#I mean it wasn’t as devastating as I thought it was going to be but OW OW OW | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cressidagrey · 4 months ago

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It's a Love Story - Chapter 1

Summary:

Azriel's shadows find their master a wife.

Azriel would just really like his heart not to get broken again.

And Sky...well, she's just really surprised that that far too handsome male is interested in her at all.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), I classified this as Azriel x OC, even when it't technically Azriel x Sellyn Drake (but we kinda know nothing about Sellyn Drake other than that she writes books so Sky is kinda an OC), Cassian is kinda a good guy for once, Azriel has a horrible time, as usual... Stuttering, toxic families (For once I do not mean the IC), Self-Esteem Issues, Secret Identity, Body Image Issues

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

Koschei the Deathless Sorcerer was killed by the Spymaster of the Night Court.

It was less dramatic than it sounded. At least Azriel thought so.

And if Lucien hadn’t been a fucking idiot and put himself into a position to be kidnapped by the very same deathless sorcerer…then they wouldn’t even have been in that kind of situation.

But he had been and so it ended with Azriel so magically exhausted that he collapsed the very same moment Truthteller stroke true once more.

At least Koschei was slayn.

And the only reason Azriel had gone to rescue the red-headed male in the first place was the fact that Lucien was Elaine’s mate. Lucien was the male Elain loved. Azriel couldn’t let him die.

Couldn’t let Elain feel the devastation of a mating bond broken by death…so his decision making had been quick. Either he would manage to get Lucien free…or he would die trying. There wasn’t many things that he wouldn’t do for the female he loved. Even when he knew it shouldn’t be.

Azriel had never been very good at knowing when enough was enough after all, wasn’t he?

No price was high enough to pay when it was about Elain’s happiness, as far as Azriel was concerned.

He hadn't expected to wake up, and yet… there he was. Alive and whole.

*I hope it was worth it, Master,* the shadows sniped at him.

He blinked, taking in the dim light of the room, taking in the familiar surroundings. His room in the House of Wind.

“You are a fucking idiot, you know?” Cassian hissed at him from his place at his bedside and Azriel blinked at him.

"Lucien?" he brought out hoarsely.

"Not as much as a fucking scratch on him. Thanks to you," Cassian responded. "You on the other hand...Madja thought you were going to fucking die from pure magical exhaustion!"

Even Azriel he had...it would have been worth it. Lucien had made it out alive - and that was all that mattered in the end. Elain would be happy. That was all he cared about.

He didn't say that aloud though.

He took a deep breath, opening his eyes again. "How long was I out?" he asked.

"Three days," Cassian growled. "Three. Days."

Azriel sat up slowly, wincing at the ache in his muscles. It felt like his entire body was one giant bruise, every inch of him pained and sore.

"Lay back down," Cassian snapped.

Azriel shot him a glare, but sank back onto the bed nonetheless. "I'm fine," he grumbled. "Just tired."

"Yeah, well, we'll let Madja be the judge of that," Cassian snapped. "And when you are feeling better, I am going to kill you for going off on your own!"

Azriel just gave him a weary look. "Better me than you," he said dryly. He closed his eyes, feeling a deep exhaustion settle over him. Cassian had Nesta to think about. Azriel didn't. Azriel just had himself.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!" Cassian demanded.

Azriel didn't have the energy to answer

He dosed off, feeling the shadows twine around him. They were muttering, words he could c quite understand, bitching under their breath but for once it was comforting.

He woke up, feeling groggy and disoriented. His eyes felt like sandpaper, and his limbs were heavy. He groggily blinked at the room, feeling like he was in a haze.

It took him a moment to realize he wasn't alone. Cassian was still there, as was Madja.

Azriel groaned, pushing himself up into a sitting position. His head was throbbing, and his vision was a little blurred. He rubbed his face, trying to clear the fog from his mind. "Hey," he said, his voice rough and gravelly.

Cassian and Madja both looked at him, their expressions relieved. "How are you feeling?" Madja asked him, moving closer to the bed and waving a hand in front of his face.

"Like I was hit by a wagon," Azriel admitted. His muscles felt tight and sore, his body heavy with fatigue. His wings felt like they were made of lead, and every movement took a huge effort.

"That's unsurprising considering you nearly magicked yourself to death," Madja said gruffly. "Your body had a tremendous amount of stress and strain put on it. You're lucky to be alive."

He gritted his teeth. "Yeah, well, I didn't have a lot of other options," he pointed out.

Madja just let out a huff and began prodding and poking at his body, running her hands over his wings and checking his pulse. Cassian watched anxiously from the side, his arms crossed over his chest.

Azriel bore her ministrations in silence, trying not to wince as she poked and prodded at him. He knew she was just trying to help, but it didn't make the ordeal any more pleasant.

After what felt like forever, she finally stepped back, nodding to herself. "You're lucky, shadowsinger," she said gruffly. "You're lucky you're so damn resilient," she said, and he couldn't tell if it was a compliment or just an observation.

He looked at her blearily. "I guess I can add that to my list of things to be proud of," he muttered sarcastically.

Cassian barked out a laugh, but Madja just rolled her eyes. The door opened at that moment. "How's he doing?" Rhys demanded.

Azriel wanted to let out a sigh at the sight of Rhys. He loved his brother, but he didn't have the energy for a lecture right now.

Madja turned to Rhys. "He's weak and he's stupid," she snapped. "But he's alive."

Rhys let out a sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. "Thank you, Madja," he said. "Would you...give us a moment?"

Madja nodded, patting Azriel's leg as she got up to leave. "Rest," she ordered. "And no strenuous activity for at least a week."

As soon as the door closed behind her, Rhys turned to Azriel. "What were you thinking?" he demanded, his eyes blazing.

"I was thinking that I was saving Lucien's life," Azriel replied evenly, meeting his brother's gaze. "I couldn't let him die, Rhys."

"Wouldn't that have made it easier for you?* Rhys demanded sharply mentally. *You are the one that fancies himself in love with Elain.*

Maybe it shouldn't hurt him as much as it did. He didn't fancy himself in love with her. He was in love with her. Had been in love with her and Rhys had been the one to order him away from her, which had given Lucien the opportunity to swoop in and Elain had...Elain had given in. Given in to that Siren Song of the Mating Bond and was very much in love with her mate now.

It hurt to hear Rhys say it like that, like it was just some passing infatuation that he'd gotten over.

*Lucien is her mate,* he responded simply. He didn't say what he really thought. He didn't say that he would rather have Elain be happy and never talk with him again than to have her wilt like one of her flowers because her mate had died and the mating bond would be broken… He didn't say that he loved Elain enough, that her happiness was more important to him than anything else. He didn't say any of that.

*At least you are recognising that now,* Rhys said with a snort. Azriel didn't flinch. Didn't react.

He hid away in that little corner of his brain he went to when everything became too much. Where he could just shut up all his feelings, all these pesky emotions, and just be...nothing. Nothing. That's the only thing he still had left.

He just shrugged, schooling his face into a careless expression. "I did what I had to do, Rhys," he repeated stubbornly. "Lucien is a good male. He didn't deserve to die."

"Elain wants to thank you," Rhys said suddenly.

Azriel's stomach twisted as Rhys mentioned Elain. He felt a pang of longing in his chest, a desperate ache to see her, to touch her, to hear her voice. But he knew he couldn't. He couldn't subject himself to the torture of seeing her with her mate, seeing her happy in Lucien's arms.

So his answer was definite: "There is no need for that," he said simply.

Rhys gave him a sharp look. "Don't be an idiot," he said gruffly. "She's been worried sick about you."

But Azriel just shook his head, even as his heart thudded in his chest.

*You can keep it together for 5 minutes,* Rhys snapped into his mind.

"Rhys," Cassian said carefully. "If he doesn't want to, just let it..."

"He's being ridiculous," Rhys snapped, interrupting Cassian. "Elain is family.”

Azriel grit his teeth but didn't respond. He didn't have the energy for an argument right now. He just wanted to sleep.

*See her for 5 minute snad then you can sulk like a spoiled child until you feel better about yourself,* Rhys bargained drily.

Azriel hesitated. He knew he should see her, knew that it would make things easier for everyone if he did. But the thought of seeing her, seeing her happy with Lucien when he was so miserable, was like a knife to the gut.

"Does it even matter what I want?" he asked, his voice flat.

Rhys let out a frustrated sigh, looking at him with exasperation. "Az, stop being so damned stubborn. Elain has been worried sick about you - the least you can do is let her see that you are alive."

Azriel didn't say anything. Didn't respond. He just stared at Rhys, feeling like every fiber of his being was being pulled apart. He wanted to see her. Wanted to see her more than anything. But he knew that once he saw her, he wouldn't be able to hold himself together. He would break. He would shatter into a thousand pieces.

"Just...come on, Az," Rhys said finally. "Let her see you. She needs to know you're alright."

Azriel knew he couldn't say no. Knew he couldn't hurt her like that. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Fine," he said softly. "But just for five minutes."

Five minutes. He could do five minutes. He had to. For her…

She was still as achingly beautiful as she always had been. These devasting brown eyes, the caramel curls...

Azriel's breath hitched at the sight of her, and he felt a wave of conflicting emotions wash over him. Love, longing, sadness, and that bittersweet pang of being so close to something he could never have.

Behave, Rhys warned him sharply.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Trying to push back that wave of feelings that threatened to drown him. It was just five minutes, he reminded himself. Five minutes. He could do this.

The shadows swirled around him, welling up with intensity, shrouding much of his body in inky blackness and Elain flinched back from them.

She had never quite warmed up to them. Azriel was just thankful for that display, for keeping her away from him as she entered the room, Lucien on her heels.

"How...How are you feeling?" she asked him, her voice soft.

He could tell that she was worried, that she was concerned for him. It warmed something inside him, and he hated himself for it.

"I'm fine," Azriel answered hoarsely. "Just tired.

"I...thank you," Elain said softly, binting her lip. "If you hadn't...if you hadn't killed Koschei and freed Lucien...I...Thank you, Azriel."

Hearing her say his name again was like a punch to the gut. It was both a comfort and a torture, to be so close to her and yet so far away. He swallowed hard, biting back the words that threatened to spill out.

"You don't owe me any thanks," he said quietly. "I just did what had to be done."

"I do owe you my life," Lucien disagreed. "Thank you. Without your interference...I wouln't have survived, " he said flatly.

Azriel just shrugged, feeling a wave of bitterness wash over him. He had saved Lucien, had risked his life to save the male who was mated to the female he loved. It was a strange sort of irony.

"It's fine," he said roughly. "I'm just glad I got there in time."

He couldn't look at her. Couldn't look at Lucien. It hurt too much. So he stared at the floor, willing the shadows to consume him entirely.

"We are all just happy you are feeling alright," Elain said softly. "I...I was worried about you. Everyone was."

Azriel forced himself to look up at her, his heart clenching at the sincerity in her eyes. She really had been worried about him. "I'm alright," he promised her, his voice rough. "Really. I just need some rest."

Elain hesitated, taking a step forward. He could hear her heartbeat, could feel the warmth radiating off her skin. It was torture to be so close to her and yet so far away. It was torture to know that she was so close and yet so unattainable. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, to hold her, but he knew he couldn't. He held onto that last shred of reason he had.

She tugged a piece of hair behind one delicately arched ear...and that was the moment he saw the gold and pearl ring that decorated her ring finger.

"Congratulations." He wasn't sure how he even brought out these words...how he managed to make them sound...appropriately happy for her.

It took a herculean effort to say those words, to offer a smile that barely reached his eyes. Every fibre of his being was screaming in protest, yelling that he should have been the one giving her that ring, that he should have been the one by her side. But he pushed back those feelings, burying them deep down inside of himself. He couldn't let her see how he truly felt. He couldn't let her know how much it was tearing him apart to stand there and look at her. Look at her with her mate, with the male she loved, the one she had chosen.

"Congratulation," he repeated, his voice a little rougher than before.

"It wouldn't have been possible without you," Elain said, with a smile.

Azriel just nodded, feeling a lump in his throat. He couldn't find the words to respond, couldn't find the words to express the tangle of emotions swirling inside of him. He just sat there, feeling more alone and isolated than he had in a long time.

Elain took another step in his direction, seemingly ready to reach out, but Cassian intercepted her. placing a gentle hand on Elain's shoulder. "He needs his rest," he said softly. "Let's leave him be for now."

Azriel felt a pang of gratitude towards Cassian. Elain hesitated, looking torn.

"I wish you every happiness," Azriel brought out his voice hoarsely. Not even a lie. It was the frank truth in these words and Elain gave him a smile, before Lucien's hand came to rest at her lower back, guiding her out of the room.

Thank the cauldron. They were gone.

He slumped back into the pillow. He was falling apart. He was exhausted, emotionally and physically. He just wanted to be left alone, to lick his wounds in peace.

"Az..." Cassian said carefully, but he cut him off.

“I am tired,” Azriel said, his voice hoarse. “I need to sleep.”

The shadows swirled around him tighter.

Rhys and Cassian exchanged a look, before Cassian nodded, "Alright," he said. "Get some rest."

He laid down properly, closing his eyes, calling the shadows to him wordlessly. They swamred around him immediately. Damn Near suffocating him. It was the only thing that kept him from starting to sob.

The shadows embraced him, wrapping him in their inky blackness, shielding him from the outside world. They were his only comfort, just like they had been for centuries.

*We are there, Master.* They promised him softly. *It will be fine, Master.*

He didn’t believe a fucking word they said.

*We are not willing to lose you, Master. We aren’t interested in finding a new master,* they told him seriously. He choked out a laugh that turned into a sob.

*Sleep, Master. We'll keep watch,* they promised him.

And they did.

Bone deep exhaustion meant that at least his sleep was dreamless. At least that was given to him. It was a small mercy.

When he woke up again, Nesta was there, sitting in an armchair reading.

Azriel blinked, feeling disoriented and groggy. He sat up slowly, wincing as his wounds protested the movement. Nesta looked up from her book, her expression neutral.

"How are you feeling?" she asked him quietly.

"Fine," he answered, his voice hoarse. He was fine. He would be fine.

"Thank you," Nesta said suddenly.

Azriel looked up at her, surprised. He wasn't even sure what she was thanking him for.

"For what?" he asked, his voice rough with sleep.

“You nearly got yourself killed to save my sister’s mate. I think Thank you is the least I owe you," Nesta said drily.

She mustered him with grey eyes and he knew that she knew. Knew that she knew or at the very least could guess about his feelings for Elain and probably be right. She wouldn't say anything, but she knew.

He didn’t want to talk about this anymore. It was over with. Done.

Lucien and Elain could be happy and Azriel…Azriel would hide away somewhere.

"You don't owe me anything," he waved Nesta off weakly, but she didn’t seem to want to take the hint, sticking out her chin.

"Yes, I do," Nesta disagreed. "You are the reason why my little sister is happy right now," she told him fiercely. He swallowed down the unkind words at the tip of her tongue...didn't say anything. Didn't.... He didn’t want to think about this. He didn’t…

"Is there anything I can do?" Nesta asked him, her voice soft. "Anything at all, Az?" H knew that he could ask for anything and Nesta would do her level best to give it to him. She was stubborn like that. He had half a mind to ask her to use her silver flames to put him on fire and put him out of his misery.

He didn’t.

Even that wouldn’t fix it.

There was nothing. There was absolutely nothing to make it any better. There was nothing that could...that could fix the ache in his chest.

"Porridge," he said, his voice hoarse.

"Porridge?" Nesta repeated incrediously.

"Porridge with honey. I am hungry," he repeated, meeting her gaze. Food. Food. More Sleep. More Work. He could fill his waking hours with useless things and everybody would be happy.

Nesta just looked at him for a moment, then inclined her head.

"Porridge with honey. Alright," she agreed. Just a moment later a massive bowl of Porridge with honey drizzled on top, appeared on his bedside table, so hot it was steaming. Seemed like the house was in a mood to spoil him. He even got a whiff of cinnamon from it.

"Thank you," he thanked Nesta's creature aloud as the shadows fetched the bowl and held it up for him to eat a spoonful. "What are you reading?" he asked Nesta, changing the topic.

She was polite enough not to say anything about it.

Nesta held up her book. “The newest Sellyn Drake novel,” she replied.

"Is it any good?" he inquired, stirring his porridge gently.

“It’s brilliant," Nesta gushed, her eyes devoured the pages as soon as she looked down to continue reading.

"You seem to really like it," he pointed out, taking another bite of his porridge. "It is brilliant," Nesta agreed readily. “The plot is so intricate and twists and turns and the characters are so deep and complex and their emotions are so real and the romance is so...” she trailed off, blushing slightly.

He opened his mouth to respond...but then he heard her.

Mor. Of course.

He couldn’t deal with Mor. Not right now. But there she was, Rhys hot on her heels.

Nesta heard her too, rolling her eyes, curling back up on her chair, making it very clear that while she was going nowhere, she was letting him deal with it on her own.

And he didn’t want to deal with Mor.

But there she was.

Mor came strolling into the room, her usual confident smile firmly in place. Rhys just looked at Azriel, his expression unreadable.

He didn't say it. But Azriel knew. Behave. That’s all Rhys was telling him these days. Either it was about Elain and Lucien...or about Mor and Emerie. Like Azriel would ever do anything to put that in jeopardy. Like Azriel was a jealous child that wouldn't allow Mor to be happy on her own terms. Like...

Azriel ignored the sharp pang of hurt that shot through him at Rhys's look.

Still it was better than looking at Mor…he couldn’t bear to look at Mor.

Didn't want to look at Mor, in her usual bright red, skin baring dress, that clung to all her curves...didn't want to look at the female he had spent centuries in love with even when he had known that she was never going to return his affections...it hadn't helped him. He had still been in love with her.

And he had still hoped...hoped against all hope that maybe...maybe there would be a time where she would return his affection...that maybe there would be a time where...

