was all this when he was a kid? “Wow…”

“And then in the bag, there is a manilla envelope with his birth certificate and other important documents. We couldn’t find any records of him getting his vaccines, so he should see a practitioner before going to school.”

“Okay,” he nods along, feeling overwhelmed. “I uh, I don’t even have a doctor… does he need a kid doctor or will any do?”

“A pediatrician would be best,” she explains. “In Indianapolis, we have a local pediatrician who does pro-bono work for children in the system. I included their number in the envelope, my cards in there, too, tell them I referred you.”

“Thank you. This is more than anyone did for me when they dropped me off with Wayne,” he says, trying not to tear up a bit. “I’m going to take good care of him.”

“I know you will,” she gives him a real smile, she touches his arm and then makes her way to the door. “You call if you need anything, but I think we’re all good here. Bye, Matthew!”

He looks up from his book and gives her a wave, “Bye.”

And then she’s gone.

It’s just them now.

He has a kid.

A kid that will live with him and depend on him for… 18-6 is 12 but he’s 27 and still dependent on Wayne to an extent, so that’s 21 years. He’s going to have this kid forever.

Eddie just watches him read for a moment, carefully keeping his distance. “Are you hungry?”

He nods, “kinda.”

“Do you have any favourite foods?”

He shrugs, “Pringles.”

Eddie sighs, of course. He remembers being fed Pringles and candied nuts and beef jerky from the gas station for years. He never had a real meal between his mom's death and moving in with Wayne.

“Have you ever had Mac and cheese?”

Matthew shakes his head, looking confused.

“Well, then I guess I’m going to have to introduce you to my favourite meal.”

He fills a pot up with water and sets it on a burner, throws in a bit of salt and turns it on high. He pulls a box down from the cupboard and walks it over to Matthew, “See, this is Mac and cheese, it’s these little elbow-shaped noodles and a cheese powder that you mix with milk and butter and it becomes so delicious, you’re going to love it. You can try it by itself, or you can have ketchup on it like I do.”

“I like ketchup,” he gives Eddie a little smile. “The lady at the drink place gives me ketchup with my fries.”

He knows he means the bar. His dad brought him there for dinner a lot too because most nights a plate of fries was free when you ordered 3 or more beers. Sometimes, he’d get a burger or even some chicken tenders if the bartender thought he was cute… that stopped after he turned 8. By then he was a lanky, dirty kid no one wanted to deal with.

“So, Matt, how are you feeling?”

“Hew,” he says, looking displeased.

“What?”

“My name is Matthew.”

“Oh, yeah, I know that. My name is Edward but people call me Eddie. It’s called a nickname,” he explains. “I know our father wasn’t big on nicknames, which is weird considering his preferred name is a nickname… but you don’t have to only go by Matthew. People can call you Matt, or Matty.”

“Oh,” he settles with that. “So my dad is your dad?”

He nods, “yeah… I mean he’s our father. There’s a big difference between a father and a dad.” Matt looks confused so Eddie starts to ramble. “You see, any man can father a kid, but not every man can be a dad. A dad is someone who takes care of you. Someone who reads you bedtime stories and tucks you in at night and kisses your forehead to see if you have a fever… a dad is someone who loves you and is always there for you. When I left our father, I moved in with his brother, Wayne. He did those things for me. He made me feel safe and cared for. Wayne is my dad.”

“Oh,” he softens, looking behind Eddie, sad. “My mom did those things.”

“My mom did too,” he understands. “Where is your mom?”

“She’s an angel,” Matthew sighs, missing her.

“So is my mom,” Eddie presses his lips together, awkwardly, trying not to smile but wanting him to feel comfortable. “But that’s okay, we’ve got each other now. I’m going to make sure we get you into school, and maybe tomorrow we can go shopping?”

He nods excitedly, sitting up straight, “For what?”

“Well, let’s see what you need,” Eddie says, looking for the bag of his things. He puts the box of Mac and cheese on the counter, the pot still isn’t boiling, it takes forever in here. He grabs the garbage bag and unties it, turning it over and dropping everything onto the carpeted floor.

It smells so much like cigarettes that it honestly takes his breath away. “oh wow,” he tries not to gag. He smokes, sure, but not as much as Al, and definitely not in the fucking house.

