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archiveofvirtue · 6 days ago

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lovely kook!reader tries her hardest to avoid her ex bf!rafe, yet they unintentionally meet at the country club after her sudden disappearance from kildare island about a year ago

content / ex bf!rafe x fem!reader, lowkey toxic, rafe confronting reader, public arguing, reader lowkey hates kooks, topper and kelce being nosy, 2.1k words

notes / this is the start of my lovely kook!reader x rafe cameron (x jj maybank) trope, inspired by my own fanfic that I published on wattpad. prob not gonna line up with everything in the fic and might differ when it comes to the relationships or dynamics. storyline is roughly set around s1 but I pictured s2/s3 rafe while writing, feel free to imagine him however u want tho! enjoy <3

It had been one long, strange year since you had set foot on Kildare Island. The familiar winding roads, the ocean breeze rolling off the coast—everything seemed to have stopped, like a postcard frozen in time. But as you watched the streets of Figure Eight again, you knew that things were different now, at least for you.

There was a time when you’d loved this place, every privileged corner of it, but that had all died the day you’d left, slipping away in the dead of night without a word to anyone—not even Rafe.

Rafe. You barely let yourself think of him, but back at home, it was hard not to. He haunted every space you’d once felt safe in, like a ghost you couldn’t shake, a wound that kept opening just when it seemed to be healing.

You knew you’d see him eventually. But you definitely had no intention of rushing it.

Your first stop was Sarah Cameron though. The Sarah you used to be best friends with. You didn’t even make it up the driveway of your house before Sarah ran toward you, wide-eyed and disbelieving. There was a sense of relief while you two were hugging, tears spilling down both your faces as though the past year had melted away. But there was a hurt, too, a simmering anger in Sarah’s eyes when she pulled back.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sarah sniffled, her voice both angry and broken. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

You looked away, throat tightening as guilt clawed at you. “I couldn’t. There was too much… too much happening, Sarah. I didn’t want anyone else to get dragged into it.”

“And you think you didn’t hurt anyone by just leaving?” Sarah’s voice was calm, yet the pain in her eyes was obvious. “You hurt me, and Rafe—”

“Don’t,” you cut her off, the hurt in your own voice surprising you both. “Please.”

For now you didn’t want to think of him, you just wanted to do right by Sarah.

Soon you two sat on the porch together, and as the sun dipped low on the horizon, you opened up as much as you could, while Sarah led you into the crazy things that had happened in her family, yet there were some things she couldn’t say—not even to you.

But it was obvious that things were different in Sarah’s life now. Sure enough you weren’t the only one who had changed.

The next day you found yourself with your arms crossed sat in the back seat, as your parents drove you toward the country club. You stared out the window, jaw clenched, as you passed the manicured lawns and sprawling mansions of Figure Eight. You’d spent your whole life around the “kooks,” but now, after a year away, their pristine facades and carefully maintained smiles felt even more unbearable. You could already hear the empty chatter, the insincere “how have you beens” that would spill from every corner of the club.

Your parents, seated in the front, acted as if nothing had changed. As if you’d never vanished in the first place. Your mother had been chatting away, going on about the latest family news, updates from the other families you knew, parties you’d missed. All with that same flawless smile, the one you had once tried so hard to mimic, until you realized it was just another mask.

“Won’t it be nice to be back?” Your mom asked brightly, as if you had simply been on a long vacation.

You forced a tight smile, refusing to answer. You didn’t want to be “back.” You didn’t want to slide into this carefully molded life again, pretending to care about who had bought the newest yacht or who was dating whom. It was all so hollow, so far from the girl you’d become in your time away.

The club came into view, its grand facade stretching out against the sky, every line designed to impress. As you all pulled up, you spotted the familiar faces you’d once known so well—polished, proud, and utterly convinced of their own superiority. You felt a flicker of resentment twist in your chest. These people, so arrogant in their security, with their money and their reputations, hadn’t changed a bit. You doubted they’d even care to ask where you’d been or why you’d left. To them, you’d simply slipped right back into place, as if you were another part of the club’s decor.

You gritted your teeth as your father gave you a proud smile, as though parading you around the club was some grand triumph. But you knew the truth. You were just another polished dime in their collection, and that was all they wanted from you. The real y/n, with your broken past and unspoken truths, was something they’d never acknowledge.

You straightened, lifting your chin, your expression cool and defiant. Let them think what they wanted. You were back, but you wouldn’t fall into their world as easily as before. You were different now.

But then you spotted Mark, the clubs bartender and an old friend of yours. You quickly slid onto the barstool in front of him, trying to get away from the piercing eyes of the people. You two exchanged a few words, Mark catching you up on the most recent gossip of Kildare, but in the back of your mind you still had this uneasy feeling, the possibility of meeting Rafe here at this hour wasn’t really high, but it was still there..