But there wouldn't. He knew. He knew. And he had still been in love with her.

Would have given damn near anything for her attention, for that broad smile on her face to be directed in his direction...would have given anything for her to bound over to his bedside and envelope him in her arms...to feel her soft skin against his as she hugged him fiercely, cinnamon and citrus enveloping him.

Now...now it felt like somebody was pouring salt into a gaping wound. Now it felt as painful as the fire and oil on his hands had. She was flaying him alive and she wasn’t even aware that she was hurting him.

"How are you feeling, Az?" Mor's voice was gentle, concerned. He knew it was genuine, knew that Mor really cared about him. But he couldn't bring himself to look at her. Not when his heart was bleeding out just from the sound of her voice.

"Fine," he answered, his voice flat. "Nothing that sleep won't fix," he promised her, even as her hands fluttered around him as she sat down on his bedside...

She was so close. He could reach out and touch her, could feel the soft fabric of her dress against his fingertips. He clenched his fists, willing himself to keep his hands to himself.

But he couldn't help it. He looked up at her, meeting her eyes. He could see the concern there, the worry. He felt a pang of guilt for putting that look on her face. He didn't want to cause her any distress.

"I'm just glad you are feeling better," Mor sighed, gently patting his arm. "You had us all worried for a moment there," she admitted softly.

Even just the touch of her hand felt like she was branding him. He wanted to flinch away and forced himself no to.

It was like a bittersweet poison, the way she touched him. It was so familiar, so comforting. But it was also so painful, a reminder of what he could never have.

He looked away, staring down at his hands. They were shaking, just a little. He clasped them together, the monstrous scars that covered them, standing out starkly.

The shadows trembled around him, pulling nearer, growing darker and Mor watched them with a raised eyebrow. "Worried, are they?" she teased him slightly.

*You are fine, Master,* the shadows promised him. *No more fire,* they promised him fiercely. But it didn’t help. He didn’t trust himself to speak without his voice cracking.

Mor seemed to sense his discomfort and stood up, her hand slipping from his arm. "Just rest and get better soon, alright?" she said softly, taking a step back.

"Thank you," he thanked her, his voice hoarse.

He risked a glance up at her, just a quick look. Her face was soft, her eyes filled with warmth. He felt his heart squeeze in his chest and he had to look away again. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.

"We should let him rest, Mor," Rhys said, giving Azriel another look.

"Right, right," Mor agreed, already turning towards the door. "Rest up, Az," she said again, giving him one last smile as she disappeared out the door.

Azriel felt a sense of relief wash over him as she left the room.

Gone. Thank the cauldron. He couldn't take much more of her presence, not right now.

He didn't even want to know why Rhys had accompanied her. Probably because he was worried that Azriel wasn't going to behave.

What was he supposed to do instead? Tell Mor about how much she had hurt him over the centuries? How she had given him jut enough scraps of her affection to make him yearn for more but never telling him that she didn’t love him like that?

He wasn’t going to do that.

He didn't want to look at Rhys right now, didn't want to face the scrutiny of his high lord's gaze. He just wanted to be left alone.

He knew that Rhys was watching him, that the male wanted to say something. But Azriel didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to hear the lecture, the warning. He just wanted to be left alone.

The room fell silent, except for the sound of his own breathing. He closed his eyes and sank deeper into the mattress. Maybe if he just pretended to sleep, Rhys would leave him alone.

"He's tired. You should let him sleep," Nesta said flatly.

Leave it to Nesta to tell Rhys to stuff it, he reflected weakly. He heard Rhys sigh, but he kept his eyes closed. And after a moment, he heard the sound of footsteps leaving the room.

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, feeling a wave of relief wash over him.

Alone. Safe. Mostly at least.

Life went on. It always did.

The exhaustion went away after a few days... he caught up on Paperwork in the meantime. He sent the shadows off to find him one information or other and they didn't even bitch to him that badly, which told him that even they felt bad for him.

Behave. That’s all Rhys was telling him these days.

So he did. He behaved.

He did his job. He did everything Rhys could possibly want from his spymaster.

He didn’t argue. He didn’t fight. He did his job and he trained and he did everyhting that was expected off him.

And then he hadn’t tortured himself enough… and he went to visit Rosehall.

Where his mother lived.

Under the Mountains had it’s own kind consequences. This was one of them: His mother didn’t even want to talk to him anymore.

50 years without him...and his mother had made herself a new family. A family that he wasn’t welcome in. A family that she wanted him nowhere near. He couldn’t fault her for it. Not at all.

She had been half a child when she had had him and it hadn’t been by choice.

So who could blame her for making a new family with people that weren’t as fucked up in the head as he was? Not Azriel.

Azriel didn’t blame her at all. Azriel left her in peace. He didn't reach out. He made sure that she was fine, that she had enough money to never worry about it and otherwise dissappeared from her life.

His shadows kept an eye on her…He shored up the wards around Rosehall and caught a glimpse of her. And then he left it at that. She looked happy. That’s all he cared about.

Happy and safe and…she didn’t need him. She didn’t want him around her either, and he could understand that too.

And still, it hurt. It hurt so fucking much.

But

*You know the rules,* he told the shadows quietly. *You don’t need to report to me about her anymore. Keep an eye on her and only tell me if she is in danger or hurt.*

*Yes, Master,* they agreed readily.

So he went back to the House of Wind. Back to Velaris…Back to work.

He went back to his routine, back to his duties, back to his mask of indifference. He hid the pain behind his usual stoic facade, only letting his shadows know how much it hurt. He threw himself into his work, using it as a way to distract himself from his own loneliness.

And when he wasn't working, he would spend hours and hours in the training ring in the House of Wind, working himself to exhaustion. Anything to try and drown out the ache in his heart.

For gods sake, he even attended Elain and Lucien’s mating ceremony. And gifted them an appropriate gift. He behaved just like Rhys wanted him too.

He even summoned up a smile for them on their special day, hiding his own pain behind a mask of false happiness. He congratulated them both, feeling a pang in his chest at the sight of Elain's beaming face. But he didn’t let it show. He behaved. Like Rhys wanted him too.

He stayed for the whole thing. Stayed for the dancing, stayed for the feast. Stayed until he could physically take it no more. And then he had retreated to that training ring again, beating his pain and loneliness out on whatever dummy he could find.

He was so tired. Tired of hiding, tired of pretending. Tired of pretending like nothing was wrong. He wanted nothing more than to just scream and rage and shout and cry. But he didn’t. He held it all in. Bottled it up like he was so good at doing.

He was in the bathtub, sluicing off the sweat he was drenched in…shaking off his wings just because he could move them however he wanted to

*You should go out, Master,* the shadows suggested seriously. *Go out and find a female.*

He just snorted. *Not interested,* he sniped back harshly. *I am not getting my heart broken again.*

Everybody could just fuck off and leave him alone. Even when he was aching…aching for somebody in his life that loved him. For whom he could be everything. Somebody he could dote on. Somebody that wanted his attention, that wanted his love…that would like his ruined hands on their body and wasn’t paid to simply acccept it.

*You could let us pick her!* the shadows suggested brightly.

His eyes snapped back open and he glared at the shadows swirling around the room. *Absolutely not,* he said firmly. *I mean it, you stay out of it.*

*We can’t do a worse job than you do,* they sniped at him. *Neither The Seer nor The Morrigan would have suited you at all.*

*Excuse me?!*

*You heard us, Master,* the shadows said, sounding far too smug for their own good. *And you know it.*

Azriel just glared at them, feeling his temper start to rise. *I know I wasn’t good enough for them,* he snapped. *You don’t need to tell me that.*

*You think you weren’t good enough for them?!* The shadows asked him incredulously.

*They deserve better. So much better than me,* he said quietly. "I'm not good enough for either of them. Never was.*

What was he, after all? An Illyrian bastard? A monster? Either? Both?

He had never said it out loud before, not even to himself. But in that moment, lying in the water, his heart so raw and exposed, he couldn't help but speak the truth that he had always known but never admitted to himself. "I'm not good enough for either of them," he repeated softly, the weight of his words settling heavily on his chest.

He knew it was true. Mor was a golden ray of light, the embodiment of beauty and grace. Elain was sweet and gentle and kind, a pure soul in a sea of darkness.

And what was he? Damaged. Broken. Scarred. Inside and out.

He had done unspeakable things, things that would haunt his nightmares for centuries to come. He was nothing compared to them. He was darkness, they were light. And they deserved better than him, far better than him.

Even if he had loved Mor with every fiber of his being, even if he had yearned for her with every beat of his heart, even if he had dreamed of her every night, it didn't matter. It had never mattered. Because he wasn't good enough for her. And he never would be.

He wasn’t good enough for Elain. The mother hadn’t thought it to be prudent to make them mates. Both of his brother had been gifted with a mating bond, but not him. That should tell him everything he needed to know abotu the state of his own soul.

So why…why should he even try anymore.

Why shouldn’t he just stew in his own misery, alone and heartbroken and a monster and expect everybody to just leave him alone? There was no point of putting himself out there again. There was nothing out there for him. Nothing but more pain.

So he closed his eyes again, sinking lower into the water, letting the warmth soothe his aching muscles. He let out a long sigh, his mind already racing with thoughts of his next missions, his next assignments. Because that was all that really mattered now. His job. His duties. His responsibilities. That was all he had left.

Behave. That’s all he was good for.

*Alright, that’s fucking enough,* the shadows snapped. *You are not letting The High Lord talk to you like that any longer, Master.*

Azriel was so surprised by their fucking vehemence that he could just stare at them.

*The Morrigan used you for centuries to make herself feel better about herself,* the shadows snapped. *She used the feelings you had for her and that she was very much aware of to strangle you and keep you in line.*

Azriel swallowed. He knew they were right. He knew that Mor had used his feelings for her for a long time. She had led him on, given him false hope, only to yank it away time and time again. It had been a painful cycle, one that had left him feeling used and broken and worthless.

*She could have stopped at any time but she never did,* the shadows hissed. *But instead she hurt you on purpose. Instead of turning you down, she slept with other males to show you that you would never have her!*

Azriel felt bile rise in the back of his throat. Mor had flaunted her other lovers in front of him, making it clear that he would never be enough for her. She had used his devotion to her as a weapon against him, wielding it whenever it suited her needs. And he had let her. He had been foolish, desperate enough to cling onto any scrap of affection she might throw his way.

*And The Seer?! Granted she has never done that, but her feelings for you weren’t particular deep when she replaced you on her affections with The Fox as soon as you weren’t available anymore! If she had cared, truly cared, she would have thought about what happened during Winter Solstice,* the shadows snapped.

*And The High Lord? Don’t even let us get started on him,* the shadows snapped. *You haven’t even done anything since that Winter Solstice, and he keeps behaving like some kind of despotic Overlord, worried that his orders won’t be followed. If you wanted to punch him in the face, you probably had every right to it,* they mumbled.

Azriel couldn’t help but snort.

*You deserve better, Master,* The shadows told him fiercely. *You deserve somebody that loves you.*

. He wanted to believe the shadows. He wanted to believe that he was good enough, that he deserved more. But the scars on his body and the memories in his mind told him otherwise. He had done terrible things, things that he could never undo. How could someone like that be good enough for anyone?

*Alright,* he finally agreed weakly. *Find me a house,* he told the shadows, as he closed his eyes.

*A house? What kind of house?* the shadows gave back, sounding surprised.

*A house,* he repeated. *A home. Somewhere in Velaris. Find me a home.* Something that could just be his.

A home. The idea sent a flutter through his stomach. He had never…never truly had a home. Had something that could just be his and nobody else’s. Just…a place that was his, where he could be whoever he wanted, where he was accepted and loved...it was appealing. Maybe even more than just appealing.

He closed his eyes, picturing it in his mind. A cozy little house, just large enough for himself. Warm and cozy and filled with light.

*That’s what a male needs to take a wife after all, right?* He asked, a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. Was that what he should want? What he was supposed to want? He had never really thought about getting married before. But now, at the mention of it, he couldn't help but feel a pang of longing. A wife...a family...love and companionship. It all sounded so…so nice.

*You want to get married, Master?* the shadows asked curioulsy. *To whom?*

*You pick,* he told the shadows. They swarmed out in pure excitment. Azriel couldn’t even remmeebr the last time they had been so excited.

He couldn't help but chuckle at their reaction. Maybe they would do a better job than him. At least they could probably sieve out females that were in a romantic relationship or preferred females themselves.

*Find me somebody that I could make happy. Somebody that….Somebody that could want me.* Some long-suffering female for whom Azriel could maybe try to be enough. Somebody that would love him.

*What should she look like?* they asked seriously.

*I don’t care. Find me somebody that loves me and she’ll be the most beautiful female to me anyway.*

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #It's a Love Story

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woso-story · 29 days ago

Text

Overprotective

Alexia Putellas x Reader

The Barcelona training facilities were alive with their usual energy—players chatting, balls bouncing on the field, the rhythmic clang of weights in the gym. You had retreated to a quieter corner of the gym to do your light stretches, the only exercise you were allowed these days. It had been like this since you and Alexia learned you were pregnant: no strenuous activity, no risks.

Alexia had been over the moon when the two of you found out about the baby. From the moment the doctor confirmed the pregnancy, she had become fiercely protective, to the point where it sometimes felt like she was wrapping you in bubble wrap. She insisted on doing everything for you—chores, errands, even the smallest tasks, like tying your shoes. It was sweet but also exhausting.

Today was no different. Alexia was somewhere else in the building, busy with media obligations, but you could almost feel her presence hovering even in her absence. She had made it very clear to your teammates to keep an eye on you, and you knew they were taking their mission seriously.

As you eased into a stretch, Aitana and Ingrid walked over, their expressions curious and warm.

“How’s it going?” Aitana asked, settling onto the mat beside you.

“And how’s the little one?” Ingrid added, her eyes flicking briefly to your baby bump with a smile.

You grinned at them. “Everything’s perfect. The baby’s doing great, and I’m feeling good, really.” You paused for a moment, then leaned in conspiratorially. “It’s just… Alexia.”

Aitana immediately chuckled, exchanging a knowing look with Ingrid. “What’s she done now?”

“She’s always hovering,” you said, your voice tinged with affection and exasperation. “She’s so worried something will happen that she won’t let me do anything. And she’s got all of you spying on me too, hasn’t she?”

Ingrid raised her hands in mock surrender, laughing. “Guilty as charged.”

Aitana smirked. “She’s worse than your shadow. I’m surprised she’s not hiding behind the weight rack right now, watching you.”

The three of you burst out laughing, though you quickly glanced over your shoulder, half-expecting Alexia to appear out of nowhere.

As if summoned by your thoughts, the door opened, and Alexia strolled in. Her sharp eyes immediately locked onto your group, narrowing slightly. “What’s so funny?” she asked, crossing the room toward you.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, smiling up at her.

She didn’t look convinced, but she let it go, crouching beside you and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You okay? How’s everything?”

“Perfect,” you assured her, standing up and resting a hand on your bump.

Before Alexia could press further, the gym doors burst open, and a whirlwind of chaos swept in. Pina, Patri, and Mapi barreled into the room, laughing loudly and spraying water at each other with their bottles.

“Be careful!” you called out, but they were too caught up in their antics to hear you.

It happened in an instant. Mapi, not watching where she was going, accidentally bumped into you as she dashed past. You stumbled backward, falling back to the mat. It wasn’t serious—just a minor tumble—but it was enough to send Alexia into full-on mama-bear mode.

Alexia was by your side in a heartbeat, her face a mixture of fear and fury. “What were you thinking?!” she snapped, her voice ringing out like a thunderclap.

Mapi froze, her face draining of color. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Go away,” Alexia cut her off, her tone icy. “All of you. Go be reckless somewhere else.”

Pina and Patri grabbed Mapi’s arm, pulling her toward the door. Mapi looked devastated, glancing back at you with wide, guilty eyes.

Once they were gone, Alexia turned her full attention to you, her hands trembling slightly as she checked you over. “Are you okay? Is the baby okay?”

“Lex, I’m fine,” you said gently, placing a reassuring hand on hers. “It was just a little stumble. Nothing happened.”

“No,” she said firmly, helping you to your feet. “We’re going to the medical room, just to be sure.”

At lunch, you followed Alexia into the cafeteria. You immediately spotted your usual table, where Mapi, Ingrid, Aitana, Frido and Esmee were sitting. Mapi looked miserable, her shoulders hunched and her gaze fixed on the table. But as you headed toward them, Alexia steered you to an empty table instead.

Knowing there was no point in arguing, you let her lead you there. The medical staff did a thorough check-up, confirming that everything was perfectly fine. Alexia let out a long sigh of relief, her shoulders sagging as the tension drained from her.

---

“Alexia,” you said, exasperated, as you set your tray down. “What are you doing?”

“We’re sitting here,” she said simply, her tone leaving no room for argument.

You sighed, trying to stay calm. “You can’t stay mad at Mapi forever. It was an accident. She didn’t mean to bump into me.”

“She should know better,” Alexia said sharply, her fiery gaze meeting yours. “You could’ve been seriously hurt.”

“She’s your best friend,” you reminded her gently. “And she feels awful. You know she’d never hurt me or the baby on purpose.”

Alexia didn’t respond, her jaw tightening. Frustrated, you grabbed your tray and stood up.

“Where are you going?” she asked, her tone sharp.

“To sit with my friends,” you said firmly, walking away before she could stop you.

When you sat down at your usual table, Mapi didn’t even look up. You placed a hand on her arm, and she finally met your gaze.

“It’s okay,” you said softly. “Really. I’m fine, and the baby’s fine. Don’t beat yourself up.”

“I’m so sorry,” Mapi whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

You smiled at her reassuringly. “It was just a little accident. Don’t worry about it.”

That afternoon, Alexia found you outside with the others. “Ready to go home?” she asked, ignoring Mapi, who was standing beside you.

