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deliciousangelfestival · 3 months ago

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The Imperfect Couple - 3

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

Summary: A separated couple must pretend to be happily married while the husband runs for Vice President, dealing with old issues and political pressures during his election campaign.

Warning: The couple's arguments could be triggering.

A/N: Steve Rogers is older than Bucky here.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 , Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Chapter 11 , Chapter 12 , Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

You arrived at the new apartment, feeling a small sense of relief for finally being under a different roof than Caroline’s. The thought of enduring the same torture as before made your skin crawl.

As you settled in, you broke the silence. “Your mom offered the attorney to us.” You remembered how you had insisted the divorce attorney make it as quick and painless as possible. “Why didn’t you finalize it?”

Bucky’s gaze remained steady. “Not once did I think you were actually going to leave me.”

“There’s no marriage between us,” you shot back, your voice sharp. “If you’d finalized it, you could’ve easily married a woman your mother approved of.”

Flashback Start

You recalled every time Caroline mentioned another woman’s name as if they were more suited for Bucky. “You know, Rachel just graduated summa cum laude from Harvard in social politics,” she had said at the rehearsal dinner.

Then, on your wedding day, as you and Bucky sat together, trying to enjoy the celebration, Caroline approached, holding hands with a stunning woman. “Bucky, look who’s here? Katherine just arrived from London.”

Caroline’s voice dripped with approval. “Both of them went to the same law school.”

You clenched the fork in your hand so hard you thought it might snap.

Why the hell was she introducing another woman to you on your wedding night?

Did she expect you and Bucky to have a threesome with Katherine?

From that moment, you knew your place—an outsider who didn’t come from the pedigree Caroline so desperately wanted for her son.

When you finally left the house, you remembered her raising her champagne glass with a smirk. “I always knew you weren’t the one.”

Flashback End

“They need someone with a spotless record,” Bucky said, breaking you from your thoughts.

You stood there, your emotions a mix of anger and disbelief.

“I’m not making excuses for you. I know the old me wasn’t good enough, that I couldn’t be the man you could rely on,” he admitted, his voice thick with regret.

He looked at you with a desperation that caught you off guard. “You could poison my drink, stab me in my sleep. I wouldn’t fight it. I’d let you.”

His eyes, usually so confident and composed, were now filled with a deep, pained sincerity. The weight of his guilt seemed to crush him, and the shadows of remorse darkened his features. His hands trembled slightly, betraying the calm facade he tried to maintain.

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest. How could he say that so casually? What kind of twisted love was this?

“That’s how much I need you,” he confessed, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You’re using me,” you accused, your voice shaking with a mix of fury and sadness.

Bucky didn’t deny it. “Like I said, it’s a business relationship. But I’ve trusted you from the beginning. Put my faith in you.”

He reached out, taking your hands in his, holding them together like a prayer. “And I hope we can work together. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance to work in the White House.””

🌸🌸🌸🌸

The following day, you met Steve, the future Presidential candidate. He greeted you warmly, his genuine smile easing some of the tension you felt. You’d met Steve and his wife, Peggy, a few times before—honest people who never treated you like you didn’t belong. Steve had even defended you whenever Caroline or others looked down on you for not being in the same league as them.

"I’m so glad you’re here," Steve said, clasping your hand. "When did you arrive?"

You chuckled softly. "Well, when three Secret Service agents showed up at my door, who was I to say no?"

Steve chuckled too, though there was a hint of awkwardness in his eyes. He tilted his head slightly. "Let’s talk."

You walked together, the air thick with unspoken words. "I know it’s difficult for you to be here. I owe you big time," Steve began sincerely. He had witnessed your marriage crumble, and despite his and Peggy’s best efforts to support you and Bucky, things had fallen apart.

You sighed. "What confuses me is, why me? He could’ve chosen another woman, someone way more qualified."

Steve leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. "To be honest, I think you’re the best option. He probably won’t show it, but Bucky was happy when he heard you were coming."

You scoffed, glancing over at Bucky, who was watching the two of you from a distance. "Impossible."

As you scanned the room, you spotted someone familiar—your brother, Tim. Excusing yourself from Steve, you made your way over to him.

"I’m glad you’re here," Tim said, his voice filled with warmth, though his eyes carried a weight of their own.

You narrowed your eyes at him. "I can’t believe you. You knew what I went through, and yet you’re working with him? You sucked up to him."

"Look at me," Tim said firmly.

You glanced down at him, seeing the determination in his gaze.

"Who’s going to hire a disabled person like me?" Tim who seated on his wheelchair, his voice wavered slightly as he spoke. He had been born with both legs, but when bone cancer struck his left leg, the doctors recommended amputation to stop it from spreading. That surgery had shattered his dreams of becoming a professional tennis player.

"It was James who offered me a job," he emphasized, "with a high salary."

Tim continued, "You can keep your anger, but face it, Y/N—they won’t pay the bills. For people like me, I need more money to survive in this world."

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, Bucky appeared beside you.

"Hi, Tim."

"Hey," Tim replied.

"I'm going to steal your sister for a bit." Bucky turned to you. "Our next schedule is couple’s therapy," he said, his voice calm but authoritative, cutting the conversation short.

You hated this part. The thought of attending therapy with Bucky made your stomach twist with unease. You shot Tim one last look, a mixture of concern and frustration in your eyes, before following Bucky out of the room.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

As you and Bucky sat across from Aiden, the therapist, the atmosphere was thick with unresolved tension. The room was simple yet comfortable, with soft, neutral tones that were supposed to be calming but did little to ease the storm of emotions swirling within you. You could feel the weight of Bucky's presence beside you, a familiar heaviness that both comforted and suffocated you.

Aiden leaned forward, his expression neutral but attentive. "So, what are you feeling right now?"

You hesitated for a moment before speaking, your voice laced with frustration and exhaustion. "I don’t think I have the courage to live another day in his family. His mother is the devil spawn. Even seeing her shadow triggers me." The words spilled out of you, raw and unfiltered, a reflection of the years of pain and resentment you'd kept bottled up.

Aiden nodded, his gaze shifting to Bucky. "And what about you, Mr. Barnes?"

Bucky's eyes remained fixed on a spot on the floor, his voice steady but lacking its usual conviction. "I didn’t think that way. As long as we stick together, we can get through everything." There was a hint of desperation in his tone, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as you.

You turned to look at him, disbelief and anger simmering beneath your calm facade. "From the beginning, we should’ve never gotten married. You only focus on yourself, never bothering to look behind you. Me, trying my best to fit into your circles."

Your voice wavered, the painful truth of your words cutting through the silence like a knife. You had always known you were out of his league—young and innocent, believing that love could conquer all.

But you had been wrong, and the reality of that mistake was too much to bear.

His mother’s voice echoed in your mind, the countless times she’d told you that you weren’t good enough, that you didn’t deserve him.

"Your mother was right. I don’t deserve you," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s expression tightened, his guilt etched into every line of his face. "I’m sorry. I really am sorry." His voice cracked, the weight of his regret finally breaking through.

He had never wanted this—to see you hurt, to see you broken because of him and his family. But the damage was done, and the guilt gnawed at him, relentless and unforgiving.

Aiden observed the exchange, his eyes narrowing slightly as he spoke. "I see that you’re the victim here, ma’am. And your former mother-in-law is the main reason why." He glanced at Bucky, his voice firm. "Mr. Barnes, your mother hurt her deeply, and now you must do everything in your power to make amends."

Bucky nodded, his voice thick with emotion. "I will. I'll do anything to erase the hurt you’ve received from her." The sincerity in his voice was palpable, but it was clear that the guilt weighed heavily on him. He had failed to protect you, to shield you from his mother’s venom, and that failure haunted him.

Aiden’s voice softened, but there was a steely resolve in his words. "Use this pain, both of you. Let it fuel you to confront Caroline, to reclaim your strength. Don’t let her win. Turn this pain into power."

As you sat there, the enormity of the situation began to sink in. You had been through so much, and the path ahead was uncertain. You had expected to loathe the couple’s therapy, but surprisingly, it turned out to be a beneficial experience.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

After the couple's therapy, the silence between you and Bucky was palpable, each of you grappling with the raw emotions that had surfaced.

The therapy had stripped away your filters, leaving you both exposed—your anger and frustration flowing freely. Bucky remained stoic, absorbing your harsh words with an almost resigned patience.

Returning to the Barnes household, the atmosphere was thick with tension. The room was filled with Bucky’s family: his parents, Julius and Caroline; his brother, Shawn, who struggled with cocaine and felt diminished by his inability to meet Caroline’s lofty expectations; and Hazel, Bucky’s sister and Nate’s mother.

Hazel, having felt overshadowed as the spare child, had chosen a career in fashion to escape the constant comparison to Bucky, who was seen as the golden child.

You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Shawn and Hazel, both of whom shared your misery under Caroline’s disdain. But that sympathy was tempered by their enjoyment of watching you suffer, thanks to their mother’s contempt.

Greg, a family friend, was the bearer of the news that the whole family would attend the upcoming convention event.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you said firmly, your tone clipped.

“Why… why?” Greg asked, confused.

Caroline rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Here we go.”

Bucky tried to interject, “Don’t…”

You cut him off with a steely gaze. “After that consultation, you still want to continue this?”

Caroline's eyes narrowed. “I knew we couldn’t trust her.”

Shawn chuckled, and Hazel remained indifferent.

“Quiet,” Julius commanded, his voice brooking no argument. The room fell silent.

With a sense of finality, you approached Caroline. “You’re so jealous of me,” you said, your voice dripping with disdain.

Caroline’s eyes widened, a mixture of anger and shock. “What are you talking about?”

“Because you know I’m going to get what you can’t have,” you smirked, savoring the moment. “Being the wife of the Vice President.”

“You bitch,” Caroline spat, something snapped inside her. Deep down, you were right—she was jealous of you. You were younger, smarter, and luckier. It was her dream to be in your position, but now it seemed like she had paved the way for you instead. What’s worse, you didn’t fit her criteria at all. She felt you didn’t deserve this.

Without warning, Caroline lunged at you, grabbing your hair. The two of you were soon locked in a fierce struggle, yanking each other’s hair and grappling with a fury that left no room for remorse. The physical confrontation was liberating, an outlet for all the anger you had been holding back.

You felt no fear and no guilt towards the seventy-year-old woman. At last, you could release all the anger you had been holding in.

Waiting for karma takes too long, and you can’t expect God to do all the work. So you took this chance to give her a lesson she won’t forget.

“Stop! STOP!” Bucky and Julius’s voices cut through the chaos as they tried to separate you. Shawn and Hazel, their faces a mix of curiosity and apathy, slowly backed away from the scene.

It was a struggle to pry you apart; Caroline, in her rage, was more unruly and disheveled compared to your own controlled fury.

“Hufft,” you adjusted your disheveled dress and hair, glaring at Caroline with a fierce, triumphant look. “You know what? I hope your son wins, so I can rub my new position right in your face.”

Caroline’s expression was one of shock and fury, her face a portrait of someone who had been dealt a blow she wasn’t prepared for. Her eyes were wild with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

“You’re absolutely right,” you looked at Bucky, your voice steady. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance to live in the White House.”

Caroline’s gritted her teeth.

“If the world wants to see us as a happily married couple,” you said with a cold smile, “I’ll give them the most blissful marriage they’ve ever seen. It’ll be the kind of marriage everyone talks about when they mention a perfect union.”

Bucky’s eyes widened in surprise at your cold declaration. For a moment, he was stunned, but as he processed your words, admiration and pride flickered across his face. He straightened, a hint of a smile forming, clearly impressed by your bold resolve and newfound strength.

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monzabee · 2 months ago

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the alchemy - cs55

masterlist || part 1 || part 3 ||

Summary: The one where not Carlos, nor you, have the power to fight the alchemy.

Pairing: dad!carlos sainz x mom!reader

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: absolute fluff (been a while), possible ovary explosion bc of dad!carlos, cursing (because i use way too many f-bombs in real life too), kids (apparently, it’s a tw for some people), i tried hating charles but it’s not happenning so a cheater redemption arc (kinda, he's trying okay??)

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! first of all, thank you all so much for the love you showed for part one, i really appreciate it and i'm sorry that this part has been a little delayed, but i just wanted it to be just as drama-filled as the first part whilst still being a bit lighter so i hope i found the right balance for it. while we love dad!carlos, i felt like charles still deserved a chance to redeem himself and come to his senses so we love that redemption arc for him (well, kinda guess?). also, i know we have one more part of this little mini-series to go, a social media au (yay!), but i just wanted to let you all know, once again, that i do not have a taglist, and no i will not be making one!! however, i do appreciate all your support and comments, and please do let me know what you think about this part! thanks to @percervall once again, who had to listen me talk about this part for many many hours and who was kind enough to help me proofread!! i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

It only happened once every few lifetimes.

You honestly did not expect to end up with one of your closest friends – especially not after you told your cheating husband that you were getting a divorce, after he chose his lover over you and your baby; and most definitely not after the said close friend told you that he would step up instead of your cheat of a husband.

But there you are, in the arms of non-other than Carlos Sainz, your boyfriend, having just woken up by the excited pitter patter of feet right outside your bedroom door. “Carlos,” you whisper, nudging him softly to wake him up, “Carlos, wake up.” You watch as he stirs, and then buries his head onto his pillow mumbling all the reasons why he doesn’t want to be awake, but you just chuckle softly as you poke him again. “Carlos, please.”

With a disgruntled grunt, you watch as his eyes open, and with a scratchy voice he whines, “What, amor, I was sleeping.”

Rolling your eyes, you point to the bedroom door, “Listen,” you tell him, and watch as his eyes widen as realisation sets in at the same time his expression turns into a smiling one. “I think someone is excited for today.”

“You think?” He retorts, snorting lightly as he pulls you closer, “That’s all he’s been able to talk about for weeks, amor.”

“Well, can you blame him?” You nudge him, ignoring the sound of scraping of your son’s step stool outside your door. “He just wants to watch his father win.” Watching the smile on your boyfriend’s face grows as the door handle is jiggling, you point to the pillows with your head, “Let’s just pretend we’re asleep, he’ll be happier that way.”

With a deep sigh, the happy kind, he pulls you closer to himself – at the right time too, as you hear the patter of footsteps getting closer. With a tug at the comforter, you hear, “Papa, wake up.” You can hear Carlos, badly, muffling a chuckle by burying his head deeper into your neck, but the little voice beside him is non-relenting. “Papa! You promised me we’d go to the race today!”

“Carlos,” you whisper covertly, “you’re going to make him cry.”

Giving you a look that silently says, No I won’t, he turns towards the little intruder in your bedroom, quickly gathering him in his arms as he puts him on the bed next to you. The sound of laughter coming from two of the most important men in your life bring a sleepy smile to your face as you watch Carlos tickle your son despites his protests for him to stop.

“Mommy!” Your son exclaims, climbing over Carlos to reach you, “Tell Papa to stop! We need to get ready!” His face is flushed with excitement and laughter, a sight that fills your heart with warmth.

“Alright, alright,” you say, giggling as you pull him into a hug, “let’s get ready then. You don’t want to be late for your big day, do you?”

Carlos finally stops his playful assault, sitting up and stretching with a groan. “She’s right, buddy. We should all get up and get going. Lots to do before the race, you still remember our plan for breakfast?” Your son’s eyes light up even more, if that were possible, and he scrambles off the bed, running back to his room to get dressed. You and Carlos exchange a glance, something you seem to do more now than ever.

You wait until Rafael is out of the hearing distance before you tilt your head sideways and narrow your eyes in question, “What plan are you talking about?”

“Nothing for you,” he boops your nose with his pointer finger as he straightens up and gets out of the bed, “to worry your pretty little head about. Just come to the kitchen when you’re ready.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued but willing to play along. “So, you think I’m pretty?” you ask, batting your eyes at him exaggeratedly as he gently shoves you back into the bed. Getting up and stretching, which you shamelessly take the opportunity to ogle him, you watch him with a smile as he heads towards the kitchen following your son. Getting ready consists of brushing your teeth and hastily throwing on a robe for you, too anxious to see what you son and husband cooking up in the kitchen – literally.

The scene in the kitchen is enough to melt your heart on its own – Rafael is standing on his trusty step stool at the counter, his little hands busy arranging an assortment of fruits on a plate. The concentration on his face is evident by the way his tongue peeks out slightly in that adorable way he does when he’s focused, a habit that he picked up from his father. Your boyfriend, on the other hand, is busy with flipping something in a pan, shirtless might you add.

“Oh my God, look at my boys!” You croon, leaning against the doorframe with a playful grin. “You even have matching hats and everything!”

“Boys?” Carlos scoffs, turning to Rafael and pointing his finger towards you, “Can you believe her?” He then turns to you as he places his hands on his hips and puffs out his chest. “We are not boys, amor, we are men.”

You chuckle at his exaggerated display of masculinity, shaking your head as you walk further into the kitchen. “Oh, of course, how could I forget? The two manliest men I know,” you tease, your voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

Rafael, picking up on the banter, puffs out his little chest just like his father, mimicking his stance. “Yeah, Mommy! We're strong, right, Papa?”

Carlos grins, his eyes twinkling as he looks at Rafael. “That’s right, we’re the strongest men in the world." He turns back to you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “And we make the best breakfast too. Isn’t that right, Raf?”

“Yes!” Rafael exclaims, beaming with pride as he holds up the plate of perfectly arranged fruit. “Look what I made, Mommy!”

You lean down to inspect his handiwork, smiling softly. “Wow, this looks incredible, sweetheart. You’re so talented!” You give him a big kiss on the cheek, making him giggle.

Carlos steps closer, holding out a fork with a piece of pancake speared on it. “And how about a taste test, amor?” His voice is softer now, the playful tone giving way to something more tender.

You take the fork from him, taking a bite of the pancake. The fluffiness and warmth of it fill your senses, and you can’t help but let out a contented sigh. “This is amazing, Carlos. You’ve outdone yourself.”

He watches you with a satisfied smile, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Only the best for you.”

Rafael, not wanting to be left out, grabs a piece of fruit and holds it up to you. “Try mine too, Mommy!”

You take the fruit from him, savouring the sweetness as you chew. “Delicious! You’re both going to spoil me with all this great food.”

Carlos chuckles, wrapping an arm around your waist as he presses a kiss to your temple. “That’s the plan,” he murmurs against your skin, making you shiver slightly. “I can also spoil you in the other way you like,” his voice drops enough for only you to hear.

You glance up at him, meeting his playful yet heated gaze, and feel a blush creep up your cheeks. “Carlos,” you murmur, half-warning, half-inviting, as Rafael happily oblivious to the exchange, chatters away about his breakfast creation. “I would like to still be able to walk by the time we get to the paddock.”

But Carlos just smirks, leaning in to brush his lips against your ear, his breath warm and intoxicating. “Later, amor,” he promises, his voice thick with affection and mischief.

Before you can respond, Rafael tugs at your robe, breaking the spell. “Mommy! Let’s eat now!” His voice is filled with the kind of innocent excitement that only a child can muster, and it instantly brings you back in the present moment.

You smile down at him, ruffling his hair affectionately. “Alright, let’s eat. I’m starving.” Carlos gives you one last knowing glance before stepping back to grab the plates. As the three of you settle down at the table, you try to ignore his lingering gaze that makes your heart race just a bit faster, though you’re not exactly that successful.

It would be safe to say that it had been a crazy few years for Carlos Sainz. Or at least, that’s what Charles would say – if, you know, anybody was to ask him his opinion. First, he had lost his seat at Ferrari, and Charles really felt for him at first; after all, he was his teammate. But he was also the man who ended his marriage, so his feelings for Carlos changed for the worse very quickly. The whole situation had him coming to some revelations.

First revelation he came to was the fact that he was wrong for cheating on his wife, however complicated the situation might be. He had tried to justify it to himself, blaming the stress and the strain, but deep down, he knew there was no excuse for what he’d done.

Second revelation was that you deserved to be happy, with or without him – he was just being petty because it was with his old teammate. You deserved to be happy, and while Charles could admit that in theory, accepting that your happiness was now tied to Carlos was a bitter pill to swallow.

Third, and probably the biggest, revelation was that he had royally screwed up when he chose the other woman over you and your son, and it was a loss that he mourned every single day. If he thought seeing Carlos thrive after his own life was crumbling down was hurting his ego, seeing Carlos be the father to his son, was a thousand times worse.

Life took an interesting turn for Carlos after that night at the hotel in Monte Carlo. You had no expectations for him, you didn’t expect him to stay true to his words and be there for you and your baby. But that was the thing, because he kept his promise. He was at your door the next morning with a short list of apartments and penthouses in Monte Carlo. Anticipating your need of getting out of the country, he was prepared – he also looked at apartments in New York, houses in LA and townhouses in London (the few apartments he chose in Madrid also didn’t escape you, but it was a conversation you weren’t ready to have yet). So, when you were having, yet another breakdown in front of him, he just stood next to you and held you until you calmed down. He was always next to you, somehow managing his schedule for the racing season and coming out to see you between races. He kept true to his promise as he made waffles for you at midnight, grumbling about how pancakes were superior, and he held your hand when you were in the delivery room even though you were probably close to breaking the poor man’s hand. The bigger shock came when he announced that he would not be racing for the next season – something he had conveniently not told you in the months leading up to your pregnancy. It also led up to your first fight, and your first real confrontation since this unexpected journey began. The news that Carlos wouldn’t be racing the next season blindsided you. It wasn’t just the fact that he had made such a monumental decision without consulting you; it was the realisation that he had chosen you and your child over the sport he loved so deeply.

“What do you mean you’re not racing next season?” you had asked, your voice edged with disbelief. You were standing in the kitchen of the new apartment he had helped you find, your baby—your son—napping peacefully in the next room. Carlos was casually leaning against the counter, arms crossed, as if he had just announced something as mundane as what was for dinner.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, a habit you had come to recognize as a sign that he was about to say something serious. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he said, his voice calm, and God it drove you insane how calm and rational he was being with a decision so irrational to you. “And after everything that’s happened... I just think it’s the right decision for now.”

“But racing is your life,” you insisted, the weight of his words settling in. “I don’t understand how you can just walk away from it.”

Carlos met your gaze, his brown eyes steady and full of determination. “It’s not about walking away,” he explained. “It’s about priorities. You and Rafael... you’re my priority now. I want to be here for you both, not halfway across the world, missing out on everything.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart ache. For so long, you had been used to being let down, to promises that were made and then broken. But here was Carlos, standing in front of you, willing to give up something he loved more than anything for you and your son.

“That’s not fair to you,” you whispered, feeling the tears welling up in your eyes. “I don’t want to be the reason you give up on your dreams.”

Carlos stepped closer, gently cupping your face in his hands. “You’re not taking anything away from me,” he assured you. “You’re giving me something I didn’t even know I needed. I’m choosing this, because I want to. I want to be here for you, to be the father Rafael deserves. I want us to be a family.”

His words broke through the wall you had been holding up, and you let the tears fall. It wasn’t just about the sacrifice he was making; it was about the fact that he was doing it willingly, without hesitation, because he wanted to be with you and Rafael. It was a love that was deeper than anything you had ever known, and it terrified you as much as it filled you with hope.

“But what if you regret it?” you asked, your voice trembling with the weight of your fears.

“I won’t,” Carlos said firmly, his thumbs gently brushing away your tears. “I know what I want. And if I ever go back to racing, it’ll be when we’re ready. When we both decide it’s the right time. But for now, this is where I need to be.”

You searched his eyes for any sign of doubt, but there was none. He was as serious as ever, and in that moment, you realized that this wasn’t just about him making a choice— it was about him choosing you, over and over again, in a way no one ever had before.

The argument you had anticipated fizzled out before it could even begin. There was nothing left to fight about, not when he had laid his heart bare for you. All you could do was fall into his arms, holding onto him tightly as you let the weight of his decision sink in. It was overwhelming, knowing that someone loved you that much, that they would uproot their entire world just to be by your side.

