#and now every time she sees me she is so talkative

[aliyahwritings]

THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (09)

MASTERLIST | Basketball Player & Model!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.

Word Count: 4.7k

Aliyah's Notes: y'all are getting fed cause this chapter and the next one are gonna be cute asf so enjoy :)

Three days before the engagement party felt like an endless marathon, with every hour packed to the brim with decisions and errands. The morning started early—too early for your liking—as Aisha and Nina practically dragged you out of bed.

Nina, ever the “mom” of the group, had already prepared an itinerary. She stood in the kitchen, arms crossed, her phone in hand, while you slumped in a chair, still clinging to the remnants of sleep. “Alright, ladies,” Nina began, her tone brisk, “we’ve got a packed schedule. Venue first, then flowers, then caterers. We’ll fit in the designer appointment after lunch, assuming someone,” her eyes flicked pointedly toward you, “doesn’t take forever to make decisions.”

Aisha smirked, sipping her coffee as she leaned against the counter. “You know she’ll take forever. She was debating the color of napkins for twenty minutes for her birthday party.”

“Because they matter!” you protested, sitting up straighter, your natural energy kicking in. “The wrong napkin can throw off the entire table aesthetic. Imagine gold chargers with plain white napkins—horrible!”

Aisha groaned dramatically, while Nina pinched the bridge of her nose. “God give me strength,” Nina muttered in Tagalog under her breath before clapping her hands. “Alright, let’s move. The decorator is expecting us in twenty minutes, and I’m not letting us be late.”

The three of you piled into Nina’s car, and the drive to the venue was filled with your endless chatter. You couldn’t help yourself; you were excited. Ever since your night at Rafe’s, you’ve been walking around with a weight lift off your shoulders, and a smile on your face. “Okay, but seriously, do you think white and gold is too basic? Should I add a pop of color? Like blush pink? Or emerald green! Oh, that could be so chic—”

“Breathe, Miss. Yapper,” Aisha interrupted, shooting you a look from the front seat. “You’ve already settled on white and gold. Don’t backtrack now.”

“She’s just overthinking again,” Nina said from the driver’s seat, her voice calm but firm. “You always do this, sweetie. Just trust your instincts. They’re good… most of the time.”

“Most of the time?!” you repeated, feigning offense.

“Girl, you’re the one who almost ordered heart-shaped balloons for your ex’s retirement party,” your best friend deadpanned.

“He always complained about his job, alright! I thought he was happy to retire.”

The two of them burst into laughter, and you couldn’t help but join in. They always knew how to make you laugh, even when your perfectionism threatened to take over.

When you arrived at the venue, the decorator was already waiting, surrounded by samples of linens, centerpieces, and lighting options. The grand ballroom looked beautiful even in its unfinished state, with its high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows letting in streams of sunlight. But you could already see a million tiny things that needed to be fixed or adjusted.

Nina took charge of logistics, confirming delivery times and setups with the decorator, while Aisha kept you in check. Every time you tried to change something—a table arrangement here, a floral display there—Aisha would cross her arms and give you a warning glare.

“Focus, Y/N. You’re going to drive this poor decorator insane,” Aisha muttered as you debated, for the third time, whether the table runners should have a satin or matte finish.

“It’s not insane to want things to be perfect,” you argued, though your voice was tinged with doubt.

“It’s insane when you’re deciding between two things that look exactly the same,” Aisha countered.

“Pale beige and normal beige are completely different—”

Nina swooped in to mediate, her tone soothing. “Look, kids, both options are gorgeous. Y/N, pick one and move on. We still have three more stops today.”

You sighed, finally nodding and pointing to the matte finish. The decorator gave you a grateful smile, and you moved on to the next decision.

By the time you left the venue, your head was spinning, but there was no time to slow down. The next stop was the florist, where the three of you pored over bouquets and arrangements.

“Peonies are elegant, but are they too soft for the theme?” you mused aloud, holding up a sample.

“Peonies are fine,” Nina assured you, already checking her phone for the next appointment.

“Roses are boring,” Aisha chimed in, inspecting a cluster of orchids. “But these could work. They’re dramatic. Like you.”

You stuck your tongue out at her, earning a rare laugh from Nina. “She’s not wrong,” Nina said with a small smile.

The florist walked you through the arrangements, but your perfectionism struck again. You wanted everything to complement the aesthetic without feeling overdone. Nina stepped in when she sensed you starting to spiral.

“Y/N, just pick a theme and stick with it,” she said gently but firmly. “You can’t have every flower in the world at your party. Less is more.”

Aisha nodded in agreement. “Listen to her. She’s right. For once.”

Nina rolled her eyes but didn’t dignify the comment with a response.

Eventually, you settled on a mix of peonies, orchids, and eucalyptus, feeling a little more confident as you left the florist.

Lunch was a quick stop at a café, where you barely had time to scarf down a sandwich before heading to your next appointment. The designer fitting was a whirlwind of fabrics, sequins, and pins, with you trying on dress after dress while Nina and Aisha offered their unfiltered opinions.

By the end of the day, you were utterly spent. You stumbled through the door of your apartment, exhaustion hit you like a ton of bricks. You kicked off your heels, letting them clatter onto the floor, and flopped onto the couch with a moan. Your feet ached, your head was pounding, and the thought of the work you have for tomorrow made you want to cry.

Just as you were debating whether to order takeout or crawl into bed and call it a night. Your phone buzzed—-your new phone that you bought yesterday after losing your original one and your keys at the charity event—-on the coffee table. You reached for it, squinting at the screen.

Rafe: “Longest. Day. Ever.”

A small smile tugged at your lips despite your fatigue. You propped yourself up against the armrest and typed back.

You: “Tell me about it. I’m so dead! Who knew choosing flowers could feel like a full-body workout?”

His response came almost immediately.

Rafe: “Yeah? Well, at least you didn’t have to run for AN HOUR!!! My legs feel like they’re about to give up on me.”

You: “Poor baby. Want me to send you a trophy for Most Exhausted Future Fiancé-to-Be?”

Rafe: “Ha. Ha. So funny.”

Rafe: “Are you sure we’re not married yet? You already sound like a nagging wife.”

The audacity of him made you chuckle and roll your eyes. You typed quickly, unable to help yourself.

You: “Excuse you? If I’m a nagging wife, then you’re a whiny husband.”

Rafe: “Whatever you say, nagging wife.”

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you sank further into the couch. The teasing back-and-forth was an oddly comforting way to unwind after such a chaotic day.

You: “Seriously though, did you at least eat? Or are you surviving off your ego again?”

Rafe: “Does a protein bar and water count?”

You groaned audibly, your fingers flying across the screen.

You: “No, Rafe. A protein bar and water do NOT count. A protein bar is not food; it’s a snack. Please tell me you’ve got something decent in your fridge.”

Rafe: “Define ‘decent’…”

You: “I’m going to kill you.”

Rafe: “That’s very romantic, baby, but you’re avoiding the question. What’s the verdict? Is my fridge decent enough for you, Your Honor?”

You: “No.”

You: “Knowing you, it’s probably full of water bottles, expired vegetables, and mystery leftovers. Am I wrong?”

Rafe: “I don’t like this attack on my character.”

You: “Answer the question, Cameron.”

Rafe: “Fine. Maybe you’re right. I don’t have the energy to argue. Or to cook, for that matter.”

You sighed again, a twinge of concern sneaking past your teasing. You guessed he pushed himself hard during training, but the least he could do was take care of himself after.

You: “Alright, what do you feel like eating? I’ll bring you something.”

Rafe: “What? No. You just spent all day running around. You don’t have to do that.”

You: “Too late. I offered, and I’m not taking it back. So, what’ll it be?”

Rafe: “...You’re really doing this, huh?”

You: “Absolutely.”

Rafe: “Fine. Surprise me. Just nothing too fancy. I’m starving.”

You: “Got it. Be there in an hour.”

Rafe: “Angel.”

Shaking your head, you pocketed your phone and headed to the kitchen. After a quick assessment of what you had on hand, you decided on a simple but satisfying dish: chicken biryani. 

Cooking helped you relax after the chaotic day. The process of measuring spices, chopping onions, and stirring the pot grounded you, your mind focused on creating something warm and filling. By the time the dish was done, the air was fragrant with the scent of saffron, cardamom, and cloves.

You packed the biryani into a container, added a side of pudding kheer for balance, and grabbed some naan for good measure. After a quick freshen-up, you were on your way to Rafe’s penthouse.

When he opened the door, the sight of him hit you like a punch to the gut. Rafe stood there in low-hanging sweatpants that clung to his hips, no shirt in sight, leaving every inch of his toned chest and sculpted abs on full display. His damp hair was a tousled mess, drops of water clinging to his skin, catching the light as they slid down the defined lines of his torso. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his gaze raking over you with a mix of cocky amusement and exhaustion. The lazy grin tugging at his lips was enough to make your pulse stutter—and the way his voice dipped, low and teasing, when he finally spoke didn’t help. 

“Well, well,” he drawled. “Look who showed up. My nagging wife bearing gifts.”

You rolled your eyes, forcing yourself to focus on the container in your hands instead of his sexy, very sexy abs. “You want dinner or not, Cameron? ‘Cause I can take it back?”

He instantly straightened up. “Come in, Your Honor,” he stepped aside to let you in, his grin widening when he saw the bag in your hand.

The penthouse was dimly lit, the warm glow of the city skyline visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. You set the food on the kitchen island, trying to ignore the way he was watching you with that infuriating smirk.

You looked at your attire, and rolled your eyes. “Stop staring at my ass and grab plates,” you ordered, sounding stern.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, clearly amused, but he obeyed.

The two of you sat at the island, the meal between you. You put your hair in a bun, and said; “So, this is chicken biryani—” you pointed to it. “—and this is kheer and some naan.”

“This looks amazing, Y/N,” he let out a groan of appreciation.

You blushed at the compliment. “Thank you. You ever had Asian food before?”

“I had sushi and ramen with my team—”

You chuckled. “I meant South Asian food, Rafe.”

“Oh. South Asian…”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “You know, Indian, Sri Lankan, Pakistani, etc… Did you?”

He shook his head. “I don’t remember. I eat basic white man food, to be honest.”

“I realized,” you laughed. “Well, eat well.”

Rafe took his first bite, and his eyes widened. “Yo! This is delicious, what the fuck?”

You smiled, watching as he devoured the food like he hadn’t eaten in days. “Told you protein bars wouldn’t cut it—”

“You’re not going to eat?”

“I already ate,” you lied.

“Bullshit,” he said, giving you a pointed look. “Have some with me. I don’t like eating alone.”

You hesitated for a moment before giving in, grabbing a fork and joining him. The two of you ate in companionable silence, the tension of the day melting away with each bite.

For a brief moment, it didn’t feel like you were preparing for an engagement party or navigating the complicated arrangement that had brought you together. It felt easy, natural—like something that didn’t require overthinking.

You stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, rinsing off the plates and containers. Warm water rushed over your hands as you scrubbed away the remnants of biryani and naan. The scent of spices lingered in the air, a comforting reminder of the meal you’d shared. Behind you, Rafe leaned against the counter, his tall frame relaxed but his eyes fixed on you.

“You know,” he said, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the faucet, “you really don’t have to do this.”

“You’ve said that already,” you replied without turning around, focusing instead on rinsing the plate in your hand.

“Because I mean it. I can clean tomorrow,” he quipped, folding his arms across his bare chest.

A chuckle escaped you, and you tossed him a look over your shoulder. “Some of us were raised to clean up immediately after eating. It’s a brown girl thing—no one leaves the kitchen messy in my house.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a smirk. “Ah, so it’s cultural?”

“Hell yeah,” you replied, turning back to the sink. “If my mom ever caught me walking away from a pile of dishes, I wouldn’t live to see another day.”

“Sounds intense,” he teased, though his tone was laced with curiosity.

“You’re just white,” you shot back, and he laughed. “But also… I kind of like it,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “It feels wrong to leave things undone. Like you’re disrespecting the meal or something.”

Rafe was quiet for a moment, and you could feel his gaze lingering on you, not with judgment but something that felt closer to admiration.

“You’re kind of incredible, you know that?” he said finally.

You blinked, caught off guard. “For doing the dishes? Your standards are low, Cameron.”

He laughed, the sound deep and genuine. “No, I mean… just in general. You don’t have to cook for me or clean up after me, but you do it anyway. And you don’t even make a big deal out of it. You’re just… thoughtful.”

His words made you pause, your hands still under the running water. For a man who often masked his feelings behind sarcasm and cockiness, the sincerity in his voice hit you harder than you expected.

“Well,” you said, trying to keep your tone light, “don’t get used to it. Just because I cleaned your kitchen tonight doesn’t mean I’m signing up to do it forever.”

Rafe grinned, stepping closer. “Noted. One-time deal.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you shut off the faucet and reached for the dish towel. “Besides, I wasn’t cleaning for you. I was cleaning for my own peace of mind.”

“Still,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, “thanks. For all of it.”

You glanced over at him, caught off guard again by the softness in his tone. The cocky grin he usually wore was replaced by something more subdued, more genuine. It made your chest tighten in a way you weren’t ready to think about.

“It’s not a big deal,” you said, your voice quieter now. “Just food and a few dishes.”

“To you, maybe,” he said, leaning against the counter beside you. “But it’s been a while since anyone’s done something like this for me. I don’t even know the last time I had an actual home-cooked meal.”

That admission tugged at something deep inside you, a mix of sympathy and affection you weren’t quite prepared for. You focused on folding the towel in your hands, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way your cheeks warmed.

“Well, someone has to make sure you don’t live off protein bars and bad decisions,” you said lightly, trying to steer the conversation back into familiar territory.

Rafe chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Guess I should count myself lucky it’s you.”

Your eyes flicked up to his, and for a moment, you forgot how to respond. The way he was looking at you—soft, unguarded, and almost reverent—made your heart skip a beat.

“Alright, stop,” you said, breaking the moment and brushing past him toward the counter. “You’re making it weird.”

“Making what weird?” he asked, following you with an amused grin.

“Everything,” you shot back, grabbing your bag. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you slacking off while I did all the work. Next time, you’re cleaning.”

“Deal,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “As long as there’s a next time.”

You hesitated at the door, looking back at him. His smirk was still there, but so was that softness in his eyes, the one that made it hard to look away. Bag slung over your shoulder and shoes slipped back on, ready to leave Rafe’s penthouse and head home for what was left of the night. The day had drained you, and though the quiet domestic moment you’d just shared with him was nice—unexpectedly so—you still needed to recharge for tomorrow’s chaos.

“You don’t have to leave yet,” he said, almost too casually, as if trying to disguise the sincerity in his tone.

You paused, glancing back at him. “Rafe, it’s late. I’m exhausted. You’re exhausted. We both need sleep.”

He shrugged, his mouth curling into that boyish grin that usually meant trouble. “So? Five more minutes won’t hurt. Sit down, relax. You’ve been running around all day.”

You narrowed your eyes at him but relented, curiosity getting the better of you. “Fine. Five minutes,” you muttered, dropping your bag onto the floor again and heading to the couch.

Rafe followed you, sitting on the other end of the couch, though he shifted closer. His arm rested along the backrest, his entire posture relaxed in a way that only made you more aware of him.

“So,” he began, his tone lighter now, “what did you actually do today? Besides fighting with tablecloths and flowers, I mean.”

You groaned, leaning back into the cushions. “It feels like that’s all I did. The decorators kept bringing me options that were either too tacky or too plain. And don’t even get me started on the florists. Nina kept trying to keep me on schedule, Aisha rolled her eyes at every single arrangement, and I was stuck in the middle.”

His laugh was low and warm. “Sounds like a nightmare.”

“It was,” you said, though there was a faint smile tugging at your lips now. “But somehow, it’s all starting to come together. Slowly. Painfully. I think we’re making progress.”

He tilted his head, watching you with that quiet intensity he always seemed to have when you weren’t paying attention. “You really care about this party, huh?”

You hesitated, the weight of his gaze making it harder to brush off the question. “Yeah, I guess I do,” you admitted softly. “I mean, if we don’t make it believable then I’d have to go back to my country, and I can’t let that happen.”

Rafe was silent for a moment, his eyes never leaving yours. The soft light in the room cast shadows across his face, making him look more vulnerable, less guarded than usual.

“You’re putting so much thought into it,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “More than anyone else would, I think.”

You shrugged, your gaze dropping to your hands. “Just doing what needs to be done. Nothing special.”

“It is special,” he said, his tone firm but gentle.

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten. You glanced up at him, meeting his gaze for a moment that felt like it stretched on forever. There was something unspoken in his expression, something soft and unfamiliar that made your heart stutter.

“Okay, your turn,” you said quickly, needing to break the tension. “What did you do today, besides run yourself into the ground?”

His smirk returned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Practice, drills, meetings. The usual.”

“You make it sound so thrilling,” you teased, crossing your arms.

“Oh, it’s a blast,” he said with mock enthusiasm. “Nothing like running suicides and lifting until your arms feel like they’re gonna fall off. And then sitting in a room listening to people tell you how to market yourself better.”

“Sounds glamorous,” you said, leaning back into the couch with a small laugh.

Rafe chuckled, his gaze softening as he watched you. “It’s not. But then again, you make flower arrangements sound like boot camp, so I guess we’re even.”

You smiled, letting the comfortable quiet settle between you for a moment. The hum of the city outside was faint but constant, a reminder of how late it had gotten.

“I should really go,” you said, breaking the silence and sitting up.

Rafe’s hand reached out, brushing against yours as he spoke. “You don’t have to.”

The softness in his voice caught you off guard, and for a moment, you stayed still, his fingers lingering near yours. The space between you suddenly felt smaller, charged with something neither of you were ready to name.

“Rafe,” you said gently, pulling your hand back, though your voice betrayed your hesitation.

“Stay a little longer,” he said, his eyes searching for yours. “This is… nice. Just sitting here. Talking.”