Slowly, the tension began to lift, and soon you were all laughing at one of Frido’s jokes. You noticed Mapi glancing nervously at Alexia from time to time, and you leaned over to whisper, “She’ll come around. She’s just… a little intense right now.”

---

“Actually,” you said, “Ingrid, Esmee, and I are going to the mall. You can drive Mapi home.”

Alexia opened her mouth to argue, but the look you gave her stopped her in her tracks. Begrudgingly, she agreed.

The car ride was tense at first, but eventually, Mapi broke the silence. “I’m really sorry, Alexia. It wasn’t on purpose. I’d never want to hurt her or the baby. I’ll be more careful in the future. Please don’t be mad at me.”

At a red light, Alexia finally looked over at her best friend. She could see the genuine distress in Mapi’s eyes, and her own anger began to dissolve. With a deep sigh, she said, “It’s okay. I overreacted. I was just scared. I know you’d never hurt her on purpose.”

Mapi nodded, relief washing over her face. “Thank you.”

When Ingrid dropped you off at home later, you found Alexia on the couch, watching TV. You sat down beside her, and she immediately pulled you into her arms.

“We’re good,” she said simply, resting her chin on your head.

You smiled. “So my plan worked.”

Alexia chuckled, placing a hand on your baby bump and rubbing it gently. “You’re sneaky.”

“I love you,” you said, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Even if you’re a little overprotective sometimes.”

“I love you too,” she murmured, her voice soft. “Both of you.”

And in that moment, everything felt perfect again.

#alexia putellas fanfic #woso community #alexia putellas x reader #alexia x reader #woso fics #woso #barca femeni #woso x reader #woso fanfics

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greengoblinswifey · 1 month ago

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Has dadbf Rafe ever gone too far sexually with her? Like maybe she had to use their safe word because she felt overwhelmed? I can see him absolutely crumbling inside knowing he pushed her too far

a/n— dbf!rafe is back, loved this <3 reminds me of the line in 505 by artic monkeys “but I crumble completely when you cry”

Rafe had you pinned beneath him, his hands gripping your wrists above your head. His kisses were rough, heated, everything was fast and relentless. The pressure of his hand on your throat was firm, his lips brushing against your ear as he growled, “You’ve been such a brat all week. Thought you could push me and get away with it? Hm slut?”

You tried to respond, but the intensity of his actions made it hard to breathe, not just physically, but emotionally. His body pressed you into the mattress, and his roughness wasn’t the usual thrilling kind. It felt too much, too rough, overwhelming.

“Rafe—” you tried, your voice faint and shaky, but he didn’t catch it as he kept going. You managed to choke out the safe word that you both had agreed upon, your heart racing.

He froze instantly, his grip on your wrists loosening as his eyes darted to yours in alarm. “What?” he whispered.

You swallowed hard, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as you repeated the safe word softly, your voice breaking.

He immediately pulled back, his hands releasing you completely as he scrambled off you, sitting on the bed with wide, panicked eyes. “Oh my God, baby, I— I’m so sorry,” he stammered, his voice trembling. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

You sat up slowly, wrapping your arms around yourself, trying to steady your breathing. “I just, It was too much. I felt overwhelmed.”

Rafe’s hands were trembling as he reached for you, but then he stopped himself, unsure if you wanted him to touch you. “I didn’t realize—I didn’t mean to—I swear I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he said, his voice cracking.

You nodded, trying to calm both yourself and him. “I know. You stopped when I needed you to. I’m okay now.”

But the look on his face was devastating. He looked like a man who had just shattered something precious. “I should’ve been paying more attention. I—fuck, I hate myself for this,” he muttered, running a hand through his buzzed hair in frustration.

His gentleness returned as he grabbed a blanket and carefully wrapped it around you. “You’re okay,” he murmured, his voice full of regret. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

He stayed beside you, stroking your curls and kissing your forehead as you calmed down. “I’m so so sorry,” he repeated over and over, his voice barely above a whisper.

When it was time to sleep, you turned away, still feeling unsettled. Rafe didn’t push it. He tucked you in, brushing your hair out of your face before whispering, “I love you.” You didn’t respond, and he quietly moved to the chair in the corner, leaving you to rest.

You woke up in the middle of the night to find the space beside you empty. Rafe was sitting on the edge of a chair in the corner, his head in his hands.

“Rafe?” you called softly, sitting up.

His head snapped up, and his face was etched with guilt. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.”

You climbed out of bed and padded over to him. “What’s wrong?”

He sighed, his shoulders tense. “I feel like shit. I pushed you too hard, and I hurt you. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You knelt in front of him, placing your head on his knees and looking up at him. “Rafe, I’m okay now. You stopped when I needed you to. That’s what matters.”

“It’s not okay,” he said, his voice cracking. “You trust me, and I broke that tonight.”

You shook your head. “No, you didn’t. You listened when I said the safe word. You took care of me. That’s what trust is.”

He still looked unconvinced, so you stood and wrapped your arms around him, pressing your cheek to his chest. His arms came around you slowly, and he exhaled shakily.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured into your curls, holding you tightly.

“I know,” you whispered back, leaning up to kiss his jaw. “I forgive you.”

He kissed you softly and whispered, “I love you,” as his lips trailed along your forehead and cheeks.

“I love you too,” you replied, curling up with him on the bed. This time, when his arms wrapped around you, they felt like home. You both drifted off, holding each other close.

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ttsukiimi · 10 months ago

Text

˗ˏˋOPEN ARMS! (AND LEGS) ´ˎ˗

୨୧⋆ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ⎯ After your divorce, you’re devastated. Devastated enough to welcome the same man who hurt you with open arms. (And legs!)

୨୧⋆ 𝐭��𝐠𝐬 ⎯ Ex-husband!sukuna x fem!reader, smut (mdni), unprotected sx, lowk hate fckking, hair pulling, overstim, sukuna is feening, mention of slight toxic relationship, slight rough & mean!sukuna, light gaslighting, reader referred to as (baby, princess)

“I hate you,” you whimpered through gritted teeth, the absolutely pathetic noise that left you soon after betraying your previous words. Your eyes threatened to fill with tears, and your throat grew a lump you knew was too hard to swallow.

This was all so stupid—you were stupid for welcoming him back into your home.

You questioned your own moral, your self-respect; where did it all go? Maybe he had taken it with him. And with the way he had you acting such a fool, maybe it was right to assume that.

“Y’hate me, baby?” Sukuna mumbled, and you wanted to slap that stupidly hot smirk off his lips, but something in you also wanted to kiss it, caress his face and let him do as he pleased. But you didn’t.

“Inviting you here was a mistake,” you sighed, trying your best to ignore the way chills erupted on your body from just a touch of his hand. Sukuna stroked the supple skin of your cheek and let his thumb roam to your lip, pulling down and watching as the plumpness sprang back in place. His eyes bore into you as he stared down, a mischievous tilt to his head.

“If you think so, why don’t you kick me out?”

Your breath caught in your throat. “I—“

But Sukuna was faster. He had his lips plastered to yours before you could even react, holding your hips so softly in a way that wasn’t him, and that made you melt in his arms. Your knees buckled under the now tenfold weight pushing down on them and he chuckled, deep and taunting.

He pulled back, a string of saliva connecting your lips together. Somehow, he seemed more passionate with you than before.

Had he changed? Had he finally bettered himself? Your heart fluttered in your chest at the thought—albeit against your own will.

And maybe he had changed, but the way he handled you was still the same. All he seemed to want was to use you for his own satisfaction and pleasure.

Which was subsequently why he—seconds after consoling and convincing you that he loved you—had you sprawled out on your bed, stripped of any clothing.

“Wider, f’me, princess,” he ordered, palming himself through his sweats, and you’d be lying if you said that the way that he groped his cock through the material wasn’t captivating. Sukuna crawled onto the bed, making and claiming his rightful place between your legs.

“I missed you, y’know?” he asserted in your ear, cupping your cheeks together to force you to look at him. He let his free hand drift down to your chest, and fondled with your tit, admiring how his palms fit so perfectly around your mound. “Missed these pretty tits too.”

“‘Kuna,” you whined, arching up into his touch so quickly like the movement was ingrained in your brain. You’d been with him for so long, accommodated his every move, it felt wrong not to be with him.

Hence why, out of confusion for your own mental state, you hit him up. However, perhaps this was okay.

Sukuna between your legs, right where he always belonged. Stroking himself with such fervor that it seemed he had been thinking about you too. But he wouldn’t admit it, of course.

“Most of all,” he hummed, snaking his large hand down to your core, cupping your pussy. “Missed this filthy fucking cunt.”

It was all so lewd. His words, his touch, the way he glided the head up and down your sopping folds, coating his tip with your seemingly endless stream of dribbling slick.

"Gonna show you just how much I missed all of you."

And that was the problem. Sukuna wanted you, but not you. He had an obsession with this image of you he created in his head—this perfect wife—which was essentially you, but not.

You also found it hard to love a man that had an insane sex drive. Granted, the dick was heavenly, just not when you weren't in the mood. These little cracks between you drifted you both apart, and that led to the divorce.

With a swift movement, Sukuna had turned you around onto your stomach, propping you up on your knees. He inwardly cursed at how plump your body looked; and was immediately drawn in to smack the malleable flesh of your ass.

Hissing, you turned to glare at him, the complaint about to roll off your tongue caught in your throat as he thrusted in. Sukuna noticed this and rasped, voice so sexily low, and took a handful of your hair. "Shuts you up just like it always does, hm?"

"F-fuck you!" you replied, and one smart remark was all it took for him to have your head shoved into the pillows, rough hands gripping so harshly at your hips.

"'M already doing that, baby." As he pulled your head back by your hair, making sure your eyes held contact with his, sadistically finding satisfaction in the way tears welled in your waterline. Sukuna watched as each ram he drove into you caused your eyes to roll back—your mouth falling agape as soft little ah, ah, ah's fell from your lips.

The sight was unbearable to him, he had to see more, more of that already fucked-out expression taking place on your face. He found his rhythm quickening, the slaps of your bodies becoming more frequent, and your cries became louder.

Sukuna looked down at where you both connected, whistling and smirking to himself at the sight. "Always been so good at takin' dick."

"Mmf—it's easy cause y'r microscopic," you were quick to retort, smiling as you felt his grip on your hair and hips tighten, a little annoyed 'tsk' rolling from his tongue. But he was more than annoyed, he just played along with your little game.

Your cocky grin was wiped off of your face the moment you felt his tip repeatedly ram into your g-spot, stimulating you so much to the point it had you stuttering and your vision blurring. He was essentially taking his anger out on you and your poor pussy, fucking wildly into you like it'd be the first and last time he did so.

"I'm small, huh?" he murmured in your ear, breath fanning past your neck now, smiling against the skin of your shoulder. "I'm fucking small?"

He repeated his question again, though it didn't sound like a question initially, gripping your hair even more tighter.

You whimpered in response, shaking your head no, however, he wanted an answer. Though he knew you were in no state to talk.

"Yeah? Not so small when I'm ruining you." he licked a stripe up to your ear. "And not when I made you cum four times in a row, either, hm?”

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gay-dorito-dust · 11 months ago

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Any characters of your choosing, but how would some of the hsr characters act with a partner who loves physical touch but is too shy to initiate?

Argenti:

More then willing to initiate the physical contact if you were too shy to do so, after all it was the least he could do for you, and Argenti would do a lot for you without having to be asked.

‘All you are to do is ask my beloved rose.’ He says as he helps by gently guiding you into hugging him, smiling when you press yourself up against him and pressing your face into his chest.

‘I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable.’ Was your response and Argenti couldn’t help but chuckle as your thoughtfulness as he presses a kiss to your head.

‘No such thing.’ He says as he holds you against him as you both took this moment to indulge in the another. ‘I’d very much rather you express yourself however you see fit, as I’ll accept your love and affection in all it’s forms it may take because at the end of the day that love belongs to someone I love very dearly.’ He finishes and you couldn’t help but burrow your head into his neck.

‘You’re too good for me sometimes.’ You mutter against him as you felt him chuckle.

‘I can say the same for you, my beloved flower.’ Argenti replied. ‘It’s hard not to when you’ve been nothing but a beacon of hope and love for me, even in my most dire of times. Your touch alone puts me back together again and makes me stronger then ever.’ He adds as he feels you clinging onto him for dear life as he whispered in your ear to say;

‘So please don’t be dissuaded from ever touching me when it’s brought me nothing but the happiest of emotions.’

Blade:

Stays silent.

Will not move an inch.

He sees what you’re trying to do from the corner of his eyes, but won’t do anything unless you have well and truly given up on trying to initiate contact. And it isn’t until then does he huff indignantly and grabs one of your hands and puts it against one side of his face, holding it there as he stared at you with his ruby red eyes.

‘Was this what you were trying to do?’ He asks despite already knowing the answer.

‘I didn’t want you to feel as though you were pressured into to let me touch you solely because I’m your partner.’ You replied as you were about to pull your hand away from him, when you felt him tighten his grip on your hand. ‘Don’t you think I would’ve said something by now if I did?’ He rebutted with a raised brow and you felt a little silly.

Blade never failed in letting it be known if you were doing something he didn’t quite like. He didn’t need to say much but his silence followed by a certain look in his eye were more than enough to tell you that you’d better stop while you were ahead.

‘True.’ You muttered as you instinctively began stroking his cheek with your thumb, not realising that Blade was pushing more of himself into your hand, much like a cat would when scratched between the ears and humming in content. He looked cute as he did handsome in that moment where his face looked the closest it ever could to peaceful in a long time.

‘If it means anything, your touch is the least painful thing I’ve experienced in my life as far as I’m aware.’ Blade says, finally letting go of your wrist as you placed your other against the side of his face and began stroking the skin there. You then heard him groan in content, a sound of which filled you with both warmth and joy in knowing that your touch helps him find peace, even if it was a small and temporary amount, but still peace none the less.

Aventurine:

Bastard man straight up teases you for being too shy to hold his hand.

‘Hmm? Is someone too shy to even hold my hand? How devastating that must be for you.’ He’d say before grabbing your hand and pressing his palm against yours. ‘It’s as easy as this.’ He continues before intertwining his fingers with yours, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand for added effect.

‘See? That wasn’t so bad was it?’ He asked teasingly, throughly taking enjoyment in all this, when deep down he loved nothing more than to feel you holding his hand at long last. ‘Nope, not at all.’ You replied, feeling your heart going a mile an hour when you felt him squeeze your hand, followed by the caress of his thumb against the back of your hand.

‘Then don’t be afraid to hold my hand in the future, I don’t bite but I’d think you would enjoy that a bit too much even if I did.’ He teases, which was followed by boisterous laughter.

Aventurine may act like he wasn’t phased at all by your touch, when in reality he was begging for more but didn’t feel as though he was deserving of asking for such a thing. He may talk a big game but is equally as hesitant to physical affection as you were for the exact same reasonings.

He silently encourages your need to touch him by doing things that suggested that he wanted it just as badly as you, seeing as how words failed him in moments where he’s wanting something he’s made himself believe he couldn’t have. After all in his own eyes aventurine was a loser, a coward, a fraud, a cheater unworthy of any ounce of kindness nor love but the moment he felt you hold him, his mind goes blank and all he can focus on was his you hands held him as though he were porcelain.

It was his favourite feeling and whenever he sees you hesitating in giving him that oasis from his own mind, he’s quick in making himself believe that you’ve realised that he wasn’t worth your affection, and tries to force you into giving it to him by teasing you and guiding your hands to where he needed to feel your touch most; which was his face.

Aventurine may not admit it out load but he can’t fathom living without your touch, he’d probably go mad but for now he’ll keep a hold of your hand for the remainder of the day.

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heavysighing-dreamyeyes · 4 months ago

Note

"im not trying to fix you."

~1k words

Jason Todd is broken, but he’s not shattered. He’s picked up the pieces of himself and stitched them back together in a patchwork pattern that seems to mock who he used to be.

Jason Todd is splintered, but he’s making it work, he’s helping, he’s trying to be something greater than himself. (Even if ‘greater’ includes killing and hurting and a million other things he’d never thought he’d do)

Jason Todd is built of fragments of twisted morals and poisoned pits, so why, why do you keep showing up in his life? He doesn’t get it. He’s worked through all the scenarios, all the possibilities, and he still doesn’t have an answer.

You haven’t tried placing any bugs or cameras in his safehouse, haven't gone to the bat to try and take him down. (At least not that he knows of) You haven’t tried talking him out of taking over Gotham, and you haven’t even mentioned all the bodies piling up in his crusade against Black Mask.

He should have confronted you weeks ago. But you keep doing nice things for him. He still hasn’t figured out how you found his safehouse, but you showed up with takeout from his favorite restaurant and just kind of walked in. Really, he had been too stunned to stop you, and you kept showing up.

You always seemed to have a reason to be there, too. Blankets because his safehouse looked bare, food so you could cook dinner for the two of you, random knick knacks to bring color to his dull living room.

He wonders if you're doing it to make him feel guilty, to keep him from kicking you out of his space. As if he would ever.

It’s not until you’re telling him he should get his oven fixed so the next time you make brownies they'll cook better, that he realizes exactly what you’re trying to do.

You’re trying to make him better. He sees it now, he’s your pet project, no, your pity project that you think you can save. He doesn’t know how he could have missed it. Why else would you so freely offer your smiles? Your time? Your energy?

“You can’t fix me,” he grits out, crossing his arms as you set the brownies on the counter.

You look surprised, disbelieving even, as you pull off the oven mitts. (The ones he didn’t have before you started coming over) “What,” you question, meeting his gaze like he hasn’t found you out.

“You can’t fix me,” he repeats, harder and just as mean, “I’m not something you need to try and save.”

“I’m not trying to fix you,” you snap, and the tone of your voice makes him lose his confidence.

He opens his mouth, then closes it again. Oh. It sounds like you really mean that. He didn’t expect the hurt and anger to flicker over your face. And he certainly didn’t expect to see your face wobble.

