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n0thingbutlov3 · 7 months ago

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need you now | 2 |

in which readers true feelings are revealed.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader warnings/tags: angst again (whoops) miscommunication (it’s short dw) fluff, reader is hungover lol, spencer is handsomely disheveled (moans) mentions of blueberry muffins being readers favourite type of muffin (sorry for not being vague but also if you don’t like blueberry muffins??? why) some tears, some swearing, some kissing, suggestiveness at the end of you squint (WHOOPS *evil smirk*) no use of y/n!! wc: 2.1k a/n: call me slim shady because i am back!!! i procrastinated writing this because i was scared everyone was secretly judging my writing and actually hated it and a second part would be a stupid idea but THEN i realised that was a little bit silly so im here B) part one got over 1000 notes (INSANE) all the support has been so so lovely—every note, reblog, and comment means the world to me, thank you!! i hope this part is okayy, feedback is always appreciated :) i hope you enjoy it you choose to read!!! <3 p.s kissing scenes are so difficult to write, i think i done absolutely awful!!!so let’s ignore that…. if you haven’t already and you’d like to, you can read part one here!

Your eyelids twitched as the early morning sun filtered through your bedroom. What was usually a calming wake-up call now felt like being blinded.

You burrowed your face into your pillow, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to dull the throbbing in your head. This is why you didn’t drink often.

Asides from the obvious headache and nausea, you always seemed to wake up with a sense of dread; ‘hangxiety’—a friend had called it once. It was creeping up on you now, and even though you weren’t sure exactly what you had done, you knew it was bad. You flipped onto your back, fixing your gaze to the ceiling as if it could tell you what irreparable mistakes you had made last night.

It couldn’t, of course. The only thing you had realised is that you should probably coat it in a new layer of paint soon.

“How’re you feeling?”

You shot up, eyes widening at the sight of a man in your doorway. A man whose sleepy voice and disheveled hair threatened to make you melt, but a man who should not be in your doorway, nonetheless; Spencer.

Your brain was quick to supply you with information then, your memory coming back in hazy remnants. You were upset so you…called Spencer for the first time in months. Yikes. He didn’t answer so you turned to a bottle of high end whiskey instead—yikes, again—and passed out on your couch, only to wake up to your ex-boyfriend in your apartment. Cue more sobbing, a pathetic attempt at asking—no, more like begging—him to get back together with you, and that was it. Well, mostly. There was also the promise of discussing your breakdown in the morning. The morning, which was now.

What the fuck.

“Like I’ve been napalmed.” You weren’t sure you were just referring to your raging hangover.

That prompted a raspy kind of chuckle from him and Jesus Christ—you really shouldn’t have called, because it was going to be infinitely harder to watch him leave when he inevitably told you you were sad loser who needed to get a grip and move on—except, he’d be a lot nicer than that, wouldn’t he? Because even if things were over between you, he was still the sweetest person you had ever met and he’d never say anything to intentionally hurt you. Maybe things would be easier if he did. If he wasn’t so sickeningly perfect—if he just insulted you in the way you were certain you deserved, then maybe you’d get over him quicker.

“So, I-ah-uber’d breakfast—“

Your inner turmoil came to a screeching halt at those words.

“You uber’d? You?”

He scoffed, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

“The team’s been very into it lately and I always finish my paperwork first so it only makes sense that I—stop laughing! I can uber!”

“Sorry! I just can’t imagine the great Doctor Reid stooping to the levels of a fast food delivery app. Do you ever order to the wrong place?”

“No.” he said, unconvincingly. “Well, only once—“

You were laughing again.

He whined, turning on his heel.

“Just take your aspirin and hurry up!” He grumbled petulantly as he left the room, but you could hear the smile in his voice.

After a quick freshen up and taking the pills placed on your bedside table—as per his request—you padded through to the living room, joining Spencer on the couch.

You gasped delightedly as he pulled out muffins from a brown paper bag. To be more specific, blueberry muffins; your favourite.

“Did you know that blueberries are good for fighting hangovers? They’re rich in vitamin C, which helps break down and metabolise blood alcohol. Muffins too, they—what? Do I have something on my face—“

“No! No, sorry,” You had been caught staring—ogling, more like. “I just missed…that.”

“What? My incessant rambling?” He was joking, but you could hear the insecure twinge in his voice—the one that told him he was too much. Over the course of your relationship, you had showed him that he didn’t have to think like that around you—that he was never too much; he was perfect in your eyes. You hated that he doubted that now.

“Yes, actually.” You tried to keep your tone light, unserious. But there was nothing unserious about just how badly you had missed the man sitting beside you. How you could hear his voice in your mind when you drove late at night, giving you statistics on accidents. Or how on other late nights, you swore you could feel his hands ghosting over your skin—only to find out it was your imagination.

If he could see how truthful you were being, he didn’t acknowledge it, turning his attention back to the coffee table.

“I’ll, um, save you the facts on how beneficial coffee is for hangovers, anyway.” He smiled awkwardly, shuffling a paper coffee cup to where your muffin sat.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, “for the coffee, not the withholding of information—i’m a real fiend for coffee facts…especially when they’re related to curing hangovers!” You said a little too cheerily, trying to alleviate the awkward tension. Although, that only seemed to make it worse.

Spencer just huffed out a little laugh in response, taking the wrapper off of his muffin.

The rest of breakfast went by in silence. Not the comfortable silence you always seemed to have with Spencer—when you were together, you reminded yourself—but a strained one. The kind of silence that occurs when there’s something left unsaid, and you’re just waiting for someone to spit it out.

Spencer broke first.

“So we should probably talk…about last night.”

You finished the remainder of your coffee, setting the empty cup down before turning your whole body to Spencer, tucking your legs up underneath you.

“Right, yeah…”

A beat passed, Spencer’s eyes darting around your face—assessing you.

For someone who had imagined this conversation in your mind countless times, you certainly weren’t saying much.

“I—uh…was very drunk.”

Something in him shifted, like he was putting up imaginary walls.

“So you didn’t mean…any of it?” His brow furrowed, his nose twitching slightly.

“Well no, but I—“ You what? Meant every word you said and more? You couldn’t just say that. You had just got a small part of Spencer back and you didn’t want to ruin it by coming on too strong.

He waited for you to add something, anything, to show him that maybe, maybe there was a tiny part of you that still wanted him as badly as he wanted you. But you didn’t. You just sat there, playing with the fabric of your—his—t-shirt.

He couldn’t do it.

He was so tired of loving people only for them to leave like he had meant nothing to them. Was that all he was to you? Someone you could call when your inhibitions were lowered, looking for comfort? He would do anything to be back in your life again, but he couldn’t be a person of convenience; someone you only wanted when you were lonely.

He ran a hand through his hair, swallowing down the tightness in his throat.

“You were drunk and you got carried away, I get it. I think I better go though—“

“What? No, I—“ You bobbed your mouth like a fish, trying to find the words necessary to keep him here. There were too many of them and yet none at all. None except for three. Three words that you wished you had the courage to say months ago, or weeks ago, or last night. But you never claimed to be a courageous person, and you weren’t about to spill your heart out again only for it to end up in rejection.

Spencer stood, making his way to your bedroom to grab his shoes and coat. He didn’t care about his other clothes, he could buy more—he just needed out before he broke.

You sat dumbfounded on the couch, willing yourself to do something, say something. It was like you were frozen. And you stayed frozen. As Spencer shuffled around your bedroom, as he returned to the living room—completely avoiding your gaze—even as he searched for his keys. You hadn’t realised he had driven over here. He didn’t usually drive unless he had to get somewhere urgently. Were you someone worth seeing urgently to him?

He picked up his keys, heading for your door and only then did you realise how dire the situation was. If he left now you weren’t sure he would ever come back.

“No—wait, Spencer!” You stammered, lunging off the couch to try and stop him. He unlocked the door, moving to leave when you grabbed onto his jacket sleeve.

“Please don’t—I love you!”

“What?”

He turned to face you and you noticed just how wrecked he looked—not at all dissimilar from how you had for the last few months. Had he looked like that the whole time?

You must’ve been staring because when you came back to your senses he was calling your name exasperatedly.

“Do you mean it?”

You were fed up living like this; harbouring so much love for someone and not being able to express it. Even if he didn’t love you back, even if he was over you, you couldn’t go another moment without at least telling him how you felt.

“Yes,” you heaved, “I love you—I never stopped loving you, I was just…” You knitted your brows together, unsure how to phrase what you were feeling.

“I’ve never loved someone the way I love you and that’s…terrifying. I thought the way I felt was wrong, like—when you were on cases, I missed you so much, more than I thought humanely possible and—well, I never wanted to be the kind of girl to base her happiness on another person because that’s how you get hurt. So, I thought the only way to combat that was by…distancing myself. I thought if you weren’t in my life anymore then I’d be able to get a grip and become more independent—“ you huffed, trying to stop the wobble of your voice. “but it didn’t work, because then I was just missing you twice as much, except I couldn’t see you at all—“

“You could’ve answered my messages, we could’ve—“

“So you could return your key? Then things would actually be over. Why do you think I ignored your messages?”

“Why do you think I kept messaging? Angel, I was never going to return that key—at least not willingly—I just wanted to see you, to see if you were doing just as horribly without me as I was without you. You know, I couldn’t even focus on cases—Hotch even suggested I take some time off.”

You frowned, your voice impossibly small. “I’m sorry.”

He took a step toward you, cupping your cheeks in his hands.

“Don’t apologise, you were dealing with your emotions in the best way you knew how. I just wish…” he swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing. “I wish I hadn’t let you go so easily.”

His eyes were shining and—God, you wished you could take it all back. All the pain you had caused him, caused yourself, just because you were too scared to talk about your feelings.

“I wish I hadn’t left.” You blinked away the tears that were threatening to spill from your eyes. “Y’know, I read a book on astrophysics because it reminded me of you. I didn’t understand any of it but I couldn’t put it down. I still—“ you let out a watery chuckle. “still have it in my bedroom somewhere.”

Spencer smiled, swiping under your eye at a tear that must’ve escaped.

“Yeah? Maybe I can read it to you—help you understand it.”

“I’d like that.”

You didn't know much about celestial bodies or the ultimate fate of the universe, but you could've sworn you'd seen the stars pictured in that book in Spencer’s eyes when he looked at you.

“Say it again.” He mumbled, tilting his head down so that your faces were just inches apart.

“I love you.”

And then his lips were on yours, impossibly soft and everything you had been missing since you had broken up. He kissed you like you were the oxygen he needed and all you could do was sigh into him because you knew the feeling.

He leaned back all too soon, resting his forehead against yours.

“Well, I should probably go—“ He smirked, but you cut him off before he could continue his teasing.

“You’re not funny.”

He narrowed his eyes, sucking his teeth.

“I don’t know, I—“

You pressed a firm hand on his chest, bunching the cotton of his t-shirt into a fist.

“Stop. Stay—we can have a pyjama day and maybe for dinner, you can show me just how tech savvy you’ve become and uber us some food—“

He rolled his eyes, kicking the door shut before pressing his lips to yours with more force this time.

“Stop talking.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months ago

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The Vow 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, arranged marriage, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!August Walker

Summary: your father’s murder leaves you in the hands of a dangerous man.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Dinner is served as you sit on your throne. August shifts you at an angle so your legs are across his, your arm nestled against his torso. He keeps an arm around you, his hand firmly on your hip, as his other reaches to the table.

You feel like a child. That is likely his intention. He wants to make it clear that he owns you. Not just for yourself but for every watching eye. This is the final stone in the wall. He has taken everything from the old boss, down to his very daughter.

He picks up a crab cake and hovers it before you. You stare at the gourmet hors d’oeuvres. He growls but you don’t wait for him to give the order. You take a bite and chew tightly. You’re mortified as he eases back and finishes it himself.

He continues to feed you, eating in turn.

“Pate is... disgusting,” he crushes the fork into the meat.

You’re silent for a moment. You realise you need to say something. The audience cannot see you freeze in the storm of your circumstance. As he said in the car, you must play along.

“A bit bland,” you agree.

“What do you prefer?” His hand slips up to the small of your back. He tickles the satin and toys with the tightly bound laces. “The crab or the quiche?” He points with the fork to each as he speaks. You’re not sure if he genuinely cares.

“The quiche. The spinach not the mushroom,” you answer. It’s strange, as if you’re sat at lunch with your month discussing the seasonal dishes and which you’ll get again.

“Spinach not mushroom,” he repeats thoughtfully.

Shortly, the appetizers are replaced with the entree. August brushes his hand up your arm and lean forward. He takes a deep breath.

“You smell nice. Jasmine.” He remarks.

He guesses correctly. Your perfume is Burberry. Your father would by you bottles from London. You push away his memory.

“Thank you, August.”

You catch a hint of his cologne. Rich and luxurious but you can’t pick out the specific scent, though you know which is his own. He squeezes your side and gestures with an open hand to the plate. You take his meaning without question. Your turn.

As you lift the fork and knife, you grip the latter tightly. You haven’t the heart even if you entertained the fanciful whim for vengeance. You cut into the filet mignon and juices gush from the medium rare meat.

Your eyes wander for an instant. They find your mother, sat in the nest of snakes with their painted lips and spiraled curls. She stares back grimly and nods. You must keep going.

You turn to offer August a morsel of steak. It’s awkward. He sucks it off the fork and hums.

“Very good, though I prefer rare,” he intones.

You cut another piece and offer it again. He wraps his large hand around yours and aims the fork toward your own mouth. You take the steak off the tines and chew. It’s delicious, though a peppercorn nips at your tongue.

He reaches past you again. He takes the flute of champagne and offers it to you first. You sip as he watches. You’re overly aware of his blazing eyes. They are so blue that each time you look into them, you feel as if you might drown. He finishes the glass in a deep gulp.

A server is quick to come forward and fill it. You slice more off the steak. He patiently waits. You continue the meal as such. Creamed potatoes with truffle and long stems of white asparagus with the steak. Your appetite remains latent so you swallow it all down into a pit of unease.

You finish and he clears his throat. He taps the corner of the cloth napkin. You take it off the table. You wince. It sinks in how demeaning the whole seen is. You are subservient to him completely.

You dab his lips with the napkin. His gaze startles you as his eyes flicks down and he watches. He hums and moves your hand away from his mouth. His hand snakes up your back to your nape and he pulls you to him.

He crushes his lips to yours. His tongue invades your mouth and the taste of champagne and pepper mingle. You tilt your head back as he devours you, barely able to breathe around his suddenly ravenous demeanour.

He parts and heave a hot breath over you. Your heart is racing as his chest rises and falls calmly. He lightly caresses your cheek as he examines you. He tilts his head and his cheek dimples.

“I believe we are due for our first dance,” he cups your chin, his eyes still on your mouth.

#august walker #dark august walker #dark!august walker #august walker x reader #series #drabble #the vow #mission impossible: fallout #au #mob au

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 2 years ago

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A Perfect Score - Chapter 1 - Ice Cold | FigureSkating!AU

Summary: The opportunity of a lifetime presents itself | Word Count: 5.8k~ | Warnings under the cut~

Series Masterlist | Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: language, mentions of injury

A/N: Hello my lovelies! Welcome to A Perfect Score, I hope you like the first chapter! It's a lot of set-up here but I am hoping it's not too boring.

Comments, reblogs & likes are always appreciated in this household. I love u 😚

Halting in the middle of the rink, you lean down, tugging the strings of your skates back through their holes even tighter. Damn things are always too big. You make a mental note to text Rhaenys later to get rid of them and invest in some more that actually fit well enough to practise in.

The sound of blades tearing through the ice is beginning to grate now, so you think it’s been long enough. You’ve been practising perfecting the Fankick to Illusion move for at least an hour now and your thighs are starting to scream for reprieve.

Another lesson you feel you’ve learned over the years is to listen to your body when it needs rest. Pushing yourself so hard in the past has never turned out with good results. So now all you can think about is going home, icing your muscles and eating something a bit gratifying, even if it means cheating on your strict diet.

It’s only when you stand up that you realise your core kills, and you wince slightly once you push yourself on your skates towards the edge of the rink.

And as if it couldn’t possibly get worse, a wide-stupid grin is plastered all over Jace Velaryon’s face as he skates up to you. His wild curly brown hair is sat unruly at chin length, and he wears entirely grey sportswear, paired with black skates.

“Fancy seeing you here” he muses, as he circles you on the ice.

You can’t help but roll your eyes, “Actually I was just leaving”

Jace feigns disappointment, his lips turning down into a playful child-like frown, “Shame. Was hoping we could practise together”

You huff, skating backwards away from him, “In your dreams, Velaryon”

“Your loss!”