Your heart thudded in your chest at his words, and you looked away, pretending to straighten your bag. “I can’t. I’ve got another long day tomorrow, and so do you.”

He sighed but didn’t argue, leaning back into the couch. “Alright. But you owe me another five minutes next time.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you stood. “Sure, Cameron. I’ll pencil it into my busy schedule.”

He followed you to the door again, his presence warm and steady behind you. As you stepped into the hallway, you glanced back at him, your smile softer now.

As you moved toward the door, your bag slung over your shoulder, Rafe trailed behind you, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his sweatpants. The quiet between you was comfortable, a marked contrast to the constant noise of the day. Just as you reached for the handle, his voice broke the silence.

“So… my dad called today,” he said, his tone light but deliberate.

You paused, turning slightly to glance at him, curiosity flickering in your expression. “Oh? What about?”

Rafe leaned against the frame, his posture deceptively relaxed. “He wanted to ask about you.”

The corners of your mouth lifted in a faint smirk. “Me? Why? Should I be flattered or scared?”

He chuckled, though it came with a hint of exasperation. “Because you’re about to be my wife, and you should definitely be flattered. He’s been… curious, I guess. You’re kind of a hot topic at the moment.”

Your brow furrowed as you adjusted the strap of your bag. “What do you mean?”

Rafe shrugged, though his eyes flickered to yours briefly before looking away. “He’s been asking when he and Rose can meet you. Sarah’s been on my case about it too. She wants to meet you again. It’s like they’re more excited about this whole engagement thing than I am.”

There was an edge to his words, not quite bitterness but something close to it, and you stepped back from the door slightly, your curiosity deepening. “Is that… a bad thing?”

“No, it’s not bad,” he said quickly, though his jaw tightened ever so slightly. “It’s just… predictable. My dad’s all about appearances, and this engagement makes us look good. You make me look good.”

His words were meant to sound casual, but the weight beneath them was unmistakable. You softened your tone as you leaned against the couch. “Rafe, if you’re not comfortable with all this, you can tell me. I’m not going to—”

“It’s not that,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “It’s just… complicated.”

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “How so?”

He hesitated, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “My family has this way of… making everything feel like a performance. You know? Like, they’re not just happy about this engagement because it’s a good thing for me. They’re happy because it’s a good thing for them. My dad’s already talking about how it’ll ‘strengthen the Cameron name,’ and Rose keeps mentioning how much she ‘adores your poise.’”

You blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard. “Wait, your step-mother said that? About me?”

He laughed lightly, nodding. “Yeah. I think she’s obsessed with you already.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you. “Wow. And here I thought winning over your dad would be the hard part.”

“Oh, don’t worry. He’ll grill you like a steak the second he gets a chance,” Rafe said, his tone teasing but his smile tinged with something softer. “He doesn’t trust anyone, especially not when it comes to me.”

You frowned at that, your arms crossing instinctively. “Why not? You’re… I mean, you’re his son. Shouldn’t he trust you the most?”

Rafe’s smile faltered for a split second before he masked it with another shrug. “Let’s just say my track record isn’t exactly spotless. And my dad… he’s always been more interested in results than reasons. This marriage? It’s a result he likes. That’s all.”

The raw honesty in his words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. Finally, you stepped closer, your voice quieter now. “Rafe, if this is too much—if your family’s involvement is making it harder—I can talk to them. Set boundaries or whatever.”

He shook his head, his eyes meeting yours. “You don’t have to do that. It’s not your problem to fix.”

“Maybe not,” you said, your gaze unwavering, “but it’s my problem now too.”

“Such a good wife already,” he caressed your cheeks softly, the corner of his mouth twitched, his smirk returning faintly. “You’re really taking this whole ‘teamwork’ thing seriously, huh?”

“I’m a perfectionist,” you replied, matching his tone. “Can’t help it.”

He chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “You’re too good at this, you know. My family’s already halfway in love with you, and you haven’t even met them yet.”

“Maybe I should be worried,” you teased, though there was a softness in your voice now.

“Don’t be,” he said, his tone quieter as he let his hand down your face. “If anything, they’re the ones who should be worried. You’re gonna walk in there, charm everyone without even trying, and leave me to deal with their unrealistic expectations.”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine, and Rafe found himself leaning just a little closer, caught up in the warmth of the moment.

“Well, if they’re anything like you,” you said, your voice still tinged with amusement, “I’m sure I’ll survive.”

Rafe’s smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by something softer, something you couldn’t quite name. “They’re nothing like me,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you moved. His gaze lingered on yours, steady and unguarded in a way that made your breath catch.

“Rafe…” you began, your voice trailing off as his expression shifted ever so slightly, something unreadable flickering across his face.

But just as quickly as the moment had come, it passed. He straightened, his usual smirk slipping back into place like a mask. “You should probably get some rest,” he said, his tone lighter now. “You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

You blinked, startled by the sudden shift, but nodded. “Yeah. You too.”

He followed you to the door, his presence steady behind you as you stepped into the hallway. As you turned back to glance at him one last time, his expression softened again, his blue eyes holding yours for a beat longer than necessary.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said, his voice quieter now.

“Goodnight, Rafe,” you replied, your chest tightening slightly as you walked away, the weight of his gaze following you long after you’d gone.

chapter ten

[mintmatcha]

I so understand this would be so far off, but I’m imagining reader’s son being 13 and a couple months old, he’s cordial with Shinsou, for his mum, but he’s trying to come to terms with why his mum didn’t stay with his dad. Until monoma doesn’t show up for something and maybe one of his friends is like ‘hey, I’m really sorry your dad is always doing that. It must really suck’

‘My dad always shows up usually, just later. He’s busy.’ And the look of pity from his friend and it just CLICKS

Has to call his mum to pick him up and shinsou picks him up because maybe it’s late at night, and shinsou has always respected that he shouldn’t talk shit about monoma in front of your son, but when your son starts asking about things, about the lies and twisted truths monoma has told, shinsou won’t lie to him. Just gives him yes and no answers.

Monoma doesn’t understand why all of a sudden his son isn’t responding to his messages or answering his phone calls, and there’s no way he’s calling you to reveal to you that he’s no longer the golden father figure in your son’s eyes

I LOVE THIS IDEA AAA

I think, leading up to that, the more your son is angry at monoma, the more he's disrespectful of you. it's displaced, but he just can't bring himself to think that his dad is the problem.

the only time shinso has ever REALLY yelled at him was after school one day. monoma was supposed to come for his weekend, but it's shinso standing at the curb waiting for him.

"Whoa, that's your dad?" a friend asks. oh, he had been bragging all day that his pro hero dad was coming to take him on vacation and now he's face to face with the realization that he's not going anywhere.

"He is not my dad." There's so much angst and anger building up in his gut. you must have done something to piss his real dad off- it's always your fault when he doesn't arrive- "he's just some guy my mom whores around with."

Shinso's jaw flexes so tightly that he can see it from all the way from across the street. He uses his whole name, biting out every syllable with a barely restrained anger. your son trudges across the street with his pack dragging on the ground.

"Say that again." It's been years since he's thought Shinso was scary, but the cold grind of his voice makes him freeze. "Say it right here, to my face."

They both know he can't. He doesn't have the guts. Shinso bends over just a bit, bringing himself face to face.

"You do not have to respect me. You don't even have to like me." Shinso's voice breaks with the sheer volume he's using. your son looks back at his friends, who look equally horrified. "But you will not talk about your mother that way."

The man jabs a finger towards the school bag.

"And pick up your fucking bag." He's never cursed at your son before. "Your mom worked extra shifts to pay for that."

He had begged for this bag, the full leather one. it was expensive. too expensive to ask you for. It came as a holiday present with no name, so he had always assumed his dad was the one who bought it. Monoma is the one with money-- you're just a waitress. The scuffed bottom suddenly feels embarrassing.

Shinso hasn't stopped his ranting. "All she has ever done is loved you. Your whole life! All she's ever done! And I will not let you treat her the way your father treats her, got it?"

Your son doesn't reply.

"I said- did you fucking get that?"

His real dad never yells. No, he just laughs when he says things like that. Your son sniffs and slugs his bag over his shoulder. "Yeah. Whatever."

"And if you ever say that to your mother's face-" he can't finish the sentence. "Get walking."

[turquoizxe]

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲

Ekko x Fem!Reader

content ― arcane s2 spoilers!!, drabble/hc; fluff, some angst, Ekko is absolutely smitten for the reader, friends to lovers, suggestive *in very few areas

author's note ― there's not enough drabbles/fics for Ekko and its pissing me awf. I must intervene.

wc ― 0.974k

Ekko wasn't sure if he'd find anyone else after Jinx

He had no choice but to live without her, even after experiencing what could have been had things been different.

It ate at him, constantly, knowing what their lives could have been, but he loved his home enough to save it

After the Vigil, Ekko kept to himself for quite sometime

He remained with his Firelights, continuing to redevelop his haven after everything that occurred

Remaining occupied meant he didn't have enough time to sit and think about all that had unraveled the past few months

On the days he was left in solitude, he sketched and tried to remember the best parts, or how to move ahead

He'd reunite with Vi every now and again, but she was busy handling her own business with Caitlyn. The environment had changed, and it was hard to tell if it was for the best or the worst

He would travel to Piltover more frequently, but it was harder due to the memories it held, and he didn't see much of a point in staying outside of grabbing supplies

You met Ekko while on a supply run, stealing the last stock of bolts he needed. He was having an awful day when you ran into him, so his demeanor was one he wasn't sure he had in him

Despite this, you still offered to share your bolts, if he wasn't being an ass, and if he showed you what he was working on for him to be so frustrated with a stranger

He was careful not to yet invite you to the home that he shares with the Firelights

You were understanding of his skepticism and invited him to your workshop instead, just outside of Piltover, but not necessarily in the area of Zaun

The device he showed you felt far more valuable than what you had been working on. Despite its rickety condition, he spoke of it so passionately, and you could tell this craft was something he was passionate about

You invited him back, and you gave him the hours you would usually be here if he was ever comfortable returning

After your first encounter, you weren't sure if he'd be back, but it shockingly didn't take long for him to return

What became maybe once a week, turned to twice, and then frequent visits

You'd both would often go on runs together, and when Ekko wasn't with the Firelights, he found himself spending more time in Piltover, but mainly if you were involved in that exploration

The first night after you met, he didn't get much sleep. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had made him feel that way; It felt so instant, without hesitation or question

He would have called you an idiot for being so trusting to a stranger, but he felt like a fool for the emotions he was already experiencing.

It was hard for him to process how the chemistry you exude when together was automatic.

As time went on, he let his guard down around you, when he was around you, it all felt natural. A year had gone by without either of you noticing

The night, when the anniversary of the Mass Vigil was held, he stayed longer than you both had expected, a lingering tension between the two of you.

Even without talking, the lack of conversation made him feel vulnerable― susceptible to questions he wasn't sure if he was ready to answer yet

The wounds were still so fresh, you had half the mind to not ask if he knew anyone that was lost in the war, but before you could ask, he went off into the night, leaving you to wallow in your own thoughts

Weeks had passed since you had seen him

These days, you don't hear much from Ekko. And even when you mourned his lack of presence, it hadn't taken much time before it started to anger you

Ekko had realized long ago that he had feelings for you. He often fought the urge to be defenseless around those he cared for most. He wasn't sure if that was possible with you until it was

He was so enamored with you and never missed a moment to brag to his colleagues about your brilliance

You reminded him so much of her, and you deserved to be your own person in his eyes. He feared that if this went any further, he'd try to create comparisons that weren't fair to either of you.

The more time you spent apart, he spent more time admiring the distinctions. The emotions you evoked from him felt foreign. He couldn't place a finger on it, but he wanted to explore it further

More weeks had passed before he showed up at your workshop, knocking at your door instead of climbing through the window like he used to. The change in behaviors made you pout a bit more than what was already plastered on your face

Ekko had revealed his creation, the device he had been working on for weeks. The bolts you had landed him were engraved with your initials

You sat him down, spending time to catch up. While you wanted to be mad, you weren't sure if the feelings you were experiencing were even mutual, until he made riddance of your doubts

He didn't make it back to the Firelights that night, spending the night wrapped and reveling in passion that had been festering itself. You had never been this intimate, the night filled with nervous laughs and mistakes, but it made him feel human again

The walls he had worked to build had swiftly crumbled whenever you came into the picture

There wasn't a thing he wouldn't do for you, and he'd fight just as hard to save you

No matter the universe

― turquoizxe

[starsjulia]

labour // leah williamson

a/n : i giggled a lot writing this.

warnings : none really, set in a hospital, reader being gobby

Leah was ready for anything. At least, that’s what she’d been telling herself for nine months. She’d read books, watched videos, and even gone to a birthing class where she’d accidentally fainted during the “miracle of life” video. But now, with you gripping her hand like you were trying to crush her metacarpals, she realized nothing could have prepared her for this.

“You’re doing amazing,” Leah said softly, her thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

“shut the fuck up you evil woman,” you growled, your head snapping toward her with the intensity of a woman possessed. “one more bloody ‘you’re doing amazing, and i’m going loose it”

Leah blinked. “Alright, cool, cool, cool. I’ll just… stop talking.”

“Good idea,” you hissed, then immediately let out a pained groan that shook the room.

The midwife, a chipper woman who apparently didn’t fear death, tried to help. “Let’s focus on breathing—”

“Don’t you start with the breathing! I AM BREATHING, AREN’T I?!”

Leah glanced at the midwife apologetically. “She’s normally lovely. I promise.”

“Don’t you dare apologize for me!” you barked. “You did this to me, you fucking cunt! You and your stupid, sexy smile!”

Leah couldn’t help but smirk. “You think my smile is sexy?”

“NOT THE TIME”

An hour later, you were in what the midwife called “active labor” and what you called “the seventh circle of hell.” Leah, to her credit, was trying to keep it together, but you weren’t making it easy.

“How about I go stand up front with the midwife?” she suggested, trying to be helpful. “You know, cheer you on from the sidelines—”

“ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY NOT!” you yelled, grabbing her wrist then smacking her arm with surprising strength for someone in so much pain. “YOU ARE STAYING BACK HERE, WITH YOURE WIFE. I can feel my fanny ripping in half, ain’t no way in hell your seeing that”

Leah blinked, torn between amusement and terror. “Babe, that’s not—”

“NOT TAKING ANY BLOODY CHANCES!”

“Alright,” Leah muttered, holding her hands up. “I’ll just stay here then.”

“Good,” you snapped. Then, as another contraction hit, you added, “But you’re still not getting sex for a year. Minimum.”

Leah gasped in mock horror. “A YEAR?!”

“Maybe two! Depends on how long it takes me to forget THIS,” you shouted, gesturing wildly to your entire body before screaming in agony once again.

“Didn’t you say earlier that you’d forget everything once you saw the baby’s face?” Leah asked you.

You leveled her with a glare so sharp it could’ve sliced through steel. “FORGET WHAT I SAID EARLIER! one more word from you woman and i’m getting a divorce.”

By hour nine, the room had descended into chaos. You cussing out at everyone in sight, including the poor anesthesiologist who had tried to offer you an epidural.

“I don’t care if it’s late in the game!” you shouted. “Stick the bloody needle in my spine, you fucking COWARD!”

The anesthesiologist froze.

Leah quickly intervened. “She doesn’t mean that.”

“I MEAN EVERY WORD!”

“She’s in pain,” Leah added, patting his arm. “She called me a ‘stupid, gorgeous twat’ earlier. It’s just how she expresses love.”

The anesthesiologist looked unconvinced but did as you asked, and for the first time in hours, you seemed to relax.

“Thank God,” you muttered, leaning back against the pillows. Then, turning to Leah, you added, “Don’t get comfortable. I’m still mad at you.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the midwife smiled. “Alright, one more big push!”

“One more?” you snarled. “THAT’S WHAT YOU SAID THREE PUSHES AGO, JANET!”

“Her name is Emma,” Leah whispered.

“I DON’T CARE WHAT HER NAME IS!”

Leah bit her lip to keep from laughing.

“Alright,” the midwife—Emma—said patiently. “Let’s do this together. Big push!”

With a guttural scream that would’ve put banshees to shame, you gave one last push, and suddenly, the room was filled with the sound of a baby’s cry.

“She’s here!” Leah exclaimed, tears streaming down her face as the midwife placed the tiny, squirming bundle on your chest.

You stared down at your daughter, your entire world shifting in an instant. “Oh my God,” you whispered, tears pricking your eyes. “She’s perfect.”

“She is,” Leah agreed, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“She’s also loud,” you added. “Definitely gets that from you.”

“Oi!” Leah protested, but her grin gave her away.

Later, as your daughter nursed contentedly, you looked at her with a soft smile. “You know,” you said, stroking her tiny hand, “your muma is going to be so jealous. You’ve stolen her favorite spot.”

Leah gasped, clutching her chest dramatically. “Innocent ears! Did you just tell our newborn daughter about—”

“Yes,” you interrupted. “And she’s got a right to know.”

Leah shook her head, feigning devastation. “I can’t believe you’d corrupt her like this. On her first day. What kind of example are you setting?”

From the corner of the room, Leah’s mum, who had been quietly observing the whole thing, finally spoke up.

“Right, well,” she said, smirking, “this has been the most entertaining day of my life.”

You groaned, burying your face in your free hand. “Oh, God. You’re still here.”

“Still here,” her mum confirmed, grinning. “And I can’t wait to tell this story at Christmas.”

Leah burst into laughter while you muttered something about filing for divorce.

That night, as you lay in bed with your daughter snuggled between you and Leah, you sighed.

“I guess I forgive you,” you murmured.

“For what?” Leah asked, her voice soft.

“For putting me through hell today.”

Leah grinned, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Does this mean the sex ban is off?”

You shot her a look. “Don’t push your luck, Williamson.”