“Is that why you think I’m here, Jason? Because you think I want to save you,” you ask, venom creeping into your voice.

“Well, yeah,” he mumbles, almost ashamed, but he doesn’t drop his gaze from yours, “There’s no other reason you’d keep coming back.”

That seems to break you, and he nearly regrets bringing up the topic at all. “Is that what you’ve thought of me this whole time,” you breathe out, anger fading.

He shakes his head, “No, I mean– I thought you were working for Batman,” he admits, and winces at how devastated you look.

“Then why did you let me come back,” you demand, and he hates the way your voice chokes at the end.

“I don’t know,” he tells you, voice going quiet, “I guess I just got used to it.” It’s a lie.He knows exactly why he keeps opening his door for you. You're a weakness he’s never outgrown, and one he never will.

You step back, eyes darting to the cooling brownies, “I just missed you,” you mumble, clearly self-conscious, “It wasn’t anything more than that.”

“Oh,” he says dumbly. There really isn’t anything else to say. He’s hurt you, thrown accusations with no basis.

He doesn’t know how to make it better, but a part of him doesn’t think he should. If you never came back, then at least you would be away from his sharp edges and his fractured parts.

The silence stretches between you like a chasm, and suddenly he does want to mend whatever he broke. He can’t help it, not when you look like you don’t know if you want to cry or run or curl into yourself and just fall apart.

He doesn’t have a plan, and maybe he should, because all he manages to do is gesture weakly to the brownies you’ve made, “Think they’re ready to eat?”

You eye him strangely, but he thinks he does succeed in fixing something. At least he hopes he did, because you sat on his lumpy couch and ate the brownies out of the pan at his side. So that has to count for something, right?

He finds it in himself to tell you they’re good, which is harder than it should be for a crime lord, and you offer him a small, unsure smile and ask if he wants to watch a movie. Your smile isn’t as bright as it usually is, but he figures he wouldn’t deserve it if it was.

The rest of the night is quiet, and you fall asleep on his couch just before the credits start to roll. He’s grateful for it. (He thinks if you had walked out after the movie, you wouldn’t have come back)

Jason carefully pulls a blanket over your shoulders, one of the ones you brought him, to shield you from the cold. He makes a note to get a better couch, even if he knows it would be better to not encourage you to come back.

After all, he’s only going to find another way to break your heart. Even when it’s the last thing he wants to do.

#jason todd x reader #raes 900 follower event #hurt/ the barest sliver of comfort

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stvolanis · 1 year ago

Text

Now i know you better

PAIRINGS: Alastor x Fem!Sinner!Reader

WARNINGS: ANGSTTTT, mean!Alastor, cheating w/ Lucifer, probably inaccurate time line idk, foul language,this is honestly kind of poorly written I’m sorry, manipulation, abuse, Alastor owns Readers soul, toxic relationship, possessive!Alastor, pet names, brief mention of suicide

NSFW WARNINGS: dubcon, slapping, hair pulling, choking, forced cream-pie, degradation, dacryphilia, p in v sex, knotting, humiliation, blood if you squint

SORRY IF I MISSED ANYTHING!!!

˚ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ˚

It wasn’t your fault that your grave was dug the moment you stepped foot into the fiery pits of hell.

It wasn’t your fault that it was dug by Mimzy when she introduced you to her dear friend, the Radio Demon who, oh so casually, casted peoples screams for hell to hear.

Mimzy, known to drag people into her messes when shit hits the fan, had deeply embedded you into an on-going war with one of the various overlords, simply by seeking a place to lay low for a few days. You didn’t expect Alastor to show up, that damned smile engraved onto his face.

And it most definitely wasn’t your fault that you laid in said grave.

He was charming, and charismatic. A lethal combination when a sense of confidence and dad-humor was thrown into the mix. The way you met wasn’t the most ideal, especially when he basically bombarded through you, inviting himself into your wrecked home to find Mimzy himself without a word.

His smile, then, seemed aggravated. He did little to hide the annoyance she had somehow caused him, and the way his voice grew in static when he spoke showed that. He was scary when you had watched his figure enlarge, his once normal, slim body now turning into a tall, beastly, and lanky figure with protruding antlers and dilated pupils.

Dread set into your core that day when he directed his wrath towards you. His tall frame stalking over you, a hand quickly shot to your throat. Your back hit against the wall as you were lifted from the ground, gasping for breaths of any air you could possibly get.

His breath was drug out and uneven as his chest moved up and down at a surprisingly slow pace. Even though he seemed to be filled of fury and unease—he had a sense of control over his calmness to an extent. Eerily, he had glided his mouth along your neck, inhaling your scent.

A harsh groan, almost as if he were in pain had slipped past his lips. It rumbled deep in his chest, and your eyes watered as your vision began to fade. Only then, did he release you and let your body fall to the floor. You held your throat gently as you finally got what you were begging for.

“Maybe you’ll listen, since sweet Mimzy won’t.” He began, his voice deep and contorted with static and brute. “You will fix the mess she created, and restore what was mine to begin with. Your soul will be mine until you have fulfilled your duty as said.” He finished.

Your mouth gaped. He had presented it to you like you had a choice in the devastating matter, but you knew better. You sobbed as your curled into a ball, and watched as he raised a hand towards your frame that wracked with sobs. “Hush now, girl. You will be under my care so long as I’ll have you.” He ushered with a grimace as he watched you wipe your nose with your wrist.

You longed to object. To scream and yell out that never in a million and one light years would you ever agree to such a thing. Your freedom was yours alone, and you liked to keep it that way. He’d have to drag you through hell and back for you to allow that to happen, yet as you took his sharp hand into yours, it was all said and done.

A bright light consumed you, and just for a moment, you thought maybe it was the light shower everyone talked about up in heaven. The bright beacon of a light so blinding that cleansed you of all your wrong-doings, took away all your pain and replaced the emptiness with a euphoric feeling of content.

Warmth spread throughout your body, and that moment of hope ended when you felt thick, heavy metal of chains cling around your throat and wrists. Alastors smile haunted you. It crept up on you in your dreams, and ate away at the only good things you had left to hold onto.

The life you once cherished, even in hell, soon faded away till it was nothing but a faint distant memory of someone you once knew that was yourself. It was replaced by an evil demon, in the form of a gentleman who disguised plots and alterier motives with wide smiles and laughs.

but again, you knew better.

The person you once were was stripped from you, and you were bare before him to bend and mold how he saw fit. And so, he did. You became his his underboss of sorts, a quiet and submissive being who did as told. They always said behind every powerful man, there was a woman. And it was you. Everyone got the good side of Alastor, yet it was you he took his frustrations out on when the day was said and done.

It was you who endured his aggressiveness when everyone was fast asleep in their bedrooms, dreaming of a better life you knew you’d never receive.

You were his lap dog, and his favorite toy to play with whenever and however he wanted to. It was unofficial, and confusing to others, but you somehow managed to find yourself in some sort of situationship with Alastor. You were his. body, mind, and soul.

You tried your best to please Alastor, constantly seeking his approval that he so generously bestowed upon others. You chased your tail around, and ran in laps, jumping through hoops just to earn a small nod in approval for him.

He wasn’t always bad. He cared for you, in his own fucked up way. He cared in way that he would never let something bad happen to you, and would protect you at all costs. You were his delicate little flower, how could he ever allow anyone who isn’t him to inflict any kind of harm onto you? He’s a bitch, but to an extent.

He loved you, yes, but only when he was in the mood to love you. When he loved you, he’d hold you close to him when you were perched on his lap in the hotel lounge. He’d whisper sweet nothings to you as he kissed along your neck, making giggles vibrate through your chest. He’d run his fingers through your hair till you fell asleep against him at night after a particularly hard day.

And on days when he knew he went to far, his classic water works he only had in store for you would come into play. He couldn’t bare his favorite toy hating him. He didn’t know how to deal with the colder shoulder and short-answer responses from you. It aggravated him that only you could get under his skin without doing much, so when you were heavily upset, only then would he drop down to his knees and kiss the inside of your thighs lovingly.

Tears would align his eyes, but his smile never once wavering, and beg for your forgiveness. He’d tell you how much he loved you as he rubbed your sensitive bud, and wash away your worries with so many orgasms, you forgot why you were mad at him in the first place.

Yes, he owned your soul and tended to be abusive, but he wasn’t heartless.

He’d tell you he’s sorry, and that he’d never hurt you again. It’s always a lie, and each time you allowed yourself to stupidly believe it.

But the truth was, you didn’t know what else to do. You hated to admit it, but you were nothing without him. You spent so long shaping yourself into the person he wanted and needed you to be, that you forgot how to be yourself. You forgot what your previous hobbies were, or what else made you happy besides him. Your world revolves around him, and without him, it felt like your world was coming to an exaggerated end.

So, you put up with it. Each and every time.

It wasn’t till today, the day of Charlie’s fathers arrival to the grand hotel Alastor managed to put together and run, that you’d ever seen him so genuinely with any sort of nerves.

The moment Lucifer walked in, in all his glory, Alastors personality took a flip. He went toe to toe with the ruler of Hell himself, all because he was afraid of someone who he knew had more power than him. But Alastor wasn’t a weak man, not at all, and that’s why he made it his mission to piss off Lucifer as much as he could.

You’d never seen him this way before. With you? Yes, but with other people? Never. He was cunning and every word he spat at Lucifer dripped with malice and confidence. Alastor knew he couldn’t beat him with power, so he hit him where he knew it would hurt. His family. Specifically, the only one he had left.

What Alastor didn’t expect, was for Lucifer to become completely and utterly smitten with you. From the moment he laid his eyes on you, he’s been all smiles and giggles with you.

He listened when you talked, even the little small words or sentences no one cared to listen to. His lips against the top part of your hand when you first met was the only thing that circled your mind for days. His lips were plush and warm, soft and tender. It was a contrast to the kisses Alastor left you of pity and forgiveness.

He was sweet, and undeniably handsome. He made you feel ways you’d never felt before. He made you feel like you had a choice. A voice that wouldn’t be spoken over and genuinely listened to. He was charismatic, in a way like Alastor, but it was real. His smiles were real, as were the sweet nothings he said to you.

For weeks, you snuck around with Lucifer. At night, when Alastor was fast asleep, you’d sneak out from under his watchful arm and find your way to Lucifers room. His arms were more welcoming, and warm. His kisses sweeter than honey and his love as gold and bright as they come.

His voice was soft, and vibrant as he hummed against your ear. The fingers that raked through your hair were gentle and soothing, calmed you to your slumbers that comforted you through the night. His smell was intoxicating; cider and musk, like an orchid full of ripe apples. The two rosey spots on his cheek shined in hue when you’d enter the room.

I didn’t take long for Alastor to notice. He want a dumb and oblivious man. He was a ruthless overlord who couldn’t afford to look past the little things. He noticed the stares that the two of you sent when in a room full of people. The lingering touches no one else noticed when you brushed passed each other.

And most of all, they way you’d slip from his grasp in the dark of the night like he was stupid.

He knew, of course. He knew the whole time. And he let you let yourself believe that there was any other choice besides him. He allowed you, from the goodness of his heart, to feel a speck of the freedom you longed for. He let you grasp it and cradle it with all your might, just to draw you back in by the chains that shackled you to him for eternity.

He liked knowing that he controlled you. It fueled the god complex he had, knowing that no matter what you tried to do, you’d always be his. His to love, his to fuck, his to torment.

He mocked you for it, too. Rubbing it in your face that you were chained to him for as long as you’d live in hell. Suicide crossed your mind a few times, the only way you saw yourself out of it—yet, you knew that no matter what life you had next, you’d still always belong to him in some way, shape, or form.

You should’ve known better. Should’ve known that you could never be happy. Should’ve known that Alastor knew the whole time. Yet you were naive enough to think you were smart enough to go behind his back with a person he detested the most. The one person who could easily kill him with a blink of an eye.

Alastor would never say it out loud, because he knew deep down that he would never win against Lucifer. So, he did what he does best, and he took it out on you.

Tonight wasn’t supposed to be any different from any of the other nights you left Alastors bedroom.

You lay in another man’s arms, his chest rising and falling beneath you as soft breaths slipped past his pale lips. Lucifer looked especially beautiful like this. His white skin glistening in the dull lighting of the room, and his streaky blonde hair ran through messily against the plush pillow.

You wished you could stay in this very moment forever. You’d rather spend an eternity admiring Lucifer for all his greatness, than suffering in Alastors darkness miserably.

You never told Lucifer about the way Alastor treated you behind closed doors. You knew that if you did, Alastor would be dead without a second thought. It crossed your mind a few times, obviously. How could it not? It was your only way out. The only thing that stopped you was the fact that Alastor wasn’t always like this.

He wasn’t always a bad person towards you. In the beginning, he tried to make you as comfortable as possible. He made you happy, and lively. His presence didn’t make you want to cower away in a corner, and his stare made you flush red, as bright as the color of his hair.

After all he’s put you through, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt shoot through you each time you looked back at Alastor asleep in your shared bed. He never cheated on you. The one of many things he’s never done, yet here you were, every so happily cheating on him. You felt like a two-timing snake, and you knew if he found out that he’d feel betrayed.

With that thought, you slipped from under Lucifer’s heavy arm, watching with soft eyes as he muttered under his breath at the loss of your warmth against him. You kissed his cheek and whispered a goodbye as you exited his room, softly shutting the door behind you. Your finger glided along the walls of the hallway, all the way till you found yourself outside of Alastors room.

You inhaled deeply, reaching for the doorknob, twisting it ever so slowly. Your entered the dark abyss of the room, shutting the door softly behind you with a wince as it creaked lightly. Damned this old ass building.

What you didn’t expect, was for Alastor to press against you from behind.

His breathing was uneven, and sharp as his chest still moved up and down slowly. You froze. You felt your dead heart stop as if you were alive. It seemed like oxygen didn’t exist anymore as you gaped, jaw slightly fallen slack as your eyes lined with tears. Your body shook as his hand traveled to the bed of your throat, craning your neck back to meet his eyes painfully.

“A-Alastor—” you gaped. He clicked his tongue. “Hm, silly girl. You really thought I was unaware of your whore-ish activities?” He chuckled out, his breath warm against the shell of your ear. “Wait, please—” you began, but you didn’t get a chance to think of what to say next as he slammed your back onto the bed.

You tried desperately to crawl away from him, but within a second, chains tied you down to the bed frame. You wracked with sobs and please of despair. He stood silently for a moment, watching the way you crumbled so easily without him even having to really do anything.

“How dare you.” He hissed out after a moment. Climbing on top of your tense frame, he pinched your cheeks together and watched as tears ran down your cheeks pathetically. “I give you everything you could possibly need. I make sure you’re alive with a roof over your head and out of the clutches of hells streets, and this is how you repay me? By sleeping around with men?” He growled through his sharp teeth.

His smile was formed still, but more into a scowl of displeasure. His antlers were grown and prominent as he began to shift to his demon form that you hadn’t seen since the first time youd met him that fateful day. He was like a rabid animal, drool slipping through the cracks of his jagged teeth as his body became large and monstrous.

This was it. This how your soul would finally be put to rest. By the claws and bared teeth of a monster with the facade of a charming, hotel manager. Not the way you’d want to go out, but hey, at least your were gonna get out of it, right?

Or so you thought.

His claws, sharp as knives tore through your shirt, ripping it off of your figure and discarded onto the floor. Your white lace bra on display in front of him. Your pajama pants adorned with cheesy pandas torn to shreds alongside your favorite sleeping shirt. But all you could think about was the abnormally large bulge hard and prominent against your inner thigh.

God, you hated yourself. You danced along the line of lust, fear, and hatred. Hatred for him, mostly. You hated that you loved Lucifer—yet your body yearned to be used and played with at the hands of Alastor.

The sweet sex, praises and butterfly kisses Lucifer showered you was amazing, but this—this was different. The way Alastor fucked you was different. Yes, he was rough and fucked hard—but this was his way of showing you that he loved you. It was peculiar, to say the least. A man so easily able to use his words to fluster anyone couldn’t look you in the eye to tell you that he loved you.

So he fucked you like he hated you. But you knew what he meant.

His finger hooked under the middle of your bra, effectively slicing upwards to cut it in half. Your breasts sprang free, and your nipples hardened under the tense, cold air. You squirmed as his breath fanned against them, his long tongue shooting out to lick against them tenderly.

He played tricks on you. It was his favorite game. Giving you false hope. Dangling things he knew you longed for in front of you, only to yank it right back. Killing every last good thing you had left till you had absolutely nothing but him.

So you should’ve known better than to trust his soft tongue kitten licking your nipple. His sharp teeth bit down—hard enough to draw specks of blood around it. You yelped out in pain as your eyes lined with fresh tears waiting to be spilled over. The pain was dreadful, but god, did it feel good.

Alastors thumb trailed to lower, tracing down to your stomach till he reached your cotton panties, dampened with your arousal. “What a slut. Getting off on this. You should be ashamed of yourself, darling.” He mocked out with a cunning smile. He didn’t think twice before ripping your panties off.

He fumbled for second with his pants, unzipping them before letting them reach low enough just to pull his cock out. “Now, I’m gonna fuck this cunt till I’ve had enough, and after that, you’re going to go into the small-dicked-duck fanatics room with my cum dripping down your thighs and tell him just how good I fucked you.” He growled out, his hand finding it’s way back to your throat, squeezing tightly as he lined himself to your entrance.

“Alastor, please just listen—i” his cock bullied is way into you. Long, and thick. 9 inches of pure, heavy meat sat snugly inside of you, playing with your insides. He was perfectly trimmed, and his balls heavy balls slapped against the underside of your pussy with each agonizingly perfect thrust he delivered into you.

“Oh, oh fuck!” You moaned out, head thrown back as your hand clenched onto the chains that bound you to your bed post. “Tight little pussy. Tell me, does he fuck you like this, baby?” He panted out as he watched the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

He always thought you were the prettiest like this. Underneath him, writhing in pleasure, cock drunk and hungry for him. The only time you didn’t resent him. The only time you wanted him. He cherished this, not that he would ever say it out loud.