So, yeah, Carlos Sainz had not raced for the 2025 season. If it were up to him, he would stay with the two of you for the 2026 season as well, but you and Carlos Sainz Sr managed to convince him to get back to the real world, no matter how much he was enjoying being a stay-at-home dad. But the biggest shock for the world, and Charles, wasn’t that Carlos was returning to the F1 grid – no, the biggest shock was that he was returning to the F1 grid in one of the most coveted seats; right next to Max Verstappen. The reaction to the news had been mixed. Some were thrilled to see him back, eager to see what he could do in a car as competitive as the Red Bull. Others were skeptical, wondering if a year away from the sport had dulled his edge. For Charles, the news was a bitter pill to swallow. Carlos wasn’t just returning to the grid—he was stepping into one of the most sought-after seats in F1. But more than that, it was the reminder that Carlos had taken something else from him, something far more personal and painful. Watching Carlos step into his new role at Red Bull, knowing that he was now part of your life and Rafael’s life in a way Charles never could be, was a constant, aching reminder of everything he had lost.

And so began the Leclerc-Sainz rivalry – which although sounds riveting, is probably the reason why you had to visit your cardiologist more times than necessary within the last couple of years. On the surface, it was the perfect storyline: two former teammates, now on opposing sides, battling it out on the track in some of the most intense and thrilling races the sport had ever seen. But for you, it was far from entertainment. Each race weekend became a new source of anxiety, and Carlos knew how much it affected you, so he tried his best to keep the rivalry on the track. He would reassure you, telling you that whatever happened during the race, it wouldn’t change how he felt about you or Rafael. But even he couldn’t deny that the tension between him and Charles was personal. It was more than just racing—it was about proving something, not just to the world, but to themselves and each other. And so, race after race, you found yourself on an emotional rollercoaster. The thrill of seeing Carlos perform at his best was always accompanied by the fear of what might happen if things went wrong. The rivalry wasn’t just a storyline for the media—it was a real, living thing that had a profound impact on your life.

So, when Rafael told you that he wanted to watch his father race live, you were hesitant to agree. The thought of bringing your son into that world—where emotions ran high, and the stakes were even higher—filled you with dread. The last thing you wanted was for Rafael to witness the intensity of the rivalry that had consumed not just Carlos and Charles, but your entire life.

Carlos, however, was adamant. He knew how much it meant to Rafael to see him race, to be a part of something that had been such a significant part of Carlos’s life before Rafael was born. “He needs to see it,” Carlos told you one evening as you sat together, discussing Rafael’s request. “He needs to know what I do, why it’s important to me, and why I went back to racing in the first place.”

You couldn’t deny that Carlos had a point. Rafael idolized his father and seeing him in action would only strengthen the bond between them. But the idea of watching the race unfold, of seeing Carlos and Charles go head-to-head while your son was there, was almost too much to bear. The days leading up to the race were a blur of preparation and anxiety. Carlos did his best to reassure you, but the tension was palpable. He understood your fears and promised to keep things professional, but you both knew that once the lights went out, everything would be on the line. So, you weren’t exactly surprised that your boyfriend spent the entire morning buttering you up and getting you to relax as much as possible about the day ahead of you.

And to be perfectly fair, he was right for the most part. It had been fine from the moment you made it into the paddock, which somehow worked wonders on your anxiety. As you made your way to the circuit, Rafael’s excitement was infectious. He was practically bouncing in his seat, his little face pressed against the window as he took in the sights. You couldn’t help but smile, his joy momentarily easing the knot of anxiety that had been tightening in your chest since the moment you agreed to come to the paddock in the first place.

Seeing him so happy and in his element, you know instantly that the paddock, no matter in which country, is going to become his safe place. Rafael keeps asking Carlos questions about everything from how they manage to keep the cars so clean to what would happen if they didn’t wear helmets. And Carlos is patient as he answers all his questions, no matter how childish or obvious they might seem. So, when he told Rafael that maybe, just maybe, he might end up in one of the cars he admires so much one day, you know your son won’t miss the beat. “Can I?” He asks you, eyes widened with a pleading look as he clasps his hands together under his chin, “Please, Mommy, I promise I’ll be very careful.”

“Absolutely not,” you shake your head, mind immediately starting to think about all the things that could go wrong, “it’s so dangerous! Just think about how afraid you’d be of the speed.”

Rafael scoffs, arms crossed on his chest as he pleads through the pout he has on his face, “I’m not afraid of the speed! Papa, tell her I’m not afraid of the speed!”

Carlos reaches over Rafael’s head as he takes off his cap and ruffles his hair, which manages to get a series of giggles from the little boy, and he affirms, “You are not afraid of the speed, but your mother is right.” You have to hold in your laughter when you see the indignant look on Rafael’s face, but Carlos continues talking as he signals for his son to listen, “We can talk about it when you are older, but for right now you are my lead strategist, capisce?”

Rafael steers his pout towards you, and you shrug innocently in response, which gets a resigning sigh from him. “That’s fine, I guess.” He mumbles, and points to the garage door behind the table the three of you are sitting, “Can I look at your car again?”

“Be careful, and make sure you tell Caco where you are.” Carlos reminds him, as Rafael excitedly scurries off toward the garage, leaving you and Carlos to share a quiet moment.

Carlos leaned back in his chair, a content smile playing on his lips as he watched Rafael dart off. “He’s got the bug,” he says, a hint of pride in his voice.

You sigh, shaking your head playfully. “I know. He’s already got the attitude. I don’t think I’m ready for him to jump in a kart and never look back.”

Carlos reaches for your hand, his touch grounding you. “We’ll keep him safe,” he says quietly, his gaze meeting yours. “I promise. Whatever happens, we’ll make sure he’s ready, and we’ll protect him from the worst of it.”

You nod, squeezing his hand in return, trusting him like you always have. As you sit together, watching Rafael’s excitement fill the garage, the sweet moment is interrupted by a voice both of you know very well. “Seriously? You’re using him to get to me on a race day now?”

Your fingers nearly crush your poor boyfriend’s hand as you look at the intruder, your heart immediately racing. You turn to see Charles standing there, his expression a mix of frustration and disbelief. His eyes flicker from Carlos to you, then toward the garage where Rafael had just run off. “Excuse me?” You manage to get out, your voice sharp with surprise. The audacity of his accusation stings more than you expected. Charles' gaze hardens as he steps closer, clearly not backing down.

“You heard me,” Charles says, his tone edged with bitterness. “Bringing Rafael here, right in the middle of everything... it’s not a coincidence. You’re just trying to—”

“To what?” Carlos cuts in, his voice calm but firm. His protective instincts kick in as he stands, placing himself between you and Charles. “To have a good day with our son? To let him enjoy the race?”

Charles scoffs, shaking his head. “He’s not your son, he’s mine. Stop fooling yourself into thinking you’re his father just because you’re here.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, everything goes silent. Carlos' expression tightens, but he doesn’t move, his body still a shield between you and Charles. You feel your breath catch in your throat, the weight of Charles’ words hanging heavy in the air. “I know who his father is, Charles,” Carlos says, his voice calm but steely. “And considering the fact that he doesn’t even know you exist, I’d say me being here is more than proof that I am his father.”

Charles' jaw clenches, and his eyes flicker with something raw—pain, jealousy, frustration, all mixed together. “You think you can just step in and take my place? Be the dad, play happy family with my son?”

“Cabrón,” Carlos warns, and though you’ve heard him use that nickname for his friends countless of times, this voice is devoid of all affection, “you lost all right to call yourself Rafael’s father when you decided to choose whatever flavour of the month you were with at the time.” You feel your heart race, not from fear, but from the sheer intensity of the moment and the murderous look on Carlos’ face. Carlos steps forward, his voice low but terse. “You think being a father is about biology? About showing up when it’s convenient for you? Rafael doesn’t even know who you are because you’ve never been there for him. I have. I’ve been the one tucking him in, I've been there when he was sick and crying, and I’m the one showing him love every single day.”

Charles flinches, the sting of the truth evident in his expression. For a moment, the fire in his eyes dims, replaced by something else— regret, perhaps. But it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, and he straightens his posture, trying to regain control of the situation. “I made mistakes,” Charles says, his voice quiet but defiant. “But you can’t just erase me from his life. He has a right to know who his real father is.”

Carlos’ gaze doesn’t waver, his protective instincts blazing. “Rafael knows who his real father is. He may not understand all the details yet, but he knows who’s been there for him. And when the time comes, when he’s ready, we’ll tell him the truth. But that decision isn’t yours to make anymore, Charles. You gave up that right a long time ago.”

“You’re just going to sit there and let him talk to me like this?” Charles hisses, turning towards you in an attempt to find sympathy. His eyes are pleading, but there’s anger simmering beneath the surface.

Your chest tightens as you meet his gaze, feeling the weight of everything that has been left unsaid between the three of you for so long. You take a deep breath, your voice soft but firm when you finally respond. “It’s time to let go, Charles.” Charles' face falls at your words, the weight of their finality hitting him hard. His lips part slightly as if he wants to argue, but no words come. The tension in the air is suffocating, each second stretching out painfully. Carlos remains silent, standing tall beside you, his hand subtly resting on your back for support. He knows this conversation is yours to finish. “It’s not about erasing you from Rafael’s life,” you continue, your voice steady though your heart is pounding in your chest. “It’s about doing what’s best for him. And right now, that means protecting him from the confusion and hurt that the fact that you were too much of a coward to choose him.”

Charles takes a step back, the anger in his expression dimming into something more fragile. His eyes search yours, perhaps looking for a trace of the bond you once shared, but it’s clear that things have changed too much. Too much time has passed. “I’m not trying to hurt him,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I apologised countless of times, what more do you want from me? I am sorry, okay?”

“Are you quite done?” Charles flinches at your sharp tone, the weight of your words settling heavily between the three of you. His gaze drops to the ground as if he’s searching for something to say, but nothing comes. Carlos stands steady beside you, his presence strong, comforting, even. “I am sorry, too, about it all.”

You can feel Carlos’ confused stare on you, and Charles looks at you with the same expression as he asks, “You... do?”

“I’m sorry that you were cheating on me from the start, I’m sorry you were too weak to stay faithful to me after we got married,” you continue, the words heavy but resolute as they fall from your lips. Charles' expression shifts, a mixture of guilt and pain crossing his face. Carlos’ hand tightens slightly on your back, offering silent support as you finally lay bare what you’ve held inside for so long. “I’m sorry I ignored it for as long as I did, and I’m sorry that I ever found out.” Charles’ face hardens, his eyes clouded with guilt and perhaps a hint of defensiveness as your words hit him. The weight of what you're saying seems to pull him down, and he takes a deep breath as if trying to absorb the impact. He opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, not willing to let this moment slip away before you say everything that’s been weighing on your heart. “I’m sorry I ever found out about the lies, but most of all, I’m sorry for Rafael. He deserved better, he deserved a father who was present and loved him without conditions,” you say, your eyes locking with Charles’. “You weren’t there, Charles, you weren’t there before Rafael, and you weren’t going to be there after him. So, I suppose what I’m not sorry for is falling in love with a man who was courageous enough to fill that role for both me and him.” Charles’ lips part as if to argue, but no words form. His eyes betray the guilt and regret he’s been carrying, but there’s nothing left for him to say. He knows it. You know it. Even the mechanics and people around you who have stopped what they are doing to watch this whole thing go down know it. “Finally, I’m sorry that you felt the need and audacity to come down here, now not only have you ruined our marriage, but you’ve also ruined my day-off which I intended to spend with my boyfriend, and our son.”

Charles flinches at your final words, his face crumpling under the weight of it all. The sting of your truth, laid bare for everyone to hear, leaves him speechless. His bravado has completely evaporated, replaced by a hollow sense of regret and defeat. He opens his mouth as if to respond but quickly closes it, realizing there’s nothing he can say that will undo the damage he caused, the pain he inflicted, or the years he lost. His eyes flicker to Carlos, who stands steady, unmoved by Charles’ turmoil. There’s no room for pity here. “I—” Charles begins but stops as Carlos raises his hand.

“I think you’ve said enough,” his voice lacks all sympathy for his old friend, his old teammate, “it’s best you should go before you distress my girlfriend, or my son any further.

Charles’ eyes widen slightly at Carlos’ words, the final blow landing hard. He looks as if he’s been physically struck, his shoulders slumping as any remaining fight drains from him. His gaze flickers between you and Carlos, searching for something—anything—but finding no redemption, no sympathy. There’s nothing left to say.

He swallows hard, his lips pressed into a tight line, before finally nodding in a reluctant acceptance. “Fine,” he mutters, his voice barely audible. He turns on his heel, walking away with slow, defeated steps. The tension that had gripped the air slowly begins to dissipate as he disappears into the distance, leaving only the echoes of his footsteps behind.

Carlos turns to you, his hand still resting on your back, but now it’s a comforting gesture rather than a protective one. His expression softens as he searches your face. “Are you okay?” he asks gently.

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of everything that’s just happened, but also a sense of relief. “I think so,” you reply, your voice steady despite the emotional whirlwind you’ve just gone through. “It needed to happen.”

Carlos nods, his thumb brushing soothingly against your back. “He’s not going to ruin this for us. Not today, not ever.”

You smile faintly, grateful for his support. “No, he’s not. He’s gone now, and I’m finally free of it all.”

“We’re free of him,” Carlos adds, a reassuring strength in his voice. “You, me, and Rafael. That’s what matters.”

“Just promise me you’ll be careful on the track today,” you plead, chin resting on his chest as you look up to him.

Carlos chuckles softly, his warm smile easing the tension that still lingers. “I promise,” he says, his voice light but sincere. He tilts his head, giving you a playful wink. “But you know me, I can’t drive too carefully. It's in my nature to push the limits a bit.”

You roll your eyes with a small laugh, but your heart flutters slightly at the thought of him racing. It’s something you’ve grown used to, but there’s always that edge of worry. "Just... don’t make me regret asking," you tease, though the concern in your voice is real.

Carlos leans down, brushing his lips gently against your forehead, the gesture filled with tenderness. "I’ll come back to you both, safe and sound," he whispers softly, his forehead resting against yours for a brief moment. "Always."

You smile, feeling reassured by his words, and you give him a small nod. "Alright. Go show them what you’re made of, then."

As Carlos pulls away, you can see the familiar spark in his eyes, the passion and excitement that he always carries before a race. He gives your hand one last squeeze before turning to head toward the car. You watch him for a moment, taking in the sight of him—confident, composed, and ready for whatever comes next. Just before he reaches the garage doors, he turns back and flashes you that signature grin that always makes your heart skip a beat. “For you and Rafael,” he calls out. Your smile widens as you watch him go, knowing that no matter what happens on the track today, you’ll always have each other.

It’s not hard for you to find Rafael when you head back to the garage yourself. He’s completely engrossed in conversation with one of Carlos' engineers, pointing out different tools and parts of the car with wide-eyed fascination. His little hands gesture excitedly, and the engineer listens with a warm smile, clearly amused by Rafael’s enthusiasm. Carlos stands off to the side, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, watching his son with a look of pure affection and pride. His eyes sparkle as he takes in the sight of Rafael’s excitement, and there’s a certain softness to his expression that makes your heart swell.

You walk over, standing beside Carlos, who doesn’t take his eyes off Rafael but greets you with a small grin. “He’s already talking like he’s part of the team,” Carlos says quietly, his voice filled with pride. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s taking over the pit crew in a few years.”

You chuckle softly, watching Rafael explain something animatedly, his little voice echoing through the garage. “He’s got your passion,” you say, leaning into Carlos slightly, feeling the warmth of his presence.

Carlos hums in agreement, his arm slipping around your waist. “Maybe,” he says, his tone affectionate, “but the way he talks about everything… that’s all you. He’s got your curiosity, your heart, so, all my favourite parts of you.”

“My boyfriend the charmer,” you mumble as you lightly hit him on his chest.

Carlos chuckles, catching your hand gently against his chest before pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “Just telling the truth,” he murmurs, his eyes twinkling as he holds your gaze for a moment longer. “You deserve all the charm in the world.”

You roll your eyes playfully, though you can’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re lucky you’re good at this, or I might think you’re just trying to get out of bath time for the next few days.”

Carlos laughs, his warm, deep voice sending a wave of comfort through you. “I’d never do that. Bath time is part of the job.” He leans in slightly, lowering his voice with a mischievous grin. “But if I do this race right, maybe we can negotiate something.”

You raise an eyebrow, feigning suspicion, but you can’t help the flutter in your chest at the way he always manages to make you feel light and cared for, even in the most mundane moments. “Alright, we’ll see how you perform today,” you tease back “if you win, I’ll let you put a baby in me, how about that?”

Carlos freezes for a moment, his eyes widening in surprise before a slow, playful grin spreads across his face. “You’re serious?” he asks, his voice filled with both excitement and disbelief.

You nod, biting your lip, unable to hide your own smile. “If you win today, we can start thinking about it.”

Carlos lets out a short laugh, running a hand through his hair as if trying to process what you just said. “Well, I’ve never been more motivated to win a race in my life,” he says, his eyes gleaming with a new intensity.

You chuckle, your heart racing at the look on his face. "Just make sure you’re focused on the track and not… well, other things."

“Oh, I’ll be focused,” Carlos says, stepping closer and lowering his voice. “But now, I’ve got the best reason in the world to win.” He leans in, brushing his lips against your ear. “For you, and for giving Rafael a baby sister or a brother.” Your breath catches at the sincerity in his voice, and as he pulls back, he flashes you that charming grin again before heading off toward the car. You watch him go, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness settle in your chest.

Eventually going behind the barriers and watching the race is harder than you’ve expected, you realise. As the laps go by, you keep glancing at Rafael, who’s glued to the action, his eyes wide with admiration for his dad. You smile at the way he clutches his little racing helmet, a miniature version of Carlos’ gear, his excitement evident. It’s clear he’s living every moment of the race through his dad’s performance, just as you are. When Carlos is in the lead, you hold your breath, willing him to stay ahead. When he’s fighting for position, you’re on the edge of your seat, cheering him on with every ounce of energy you have.

As the final laps approach, you glance at the clock and then at Rafael, who’s practically bouncing with excitement. You can tell he’s just as invested in the outcome as you are. You squeeze his hand, giving him an encouraging smile, and he returns it with a determined nod.

When Carlos crosses the finish line, the roar of the crowd is deafening, and you let out a cheer of your own, tears of joy welling up in your eyes. You look down at Rafael, who’s jumping up and down, his face beaming with pride and excitement. “He did it!” you shout, lifting him up in your arms as you join in the celebration.

Caco and a couple of the mechanics help you and Rafael to get to the barriers, weaving through the throng of celebrating fans and team members. As you approach the barriers, Rafael’s excitement is noticeable. His eyes are wide with wonder, and he clutches his mini helmet tightly, bouncing with every step. Caco, with his warm, reassuring smile, offers a few words of congratulations and gives Rafael a high-five. Carlos comes into view, his car parked in the parc fermé. His grin is infectious, and you can see the joy and relief in his eyes as he looks up at you and Rafael. The moment he gets out of the car, he’s enveloped by his team, but his gaze quickly finds you and Rafael. He finds his way to you after getting weighed and you can see him grab his cap before finally rushing towards you. Carlos scoops Rafael up into his arms, spinning him around as they both laugh, and then turns to you, his eyes shining with gratitude and affection.

“Well, looks like we’ve got a baby sister or brother to start thinking about,” Carlos says with a wink, setting Rafael down so he can pull you a in for a kiss.

You smile against his lips, feeling the warmth of his embrace and the joy of this moment. When you pull away, you look up at Carlos, your eyes sparkling with love and excitement. “We do, don’t we?” you say softly, your heart full as you take in the sight of your family together in this victorious moment.

Rafael, still buzzing with excitement, tugs on Carlos’ sleeve, his little voice bubbling over with enthusiasm. “Papa, did you see me cheering? I was so loud!”

Carlos laughs, his eyes crinkling with joy. “I heard you, buddy. You were the loudest cheerleader out there.”

As the celebration continues around you, you feel a profound sense of contentment. The day’s events, the race, the emotions—everything has come together perfectly. You take a deep breath, savouring the feeling of being surrounded by the people you love most.

Carlos pulls you close, wrapping his arms around both you and Rafael. “Thank you for everything today,” he murmurs, his voice filled with sincerity. “You’ve made this day even more special.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his embrace and the steady beat of his heart. “It’s been an incredible day,” you agree, looking out at the jubilant scene around you. “I wouldn’t have wanted to spend it with anyone else.”

As you watch him savour the moments with your son before he needs to go for his interview and the podium celebrations, you realise just how lucky you are to have something that only happens every few lifetimes.

#monzabee #requests open #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #formula 1 #fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz imagine #imagine #fluff #angst #smut #carlos sainz angst

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lipringlrh · 1 year ago

Text

look who's staring now | LN4

summary: your boyfriends so pretty whilst he sleeps, how could you not stare at him?

pairing: lando norris x genderneutral!reader

an: short and sweet. more dialogue than i'm use to so please do let me know how you find it!

word count: ~800

warnings: cuddly lando, (pretends to not be) cuddly reader, fluff

feedback appreciated!

...

It wasn't late at night but it wasn't exactly early either. Lando was asleep - completely knocked out, or so you thought - in your arms, on top of your chest. You were meant to be asleep but you just couldn't help but stare at your boyfriend. He looked so peaceful and relaxed with a small hint of a smile on his face, how could you not stare at him?

Lando had been drifting briefly in and out of sleep for a while but he didn't particularly mind. He'd gone to bed rather early and whenever he was awake, he was comforted by your arms. This time though, he felt compelled to actually open his eyes instead of just falling back asleep; he swore he could feel eyes on him and god forbid he miss a chance to tease you about it.

He was quick to open his eyes and meet yours, making sure there was no chance you could hide the fact that you'd been staring at him.

"Hi, baby," he whispered teasingly, his voice slightly croaky from sleep.

He caught you staring and you did not like it at all. Usually in the relationship, you weren't the touchy-feely one, as much as you wanted to be. You held back a lot, trying to be independent. Lando didn't really care and often became extra touchy enough for the both of you or so he liked to claim.

Along with this, you pretended to never be the lovey-dovey kind, always making Lando persuade you into hugs and cuddles. He knew it was just an act though, with you being happy to cuddle at any point of the day.

"You okay, sweetheart? Got a nice view or something?" He whispered, grabbing your hand and moving it to scratch his head. It was almost subconscious now, making you scratch his head, but you both secretly loved it.

You looked away from him, knowing he could tell you were flustered, another thing he would tease you with.

"I'm perfect me. Yeah - completely. You - how was your sleep going?" You asked, still turned away.

You took one glance at him and you knew instantly it made you seem more flustered. He was looking at you with a knowing gaze, spilling his thoughts of "I know what you're thinking, don't hide it.

"It's just really hot at the moment," you tried to justify, not ready to give yourself away just yet.

"Isn't that just me next to you, hmm?" He murmured, pressing short but sweet kisses to your chest.

You couldn't help but laugh lightly at him, "I'll just let you believe what you want to believe."

"Okay, baby," he smiled, moving his trail of kisses up to your cheek, "you do that. I know it's true,"

He left a peck on your lips just in time to cut off any reply you thought about giving, "I love you, sweetheart."

He couldn't express enough his feelings for you and it felt wrong to squash them down into three small words. But even with every word from every language, and telling you in every lifetime, he doesn't believe he'd ever get to convey it fully. You knew the feeling because it was the exact way you felt too.

"I love you too, Lan," you whispered, kissing him once more, "go back to sleep, before you get too big-headed though."

"Got to stop staring at me then, baby, could just feel it. I know I'm too sexy but-"

He was cut off by you lightly swatting him, then giggling to yourself. He couldn't help but watch, solely enamoured by you.

"Look who's staring now."

"It's 'cause I think you're beautiful and pretty and sexy," he gulped, not being able to describe you as well as you deserve.