"You not pestered Luke to get into it then?" You call, amused.

Jace rolls his brown eyes in the back of his head, almost losing balance as he does, "Nah, he's terrified. Won't come near it!"

"Shame, it'd be like watching Bambi-On-Ice" you joke with a grin. He pulls a fake-amused expression, sticking two fingers up at you in retaliation before skating off himself.

You swivel round on the ice, to be greeted with a bright, smiling face as Ellyn Baratheon waits there at the side-lines waving at you.

“Hey El” you say, all puffed out as you walk on your skates to the nearest bench, your muscles screaming now that you’re off your feet.

She smirks, raising an eyebrow, “Jace trying to chat you up again?”

“Trying for sure”

Ellyn hands you a hand towel which you take graciously to dab the back of your neck, “I don’t know how you do this everyday” she says, shaking her head, “Floris not here?”

“No, I haven’t seen her” you shrug, “Why are you here anyway. You Joe Goldberg-ing me?” you smirk at her, undoing the laces to your skates and rubbing the sensitive skin at the ankle.

Ellyn raised her eyebrows, flicking her dark hair over her shoulder, “It’s hardly Joe Goldberg-ing when I know you, idiot” she jokes.

Taking a long sip from your water bottle, you furrow your brows, “What’s up with you? It’s not like you to be worrying after Floris”

“No it’s not that” she argues, “Dad said she was having a tough time with training and I thought she’d be here so…”

You shrug, “She’s not come to train here in ages”

Ellyn hums looking around, looking back at you with wide eyes, “Don’t look, but him in the stands, he's been staring at you the whole time I’ve been here and he totally just caught me looking”

“Well now I just have to look, don’t I?” you smirk, looking around her.

She is indeed right.

High in the stands, arms tightly behind his back, wearing a long dark green coat, is Otto Hightower. He has a stern face beneath the greying beard on his face, eyes constantly set into a frown. Once he sees he has been noticed, he pretends to observe the other skaters, but it’s blatantly obvious he was staring at you, and has been doing so for the past few weeks.

“Oh, him? He’s always here” you say to Ellyn, pulling a face, “Some sort of - I don’t know - talent scouting or something?”

Ellyn passes you your trainers, “Does he always stare like that?”

“Yeah but he’s harmless. It’s Lars, Larry…fuck I don’t remember his name, but it’s him you should feel weird about”

“Gods, yeah! Floris told me!” Ellyn gasps, looking around to make sure the guy isn’t around, “Is it true he was found in the women’s locker room?”

You nod, amused, tying up the laces to your shoes.

Ellyn chuckles, “Jesus, the stuff you guys put up with. Makes me glad I never got involved in this business” she gestures with her hands to the ice rink.

“Hm” you hum, “Anyway, are you going to take me out to eat or what”

She links arms with you, “Charming”

You spare a look over your shoulder at the man in the stands, who looks cagier by the second as he turns, eyes trained entirely on you and stalks off out of booths, his long coat brushing against the seats. He walks away with a purpose only Hightowers seem to possess.

Ellyn, in her true Baratheon nature, takes you to Storm’s End, a popular brunch spot that sells cocktails in the early afternoon. Partly because she genuinely enjoys the food, but also because her dad owns the place. Suppose special treatment works sometimes.

Also in her true nature, she orders two mimosas, indicating that even if it’s not your cheat day, sometimes you just have to live a little, she says. Ellyn harps on about a guy she’s been texting who she matched with on Tinder, who turned out to be a Class A twat when she found out that he’d also matched with every single one of her sisters and tried to chat them up as well.

But as much as she is trying to mask how concerned she is, you can see it. After being her flatmate for so long, it’s difficult to not see.

“Why are you so concerned about Floris?”

Ellyn sighs, “I don’t know. I know I shouldn’t. She’s an adult and she can take care of herself and all but she’s just being really secretive. I just don’t like thinking that she’s keeping her troubles to herself. Even Cass has no idea what’s going on and you know what she’s like”

Your eyes widen in agreement, biting back a grin.

“Control Freak”

You both say in unison with a giggle.

You stab at your lunch with your fork, “Well, if it makes you feel any better I’m in ‘the business’ and I don’t know what’s going on with her” you say, “I’m sure she’ll come around. Like you say, she’s a big girl”

“I just think with all these championships coming up, it’s going to her head”

You hum in agreement. But before you can say any more, both you and Ellyn stare at one another in shock when both of your phones light up at the same time, with different Caller IDs. Hers with ‘Dad’. And yours with ‘Rhaenys - Manager’.

Giving one another a weird look, Ellyn senses the urgency in hers and scrambles to her feet, urging her phone to her ear. You accept the call putting it to yours,

“Rhaenys?”

“Where are you right now?” she asks, urgency in her tone.

“Uh…Storm’s End, why?” you ask, “Has something happened?”

“Are you with anyone?”

“Yeah, Ellyn, but she’s on the phone to her Dad - Rhaenys, what’s going on?”

You hear her sigh over the phone, her usually calm demeanour is somewhat hurried.

“Floris has injured herself quite badly. A broken ankle. She won’t be able to compete in the Championships”

With the phone still pressed to your ear, you look up at Ellyn, who is practically tearing her hair out across the room, half-shouting nervously down the phone, receiving the same news as you are right now.

“How do you know this?”

“I have my ways”

“No but, why are you telling me this?”

Rhaenys sighs again and you feel the panic winding its way up your throat, sending every hair on edge. You’re annoyed and flustered in equal measure that you can’t see her face, and wished she would just tell you what the hell was going on.

“Otto Hightower has approached me, asking for you”

What. The. Fuck.

Okay, that’s not what you expected to hear.

“Otto Hightower. You’re kidding right?”

“I wish I was” she answers in a flat tone.

“Well - uh - why not Baela or Rhaena?”

“He doesn’t want them, they only do Singles. Now that Floris is injured they need another skater to join their team”

Your mind feels like it's whirring a million miles an hour.

“Wait, Otto Hightower wants me for Pair Skating?” you ask, confused, “Rhaenys I’ve never done Pairs either!”

“You think I don’t know that!” she retorts, her volume increasing and cracking down the phone, “If Otto wants you, you have a shot at going to the Olympics. With the Targaryens”

The Targaryens.

A figure skating family powerhouse. Combined with the Hightower management, they’re quite the force to be reckoned with. You’d heard of them, being involved in figure skating for most of your life, as they always represented the Crownlands, but they were like a myth, only spoken about but never seen. And as well as that, they’re steeped in layers of controversy. It’s the only thing that is ever so slightly colouring your judgement.

“Rhaenys, I don’t know about this…I’ve got Ellyn right here-”

“There’s a schmoozing event tomorrow night. They’ll all be there. Just go and see how you feel and then we can talk about it, okay?” she offers, her tone more gentle now, “At least give it a chance”

Your gaze is brought back to Ellyn, who looks significantly less stressed out than a moment ago, but still with the phone pressed hard to her ear, talking under her breath. You swallow anxiously and wonder how Ellyn would take it if you so quickly snapped up the opportunity that was presented only because her sister was injured. It feels like the room is spinning, with no sign of stopping and the feeling is making the blood in your veins feel like jelly.

The Olympics.

Was there really a chance that could ever happen?

With a strained, quiet voice, you finally speak, “I’ll think about it”

Rhaenys makes a noise down the phone like the tension is leaving her body, “I’ll text you the details”

As quickly as either of you are able, you accompany her to the hospital to see Floris. And when you see her, it takes every ounce of self-control inside you when Floris shows a photo of her injury not to outright gag. Rhaenys wasn’t fucking kidding, broken ankle your arse. It was facing in the most unnatural direction. Whatever move she was trying to do clearly had gone buttfuck wrong and all her weight had completely snapped her foot.

You manage to sneak in some snacks for her, before leaving Ellyn alone with her to chat amongst themselves while the rest of the Baratheons arrive.

It leaves you to think finally, in quiet, in the comfort of your flat with the kettle boiling softly about what Rhaenys had suggested.

It could never have happened on your own. The Targaryens were well known in the Figure Skating industry, and not always necessarily for the right reasons.

You were too young to remember fully, but after becoming a skater, you began to hear rumours of Alicent Hightower. Some in judgement and some in sympathy. Even the details, you couldn’t tell if they were biased or not.

Alicent Hightower was a brilliant figure skater. The Sweetheart of Oldtown, they called her. She was graceful, professional and had all the makings of being Olympics worthy. And she was only in her early twenties when she did make it, although that didn’t come without the berating and hounding of her father, Otto Hightower, who was and still is her manager, except now he manages her Targaryen children as well. It was always in the press, Otto would be caught berating Alicent in restaurants and outside of championships, he was so desperate for his daughter to make it big. You count the blessings and thank the gods that your parents were never like that.

When she did make it to the Olympics, it had come out that she was having a secret relationship with a judge on the panel, Viserys Targaryen, without disclosing it. In the conflict of interest, and when she was found to be pregnant, she was disqualified and banned from competing professionally altogether. It devastated her noticeably, as the press loved to point out, shoving their cameras in her face wherever she went.

Something about it had always rung tragic to you though. She was only in her early twenties, and Viserys was much older and had already been widowed, with a child around the same age as Alicent as well. A fact you couldn’t help but find gross now that you’re older. But not only that, Viserys was extremely close with Otto, and the whole ordeal reeked of his involvement. An act that in the end, destroyed her career.

The controversy lasted years, as Viserys was also fired from his job on the board, but with his severance he was at least able to raise the family he’d made with Alicent, going on to have a further three children with her. And you didn’t doubt that she was probably happy now, with her four children all grown, but there was something about the entire thing that made you incredibly sad for her.

Ping.

Your phone screen lights up just as you pop some leftover pasta into the microwave.

Jace was always sweet. You’d known him a while and he always seemingly had a thing for you, something he desperately cannot keep to himself even if he tried. He’d even asked you on a few dates, once upon a time, but you’d always said you see him as a friend. And gods, you felt like a bitch but you couldn't help how you felt. He was sweet, but a bit too sweet. Like brother sweet. And it would just be too weird.

That didn’t stop him from shooting his shot though.

You hear the jingle of keys as Ellyn shuffles through the door, sinking into the sofa with a sigh having been on her feet all day. She doesn't need to ask for a drink, you already have two mugs ready.

"Pasta?" You ask,

"Nah, I'm good, thanks. Dad took us out"

“How is she?” you ask after a beat, pulling the pasta out and dishing it up for yourself, leaning against the counter.

“Fine, but devastated, obviously” Ellyn sighs, grabbing a mug of tea you’d made for her, “she was looking forward to the Championships”

“I bet she was, bless her”

Ellyn furrows her brows, “She said she couldn’t tell me much…about anything”

You pull a face, “Why not?”

“She said she had to sign an NDA”

You scoff a laugh, "What the fuck? An NDA? Fucking hell, trust Otto to keep her quiet"

“Yeah well, she can’t tell anyone anything, not even her family” Ellyn tuts, burning her tongue slightly on her tea, “She told me Otto reached out to Rhaenys though”

Your face blanches and you look over at your flatmate, “Oh yeah?” you say shakily, “Yeah, um, Rhaenys called me at Storm’s End…telling me about Floris”

“She roping you into it?” she asks with a nod,

“Something like that”

Silence falls and the only sound is you tapping your fingers nervously on the bowl you're holding.

“I won’t do it”

Ellyn frowns, “Why?”

“Because I would feel shitty going for it knowing that it was literally going be Flor-ow!” she pinches your arm, “What was that for!”

“For being dumb” she says smirking, “listen I don’t care. Floris injured herself. It’s not like you’ve stolen her place or anything”

“That’s what it feels like though” you pout, rubbing the spot where she'd pinched you, "trim your fucking nails as well, that hurt"

She pinches you again, albeit not as hard “That’s for being dumb again” she says, “Listen, how many people get personally asked for? To compete in Championships. The Olympics!”

You sigh. Still not entirely convinced.

“Don’t give me that. If you want to do it then go for it. What reason do you have not to?" She asks, giving you a pleading look.

"I don't know! I have like imposters syndrome or something! I've never done Pairs, why does he want me?" You reason, stabbing a piece of penne, "The Targs are big, Ellyn. I'm not sure I'm ready for that…"

She scoffs, "Fuck me, who is?"

Your phone pings again with an email from Rhaenys, detailing the information for the schmoozing event tomorrow. You sigh as you read it.

"Who's that?"

"Rhaenys. Says there's an event tomorrow, the Targs will be there with Otto and she said if I wanted the opportunity I should go and meet them…" you explain, scrolling aimlessly through the details on your phone.

"Do it" Ellyn says, giving you a reassuring smile, "I'll hate you if you don't"

"Ok, ouch"

"Do it then!"

You pout, "But that means I have to shave my leeeegs…"

"I swear to all the gods, I will dump that penne pasta all over your dumb little head if you don't"

You'd laugh, if you didn't know Ellyn. But fortunately, you do, and you know she's deadly serious and absolutely would.

She puts on that pouty little look as well, sticking her bottom lip out, dangling her legs as she sits on the arm of the sofa.

You sigh, "Will you help me find a dress?"

She grins, clapping her hands excitedly, "Can I do your hair as well?"

Rhaenys wasn't kidding when she said it would be lavish.

The car will pick you up around 18:30. It's going to be a fairly formal dress event, but nothing too glitzy. Wear something sophisticated.

Yes ma'am.

As promised, Ellyn went the whole nine yards with helping you pick out a dress, deciding ultimately on a mid length black number with spaghetti straps, taking Rhaenys' advice and not wearing anything too much. That paired with heels and some gold accessories, and with Ellyn having done your hair in waves, it looked entirely professional.

But knowing this didn't help your nerves.

You sat nervously in the back of the car the entire time bouncing one leg, feeling the hot whips of panic at the back of your neck.

Am I overdressed? What if you can see my pantyline? What if I shit myself, I've not got a spare pair of underwear. Is this neckline too low? Will a nipple spill out?

"I know that look" Rhaenys' smooth voice snaps you out of your panic, "You won't be convincing anyone when you look like a slapped arse" she grins.

Rhaenys looks gorgeous as always, dressed in a beautiful sea blue with mesh at the top. Her hair is perfectly braided back without a single strand where it shouldn't be. She's always so classy, it's disgusting really.

"Sorry" you sigh, "I'm nervous"

"The only thing we should be nervous about is if there is wine or not" she retorts with a smile, pulling out her compact to check her lipstick hasn't bled.

"When I was your age it was all different. No licking the proverbial arse, shall we say"

You furrow your brows, "I don't want to be thinking about arse licking in front of Otto Hightower, thank you"

Rhaenys laughs, wiping some lipstick from her lip line, "Just relax. I'll talk you through who is there and what they do"

The car stops and you gather your dress as you step out, looking at the grand looking building in front of you. Rhaenys shuts the door softly as she leads you up the stairs, her heels clicking with each purposeful step.

"You do look lovely tonight, I'm sure there's nothing to be nervous about" she says, looking lovingly down at you and brushing a waved lock of hair out your face.

"I don't look overdressed?"

She scoffs, "Trust me, they will be. They like to make an impression"

A member of staff greets you both at the entrance, slipping your coat off your shoulders to hang up, just as another descends upon you two to offer a glass of Prosecco, which you clutch nervously in your grip, following Rhaenys through the foyer to the function room at the back.

"It's not wine, but at least it's alcoholic" Rhaenys muses as she sips a little, wiping her lipstick mark off the rim after she's done.

The function room is wide and grand, decorated top to bottom with lights and decorations that reflect a glimmer off the large chandelier that hangs overbearingly in the middle of the room. There's a softened chatter that fills the space, a hushed one that you think only people of a certain status are able to converse in.

You scan the room briefly, amongst the sea of heads. Some you know as judges who attend the local competitions. Others who you scarcely recognise from TV, who hold high standing as managers of bigger figure skaters.

It screams old money, or just money in general. There's a large table, with a spread of small bites, as well as staff members going around with canopies and refills of beverages.

It's almost overwhelmingly nice. But stiff-backed, formal, without a hint of carefree nature.

Sounds like figure skating alright, you think, sipping your Prosecco anxiously.

You suddenly feel a chill on your bare arms and shoulders. Perhaps spaghetti straps weren't the best idea.

Rhaenys points her ring clad finger in the corner, "There he is. The man himself" she says, a bit of annoyance to her tone.

When you follow her finger, he's already looking at you. Otto Hightower. He's wearing a dark green suit, his tie perfectly underneath his stiffened collar. His eyes are trained between yourself and your manager, as if trying to figure out a puzzle he can't solve. He stands tall as well, towering over most people at the event.