“I asked you a fucking question.” He said, slapping the side of your face harshly, leaving a painful sting behind. You whimpered at the familiar impact. “No, Alastor!” You all but screamed out as his cock kissed your cervix.

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed loudly, and the smell of hot sex was in the air. A distinctive, vile smell. Your body was lined with sweat, as was his, and your breasts bounced each time his hips met flush against your ass. All you could think about was him.

He consumed your thoughts, plaguing your mind. You couldn’t escape him. And as of right now, you weren’t sure you even really wanted to all along.

Some sick part of you enjoyed this relationship you were in. The part that liked to be put in your place, and told what to do in return for praises of affirmations. A relationship that never got boring, and always kept you on your toes no matter what. Traumatic? Definitely. Toxic? 100%. But, this is what you had to endure. The least you could to was learn to like and deal with it.

You clenched down tightly onto him as his hips slammed into yours repeatedly, his dick hitting every right spot, including the little nerve of your g-spot inside of you. The angle he had your hips positioned in hit it better, and he could tell you were close when your cunt began to pulse around him.

“Please, please, I’m gonna cum!” You babbled on and on, drunk on the feeling of him inside of you. He chuckled as he pulled your head up by the root of your hair, just enough to have your lips crashing down onto his. “Fucked you stupid, honey, i know.” He cooed out against your lips.

He tasted bitter. Like whiskey and old cigars, mixed with a strange tea refreshment. It was an odd combination, but one that suited him indefinitely. His tongue swirled and glided against yours as they fought for dominance in a sloppy, and surprisingly passionate kiss. One that said what he didn’t have to out loud. ‘You’re mine’. He won the fight for dominance, and he sloppily suckled your tongue into his mouth.

The kiss was nasty, sloppy with saliva dripping down your chin and a few cuts on your lip from his sharp teeth clashing against them, but it was the least of your concerns as he rested his forehead against yours, nearing his end.

“I’m gonna fill this pussy up. Nice and full so everyone will know in dues time just who the fuck you belong to.” He growled out through clenched teeth. You shook your head back and forth, your eyes widening with fear. “No, don’t! Please don’t!” You begged, on and on, but to no avail.

His thrusts became harsher, and more demanding. Chasing his high aimlessly as you begged and moaned out his name underneath him. It was then that you felt it. His cock balls deep when you felt it began to swell up inside of you.

You gasped in shock as you were stretched painfully to your limit, the bulge in your lower stomach large and prominent as he pressed against it, triggering your orgasm. Your juices flushed out of you and all over his lower abdomen, and he groaned at the sight. You clenched down onto him impossibly tighter and he felt like he was gonna lose his mind.

“Pull out. Please pull out.” You desperately tried to reason with him, but he didn’t care as he sat snug inside of you, his knot finally emptying inside of you. It was warm, and you could feel it drip down your ass when his cock finally fell flaccid and limp, slowly pulling out of you.

“Maybe now, you’ll learn your lesson. You must be a fool to think that anyone could ever love you like i do.” He said, shaking his head. He bit his lip with a satisfied smile as he watched his mounds of cum pour out of you. “Milked my cock so well.” Was the only praise that slipped past his lips the rest of the night.

He didn’t allow you to clean yourself, only letting you thrown on a pair of panties from the drawer in his bedroom. Your inner thighs were slick and sticky with his warm, salty cum. “Run along now, dear. Come back when you’re finished.” He said in a singing tone, knowingly.

A flame rose in your core of embarrassment as you waddled out of the room, the uncomfortable feeling between your thighs growing by the second. It was humiliating, doing the walk of shame down the hallway, all the way to your now past lovers room.

A soft knock was laid on his door, and after a silent, dreaded minute of standing there, his door fell open. There you stood, in nothing but panties. Bite marks around your nipples and your neck prominent with a lingering bruise from the grip he held on your neck. His eyes trailed down to the cum slick between your plush thighs.

His eyes widened.

“The fuck happened to you?”

˚ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ˚

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hotchner-edu · 8 months ago

Note

I was thinking about a cute scenario where Hotch misplaces his Rolex and is kinda bummed about it but reassures his girlfriend that he’ll just get another one someday. She has been saving up to get a new car but instead uses her money to surprise Aaron with a new rolax and he’s all like 🥹🥹🥹

The thought of spoiling that man consumes me.

The Watch | Aaron Hotchner

The case of the missing Rolex came to your attention before it did to Aaron's, and you were probably more devastated about it than your boyfriend was.

"Sweetheart, it's fine. I'll just get another one soon." He tries to placate you as you practically tear through his closet. Knowing Aaron, soon meant close to never due to how hectic his work life could get.

"It's not fine!" You call out from your spot on his closet floor. "A Rolex submariner going missing should qualify as an emergency situation."

You hear Aaron chuckle fondly and come up behind you, crouching down to give you a kiss on your temple, his hands moving down to stop yours before you could claw through another stack of his folded pants. "Honey, you won't find anything there. Besides, I mean it. I'll just get a new one."

Frowning, you lean back into him and sigh as he wraps his arms around your middle and drops kisses around your face. "You stress me out." You say lightheartedly, sagging in his hold.

He lets out an affectionate laugh, his chest rumbling under your back. "I love you, too."

To the misfortune of your bank account, your love for Aaron spurred you to endlessly research the variety of Rolex series available on their website. You have to fight back a grimace at every comma in the price tags.

After logging out of your bank account app (to protect your peace), you settle on purchasing the oystersteel model which resembled the one he lost.

You ended up digging into your car savings fund to purchase the watch, but you had no regret in doing so. Although it created a bit of a dent in your efforts to replace your current car, Aaron deserved to be spoiled. Plus, you’d be receiving your next paycheck soon enough.

The watch takes a little less than a week to deliver. Taking no risks, you had the delivery fully insured and tracked the package’s movements like a hawk for days.

The hard part of the entire ordeal came with having to actually give the gift to Aaron. Of course, he wasn’t above accepting gifts, but receiving gifts that cost thousands of dollars, especially on non-holiday occasions, was something else entirely for him.

One night as he’s laying beside you, watching tiktoks with you on your phone, you decide to bite the bullet.

“Honey, did you ever find your Rolex?”

He chuckles a bit sheepishly, seemingly still a bit embarrassed to have misplaced something so valuable. “No. I think I might’ve taken it off during a case somewhere and left it in the hotel.”

Nodding, you suppress an excited smile as you suddenly sit up, causing his hands to grip your waist in surprise. “Where are we off to, sweetheart?”

“I need to pee really quick.” You say smoothly, giving him a sweet kiss. "And no, you can't come this time." He gives your ass a quick slap as you crawl out of bed, causing you to shake your head playfully as he chuckles.

Locking yourself in the bathroom, you gently open one of the sink drawers containing your skincare items. Digging to the bottom, you pull out the green leather box containing the Rolex, taking a deep breath before opening the door again.

"Something wrong, sweetheart?" Aaron's voice sounds from across the room immediately, noting how fast you left the bathroom.

"I forgot something." You say and hurry toward the bed, unable to hide the giddy grin on your face.

Aaron props himself up on his arm and raises an eyebrow as you practically launch yourself back on the bed.

"For the best boyfriend in the world." You coo sweetly and extend the box toward him.

Aaron stares at you like you have three heads for a moment before frowning and carefully taking the box. "Sweetheart, you didn't have to..."

Your mood dampens a little at that and your shoulders sag. Aaron picks up on it immediately and sits up fully, eyes widened as he places the box aside and cups your face. "Thank you, really. But it must have cost a fortune, baby."

"You deserve to be spoiled, Aaron. Besides, I'm still being conscious with my money, so don't worry about it." You say, smiling when he tucks you into his chest and kisses your forehead.

"It's my job to spoil you, y'know." He grumbles playfully, squeezing your hip.

Accepting his affection, you reach for the box again and wiggle it in front of him. "Yeah, yeah, don't you want to see what I picked out for you?"

Before he opens the box, he showers you with more kisses, unable to ignore the fuzzy warmth that filled him.

"The watch, Aaron!" You protest in a fit of laughter.

He grins against your skin as he kisses your cheek. "Thanking my woman comes first."

When he finally does see the watch, he wants to just freeze time and take a picture of your expectant grin, thinking you look absolutely beautiful as you wait to see his reaction.

So while you fuss over putting the watch on for him, all he can do is stare at you lovingly and debate on whether to buy you a new car or an engagement ring first.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner fic #criminal minds aaron #aaron hotch x reader

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wokeupinmars · 2 years ago

Text

The Last Time

Summary: Peter's on the verge of losing you after disappointing you yet again.

masterlist

He didn’t show, the night was over and Peter was nowhere to be found.

You tried your best to mask your disappointment with a tall face as all the attendees started to trickle out of your college’s art exhibit, a handful of them congratulating and complimenting you on your artwork as they passed you.

It wasn't until you saw May walking towards you with a sympathetic look on her face that you felt your facade falter, “I’m so sorry darling,” she said as she brought you into a hug squeezing you.

“It’s fine, May. Thank you for coming, I really appreciate it.” You give her a sad smile pulling away from her. You take a deep breath, “May…I hate to do this but do you think I could get a raincheck on dinner tonight? I just want to go home.”

There’s a visible look of sadness on her face but she nods, “Of course you can, it’s beautiful by the way,” she says, angling her body to face your painting.

You mimic her actions, giving your painting a one over, “Thanks, I wasn’t sure about letting them display it when my art professor–she's the director of the exhibit asked. But I’m glad I did, a lot of people seemed to like it.”

“I can see why!” She exclaims.

Just as you were about to speak, the voice of your professor cut through all the chatter, “Ladies and gentlemen the art exhibit is now closing! Please make your way to the exit!”

You motion for her to follow you as you head to the doors. “How are you getting home? I could give you a ride,” she questioned. You shake your head, "I don’t think I can be around a Parker right now, at least not without wanting to cry.”

She frowns upon hearing your words, “Oh.” You push and hold the door open for her, “I know this is an unfair thing to ask of you but can you tell Peter I don’t want to hear from him anymore?”

May freezes the second she makes it outside, fully processing what you just said, “I’m sure he’s sorry–” She’s trying to save him, you both know she is. “I’m sure he is but I’m not interested in hearing his poor excuse of an apology. He knew how important this was to me and he said he’d be here, but he’s not. There’s only so many times you can let a person disappoint you, May.” Your eyes well with tears as you think back to telling him about being a part of the exhibit and how he added opening night to the calendar on his phone as well as the one that hung in his room, even going as far as drawing a heart around the square.

Cars start to whizz by as the traffic light turns green and you let out a defeated sigh, opening your arms to hug her goodbye, “It’s getting late and I don’t want to miss the train, you should head home too.” This time she hugs you tightly, “Give me a call when you get home, alright?”

You nod your head in response, “Thank you for coming, it means a lot to me. Have a goodnight and drive safe, okay?” Her hold on you gets even tighter, mumbling a goodnight to you before releasing you.

She stands still and watches you disappear down the street before pulling her phone out, attempting to reach Peter herself and when she's unable to, she leaves him a devastating voicemail, a voicemail he wouldn't hear until thirty minutes later when he was stood in front of ESU’s now dark and empty art center.

“...She said doesn’t want to hear from you anymore and honestly? I don’t blame her. She watched the door all night for you. All night, Peter, all night! She looked so heartbroken. She was trying her best to hide it but that look on her face, it was soul-crushing. I think this is it for you, ‘there are only so many times you can let a person disappoint you’ those were her exact words. She’s disappointed in you and frankly so am I, I didn’t raise you to act like this. You fucked up big time, there’s no point in sugarcoating it. I adore that girl and I know you do too but you’re losing her…”

Peter could feel the panic rising in his chest as he listened, the thought of losing you made his stomach churn. There's a slight shake in his hand as he presses his phone to his ear, his breath is caught in his throat as he waits for the calls to start ringing, praying you hadn’t blocked him. A sigh of relief escapes his mouth when it does but when the rings halt and his phone buzzes with a text message from you, he could feel all the air leave his lungs.

Sorry, I can’t talk right now.

Peter rushes to text you back; I’m so sorry honey.

He can see that you read his message but when you don't respond, he sends you another, and another, and another.

May left me a voicemail

I know I fucked up

And that I keep fucking up

But I can fix it

Can we please talk?

A spark of hope ignites within him as he watches the three dots appear on the screen but the feeling dwindles once he reads your message; It’s late, I’m tired and I don't want to hear or see you, please just leave me alone.

Peter goes to respond but another message appears in the chat informing him that you had silenced your notifications. His eyes never leave the screen, reading and rereading all the texts you’d sent him throughout the night, heart getting heavier and heavier with every message. He knows he should just listen and let you be but he goes against your wishes and sends one last message, I love you, I’m sorry.

—————————————

The sound of your phone ringing slices through the noise of the hand mixer you were using and the crinkles of the paper bag your cat was playing with. You glance at the screen, eyes scanning the contact name before turning off the mixer, answering the call, and bringing it up to your ear, “Hello?”

“Hello sweetheart, how are you feeling today?” Your elderly neighbor’s voice comes through clearly on the other end. A sigh leaves your lips, “Better, better than yesterday at least, I’m trying to keep myself occupied…giving baking a shot.” She hums in response, “Listen dear…I hate to be the bearer of bad news but he’s here.”

Your eyebrows knit together, “What do you mean?”

“That boy of yours. I’ve been watching him, he’s been standing at the door for the past half an hour.” You walk into the living room and over to the window, peeking through the blinds and sure enough there he was standing in front of the door of the duplex with his head hung low. “Do you want me to shoo him away? My grandson left his toy gun here the other day, you know the one with the foam bullets…I’ll take him out for you, sweetheart.”

Despite being amused by her words, a frown forms on your face, “Stand down, Mrs. Temple. I’ll handle him.”

“Alright, but if he gives you any trouble just let me know. I’ll give him hell.” Her soft voice now stern, “I know you will, remember how you asked me for his number last night cause you wanted to cuss him out?” You can hear her let out a huff on the other end before exclaiming, “He made you cry! I should go out there and jam my knitting needle through his eye.”

“That won’t be necessary, I’ll just tell him to leave and everything will be fine. And oh! Before I forget, do you like funfetti cake? I’ll bring it up for you and Mr.Temple a few slices when it's done.”

“We’d love that!”

The two of you exchange goodbyes and end the call. You take a second to collect yourself, taking a deep breath before opening the window, “What are you doing here?”

His head darts up, “Honey,” the sound of his voice catches the attention of your cat, who jumps on the windowsill to see him. He turns his entire body in your direction, digging his hands further into the pockets of his jacket, “Can we talk, please?”

You shake your head, “I meant what I said, Peter, I don't want to see you. Just go home.”

He opens his mouth to protest but you’re quick to shut the window and draw the blinds close. You walk back into the kitchen, glancing over your shoulder expecting to see your cat following close behind but much to your surprise, he’s waiting by the door. The sight made your heart hurt, “Snaps… I’m sorry buddy but he’s not coming.”

—————————————

Disaster.

That’s exactly how you’d describe the state of your kitchen. Your sink was piled high with mixing bowls and baking pans but it was all worth it once you added the final dusting of rainbow sprinkles to the frosted cake.

“Okay, Snaps, the cake is done, emergency chocolate chip cookies are in the oven. How do we feel about Coming to America tonight?” You ask aloud as you slice into the cake.

You look up at him perched on the windowsill, head poking around the blinds to watch the rain pour outside.“I’m going to run upstairs, you stay he–” you’re cut off by your ringtone, “Hey Mrs. Temple, I was just about to bring some cake up for you guys.”

“He’s still here, dear.” Her words made you feel uneasy, “He came back?”

“I’m not sure he ever left….he’s just sitting there.” You rush over to the window, pulling the blinds back, squinting your eyes trying to catch a glimpse of him on the stoop. “Oh my god! Can I call you back?” You didn't wait for her reply before ending the call.

You can feel your chest tighten as you leave your apartment and make the short walk to the building’s entryway. You inhale sharply before opening the door, to reveal Peter scrabbling to his feet. The rain mercilessly beats against his already drenched skin, he looks completely exhausted. “Hi,” his voice comes out as a whisper.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? Do you have any idea of how sick you'll get?” You scold him, stepping aside and opening the door wider for him to enter.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks out as he follows closely behind into your apartment, you ignore his words and the way Snaps starts to nuzzle against Peter’s leg only to pull away when he feels the cold and wet fabric of Peter’s jeans, “Go warm up in the shower, I’ll bring you a towel and some clothes,” you say walking into your bedroom.

You search through your drawer for something warm, eventually settling on a pair of flannel pajamas bottoms he’d left at your place for the nights he slept over, the sweatshirt you’d slept in the night before, and a pair of your fuzzy socks he stole from you.

You use your knuckle to knock on the bathroom door, “Peter? I’m coming in,” you said, turning the handle. “No, wait!” Peter calls out but he’s too late, you’ve already seen it. His suit.

“What the fuck!” Your eyes go wide as you scan the spider symbol on his chest.

Peter freezes, paralyzed by fear, this was not how you were supposed to find out. “It’s not what it looks like!” he blurts out, voice laced with panic. He watches your shoulder slump back and your eyes well with tears, you’ve never felt worse.

“Please, don’t cry. I can explain–” the sound of the oven’s timer going off causes you to shift your focus, shoving the towel in his hands. “I laid some clothes out for you,” was all you said before hurrying towards the kitchen.

—————————————

You were sprawled out on the couch, staring at the ceiling trying to make sense of it all. Every moment you spent with Peter replaying over and over again in your head, mentally berating yourself for not piecing everything together sooner. All the cuts and bruises you’ve cleaned and iced, the dates he missed ‘cause he ‘lost track of time’, every question he’d answer vaguely or just flat out avoid, every question you wanted to ask but held your tongue afraid you would come off as pushing or invasive and he’d leave.