"Yeah?"

"You gonna tell me I'm sexy now?" He looked up, wiggling his eyebrows slightly.

"You're really sexy, Lan, you should know that." You smiled at him, running your thumb across his cheek.

"So that's why you were staring at me whilst I'm asleep?" He titled his head, mocking you again in the way you both loved.

"Go back to bed."

"But-"

You cut his off, pressing your hand over his mouth, "Shush, bed."

You waited a moment before removing your hand.

"One last kiss please," he leaned up, almost pouting at you.

Of course, you had to comply, why would you not, and gave him many sweet pecks all over his face.

"I love you, Lando."

"I love you too angel," he promised, lowing his head back on top of your chest, smiling as your hand moved to his hair, and you both finally shut your eyes.

"Don't worry, your staring's cute."

f1 masterlist |

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janeyseymour · 24 days ago

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I Hate You, I Love You- part 2

Part 1.

Summary: You swallow your pride and ask Melissa to do you the favor of a lifetime.

WC: ~2.5k

Monday morning comes all too soon for you. Today is the day that you have to swallow all of your pride and your hatred for the redheaded woman and all but beg her to pretend to be your faux girlfriend for the holidays.

You’re sitting at your desk trying to grade the last few spelling tests you skipped out on over the weekend when you hear her make her way in, keys jingling and boots clanking against the tile loudly. God- you do not want to do this. But it’s now, or it’s in the staff lounge with everybody watching and listening in. So, you stand from your desk, run your fingers through your hair nervously, and make your way over to her door.

Her back is turned to you, she’s leaning over to put her bags on the ground, and… damn. Her figure is insane. You take a few silent moments to appreciate it without her being aware that you’re there. Quietly, you knock on her doorframe and lean against it, arms crossed over your chest. Are you pushing your breasts up just the slightest bit? Maybe. If you have to swallow your pride and nearly die of embarrassment, you might as well look hot doing it.

She turns just her top half, still leaning over, and you have the perfect view of her… Shit. Stop looking.

“What could you possibly need right now?” She huffs out. “It’s freakin’ Monday at 7:30.”

You harden at the greeting she’s given you. “Trust me,” you roll your eyes. “I don’t wanna be here anymore than you do. But, I got to talk to you. Alone.”

“Oh?” The redhead raises her brow and sits in her seat before looking at you confused. “Come to finally tell me that you’re-”

“I need a favor,” you sigh. “Like, a really big one.”

“I can’t get you outta a ticket,” Melissa snorts. “You know that.”

“I don’t need that. I need… I need you to…” Just fucking say it. “I need you to pretend to my girlfriend over the holidays.”

Her jaw drops. It’s clear that’s not what she was expecting you to say in the slightest. “What?”

“I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend over the holidays, and before you shoot me down, at least let me give you the sob story and think about it. Please?”

She begins howling with laughter. “Sure, let’s hear it.”

You explain what had happened on Saturday, and you hate the way that she’s getting such pleasure out of your misfortune. “And they all mentioned something about it yesterday as I was leaving too, so I know I can’t get out of embarrassment either way- having you there somehow seems like the better option.”

“Why’d you say my name?” your colleague asks, and it’s clear she genuinely wants to know. But then she gives you that ridiculous smirk again. “Is it because you know I’m the hottest person you could think of?”

“Please,” you snort. “I was going through the list of single people I knew in my head, and I knew I couldn’t say someone that my mom already knew… unfortunately, your name came out of my mouth before I could stop it. And now they know what you look like, so it’s not like I can ask anyone else to pretend to be you. But you wish I thought you were hot.”

That’s a bluff. You think she’s hot as hell, but she can’t know that. And what you don’t know is that Melissa wishes you didn’t hate her the way that you do, and she wishes that she didn’t have to pretend to hate you to get your attention.

“What’s in it for me?” she chooses to ask.

You roll your eyes. “My mom’s cooking, and you get out of having to deal with Kristen Marie on Christmas.”

“And…?”

“A hundred bucks.”

“A hundred bucks a day.”

“No way.”

“How many days are we talkin’?”

“Probably the weekend,” you sigh. “That’s three hundred bucks and an hour car ride there and back; usually stay with them during the holidays so I don’t have to drive back and forth, and if I don’t, they’ll know something’s up.”

“Three hundred bucks,” Melissa states again. She knows she won’t take your money, but she wants to see how desperate you are.

You groan. “Fine.”

“And then what are you gonna tell them after?”

“That we broke up,” you tell her as if it’s obvious. “Trust me. This is just going to be a weekend thing, and then I’ll only have to talk to you at work.”

“Fine. Don’t go fallin’ in love with me, babe,” the redhead winks at you.

You absolutely despise the way that the red creeps into your cheeks. “Don’t worry. That’s the last thing I’ll be doing.”

As the holiday season approaches, your mother continues to pester you about bringing your ‘girlfriend’ around before the actual holiday. Luckily, you can use the excuse that you are extremely busy with your students, as is Melissa. It’s not a lie- you feel like you’re drowning this year. You know your colleague isn’t fairing much better with her students.

But the Friday before winter break starts, exactly a week before you have to make your way back to your parents house, you step into Melissa’s room again early in the morning.

“Come over tonight. We need to figure out all of the details of our relationship so we don’t flop in front of my family next week,” you tell the redhead.

Melissa shakes her head though. “You come to me. Ain’t no way I’m goin’ to your place and eating takeout when I can just make us dinner.”

“Fine.”

“Six. Bring wine.”

After a long day of school with children all too eager to be done for the week, they’re sent home, and you’re able to leave the school for the weekend. You’re looking forward to the last few days of teaching before the break and then Christmas break itself… until you remember that you have to spend Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and the day after with Melissa. God, this is going to suck.

Still, you’re caught in your web of lies, and you know you can’t back out now- not this late in the game. So, at six o’clock, you’re on Melissa’s front stoop, knocking with a few bottles of wine in hand.

When the redhead opens the door, you hate yourself for ogling her. She’s standing there in a tank top and sweatpants, hair knotted up in a messy bun, and covered in flour. “Jesus. I said a bottle, not three.”

“Well, I didn’t know what you liked, and we’re gonna have to be drunk to make this work,” you shrug.

“Red,” is all she says as she steps out of the way to let you in. “Don’t forget that for when you’re getting me wine at your parents.”

You make a mental note of that, and then you make your way in. “I hate you.”

“I know,” is all Melissa responds with. “But it wasn’t me who said we were dating, now was it?”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.” Green eyes bore into your own for a few seconds, clearly challenging you.

You just set your things down on her counter with a scowl.

As much as you hate to say it, her cooking is delightful. The wine pairs well with the food. And you aren’t complaining about the view. Melissa looks… she’s hot as fucking hell, and you’ve caught yourself staring at her rack quite a few times during dinner.

You insist on cleaning up dinner, and she fights you on it. There’s something about it that makes you feel a certain way. It’s almost like you love to hate her.

Before you know it, the two of you are settled on the couch, each with yet another glass on wine in hand, and you’re attempting to hash out your fake love story.

“I told them we’ve been dating for a while,” you sigh. “So… I’m thinking four months? Long enough for you to show up to Christmas, but short enough for them to not know about you.”

“Sure,” she agrees without much of a fight. “I’m assuming we just met through work?”

“I figure the more truthful this lie is, the easier it’ll be to keep up with,” you shrug.

Melissa nods along. “That’s a good plan.”

“The other thing is…” you rub your collarbone nervously. “When I’m in a relationship, I tend to be quite touchy, so we have to- we have to do that.”

The redhead shrugs. “Whatever we have to do in order for me to get my three hundred bucks.”

You spend another two hours learning about each other, drinking wine as you go. She’s learned about your parents, your aunts and uncles, where you went to college, what your favorite color is, what kind of wines and cocktails you prefer, the foods that will be at dinners that you won’t go near, what you like to do in your free time… and in turn, you’ve heard all about her enormous family, how long she’s been at Abbott, how she loves to crochet but never knit, the fact that she has a guitar in her classroom that she doesn’t know how to play other than basic chords, among other things. The two of you agree that Melissa was the one to make the move on you after a happy hour with the work crew. You were the first one to say ‘I love you’, and those at school aren’t aware of the budding relationship between the two of you.

It’s a revealing night, and you find yourself not wanting to beat the shit out of the woman next to you. You would almost venture to say that you’re enjoying you’re time with her- almost.

It’s fairly safe to say when you’re finished going over family trees, your back story, and basic information about each other that you’re both wine drunk. You’ve gone through two bottles, and you’re halfway through the third.

“You’re fuckin’ crazy if you think I’m lettin’ you drive home like this,” your coworker laughs as she watches you attempt to gather your things. “Just stay the night.”

“Like hell I’m doin’ that.”

“You’re gonna have to spend a weekend with me sharing the same bed, in your parents’ house. Get over yourself,” Melissa tells you. “Seriously. Just stay- I got a spare bedroom you can use.”

“Fine.”

The next morning, she’s awake before you and somehow not hungover the way that you are. Melissa’s already left the house actually. She left you a note to make you aware of that.

Had to run out to do some grocery shopping. Don’t miss me too much. She finishes the note with a winking face, and she signs it ‘Mel’.

You roll your eyes, but you pick up the pen before scrawling out, Thanks for letting me stay the night. And then just to fuck with her, you scribble down an ‘xo’. And then you head back to your own apartment, entirely forgetting that you’re still clad in her sweatpants and About shirt.

With a heavy sigh, you shoot her a text. I left, but I forgot I’m wearing your stuff.

Just keep it for now. Bring it when we go to your parents’ house so it looks like you’ve had it for a while.

I hate to say it, but good idea.

I’m full of good ideas, babe.

You spend most of your Saturday nursing a hangover, Sunday is spent preparing things for the final few days of school before Christmas break. With Christmas Eve being on a Friday and Christmas being on a Saturday, that means you have up until Wednesday with your kids. Wednesday is the class holiday party, and you would prefer to have everything set and ready for you to just throw in the trunk of your car come the day of the celebration before you send the kids off.

Then, once your kids are sent off to their parents high on sugar and eager for the break from learning, you’re stuck with the knowledge that you have to spend some of your own retreat with the woman that you love to hate.

“I think we should have dinner again,” Melissa knocks on your door as you’re gathering your belongings. “Come over, I’ll make dinner, and we can go through our story again.”

“I’m bringing the wine?”

Your coworker smirks. “Yeah.”

This dinner ends the exact same way that your last dinner with the redhead did. You’re asleep in Melissa’s guest room dressed in a pair of her sweatpants and an old Abbott tee-shirt.

When you wake up this time around though, Melissa isn’t out. She’s actually downstairs sipping on a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper.

“The newspaper? Are you serious?” you tease her.

Your colleague just rolls her eyes. “I like having the fine print- reminds me of when my dad used to read it.”

“Well, lucky for you, my parents still get the paper delivered every morning,” you chuckle. “I don’t know how, but they manage it.”

Melissa purses her lips and sips her coffee. “Good to know.”

You scratch the back of your neck awkwardly before sighing. “Well, I’m gonna head out, but I’ll pick you up Friday at ten? My mom likes when I come over early so I can help her set everything up.”

The redhead just nods.

“Thanks for letting me stay the night again,” you say quietly before you grab your bag and leave.

Thursday, you spend most of the day regretting your decision of lying to your parents and aunt and somehow convincing the Melissa Schemmenti to play into your lie. Most of Thursday night is you lying awake and stressing. When you do finally fall asleep, you’re plagued with stress dreams about how this could all go terribly wrong.

All too soon does your alarm go off, you’re hauling your suitcase into the car, and then you’re making your way to Melissa’s house to pick her up.

She’s ready relatively quickly and jumping into your passenger seat in an awfully good mood for someone who has to pretend to be in love with you.

The drive is quiet, and you thank God for that. But then, you’re pulling into your parents’ driveway, and your nerves start to get the best of you. You feel your palms sweating as you don’t loosen your grip on the steering wheel.

Melissa looks to you with her brows furrowed. “Hey.”

“What?” you grit out.

“If you don’t fuck this up, I won’t.” And then she’s out of your car and grabbing both of your bags before she makes her way over to your door and opens it for you.

You raise a brow.

“Your mom is already standing at the front door waiting for us to come in,” she whispers to you. And then for good measure, she presses a quick kiss to your cheek. “C’mon.”

You tangle your hand with her free one, and then you’re making your way up to the door. You can only pray Melissa isn’t disgusted with your sweaty palms.

You don’t even have to knock before your mother whips open the door, Aunt Jo right behind her, with a grin on her face.

Here goes nothing.

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @sweetcheeksschemmenti @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @dopenightmaretyphoon @emeraldoceansstuff @shinyfaerielights @blkmxrvel @marvelwomenrule @sarahjohannson @casualfoxwitch

#melissa schemmenti fanfiction #abbott elementary #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary fanfic #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you

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a-student-out-of-time · 24 days ago

Text

An Important Reminder In Trying Times

Hey everyone, Mod Bubbles here.

I know that I've said over and over that I don't like talking about politics on here, but I really feel the need to say this:

This Is Not The End.

I understand things probably seem really bleak right now. A lot of people are going to be hurt by this, and the sheer amount of fearmongering and worst case scenarios are inescapable. But the country and the world are not going to change overnight. To be honest, it may not change very much at all in the next four years. I'm not a political scientist, so I can't tell you that for sure. There's a lot to be concerned about.

What I can tell you, as a student of history, is this: not only have we survived this once, we have survived this every time.

Think about it this way: every single tyrant, every single right-wing representative, every single emperor and colonial power, every corporate scumbag and power-hungry lunatic. No matter how many of them have ever come to power, held onto power, and tried to make themselves seem invincible, not a single one has ever held back humanity's progress and not a single one has proven to be invincible.

There were countries throughout history, especially in the 20th century, that fell under brutal dictatorships and saw countless lives lost. Did the people just give up and accept it? Fuck no they didn't. They fought back. Many of them lived to see democracy restored to their lands in their lifetimes, or fought to see it restored in their children's.

From Europe to Latin America, while many countries still have their issues, they endured and their people have survived. Their governments were not invincible, just as none ever have been.

Regardless of the outcome of this election, the world will go on. People will not just roll over and accept whatever horrible things happen, the fight will continue and we will do everything in our power to carry on as we always have. We'll carry on to achieve bigger and better things.

Let me also be clear: if you feel the need to cry, please cry. If you're afraid, don't pretend you're not. If you're angry, allow yourself to feel that anger. But if you're seriously contemplating giving up or hurting yourself, please don't.

You may hear all this news and ask yourself, "Bubbles, what's the point? What can I do about all this?" I've felt that way too, I have for a long time. I understand completely. It's scary and overwhelming, but I'll tell you exactly what you can do to fight against that: you can be kind.

Do you want to know where the most tangible change in the world begins? It's never at the top. It begins with people like us on a communal level, where we reach out to help others. Whether that means we help our neighbors, our friends, or any strangers we can.

Going out of your way to start fights, looking for someone to blame based on the flimsiest justifications, and just being cruel because you're angry, those aren't how you change anything. Those just add to the problem.

Here's just some ideas on what you can do instead:

Get away from the news, stop doomscrolling, mute doomers, and turn the TV and news apps off. This will get you out of a negative feedback loop that'll make you feel worse and more powerless, which is what they're designed to do in order to maximize traffic.

Remember to eat, sleep, brush your teeth, take a shower, take your meds, and do everything else you need to do to stay healthy.

If you or someone else really feel like leaving the country for your own safety is best, you can still work do so. But please don't convince yourself that if you can't, it's over.

Give back to people as much as you can. Show the people in your life who support you that you care, and that all that they do for you matters.

Donate to good causes you believe in.

Stand up to bullshit whenever you see it.

Do not give up on your dreams and ambitions. One bad leader does not mean your future automatically ends. Stop worrying about any potential apocalypse in the future, because you can do that even on the best days, and instead work toward a future that you CAN achieve.

There's this pervasive and very inaccurate idea that it's only the president who gets to enforce policies on the country. This ignores governors, the House of Representatives, Congress, mayors, and the countless other leaders involved. And it ignores you.

You do not have to spend the next 3 years and 364 days doing nothing but feeling miserable. In fact, that's the last thing you should do. Fear and despair are the weapons they wield, and they only have as much power as you allow them to have over you.

If your view of politics is that you just have to vote for the "right one" and then everything will be utopian, or that if people vote for the wrong one" then we're headed for a terrible dystopian nightmare, I have to tell you that that is incredibly reductionist and also very dumb. I can also tell you from personal experience that it's not them who make the real changes where it's needed.

A friend sent me a video that really opened my eyes on this situation: Adam Conover, the guy behind Adam Ruins Everything, said he's not worried about all this. Why? Because he and some friends were able, through their own power, to make real positive changes in their community. They were able to bring homelessness down in their district by over 38% through their own efforts.

And he's right that, as a silver lining to all this, it made more Americans than ever take a stand against all the horrible shit they were seeing and get involved with solutions.

Speaking from my own experiences as well, when Hurricane Helene devastated my area, it wasn't the politicians who came and repaired roads and power lines, it wasn't them who brought in food and supplies to everyone, and it wasn't them who worked tirelessly to save people still in need. It was everyone in our local communities.

The people at the top have never really cared about anything more than your money and your vote, but the people around you care more than you may believe they would. Hell, even strangers on the internet care more than you'd believe.

Now, even if you've made it this far, you may be wondering "What about when he starts outlawing and banning things?" To that, I say look at Prohibition and see how well that went. Politicians have only ever operated under the idea that banning something will make it go away, and it always does the exact opposite. And if you're still worried, you can get involved with organizations that fight to support these things being available and regulated.

But by now, you may also be wondering "What if I can't get involved? What if I'm too young or I don't have the money, or my parents won't let me?"

Then just be kind.

Stop looking for enemies to blame. Don't martyr yourself for some nebulous cause or the idea that your suffering increasing means the rest of the suffering in the world will go down. Don't torture yourself by telling yourself that you didn't do enough.

Show compassion, show support, show love and genuine care toward people who need it, including yourself.

"But there's so many shitty people in this country and the world, why should I-" Stop thinking that way. This isn't about them, this is about you and how you can make a difference. There will probably always be shitheads and power-hungry morons, but that does not negate the fact that you can choose to be different. You can choose to be kind.

Kindness is a sword that you have to learn how to wield. Wield it responsibly and use it to help others. No matter how small or insignificant it may be, YOU DO MAKE A DIFFERENCE.

I say all this as a 29-year-old who spent most of his life feeling scared and miserable about so many current events, convincing myself I'm useless and selfish because I was worried about so much and I hated myself for all of it. And I've decide I'm not going to do that anymore.

During the last right-wing era, I managed to help build a whole community out of my love for Danganronpa. I created friendships, relationships, and there are people alive right now because I chose to do so. Because I chose to use that community for kindness. I want to keep building from there by going into streaming and reaching out to more people.

I won't lie to you and say that I'm not scared, because I am. But I'm also not going to let fear change who I am. I want us all to be better to ourselves and others, because that is how you defeat hate. It starts with you.

And if you're still concerned, let me share with you a quote from The Great Dictator, a movie made in 1940, when World War II wasn't even at its height yet:

To those who can hear me, I say - do not despair. The misery that is now upon us is but the passing of greed - the bitterness of men who fear the way of human progress. The hate of men will pass, and dictators die, and the power they took from the people will return to the people. And so long as men die, liberty will never perish…

Please take care of yourselves out there, everyone. We'll get through this, just as we always have.

#mod talks #a student out of time #real talk #real life stuff #cw: current events #cw: the election

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writingstoraes · 1 year ago

Note

hey there!! i love your stories!! can i please have a social media au where it’s a redbull driver reader soft launching her relationship with charles? okay love u! thank u!

grid love 🏎

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!redbull!reader

type: instagram imagine, social media au

notes: sorry this took so long, anon! hope you like this hehehe 🤍 also lets pls pretend the faceclaim does drive for redbull, okay? okay. love u 2 anon (also this is purely ig posts hehe)

about: the last thing anyone expects is a redbull driver dating another from ferrari. a series of soft launches from you didn't help either!

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen, charles_leclerc, pierregasly, and 1,223,882 others

yourusername weekend shenanigans 🏁

redbullfan NOT HER CASUALLY SOFT LAUNCHING SOMEONE

ferrarigirl crying someone bagged the baddest bitch in f1

leclercluv That shadow looks an awful lot like Charles 😂😂😂😂

sainzzz55 reaching? we cant even see his face

leclercluv Charles was literally spotted at an Italian restaurant of the same setting today but okay 😂

maxverstappen Interesting

yourusername what's interesting about this? 🤨

maxverstappen Cause if I'm right, carlossainz55 and pierregasly owes me $50 🤣

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen, charles_leclerc, danielricciardo, and 1,223,122 others

yourusername french and princess treatment kind of night 🥂

dr3sainz ANOTHER SOFT LAUNCH?????

f1thusiast cryinggg shes got everyone and their mamas speculating on who her mystery man is 😭

carlossainz55 Max is so gonna owe me $50

maxverstappen No???

hamilt0n literal millionaires betting on $50 i have seen it all

leclercluv French?? Yeah it's Charles lol

redbullracing ❤️🤍

sainz55lec WHAT DO U KNOWWW RBR ADMIN

redbullracing Not much, as long as our golden girl is happy ❤️🤍

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, yukitsunoda0511, maxverstappen, and 1,220,345 others

yourusername 16 times happier than i've ever been ❤️🤍

midnightleclercs not charles liking this 1 minute after it was posted 😭

pierrestsunoda he got her notifs on thats why

leclercluv Game over ladies that's literally Charles' car 😭

lecssainz isn't his car a ferrari pista?

leclercluv He was seen driving it around Barcelona today, apparently it's a new one 🤷‍♀️

maxverstappen 🫣🫣🫣

gaslysfilm literally why use 16 when you can use another number 😭 the y/n-charles soft launch theory may really be real lol

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen, charles_leclerc, arthurleclerc, and 1,992,221 others

yourusername drove this baby around today

leclercluv CHARLES' PISTA 😭

lecshamilton this fr the hardest soft launch anyone has ever done in history im afraid

redbullfan Yeah this shit confirmed this is all we needed lmao

pierregasly maxverstappen 💸 Pay up

charles_leclerc

liked by redbullracing, scuderiaferrari, yourusername, and 2,103,334 others

charles_leclerc My rival on track is my heart keeper off track ❤️

tagged: yourusername

pierregasly This is about the cheesiest thing you have ever done

scuderiaferrari Feeling all the feels right now ❤️

redbullracing This serves as our truce, off track?

lewishamilton WOAH.

carlossainz55 I told you, maxverstappen! Pierre and I win 😄

yourusername what is this bet anyway

maxverstappen Which one of you will hard launch first, you really failed me, Y/N 😔

yourusername if i beat you in canada next week you have to buy me a lifetime supply of my favorite foods 😋

charles_leclerc Bring it on, bull

yourusername not a fan of the nickname, red

f1fan HOTTEST COUPLE EVERRRR

charlossainz this is the ferrari and redbull crossover i did NOT expect

-----------

tagging: @slytherheign

notes: didnt know im still capable of doing a post of just ig pictures lmaooaoa ive been so used to adding twitter posts and let me tell u it takes SO MUCH time 😭

anyway i hope u like this, anon! thank you for reading 🤍

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f14fun · 5 months ago

Text

dc it-girl (mv1) - chapter 1

synopsis: in which case y/n, an it-girl that hails from the united state's capital, washington dc, meets max verstappen in an unexpected occurence at the redbull showrun in her home city. both not knowing each other, immediately find themselves in a once-in-a-lifetime love story.

general info: !fem!poc!black-reader x mv1 faceclaim: asia monet ray + other girls from pinterest/insta!

smau + prose (3.3K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

things to note: yes, in this story i am changing the characters for a bit, i know that david coulthard was driving, but in this case we can pretend that that was max. also, he will be in dc for a publicity event for a week. please let me know if there is anything else you need me to clarify. happy reading! 💙📖💭

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

yourusername

liked by florence.jwilliams, user1 and 119,012 others

yourusername: bad gyals thrive in dc

view comments:

florence.jwilliams: babes we looked so hot today xx

yourusername: i knowww, but i was dying like a bitch in the heat 🙄🙄

florence.jwilliams: might visit somewhere cold this summer j to get away from the sun tbh 😭

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

Florence was always looking for shit.