He's talking to (or rather tolerating) none other than that creepy guy, whose name you barely remember. The one who has been caught on more than one occasion in the women's locker room. After realising Otto is no longer listening, his icy gaze also meets yours, his lips turning into an amused smile of sorts that sends a shiver down your spine.

You swear to all the gods you see his gaze flit to your feet. But you must be imagining it.

Otto crosses the room with purpose in long strides, with a self-assured smirk on his face that is visible beneath his beard.

Rhaenys already has her hand stretched when he takes it to politely kiss her knuckles, "Rhaenys. It has been too long" he greets in a quiet, rasp.

She smirks too, pulling her hand away, "Not long enough, I would say"

He at least has the decency to laugh at her 'joke'.

You feel small when he turns to you, taking your hand to do the same as he asks your name.

"A pleasure. Otto Hightower" he bows his head slightly.

I know who you are, you think. And I'm definitely not freaking out.

"Pleasure is all mine. It's very nice to meet you and thank you for inviting us" you reply, as calm as you are able. Rhaenys beams, as if to say you're doing well.

Otto nods, turning his attention to the other side of the room, where a young man with short-ish silver hair has accidentally broken his champagne flute. His brow seems to lower a little.

"Aegon!" He calls, making the young man snap his head up in surprise, shoving whatever he had in his hand into his mouth hurriedly.

Otto pats Aegon's shoulder as he stands next to him, giving the former a chance to excuse himself, but not before whispering something into his ear.

Aegon is tall, but not as tall as Otto, and his platinum hair is in a cropped choppy style above his shoulders. He's wearing such a dark shade of green, it's nearly black, his white shirt has several of the top buttons undone as well. He flashes his white teeth in a wide smile while his eyes roam over your shoulders, one hand coming to shake yours,

"Nice to meet you. I'm Aegon" he muses. You nod with a friendly smile, your gaze briefly caught by Rhaenys moving away and speaking in a hushed manner with Otto in a way that can only mean business.

"You look horrified" he grins, making you snap your gaze back at him, cheeks hot with embarrassment.

"Oh, do I?" You rub your neck, "it's just nerve-wracking I suppose"

"I don't blame you. We're not all scary when you get to know us"

You smile, slightly relieved at his casual nature, something you chalk up to him being a similar age, "You included?"

He shrugs, "I'm easy going. All this fluff annoys the fuck out of me"

"Inevitable, for the industry we're in" you smirk around the room, the bubbles dissolving on your tongue.

"In any case, I'm looking forward to working with you"

Aegon furrows his brows, confused, "Huh?"

Panic begins to gnaw at your gut, "Aren't we going to be doing Pairs?"

His smile returns, "Oh no! I do Pairs with my sister, Helaena. She's over there" he points out. The woman he's referring to is on the other side of the room, trying to catch a stray moth that had made its way inside. Her cream dress makes her look positively mythical, coupled with her platinum waves cascading down her back.

"Oh right, so…" you start, "...sorry, Otto mentioned me doing Pairs…"

Aegon pokes his cheek with his tongue, as if amused, "Oh yeah. You're going to be with Aemond. Unfortunately"

"Unfortunately?"

Aegon grins, in no attempt to hide his amusement by pressing the champagne flute in his hand to his lips and taking a large sip.

“My brother is complicated. He’s outside having a smoke, but don’t expect conversation”

You open your mouth to ask more, but Otto’s hand clamps over his shoulder, urging him back. Aegon smiles one last time, mouthing good luck. Rhaenys, now with a fresh drink in her fingers, raises her eyebrows at you.

“I’ve spoken with him” she starts, in a hushed tone, taking your arm and leading you to a quiet corner of the room, “He gave me his terms”

“And?” you ask expectantly.

“I gave him mine as well. He wanted you to be signed to his management, which means living in residence for the duration of your contract. They have facilities. A cook, a private rink for practise, a spare room for you-”

“What about El? I can’t just leave her high and dry without a flatmate”

Rhaenys waves the issue away, “I anticipated that, don’t worry. They will cover the cost of your room. You will also be doing Pairs with Aemond, not sure if it was mentioned to you before”

“No it wasn’t” you reply, almost annoyed. “So will Otto be my new manager?”

“Not exactly. He will be handling your competitions and training, but a certain percentage will still come to me, at my behest. I figured you wouldn’t want a change of hands entirely”

“You figured correct” you smirk at her, “What do you think?”

Rhaenys looks across the room, eyeing Otto, who is now speaking to a woman you can only see the back of. She had long wavy auburn hair tied loosely in a ponytail and wears a slim suit fitted perfectly to her figure.

“I think it’s a good opportunity. Everything is paid for and you’d be in with a good shot”

With your lips caught between your teeth in thought, you trace your finger over the rim of your glass, weighing up the options you’ve been presented with. You’re at least grateful that Rhaenys hasn’t just agreed blindly without asking you first. She is a good manager like that. Something you desperately don’t want to slip.

“Okay” you reply with a sigh, your chest deflating at making such a big life decision in such a short space of time, “I’ll do it”

Rhaenys squeezes your arm lovingly, her lips turning up into a smile, “I’ll confirm with him now then”

You watch as her blue gown billows as she walks away, taking another deep breath to ground yourself. Your skin seems to tingle with anticipation, maybe even excitement, wondering what training and residing alongside the Targaryens will mean. Not only that, but with none other than the Sweetheart of Oldtown herself. You wonder what she’s like in real life now, since she was forced away from the business all those years ago she’s kept herself quiet from the press.

Feeling utterly too hot and stuffy, you cross the room, out of the oak french doors that grace the back of the event, slipping out subtly while Rhaenys speaks to Otto once again, joining the chestnut-haired woman.

The chill of the early evening bites at your skin, but a welcome feeling once you press your back against the cool brick, having a moment’s reprieve from the crowds. You pull out your phone, thumbs working quickly to type a message to Ellyn.

Ping.

Um? What the hell is that supposed to mean?!

“You shouldn’t be out here”

You nearly drop your phone jumping out of your skin. The voice seems to come out of nowhere.

But the smell of cigarette smoke wafts into your face with the dull breeze and when the smoke clears, you see who you previously slipped right past, leaning on the other side of the french doors.

He’s tall. Taller than Otto it feels like. And though he hasn’t introduced himself, it isn’t difficult to guess who he is judging by the long platinum hair pulled back into a messy bun, the sharp features only Targaryens seem to possess and the half-hooded, almost annoyed stony stare. Unlike his brother and Otto, he is wearing entirely black, like he’s attending a funeral. His outfit is fitted perfectly, save for the one top button nestled beneath his tie that is left undone.

Aemond Targaryen.

He hasn’t even turned his head all the way to you, his two fingers coming up to his cigarette, pulling it away to blow the smoke from his pouty lips. He taps the ash to the side with his fingers, raising an aggravated eyebrow when you don’t reply.

You swallow nervously, tapping your fingernails on the glass you’re still holding, willing the dryness out of your throat. You’re not sure anyone would be able to deny, he’s handsome. And it’s unlike you to think any man is beautiful, but he is. He probably knows it as well, hence the annoyingly self-assured way he holds himself.

“Needed some air” is all you’re able to say in return, clicking your phone off.

Even as you turn away, in your periphery you see his tall form push off the wall and stride purposefully towards you. He stops just shy of you, holding out the cigarette he was smoking in his fingers as an offer to calm your nerves. Your blood feels icy when you look up at him, having to properly look all the way to even see him, and finally see the other side of his face.

An angry scar runs jagged through his skin, from his forehead to the middle of his cheek, right through his socket and eyebrow. It’s not quite red, but more a dull colour, probably with age. His left eye doesn’t quite look the same as his other, a slightly different shade of blue. Your gaze briefly flits between the two, taking in his features. He’s got such an angular face, it almost looks as if he’s been carved from stone and could be put on display in those fancy museums. But more than anything, something flutters in your belly at the thought of seeing him on the ice, with you.

Shaking your head, you reply softly, “No thanks. I quit”

He shrugs almost imperceptibly, bringing it back to his lips, turning away from you to blow the smoke into the wind. And for some reason, watching his neck flex, his fingers deftly holding the cigarette and his tall, broad stance, it makes your body go all warm.

He doesn’t look back at you when he says, “It’s a glass eye”

“What?”

His gaze flits down finally to you, “You were looking at my eye”

“I wasn’t”

“You were”

You lick your lips anxiously, hot embarrassment creeping in at the revelation you’d been caught admiring him. But Aemond doesn’t smile, he remains stony-faced and impassive.

“I wasn’t going to ask” you respond, crossing your arms, running your palms over your arms that have now erupted with goosebumps. From the chill of the wind or his presence, you’re not sure. Aemond huffs, as if he doesn’t believe you though.

He gestures inside with a kink of his head, “You should be in there. Making connections”

You furrow your brows, “I’m not interested in that”

An amused smile, similar to the one Aegon had done, makes his lips curl up slightly. Before now you weren’t able to see the resemblance.

“Hm, Sure you’re not” he muses, pushing the cigarette into the brick next to you to stub it out, “Let me guess. You just love to skate. Skating is your life and it’s all just a bit of fun?”

Your lips part in annoyance at his blatant rudeness and the fact he is so openly judging you before bothering to properly get to know you.

“You-”

“You’ll be eaten alive” he muses, with a lazy smirk, walking backwards a few paces, he stuffs his hands in his pockets, “I’m not sure you can handle it”

Before you can even say anything, he gives a low laugh, deep in his chest, as if he’s so pleased with himself at getting a reaction, before striding back inside, back into the hustle and bustle of the event inside.

Irritation eats at your insides. It’s clear he’s only said what he did to draw a reaction and he’d nearly fucking got one. And you’d be lying to yourself if you said that you didn’t want to slap that stupid, self-assured look off his face when he expressed a kind of pride at talking down to you. As handsome as he is, a shitty personality paired with a nepo-baby attitude dulls the warmth in your gut.

I’m not sure you can handle it.

A shuddered, exasperated breath runs through your nose with the anger that builds inside.

“Fucking asshole”

I’ll show him.

Bold means I couldn't tag!

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kodydrs · 1 year ago

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The Vice-Admiral’s Daughter - Portgas D. Ace ( II )

➥ the first arguement

a/n: I might have this done by next week (i’m jinxing myself rn). writing this all feels so repetitive 😭. but hope everyone is having a wonderful day, so why not reblog / leave a reply, or send in a request / ask?

warnings: ace x fem!reader, pirate!ace x marine!daughter!admiral, fxm, 17y/o!reader, 19y/o!ace, argument, tension, non-con (but not really), pet names, single used of “y/n”, not proofread (it’s never proofread), i’m bad at tagging

summary: a series of you and ace’s “first times” - you haven’t seen ace for almost 2 years, but suddenly the pirate pops up in a bar.

ib: i lied an forgot to mention it in the first post, but the pirate x marine idea came from this post by @tinfairies

request: yes / no

The next time you met Ace was almost a year and a half later at a similar bar, but this one wasn’t in Loguetown. Instead, you were partaking in a Marine Training. Night had come and training had ended, so you had all decided to get drinks at the local bar (courtesy of the Vice-Admiral, of course). It was going to be a good night until you spotted a familiar orange cowboy hat.

‘Can you guys excuse me for a minute? I’ve gotta do something quickly.’ You told the other cadets. You got a response of “Oh come on, Y/n.” and “But we’re sitting down for the first time all day”, all of which you ignored. Not drawing attention to yourself from anyone in the bar, you walked up to the counter and took a seat beside the pirate.

Ace looked at you through the side of his eye, having to do a double take before realising who you were.

‘Hey. It’s the Vice-Admiral’s daughter!’ He shouted, resulting in a merciless jab to the ribs. He doubled over, wincing as he smiled up at you. ‘Long time, no-‘

‘You need to leave.’ You hissed as you ordered yourself a drink. He just chuckled.

‘We both know that isn’t going to happen, sweetheart.’ He says, taking a small sip of his drink.

‘Ace. There are other marines here. This whole town is swarmed with marines at the moment. You will get caught.’ You whisper-yell, chugging your own drink like it was a shot of water. Ace watched in amazement, a devilish smirk crossing his face as he leans in to whisper in your ear.

‘What happened to “I don’t drink”? Last time I saw you, I had to force you into having just one and now here you are, drinking like a sailor. What did I miss?’

‘I aged.’ You reply blatantly, like it’s the most obvious answer. ‘Last time I saw you, Ace, I was 16. It’s been almost 2 years.’

He laughs, ruffling your hair playfully and you can feel your cheeks heating up.

‘Well you certainly aged well.’ You were quick to brush his hand away, grabbing him by his hat's drawstrings and dragging him from the bar once again.

‘You’re an asshole. And an idiot.’ You curse loudly, turning heads as you cart him down the main street and into an empty alley. ‘What are you even doing here?’

‘I was bored.’

If he looked close enough, Ace might have seen the vein on your forehead pulsing and your patience snap.

‘I’m sorry. You’re in a highly marine populated area, on the busiest day of Marine training, because YOU’RE BORED?!’

He looks at you nonchalantly, shrugging.

‘That is what pirates do, sweetheart.. We get bored sometimes.’

You pinch the bridge of your nose and groan, enciting a smile from the older.

‘How is it that you always manage to be in the worst place at the worst time? It’s like that’s your devil fruit power instead of fire fist shit.’

His smirk widens and he leans back against the wall. ‘That’s because I'm not afraid to take risks.’ He winks mischievously, stepping forward towards you before stopping short when he notices your expression.

‘What's wrong, baby girl?’ He asks, tilting his head slightly.

‘I-uh.’ You’re struggling to find words, and you know that boosting Ace’s already large ego. ‘You’re a pervert.’

He bursts into laughter, making you flinch.

‘Oh ho! That’s quite rich coming from you, princess.’ There’s a glint of mischief in his eyes.

‘Rich coming from me?’ You fight, a surge of confidence flooding you. ‘You took advantage of a 16 year old girl while she was intoxicated.’

He steps closer, towering over you and you feel all the light around you disappear. It’s scary.

‘If I remember correctly, and let us both remember I was the sober one, you said something along the lines of “I want to kiss you so bad right now” and me, not being a “pervert” , told you to try saying it while you’re sober. so no, Y/n. I took advantage of no one.’

Your face flushes red, internal regret ringing in your ear as every alarm goes off. Your flight response, your “crawl into a ball and cry” response, and your fight response.

‘You’re lying.’

‘Oh yeah?’ His voice dropped down to that octave you remembered from your first drink. That animalistic tone as he slowly runs a finger down your covered stomach before hooking onto your belt. ‘Then why are you so nervous?’

You’re doing your best to not break eye contact with the man, but your breathing becomes deep and heavy as he leans in close enough for you to feel his breath on your neck as he whispers in your ear.

‘Tell me, babygirl. What exactly did I do wrong?’ He grips tighter onto your belt, pulling your forwards until your chests are pressed together closely. ‘Just answer me, please.’

You can’t form words, and all that comes out when you try to answer is a quiet whimper, like an animal caught in the hunters trap. Ace just laughs, placing a hand on your hip.

‘Now… that isn’t very convincing, princess.’ He pulls away and you gasp for air, your body finally registering that you were breathing. You can feel how hot your face is, and it only makes you more embarrassed which adds to the heat.

‘I-‘

‘You’re trying to tell me I forced you?’ Ace says, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him. ‘I did no such thing, ok? What I’m doing now? This is forcing. But on that night, I took you back to the tavern because I didn’t know where you lived and you were too drunk to give me directions. From there, the bartender should’ve taken you home. So please don’t accuse me of taking advantage of you. We had a deal, remember?’

You nod weakly, breathing normally as he releases your jaw and brings his hand to the side of your hand, caressing your cheek gently.

‘I… I’m sorry. For accusing you, and- everything else.’

He looks at you with that dark expression for another second before his signature bright smile lights up.

‘It’s alright. I don’t hold a grudge. Especially not with my friends. And you were so drunk. You wouldn’t have remembered anything from that night, anyways.’

You laugh quietly, wiping your eyes of the few tears that had threatened to spill.

‘…yeah. But I wasn’t drunk.’

‘Oh my god.’ He shouts, laughing at the fact you’re still defending your case after a year and a half. Regardless of the actions prior, he pays your head and ruffles your hair. ‘Get back to your drinks. I’ll get out of here while you distract them, ok?’

You both laugh, but nonetheless split ways. You go back to the other cadets, forgetting you’d even seen Ace by the 5th drink.

taglist: reply to be added

all rights and reserves are copyright to kodydrs on tumblr. this material is not to be copied or translated.

⇦ part I

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poppitron360 · 7 months ago

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In honour of today being 55 years since the first stone thrown at the Stonewall Uprising, here is some Valgrace fanfiction (definitely that and not the fact that I just happen to have finished it yesterday).