The sound of the bathroom door opening and closing followed by Peter’s faint footsteps and a soft meow causes you to shut your eyes, bracing yourself for the impending conversation to be had. You listened intently as his steps got closer and closer until they stopped right in front of the couch, you had a feeling he was standing over you and your suspicions were confirmed when a droplet of water falling onto your forehead caused you to open your eyes.

The sight of Peter cradling Snaps like a baby immediately comes into view, “Sorry about that,” he says, shifting your cat to support him with just one arm, and using his now free hand to wipe your forehead.

“It’s fine,” you mumble, sitting up and scooting over, patting the spot next to you.

An awkward silence falls over the room, neither of you not knowing where to begin, “Thank you for doing this– for letting me in.” Your leg bounces as you try to work up the nerve to finally address the elephant in the room, opening your mouth to speak but shutting it when no words seem to come out until, “So…you’re Spider-Man?”

Peter swallows thickly, “I am.”

“Oh,” you say nervously fiddling with your fingers, “I guess it makes sense.”

“It does?”

You shrug your shoulders, “The longer I think about it…yeah. I’ve always assumed that whoever was under the mask was too smart and too courageous for their own good, no one fits that description better than you. And then there's every single injury you’ve ever had ever, no one trips and falls that many times, Pete.”

He was just about to say something until he hears you, whispering to yourself under your breath, “I can’t believe I dated a superhero.”

“Dated?” He repeats back your use of past tense only adds to the unsettling feeling in his chest, you were giving up on him and he deserves it.

You hum in response, “I know May told you what I said– about there only being a certain amount of times you can let someone disappoint you, and you are way past your limit. I think it’s better if we both just accept this is how things were meant to be. Look you can stay tonight but I think it’s best that in the morning all we are is strangers.” Your voice wavers at the end and it makes his heart plummet.

Tears pool in his eyes, “S-strangers?”

He shakes his head repeatedly, “No, no, no. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go–”

You furrow your brows at him, “And how exactly was this supposed to go?”

He hangs his head, glancing down at the cat looking back at him, Snaps stretches his paw out to touch his face, “We were supposed to talk it through, I went to the show- I bought flowers, they’re in my bag they're probably ruined now but I have them! I was going to tell you about being Spider-Man but then you weren’t there so I came here.”

“Me knowing about Spider-Man doesn’t really change anything.”

“It doesn’t?”

“I guess It does-” he picks his head up as the words leave your mouth but it is quick to drop it again when you finish your speaking, “-just not in the way it counts.”

“Oh,” he can feel his entire body deflate, “What does that mean?”

You let out a defeated sigh, “It means I understand why you were always running late or missing dates completely, and why you’ve shown up here sometimes looking as good as dead.”

“But…?”

“But it changes nothing about us, our relationship has never been a priority–”

He’s quick to cut you off, “That’s not true.”

“But it is, Peter. You’ve had a million chances to prove otherwise and you haven’t. I love you-”

“I love you too.”

“-but I can’t keep doing this, I don’t have it in me anymore,” you wipe away the tears that start to roll down your cheeks. “You just aren’t reliable, Peter.”

“What if I could be reliable? Give you stability?”

“Peter we’ve already been down this road before–”

“It’s different this time,” he insists, “I haven’t been able to balance being me and being Spider-Man, I’ve lost so much because being Spider-Man has completely dictated my life and I was fine with it because all heroes have to make sacrifices but none of it is worth it if it means I lose you too.”

Snaps wiggles out of Peter’s arms and onto the floor, giving Peter the chance to grab ahold of your hands, “I can be both and also give you stability, you deserve better and I’ll do everything I can to be better. I don’t want to lose you, Honey, I don’t. Please, let me show that I can be reliable–that our relationship is a priority.”

Your silence is deafening, you do your best to avoid Peter’s pleading eyes as you weigh options,

“Parker, I swear to fucking god you better pray your lucky number is a million and one because this is the last time I’m ever doing this with you.”

He perks up immediately, eyes glistening as he processes what you said. His mouth opens but you start to speak before he’s able to get a word out, “If we’re doing this then there's a few rules I’d like to set and they’re all non-negotiable.”

“Lay it on me.”

“Date night. Twice a month, no expectations. I don’t care if we go out or stay in, I just want a couple of nights off with my boyfriend. You flake, you’re out. Got it? ”

“Got it.”

“Wait, that made me feel like a bitch, to clarify that doesn’t apply to serious situations. I’m not going to stop you from helping or anything like that, I just want two nights out of the month reserved specifically for us.”

“I knew what you meant,” Peter reassures.

“Could you call or text me when you get home after you’re done with Spider-Man stuff? I’d like to know you’re safe.”

“Consider it done. Can I add a rule of my own?”

“Go for it.”

“Can you leave one of the windows in the bedroom unlocked for me? Since you know now I figured I could come over right after patrol and skip the whole ‘changing in an alley somewhere’ part.”

“I can do that.”

You stand up and start walking to the kitchen, “This isn’t a rule, it's a favor but could you run this up to Mrs.Temple? And before you ask, yes you can have some.”

Peter trails behind you, eyes sparkling when he finally sees the baked goods on your countertop. “God, I love you,” he says, giving you a wet kiss on the cheek.

—————————————

Peter’s knuckles knocked against the door, he could hear shuffling around the room before the door opened revealing Mrs. Temple with a big smile plastered on her face.

“Oh it’s you,” she says, her smile faltering.

He holds out the plastic cake dish for her to take, “Uh yeah, Y/n’s asked me to bring some cake up for you guys.”

“Mmmhm…I heard what happened,” she eyed him up and down, “and by the looks of you being here, I assume my sweet girl forgave your ass?”

Peter nods, “She did–”

“We’ll I’m glad things worked out,” she steps closer, poking him in the chest with her finger, “But if you ever make my baby cry again, it will be the last thing you ever do.” She takes the dish from his hand, her next words were lower than a whisper, “I know a guy.”

“Well, you and Y/n have a goodnight, tell her I’ll give her a call in the morning,” she adds before retreating back into her apartment.

“I don't think I’ve ever been more terrified of an elderly woman than I was just now,” were the first words to leave his mouth the second he returned to your apartment.

“Oh god, did she threaten to shoot you?”

His eyes bulged out of his head, “She has a gun?”

You wave his question off, “No it's just a Nerf gun.”

His mouth forms into an ‘O’, “so the implication that she could put out a hit on me was a bluff?”

“No, she really does know a guy, he’s nice.”

—————————————

Extra:

Your head rested against Peter’s chest, the soft thumping of his heart mixed with his hand rubbing your back made your eyelids feel heavier.

“Pete?”

He grunted in response.

“Why didn’t you go home? When I told you earlier?”

“Home is where the heart is.”

You pretend to gag at his statement, “That was too cheesy, even for you.”

“It’s not cheesy, it's the truth and it’s endearing.”

#peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #tasm!peter fanfiction #tasm!peter x reader #andrew garfield x reader #tasm!peter parker #andrew garfield!peter parker x reader #peter parker x fem!reader #andrew!peter parker #andrew!peter x reader #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm peter x reader

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meazalykov · 2 months ago

Text

everybody moved on, but I stayed there

barcelona femeni x bayern frauen x reader

summary: its hard to adjust when you thought your old life would be your only life

warnings: angst

the call came early in the morning, the kind of call you had always dreaded but never truly believed would come.

your agent’s voice on the other end of the line was steady, professional, but it carried a weight that crushed you the moment they spoke.

“barcelona isn’t offering a renewal,” they said, their tone careful, like they knew the devastation these words would bring.

you sat in your small apartment, the sunlight streaming through the window, mocking you with its warmth. the city outside was alive as always, the sound of bustling streets filling the background, but inside, you felt frozen.

“what do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“they’re making some tough financial decisions,” your agent explained, trying to soften the blow.

“it’s not about your performance. you’ve been phenomenal, but they’re restructuring. you know how it is... fighting for spots in the best team in the world. unfortunately, they’ve decided to let your contract expire.”

the words hit you like a punch to the gut. you had spent three years at barcelona, pouring your heart and soul into everything. you had thought this was your forever, the club you would retire at, the city you would grow old in.

“so, that’s it?” you said after a long silence.

“i’m just... done here?”

your agent hesitated, then sighed.

“i know this is hard, but listen. you’re one of the best defenders in the world. clubs are already reaching out, and we have options. lyon, chelsea, orlando, bayern munich—they’re all interested. they’re practically throwing themselves at the chance to sign you.”

you didn’t respond. you couldn’t. the idea of leaving barcelona, leaving everything you had built here, felt impossible.

“y/n?” your agent’s voice broke through your haze.

“i know this is tough, but you need to think about your next step. you have a bright future ahead of you. you can be at a club that actually wants to keep you.”

you hung up soon after, unable to stomach the conversation any longer. the rest of the day passed in a blur. you avoided your teammates, knowing the questions and the pitying looks they would give you.

the decision wasn’t even yours to make, but the weight of it pressed down on you like it was. every day at training, you felt it in the pit of your stomach, an ache that wouldn’t go away. you tried to mask it—forcing a smile here and there, going through the motions during drills—but it didn’t take long for your teammates to notice.

you looked down at your training kits and game kits everyday since that phone call, knowing this would be your final weeks wearing the barcelona name.

“are you okay?” alexia asked one afternoon after practice, her voice gentle. she had always been perceptive, her captain’s instincts sharp. you nodded quickly, brushing her off with a vague excuse about being tired.

she didn’t press, but her eyes lingered on you, worried.

by the time the news had fully sunk in, you could hardly meet anyone’s gaze. every touch of the ball, every shared laugh in the locker room, felt like another goodbye you weren’t ready to say.

you hadn’t been yourself on the pitch, your passes lacking their usual precision, your tackles hesitant. when the session ended, everyone filed into the dressing room, chatting and laughing as always, but you stayed silent, your head down as you untied your boots.

keira, sitting next to you, noticed your distant expression. she nudged your shoulder lightly.

“what’s up with you today? you’ve been... off.”

you froze, the question catching you off guard. for a moment, you thought about brushing it off again, but something about the concern in her voice broke the wall you’d been holding up for weeks. your hands trembled as you placed your boots down, and before you could stop it, tears welled up in your eyes.

the room fell silent as everyone noticed. keira leaned closer, her voice soft.

“y/n? what’s wrong?”

you took a shaky breath, your voice breaking as you finally spoke. “i have to leave,” you said, the words feeling like shards of glass in your throat.

“barcelona isn’t renewing my contract.”

gasps echoed around the room, followed by an overwhelming silence. the weight of your confession seemed to crush the air out of the space.

“what do you mean they’re not renewing your contract?” aitana asked, her voice sharp with disbelief.

“i thought you’d be here forever,” vicky added, her brow furrowed.

you shook your head, wiping at your face as the tears kept falling.

“i thought so too. but... they said it’s financial. they can’t offer me a new deal. it’s not up to me.”

“no,” mariona said quietly, standing up and crossing the room to sit beside you. her arm wrapped around your shoulders as she pulled you close.

“this can’t be happening.”

you leaned into her, the comfort of her presence grounding you as sobs shook your body. mariona held you tightly, her own voice breaking as she whispered,

“i understand. i know what it’s like. i’m leaving too, remember? i thought this was my forever club, just like you. sometimes, things don’t work out the way we want them to. you’ll be okay, nina.”

the rest of the team sat in stunned silence, the reality sinking in. salma finally spoke, her voice steady but full of emotion.

“this isn’t fair. you've tried your hardest for this team. we’ve all seen it.”

“it’s not fair,” you agreed, your voice barely audible.

“but it’s happening. and i have to accept it, sal.”

mapi, sitting across from you, shook her head.

“accept it? no, we’re not accepting this. you’re one of us. no matter where you go, you’ll always be one of us.”

their words brought a fresh wave of tears, but this time, they weren’t entirely from sadness. amidst the heartbreak, there was comfort in knowing how much you meant to them.

mariona squeezed your shoulder, her voice warm despite the sadness in her eyes.

“wherever you go, they’re lucky to have you. it’s okay to be upset right now. we’re upset too, you’ll grow to love your new club just as much as you love us.”

you nodded, taking a deep breath as you tried to steady yourself. “i’m going to miss all of you so much,” you said, your voice trembling.

“we’re going to miss you too,” keira said softly, and a murmur of agreement swept through the room.

the rest of the evening passed in a haze of hugs, tears, and promises to stay in touch. mariona stayed by your side the entire time, her presence a constant source of comfort. as someone who was also leaving, she understood your pain in a way no one else could.

when you finally left the locker room that night, the reality of your departure felt a little less heavy. your teammates’ love and support reminded you that even though you were leaving barcelona, you would always carry a part of it with you.

alexia tried to talk to you after everyone left, her voice soft.

“we’ll miss you,” she said, her eyes searching yours for any sign of emotion.

you forced a smile, nodding as your throat tightened. “i’ll miss you too.” but even as you said the words, it didn’t feel real.

packing up your life in barcelona was harder than you expected. every corner of your apartment, every street you walked, every café you passed, was filled with memories. leaving felt like abandoning a part of yourself.

when the offer from bayern munich came, you accepted it with a numb sense of duty. it wasn’t excitement that drove your decision, but necessity. you couldn’t stay in barcelona, and bayern seemed like the best option.

the first few weeks in munich were strange. the city was beautiful, the people were welcoming, but it didn’t feel like home.

your new teammates were kind, going out of their way to include you in team dinners and outings. georgia took you out for coffee, and sydney invited you over for dinner. they made an effort, but no matter how hard they tried, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being an outsider.

“how are you settling in?” klara asked one evening after training. the two of you were stretching on the pitch as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the stadium.

you shrugged, avoiding her gaze.

“it’s... fine.”

klara gave you a sympathetic look.

“it’ll feel like home eventually. i know how you feel.. just give it time.”

you nodded, but deep down, you weren’t so sure.

despite your inner turmoil, your performance on the pitch was stellar. you threw yourself into training, determined to prove that you belonged. the bayern fans quickly grew to love you, chanting your name in the stands during every match.

even as you celebrated victories with your new team, a part of you longed for the camaraderie you had at barcelona.

when you heard about barcelona’s successes, you felt a pang of jealousy. not because you wanted them to fail, but because you wished you were still a part of it.

“do you ever talk to them?” georgia asked one day as the two of you sat in the locker room after a match.

“sometimes,” you admitted, scrolling through your phone. your former teammates still messaged you, names like esmee, alexia, and keira lighting up your screen with texts like, “we miss you,” and “come visit soon.” but it wasn’t the same.

months passed, and slowly, you began to find your footing in munich.

when bayern beat real madrid in the champions league quarterfinals, you felt a surge of happiness you hadn’t felt in a long time. the way the team celebrated in the locker room reminded you of the joy you used to feel at barcelona after an el clasico game against the same time you played tonight.

for the first time, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe you could be happy here.

then, the semifinal draw happened. bayern munich vs. barcelona.

your stomach twisted when you saw it. the thought of facing your old team felt like a cruel twist of fate.

“are you ready for this?” sydney asked as the team prepared for the first leg in munich.

“i don’t know,” you admitted.

the match was intense. you found yourself marking aitana, the two of you locked in a fierce battle throughout the game. every time she tried to break through, you were there, blocking her path.

by the end of the match, it was 1-1, with goals from alexia and pernille.

“good game,” alexia said afterward as the two of you crossed paths in the tunnel. there was a flicker of something in her eyes—pride, maybe? or nostalgia? you couldn’t tell.

“thanks,” you replied, your voice tight.

the second leg in barcelona felt different. walking into the stadium, you expected to feel a sense of loss, but instead, you felt... content.

this was your old home, but it didn’t define you anymore.

however, your heart thumped in your chest, not from nerves—at least, that’s what you told yourself—but from the weight of what this game meant. the second leg of the champions league semifinal. bayern munich vs. barcelona. your old club vs. your new club.

giulia adjusted her captain’s armband slightly beside you as your hands steady on your mascot’s shoulders.. despite the whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. the kid mascot looked up at you with her wide eyes, clutching your hand tightly.

you smiled down at the young girl, offering a small squeeze of reassurance, even though you could have used some yourself.

the players began walking out, the bright lights of the stadium flooding your vision as the roar of the crowd hit you like a tidal wave. it was deafening. thousands of voices chanting, cheering, and shouting in a language that used to feel like your own.

you stepped onto the pitch, the familiar sight of camp nou stretching out before you. the stands were a sea of red and blue.

for a moment, you felt a flicker of encouragement, a warmth in your chest. this was barcelona—this was home.

wait a minute??? it's not. you cringed as reality hit, sharp and unforgiving. the cheers weren’t for you. not anymore. they were for the players in blaugrana, for the badge you no longer wore.

you were bayern now. the crowd that once lifted you, chanted your name, celebrated your every move—they were now cheering against you.

the realization stung more than you wanted to admit. your steps faltered slightly as you made your way to the center of the pitch, your head held high despite the ache in your heart.

yet, amidst the overwhelming roar of the home fans, another sound reached your ears. it was faint at first, but it grew louder the more you focused on it. the bayern munich away fans, tucked into a corner of the massive stadium, were cheering for your team.

their voices didn’t carry the same weight in numbers, but there was something in their tone—raw, passionate, unwavering—that hit you differently.

they went through the lineup and gave the girls name chants. after pernille, they started chanting your name. your name.

the sound of their voices cut through the noise of the home crowd, filling you with a strange sense of belonging. they weren’t just cheering for bayern; they were cheering for you.

you straightened your posture, a quiet resolve settling over you.

the kid beside you tugged at your hand, pulling your attention back. you smiled down at them again, this time with a bit more confidence.

the anthem began playing, and you sang along quietly, your voice steady as the camera panned across the line of players. the stadium was exciting, the tension building as kickoff loomed.

as the anthem ended and the players began to move into position, you took one last glance at the crowd. the cheers for barcelona still rang loud and proud, but the bayern fans’ voices echoed in your ears, grounding you in the moment.

you were here for them now. and for yourself.

the whistle blew, and the game began.

this game was one of the best of your career. you cleared shots from ewa, stopped aitana in her tracks, and made a crucial save against kika nazareth-- a forward you never got to play with.

when you took a corner kick in the 89th minute, you didn’t expect anything to come of it. but the ball curved perfectly, slipping past cata and into the net.

the stadium fell silent for a moment before erupting into german chaos. your jaw dropped as you covered your mouth in disbelief. your teammates swarmed you, their joy infectious.

however, you didn’t celebrate. you couldn’t. out of respect for the club that gave you everything, you simply walked back to your position, your head held high.

after the final whistle blew, bayern advanced to the final with a 3-1 aggregate score. as you walked off the pitch, you avoided looking at your former teammates. you were afraid of what you might see in their eyes—anger, disappointment, betrayal.

later that night, as you lay in bed, your phone buzzed with a message from alexia.