She was always looking for shit for us to do, places to go, food to eat, but sometimes, it was a lot.

Like today. Although it was only the nineteenth of April, the sun was blaring down on the little city of D.C. (namely, the District of Columbia, for all of you non-natives) like an absolute bitch. And I, immune to alcohol poisoning, foot fungus, and slightly-immune to bad breath, was not absolutely not immune to the wrathful rays of the sun.

Zilch. Nada.

So when I originally left the house in a cardigan, I immediately went back in to change into a tank top and jorts. It was hot. I was hot. And Florence wanted to spend the whole day walking around the city doing God knows what.

That's how we ended up stumbling across a parade.

Every know and then when I would visit D.C., I would sometimes almost accidentally show up right in time for an event. Sometimes I happened to love the event, other times, I sometimes left, queasy, dizzy, and claustrophobic.

I wasn't sure what to make out of today's event.

At first, when looking from an outsider's perspective, it seemed as if I had walked into one large, large, cult meeting. Oh no.

Every one was adorned in shapes of navy, cheering, screaming, and worse of them all, holding a goddamn can of RedBull's Energy drink.

The air was thick with the scent of anticipation and caffeine, a cocktail potent enough to keep even the most exhausted of souls awake for days.

Banners fluttered wildly in the hands of fervent fans, each emblazoned with logos and slogans that screamed allegiance.

Vendors weaved through the throng, hawking more cans of the ubiquitous energy drink, their cries barely audible over the din.

Occasionally, a shower of confetti would rain down, sticking to the sweat-drenched skin of the masses, creating a mosaic of glittering chaos. The atmosphere was electric, charged with the raw energy of thousands of voices united in a singular, frenzied purpose.

Ew.

RedBull being one of my least favorite sodas (can you even call something you vehemently dislike a favorite at this point?) already made me additionally pissy.

So when Florence and I had just arrived at D.C. and walked towards Pennsylvania Avenue, it was too late for us to realize that the event was actually ending, and the crowd was dispersing.

Even as a girl who hails from the city, I do get quite nervous and claustrophobic around too many people. So to my utter horror, people from the flood of the RedBull cult were heading straight towards us, scattering like a pack of fleas.

Too late.

I had lost my tight grip (I swear I was holding on to her hand super duper tightly!) on Florence's hand, and we ended up getting separated from each other. Calling her name would be no use in this throng of people.

My heart pounded in my chest as I desperately scanned the sea of navy shapes, each person indistinguishable from the next in the dimming light.

Panic set in, and I could feel the beginnings of a cold sweat on the back of my neck. I tried to push my way through the crowd, but it felt like swimming against a relentless tide. People brushed past me, some nearly knocking me over in their haste to leave.

The overwhelming noise of their chatter, laughter, and the occasional burp of a RedBull can opening filled the air, making it impossible to concentrate.

It was gross. It was disgusting. I was disgusted.

I spun around, hoping to catch a glimpse of Florence’s distinctive red scarf, but all I saw were faceless masses. My phone! I fumbled in my pocket, my fingers trembling as I tried to pull it out without dropping it. Just as I managed to get a hold of it, someone bumped into me, and the phone slipped from my grasp, landing with a sickening thud on the pavement.

“Dammit!” I muttered under my breath, crouching down to retrieve it, praying it wasn’t shattered. As I picked it up, I glanced around again, my heart sinking. Florence was nowhere to be seen.

In this crowd of sickeningly electric people over an energy drink, I was dead. Six feet under. Tired, and I had just gotten to D.C..

I looked around in despair, realizing that I must have walked a few blocks without even noticing, my mind too frazzled by the chaos and my separation from Florence.

My phone was clutched tightly in my hand, my lifeline in this moment of utter confusion. I tried to call Florence, but there was no signal. "Damn this shitty data!" I cursed under my breath, feeling my frustration bubble over. The crowd seemed to close in around me, their excited chatter and laughter a stark contrast to my growing panic.

My fingers tapped frantically at the screen, hoping that maybe, just maybe, a bar of signal would appear and rescue me from this nightmare. I could feel the beginnings of a headache forming, the kind that starts as a dull throb and quickly escalates into a pounding, relentless pain.

The one goddamn day I had left the house without my morning coffee and this shit decided to happen to me...

In a desperate attempt, I switched my phone to airplane mode and back again, praying for a miracle. But nothing changed. The crowd jostled me from all sides, pushing and pulling like a relentless tide, each shove adding to my rising sense of helplessness.

I glanced around, trying to find a familiar landmark or a quieter spot to regroup, but all I saw were waves of navy shapes and faces blurred by motion and anxiety.

"Florence!" I shouted again, my voice barely carrying above the din. The energy drink-fueled chaos was suffocating, a cacophony of noise and movement that seemed designed to disorient and overwhelm. I caught sight of a bench a few feet away and made a beeline for it, hoping to gain some semblance of stability.

I was in a twisted, sick, alternative fever dream where my nightmare fuel was in fact RedBull™, ha ha ha.

Whatever, I could probably find her somewhere around the city, I mean, it wasn't that big...right?

So there I was, in D.C., by myself. Not like I wanted to go in the first place that morning, but whatever.

Lost in thought, I was just wandering around, not really concentrating on anything in particular. Horrible city instincts, might I add. Because of my absentmindedness, I clearly did not notice when I walked into someone.

More like someone's RedBull drink walked into me.

I could not escape the nightmare fuel fever dream RedBull™ agenda, couldn't I.

Now I was extremely pissed off. The icy liquid soaked through my shirt, a cold shock that made me gasp and snap back to reality.

Looking up, I was two milliseconds away from berating whoever spilled this devil-drink all over me. But my harsh words died on the tip of my tongue the very instant that I looked up.

I was looking at a man. But not just any regular man. An extremely handsome man.

His startling icy turquoise eyes connected with mine. His stubble, a little overgrown, looked so hot. His mousy, brown touseled hair gave him a nonchalant yet strangely put-together look, and I was all in for it. And I, a girl who never stops talking, I was rendered speechless.

From the first glance, everything about him seemed perfect.

Except for the fact that he just spilled RedBull all over my white tank top and he was even wearing RedBull merch, from head to toe. Like who does that? What fashion choices...

He gave me a sheepish smile, clearly embarrassed. "I'm so sorry," he said, his voice smooth and sincere. "I didn't see you there." His soft, European (?) accent lulled me to silence in an instance.

I wanted to be mad, I really did, but his charm was disarming. "It's fine," I managed to say, trying to suppress the butterflies in my stomach. "Accidents happen."

"Let me help you," he offered, reaching into his pockets and pulling out a pack of Kleenex tissues. He reached out towards me, seemingly wanting to put his hands on my shirt.

"Oh, oh, that's okay," I said, freaking out internally. If this handsome European man touched me that close to my boobs I might just have to propose to him that very instant.

"No, no, no, I insist," he said, his accent getting thicker, clearly not understanding my drift. He was too handsome to be doing this shit, I swear.

He came closer towards me, and I instinctively backed up a bit more. Not catching my drift (once again), he took a larger stride towards me. I, unprepared for this wild encounter, didn't step backwards in time, so the sexy European man in all of his glory, collided into me.

And down we went.

It must've been a funny sight to see from the average passerby. Them just minding their business. Maybe walking their dog. Or perhaps getting a morning lattee.

Bam.

Lying in the middle of the street are two people. Just there.

I would've hit my head on the pavement and probably cracked my scull wide open if not for the RedBull man. He had cradled one arm around my head, the other wrapped tightly around my waist. I think (?) he was helping me to try to stop the fall.

To no avail, we still fell.

What he disregarded, though, was when he tried to stop the fall, was the reason why we were falling in the first place. As grabbed my head as we fell, he also let go of the RedBull can. So now, free in the wind and open towards the chaos of the District of Columbia, the RedBull can fell.

Fell where? You may ask. It fell over us. It fell everywhere. The sticky, icky drink splattered across both of our faces, its cold, sugary droplets clinging to our skin like a caffeinated rain shower. The can, released from his grasp, seemed to defy gravity for a split second, twisting in the air before gravity's inevitable pull sent it crashing down.

The can hit the ground with a soft thud, its contents erupting in a fizzy explosion of energy. The liquid sprayed outward in all directions, catching us both off guard.

Streams of RedBull arced through the air, some landing on nearby pedestrians who stared in disbelief, while others formed tiny puddles on the sidewalk, reflecting the cloudy yet impeccably humid D.C. sky above.

For a moment, him and I laid on top of each other (weird and freaky, I know), frozen in a tableau of absurdity, our faces now adorned with streaks of sticky red liquid.

A passerby, caught in the crossfire, chuckled as they hurried past, muttering something about needing to wash their dog now. It was a scene straight out of a slapstick comedy, and despite my initial shock and embarrassment, I couldn't help but laugh along with him.

And you may think, oh wow, that is horrible. That must hurt. Your joints, your back, your legs. And to that I say, yes, yes, and very much absolutely yes.

The very sexy (slightly less sexy, now that we were mangled on the disgusting sidewalk) European man was laying on me with all his bodyweight, and it very much hurt.

To make matters worse, our faces collided. You ask, where did your faces specifically collide?

Our lips. Our lips collided, and they touched.

And me like the dumbass I am, when I see a face coming towards mine unexpectedly, eyes closed, and especially a face who's male.... I puckered up.

Yes, I was stupid.

Now, I was on the floor, sticky, and kissing a stranger.

Out of context, that sounds like a funny and strange sentence. But this whole scenario in the first place was out of context, so bear with me. I mean, how often do you end up on the ground, covered in energy drink, and accidentally kissing a stranger in the middle of the day?

It was like something out of a quirky rom-com (okay, more like the evil-twisted beginning to one of those abduction horror stories grown-ups tell you when you are a kid), except I never imagined I'd be the protagonist.

But in that split second, with the taste of RedBull lingering on our lips and the chaos of the city swirling around us, there was an inexplicable spark. It wasn't just the caffeine rush; it was a moment of shared laughter and unexpected connection amidst the sticky mess.

In this moment, I was either going to die because he was about to kidnap me, or sheerly die out of embarrassment. Or, I would will myself to die, this was not happening to me.

He pulled back, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I'm so sorry! Are you okay?" he asked, his accent making his words sound even more sincere.

I tried to laugh it off, but the awkwardness of the situation was hard to shake. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just… sticky." I wiped at my face, feeling the sugary residue cling to my skin.

He helped me to my feet, brushing off his clothes with an apologetic smile. "I didn't mean to… I mean, that was not… you know," he stammered, clearly flustered.

"It's okay," I reassured him, despite feeling mortified myself. "Really, it's fine. Just a little... unexpected."

He chuckled nervously, running a hand through his hair. He winced, as he realized that his fingers as well as his hair smelled like RedBull. "Well, this is definitely not how I imagined meeting someone today."

"Me neither," I admitted, feeling a strange mix of embarrassment and amusement. "But hey, at least it's a memorable encounter."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, I guess this is one way to make an impression. I'm Max, by the way. Professional RedBull spiller and accidental kisser."

I laughed, the tension easing. "Nice to meet you, Max. I'm Y/N. Apparently, I'm your victim for today."

"Victim? More like an unsuspecting hero," he replied with a playful grin. "Seriously, though, I'm really sorry about all this. Can I at least buy you a coffee to make up for it?"

"Well, considering you saved me from cracking my skull open, I think I can let you off the hook," I said, trying to sound casual while still feeling a bit flustered. "And coffee sounds good."

"Great! I know a place just around the corner. And I promise, no more RedBull," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. (Yeah, the biggest lie I was ever told. Do not trust sexy men, they are all liars)

As we walked towards the café, the awkwardness of our first meeting began to fade into a shared sense of humor about the absurdity of the situation. Max continued to apologize, making light-hearted comments about his job with RedBull and his less-than-perfect coordination skills.

"You know," Max started with a grin, "I guess I should add 'professional accidental kisser' to my resume now."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Not sure how many job openings there are for that, but you'd definitely stand out."

"Well, it's all about making a memorable first impression, right?" Max replied, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Definitely memorable," I agreed, taking a playful jab. "Though next time, maybe aim for something less sticky?"

Max feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart. "But where's the fun in that? Besides, it's not every day you get to meet someone while wearing your finest RedBull cologne."

"I have to admit," I said with a smirk, "you wear it well."

Max chuckled, nudging me playfully. "Hey, it's an acquired scent. You'll get used to it."

"And here I thought coffee was supposed to be the only thing brewing today," I teased, glancing at him from the corner of my eye.

He leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Who says we can't have a double shot of excitement?"

I couldn't help but chuckle at his playful flirtation, feeling myself relax even more in his company. "Well, as long as it doesn't involve any more airborne beverages, I'm all in."

Max raised an eyebrow, pretending to look offended. "Are you saying you didn't enjoy our little RedBull shower?"

"Let's just say I prefer my caffeine in a cup," I replied with a grin, sipping my coffee and meeting his gaze over the rim. "So, Max, what other talents do you have besides professional beverage mishaps?"

He leaned back, pretending to ponder the question seriously. "Well, I can juggle three balls at once. And I'm pretty good at making people laugh, unintentionally, most of the time."

"I can see that," I said, laughing softly. "You've definitely brightened up my day, unintentionally." Continuing, I said, "I was lost in that throng, no, no, no, cult of people wearing RedBull on Penn Ave. It was absolutely horrible, never again."

He guffawed loudly, so loudly, at my slightly funny joke, I for a second, thought that there was an underlying joke in my statement that I had not caught (spoiler alert, there was).

Max guffawed loudly, his laughter infectious. "Oh, I'm sorry," he managed between chuckles, "but you have to admit, it makes for a great story."

"You find this funny?" I asked, feigning offense while trying not to laugh myself. "I was traumatized by energy drink enthusiasts!"

"Hey, at least you made it out alive," Max quipped, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye. "And here you are, sharing your harrowing tale with a fellow survivor."

"Survivor?" I raised an eyebrow, pretending to assess him critically. "Or secret admirer of RedBull?"

Max shrugged, his smile mischievous. "Maybe a bit of both. It's an acquired taste, you know."

"You are just saying that as a cult member, I can't really trust what you say still. I am so sorry, but you could not pay me to drink that can of dog piss," I jokingly rolled my eyes.

Max burst into laughter, his amusement filling the air around us. "Dog piss? That's a new one! Trust me, I'm not here to convert you," he said, grinning widely. "But if you ever change your mind, I'll be here with a fresh can and an open mind."

"Hmmm... okay," I reluctantly said. (Yeah, fat chance you would get me to drink RedBull willingly)

"That only made him laugh louder. "So I've heard," Max replied with a grin, clearly taking my comment in good humor.

I chuckled, feeling a sense of relief that he wasn't offended by my playful jab. "I mean, it takes confidence to rock the RedBull look from head to toe," I added, trying to soften my teasing with a smile.

"Exactly!" Max exclaimed, his laughter subsiding into a grin. "You've got to commit to the brand, right?"

"Absolutely," I agreed, nodding. "I have to hand it to you, though. Not many people can pull off such a bold fashion statement."

"Well, thank you," Max said, his tone light and playful. "I guess you could say I'm all about making a statement."

"I can see that," I replied, unable to resist teasing him a bit more. "I suppose next time we meet, I should wear something equally attention-grabbing to match your style."

Max laughed, shaking his head. "Please do. It'll make for an even more interesting encounter."

Everytime he spoke, he made direct eye contact with me. It was so sexy and seductive, and I don't even think that Max knew what he was doing was hella attractive.

I, not immune to anything today I guess, fell hard for a stranger that I had just met.

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yourusername posted on her story

📍washington dc 🎵 see you again (ft. kali uchis) - tyler the creator

view replies

florence.jwilliams: girl we got separated and first thing you do is be big backed??? be so fr... where are u

yourusername: on a date! 😁

florence.jwilliams: oh!-

florence.jwilliams: don't be selfish and bring me back a iced coffee w almond milk and a croissant pls.

yourusername: croissant 👌🏾, beverage 👎🏾, i've had enuf of beverages and spilling today. 😭

florence.jwilliams: oop, tea

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author's note: a little short but sweet! ty guys for reading this fic! 😍🫶🏾 part two will be out sometime within the next two weeks, comment if you want to be added to the taglist! ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

259 notes · View notes

babybluewoso · 3 months ago

Text

Second chances in extra time (alessia russo x williamson!reader)

(note: for the sake of this story please just pretend Alessia didn't signed up with man u)

The chill of the autumn morning lingered in the air as Y/N Williamson stepped onto the training pitch at London Colney. The familiar sights and sounds of the Arsenal Women’s training ground greeted her like an old friend, but today, there was an unfamiliar tension hanging over her.

It had been years since Y/N had last seen Alessia Russo, but the memories of their time together were still as vivid as ever. They had grown up together, two football-loving kids in a small town, inseparable in every way. Y/N had been taller, stronger even then, but Alessia had always been the fierce, determined one. They balanced each other out perfectly. And somewhere along the line, between endless matches in the park and stolen moments under the stars, they had fallen in love.

But then Alessia had been offered a scholarship to play football in the United States, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that neither of them could ignore. They had tried to make it work, promising each other that distance wouldn’t change anything, but reality had other plans. The calls became less frequent, the texts shorter, and eventually, they had drifted apart. The breakup had been mutual, but the pain was anything but.

Y/N had stayed in England, following in her sister Leah’s footsteps to play for Arsenal. She had grown stronger, taller, and more skilled, but with each passing year, she had also become more reserved. The bubbly, carefree girl she had once been was now a quiet, introspective woman. She had learned to keep her emotions close, sharing her deepest thoughts only with her sister.

Leah had been her rock through everything, always there to support her, even when it meant holding her hand through the pain of losing Alessia. And now, after all these years, Alessia Russo was back, having signed with Arsenal. Y/N couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and dread at the thought of seeing her again.

But when the day finally came, and Y/N saw Alessia for the first time on the pitch, it wasn’t the reunion she had imagined. Alessia was still as beautiful as ever, with her piercing blue eyes and golden hair, but there was a hardness to her now, a coldness in her gaze that hadn’t been there before.

“Look who it is,” Alessia said as she approached Y/N, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “The famous Williamson sister. I see you’ve bulked up a bit.”

Y/N’s heart sank at the harsh tone. She had expected awkwardness, maybe even a little tension, but not outright hostility. She forced a smile, hoping to defuse the situation. “It’s good to see you again, Less.”

Alessia’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “You don’t get to call me that anymore.”

The words hit Y/N like a punch to the gut, but she didn’t let it show. She had always been good at hiding her emotions, at pretending that nothing could hurt her. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, looking down at the ground. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Whatever,” Alessia muttered, brushing past her without another word.

Y/N watched her walk away, her chest tight with a mix of sadness and confusion. She didn’t understand why Alessia was acting this way. She had hoped that time would have healed the wounds between them, that they could at least be civil, but it seemed that Alessia was still holding onto the pain of their past.

------------

As the weeks went by, Alessia’s attitude toward Y/N didn’t improve. In fact, it seemed to get worse with each passing day. Every time Y/N tried to talk to her, Alessia would respond with a snide comment or a dismissive remark. She would criticize Y/N’s performance on the pitch, belittle her efforts, and make cutting remarks about her appearance. It was like Alessia was determined to push Y/N away, to make her feel as worthless as possible.

And it was working. Y/N, who was usually so strong, found herself retreating further and further into her shell. She stopped trying to engage with Alessia, opting instead to stay quiet and avoid her whenever possible. She focused on her training, throwing herself into every drill, every exercise, hoping to drown out the pain with physical exertion.

But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake the feeling of loss that gnawed at her heart. She missed the Alessia she had once known—the girl who had loved her fiercely and unapologetically. The girl who had made her feel like she was enough, just as she was. But that Alessia was gone, replaced by someone who seemed to hate her.

Leah noticed the change in her sister almost immediately. She had always been protective of Y/N, and seeing her so withdrawn, so defeated, broke her heart. Leah knew that something needed to be done, but she wasn’t sure how to fix the situation. She couldn’t force Alessia to be kind, and she couldn’t make Y/N stand up for herself if she didn’t want to.

But Leah wasn’t one to give up easily. She had always been a leader, on and off the pitch, and she was determined to find a way to help her sister. She started talking to the other players, those who had been around long enough to see the change in Y/N, and together, they came up with a plan.

---------------

One evening after training, Leah gathered a small group of players in the locker room—Beth Mead, Kim Little, Vivianne Miedema, and Katie McCabe. They were the core of the team, the ones who had seen Y/N grow into the player she was today, and they all cared deeply for her.

“Alright, we need to talk,” Leah began, her voice serious. “It’s about Y/N and Alessia.”

Beth nodded, leaning back against the bench. “Yeah, I’ve noticed the tension between them. It’s like walking on eggshells whenever they’re in the same room.”

“Exactly,” Leah agreed. “And Y/N isn’t handling it well. She’s pulling away, and that’s not like her. She’s always been so open, so loving, but now… I don’t know. She’s just not herself.”

“She’s hurting,” Kim said softly. “And it’s clear that Alessia is the cause of it. But why? What happened between them?”

Leah sighed, running a hand through her hair. “They were together, a long time ago, before Alessia went to the States. They were childhood sweethearts, but the distance… it tore them apart. And now, I think Alessia is still in love with Y/N, but she’s angry. Angry that she still cares, angry that Y/N is here, and maybe even angry that Y/N has moved on—or at least, she thinks she has.”

“So what do we do?” Vivianne asked, crossing her arms. “We can’t just sit back and watch this happen. Y/N deserves better.”

Leah smiled, her eyes glinting with determination. “We’re going to bring them back together. We’re going to remind Alessia why she fell in love with Y/N in the first place, and show Y/N that Alessia’s anger isn’t really about her—it’s about the love she’s trying to deny.”

The others nodded in agreement, their minds already working on the details of the plan. It wouldn’t be easy, but they were determined to help Y/N and Alessia find their way back to each other. They had both suffered enough, and it was time for them to heal.

------------

The first step of the plan was simple: get Y/N and Alessia alone together, away from the pitch, away from the team, and in an environment where they couldn’t avoid talking to each other. Leah suggested a team bonding night at the pub, something they hadn’t done in a while. It was the perfect excuse to get everyone together, and with a little nudging, she convinced Y/N and Alessia to come along.

The pub was cozy, with low lighting and warm wooden furnishings. The team gathered around a large table, drinks in hand, and for a while, the atmosphere was light and cheerful. Y/N sat at one end of the table, nursing her drink and trying her best to stay engaged in the conversation, but her eyes kept drifting toward Alessia, who was sitting at the other end, looking just as uncomfortable.

Leah watched them both carefully, waiting for the right moment. When the conversation lulled, she leaned forward, catching Alessia’s eye. “Hey, Less, why don’t you and Y/N go grab another round for us? I think we’re running low.”

Alessia’s eyes widened slightly, but she quickly masked her surprise with a cool nod. “Sure,” she said, standing up and glancing at Y/N. “You coming?”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest, but she nodded and stood up as well. “Yeah, okay.”

They walked to the bar together in silence, the tension between them almost palpable. Y/N could feel Alessia’s eyes on her, but she kept her gaze fixed on the floor, unsure of what to say. She hated this—hated the awkwardness, the distance, the way Alessia made her feel like she was walking on eggshells.

As they reached the bar, Y/N cleared her throat, finally gathering the courage to speak. “Alessia, I’m sorry if I’ve done something to upset you. I never wanted things to be like this between us.”