I am so, incredibly grateful to all those people who rioted from June 28th-July 3rd in Greenwich Village, New York, just so that I could one day have the right to post angsty little fics about these two fictional teenagers on my tiny Tumblr blog (That is what they were fighting for, right?). We have come so far, haven’t we? And I think it’s important, next time we read a silly little Valgrace fic or reblog some Solangelo fanart, we owe it all to a Black Trans Woman who threw the first stone (Seriously, guys, read into the Stonewall Riots, they are fascinating).

So the message here is… Don’t be mean, just read Valgrace?

Anyway-

Summary: AU where Valgrace is canon meaning that Leo came straight back to chb after BoO. Set at New Year’s, following the aftermath of the battle with Gaea and Leo’s “Death”. Leo struggles with flashbacks, having just exploded and therefore probably being traumatised. Jason comforts him, and they realise- even though they’re still scarred from the war- just how lucky they are to have each other, and to, for once, not have the weight of the world resting on their shoulders.

CW: Angst I guess

Word Count: 2,084

VALGRACE

Jason was swaddled in his scarf and winter coat. Leo had settled for just a jacket and gloves, after much grumbling.

“I don’t get cold like you do!” He’d complained, “I’m toasty warm!!”

He’d agreed to put on the jacket for the necessity of pockets (because his magic infinitely-pocketed tool belt apparently wasn’t enough). Jason, on the other hand, was freezing. He needed a sweater, a coat, a hat, a scarf AND his hot-water-bottle of a boyfriend to keep from turning blue. He’d spent most of his childhood at Camp Jupiter in California, where even wintertime was balmy. Here on Long Island, the air bit like an alley cat.

They walked down to the beach, the cold night air stinging Jason’s cheeks. Jason put an arm around Leo’s shoulders and rested his chin on the top of his curly-haired head, which made it awkward as they walked.

“…What’re you doing?” Leo asked.

“Mmm…” Was Jason’s response, “You’re warm…”

Maybe it was the whole “raised by wolves” thing, Jason had always had the urge to curl up on a comfortable lap and snore.

Leo didn’t push him off.

They stepped gingerly down to the docks, hug-walking as they went. A crowd of people had already gathered along the shoreline, looking out towards the ocean. A large clock had been set up to face them, the time reading 11:52.

“Eight minutes to go…” Jason said, taking his chin off of his human chin-rest and looking at Leo, “It’s been a hell of a year, hasn’t it?”

Leo nodded, “Yeah. I died.”

“We fought giants and monsters.”

“And I made a super awesome plate of enchiladas, my best yet!”

“Those were some really good enchiladas.”

Leo looked down, and Jason could see a little hint of sadness in his eyes. Then he looked back up at Jason.

“I’m glad I have you, Jason.”

Jason put an arm around him and pulled him closer as they looked out towards the clock and the sky and the sea, “I’m glad I have you, too, firefly.”

They stayed there, enjoying each other’s company, waiting for the New Year to drop, and for once, they were just regular boyfriends.

Then the countdown started.

“10… 9… 8…”

Jason looked into Leo’s deep brown eyes and smiled. Everything was perfect.

“7… 6… 5… 4…”

Leo smiled back, yelling the numbers alongside everyone else.

“3… 2… 1…”

They kissed.

“Happy New Year!!!!!”

And then, the first firework exploded, and everything went wrong.

Bang!

Leo’s face flashed with panic, his eyes darting around wildly like for a moment he’d forgotten where he was.

Bang! Bang!

Fireworks lit the sky, but Jason wasn’t looking. He was watching Leo’s face as the colours flashed across it, reds and greens and purples. The bright twinkle that reflected in his eyes was supposed to be that happy spark of wonder at the fireworks, but Leo’s eyes were filled with utter terror and dread. He pulled away from Jason, and took a few steps back, momentarily stunned by the explosions.

“Leo, what’s wrong?”

BANG!!

Leo yelped and wrapped his arms around his head, covering his ears. He stumbled back, colliding with some other campers in the crowd. They briefly stopped their whooping and cheering to shoot him a disgruntled look, then turned back to the sky.

Jason stepped forward, but Leo was looking around, confused, like his mind had gone somewhere else. His breath was short and panicked. His eyes were watery, staring in fear at the sky.

Bang!! Bang-bang!!!

Leo unwrapped his arms from his head, and used them to push through the bodies of staring people, stumbling and scarpering away from the noise.

Jason chased after him, “Leo, wait! Where are you-“

Leo had disappeared into the crowd.

Jason spent the next few minutes searching for him on the beach, no luck. He ignored the bangs behind him. The crowd ooh-ed and aah-ed at the explosions of light. Jason pushed through them, calling Leo’s name. He was getting worried. Leo knew how to disappear if he wanted to. If he was running scared, Jason wasn’t sure if he could find him before he got himself hurt. Why did he have to end up dating the flight risk? No, that was unfair. Leo’s runaway childhood was through no fault of his own. But if he was frightened, Jason had to find him quickly.

He searched the Hephaestus Cabin. Nothing. The forges. Nothing. The only other place Jason figured Leo would hide was Bunker 9. And sure enough, as soon as he’d entered, the large industrial lighting rig slammed on, and he could see Leo curled up against the wall, shivering. And Leo didn’t get cold.

“Leo?” He asked, “You okay?”

Leo shook his head, his hands still clutched around his ears. His voice was chocked with tears.

“Expl-explosions-” He managed, “Loud… very loud…”

Leo’s whole body was shaking. Jason crouched down next to him.

“When you… when you died? In that blast? The fireworks brought you back to that moment?”

He remembered the confused look in Leo’s eyes as he watched the colourful explosions light the sky- like he was somewhere else, hearing a different bang.

“I… I…” Leo wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand, and took a deep breath. He seemed to regain his composure, enough to look Jason in the eyes. “It was so painful, Jason… I was… and I didn’t understand why everyone was clapping.”

Ever since Leo had come back, he’d kept that same bubbly persona going. Jason hadn’t even realised how much actually dying had scarred him, but of course, it must have done. Leo never let on that he was haunted by that, but Jason could see it now clear as ever. Every firework would bring him back to that morning, when Leo had vaporised Gaea with the force of his own power.

Jason nodded. “I understand. The flashbacks… they’re hard. Particularly when everyone else seems to be unaffected. Your whole life flashes before your eyes and they’re cheering. It’s scary… But you’re safe now. Nothing’s gonna hurt you here.”

Jason wrapped his big strong arms around Leo’s shoulders and pulled him into a hug. Leo buried his face in Jason’s lap and began to sob. Jason stroked his hair.

“Shh… it’s okay… you’re safe now… you’re safe…”

Outside the thick walls of Bunker 9, muffled bangs continued. Leo whimpered at every single one.

“It’s okay, Leo… they can’t hurt you… you’re safe with me…”

“I’m sorry…” Leo sobbed.

“Shh. Shh. Sorry for what, Baby?”

Leo rolled over in Jason’s lap so that he was looking up into his eyes, “For ruining New Year’s with my stupid PTSD. You should be out there enjoying yourself instead of worrying about me, crying like a baby who’s afraid of a little fireworks.”

“No. No. Stop thinking like that. Stop it, right now. As your commanding officer, I forbid it.”

“You’re not my commanding officer!” Leo complained, indignantly, “Those are only to Roman soldiers. At Camp Half-Blood, we’re both head counsellors. We’re of equal station.”

“Fine,” Jason rolled his eyes, “As your boyfriend then. You’re banned from calling yourself stupid. You’re not stupid, Leo. You’re hurting. You’re scared. It’s okay, you have a right to feel those things. It’s totally normal, considering what you’ve been through.”

Leo was silent for a long time. Then he said, “Actually, I have the title of Supreme Commander, so I outrank you.”

Jason chuckled, “How about Prince then? My dad is King of the universe.”

“Holy Hephaestus, you’re right… I’m dating a freaking Prince.”

They laughed and settled into comfortable silence for a few moments. Then Leo’s expression turned sad.

“I know that I- I joke about it a lot, but I was… dead. I was actually dead, Jason.”

“I know… I know…”

“Like, I actually died. And… I can’t help but wonder… how she felt…”

“You mean your mom?” Jason asked.

Leo nodded, “How much pain I was in… I put her through that…”

“No… Baby, no…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know it was Gaea who caused it, but it was my flames that burned her. Or maybe it was smoke inhalation or something, I dunno, but it came from me. The pain she felt was a direct result of something that came from inside me. And I felt it, too. When I killed Gaea. It was horrible. I finally understood how she would’ve felt. Except it would’ve been worse for her, wouldn’t it? Trapped in that workshop, helpless, alone, as the flames rose up.”

Leo paused. Jason just studied him, silently. At the lack of new input, Leo continued, “What was she thinking? Did she see the fire and know that I’d done that? I mean, she didn’t know that Gaea was there. In those final moments, dying by her son’s hand, did she think I’d let her down? Because I couldn’t control it? Did she realise with a sinking feeling that all her worst fears were confirmed, that I really was too dangerous? Was she disappointed in herself for not raising me right? For not teaching me to be more careful? It’s just… once you’ve faced your own death, experienced the thoughts going through your head in those final moments, you start to wonder what other people thought during theirs. I dunno…”

Jason thought about that, “No, no, I get it. I understand.”

It had taken a while for Leo to get to a point where he could talk to Jason so openly like that. Where he could share the thoughts that haunted him, articulate his feelings in a way that Jason could understand. Even if he didn’t understand sometimes, he still listened. But most of the time, he could empathise with Leo- probably more than Leo realised. Jason himself hadn’t been dead, but he’d come close. And what Leo had said about thinking in those final moments… that resonated with him. He thought about his own mom. Did she think about him at all in that car crash? Did she regret abandoning him, not reaching out? Or did she not care?

“I get it,” Jason said again, “I mean, I actually lost you. It might’ve been only for a day or so, but for a few moments you weren’t on this planet at the same time as me. I don’t really want to think about it, the fact that I could’ve…”

He stroked Leo’s hair, as Leo started to cry.

“I’m sorry, Jason…” He mumbled.

“No… No, what’re you sorry for?”

“I don’t know,” Leo admitted, “Putting you through that, I guess.”

“Oh, Baby… No… I mean, it hurt, but you came back. All is good.”

“And I’m sorry to my mom.”

“She’ll forgive you. She knows you didn’t mean it.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I can take an educated guess,” Jason told him, “I’m Prince of the freaking Cosmos, remember? You have to listen to me.”

Jason rubbed Leo’s shoulder as Leo lay in his lap, “Look, Leo, you’re valuable. You’re needed. You deserve love, and forgiveness, and patience, and everything else. You’re brilliant, and awesome, and cool.”

“I know,” Leo said.

“Then why don’t you believe me when I tell you that? This was not your fault. You don’t need to keep kicking yourself about it. You did good. You saved the world. You avenged her death. You are loved. You are cared for. You are forgiven.”

Leo burst into tears.

“Shhh… it’s okay…” Jason soothed, “You can rest, now.”

“You can rest, now…”

Long had Jason waited to hear those words. And now, looking down at Leo, eyes closed, head rested on Jason’s knee, his breathing getting increasingly steadier- he realised how much Leo had needed them, too. And he found, with absolute certainty, that it was true for them both. There were no explosions. There was no Gaea. They were safe, here, at Camp. They had each other. It would take time for the nightmares to end, for the scars to fade. It would mean Leo would not be able to enjoy fireworks for a long time, maybe never. But they were safe. They could rest here, until daybreak. They might even skip breakfast and sleep in all morning. No urgent quests needed to be undertaken. No oracles prophesied their deaths. Leo had Jason to dry his tears. Jason had Leo to keep him warm. They were beaten and damaged, but they were alive. And they could rest, knowing that they had each other. For that, Jason was eternally grateful.

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wwilsonbarness · 11 months ago

Text

when we get home

pairings: sam wilson x bucky barnes

summary: Bucky opens up to Sam about his past.

warnings: mentions of sexual assault, mention of Bucky’s being held by HYDRA, flufff

word count: 1271

a/n: i’m trying to get back into writing so this isn’t written the best but I really wish we got a conversation like this in the show :(

Feedback, likes and reblogs are much appreciated :)

I do not give permission for my work to be copied, reposted or translated on any other platform.

masterlist

“Are we gonna talk about it?” Sam almost whispers. Not one word had been spoken between them since they arrived at Sharon's safehouse.

Bucky doesn’t move his eyes from his hands where he was playing with his fingers. “Talk about what?”

“You know what.” Bucky takes a deep breath, he wishes he didn’t know. He knows already that him and Sam aren’t really friends, yet something in him feels safe enough to open up to him.

Sam moves closer to Bucky, close enough that their thighs brush together. “Buck..”

Bucky can feel his eyes grow wetter as the flashbacks of his time at Hydra flash through his mind. He turns to Sam and looks into his eyes, they’re full of trust, full of care. “I just.. I haven’t spoken about that with anyone before.”

“Look, you don't have to talk about it.. just know that you can anytime and I’ll listen.”

“You won’t judge me? Or look at me any different?”

Sam shoots Bucky a slight smile. “I promise.”

“I only remember parts.. a lot of my time with Hydra is still full of gaps, it comes back sometimes at random times but I remember..” Bucky pauses for a second and tries to think of a way to word this.

Sam puts his hand on Bucky’s thigh and squeezes slightly. Once his hand makes contact he worries he might have overstepped but Bucky leans into his touch and pushes those concerns away.

“At first when they found me in the snow it wasn’t bad, I honestly felt relieved that I had been found, but then they told me who they were and I knew I wasn’t safe. I noticed too late, there was no way for me to escape. They locked me in a room and left me there for what felt like days. Food and water would appear in my room but I never saw anyone come in or out. I later found out that they would put gas into my room to knock me out.” Bucky feels like he is going off topic but Sam reassures him he’s okay to continue.

“Once they’d gotten in my head with those damn words, they controlled everything I did. They would use me for their missions as you know, but it didn’t stop there. At one point, I don’t even know when but they moved me to a room and it had windows. At first I thought this was a good thing but then I realised they were only one way windows. I couldn’t see out but they could see in.”

Sam didn’t say anything but nodded, urging Bucky to continue.

“They would take turns coming into my room, one at a time but I could hear the others on the other side of the window. They made me do different things and I’m still putting the pieces together but I remember one in particular. He would make me stand right in front of the mirror and take my clothes off.” Bucky felt Sam tense beside him and looked at him, checking if he should continue. Sam’s heart melted at Bucky, even at his most vulnerable he was checking on others.

“It’s okay, only keep going if you want to.”

Bucky nodded before continuing. “Once I had my clothes off, sometimes he would make me..” Bucky’s voice grew smaller and smaller as he continued, so much so, Sam could almost not hear him. “He would make me touch myself, whilst they all watched. I could hear them laughing, like they were enjoying themselves. The guy in the room, he would keep telling me what to do but he would stop right before I..” Sam gave Bucky a look of understanding, Bucky was thankful he didn't have to say it. “He would do it over and over again, never letting me finish.” Bucky cringed slightly at his wording but kept going. “Once they'd had their fun they’d just leave me there in pain.”

Bucky suddenly felt like he had to defend himself. “And it’s not like I wanted to.. but anything would have been better than having to wait it out.”

Sam can feel his anger rising, thinking back to earlier in the night. Zemo asking Bucky to go back into that mindset and let him touch him was uncalled for. He felt guilty for letting it happen even though deep down he knew it had to happen. Still he made a mental note to apologise to Bucky when the time was right.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to defend yourself. I can’t imagine how hard that would've been.” Bucky felt relieved at that, he almost felt silly for thinking Sam would judge him but after a second he realises probably not everyone would react this way. He really was grateful for having Sam. He made him feel safe and listened to so he kept going.

“There was another man, he only came in a few times and he would touch me.. but…” Bucky took a deep breath and paused for only a moment. “He wouldn’t use the words. He just told me to lie down and I would do it. I just let him.”

Sam didn’t want to interrupt Bucky but he couldn’t let him blame himself for that. “Bucky.. That wasn't your fault. Whether he used the words or not, it was against your will.”

“But I could have stopped him, If i’d just been toughe-”

“Bucky no. Please listen to me when I say this.” Sam shifts sideways slightly and grabs Bucky’s hands. He looks up into Bucky’s eyes and continued. “None of what happened to you is your fault, you had no choice in what happened.”

Bucky can feel a tear run down his face before he can stop it. He quickly brings his hand up and wipes it away. “I’m sorry for this. I know you probably don’t want to hear about it.”