[lovelytayforce]

I agree with this comment here so hard, I remember getting blasted for calling readers who don't comment "leeches" on R/Fanfiction and I'm glad people are seeing that for what it is even if it's four years late

So, I'm gonna share my own little story here because discord has actively ruined communities for fanfic (and art too I'm not gonna leave y'all out cause my bestie @zoetiger-1106 is an artist who deserves way more praise than she gets!!) The reason why authors and myself see the "I'm shy" shit as an excuse is because the same people will type long ass tirades on Discord without a single thought. YOU CAN EDIT AO3 COMMENTS PEOPLE! If you make a mistake, read it back over and edit it. I've watched it happen in real-time with one of my favorite commenters on my one-shot where they left a short gushing comment and then came back and wrote more, you have no excuse much less reason to go "Man fandom keeps telling me to not critique and I might make a mistake so I will say nothing and consume like the average TV and Streaming consumer who thinks there doing something!" YOU have a lot of power with comments and even those bookmark tags hell just copy-paste what you put into those bookmark tags as a comment I DON'T CARE AT THIS POINT USE THAT LIL BOX TO VOICE SOMETHING!!!! God this is all over the place idc but I read back at those bookmarks, and saw people call my works the best and super cool and I APPRECIATE THAT but tell me! Stop taking the easy route, I been blasted for misunderstandings over comments multiple times cause people take my "tone" terribly cause it sucks being black and emotive online yay and for some reason people think !!!! Is bad? yes, I've been hit with that but I keep on trucking cause fuck whatever some weirdo thinks about exclamation points! Anyways back to discord and why I hate it now, I was in a small fandom, KFP got invited to a discord cause ONE person commented on my works and saw they talked about my fic, and at first, I was happy and people TALKED about my chapters at length in the fanfic channel. I basically was the ONLY ONE posting consistently in that channel and it was great but also I wanted that on my fic to show I improved so guess what I did? I went all in trying to one-up myself to be noticed, to have the acclaim my peers did so it would evolve outside of discord channels but it never happened. And Imma tell y'all now; it never will. Readers prefer convenience over your hard work, they are not gonna take time for you no matter how much you improve. People told me over and over while I looked for solutions for this; "We can't make commenting look like an obligation." "Add more prose, space these paragraphs better" all this just for no one to take the initiative and say something SINCERE towards a work they love on it. I've had to tell my own ex-friends now to go leave comments on works they called Masterpieces while ignoring me. Despite the fact they wanted Gen content in which I WROTE. Or met people who have very weird "I don't review" rules for themselves despite getting motivated by reviews themselves!! We're in a shitty time for creatives much less community cause we don't see each other as humans much less want to treat each others as we desire to be treated. Fanfic readers want to treat authors like showrunners and I hate it. But then your peers will tell you 'not to worry about engagement" and no I am because why is my hit count going up every day but ain't no one saying shit? Make it make sense!! I sat in that community commenting as much as I could, especially on long fics; it wasn't all perfect but I TRIED. I didn't expect shit back but hey it would have been nice but it never happened and again I learned; it never would. That's the real issue, no one wants to give no more; just take and take and take til you're sucked dry of passion worse than any corpo out right now. It's why I thankfully switched fandoms. I got ONE consistent commenter and they are better than that ENTIRE SMALL CLOSED COMMUNITY!! So, to any discord reactor for fanfic you better skip on to that message you made and copy and paste it in this box right here and never utter "I'm shy" ever again cause we see you, our friends tell us about you. You are not as anonymous as you think! 🫵🏽

A writer friend told me something that broke my heart a little bit today; they're going to quit publishing their fanfic.

My instant thought was that they had been trolled or attacked or that something terrible had happened in their life because this person is so passionate about their writing. It wasn't any of that. Engagement with their works has been going down, as it has for many of us. Comments are like gold dust a lot of the time, and just looking through the historical comment counts on old fics on ao3 demonstrates this trend very clearly. It was not simply the comments dropping off which caused them to decide to stop posting, however.

My friend came across a discord server for their fandom (I should point out here that their fandom interest and mine diverged a couple of years ago, we stay in touch but don't currently read each other's posts because I'm not into their fandom and they would rather gouge their eyes out with a wooden spoon than read anything Star Wars) and specifically to share fic in that fandom. They joined, because we all love a good fic rec, only to discover that their latest multichapter fic, which has almost no comments and very few kudos, is being hotly discussed in this server as one of the best stories ever. Not one of these people has bothered to say this to them on the fic. When they asked, none of participants could see the point in telling the author of the fic they apparently loved so much that they love it.

This discovery has absolutely destroyed my friend's love of sharing fic. They share because they love seeing other people's enjoyment, and fic writers do that through comments and kudos/reblogs/likes because we don't get paid. There is no literary critic writing a blog post/article about how amazing the story is for us to copy and keep/frame. There is no money from royalties. All we have are the words of the people reading our works.

Those people on that server could have taken five minutes of the time they spent gushing about how amazing my friend's story was to other people and used it to tell the one person guaranteed to want to hear that praise how much they loved it. They could have taken a moment to express their opinion to the person who spent hours upon hours plotting, writing, editing, and posting those chapters. Instead, they deprived my friend of thing that keeps them sharing their writing, and in the process have killed their love of it. My friend now feels used and unmotivated.

I won't be sharing a link to their fic, they said I could share their experience but not their identity. I know they plan to post one final chapter. I know they intend to express their hurt at being excluded from the praise for the thing they created, and I know they intend to announce that as a consequence they will not be posting for a long while, if at all.

So please, I beg you, don't hide your love of a story from the writer. It's just about the only thing we have.

[leclarifies]

THE NUMBER YOU HAVE DIALED IS CURRENTLY UNAVAILABLE (LN4)

✰ lando norris x ex!reader ✰

summary → in which lando keeps dialing your number even after you've changed it.

genre → angst (im not sorry)

word count → 2.1k

author's note → remember how i broke ur hearts with carlos sainz angst for my first fic about him? YEAH HERE'S THE LANDO VERSION!!!!!!!! i know yall love it either way so, enjoy reading! very short btw, i just wanted to put something out for today

"where did we go wrong? i know we started out all right. where did we go wrong? i swear i knew we'd last this time." - lany, "13"

it takes three rings.

then he hears that stupid automated voice again, "the number you have dialed is currently unavailable or disconnected, please try—"

"for fuck's sake."

after he ends the attempted call, the furious typing is apparent in the empty, dark room. the artificial keyboard clicking fills the room as he tries his best to reach her. it's futile really, with every text he sends, the more agitated he becomes.

he knew that he shouldn't do this, that she was probably trying her best to move on, but he couldn't. he couldn't let her slip away from his grasp so easily.

"i just want you here for my races, is that so hard to ask for?" lando sounded desperate, he was desperate. he was a guy who needed his girlfriend and it didn't help that his girlfriend couldn't be there with him when he needed it the most, especially at times like these.

she was tired, he could tell, he didn't want to turn this into an argument but he was going to base it off of how she was going to respond, "lando, i can't. you know this. i have family here that i need to support, i can't just quit—"

"i'm not asking you to quit, i'm asking you to come just when you can," lando ruffled his hair so hard that it hurt, "the races are on weekends— for fuck's sake! why can't you just listen to me and actually hear what i'm saying?"

"i am listening! you're not listening to me!" she had tears in her eyes now, he hated it. he hated when he got riled up like this. it wasn't her fault, he knew it but he wanted her around him at least every few races, he hadn't been able to see her on the paddock at all this year and it pained him.

an exasperated sigh leaves his lips and he tries calling again, he knows she's not gonna pick up. he knows that he's probably blocked everywhere, but he wants to try. he wants to talk. he just wanted to fix things.

"the number you have dialed is—"

the next thing he heard was his phone shattering against the wall after he threw it across the room.

it was only two days later when he got a new phone and tried again, it wasn't going to go through. he knew it, but he just wanted to try. he wanted to show her that he was willing to make a compromise with her, just to make sure that she was there for him.

he didn't understand why he raised his voice so easily when it came to her, maybe because emotions ran high and he didn't know what else to do to express himself. he didn't know. all he knew was that he was a selfish prick and he deserved all of this.

he tried again.

"the number you have dialed is cu—"

he wanted to smash that brand new phone into the wall like its predecessor but he held himself back, he knew that the money that was needed to buy him a new phone was priceless to him, he was a formula one driver. it was pennies to him. all that money and he couldn't keep the most priceless thing to him, her.

he didn't care how selfish it sounded, or how convoluted their issues were. he just wanted her here, to hug, to kiss, to just comfort him. he had so many things on his mind right now and it could've been solved just by a simple touch and kiss to the forehead.

he was losing his mind and he knew it.

something akin to a sob bubbles from his throat when he hears the automated voice again.

"the number you have dialed is currently unavailable or disconnected, please try again later."

he fucked up, he knows now. she didn't have to rub it in his face like this, by changing her number and disappearing off of the face of the earth.

he just wanted to be home.

gentle knocking wakes her up from her slumber, it's unusual to get guests at this hour and on top of that, she wasn't expecting anyone. a huff escapes her lips as she gently takes the covers off of her and sits up on the bed. the knocks become more persistent as she begrudgingly gets up from her comfortable bed.

at first, she contemplates whether she should open the door or not but she opens it against her better judgement, her eyes widening when she realizes who it was.

"lando, what are you doing here? aren't you supposed to be in aus—"

she gets engulfed in a hug before she could even utter another word.

inhaling her scent after so long had been a breath of a fresh air for lando, he missed her. she's confused on how lando even knows where she lived. she had moved out of her last flat to avoid him on purpose, and now he's here, when he's supposed to be all the way in australia getting ready for a race.

his hug wasn't reciprocated, unfortunately for him.

"lando—" she was cut off by her ex standing in front of her, his eyes were glassy, puffy, like he had been crying all the way from australia to here.

"i just wanted to see you, that's all."

"we broke up two months ago, you can't just show up in front of my flat like this."

"i know but—"

"there aren't any buts lando, didn't me changing my number make it clear to you?" she folded her arms in front of her chest, her hair was still a mess from sleep and she was in pajamas, but her eyes were nowhere near his, not wanting to have any type of eye contact.

lando could only look down on the ground in embarrassment, he knew it was wrong. he knew he shouldn't have asked her friends where she lived, all of them had turned down his questions, telling him that she wanted nothing to do with him anymore but it wasn't anything a little persistence couldn't solve.

"is that all? you have a race to catch," she didn't even give him the chance to speak before trying to close the door on his face, but he blocked it with his foot, he wanted to talk. to fix things. he knew that things were irreparable but he wanted to try.

lando pushes the door open, despite her insistence of not letting him in, "i want to fix things, love—"

"there's nothing to fix lando, we're done. we've been done. what part of done do you not understand?" she was on the verge of tears, she didn't want to end it with lando, no, not at all but she felt that it was best for the both of them, she couldn't provide him with what he needed and he couldn't with her either, so it was best to just separate because why be in a relationship when you don't feel the love?

her eyes were still on the floor, not even daring to look up at lando's. it hurt for her too of course, just throwing away their year-long relationship out the window when the beginning of their relationship was so lovely, but now all there was is resentment and she didn't want that in her relationship.

lando couldn't utter anything out his mouth, he was stuck in place by her words. he let himself in earlier after he pushed the door open, he gently closed the door behind him before sighing, "we didn't even talk about it, you just decided for yourself that you didn't want to be apart of this anymore, you didn't even wait until my race ended before i could respond. how can i let it go?"

she swallowed the lump in her throat as she looked out the window, still refusing to look at lando, because she knew that if she did, she would start crying, "you just do lando. sometimes break-ups aren't always mutual, sometimes it's one person who doesn't want to be in a relationship anymore. it takes two to tango."

lando tousled with his hair, what could he say to that? she wasn't wrong. she couldn't deny the hurt and sadness that was in his green eyes, she hated that she made him feel that way but they were nothing. they've been broken up. by definition, they didn't have anything to do with eachother anymore, but she still had that care inside of her heart for him. after all, it had only been two months.

"just hear me out, and by the end of tonight, if you don't want to see me anymore, i'm gone. i won't try to contact you anymore," lando gave an ultimatum and she was fine with that, because she knew well that whatever he said, she would still say no.

she sat down on her couch, patting the space next to her to at least give him some sort of hospitality, wanting to hear him out even though she was steadfast in her decision.

"i won't bug you to come to my races anymore, i'll even help you with helping your family—"

"you can't throw money at this problem, lando."

"i'm not throwing money at it, i'm just saying that it's an option and you can take it if you feel like you need it," lando's voice was always pleading— begging for her to hear him out. he wasn't that type of guy, never. all of his exes got the same type of treatment, if they said that they were done, then lando wouldn't even bother.

he was a formula one driver, he didn't have the time.

but for her, he did.

she looks up, her arms still folded in front of her chest, legs curled up beneath her as she tries to find a comfortable position in an uncomfortable situation. glancing at the clock on the coffee table, it read in bright red neon numbers that it at 4:27 am, far too early or late for him to be here.

"we've had a similar conversation before, and i refused. so i'm refusing again," she sighs before meeting lando's eyes for the second time tonight, "i don't understand why you would want to keep this relationship. it doesn't benefit you for dating a poor girl."

"do you really think i care about your financial status?" lando asked, almost if it the thought of him caring about his (ex)girlfriend's financial status was ridiculous. he didn't care, it's the way she made him feel for the entirety of last year. she made him feel whole, like even if the world was against him, she would still be there.

she was used to men coming into her life who could think that they could "save" her and lando was no different to all of those other men. sure, she was definitely struggling trying to pay for her younger siblings education while working and pursuing her degree at the same time but that doesn't mean she was a damsel in distress and she expressed that to lando.

lando closed his eyes in frustration, "no, i didn't mean it like that—"

"well you sure as hell worded it like that," she looks away from him yet again, refusing to meet his eyes again until he had to leave. her eyes were glued to the window that overlooked the city, it was beautiful, calming— peaceful even, "i'm not changing my mind lando, we're worlds apart. i don't need you helping me, i can take care of myself."

with that, lando bit his lip and she ushers him out of her flat.

it had been months since lando's seen her, but he never forgot. he couldn't. the way she smelt, the way she laughed, everything still stuck in his brain as he continued his career.

the world didn't revolve around him, so the show must go on.

calling her old number had also become routine, almost an obsession. every finish, every weekend, anything that had to do with his career, lando would try and call her and tell her how his races were going, as if he wasn't talking to an automated robot on the other end of the line. the automated voice was practically his best friend because he's heard the damn voice so many times.

"the number you have dialed is currently unavailable or disconnected. please try again later."

and try again later he would.

he didn't understand himself, was it an obsession or was it the comfort that it gave him when he dialed her number? he didn't know. but sometimes he would hold up that phone to his ear and talk as if she was on the other end of the line, even though lando knew that there was no one waiting on the other line for him, not anymore.

but, the show must go on, right?

[ddejavvu]

Spring Fling - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader (Part Five) (18+) / Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Summary: You should have known the ‘no refunds’ detail on the website for Spring Fling was a red flag. But you paid no mind to it, eager to be assigned a quick fuck for spring break. When the man that walks through your cabin door is none other than Jake 'Hangman' Seresin, your wildly infuriating fellow pilot, you have two choices: bicker the entire time and have a miserable spring break, or fuck.

Contents/Warnings: smut, minors dni. fem!reader, pilot!reader, enemies/rivals to lovers, lots and lots of arguing, could these two people be any less cooperative, sex seven ways to sunday and then some, seriously like so much smut it'll make your eyes bleed, makeouts, rough sex, oral (m+f receiving), penetrative sex, will add as i post

WC: 7.0k / navigation / inbox

A/N: Thank you all for waiting for this chapter! I know it took me longer to finish this one than it did the others but it's the longest chapter so far, and I also had a lot of major life events go down in the time between this chapter and last. I appreciate each and every single one of you who stayed patient with me, and I hope that this chapter and that the rest to come are worth the wait :) <3

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

You’re doing a terrible job at paying attention to where you’re going as you take the elevator, jamming your finger against the 12 button so hard it hurts. Pizza is on the twelfth floor, and you’re hoping Daniel will be there early like you so that you can forget about Jake and his tyrannical rule. 

It’s clear as day to you; Jake thinks he has control over you just the same way he has control over the girls that drool over him at the Hard Deck. He thinks one glance will melt your brain into mush, but it won’t. It doesn’t, and you’re not letting the cockiest man you know believe he’s won you over. Especially one that you work with. If anyone found out- if any of your fellow aviators knew that you’d succumbed to Jake’s charms… you’d risk losing the respect you’ve fought hard to earn on the tarmac. You’re not letting your career take a nosedive because Jake won’t stop bragging about getting his dick wet. He doesn’t get a say in your life if he has nothing genuine to contribute to it. You know him well enough to know that caving in and fucking would be the worst decision of your life, and you refuse to let him feel like he’s won you like a prize. You’re standing up for yourself; if he can shit-talk Daniel, you can shit-talk Miss Melons.

Your skin prickles with annoyance the more you think about the woman that had approached you both- seriously, did she not consider that she was being intrusive and rude? You assume Jake has snagged her away from her roommate by now, and they’re probably having a better time than you are. 

Everything feels unfair, down to the coincidental roommate placement. It’s like the universe had heard you needed a break, and wanted to punish you for it.

Cracking open your book helps, but it takes you a while to get into the groove. You’re sitting poolside across from the pizza place, eyes glancing from page to parlor every once in a while to check for a certain bearded man. The main lead is compelling, and your stomach soars as you imagine Daniel in a cowboy hat. You’d save that horse.

Peace is hard to find while sitting poolside on a cruise, but chaos is actually the perfect white noise for you to read, and your concentration isn’t broken until a shadow falls over your lounge chair. You glance up, but it’s not the man you’d wanted to see.

“Hey.” Jake’s already frowning, his face apprehensive like he thinks you’ll scream at him to get away. You want to, but you don’t want to cause a scene.

“What, Hangman?”

