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p0orbaby · 3 months ago

Text

Skeletons

summary: aitana has a secret that you’re reluctant to keep, but you do, because having her in private is better than not having her at all

warnings: angst, closeted relationship

a/n: inspired by this request ! fyi i’m not a massive fan of the ending so if you think it’s bad then your opinion is valid

word count: 4.9k

It’s been a long day, another day of tactical meetings and drills, the weight of another training session at Barça hanging heavy on your body. You sit beside Aitana in the lounge of her flat—everything pristine but minimal, almost impersonal, as if she's never spent enough time here to give it a real life. No personal touch to the decor, just basic furniture. A lamp that looks like it was picked because it was there and not because it meant anything. The kind of living space of someone who only ever comes home to sleep, or maybe to avoid something else. You think you know what that something else is, or maybe it’s just a suspicion that’s been gnawing at you for years, a quiet terror lodged deep in the center of you, almost as if it's waiting for something to happen. You’re pretty sure it's always been there.

You notice how she sits too close, legs curled beneath her on the sofa, leaning into you in that way she always does when she’s not really aware of it. Aitana’s always been like that—too close, too warm, her casual touches like a silent scream at the back of your mind—her fingers brushing your arm, her shoulder pressing lightly into yours, her laughter soft and private, like you’re the only one who could ever understand the joke, like she trusts you with something that’s too big for either of you to say out loud. It’s a proximity that drives you insane, but you’ve learned to live with it because there’s never been another option. Not really. Not when every look, every smile, every stupid moment of her being this…close keeps you on a knife's edge between bliss and misery.

She looks at you now with those eyes that you’ve memorised, those soft brown eyes that never stop searching, like she’s always trying to find the right words but can never quite get there. It’s a little terrifying, the way she looks at you sometimes. Like you’re the answer to something she hasn't quite plucked up the courage to ask yet.

“I’m glad you came over,” she says, her voice softer than usual, like she's thinking about something more serious but doesn't want to show it. Her hand is on your arm again, a casual thing, but it’s not casual, not to you. It hasn’t been casual for years.

You nod, biting back whatever sarcastic response you might’ve thrown out, because this—this moment feels like a delicate thread, as if one wrong move could break it. And you don’t want to break it. God, you don’t want to break it.

“Of course, I came over. You needed me, right?” you say, forcing a lightness into your voice that feels false, but you’re so used to this performance. It’s second nature. Being near her and pretending like it’s normal when your heart is pounding loud enough to deafen you.

“Yeah,” she says, but there’s something under that single word, something unsure. She leans back into the sofa cushions, and you feel the shift, the weight of her thigh brushing yours, your heart picking up speed even as you try to ignore it. You look at her, and she’s staring at the floor now, like she’s trying to figure something out but can’t bring herself to say it.

You’ve never been good with silence, not between the two of you, not when it feels like this, charged and dangerous, and you almost say something—anything—to break it, but she beats you to it.

“I’ve been thinking,” she says, her voice quiet, her gaze still on the floor. She shifts, her fingers tightening slightly on your arm, and your chest clenches, that familiar wave of something crashing over you. “About…stuff”

The vagueness of it should annoy you, but it doesn’t. Not when her voice sounds like this. Not when her whole body feels tense, like she’s holding something back.

“What kind of stuff?” you ask, keeping your tone casual, keeping the panic buried deep where it belongs. You can’t show it. You can’t let her see how much this is affecting you, how much every word out of her mouth feels like it could unravel you.

She finally looks up at you, and there’s something different in her eyes. Something you haven’t seen before, or maybe you’ve seen it a hundred times but you’ve never let yourself believe it could be real. Her gaze holds yours for a moment, and then she looks away again, biting her bottom lip like she’s nervous.

It’s not a look you see from Aitana often. She’s usually so sure of herself, so confident, even when she’s being quiet, even when she’s being thoughtful. But this—this feels different. She’s fidgeting now, her fingers tapping lightly against her knee, and you can’t help but watch her, trying to figure out what’s going on in her head, trying not to let yourself hope. Because hope is dangerous. Hope is a trap you’ve fallen into too many times, and every time you climb out of it, it feels like it just leaves you more bruised.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about,” she says, and her voice is so soft now, so fragile. It’s like she’s terrified of what she’s about to say, and that terrifies you because Aitana is never terrified.

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. “What’s up?” you ask, trying to sound calm, even though your heart is racing and there’s a knot forming in your stomach.

She hesitates for a moment, and then she reaches up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous habit you’ve seen a thousand times but never thought much about until now, when everything about her feels heightened, like you’re seeing her for the first time all over again.

“I…” She stops, her voice faltering, and then she takes a deep breath, forcing the words out like they’ve been stuck inside her for too long. “I think I might like someone”

Your chest tightens. This is it. The moment you’ve always dreaded. The moment where she tells you about some guy—some random guy she’s fallen for, the guy she’s going to love the way you wish she would love you.

“Oh,” you say, and it comes out flat, empty. You don’t trust yourself to say anything else.

But she doesn’t look at you. Not yet. Her fingers are still tapping against her knee, her eyes still fixed somewhere just past your shoulder.

“It’s… weird,” she continues, her voice wavering, and now she’s biting her lip again, harder this time, and you can see the tension in her jaw. “Because I didn’t think I’d ever feel like this about…a girl”

Your heart stops. You freeze. Every part of you goes still as her words sink in, slow and heavy, like they’re not quite real. Like they can’t be real.

But she’s still talking, her voice shaky, her eyes finally meeting yours, and you can see the vulnerability there, the uncertainty, the fear that she’s saying something wrong, something that’s going to ruin everything. And suddenly you’re not breathing, not thinking, not doing anything except sitting there, staring at her, because what else can you do? What can you say when the thing you’ve wanted for so long is suddenly, inexplicably, in front of you?

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispers, and now her hand is resting on your arm again, her fingers brushing your skin in a way that feels deliberate, feels like more than just a casual touch.

And you—God, you don’t know what to do either. You don’t know how to breathe, how to think, how to process what’s happening. Because this—this moment—is something you’ve imagined a thousand times in your head, something you’ve dreamed about but never really believed would happen.

But it is happening. Right now. Right in front of you.

You blink, your throat tight, your mind a mess of thoughts that don’t make any sense, and she’s still looking at you, still waiting for you to say something, do something, anything. But you can’t. You can’t because you’re terrified that if you move, if you speak, if you do anything, this moment will shatter and you’ll wake up and it’ll all be gone.

So you sit there, frozen, staring at her, trying to understand how you got here, trying to understand what this means, trying to understand her—Aitana, your best friend, the girl you’ve been in love with for what feels like forever.

And she’s looking at you like she’s scared. Scared of what you’ll say, scared of what you’ll do. But more than that, she looks scared of herself, of what she’s feeling. You can see the uncertainty in her eyes, the way she’s still not sure if this is okay, if she’s okay, if liking you—wanting you—is something she’s allowed to want.

“I’m scared,” she says softly, and it breaks you because Aitana doesn’t get scared. She’s brave. She’s fearless. She’s everything you’ve always wanted to be. And now she’s sitting here, vulnerable and uncertain, and you don’t know how to help her because you’re still trying to figure out how to help yourself.

But then she looks at you again, her eyes searching yours, and something shifts. Something clicks into place. And before you can stop yourself, before you can think about what you’re doing, you reach out and take her hand, your fingers lacing with hers, warm and steady and real.

“I’m here,” you say, your voice quiet but firm. “I’m not going anywhere”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, she smiles, just a little. A small, tentative smile, but it’s enough. It’s everything.

It starts slowly, like all dangerous things do. A late-night text that pulls you back to her place after training, her fingertips brushing your hand on the walk back from the gym, a lingering glance that lasts just a second too long when she thinks no one’s paying attention. You both fall into it like gravity’s pulling you, and for a while, it’s enough. Enough to have her behind closed doors, enough to know that, at least in those quiet moments between just the two of you, she’s yours.

But it’s also nothing like what you’d imagined all those years, lying in your own bed staring at the ceiling, wondering what it’d be like to have her next to you for real. It’s not perfect—it can’t be, not when everything has to be hidden. You’re still her best friend in public, the girl she spends all her time with, the girl who knows her better than anyone else. But not the girl she kisses when the cameras aren’t flashing, not the girl she pulls close when no one’s looking.

Those moments belong only to the nights when her guard is down, when her walls crumble and she lets you in, just for a few hours. It’s messy, but you’ve always known it would be. Aitana is nothing if not a contradiction—so sure of herself on the pitch, so certain of what she wants when it comes to football, but with this—with you—she’s hesitant. Insecure, even, and it’s a side of her you’re still learning how to navigate.

It’s late one night after another exhausting match, and she’s already taken her shower, her hair damp against the pillow as you lie beside her. Her apartment smells faintly of eucalyptus from the diffuser she never turns off, and the air between you feels heavy, like it always does after sex. Like there’s something unsaid just hanging there, but neither of you is brave enough to say it.

She’s resting her head on your chest, one arm draped lazily across your stomach, her fingers tracing absent patterns against your skin. And for a moment, everything is perfect. Just her and you, tangled together in her too-big bed, your bodies sore but comfortable in the way that only comes with familiarity. You feel her breath against your neck, steady and soft, and you close your eyes, trying to commit every second of this to memory. These are the moments you live for now.

But then she speaks, her voice low and hesitant, and you know what’s coming before she even says it.

“You know we can’t tell anyone, right?” Her fingers stop moving, and she lifts her head to look at you, her expression unreadable in the dim light. “Not yet”

It’s not the first time she’s said it, and it won’t be the last. You’ve had this conversation before, too many times to count. But each time, it feels like a fresh wound, like she’s cutting into you all over again with that same blunt blade. You want to tell her that it hurts, that it tears you apart every time she introduces you to someone as “just a friend” or dodges questions about her love life in interviews, leaving you wondering what it would feel like to be acknowledged, even just once.

But you don’t say that. You won��t. Because you know she’s scared. Scared of what it means, scared of what people will say, scared of admitting to herself that she’s not the person she thought she was. And you love her too much to push her. So instead, you nod, keeping your voice steady even though your chest feels like it’s caving in.

“Yeah, I know”

She sighs in relief, dropping her head back to your chest, her body relaxing against yours again. And just like that, the conversation is over. She’s yours again—for now, at least.

But there are moments, moments when the secret feels too heavy, too suffocating, and you don’t know how long you can keep carrying it without cracking under the pressure. It happens one day after a game, when the whole team goes out to celebrate a win, and you’re sitting at the bar, nursing a beer and trying to keep your distance. Because that’s what you do now. You keep your distance. You stay just close enough to be there for her, but never close enough to make anyone suspicious.

Aitana’s across the room, talking with a group of teammates, laughing at something Alexia says, and for a second, it’s like she forgets you’re even there. She’s in her element, charming and confident, the version of herself you’ve always admired. And when someone asks her about dating—probably joking, probably not thinking twice about it—you watch her laugh it off, deflecting like she always does.

“No, I’m not seeing anyone,” she says, so casually, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like you don’t exist. Like the nights you’ve spent together, wrapped up in each other, mean nothing.

It hits you harder than it should. Harder than it ever has before. And you know it’s not fair to feel like this—it’s not fair to her, and it’s not fair to you. You knew what this was when you started, knew that it wasn’t going to be easy. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

You drain the rest of your beer, the bitterness burning your throat, and get up to leave before anyone notices. Before she notices. You can’t sit there and watch her laugh and flirt with other people, pretending like she’s not going to go home with you tonight. Pretending like she’s not yours.

When you’re halfway to the door, you feel her hand on your arm, and you stop, turning to face her. She looks up at you, her expression soft, her eyes wide and questioning.

“Where are you going?” she asks, her voice low enough that no one else can hear. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

“I’m tired,” you say, not bothering to hide the edge in your voice. “I think I’ll head home”

Aitana frowns, her hand still on your arm, like she’s not ready to let you go yet. Like she can feel the shift, the tension simmering just beneath the surface. “I thought we’d—”

“I know,” you cut her off, not wanting to hear it. Not wanting to hear her try to make this okay when it’s not. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

You pull away from her, walking out into the cool night air, your heart pounding in your chest. You need space. You need air. You need time to remember why you’re doing this, why you’re putting yourself through this, why you keep coming back to her even when it hurts.

And later, when you’re lying in your own bed, staring up at the ceiling again, you remind yourself of all the reasons why. The way she looks at you when no one’s watching. The way she holds you close at night, like she’s afraid you’ll disappear. The way she whispers your name in the dark, her voice soft and vulnerable in a way it never is around anyone else.

She’s worth it, you tell yourself. She’s worth the pain, the hiding, the pretending. Because you have her. Maybe not in the way you always dreamed, but you have her.

It’s an away game in Seville, the kind where the atmosphere is tense but electric, the city vibrating with the weight of the upcoming match. The hotel isn’t much, just another chain where the carpets smell faintly of stale cigarettes and overuse. You’re in one of those rooms that looks exactly the same as all the others, sterile and impersonal—off-white walls, a single window overlooking the car park, a television bolted to the wall like an afterthought. But right now, none of that matters.

Aitana’s there with you, her back pressed against the cheap headboard, her hair a tangled mess around her face. She’s just come out of the shower, skin still damp and smelling like hotel soap, and there’s something reckless in her eyes tonight, something unspoken simmering between you both. There’s always been that quiet, dangerous tension with her, like you’re both walking a line neither of you knows how to stay on.

You hadn’t planned for this. Maybe you never plan for it. It’s just a hunger that’s become second nature, something that overtakes you both when you’re alone together, something neither of you can resist. Her lips had found yours the moment the bathroom door clicked shut behind you, the match tomorrow the last thing on either of your minds. You’re supposed to be resting, supposed to be saving your energy for the game, but there’s always this with her, this fever that takes over when you’re in the same room.

It doesn’t take long before you’re pulling her close, her fingers digging into your back, her breath hot against your neck as you press her against the mattress. The room feels like it’s spinning, like it’s just you and her and nothing else matters. And the noise—God, you can’t help the sounds she makes when you touch her, the way she bites back a moan, then gives up, letting it out like a release of all the tension she’s been holding in. The bed creaks beneath you, too loud in the silence of the hotel, but neither of you care. It’s too late to care.

You lose track of time. You lose track of everything except the feel of her beneath you, the way her body responds to yours, the way she whispers your name like it’s the only word she knows. And for that stretch of time—however long it is—she’s yours, wholly and completely. There’s no team, no match, no world outside this room. It’s just her, and you, and the way she looks at you when she lets her guard down, when she lets herself need you.

But then there’s a knock at the wall, followed by a muffled voice that snaps you both back to reality. You freeze, still half-entangled with her, your breath ragged, your heart pounding.

“Oye! Quiet down in there!” someone yells through the wall. The voice is too familiar—Pina, or maybe Patri—it doesn’t matter who it is. The point is, they’ve heard. The walls are paper-thin, you realise, and you hadn’t exactly been discreet.

You scramble off her, untangling yourself from the sheets, and for a moment, the only sound is your own breathing, loud in the sudden silence. Aitana’s eyes are wide, her face flushed, her bare chest rising and falling rapidly, and you can see the panic starting to creep in. Not panic because they know—no, they don’t know who she is. Panic because they think it’s just another random hookup. Another girl you picked up on a whim.

There’s another knock, louder this time, more insistent. “We get it! You’ve got company,” someone calls, laughing now, their voice tinged with amusement. “Didn’t know you’d have a guest tonight”

You let out a breath, already slipping into the familiar role. The one where you play it off like this is nothing. Like this is just another night, just another girl. You’ve done it so many times before—it’s a routine at this point. The jokes, the teasing, the knowing looks from your teammates when they hear about another one of your so-called conquests. It’s all part of the act, the persona you’ve built to cover for what’s really going on.

You flash a quick smile at Aitana, hoping to reassure her, but the look she gives you is anything but reassured. It’s tight, like she’s barely holding it together. You ignore it for now, your mind racing for the right thing to say.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry about that,” you call back, trying to keep your voice light, casual, like you’re not lying through your teeth. “I’ll keep it down. Promise”

There’s more laughter from the other side of the wall, some muttered jokes about your reputation, about your ‘lucky night,’ but eventually it quiets down. They’re not going to press you. They never do. You’ve always been able to laugh it off, always been able to make it seem like none of it matters.

But when you turn back to Aitana, you see the way her eyes have gone dark, her face tight with something that looks like pain, like anger. She’s pulling the sheets up around her, suddenly closed off, like she’s trying to build a wall between you both.

“You okay?” you ask, your voice low, tentative. You reach for her, but she pulls away, sitting up straighter, wrapping the sheet tighter around herself.

There’s a heaviness to the air that wasn’t there before, a weight that settles between the two of you. It’s in the way she’s breathing—slow, measured—like she’s thinking too hard, like she’s bracing herself for something. You glance over at her, half-expecting her to meet your gaze with that teasing smile she always gives after moments like this, but her face is turned toward the ceiling, eyes wide and distant, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Aitana?” you say softly, your voice barely cutting through the thick quiet. You can feel the tension in your chest start to coil, tight and uneasy.

She doesn’t respond right away, and when she finally does, her voice is quieter than you expect, almost tentative, like she’s not sure how to say what’s on her mind. “You didn’t have to do that,” she says, still staring up at the ceiling, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the sheet.

You frown, sitting up a little, trying to make sense of what she means. “Do what?”

“Cover for me.” She says it so softly, like it’s a secret, like it’s something she’s ashamed of, but not in the way you’re used to. Not the shame of being found out. This is different, quieter, heavier. “I know why you did it, but… you didn’t have to”

You blink, thrown off for a second. “You mean… when they knocked on the wall?”

She nods, slowly, her eyes finally drifting from the ceiling to meet yours. There’s something in her eyes that makes your heart drop, something that feels like guilt, but not the kind that comes from getting caught. It’s the kind that lingers, the kind that’s been building for a while.

“I know it’s stupid,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper now, her fingers still moving in that absent way across the sheets, like she’s trying to distract herself from what she’s saying. “I know it’s just how it is. But… when you said that, when you acted like it was someone else, it just—it felt wrong”

You can feel your chest tighten, the words sinking in, slow and heavy. You want to tell her that you had to, that it’s how you’ve always handled it, that you were just trying to protect her. But the way she’s looking at you now, her eyes soft but resolute, makes you pause. She’s not angry. She’s not hurt, not the way you thought she might be. She’s just… sad. Sad that you feel like you need to keep pretending, like you need to keep covering for her.

“I didn’t think it’d bother you,” you say, and it sounds like an excuse as soon as it leaves your mouth, even though it’s the truth. You’ve done this so many times before, played it off like it’s nothing. It’s always been your way of protecting her, of protecting what the two of you have.

“I know you didn’t.” She sits up then, pulling her knees to her chest, resting her chin on them as she looks at you. Her hair falls over her face, messy and damp, and she brushes it aside absently, not really paying attention to it. “But that’s the thing. You shouldn’t have to. Not anymore”

There’s a beat of silence, the words hanging in the air between you. You sit up straighter, searching her face, trying to understand exactly what she’s saying. You’ve had this conversation before, or at least versions of it. But it’s never felt like this. It’s never felt like it’s this close to something real, something neither of you can take back.

“What do you mean?” you ask, your voice cautious, like you’re afraid to push her too far, to make her retreat behind that wall she’s so good at building.

Aitana lets out a slow breath, her eyes not leaving yours. “I mean… I’m tired of hiding. I’m tired of being a secret. And I’m tired of making you cover for me like you’re ashamed of what we have.” Her voice is steady, but there’s a vulnerability in it that catches you off guard, something raw and exposed. “I don’t want to do that to you anymore.”