“Buck” Sam chuckles lightly. “I like to think we’re close enough now that we can vent to each other. This is gonna be pretty tough if we can’t.”

This brought a little smile to Bucky’s face. “Thank you for listening to me Sam, and thank you for not looking at me like I'm some freak.”

“You’re not a freak. You’ve been through a lot, that doesn’t make you a freak, that makes you strong. I know this was hard to look back on but I’m glad you felt safe enough to..with me. I’m here for you okay? From now on, we have each other's backs, no matter what.”

“I’m here for you too. You can talk to me, I know I’ve been a bit of a dick in the past but I promise I got you. You can talk to me about anything, I know you’ve been through a lot too. It must be ha-”

Before Bucky could finish speaking, the door swings open and Zemo walks in. “Gentleman.” Bucky pulls away from Sam and wipes his face once more, he absolutely does not want Zemo to crack any jokes about this. He shoots Sam an apologetic look but there's no need, Sam understood and nodded slightly to show that. “ Are you two ready to leave? We’re waiting.”

Sam and Bucky both clear their throat before standing up. Both mumbling a response that sounds like a mixture of “Yes” and “Let’s go”

Zemo leaves the room first and Bucky goes to follow but not before looking back at Sam and grabbing his hand.

“When we get home.” They both smile slightly and Sam squeezes Bucky’s hand.

Sam nods before responding “When we get home.”

#wwilsonbarness #when we get home #sambucky #sambuckyfic #sambucky fluff #sambucky fanfic #samwilson #bucky barnes #marvel #bucky barnes fanfiction #sam wilson fanfiction #sam wilson x bucky barnes #bucky barnes x sam wilson #the falcon and the winter solider #sebastian stan #anthony mackie #winterfalcon #fanfic

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thetriumphantpanda · 2 years ago

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Cruel Summer | Javier Peña (Chapter Two)

You've been trying your best to keep yourself busy and away from Javier since he arrived back, but an invitation to dinner and a slip of the tongue have you in trouble in more ways than one.

Pairing | Javier Peña x Female Reader

Word Count | 2.8K

Warnings | Angst, feels, alcohol consumption and descriptions of physical domestic abuse, but nothing else I can think of.

Authors Note | Thank you so much for all the love on the last instalment of Cruel Summer. I have to admit I've been loving working on this so hopefully it shows! If you enjoy this then likes, reblogs, and comments in my ask box make my day.

The sun was hot on the skin of your legs as you lounged against the tree. It provided just enough shade for it to be pleasant to sit outside but you knew when you got home the heat would have prickled your skin and burnt it enough to sting. Not that you cared as you watched the tall body walking up the hill to meet you. You smiled as Javier came into view, standing in the sun’s path to block the heat to the bottoms of your legs.

“You’ll get burnt like that, hermosa.” He mused, setting down the small cooler next to you before sitting down.

“It’s a small price to pay,” You replied, “What did you bring today?”

He opened the top of the cooler and produced two bottles of beer that had been sat on ice since he left home. He popped the top off one before handing it over to you, doing the same to his own before he leant against the tree.

The two of you had been meeting like this every Saturday for months. Javi was older than you by a few years, but your parents were good friends. You’d spent many years of your life with him, first as a young child playing at the front of the ranch with his mother keeping a keen eye on you whilst your parents ran errands, then spending every morning and afternoon once he’d learnt to drive being taken to and from school until he left. Since joining the DEA the time you’d spent together had dwindled, but he still made sure that every Saturday afternoon he made the short drive to the small park at the end of all the ranches to sit in the sun and put the world to rights with you.

It was no secret to you that you had a crush on him, you’d told yourself it was only natural – you’d spent a huge proportion of your childhood with him, watching him grow from a boy into a man, and what a man he’d become but in this town there were very few opportunities for friends and he had embedded himself as one of your closest. You weren’t going to risk telling him how you really felt and losing the one friend who you knew would be there for you through anything.

When you look over at Javi you noticed a pensive look drifting across his face, “What are you thinking about?” You asked, leaning your head against the tree to look at him.

“I’ve been offered a posting outside of Laredo.” He replied, taking a sip of his beer.

“Javi that’s great!” You exclaimed, reaching out to touch his arm, “You’ve always wanted to get out of here.”

He nodded, “It’s Colombia, hermosa.”

It took a second for you to realise the implication of what he’d said. Colombia. South America. Probably as far away as he could get. A few months ago when he’d spoken about wanting to leave Laredo it had hurt, but you’d imagined a posting over the border in Mexico where he might still be able to steal weekends away on the hill with you. There would be none of that in Colombia.

“It’s a long way,” You sighed, “But Javi this is what you’ve always wanted, to get out of here and make a real difference and this would be your chance.”

He was silent for a while, “I haven’t said yes yet,” He admitted, “I haven’t even told Pops, I’m pretty sure he’d tell me to try and change the world from here.”

You grabbed hold of his hand and gave it a tight squeeze, “If it’s what you want Javi then you have to go,” You pressed, “Forget what everyone else thinks around here.” “I have to give them my answer by next week and then it’ll be a month and I’ll be gone.” He admitted, dread pooling in your stomach at the thought of him being gone in such a short amount of time.

“I’ll miss you,” You admitted, trying to catch his eye so he would look at you, “But you know I’d be so proud.”

He looked at you then, squeezing your hand back, “I’ll miss you too hermosa.”

***

Wednesday’s had become your least favourite day of the week. Since you’d been married to Ethan your mother had insisted on you having dinner with her every Wednesday night. It usually descended into the two of them talking about how you should give up on the shop and it’s teetering finances and find a real job or your mother pestering you that by year two of marriage she really had expected grandchildren by now.

Ethan was travelling for work this time, but it didn’t make the encounter any less miserable. She’d berated you over carnitas she’d made when you admitted you’d charged Gabriela a pittance for her dress alterations and a dramatic side eye and sigh when you poured yourself a second glass of wine whilst you helped wash the dishes.

“Have you been to see your father recently?” She asked as you both sat down in the small living room.

“I haven’t had a chance mama,” You admitted, feeling guilt deep into your bones at the fact it had been months since you’d visited your father’s grave to pay your respects, “I promise to go this weekend.”

She nodded in the way she always had when she didn’t believe a word you’d said before a flash of realization crossed her features, “You’ll have to go on Sunday, Chucho has invited us to dinner.”

You drew in a breath, “What for?”

“Didn’t you know Javier is back?” She asked, “Chucho thought it would be nice for us all to gather like the old times.”

You nodded as you drained your glass of wine, “I’d seen him around a few times,” You mused, “I suppose if Chucho has invited us I can make time.” “He also said to bring Ethan, the more the merrier after all.”

You hoped the groan that left your lips hadn’t been too noticeable, but your mother was already reeling off instructions that you’d need to bring a dessert and something to drink to show your appreciation.

Making an excuse to leave you promised you’d put a Tres Leches cake together and ask Ethan to pick up some drinks. You hadn’t even hugged her as you left, already playing through each horrendous scenario that the night could end in. It would be a long week.

***

“I don’t even know why we need to be here.” Ethan spat as he parked the car in front of the Peña ranch.

“Because we were invited and it’s a nice thing to do.” You reply bluntly, moving to leave the car but feeling Ethan’s hand wrap around your wrist.

“I want you to behave tonight, do you understand me?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” You spat back at him.

“I mean, don’t get drunk and embarrass me.”

“Understood.” You replied simply, using enough force to free your wrist from his grip to leave the car.

You’d picked up the cake and were halfway to the porch before he was following behind you with the case of beer you’d insisted he bring along.

“Mija there you are!” Your mother had exclaimed as she tore open the front door, “You’re late.”

“Sorry mama,” You apologized, giving her a slight hug before moving out of the way to let her greet Ethan, “We just ran a little behind.” But she wasn’t listening, instead taking her time to fawn over your husband.

You walked through the ranch house you knew so well to find Chucho at the counter chopping up vegetables for a salad, “Hey Chucho.” You greeted, feeling warmth pool within you as he smiled, setting his knife down to embrace you.

“Querida, it’s good to see you,” He spoke into your ear, “I hope that’s Tres Leches.”

“Of course, I know it’s your favourite, I spent the evening making it last night.”

He told you to set it in the fridge and help yourself to one of the chilled drinks, which you did, setting one out on the counter for Ethan when he’d finally stopped speaking to your mother, “Where’s Javier?” You asked.

“Oh he’s just finishing up in the shower,” Chucho replied, going back to his chopping, “We had some work in the barn that took longer than expected but he should be down soon.”

Almost like he could hear the conversation from upstairs you head boots padding along the hallway and down the stairs and within moments Javier was stood in the kitchen.

“Hello.” He greeted you simply, placing a hand at the small of your back and giving you a quick kiss on the cheek just in time for Ethan and your mother to join you in the kitchen.

You saw thunder cross Ethan’s face at the vision of Javier’s hand ghosting your back whilst he pulled away slightly from your face.

“You must be the Javier Peña everyone is talking about.”

“I suppose I must be,” Javier replied in a similarly cold tone as he held out his hand, “You must be Ethan.”

You’d half expected Ethan to refuse to shake his hand but watched as his eyes flicked quickly to Chucho who was overseeing the whole interaction. He reluctantly outstretched his hand but let go of Javier as soon as he could.

“Why doesn’t everyone sit down and I’ll bring dinner through in a moment.” Chucho offered, attempting and quite frankly failing to cut the tension in the room.

“Sounds great Pops,” Javier spoke, not tearing his hard stare from Ethan, “Dining room is just through here.”

***

Dinner had been tense, the only sounds of conversation had been your mother and Chucho talking about the comings and goings of the townsfolk.

“How is your shop doing, mija?” Chucho asked as the table started to finish up with eating.

You’d sat yourself opposite Javier and next to Ethan, who had snorted at the question, causing your eyes to flick to watch Javier’s expression which was one of disbelief, but you were thankful he kept his thoughts to himself.

“It’s alright, thank you Chucho,” You replied, setting your cutlery down on your empty plate, “Most people go to the bigger shop a few streets over but I have enough regular customers to keep me afloat.”

“That’s good, I’m glad,” He smiled at you, taking a sip of his cold soda, “Javi said you’d been very adept at fixing the buttons on his jeans earlier in the week.”

You could feel the tension run through Ethan at Chucho’s revelation that you had in fact seen Javier after he’d expressly told you not to. You tried not to let on that once you left that evening this would cause a huge amount of arguing at the very least.

“Honestly it was nothing,” You reassured him, “I think sewing buttons onto pants was the first thing I ever learned to do so it’s like second nature to me, it was honestly no trouble.”

“Well, I’m sure I’ve got a few garments that could do with a freshen up and a fix, I’ll have Javi drop them by sometime next week.”

You smiled, grateful that Chucho wanted to support your small venture, “Of course, and if there’s anything new you want, I’m happy to provide a discount, I started making shirts a few months ago so they’re not the best but maybe if the most popular rancher in town wears them I might get some more business.” “You know this is why you struggle financially,” Came Ethan’s voice, chiming into the conversation, “If you stopped giving things to people for practically nothing you wouldn’t struggle to keep the place open.”

You turned and glared at him, “The Peña’s have always been my friends,” You spoke, trying to keep your tone as neutral as possible, “You only get more business here through word of mouth.”

“No, you get more business by being savvy with what you do, I didn’t build my business on the good will of my friends.”

You looked across the table at Javier who had his eyes trained on you, watching and waiting for his moment to back you up.

“Of course, my mistake,” You spoke, pushing your chair back to stand from the table, “Excuse me, I’ll get started on the dishes.” You stood up, taking your own plate before leaving the room.

***

Once the dishes were done you’d watched as Ethan and your mother had sat with Chucho in his living room to have a further drink before you all headed off for the evening. You chose to sit outside on the back porch, not wanting to be the subject of another humiliating conversation.

You’d wrapped yourself up as small as you could on the bench, legs tucked under you, watching the stars when the backdoor opened and Javier appeared, two glasses in hand. He silently held one out to you which you gratefully took.

He took a seat next to you and you both sat there silently for some time, both sipping drinks and watching the stars together.

“He’s not nice to you at all, is he?” Javier mumbled next to you.

“Javi please, I can’t do this right now.” You pleaded with him.

“I meant what I said the other day,” He spoke softly, “You deserve someone who is good to you and what I saw tonight is definitely not that.”

You hummed, taking a long sip of the cold drink in your hand, “I don’t think either of us particularly enjoy this situation,” You admitted, “We’d only dated a little while when dad was diagnosed, I think mama knew he wouldn’t be around forever so she asked him to marry me so dad could see it happen before he died,” You scoffed, “Not that he cares now of course, he’s dead.”

Javi reached out to take hold of your hand which you recoiled from, “I don’t need your sympathy Javier, I made a choice to go along with it and now I have to live with the consequences.”

“Hermosa,” Javier breathed next to you, “What did I always tell you about doing things for others?”

He was right. Before he left for Colombia Javier had always told you not to live your life for anyone but yourself. He’d truly taken his own advice but what had you done? Stayed within the same four walls of your family home until you were married to a man you were pretty sure couldn’t stand the sight of you most nights whilst trying and ultimately failing to keep your own business open.

“I’m fine,” Was all you said in reply, “It’s just a rough patch, I’m sure we’ll be alright soon – he’s got some stressful deals at work to seal.”

“You know I’m always here for you, querida.” Javier spoke as you stood up from the bench.

You couldn’t help but scoff at him, “Right,” You said, turning to look at him, “And where were you when I really needed you?”

***

“I specifically told you to stay away from him!” Ethan was roaring into your face now that you were home, “And you completely disobeyed me.”

“Ethan he came into my shop, what was I supposed to do?!” You screamed back, “I can’t have a sign on the door that says, ‘everyone but Javier Peña is welcome’ can I?”

“Even tonight, I know you went outside with him, didn’t you?” He asked, walking towards you so that you were caged against the wall, “Did you let him touch you?”

“I sat outside and talked to my friend, not that it matters but no, he did not touch me.” You spat, watching as he inched closer to you.

“You have plenty of friends, what the hell do you need him for?”

“The only friend you’ve ever let me keep since you walked into my life was Gabriela and that’s only because you know if you tried to cut her off, she would kick your ass!” You screamed at him, “Javier is one of the only good things I have left in my life, and I will not let you take that from me as well.”

You felt a sharp sting to your cheek as Ethan struck a hand to your face, “You ungrateful bitch,” He spat at you, “I have given you everything! A house, a car, the fucking money to start that stupid shop of yours, a wedding that other girls could only dream of, and this is how you thank me?”

Tears fell from your eyes from the pain of the strike to your face and your chest was heaving from the screaming. You waited for the next hit but nothing came – Ethan stormed off down the hallway and slammed the bedroom door, leaving you to slide yourself down the wall and onto the floor, clutching your knees to your chest as you allowed yourself to cry your frustrations out, only moving once you were sure he’d be asleep to crawl onto the couch to sleep yourself.

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#Javier Pena #Pedro Pascal #Narcos #Javier pena smut #javier pena fic #javier pena fanfic #javier pena fan fiction #javier pena x you #javier pena x reader #javier pena x female reader #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena Pedro pascal #CS

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rogerswifesblog · 1 year ago

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Kinktober - virginity

A/N: hi! Im sorry i haven’t updated in a few days but I was really busy…therefore I have a little extra surprise for you-> those are two little drabbles one with reader being a virgin and a second one with Lloyd being a virgin! Let’s thank @jamneuromain for helping me with the virgin!lloyd idea since I had trouble coming up with something <3 kith kith

Warnings: virginity loss, p in v, protected sex, fingering, implied oral f receiving

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x reader

I’d appreciate reblogs and feedback <3 support your writers<3

Meeting Lloyd was probably one of the best things that could’ve happened to you, even though you were often stressed when he mentioned staying at his place. You weren’t stupid. You knew what he meant by that.

He wanted to finally go further.

But you still hadn’t told him you were a virgin. He knew you were inexperienced, but that’s it.

So while you both watched a movie, made out and his hand slowly started brushing along your thigh up to your core you gasped surprised, leaning away from him. His eyebrows shot up, wrinkling his forehead slightly. “Something wrong?”, he asked, his hand still brushing your thigh, but just to comfort you.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea…”, you whispered, your hands trembling as you took his in yours. “I…I’m a virgin”, you finally confessed, feeling your cheeks heat up.

Lloyd bit his bottom lip and watched your expression, not sure if you were honest. Maybe you just wanted to have a little laugh? Who knew.

When he finally realised you really meant it his lips formed a small ‘o’, watching your red cheeks in surprise, but also some kind of excitement. The idea of your body being untouched in that way made him…he couldn’t explain this feeling.