“I’m not trying to control you.” He pushes despite seeing your gaze back on your book, “I just don’t think you’re meant to be with Daniel. But I shouldn’t have given you a hassle for doing the same thing to me. I just… I do it because-”

He stops short, glancing sideways at a man running despite the clear no running sign on the lifeguard tower. You decide to help him in his moment of need.

“Because you’re used to women who let you walk all over them. Even if you’re not trying to control me, you’re used to having that control. It’s familiar for you, so you expect it, even if you don’t know you’re doing it. But I’m not like that. You can’t keep me waiting on you.”

The scoff he lets out is accompanied by an expression that looks truly pained, “That ain’t it at all. But forget it. Don’t worry about why I do it. I just thought maybe you were doin’ it to me for the same reasons. But never mind. I’ll shut up about Daniel. Truce?”

You glare up at him, book still open in your lap. He extends an uncharacteristically helping hand, and you wait a truly uncomfortable amount of time before taking it and shaking once.

“Truce.”

He takes the chair beside you, stretched out in the sun. Unfortunately, it seems like your reading time is over as his head turns to you, “So, Dudley showed up yet?”

“He’s coming for lunch.” You cling to your novel, trying desperately to ignore Jake and his instantly broken promise, “What about Melon girl, they weren’t ripe enough for you?”

“She wasn’t my type.” He starts, and there’s a heavy silence before he continues, “I don’t like a woman who thinks it’s fun to get between a couple.”

The sideways glance you send Hangman, the ‘I-told-you-so’ smirk, is lethal.

“Anyways.” He continues, tone more casual now, “Fancy a swim, darlin’?”

“I’ll read instead,” You offer, “But you have fun, Hangman.”

“Party Pooper,” He accuses, standing from the lounge chair he’s occupying and stretching briefly, “You’re an absolute mood-killer. No fun, the most boring person on this boat.”

“I’m about to be more of one: have you put sunscreen on?”

“Nope,” He grins, “You volunteering to do the honors, you sleazy thing?”

“Absolutely not. But you can use the stuff in my bag.” You nod at your tote bag, “Don’t use it all, though.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jake nods, folding into a seat on the edge of the lounge chair beside yours, “So, what’s going on in that book, they boning yet?”

“Mhm.” You nod absently as Jake begins smearing sunscreen over his arms and legs, “Real sexy stuff.”

“I’ve got somethin’ sexier for you.”

“It’s a porn book, Hangman,” You clarify, in case he’s forgotten, “I’m trying to read porn. Leave me alone.”

“There’s porn right here!” He calls, arms out to show off his impressively tanned and toned chest, a thick layer of sunscreen giving it a sheen that glistens in the light. As reluctant as you are to admire anything about Jake, you can’t lie; he has a body worth ogling. But you will not ogle it.

“This porn’s better,” You hum, glancing up at Jake through your lashes, deceptively inviting, “This guy’s got a cowboy hat on.”

“I’ve got a million and one cowboy hats,” Jake insists, slowly inching towards you and away from the edge of the pool, “Is that really all it takes, darlin’? ‘Cause I can slap one on in seconds, if that’s what you’re after. ‘Even brought one with me in case my roommate was into it.”

“Mm, maybe,” You let him get closer, excitement clearly swirling in his eyes as he advances towards your chair. He doesn’t notice the shifting of your feet until it’s too late and one is shoving firmly against his chest, knocking him off balance and sending him tumbling backwards into the pool.

There’s not anyone in his immediate vicinity besides you, so you take the brunt of the splash, but it’s worth it.

“But I like it better when the hat’s on a real gentleman!” You call, laughter interrupting your words as Jake emerges from the pool well and truly soaked, shaking water out of his hair. He’s been thoroughly underwater trained, so he’d been able to catch his breath in time despite the surprise of it all, and there’s no real harm done besides the initial splash.

“You dirty rotten minx,” He calls, water dripping from his short hair into his eyes, “You lured me in with the promise of cowboy hat sex just to push me in the pool?”

“I can’t believe you fell for it!” You’re still laughing, but maybe this bout of giggles is only to annoy him, “That’s, like, the oldest trick in the book. Well, maybe besides the cowboy hat sex thing. But you shouldn’t have gotten so close!”

He braces his elbows on the wall of the pool, the border surely burning his skin. But he stares at you regardless, “I thought you were finally givin’ in.”

“It’d take a lot more than a cowboy hat to make me give in, Jake.” You laugh, turning back to your book, “Like, a full personality transplant.”

Jake hears Danica’s words repeated back to him in his head, ‘Show, don’t tell’.

“Noted. I’ll look into one’uh those,” He quips, smile sarcastic and empty as he resorts to swimming alone, “Hey, when you’re done with that chapter, you should join me.”

“No.”

“Alright.”

You glance away from the book’s pages at Hangman’s unusual, immediate acceptance of your refusal. But he lifts himself out of the water- no stairs, no ladder, only his forearms against the deck, and your stomach sinks as you realize he might be playing a game of wills with you.

Instead, he sits beside you again, this time facing away from you, “Will you rub some sunscreen on my back?”

You want to say no. You would, if he were only asking to feel your hands on him. And maybe that’s part of it, but you also know that as much as he tans, he could burn, and his back is the only part of himself that he can’t reach. You’d want someone to do you the solid too, so you sigh and set your book aside.

“Fine. But you owe me.”

“Mhm.” He nods, passing you the sunscreen, “I’ll rub it wherever you want, Y/N.”

You whack him upside the head with the bottle, and when he hisses in pain and pitches forwards, you squirt some of the lotion onto your palm and begin applying it to the broad, tanned, muscled expanse of his back.

You’re no masseuse, but apparently you’re rubbing all the right places, because Jake lets out grunts and groans that are borderline pornographic. If they were coming from anyone else, you might have squirmed in your seat, but each one sends your eyes rolling skywards as you cover Jake’s skin in goopy sun lotion.

“Damn, you’re good.” Jake grunts as you dig into a knot beneath his shoulder blade, “Do that again?”

“I’m putting sunscreen on you, Jake, not working out muscle tension.”

“Oh, come on, just a little more?” He pleads, turning so that he can glance at you from the side of his gaze, eyes shining in prayer.

You dig extra hard into his muscle, and you take some sort of wicked pleasure in the way that his resulting groan is more of a pained yelp than something of enjoyment. 

“There, Hangman.” You whack the middle of his back, between his shoulder blades, “You’re all oiled up.”

“Aren’t you glad you were the one to get to do it?” Jake grins blindingly, and you bury your nose in your book again to avoid answering his question.

“Oh, you can stick your face in that book all you want,” Jake drawls, and you hear the displacement of the water he steps in as he lowers himself into the pool, gracefully and by choice this time, “But I know you liked having your hands all over me, darlin’.”

You want to gripe something back- something witty and cutting that will tear him down where he stands, but he’s turned away from you, already submerging himself to begin swimming laps. You admire his dedication to exercise even while on vacation- you have no plans to visit the gym in the lower decks.

Jake sees the diving board just as you do, and you keep him in your peripheral vision as he climbs out of the pool to make his way up the ladder. Your novel is begging to be read, but your eyes stick firm on one fitting word- ‘abdomen’ so that you can watch Jake from the corner of your eye as he prepares to dive.

Fortunately, you don’t need to continue the ruse of reading because Jake bellows from across the deck, “Y/N, look!”

You’re met with a grin when you look up at him, his arms raised above his head and joined flush together in diving position, “I’m gonna dive- watch me.”

“I’m watching.” You call, injecting your voice with as much disinterest as you can manage without feeling guilty, “This feels like babysitting, Hangman.”

He dives instead of quipping back, and it’s an impressive one, not that you’ll sing his praises for it. He comes up on the side of the pool closest to you, arms flinging an arc of water onto the concrete before you.

“Was it good?” He asks, panting slightly, hanging onto the wall.

“Yes,” You reply, a sickly sweet smile on your face as you condescend to him, “You did so good, honey.”

“Shut up,” He sends a wave of water splashing over your sandals, and you can’t be mad at him after all the teasing you’ve been inflicting upon him.

“I’ve been workin’ on my diving,” He goes back to swimming around, this time more casual as he keeps his head above the water to speak with you, “My nieces back home are learnin’ to swim so I’ve been in the pool a lot lately. Anytime they drag me in there I dive in and splash them.”

His arms cut through the water with strength and ease, confident strokes as you mull over his words. The image of Jake urging a toddler in floaties to cross a 3-foot gap into his arms is- endearing, not that you’ll admit it. You hum in acknowledgement, and tuck back into your book.

There’s not many people in the pool this early- most are probably still in bed with a hangover and a mess to clean up - and it’s large to boot, so there’s plenty of room. Your eyes drift left and catch sight of a jacuzzi, and suddenly your beach chair seems to pale in comparison.

Okay, you won’t join Jake in the pool, but you’ll relax for a couple of minutes in the jacuzzi. Just until Daniel gets here.

Jake doesn’t notice that you’ve stood until your chair is empty, and you have a perfect view of him floundering, scanning the entire deck until he spots you half-submerged in the hot tub.

You get to laugh at him again, and he grants you a good-natured grin instead of getting annoyed.

“I thought you’d finally found what’s-his-name,” Jake swims over to the separation wall that keeps the hot water parted from the cold, “Mind if I join you, Y/N?”

“Only if you’re- careful!” You shriek, trying desperately to protect the pages of your book from his sopping wet skin as he scales the barrier, “Hangman, if this book gets wet, you’re replacing it for me.”

“Alright, alright! I’ll take you on a shopping spree, relax. Hey, if I’m buyin’ you porn books, doesn’t that make me somethin’ like a sugar daddy?”

“You’re not getting any sugar,” You shrug, “But sure.”

“Just call me daddy, Y/N.” He grins, “That’s all the sugar I need.”

You hide behind your book so that he can’t see the way your face wrinkles into a grimace. The heat from the jacuzzi spreads inexplicably quick all of a sudden, warming your neck, your ears, your face, and Jake lets out a thick, heavy groan as he settles into the warm water.

“This is nice.” He muses, eyes closed, “Real relaxing.”

“It’s less relaxing when someone’s talking the whole time,” You peek across the side of your book, “Shut up, maybe?”

Jake snorts, leaning his head back against the edge of the pool, “Alright, alright your majesty. I’ll stay silent.”

You don’t verbally thank him, but you don’t make a scene when his leg drifts across the jet currents of the jacuzzi to brush against yours.

You cover a good chunk of your novel before a voice calls your name, and this time it’s the two people you’d been hoping to see all morning. Danica waves giddily at you and Jake, who’s picked his head up from where you thought he’d fallen asleep and is already mad-dogging Daniel. You wave back to Danica, and cast a quick glance down at your bathing suit before standing to greet Daniel. It’s just as tight and showy as you prefer it to be. 

You pay no attention to Jake where he gets out behind you, too focused on Daniel to care. But perhaps you should have, because you’re two steps from meeting Daniel in the middle when Jake’s strong arm shoves you sideways, and your book is wrenched from your grasp as you fall sideways into the pool.

It’s cold, colder even because you’d been soaking in the hot tub. You’re surprised, but you suppose you can’t even really be mad at him considering it’s just payback for what he’d done to you.

You’ve barely righted yourself in the water before there’s another splash beside you, and when you finally emerge there’s hands reaching for your waist, Daniel’s as you realize he’d jumped in to help you. 

“You-!” You splutter at Jake with bleary, chlorine-soaked eyes, attention split between Daniel who’s trying to ensure you’re alright, and Jake who’s snickering while holding your book in his thankfully dry hand.

“You asshole.” Daniel finishes for you, “She could have drowned!”

“I know how to swim,” You brace a hand on Daniel’s chest- startlingly bare, but riddled with coarse, brown hair, “It’s fine, I- I pushed him in earlier.”

“Relax, Prince Charming. It’s just a bit of payback. And look,” Jake waves your novel in front of you, “Dry as a bone.”

“Well I am- uh, not.” You stand half-submerged in the pool, Daniel still holding onto your waist, “So, I guess I will go swimming.”

“Great. You can swim with us.” Daniel smiles, warm and inviting as he keeps his hands on you.

“Yeah, us.” Jake agrees, taking Danica’s towel and spreading it over a sunny lounge chair for her.

Jake helps lower Danica gently into the pool, holding her hand while she takes the stairs, before jumping in beside you so that you’re splashed by the wave he creates.

“You are an asshole,” You laugh, breaking away from Daniel’s grip to shove at Jake’s shoulder. The grins on your faces are bright and genuine, perhaps the first time you’ve both been able to laugh with each other the entire trip. It feels nice, and you don’t fight when he shoves back at you with strong arms.

“Hey- hey!” Danica shouts, standing behind Daniel with a hand on his shoulder, “Why don’t you turn that pushing and shoving into a game of chicken?”

“I’m down,” Daniel seems thrilled to be opposite Jake as he lowers himself for Danica to climb atop his shoulders, “Y/N, you okay on his shoulders?”

Jake does the honors himself, dunking himself under the water and coming up between your legs. You barely have time to plant your hands on the top of his head, fingers twisting instinctively into his hair as you accidentally tug it while he stands at his full height again.

“Shit, sorry Hangman.” You let go of his hair, hoping you hadn’t yanked too hard. He’s forgiven, for now, so you won’t resort to childish things like hair-pulling.

“That’s okay, darlin’.” He grins, craning his neck back to meet your eye, “I like it when you tug on my hair.”

You have to overlook Jake’s suggestive comment as Danica’s already reaching for you, and you eagerly engage in a shoving match while the two men beneath you plant themselves into the bottom of the pool. You manage to get a leg up on Danica, and they’re both pushed backwards by the force of your shove, but Daniel surges forwards and ends up knocking you and his roommate right into each other.

You collapse against Danica, forehead-to-forehead, giggling like little girls. Her eyes are bright and shining with amusement, and her breath smells minty- like gum, not toothpaste. You’re more than happy to begin pushing at each other again, and though you’re confident your navy-built muscles are going to prevail, she lands a critical shove against your shoulder that throws you off-balance and sends you toppling off of Jake’s shoulders.

The water is cold, colder than you remember as you splash into it, and when you come up for air, already laughing, Jake’s facing you, having turned when you’d fallen from his shoulders. He’s grinning too, a hand already outstretched to help you up, but upon seeing you stand his eyes widen and his face drops.

“Shit.” He lunges for you, cutting through the water as his arm wraps around your back to yank you tight against his chest. You protest, grunting with exertion as you try fighting against his grip. But his muscles are impressive, and you’re trapped against his chest despite your best efforts.

“Would you cut it out? I’m trying to help you. Your top came untied.”

“What?” You splutter, water trailing down your face as you quell your instinctive struggle against his crushing hold. You realize that the reason for the extreme cold had, in fact, been because your bikini top had abandoned ship, and you barely have time to process the feeling of your bare tits slammed up against Jake’s hard, toned chest before he’s fishing the bathing suit out of the water and feeding it around your waist.

“Up,” He instructs, lifting his eyes to the expansive blue sky above you so that you can separate yourself from his chest for long enough to cover your own again. It’s- a strange gesture of courtesy that you would have expected from Daniel, sure, but not Jake. Perhaps that’s why you’re so sluggish, why it takes you longer than expected to fit your top back over your tits and grapple with the strings.

“You decent?” Jake asks, and when you grunt in confirmation he drops his eyes again. He notices you struggling with the ties and reaches for them himself, gently swatting your fingers away as he uses his advantage of sight. It presses his muscular shoulder up against your face, and you turn so that your cheek rests against it instead of your nose. Suddenly you’re held against his chest like a slow dance, and something terribly and inexplicably squirmy happens in your stomach.

“Done. I double knotted it.” He hums, and it’s such a sincere tone, one that’s completely vacant of all his usual dickishness, that you lose yourself staring at his face when he pulls away. You begin examining it for any sign that perhaps he was murdered and replaced with a poorly-trained doppelganger.

His hair looks right, albeit sopping wet. His eyebrows are growing slightly bushier than usual, but nothing you’d consider a complete and total imposter. His nose is still the same: strong, slightly downturned (though not as far as Rooster’s), and there’s a tiny patch of sunscreen that hasn’t been rubbed in near his right eye. His mouth is set in a determined purse as he double knots the strings of your bikini top together, and his eyes- his eyes are different.

Miles different than you’ve ever seen them. The outside edge of his hazel-green rings is softened, like someone has blurred their usual sharp border and lined it with suede. His pupils are huge, and they’d be eclipsing his irises if those weren’t so big and puppy-like. He is, in every sense of the word, gentle, inside and out. 

Jake has never been gentle before. 

“You alright?” He asks, and you snap back to reality with his large hands spread over the expanse of your bare back, the eyes that you’d been examining firmly and concernedly fixed upon you. Only a few meager strings separate his skin from yours, and you nod once, steadily as you gently push his arms off of you.

“Let’s go again,” You call to Danica and Daniel, your voice a piss-poor attempt at strength and nonchalance as it lacks its usual life, “Good hit, Danica. But watch out, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“Bring it,” She grins gleefully, and her giddy gaze drifts downwards to Jake’s face when he lifts you onto his shoulders yet again. From the looks of it they share some sort of silent conversation- some inside joke that you’re not privy to. 

Something about that, something about her excluding you from a conversation with your own teammate makes you shove her, not enough to knock her off of Daniel’s shoulders, but enough to show her that you’re not going easy on her. She shrieks giddily as she writhes to stay balanced on Daniel’s shoulders, a smidge less broad than Jake’s. You’re thankful for that, for the steady mount you’ve got, as you resume pushing and shoving at Danica.

Jake is going insane. Not only does the phantom sensation of your bare tits- nipples hard from the chilly pool water - stick to him like a wet t-shirt, he can feel you against the back of his neck, your warm sex nestled snugly against him with only the bottom half of your bikini to separate you. Your thighs bracket his head, close enough for him to reach out and bite at, but he has to focus on keeping his stance sturdy so that you can play properly. Daniel’s glaring viciously at him across the few feet that separates the four of you, and he’s not going to let Mr. Mailman win. 