The pile of things is small. He starts to sort everything, he folds 2 pairs of jeans, 6 shirts, 3 pyjama bottoms and only 1 matching long sleeve top. He has 4 pairs of underwear that look like they’re for a toddler and no socks. There is 1 stuffed elephant and a picture of his mom in a frame… she looks a lot like his own mom.

Al Munson has a type.

“Okay,” he places his hands on his knees and bites his lip. “Well, looks like we need a bit of everything… new shoes, a good coat, some socks, a toothbrush, bathroom things? When was the last time you had a shower?”

He shrugs, “I don’t remember?”

“Okay, do you know how to shower alone?”

He nods, standing up, “I do everything by myself.”

“I figured… um, so while I make dinner do you want to go have a shower? I’m going to put your clothes in the wash later so you can wear one of my old shirts after?” Eddie offers, grabbing one of the other pairs of underwear out of the pile and standing up. “Come on, I’ll show you where everything is.”

He shows him how the shower turns on and off, sets out some towels for him and tells him just how much shampoo he should use. He gets him a new shirt, places it on the counter with his underwear and heads to leave.

“Thank you, Eddie,” Matthew says, giving him a little smile before he shuts the door, leaving him to do his own thing.

In the kitchen he can hear the pot boiling, so he pours the macaroni into the bubbling water. He sets the cheese packet to the side and heads right to the washing machine. He switches his clothes over to the dryer and loads Matt's stuff into the washer. He’ll put it on when the shower turns off so he has good water pressure to get the soap out of his hair.

It’s remarkable how easy it is.

This time yesterday he was eating cold pizza and drinking a beer, thinking he’d never have the kind of life his co-workers did. Today, he has a kid. Today he’s doing laundry and making dinner and he’s going to have to tuck a kid into bed. Tomorrow he’s going to have to take him shopping. He has no idea how he’ll keep doing this every day? If he’ll be good at it? If he’ll have the money, the strength, the energy…

All he can do is try. That’s what Wayne did, and Wayne did a fantastic job. But Wayne also had help, he had friends with kids whom Eddie got most of his things from, ladies who watched him after school and neighbours who made sure he was up in time for the bus when Wayne worked late.

He still has 6 minutes till the macaroni is done, so he heads to the phone, dials the number to his coworker and he waits.

“Hello?” Daryl’s deep voice picks up.

“Hey, it’s Eddie.”

“What’s the van doing this time?” He asks, sounding annoyed.

“Oh, nothing. No. That’s not why I called. I uh… my kid brother is going to be living with me from now on. He’s 6—

“Oh shit,” Daryl can’t believe it.

“Yeah, you and Laurene wouldn’t happen to have your boy’s old clothes still, would you?” He asks, feeling bad but he has to ask.

“We’ve got buckets of their shit down in the crawlspace, I’ll ask Laur to go through it later. I don’t think we’ve got shoes, though. Our boys went through shoes like mad— I swear if they weren’t outgrowing them they were blowing the souls out dragging them on the playground,” he goes off. Eddie can just imagine he’s shaking his head as he explains it all.

“I’ve got an allowance for him from the state, so I can get him new shoes,” Eddie assures. “He has like 4 shirts and no socks. I need to get him a coat and a backpack, and do you guys have a good doctor? He needs to get a doctor.”

Daryl laughs, “I never thought you’d be coming to me for parenting advice.”

“Me either, but he’s my brother. I wasn’t going to let him go into the system. I was with 1 family before Wayne, it wasn’t terrible but I’ve heard the horror stories. I can’t let him go through that shit.”

“You’re a good man,” Daryl compliments him. “I’ll see what we can find tomorrow, I’ll bring it by the trailer. You think he’s a regular-sized 6-year-old?”

He chuckles a bit, “I think? I’m not sure really. He’s so small. I don’t think I was ever that small.”

“We were all small once,” he smiles through the phone. “How about you come over tomorrow for lunch, he can meet our boys and we’ll figure out sizing that way?”

“Sounds perfect,” Eddie agrees. “Thanks again, Daryl. I really appreciate it.”

“Any time kid, you have a good night.”

“You too.”

—

Dinner goes well, they talk about his favourite colours and if he likes music. He likes blue and his dad listened to the radio a lot. He hummed some songs he liked, nothing Eddie could really recognize cause it was probably new-age country. They put their plates in the sink, Eddie shows him where the ketchup goes in the fridge and they talk about getting some groceries tomorrow. Fun food. Things for snacks and easy dinners, and Eddie’s gonna have to start packing him lunches when he goes to school.