“I can make you feel good. I’ll be gentle”, he whispered, pulling you in his lap, his hands grabbing your butt lightly. “I promise it’ll be the best first time you could even imagine”, he kissed your neck and slowly up to your cheekbone before kissing your lips.

After pulling away you nodded in agreement. “I want that”, that’s all Lloyd needed to kiss you again, this time more passionately as his hands slowly massaged your ass.

Within minutes you were both naked on the couch, Lloyds chest already being covered In a thin layer of sweat from your body being pressed up against him.

He seemed much more comfortable with his nudity than you, especially since you tried to cover your breasts at first.

At this point you were laying on your back with Lloyd hovering over you, kissing your neck and breasts, sucking at your buds while his hand stroked your thigh up to your core. His fingers slipped along your slit, collecting the wetness before rubbing your clit gently.

A gasp escaped your lips at the sensation. It’s not like you’ve never touched yourself-you did it often, but it's never like this. Being touched by another person was…different. Good. Very good even.

Gasping you grabbed onto his hair, letting him play with you for a while, nearing your orgasm. “Lloyd-I think-I think I’m gonna come”, you whispered into his ear when he started kissing your neck, leaving small red spots and hickeys behind.

Your mouth fell open in a silent moan when you reached your high, for the first time from the touch of another person. “Oh god Lloyd-“ “was it that good to call me god? Well then wait till you feel my-” “lloyd!”, you slapped his arm playfully, but your grin disssapeared when Lloyd took off his boxershorts, revealing his hardness.

“You’re big.” Lloyd chuckled at your comment. “Thanks.”

You rolled your eyes at his smugness, even though you felt a bit stressed now. Lloyd kissed your forehead seeing the concern in your eyes. “Sweetheart, I’ll be as gentle as I can be”, he whispered, reaching for a condom from his nightstand.

You watched as he rolled the condom over his dick, stroking himself for a moment before leaning once again over you, his cock nudging your entrance.

When his head pressed slowly into your hole you both moaned, “you feel so good”, he whispered, pushing further into you. You frowned slightly at the pain, but it also felt good in a way. Not only the fullness, but even the slight burning was enjoyable.

Then Lloyd started moving, making you moan in pleasure at the foreign sensation. “Lloyd-“ “yeah I know-“, he whispered against your neck leaving open mouth kisses along your skin.

WHen he neared his own orgasms his thrust speed up, the sound of skin slapping against skin and squelch from your wetness filled the room. “God you’re so amazing”, his words made you pull him into a passionate kiss.

After kissing back for some time he moved away, pulling out of you and quickly taking off the condom, before stroking himself till he finished on your stomach and breasts, his face showing his pleasure.

Then his gaze fell onto you, watching as his cum covered your body. “I can definitely get used to this view”, he grinned before leaning down to kiss you one more time. “Now I have something else you’ll enjoy”, he mumbled before pushing your thighs apart, his head disappearing between them.

Second Drabble

Pairing: fratboy!Lloyd Hansen x reader

Warnings: virginity loss, alcohol, drinking, unprotected sex, oral f receiving, fingering, possessive Lloyd

Walking into the party you hadn’t expected to see Lloyd Hansen, the so-called bad boy of your year, even though you were pretty sure he might be very nice, at least you really hoped so since you also hoped to get a bit closer to him.

That’s why you wore your best outfit, pretty makeup and your sweetest Parfum.

Lloyd wouldn’t be able to walk past you without at least looking once back at you. Not that he intended to just walk past you.

During most of the party you were somewhere close to each other, at least in the same room but most of the time someone wanted to talk to you so you didn’t have the chance to spend time with your crush. Only just some little smiles or not even full sentences shared between you two.

At some point your friends grabbed you by the hand, wanting to pull you away from the party already wanting to go home. “No, I don’t wanna go just yet-“, you said but your friends interrupted you. “How else will you go home? We’re your ride-“ “I can drive her”, a male voice interrupted your conversation, a firm hand squeezing your shoulder.

You immediately knew who it was. “See-I don’t have to go yet”, you said, looking back at Lloyd with a big smile. Your friends discussed something for a while longer, while you let Lloyd lead you away from them onto the porch where he sat down with you on the stairs. “I’ve been looking forward to this all night”, Lloyd smiled.

A smile crept onto your lips while you leaned a bit closer to him, unintentionally seeking his warmth since you had left your jacket inside. Lloyd immediately noticed your body shaking, how you wrapped your arms around yourself and the goosebumps appeared on your skin. “Here-“, he took off his football jersey and placed it around your shoulders.

Warmth creeped onto your cheeks as you leaned your head against his shoulder, he was now dressed only in a simple black turtleneck and white pants-an outfit you had seen him wear quite often. “How was your night?”, you asked quietly, smiling to yourself.

“It’s definitely better now”, Lloyd placed his arm around your shoulder, pulling you a bit closer, making you bury your face against his chest, breathing in his smell. “I know how we could make it even better….”

Lloyd definitely hadn’t expected you to be so forward but when you pulled him to your feet and asked him to lead you to his room he didn’t deny how excited he got.

Tho he also felt his heartbeat quicken as soon as you two entered the room and you pushed him right against the door, your lips connecting with his in a bruising kiss, making him gasp in surprise. His hands immediately found your waist, pulling you closer against him as he heard you turn the key in the door, locking it.

You stepped away from him, slowly going to the bed, meanwhile leaving a trail of clothes behind before laying down naked on the bed. A grin on your lips when you noticed him staring at you, his hand slowly rubbing his bulge as his cock hardened with every second.

“Are you gonna just stand there and watch or will you come here and fuck me?”, you spread your legs for him to see your glistening cunt in the dimmed light of the moon. Lloyd immediately nodded, coming closer to you, his hands gently touching your calves as he kneeled down on the floor, pulling you to the edge of the bed.

He felt his breath quicken being so close to your core. It was the first time that he was…doing any of that with someone and he really wanted to be good for you…but it couldn’t be that hard right?

So when he leaned down to lick at your clit he had to look for it for a moment before finally circling his tongue against your bud. “Mmhhh Lloyd, feels so good”, you whispered barely audible as he rubbed one of his fingers along your slit, slowly pushing in. His movements hadn’t a real rhythm to them, but it was fine for now even though you weren’t sure if you’d be able to come from that. “Move your tongue quicker”, you whispered, wanting to give him some advice on how you liked it. Maybe his ex partner was into slow and gentle things?

He listened to what you said, even though he was sure he’d have manage to figure this out on his own anyway.

You started moving your hips against his movements, feeling your orgasm approach. “Yeah-just like that-“, while saying that you grabbed onto his hair, pulling him against you, feeling his moustache scratch your already sensitive clit more. That’s all you needed to burst, your thighs tightening around his head.

He teased you for a while longer before being pulled into a kiss by you, feeling proud of himself for making you come. “How was it?”, he asked quietly, wanting to have approval for his new learned skill.

It slightly confused you for a moment to hear such a question. “It was very nice. I liked it…but I’d like it even more if you’d fuck me now”, you whispered into his ear, biting down on his earlobe as he gasp in surprise.

Within seconds you nearly tore his clothes off of him, wanting to feel his warm skin against you as he’d fuck you. You watched as he reached for a condom from his nightstand, tearing open the package and trying to roll it over himself-but it rolled right back up as it seemed to be on the wrong side. A quiet curse escaped his lips as he took another one, his hands being shaky at this point. “Let me-“, you said, wanting to finally go further.

“No I know what I’m doing”, it was a very weird word choice for him to use, which made you feel a bit like…he definitely had no idea what he was doing. Without saying a thing you took his hand and helped him push the condom down, making him moan shakingly at your touch.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down into a passionate kiss, his cock nudging your entrance making you moan into the kiss. “Fuck me Lloyd”, hearing your words he gasped quietly, finally pushing in-at leash thats what he tried to do but his cock slipped out whenever he tried to push in. It took him a few tries before he finally pushed in, thrusting sloppy and once again without holding a rhythm. Whenever you tried to move your hips he was losing whatever rhythm he tried to keep up, making you frown a little.

“Lloyd, is it your first time?”, you finally couldn’t stop this question anymore, already knowing the answer. He stopped moving, looking back at you. “It can’t be that bad-I know what I’m doing-“, he mumbled, trying to find a rhythm again. At his answer you immediately knew it was indeed his first time, so you’ve decided to make it worth remembering.

You kissed him once again, pulling at his hair lightly. “Lay on your back”, you whispered. When he finally did as told you started grinding against him, the feeling of your wet folds making Lloyd gasp.

“I don’t know what to do”, he finally confessed when you started kissing his neck, sucking a big hickey over his collarbone. Chuckling you started grinding your wet pussy against his cock a bit faster, feeling the head rub against your slit, sometimes even dipping in a bit.

Both of you moaned when you finally took him in your hand, stroking a few times before positioning against your hole and slowly sitting down, feeling him stretch you nicely. He really had a nice cock. What a shame nobody knew…on the other hand you’d like to keep him all to yourself.

When you started bouncing on his cock he immediately grabbed your thighs harshly, moaning beneath you. You could tell he wouldn’t last for a long time since it was his first time feeling a cunt wrapped around his dick-at least a real one.

You moaned loudly when his cock-head hit your g-spot as you moved faster, your own hand brushing along your clit, chasing your own orgasm-your second one.

Lloyd watched you bounce on his lap, your tits jumping with every movement making him want to touch them-so he did.

Then he felt your count squeeze him even more as you moaned loudly, wetness covering his lap as you sped up your bouncing, falling harder back into his lap, as you squirted all over him. That definitely pushed him much quicker to his high.

You wrapped your hands around his throat, squeezing as you started moving quicker. His mouth fell in an open mouth moan as he unexpectedly filled you with his load, the choking having been all he needed to reach his high. “Fuck-fuck-fuck-“, he whispered, completely overstimulated. Every little move made it nearly impossible to think straight.

But you still moved at a slow pace, watching him twitch and shake, his cum already leaking out of your cunt, before you slowly let him slip out and laid down next to him.

The next morning you were woken up by harsh knocking. “Lloyd-we have practice-“, a male voice sounded from outside the room, making Lloyd groan quietly, pull you closer against him.

That’s when he realized the naked body next to him, slowly opening his eyes. “Morning”, he smiled, kissing you on the cheek before sitting up. Another knock. “Yeah five minutes! I’m coming”, he shouted back. “I’m sorry I completely forgot I have practice but we can meet after”, he said casually making you slightly confused but also pleasant surprise. So he wanted to continue this?

“Sounds good, I’ll be at my place and you can text me”, you said while putting your clothes back on, but you couldn’t find your panties even after having put on your skirt. “Have you seen my slip?”, you asked, looking under the bed as Lloyd watched you bend down, “no, but I’m seeing something very nice”, he said, his cock already hardening as he picked up your panties next to the nightstand and buried them into his jeans pocket.

You felt yourself blush when you stood up again, still no panties. “You’ll have to go like this…”, he mumbled, wrapping his arms around you, his hand sliding along your back over your butt to your core, rubbing your wet slit and dipping in. But as quick as it started it also ended and he took away his hand, just for him to suck at his fingers to taste you.

A gasp escaped your lips while you watched him. At this point you’d love to go back to bed but you knew you had no time for that.

While walking out of the room he placed his jersey once again over your shoulders, watching as you left his place in his jacket with his name written on the back of it. Now everyone would know who you belonged to.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know and leave some feedback <3 reblogs are very appreciated!

Taglist: @bisexuawolfsalt @rogersbarber

Does anyone want to be tagged? If so, be active by liking, commenting and reblogging! Let me know if you wanna be added:)

#kinktober 2023 #kinktober #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x y/n #mob lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen smut #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen fanfiction

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cieloclercs · 1 year ago

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𝐬𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐞 , cl16 — chapter five

pairing. charles leclerc x senna!oc part. 5/? warnings. basically just pure angst 🫠 yeah it’s gonna be like that for a while 😭 swearing, arthur is such an icon in this icl word count. 5.7k

SAUDADE. in which childhood rivals turned best friends realise they were always meant to be something more

05. everything changes (nothing changes)

author’s note. so i’ve had this chapter written for about 2 months. no i don’t have an excuse as to why i haven’t posted it yet 🫠 but i figured i’m going through a bit of a dry spell in my writing at the moment so i may as well post it 😭 hope you guys enjoy, and as always, please leave a comment or reblog if you did !! <3

read it on wattpad!

previous: chapter four next ➜ chapter six

Nice Côte d'Azur Airport 8 February 2021

NOA DOESN’T SEE Charles for another two weeks. She doesn’t hear from him either, not including his brief message confirming her flight’s arrival time. He’s giving her space, just as promised, and she finds herself grateful for that. The time in between their meeting at the café and the looming date of her temporary move to Monaco is for setting the record straight. When Noa breaks the news to her parents, they immediately assume the best of the situation – they’ve patched things up, got over themselves and finally rekindled their friendship. She flushes bright red when she has to cut off her mother’s delighted cheers, and her heart aches to see the grin on her face fall. We’re not friends, she tells them firmly, despite the pain it causes her. Noa is doing this for her career, not for some distant, nostalgic memory of the boy she’d once thought the world of. No. It’s her turn to be selfish for once.

Flávia is understandably upset. Just as Pascale considers Noa to be like her daughter, she has always viewed Charles as a second son. Even though she tries to deny it on several occasions over the weeks before Noa’s flight to Monaco, she isn’t stupid. The first few months after she and Charles stopped speaking to each other, Flávia had been fairly vocal about what she thought of the whole situation. She understood the hurt that they were both feeling, but as far as she was concerned, they still needed each other. Her greatest fear was that they would both continue to grow into the cut-throat world of racing without the person they trusted most at their side. As someone who experienced how difficult life could be at the pinnacle of motorsports, even as only a family member of one of the racers, Flávia worries for them. She had Gabriel to lean on after Ayrton’s death – her best friend and the love of her life. Noa and Charles, as long as they’re apart, don’t have that.

Speaking of her father, he seems to understand her reasoning a little more. Gabriel Borges is ambitious if nothing else. He fought tooth and nail to win his championships and solidify his place in the Formula 1 hall of fame. It’s a trait he’s passed on to his daughter. Sponsorships like this are important now, with racing becoming more and more lucrative with each passing season. In order to succeed, a driver needs the backing of some of the most influential brands in the world. For a rookie, it simply doesn’t get bigger than Chanel. Both Noa and Gabriel know that this is an opportunity she can’t pass up, no matter how difficult it may be for her with Charles there. They need to make it work.

He may not necessarily agree with her ‘keep him at arm’s length’ approach, but if that’s what she thinks is going to work for her, then Gabriel will support her through it.

With Luiz and Eloísa settling into their apartment in Italy, it’s only her parents who wave her goodbye at the airport. Noa has never been a fan of flying. The seats are too cramped and the people too noisy – she can never find a position comfortable enough to fall asleep. Sometimes it can be peaceful simply watching the world pass by beneath her from the window, but eventually, miles upon miles of ocean gets a little boring. So Noa spends the first thirteen hours of her flight wide awake, silently begging the couple in front of her to do something about their screaming baby. Stopping off at Heathrow for the change over feels like a slice of heaven. Just to be able to get up and stretch her legs for a little while is pure bliss. But within an hour she’s back on a different plane, looking down over the English Channel, over Normandy and eventually, the south of France. The nerves begin to set in then. There’s no going back once this plane lands – she’ll be stuck in Monaco with the person she most wants to avoid in the world for the next three weeks. Granted, she’ll have her second family there with her too, but Noa doubts she’ll be able to shake the awkward feeling even when they’re around.

Jetlag’s a bitch, is all she can think when she steps off the plane and into the harsh winter sunlight. It makes her skull ache, beating down on her, yet offering little to no warmth – typical Europe. If only it was summer here like back home. She’s grown accustomed to heat in the high twenties and sleeping with all the windows open. Checking the weather app on her phone, she sees that right now the temperature is barely breaking ten degrees. Lovely. On top of that, Noa hasn’t slept for practically an entire day. She can already imagine the headlines if she gets photographed – Gabriel Borges’ daughter spotted wandering airport sleep-deprived and wearing no makeup! The press would have a field day with that one.

She just about manages to haul her suitcase through security before collapsing on one of the lobby benches. It’s her own fault for overpacking, really. She’s never been one to prioritise well when it comes to clothes. Noa pulls her phone out of her pocket, quickly refreshing it to see if Charles has messaged her yet – sure enough, sent seven minutes ago: I’m outside. Do you want me to come in and help with your bags? Despite the contempt she still feels towards him, Noa could have cried with pure joy. She sends back a brief yes before struggling up off the bench, all but dragging her luggage through the lobby now. She can only hope he gets here quickly, because her arms are surely about to come out of their sockets if she has to carry these any further.