You stare at her, your heart pounding, trying to make sense of what she’s saying. You’ve always been the one to take the fall, to laugh off the questions, to keep up the charade. You’ve always thought you were doing it for her—because she wasn’t ready, because she needed more time. But now, sitting here, looking at her, you realize that maybe you’ve been doing it for yourself too. Maybe you’ve been hiding just as much as she has, afraid of what it would mean to actually be out there, to actually be seen.

“Aitana…” you start, but she cuts you off, her voice soft but firm.

“I know it won’t be easy,” she says quickly, like she’s already thought this through a thousand times. “I know people will talk, and it’ll be… hard. But I don’t care anymore. I don’t want to hide us. I don’t want you to pretend like I’m just someone you picked up or some random girl in your bed. I’m more than that. I’ve always been more than that”

The words hit you harder than you expected, and for a second, you don’t know how to respond. You’ve spent so long keeping this part of you hidden, keeping this relationship in the shadows, that the idea of stepping out into the light feels… terrifying. But at the same time, hearing her say it, hearing her admit that she’s ready—that she wants to be open—it makes something inside you shift, something that feels like hope.

“Are you sure?” you ask, your voice quieter now, more careful. You don’t want to push her, don’t want to rush her into something she’s not ready for, even though every part of you is screaming to say yes, to finally stop hiding.

She nods, her eyes steady, her expression soft but sure. “I’m sure.” She reaches out then, her hand finding yours, her fingers threading through yours with a quiet certainty. “I don’t want to hide anymore. Not from them, not from anyone.”

You feel the weight of her words settle over you, and for the first time in a long time, it feels like you can breathe. Like the walls you’ve both built are finally starting to come down.

“I don’t want you to hide either,” you admit, the words coming out easier than you thought they would. And it’s true. You’re tired of pretending too, tired of covering for something that’s real, something that’s yours.

Aitana smiles then, a small, tentative smile, but there’s something bright behind it, something that makes your chest ache in the best possible way. She leans in, pressing her forehead to yours, her breath warm against your lips.

“So… I’ll tell them,” she whispers, her voice barely audible, but filled with a kind of quiet determination that makes you believe her.

“No,” you whisper back, your heart pounding, your hand tightening around hers. “We’ll tell them”

#aitana bonmati #aitana bonmati x reader #fcb femeni #fcb femeni x reader #espwnt #espwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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enwoso · 5 months ago

Note

a blurb where Lovie is as clumsy as alessia is and keeps falling over and bumping into things and spilling stuff but she hops back up so quickly and is like I’m ok

NOT SO ELEGANT — alessia russo x child!reader

grumpy masterlist

there were many things you had inherited from your mum, like your big blue eyes, your hair colour, your infectious little giggle and your mother's clumsiness. or as alessia liked to rephrase it as being not so aware of her surroundings.

you were forever bumping into things, dropping things or even just falling over. alessia was forever trying to make sure that there were no serious dangers around especially when you were known to bump into even the smallest of things.

it was getting to the point where even the arsenal girls had noticed your clumsiness.

"lovie, do you still wanna show beth your dance?" your mummy asked as you sat at a table, a cup of juice dangerously close to the edge of the table as you watched your ipad. the team was filitering back into the canteen from the afternoon gym session.

"yes, yes!" you jumped up, a big smile as your arms went into the air, on their way knocking your cup of juice into the seat. "oh... it's okay mummy, just a little bit of juice" you frowned looking at the juice dripping onto the floor moving your feet so that they didn't get wet.

"your alright, you show beth your dance and i'll clean this" your mummy reassured you, lifting you out from the seat to ensure you didn't get wet, beth looking on shaking her head a slight snicker coming from her.

"what you like tiny!" she ruffled your hair as you wondered near beth who was in the middle of asking your mum if she wanted any help, alessia waving the girl off as a big grin was plastered across your face. a lot of work had gone into your dance. "let's see this dance then!"

"wait, i need music!" you moved from your starting position, pointing towards beth's phone.

"what song would you like tiny?" beth asked as you mulled over it for a few seconds before a song name came into your head.

“that one viv likes, the one about summer” you smiled, viv had introduced you to taylor swift last week when you were on the road to an away game, her telling you her favourite and for the past week all you had wanted on the radio or the tv was taylor swift.

beth pulling a puzzled face as she tried to quickly remember which song you were talking about, “ah cruel summer?” she asked as you nodded quickly.

beth tapped away at her phone as you got into your starting position in a bit of space in the middle of the canteen, beth giving you the thumbs up that she had pressed play.

you began to do your dance, which was more just you kicking your leg around and flaying your arms around in a time that wasn’t really in rhythm with the song but you were just little so it was cute.

a few more of the girls had come through from the gym stopping in the doorway, their faces lighting up with smiles as they saw you performing your dance, which you had made sure to tell and show all of the arsenal girls.

“yes tiny!” katie hyped you out from the side a few of the other girls, like leah, caitlin, vic and viv clapping you on. alessia was watching on with a small giggle having watched you do this countless times around your living room in past two days alone.

it was going so well, you had put even more energy and effort into the movements but it of course was going to well. you getting a little close to the chair and as you turned to kick your leg out again, your leg got stuck on the chair.

making your trip, a loud crash sound echoed through the room, you landing straight on your knees. a loud gasp coming from the girls watching as the music continued to play. the girls unsure weather to laugh or be seriously concerned or if it was part of your routine.

but coming from the concerned look that had risen on your mums face. it ruled out the possibility of it being part of the dance routine.

“well that wasn’t very elegant-“ katie mumbled as caitlin slapped the girl on the shoulder giving her a stern look as katie held her hands up defensively.

“beth! turn the music off?” viv called out from the side of the room as beth scrambled to turn it off.

“lovie?” your mummy called out with caution, unsure if you were hurt and if the tears were going to start. the girls still looking on not knowing how to react.

“i’m okay!” you jumped back up, a big grin on your face as the girls cheered. you wondering off to your mummy who wasn’t as convinced.

“are you sure you okay?” she asked as you stood inbetween her legs, your mummy fixing the clip that was in your hair as it came loose when you were dancing around.

you nodded, a smile still on your face. “yes, it didn’t even hurt mummy” you played off so confidently as the rest of girls had settled into the canteen and sat down not that your little intervention was finished.

“think you may have to retire the dancing shoes tiny!” vic joked as she took a seat next to your mummy as your eyebrows furrowed a little.

“noo the chair was just in my way, pavlova” you giggled, as you dragged out your words a small giggle coming from your mummy as you used the nickname she had given vic.

you began to wonder off to talk to the other girls, but not without bumping into emily and tripping over another chair leg that was poking out.

“she’s definitely your child less!” vic laughed as alessia rolled her eyes sighing at the fact you had in fact inherited alessia’s clumsiness, and in fact you might actually be worse…

#alessia russo x y/n #alessia russo #alessia russo x reader #woso community #woso x reader #woso #woso imagine #woso blurbs #awfc #arsenal women #arsenal wfc #arsenal #england wnt #england women #england #victoria pelova #enwoso

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months ago

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Fantod

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

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

Part of Roo's Pajama Party (October 7-8)

Prompt: Fantod - a state of irritability and tension (List of prompts here) + this look

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all. I hope you enjoy this one and have a lovely weekend.

Lightning crackles in the sky as the clouds pulse above. The storm brews behind the pillowy weave above, thrumming, churning, ready to burst at any moment. You peer up from the window in dread. The tension in the air is more than the weather. The storm is no coincidence.

You hug the pale pink knit around you and shiver. The heat that kept you in little more than the white satin set has given way to a creeping dampness. The sinking temperature creeps over your flesh and you shiver as tendrils of lightly sprawl toward you.

Closer and closer. It isn’t only the storm that warns of his approach. You slip your hand beneath the loose sweater and touch the burning patch of skin along your hip. You touch the scarred mark. The etching of a rune you don’t know the meaning of.

You back away from the window and retreat into the kitchen. You put the brass kettle onto the burner and twist the dial until the flame catches. You cross your arms and back up to watch the vessel in dread.

You flinch as a fleck of rain hits the window pane. You glance over at the speckle as it begins. The droplets are small at first then turn into a thrashing stream the rattles the wooden frame and beat on the glass. The first peel of thunder makes you squeak.

You clasp your hands over your chest and spin. The windows darken and the whole cabin seems to tremble. Closer, now.

The whistle of the kettle makes you exclaim. You turn and shut it off, forgetting the idea of tea. The door blows open and slams against the wall. You spin again as a gust unfurls from the front of the house. You scurry to the doorway as the tails of your sweater lash around you.

The hammer soars through the open door and clunks onto the floor. You stare at the handle as it juts up from the dense block. You shiver as lightning flickers in the doorway. Another rush of wind invades the house and another crash lands at the threshold.

Thor’s burly silhouette fills the doorway. You quiver and clutch your hands tight. Goosebumps nip over your skin. You cautiously step forward.

“My prince,” you greet in a mewl that barely escapes your throat.

He doesn’t respond. He enters and the wind reverses, snapping the door shut behind him. You wince and fall into action. You near the gargantuan shadow and pull out the small stool from beside the mat. You climb up to unclasp the front of his cloak as he stands, puffing like a furious bear.

Something has happened. He is unhappy. He doesn’t so often come on sunny days anymore. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t so much as acknowledge you as you pull away the rich red fabric and hang it on the hook.

You slide the stool away as he sits on the bench against the wall. You kneel to remove his boots and put them on the mat. The smell of rain thickens the air and sends another shiver up your spine.

He stands and you scramble to do the same. In an instant, he has you by the back of your neck. You squeak. His strength pinches your muscles. You arch your back and writhe on your toes.

“My prince, how may I serve you?” You whimper.

He grabs the pink sweater strips the sleeve of one arm, then the other. It falls to your feet and he shoves you away from the door. You perform a tortured dance as his nails dig into your skin. He is angry... at you?

“My prince,” you whine again.

He brings his other hand under your chin and forces your mouth shut. Lightning flashes from the windows and limn his angry expression. You peer up at him helplessly.

He marches you backward. Your feet tumble over the rug that trims the length of the hallway until your meet the cold tile. He drags you into the kitchen as the brand on your pelvis throbs hotly.

He urges you against the counter. You’re trapped there before him. He lifts you with no effort at all onto the countertop. You land so that a pang radiates from your tailbone. You grip the edge of the hewn oak and bat your lashes at him.

His hand slips up from your neck to cradle your head. He tilts your face up to him and bends like vulture over his prey. His breath scalds you as he fans you in a furious exhale.

You shakily raise your hands and press them to his chest plate. His grey blue eyes stir in tandem with the storm roaring and raging without. His gaze falls to your touch and he grip eases.

His hand trails down from your chin and tickles your throat. You tremble as he traces along your shoulder and follows the thin strap of your silky camisole. He hooks around the thin strip of fabric and pulls it down your shoulder. The other slackens and falls down your arm. The satin slumps away from your chest.

His eyes devour your chest before he does. He bows to take a pert nipple in his mouth, flicking his tongue around until your moan. His need plucks in your chest as he teethes your rigid bud. You bring your hand to the back of his head and draw him in.

Tension cords through his muscles, you feel it as your other hand brushes along his bulging bicep. He nips at you, biting along the cushion of your chest. He jerks you suddenly so you fall onto your back. Your head touches the wall, your neck curling up, as his fingertips wander down your back.

His other hand crawls beneath the loosely tied waistband of your shorts. He pets your pelvis as he trails closer to your cunt. He pushes between your folds and you twitch.

A swell of nerves roils inside of you. Your walls clutch in anticipation, almost fear. Each time is like the first. He’s always too much.

He rubs you as he bites and licks at your chest and shoulders. He nuzzles your neck and sinks his teeth in until you whimper. You spasm as he rolls your clit beneath your fingertips. The skin splits and your blood bubbles into his mouth. Another mark to make you his.

He dips his finger into you, poking as deep as he can, as if to feel your limit. He knows how much you can take and he never pays it much mind. You will take all of him even if you feel you might burst.

He unlatches his teeth and smears his lips in the blood he’s drawn. It stains your skin as he drags his lips around. He pulls his finger in and out, adding another as you groan. He wiggles them inside of you and puts a third in despite your weak whimpers.

He growls and lifts himself. He looks down at you, his lips and beard red from his beastly bite. He jams his fingers as deep as he can then tears them out of you. He grabs your hip and flips you in a single motion.

You hit your stomach on the edge of the counter as you slip backward. He smacks your thigh then drags his hand up to your ass. He slaps you again, so hard your bones aches. Something. You did something. But what?

“My prince, what--”

He hushes you and pinches the soft flesh of your bottom. He feels along your satin shorts and curls his fingers around the waistband. He snaps the ribbon laced through and the shorts slip down your legs.

You as good as hang off the counter as your toes dangles right above the tile. You brace the wood to keep from slipping as he frames your hip with one hand. He shifts behind you, jostling around, brushing against you as he comes closer. The soft rustle of fabric foretells a much rougher end.

He brings himself out and presses his tip along your ass. He traces down the curve and pushes against your folds. You quiver and stretch your hand across the countertop. You close your eyes and grit your teeth. You know what happens now.

Your walls squeeze even as you focus on relaxing. He pauses along your entrance. He rolls his swollen tip around, slickening it with your expectation. He rubs up and down, up and down. Whatever you’ve done, doesn’t matter. Only his will does.

He delves into, just a little, then pulls out. You croak as your insides spasm. He huffs and slips his dick up between your cheeks. He bends forward and hooks his arm around to smother your mouth in his large palm. With his other hand, he pushes his tip against your tight ring.

You squeak helplessly into his rough skin. No. No. Not that. You can’t handle--

Your lips part and your teeth press against his palm as he enters you. You squeal, muted by his hand, and bite down on him as he inches into you. You shake as tears prick at your eyes and well over. Your fingers furl against the wood and your nails cut into the polish.

He nuzzles the grown of your head and growls. You sniffle as you sob silently into his hand. Why is he doing this? What did you do?

He buries himself to his limit and you kick out around his legs. He leans into you as the fullness feels as if it will split your stomach. You whine through your nose and gulp up your agony. You cling to his wrist as he thrusts, your hips bones crushed against the sharp corner of the counter.

He rolls back and in again. Long, slow, strokes. Torturous. A remonstrance spoken without words. He pumps into you as you squirm and squeak. You lean your face into his hand as he pushes his other beneath you. He touches the brand on your pelvis and sends a fiery ripple through you.

He slams his hips into you. He holds himself as deep in you as he can get and pulls back so fast, it drains your breath. He thrusts again, deeper, and falls into an erratic rut. He bounces you against the counter, pinning you beneath him as he smothers your cries, latched onto your hip as he uses you.

He growls into your hair as he fucks you into the counter top. Your torso scraps against the wood and your spine aches from his relentless force.

He grunts and slides his hand around the back of your leg. He pulls your back as he hooks his arm around the back of your thigh. He folds you up as he lifts you with him, his other arm coming around your other leg. He has you high above the floor as he steps away from the counter and thrusts up into your ass.

You push your head back against him. Your eyes roll back into your skull and your tongue lolls out at the clash of pain and pleasure. He snaps his hips, harder and harder, and your body quakes uncontrollably.

He sinks in as deep as he can and shakes. His voice trickles out in heaving growls and keeps you aloft as he turns to lean against the counter. You spasm around his dick, aching and stretched. He snarls through his nose and jerks his hips one last time.

“Stop feeding the crows,” he rasps.

#thor #dark thor #dark!thor #thor x reader #pajama party #sleepover #mcu #marvel #avengers #drabble

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st4rgirl7777 · 2 months ago

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Love Letters.

paring: idol jake x f reader

WARNING: Smut (MDNI 18+), mentions of masturbation, oral (m. receiving), cowgirl (let me know if i miss anything!)

a/n: just a reminder that this is all purely fiction! this my first time writing an enha fan fic. not proofread. (lmk if i miss anything) enjoy reading!

idol jake who just finished another concert during another exhausting world tour. don’t misunderstand him, he loves touring and he loves performing this has been his dream since he was a young little boy living in australia. he loves meeting all the fans and spending time with them. greeting the fans with a smile and collecting all the fan letters he receives from them. However, performing takes a toll on your body and mental health. hours of endless dancing and singing and having to appear happy and cheerful all the time. it takes a lot of time effort and energy.

jake is a simple guy with a simple routine to make himself feel better after a concert ends. he greets his fans as he leaves, makes his way to his hotel room, lock the door and well jerks off till he falls asleep. it’s his special way of getting his body to relax, makes him feel less stressed. he loves the feeling of the orgasmic release as he fists himself up and down repeatedly. he whines and moan desperately for the release and sometimes he even edges himself on purpose. he loves seeing the white ropes leak out of his cock and onto his hand and chest.

one night, jake decided to go through his fan mail before doing the deed. he sat on his bed, opened up the letter and began reading.

Dear Jake,

i hope this finds you well. i’m writing to let you know that i think about you all the time. i think about a lot of things, but lately i can only think about you sexually…

“woah..” jake says already feeling his pants getting tighter. he continues to read.

i think about how good it would feel, if your lips crashed onto mine. how i would trail my lips down your neck and chest leaving marks of proof that i was there. i would undress you slowly and caress you body.

at this point jake shirt is thrown across the floor and his hand is down his pants gently palming himself.

i would get on my knees for you and show you how good i can make you feel. my lips swirling your tip, gently kissing it before swallowing it whole. i can take all of you. i will lick it, suck it, make a whole mess just for you. i will show you how good you taste. your hands tangled in my hair as you push my head down fiercely. i would gag on it and take you in so deep. i’ll be such a good girl for you jakey.

“holy fuck” jake moans. his pants and boxers dropped to the bottom of the floor. letter in his left hand, his right hand busy with his harden dick. he pumps himself furiously using his pre-cum as lube.

and when i’m done milking your cock, i’ll get on top straddling you and ill sit on top of you. let you relax as i slide my tight pussy on your cock. i know you will fit so perfectly in me. i’ll whisper sweet nothings in your ear as i ride you jakey. and i won’t stop until you come undone for me. milking you until you’re crying and sensitive for me.

jake hand goes faster and faster, he pants as he imagines himself in the sacred position. he images himself reclining on the bed, as you slide ontop of him. he imagines himself filling you up with his thick cock. he pumps himself with long strides as his orgasm is near. “fuck” he whispers to himself. “i’m gonna cum.” with a few more harsh and fast pumps, he lets out a low pornographic moan and spills his hot liquid onto his hand and letter.

i don’t know if this letter will ever reach you. i don’t know if you will even read it. but i think about you all the time jake. i hope this tour goes well and you are taking care of yourself just like how i imagine taking care of you <3

he sits there catching his breathe and reliving the sexy show he just put on from a fan letter. after he manages to catch his breathe he folds the mail neatly and puts it back into the envelope. jake tucks it away in his suitcase for him to look back act for the rest of the tour.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

a/n: i miss jake so much omg, anyways i hope you enjoyed reading my first enhypen fan fic, let me know if you liked it and as always tysm 444 reading. muah! - xo m

#enhypen #enhypen jay #jake sim #jake enhypen #enha x reader #enha #enha imagines #kim sunoo #heesung enhypen #jungwon #sunghoon #engene #enha smut #enha scenarios #enha fluff #jake #enhypen jake

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redroomreflections · 4 months ago

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Hotel California | Track 4: Neon Nights

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.

W/c: 7.3k

Chapter 4/12

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Note: A long one for the long wait.

18+ Minors DNI (mature)

Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs

The venue buzzes with restless energy, the kind that has your skin prickling with anticipation. You fan yourself, trying to ignore the oppressive heat that clings to you like a second skin. Velvet Rebellion is gathering on stage, their figures silhouetted against the dim lights, and you can feel the crowd's excitement rising like a wave ready to crash.