He’s going to need a backpack and a lunch bag, a pencil case and pencils and crayons and Eddie’s going to need to help with homework. He doesn’t even know if the kid can read or write yet…

Matt grabs the comic book again and sits back down on the couch, flipping back to the page he was on before, and looking at all the pictures.

“Can you read?” Eddie asks, coming to sit beside him.

He shrugs, “kinda.”

“Cool,” he’s honestly impressed. “Have you ever had a comic book before?”

“No… is that what this is?”

“Yeah, I have a whole bunch. This is Wolverine 27, there’s 26 that come before it. I have most of them, you can read them all if you want?” He offers. “I also have some X-Men comics and a bunch of fantasy books— but they might be too advanced for you, so maybe I could read them to you?”

He nods, a sweet gleam in his eyes, “Can you read me to sleep later?”

“Of course, buddy,” he doesn’t even have to think twice. “Maybe I could read you my favourite book?”

“What is it?”

“It’s called Lord of The Rings,” he says with a smile.

Maybe raising a kid could be fun.

After explaining the plot to him and grabbing the old, well-read, book off the shelf, he looks at Matthew and the couple sheets he has laid out for him, “Would you want to sleep in my bed or out here on the couch tonight?”

“I usually sleep in Dad's room,” he explains. “I have a bed in his closet.”

The fucking closet again. Sure, it gives them both privacy, but a 3x5 room is nothing. It's stuffy and gross and you still hear everything Al gets up to in the middle of the night with his stupid friends. His heart breaks for Matthew. He wished he knew he had a brother sooner, he would’ve gotten Matthew and his mom away from Al as quick as humanly possible.

Now all he can do is make it up to him.

“Well, I was thinking you could have my room and I could get a couch that turns into a bed for me to sleep out here,” he explains his thinking. “I'm going to put all my clothes in the closet, I might get a new dresser or something for out here so you can keep all your things in your room.”

“Really? You mean it?” He lights right up. “I always wanted my own room.”

Eddie smiles right back at him, “Well, now you’ve got one. It might take a little while for me to move my things out here and make it feel more like your space, but you’ll like it.”

He nods, really happy with the thought of having his own space for the first time in his short little life. So happy, he gives Eddie a hug.

“Oh,” he’s a bit shocked at first but then he softens, holding him back with a soft smile on his face. Eddie could really get used to this. “I’m glad you’re here, buddy.”

“Me too,” he whispers against him, snuggling in, clearly tired after a long day.

“Do you want to go to bed?”

He nods, “Can I sleep with you?”

“Uh… yeah, I just have to clean up a bit out here after I read to you but I can come back to your room?” Eddie compromises. He really wants to put his stuff in the washing machine before they go out tomorrow.

He holds his hand and walks him down the hall to his bedroom, flicks on the light and watches Matt’s eyes light right up, “woah?”

“You like it?” He smirks, it’s pretty basic. White paint covered in posters and homemade flags with his band's name on them. Homemade artwork from campaigns, photos from gigs and tickets from concerts and festivals he’s been to.

“It’s so colourful,” he says as he lets go of Eddie’s hand and wanders over to his Iron Maiden poster. “He’s so… wow?”

“His name is also Eddie… he’s the mascot for Iron Maiden, I’ll show you their music tomorrow in the van,” he promises. “You sure it’s not too scary to sleep in here?”

He shakes his head, “No, it’s cool!”

He can’t help but smile, it must run in the family to love this shit. He suddenly can’t wait to show him all the music he has, maybe teach him how to play guitar or hell, he might be into drums or bass and the boys can help him out. Having a little brother is a gift he never expected. This kid is so much like him, it’s going to be so fun.

He never wanted a kid of his own… really, he just didn’t want to knock up some woman he didn’t love in the name of pretending to be straight. He didn’t want to change diapers and be up all night trying to soothe a crying crotch goblin. He’d do it if he had to, but he never put himself in the position to need to. Now he has Matt, he’s at a fun age, and he’s still mouldable. He can still be made into a good person, he’s not affected too much by their father which is a blessing. He was only with him half as long as Eddie was, and he turned out semi-okay?

He turns the covers down, fluffs a pillow and flicks on the lamp light instead of the big light. “Come sit,” he offers, going to get his book from the shelf.