When his figure appears in the distance, the nerves return. He’s dressed like he doesn’t want to be spotted, in a grey hoodie and shorts, large enough that he can practically hide the entirety of his face in the collar. No one seems to notice him. For the moment anyway. When Charles eventually spots her, he seems to hesitate for a moment – like she’d seen him do at the café, arms hanging uselessly by his side as if he wants to outstretch them towards her, but remembers at the last minute that he can’t do that anymore. Noa’s eyes are glued to the ground as she walks towards him. They meet in the middle. He murmurs a brief hello, and when she doesn’t reply, takes her bags without another word.

They walk out to his car in silence. It’s a black Mercedes G63 – inconspicuous by his standards, and perhaps those of the travellers milling around them (many of them are en route to Monaco, after all). It has black tinted windows, she notices. Charles tells her to climb into the passenger seat while he loads her bags into the back. She hasn’t the energy left to complain. It takes everything in her not to fall asleep as soon as she’s sat down, eyes drooping in the dimmed light, a hazy warmth taking over her body. She jumps slightly as Charles opens the door and slides into the driver’s seat. He starts the engine. Before Noa can really process what’s going on around her, they’ve already left the airport.

"How was your flight?" Charles asks after a few minutes, soft spoken and hesitant. An absentminded hum is what greets him.

"It was alright." she murmurs back, fighting off the sudden urge to yawn. There's an edge of discontentedness in her voice, an air of frustration and annoyance about her. Noa has always hated flying, he thinks. Even as children all those years ago, she'd kick up the biggest fuss possible before so much as stepping foot on a plane. His mother always joked about it being because she can't sit still for more than a few hours, which, he supposes, had a fair amount of truth. Charles knows it's because the whole thing made her anxious. He's held her hand at takeoff enough times to have realised it, even if she never spoke the words to him out loud. The memory almost makes him smile. Then he remembers where he is, and his jaw clenches shut.

“Just to let you know, Maman, Arthur and Lorenzo will all be home when we arrive.” Charles is, once again, the one to speak up when they lapse into silence, “They’ve planned a, uh, sort of welcome home – welcome back meal.” He relays, glancing at Noa anxiously out of the corner of his eye. She’s slumped in her seat. The only sign she’s even listening to him is the tiny hum she lets out. “I can tell them you’re too tired to do it today, though, if you’d like. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind pushing it back to tomorrow –“

“No, it’s fine.” Noa cuts across him quickly. “That’s really sweet of them.”

Charles nods. He thinks back to that morning; helping Lorenzo pin up the ‘welcome home’ banner above the archway leading from the kitchen to the living room; watching with a wistful smile as his mother set out a tray of paçoca, the little cylinders of peanut butter Noa used to love when they were younger, on the kitchen table. Where she managed to get hold of them Charles doesn’t know, considering they’re a sweet pretty much exclusive to Brazil. He tries not to think about how Noa will react to it all. The thought digs up old memories he'd rather stayed buried, for the sake of his heart.

“If you want you can get some sleep now. I know you’re probably jetlagged.” He speaks up again after a beat of silence, quieter this time, “I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

Noa doesn’t reply for a moment. She’s still turned away from him ever so slightly, but as he glances to the side, he can see her expression reflected in the window. Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth, biting down hard from the looks of it. He doesn’t know if it’s his imagination, but her eyes appear glossy, brimming with unshed tears. There’s an ache in his heart that he’s not sure how to properly describe. Cathartic might be the only word close enough. It hurts, but at the same time, it’s almost freeing.

“If that’s ok with you.” She finally speaks, after what feels like an age. Her head turns to the side until she’s looking at him. Charles keeps his gaze on the road, but he can see her in his periphery.

“Of course.” He mumbles, a little hoarse. His heart is screaming at his head to turn, to smile at her, to show a little of the warmth they used to share for each other, in the wildest, most fanciful hope she may be reminded of it and find it in herself to forgive him there and then. In the end, he doesn’t turn. Instead, he hears the faint rustling of fabric on skin as Noa curls up a little to the side, leaning her head against the window. It falls silent again. Now Charles is the one with glossed over eyes, battling himself.

“Thank you.” Her voice, melodic as ever, cuts through the quiet. This time he does turn – but she’s not looking at him, already half asleep, eyes closed and fluttering ever so slightly underneath their lids. He watches her until he runs the risk of coming off the road. Charles knows she’s already asleep before he has the chance to say anything in reply.

Noa tends to have very vivid dreams. She remembers many a time closing her eyes and being greeted with an explosion of colour, scarlet race cars screaming down asphalt tracks, her flag: emerald, gold, deep blue, waving her across the finish line. A glinting trophy is thrust into her hands, and she lifts it high into the air, watching the crowd raise up their arms with her – a sea of red and yellow. But today, Noa closes her eyes and sees nothing but darkness. Charles is nudging her gently awake, it seems, less than a split second after falling into her slumber. Bleary-eyed, she sits up. The Leclerc house, her second home, sits gleaming in the frosty winter sunlight like a beacon. A thrill of excitement grips her heart. It’s been so long since she’s seen Pascale and Lorenzo – far, far too long. Her head turns, a half-smile on her face, to find Charles watching her. It falls. The sky seems to darken.

“You ready to go?” he asks. Noa nods solemnly, waiting for him to open the car door and climb out before sucking in a deep, shuddering breath. When she too steps out onto the pavement, her expression is steeled.

Charles is holding her bags in either of his hands. He gives her a look that, after years of knowing each other, she can interpret in an instant – Don’t even try it, I’m taking them in for you. She feels a small surge of gratefulness, but every positive emotion seems to be drowned out by her crushing nerves right now. Noa’s not exactly sure why she feels so nervous. These people are her second family, after all. Maybe it’s the nagging fear in the back of her mind that too much has changed; that things will never go back to the happy, perfect way they used to be.

The doorbell ringing brings her back the present. They’re stood on the front porch now, shoulder to shoulder, tense and stiff. Noa pulls at a loose thread on her joggers, focussing with absolute resolve on the door in front of her – paint peeling away ever so slightly at the edge. She knows if she brushed her fingers over it, they would come away dusted with white paint flakes. A second, maybe two passes. The door swings open.

All her nerves simply melt away as soon as she sees Pascale; arms already held out wide and motherly, eyes glistening with soon-to-be-shed tears, and the most genuine smile Noa has ever seen anyone wear. She looks only slightly older than she remembers. A few more wrinkles perhaps, a couple more grey hairs, but in essence, exactly the same. Constant. At least this much hasn’t changed.

“Ma fille!” My girl. Pascale gasps loudly. She’s rushing forwards, pulling Noa inside and engulfing her in a hug before she even knows what is happening – but the familiarity of it is so easy to melt into. The young woman rests her forehead briefly against her shoulder, suddenly unable to stop smiling, when before she’d been wondering how she would manage to fake one. Of course, she’s known all along how much she’s missed Pascale. The woman has been like a second mother to her for practically a decade. But being here now makes her realise the full force of the emotion. It feels like returning home after a long vacation, when all you want to do is sleep in the comfort of your own bed and relish in the sensation of being utterly safe. That’s how Pascale feels to Noa. Safe.

“Oh, look at you!” she gasps again, pulling away to place her hands on either of Noa’s cheeks. “You’ve grown so beautiful!”

In the two years it’s been since she last saw the Leclercs, Noa has blossomed. From a scrawny eighteen-year-old with skinny elbows and seemingly untameable curls, she’s truly grown into herself. Thanks to training, she’s attained the ‘athlete’s build’ she always craved as a teenager. Days spent soaking up the Brazilian sun on Ipanema beach have bronzed her skin, giving it an almost golden hue. Perhaps it’s the salt air, but even Noa’s unruly curls seem to have matured – instead of going frizzy in the heat and falling messily over her eyes, they now frame her tanned face perfectly. Honeyed streaks of blonde run all the way through to the ends. She looks different, she knows that. But it never hits her until she meets people again who have been absent from her life for years.

“Thank you.” Noa can’t help but giggle. Pascale merely holds her tighter, seemingly inspecting every inch of her face for anything else that may have changed. She can see the surprise and the elation in her eyes – but there’s sadness too, an odd mixture, as if she’s battling with regret. Noa supposes it’s to be expected. They went from seeing each other at least every month to all but no contact for two years. Pascale is as affected by it as she is.

As soon as Noa is released from her grip, she turns to face the other Leclerc brothers, who have been watching the whole time with fond smiles and wide eyes. She goes to Lorenzo first, since Arthur has already seen her fairly recently. The eldest of the brothers opens him arms to her gladly, and she steps straight into them. Lorenzo has always been like her protector. As the boys got older and, as boys tended to do, teased her or played too rough (case in point Arthur almost drowning her at the beach one time), he was always the one to give her a hug and scold them afterwards. With only little brothers (Charles didn’t count, as her best friend), Lorenzo was to her the older brother she never had but always found herself wishing for.

“Woah, how much have you grown? A foot?” he says, pulling away only slightly so her arms are still clasped around his back, and his come to rest on her shoulders. Noa giggles softly. It was a long standing joke that, even at eighteen, she barely rose to the height of Charles or Lorenzo’s shoulder. Miraculously, her long-awaited growth spurt arrived once most girls her age stopped growing entirely. Now she stands at a fairly respectable five foot six – though still short enough for Lorenzo to use her head as an arm rest, he quickly realises. Noa waves him away with a playful glare.

“Did he talk to you in the car? Or was it deathly silent?” he asks, not even needed to use Charles’ name for her to know exactly who he is talking about. His eyebrows raise as if he’s joking, but Noa can sense the hard edge of frustration in his voice. She smiles at him sheepishly.

“I wouldn’t know. I fell asleep.”

Lorenzo snorts. That’s all they say on the matter, because Arthur is soon weaselling his way in between them to give her a welcome hug. Apparently, a minute is far too long for his brother to spend with her whilst he’s stuck waiting on the sidelines.

Charles’ feet padding on the carpeted staircase draw Noa’s eyes unwillingly to him. She hadn’t even noticed him exit the room, too caught up in reunions and holding back tears to pay much attention to her surroundings. He’s taken her bags up to her room, he tells her. She merely nods in reply. The tension doesn’t remain for long – Pascale doesn’t let it. Soon enough, everyone is gathering in the kitchen, all proud, knowing smiles from the Leclercs and gasps from Noa as she catches sight of the ‘welcome home’ banner strung up across the archway. She’d known, of course, that they were planning something, thanks to Charles’ warning, but she didn’t expect something like this. They’ve brought another long, wooden table from God knows where into the room, placing it end to end with the main kitchen table to make more room for the spread set out across it. A white floral tablecloth covers the wood, and on top of it, tiered stands of seemingly all the food she could ever eat – fresh strawberries, watermelon, French cheese (which Noa had been introduced to by the Leclercs, and was shocked to find she actually loved), pineapple, even some chocolate and cupcakes (something she’ll later say is just a one off to her nutritionist), and finally, in the very centre, a bowl full of paçoca, her favourite childhood sweet. She remembers Charles calling her strange for essentially eating peanut butter on its own – but even today, it really is her one weakness.

“Oh, meu Deus.” Oh my God. She whispers. Her hand flies up to cover her mouth, holding back the half-sob she can feel bubbling up in her throat. “This – this is too much. You really didn’t have to –“

“Noa.” It’s Arthur that cuts her off, rolling his eyes fondly, “Just let us do something nice for you. Call it a late birthday gift.” He adds with a smirk. Noa scoffs. A part of her had thought maybe they wouldn’t remember her birthday – of course, she was wrong about that.

“This is amazing.” She speaks up softly after a moment, “Thank you so much.” Her throat closes around the words ever-so-slightly, vision blurring, heart aching in the best way possible. Pascale moves forward to pull her body into hers, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

“We missed you so much, petit ange.” She murmurs, “We’re just glad to have you back with us.”

I’m glad too, Noa thinks. She’s not naïve enough to believe it will all be smooth sailing from here; not as long as the pair of sad green eyes burning into her back remain. But this, she believes fully, this she can deal with. Reuniting with her second family has been a long time coming.

They eat like it’s the old times, bar Noa and Charles’ playful bickering (fallen flat, almost dead now). Pascale insists on piling her plate as high as possible, mumbling something about athlete’s diets being too sparse (or at least, that’s what she could make out with her questionable French vocabulary). Arthur doesn’t spare a thought before diving straight into the cupcake and chocolate stand, ignoring his mother’s protests about him letting their ‘guest’ choose first. Lorenzo opts for the fresh fruit more than the confectionary. Charles tries to resist the pull of sugar, better than Arthur admittedly, but his attempts are short lived. By any right, that amount of food should never disappear as quickly as it does – but before they know it, every last morsel is gone. Noa sits back in her seat, deep in conversation with Pascale about latest goings on in her family life, finding her eyes growing heavier with each passing second. Everything around her feels pleasantly hazy; comfortable. It’s the same way she feels sat at home with her parents and her brother after a good meal, lounged on the living room sofas watching cheesy Brazilian telenovelas. Like she’s safe to just be herself.

Pascale tells Lorenzo, Charles and Arthur to collect all the dirty plates and begin the washing up. They know that refusing isn’t an option, so it isn’t long before she and Noa are alone. It must be mid-afternoon by now, the Brazilian woman thinks, but her limbs are as heavy as if she’s stayed up all night and well into the morning – which, she supposes, technically she has. Pascale is observant enough to have already noticed, luckily for her. They’ve spent all of five minutes talking in the living room when she tells her to go up to her room and sleep off the jet lag.

“Oh, but –“ Noa is quick to interject, “I haven’t even asked how things are going for you yet.” She says guiltily. Pascale has been so fixated on catching up with every single moment of the last two years she has missed, that there hasn’t even been time to cover anything else. Noa is acutely aware that the last time they saw each other, it had only been a year since Hervé passed away. She knows as well as anybody that sometimes the people that look the most put-together are the ones who are struggling the most. She just wants to make certain that Pascale is doing ok – truly ok.

“I’ll still be here tomorrow.” The woman reassures her with a gentle chuckle. Noa’s concerned expression falls into a tired, but content smile. That’s the beauty of it – right now, they really do have all the time in the world to catch up. Until of course the new season begins. But three weeks before her soon-to-be packed schedule feels like a lifetime.

Noa retreats slowly upstairs, not so much as sparing a glance towards her unpacked bags, or even attempting to change out of her airport clothes before she collapses onto the bed, and almost immediately falls straight to sleep. The ease with which she already seems to have slipped back into life in the Leclerc house (which almost feels like home) is unexpected, but by no means unwelcome. She just hopes she’ll be able to carry that feeling of safety with her into the coming weeks, when undoubtedly, some difficult conversations will need to be had.

By the time the Leclerc brothers have finished the washing up – a difficult task, what with Charles and Arthur squabbling over who gets to dry the plates and who has to do the unpleasant job of actually washing them, whilst Lorenzo, serene as ever, allocates himself the task of sorting the various items of crockery away – Pascale is sat alone in the living room. She looks calm, quietly assured, but at the same time, they can sense a level of disappointment that wasn’t there before. Charles fears, before his mother’s gaze even turns in his direction, that that disappointment is meant for him.

“Où est allée Noa?” Where did Noa go? Lorenzo asks, taking the seat next to Pascale and looping his arm fondly around her shoulders. Arthur, not so delicately, throws himself face down on the long sofa facing the television, leaving Charles to occupy the lone arm chair on the other side of the room. It’s ironic, that he’s separated from his family that way, when he’s been feeling separated emotionally for far longer.

“A l'étage. Pour dormir.” Upstairs. To sleep. Pascale answers, soft-spoken as ever. Lorenzo nods, as Arthur flips his body around on the sofa so he’s no longer lying face down, but rather looking up towards the ceiling.

“Ah. Le décalage horaire?” Ah. Jet lag?

“Oui.”

Charles stays quiet. He knows full well his family are waiting for him to say something – maybe they’re not sure what, but then again, he isn’t either. Noa hasn’t spoken a single word to him. All of her attention has been directed towards his mum and her questions, or to his brothers and their playful teasing about how much she’s grown. That still doesn’t take away from the fact that he knows she’s doing it on purpose. Most of him doesn’t blame her, but there’s a small part in the back of his mind that feels almost…betrayed. It takes two to end a friendship, after all. Noa didn’t exactly attempt to salvage the wreck they’d made.

“Well I think that went pretty well.” Arthur speaks up first in French, staring up at the ceiling with his arms crossed over his stomach. Charles looks over, trying to catch his eye. He must sense it, but his gaze remains turned away. Another beat of silence passes.