You’ve made it just in time, the opening notes of the set are just about to drop. Standing backstage, off to the side, you watch with your hands clasped in front of you, a mix of excitement and nerves thrumming through your veins. The air is thick with the stench of sweat, spilled beer, and the heavy musk of someone’s cologne, all blending into a cocktail of smells that screams of a night about to explode.

Fans are packed tight against the stage, pushing and shoving to get just a little closer, to catch a glimpse of Natasha as she steps forward, the center of everyone’s attention. The anticipation is almost tangible, a buzzing hum that thrums through the floor, through your bones, as the band readies themselves to unleash whatever magic they’ve been holding back.

The song is unfamiliar to you, something new and unexpected. It’s interesting—soft and almost sweet, a stark contrast to the hard-edged image Velvet Rebellion usually projects. Natasha’s voice carries the melody with a strength that surprises you, the lilt in her tone adding a warmth that you hadn’t anticipated. It’s the kind of song that tugs at something deep inside, relatable in a way that catches you off guard. The crowd seems to know it well, their voices blending with hers as they sing along, each word echoing through the venue like a shared secret.

For the first time, you truly saw Natasha in her element. Harley’s birthday party was just a glimpse, a mere taste of what she’s capable of, but tonight? Tonight, she’s completely in her zone, commanding the stage with an effortless confidence that’s magnetic. The way she connects with the crowd, the way she pours herself into every note, it’s something you couldn’t have fully grasped until now.

Standing near the side, just out of the direct line of the performance, you almost feel at a disadvantage. You were close enough to see everything, but somehow it felt like you were missing out on the full experience like there’s a barrier between you and the raw, unfiltered energy that Natasha is giving off. The crowd is swept up in it, carried along by the music in a way that makes you ache to be right in the thick of it. But even from your vantage point, you can’t help but be drawn in, captivated by the sheer power of what’s unfolding before you.

“She’s great right?” A woman’s voice next to you interrupted your thoughts. She had to stand close enough to your ear so that you hear her over the music.

You turned and offered her a small smile. You hadn't noticed her standing beside you, but now that she's there, it's easy to see that she was quite beautiful. You returned your attention to the stage, the band transitioning smoothly into a different song, this one heavy on the electric guitar, Natasha's voice a sharp contrast as she sang, the notes piercing the air.

Suddenly, as if she could sense your presence, Natasha looked over and you made eye contact. She hadn't known you were here until now. She offered you a dazzling wink and smile.

Your cheeks heated and you glanced away, trying to focus on anything else, the song, the stage, the people around you. But it's hard.

Natasha was a sight to behold. You felt like a crushing schoolgirl as you listened through their set. It's interesting the star power that they have. It's impressive really. They're the headliner, and yet they command the room, leaving a lasting impression on everyone they played for.

And then it's over. The final song was over and you're left feeling breathless and excited.

The final chords reverberate through the venue, and the roar of the crowd is deafening. Velvet Rebellion had just delivered a performance that left everyone in the room breathless, yourself included. You could feel the adrenaline still thrumming in the air, but your attention was locked on Natasha as she stepped off the stage.

Natasha looked around for a moment as if trying to orient herself after the intensity of the performance. Her eyes landed on you, and for a split second, she hesitated. The two of you are still in that early, delicate stage—unsure of what this is, what it could be. There was a flicker of uncertainty in her gaze like she was trying to figure out how to greet you in a way that felt right.

But then, without thinking too much about it, you step forward, closing the distance between you. You offered her a warm smile and opened your arms, inviting her in. Natasha’s expression softened, relief washing over her as she slipped into the embrace. Her arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, and you could feel the heat radiating off her skin, still warm from the lights and the energy of the stage.

“Hey,” She murmured, her voice slightly hoarse from the performance. There’s a note of vulnerability in her tone, something you hadn’t expected but find yourself appreciating.

“Hey,” You replied softly, your cheek brushing against her shoulder as you held her a little tighter. The moment feels right, like a quiet pause in the chaos that surrounds you both. Damn, she smelled good.

But the moment is fleeting. Before you could savor it any longer, the spell was broken by the sound of someone calling Natasha's name. She released you reluctantly and you stepped back, a little embarrassed at how quickly the embrace ended.

"Hey, Natasha, come over here for a group picture," Someone directed and Natasha looked to you for reassurance that you were fine with it.

"Go ahead, I'll be here," You told her. Natasha gave you a quick, grateful smile, before going off with the group of guys who had called for her. Velvet Rebellion stood proudly in a picture with the band called NewQuest.

"It's always like that after a performance. They get their photo ops, sign a few things, and then we leave." The woman says.

You nodded.

"Yeah, it's a process. You're the one that sent Natasha those cupcakes, right?" She questioned.

You glanced over at her and took a moment to see her. She had a confident demeanor and a friendly smile, and you realized with a start that you recognized her. “Yeah, that’s me. How did you know?”

She grinned, clearly pleased to have made the connection. “I’m Sharon Carter. I’m Steve’s girlfriend. I heard about the cupcakes from Steve, and Natasha’s been raving about them all day.”

You blinked in surprise, a smile spreading across your face. “Nice to meet you, Sharon. I didn’t realize you were Steve’s girlfriend.”

Sharon’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “It’s a bit of a small world, isn’t it? Nice to meet you too. They loved the cupcakes.”

“Well, I’m glad they enjoyed them,” You said, feeling a bit more at ease now that you were talking to someone familiar with Natasha’s world.

Sharon nodded. “Definitely. And it’s nice to see Natasha so happy. She’s had a rough time lately, and it’s clear she’s found something special with you.”

Your cheeks flushed slightly, but you tried to play it cool. “We’re still figuring things out, but it’s been…good so far.”

Sharon gave you an encouraging smile. “Well, keep it up. Natasha deserves someone who makes her smile like that.”

You watched as Natasha wrapped up her photo session and started making her way back toward you. Sharon gave you a friendly nod before slipping away to attend to her duties.

When Natasha finally rejoined you, her face lit up with a genuine smile. “Thanks for sticking around.”

You smiled back, unable to resist her infectious happiness.

She gestured toward the backstage area.

"There's a bar set up. Can I get you a drink?"

"I'd love that," You replied.

As you followed her further backstage, you felt a thrill of excitement, anticipating the chance to get to know her a little better.

Natasha led the way through the backstage area, her presence commanding, as she gripped your hand in hers.

The area was filled with the buzz of the crowd, but it seemed as though the two of you were in a world of your own, the energy vibrating around you. Natasha passed a beer to you while keeping one for herself.

"I hope the show wasn't too crazy for you," She cracks open her beer.

"Not at all, it was great," You assured her. "You're incredible, Natasha. I'm glad you invited me."

She looked pleased at the compliment. "I'm glad you could make it. Look, after a show, the band usually hangs out in their dressing room and takes some time to unwind. Are you down for that?

"Yeah, absolutely," You said, already feeling more comfortable around her than you had expected.

She took a sip of her beer.

"Awesome. It's just down the hall."

She led the way again, guiding you past the bustling crew and performers. The dressing room was quieter, the air smelled like the scent of perfume and hairspray. It was a world away from the chaos of the concert, and you felt yourself relax a little as you took a seat on one of the couches.

"Y/n, lovely to see you again," Tony greeted you. From the slur of his voice, you could tell he was a little tipsy.

"Oh, hi Tony," You responded, a little surprised at his sudden appearance.

Tony looked between you and Natasha and gave a mischievous grin. "I'll leave the two of you alone."

Natasha rolled her eyes and shot him a warning glare, but he just laughed and waved her off, heading over to the other side of the room.

Natasha looked at you with an apologetic smile.

"So, friends and family, I officially have a new board game for us to play," Bucky announced as he stepped into the room. There were a few groans from the other occupants.

You settled into the couch, feeling more at ease as Natasha joined you, her presence warm and reassuring. The chaos of the concert felt like a distant memory here, replaced by a sense of camaraderie and relaxation. Natasha’s closeness was comforting, and you found yourself enjoying the casual vibe of the evening.

As Bucky set up the board game, the room was filled with a relaxed, happy energy. The game, clearly something the band had played before, quickly became the center of attention. Natasha slipped her arm around your shoulder, pulling you a little closer, and you could feel her warmth against you. Her touch was light and casual, but it made your heart skip a beat.

“Don’t think you’re getting off easy,” Bucky teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “We’re all in this together.”

You laughed, catching Natasha’s playful gaze. “I’m ready. What’s the game?”

“It’s called ‘Guess the Song,’” Bucky explained, setting out a set of cards. “You hum a tune, and the rest of us try to guess it. The winner gets bragging rights and the first pick of snacks.”

Tony, now seated with a drink in hand, raised his glass. “Oh, that’s bitch baby games. Up the stakes.” Bucky simply ignored his request. No one could afford to play for whatever Tony believed were higher stakes.

The game began in earnest, with each member taking their turn to hum out tunes. The room was filled with laughter and friendly banter, the game bringing everyone closer. Natasha’s laughter was infectious, and you found yourself getting caught up in the excitement.

When it was Natasha’s turn, she was surprisingly good at it. Her hums were spot-on, and her playful competitiveness made her even more endearing. As the game progressed, Natasha’s hand found its way to yours, resting casually on your leg. The contact was light but intimate, sending a pleasant shiver through you.

“You’re really good at this,” You said, leaning in to talk to her over the noise of the game. “Is this a regular thing for you guys?”

Natasha smiled. “We’ve had a lot of practice. Plus, it’s a good way to blow off steam after a show. Keeps us close, you know?”

You nodded, feeling the warmth of her hand against yours. “I can see that. It’s nice to be part of it.”

The game continued, and as the night wore on, you found yourself increasingly drawn to Natasha. Her energy was magnetic, and her touch lingered just enough to make you feel special.

As the game wrapped up, with Bucky declared the winner and Tony already claiming the snacks, Natasha leaned in closer to you. “Thanks for hanging out with us tonight,” she said softly, her breath warm against your ear. “It means a lot to me.”

You looked at her, feeling a deep connection. “I had a great time. Thanks for inviting me.”

“Do you have to be home?” She asked looking at her watch. "It's pretty late.”

"I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself." You teased. "No, I don't have to be home. Though, if you wanted to come over, you're more than welcome to." The late hour felt like a perfect excuse to keep the night going, and you were more than willing to welcome the chance. The idea of inviting Natasha over was a bold move for you, something you rarely did. You usually kept your private space just that—private. But with Natasha, something felt different. You’d always had a soft spot for people who were unapologetically themselves, and Natasha’s confidence and charm had drawn you in from the start.

Natasha’s smile grew wider as she seemed to process your offer. “I’d like that,” she said, her voice carrying a note of genuine interest. “I’d really like that.” Natasha stood and patiently waited as you gathered your things. "I'm heading out. I will talk soon."

"Bye," Wanda waved a hand. "Y/n, don't forget to message me about the jewelry you mentioned."

You nodded and smiled in response. Seems you've made a friend in Natasha's best friend. As you exited the dressing room, you could hear a whoop of whistles and cheering from the rest of the band that you knew was mostly aimed at Natasha.

"Don't pay attention to them," Natasha rolled her eyes. You walked forward with her hand on the small of your back. "Did you drive?"

"No, not this time," You shook your head. "What about you?"

"I did," Natasha replied, holding up the keys she had pulled from her back pocket. "I only had a beer and a half. I promise I'm sober."

You grinned, feeling more at ease. "Good. I was about to offer you my bed if you needed a ride."

Natasha raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Oh really?"

"Mmmhmm," You murmured as she led you out the door and toward the parking lot. "But only if you promised to behave."

She chuckled, her laughter light and easy. "Well, the night is still young," she teased, even though she had earlier hinted at the hour.

Natasha guided you to her car, a sleek black Porsche 911 that shimmered under the streetlights. The car’s aggressive lines and polished finish spoke volumes about Natasha’s personality—bold and unapologetic.

She unlocked the car with a casual flick of her wrist, and the interior was just as striking. As you slid into the plush leather seat, you couldn’t help but admire the smooth, minimalist design of the dashboard and the powerful purr of the engine as Natasha started the car.

She looked over at you with a grin that made your heart race. "Ready for the adventure?"

"Absolutely," you replied, feeling a thrill as the Porsche glided smoothly out of the parking lot. The ride to your place was an interesting one. Natasha could admit she was a bit out of her element. You weren’t just some girl she could impress with her career, money, or the sleek Porsche. Not that she had any intention of using those things to win you over. It was clear you were accustomed to the finer things in life, and she wanted to meet those expectations without overstepping.

As she followed your directions, she found herself trying to stay on her best behavior. She was focused on making sure this felt right, wanting to show you that she appreciated you for more than just the surface-level luxuries. It wasn’t about the car or the status; it was about connecting with you in a way that felt genuine.

“This is me,” You gestured after the thirty-minute drive. As Natasha pulled into the driveway, she took in the house with a quick, appreciative glance. Nestled in a peaceful cul-de-sac of Woodland Hills, the home was a striking blend of mid-century charm and modern elegance. The exterior was sleek and stylish, with clean lines and large windows that hinted at the openness inside. The driveway led to a spacious front area, flanked by well-maintained landscaping and mature trees. “Let’s hurry before the sprinklers turn on.” You offered as she followed you into the house.

You flicked on the front lights, kicking off your heels, and dropping your purse and keys on the foyer table. It's then Natasha noticed a dog leash and collar among the things on the table.

"You have a dog?"

"Yes, his name is Bear," You answered. "He's with Isabella at her dad's. I share custody of him too."

"Cute," She smiled.

You turned back to her. "Make yourself at home. I'm a little thirsty. Would you like a drink?"

"What do you have?"

"Anything you want."

"Surprise me," Natasha responds.

"How does a margarita sound?"

"That sounds great."

"Good, because it's all I can make," You winked. You walked over to your in-home bar and began to make a margarita for the both of you. "I'll show you around." You offered. You glanced behind you to see Natasha admiring the trophies and photos lining the shelves and walls. Her gaze lingered on a Grammy Award prominently displayed on a shelf, Songwriter of the Year. Next to it, a sleek platinum plaque shimmered, celebrating a song that had achieved remarkable sales. Both awards were a nod to your significant contributions to the music industry, and Natasha's interest was evident as she took in the impressive recognition.

"These are impressive," Natasha nodded towards the awards.

"Yeah," You nodded. "I guess you could say that. I helped write a song with my friend way back when. I don't really feel like I contributed much but I see it as a bit of a participation award." You handed her the finished margarita to her.

Natasha took the drink, her fingers brushing against yours.

"Thanks," She smiled. "So, tell me more about this career you keep downplaying. You seemed to be headed for stardom."

"Yeah," You sighed. "Maybe, but I don't see myself in that light. My parents were fully on board to support me if I wanted to do it full-time. Which at the time I did. Once I had Bella my perspective changed. I didn't want to take too much time from her. That and the market for teen mother pop stars wasn't exactly big."

"That makes sense," Natasha nodded. "But you seem to be great at it. Have you ever thought about doing it again?"

"Nah," You gestured to the couch, inviting her to sit. "I can't lie and say it hasn't been in the back of my mind. I dabble in music from time to time. Mainly with my father's artists or when friends ask me to. I think I'm really happy with my career as a publicist."

"You're very talented," Natasha said, sipping her drink.

"I'll take your word for it," You smiled.

"How did you get started with music?" Natasha asked, her interest sincere.

"Well, I grew up in the industry," You shrugged. "It was all I knew. My parents had an in-home studio and I would sneak down to the studio to listen to sessions. I performed in talent shows at school and took dance lessons. It was mostly a hobby. I wanted to be like my dad. I got invited to help sing for one of his artists and we kind of made a little career out of it. I think it was for him to placate me until I got it out of my system or became mature enough to take it seriously."

"How old were you when you helped write the Grammy song?"

"Fifteen," You answered.

"Damn," Natasha nodded. "How'd you manage to stay so lowkey since then?"

"Mostly the help of my parents," You shrugged. "I've never done anything crazy to grab headlines. I've managed to keep my personal life pretty private. The press has mostly left me alone. I'm just another nepotism baby in the industry with connections."

"Do you want to be known for more?"

"I don't know," You answered honestly. "Sometimes. I feel like there's a lot more that I could do."

"But..." Natasha raised a brow.

"But I'm happy with the way things are. I get to be involved with music without having to worry about the fame. I've seen firsthand what the lifestyle can do to someone and I'm not sure I want that for me or my daughter," You answered sincerely.

"You don't have to do it," Natasha responded. "I think you have a great thing going for you now."

"I think so too," You agreed.

"Now, enough about me," You shifted in your seat. "Tell me more about you. What's your family like? I know you have that sister in London at Cambridge. What is she studying?"

"International relations," Natasha answered. "With a concentration in security studies or something. She's changed her major twice but I think this will stick. I pay the tuition so hopefully it does this time around."

"Wow, that's nice of you," You nodded.

"She's my baby sister," Natasha replied. "I would give her the world if I could."

"How did she end up there?"

"We had some issues at home," Natasha answered vaguely. "And it was best for her to go. Plus, our mom had connections there. She's from Russia originally but grew up in England in her teens. She met my dad on vacation and he moved her here. "

"What does your dad do?"

"He was a doctor," Natasha set her drink down. She took a deep breath. It was as if she was wondering what was appropriate to reveal. "Now I'm not so sure. He and my mom had a pretty rough relationship. She took us and got full custody. Raised us on a teacher's salary."

"That must have been tough," You frowned.

"Sometimes," Natasha shrugged. "We were kids. We didn't really understand. Besides, my mom did a great job. She's the reason we're where we are."

"I would love to meet her someday." You finished the last of your margarita.

"Well, I think that can be arranged," Natasha's voice was warm and playful.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, I'm sure she'd love to meet the girl who has captured my attention."

You chuckled. "Oh really? Who says I'm interested in you?"

"The fact that you invited me back to your house after a concert," Natasha answered, leaning in close. Her lips were inches from yours, and the air charged between you. "The fact that you blush every time you look at me."

"Is that right?" You whispered.

"Mmmhmm," Natasha hummed, her hand brushing against your cheek.

Her touch was gentle and teasing, and it made your heart race.

You felt a flutter of anticipation in the pit of your stomach.

"Natasha," You whispered, your lips a hair's breadth away from hers.

"Mmm?" She murmured, her voice husky and low.

You leaned in and closed the distance between you, capturing her lips in a kiss. The kiss was slow and tender at first, but soon it grew more passionate. Natasha's hands cupped your face, holding you close as her tongue explored your mouth. You pushed her back against the pillows, raising your legs to straddle her lap, before she groaned in pain. Her back arched and she reached under her to raise a Barbie doll. A reminder that you were a mother.

"Are you okay?" You asked.

"Yes, it's just that this doll was on my back." She tossed it aside, not caring where it landed. "Continue, please."

You did and continued kissing her, running your fingers through her silky, red tresses. It was only when the clock struck 2 AM that the two of you pulled apart, realizing the time.

"It's late," Natasha said, her eyes locked with yours.

"Stay the night," You offered. "I want you to stay."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

She smiled. "Well, I can't say no to an invitation like that."

You grinned, feeling the rush of anticipation.

You rose from her lap and held out your hand. Natasha followed you to your bedroom, her eyes never leaving your ass, as you swayed your hips a bit extra just for her.

When you got to your bedroom, you stopped at the foot of the bed. "When's the last time you were tested?”

"Three months ago. Healthy and STD-free," She answered. "You?"

"Same here," You said breathlessly as you raised your blouse over your head.

Natasha's hands went to your waist and you shivered, goosebumps rising on your skin. Her touch was gentle and explorative. She caressed every curve, every line as if she was trying to commit it to memory.