Matt crawls into the bed, pulls the covers up over himself and sits there with his hands in his lap, patiently waiting for his story.

“Has anyone read to you before?”

He nods, “My mom did. Just little books, though,” he points at the massive book Eddie’s holding. “Not like that.”

“I know, but the best part about these big books is that we can read this story every night for a while. It took Wayne a whole year to read it to me at bedtime,” he explains, taking a seat in the bed beside him. “So, it starts off kind of different… the narrator gives a rundown of the world first so that when you start reading, you’re not completely lost about what a hobbit is or where they live.”

“Okay,” he nods along.

“And the way the characters talk might be a bit strange, and the words are a bit long and some don’t exist in our world. If you need help understanding, don’t be afraid to ask me what something means,” he explains. “It’s hard to understand sometimes, but I’ve read it so many times I know almost everything about it.”

He nods, leaning into Eddie’s arm and looking at the pages. “Are there pictures?”

He shakes his head, “No, but I have drawn some of the scenes in my sketchbook, I can show you them later?”

“Okay,” he settles against him and that’s how Eddie knows it’s time to start.

“This book is largely concerned with Hobbits, and from its pages a reader may discover much of their character and a little of their history…”

He reads in his most normal voice, he’ll introduce voices for the characters later. he’s actually really excited about that. Wayne used to try and do voices for him, but he never could keep them consistent. Eddie, on the other hand, would do voices in his head when he read the book to himself.

“They do not and did not understand or like machines more complicated than a forge-bellows, a water-mill, or a hand-loom, though they were skilful with tools. Even in ancient days they were, as a rule, shy of ‘the Big Folk’, as they call us,—

“Wait, so Hobbits are tiny?” Matthew asks.

He nods, “Yeah, they’re probably about your size when they’re my age, but they have big hairy feet.”

Matthew laughs, “I think I’m going to like this book.”

Eddie smiles, “I think so, too”

—

Wayne doesn’t work the same night shifts that he used to. He’s too old for that shit. Now, he comes home around 11pm, gets to sleep all night and goes back in at 3pm. He likes it this way. He’s always been more of a night owl, he enjoys sleeping when the sun is up more than anything, it runs in the family. It took Eddie most of his life to get onto a “normal” schedule for his 9-5.

Wayne knocks on the trailer door lightly just as Eddie’s switching the laundry over. He rushes to the door and holds his finger up to his lips as he opens it, “Hey, let me come out here.”

Wayne’s a little confused but he backs up and lets Eddie outside. “What’s goin’ on? You got someone over?”

“Al had another kid after he got out, or during? I’m not sure about the logistics, but he got arrested again and now Matthew’s going to be living with me,” he explains.

“That old fucker got another woman knocked up?” Wayne can’t believe it. “The courts should castrate ya after CPS takes two kids out of y’r care.”

Eddie just chuckles, “Yeah, well, at least this one got away at 6.”

“6?” Wayne repeats, eyes wide, “are you sure y’r up for that?”

He nods, “he’s pretty calm and quiet. The social worker got us set up with an allowance so I’ll get $500 a month to take care of him and Daryl and his wife are going to hook us up with some hand-me-downs. Tomorrow I’m getting him some new shoes and underwear and a coat. And socks. He didn’t come with any socks?”

“You didn’t either,” Wayne reminds him.

He sighs, remembering all too well just how hard it was to be with Al for so long. “Yeah, well, we’re getting him everything he needs now. I need to get him set up at school, he needs a doctor, too… but we’ll be okay.”

“You said his name is Matthew?”

He nods, “had to teach him what nicknames are too. He likes Matt so far.”

“Good, good,” Wayne places his hands on his hips and shakes his head. “Wow, never thought I’d be here again.”

“I told him you’re my dad,” Eddie explains. “Al’s just the man who made us, but dads take care of us.”

Wayne lets out a huff and presses his lips together, his eyes well a bit, “boy…”

“I know, I know,” Eddie laughs it off. “You’re not good with emotions, but it’s true. And who knows, he might start calling you grandpa with this logic.”

“You’re gonna be a good dad to that kid,” Wayne compliments, meaning it with every fibre of his being.

Eddie just reaches out and hugs him, “Yeah, well, I learned from the best.”

General Taglist

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Single Dads fic

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#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington fanfiction #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #steddie fanfiction

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