“She’s quieter.” Lorenzo says thoughtfully. He’s right too. It’s not just in the way that she doesn’t talk half as much as she used to, it’s something in her demeanour as well. There used to be a spark in Noa’s eye that Charles would look towards whenever he needed cheering up. Now when he searches for it, there’s layers upon layers shrouding the once happy memory. Like he’s peering through thick fog, trying to make out a landscape he’s long since forgotten.

“Je ne suis pas surpris.” I’m not surprised. Arthur muses. All eyes turn to him, Lorenzo frowning, Pascale already prepared to question what exactly he means by that. Charles thinks he knows. “Oh, come on. It’s obvious isn’t it?” the youngest of the Leclercs scoffs, sitting up from his relaxed position on the sofa. His eyes are dark, frustrated, perhaps even angry. “First he takes her chance at being offered a Formula 1 seat – with Ferrari, her dream team.” Arthur begins, jabbing a harsh finger in Charles’ direction. He winces, “Then her mother almost dies, and she has to give up her career just to be with her. She’s a Senna Borges. Racing is in her blood. And we all know how hard she worked, just to fall short at the final hurdle – not even through her own fault.” He takes a pause to breathe, eyes now blazing. Charles, Lorenzo and Pascale sit watching in some kind of fascinated horror. It’s rare to see Arthur so worked up. He’s always been the kind of person that can make light of any situation, no matter how grim. But there’s something about Noa and the cruel hand she’s been dealt in life lately that makes his blood boil.

“Now she’s finally made it to Formula 1, where she deserves to be, but she’s also stuck with the person who ruined that dream for her the first time around.” He goes on, turning now to Charles, “Look, I don’t care about what happened between you two. There’s nothing you can do to change it now. But Noa is like a sister to me, and as long as you both refuse to talk to each other, we’re never going to feel like a family to her again. Like we used to.” Arthur speaks, almost alarmingly softly, his jaw clenched hard, “For once just stop being so selfish and look at this from someone else’s perspective. Preferably hers. You know you owe it to her after –“

“Arthur!” Pascale’s voice cuts through the tense atmosphere like a knife, silencing her youngest son immediately, “Do not call your brother selfish. You don’t understand the full story – none of us do.”

That seems to bring him back to his senses. Everything falls silent, but also on the brink of chaos, teetering on a knife edge. Nobody except Lorenzo notices the faint tremor in Pascale’s hand, which he tries to quell by rubbing her shoulder comfortingly. Charles is sat, rigid back, white knuckles, in the arm chair, glaring at Arthur from across the room. Meanwhile the aforementioned blinks as if he’s just awakened from a trance.

"Je suis désolé." I’m sorry. He murmurs, “I don’t know what –“

“Maman’s right.” Charles cuts him off tersely, “You don’t know the full story. You don’t know the things I said to her that night, or the things she said to me…” he trails off, breathing shakily even at the memory of it, “But you’re also right. I took the opportunity of a lifetime from her. She has every right to be angry at me, every right to hate me. That’s why I’m trying to make this right – and believe me, Arthur, I am trying. It’s just…it’s hard.” Charles’ gaze drops to the ground, almost shamefully, “So much has changed.”

Guilt is the most overwhelming part of this whole mess. Even though much of the misfortune that Noa has endured in the past two years has been entirely unrelated to him, he still can’t help but feel partly responsible. Perhaps it was his actions, something at the time he considered to be a mercy, that began the snowball effect. Perhaps if he’d never accepted Ferrari’s call, even though he so desperately wanted it, everything would be as perfect as he remembers. There’s so much uncertainty it’s impossible to predict. But Charles knows, at least from his side of the story, ever since the moment Noa walked out of his life, it’s gradually been growing duller and duller and duller. In a sick sort of way, he half hopes it has been the same for her.

“You do know she could never hate you, right?” Arthur speaks up softly. Charles’ gaze lifts from the ground, eyebrows furrowing inquisitively, “Mon dieu you’re both so stubborn.” He laughs humourlessly, shaking his head, “Noa may act like she can’t even look at you right now, but I know her just as well as you do. Maybe even better now, if you can’t see it.” He arches an eyebrow, “She’s hurting, Charles. You know what she does when she’s hurting? She pushes the people she cares about the most away.”

Winter break, 2014, Charles thinks. Of course. How could he forget?

“I’m just saying,” Arthur goes on, “If you mess this up any more than you already have, then she will end up hating you. But I can see it. Right now, she doesn’t. Not even close.”

Later, Pascale says something to him of the same effect. Hurt can fester. There are only two ways that things can go from here, with them both being kept so close to each other for the first time in so long. Either it brings them closer together – they work through their differences, overcome the mountains that stand in their way, and emerge on the other side even stronger because of it. Or, they’ll push each other away.

“I know what I would do if I were you.” Pascale tells him solemnly, “But you two need to figure this out on your own.”

It’s easy to say that, Charles thinks, when you haven’t made the mistakes they’ve both made. It’s so easy to imagine himself explaining how he thought he’d be protecting her by not telling her Ferrari had approached him. In his mind, she’ll listen and understand, and everything will go back to the way it used to be. But every time he runs the words he might say to her through his mind, he draws a blank. What mere words can salvage the ruins of a near decade-long friendship? What words can do justice the longing he feels to have her back in his life, not just as a distant memory, a relative stranger, but as his best friend. And even if he could find the words, there’s no guarantee Noa will even listen to them. Despite everything, she seems set on keeping her distance. Maybe Charles doesn’t blame her. Or maybe he wishes she’d fight a little harder.

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goblinontour · 3 months ago

Note

I really liked that post you reblogged about being kinder to writers because it’s SO TRUE!! You could spend six months pouring your heart into something and all you’ll get immediately is “when are you writing more then???!” It’s never “I absolutely loved this and hope you can write more someday, here’s what I particularly enjoyed…” it’s just so demanding. This expectation that you can just pump out work for their pleasure like it’s nothing whilst they themselves could never produce the work they’re demanding from you. How entitled do you have to be to not realise it’s actually just rude?

I haven’t published a fan fic in over a year despite still writing them and honestly I love it so much more now because it’s actually for myself again. Sure you miss out on the positive comments but you also don’t feel like all the fun has been sucked out of something that was once meant to be enjoyable. When it starts to feel like trudge to get through then what’s the point anymore?

yeahhh, though i think that was the part i related to the least from that post because i do think i’m craving that validation in one way or another. even though i enjoy writing them, and recently i’ve even started rereading some of my own stuff because there’s literally no one else here except for 2 or 3 people, which i don’t want to pressure into writing more or quicker just because i want to read a fanfic, because i know what goes into it or at least what it’s like for me. the writing part of it has become one of the only things i enjoy doing lately and maybe that’s why it’s been getting worse and worse for me actually because there’s little to no response when i go ahead and post, safe for those mentioned 2-3 people, you know. i don’t know. maybe i’m just messed up. but it’s nice to see when someone takes the time to say something rather than just an empty reblog. and even then i find i have a hard time responding to any positive feedback because i either think ‘are they just saying that to be nice’ or i simply don’t know how to answer and then i forget and then i feel bad for forgetting because they took the time to say those words and blah blah blah.

#sorry for the rant #i’ve got a headache #and was already feeling bad because idk what to write #and now i made myself cry #i’m literally so dramatic it’s embarrassing #fucking hell #pathetic #asks #anonymous

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months ago

Text

A Hold On You 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, bullying, depression, controlling and abusive behaviour, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you try to look on the bright side of life but a man comes along to blot out the sun.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: Thank you all for feeding into this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

It’s a nice day to get out. One of the last sunny days of autumn. You can smell the soil and leaves and hear the call of pumpkin spice. Maybe on your way back.

You can’t spend another day inside. Not after the week you’ve had. Besides, once the winter hits, you’ll have more than enough reason not to go past your front door. You’re going to make the most of your day off. More so, you’re going to keep your mind busy so it doesn’t fall back into the pit.

It feels good to move around. Between hunching at your cubicle desk and squinting over your dining room table, that crick in your neck needs to be ironed out. You have to remind yourself to stand up straight as the muscles tug between your shoulder blades.

You stop and turn to face the record shop. As you do, you’re nearly bowled over by another pedestrian. You hadn’t realised they were so close behind you. You back up and apologise but the man doesn’t even look at you as he veers toward the front door. The bell jingle as he enters with a huff, the back of his dark jacket a vague splotch in your vision.

Oop. You’re in the way. Again. You do your best not to do that. You never want to stir the waters or be a bump in the road but somehow you always find a way to do that. No good comes from wallowing in it. As stressful as it can be to brave the public and its unpredictability, a smile keeps you from falling apart.

You approach the shop and swing open the door. Oof, it’s much heavier than that man made it look. You greet the associate behind the counter with a beaming morning and ‘hello?’ He asks how you are and you give the easy answer; ‘good, how are you?’ He responds with the same empty courtesy.

You look around the covers and the little signs that delineate every genre. Before you can get into all that, you need the most important piece of all. A record player. For as long as you’ve been waiting to set foot in the shop, you’ve been saving up for the player.

You near the table stacked with varying shades of suitcase players. You read up on each brand and style. It will be best to tuck away when you’re not using it. Your small apartment is already too cluttered.

You pick a lilac player with little white roses stamped over the cover. It’s on sale. A sign above proclaims that you can get twenty percent off three or more records when you by a player. Well, how about that? It isn’t all doom and gloom.

You hug the player under your arm and near the shelves mounted to the walls. You peruse the titles intently. Something new? Something you know? You definitely don’t want to get just one genre.

As you sidle along, the corner of the box knocks against something. You look back and another ‘sorry’ bubbles from your lips. It’s that man again. He’s browsing the end cap behind you and growls at your apology. You stare at him for a moment, he seems at home in a place like this.

“Um, excuse me, sir,” you say, “do you have any recommendations?”

He grumbles and puts the album back in its slot. He looks over his shoulder with detest curled into his lip. The stone chiseled into his jaw makes you gulp.

“What?” He scowls.

“Sorry, I didn’t... I was only... curious. Have a good day, sir.”

“Good? What’s good about it?” He hisses. You wince and move to the next section. Not far enough as he sighs, “you know, you wouldn’t like my taste anyway. Stick to your girly pop.”

You resist a frown. You’re not going to let someone like that bring you down. You can tell that he looks for the worst in everything and everyone. You wouldn’t judge someone by their appearance but his demeanour says as much as his words. You won’t add to his cynicism but bothering him further.

You pick out an Etta James album that you recognise. Your grandmother had the same one. You think your mother snatched it up after she passed. You didn’t get much from the inheritance. As it is, you’d rather have your grandma back. Someone to talk to.

You move on to the rock section. There’s hair metal and classic rock and grunge and all sorts. You’re not unfamiliar with the genre but you don’t want to be too obvious.

A scuff startles you and you glance over at the man in the dark jacket. He seems familiar. His short brown hair, his stubbly jaw, and his intensity trigger something in your head. You definitely don’t know him. Everyone you know is too busy for you.

“Probably don’t even know how to use the damn thing,” he snips under his breath as he gets closer.

You realise he’s talking about you. It’s no good arguing. You’ve met his kind before. Back when your friends had the time of day for you, you met that type at their parties. You avoided them.

You leave the aisle. You don’t want to be in his way, though it seems no matter what you do, you are. You find yourself exactly where he predicted. Well, who cares? It’s all a matter of brain chemistry, right? You don’t get to choose what you like, you just like it. It makes your brain happy and heaven knows you need more of that.

You pick out another favourite then head over to new release. You’ve never heard Sabrina Carpenter. You’ll give it a try.

You approach the counter and as you do, another sigh storms through the shop. The man’s behind you. Oh no, had you cut him off?

“You want to go ahead of me?” You ask as you keep your haul in your arms.

He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, a single record in his hand; The Boswell Sisters. You’ve never heard of them but it really doesn’t look like heavy metal. You turn back to the cashier and smile, “hello, um, this is it.”

You put your things up as the man returns your smile. He asks if you want a bag and you say, ‘yes, please’. Things might not be perfect but it doesn’t mean you can’t try to make them better. And if a smile and manners can brighten someone else’s day, that alone makes yours a little sunnier.

🪢

The box for the player has a little plastic handle. You’re happy for that as it makes your journey to cafe a little easier. You stand in line with your paper bag and bulky box and move along until it’s your turn. You order the pumpkin spice but think better of double up with the pumpkin cream muffin; you instead opt for the apple cinnamon with the chunks you can see through the top.

Patiently, you stand by the wall until your order comes up. You crinkle around the other customers and claim it, balancing it all delicately toward an empty table. You tuck the box underneath and lean the bag against it.

You tear apart the muffin, dividing the bottom from the top. You peel back the liner and eat the former first, pinching morsels between your fingers. You don’t know why you do it that way, you just always have.

You taste the pumpkin spice. It’s good. Not too spicy at all. It tastes like real pumpkin. Considering the place is local, it might very well be. You pop the lid off to reveal the mostly melted cream and have another sip.

You wipe the dairy mustache from your upper lip with a napkin and your eyes flick up to meet another pair. Not far from you, that man stands with his hands in his pockets. He’s waiting by the order window for his own delight. Well, that’s great. Maybe it will cheer him up.

He glowers until you look through the window. Or not. The baristas call out a black coffee as you chew on the brim of the paper cup. You stare out into New York traffic and feel yourself getting smaller. It’s easy to feel lost in the city.

As you watch through the window, a dark figure passes before it. You lift your gaze and again find yourself at the mercy of that man’s grim snarl. You quickly turn back to your latte. He must’ve had that black coffee. He might do with a bit of sugar.

You try not to think about it. You don’t know him. You don’t know his problems. Just like anyone else. People don’t know that you feel heavy when you wake up or that you spend your hours keeping your hands busy so you don’t have to think. They only know the woman with the smile and the chipper voice and just as swiftly forget about her.

You pick away at the muffin, savouring in each bite. You’re thankful for that. For that moment. You have coffee and a nice dessert and you got your record player. It's best not to think about all the existential stuff you can’t change. It will come back later when you’re alone. It can wait until then.

🪢

Your walk home sees the sun hiding behind the clouds. The downpour begins a block away from your building and soaks you through. You keep your head down against the sheets of rain and hurry up the walk as the front door comes in sight.

The elevator is out of order. Again. You climb the stairs in your squeaky soles and finally reach your apartment. You push inside and kick off your sodden shoes and peel away your jacket. The turtleneck beneath is just as drenched.

You don’t strip down right away. You’re more concerned with your prizes. The records are fine, the covers just a bit damp, and the player doesn’t seem to have taken too much water. You leave it all on the counter and go to change into your favourite fuzzy pajamas.

You come back out to the front room and stop to admire the slake of rain pelleting against the large windows. It might be dreary but it’s beautiful in its own way. You let the tempo lull you as you unpack the player and set it up on the book shelf.

You slide the Etta James record from its sleeve and lay it on the player, moving the needle into place. You let it play as you back up, the boisterous tones of the legend melding perfectly with the raindrops. You smile; not the put-upon smile you wear for strangers but a smile of nostalgia and calm. You miss your grandma terribly but the music doesn’t make you sad.

You go to the table, still messy from last night’s work. It never is clear. You always have scraps and bits littered over it, your sewing machine a permanent fixture on the worn wood. You sit and pick up the felt clump and go back to needling it to a discernible shape.

Your brows nearly meet in the middle for your focus and it isn’t until the record begins to skip that you sit up. That damn kink is back. Your own fault. Can’t be mad at anyone but yourself.

You flip the record and let it play out. When it’s over, you shut off the player. You eat the leftovers you’ve been parsing out for the week and settle in for your favourite romcom. It’s cheesy and a little lame but you only have to keep yourself happy. Or try to.

You leave your plate on the coffee table and hunker down to finish the movie. You’re tired when it’s over but know you won’t sleep. So you go back to the table and work as the rain slows to a lazy rhythm. Your eyelids droop, your shoulders too, but you persist.

The windows grow dark and there is only the distant shine of streetlights and few windows in the neighbouring buildings. You stare out at the blurring haze and it fades to a deep grey. You wake leaning back in the chair, your head hanging off your neck. You groan as you sit up and curse your carelessness.

It won’t make work any less intolerable. You check the time ticking away on the clock that came with the apartment. You can get another hour or two. You get up and trod off to bed, not bothering to shut off the lights. You don’t sleep well in the pitch black.

You fall into bed and just as quickly find yourself unbearable awake. All those little doubts and fears rise up to the surface and have you drowning just below. This is why you end up sleeping upright or folded over. Trying never works for you. Not at anything.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #series #fic #falcon and the winter soldier #dark fic #dark!fic #avengers #captain america #mcu #marvel

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