You closed your eyes and enjoyed the sensation, the feeling of her hands on your body. It had been so long since you'd been with someone, and it was clear that Natasha knew exactly what she was doing.

"You're so beautiful," She whispered, her lips trailing kisses along your neck. "So sexy." She whispered as she planted a kiss just behind your ear. That spot was sensitive as she ran her tongue along the curve of your neck.

Your head fell back, exposing your neck to her, as you enjoyed the feeling.

She was skilled. She knew exactly how to make you feel good. And she was taking her time, making sure you were enjoying it. She couldn't get enough of you as her hands explored your body. Eventually, you took a few steps back, her mouth never leaving your skin, as you gently fell back onto the bed.

"I want to taste you," She whispered in your ear.

Your stomach twisted and turned, a warmth growing between your legs. "Please," You begged.

Natasha pulled back, her green eyes filled with desire as they locked with yours. She kissed your lips one last time. Then, she began a trail of kisses down your neck and your chest. When she reached your breasts, she unclasped your bra, exposing them to her.

"Perfect," She said, taking one nipple into her mouth. She rolled her tongue around it, teasing it. It's then she noticed the tattoo just between both breasts.

A rose.

"A black rose," She whispered, her finger tracing it.

"A small act of defiance on my part as a teen," You explained. "I was angry and upset and wanted to make a statement. My mother wasn't happy. But, I kept it."

"It suits you," Natasha smiled before her mouth resumed its work.

You arched your back, moaning softly, as her tongue circled your nipples.

She worked her way down your body, planting kisses along your stomach and hips. Finally, she reached your hips where your jeans fit snugly against your thighs. She unbuttoned your jeans and pulled them off, leaving you exposed in your black, lace panties.

"Mmm, such a naughty girl," Natasha teased. "I like it."

"Only for you," You said, a grin playing on your lips.

"I'm honored," She replied, her eyes filled with mischief. "Let's see what else you have."

Natasha hooked her thumbs under the waistband of your panties and slowly slid them down. Her hands caressed your thighs, sending goosebumps all over your skin. When she pulled the panties free, she let out a sigh.

"Mmm, so wet already," She hummed, her finger stroking your clit. Her touch was electrifying as she touched you. Natasha was skilled and attentive. She seemed to know just what you liked.

Your breathing became shallow as you closed your eyes and lost yourself in the feeling.

She worked her way up, planting kisses on your inner thighs. She took her time with you, sucking just enough for the skin to warm on your thigh. Finally, she reached the place you wanted her the most. She settled onto her belly, a prime position for her, and immediately got to work.

She parted your folds and dipped her tongue inside, making you cry out.

"Mmm," She hummed, her tongue exploring your core.

She swirled her tongue around your clit, sucking on it, and licking it. It was unlike anything you'd ever experienced. She was relentless, bringing you close to the edge and backing off, only to start the process all over again. She used both hands to raise your thighs over her shoulders. Almost as if she were trying to get closer.

You gripped the sheets as the pleasure washed over you. Your body was on fire. You were getting closer and closer to your release.

Just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, Natasha finally gave you what you needed.

She pressed her tongue against your clit, hard, and then circled it. The pressure was incredible. You let out a cry of pleasure, the sound echoing through the room. Your orgasm was intense, sending waves of ecstasy through your body.

"Oh, God!" You moaned, your whole body trembling.

Natasha continued her ministrations until you came down from your high.

"So, beautiful," She whispered, pulling back and licking her lips. "Delicious."

You opened your eyes, a lazy smile on your face. You were satisfied and content, but Natasha wasn't done with you.

"I'm not done yet," She said, as if reading your mind.

"Don't I get to taste you?" You asked, tilting your head to watch her strip for you.

"Of course, baby. I just can't wait," She admitted, before turning her back and stripping for you.

Her bra was the first to come off and she threw it aside. Then, her hands went to her jeans and she undid them.

"No," You said, sitting up. "Let me."

Natasha grinned and nodded.

You sat on your knees and reached around her. You admired the large and elaborate tattoo on her back. Your fingers traced along the skin, watching her back muscles flex as you took it all in.

"We match," You mused.

"Huh?" Natasha turned to look at you.

"Our tattoos," You said, pointing to the one on your chest.

"Oh, yeah. We do."

"I don't know if I should be concerned that my tattoo artist was so unoriginal," You teased.

"Or maybe he just had an eye for art," Natasha quipped, her hands resting on her hips. "Now, are you going to keep teasing me, or are you going to undress me?"

"Undress," You decided.

Natasha smiled and stepped out of her jeans, kicking them aside. Then, she hooked her fingers under the waistband of her panties and slowly slid them down.

You couldn't help but admire her body.

She was perfect.

Her curves were on full display, and her skin was smooth and soft. She was fit and toned. Her abs were clearly defined. She wasn't bulky, but she was strong and athletic.

"I could look at you all day," You admitted.

"Well, that wouldn't be very fair," She grinned, reaching for the bed and sitting on the edge. She spread her legs wide, giving you an unobstructed view of her core.

"You're beautiful," You whispered, moving in front of her. You pressed a kiss against her lips.

"Mmm," She hummed, her eyes locking with yours. “I want you to ride me."

"Oh?" You tilted your head. "What's the magic word?"

"Please," She grinned, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. No one had ever made her beg before. She found it kind of hot.

"Good girl," You grinned, kissing her one last time before climbing on top of her.

Natasha lay on her back, her arms resting above her head.

You straddled her waist, hovering over her. You leaned down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. She responded in kind, her tongue dancing with yours.

You pulled back, your hands roaming over her body. You explored every inch of her, wanting to memorize every detail. You were still amazed that this woman was so into you. You made use of both your hands. You used one to part your lips while using the other to do the same to Natasha. When you lowered yourself and your clits touched the both of you let out a curse. You closed your eyes in pleasure. Though the angle was awkward you were determined to make it work.

"Fuck," Natasha gasped, her eyes fluttering shut.

"You like that?" You asked, your voice breathy.

"Yes," She moaned, her hips bucking up. "I love it." She hadn't expected you to be so forward and brazen in bed. But, she enjoyed it.

You began to grind against her, your clits rubbing together.

The pleasure was incredible. It was a wet and slippery mess between the both of you.

As you increased your pace, the friction intensified.

Natasha's hands went to her breasts, cupping and squeezing them. She pinched and tugged at her nipples, making her writhe in pleasure.

"Yes, fuck," She moaned. She grabbed your hips, directing you to move a certain way, and you hissed.

"Yes, just like that," She gasped, her back arching.

You continued the motion, circling and grinding. Your movements were becoming frantic and erratic as you both climbed higher and higher. You began to get choked up on your moans and sighs as your hips worked harder.

"F-fuck," Natasha gasped, her grip tightening.

You felt the familiar coil begin to tighten. The pleasure was building. You knew you were close.

"Come with me," You begged, looking down at Natasha.

She looked back up at you, her green eyes locked with yours.

"Yes," She groaned, her hips grinding against you.

With a few more thrusts, you both climaxed. You groaned, your pussy clenching and throbbing as you pressed down hard against her.

"Fuck!" Natasha cried out, her orgasm hitting her hard. Her body convulsed and trembled as she rode out her high.

You collapsed onto her, the both of you gasping for air.

"Holy shit," Natasha breathed, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

"That was amazing," You said, smiling.

"Come here," Natasha grabbed the back of your neck, kissing you soundly. You licked around her lips, tasting yourself and humming. You lay like that for a few more moments. Sharing lazy kisses back and forth.

"Can we do it again?" You asked as you ran your fingertips along her collarbone. You wanted more of her.

"Oh, I like you," Natasha chuckled. "Yes, we can do it again. After we've had some rest."

"I'm glad you came tonight," You rested your head against her shoulder.

"I am too," She agreed. She laid her hand on your ass, rubbing you, spreading your cheeks before letting her hand rest there. "Can this be my pussy? Hmm..." She questioned. Her free hand gripped your chin to make you look into her eyes. All you saw was pure lust. "I asked you a question." A lot of women would be turned off by the idea of her staking a claim so early on, you're not sure who those women are but you wouldn't be one of them.

"It's yours," You muttered into her lips as you leaned forward to kiss her. "As long as I can say the same."

"Yes, ma'am," Natasha teased.

"Good," You said.

You closed your eyes, a smile on your face. You were already looking forward to what was in store for the two of you.

Natasha Romanoff.

You couldn't believe you were lucky enough to have met her.

*********

The next morning, Natasha woke up in your bed, with you wrapped around her. She opened her eyes to see you sound asleep, your head resting on her chest.

She smiled.

"What a night," She whispered to herself.

She hadn't been planning on anything happening. Of course, she wasn't stupid. Inviting her back to your house was bound to end like this. She had hoped it would end like it did. Damn, she felt good. Not only did you know how to fuck, you didn't hold back. Natasha had to admit she enjoyed having a woman in bed who was just as confident as she was. Not only that but you're beautiful and you have it all together. She'd hit the jackpot.

She decided to act on impulse and began to plant kisses all over your face.

"Mm," You moaned, stirring awake.

"Good morning, baby," Natasha greeted, pecking your lips.

"Good morning," You said, a sleepy smile on your face. "I didn't take you for a pet name person."

"I'm full of surprises," She chuckled, kissing you again.

"Are you always this affectionate after a hookup?" You asked, raising a brow.

"No, but I've never had such a good time before." She shrugged. "Besides, you're not a hookup."

"What am I, then?"

"Mine," She answered. "At least, if you'll have me."

"Yes," You answered without hesitation.

"Good, because I don't want anyone else touching this," She said, her hands sliding down to your hips. "Got it?"

"Loud and clear."

"Good," She grinned, kissing you again."So, are we going to get breakfast or are we staying in bed all day?"

"Actually, I hate to break it to you but you have to go," You said. With the look on her face, you knew your word choice was wrong. "Sorry. Not like that. I'd love for you to stay but Isabella is coming home today."

"Oh, right. It's a Saturday. Makes sense," Natasha nodded.

"I had a really good time," You said.

"Me, too."

"I want to see you again," You suggested.

"Let me take you on a date," Natasha said. "A real one."

"Aren't you afraid it's going to get out to the public?"

"They're already speculating," Natasha shrugged. "If I can't hide it, I might as well go for it."

"A date then," You said. "I like the sound of that."

"Yeah, me, too," She said.

"I'll text you," You said, pecking her lips. "You can let yourself out. I'm going to brush my teeth."

"I can't wait."

Natasha got out of bed and got dressed, giving the bed one last look before she strode towards the living room. Something seemed different about the atmosphere. She was walking toward the table where she left her phone when she noticed something. A giant dog. A Bernese mountain dog. One that she would assume had the name Bear. The dog you'd said was over at your ex's house with your daughter.

"Hi," A voice behind her startled her. Across the room, Isabella was sitting at the kitchen counter, happily munching on a bowl of frosted flakes, as she watched something on her iPad.

"Hi," Natasha waved awkwardly.

"Did you spend the night?" Isabella asked, looking up at her.

"Yeah," Natasha nodded. "When did you -"

"I got here like twenty minutes ago," Isabella answered before she could get it out. "I thought Mom was sleeping but I saw a strange car in the driveway. Dad has a spare key."

"And your dad is..." Natasha began when she heard the deep baritone voice of a man entering from somewhere in the house.

"Hey, y/n, I checked the shower in Bella's bathroom. It's working fine but we still need a plumber to go ahead and look at it," His voice died down when he realized Natasha wasn't you. Sam looked dumbfounded for a second but quickly recovered. Natasha briefly recognized him. Sam Wilson was a wide receiver for the Los Angeles Rams. She was familiar with him from her extensive searches on you.

"Who are you?" He asked, his gaze flicking between Natasha and Isabella.

"That's the lady mom had a sleepover with," Isabella informed. "You know the lead singer of Velvet Rebellion. She is totally hot right dad?"

"Isabella Marie," You scolded as you stepped into the room. You wrapped your robe a little tighter around you as you spotted Sam too. "What are you guys doing here? I thought we agreed you would drop her off later."

"We did," Sam said. "But I have a meeting later so I dropped her off earlier."

"Right," You nodded, running a hand over your head. "Um, okay. Natasha this is my ex-husband Sam Wilson. Sam, this is Natasha Romanoff my..." You fumbled for a second. Could you introduce her as a girlfriend? You hadn't defined what this was yet.

"Girlfriend," Natasha answered for you. You raised a brow but nodded. That would work.

"Nice to meet you," Sam offered a small smile, holding out his hand. He gave you a knowing smirk and you rolled your eyes at him.

"Mom, do you have clothes on under that robe?" Isabella gestured to the way the robe began to slip slightly from your chest.

"Yes, "You said a bit too harshly. "Natasha was just leaving. I'm going to see her out."

"Bye, Natasha," Isabella smiled. "Nice meeting you."

"Bye, sweetheart," Natasha offered Isabella a wave.

You walked her to the door, opening it for her. You stepped onto the front steps with her. "I'm sorry about that. I'm not that codependent with Sam or anything. I didn't know he was dropping her off."

"It's alright," She shrugged. Yeah, she found it a little weird but she trusted your word.

"I had a great time last night," You smiled, leaning in to give her a soft kiss. "I can't wait for our date."

"Me too," Natasha smiled, pecking your lips.

"I can't wait to have you again," You murmured just for her.

"Me too," She echoed. "Call me later."

"Bye," You said.

"See ya, baby." She turned and headed towards her car.

You sighed. When you saw her car pull out of the driveway your demeanor immediately changed. You walked back into the house to see Sam snacking on your trail mix.

"Sam, you're eating my trail mix," You said, your voice flat.

"You can't tell me not to," Sam shrugged. "You're not my wife."

"Sam, stop eating my trail mix," You huffed. "And get out of my house."

"Should you be this hostile? Didn't you get some last night?" He chuckled as he gestured to your current wardrobe.

"More than you," You rolled your eyes. "You have your own trail mix at your home."

"It's not the same," Sam pouted. "I miss the good old days when you would make this for me."

"That was when we were married," You pointed out. "Now, leave."

"You know, I wouldn't be surprised if the paparazzi caught you and your new lady friend," He teased. "How does she feel about that? Also, isn't it a bit early to be inviting her over? Especially with Isabella."

"First off, it's none of your business," You scoffed. "And secondly, Isabella wasn't supposed to be home."

"Well, I guess that makes sense," He nodded. "If she hurts you I'll hire someone to kick her ass if you need me to. My sister has those aggression issues."

"Hmm, where was your sister during our divorce to kick your ass?" You quipped.

"Touché," He smirked. "I'll leave you alone. Don't forget about my birthday party next week."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"Love ya, Y/N/N," He said. "Bye, Bella."

"Bye Daddy," Isabella came rushing back into the room. She gave him a quick hug and kiss before walking him out. It's then you take a deep breath. You looked over to see Bear with those big brown eyes looking at you.

"Oh, don't judge me," You muttered in disbelief.

----> next part

#natasha romanoff #black reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #black widow x female reader #natasha romanov #natasha x you

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littlemissvenom0 · 4 months ago

Text

Title: Proving Worth Ivar the boneless

The night was cold, the air thick with tension. You had overheard the plan—Margrethe, the servant girl, was being forced by Ivar’s brothers to sleep with him. They wanted to prove that Ivar, despite his condition, could perform like any other man. The very idea of it sent rage coursing through your veins. How dare they? How dare they treat Ivar like some broken object that needed to be tested?

Without a second thought, you stormed into the hut where it was all supposed to happen. You found Margrethe standing nervously near Ivar, who sat on the bed, his face a mask of uncertainty. His blue eyes darted toward you, but he was frozen, unsure of what to do.

“Get out,” you hissed at Margrethe, your voice trembling with fury. “Get out now, before I kill you.”

Margrethe glanced nervously at Ivar, but the look in your eyes left no room for argument. She scurried out of the hut without another word, leaving you alone with Ivar, who still hadn’t moved. He stared at you in disbelief, his brows furrowed, his chest rising and falling as he tried to comprehend what had just happened.

“Why are you here?” he demanded, though his voice lacked its usual sharpness. He was conflicted, torn between anger, shame, and confusion. “This is not your concern. Leave, Y/N.”

But you didn’t move. You didn’t leave. Instead, you took a step closer, your heart pounding in your chest. Ivar watched you, his jaw clenched, trying to maintain control of the situation—of himself.

“I’m not leaving,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you. “I won’t let them do this to you, Ivar.”

His eyes softened, but his pride still burned. “I don’t need you to protect me. They think I’m broken, that I’m less of a man.” He looked away, the shame evident in his expression. “Maybe they’re right.”

Your heart ached for him. You had known Ivar for years—known his strength, his intelligence, his determination. But this… this was something deeper. You saw the pain in his eyes, the self-doubt, and it broke you.

“They’re wrong,” you whispered, stepping even closer. “You’re not broken.”

Ivar’s breath hitched as you reached for the laces of your dress, your fingers trembling slightly. He looked up at you, eyes wide, as you slowly began to undress, your gown slipping from your shoulders, revealing your skin beneath. His breath came in short, sharp bursts as he watched you, his body betraying him.

In that moment, something shifted in Ivar. His uncertainty melted away, replaced by something primal, something undeniable. As your dress fell to the floor, his body responded in a way he had never expected. His eyes darkened with desire, his lips parting as he stared at you, unable to tear his gaze away.

His hands trembled slightly as he reached for you, pulling you toward him, his breath ragged. “Y/N,” he whispered, his voice low and hoarse, filled with a need he had never felt so strongly before. “You…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. In that moment, Ivar realized something that went far beyond his body’s reaction to you. This was more than lust, more than proving something to himself or to anyone else. This was you—someone who saw him, who stood by him, who fought for him. His heart pounded in his chest, overwhelmed by the sudden clarity that hit him like a bolt of lightning.

You were the one. You had always been the one.

He pulled you into his arms, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger he could no longer deny. His hands roamed your body, desperate to feel every inch of you, as if you might vanish if he let go. You responded in kind, your hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer, letting him know with every touch, every kiss, that you were here for him. That you wanted him—exactly as he was.

“Ivar,” you whispered against his lips, your voice filled with affection, “I love you.”

He froze for a second, the words sinking into him, before he kissed you again, more gently this time. When he finally pulled away, his eyes met yours, and for the first time in a long time, there was no doubt, no shame, no hesitation.

“I love you too,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “More than you’ll ever know.”

In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not his brothers, not their cruel games, not the doubts that had plagued him for so long. It was just the two of you, in the quiet of the night, bound together by something far more powerful than any challenge the world could throw at you.

#ivar x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #vikings

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cheriladycl01 · 9 months ago

Text

Better than me - Charles Leclerc x Reader P8

Plot: You are a rookie in your first f1 season, adding to the ever-growing amount of Brits performing in the grid

Everyone was panicking. Alex was out of his car pacing back and forth in the Audi garage as Lily tried to calm him down. They refused to show the reply or any current footage of what was going on. But Lily had seen it live and even she was struggling to not cry herself.

Lando was sat with his head in his hands, crying over the reason for such a bad crash. He wouldn't forgive himself, no matter how bad the crash had been, even if you just came out with a small scrape. You were on track to winning the race as well. Not that that really mattered as your unconscious self was being hauled out of the burning car that had started to catch alight when the fuel tank burst and leaked.

One courageous marshal managed to pull you out, as they were pulling you out they weren't thinking about any broken bones they just wanted to get you out the car.

They laid you down on the floor, not taking your helmet of but flipping the visor up to see if you were awake, which of course you weren't.

They held your wrist looking for a heartbeat screaming for a medic to come over and help you. In record speed time, emergency services had managed to get a helicopter to airlift you to the best hospital in Belgium.