Alessia didn’t respond right away. She stared at the bartender as he poured their drinks, her jaw clenched tightly. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and laced with bitterness. “You didn’t do anything, Y/N. That’s the problem.”

Y/N blinked, taken aback by the harshness of her words. “What do you mean?”

Alessia let out a sharp laugh, shaking her head. “You didn’t fight for me. When I left, you just… let me go. Like I didn’t matter.”

Y/N’s heart clenched at the accusation, and she swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. Y/N’s throat tightened, a lump of guilt rising as Alessia’s words settled in. “I… I didn’t know what to do, Less. You had this amazing opportunity, and I thought—” She struggled to find her voice, every word feeling like a fragile confession. “I thought letting you go was the right thing.”

Alessia’s eyes flashed with anger as she spun to face Y/N. “The right thing? Do you have any idea how hard it was for me? Leaving everything behind, leaving you behind? You didn’t even try to stop me. You just stood there, like I didn’t mean anything to you.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped at the accusation, and for the first time, she felt the sting of tears at the corners of her eyes. She blinked them away quickly, refusing to let Alessia see her cry. “That’s not true, Alessia. You meant everything to me. You still do. I thought… I thought I was being selfless by not holding you back.”

Alessia’s gaze softened, just for a moment, but the anger quickly returned, a shield against the pain. “You should’ve fought for me,” she repeated, her voice breaking just enough to reveal the hurt underneath. “But you didn’t.”

Y/N stood there, frozen, feeling the weight of her past decisions crushing down on her. She had always been strong, always held herself together, but Alessia’s words cut deeper than anything she’d ever felt on the pitch. She had failed her—not by letting her go, but by not realizing how much Alessia had needed her to fight.

“I didn’t know how to,” Y/N admitted, her voice barely a whisper. “I was scared of losing you… scared of making the wrong choice. I thought you wanted to be free, and I didn’t want to be the reason you couldn’t follow your dreams.”

Alessia’s eyes softened again, but this time, she didn’t pull back. Instead, she looked at Y/N for a long moment, the anger slowly draining from her expression. “I wanted you to come with me, Y/N. I would’ve given up everything to stay with you if you had asked. But you never did.”

Y/N’s heart shattered at the revelation, and she felt a tear slip down her cheek before she could stop it. “I didn’t know, Less. I didn’t know you felt that way. I was stupid, and I was scared, and I thought you were better off without me.”

Alessia sighed, the frustration finally ebbing away, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. “I wasn’t better off without you. I’ve spent years trying to forget about you, but I couldn’t. No matter how hard I tried.”

Y/N looked down at her hands, her chest aching with regret. “I never stopped thinking about you either. Not once.”

The silence between them was heavy, but this time, it wasn’t filled with anger or resentment. It was filled with the weight of everything they hadn’t said, of all the time they had lost. Y/N wanted to reach out, to take Alessia’s hand, but she didn’t know if she had the right anymore.

But Alessia was the one who made the first move. She sighed and, for the first time since they’d been reunited, the edge in her voice softened. “Y/N… it’s not all your fault. We both made mistakes.”

Y/N looked up, her heart pounding. “Does that mean…?”

Alessia glanced at her, something unspoken hanging in the air between them. “I don’t know what it means. But maybe… we don’t have to keep hurting each other.”

Y/N’s breath caught. This was the first glimmer of hope she’d felt in weeks. “I don’t want to hurt you, Less. I never did.”

Alessia gave her a small, tired smile. “I know.”

The bartender slid their drinks across the counter, and Alessia picked them up. As she handed one to Y/N, her fingers brushed against Y/N’s, sending a jolt of electricity through her. For a moment, their eyes met, and Y/N saw something there that she hadn’t seen in a long time: the flicker of the girl she used to know, the one who had loved her.

They returned to the table in silence, but this time, the tension between them was different. It wasn’t the suffocating weight of anger and regret—it was something softer, something that felt like the first step toward healing.

-------------------

Over the next few days, Y/N and Alessia didn’t talk much, but the harsh comments and cold stares stopped. Alessia seemed to be struggling with her own emotions, and Y/N gave her the space she needed. But Leah, ever the protective sister, wasn’t content to let things linger in awkward silence.

“We’re making progress,” Leah said, gathering the core group again in the locker room after practice. “But we need to do more. They’re clearly not going to talk unless we push them together.”

Katie McCabe grinned, leaning back in her seat. “Well, we’re a team. We can get creative. Maybe they need a little… forced bonding time.”

Beth raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting we lock them in a room together until they sort things out?”

Katie shrugged. “Not a bad idea, is it?”

Leah laughed. “Let’s not go that far. But I do think we need to create a situation where they can’t just avoid each other.”

“Like what?” Vivianne asked.

“Like a team dinner, maybe,” Leah suggested. “Somewhere casual, low pressure. We can make sure they’re sitting next to each other. And if that doesn’t work, we’ll come up with something more drastic.”

The group nodded in agreement, their eyes twinkling with mischief. It wasn’t often that they got to play matchmaker, and they were determined to see it through.

That weekend, the team gathered at a cozy Italian restaurant in central London, the kind of place with candlelit tables and soft music in the background. Leah had made the seating arrangements, ensuring that Y/N and Alessia were placed right next to each other.

Y/N felt her heart rate spike as she took her seat beside Alessia, but Alessia didn’t seem as tense as before. In fact, she even managed a small smile when their eyes met. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to give Y/N a flicker of hope.

As the evening wore on, the conversation flowed easily around the table. The team laughed, joked, and shared stories, and slowly, Y/N felt the tension between her and Alessia begin to melt away. At one point, Alessia leaned over and whispered something about one of the other players, and Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, the sound surprising even herself.

For the first time in a long time, it felt easy. Natural. Like maybe, just maybe, they could find their way back to each other.

After dinner, as the team spilled out onto the street, Leah nudged Y/N gently. “Walk Alessia home,” she whispered.

Y/N hesitated, but Leah gave her a reassuring smile. “Go on. It’s time.”

Y/N swallowed her nerves and turned to Alessia. “Hey, do you want some company on the way home?”

Alessia looked surprised for a moment, but then she nodded. “Sure. I’d like that.”

They walked in comfortable silence through the quiet London streets, the cool night air brushing against their skin. Y/N’s heart raced with every step, but she didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t until they reached Alessia’s building that she finally spoke.

“I’ve missed you,” Y/N blurted out before she could stop herself.

Alessia paused, her keys in hand, and looked up at Y/N. Her expression softened, and for a moment, Y/N saw the girl she had fallen in love with all those years ago.

“I’ve missed you too,” Alessia admitted quietly.

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning. Y/N took a step closer, her heart pounding in her chest. “Do you think… we could try again?”

Alessia’s eyes searched Y/N’s face for a long moment, as if weighing her options. Then, slowly, she nodded. “Yeah. I think we can.”

And with that, the distance between them melted away. Y/N stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Alessia, pulling her close. It felt like coming home.

--------------

From that moment on, things between Y/N and Alessia began to heal. The bitterness and anger faded, replaced by the love that had always been there, buried beneath the hurt. They took things slow, rebuilding the trust they had lost, but it wasn’t long before they were back to where they had once been—laughing, teasing, and loving each other with the same intensity as before.

And this time, Y/N wasn’t going to let Alessia go. Not again.

The rest of the team watched their relationship blossom with a sense of satisfaction, knowing that they had played a small part in bringing them back together. Leah, in particular, was overjoyed to see her sister happy again, and she made sure to remind Y/N every chance she got that family—and love—was worth fighting for.

And so, as the seasons changed and the matches came and went, Y/N and Alessia faced every challenge together. They were stronger, not just as teammates, but as partners, and they knew that whatever the future held, they would face it together.

Because this time, they weren’t letting go.

#masc lesbian #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso fanfics #woso #masc reader #futfem #alessia russo #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo x y/n #arsenal wfc #arsenal women #leah williamson

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idksmtms · 3 months ago

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willow (Cillian Murphy x Actress!reader) - evermore series

evermore series

A/N: I had an idea up on my masterlist about falling in love with Cillian while filming a movie so I just decided to merge it with this. Also I saw the picture of him and Emily Blunt walking in costume on the set of Oppenheimer and I thunk thoughts. (sidenote: I cannot write a summary to save my life)

Extra info: I never say the title of the movie you guys are filming in the fic because I didn’t really want to get too detailed about it, but then I thought of the plot of The Delinquent Season the entire time lmao (I just changed random things because I’m a sucker for an age gap). Also, we’re pretending Oppenheimer hasn’t happened yet because it works for the story.

Edit: I feel like the ending sucks but I’m too tired to change it. Sorry.

Summary: When you met Cillian Murphy on set, you were already a fan. When you left, you were so much more…

Word count: 9,772 (oh my gosh I went so overboard with this…)

Trigger Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, profanity, age gap, PinV sex, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, toxic!Cillian, like 0 communication between characters, secret relationship, not proofread but they never are (please let me know if I missed any)

Disclaimer: This is written purely for fictional purposes and for the sake of writing. No disrespect is intended to the real people portrayed/concerned in this scenario.

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

You met Cillian Murphy for the first time five hours before you kissed him. Despite being cast in the lead female role, you were a rather late addition to the movie. Issues had come up with the actress initially cast and you had gotten a phone call about two months before shooting started to get yourself to the studio to sign contracts and start costume fittings. This was an amazing opportunity, and regardless of the rush, you were excited to have it. You had been in movies before, of course, but this was your first lead role and if you did a good enough job, it could skyrocket your career trajectory. Aside from all the good things it could do for your career, you were simply excited to get to work, and to get to work with such a good cast and filmmaker.

On top of all of that, you would be working closely alongside the Cillian Murphy. When you were told that he was to be your costar, you had been in shellshock for a moment before pressing an obnoxious kiss to your agent’s cheek. Cillian Murphy was one of those actors that only came around once in a lifetime. He was only in tasteful, and well done projects, playing a variety of the most interesting characters you had ever watched. You had seen Peaky Blinders, Inception, Dunkirk, and though you had no interest in superhero movies, you sat down and watched all three Batman movies just to watch him play a villain. In the few interviews you had done up to now, you had mentioned once or twice that you believed him to be the best actor of your lifetime, someone who was left unrecognised at awards shows but deserved all of them and more (as you walked onto set for the first time, you really hoped he hadn’t seen any of those interviews). So, to say you were a fan before the movie might have been an understatement, but you had worked with other people who you were fans of before, and Tom Glynn-Carney only had nice things to say about you afterward; you could be professional and a fan.

You had been put up in a hotel the night before you were to be driven to the studio lot, your new home for however long you were going to be filming there, and in the morning a polite chauffeur arrived in a blacked out car to take you there. You felt a little giddy during the drive, as you always did before starting a new project. You hadn’t learnt the rhythms of the set yet, the director’s process, whether it would be a rush of technical work or a more relaxed set. You hadn’t worked with most of the other actors, you didn’t know how they approached the job, whether they were welcoming and friendly or preferred to focus on the job then return to solitude. It was all the unknowns that made your stomach feel swoopy, but you had come to like the feeling, viewed it as a challenge, the beginnings of an investigation to learn about your job and home for the rest of the duration of the project.

You were deposited into the custody of one of the many assistants running around, and hurriedly walked to your trailer with a warning that you would only have five minutes to put your things down, change into your costume, possibly have a sip of water, before you would be taken to hair and makeup and given your costume. You smiled brightly at her, nodding and affirming her over and over that you understood. Your first actual job on a movie set had been as an assistant, you knew her job was hard enough without an actor giving her attitude, so you simply followed her.

The area you walked through was like the other studio lots you had been to before, large buildings that looked like warehouses on the outside but probably held the coolest sets or the most intricate technology on the inside. People drove around in golf carts, some assistants sprinted while yelling down the phone, others hurriedly rolled clothing racks between buildings. You could see someone giving an interview in the distance but they were too far away for you to tell who it was.

The trailer you were led to was in a wide space filled with other trailers, what you imagined the setup area for a circus looked like. It was bland and white on the outside, your name in big letters surrounded by the shape of a star (some intern clearly had fun with Canva) on the door, and you felt that bubble of excitement all over again. You let the assistant open the door for you, thanking her and shooting her a smile as if inviting her to join in on the excitement you felt before stepping in. It was exactly as you had expected it to be, and that made you happier than anything else. There was a small kitchenette area with cupboards and a minifridge. A counter separated it from a little seating area, couch seats against either wall, before a tiny hallway (which could barely be called a hallway) that had the door to the bathroom on one side and led into a little bedroom (which was just a bed with a little space on the side to walk and nothing else). Your clothes were hung up on a little hook on the bathroom door.

You deposited your tote bag on the counter and went to the minifridge, pulling out a bottle of water and taking a big gulp. Ice cold and delicious. You scrunched yourself up and did a happy little jump and squeal because you were living the dream, and nothing could be better than that. You messaged your parents and friends that you had arrived, sent pictures and a little video of the trailer, before picking up your costume and getting into the little bedroom to change.

It was a simple pair of mom jeans, well fitted and slightly higher than your ankle, accompanied with a plain white blouse that had blue detailing around the neck and off the shoulder sleeves that ended just after your elbow, something you could imagine a mum wearing on vacation in Greece. It was comfortable, and you made a little note to ask the costume designer where she got the pieces because it may or may not have been the best pair of jeans you had ever worn.

You were able to take another big gulp of water before a knock and a voice at the door was telling you to get to hair and makeup. The trailer for hair and makeup was closer to the actual block of buildings you would be filming in, and a little golf cart was ready to take you there. You let out a little laugh as you settled yourself inside, chatting with the driver as he manoeuvred around people and other obstacles to get you there.

It was quieter in this corner of the studio, more people walking than running, less things being shifted around in a hurry, and you felt a sense of calm in the air (or at least whatever semblance of calm one could get on a movie set). The driver stopped right in front of the doors and you thanked him, laughing at the parting joke he told you about a dog getting loose in the lot. You went up the first two steps for the trailer when the door swung open and you had to jump back to avoid being slammed into the wall with it. Someone came walking out with their head down, turning back to smile at someone else who had wished them goodluck from within the trailer. They paused when they finally noticed you, and you opened your mouth to say something but not a word came out. They smiled with a huff of a chuckle, and all you could think was that he was so much more beautiful in person than what any camera could capture.

“I hope I didn’t whack you with the door,” he winced apologetically and you just took a deep breath in, shaking your head then breathing out quickly and laughing at yourself.

“No, no, I just managed to avoid it,” you breathed out, giggling because your stomach was suddenly tingling and you couldn’t quite feel your hands (or maybe you could feel them too much).

“Oh, good,” he nodded, “would not have been a good way to introduce myself. Cillian Murphy,” he held out his hand, smiling and polite, his eyes piercing through your skin. They were so bright, so blue. You blinked then kept staring into them as you brought your hand gently into his, hoping your grip wasn’t too limp nor too firm.

“Y/n L/n, it is so nice to meet you. I’m sorry, I’m trying really hard to hide how starstruck I am and I think I’m failing,” you admitted, cheeks suddenly burning. You always talked when you were nervous, which meant you always overshared when you were nervous. But he just laughed, a deep chuckle that made his chest shake and drew your attention to it. He was broader than you, and wearing a cosy looking black sweater that you desperately wanted to push your face against and feel rub against your cheek. The sleeves had been pushed up to his elbows and you could see the round collar of a white t-shirt poking out at the neck.

“Don’t worry, you were doing a good job so far, until you admitted it anyway,” he did that little huff-laugh again and you pressed a hand to your face, scrunching your eyes shut in shame at the bombardment of thoughts running through your head that made you feel brainless at the same time.

“Alright, well then,” you laughed, shaking your head and stepping to the side so he could finally walk past you (which you thought he had wanted to do the entire time but was too polite to point out). “I’m sorry for keeping you trapped here, I’ll let you go wherever you need to go Mr. Murphy.”

“Please, it’s Cillian,” he frowned in that way that said ‘don’t bother with such formality’, and waved the hand in the air that was carrying his script as if to bat the title away.

“Right, sorry, Cillian,” and you smiled brightly because he was looking at you with those beautiful, beautiful, eyes, and watched him walk down the steps, wave back at you, run a hand through his hair that had been styled messily, and head for the door of the first building.

When he had disappeared through the door, you slammed the heel of your hand against your forehead until it stung a little and made it feel like your brain had moved around in your head, grumbling “Mr. Murphy? Seriously? You’re an adult too, ya know? You can call people by their first names now, for fuck’s sake.”

Cillian chewed on his lip as he sat in the foldable chair on set, waiting for everything else to be set up, his co-star to arrive, and the director to start dictating everything. He enjoyed these few minutes before filming, they helped him focus in on the set, get into the mind of his character, evaluate the situation and what would be needed from him. But he had a little extra time today, and he didn’t mind either because his mind was a little distracted.

He didn’t think he had ever been called ‘Mr. Murphy’ by a co-star, and it made him laugh because it felt a little ridiculous, but it also made him wonder if you were just young or overly respectful. A quick google search told him you were younger, much younger, but didn’t necessarily answer the question.

Regardless, he liked you, thus far anyway. He liked the way you looked, your hair was pretty and you had kind eyes, and you smelled nice, a soft flowery perfume. And he liked your voice too, a little loud sometimes, a little too quiet others, but it was nice. He hadn’t seen any of your movies, but he was feeling positive about you. Perhaps too positive, but he shut down that thought process with a snap.

The makeup artist was best friends with the hairdresser and they were both some of the sweetest people you had ever met. They chatted with you the entire time, laughed at your story of embarrassing yourself in front of Cillian, comforted you that he was a nice, easygoing man who wouldn’t hold it against you, and offered you the little snacks they had lying around. Your hair was put into a simple braid, slicked down with pommade to control the flyaways you were plagued with, and the makeup was so natural you would question if you were wearing any if you hadn’t been there while she was rubbing and brushing the products onto your face.

The costume designer had left some jewellery for you with them, and they helped you clasp the necklace and earrings while you rummaged in your bag for your script. The director had come in while your hair was being done and told you about some of the last-minute changes to the script and the scenes that were being filmed. The ‘first kiss’ scene was going to be filmed at the end of the day instead of in two weeks time because of scheduling complications and the intimacy coordinator would work with you and Cillian during the break at midday while they filmed some of the scenes that didn’t have either of you in them. You had simply nodded, you couldn’t have argued anyway, you didn’t have any authority here even if you had a lead role, and just told him you’d look over your script and mark it out. He had patted you on the shoulder with a smile and hurried back out and you had resisted the urge to press your face into your hands lest you ruin the makeup.

Of course you were a little annoyed, you had been told to prepare for certain scenes and those were the scenes you had prepared for, but as you took deep breaths and rifled through the many pieces of advice your therapist had given you, you knew this wasn’t a problem to waste your feelings on. They would be lenient because of the last minute change, and if they weren’t originally then they would have to be because you weren’t a magician. A few deep breaths and reading your lines for the first scene you would be filming calmed you down and returned you to the necessary headspace for filming.

You thanked both the makeup artist and hairdresser, then put in your headphones as you slowly walked toward the set. You needed to be in a sombre mood, needed to feel that apathy and sadness clawing at the edges of your mind. Your character was struggling, her life was falling apart and she felt like she had no solution, only minor escapes during her trysts with Jim, Cillian’s character. You tucked the script under your arm as you got to the set, taking out your earbuds and looking around for the director. You met eyes with Eva Birthistle who smiled widely and waved at you, excusing herself from the assistant director and walking over to you.

“Hello, hello!” She hugged you tightly and you returned the greeting against her shoulder.

Eva was the only member of the cast you had gotten to meet before filming began. One of your fittings had been at the same time as hers and you both had gotten to chatting about the movie. She was an absolute sweetheart, someone you could see as a mentor for yourself, and you were glad to see a familiar face on the set other than the director, a bonus that it was one as welcoming as hers. She wrapped her arm over your shoulder and led you over to the cluster of chairs behind the camera where Cillian was already seated, chatting with Andrew Scott. They both looked up and smiled at the two of you as you came and sat down on the remaining two chairs, Eva already engaging them in conversation.

Looking at all of them sitting there, it hit you for the first time that you were the youngest person here, in both age and experience. These were all people who had done multiple movies in a variety of roles, had been acting by the time you were born, and had made names for themselves. A wave of shyness hit you that you scolded yourself for, your cheeks burning as you sat down and shook hands with Andrew. Thankfully, the wave didn’t last, because Eva and Andrew were chatty, and both ready to include you in the conversation.

You were glad for this little moment, though it took you out of the headspace of the character you were trying to settle into. These were all people you would be acting closely with, yelling at or kissing on camera for the next few months, and the more comfortable you could get with them the better.

Andrew was sweet, asking you questions about past jobs, the interview process, how you felt about your character, an endless supply of questions, jokes, and responses that made him an instant friend. Eva chimed in with her own stories and jokes, piling on top of his and making you laugh until your stomach hurt. Cillian was quieter, only speaking when directly spoken to or simply laughing along with the jokes, but his simple presence was enough for you to feel warm in your bones and excited at the prospect of acting with him. He was so nonchalant, so calm and focused but not deterrent or rude. While you seemed to learn a multitude about both Eva and Andrew, you learnt little about Cillian other than that he preferred living in Ireland to anywhere else.

You thought maybe it was better that you didn’t get to know him too much. It would make the intimate scenes feel less personal, less intense. He genuinely was one of the most beautiful people you had ever seen and it was too easy for an actor to fall prey to the emotions of a scene in real life. You didn’t want to suddenly be sitting there after a sex scene wondering how similar it was to the real deal with him. You were here to do your job and nothing more.

The conversation had quieted down as different checks were done on set and it was almost time for you all to convene with the director to get filming started. Cillian was reading quietly from his script, a pair of rectangular glasses with rounded edges and dark rims sat on his nose as he rubbed his index finger back and forth across his bottom lip. You watched him for a moment, the soft movement of his lips as he silently formed the words. Then the director was calling you all up and you felt like you were being snapped out of a trance you hadn’t known you had entered in the first place.

“Alright, you guys have had a small dinner get-together at Jim and Danielle’s house. This is a sort of regular thing, every couple of weeks, maybe once a month, you have this dinner get-together. You’re all sitting at the dining table across from each other, picking at the final pieces of your meals. Jim and Danielle’s children are asleep upstairs and you guys are simply drinking wine and talking.” He walked you all over to the dining table and pointed out the seats, sitting you down first next to Eva before scrapping the idea and having you sit across from her and beside Andrew. Once you had all been assigned your seats, he turned to Eva and Cillian.

“You two have been married for a long time, you have two children, you’re in a place in your lives where you believe you’re simply secure in your relationship, but if anyone pokes into this it’s fragile, and you’re not sure if you’re secure and still in love, or you’re just going through the motions of a life you have lived for a long time and don’t actually enjoy. You don’t question anything anymore, just go to work, come home, kiss each other, cook dinner, have a little chat before bed, and do it all over again, day by day.” Then he turned to you and Andrew. He looked at you for a moment before reaching out, pausing just before touching you and silently asking if it was alright. You nodded happily, and he gently pulled your braid to rest over one of your shoulders, moved the pendant on your necklace so it rested a little more to the left, and pulled one of your sleeves a little further down so just the edge of your bra strap was exposed.

“You two have also been married for a while, but things are a little different. You married Chris right after graduating uni, most of your adult life has been married life. Chris is older, was already pushing forty when you guys got married. All of your friends are his age, mostly couple friends, and you’ve always felt pushed into this older, more mature role, that you don’t necessarily feel successful in. You lean on him quite a bit during these situations, deferring to him to answer difficult questions or when talking about your family life. Chris takes this in stride, it’s how it has always been in your relationship, even after years of marriage and a child. Chris is struggling silently recently, he’s easier to anger, feels a little distant, but honestly? You don’t even realise. You don’t know what he’s hiding, you don’t even know that he’s hiding anything. Andrew, the weight of the disease, hiding it from his family, all those private struggles, are always in the back of Chris’s mind, ok?” Both of you nodded and as you went to sit down at the table, he beckoned you and Cillian over to the side saying, “just a moment.”