“we are proud of you. good luck in the final :)”

it took you a moment to process her words. maybe they didn’t hate you after all.

as bayern prepared for the champions league final against manchester city, you felt lighter. the weight of barcelona no longer pressed down on you like it used to.

you would always cherish your time there, but you were starting to realize that your future was here, with bayern.

and for the first time, you were okay with that.

masterlist

#barcelona femeni #bayern frauen #woso fanfics #woso community #woso x reader #mariona caldentey #alexia putellas #klara buhl #georgia stanway

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finelinevogue · 23 days ago

Text

talk to me

summary - aaron is vulnerable after his family is taken from him, only you are brave enough to confront him

pairing - aaron hotchner x bau-gf!reader

word count - ~1k [very angsty…not my usual happy writing]

“Why hasn’t he killed himself yet?”

The same question ran through your head over and over again, like it was some godforsaken lyric you couldn’t stop repeating.

Only it wasn’t a lyric.

It was something Hotch had said on a case today.

Granted it was about the unsub you were catching, but you couldn’t stop going over and over the double meaning to his words. You couldn’t stop wondering if that was Hotch’s cry for help.

You were currently driving to his apartment.

It was rough for you and Aaron right now.

Aaron getting stabbed was traumatic enough for you, but for Aaron to go through that as well as losing his family and all control? It was devastating.

You and Aaron had been together for over a year, making it work with being in a relationship whilst balancing his role as a dad. Aaron was doing the extreme best he could and you were so proud of him.

But you could see the emotional toll it had taken on him these last few weeks since the incident.

It was so clear that Aaron believed he was a terrible father and he was punishing himself for it.

You were really worried about him. You cared for Aaron a lot and it was heartbreaking to think that he was keeping such self deprecating thoughts to himself. He should know better.

You pulled up outside his apartment and quickly went into his apartment.

It didn’t take long to climb the stairs and reach his door.

You hesitated.

What if you were overthinking? What if he was actually alright and by you confronting him would just plant doubting seeds?

Swearing to yourself, you knocked.

A minute later and Aaron undid the latch and opened up.

“Hey?” He clearly wasn’t expecting you.

“Hey.”

“You coming in?” He opened the door wider.

“You’re not going to ask me why I’m here?” You questioned, crossing your arms over your chest accusatorially.

“Do I need to question why my girlfriend is visiting?” He furrowed his brows.

“You normally would,” You answered, “But you already know why I’m here.”

You pushed past him and walked into his apartment. This conversation was not meant for the listening ears of everyone on Aaron’s apartment floor.

He closed the door with a sigh and clicked the latch again.

Aaron came and stood near you, hands on his hips as he awaited your next move. You could tell by his body language that the direction this conversation was moving in was making him really uncomfortable.

Well that was fine with you.

“So…”

“So what?” Aaron looked down at his shoes before looking back at you.

“We promised never to profile each other.” You said.

“And yet here you are.” He challenged you.

Aaron was getting defensive and you hadn’t even started the conversation yet.

You knew that getting through to him would be hard but you sometimes forget how many solid walls and foundations this man has built around himself. One chisel at a time might not be enough.

“Don’t do this, Aaron.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Push me away!” You shouted, flailing your arms up.

“I’m not…” Aaron looked off to the side.

“Aaron. I know you better than you think I do. Don’t push me away when I’m trying to help.”

“I don’t need your help.” Aaron said bitterly, still not raising his voice. Sometimes his cold shoulder was worse than his angry tone. You’d seen strong-willed men crumble at their knees under Aaron’s glare.

“Stop being so stubborn.” You groaned.

“Well stop profiling me.” Aaron bit back.

“I’m not profiling you, Aaron. I’m simply being a good friend. I’ve noticed that my boyfriend is constantly sad and says things that make me… nervous - that’s not profiling.”

“Stay out of my head.” Aaron warned.

There was no going back from this.

If he broke up with you then so be it, but you weren’t taking any chances. Not when Aaron’s mental or emotional stability was on the line.

“What did you mean today when you said, ‘Why hasn’t he killed himself yet?’ Hmm?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

Aaron shook his head, “I said stay out of my head.”

“Were you asking it about the unsub…”

“Don’t.” Aaron shook his head.

“Or were you asking about yourself?” You questioned the one thing that had been constantly on your mind ever since he’d said it.

“No.” Aaron shook his head, eyes tearing up slightly.

“Aaron, honey, it’s okay to be sad –.”

“I’m not sad, I’m devastated!” He shouted. It took every fibre of it being not to flinch and send the wrong message.

“Honey…”

“No. You want to truth? I’ve questioned what the point is anymore, of course I have. My son has been taken from me in the most cruel way possible and I can’t do a goddamn thing, so I’m sorry if I seem a little more sad than usual.” His words dripped with venom.

His breath was uneven and heavy after he’d finished, almost like he was holding himself back from letting out more.

“Is that it?” You said bravely.

Aaron’s gaze pierced yours. His honey eyes so focused that they had lost their spark.

“What?”

“You want to shout at someone? Then shout at me. You want to make someone cry? Then make it me. You want to punch a wall? I’ll stitch your hand up after. You want to cry? I’ll be here with the tissues.”

Aaron’s body physically deflated as you spoke.

You weren’t done yet though.

“You think that this is a burden you carry alone, Aaron. Well it’s not. Yes it’s your family that Foyet is targeting but you are not the reason that Foyet turned out to be the way he is. You are not solely responsible for his escape or any of his devious plans. So if you want to be devastated, then fine. In fact, I’d welcome you to show your heart on your sleeve for once. But don’t for one second think of doing something stupid. Not when I’m right here.”

Aaron dropped to his knees then head hanging low as his body shook from his tears.

You had hoped it would come to this. Not that you enjoyed seeing Aaron upset, but you appreciated seeing him be vulnerable with you.

It meant that he still felt safe with you.

“I’m sorry.” He kept repeating through his sobs.

You moved quickly to kneel on the ground in front of him, pulling his body into yours so you could hold him tight.

Aaron’s love language was physical touch, so physical touch you would give him. If he thought he was anything less than loved by you then you had failed as a partner.

“You’re okay. I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay.”

You kept reassuring him, keeping your hold tight on him whilst rubbing his back comfortingly.

<.><.>

[bonus]

You stayed on the floor with Aaron for over an hour.

He needed the time to cry and let everything out, whilst knowing he had someone next to him to keep him safe.

You had eventually both made it to bed.

Even though you didn’t have any of your work clothes here and your car was definitely violating parking rights outside, you couldn’t find it in yourself to leave Aaron. You didn’t want to leave him.

He was currently resting his head on your chest as he slept, his body breathing on heavily. You were sat up in his bed, stroking a comforting hand through his hair. His arms were wrapped tightly around you so you couldn’t be taken from him.

It had been a tough day, but you had reminded Aaron that there’s always a reason to keep going at the end of it.

#aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch angst

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paddockletters · 5 months ago

Text

shattered hearts | lando norris

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: you break free from a toxic relationship, embarking on an exhilarating journey of self-discovery

warning: emotional abuse, infidelity, toxic relationship, angst

author's note:this was hard, so hard omg... as I always say, english is not my first language so sorry me if there are mistakes —feel free to tell me— and my requests are open!👀

I met Lando when we were barely out of high school. Back then, he was just a kid with dreams and a mischievous smile that made you feel like you were the only one in the world that mattered. For a while, I believed that was true. But as the years went by, I learned that Lando's smile wasn’t mine alone—it was shared with others, stolen moments behind my back. And somehow, I was always the one left picking up the pieces.

Our relationship was a whirlwind, the couple everyone thought would either crash or last forever. We did crash—over and over again. But somehow, Lando always found a way to convince me to come back.

“I’m sorry,” he’d say, voice low and pleading after one of his inevitable affairs. “But you know you’re my number one, right? None of them matter like you do.”

He’d wrap his arms around me, pull me close, and somehow, I’d believe him. I had to because after eight years of being with him, I didn’t know who I was without him.

The first time he cheated, I was devastated. It was in his early F1 days, just as his fame started to sink in. He swore it was a one-time thing that it didn’t mean anything. And like a fool, I believed him. But it didn’t stop. It never stopped. There was always another girl, another excuse, another lie wrapped up in the promise that I was still the "main one."

One particular night, I remember the argument that nearly broke us for good. Lando had been out late, and I found out through a mutual friend that he had been seen with another girl. Again. When he came home, reeking of alcohol and guilt, I confronted him.

“You said you were going to change, Lando!” I yelled, tears streaming down my face. “You promised me, over and over again, but nothing ever changes!”

“Why are you making such a big deal out of this? You always come back. You always forgive me,” he shot back, arms crossed, his face a mask of irritation.

His words stung like a slap to the face. I wanted to scream, to leave right then and there. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Because a part of me still loved him, or maybe it was the idea of him—the boy I met before the fame, before the lies.

As the years rolled on, our friends saw the cracks. One night during a get-together at a bar, I tried to put on a brave face. I thought maybe if I acted normal, I could convince myself everything was fine. But when Jess pulled me aside, her expression serious, I knew I couldn’t hide anymore.

“Why do you keep letting him treat you like this?” she asked, frustration evident in her voice. “You deserve so much better, and he’s just going to keep doing this until you realize it.”

“Maybe he’ll change. I can’t just throw away eight years,” I replied defensively. “We have a history.”

“You mean a history of him cheating on you? You have to stop putting up with this, or you’re going to lose yourself,” she insisted, shaking her head.

I didn’t have an answer for her, not really. I just wanted to believe that things would get better. That Lando would see how much I cared and finally choose me over everyone else.

Our mutual friends began to pick sides. Some supported me, while others were loyal to Lando. It was suffocating, a constant tug-of-war that made everything feel so much worse. I felt more isolated than ever, even when surrounded by people.

Then there was the jealousy. Lando was incredibly possessive, especially with his fellow drivers. During one race weekend, I was talking to Charles, who had just finished his session. Lando walked in, and his eyes darkened.

“Why are you always chatting up the other drivers?” he snapped, pulling me aside as Charles walked away, giving us a questioning look.

“Because they’re my friends, Lando! Just because you’re in F1 doesn’t mean I can’t talk to anyone else. You’re not my warden,” I shot back, feeling the anger rise in my chest.

“Don’t act like I’m overreacting. You know how it looks,” he hissed, jaw clenched, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

I knew he was being unreasonable, but I was too exhausted to fight back. Our friends watched the tension build, hoping to intervene. I overheard Max once whisper to Lando.

“You need to chill, mate. You’re pushing her away.”

But Lando always had an excuse for everything, often deflecting blame onto me.

“You just don’t understand how this world works!” he’d shout, leaving me feeling small and defeated.

The cycle continued, and I found myself in the same painful arguments over and over. One night, after he came home late from a party, I had finally reached my breaking point.

“Do you even care about how I feel?” I shouted, my voice echoing through our apartment. “You’re always out with other girls! How am I supposed to trust you?”

“I told you, you’re the main one! None of them matter!” he retorted, but his words felt hollow to me.

We spent that night in silence, and I knew I had to make a decision. I just didn’t know how to let go.

The more time passed, the more I began to distance myself from Lando. Therapy helped. I began to see the truth behind his words and actions. The way he manipulated me, made me feel guilty for his mistakes. The way he made it seem like I was the one at fault for staying, like I was to blame for the pain he caused me.

During one therapy session, I shared my frustrations.

“I don’t know why I keep coming back to him. He’s hurt me so many times, and I just can’t let go.”

The therapist asked me one simple question: “Do you love him, or are you just scared of being without him?”

It hit me like a ton of bricks. I didn’t know the answer.

One evening after another brutal fight, I finally left. For good this time. I packed my bags while he watched, silent for once. Maybe he thought I’d come back, just like I always did. But this time was different. I walked out the door, leaving behind eight years of memories, both good and bad.

The nights were long and lonely, and I often found myself thinking about the happy moments we had. One flashback struck me particularly hard: it was the first time he had taken me to the paddock during a race weekend, and we laughed like kids as he showed me around.

“Can you believe this is my life now?” he had said, beaming with pride. “I never would have thought I’d be racing in F1.”

“I always knew you could do it,” I replied, squeezing his hand.

But now, those memories felt tainted, and I needed to focus on myself. It wasn’t easy. There were nights I cried myself to sleep, wondering if I had made the right decision. But with time, and with the help of my therapist, I started to heal. I began to see that I deserved better, that I deserved someone who would love me the way I had always wanted Lando to.

One evening, after finally leaving Lando for good, I found myself at a racing event with friends. It was a chance to distract myself from the whirlwind of emotions I was navigating. As I wandered through the paddock, I was drawn to the sound of laughter.

“Are you lost, or just overwhelmed by all this?” a smooth voice asked. I turned to see Pato O'Ward, the charming IndyCar driver, grinning at me. His eyes sparkled with warmth, and for the first time in a long time, I felt a flicker of something hopeful.

“I guess a little bit of both,” I replied, smiling back.

“Come on, I’ll show you around,” he offered, his energy contagious. As we walked through the paddock, he shared stories about his racing experiences and the thrill of competing. It felt so refreshing to be around someone who was passionate and genuine, without the weight of expectations or drama.

Days turned into weeks, and I found myself spending more time with Pato. He was everything I had needed—funny, respectful, and utterly devoted. He listened to me, understood my past, and never once made me feel like I was in a competition for his attention.

One night, after a thrilling race, he took me to a quiet spot overlooking the track. “You know,” he said, “I’ve been thinking a lot about how important it is to find someone who truly sees you. I see you, and I want to be that person.”

His words resonated deep within me, filling the void Lando had left. In that moment, I knew I had found something special with Pato, something I had longed for but never thought I could have.

Meanwhile, Lando had his own set of problems. He was still juggling relationships, using his charm to keep people around while juggling jealousy over his fellow drivers. I heard from our mutual friends that he was still stuck in the same toxic patterns, always in and out of relationships, always claiming that I was the one who got away.

I remember a race weekend when Charles and Lando got into an argument. I was watching from the sidelines with Pato when Charles approached me, concern etched on his face.

“Are you okay? I know things with Lando have been… complicated,” he said, his gaze shifting to Lando, who was across the paddock, still fuming.

“I’m fine, really. I’ve moved on,” I assured him, but I could see the doubt in his eyes.

Later that evening, I got a message from Lando, who had obviously overheard the chatter.

“I know you’re happy with him, but you’re still mine. You always come back to me, remember?”

It took everything in me not to respond. I had a new life now, a new partner who respected me and didn’t cheat. Lando’s words were just echoes of the past.

Fast forward to our wedding day. I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting my veil, my heart racing with excitement. Pato had become my rock, my partner in every sense of the word. I knew this was the right choice, and my heart was finally at peace.

Then, my phone buzzed. It was a message from Lando.

“I heard you’re getting married. Just wanted to say, I hope you’re happy. But I still think about you. We could’ve had it all, you know.”

I stared at the message, my heart pounding. For a moment, I considered replying. But then I remembered all the sleepless nights, the tears, the heartbreak, and all the promises he had broken.

“Too late,” I typed back, hitting send before I could second-guess myself.

As I walked down the aisle, Pato’s face lit up with joy, and I couldn’t help but smile back. When he took my hands in his, I felt a sense of completeness I hadn’t known in years.

The ceremony was beautiful, I felt a sense of completeness I hadn’t felt in years. When Pato took my hands in his, I knew I was finally moving forward.

As we exchanged vows, Lando’s presence lingered in the back of my mind, but I let it go.

“I promise to love you through every challenge and to celebrate every victory,” he said, his eyes shining with sincerity.

“I promise to choose you every day for the rest of my life,” I replied, my voice steady and full of conviction.

We sealed our vows with a kiss, and I felt liberated. Lando was no longer my story; I was the author of my own life now, and it was a beautiful beginning with Pato. With him by my side, I was ready to embrace the future we would build together, thriving in a relationship based on trust, respect, and love.

As time passed, I learned to appreciate the small moments—the laughter, the late-night talks, the shared dreams of a future together. Pato supported my passions and encouraged me to pursue my own ambitions, something I had never fully experienced before.

One day, I received a message from Max: “Lando’s been a mess since your wedding. He didn’t handle it well.”

I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of satisfaction. He had always taken me for granted, and now, he was the one left behind.

I hoped Lando would find peace eventually, but I also knew I couldn’t go back to the pain of our past. Pato was everything I needed, and I was determined to focus on our life together.

As our first anniversary approached, Pato planned a surprise getaway. “I want to celebrate us, everything we’ve built,” he said, a bright smile on his face.

We traveled to a beautiful beach destination, where we spent our days relaxing, laughing, and simply enjoying each other’s company. One night, under a sky full of stars, Pato took my hand and said, “You’ve changed my life for the better. I want to keep building this amazing life with you.”

I couldn’t hold back my tears. “You’ve shown me what real love looks like, Pato. I’m so grateful for you.”