When the drivers saw the helicopter fly off, they could tell it was a bad crash, not that they couldn't tell before but the fact you needed to be airlifted had them worrying.

Lando was near close to being sick, Oscar at his side rubbing his back as he dry-heaved into a bin.

"Oh my god, I've killed my best friend" he cried and Oscar right now had no idea what to actually say to him.

"No you haven't, she's going to be okay!" Oscar says rubbing his crying friends back.

Charles was num, he didn't know what to think and he actually couldn't talk to Carlos. Was this his fault... no it was the rain, and your team, and your radio, and your car, and Lando's fault and he was so terribly angry when he thought about it fully.

Joris had talked him out of the abyss that was Charles mind and the whirlpool of thoughts he was flowing down. He told him off when Charles started to angrily play the blame game, explaining it wasnt anyone's fault and that you knew the risks of racing.

The race wasn't continued, with only two laps to go. Lando won, Lewis in P2 and Charles in P3, that should have been your first race win and it was a dull celebration hearing your shared national anthem with Lando when it was supposed to be you up there.

He didn't do his usual champagne pop, none of them actually even popped the champagne just handing it off to their teams to enjoy who just passed it back as no one was really in the mood to drink.

Interviews were even more dull.

"Hello Charles, pleasure to have you here!" the interviewer smiles, trying their best to lighten the mood but you'd become such a presence around the paddock over the last few races that it was strange not having you around.

Charles just nods and she awkwardly looks down at her note pad.

"So obviously not a great race with the end there, but you had a spectacular race despite the rain and that long pitstop. Can you comment more on that?"

"Yeah, I think not only the drivers find working in those conditions tense and they want then best for you. Obviously the long pitstop had me loosing a few positions but like normal you just push harder and gain those places back, P3 was better than we hoped for and I shouldn't have been up on that podium today" he nods and his interview is wrapped up insanely quickly.

"Any last comments on Y/N, any insight on her condition and how she's doing?" she asks tentatively.

"No, sorry I don't!" he says with a grit in his teeth before his PR manager takes his arm and guides him away with a final nod to the interviewer saying this was over.

Lando and Alex couldn't even do any of their media duties, too upset by what happen to you that they went straight back to the hotel. Alex and Lily actually travelled to the hospital where you were at now with your family and personal trainer to see if they could find anything more out.

They arrived at the hospital in record time considering the one and a half hour drive it took to get from the race track to Brussels where you were being treated.

"Hi, we're looking for Y/N Y/L/N?" Lily asks knowing Alex had been a little choked up the whole time and could barley get his words out.

"Ah, yes are you immediate family?" she asks looking over the two of the with an eyebrow raised.

"No, but I'm her team-mate she's a race car driver and she" Alex blurts out only for the woman to interrupt him.

"Got into an accident at the race, I'm aware. Her family are on the 2nd floor outside a private suite near the trauma unit. You can go talk to them but there's no visitors in her room right now!" she exclaims and they both nod, running towards the lift to make their way up.

"Do you think she's going to be okay?" Alex choked out looking to Lily. He didn't know what to do if they came up and she wasn't okay.

"She's a strong girl, the halo did an amazing job protecting her. She'll be okay, I'm sure of it!" Lily say pulling her boyfriend in for a cuddle which he accepted nuzzling into her comforting smell.

The lift dinged and they stepped out, immediately stepped out seeing various doctors and nurses rushing around, even though it seemed like calm and organized rush.

They spot a group of people and your personal trainer, which Alex deducts easily that its your family. Both him and Lily tentatively walk over seeing your mother crying her eyes out into your father and your whole family looked the farthest thing from okay.

"Erm, hey" Alex smiles towards your personal trainer who also looks worried rubbing the back of his neck. Both your parents snap their head towards Alex, your mother immediately sobbing harder pulling him into a kind and gentle hug.

"Oh she loved driving with you so much, Alex right? She talked about you and how welcomed you made her feel!" she cries and Alex feels sickness building in his stomach and throat.

Your mother was using the past tense as if you were already dead and he didn't dare ask the question. He just continued holding your mum as she continued to cry.

Your father, who was trying hard to hold back his tears but ultimately was failing gave Alex a kind smile before reaching for his wife to pull her back.

"H-how is she?" Lily gulps, knowing Alex didn't have it in him to ask.

"Sh-she died on the way here apparently and she'd flatlined again once she was here. But she's in emergency surgery and their doing everything for her" her dad says and sighs not really knowing what else to do.

They all sit and wait, waiting for any news on your condition.

It felt like hours before a nurse and doctor cam trotting over to all of them.

"Family of Y/N Y/L/N?" she asks and looks around at each of them and your mum stands up grabbing your dads hand.

"Yes that's us, we are her parents" she says pointing between the two of them.

"Can we talk to you privately please?" she asks noticing the big group that included children.

"Alex, darling you should come with us so you can update her friends" your mum reaches out for him and he nods following the doctor into a private consultation room.

"So, is my daughter going to be okay?" your mum asks the pending question.

"We did everything we could, and she's a very strong girl considering her injuries. She'll be okay but she wont be racing for at least 3 months, might be the whole season depending on how much she pushes herself in physio therapy when she's up and moving" he smiles and your dad starts to fully sob hearing his little girl was going to be okay.

"What happened to her. Why did she flat line?" your mother asks.

"Her injuries were extensive. She fractured her spine, broke 3 ribs which caused her left lung collapsed which deprived her of oxygen. Which didn't help the minor head and neck injuries she suffered, and of course the fuel leak caused burns on her arms and legs" he listed of her extensive injuries that seemed to be non-stop.

"Holy shit" Alex admitted and took a seat.

"You can see her now, she's still under anesthetic and it wont ware off for a few hours but you can see her" he smiles and lets your family all hug before running out to the rest to tell them you were in fact okay.

Alex explained to Lily everything that happened and she also felt relieved. He asked if she was able to send a message to the Whatsapp chat while he got a drink of water to try and calm his heart rate down.

He ended up talking them through your condition and the fact that only your immediate family were allowed in right now but he and Lily could go in after and that your parents had expressed that they were all more than welcome to come see you.

All of them agreed that they would of course come and see you tomorrow. Your family and Alex all tweeted about how you were doing and that they would ask you to make a video or statement when you were awake and with the world.

Everyone was just glad that you were alive... and were starting to plan their trip to come see you.

A/N: Y/N going to be out of racing until after the summer break? Oh no! ... what will she do!

Also my google search history is wild after this chapter where i had to look up the healing time for all her injuries....

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @kapsylia @laneyspaulding19 @lazybot @malynn @cassielikereading @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @jlb20416 @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @seomako @urdad-hot @tinydeskwriter @butterfly-lover @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount @styl1shl1v

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 #formula one #formula one fanfiction #charles leclerc #charles lecrelc x reader #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x you #cl16 one shot #cl16 x you #cl16 x reader #cl16 imagine

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jimsbeetroot · 2 months ago

Note

(Never did a request, but there is always a first time) I would love if you could write a oneshoot about reader and Jim root where she goes on tour with them and there is just this cute interaction between Jim being on stage and reader watching them (just basically something fluff)

𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ♱ 𝐣𝐢𝐦 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐭

fluffy! hope you enjoy!!

no warnings for this one!

The crowd roared like a living, breathing creature as Slipknot conquered the stage. You stood just off to the side, tucked behind a row of amps, watching the chaos unfold. It was mesmerizing—thousands of people screaming lyrics in unison, bodies thrashing in time with the pounding drums and snarling guitars.

But your eyes were on him.

Jim was a towering figure in the midst of the madness, his long limbs moving effortlessly as he shredded through the current song’s outro. He was a blur of black and crimson, his mask resembling a scary joker. The mask used to scare you, but it'd gotten better after he'd let you seen the whole process of getting ready and putting in the mask itself. And even after years of being together, watching him perform still gave you butterflies.

You tugged your jacket tighter around you, the chill of the outdoor venue creeping in despite the heat radiating from the crowd. Jim glanced your way mid-solo, his dark eyes catching yours through the slits of his mask. He tilted his head slightly, a silent acknowledgment that he knew you were there.

Your heart fluttered.

The song ended in a crash of cymbals and distortion, the crowd screaming louder than ever. Corey strode to the front of the stage, gripping the mic and pacing like a caged animal as he addressed the fans.

You watched Jim grab the hoodie, he'd usually wear after the show and throw it over his shoulder. He stayed near his station, playing a steady riff as a buildup for the next song. He stepped closer to the side of the stage where you stood, and to your surprise, he motioned you over with a nod of his head.

You hesitated, glancing around as if someone might stop you. The crew was too busy to care, and the crowd was far too focused on Corey to notice. So, you stepped forward, your sneakers scuffing against the stage floor. You were still standing at the side of the stage and no one could see you, but it was nonetheless an overwhelming sensation to share the stage with Slipknot, even if it was just for a few minutes.

As you reached him, you craned your neck to look up at his towering frame. At 6’6, Jim was already tall, but in his stage gear and boots, he looked absolutely massive.

“You cold?” he asked and nodded down to your shivering ahoulders. You smiled and shrugged. “A little.”

“Take the hoodie,” he said and turned his shoulder, from where the hoodie was hanging. You took it and mumbled a thank you, blushing over how considerate he was.

He leaned down, nearly folding himself in half so he could speak to you. “My mask’s digging into my face. Can you fix it?”

His voice was warm and familiar, even muffled by the mask. You reached up, your fingers brushing against the rough fabric as you assessed the situation. Sure enough, the straps had shifted slightly, pressing awkwardly against his skin.

“I have to have to take it off,” you said, your voice just loud enough to be heard over the music and Corey’s speech.

Jim nodded, carrying on with the consistent riff, nudging you to back up a bit so he was out of sight. People knew what he looked like by now, but it just wouldn't be the same if everyone suddenly saw his face at the show. He'd told you, how naked he felt without it on.

You gently unfastened the straps. You worked quickly, careful not to smudge the makeup beneath it. Once the mask was off, you saw the red marks where it had been digging in, and you pouted a little.

“Does it hurt?” you asked, brushing your thumb lightly over the irritated skin.

“Nah,” he said with a small smirk. “It’s nothing.”

Still, you frowned at him. “Hold still.”

You adjusted the straps, making sure they wouldn’t gnaw at his face again. But before you fastened the mask back on, you rose onto your tiptoes, cupping his face in your hands. Jim froze for a moment, his dark eyes widening slightly, and then he tilted his head down to meet you halfway.

You pressed a kiss to his lips, your heart racing as the crowd’s cheers echoed in the background. For a moment, it was just the two of you, the chaos of the stage fading away.

When you pulled back, Jim gave you a rare smile—small but genuine, the kind of smile he saved just for you.

“Better?” you asked, holding up the mask.

“Much better,” he replied, leaning down again so you could secure it in place.

Once it was fastened properly, Jim straightened to his full height, looking every bit the intimidating figure he portrayed on stage. But as he glanced down at you one last time before stepping back into the spotlight, you caught the soft gleam in his eyes as he mouthed a quiet I-love-you.

He returned to his spot just as Corey finished his speech, and the crowd erupted as the band launched into the next song. Jim’s riff sliced through the air, raw and unrelenting, and you couldn’t help but grin as you watched him come alive on stage.

Every now and then, he would glance your way, his head tilting slightly as if to check on you. And each time, you gave him a little wave, your chest swelling with love for him.

You stayed there for the rest of the set, your feet planted firmly on the side of the stage as you watched the man you loved command an ocean of fans. And though he was a monster on stage, a force of nature that couldn’t be contained, you knew the softer side of him—the man who let you fix his mask, who bent down just to kiss you, and who never missed a chance to remind you how much you meant to him.

By the time the show ended, your cheeks hurt from smiling, and your heart felt full enough to burst. As the band left the stage, Jim was the last to pass you, his long fingers brushing against backside and delivering a small smack, making you jump a little. You chuckled and you could by the way his eyes scrunched under his mask, that he did too.

“Wait for me,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with promise.

And you did, knowing that no matter how wild the night got, you would always have this—moments of quiet connection in the midst of chaos, moments that reminded you why you fell in love with Jim Root in the first place.

#james root smut #jim root smut #james root #james root imagine #jim root x female reader #jim root imagines #jim root imagine #jim root #jim root x reader #slipknotimagines #slipknot fluff #slipknot x reader #slipknot smut #slipknot photos #slipknot #slipknot fanfic #heavy metal imagines #heavy metal #smut

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riizegasm · 8 months ago

Text

Soft as a Misty Rain || W. YX (Nicholas)

❀ pairing: &team nicholas x fem!reader

❀ genre: exes to lovers!au, fluff, minor angst

❀ word count: ~3.3k

❀ warnings: explicit language, one very brief non-descriptive depiction of sex, nico is really bad at communicating, the weather as a metaphor for emotions

❀ summary: In the storm that hangs over your life, your ex appears like a lightning strike. As much as you hate to admit it, he softens the rain, allowing you to face clearer skies.

❀ a/n: At this point, I feel like I need to warn y’all that I write more than just angst. But I promise this one is not that bad!! Much more fluff than usual, which was hard for me, but I hope you enjoy it. As usual, likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated and encouraged.

masterlist

He comes to you in the rain. The tips of his hair drip water onto his face, sliding down the unblemished skin until they land on his fully soaked clothes. His faded Pink Floyd shirt sticks to his frame, highlighting every ridge of his abdomen. The normally baggy jeans he wears hang even lower than they usually do, their cuffs hanging in a puddle of his own creation.

It’s a warm summer rain, the kind that appears out of nowhere and clears within the hour. Its brevity can’t outweigh its intensity, though, thoroughly soaking everything in sight. The flowers love it, basking in the brief respite from the intense August heat. The flower in front of you, however, is wilting from the power of the storm, soaked and shaking.

“Nicholas?”

When he finally raises his head, letting his eyes meet yours from behind the inky curtain of his bangs, you can’t help but shiver. Despite the time apart, he has never lost the intensity in his gaze. It still throws you off kilter. It still has you wanting to hold him close and never let go. It still has your heart shattering.

“I’m sorry,” the boy whispers. “I just…I didn’t know where else to go.”

You would have thought that in the eight months that you spent broken up, he would have found someone else. You always assumed there was someone else for him, another person to confide in, another shoulder to lean on, another hand to hold. Despite the hollowness of his cheeks and the paleness of his skin, it’s hard to believe that there was truly nowhere else for him to go.

You don’t know which scenario is worse: that he had no choice, or that he chose you.

Seconds tick by, announced by the rhythmic drip of raindrops onto the floor of the hallway. Outside, a crash of thunder booms, practically shaking the entire building. It’s only then that you are able to snap yourself out of your reverie, moving aside to let the man into your apartment.

Making Nicholas comfortable is second nature to you at this point, despite losing months of practice. You shoo him into the shower and warm up a towel for him in the dryer. The old hoodie and pair of basketball shorts you haven’t managed to throw out yet are neatly folded and placed on the bathroom counter. It doesn’t even cross your mind to take in his figure behind the glass of the shower pane, blurred from the steam condensing on its surface. Instead, you turn the air conditioner down and begin to heat a kettle for tea, knowing how easily he catches a cold.

It’s a dance you know every step to, despite not having performed the choreography in years.

The second time he appears is with a flash of lightning, suddenly standing near the foot of the couch. His eyes are downturned once again, hair still wet and concealing his gaze. He seems content to stare at the floor, so you take it upon yourself to speak.

“Tea?”

Nicholas’s voice is hoarse as he responds, eyes still glued to the wooden planks beneath him. “Please.”

You hate the way one simple word has shivers running up your spine. It’s just that one word that transports you back in time—hands tangled in black and blonde dyed locks, lips moving fervently against each other, hips meeting in a filthy grind, a simple word uttered from spit-slicked lips. That couldn’t be further from the word’s meaning here, yet your mouth is flooded with the stale taste of second-hand cigarettes.

As the storm rages on, Nicholas clutches the mug of tea in his hands, fingers tightening around the ceramic at every new boom of thunder. The building shakes and so does he. You wonder if your touch would be enough to warm the boy to his core, to halt every shiver. But it’s only after a particularly loud thunderclap that you realize his shaking is not from a lack of warmth. It’s from his own storm that has begun to stream down his cheeks.

“Nicholas,” you whisper softly, as if not to spook a woodland creature, “what’s going on?”

The man lets out a strangled sob, clutching the mug even tighter. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t even be here, but fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

Nicholas sniffles, finally tearing his eyes away from the steaming cup in his hands. “I’m sorry for still being in love with you.”

. . .

Nine months prior

A flurry of kisses are placed all over your face, breaking your concentration from the book in front of you. You can’t help but giggle as your boyfriend’s assault continues, the man seeming determined to place a kiss on every inch of exposed skin. There isn’t much, as you have started to trade in your lighter fall jackets for thicker sweaters. Nicholas doesn’t seem to mind, though, tugging at your collar to expose even more of you.

“Babe stop it!” You whine between puffs of laughter. “The story was just starting to get good.”

Your boyfriend just smirks, continuing to place his lips on any inch of you he can reach. “Don’t care,” he mumbles between kisses. “You look so cute when you’re concentrating.”

Nicholas was rarely shy with his affections. He was the type to constantly shower you in praise, return home with little gifts and trinkets for you, keep a protective hand around your waist at all times. Despite how shy he comes off at first, he is nothing short of extraverted in his love for you. In the years of you two dating, he has only gotten more bold in his proclamations of love, both literally and figuratively.

“I love you,” he mutters, lips attached to a particularly sensitive patch of skin behind your ear. “You’re so cute. My pretty girl.”

The warmth of his breath tickles your skin, causing your entire body to sprout with goosebumps. The teasing pressure on the sensitive spot kickstarts your heart to pump a mile a minute, the heat encompassing your body comparable to the flames in the lit fireplace before you. Nicholas’s touch has rewired your inner workings to be constantly excited, constantly anticipating the pleasure to come.

But nothing comes. Nicholas simply pulls away from you, a sweet smile on his face.

“I’m going to go meet Yuma for lunch. Do you want me to bring anything back?”

You smile, shaking your head softly. “Have fun, though. Tell Yuma I said hi.”

“I will.”

Nicholas leaves a lingering kiss on your forehead before pulling away completely. You can’t help but watch with a fond stare as he flits about the apartment. It’s endearing to watch the furrow in his brow and the way he worries his bottom lip with his teeth. Only a few moments later, he deems himself ready to go, calling out one last goodbye as he disappears through the door.

When scanning the damage he left behind on his way out, your eye is caught by the bright green of the clock displayed on the microwave. 4:37 pm, it reads. You can’t help but be confused.

A little late for lunch, isn’t it?

. . .

Eight months prior

He comes home reeking of cigarettes and smiling lazily. For a moment, you think he’s drunk, with his sluggish and uncoordinated movements. He trips over his own feet trying to get his shoes off, sighing frustratedly in the doorway. The sound has you rolling your eyes, increasingly growing agitated with your boyfriend’s actions.

His nose is red as he enters the living room, sniffling frequently. The chill of December does that to people. But when his eyes meet yours from the opposite side of the couch, you notice the equally red eyes and the dried tear tracks staining his face. Instantly, your heart plummets.

“What happened?”

Nicholas sniffles softly, reddened eyes slowly scanning your figure. He’s clearly pondering his words, face twisted into a grimace as if his own thoughts pain him. The hardcover book you had been reading falls from your slackened grip, making a loud thud as it hits the wooden floor. Neither of you move at the sound.

“Y/N, I—,” Nicholas cuts himself off with a wince, biting back a sob. “We need to break up.”