Cillian stood next to you with his arms crossed, the black sweater still pushed up to his elbows, and the edge just brushed against the skin of your arm. You shivered and stretched out your neck for a moment, a nervous tick, before returning your eyes to the director speaking in a low voice.

“Alright, you two are sitting diagonally to each other at the table. You guys take the term ‘friends’ loosely. You’re friends because she’s friends with Danielle and you’re Danielle’s husband. You’re friends because you’re both couples who are friends, but you’ve never spoken to each other without your spouses in the room. Ok? But there is a little bit of intrigue, I guess. You glance at each other, not for long, just barely a look, or you meet eyes while one of you is talking to the group. I don’t want chemistry, I want the possibility of chemistry. Jim is laidback, especially compared to her husband. She’s pretty and young, especially compared to the other people at the table. I don’t want to notice anything between you yet, I want to come back and watch the movie one day in the future and suddenly notice that there’s something there, but too subtle to hint at the future affair. Ok?” You nodded as he spoke, feeling yourself settle into that focus you usually found just before filming, no more smile and twinkle in your eye. “Alright, break a leg,” and he was walking back to the cameras. You turned to Cillian for a second and he nodded at you, those eyes that you would never forget looking over your face for a moment before he headed for his seat at the table. You clenched your jaw for a second, staring at his back as he walked away, before shaking your head and holding it up high on your way to the table.

“Alright, change costumes, change the lighting, we’re moving to the living room scene for the next couple of hours, I need the kids and Eva there, please. Cillian and Y/n, head down to studio three after changing, the intimacy coordinator is already there, you have a couple of hours to get it together before we start filming. Hop to it everyone!”

You were happy to be moving on. Though you had been in films that took even longer for singular scenes, you were starting to feel stale in that environment and reverting to the exact same routine over and over. An assistant was quick to come up alongside you and direct you back to hair and makeup.

“Your costume is already there, and once everything’s been changed, someone else will come get you to take you to studio three,” he told you, not once looking at you but rather at the clipboard in his hand filled with typed and handwritten notes.

“Ok, thank you,” you nodded, watching the assistant nod goodbye before doubling back to find Cillian to relay the same information. You stood still and watched him for a moment, the glasses tucked into the neck of his sweater as he nodded at the assistant.

The longer hair looked good on him, you thought. It was going a little grey in the places around his ears but you liked it more that way. His cheekbones cast shadows on his face in the dim light, but you could still see the faint freckles over his nose and the very light smattering he had on his neck. You could even see the freckles on his forearms and it made something warm bloom in your stomach. He looked up and directly at you. Those eyes… those eyes you could spend hours talking about, uncaring that you probably repeated yourself multiple times simply because of how beautiful they were. You smiled, something that could just barely be considered a smile with only the corners of your lips twitching up for barely a moment and your eyes fluttering, before turning away and walking out of the studio.

You ended up changing in the corner of the hair and makeup trailer, both the women standing with their backs turned to you as they organised pins and palettes and chatted away. Your next costume was a set of oversized mauve-coloured pyjamas that felt a little too thin for your liking. You were a little relieved that it was only the first kissing scene being filmed. You had read the entire script twice over, and you knew about the other scenes to come that required a lot more of you. You had only ever filmed one ‘intimate’ scene before, and even that had only been a rather simple kissing scene. While this scene was definitely more than that, it didn’t feel as big of a leap on the first day simply because it cut off after the kiss.

Your hair was let down from its braid, mussed up with the hairdresser’s hands and sprayed with hairspray. All your makeup was wiped off before they went to work again. Dabs of eyeshadow in strategic places made your eyes look slightly puffy, like you just woke up from a haggard sleep. Purple under eyes appeared out of nowhere and the faintest bruise was brought to life on your right cheekbone. Little dabs of red on your lips made them look bitten and your nails were chopped roughly to look like you had been chewing on them on and off. Again, you thanked the women and in a simple pair of slippers made your way outside to meet with the assistant responsible for guiding you to studio three.

It looked like a school drama studio on the inside, with blackout curtains hung all the way around, a black linoleum floor and big wood blocks wrapped in fuzzy material pushed to the edges of the room. You would have taken your shoes and socks off outside the room out of habit if you had known what it looked like on the inside. You smiled to yourself at the thought, before quickly shuffling over to where Cillian stood talking to two women who looked like the opposites of each other. One was dressed in plain white pants, a white blouse tucked neatly into said pants, and a cream coloured cardigan. The other wore a poncho-style dress that fluttered as she moved her arms and was covered in dizzying bohemian patterns. Ten necklaces were draped over her chest, anything from chains to rope, and she had a bandana neatly wrapped to keep her hair out of her face.

“Hi! I hope I’m not late!” You called, stopping just beside Cillian and smiling at the two women who looked old enough to be your grandmothers (the realisation that you would be making out with someone right in front of them was not a pleasant one).

“Not at all, we were just talking about boundaries,” Poncho Lady told you warmly, reaching out to shake your hand. The one in the cardigan followed suit, though she was quieter, and you simply smiled brightly at both of them before waiting for instruction.

“Alright, give your scripts here and just stand in front of each other.” Poncho Lady gently pried the script from your hand, took your tote bag from your shoulder, and set them both down on one of the wood blocks Cardigan Lady had pulled over. “Ok, so we’re just here to make sure you don’t feel uncomfortable doing this scene, that no one pushes past any hard boundaries, and to make it seem natural without being unprofessional. Now, before you get to it, is there any place on your body that you would be uncomfortable with your partner touching?” You shook your head and watched Cillian mimic the reaction.

Awkwardness was cloying at the back of your neck and you desperately wanted to open your mouth and make a stupid comment about how it would just look weird in the movie if he grabbed you between the legs anyway, and it took every ounce of your willpower to keep your mouth shut. “Alright! Let’s get started then! We’ll interrupt when needed.” You turned to fully face Cillian, tilting your head back slowly when you realised how close he was standing. He was still wearing the same jeans and sweater, but the shirt underneath had been changed to a black one, the neck perpetually poking out.

You dipped your head down again, pressing your hand to your face as you began rambling about how stupid you were and how insane it was for you to be asking him to have an affair with you. Your eyes were squeezed so tight you could see white flashes on the backs of your eyelids. Then, gently, he was interrupting you, voice low as he told you that it was fine, everything was fine, you did nothing wrong, he completely understood, you were tired, emotional after everything. But you kept berating, spitting out words about how he was so good looking and so loyal and you were you, a horrible friend and obviously never a second thought on his mind. And then he was cutting you off, rambling in return about how you’re a beautiful woman, and he can’t lie that he hasn’t thought about you, he’s a man who can appreciate beauty after all. But he could see that you weren’t calming down, could see you slowly folding in on yourself in your panic. Then he was grabbing your hand. Gentle, soft fingers wrapping around your wrist, skin warm and making your own feel tingly. You took a deep breath, your chest visibly shaking, and he brought his other hand to your chin, slowly tilted your head back up to look him in the eye with his fingertips. You blinked, eyes big and wide, and he pressed your hand to his chest, covering it with his own.

The sweater was so soft under your fingertips, and you desperately wanted it for yourself. His palm was warm on top of yours, warm and firm and unrelenting. You tuned into the sensation of his heart, a wild beating, and your face changed to just hint at concern.

“Can you feel that?” He asked, voice so low it was almost a whisper.

“It’s racing,” you breathed out, flexing your fingers against his chest so they caught a bit more of the material of his sweater.

“Yeah,” he huffed out with a smile, and you moved just a little closer, reaching down to grab his other hand and pressing it to your own chest. His fingertips were a little cold, and your entire body shivered, a small sound leaving your lips. Your fingers were slightly threaded with his, and you pressed his palm to the place where your collar split away and exposed your chest. His hand covered so much of your chest, his pinky and index dipping under the fabric, and was so gentle on its own that you pressed it more firmly against the skin. You wanted his fingerprints imprinted on your skin. He breathed out shakily, almost loudly, and your next breath mimicked it as you closed your eyes. It was so hot in the room.

Both of you stood there feeling each other’s heartbeats for a moment, his head dipped lower so your foreheads almost touched. You were standing so close you could feel each other’s breaths against your lips and the sides of your noses just brushed every so often. He gulped, licking his lips as sweat began to build on the back of his neck and the need to rip the sweater off was soaring in priority in his mind. Your lips just brushed each other, cupid's bows just grazing-

“Alright, so that’s where you say ‘feel my breast’ and begin guiding his hand under your shirt,” Poncho Lady interjected, looking up from the script in her hands.

You let go of Cillian’s hand and stepped back quickly. It felt like stepping into an air conditioned room from a hot sunny day outside. Your insides were still warm, and the heat that had been tinging your skin hadn’t completely gone away, but you were more awake, more aware. You licked your lips and gave a small smile that you hoped didn’t betray the sudden embarrassment falling upon you.

You had been in the scene, you had been lost in it. There had been times before when you were acting and when stopped abruptly felt like you were suddenly reentering your body, like your soul had been extracted for a few moments into a different person and then quickly pulled back and thrust into its original form. But this was a different level. This had been you and not you at the same time. You had been doing those things, had wanted to do those things, but you were also being controlled by something outside yourself, being told to do those things. You quietly excused yourself, saying you had left your water bottle in the hair and makeup trailer and would just quickly run and get it. As you turned back one last time at the door, you watched Cillian run a hand through his hair and smile at Poncho Lady as if nothing had happened since he had walked into the room.

After the door closed behind you, Cillian happened to glance at your tote bag on the block, and saw your water bottle peaking out. He laughed quietly to himself as he sat down next to it.

He understood how you were feeling. Intimate scenes were always hard, regardless of how many times an actor has done it. Especially intimate scenes when two people have palpable chemistry. If Poncho Lady hadn’t interrupted, he would have kissed you right then.

Usually kisses between actors were saved for only when they were filming, but he had been lost in that scene, lost in you. Your eyes, teary and pained and so big, were so authentic that it had been easy to fall into his role, the saviour, the anchor. And as you guys had stepped closer and closer, and his senses were bombarded so much, he had lost himself more and more. Your perfume from earlier had worn off, but your skin smelt so good, like cocoa butter body wash.

From his line of sight, he could see a sliver of your neck where your hair had fallen behind your shoulder. In the moment a sudden, impulsive thought had flashed in his mind, the intense need to lean down and press his mouth to your neck, to kiss it and let his tongue just poke out and drag over the skin. He could even see it now as he sat and waited for you to return, the place where your neck joined your head and the skin went up to behind your ear. He closed his eyes and let himself linger there.

Then the scene moved on and so did the little movie in his mind. Your hand in his, so soft and gentle as it settled against his chest. Then his hand in yours, your fingertips slightly sweaty and shaking. For a moment he had considered letting his hand stay limp, wanting to see how you would manage to drag the weight of his arm, but that was another intrusive thought that had to be pushed away.

The skin on your chest was firm but with how firmly you held his hand against it he could feel the slight give of your flesh. His finger had just barely stroked your collarbone as his hand had rested there and he had wanted to move his hand so much more, to so many other places. Up to your neck to feel the soft skin there, to see if he could make you do that full-body shiver again. Down to your breasts, to the delicate skin stretched over them and then to cup them, to feel the weight of them in his hands.

Cillian opened his eyes and took your water bottle in his hands, opening it and drinking from it as you came back into the room. You looked directly at him and he smiled at the wide-eyed, almost scandalised, look you gave him. He brought the bottle down and screwed the cap back on, putting it right-way up on the block for you to clearly see. He could see a little flush in your cheeks, and watched you rub the tips of your ears with a mischievous smile.

Poncho and Cardigan Lady didn’t even notice that you returned without a water bottle.

The intimacy coordinators only made you rehearse the scene two more times before letting you go. They said you both seemed comfortable enough, that you understood what the other person was and wasn’t comfortable with and you were left to your own devices. You left without a glance back and told an assistant you would be heading back to your trailer. She nodded, telling you that someone would come get you for touch ups on your makeup in an hour, and then you walked the entire way back to the makeshift trailer park.

You only got about fifteen minutes on your own before someone was knocking on the door. You had washed all the makeup off, reasoning that you could simply head back early on your own and give them the time to do it all over again. As you walked, you tied your hair up in a ponytail, awkwardly opening the door with one hand. Cillian smiled politely up at you, arms crossed over his chest and you simply stared at him with wide eyes, blinking stupidly.

“Hi,” his smile was jovial and infectious, but the one you offered in return felt forced. You felt so awkward around him now, as if you had violated some trust by being so caught up in the moment. “I thought we could walk around a little bit, get to know each other. I think it helps a little bit when filming roles like these.” You paused, fidgeting with the door handle.

You had really wanted to take a nap, to reset yourself before filming the scene all over again. But this was such an enticing invitation. And maybe it would help you push past all this awkwardness. Maybe getting to know the other actor was better than not knowing. Maybe feeling connected worked better because you had more to think about, more defence in the moment.

You nodded, holding up your finger for him to wait a moment so you could put your sneakers on and deposit your slippers in your tote bag. He waited patiently, leaning against the outside of the trailer while thumbing through the script. You hopped down the steps and waited for him to take the first stride before following alongside him, taking a winding path back up to the studios.

“What do you keep in this all-important tote bag?” He asked, eyes squinting in the sun as he teasingly tugged on one of the straps.

“Oh, heh, just little on-set essentials. Phone, headphones, little snack,” you paused, “my water bottle,” you added quietly, pursing your lips as you watched his smile widen.

“That’s quite a nice idea, I should think about getting my own,” he nodded as he spoke, and you just smiled. Both of you walked for a little bit without saying anything, and just as the urge to open your mouth and spew out whatever comment happened to be on the tip of your tongue became almost unbearable, Cillian spoke again. “Have you filmed scenes like this before?” He asked, and you knew there were other questions behind it, insinuations. You felt embarrassed all over again, wrapping your arms around yourself and looking straight ahead to the path you were walking.

“Um, once. And it wasn’t even this intense. I was working on this show, a supporting role with a romantic storyline. I was working with Tom Glynn-Carney?” He let out a little ‘ah’ nodding his head in recognition, muttering a ‘good lad’. “Yeah, it was really small, like a chaste ‘this guy has been my boyfriend for the past two years and I’m just leaving for work’ kind of kiss.” He laughed at that, genuine and melodic, as he looked at the floor and shook his head before looking up to the sky like he was exasperated with your silliness. “And Tom’s really sweet so it went really well, but this has a lot more expectation on it. It feels like going from the kids' pool to the deep end.” You chose to leave out the fact that his very good looks and insane acting abilities made it that much more difficult.

Both of you paused for a moment, turning to each other in the late afternoon light. He stared at you and you wrapped your arms around yourself again, suddenly feeling like you were exposed to the elements. Slowly, he reached up and pressed the tip of his index finger to your cheek just under your eye. You stared at him, at his lips as he breathed in, and the moment was so slow, so natural, that for a moment you considered stepping forward and kissing him. But someone hit fast-forward again and he pulled back, holding up his finger to you.

“I’m sorry, you had an eyelash,” he explained. “Make a wish,” he whispered, holding it close to your lips and you waited a beat, looking into his eyes as you leaned closer and blew the little eyelash away. You felt like you couldn’t breathe. You turned and began walking quickly, a rain of dread suddenly drizzling onto your shoulders. Maybe it was a premonition, maybe it was delusion, but something told you that all these moments were leading to something and you wouldn’t necessarily come out of it for the better.

You pressed his hand to your chest, breathing in slowly and looking into his eyes as if everything you’ve ever wanted was held there. His fingers flexed, just slightly, and you began to move it down, dipping it under the edge of the pyjama shirt.

“Feel my breast,” you whispered, guiding his hand into your shirt until you could feel it searing the flesh of your breast. He was breathing heavily now, chest shaking as he pressed even closer to you, moving his head so his nose lightly brushed your nose. You tilted your head up further so your lips were aligned and only a little move was necessary to connect them. You looked into each other’s eyes for a moment, thoughts racing, trying to decipher what the other person was thinking but also knowing exactly the thoughts that rain through their head, peaking themselves out into their eyes. And then he was kissing you, mouth slightly open, pressing your bottom lip between his. You moved the hand on his chest up to cup the side of your neck, steadying yourself as he gripped onto your chest and devoured your mouth. And his tongue was in your mouth, delving in and pressing to yours, and you couldn’t breathe but you didn’t want to either and his thumb was pressing against your nipple and your entire body was tingling and-

“Cut! That was perfect, guys!”

You pulled away slowly, so so slowly. Your lips still stuck to his a little as you moved away. His hand was almost lethargic in its pace to snake out of your shirt, and you moved your own down from his neck to his chest before bringing it back down to your side. You were both breathing heavily, glancing away from each other then back, away then back before you finally turned away and walked off the set toward the chairs and cameras. You licked your lips as you walked, trying to savour the taste of him.

The director let you all go for the evening, telling you he’d see you all bright and early on the other side of the studio lot for the ‘second meeting’ scene. You hauled your tote bag over your shoulder and practically ran to the golf cart. You spent the entire ride with your eyes closed.

You didn’t bother eating dinner, just did your night routine and lay down on the bed. There was a little window in the bed area covered with blinds that had been left unfolded. Yellow light from somewhere on the lot was shining in through the cracks but you couldn’t be bothered to move them. You lay in a state between sleep and wakefulness until midnight. Your brain was buzzing with too many thoughts but you were too tired to think through them.

Five minutes past one, and there was a knock at your trailer door, three soft thuds. You shifted on the bed, lifting your head up slightly to listen for another one. It came, the person was trying to be quiet, and you slowly slid out of bed. You tiptoed to the door and only opened it an inch. Cillian stood directly in front of the trailer, so close to the door that if you opened it wider he would basically be inside. He was wearing a plain white round-neck shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants, his hands shoved into the pockets. His hair was still relatively neat, which meant he hadn’t gone to bed yet, and you suddenly felt self-conscious, patting down the back of your head as you blinked up at him. He smiled, a small thing that didn’t reach his eyes, and you opened the door a little wider, pulling the sleeves of your hoodie down so they wrapped over your fingertips.

“Can I come in?” He asked quietly, low and serious. You nodded, moving back and letting him close the door behind himself.

You both stood in the little space between the kitchenette and the door. You felt fully awake now, but everything in the world was still. There was pin-drop silence and you two simply looked at each other. Then he was moving forward, slowly, one step at a time, until he was standing as close to you as he was when you were both filming earlier, maybe even closer.

Every breath you took made your chest brush his. You could feel your nipples tightening and pushing against your hoodie. He brought both of his hands up to cup your head on either side, then leaned down and kissed you firmly. It was slow, a little pull back and then he was pushing in, kissing you again. Everything inside you was slowly heating up, like a saucepan set on a low fire. Your limbs were filling up with it, there was a lump at the back of your throat, and your core was slowly tightening into itself. Your hands shook and you lifted them to press into his sides, clenching your hands into the soft material of his t-shirt. He kissed you again and again until you were heaving your breaths in and leaning your upper body onto his.

Cillian pulled away and looked at you, a pause as if waiting or asking, and you simply pointed behind you at the little hallway that led to the bedroom. He nodded, just one little movement of his head tipping down, then he pulled away, grasping your hand in his and walking you both to the little bed area.

The blinds were still spilling orangey-yellow light into the room, and he simply sat you on the bed before turning around to adjust them so they were closed a little tighter but still let small slits of light into the room. Then he got on his knees right in front of you, pushing himself forward so he was between your legs and your knees pressed into his ribs. You were taking deep breaths in, staring at him with parted lips as he brushed your hair away from your face and kissed you once.

Everything felt so… small. The room was only the space you two inhabited, your breaths were his breaths, your eyes only looking into his eyes, your lips only existing to kiss his. His fingers gently burrowed under the fabric of your hoodie and began lifting it up. He waited for you to raise your arms then slowly removed each of your sleeves, dropping it into a heap next to himself. You were only wearing a bra underneath it, and he lightly caressed your stomach, watching you shudder out breaths at the sensation. He reached up with his other hand and slid one of the bra straps down your shoulder, touching the little mark it had left behind before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to it. Then the other strap was shifted down, another kiss on your shoulder. Your mouth was dry, your hands shaking. You wanted him to consume you.

You reached out and lightly tugged on the collar of his shirt. He instantly leaned back and took it off, exposing pale skin and softly defined muscles. Each ridge was gentle, like the artist had painstakingly smudged out any harsh lines. You wanted to feel his body pressing down on top of you.

He gently tugged your shorts down your legs, waiting patiently for you to lean back and lift your hips up so he could get them off. His right hand moved to splay over your stomach, gently pressing until you were laying flat on your back while his left hand lifted your legs to rest over his shoulders. He slowly pulled you forward until the small of your back was curved to the edge of the bed and all the weight of your lower body was on his shoulders. He looked up at you once, bright blue eyes so shiny in the dim light that you wanted to stop and take a picture. But you only breathed out a little shuddering moan as he pressed his lips against your pussy, poking his tongue out and gently licking between the folds. You clenched your eyes shut, one arm thrown carelessly above your head as you bit down on your other hand.

It was warm and wet and hot. The room felt humid and your skin burned. His lips were so soft, his tongue skillful, and your hips rolled with every movement, warm tendrils of pleasure moving in waves through your body. He licked until your thighs were messy and you could feel his cheeks stick to the insides. He pressed the tip of his tongue inside you until the pressure at your entrance was making you convulse and the sounds leaving your lips were a little too loud for your own liking. You bit so hard into your hand that you were sure your teeth marks would be there the following morning and let your body quiver on the bed as he pulled away and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

You could see his chest heaving up and down and you pushed up to lean on your elbows, watching him push the sweatpants off his hips before draping himself over you. You closed your eyes and fell back onto the bed, letting him spread your legs and drape them over his hips. When he pushed into you, you curled around him. Your legs tightened around his waist, your arms wrapped around his torso and you pressed your face into his shoulder, muffled sounds spilling from your lips and into his skin. You could hear him panting directly by your ear, feel the wet breaths against the shell of your ear as he turned his head to nip at it. He began moving, backwards and forwards, pull and push, drag and rub. You pushed your hips up against him, a little ‘unh’ sound pushing from your chest when the little space below his belly button pressed perfectly against your clit.

You lost yourself in the pleasure. Time didn’t exist in that space, only the feeling of your insides climbing up, reaching for something that would make stars burst behind your eyes. It was the feeling of the bed sheets rubbing against your skin, the clasp of your bra pressing into your back. It was his skin sticking to yours, your hands digging into his back, his lips on your cheek, behind your ear. It was the sounds of your hips meeting, soft consistent thumps that slowly began to increase in speed.

And then you were there. The moment where everything was just right. When the weight of him inside you and the press against your clit lined up perfectly. When his lips were pressed against your cheek and somewhere a star aligned in the universe. It was like warm flowers blooming inside your stomach, so brightly it was almost painful. You clenched around him, pressed your knees to his ribs as tight as they would go. You clenched your teeth tightly together but pressed your mouth to his shoulder so all the sounds came out muffled and weird, high pitched from the back of your throat or deep from the pit of your stomach.

He groaned when he finished, hands gripping your hips so tightly you felt them even after he let go. His eyes were scrunched shut and when his hips convulsed a few times he almost hissed at the sensation. He quickly pulled out, falling down right beside you. Neither of you moved for a long while.

When your joints finally felt like they would no longer fall apart if you moved, you slowly turned to lay on your side. He was already looking at you, eyes soft and tracing over every feature of your face. He reached out, blunt fingertips gently brushing hair off of your forehead and cheeks. He stroked one with his thumb, then moved forward to press the gentlest, most loving kiss against your lips. You kept your eyes closed even when he pulled away.