This time, Jake suspects you’ve used that military muscle of yours, because Danica slips backwards off of Daniel’s dewy shoulders and splashes into the pool. Your hand cups beneath Jake’s chin, tilting his head upwards and leaning it back into your lap.

“Nice one,” He grins upside-down at you, and you bump your fist against his when he offers it. Then you’re craning your neck down, surely uncomfortable as you leave mere inches between your lips and his, and his ears are ringing.

“Back up,” You murmur, disguising it as a congratulatory speech while Daniel helps Danica back onto his shoulders, “Get them to chase us and we’ll use the momentum against them.”

“Darlin’,” Jake proclaims, pride puffing up his chest that your legs are resting against, “You’re my kinda woman. Always looking to win.”

“Just do it, Hangman,” You scoff, but your eye-roll is less than irritated, fond if anything due to your partnership as Jake drops his head to face Daniel and Danica once more.

Jake stands in place where he’d been before, but when Danica engages with you he begins backing up. Slowly, carefully, ensuring that his feet are planted steadily each step so that you’re not tipped over, he makes his way towards the drop off towards the deeper end of the water. Daniel follows, taking the bait, and soon enough his predicament becomes obvious: he’s not as tall as Jake.

He stands somewhere close to six feet, surely, but not past it like Jake does. Your partner’s head is still comfortably above water, smirk in full force as Daniel’s beard becomes waterlogged. 

“That’s not fair!” Danica laughs, petting sympathetically at Daniel’s sopping wet hair, “Poor guy, we’ll get you stilts for the next round.”

Daniel lands a teasing pinch against the curve of her ass and she shrieks. You lunge for her, using her momentary shock to catch her off guard as you send her tumbling backwards into the water behind Daniel. 

You don’t have time to celebrate before Jake is ducking down and slipping himself out from beneath you, his strong arms bracing your fall so that you barely sink a few feet into the water. He crushes you in a celebratory hug, his laughter harmonizing with your own. He turns you both to face Daniel and Danica as they splutter to catch their breath, his cheek pressed flush against your own. 

“Chicken Champions,” He declares, holding you tight to his side at his own height, which means your feet float above his own in the water, “I’d offer to go again, but that’d just be cruel. You ladies wanna chatter in the hot tub while Danny-Boy and I show off on the diving board?”

“I brought a book,” Danica hums, face dripping with water you feel only mildly guilty for submerging her in, “If you wanna read, Y/N, I’ll do it with you.”

“Perfect.” Daniel nods, already cutting through the water on his way to the diving board, “I’ll be careful not to splash you guys.”

“I won’t.” Jake supplies helpfully, his grin turned shit-eating as he eyes you up, “No point in reading one of them smutty porn books if you’re not soaking wet.”

“Splash me and I’ll throw your room key off the side of the boat, Hangman,” You promise, “You’ll be begging strangers to take pity on you in the elevator.”

“Nah, that’s not my style,” Jake’s voice is dripping with intent while Daniel takes position on the diving board, his swim trunks dripping steady trails of water. You don’t know why until he continues, taking his own bait, “I’ll leave that to Daniel.”

You blame Jake’s comment for why Daniel’s dive nearly turns into a belly flop. It’s instantaneous, really, Daniel’s changing of posture as he register’s Jake’s biting words, and you have half a mind to admonish Jake for riling Daniel up during a dive- that could have ended badly. As it stands, Daniel does a sort of cannonball, though not intentionally, and you and Danica cringe in unison when he lands, sending water splashing well over the divider into the hot tub. Your book remains mostly unscathed- only a droplet of water lands on the cover and obscures the male lead’s face, blurring out his beard and making him appear clean-shaven. 

Jake is already scaling the ladder, and when he gets to the top he surveys Daniel emerging from the water.

“Six,” He shrugs, sneering down at Daniel from the highest point on the deck, “‘Could’ve clinched a seven if you hadn’t splashed the ladies, but your form was still shit.”

He doesn’t give Daniel a chance to fire back- or maybe the man is just too smart to take Jake’s bait - before he sets his arms together above his head, and seamlessly, impeccably cuts through the water. For someone so muscular and bulky, his form is graceful- not that you’ll ever tell him that. Water arcs outwards from where he’d landed, one half of the splash practically targeting Daniel where he stands watching.

He swims farther, nearly reaching the other end of the pool before he emerges, shaking water from his hair like a dog as he looks intently at you and Danica in the hot tub for a rating.

“Ten!” Your reading companion shouts, blessedly unaware of the tense atmosphere- or again, too intelligent to fall for Jake’s lowly antics- and you look at the water-stained cover of your novel.

You smear away the water droplet with your dry thumb, and the male main character’s beard returns.

“Four.” You call, voice deadpan as you lock your eyes on your novel, “For playing dirty and sabotaging the other contestants.”

Hangman’s grin is open-mouthed and cemented into place as he stands taller than Daniel in the water, tanned skin standing starkly out from the blue of the chlorinated water, “Dirty’s the best way to play, darlin’.”

Danica shoots you a look from behind the spread of her novel that you’ve sent many-a-girlfriend before. It’s the wide-eyed, restrained smile that screams ‘We’re talking about this later’, and you mirror her expression with your own disdain.

“Leave us alone,” You call, grinning apologetically at Daniel so that he knows he’s only a bystander, “We want to read.”

“Let’s leave the ladies to their smut, Dorian.” Jake calls, louder than he needs to be as he stretches to display his toned abdomen and muscled arms, “We can find our own fun. Wanna see who can swim the fastest? Place your bets, ladies: pilot or mailman?”

“You swam pretty slow when you crash-landed in the Pacific that one time,” You muse, fighting to keep a smirk off of your face, “I remember thinking you would die in the time it took for you to swim back to shore.”

“Wouldn’t’ve gone so slow if I wasn’t hauling my RIO back to shore. He hit his head on the way down,” Jake dips his head towards Danica, happily regaling her with the tale,  and you realize you’ve only fluffed his ego more, “So he was unconscious. Well I couldn’t just leave him there, ‘poor guy was only a trainee. So I took him along. It did slow me down, but,” He heaves a disgusting, gaudy, fake sigh, “It was worth it to send him back home to his mama.”

You taste a hint of blood where you’ve apparently chewed through your lip. You let it go and hope nothing escapes your mouth. It would be a shame to stain the pages of your novel red.

You’re trying very hard not to pay attention to Jake and Danica where he’s engaged her in a staring contest. Well, you suppose it’s not much of a contest that she can win: the point is that you’re losing. Jake’s showing off his impressive build, still running his mouth with every vaguely self-complementary anecdote he can embellish, and Danica is taking the bait, which means that your rampant attempts to cool Jake’s ego have failed. 

You let the warm, borderline-hot water sink into your skin and simmer alongside the building irritation that threatens to blow beneath the surface. You’re tired. This was supposed to be a relaxing vacation for you- or, if not relaxing, a good way to blow off steam. You were supposed to be bent in half up against the shower wall by now, not bending the pages of your book with the strong grip you’ve cemented onto them while you mediate Jake’s ego and the willingness of so many women to accommodate it. 

Part of you wants to let loose and have fun- not with Jake, of course. Never with Jake. But part of you wants to act rationally, forget the constant rivalry between you two and let him shack up with whoever will show him her tits first. But the other part of you, the one that cheers every time he places second in a show of skill, wants to knock him down a peg. It’s why you’re so persistently humbling him- or, trying to, at least. Something about him putting on this cocky persona- erasing all human emotion to make way for pure sleaze puts you on edge, and you pity the fool who believes it.

You can’t tell if Danica’s that fool yet, because she’s turned back to her book with a smile, but to her credit she doesn’t ogle him while he’s swimming. It would be easy to- he’s all tanned muscle and gestures that show off just the right curve or vein. He knows how to preen, but Danica seems to be minding her own business. That makes it easier for you to read your own novel; you don’t feel like you have to keep an eye out for her anymore.

You’re not sure whether it’s a love for the act or a wordless competition to outswim the other that keeps Jake and Daniel occupied with lapping the pool for so long, but as more and more people filter out of their rooms and onto the deck, there’s not much room for recreation anymore.

“Are you done?” You ask Danica, peering over at her after someone unknowingly sends a wave of water straight for you both, narrowly avoiding soaking your novels.

“I think I’m done.” She nods sheepishly, rushing to stand and keep her book dry, “Should we run away before the men notice we’re leaving?”

“Excellent plan,” You laugh, but you can practically feel Jake’s eagle eye upon you as you race for your towel, leaving soaked footprints behind on the wooden deck, “We should go get some pizza. They’re making more now that it’s a little busier out here.”

“You shouldn’t stare like that.” Daniel’s irritatingly smooth voice, pitched up slightly from Jake’s and entirely free of Jake’s rugged charm, makes Jake’s lips yearn to curl into a sneer.

Jake pivots in the cold pool water to face Daniel rather unimpressed, a scoff begging to burst from his lips, “Like what?”

“Like she’s a piece of meat, or something.” Daniel’s arms are crossed, and Jake plants his feet firmly against the concrete floor of the pool.

“Oh, you’re so virtuous,” Jake drawls, his skin burning and not from the rays of sun hitting it directly, “You frenched her in an elevator, Daniel, you’ve got no room to be talking to me about class.”

“She wanted me to kiss her. She kissed me.” Daniel insists, and Jake laughs- actually laughs, a grit of his teeth and a forceful exhalation of air, “That’s different than staring at her ass while she runs away from you like you’d flip her skirt up at a drive-in movie theater.”

“Flipping skirts,” Jake laughs, sadistic grin in full force, “Daniel, I’m not that old fashioned! Please, she’s in a bathing suit that she chose, for a sex cruise that she booked, and you know what? She probably wants you to be staring at her ass in it. And you don’t seem too concerned with the other people on the deck, I’m sure a few of them are looking too. And are you worried I’m looking at Danica’s ass?”

“You’re not looking at Danica’s ass.” Daniel nearly bites his tongue in an effort to keep his voice level, “Because you’re not interested in Danica. You’re interested in Y/N and you can’t have her. She’s not yours.”

“She’s not yours, either.” Jake spits, and there’s a moment of silence where both men’s chests heave with barely-suppressed tension. Jake realizes that he’s admitted to Daniel that he has no real claim over you, but the other man doesn’t fight back against not having one of his own. But you are his, you are Jake’s, in the way you’d fallen asleep in his arms last night, in the look in your eyes when you’d stared into his own earlier, in the stain on his pajama pants.

You’d moaned his name- his name, not Daniel’s.

Someone knocks into Daniel from behind, backing right into him and nudging him slightly off balance.

“Oh!” The woman shrieks, “I’m sorry! I wasn’t paying attention.”

“It’s fine.” He offers her a tight smile, heading for the ladder, “Don’t worry about it.”

Jake hauls himself up out of the pool with nothing but his forearms, using his towel to dry his hair if only to show off the expanse of his chest to any who may be watching. He checks- you’re not.

“So,” Danica leans forwards into your space at the pizza counter, eyes meaningfully wide, “Tell me why he’s acting like this.”

“He always acts like this.” You scoff, and when she levels you with an unimpressed glare, you insist, “No, really! He’s just- everything is a competition to him, everything. I met his mom once, and she told me that he used to have races at the dinner table to see who could finish their food first. He kept making himself sick but as long as he’d beat his brothers he didn’t care. He always has to win, and right now, he’s competing for us.”

“No, he’s competing for you.” Danica corrects you, “Is he winning?”

“Hell no. He’s- he’s not really competing for me, not meaningfully. He just wants to say he ‘got me’, you know? That would be major bragging rights on the tarmac. But that’s exactly why I can’t give in- I can’t be known as the woman who slept with her fellow pilot! Then they wouldn’t see my achievements anymore, just my mistakes.”

“I get that.” She nods, “But how do you know he’s just gonna dump you?”

“I’ve watched him dump the whole of San Diego,” You scoff, “That’s what he does. He doesn’t do love, he’s the kind of guy who’s only ever interested in something quick and dirty.”

“Everyone does love.” Danica frowns, “Some people just start later in life than others. And I think he’s starting now. With you.”

“Love,” You laugh, and sure, it’s dramatic, but if it gets through to her, you don’t care, “A man who loves me would not have tormented me for my entire career.”

She tilts her head thoughtfully, “I think he does. Even if he doesn't act the way you think he should, even if he doesn't act the way you would, I think he does love you. I think he just loves differently. I think he's new to it. What has he done to torment you?”

You huff, grateful for the opportunity to vent, “He constantly tries one-upping me- again, he can’t lose. He just- he pokes and prods and teases me like we’re on the playground or something, and it’s non-stop. It’s not like he’s sweet most of the time and then there’s a few bouts of light teasing, it’s- it’s constant, and I can’t ever let my guard down, or I’ll lose.”

“So you’re fighting to win, too.” Her eyes narrow slightly, “Why?”

“Because. I can't be second-best, and I can’t be known as the woman who slept with her coworker. I’m not doing that.” You repeat.

“Oh," She laughs, "So you're both stubborn. You don't want to lose, either. But second-best is temporary, rankings come and go. And I understand your thing about not wanting to be known for sleeping with him, but even if you did sleep with him, the whole Navy doesn’t have to know.”

“They will, Hangman will brag. He always brags.”

“He won’t- not if he’s in love with you, not if you want him to keep it private.”

“He’s not in love with me-!”

“Four slices of Pepperoni, two cheese?” A large tray is placed between you and Danica at the counter you’re both leaning against, and it snaps the two of you out of your debate.

You turn to see one of the employees looking expectantly at you, and Danica stammers, “Uh, three cheese.”

“Sorry.” He smiles placatingly at her, scooping another slice onto the plate, “Three cheese.”

“Thank you.” You take the pepperoni pizza, leaving Danica to collect the cheese. You feel bad for walking away, even if you know she’s hot on your trail, but you feel frustratingly suffocated, like everyone is urging you to make the biggest mistake of your life and never considering why you simply can’t. She doesn’t know Jake, she hasn’t spent the last decade with him as he’s blown his way through tourist after tourist, bragging all the while. And he doesn’t understand what it would be like- even if he wasn’t looking to win, even if he did just want to try casual sex for fun, you’d never be able to escape that reputation. 

You feel like you’re going crazy, and you plop down between Jake and Daniel where they sit at opposite sides of a table, ready to stuff your face with pizza instead of dealing with any of it.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[keepingitformyself]

especially for tender ones like us

A/N: hehehehehehehehehehehehe synopsis: humor, anxiety, and the salvation of love.

pairings: natasha romanoff x reader

genre: fluff.

warnings: no?

MASTERLIST

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

natasha tries not to stumble over her words when she suggests staying in, instead of going out. she does not mean to, but she does. 

how could she not? could you really blame her for wanting a quiet night? something that isn’t so public. she wanted to see you, of course, but she wanted to see you in a space you could be comfortable in, without any of the outside world and free from any distractions.  

you listen intently through the other line, you fight the giggle at catching her little stutter. she can’t see, but you smile widely at the whole thing.

“yeah, we can stay in. i can cook us dinner,” you nod. natasha’s shoulders drop in a quiet sense of relief at your words. her lips curl into a smile. “i’d like that. i can’t wait.”

although this would only be the fourth time you had met up together, to natasha, it felt like the first every single time. 

you continue talking for a little while more. natasha shares details about her day, work, and what she ate during lunch. she tells you how on her way to grab her usual coffee order, an americano, she decided she’d switch her order to a matcha latte after having had you recommend it to her. she tells you, 

“it was good, but not nearly enough caffeine for me to keep up with,” she said, her tone light but teasing. and while it hadn’t become her new favorite drink, just knowing she’d tried it for you was more than enough. her words sent your thoughts spiraling, a warmth blooming in your chest. you were certain that if she were standing next to you, you wouldn’t hesitate to kiss her right then and there.

but you can’t do that so instead, you just fall back on your bed like a high schooler talking to her crush. 

when you finally do meet up the following evening, natasha is buzzing with nerves she doesn't understand. she has taken down whole regimes and has fought aliens from space, yet she seems to draw the line when it comes to facing you. 

she knocks on your door, her other arm clutching a brown bag containing wine and flowers. a reasonable offering if you’re having dinner with someone you want to impress. 

when you answer the door, you're wearing a cream-colored knit sweater. 

“i thought i heard pacing out there.” you joke. 

natasha’s cheeks flush as she tries—and ultimately fails—to fight the smile tugging at her lips. “i wasn’t pacing,” she says, though the slight crack in her voice gives her away.

you step aside and invite her in, and neither of you acknowledges the quiet intimacy of the moment. it feels like more than just dinner, more than just a simple evening in your apartment.

you’re about to cook for her, and somehow, that feels monumental.

natasha’s nerves are a mess, though she can’t quite figure out why—or maybe she can. maybe it’s the way your presence makes her feel unsteady, as though the ground beneath her shifts whenever you’re near.

but natasha doesn’t want to be nervous.

she saw once—a penguin mistaking a sleeping walrus for a rock. the penguin had been caught completely off guard when the walrus stirred, nearly crushing it before it scurried away just in time.

natasha had found it funny at the time, the way surprises can sneak up on you. but now, thinking about it, it doesn’t feel so funny. it feels… unnerving.

surprises are bad for the heart, she thinks. she’s been taught her whole life to avoid them, to anticipate every possibility before it unfolds.

but knowing too much, being too prepared—that can hurt, too.

her thoughts are interrupted by your laughter, light and unburdened, as you guide her toward the kitchen. your smile is so easy, so genuine, and she can’t help but feel how good it is to exist in this space with you.

she offers to help you cook, but you shoo her away instead. you make her watch.

she sits there, with her hands on her lap, and just stares. and she can’t help the look of longing on her face. the kind of thing that suggests she wouldn’t mind this being a constant. 

you made pasta for the evening. nothing too spectacular, but natasha had treated it like you were a top chef and had spent hours crafting everything with your bare hands. 

and then once you’ve plated food for you both and you’ve gotten down to a few bites, you notice the small sigh natasha lets out. the flutter of her eyes as she takes in the meal. 

you smile at her reaction as you move some of the food with your fork. 