After approximately two years, four months, and thirteen days, the thought of breaking up seems so outlandish that normally, you would laugh. Even if Nicholas looked you dead in your eyes on any other day and said he wanted to break up, you would laugh. Your nose would scrunch and your head would be tipped back as you let out a full body chuckle. You would playfully punch Nicholas’s arm and kiss him in the same breath.

But you’re not laughing.

“Break up? What? Why?” You can’t seem to stop the flurry of questions that leave your mouth. “What happened? Why now, all of a sudden?”

Nicholas shakes his head. “I just can’t do this anymore.”

The exhaustion in his voice sets off a ringing in your ears, as if sounding an alarm for your body. Despite the small inflections in his voice, clearly unsteady from crying, you know he means what he’s saying. Nicholas has never been the type to be careless about his words, especially when it comes to you.

“What do you mean you can’t do this anymore?” As you speak, your voice begins to take on a sharp edge, piercing through the living room. “After two fucking years you just decide you can’t do this? What the hell does that even mean?”

“It means that I can’t do this. I can’t do us anymore.”

A violent heat begins to overtake your face, metaphorical steam coming out of your ears as if you were a cartoon. In your prior breakups you had been sad, resigning yourself to whatever reason had split you apart. However, right now, nothing can overtake the scalding confusion that is consuming you right now. You imagine that you could single-handedly reverse the December chill, making your surroundings feel like the hottest of summers.

“But why?” You wince as your voice cracks.

“Because,” Nicholas sighs. “I just can’t. We can’t. I’m sorry, Y/N. I really am.”

He leaves you in the warmth of your apartment as he faces the bitter cold of the winter. His reddened face is hidden almost completely by a thick beanie, layers of clothing doing their best to protect his frail body underneath. You watch from your bedroom window as his figure treks down the street, disappearing around a concrete corner. Only then does it begin to snow.

. . .

Seven months prior

You are sobbing.

. . .

Six months prior

You are crying.

. . .

Five months prior

You are tearing up.

. . .

Four months prior

You are expressionless.

. . .

Three months prior

You are listening.

. . .

Two months prior

You are speaking.

. . .

One month prior

You are smiling.

. . .

Present day

You are sobbing.

It only took those few words from Nicholas for you to break down, the storm overtaking your emotions mirroring the one outside your window. Your sobs oddly harmonize with Nicholas’s own, both of your sadness manifesting in the same way despite the very different reasons for it. It’s as if you exist in a strangely cast musical, with Nicholas in the role of the heartbreaker and you in the role of the heartbroken.

But now, you can’t quite pinpoint whether or not your tears stem from that same heartbreak you experienced eight months ago, or if it’s brewing from something deeper.

“You don’t get to just say that,” you hiccup. “After all these months of nothing! You broke up with me without even explaining why.”

Nicholas winces at the harsh tone of your voice, ducking his head to look at the floor. “I know. Fuck, I know. And I’m sorry. I just had to tell you how I felt…how I still feel.”

The ceramic mug makes a soft clinking sound as Nicholas places it on the coffee table, the tea it housed probably having grown cold. It’s enough to force the space into a bout of tense silence, the only interruptor being the steady patter of rain against the window panes. You imagine that the next boom of thunder will be strong enough to shake the apartment, strong enough to shock you out of this nightmare in which your ex boyfriend still loves you.

You swallow thickly, forcing your tears to subside for a moment. “Then why? Why did you leave me?”

“Because,” Nicholas sighs. “I was scared.”

The Nicholas you used to know was rarely ever scared. He didn’t blink an eye when he would get weird stares over his unique fashion choices. He would laugh in the face of the most insidious horror movies and cringe at their jump scares. You deemed him your knight in shining armor, ready to slay any dragon that dared come close.

“You? Scared of what?”

Nicholas smiles sadly. “Do you remember when we went Thanksgiving shopping?”

You remember it vividly. The day had been abnormally warm for November, so you were clad in one of Nico’s tee shirts and a pair of old yoga pants. The store was immensely crowded, so much so that the two of you ended up pressed together like sardines in the aisle. It wasn’t that bad overall until you and a random lady had both reached for the last can of cranberry sauce. She tried to argue you down for it, making a case that since she was older, she deserves the can and everything. While she was so busy yelling, you grabbed the can, stuck out your tongue, and left.

“That lady was just yelling and yelling, and you grabbed that can, and took me with you. When I was following behind you, or I guess you were dragging me by the hand, I couldn’t help but think ‘gosh, I love you so much’. I loved you so much that it scared me.”

Something flutters in your core. “Nico—,”

“We’re so young, and yet, every time I looked at you, I couldn’t think about anything but growing old together. Hell, I used to stay up at night thinking about what our kids would look like. That’s how much I loved you, Y/N. And I felt like I was smothering you. You had your job and you would come home and read and cook and I would just be distracting you and begging for your attention. Do you know how sad that is? It almost felt like it wasn’t healthy. So I had to leave. I had to let you live.”

A tense silence overtakes the apartment, sucking all of the oxygen from the room. Your fingers busy themselves by playing with the frayed ends of a tattered blanket. It’s the one that Nicholas got you for your first Christmas spent together, forest green with red hearts etched across its surface. You wouldn’t dare to admit that you haven’t spent a single night without snuggling with it, tucking it under your chin and breathing in its faded scent. It’s the very scent that strikes you with a bout of confidence, looking directly into the gaze of the man across from you.

“Nico, what makes you think that I would want to live without you?”

Plush lips part into a surprised “o” as Nicholas looks at you. His reddened eyes scan your face, as if searching for a reason to not believe you. It takes a few seconds for him to complete his assessment, mouth shutting silently. He nods once, twice, clearly mulling something over in his head, always extremely cautious before he speaks. You used to wish he was more forthcoming, and just said whatever was on the tip of his tongue. After all, it was what got you both into this situation in the first place.

“I thought you needed to,” Nicholas confesses. “I couldn’t stand feeling like I was holding you back.”

You laugh soullessly. “You know that I stopped reading after you left. I haven’t picked up a book in months.”

“Why?”

You try not to coo at the confusion etched across the man’s face. “Because fantasy didn’t seem as magical if I didn’t have a spectacular reality to come back to. You were spectacular, Nico. We were spectacular.”

Many would say that the mundane simply couldn’t be spectacular, but you thought that couldn’t be further from the truth. There was something about cooking dinner for the two of you that lit your core up. Sharing chaste kisses over the pages of a book made you smile like no other. Playing dress up in the mall and buying matching accessories was simply joyous. Being with Nicholas was magical, in the same way that spinning straw into gold was.

When he left, a permanent tempest hung over your head. Storm clouds pelted you with the harshest rains with no relief. A tornado of emotions constantly tore through your body. And just when the skies began to clear, here comes Nicholas flashing back into your life like a lightning strike.

“So, what are you saying?” Nicholas asks, voice barely a whisper.

“Do you want to be with me?”

“More than anything.”

The rain has softened against the window, slowing to a mellow drizzle.

“Then let’s be together.”

Nicholas sniffles, eyes falling shut. “Please don’t joke with me right now.”

You can’t help but let out a wet chuckle at the desperation coloring Nicholas’s voice. It prompts you to cross the distance on the couch until you settle right next to him. His hands are still chilled when you grab them, resting them both in your lap. The calloused skin of his palms feels so familiar against your papercut riddled fingers.

“Look at me,” you coo, smiling softly when the man across from you obliges. “I’m not joking. I want to be together as long as you promise to be upfront with me. And, you have to know that I love you. I want a future with you. That’s nothing to be scared of.”

“But—,”

“No buts. Promise me.”

Nicholas eyes your intertwined hands, softly flexing his fingers where they sit in between yours. It’s only after you give his hands a firm squeeze that his lips part in a smile. He laughs once, as if in disbelief, before meeting your gaze once again.

“I promise.”

Your lips are only able to smile for a brief second before a mouth covers them. It shocks you for a moment, until you melt into the familiarity of slightly chapped lips moving against yours. You can feel where Nicholas can’t really stop smiling, letting out a small giggle when your teeth clack together. It doesn’t deter either of you, though, simply content to continue trading giggles and kisses.

It takes a handful of minutes for you two to part, the stream of kisses never escalating further. The small distance between the two of you proves to be too much for Nicholas, who wraps a hand around your waist to pull you even closer. He scoops your legs into his lap, allowing you to sit draped across him. It’s the perfect position to allow you to look up at him, admiring the soft slope of his nose and the pretty curve of his lips. You find yourself pushing back his fringe in order to more clearly see his eyes. They are still red rimmed, but it does little to obscure the simple adoration in his gaze.

The intensity of his stare forces you to look away, attempting to fight the heat rising to your cheeks. You end up peering beyond the window, noticing the hints of sunlight that are beginning to peek through the clouds. You smile, watching as the world begins to be illuminated bit by bit.

“Look, it stopped raining,” you tell Nicholas.

When you turn to face the man, he is still staring down at you, a soft smile lighting up his face.

“I had a feeling it would.”

.FIN.

#wang nicholas #&team nicholas #&team #&team imagines #&team fluff #&team angst #&team smut #written in the stars #nicholas imagines #&team x reader

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missterious-figure · 8 months ago

Note

Was Eclipse willing to let anyone get near y/n after the incident at the bar?

I guess I'm curious of what happened next?

(He can't be around y/n all the time, so he can't really control if anybody goes near them when he's busy, but he does like to keep people away when he is around)

Here's a quick continuation of the incident! Enjoy!

...

Eclipse watched as his sweet handler feel asleep in his hammock nest. He was seething with anger. He wished the whole incident had never happened. Seeing the fear in your eyes broke his heart. That stupid man should have known his boundaries...

You grunted quietly in your sleep, your brows furrowed worriedly and your body grew tense. Eclipse was sitting on the floor next to the hammock, but he could still reach you. He placed a hand on your back and began to rub gently. He whispered as if you were listening.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I wish I never had to leave your side. That wouldn't have happened if I was around..."

You slowly loosed up and you face relaxed from what ever bad dream you were having. For a long while, he sat there whispering sweet comforting words to you. Then you shifted. He paused his gentle touches. You wiggled again and sat up. He pulled his hand away and watched you carefully.

From your view, you could only see his eyes poking up from the edge of the hammock. He cooed to you quietly, his pupils becoming larger, like a cat who just saw something it liked. His rays rose a little. Groggy, you looked about. This wasn't your room. This wasn't the bar... your mind finally woke up and you remembered the whole incident. Tears began to well up in your eyes as you recall how scary the situation was.

Eclipse's rays dropped a bit before he reached his hand up for you to take. You sniffed and blinked at him. Slowly, you placed your hand in his. He curled his fingers around your whole hand, and he used his thumb to massage the top of it. The two of you sat there in silence, well, apart from your soft sniffles and sobs. You were the first to speak.

"Thank you."

You managed to say between shaky breathes.

"Hmm?"

Eclipse hummed.

"You saved me... I was so- SO- scared..."

You were barely able to whimper.

Eclipse gently pulled you to the edge of the hammock. He let go of your hand, picked you up under the arms, and embraced you in a tender hug. He laid down on his back, you resting snuggly on his stomach.

"I was scared too.

You looked up at him in disbelief.

"You were scared? You seemed so angry."

"I was scared... Scared something was going to happen to you."

"Oh..."

For the rest of the time, you two sat quietly, just listening to the other's breathing and heartbeat. Until he had to get ready for another performance, which you took as a opportunity to leave. You did the rest of your days work, and soon you were done. Then you went to your apartment in the casino's hotel building and crashed for the night. Hopefully tomorrow would be better...

#dca au #wine and feathers au #answered #missterious drabble

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cosmicpiracy · 2 years ago

Text

Despair in the hotel lounge

The concert had been over for a few moments and his head hadn’t stopped pounding. Alex stood near his wife in the hotel’s private lounge as Matt’s girlfriend loudly praised them for their performance. God, he loved to see his mate happy, but was she annoying sometimes!

Specially now, when his head was pounding and he could feel all of the contents in his stomach swirl like a devilish soup. He felt lightheaded.

“Are you alright?” He heard his wife whisper in a worried voice. “Al?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved her off. “I’m good.”

Truth is: he wasn’t good, at all. His head had started bothering him a few minutes before the concert, but he would be damned if he was gonna cancel on such a short notice. Being married to a doctor had its perks: you learn a thing or two. And one things he learned from his wife’s notes and case reports was how to use light painkillers and antiemetics to completely abolish pain and nausea. He also got those two kinds of medication from her purse, although he refused to tell her about his state and worry her when she had just flown over. Which he would start to regret halfway through, when the music became too loud and he thought he would pass out from the pain.

“Are you sure?” She pressed further, and it felt like she really was testing his patience. His concert wasn’t what he thought it was gonna be and now, his wife was worried.

Great. Wonderful. Fucking fantastic.

“God, woman, not everyone around you needs your worry all the time!”

There was a certain silence in the room, a sort of shock. Alex had never raised his voice at his wife. It was new.

“That was so uncalled for, Alex.” So was her calling him Alex.

Ever since they met, she refused to use what she deemed to be his “fame name”. It was always Al, or Alexander, or Turner. Never Alex - everyone called him that.

So he felt a pang in his chest the moment that word left her mouth, and the hurt intensified as he watched her walk towards Katie, Jamie’s wife, who looked at her with a puzzled expression before glaring daggers at him.

As time went on, his situation got worse. He was more and more lightheaded and doubted he could walk to the hotel room if he tried. Matt was talking his ear off yet he couldn’t understand a word.

And Alex deeply wanted his wife to take care of him. Moved by the idea of telling her what was going on, apologising and going upstairs, he got up to walk towards his wife.

Only to come crashing down to the floor.

“Alexander!”

“Mate!”

He could barely make out sounds or figures, but he knew his wife’s hands enough to know she was the one examining him. And telling the boys to help her carry him upstairs.

“He’s dehydrated. But his pulse is fine, it’s probably just low blood pressure or his blood sugar. Has he eaten?” She fired off, before scrunching her forehead and whispering while looking at Nick. “Has he taken any drugs?”

While Matt would hide any information he possibly could from her, she knew Jamie and Nick would never. So when Jaimie shook his head, she knew that this could be ruled off. “Good. What about his sleep schedule?”

“I wouldn’t know, Doc, I’m not a grown man’s babysitter!” Matt snickered and Alex was sure Helders had absolutely no idea what his missus looked like when infuriated, which is why when he went quiet for a second, Alex assumed she gave him the glare while they lowered him on the mattress.

“Tour’s been hectic.” Nick told her. “Al’s been working nonstop for a few days. He wanted to be free when you got here, since you are only staying till Prague.” Alexander could feel his wife’s guilt from the bed when she saw the boys off, thanking Nick and Jamie for the information, telling Matt to take it out of his arse in a playful manner.

“Al, my love, what happened?” She stroke his cheek affectionately, starting to undo the buttons of his shirt. “Can you talk? Jesus, you are sweating too much. What are you feeling?” Alex did not have the strength to say it, but pointed at his head. “Headache?” He nodded before feeling her sit him up to take off his shirt. Alex took the moment to inhale her scent from her skin, while his weakened arms held on to her when she tried to move away. “Alexander, I’m going to take off your pants.”

With a lazy smirk, he gathered all his strength to snort. “Take me out first.” His wife just rolled her eyes.

“Oh, I will, Mr. Turner.” She said. “I’ll get you some medicine and give you a hot bath for your muscles, ok? Hang on in there.”

And she did. She gave him medicine and waited, to make sure it was going to stay inside and directed him to the bath. It’s was warm, but not enough to make his skin red with the heat. Just pleasantly warm.

Alex admired his beautiful wife, her hair in a bun, her focused eyes as she stripped to her underwear, got a bottle of liquid soap and sat behind him.

“I’m sorry for being such a dickhead to you.” He sighed as she dispersed the soap on his back and squeezing his sore neck muscles in the process. “You were looking out for me and I screwed it all up.”

“C’mon, Al, we’re good. Everything is alright, love.”

“It isn’t! It really isn’t!” He was getting worked up, she could tell. After a few years together, she knew him like the medical schemes she memorised through medschool. “George told me about the horrible shifts you had been havin and the awful cases in the morgue and how you were so tired you were taking the train instead of driving and all I wanted was for you not to worry when you were here!” He sighed, and she rinsed the soap from his skin, kissing his head lightly as he winced at his own volume. “To spend your time with me and rest.”

“Al, you are too sweet!” His wife nestled her face in his neck, kissing a bit of the skin. He intertwined their fingers. “You have absolutely no idea of how good it is just to be around you. How refreshing it was to get on that plane and know I was going to be in your arms soon.” She whispered in his ear, smiling like an idiot. “Thanks for taking care of me. Really. I could just see how tired you were, and wanted to take care of you too.” She got him out of the bathtub, drying his torso sweetly. “Isn’t that what marriage is? Two people caring for one another?” He smiled as she bopped his nose before sealing their lips together.

“But-“

“No buts, Alexander. You bought the flights, I shoo away your headaches, you sing me to sleep and I shower you in all my love and affection in the morning.” She laughed lowly as they layed in bed, his head resting in her chest. “You have no concerts tomorrow, right?” He just nodded. “Then, I proclaim bedrest for you for the whole day.” He hummed and she carded her fingers through his hair lovingly. “You are sentenced to a whole day in bed with me.”

“Clothes or no clothes?”

“Your choice.”

He hummed, as if analysing his possibilities.

“No clothes it is.” He declared. “Can you sing me to sleep today, love?”

“Close your eyes and I’ll kiss you, tomorrow I’ll miss you…”

@mywritingonlyfans @ohladymoon

#alex turner #alex turner x reader #alex turner x you #alex turner x y/n

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preciouslandmermaid · 11 months ago

Text

of songbirds, swords, and spice (2)

pairing: Opla!Zoro x Opla!Sanji x Fem! Reader (no use of Y/N or L/N)

tw: this chapter contains blood & violence (makin' the live action more realistic lets goooo)

🏴‍☠️ read on AO3 🏴‍☠️

(masterpost)

(<- previous chapter)

Sanji blinked. The beautiful voice was gone, but the enchanting woman stood before him, her shocked expression morphing into simmering anger. Lovely and vicious. She and Nami would get along. One of the bandits fired into the air and there’s a surge of rapid movement, as fierce as a hurricane, as guests scramble to their feet. Tables and chairs went upturned, drinks spilled on the floor, alongside shattered plates and silverware. They fled. There were glimmers of gold here and there between flashes of streetwear as the staff directed citizens to the back exit. Usopp sidestepped into the flow of fleeing bodies and nervously looked behind him.

“Honestly.” Sanji stood. “Does no one have respect for the arts anymore?”

“Show was getting borin’ anyways.” Zoro unsheathed his sword.

Nami gripped her staff and looked at the crew before she nodded and jumped over the table. A scimitar whistled through the air, its silver blade glinting, and Sanji flattened himself to the floor. A single sweep of his leg knocked the bandit off-balance before he could strike Nami. There was a second of respite – as there often was in battle – and he used it to check on Nami and the performer.

Crack! Nami’s staff landed against a pirate’s jaw. Where’s the performer...he swiveled toward the exit. You were near it, but you weren’t running away. Wait. She’s not running?!

The sheer, billowing fabric of your performance robes trailed your movements. You held your microphone stand and thwacked a bandit in the stomach. The bandit grunted, doubled over, but recovered quickly. He leveled his pistol at your head.

No!

He ran toward you, but Zoro slid into his field of vision. His blade arced upward and cut through bone and muscle as if were warm butter. The bandit’s arm dropped onto the floor. A heartbeat. The bandit screamed, fell, clutched his bloody appendage to his chest, and desperately tried to halt the gushing fountain of blood from his elbow. Splotches of wet crimson saturated the front of your robes in sticky, and shiny dark patches.