He was gone when you woke up in the morning. You thought you dreamed it for a moment, the most vivid dream you had ever had in your life. But you were naked under the blanket, and you never remembered pulling it up from the edge of the bed so someone had tucked you in. Your hoodie and shorts were folded and placed on the tiny nightstand beside the bed, and your blinds were fully closed. When you shifted to get out of bed, you could still feel the way fingertips had pressed into your thighs and a soft soreness throbbing between your legs. Not a dream.

But then everything felt weird when you left the trailer. You didn’t see Cillian until you were on set for filming and he was busy with the director until ‘action!’ was called. You followed him after ‘cut!’ but he only sat and watched the scene over or read from his script. He smiled politely at you, gave you a wave when he caught you looking, but made no special effort to come over to you.

You felt off-kilter the entire day, like a joke was being pulled on you but you couldn’t figure out what it was. But then, as you curled up in your bed after sunset, watching the sky darken through the window, he knocked on your door again. And you let him in, let him kiss you and take you to bed. And in the dead of night he wrapped you up in the bed sheets, whispering little jokes, telling stories, watching you like you were precious. And then the cycle started all over again the next day.

You reasoned with yourself. You guys were still at work, you needed to be professional on set, and it seemed to explain everything away. He snuck into your bed at night, wrapped his arms around you and kissed you, coaxed you into sleep eventually, but never in the daylight. Not even a touch other than the ones on camera.

You couldn’t feel yourself getting attached, couldn’t see yourself manoeuvring your life around him until you knew you would beg for him to just take your hand in the daytime once, let you call him your man. You came when he called, followed where he went. You didn’t realise until you were devoted, didn’t realise until the willow had bent to the wind.

Taglist: @4ria790

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strawberrystepmom · 7 months ago

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gojo x f!reader. cw food (they’re eating ice cream and reader enjoys *glass shatters* mint chocolate chip). fluff, established relationship, feelings etc. | wc 901, divider thanks to cafekitsune!

Sitting thigh to thigh with Satoru on a park bench not far from your home, the two of you decided to take a bit of leisure time to yourselves. The sweets in your hands were a must according to him and now that you’re sitting to enjoy them, you have to admit that he was correct.

“When I was eight, I told my mom I wanted to marry ice cream someday,” you sigh after scooping a spoonful in your mouth.

The anecdote makes you feel a little embarrassed to share though you recall it easily. Sitting next to her in her car, merrily enjoying the mint chocolate chip scoop topped cone in your little hand, on a day not entirely unlike the mid-spring one you’re enjoying now. You meant every word of it, as big of a lover back then as you are now, even for the inanimate and edible.

“You treat me like I’m ice cream sometimes so maybe you were right.”

He wiggles his eyebrows salaciously, the motion visible over the tops of his sunglasses. You giggle and playfully swat at him, careful to keep your cup and spoon steady. The reference to your pension for enjoying licking every inch of him (as if he doesn’t have the same proclivities...) you possibly can warms your cheeks and you scoop a bite from your cup and into your mouth to cool yourself down, a pleased hum further grabbing his attention.

The two of you aren’t married, not quite yet, but he has told you for years that you will be. It’s you or no one as far as he’s concerned, well aware he’s going to live an easy lifetime listening to that same pleased sigh on repeat for years to come.

“Do that again?”

You scoff and roll your eyes although there is no bite to it. The ability to roll with the punches is one of the things he has always enjoyed the most about you. There is an innate playfulness to you that perfectly compliments his own even though you may pretend to be Miss Serious when the mood strikes you.

Like right now.

“Stop being gross and enjoy this beautiful day, Satoru.

He plays off your displeased warning with a laugh, tossing his arm around your shoulder and pulling you closer to him. It really is a treat to get to spend this time with him during the daylight hours considering how busy both of your schedules tend to be thanks to, well, the whole sorcery thing and the sun illuminates him enough you can almost see a halo around the top of his head.

This world is beautiful because he’s in it, you think to yourself.

Dreamily, you sigh and glance down at your thighs instead of looking at him which would only further your lovesick feeling. Your heart is so full it feels it may pop like a balloon, a sign you need to let out what you’re thinking about.

“You know, sometimes I think about anything I loved before you and that love feels so shallow.”

That is not what he was expecting you to say. Satoru’s eyes widen and he tilts his head, puffing out air loudly.

“You loved something before you met me? What a betrayal.”

The smile on your face dims and your posture tightens while you turn your face away from him. He has seen you in every vulnerable state a person can be in - naked and clothed, sick and well, broken and whole. Even if you withdraw, he will always bring you back. This time is no different.

Gojo reaches for you, turning your face toward him with his free hand.

“No no no, come back here. I was just kidding.”

His fingers rest against your jaw and his thumb runs over the round of your cheek and your sour look fades in an instant. There are many things you loved before him, people too, and though it stings to know your feelings weren’t preserved until the day he landed in your life he smiles at you softly. From the day he admitted his feelings to you years ago, you were his and his alone. There’s no use in being jealous now and whatever remains of the bitter taste dies within him when he looks at your face and leans over to glance into your cup.

“So are you saying you love me more than ice cream?”

Giggling, you tap his nose with the handle of the wooden spoon in your hand.

“I’m saying that I love you more than anything that has come before or after you at the very least.”

“Then I’ll take this as a sign you don’t want that then.” Reaching for your ice cream, he wiggles his fingers and you hold it out of his grasp with a laugh. “No,” you feign annoyance and sigh loudly. “But I’ll share it with you.”

Reaching into your cup you pull out a scoop and feed it into his open, waiting mouth. He dramatically hums his pleasure, bundling his hands against his chest and shaking slightly. It’s a ridiculous move but you can’t help but laugh at him, reaching for another scoop in to feed him again.

“I love you too, by the way.” He adds after accepting the second bite, mouth still half full and cold. Nodding with a soft smile, you know he always will.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #kendall writes #satoken #he’s the loml………..thank u for understanding me during this difficult time

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astraystayyh · 2 years ago

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Bittersweet

Pairing : Bang Chan x reader, exes to lovers.

Summary : You broke up with Chan because of an once in a lifetime work opportunity. Four years later, you are back home and everything has changed.

Warnings : Some cursing, reader has a big fear of thunder, allusion to sex in the end but no smut.

A.N: I wrote this as part two of Beginning of the End, but it can be read as a stand-alone. Still, i HIGHLY recommend reading part 1 first, it will just be more impactful!! Please let me know if you enjoyed reading, it means a lot to me <333

(Part 1)

-------------

Four years later, you were back to where it all started.

It felt weird to return home after all this time; to stroll down the alleys you once memorized, to meet up with the friends you once couldn’t live without. To witness firsthand how small your existence is, in the sense that you were so attached to your city, yet it had moved on perfectly despite your absence.

Still, you couldn’t really blame the world for moving on because you changed a lot too.

You had grown happier and more secure in yourself. Your work was recognized and praised, and you made some unforgettable memories that wouldn't have been possible had you not left. You felt as if everything you fought hard for finally paid off.

But throughout the years, one thing did remain the same; your love for Chan. You never tried to forget him or make your feelings go away. You figured that loving him was like the skin that clung to your bones, an inseparable part of your being.

Still, you were human after all, and as the months passed, you began to forget the sound of his voice and the warmth of his body against yours. His giggles became a distant memory in your mind, and so did the feel of his hands on your skin. Loving Chan became like a photograph that you safely tucked away; it chipped at the edges and its colors faded, but it still lived on, just like your love for him did.

And now that you were finally back with a bigger promotion, you couldn’t help but think about Chan even more. Everywhere you went, you saw snippets of your past with him.

You were so young, so foolish, you realized.

But so utterly in love.

----------------

It was 11 pm, and you were suddenly craving ice cream. You knew it was a bit ridiculous because it was -3 degrees, and you were already freezing, but you had one fundamental rule in life: never say no to your heart's desires.

This is why, despite the cold, you quickly leave your new apartment and skip toward the convenience store near you.

You head inside and grab your favorite ice cream before strolling around in case something else caught your attention. You just loved the calm inside and wanted to bask in it a bit more.

You round the milk aisle and suddenly bumped into someone’s chest. You were about to apologize when the words got stuck in your throat.

Chan.

"Yn…?" he calls out, and you feel yourself grow weak in the knees.

There was something about the way your name rolled off the tip of his tongue that made you feel as if no one, besides him, had ever done it justice.

He was even more beautiful than when you last saw him four years ago. His brown curly hair was tousled and his warm eyes reminded you of galaxies. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest because you couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t believe it was him.

Memories of your last time together came crashing down on you like a wave; how he hugged you and told you to pretend as if nothing was happening, how he wrote you the most heart-wrenching letter that you’ve since memorized by heart.

"How are you?" you ask, clearing your throat. It felt silly to ask such mundane questions. This wasn't what you wanted to know. You wanted to ask if he still hated the taste of alcohol, if he still cried during sad movies, if he still squealed when he laughed, if he still loved you as you loved him.

But you couldn't voice those thoughts, so you willed yourself to drown them in the storm that is your mind.

"I'm good, and you?" he replies, smiling a little. It doesn't reach his eyes.

"I'm great."

"You look like it," he says, and you meekly nod, "So do you."

"Are you... visiting?" he asks after a few silent beats, and you shake your head, "I'm back for good."

"That's great. It's nice seeing you again," he gives you a genuine smile this time, and you can't help but grin back. You missed him.

You both stare at each other for a while after that, taking each other in. Looking at him felt like looking at a mirror of your past self -you could clearly see yourself in him because he once was a part of you, just like you were a part of him.

"I'll... I'll get going," he points behind him, retracting back, and before you could think it through, you grab his wrist to stop him.

It wasn't butterflies you felt when you touched him, that would be an understatement, it was pure electricity shooting through you.

People had touched you while you were away - hugs, kisses, and intimate caresses - but none of them made you feel this way. You were like a prisoner who had just felt the sun's rays against their skin for the first time in years. And you were starving for that sunlight.

"Can we meet up? Catch up? If you want to, of course," you whisper. Your voice is quiet- a stark contrast to the chaos going on in your mind.

"Yeah... Yeah, I'd like that," he agrees, rubbing the spot where you had grabbed him. Did he feel the sparks too?

"Tomorrow, this time, in the park near our old apartment?" you suggest, and he nods, "Sure. I'll be there."

"Great. I'll wait for you."

----------

You are sitting on a swing, swaying back and forth gently. Your heart is beating erratically in your chest, and you bite your nails from how stressed you are. In the four years you were away, you had to give conferences in front of thousands and thousands of people, yet you weren't as nervous as you are now.

"You still do that?" a voice next to you reprimands and you turn around to find Chan.

"Old habits never die, I guess," you smile sheepishly, dropping your hand down, and he chuckles.

"How are you?" you ask again, and he shrugs, "I'm good."

"How are you, really?"

"I don't think you have the right to ask me that anymore." His words cut you deep, and you swallow forcefully. "I'm sorry, I didn't... I didn't mean to pry."

"I know, fuck, I didn't mean to snap at you."

"It's okay," you reassure, looking up at the starry sky. He was right after all.

"Haven't been stargazing for a while," he whispers, and you smile sadly. That was one of your favorite activities together.

"Me too. But I love looking at the stars," you reply.

"I know. They remind you of how small you are in the grand scheme of things," he says nonchalantly as if he didn’t just knock the breath out of you. He remembered.

"Yeah, like how I've been away for four years, and everything moved on as if I've never been here."

"Your absence was felt, yn”, he pauses, “I used to miss you." Used to. Past tense.

"I still miss you." Your reply is instant; you don't feel the need to hide from him. You never did.

Chan holds your gaze for a while, and you wonder what he was thinking at that moment. You wanted to shout at him to tell you what was on his mind. To just say it. But you couldn't. You can no longer ask things from him; you knew that.

"I saw your name in news articles and TV shows. You had your big breakthrough," he suddenly smiles at you, changing the subject. You feel a blush creep up your neck; the fact that he kept up with you made you feel shy all of a sudden.

"I guess I did, I grew a lot. I... I think that I needed to get away and experience new things. It would have haunted me had I not," you smile, and he nods attentively. He still listened to you intently, as always.

"You were always destined for great things," he says seriously, and you feel your eyes well up with tears.

He spoke those words as if he wholeheartedly believed them, and nothing in the world could ever sway his mind.

"So are you. You've been doing amazing these past few years, getting all these awards and deals. I love your music," you gush, and he waves a hand in the air as if to dismiss your words.

"Don't do that," you chastise, "you should be proud of yourself. I know I am very proud of you."

"I suppose the years did us good," he sighs wistfully, and you hum in agreement. You are both quiet after that. You don’t dare to speak, afraid that your next words would break the bubble you are in. As selfish as it was, you didn’t want to face reality yet.

"Just say what’s on your mind," he suddenly speaks up, and you raise a brow at him inquisitively.

“You are scratching your throat as if to stop the words from coming out. Just tell me.” Chan, ever the perceptive.

You take in a deep breath, willing your voice to sound strong, "The only thing I regret is that... I had to lose you in the process. I know I'll never find someone as amazing as you."

Chan doesn’t reply and your words linger in the air, suffocating you. You hoped that a strong wind will come by and carry them away, somewhere they wouldn't hurt anymore.

"I did love you, yn." A pause, and you can feel a heartbreaking ‘but’ coming. "But I don't anymore. I found... I found someone else. They are good to me and I love them."

"Oh". You dreaded it, expected it even, you never wanted him to wait for you. Because you left, so he had every right to move on. Still, you were only human, an enamored human whose heart now broke in two.

You feel the bile rise in your throat and you shake your head as if to clear those stupid thoughts away. You left, for god’s sake, you weren’t allowed to feel this way. But still, it hurt, it hurt so bad all you wanted to do was to curl in a ball and weep.

"I hope that you are happy with them. That's all I ever wanted for you, happiness." Your voice wavers and he knows, Chan must know you are trying so hard not to break down. So he doesn’t comment, he only smiles at you, which makes your heart break even more, because he must smile at them like this all the time now.

"I will get going," you abruptly stand up, dusting your pants. "Let me walk you home," he offers and you shake your head no.

"It's nearly midnight, you are out of your mind if you think I'll let you walk alone."

"Okay," you simply reply. Truth is, you weren’t processing what he was saying anymore. 'I love them' kept repeating itself in your head like a broken mantra. He found someone else. He found someone else. He found someone else, and it isn’t you.

"This is me", you clear your throat when you arrive in front of your apartment, and Chan stops in his tracks.

“Come here”, he says and it’s all it takes for you to bury yourself in him. Just like four years ago, he was leaving you with a goodbye hug. Only this time, there was no hope left. Only a sense of finality. He knows that you still love him, you couldn't hide that from him. But he doesn't love you anymore and he can't hide that from you.

The hug only lasted a mere ten seconds, but you tried your best to take it all in, to memorize how it felt for Chan to hug you again. You desperately needed to patch up the broken memories you had left of him.

You finally lean away, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your shirt. Chan’s brows furrow looking at you, and you smile reassuringly. "I'm okay really. This is just bittersweet to me."

"It is to me too," he whispers and you nod, biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from breaking down.

"You stay safe for me, yeah?" he tells you softly and you nod again, "you too."

"Goodbye, yn."

"Goodbye, Chan," and with that you turn around, entering your apartment block.

You've never hated goodbyes more than in that instant.

------------

it's been 3 months since your talk with Chan. Admittedly, you've gone back to that convenience store where you've met him, for a month straight, just in case he went back there. He didn't. And now you had a large stock of snacks you didn't know what to do with.

After that, you went to all the places where you've gone to on your dates. You don't know what you were expecting. You've lost Chan, but still, you always found yourself back to where you shared memories with him. But he wasn't there.

In the third month, you've started accepting that you lost him for good. The love mingled with the ache and you found comfort in its everlasting presence. It served as a reminder that you did love him, and he did love you back at some point.

Thankfully, your work was going really well, and tonight, you were out with your superior to celebrate a successful deal you chaperoned and discuss some upcoming projects.

You enter the restaurant, your boss hot on your tracks, when you abruptly stop. Sat on a table right across from you is Chan with a girl you did not recognize. You would have bolted out had it not been for your boss who looked at you with worried eyes. You shake your head mouthing an "I'm fine" to him.

While your boss placed your order, you couldn’t help but stare at Chan. He looked so... happy with her. She said something and he laughed, tipping his head back. You felt jealousy gnaw at your heart because you were the one who used to make him laugh like that.

You left, you remind yourself, you are the one who left.

Against your own will, you look up at Chan once again, only this time he was looking at you too. You hold his gaze as if under a spell, and when the girl next to him touches his hand softly to bring him to her, you almost sob right there and then.

"... our partners will come from France and you will have to hold a meeting with them tomorrow."

"Sure. I already prepared the slides and sent them over to your mail," you nod. Work, forget about Chan, work.

"I will check them out. You'll have Clara with you?"

"Yes, she's the only one who can speak French besides me. I have been overlooking her for this past month and she's really competent."

"Should I challenge her?"

"Yeah, I think she's up to the task", you smile and he nods, satisfied.

You try to eat your dinner after that, keeping up with your boss’s chatter. But it felt like a punishment- sitting there when the man you still loved was on a date right across from you.

And as if your night couldn’t get any worse, you hear thunder rumble loudly. You clench your glass so tightly in your hand- you are surprised it didn’t break.

You had a really really big fear of thunder. It stemmed from when you were a child, playing hide and seek when a thunderstorm happened. You ended up being stuck in the closet for an hour because your cousins forgot about you, and you fainted from how afraid you were.

You look up at your boss apologetically, you couldn't tell him you had to leave because of a childhood phobia, so you quickly try to muster up an excuse. "I'm sorry to cut it short but can I go? I have a- a dentist appointment and I need to wake up very early tomorrow."

"Sure. I'll see you at work?". You have never been more grateful for his understanding.

"Yeah, thank you for dinner".

You quickly grab your things, leaving the restaurant. You hop in your car but you are shaking so badly, you can't even start the engine. Another thunder resounds and you drop your keys, forcefully shutting your eyes. You try to drown out the sound with your hands clasped on your ears but it didn’t help. It was too much- the pain, the fear, the ache. You needed everything around you to stop.

You hear the door next to you suddenly open and you snap your eyes toward it, to find a disheveled Chan standing there. He pulls you out of your seat, instantly bringing you to his body.

He knows how scared you are of thunder.

"Shhh, it's okay, I'm here. You're safe," he pats your head gently and you hug him tighter to you; as if he was your only mean of survival.

He tries to peel away but you only hold him closer, to which he rubs soothing circles on your back, “I’m not going anywhere, let me drive you home, okay?”

You nod against his chest and he lets go of you, holding your hand instead. He opens the passenger door for you then he quickly hops into the driver’s seat. He starts off your car, blasting the music so loud you no longer hear the thunder booming.

Your hand is still tightly clasped in his when you arrive home.

He silently opens the door for you once more, and you lead him to your apartment. You were mortified he had to leave the restaurant for you, but you were so grateful for him, because at the end of the day, he came to you.

Chan awkwardly stands in your living room and you figure the least you could do is apologize. "I’m sorry I cut your date short."

"You sound jealous", he points out.

"I am jealous, but mostly sorry."

"You shouldn't date someone who won't be with you in times like these," he dismisses your words, and you frown. Why did he sound angry all of the sudden?

"He didn't know."

"Still, he should have seen the signs. I was across the room but I saw you shaking for god's sake!” he almost shouts and you take a step toward him.

"Why do you care?"

"I don't," he is lying.

"Why does it bother you?” you insist. You needed to know.

"I said it doesn’t yn," he enunciates but you don’t back off.

“He’s my boss that’s why I was alone, but why? Why does it matter to you?"

"Because I fucking lied", he shouts, inching closer to you. "Because I lied yn, I never found someone else, it was you, it was always you."

"What... but the girl?".

"She's my coworker yn. I tried to forget you. I tried but you were always there. You were everywhere. And I had to carry on with the love I had for you but I didn't know where to put it anymore. Because you didn't tell me, you didn't tell me where the love was supposed to go now that you left!"

You stare at him unblinking, afraid that this was all just a figment of your imagination.

"And then... and then you came back and it was as if no time has gone by. It was as if you'd never left and I wanted to kiss you and hug you and I wanted you back. I needed you back", his hands are on your shoulders now, grasping you tightly as if to convince himself that you were here.

"But I couldn't, I couldn't allow you in because what if you left again? I wouldn't survive that, yn," his voice cracks at your name and it’s all it takes for you to bring his lips crashing down on yours.

You stagger back, your fingers grazing your lips in shock, "I'm so sorry, I didn't-", your words are cut off by his mouth on yours once again, "don't stop", he whispers and you kiss him, again and again. Your mouths moving in sync to the symphony that is your love.

When you finally pull away, he places his forehead on yours and you close your eyes. "Tell me this is real, that you're back to me."

"I'm here."

"You still feel like a dream."

"I'm here, I'm here", you reassure, your hand gently cradling his cheek, "I never stopped loving you Chan. I knew I was destined to love you, whether you loved me back or not."

"You are my soulmate", he leans back, kissing your forehead softly, "you and I are one."

"I've got a tattoo of your handwriting", you confess softly and his eyes snap open.

"What?"

"I tattooed a sentence from the letter you left me, with your handwriting, 'Our love will remain'."

"Where?"

"Here", you trace the outline of your breast and he chokes, "somewhere only I can see it."

"You are crazy", he chuckles, a bewildered smile on his face.

"In love, yes," you giggle and he blushes, hiding his head in your neck.

“Can I see you tomorrow? We have a lot to talk about," he asks, peppering the curve of your neck with kisses.

"Sure, I'm all yours after 5 pm."

"Works for me. I’ll see you tomorrow?", he smiles, and you beam at him, "I’ll see you."

Chan doesn't let you go and you laugh, kissing his cheek, "you are not leaving?"

"I'm not", he smiles cheekily.

"And why is that?"

"Because....", he drawls out, his lips brushing against your collarbone, "I need to see that tattoo."

----------

A lover’s body is like a land you discover over and over again. And tonight, as Chan made love to you, you drank it all in- the flexing of his muscles and the new sounds he made. But despite those changes, you found out that you never forgot the secret passages to his body, and the ways only you can make him unfold.

Still, it wasn’t when his naked body hovered over yours that you felt bare in front of him. It was when you both laid next to each other, talking in bed until the sun rose, that he undressed your mind.

It is there, behind those walls that you both built, that Chan and yn from four years ago lived on.

And you were still as in love.

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e-m-ma-lmfao · 1 year ago

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Hello! I hope you've had a nice day:)

🤭I really love your works! Could you write an Astarion fic where the (GN) reader is equally as flirty as he is? For example, reader and Astarion being the only ones awake in the night and all in all- just flirty talk.

(Not implying anything but.. Hypothetically. Hypothetically speaking, you could sprinkle in some spicy stuff too)

I'm sorry if that's not your thing! Feel free to ignore this 🧡

Leave You Speechless

pairing : astarion x (gn) reader

summary : while you keep watch over camp, a boring job, astarion keeps you company by the fire

warnings : tiniest bit sexual towards the end but nothing NSFW, PG 13 at best.

a/n : i kinda love this, loved the idea, hope i did it justice.

Sparks flew from the wood of the fire, landing in front of your leather adorned feet. You hadn’t bothered to take off your equipment when you returned to camp, and the party seemed to take this as a sign that you wanted to be on watch for the night. You didn’t, of course, but who are you to deny your duty. Everyone else did it, your turn was inevitable. You just wished it wasn’t so boring.

You picked at the fabric of your bedroll, fire crackling in the silence of the night. Maybe Halsin was awake? Or Astarion? Perhaps Gale was awake and he could keep your company with his magic.

“Well..don’t you look happy..” Your eyes flicker up to meet a pale face, red eyes creased in amusement, a small smirk playing at his lips. Of course he would be awake, only to annoy you. He takes no time to sit beside you, attentive to your features, his gaze never leaving your eyes.