“do you like it?”

she looks at you, mid-chew, her mouth stuffed with the food, but she manages a smile. 

“yeah, uh, yes it’s good. it’s so good,” she says, hand over her mouth. 

you continue eating, talking about everything and anything. the night was filled with small moments that would bleed into much deeper ones. you laughed, she smiled, you smiled, she laughed. the kind of things one feels they become when around those who make you tender. 

and you don’t know how or when but you try not to notice how little by little natasha seems to retract a little. 

you decide maybe she needs a small moment for herself and start cleaning up the table. she offers to help, but you wave her off, insisting she relaxes. 

she tries to, but realistically, natasha doesn’t know how to relax. so she sits back and stares at you like she isn’t sure what to do with herself. she isn’t used to this at all. spaces like this–warm, cozy, comfortable.

the impending guilt comes. it’s all so layered. she feels so much at once. the nervousness, the anxiety, the fear of loss, the fear of not being present enough. 

natasha doesn’t know how to be here without sacrificing so much. 

after a while, natasha speaks up. 

“i should probably get going.” her voice too casual to sound like she meant it. she tries not to notice the look of disappointment on your face when you turn around to face her. 

“you don’t have to.” you find yourself saying, not wanting her to leave. 

she hums, something that says she’s already made up her mind. she gets up and gathers her things. 

you follow her to the door, or at least try to—but you pause at the end of the hall when you see her linger near the door, uncomfortably. unsure if she should leave. 

you call her out on it. “you can stay longer if you want.”

natasha wrestles with herself because she really wants to. she looks at the door as if it’d answer for her. 

you’re letting her know. 

natasha feels awkward, clammy hands. she doesn't know what she’s doing. and it’s hard to think of anything else when your eyes are screaming, don't actually leave, at her. 

you look at her carefully, trying to see if you can find any clear indication of what she may be feeling, but it isn’t hard to figure out the redhead in front of you. 

you’ve noted quite quickly how easy it comes for her walls to lower when you’re around. and if there’s anything you’ve learned from that, it’s that natasha romanoff isn’t the trained killer everyone thinks she is. 

sure we all have certain versions we show to certain people. but the natasha you know is anything but rough-edged. the natasha you’ve come to know is actually quite the opposite of what everyone else perceives. 

she’s tender, in her own silent way. too afraid to ever let too much slip away that she’s so painfully aware of everything around her. 

natasha is tenderness wrapped in quiet strength, a paradox of someone who feels deeply but guards herself fiercely. she sees the world clearly—the beauty and the harm—and carries that weight like a constant ache.

like she knows the world hurts more for those most aware of hurt. 

her tenderness isn’t soft; it’s sharp, vigilant, always bracing for the pain that comes with letting others in. you can see it in the flicker of her gaze, the way she hesitates as if expecting the world to hurt her.

and yet, she doesn’t harden. she holds onto that fragile, open part of herself, even when it would be easier not to. it’s beautiful and a little heartbreaking.

natasha looks up at you, then back down at her hands. just above a whisper, she says, 

“i don't know what i’m doing.” 

“that’s the most fun part.” you joke. she smiles, she doesn’t know how to say she wants more time. 

how could she say she feels greedy at this moment? she wants to protect being here with you. we have such little time, she thinks. 

bashfully, she steps closer to you, “i don't want to go.” she says. 

“then don’t.” and natasha almost complies. instead, she takes a step closer, her hand lifting towards your cheek. she’s so close now. 

she kisses you, soft, and shy, but you make her feel sure when your arm circles her neck, deepening the kiss altogether. when she pulls back, her forehead rests against yours, she lets out a shaky breath. 

“maybe i’ll forget my scarf,” she murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips. 

“please do,” you replied. please leave your scarf, please linger near the door uncomfortably instead of leaving. please always come back. “that way you’ll have to come back later for it.”  

and just like that, her quiet uncertainty washes away. 

she takes her scarf off and drops it near the door. you follow her actions, you smile, amusement in your eyes. 

later that night, when natasha gets home, she texts you. 

i forgot my scarf. 

you reply, you’ll have to come get it then. 

[nadvs]

　　　⊹　❀　︵　∘　 destined ⟢

pairing singledad! zach maclaren x nanny! female reader

summary after you find out you’re pregnant, you tell zach and prepare to share the news together.

this is a continuation blurb of this two-shot! requested by anon.

You impatiently check the time on your phone again. It’s been fourteen minutes since you sat down in the private room at the doctor’s office.

Your eyes travel over the lockscreen photo from your wedding half a year ago. In the captured moment, Zach is holding Ella. Her left arm is around her father’s shoulders and her right is around yours.

Her poofy dress is sparkling under the warm banquet hall lights, her smile just as big as yours and Zach’s.

You’d done a lot of happy crying that day, but a moment after the photo was taken, you’d never had tears of joy quite like this.

Ella had run off after the shutter of the photographer’s camera and Zach pulled you in by the waist, his lips soft against your cheek, murmuring just loud enough to be heard over the music and people dancing around you, “You know what she asked me this morning?”

“What?”

“Since I get to call you my wife, if she can call you her mommy.”

You nuzzled into the crook of his neck, tearing up as he held you tighter. She had just turned seven years old and still didn’t talk about her biological mother all that much. She also hadn’t called you anything other than your name.

Zach had told you he’d be comfortable with it if Ella grew to want to call you her mom. You’d told him you’d be, too, but that you hoped she didn’t think you were ever trying to replace anyone.

“Really?” you said, your hand over your heart. “What’d you say?”

“I said she can,” he replied. You pulled back to meet his eyes, beaming up at him, almost in disbelief that three years ago, you’d knocked on his door for the first time. You could have never known the turn your life would take.

“You love her like she’s yours,” he said, his eyes glossy, “and she loves you the same way. I’m so happy she has you.”

You squeezed his hand. He’d already reassured you many times that you weren’t taking the place of Ella’s mother or being a substitution for what she lost. Instead, you’re an addition to their lives.

“I can’t believe how lucky I am,” he said. The tears he was trying to hold back fell from his eyes and he chuckled defeatedly. “Who’s cried more today, do you think?”

“I’d say it’s even,” you said with a laugh.

The door opening pulls you out of the memory. You meet the doctor’s eyes, your heart thrumming.

You and Zach had been trying for a baby for four months now. You didn’t even have to ask Ella what she thought about gaining a sibling. She’d been asking for one for a long time now.

After a string of failed attempts, you prefer not to tell Zach every time you take a test. You can see the disappointment in his eyes, no matter how hard he tries to hide it behind a gentle, “The baby just wants to make us wait.”

A couple of nights ago, when the home test you secretly took showed two lines, you booked a blood test to be sure. The doctor starts her sentence with Congratulations and you exhale a shaky breath of relief.

────୨ৎ────

Later that day, you’re folding laundry in the living room while Ella’s at school. Zach gets home from an early practice and beams when he sees you, dropping his bag on the floor.

“Hi, baby,” he says. “How are you?”

“Good. How was training?”

“I’m getting old,” he chuckles, stretching his arms over his head. You laugh.

Zach had already decided that after eight years, this is his last season professionally playing. He was offered a position on the coaching team after he told his managers he’d be resigning. He’s ready to slow down, to work a job that doesn’t have such a high risk of injury, to have more time for his family.

He sits next to you, takes the t-shirt out of your hands, folds it and then puts it on the stack on the table so that you’re free to hug him. You giggle as he leans forward and pushes you back against the couch. He’s hovering over you, his cheek pressed on yours as he hugs you, smelling like his body wash.

Zach lives for these simple moments. Getting home to you, holding you, grounding himself and reminding himself that this is what life is about.

“Hey, how’s your day look six Mondays from now?” you ask.

“That’s specific,” he laughs. “I’ll have to check. Why?”

“I’d prefer it if you came to the ultrasound with me.”

He pulls back, searching your face in awe.

“What?” he whispers. “Are you… What?”

“I am,” you laugh, tears building in your eyes, stroking his soft hair.

“When did you…?”

“This morning,” you say. “I didn’t want to tell you in case it came back negative.”

“I’m…” Zach doesn’t have words. He leans forward, gently pressing his lips against yours, shuffling quickly so he doesn’t put any weight on you.

“It’s okay,” you laugh. “You won’t break us.”

“Us,” he repeats happily, his voice cracking. He looks down at your stomach, gently putting his hand on you. “It’s okay that you made us wait,” he whispers to the baby. “I already know you were worth it. Are you being gentle with your mom?”

He looks up at you, a flash of concern washing over his awestruck face.

“I’m a little more tired than usual,” you say. “But nothing crazy yet.”

“I can’t believe it,” Zach sighs. He sniffles, his heart racing with happiness as his eyes fill with tears. “I can’t believe it.”

“I know,” you breathe. “Me, neither. We can give her the book soon.”

Zach smiles. He’d bought a children’s book a few months back about becoming a big sister for when it was time to tell Ella a baby was on the way.

Having known you for nearly four years now, he was already well aware of how pure your heart is. But the fact that your first thought is to tell Ella is yet another reminder of how you’ve always seen yourself as not only sharing your life with him, but with her, too.

“Gonna be hard not to do it right away,” he says.

“Do you have any idea how hard these last three hours have been?” you laugh. “I couldn’t wait to tell you. But we’ll share the news with her after the first trimester. To be safe.”

“Of course,” he agrees, cupping your face and pulling you in for another tender kiss.

────୨ৎ────

By the three month mark, your appetite has grown and fatigue has hit you hard. When the day comes to tell Ella, you’re bursting with excitement to tell her the news.

After dinner, you sit on the couch, already used to Zach quietly telling you to sit down and not do any housework.

Ella’s doing homework at the coffee table as you help. You gaze at her as she concentrates on her writing and remember the four-year-old she was when you first walked into this house.

She’s nearly eight now and still has so many of the qualities you’d first noticed about her. She’s energetic and loves conversation and never hesitates to show affection.

Zach comes in from cleaning up after dinner and raises his eyebrows at you, discreetly holding the book. You nod to confirm you’re ready, nervous.

He sits next to you, taking one last moment to look at you and at his daughter, accepting that this is the last moment the three of you will have like this. His family is growing now, and it feels like his heart is, too.

“Is it two R’s? Or one?” Ella mumbles, the pencil in her hand. She looks up when you don’t answer, too busy trying not to cry as you watch her. “Are you okay, mommy?”

“Yeah,” you say. “I’m okay. Can you sit with us for a moment?”

Ella nods, running towards you. Zach stops her in his arms before she lands too close to you. You laugh, having already told him privately that she’s never rough enough to hurt the baby, but he can’t be too careful.

“I have a book for you,” Zach says, kissing Ella on the temple as she sits between you. “Can you tell me what you think?”

He hands her the purple hardcover.

“What’s it called?” you ask.

“Big Sisters Are The Best,” she reads. She curiously opens the page, gazing over the illustrations of a little girl with a baby.

“Thank you,” she says politely. “I’ll tell my friend Kaley about this book. Maybe she can borrow it. She’s a big sister.”

You chuckle, meeting Zach’s eyes. He rubs Ella’s back and tells her, “You’re going to be a big sister, too, honey.”

Ella’s gaze darts up to him, then to you, then back again.

“Really?” she says. Zach’s face brightens with endearment, eyes growing shiny with tears.

“Really?” she repeats, looking at you.

“Really,” you say, putting a hand over your stomach. “That’s why I keep going back for seconds at dinner lately. There’s a baby in here making me extra hungry.”

Ella stands up, unable to contain her happiness, jumping up and down in her spot a few times before wrapping you into a hug. You laugh as she wiggles in your arms.

Zach wipes his eyes, still unsure of what he did to deserve this sort of happiness. It’s like he’s in another world, experiencing a type of joy reserved specifically for him.

“This is the best day ever,” she says. “And you’re the best mommy ever and daddy’s the best daddy ever.”

“He is,” you agree, looking at him with pure love.

────୨ৎ────

“You’re such a girl dad,” you say amusedly when you go into Ella’s bedroom.

Zach’s sitting on the floor as Ella adds what looks like the twentieth clip in his hair, while he holds Olivia, who’s happily ripping up a piece of paper.

He smiles at you gratefully. Your one-year-old is exactly how Ella was at that age. Curious, smiley, and eager to make messes wherever she can. He knows you’re technically a blended family, but it has never felt like that.

“Ella, can you do mine next?” you ask.

“After Olivia,” she says happily. “I told her she’s next and I have to keep my promise.”

“Of course,” you say. “She’s lucky to have such a nice big sister.”

“Ebba,” Olivia babbles.

“Ella,” Ella corrects. You laugh. It feels like yesterday, you’d just met her and Zach, and he was correcting her on how she’d called him the bestest. Now, she’s growing before your eyes, already so mature and well-mannered.

“But Ebba’s okay,” Ella says with a smile. She leans to give her little sister a kiss on the forehead, earning a giggle from her, clapping for more.

You sit on the floor next to Zach, squeezing his knee lovingly as your daughters laugh together. He takes your hand and brings it up to kiss the back of it.

“And to think,” you joke, “we wouldn’t be here if I bombed my interview.”

Zach laughs, shaking his head as he kisses your hand again.

“No,” he says. “This is how life was meant to be. You would have found us, no matter what. I know it.”

You grin at him, nodding in agreement.

Sitting here with his wife and daughters is the definition of destiny. Zach knows deep in his soul that he was always fated to be right here, with his heart split between three beautiful girls.

(the end)

if you enjoy a fic, reblogging is the best way to thank and support the writer!

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 3

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a (now skeptical!) player. That’s it, that’s the plot. A/N: I’ve already outlined the entire thing–now it’s just a matter of writing it, so don’t worry! Even if some chapters take me longer to update, I’m gonna finish this one way or another. Promise. *fingers crossed* Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, reader thinks she’s losing her marbles because of a certain someone

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3

“Alright—okay, don’t be stupid,” You chant to yourself as you pace restlessly from the kitchen area of your studio, to the coffee table where you’ve set your phone lying facedown. “Just open the damn thing.” 

You’ve just arrived back at the condo a little past seven PM after a, frankly, productive–if not slightly distracted–day of running errands. You’re home, and you haven’t even got to unpacking the two paper bags (and a box) worth of groceries that were all but thrown carelessly on the kitchen counter, and already, you’re back to stressing over all the weird shit that's been happening lately.

Throughout the afternoon, you tried your hardest to resist the urge to check your phone, especially whenever you see the screen light up–whether it was in your hand or stashed away in your half-zipped fanny pack.

It’s at the most random times too, but always when you act on your unfortunate tendency to monologue your thoughts out loud. 

Sure, it could just be some random push app notifications. Text messages from the few people that hit you up on the weekends–invitations to hang out, maybe. A few newsletters you forgot to unsubscribe from, if you’re unlucky. 

But you think the timing’s far too deliberate to be purely coincidental. 

“Do I get a dozen eggs or just half? What do I even need a dozen for?” (Phone vibrates)

“Oh, hey, Indomie’s on sale if you buy in bulk. How much for a box?” (Screen flashes. Twice.)

“Who the hell is holding up the line, damn–oh, it’s an old lady. Better hurry the fuck up, grandma.” (Screen flashes) “...Sorry! I didn’t mean that.” 

“Ughhh… my tummy hurty…” (Phone vibrates) “What—” 

“Everything’s perfectly normal. Just your average, sunny Saturday! You are an independent, capable adult… who’s fucking losing it.” (Screen flashes–after a minute interval) 

Of course, you have an inkling as to what’s–or who’s–blowing your phone up; in fact, he’s never left your mind since this morning.

So presently, you’re in the middle of having a small existential crisis over what that means, for you and your sanity. No big deal. 

You puff out your cheeks for a couple of seconds before letting out a deep breath. Don’t be a pussy. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation to all of this. You’re–you’re not crazy. 

Landing heavily down in front of the low table, you finally grab your phone, hand shaking with the teensiest amount of trepidation. Not giving yourself any more time to think and second-guess, you flip it over, switching it back to Ring mode as you swipe up to see—

—a barrage of notifications; one popping up after another. 

Some of them are what you’ve expected: plain, old push notifications from banking apps, others from varying socials. There’s one from your mom. A reminder to email her the flight tickets you still haven’t gotten around to booking yet. 

And. Six banner notifications from the game. From… from–him. It’s something you’ve already braced yourself for. It doesn’t prepare you, however, for what they actually said. 

A knot grows in your chest, spreading rapidly like slithering twine as your mind tries, and somewhat fails, to make sense of what your eyes are seeing. 

Grab a dozen, sweetie. It won’t add much to the total cost, and you need that protein every morning. Cereal’s not gonna cut it. 

You really ought to lessen your sodium intake, kitten. (and) Do NOT get the box. Stop. 

Haha. A feisty one, aren’t you? 

Mmm, poor baby.

I– we can talk about this later when you get home.

Each notification contains a completely unique dialogue you’ve never seen before. A play-by-play commentary specifically in response to you— to your personal remarks from earlier, spoken out loud— that there is absolutely no way anyone could still pass it off as simply being system-generated. 

A faint ringing echoes in your ears as you slowly draw back, putting some distance between the onslaught of text and… you. You can’t seem to tear your gaze away from the screen, though. Even if the back of your head bumps against the seat edge of the sofa behind you from how far you’ve already leaned back. 

Blinking in stunned silence, the only thing you could croak out is a strained “what the fuuuck.” 

... Ping!

Still mustering the courage to face me? Don’t keep me in suspense, darling. 

The sudden message jolts you back to reality. You suck in a deep breath.

… Despite everything, you can’t help but find his nonchalant response to your gradual spiral into hysterics–because he knows–a little amusing. Also rude. But mostly funny. 

(It’s also probably just your brain’s last-ditch effort to find some semblance of control, but whatever.)

At this point, you know that you’re merely delaying the inevitable. Swallowing, you press on one of Sylus’ messages and it immediately boots up the game. 