“I had him.” Sanji huffed, swiping his blonde hair out of his face.

“Sure,” Zoro said sarcastically.

He flicked his blade outward and the excess blood splattered onto the floor and on your robe’s navy and white skirt. You didn’t flinch. Interesting. How often does this establishment get overrun with pirates? He wondered.

“You should get out of here,” Sanji said to you, “we can handle this.”

“No.” You lifted the microphone stand and rested it over your shoulder. “Duck.”

Sanji didn’t think twice. He ducked. The rounded base of the stand smashed into a bandit’s face, sending her reeling backward and clutching a bloody nose. He bounced back to his feet and offered you his most charming, most grateful smile. Your pretty face was freckled with blood and glistened with sweat. He can’t afford to get distracted by your beauty, however. The Cupidon Doré – the golden cupid – was still under threat. He remained close, avoiding your wide swings of the microphone stand. He roundhouse kicked a bandit. They crashed into a table, breaking it in half. One of Usopp’s ammunition whizzed past his head and ricocheted off a golden cherub before it struck a bandit in the eye.

He followed Usopp’s attack by dropping into a one-handed handstand position and – “Oof!” the bandit cried as Sanji’s kick slammed into his ribs. He used the momentum, spun in the opposite direction, and the second blow hit the bandit’s lower back. The bandit sprawled onto the floor beside broken plates and glass, dazed and groaning.

“Gum Gum Punch!” Luffy shouted, sending the leader of the blood bandits' through the wall. The Sheetrock crumbled and fell in large dusty chunks and exhumed a cloud of dust and debris. Whew.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You stood in the middle of the destroyed dining room, heart pounding, your clothes sticky with blood, and muscles throbbing from swinging the microphone stand. You and these strangers managed to thwart the bloody bandits. Estella’s gonna be pissed.

“Did you seriously have to break our wall?” you asked between gasps of air.

“Sorry,” Straw Hat replied bashfully, “who were those guys?”

“They announced their name,” you said, placing the microphone stand back on the stage. “The fearsome bloody bandits.” You glanced at the cloying pool of blood and abandoned dismembered arm. Yikes. However, you couldn’t muster any sympathy for the poor bastard. He was going to shoot you. If not for the green-haired swordsman, you weren’t sure you’d be here. Although—the blonde one was right behind him. Maybe your luck wasn’t so bad.

You said, “They wear red so their enemies cannot see if they’ve been injured.”

“That’s stupid,” the swordsman said.

“Yeah, they’re not the most creative.”

“I’ve never heard of them,” Straw hat interjected.

“Do they bother you a lot?”

You didn’t have time to answer the staff-wielding woman because Estella shouted your name. She wheeled into the room, crushing shards of glass, plates, and splinters of wood along her way.

“I’m okay, grandma. I’m okay,” you assured her, “the blood isn’t mine.”

Your gaze lifted from Estella’s worried, wrinkled face to the swordsman. He stood with his arms crossed, his clothes dappled in blood, though nowhere near as badly as yours. Should you thank him? No. That wouldn’t be right. It wasn’t only him who saved the golden cupid.

“Thank you,” Estella said before you could, “I am in your debt. You may call me Madam Estella and this is my granddaughter--” she introduced you and you awkwardly bowed your head. As politeness demanded, Estella asked for their names, so she could thank them properly. The one with the red vest and straw hat was the first to speak.

“I am Monkey. D Luffy,” he said, “captain of the Straw Hats and future King of the Pirates.”

The future king of the pirates? Despite the dubious tone of your thoughts, you caught yourself smiling at Luffy’s earnest and determined expression. He believes it. I can see it all over his face.

Estella said, “You’re better pirates than this group of brainless jellyfish.” She shot a disdainful glare at one of the unconscious bloody bandits.

The Straw Hat pirates introduced themselves as Nami, Usopp, Sanji, and Zoro. You wondered if Estella viewed them—and you – as fools for their bravery or if she was truly grateful because the golden cupid was saved. You hadn’t been thinking about bravery during the fight. At first, you fought because you needed to ensure Estella evacuated safely. Then, Zoro saved your life and you kept fighting out of instinct, not bravery.

“Allow us to thank you properly. I assume your dinners were cut short? Come and have dinner at our home, stay the night if you wish, and tomorrow I will compensate you for your service.” Estella reached out and took your hand between hers.

Nami repeated, “compensation?”

“What?” You pulled your hand away. “Grandma, are you serious?”

“You need a bath.”

“They’re strangers!”

Estella tutted, pushed her wheelchair toward the door, and said, “All friends start as strangers, dear.”

You pressed your fingertips on your temples. Clearly, Estella had forgotten all the rules from nine years ago. We aren’t supposed to have strangers in the house. You lamented her decision, but you couldn’t overrule it. It’s her house. If she wanted to have guests then you couldn’t stop her. You collected your blood-stained skirts between your hands and walked briskly to catch up.

The palm leaves rustled overhead beneath a sky without stars—the full and bright moon—had stolen the show and outshone them.

Luffy fell into pace next to you and tucked his hands into his shorts’ pockets. “You know, I saw the waiters stealing from the VIP section.”

“They must’ve needed the berry,” you replied.

“Nah, I don’t think it was that.”

“Are you telling me that you’re a pirate who doesn’t steal?”

“Well,” he drawled, “I wouldn’t say that.”

You shook your head. “If you have questions about the performance then you can ask Estella. She’s in charge. Not me.”

“Okay!” Luffy’s long strides had an easier time catching up to Estella than you did. “Madam Estella, I have a question.”

You doubted she’d tell him about her longest-running con. The performance on every full moon was a front, a ruse, for you to use your devil fruit ability and clear out the pockets of Nightingale’s richest tourists. In the early days, before you settled on Nightingale Island, you used your voice to help you and Estella out of a dozen—no, a hundred—different situations. You had beguiled ship captains for free passage, slipped from Marine arrest, and incited brawls among rival pirates. Thankfully, that part of your life was over. You lived a quiet, comfortable life now. You sighed.

“Are you alright?” Sanji asked.

“Huh?” You blinked, surprised by his genuine tone. Who are these people? They were unlike any other pirates you had met.

“Not everyone walks away from a fight like that without shaking.”

“It’s not the first time they’ve come around,” you explained. “The three bird islands; nightingale, sparrow, and heron, they visit them every six months.”

“There isn’t a marine base on this island.” He placed a cigarette between his lips and lit it. “So, what happens usually?”

“Estella pays them off.” You frowned at the back of Estella’s head, her long silver-white braid swaying behind her chair. “I guess she forgot to do it or...something.” Your frown deepened.

Estella always remembered her payments. The bloody bandits were punctual and came to the island at the end of the six-month mark without delay. Estella put their payment inside a marked tree hole near the port. Did someone steal it? Or did Estella want the bandits to arrive?

“I doubt they’ll return anytime soon,” Sanji said, exhaling smoke.

You’re more than inclined to agree with him. The bloody bandits wouldn’t return to Nightingale until they had regrouped their forces and stitched their wounds. You hoped they wouldn’t seek retribution and worried, not for the first time, how safe this island was. You and Estella used to spend no more than a year in one place. You weren’t sure why she chose to place roots here, but you had your assumptions.

As Sanji had said, Nightingale Island lacked a military presence which allowed for more freedom. But, more than that, the local community of the island was close-knit and supportive. The tourists came to the island to walk the beaches of black sand, witness the migration of massive sea turtles during mating season, and explore the multiple caverns and caves scattered throughout the island’s wilderness. The three bird islands were known for their impressive networks of caves and the East Blue had no shortage of daredevils seeking their claim to fame or bored rich people.

Your two-story home was built next to the orphanage. At the gate, Estella stopped in front of a statue of a kneeling woman surrounded by children and she – as she always did – kissed her fingertips and touched the statue’s face. A bronze plate on the statue’s base read: ‘Thus you shall go to the stars’.

“Celesta?” Nami said, “is she someone famous from here?”

“No.” Estella’s brown eyes were glassy in the raw, sharp moonlight and she gazed upon the countenance of the statue with longing. “She was my daughter.”

Usopp’s expression was painfully sympathetic. You were tempted to look away, but you forced yourself to meet his tender gaze. These pirates are so weird.

“Your mom?” he asked.

You said, “No.”

Celesta was like a big sister to you, but you didn’t miss her like Estella did.

“I built the orphanage for her,” Estella explained, “I may have failed her as a mother, but I promised myself that I wouldn’t fail again for any other child in this world.”

A heavy, melancholy silence fell over the group and it felt like wearing an oversized itchy sweater. You stepped ahead and said, “I’ll get cleaned up and start dinner. Maybe you can give them a tour, Grandma?”

The sorrow on Estella’s face dimmed. “What a lovely idea, dear.”

There that’s better. You hated to see Estella haunted by her regrets. She was a good person. What happened between her and Celesta wasn’t her fault, but you had had that conversation before and it led to dead-ends and tears every time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A warm huff of steam fanned your face. Your tongs, holding one of the lobster tails, dripped with hot water as you fished them out to let them cool.

Estella’s kitchen was a myriad of colors. The children liked to draw and Estella never told them ‘No, children, you can’t draw on the furniture’. The light wood counter was decorated with ugly chickens, girls holding hands, and flowers and snails. The support beams were scratched with measurements of height and hearts and turtles and clouds.

When the children first started, you hated it. You told Estella to tell them to stop and she had looked at you with so much sadness in her eyes that you stormed off. Later, she had said, ‘My dear, you can draw on the walls too.’ and you argued that you weren’t a baby anymore and Estella had stroked the side of your face and said ‘Don’t let him take your joy away, don’t give him that power.’

It had taken you a while to realize that you were angry at the young children because you were jealous. You never got to draw on the walls as a child and it wasn’t fair that they could. But, you grew up and stopped caring about the conglomeration of artwork that decorated Estella’s kitchen.

Someone knocked on the door frame and said, “Would you like some help?”

Sanji leaned onto the doorframe, hands in his pockets, a soft curl of his blonde hair falling artfully over his brow.

You dropped a spoonful of oil onto the cast iron pan. “You can cook?”

“Did you miss my introduction?” he asked, “I said I was the chef on the Going Merry.”

Huh. You had to have missed it. You were too busy thinking about Luffy’s declaration and his fierce determination reflected in his eyes.

Sanji was framed in the colors of summer and misty plumes of vapor shrouded your line of sight. You swallowed. Normally, cooking on performance night was unheard of. If the bloody bandits hadn’t attacked, then the kitchen at the golden cupid would’ve made dinner for you and Estella. Fuck it. You wouldn’t mind his help.

“I’m making seafood paella,” you said.

“What can I do?”

“The onions, tomatoes, and garlic need to be chopped.”

“Aha.” He smiled. “Easy enough.”

You picked up a wet, slimy shrimp and began to devein it with a small knife. You didn’t look at Sanji beside you, but you felt his eyes flickering to you, the weight of words unsaid lingering in the air between the scent of cooked rice and lobster. Chop, chop, chop – Sanji’s hand was steady and practiced, and his technique was precise. He’s doing a better job than I ever could.

“What herbs are you using?”

You gestured with your knife to Estella’s recipe pinned to the wall. It had been your saving grace for years because you were hopeless without her explicit directions.

“Saffron, paprika, cayenne, pepper flakes, salt,” you replied, “and I’ve got fresh parsley to serve it with.”

“Do you like to cook?”

You laughed and the rhythm of Sanji’s knife against the cutting board stuttered.

“Not really.” You picked up another shrimp. “I learned because Estella doesn’t want to hire anyone to cook for her.”

“Why not?”

Because she trusts four people in this entire world and I’m one of them.

“You’re a curious bunch of pirates,” you said instead of answering his question.

“Curious as in strange,” he said, tilting his head, “or curious as in nosy?” He smiled and the light caught a flicker of silver beneath his tongue, well-hidden, but noticed by you.

You clarified, “Nosy.”

“You and Estella are an interesting pair.” He added rice to the pan without your instruction and you were grateful you didn’t need to walk him through it. “She reminds me of someone – someone I used to work for.”

The fondness in his tone surprised and intrigued you. You met Sanji’s clear blue eyes. Wild blue, you thought, the color of the cloudless sky while at sea…so much blue that you could stare and go mad. The aromatic, earthy spices flooded your nostrils, the shrimp was cold between your fingers, and your heart did a funny, backward somersault.

“Your dynamic is familiar,” he said, adding tomatoes and green beans to the dish and increasing the heat. “And perhaps it’s made me a little homesick.”

Homesick for what? For who? You wondered.

“It’s a long story.”

He wiped the countertop and said, “We have time.”

Too bad, you thought, I’m not telling you anything. Your history with Estella wasn’t meant to be shared. It was safer that way. Yes, the straw hats were pirates who saved 'the golden cupid', but that didn’t mean you trusted them. Trust had to be earned and fought for.

“Who does Estella remind you of?”

“It’s a long story,” he said, stirring the rice.

Your heart repeated its funny, little somersault. You shook your head and took the parsley from the herbs hanging off the wooden rack. Your knife work was much, much clumsier than Sanji’s and you roughly chopped the parsley before setting it aside in a small bowl.

Sanji cleared his throat. “Didn’t you say you were using parsley for the garnish?”

“Yeah, why?” You asked while wiping the knife clean with a rag.

His eyes remained on the paella when he replied, “Because you chopped oregano.”

Your jaw was unhinged and a warm, prickly heat clawed its way up your neck. You dumped the bowl’s contents into the trash.

“The fresh herbs aren’t labeled!” you retorted, embarrassment sharpening your tone.

“Here”–he reached over your shoulder and plucked the aforementioned herb free– “It’s this one.”

His lanky arm brushed against your shoulder and you caught a whiff of vanilla with a spicy undertone, wholly unrelated to the seafood dish cooking nearby. I think I’m having a heart issue, you thought worriedly, maybe I’ll see a doctor tomorrow.

“Thanks.”

“Normally I wouldn’t say anything. It’s not my kitchen, after all, but…” He pushed his hair out of his face, smiling. “I couldn’t let a wonderful dish like this be ruined with oregano.”

Your eyes connected through the misty clouds of fragrant steam. Once again, you were baffled by these pirates—by this man in particular—who fought nearest to you and offered his help in a stranger’s kitchen. It doesn’t matter how interesting they are, you reminded yourself, they’ll leave tomorrow. No one stays on Nightingale Island. Pirates especially weren’t known for their desire to stay put.

“Is dinner ready yet? I’m starving,” Luffy asked, bounding into the kitchen. “Neat drawings. Are these yours?”

You broke eye contact with Sanji.

“No, they’re from some of the children next door.”

“I like this one,” he said, pointing at a child’s rendition of Gold Rodger. “Do you think they’ll draw me once I’m King of the Pirates?”

You smiled. “If you’re lucky.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When dinner was served, Estella said, “Oh good, you didn’t burn the rice this time.” You covered your face with your hands and groaned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After dinner, Estella ushered everyone into her ‘trinket room’. Zoro didn’t know why the old bat didn’t show this room during her tour, but he wasn’t going to ask. The tour had been a waste of time and consisted of everyone else asking a dozen questions to which Estella answered with long-winded stories and unrelated anecdotes. He wished, more than once, that he was back on the ship taking a nap. The chilly room was as large as the dining room and filled with...junk. Old paintings of beaches lined the wall and glass display cases contained rocks and jars of dirt.

Nami’s face lit up at Estella’s collection of brass telescopes and Luffy smeared his face and palms against a glass box at the center of the room.

“Noticed those, have you, Luffy?” Estella asked.

Zoro peered around Luffy’s shoulder. It was a glass box with more boxes inside. There were four stands, although one was empty. A jade box, an onyx box, and a lapis lazuli box were stored within the glass. The boxes were etched with lines, like impressions, and Zoro scratched the back of his head. What’s the big deal?

He asked, “Do you have any swords?”

“No.” She shook her head. “They’re too expensive.”

He exhaled shortly through his nose. She wasn’t lying. He hadn't found a swordsmith yet, but his broken blades were a lost cause. He would need to buy brand new ones before they entered the grand line.

You draped a blanket over Estella’s lap and stood next to her. She’s protective. His eyes trailed across your shoulders to your arms. She’s strong, though. He wouldn't have guessed it on his first impression. You had stood on the destroyed remnants of wood and glassware, drenched in blood, and didn’t waver.

“Have you heard of the great pirate Pandora?” asked Estella.

“No,” Luffy replied eagerly, “who were they?”

“It’s said that Pandora hid her treasures inside these puzzle boxes.” Estella smiled. “It’s my dream to someday have all four.”

“You should find them. You’ve already got three,” Luffy said, pointing to the case.

“Grandma is a little too old to travel the East Blue hunting fairy tales,” you interjected.

“I don’t think so,” Luffy said, “if you have a dream then you should go for it. Your age doesn’t matter.”

Estella smiled again, but you didn’t object to Luffy’s bold optimism this time. This – at least – he understood. Some people heard Luffy speak but they didn’t listen to what he was saying. Even if I’m old and graying...I’m going to be the world’s greatest swordsman. Hopefully, he would hold the title until his death.

“Where did you get all this stuff?” Usopp asked.

A chubby black cat strutted into the room and Estella patted her lap.

“All over,” she said, “my granddaughter and I explored quite a bit of the East Blue before we settled here.”

That topic gathered everyone’s attention but his. You sat on your knees by Estella’s lap and scratched the cat behind the ears, offering gentle corrections to Estella’s story, but otherwise remained quiet.

Hmph, he thought, this is weird. When you had performed, Zoro forgot to breathe, to move, every nerve-ending was alive and buzzing at the saccharine sound of your voice. But whatever happened within the golden cupid had faded. Now, the only person on the crew who was affected by you was Sanji and that was because the shitty cook couldn’t tie his shoes if a beautiful woman was nearby. Idiot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You paced. Your bedroom was bathed in pale moonlight. There was no hope of sleeping tonight. The joyful songs of crickets and calm ocean waves fell on deaf ears. You couldn’t sleep with strangers in the house. Estella offered them the guest bedrooms which were upstairs with yours’. Every creak of the floorboards and every clanging interior pipe brought your hair on end. You scooped Mimi up and the overweight cat purred in your arms, but wouldn’t be held for long before she jumped free.

“I see how it is,” you grumbled, “you’re my best friend when I’m slicing tuna, but you won’t keep me company tonight?”

Mimi pawed at your closed door and looked over her shoulder, her big eyes flashed, reflective in the moonlight.

“Spoiled.” You opened your door. Mimi sauntered into the dark hallway, her tail curved into a question-mark shape and twitching. I’m not sleeping so I might as well take a walk. You tightened the sash on your robe and followed Mimi down the stairs. When you first moved to Nightingale Island, you walked at night because you were afraid that someone from your past was inside every shadow. You walked to ease your nerves and prove to yourself that no cutthroats or bounty hunters were hiding in barrels or waiting on the black beaches. The weathered floors welcome your bare feet in gentle familiarity. You skipped the second to last step on the stairwell—knowing it creaked like a gunshot—and you didn’t want to wake Estella who slept on the first floor. Mimi pranced by your legs, demanding your attention, and you gently nudged her away with your foot.

“Traitor, I’m not feeding you.”

Mimi, who you were convinced understood human language, made a soft ‘mrrow�� chirp before she abandoned you and darted toward Estella’s room. You better not wake her you little rat. You quietly opened the backdoor and silently closed it behind you. The brackish night breeze stirred your silken robes and teased your exposed ankles. You inhaled deeply and found a semblance of peace in the quiet freedom of being outside. The backyard wasn’t large, but the bordering underbrush led to narrow pathways created by the tiny, traversing feet of children straight to the ocean. I walked these paths first, you thought, pushing a branch aside before the children came to live next door.