“Careful darling, if you keep your eyebrows creased so angrily, you’ll get wrinkles.” His comment only makes you scrunch your face up more, a slender finger poking at the wrinkle between your eyebrows.

Without much thought you take your own finger and poke it in between his eyebrows, “You should take your own advice Astarion, clearly you’ve been angry a lot over your lifetime, aged quite poorly.” He scoffs, and for a moment he doesn’t say anything, speechless at your insult.

“Please..I have no wrinkles, I cannot age , don’t be stupid.” He pulls his finger away from you, now feeling at his own face, clearly you’ve struck an insecurity.

You feel your eyes roll at his antics, “ Cut it out with the dramatics, Astarion. I only tease. You should know how beautiful you are, I would expect as much from your vanity.” You throw a small piece of wood on the fire, looking away from him.

“Of course I know.. I just love the way it sounds coming from your lips,” You shoot him a look. You weren’t unfamiliar with his flirting, in fact it wasn’t the first night that he had managed to wriggle his way by your side. Though this night would surely be the same, he would flirt with you till the son came up and you would pretend not to enjoy his company. God forbid he ever found out how much you truly enjoyed being around him, let alone that your feelings for him were more than platonic.

“Then perhaps I should compliment you more often then?” Astarion seems to be pulled towards you, shuffling closer to your side, intrigued by your willingness to comply with his flirtatiousness. “Oh..but then..I would never wanna inflate that unfortunate ego of yours..my love.” A soft poke on his nose, and his eyes widen, eyebrows furrowing in frustration.

He huffs, “You tease too much. You’ll admit you’re in love with me soon enough.”

“In love with you,” a scoff falls from your lips, and you're sure your annoyance sounds more superficial than you would’ve wished, “now you’ve started fabricating my feelings in your head? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were the one in love with me, not the other way around.”

“A shame your intelligence is rather lacking, or else you’d know better. You see through me transparently, darling.” He’s so close to you, a tease with intent to deceive and lower your guard, and you almost fall for it.

You push him away with your elbow, only hard enough to get his face away from you, but his body stays close. “What is it that you're trying to gain here, Astarion?” The tone you carry your words with seems to jab into his skin, the way he recoils away from you makes you almost regret it.

“Ughh..a moment ago you were referring to me as ‘my love’ and now you speak my name in such a sullen tone,” his slender fingers move to grasp at your own, you don’t pull away though you wish you would, “why must you deny me?”

He brings your hand up to his lip delicately, not wanting to startle you, as if you were a scared animal and you might run away at any moment. Though, you realized, that depiction might not be entirely untrue. You allowed it, breath hitching as his soft lips made contact with your knuckle, curving upwards in the gentlest of smiles.

“There..much better,” another gentle kiss, to each and everyone of your knuckle, “I like you much better when you're not arguing with your infatuation.”

“I like you much better when your mouth is occupied.”

“Perhaps we can find a way to occupy it then?” He’s staring up at you, pleading through his lashes, with your hand still limply held in his hand. He won’t let go, not even if you denied him now, he wouldn’t let go. His fingers are entangling themselves in yours, squeezing down.

“You’re absurd.”

“And you’re breathtaking...” It silences your voice completely, and his grip on your hand seems to tighten.

The world around you seems to take a pause along with you, the wind ceases to blow, holding its breath alongside you. There is no wildlife trilling or chirping anymore, silencing themselves to offer Astarion and you a full stage to yourselves. Even the snores, soft and aggressive from either side of the camp, go silent. They’re being blocked out, your head filled with Astarions image, your ears filled with the sound of his breathing. And your eyes, occupied by the way his tongue pokes out to swipe against his bottom lip, the way his own eyes dart along your face to analyze your features, the way his hand twitches in your own when your lips puff out.

In a moment of distracted, thoughtless boldness, too bold for your own good, fiendish desperation controlling your actions in full, your free hand moves to grasp onto the side of face to pull him in closer. He moves, under your control fully, pupils blown out in arousal. But then you hesitate, and his face becomes still in front of yours, lips hovering against each other. You let out a huff at your actions, disappointed in the way you must constantly fight against your desires, the air caught in your throat is released in a heavy sigh against his lips.

“It’s not like you to be so undecided..” His breath is feverish and heavy, tickling against your skin, his lips brushing against your own with every syllable. He is pleading with his eyes, fingers twitching against your own once more, too excited to control his own movements.

“Not like you to be so,” Before you can utter a rebuttal your words are cut short, Astarions lips finally connect to your own. Clearly he has grown impatient, and it shows in the way his fangs nip at your lips, begging for entrance. You allow it, his tongue passes your lips to wrestle with yours, and a whimper vibrates through him leaving your head spinning. If it wasn’t for his grip on you, you would’ve fallen over.

He places one hand behind your body, using his own to push you down against your bedroll, without releasing your lips once. With hesitation he separates from you, breath heavy once more. Distracted, he doesn’t look at you, his fingers tracing along your waist until he meets the waistline of your leather pants.

“For once, darling, I would love to leave you speechless and not the other way around..allow me, won't you?” .” He smirks, looking up at you now with a mischievous glint in his eyes, fingers playing with the zipper of your pants.

“Gods you’re annoying..” You shoot him a glare, though you doubt it’s very menacing judging by the way your breath hitches and your cheeks are absolutely flushed, he tugs at the waistband pulling your leather pants down to your mid thigh.

But then you regain your edge, “Say please, and then maybe, I’ll allow it.” You place your hand back on his cheek, holding his face up, and the way he leans his cheek deeper into your hand almost makes you crumble again.

“Please, darling, pretty please..let me touch you.”

“That’s very good, my love.” You try to hide the way your breath leaves your lips in a shaky wave as you nod for him to proceed. He wastes no time as your pants are suddenly pulled down and off, Astarion climbing back up your legs.

His lips tug into a smile, lowering his head between your thighs, and you let out a whine as his teeth connect with the skin of your inner thigh. When he looks up to you, through the strands of his curls that have fallen in front of his face, a thin line of blood coats his lip. The way his tongue licks it away, sends a shiver through you.

And the look he gives you, worship heavy in his eyes, makes you aware of just how long this night is going to be for you.

#astarion #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #baldur's gate 3 #x reader #oneshot #bdg3 #bg3 #bg3 astarion #gn reader #baldurs gate

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webslingingslasher · 1 year ago

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i wanna bite peter. no. i NEED to bite Peter.

his skin looks so yummy i crave it😁😁

it's been a long three days and you've missed your frat boy past the point of insanity.

mentally, you were scratching your arms and had a twitchy eye. physically, you were power walking to frat row. the second, and you mean the second, peter texted you and told you he was back from his weekend trip, you dropped everything to see him.

he wasn't even done unpacking when he heard your soft stomps up the stairs, he knows it's you just by the sound. peter had missed you more than he would admit, he couldn't wait to give you a bruising kiss to prove it.

'petey!' it's loud and he doesn't care one bit. his girls in front of him.

'trouble!' opening his arms wide, he's ready for the hug of his lifetime. you're nearly bouncing over to him before pulling his arm down. peter's eyebrows furrow, he thinks you're going for an awkward wrap around, until you tug his shirt sleeve up and sink your teeth into the meat of his bicep.

'ah! you vermin, get away!' he's doing the world's weakest job at pulling away, you smile into his skin before shaking your head like a dog with a bone.

peter had expected you to jump on him and kiss over his face. you had done nothing but tell him how much you missed him and his 'strong arms' and the second you can be in them again, you treat him like a chew toy.

you missed his arms alright, missed eating them, that is.

'hey, c'mon, i missed you too! i want a hug and a kiss, then you can nibble as much as you want.'

you dot kisses over the skin you had under your teeth, 'i missed you so much.' peter's whiny this time, 'then give me a hug!' he wants his arms around you so bad.

you wrap your arms around him and tuck your head under his chin, you can tell how much he really missed you when he fully relaxes into your hold.

'slept like shit without you.' kisses on your forehead has you happily sigh into his chest. 'liar, you hate sharing a bed with me. you always threaten to kick me out.'

peter didn't realize how much he missed you waking him up in the middle of the night for some bogus reason. it made him feel loved, it didn't matter what time it was, you wanted him to be the first person you told anything to, even if it was just a weird dream.

he won't admit that though, instead he says, 'you're right, it was nice not being woken up to cold feet and philosophical questions.'

'knew it,' that means you know he missed you more than he'd ever tell you. 'can i please have a kiss now?' if you'd ever say no to that question, especially when he asks it as soft and hesitant as he just did.

but that doesn't mean you can't give him shit, you let out a pretend groan, 'fine, i guess so.' revealing your face, you blink at the overhead light in his room.

instead of grabbing you passionately, he cups your cheeks and smushes your lips together in a pout. peter takes his time looking you over, he's silent and it makes you feel shy.

While you look down for a second, peter whispers out to you.

'my baby.'

his lips are on yours, a sense of home and peace envelops you. clenching at the waist of his shirt, you lean up to fully melt into him. peter's thinking the same way, wrapping an arm around your lower back to pull you flush into him.

peter pulls away for just a second before he's back on you, placing three quick pecks before breaking out in a smile.

'i have no fucking idea how i'm going to survive the summer,' you bite down on your lip, summer is months away, he's not able to imagine a future without you and it makes you ultra giddy.

'easy, i come stay with you for a few weeks. i think may and i would get along.' you expected him to roll his eyes, instead he nods his head. 'i think she'd love that, she's always hinting she needs another woman around her.'

you kiss your teeth at him, 'three days without me and you're planning the future. i love to see it.'

'it made me realize how much i like having you around me, even if you're biting me.'

you gasp, eyes widening at the forgotten idea. 'oo, thanks, petey!' you swing your head to clamp your teeth into his arm, a hiss follows.

'you're a fucking rat and so uninvited from my aunt's house!'

#frat!peter drabbles

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myokk · 4 months ago

Text

before it felt like a sin, ch. 1

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

word count: 3000

summary: Eloise never wanted to be different.

And yet, her differences are what have defined her life up until this point: growing up as a squib in one of the most prominent wizarding families, being exiled to muggle society, and then attending Hogwarts at the age of sixteen.

She finds herself thrust into the life she should have been prepared for from birth but was denied. As she navigates this new life and her new precarious position in her family, she must come to terms with the fact that maybe what she dreamed of her whole life isn't turning out how she ever expected it would.

a/n: Hi everyone!! I decided to post this here too...I'm slowly going through everything I've written so far, and I want to post each chapter here as I edit them. I'm hoping that this can be a way to a) get back in to writing more, and b) get better at my art as I make full illustrations for each chapter. Let me know what you think!! :)

There is nothing quite as horrible as being a muggle, Eloise thought savagely as she ripped out yet another stitch in the landscape she was embroidering. At least, it was supposed to be a landscape. Maybe with her head tilted to the left and with her eyes almost closed so everything blurred together, it might resemble one. She did just that, trying her hardest to make out some recognizable shape and blast the stupid practice of manually pushing colored thread through a fabric in some sort of -

“And what is this, Miss Babbit?”

Eloise jumped at the sound and looked up at the scowling face of her teacher, and then quickly back down at the tangled thread in her lap. Behind her, she could hear the hushed giggles of the other girls in her class.

“Oh! Er…it’s -”

“How long have you been here?” the woman interrupted.

“One hour…I just -”

“Don’t be smart with me. I mean, at this institute.”

“Five years.” Eloise glared down at her embroidery as if it had personally offended her. It wasn’t like she was actively trying to be bad at everything, but she had the distinct disadvantage - how had it ever come to be that she would be at a disadvantage to muggles? - of not having spent a lifetime being prepared for muggle society and all that it entailed. The last five years had been a monotonous, endless cycle of lessons designed to turn her into the perfect lady: French (a waste of time as Eloise was already fluent), embroidery (a waste of time as the things she embroidered weren’t actually useful), dancing (a waste of time as she was already engaged to be married - why would she bother trying to woo another silly man?), and her most dreaded class of all: etiquette. No matter how many years had been spent trying to assimilate into muggle culture, her thoughts still got muddled when she tried to remember the steps to a dance, or how to properly address the son of a duke.

Did it really matter, anyways, what the other girls thought? She had pretended her whole life to be the daughter she thought her parents had wanted - now she was simply pretending that she hadn’t been thrown into the muggle world without a second thought. What was a bit more pretending - that she didn’t care? That she hadn’t been tossed aside without a second thought?

“Exactly. Five years. And yet, you have shown no progress whatsoever. This -” a finger jabbed accusingly at the embroidery - “is absolutely horrendous. If your parents hadn’t continued to make such a sizeable donation every year, I would have deemed you a lost cause and sent you packing when you first arrived. How your family ever managed your betrothal to the son of an earl is beyond me.”

Eloise grimaced at the mention of her fiance as her teacher clapped her hands together to get the attention of the class - a wholly unnecessary action due to the fact that it was already being given. “Class is dismissed. Please collect your belongings and put them in the correct place. Remember, as future wives and mothers, you must be organized in all aspects of your life. Many of you will be managing important households and the slightest misstep -“ a slight glance to Eloise out of the corner of her eye - “can cause the biggest of scandals.”

Eloise raced to gather her things and leave the classroom before everyone else. No matter how many years had been spent at the school, she couldn’t help but hate sitting through the classes amongst the judgmental stares and snide remarks. Although things had started out shaky at the finishing school - to be expected, really, when you’ve grown up in wizarding society and then are then forced to live as a muggle - it still stung that after all these years, she still hadn’t found a friendly face. She was treated as if she were a pariah: it was as if the other girls just knew that something was different about her. But…wasn’t that the great irony of it all? She wasn’t different than them. She was a filthy squib.

When she first arrived at the school, she was an anomaly. A twelve-year-old girl who didn’t know how to play the piano or who the queen was. It was clear to everyone that Eloise wasn’t the charity case of the school - her parents were obviously quite wealthy - and yet they seemingly wanted nothing to do with her. Whereas the others got regular letters and visits from their family, it was as if Eloise were an orphan. Nothing new to her of course, but to her peers this otherness aided them in her ostracization.

Upon entering her room, she was abruptly pulled out of her thoughts. Something wasn’t right. Everything seemed the same: a twin bed perfectly made opposite a small wardrobe, a plain wooden desk placed between them. The weak afternoon sunlight shone through the window, illuminating her desk. But…there.

That…

Placed on her bed, resting on the pillow, was a letter.

She never received letters.

Eloise shoved her embroidery under her bed and hungrily grabbed at it, pausing when she saw the address. Miss E. Babbit. The Third Bedroom on the Left… It seemed vaguely familiar to her in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

As she read the letter, though, it became apparent to her exactly why this was. Although not exactly the same as the one her brother had received six years earlier, it quickly became apparent that this was a Hogwarts letter. For her. For Miss E. Babbit.

Hands shaking, she set the letter down on her desk and sat on the edge of her bed. She smoothed her hands over her skirt over and over, taking comfort in the familiar softness as she tried to even her breathing.

How was this possible? She had all but accepted the fact that she was a squib. The shame of her family, a dirty secret to be hidden away and never talked about or mentioned again. Her parents had suspected as much by the time she had turned seven without any signs of magic whatsoever manifesting around her - not even a basic transformation of brussel sprouts to sweets during dinner. It was ultimately confirmed, however, when her own Hogwarts acceptance letter never arrived. She had spent the whole year before her banishment daydreaming about her life at Hogwarts, still optimistic that there could be something magical inside of her. Her brother, Leo, came home every holiday with wonderful stories of his new friends and teachers, and the subjects he was learning at school. Even back then, at twelve years old, Eloise hadn’t been sure if he was actually hopeful she wasn’t a squib, or if he had been trying to prolong the fantasy for her before it all came crashing down.

Although she had had five years to come to terms with her new life, there was still a small part of her that hoped. A small “what if…”. She had tried time and time again to squash that tiny ray of optimism that would escape every so often, tried so very hard to cultivate a hard exterior that wouldn’t let any sort of vulnerability shine through. And that optimism was a vulnerability, after all. It was that vulnerability that had made it absolutely impossible for her to fit in the muggle world, and made it so that she didn’t really want to try.

Five years to come to terms with the fact that she needed a new purpose for her life and…

…not anymore?

Eloise grabbed the letter and greedily read through it again, drinking in all of the words. She paused at the end, thinking. Was this a forgery? Some sort of awful joke orchestrated by her brother? Leo had never been cruel to her in the past; in fact, he was the one who always encouraged her and was the most probable source of the small optimism that remained within her. However, she had no way of knowing how he had changed since she had last seen him. It had been, after all, five very long years. And not once had she heard from him, even though he had promised her through huge sobbing gulps that he would never abandon her. Maybe their parents had slowly poisoned him against her. It would be right on the nose for them, after all.

Looking at the envelope again, however…Third Bedroom on the Left…no. It was too specific. Nobody in her previous life had any reason to even want to contact her again, and nobody in her current life even knew what Hogwarts was, let alone have the ability to convincingly forge a letter just to have some fun at her expense.

A light, bubbly feeling began to spread throughout her body as it sunk in that this was real. She was going to Hogwarts. Soon, a - squinting at the letter again - a Professor Fig would be contacting her and giving her things to study. A huge grin slowly spread across her face and she hugged the letter to her chest as she fell back on her bed. She read through it again. Was it the fifth time already? It felt as though no amount of times rereading the letter would ever be enough.

Eloise got up and walked over to look at the calendar on her desk. She was surprised to see that September 1st was in only two days. The days at the finishing school moved in such a strange, sluggish way. They all felt the same. Monotonous. French and Latin and embroidery and household management and Merlin even knows what else all blending into each other in an endless parade of dusty classrooms and gossip and boredom.

The light feeling left her in an instant as, after years of practice, the optimism was squashed back down. But how will you even get to London? And, her brain added sneakily, you haven’t even shown any signs of magic. Maybe you’ll just be returned back here after they realize their mistake.

No, she thought fiercely, gripping the letter. Until -

A tapping came from the window. A tentative smile returned at the sight of a tawny brown owl with another envelope in its beak. She ripped it open as soon as it was in her hands (again addressed to Miss E. Babbit) and along with the letter a small, purple pouch fell out of the envelope and onto her bed.

Miss Eloise Babbit,

I am pleased to be the wizard charged with such an important task as escorting you to Hogwarts in two days’ time. It is something extraordinary to be accepted in your fifth-year, and as such, I expect extraordinary things from you. I have enclosed a small pouch along with this envelope, and in it are some items that will be vital to you in the upcoming days. I have included books for you to study at your leisure, and a small gobstone that will bring you to our rendezvous point in London. All you have to do is touch it at noon on the 1st and you will be transported instantly.

Your family has not been informed of your acceptance. I am sure you understand why - at this, Eloise scoffed quietly to herself - which is why I will personally be your escort.

I am looking forward to meeting you and bringing you to the sorting ceremony in two days’ time.

Yours,

Eleazar Fig

The handwriting was tiny and spidery and cramped, but it didn’t stop Eloise from reading it with the same vigor as the previous letter and as many times. Finally, she turned to the small pouch that had fallen onto her bed when she opened the second envelope. It must have had an invisible extension charm, because it was filled to the brim with books on basic spellwork and general wizarding history. Professor Fig had no way of knowing, but Eloise had already read many of these books and many more during the year her brother had started Hogwarts, as she had needed to know absolutely everything about what would be awaiting her. A few years may have passed since she had stepped foot in her family’s library, but she couldn’t get the books or their contents out of her brain even if she had wanted to. She had really wanted to forget everything she knew about the magical world when it was confirmed she was a squib but it was a futile effort. As she zoned out during her piano lessons, she would find herself mentally going through the movements to cast different charms.

It was painful to be thinking about things from the life that had been ripped away from her, to know that what she was thinking about would never come to pass, that she would never be able to wield magic - and yet she couldn’t find herself able to stop.

As Eloise picked out one of the books and settled into her armchair, a steely resolve overcame her.

She would prove that she deserved to be there, and was just as capable as any of they were. She would make her parents regret ever discarding her like she was nothing.

She was worthy. She was capable. And she would prove it.

The morning of September 1st dawned cold and rainy. Absolutely perfect.

Eloise had pretended to be sick the night before, and no one had suspected a thing when she stayed in bed long after all of the other girls had gotten ready and headed to breakfast. As the last of the chattering faded away down the hallway, Eloise finally got out of bed and prepared herself for the day. It was difficult to sit still long enough to braid her hair. Her fingers wouldn’t stop trembling and she had to restart countless times. Finally, she tied the black ribbon at the end into a neat bow and turned to the drawer of her desk to retrieve the small purple pouch she had hidden away.

Everything she deemed important enough to come along with her had already been placed inside: the books from Professor Fig, the hair ribbons gifted to her by her brother many years ago, and some clothing. Nothing else was coming with. She needed the fresh start. Besides, anything else she might need would be supplied, as her acceptance letter had specifically stated that any school supplies would be provided to her.

Waiting the hours before noon came along proved to be more difficult than Eloise had imagined. Time seemed to be moving slower than the molasses that had come with the breakfast sent up to her, the steady patter of the rain becoming a sort of metronome keeping time as she paced back and forth. Wasn’t there anything that could distract her, even for a bit? She glanced at the clock. Only five minutes had passed since the last time. 10.35.

The second hand ticking away in tandem with the sound of rain splashing against her window.

What if this was all a trick? What if she arrived at Hogwarts, and they turned her away because they realized they had made a mistake? After all, why would they admit a sixteen-year-old? Surely she was too old; every other student had started Hogwarts at the age of twelve and had shown signs of magic much earlier than that. She still hadn’t shown any signs of magical capability whatsoever, and didn’t feel any different than she had before receiving the letter. It had to be a fluke.

As her thoughts started veering into the melancholy she was prone to, she shook her head. No. Today was a happy, exciting day. She wasn’t going to squash the optimism down today, not when she needed it most. All of these thoughts she was having were simply that: thoughts. Not reality. Hogwarts never made a mistake, and in all of the history books she had read, she couldn’t recall an instance of someone being turned away at the door. Granted, she had also never heard of someone being admitted so late. But, better to focus on what she did know, which was that she had gotten the letter. It must be right in its assumption that she had magic.

Trying to pass the time was easier said than done. She ended up quizzing herself on all of the charms she had memorized in the books sent by Professor Fig, moving an imaginary wand in the precise movements needed to successfully cast and focusing on her pronunciation. She had studied all of these forms late into both nights she had had the books, and when she would eventually close her eyes to sleep, the wand movements were all she saw.

Eloise was determined that she would receive pity from nobody. Nobody was going to look at her like she was lacking. She had gotten enough of that to last a lifetime, and now that she was given this opportunity she wasn’t about to waste it.

When noon finally struck, Eloise was ready and waiting. She eagerly grabbed the gobstone that was sitting on her desk and felt the familiar tugging sensation in her navel as she was whisked away to London and the beginning of her new life.

next chapter

#im just writing this fic for fun & since I’m editing it a bit #I thought it would be fun to challenge myself to do full illustrations for each chapter #(the reason I started these fanarts in the first place was for this🧍‍♀️)#if you actually read this I would love to know what you think!!#I keep going back & forth between wanting to make a master list and also explain my tag system on this tumblr #but at the same time I like the chaos…🤔#well let me know!! or if you have any suggestions!!💓😙#it starts off a bit slow but this story is VERY canon-divergent #and will have a lot of mythology/magical theory/pureblood society etc etc #i dont expect these to really get much traction bahahahahahaha #but im going to have a lot of fun rereading my fic & making these illustrations🥹💓#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanart #hphl #hogwarts legacy oc #hogwarts legacy mc #eloise babbit #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy fic #oh also???? how do you format these things??????????????? anyways the chapter is up on ao3 and honestly the whole fic up to chapter 22😆😆#but if you have any suggestions lmk!!!!#like do I put the warnings for the whole fic on each chapter?? put only the chapter warnings??? literally this is me: 🧍‍♀️#a poor confused technology grandma

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