Instead of soothing your nerves like it usually does, the orchestral background music from the loading screen puts you more on edge; your anxiety builds up to a crescendo, harmonious to the heralding of what you know will undoubtedly change the trajectory of your life. 

Dramatic, but true. 

48%... 82%... 98%...

There’s a hollow drop in your stomach when the screen–finally–reveals the familiar sight of the café. The golden ambient light enters your field of vision for a split second before your eyes flit reflexively to the man standing in the middle of the screen, whose presence commandeered your full attention.

He’s wearing his motorcycle jacket–the black one with the red and white thorn(?) accents, paired along the pair of leather pants with the iconic double zipper. Aside from the black zircon studs, he’s not wearing anything out of the ordinary. Nothing is looking out of the ordinary, actually. 

Holding your breath, you wait for the other shoe to drop. 

“Are you waiting for me to say hello? Then–” Sylus muses with an amused lilt to his voice, sauntering closer to flick “my” forehead. There’s a beat before he continues: “That’s my way of saying hello.” 

… Huh? 

That’s—this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. You… you don’t know what you were expecting, but this wasn’t it.

The man in front of you doesn’t look any different from how he usually does; the way that his… character animation (Should you call it that? It doesn’t seem right, given the circumstance, but you don’t know how best to describe anything anymore) flows is so–-so infuriatingly… normal. As if it’s just like any other day that you’ve logged in the game. 

Where did the sentience go? Why is he reciting lines he’s programmed to say? None of it adds up.

Your mouth tries to form words, but nothing comes out. With wide eyes, you helplessly gape at him. Speechless. For a moment, you feel like you’ve actually gone mad. 

A small “what’s happening?” slips past your lips. Your eyes dart across his face, trying to analyze every microexpression, any hint of sentience on him–in his eyes, in his movements. 

You find none. 

Mechanically, you exit the game.

“What the actual fuck?” You whisper-shout at nothing in particular, and maybe to the biggest cause of your current disconcertion; one who you thought… Who you were sure was—

-

-

Fuck it. It’s time to put your detective skills to work.

[kkayyerr]

Safe Place.

Summary: The interviewer makes reader uncomfortable and Drew Starkey is there for her when she unintentionally regress.

Warnings: Age regression, talking about sexual stuff and reader being uncomfortable with it, slight angst, fluffy end!

Author’s note: My first cg!Drew Starkey work, hope you’ll like it!🫶🏻🥹

You weren’t a big fan of interviews. Especially when there was a tone of weird and uncomfortable questions that you didn’t want to answer. Today’s interview was one of the most stressful and uncomfortable interviews that you ever had. You and your coworker Drew Starkey were both sending disgust glares to each other each time the interviewer would ask another awfully weird question, making you both want to leave immediately.

 

„I would personally like to see more of you in the revealing outfits.”

 

The interviewer said, looking straight at you, as if he were trying to provoke you. You tried to ignore that comment, even though this time you sent Drew more of a scared glare. You were very uncomfortable, and he knew that if the situation turns out to be stressful enough for you, you’re probably going to unintentionally regress, like it had happened a couple of times before on the set, when you were getting too overwhelmed. You clearly didn’t want to regress in front of the camera, so you tried to hold it in as much as you could. The interviewer didn’t seem to care about your discomfort, continuing with his game. 

 

„Your body just made for those sex scenes; you were phenomenal.”

 

Suddenly, you realized that it was too much. It was already hard enough for you to film in those scenes, and you were not sure that you could’ve done it without Drew’s support. Hearing about it again made you feel dirty and smaller, just from being talked to like that. 

Your gaze became blurry the second before Drew caught your hand, stopping you from sucking on your thumb right in front of the camera. You saw him standing up, letting the interviewer know that both of you are about to leave. He immediately understood that you had regressed, and he wasn’t blaming you for it; he knew how disgusted you might’ve felt just because of those words. You also stood up, almost immediately giving him your hand. You didn’t care about what people would think if they saw you and Drew holding hands in front of the camera; you finally chose to care about yourself too. 

 

„Where are you going? We’re not done!”

 

The man tried to argue, but Drew was just calmly heading to the doors, checking if neither of you had forgotten something in the studio. You still were staying close to him, squeezing his hand even tighter. It was a signal that you were very overwhelmed right now and won’t handle another minute here without throwing a tantrum. He turned around before leaving the room, knowing that he had to give the interviewer an explanation.

 

„We’re done. Your questions don’t sound professional to me, and you clearly make me and my college uncomfortable. We won’t be staying here and letting you talk to us that way, sorry.”

 

Just like that, both of you had left, and you almost sighed with relief when you were finally free from that asshole and his sexualizing questions. Drew stood right in front of you, giving you some time to calm down. You just cuddle up to him, immediately hiding your face in his neck like you did every time you would regress in public. 

You couldn’t let the world see you like that, but for some reasons you didn’t want to hide from Drew; instead, you would just let him hide you from everybody else who you knew wouldn’t understand and except you like that. 

He was your safe space.

 

„Dada, can we go?”

 

You asked, and his brows raised from hearing your words. You never called him that, and you never regressed that small either. It seemed like his actions today made you more comfortable with him, and maybe it meant more than that, but those were adult conversations. Right now, he was just happy to be there for you.

 

„Of course, little one.”

 

He said, carefully cupping your face in his hands. He knew that eye contact would usually calm you down, or at least that worked all the previous times. 

 

„But maybe we should get you an ice cream first?”

 

He chuckled as you aggressively nodded. Drew was ready to buy a whole fucking ice cream section for you, just to make you forget about today’s awful experience.

Taglist: @tinylilacbun @aew-regression-cove @rafecameronsloverrrrr

[xx-reverie-xx]

🖤Sevika HCs🖤

just random sevika hcs. broken up into categories for general, romantic, and nsfw headcanons respectively.

i didn’t try very hard while writing this, so my writing is probably subpar here but…yolo.

men dni. minors dni. men dni. minors dni.

safe for enby lesbians. ♥️

general

* raging butch lesbian 🧡🤍🩷.

* her place is messy but in an organized chaos sort of way.

* she smells like cigar smoke (in a good way), leather, and peppery mahogany.

* collects bottle caps. i can’t explain it, i just have a feeling she would!!

* has very, very cool, gay aunt vibes!!!

* actually an excellent cook.

* her carabiner is on the left side. she keeps the basics on it, so just her keys and one or two old key chains she has.

* in a modern au she would be into classic cars and the process of restoring them. her dream car is a 1970 mustang boss.

* on the topic of vehicles i can see her as a biker too. like, imagine seeing her taking off that helmet … swoon! imagine being her backpack … SWOON AGAIN!!!

romantic

* loves hugging you from behind

* if you’re with her at the last drop, she has her arm around you constantly. if it’s not that, she’s having you sit on her lap.

* this woman is a capital F Flirt. will talk you up one side and down the other like it’s nothing. if you’re just someone she happens to lock eyes with at the bar, you guys could go back and forth with flirting and banter.

* BUT if you and sev have been together for a bit flirting can get her flustered from time to time. you know *just* what to say to her to make her short circuit a little bit. no one can get under her skin the way you can. /pos

* calls you baby. if you’re a femme, she calls you her femme.

* surprisingly soft lips.

* kissing her feels like a dream.

* sevika prefers a partner who can take care of themselves. after all, she’s a busy woman and she can’t always come to your rescue.

* her giving love language is acts is service. need something fixed? in classic butch fashion, she’s absolutely got you covered. do you drink coffee or tea in the morning? she’s got a cup ready for you in the morning, *just* the way you like it. she’ll do anything for you when she’s got the time.

* her receiving love language? words of affirmation. she likes to know that you think she’s *good*. that she’s doing a good job and that you see that.

* would be so fucking whipped for you. you’re on her mind all the time. smiles when little things make her think of you. memorizes every little detail about you every chance she gets.

* she doesn’t have a type. like, at all.

nsfw

* stone top. there. i said it.

* nipple piercings 🙈.

* oh, she is eating that thang. this woman is a munch. she would know just how to lick or suck you to make you come before you know it. it’s a very personalized experience.

* she learns you inside and out. knows every. little. thing that makes you tick.

* vocal. like, as in, she talks. she’s dirty about it too. all “oh, yeah? you like that baby?”, “be good for me, i know you can take it” or “i know what’s good for you, now fucking take it”. she talks you through it every time.

* has a collection of straps. different strokes for different folks, am i right?

* touching on one of her receiving love languages being words of affirmation …

* she loves to be praised.

* it’s something she would never explicitly ask you to do. it’s a subtle thing.

* it’s in the way she short circuits when you tell her how good she’s doing, how good she makes you feel. you can tell she likes that, knowing that she is good for you, in the way her hands tremble or her hips stutter or, if she’s going down on you, the way her eyes go soft.

* she will fuck you senseless and then be so, so sweet on you after. makes sure you’re taken care of, that there’s something for you to drink, has towels ready for you incase you don’t feel like showering for a while after you finish. seriously, it’s like two different people.

okay thats it. i am obsessed with this woman and just wanted to share some headcanons i had for her while i finish up a fic i’m trying to write🎠.

cant believe my first writing here was some random hcs but whatever!!!

requests currently open for multiple fandoms, including arcane :).

dividers by cafekitsune

[strawberrykidneystone]

a baroness after my own heart

summary: sevika from house silco has officially entered the marriage market after years of putting it off and she falls in love with the first woman she lays her eyes on

a/n: sevika… mr. darcy hand flex….

tags: not historically accurate, love at first sight, dancing, regency era-ish, me being a sap, drama, gossip, romance, not historically accurate

ao3 version

viscount silco’s ward, jinx, has been in the marriage market for merely a year and has seemed to scare off every man and woman with her odd personality. earl vander’s ward, lady violet, had recently married into house kiramman. it was quite the scandal when it was revealed that jinx and violet were estranged sisters living in different houses, but the excitement died down quickly with the new ball season starting. no doubt that silco’s influence had also stopped the gossip papers from writing about his family.

you were not a duchess by any means, but you had quite a steep dowry that had many suitors show an interest in you, but each one had been just as boring as the last. your mother was not pleased with your efforts and made an ultimatum, you had to get married this year or you would be sent off to live with your aunt in the middle of nowhere, so you were eager to see the fresh meat entering the market this year.

lady mel visited your house this afternoon with a paper in her hand. she was currently being courted by sir jayce, a man of lower social standing than herself, but she had been adamant about marrying for love. of course, the courting had somewhat come to a hold with the recent scandal, but it was sure to start up again as balls exposed more of people's relationships to the public. you had heard a few rumors about him and his lab partner viktor, but they were quickly laid to rest by mel's mother, duchess ambessa, and no one questioned her judgment, ever.

the two of you settled in the drawing room with tea and biscuits, your handmaidens making themselves scarce on the other side of the room to allow the two of you to talk semi-privately.

after taking a sip from her tea, mel brought your attention to the small paper in her hands, "my dear friend, i have just received word that sevika is entering the marriage market this year."

you had to hold yourself back from spitting out your tea. no one had seen lady sevika in quite a while, she was at the side of silco most of the time and when she wasn't she was in the bars down in the village that no other members of high society would be caught dead in. she was a baroness in her own right and had her own estate, but she was known to work closely with the viscount in many aspects since her parents had taken up traveling the world. personally, you had never seen her, but you had heard that she is intimidating as she is beautiful. you thickly swallowed your tea and set your cup down on the saucer, "pray tell, is there a reason why? she has had ample time to enter the market whenever she wanted, why now?"

"there was no reason given, a kitchen maid wrote to me in haste as soon as she heard," mel said with a grin, she always liked to have her fingers in all of the pies, paying off servants for small bits of gossip was included into keep tabs on everyone. you shook your head in disbelief, the whole thing seemed fishy.

"perhaps it's to draw away attention from the scandal of the two sisters," you suggested and cocked your head curiously.

mel waved her hand dismissively and shook her head, "most people have already forgotten about that by now. whatever the reason, it's sure to be an interesting season this year."

you nodded in agreement and took a small bite from one of the sweet biscuits, letting your imagination run wild surrounding the house of silco and vander. you and mel continued to talk about everything under the sun, mostly gossip about other houses and who's getting desperate to not be considered a spinster next year. before you knew it, the sun was almost down and you bid her farewell at the door, her carriage taking her back to her mansion in the hills.

the next week was pure chaos.

picking out fabrics for dresses, trying out hairstyles for this season, pairing accessories with each other, and keeping up with the constant rumor mill. as long as you didn't hear anything about yourself, you were fine with a little gossip here and there. there had been a little talk about how you were getting close to being a thornback*, but you simply ignored them. you were determined to get married this season, even if it killed you.

before you knew it, it was time for the first ball of the season. lady mel's family was hosting of course, with no expense spared for decorating the huge mansion. there were gold decorations everywhere decorating the house with fresh-cut roses intertwined in delicate patterns. the rose bushes that lined the front of the house were lit up with protected candles, the whole house glowing like a sun against the night sky.

exiting your carriage in your custom-fit gown with elbow-length gloves, a curly updo with a headband of pearls in your hair, and a pearl choker to match, you confidently walked into the ball with your family.

with your fan hanging on your wrist and your dance card in its proper case, you immediately walked up close to the dance floor, scanning the crowd. it was mostly filled with faces you had seen before with a few you didn't recognize, but you couldn't help but feel nervous. you were thankful for the gloves on your hands absorbing the sweat that would no doubt be building up on your hands, but you were still hopeful for this evening.

suddenly, the whole room fell silent. you turned your head towards the entrance you just walked through and held back a gasp. there was duchess caitlyn and lady violet arm and arm, with the house of silco, vander, and kiramann following up behind them. they posed a united front together and you had to praise them for their bravery showing up at all. their footsteps echoed throughout the room with the occasional ‘thump’ from silco’s cane. the group paused in front of the ballroom, not unlike two armies about to attack each other. mel quickly snapped at the orchestra to ease the tension and they picked up their playing again, people slowly going back to their conversations and dancing. the big group quickly dispersed, acting casual as if nothing over the summer had happened. duchess caitlyn and lady- duchess violet took to the dance floor and waltzed with each other, a genuine aura of love surrounding them as they glided around the circle of people even though people were very obviously keeping their distance.

you walked through the crowd and stayed on the edges, ending up close to the refreshment table. god it was going to be a long evening, but thankfully not an uneventful one.

it’s not that you were uninterested in marriage, you just hadn’t found the right person. you were resolute about marrying for love, which annoyed your family to no end as they had all married for wealth and status. you had hoped to talk to mel for a bit, but she was already busy waltzing around the dance floor with jayce, much to lady ambessa’s dismay. looking over to the side of the room, you saw jinx and sir ekko passionately talking about some sort of trinket in her hands. a fond smile graced your lips, it’s as if the two never grew up, still up to their usual antics.

just as you were about to chalk this night up to simply standing on the outside as just another wallflower and observing other couples, somebody caught your eye.

a tall woman with a short and straight haircut that sharply framed her face, her grey eyes lighting up against her darker features. she had the most endearing wide nose you had ever seen and full lips to match. she wore a beautifully tailored burgundy suit complete with a black vest and a white undershirt, tan pants, and a black cravat adorned around her neck to complete the look. she was simultaneously the most beautiful and handsome woman you had ever laid your eyes on.

and she was staring right back at you.

the rest of the world seemed to blur away and your heartbeat picked up, you had to convince yourself that you weren’t having an aneurism in the middle of the ball or somehow daydreaming of this perfect woman. the room seemed to light up as if the world had been dimmed until this moment, you could see nothing else but her. the two of you wandered intently toward each other as if in a trance, never breaking eye contact as you made your way through the crowd.

before you knew it you were face to face with her, both of you awestruck by the feeling that your hearts had been searching for each other all your lives, two halves that were now whole. sevika cleared her throat and slightly bowed her upper body, keeping her eyes on yours as she held out her left hand with the palm up, “may i have this dance?”

your voice was caught in your throat, all you could do was nod and placed your hand in hers. as soon as you laid your hand in her warm palm, you knew that you never wanted to let go.

she led you to the dance floor and people were already starting to whisper about the two of you as they parted to let the two of you onto the floor, but you couldn't care less in this moment. the two of you smoothly got into a classical waltz position with her leading, her left hand never leaving yours as she held your interconnected hands up and placed her other hand on your waist. you rested your arm on top of hers and followed her lead in the dance, absolutely enthralled with your partner as you twirled around the dance floor. it was like the two of you were floating on air above everything else, dancing in your own little world where it's only you and her.

all too soon, the song ended and suddenly you were back in a crowded ballroom standing in front of the woman you danced with, whose name you didn't even know. the two of you bowed to one another and exited the floor together. reluctantly letting go of her hand, you clasped your hands in front of your dress formally and smiled up at her, "thank you for the dance miss?..."

"sevika, baroness sevika," she said in a smooth deep voice with a bow of her head.

you held back a gasp and quickly introduced yourself, curtseying while holding your skirt.

the two of you quickly got lost in conversation as if you had known her all of your life, having more in common with her than anyone else you had ever met in your life. sadly, the evening was coming to a close and the last dance of the night was announced. sevika gave you a knowing look and you nodded, the two of you joining the other couples for one last dance. she was such an easy dance partner to follow and you couldn't help but feel safe in her arms. losing yourself completely in the dance, the music ended far too soon for your liking. you wished you could've stayed here and danced with sevika all night.

alas, each of your houses were starting to depart and sevika looked down at you with the biggest puppy eyes, holding both of your hands in hers, " would it be too soon if i called upon you tomorrow?"

you giggled and squeezed her hands in yours, "i shall simply die if i do not see you tomorrow."

sevika's face lit up and she brought your hands up to her mouth, kissing your knuckles, "then tomorrow it shall be."

she slowly walked backward, holding your hands as long as she could until she finally had to let go, silco calling to her from their carriages. she stumbled slightly going down the stairs which made you giggle until your mother sharply called your name. you quickly joined your own house once again, giddy in anticipation for the next day.

a/n: i tried to leave reader's outfit as ambiguous as possible so you could imagine your own outfit but FUCK i love pearls <3

part 2, this scene and backstory from sevika's perspective?