The closer to the ocean you got, the lighter your steps became, and the tension in your shoulders relaxed. I should check the drop-off tree, you remembered your conversation with Sanji. There’s no way Estella forgot to pay them. You hadn’t wanted to ask her while the Straw Hats were visiting because you didn’t want them to start asking for payments, too. You had seen Estella’s accounting books. The golden cupid fared well, but there was a reason she continued her long-con with you. The berry stolen from wealthy tourists helped provide for ‘Celesta’s Home for Lost Children’.

A swordsman drenched in gossamer light and made ethereal stood beneath the arching palm trees. Your heart bounced into your throat. They’ve found me. They’ve finally found us. Your lip wobbled. The swordsman had to have heard you—although you didn’t recall making a sound—because he turned his head. The three golden earrings dangling from his earlobe caught a fraction of moonlight and glinted.

“Zoro?” You rubbed your palm against your terrified heartbeat.

“Hey,” he greeted you like it was normal to stand around in the middle of the night.

The cool sand threaded through your toes as you walked towards him.

“What are you doing?” Your voice was apprehensive and a foreboding sense of doom gripped your lungs. What if he isn’t part of the Straw Hats? He infiltrated them, and earned their trust, but his true goal was to come here and kill us. It didn’t matter how friendly they all appeared whilst at dinner. Maybe all of them are bad. They’re all hired killers. A memory of warm blood squirting onto your robes, the bandit’s fingers twitching on the floor, and Zoro’s intense, focused expression as his dark eyes met yours through the arcing spray of blood. Your heart skipped and you resisted the urge to run back home. If Zoro was dangerous, then you needed to kill him first and then secure the house.

He said, “’m looking for the kitchen.”

You looked around in case this was a strange stress-induced dream. Or maybe you had missed the creaky step and tripped over Mimi and you were unconscious on the floor.

“You are outside.”

“I got turned around,” he replied nonchalantly, resting his wrist on his sword hilt. “You?”

“I was taking a walk.” You adjusted the front of your robe to ensure it was closed. “I like walking.” Why did I tell him that? He didn’t need to know.

Zoro looked away to the rolling dark blue waves and glittering black sands. The tide was going out, pulling seashells and seaweed with it. Maybe Zoro was drunk. That would explain how he managed to wander out of the house. Great, he’s just a drunken swordsman. Nothing to be afraid of. As much as you wanted to leave Zoro here and let him find his way, you knew Estella wouldn’t be happy if she found out that you abandoned her guest. Drunk or not—you had to help him.

“Can I walk you back to the house?” you asked, “and I’ll even show you where the kitchen is.”

Zoro shrugged. “Sure.”

Your eye twitched. Deep breath, you said to yourself, he’s drunk and lacks social manners.

There was a strange phenomenon that always occurred whenever you took your nightly walks when the walk to the ocean was shorter than the walk home. However, tonight, that phenomenon didn’t happen. You were hyper-aware of Zoro’s nearly silent steps in the sand behind you. The palm trees whispered secrets overhead. The ocean’s lullaby grew quieter and quieter. Every few steps, you wanted to check over your shoulder and ensure he was upright and coherent and didn’t get lost again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You tell Zoro to help himself to any food or drink within Estella’s pantry. ‘She won’t drink it all,’ you had said. You stopped before leaving him and gripped the doorframe—a red sun was doodled near your thumb. It was as bright as blood. You swallowed and turned partway to see him. If you were going to say it, then you might as well face him when you did. He leaned against the countertop with the beer bottle’s neck dangling between his long fingers. You couldn’t read his expression. Bored, maybe? He was nowhere near as animated as the rest of his crew. The kitchen light muddled his mossy hair, making it appear a sickly yellow-green.

“Zoro?”

“Hm?” His dark, pensive eyes jumped from a spot on the floor and locked with yours. Now or never, your other hand flexed into a relaxed fist, I would be dead and gone if not for him. You thought of Estella building a statue in your honor, kissing her fingers and pressing her wrinkled palm against your stone cheek.

“Thank you for saving my life.” The words rushed out of you, jumbled and earnest. You blinked back your tears, tilting your face from Zoro before he could notice the telltale glossiness of your eyes. Your heartbeat echoed a lonely thrum in your ears.

The silence stretched, elongating like the streaks of moonlight through shadows of palm leaves. Why hasn’t he said anything? He was drunk, probably, and maybe didn’t hear you. But you couldn’t say it again. It would be mortifying to say it twice.

Your forearm and elbow trembled as the edge of the doorframe bit into your tightly curled fingers.

“It wasn’t personal,” said Zoro, finally breaking his silence.

You nodded, curt and short, and left Zoro to his lukewarm beer and quiet contemplation—or perhaps it truly was boredom.

You skipped the second step on the stairwell because it creaked like a broken ship’s hull and you definitely didn’t want to wake Estella. You were afraid everything would spill out of you if you saw her: your confusion and curiosity about the Straw Hats, your present fears, the tense moments you had shared with Zoro, and the quiet ones shared with Sanji, and the light you saw in her eyes when she shared her trinket room and talked about Pandora.

Your heart was pounding by the time you reached your room and closed the door, leaning your knobby spine against it. You rubbed your tired eyes with your fists. How could one day feel like ten years?

“Mrreooow!” Mimi called from the other side of the door.

“Rat,” you said affectionately, opening it, and following her to your bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a/n: this chapter was supposed to be so much shorter lmao. i hope u are all having a lovely time <3 thank u for reading

#one piece fanfiction #reader insert #zoro x reader #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro x you #sanji x reader #sanji x you #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x you #zoro x sanji #zoro x sanji x reader #zoro x sanji x you #sanji x zoro #sanji x zoro x reader #opla fanfic #one piece live action fanfic #lets see how long i manage to make little banners for the fic lmao #dont be surprised if i drop them after the third chapter

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enigmatist17 · 4 months ago

Text

Bruno had awoken in the middle of the night with a vision so clear it had sent him crashing to the floor from his bed.

Two men in a village not far from Encanto, one longing for the family he loves while the other watches with a heart stained black with greed. A toast, poison-laced tequila that takes away a man who only wanted to return home, a red book filled with music that would make his career span the world.

Judging by the tablet that lay splayed beside Bruno, this would happen and happen soon. Despite never having braved the world for a vision of a non-Encanto native, Bruno's heart broke for the man who would be taken too soon, unable to spread the joy his music most likely did. After knock knock knock knock knocking on his wooden floor, Bruno decided to do something estúpido, not one to ignore a gut feeling as he packed a small travel bag and snuck out of Casita. Encanto must have known of his vision, as a horse was awaiting the nervous clairvoyant only a few feet from the back entrance, the two heading towards a path that the Miracle opened for him.

Well, if that wasn't a sign this man was already welcome in the town, Bruno couldn't tell you otherwise.

It took him a day and a half to reach the town he'd only heard of due to Agustín and his family when they had joined their town. Bruno was already exhausted from being so far from his home, but one look at the tablet he'd hurriedly stuffed in his bag steeled his resolve.

Sí, you can do this, Bruno.

Being an obvious outsider, Bruno gets a few looks, but everyone seems pleasant enough when he inquires about a few musicians. It's a bit of a change that he's not ashamed to bask in, the usual whispers and glares from those who had dubbed him el malvado brujo Bruno far away for now. It's nearing dusk when Bruno finally spies the two men from the vision; the broader man of the duo is laughing about something while the taller man just smiles at his supposed friend. He had heard the last of their show when he approached the square they'd performed in, hanging back to ensure he could spot them from the crowd.

Friend indeed.

Wringing his hands, Bruno watches the two head for a room they were sharing, where poisoned tequila most likely sat. Knocking on the wooden bench beside him for good luck, the clairvoyant made his move, waiting for the two to pass where he stood before clearing his throat and heading for the broader man.

"Eh, Señor?"

"Hola, how can I help you?" The potential killer raised an eyebrow but smiled, and for a moment, Bruno could see how he'd hid his greed.

"Lo siento, but my hermana watched your performance tonight, and was too shy to speak with you afterward..."

"Oh?" The man looked flattered, his taller friend rolling his eyes playfully. "Is your hermana still around, perchance?"

"Sí sí, by the fountain across town. Figured it would give her time to breathe and calm down, no?" Bruno chuckled, pointing the opposite way they were facing. "Would you do me the honor of speaking to her?"

"I could never turn down such a request, and I promise to bring her home before too long."

"Good, or I'll have words." Bruno forced a laugh, and the man handed off his guitar to his friend before hurrying off without a backward glance.

"Ah Ernesto, never one to turn from a pretty woman." Bruno gave an awkward smile that faded the moment this Ernesto was gone.

"We must hurry, before he realizes my lie." The man blinked at that, frowning at Bruno, who had begun heading for his room. "Come, come, we must get your things."

"What are you talking about? Why did you lie to my friend?" The musician didn't start walking, and the slightly hunched-over man in a green ruana looked back at him with a panicked look.

"Please, I will explain, but we must move."

"I'm not going anywhere until you speak to me, Ernesto is my friend, not someone to be afraid of."

"He plans to kill you." The musician's eyes went wide at that, before narrowing in anger.

"That is ridiculous, he is mi amigo!" The ruana clad man ran a hand through his curly hair with a shake of his head, and dread settles in the bottom of his stomach at the certainty in his gaze.

"I will explain, but he knows you want to return home to your familiar, and cannot let that happen. You write the music, the music he needs, and nothing will stand in his way." Desperation drips from nearly every word as they stand in the street, and Bruno hopes the other will finally listen to him. "We must go, please."

"I..." Bruno watches the musician turn to look where Ernesto had gone, and something must have clicked, as he turns back to the seer with an expression he can't place. "...come, our room isn't far."

Ernesto returns to a half-cleared room an hour later, a single piece of paper lying on what had been his friend's bed.

I hope you make it without me

His enraged yell echoed throughout the town, far behind where Bruno and the man he still didn't know the name of rode off on his horse.

---

"So...you see the future."

"Sí."

"And it told you Ernesto would kill me?"

"Sí."

"And you left your magical village to save me?"

"Sí."

"...and you didn't even know my name?"

"Sí."

"....why?"

"....I don't know."

"...huh." Not the most stimulating conversation Héctor had ever had, but it was definitely the strangest. If he hadn't been running on no sleep for the last day as he and his mysterious savior had ridden for the next town's train station, Héctor would have imagined a night of heavy drinking would be responsible for such a strange hallucination. Now, here they were, sharing a small room for the night while Héctor tried to think of what to do next, after making it home of course.

Save for the fact he held a glowing tablet in his hands, what would have been his corpse splayed in the street while Ernesto walked away with his guitar.

"Do...would you like me to get rid of that?" The ruana-wearing man, no Bruno, wrung his hands nervously, clearly regretting showing Héctor the vision of his death. Without a word Héctor held out the tablet, eyes going wide as it turned into sand the moment Bruno touched it, the strange man's eyes glowing the same green.

"What was that?" Héctor leaned forward in his seat in curiosity, frowning slightly when Bruno seemed surprised at the tone.

"My...Gift uses sand, I-I usually reuse it like that." Bruno had sat on top of the single table in the room, eyes still glowing as he made the sand float up off the floor and onto the hand he held out.

"That is amazing! Can everyone do this in your magic town?"

"Eh n-no, no it's only mi familia who have Gifts." Bruno knocked on the table after depositing the sand within his ruana, before shaking his head with a soft smile. "Um, y-you'll see when you come to Encanto..."

"What?" Héctor blinked, and watched as Bruno cursed under his breath. "My family is back in México, I must return..."

"There...lo siento, you're right." Bruno winced, trying not to fidget too hard at the soft smile sent his way. "I forget the world is so big sometimes, you know?"

"I would if I lived in a magic town!" Héctor laughed, sitting forward a little bit more. "So, tell me of this Encanto, we have time."

So Bruno does, keeping the worst bits of the town's reception of his particular powers to himself while regaling Héctor of the town and family he loved so dearly. They share a drink and laugh until the sun rises, and the distant noise of Héctor's train grows louder with each moment it comes closer. Bruno susses out the train and its occupants to ensure Ernesto isn't to be found, both he and Héctor relieved the undoubtedly angry man was nowhere to be seen. Despite his polite refusal, Bruno gifted Héctor a small compass that didn't appear to point anywhere specific alongside a small map.

"I-If you and your familia ever want to come visit, this will show you the way." The musician smiled and gave his new friend a small hug, parting when the train rang out for last call. "Travel safe and lowkey."

"You as well, and make sure you rest when you get home!" Bruno gave a smile that wasn't full of anxiety, and waved to Héctor as he ran for his car and hopped on, waving back before going to get settled in for his journey.

It had been nice to sit and talk with someone who enjoyed his presence, and Bruno hoped his new friend would make his way home safely as he rode back for Encanto. A fuming Mamá and his hermanas nearly tackled Bruno off his borrowed horse the moment he rode into view of Casita, distressed he had vanished for three days, but equally as relieved to see him unharmed. It takes a few tries to get them all to settle down long enough to tell them why he'd gone in such a hurry, but once they learn the tale of betrayal, they calm down slightly.

"He seems like he would have been a good fit for the Encanto." Mamá patted his shoulder as Julieta stress-baked a fresh meal for Bruno, Pepa sitting by the doorway in case he tried to run.

Oh no, one adventure beyond the mountains was enough.

"Sí, we don't have many musicians." After a lunch where Bruno felt more hostage than anything else, life in Encanto returned to its regular beat.

That is, until about seven months later, when Pepa came rushing into the town square, going for a special bell that was barely rung these days. It signified newcomers that the Miracle had accepted, ones in desperate need of aid. There were plans in place when the townsfolk heard the noise, Julieta leading the search party of nearly a dozen with a wagon and some of her emergency healing food up and into the hills. They find a group of five struggling over the crest of the magical mountains that hid Encanto from the world, all drenched to the bone from the storm that raged past its borders that usually appeared to hide those unknowingly seeking safety. The man leading the group held a familiar token in his hands, stopping short when they crossed into a sunny valley that wasn't there a second ago, standing protectively in front of the other three behind him when they saw the welcoming party.

"W-Who are you?"

"We're not here to harm you, you're safe now." Julieta stepped forward with her arms slightly raised, the ragged group staying together in uncertainty. "The compass, it led you here because you needed our help."

"I...Bruno gave it to me?" The man blinked, his wife moving to steady him as his shoulders slumped in relief. "Do you know him?"

"I should hope so, he's my hermano." Julieta smiled, motioning for two of the townsfolk behind her to step forward. "Come, your journey is at an end."

"Do you have a blanket? Mi hija's is soaked."

"We have some for all of you, allow us." The four-and-a-half-year-old girl who had been held by one of the twin males behind the couple was grateful for a soft blanket that wasn't wet, cooing to her tío as they were led to the wagon to finally rest. The wagons the family had traveled with were on their last legs, both riddled with marks that showed they'd been attacked more than once on their journey, and preparations were made to bring everything into town once they returned for more hands. For now, the mules they'd been hitched to were released and taken for treatment as the family was loaded up and carried to Casita, clearly relieved to be safe and sound. A red-headed woman was waiting for them beside a man who seemed to be her husband, rocking her infant as they awaited the newcomers, an older woman standing beside her with a reassuring smile as the ragtag group piled out of the wagon once it had stopped.

"Welcome to the Encanto. My name is Alma Madrigal, and let me be the second to welcome you to our home."

"I can't believe this is real.." The tallest member of the group mumbled, offering his hand when Alma approached him.

"I assure you, it is Señor?" Her hand was warm in his, and it took a moment for his exhausted brain to catch up.

"Héctor Rivera, along with my wife Imelda and her hermanos Óscar and Felipe, and mi mija Coco." Alma shook all of their hands, and gently rubbed the top of the exhausted toddler's head with a fond smile.

"It is a pleasure to finally meet the man my hijo spoke of, but there will be time for that later. Come, you look in need of a hot meal and plenty of sleep, and we will tend to all of that for you." Alma smiled, motioning for the younger woman behind her. "Pepa, would you show them the way?"

"Sí, follow me." She gave them a warm smile, and the Rivera family filed into the massive home in considerably higher spirits than they'd had in a long time.

---

The magic house, er Casita, had been kind enough to do most of the work for the newcomers, entertaining Coco with moving floor tiles while all the adults washed up and changed into clean clothes after caring for her first. Seeing furniture and clothing come from thin air was...a lot to get used to, but after eating a hot meal, they all passed out in the guest bedroom with the slightest nudge. Héctor woke up at some point, checking over his family before deciding a glass of water wouldn't hurt, carefully sneaking out of bed and past his brother-in-law's without making a sound.

"Er...house? Casita? Where is the kitchen?" For a moment, nothing happened, but soon some of the floor tiles began to flip over, forming a line down the hallway. "Oh...gracias." Héctor slowly traveled through the magic house as the aches and pains from long days traveling made themselves known, yawning as he turned a corner only to pause at the sound of some voices.

"- tea?"

"Sí, I don't think food would stay." Oh, that sounded like Bruno! Smiling at the thought of the strange friend he'd made, Héctor moved a little faster to the end of the hall, peering around the corner to see the massive kitchen a few feet away. Bruno was sitting on the floor propped up against some of the cabinets, his eyes glowing brighter than Héctor had seen a few months ago, rubbing his temples with a slight hiss. "They made it safely?"

"Sí, exhausted but only scrapes and bruises." Julieta paused her tea-making to run a hand through her brother's hair, earning a soft hum of contentment. "Héctor is very tall no?"

"Mhm, that was my first thought too." Bruno grinned, Julieta leaning down to hand him a fresh cup of tea. "Didn't see it in the vision."

"Mhm, I'm not surprised. Did your vision mention he's an eavesdropper, too?" Bruno looked up mid-sip as Héctor squeaked, revealing himself with an awkward wave.

"Lo siento, I had come for some water, and didn't want to interrupt." Julieta raised an eyebrow but motioned him to come in while fetching a pitcher. She was surprised to see he wasn't taken aback by Bruno's glowing eyes, the newcomers crouching down in front of him with a smile. "It's good to see you again!"

"Sí, although I saw you first." The clairvoyant whispered with a slightly amused look. "I-It's how the town knew you were coming."

"I did wonder, gracias for that. I don't think we could have gone much further, it's been a long few days." Bruno gave him a sympathetic look, reaching over to gently pat Héctor's arm. "You weren't kidding, your house really is magic."

"Did Casita start rocking the beds yet?" Bruno chuckled, the glow in his eyes fading as Julieta returned with some water. "Scared me when I was younger sometimes."

"No..." Héctor looked a bit nervous to hear that, accepting the cool glass and downing it in one go. "Gracias."

"Casita will behave...for now." The elder Madrigal chuckled, offering a hand to both men. "Now, everyone can use some sleep hm?"

"Yes mamá." Bruno scoffed as Héctor muffled a laugh, Julieta getting them up onto their feet with her own grin.

"Buenas noches, we'll catch up in the morning." Bruno patted Héctor's arm before heading for his room, Julieta tilting her head slightly.

"I've never seen his post-vision migraine clear so quickly, what did you do?"

"Eh, just talked with him." Héctor was a bit uncomfortable with the look that seemed to look to his very core, similar to the one his wife often did when he was estúpido about something, but just smiled as she finally slipped the pitcher into his hand. "Is he alright?"

"For now, but that's a conversation for another time. Buenas noches Héctor, don't be afraid to call if you need anything." Héctor nodded and followed Casita's trail back to his room, hoping his friend would get some rest.

Bruno watched him go from the second floor, relieved that once again, his vision had helped save someone, this time, especially someone he called a friend.

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