His expression softened as he leaned in, kissing me gently.

Then, one day, I got a call from Lando.

“Can we talk?” he asked, voice shaky.

“What do you want, Lando?” I replied, my heart racing.

“I just need to explain… things didn’t go as planned after you left. I’ve made mistakes, and I want you back.”

I paused, memories flooding back. “You had your chance, Lando. I can’t keep going back to the past. I’m happy now. I’ve moved on.”

“But I still love you!” he pleaded. “You were always my main one!”

His words echoed painfully in my mind, but I stood my ground. “You had your chance to prove that. You made your choice.”

The phone call ended, and I sighed with relief. I looked at Pato, who was sitting beside me, and smiled. I had made the right choice.

I felt a sense of peace wash over me. Lando was no longer a part of my narrative. My life was filled with the warmth and love Pato brought into it, and I was excited for the future we would continue to create together.

With Pato, I had learned to love again, not just him, but also myself. And that made all the difference.

Lando’s chapter had closed, and I was finally ready to start anew, with someone who truly valued me, not just as the ‘main one,’ but as the woman I had become.

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 imagines #f1 one shot #lando norris #lando norris blurb #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fanfiction #lando norris one shot #lando norris x reader #lando x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris imagines #landonorris #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen imagines #pato o'ward #pato o'ward x reader #pato o'ward x you

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pullupinarari · 4 months ago

Text

Love you ‘til I don’t [LH]

author’s note: I’m finally back with full fics and I was so excited to write this one! Thank you to the anons who dropped these thoughts on my inbox 🫂 This is angsty, sad and has a sad ending. Ps: let’s please pretend that Abu Dhabi 2021 was actually last year, I didn’t wanted to write this with years apart 🙏🏻 hope you enjoy this!! Mwah 🩷

Read part two here!

• masterlist

wc: 3981 - english is not my first language! feedback is always appreciated

Anger, confusion, pain, doubt: Lewis’ mind has been a mess since the day he lost the opportunity to hold his 8th world title. That fateful day has changed him in some way: It has made him more cold, more thoughtful, questioning his life and all the decisions he has made so far, wondering if this is all worth it.

Being so close to winning, just to have the trophy almost yanked from his hands at the end of the last race, devastated him, and you know that. It felt like a hurricane hitting him, making him lose his senses, taking a toll on his confidence. Since that day, Lewis grew quiet, he stopped showing up at your door with flowers and a lovely smile spreading along his face, like he used to. From that moment, he would just rather be alone with his thoughts all the time, until they would devour his whole being, drowning his brain in destructive ideas.

In the three years that you’ve been dating, you have never seen him act this way. During the two month break after the end of the season, he wouldn’t leave his house, he wouldn’t pick up your calls. Whenever you showed up at his place, actually trying to see him, to talk to him, he would give you two word sentences in reply, his eyes fixated on the blank wall in front of him the whole time, as if he wasn’t even there, at that moment.

And he wasn’t. At least, that’s how he felt. After what happened, Lewis didn’t want to be seen, didn't want to talk or to even hear anyone. He just wanted to be alone with his thoughts, rethinking his entire life.

In the middle of the silence that he decided to merge himself in, there was this question that never ceased, no matter how hard he would try to shake it off. Was it really worth the effort to balance his two most intense passions? On one hand, he has racing - his passion since he can remember, the one thing he loves more than life, the adrenaline that makes his blood rush in his veins. But on the other hand, there’s you: the best surprise he had received from life in a long time. The light that would erupt through his bones in days surrounded by darkness, the one he sees his future with.

But the obsession related to getting his 8th title - the one that was stolen from him, keeps growing in Lewis’ mind, becoming the only thing he can focus on. And it makes him realize that maybe, just maybe, he needs to give up on other things, in order to get what he wishes for so much.

After two entire months filled with distance, Lewis is back at work. He’s currently in Bahrain for the start of the season, his body lying on the bed of his hotel room, while his mind makes him feel physically sore, not allowing him to get any rest while he doesn’t make a decision.

He keeps overthinking everything, and he might try to shut his senses, but deep down, he knows he can’t complete another season by your side. He can’t do it - he can’t put all his effort on the line again, he can’t allow himself to have any more distractions this season.

He knows he needs to do this - no matter how badly it might hurt the both of you, he needs to let you go. He can’t continue having to choose between his career or his love life, and he knows that this might sound mean, but Lewis is very well aware that racing will never leave him, it’s the only constant that he has ever known in his life.

So he takes a deep breath, grabbing his phone to type a quick text to you. He can’t help but feel his heart shrinking when he reads the amount of messages that you have sent him, to which he hasn’t replied.

“Hope you have a safe flight, love”, “I wish I could be there to support you in person, but I understand that you'd rather do this one by yourself. I will still cheer you on from here”, “I love you so, so much. You will always be my champion, Lew ❤”

You know that he has been struggling a lot lately, the end of last season really destroyed him completely, wrecked all his beliefs, everything that made it possible for him to keep going. It hurts you, of course it does. Of course it pains you to see your boyfriend pushing you away, closing all the walls of his life around himself, not even cracking a bit to let you in, to allow himself to share this dark period with his other half - that’s what you’re with him for: to help him, to pull him from the ground, back to his feet. But you love him too much, so you decide to be patient and to not give up on him, keeping your faith up, trusting that your boyfriend will come back to you once he gets his confidence back.

It’s not you, it really isn’t. It’s a problem that Lewis has with himself right now. During the past few months, he realized that he doesn’t want to be a half anymore. He doesn’t want to share his life with anyone right now, he wants to feel complete with his own company and achievements. And for that, he needs to get rid of this feeling of unsureness, of feeling like he isn’t enough, like he needs to give more and more to reach his goal - and he can’t do it while trying to balance so many different sides of his life.

Lewis really loves you, though - even if it might seem like he doesn’t, right now. His feelings are a mess but he has no doubt that you were the one for him. The one that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, sharing his dream of having kids with you, of growing older together, keeping you safe and sound by his side through the years. But he simply can’t focus on that anymore - at least not for now.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want things to go this way, but I can’t do this anymore. This is the end of us” - he sends, immediately turning off his phone so he won’t read your messages, falling into the temptation of answering your calls.

He is acting like a dick, yes. He is a coward, absolutely. You didn’t deserve any of this, and Lewis knows it. He hates to admit it, but he just doesn’t have the courage in himself to break your heart in person. He doesn’t have the strength to let the words leave his mouth, to watch your face fall while he destroys you emotionally, pulling the rug from under your feet, admiring your fall into a dark hole, surrounded by your own old ghosts - welcoming the new ones that he just created with his actions.

You are left speechless, your mouth agape while you read his text over and over again. No matter how many times you try to text Lewis, call him, try to talk to him about all this - in need to understand what happened, what triggered this reaction in him. He never replied, he never picked up.

Leaving you alone to pick up all the pieces that he broke inside of you, silence is the only thing stringing you two along. All the questions are loud in your mind, making you hold your breath until the thoughts quiet down. Wondering what’s the point of trying anymore, of waking up everyday to a tear stained pillow, to an aching heart, stealing all the will you had to live.

You’re not just sad. You are disappointed, devastated, wrecked. Everyday you read that message, everyday you try to call his phone, only to no avail. He doesn’t want anything to do with you anymore - and you don’t know why. “Maybe you’re just not good enough for him anymore, maybe he met someone else, someone who gives him things that you could never give. Or maybe, he got bored and you’re just not what he wants anymore” - your brain tells you.

It’s a never ending train of self-destructive thoughts, leading you to tear down your own walls, your skin, your feelings - blaming yourself and your actions for what happened, being unable to accept what happened.

Maybe you should have insisted more during those two months that he locked himself inside his house. Maybe you should have showed up more, maybe you should have pushed him to open up, maybe you should have made a bigger effort to help him more. Instead, you gave him space, time, distance. You let him slip through your fingers.

But Lewis knows that there was nothing that you could do to prevent this. Since that night in Abu Dhabi, he could feel it inside of him - the rollercoaster ready to fall off the abyss, destroying everyone around him. And that’s what happened: he finally crashed, breaking you and everything you represented for him.

Cutting your thread loose, leaving you holding on to nothing, he still thinks about you everyday. He misses you, and he blames himself for all the suffering that he knows that you are going through. This situation kills him as well - fuck, he still loves you. He shouldn’t have to choose between you or his job. He shouldn’t have to cut off such an important part of his life to give his all to the sport. He shouldn’t have to die to feel alive.

He still wishes he could pick up your calls, some tears leaving his eyes whenever he opens your conversations, reading all the messages you still leave him. All the questions you pour into your texts, the way you beg him to talk to you. He desperately wishes he was able to do it, but he can't. He is the only person holding himself back from talking to you, but in his mind, he needs to keep strong, he has to resist the urge to see you.

He will try his best to let you go, for good. He will try to forget you and every single detail that he knows about you. He is determined to forget about everything that reminds him of you. But until he is able to do all that, he is still going to continue loving you. Lewis is going to love you until he doesn’t feel it anymore.

Your love for Lewis was replaced by a cold ice stone, placed above your heart to freeze your feelings for him. The lack of sleep, the lack of self care that you endure on yourself is enough to make you seem unrecognizable to everyone around you. The dark bags under your swollen eyes, the sadness painting your lids, the way tiredness spreads through your body, making it impossible for you to show the most minimal reaction to anything that is happening around you.

You’re sure of one thing: after this, you don’t want anything to do with love anymore. And while you try to recover from the biggest heartbreak you have ever been through, you decide to keep the lowest of profiles, not daring to pass near Lewis’ house anymore, not walking inside the same spots that you know that he often goes to. Trying your best for neither him nor his close ones to ever land their eyes on you ever again.

Lewis thought he would be alright, though. He firmly believed that he would overcome this situation after some weeks, and that his focus on the season would be enough.

Turns out it’s not. Lewis never predicted that this season would be equally hard on him - from uncountable problems with his car, to struggles related to different points of view when it comes to strategies within the team, the waves of miscommunication washing over Mercedes, making everything so much harder for Lewis.

If last season he already had his hands on the championship, this year he isn’t even close to getting a glimpse of it. And he doesn’t know how to deal with it, he can’t understand and accept the anger and frustration growing in his chest, the sensation of failure surrounding his brain making it impossible for him to keep a clear mind.

The truth is: he isn’t used to doing all this alone anymore. It’s been months since the last text he sent you, but the more he struggles, the more he thinks of you. Having to go through such difficult times during the season without having you by his side is destroying him.

You were his biggest support. You were the one who would put up with him through the good and the bad. You would hear his complaints, deal with his moodiness - and God knows how hard it is to deal with a moody Lewis. You would cheer him up, being the only one who had the power to put a smile on his face when he was feeling down. You would hold him, caress his skin softly while he hugged you, nestling his body closer to yours, in such need of your affection - and you would never say no to his pleas of help.

Lewis can’t, for the life of him, forget you. He can’t let you go, no matter how tough he might act - he is still struggling and suffering from the choice he made. Some tears run down his features every night when he lays down, the bed feeling way too cold without your body next to his. His skin misses the goosebumps that your giggles would make erupt, his eyes miss all the times that he would spend analyzing all your details, he misses holding you close, pouring all the love from his heart into you. He misses you terribly, and he can’t stop denying: none of this makes sense without you by his side.

He knows that he shouldn’t, but he decides to reach out to you, trying his luck - even after knowing damn well that he ripped your heart apart, that he acted like a total douchebag to you. But he is hoping that you will give him one last chance, he needs to make everything right again.

“Hey, Y/N… I know that I am probably the last person on earth that you want to talk to now, but I would like to know how you’ve been?” - sent at 10:32 pm. read at 10:32 pm.

The way you almost immediately opened his message as soon as Lewis pressed “send”, made his eyes widen. He waits a few minutes, hoping to get a reply back from you, but nothing reaches his end. Not even the three dots on the corner of the screen threaten him to get an answer, because they never appear.

A sigh escapes his lips, leaving the texting to try and actually call your number now. You didn’t answer the call, and Lewis let it ring until it reached your voicemail.

His fingers move to type again. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t the way to make up for all the shit I’ve done. But I genuinely want to talk to you, so I can explain everything that happened and why I acted like a dick to you” sent at 10:37 pm. read at 10:38 pm.

Still no sight of a possible response from you, so Lewis decides to just open the game now. You might not reply to him, but as long as you keep reading his messages, he has an opportunity to actually explain his side to you. So he doesn’t give up.

“I was dumb, very dumb. I thought I wasn’t capable of reconciling our relationship with my career, and I thought that putting an end to what we had was the right decision. Please, I hope you don’t think that I had found someone else, or that I’ve been with other girls since I left you. I haven’t. In fact, I’ve been alone, trying to deal with everything on my own. And the truth is, everything is getting too much. I don’t even feel real anymore. And you might not believe me right now, but as much as I try, I can’t forget you, baby. Fuck, I miss you so, so fucking much. I can’t do any of this without you by my side anymore. I miss your touch, I miss your scent, I miss your laughs. I just want to see you again, I want to make it right again. Please, just give me a chance. Whenever you are ready, please. Just reply to my messages or call me back, no matter the day or the time. I would blow all my plans to have the chance to talk to you again.” sent at 10:43 pm. read at 10:45 pm.

The silence he gets from your side lets him know that you really don’t want to talk to him. But you’re still reading his messages, you haven’t blocked his number yet, so maybe there’s still some hope.

“I’m racing at home, next week. You know how special Silverstone is for me, so if you’re willing to give me another chance, please show up. I’ll save you your favorite seat, hoping that the love of my life might come out to enlighten my senses again. Please, I need you so badly, baby. This doesn’t make sense without you. I love you, and please believe me when I tell you this: I never stopped loving you” sent at 10:52 pm. read at 10:55 pm.

You weren’t expecting to see Lewis’ name popping on your screen, one text after the other. Four months have passed by since he broke your heart, since that fateful night when he left you through a text, not even having the nerve to reply to your calls anymore.

Tears paint your features while you curl your body in between the sheets of your bed, feeling all the pain coming back after reading all his words. It hurts to know why he broke up with you, it hurts to realize that he isn’t doing well either, but you are too shattered to bring yourself to talk to him again. You miss him like crazy, you would do anything to see him again, to touch him, to kiss him again - but you could never forgive him for all the things that he put you through. You’re unable to forget the immense pain that he caused to erupt in your life.

You wish you could give him a piece of your mind, though. You wish you could let him realize how he doesn’t know how to step outside himself. And how it really isn’t your fault that he can’t deal with his problems like an adult.

At the same time, you know that you would give in immediately. Looking into his chocolate eyes, you would confess to him about how you would give him all of you. How you would save your soul just for him, so he could be the only one able to navigate through you.

But you decide to give him the exact same response that he gave you when you were crying your eyes out, your soul hurting as you sobbed at the loss of him without an explanation: silence.

When the weekend arrives, Lewis can’t help but feel ecstatic with anxiety at the possibility of you showing up. His eyes scan through all the seats, smiling softly as he sees his family and his close friends right above his garage, cheering him on.

His heart grows at the sight, but he can’t help but frown when he realizes that you’re not there yet. But maybe you’ll arrive later. Or maybe you are only showing up on Sunday to watch the actual race. So Lewis decides to patiently wait until you decide to show yourself.

He waits the entire weekend. But he can’t help himself when his fingers are typing on your chat again. “Hey, today was practice day. I know you didn’t come here, but I hope you’ll change your mind and still show up. I am praying to see you. I will wait until Sunday, but even after that, I will wait the rest of my life for you, if I have to” sent at 9:53 pm. read at 10:11 pm.

“Just please, be honest with me. I know I shouldn’t be asking you this, since I wasn’t honest to you. But if you don’t plan on showing up, just tell me. Because I keep feeding myself off of the illusion that I’ll see you anytime now, and your absence is killing me. Please” sent at 10:15 pm. read at 10:27 pm.

All of the sudden, the three dots show up on your corner of the conversation, making Lewis’ heart race, sensing how his hands feel shaky as he sees the dots moving on his screen - anticipating a reply for you.

You almost gave in. You almost reply, but after a while of you writing something to send him, you decide to delete your message, leaving him to deal with the deafening silence once again. Your action breaks his heart a little more, putting his phone to the side, realizing that there’s no point in insisting any more.

At the end of qualification, Lewis leaves his car, celebrating his P2 with his family, a half smile showing up on his face while he looks around, his eyes wandering through the seats, the space around him - but still, nothing.

“She didn’t even show up for like, only a bit? And then left?” - he asks his father, only to notice his apologetic look while he shakes his head at his son’s question. Lewis sighs, all the regret of his own actions pooling through his blood now, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth as he notes how his dad’s answer bothers him so much. The fact that you’re not there bothers him, hurts him.

And with your seat being empty for the whole weekend, Lewis’ victory at his home track doesn’t feel the same. He is happy to win, yes. He is happy to celebrate with his family, yes. But his family is incomplete, because you’re not there. You are the only one that he was truly hoping to have by his side today, to celebrate this special day with. You are the reason for everything he does, but the void that you left in him, makes it all worthless now.

Holding the trophy doesn’t feel the same if he is not hugging you close when he steps out off the podium. And while the national anthem is playing, he can’t help but let some tears show while he looks at his close ones, wishing you could just show up out of nowhere, like a magic trick, bringing you back into his life.

Lewis can’t be happy without you, his life isn’t the same without you - it’s not as bright, as bubbly. And while he holds the trophy close to his chest, he notices how cold he feels. In this moment, in front of thousands of people that are here to see him, to celebrate his victory, he realizes that when you get what you wished for, you might not want it anymore.

And he would give up all his career, all his trophies, to just have the mere chance to look you in the eyes again. Because physically, we inhabit a space, but sentimentally, we are inhabited by a memory - and the memory of everything you and Lewis had will forever haunt him, constantly reminding him that he lost the love of his life, forever.

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