*thornback: single woman over the age of 25

taglist: @maneskinwh0re @archangeldyke-all

[kinzhae]

He Only Dated You For Your Sister

Gojo X Fem!Reader

You always thought love would save you. That it would sweep in and make everything hurt less—less lonely, less empty, less… you. And for a while, with Satoru Gojo, it felt like it had.

He wasn’t just charming; he was magnetic. His presence filled every space, his laughter echoing louder than anyone else’s. He made you feel seen, plucking you out of the background you’d been relegated to your whole life. He chose you, or at least that’s what you told yourself.

But the truth is, he never chose you.

You see it now, in hindsight, with a clarity that cuts like broken glass. The signs were always there, but you ignored them because you wanted to believe in the illusion. You wanted to believe that, for once, you were enough.

The final blow came the night it all unraveled.

You had planned a quiet evening—dinner at home, candles flickering on the table, the kind of intimate moment you craved but rarely got. He arrived late, as always, with a lopsided grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. You tried to ignore the ache in your chest when he barely glanced at the effort you’d put into everything.

Halfway through the meal, your sister’s name slipped into the conversation. Again.

“She’s doing amazing, isn’t she?” he said, his tone laced with admiration. “I mean, she could do anything she wanted.”

You froze, your fork hovering mid-air. It wasn’t the first time he’d talked about her, but tonight, something snapped.

“Satoru,” you said, your voice steady despite the storm brewing inside you. “Do you even realize how often you bring her up?”

His expression faltered, surprise flashing across his face. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that I can’t go a single day without hearing you talk about her,” you said, your voice rising despite yourself. “I’m talking about the way you look at her. The way you… God, the way you light up around her.”

He blinked, leaning back in his chair, his usual confidence suddenly absent. “You’re imagining things,” he said softly, but the guilt in his eyes betrayed him.

“No,” you shot back, standing now, your heart racing. “I’m not. Don’t you dare lie to me. Not anymore.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. You could feel your hands shaking, your breath coming in shallow gasps. And then, in a voice so quiet it was barely audible, he said the words you’d been dreading.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

The room tilted. Your world tilted. You gripped the back of your chair to steady yourself. “What didn’t you mean, Satoru?”

He didn’t answer immediately, and that pause—that damned, suffocating pause—told you everything. Finally, he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I care about you,” he said. “I do. But…”

“But it’s her,” you finished for him, your voice breaking.

The look on his face was answer enough.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The weight of his betrayal pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe. You had known, deep down, for so long. But hearing it—seeing it—was something else entirely.

You grabbed your coat, your vision blurry with tears, and headed for the door.

“Wait,” he called, his voice laced with desperation. “Don’t go. Please. We can fix this.”

You turned, your hand gripping the doorknob so tightly it hurt. “Fix what, Satoru? The fact that I was never enough for you? The fact that you used me to get closer to her?”

He flinched, the weight of your words hitting him like a slap.

“You don’t love me,” you said, your voice trembling but firm. “You never did. And I won’t stay where I’m not wanted.”

And with that, you walked out.

---

The night air was freezing, but you didn’t feel it. You walked aimlessly, your chest hollow, your tears blending with the light drizzle that had started to fall. You thought breaking up with him would bring some kind of closure, some kind of relief.

But all you felt was loss.

Loss for the person you thought he was. Loss for the love you thought you had. And most of all, loss for the part of you that still wanted him, even now.

When you got home, your phone buzzed relentlessly—texts from him, voicemails pleading for another chance. But you knew there was nothing left to salvage. He had never truly been yours to begin with.

You deleted the messages, one by one, until your phone was silent.

And in the quiet, you made a promise to yourself: you would heal. Not for him. Not for anyone else. For you.

[letorip]

aline

“et j'ai crié, crié "aline!" pour qu'elle revienne, et j'ai pleuré, pleuré, oh j'avais trop de peine”

===+++===

pairing: wednesday addams x reader

summary: sometimes you’d talk about dying to wednesday, though it was something an addams couldn’t ever really fear. that was, until the person being lost was you.

warnings: erm you die lol, major character death, wednesday being sad, mentions of blood, self sacrifice, maybe a little contrived way to die but too bad

word count: 1.6k

A/N: i promise im okay but this was truly an interesting plot line to follow, and i couldn’t bear not writing it down. if it made you sad, don’t worry, because i have more fluffy stuff on the way. it was something short i had considered doing for a long time, so even if this flops i'm completely happy with how it came out.

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"Wednesday?" you asked, eyes on the wooden ceiling of her room. From the way her head rests against the warm plane of your chest, she can feel the smooth skin move as you say her name, heart right under her ear. It nearly lulls her to sleep, had it not been a question.

"Yes?" she purrs, lazily propping herself up on her arm. There are heavy weights on her eyelids, but the line of your mouth tells her something is troubling you. You’re too saturnine, much too glum for what you and Wednesday just did, and her eyes soften imperceptibly, her thumb going to your side to quietly stroke itself back and forth there. “What’s plaguing you?”

You can’t help but shudder at the contact of her hand and the goosebumps the pads of her fingers leave in their wake. “Are you... do you...," you attempt, the question falling flat on your tongue. She furrows her eyebrows at your hesitation.

"Say your thoughts,” she says, forehead creased in concern. It's almost funny, how caring and soft she is, now that she's given up on trying to seem aloof and apathetic towards you, her skin warm against your own.

The Addams Curse to love someone with every fibre of their being had taken hold of Wednesday entirely, and she looked at you sometimes like you held her beating heart in your hands, or at least like she'd cut it out for you, if you were to need it. She raises a hand, gently brushing a few hairs from your forehead.

“Are you afraid of dying?”

Her eyebrows furrow even further, scanning your face for any indicators of harm. “Where is this coming from? Has something been done to you?”

But you shrug, finally looking down to look her in the eyes with softness. “I was just wondering… are you?”

She narrows her eyes. “You know I’m an Addams. Death is a friend, not a foe. Fear of that serves no purpose. Only cowardice from facing a fight. Only to make you weak.”

Your eyes flit away. “Hm.” There’s no hiding of disagreement in your tone, and it has an embarrassing amount of power over her, how she itches to know what goes on in that head of yours.

“What?”

“I think… I think my fear is what makes me strong. I’m afraid of losing those I care about. And so I fight with every bit of sweat, blood, and tears that I have. Your loss is my deepest fear, Wednesday. My deepest.”

She stared at you momentarily, then looked out the window to the stars. “How is one to fear death when it is far from the end? Death may take me from your sight, but it cannot take me from your heart. There I live, vibrant and whole. Forever.”

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You’d never even realised how much blood the human body could actually hold, until you were standing there in the centre of the quad with an arrow straight right below your heart, its steel tip poking from your back. Your own blood coated your hands where you cupped it, dribbling down the splintered wood and splattering in droplets to the cobblestone in thick, dark red splotches.

The blood— your blood— is coming out even more now, and you turn to look at Wednesday, where you had shoved her out of harm’s way. Her eyes are wide in horror, like she's seeing something straight from a nightmare of hers, and you take a clammy step towards her, frigid and burning at the same time.

“Wens—” you stammer, and suddenly your knees are giving out. She rushes forward, trying to catch you in her arms, but you're too heavy, deadweight that tugs on her. You fall onto them, your knees, clutching at the newly opened maw of your chest with a gasp, and before you know it you’re falling forward towards the floor.

Wednesday follows you down, catching you before you can land, and she holds you tight, turning you over onto your back as the arrow sticks straight up from the heart she cherishes so much. The wood is already splintering, nearly falling apart, and her hand goes to your wound as if trying to put your blood back into your body.

It’s uncomfortable, with the metal tip of Xavier’s arrow sticking from the back of your chest and lightly prodding at her front, but she squeezes you tightly against herself, hands frantically travelling the length of your torso and raking over your arms, anywhere she can reach. But there’s nothing she can do. It’s a thought she refuses to confront, but Wednesday specialised in dealing with dead things; she was unfamiliar with how to keep things alive, no matter how much she needed you to stay that way.

Crackstone is cackling from his belly, a toothy sneer spreading itself out onto his leathery face as he looks at the damage he’s done, stomping towards you. “Hey!” Bianca yells from the opposite door, and the pilgrim whips around, as Xavier takes another shot at him. It lands in the pilgrim’s arm but he pulls it out like a twig, snapping it and tossing it to the ground, before he makes his way towards Bianca.

Your white shirt is completely soaking itself in your blood, droplets running down Wednesday’s fingers where she tries to hold the wound and apply pressure. But there was no saving a skewered heart.

"No, no, no," she coos, voice barely above a whisper and tears already pricking at the corners of her eyes. You're crying out in pain as the arrow shifts within you, fingers scrabbling at Wednesday's arms where they hold at you. Your fingernails sink into her skin, and she winces but doesn't pull away.

"Wens," you say again, infinitely weaker than before. "Wednesday…” It’s like your mouth won’t move coherently with your brain, like words mean trudging through ice and slush to come out, even the red-hot ones you need to say. “H—Hurts,” you spit out, and with it comes a small stream of blood from your mouth as you cough and air becomes less and less available.

She nods in a rush, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. “I’m aware, I know,” she’s completely crying now. “We will get you care, cara mia, just hol— just hold on for a little while.” But you’re shaking your head.

“Don’t have— I don’t have—” you’re coughing up more blood, and she wipes it from your chin with a shaky hand. There’s just too much of it, everywhere. You had once gifted her some as a token of your devotion and it was a prized possession of hers, but now there was so much and she would have given it back in a heartbeat if it gave you any more of those.

She can vaguely hear Bianca and Xavier yelling on the other side of the quad, and various fires rage on in their chaotic yet vibrant corners, tickling against her skin in large crackles, burning in the reflection of your eyes that stare up at the sky. Your head is leaning against her shoulder, and she raises her hand, stroking through your soft hair as you heave in her arms.

“You must live, I promise you,” Wednesday insists fiercely, “I promise you, if you die right now, I will kill you.” But its tears that streak down her face, her jaw clenching and dark eyeliner running down her cheeks. She’s squeezing you right against herself, feeling the pain of the sharp arrow poke at her own skin.

“Vibrant and wh—whole?” you said with a smile, feeling your voice begin to slow down and with it, the beating of your heart. The blood has pooled in a sick puddle around your body.

She’s shaking her head. “Cara mia, we don’t need to do this, we will get you to a doctor. You will be—”

“—Wednesday,” you interrupt. Your voice has reached an eerie calm that sends a shiver down her spine, and it snaps her from any sort of hope. “Vibrant… and whole?”

She looks down at you for a moment, tracing the features of your nose, the planes of your cheeks, the colours of your eyes and the wryness of your smile. Wednesday swallows. “Forever. You know that. You must always know that.”

You nod, letting out a small laugh. It hurts, she can hear you wheeze right after you done it, but you sit in silence for a moment, and she can feel you get slower and slower, and your shirt gets redder and redder. The tears are uncontrollable, now, as she sits there with you. Her friends are losing in the corner, but she's losing something unthinkable, and she's so damn scared the entire time it's happening.

"The stars look beautiful tonight," you whisper so only she can hear it, your voice cracking at the end. In seconds, you're gone. She can feel the life, the glorious life, evaporate from you, your head lulling back against her and your weight becoming a hundred times heavier, but she doesn't move, squeezing you against her.

She's unsure how long she stays like that, but when she can no longer take it, she shifts, laying you down on the ground. You look peaceful, looking up at the stars, and it takes an effort to close your eyes that Wednesday had never felt with the dead before. She gently closes them, shutting the door on the eyes that used to captivate her very heart. It's almost like she could convince herself that you're only resting for a moment, and she leans over you, placing a meaningful kiss upon your forehead, just like she would when she snuck out after a night of sleeping over, and there were no prying eyes there to watch.

"Vibrant and whole," she whispers like a promise, turning back to the fight with a piece of the sword in her shaking fists. "For you, cara mia."

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well that was sad... anyways more happy stuff coming next time

[ruxined]

The aftermath

e: you and vi had just gotten back to her old home after the war , powder / jinx was in recovery , and you and vi finally got some uninterrupted time by yourselves.

cw: afab reader , mentions of saliva , sloppy kissing + hickies , dom!vi , praise , vi talking reader through it ,vi eating readers 🐱 & fingers her, vi calls reader ‘cupcake’ and ‘baby’ , description of a scar , vi has a happy trail , curse words / foul language .

You and Vi were sitting on her bed hours after the war between the upper city and under city finally came to a close. It seemed as the world came to an abrupt silence when Silco and his goons finally met their demise and the production of shimmer with them.The corrupt higher ups and enforcers also held accountable.

“..you alright..?..,cupcake?..”

Vi mumbled,glancing down at you. You were looking down at a big scar on your hand from fighting one of the mutants a couple days ago.It had healed well but was still very noticeable.The skin raised and a slight dark purple hue with scabs along the surface.

“..yeah i’m fine..”

You muttered. looking up at Vi, her hand running through her hair. She was taking off her hextech gloves and her shirt. Leaving herself a bit more comfortable in just her bandages wrapped to cover her chest and her pants,though her red and black happy trail very visible from the lack of shirt.

“..breathe, y/n. it’s over now..”

Vi leans over to brush a stray hair behind your ear. You look up at her,lips parted as her warm breath gently fanned the lower half of your face.

The room fills with a comfortable silence for a moment. A silence you both needed. Vi glanced at your lips and back into your eyes. She could see the way your eyebrows slightly dipped and furrowed in desperation and stress. Vi leaned forward a little bit more to see how you’d react.

You lean forward.

Vi curls one of her fingers into the belt loop of your pants,pulling you in to kiss you. Her warm lips catch yours in a soft wet embrace.

You both start to make out , her tongue gently rubbing against your bottom lip before carefully spreading your lips and swirling her tongue around yours.Vi pushes you back onto the mattress,letting out a small sigh before pulling away,a string of saliva temporarily connecting your lips.Her hands grabbing at your waist and hips then to the side of your cheek, feeling you as if she was trying to remember every inch of you.

“Vi-”

“..i know baby i know…let me take care of you..kay?”

Vi looks down at you,her biceps flexing as her arms reached up to caress your face.

you nod.

Vi quickly kisses you again,before pulling away and starting to kiss and lick your neck hungrily.

“..been so fucking stressed..”

Vi starts in a breathless whisper.

“..all this damn fighting…didn’t even get the chance to kiss you properly.”

Vi licks the side of your neck,kissing a spot near your ear. She runs her hands down your chest to your lower stomach before starting to kiss down your sternum. She reaches your pants and looks back up at you.

“you fine with this,cupcake?”

you nod.

“use your words.”

Vi tilts her head.

“yes..”

You say in a breath. Taking in her face, she was down halfway on the mattress with her hands under your ribs,her head above your waistband area.She chuckles before starting to slide your pants off.

“…this all for me?”

Vi jokes , trying to lighten the tone and ease your nerves.She runs her hands along your thighs lightly before climbing back further up the mattress to kiss you again. This time a bit sloppier,she used her knee to gently nudge between your legs in a firm gentle friction.She pulls away and runs her thumb along your soft slightly bitten bottom lip.

“..so fucking pretty.”

Vi whispers before nipping onto a sensitive spot on your neck,leaving a purpleish bruise on your neck a little under your pulse point. She then slid her middle and ring finger to your lips,tilting her head in a dominant demanding way while at the same time being gentle.

“..suck em.”

You obediently wrap your lips around her fingers,sucking them and leaving them wet,her fingers didn’t really taste like anything but the faint remnants of blood.Her fingers coming out with a small pop sound before she licked them and gently spread the mixture onto your folds and dragging her fingers up to your clit.

Your back jolted from the sudden wet feeling. You look up at her with a pleading look in hopes she won’t tease you and actually get you off.She starts to play around,the most lewd squelching noises getting louder and filling her room. thankfully you both were the only ones home at the moment.

“so wet yeah? this turning you on cupcake?”

Vi leans down to gently kiss your clit,licking it from bottom up. You squirm and she quickly grabs your hip bones and pulls your thighs up to wrap your legs around her head,caging her against your now very needy pussy. She starts to taste and suck on all the right spots,letting out small noises of content causing her voice to vibrate onto your pussy.

You started to moan and whine from the way vi hungrily ate you like you were her last meal. She held you firm in place with her strong warm hands and prevented you from squirming and trying to buck out of her grip.Her tongue continuously swirling around your clit and occasionally going in and out of your hole.

“..f-fuck vi..”

Vi slipped her fingers in your hole,curling up and rubbing against a spongy spot deep inside you.

“i know baby i know.”

she coos,using her other hand that was holding your hip to caress your cheek.

She starts to fuck her fingers into you deeper and faster,earning whines and watering eyes from you.

“v-violet..”

“mhm…i know cupcake.. i know..”

Vi wipes your wet eyes,kissing your forehead before going back down to suck your aching clit while she plunged her fingers in and out of you.she could feel how wet you were getting and felt the coil and warmth tightening in your stomach about to release.

“cum for me baby, cmon let it out”

Vi continued fucking her fingers into you and occasionally rubbing your arousal onto your folds and your clit,licking it off and repeating. Your legs started to shake before you started to reach your peak.

“atta fucking girl..mhm..go ahead and cum..”

She gently pressed down on your stomach and pressed her finger pads on the spongy spot inside your hole. You immediately felt yourself cum all over her hand,she shoved it all back inside before licking it off her hands.

You start to breathe heavy,trying to catch your breath and stabilize yourself,vi took off her pants and got on the bed next to you and started to hold you on her chest.She put her hand on the back of your head and the other on your hip.

“you did so good..tasted good too…i guess cupcake really does suit you..”

she laughs warmly

it’s not long before you’re both snoring and knocked out,the most peaceful sleep you’ve both gotten in a while.

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