You were almost starting to relax when you heard the low murmur of voices just behind you.

“Isn’t that y/n?” The voice was unmistakable—Topper, as easy to recognize as a long-lost memory.

A wave of anxiety hit you, wondering if Rafe was with him, but when you glanced back, your eyes met Kelce’s instead. Relief flooded you, and you gave them both a small wave. Topper and Kelce had been fixtures of your life in Figure Eight once upon a time, more Rafe’s friends than yours, but you’d spent enough time around them that you knew you could at least handle a quick chat.

“Y/N,” Kelce greeted, his surprise melting into a friendly grin. “Back from the dead, huh?”

You smiled a little at that, nodding. “Something like that.”

Topper gave you a once-over, shaking his head as if still trying to process that you were actually standing there. “You know, no one knew what happened to you. You just… left.”

“Yeah, I know.” You forced a tight smile. “I guess I had my reasons.”

You exchanged a few more awkward pleasantries, and you could feel their eyes flickering to each other, as if they wanted to ask more but were holding back. It was strange—normally, they’d be all over you for details, but now, they seemed guarded. And then, as if on cue, they went completely silent.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, glancing between them, suspiciously raising your brows at them.

But you didn’t have to wait long to find out.

“Y/N.” Rafe’s voice sounded from behind you, low and dark, charged with a barely-contained anger that made your stomach twist. You cursed under your breath, clenching your jaw before forcing yourself to turn around.

His gaze met yours, his ocean blue eyes widening with shock that quickly narrowed into something darker, more dangerous. He was silent, just staring at you like he was seeing a ghost. He could see the flash of something in your eyes—surprise, maybe a hint of guilt-but you lifted your chin, meeting him head-on.

“Rafe,” you replied evenly, fighting to keep your voice steady, though you could feel your heart hammering in your chest.

Topper and Kelce glanced between you, clearly uncomfortable, before they mumbled something about getting drinks and made a quick exit, leaving the two of you alone.

You stared at each other for a long moment, he looked good. Really good. His hair was slightly longer, the blonde tips hanging over his forehead.

Staring at him for a little too long you saw a flicker of something in his eyes—regret, maybe?—but you brushed it away. You couldn’t afford to let him get under your skin again. Not after what went down between you.

Rafe stepped closer, his expression twisted with the kind of disappointment that bordered on betrayal. “So, what, you just fucking waltz back into town like nothing happened?“

He stood slowly, stepping closer until you were nearly face to face. You could see the slight lines of fatigue around his eyes, could smell the hint of whiskey on his breath, mixed with his signature cologne. It brought back a flood of memories that you’d fought to bury.

“You just..,” he said, his voice thick with something that might’ve been hurt if you thought he was capable of it. “You like fucking with me, don’t you?”

You lifted your chin, your voice was icy, edged with a bitterness Rafe hadn't heard before. “What did you expect me to do, Rafe? Stick around after everything you pulled? After what you… made me do?”

He frowned, his jaw tightening as he processed your words that felt like a slap to the face. “Made you do? I didn’t make you do anything.” he echoed, his voice rising. “Do you even get how messed up it was, just disappearing like that? Leaving everyone behind, leaving ME behind without a word?”

A humorless laugh slipped from your lips, hard and cutting. Arguing in public like this definitely wasn’t planned, but at this point you didn’t care. “That’s the thing with you, Rafe. You don’t even realize the damage you cause, do you?”

He flinched, just a barely-there twitch of his jaw, but you caught it. For a moment, you almost felt a pang of pity for him. Almost.

“What happened, y/n?” he asked softly, his voice dropping to something almost vulnerable, caught off guard by the force of your resentment. The old you he remembered had looked at him like he hung the moon, but the woman in front of him now—was a stranger.

“Where’d you go? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you?” You repeated, a bitter edge creeping into your voice. “I didn’t owe you any explanations. I did what I had to do to protect myself.”

“From me?” he shot back, his voice cold. “That’s what you think, huh?”

You bit your lip, hating that he could still get to you, hating that despite your anger, some part of you still felt drawn to him. But you refused to give him any satisfaction. “You can’t change the past, Rafe. Just… stay out of my life.”

For a moment, his anger melted away, replaced by a flicker of pain that softened the hard lines of his face. But just as quickly, the hurt turned to anger again, and he took another step toward you, his voice a fierce whisper. “You think you had it all figured out in that pretty little head of yours, huh? You run away and pretend it’s all my fault?”

You held your ground, meeting his gaze with a defiance you didn’t have before. “Maybe it is. Or maybe we were just bad for each other. Either way, I’m not letting you drag me down again. Not this time.”

His face twisted, and you could see the realization dawn on him—you weren’t the girl he’d once had wrapped around his finger, not anymore.

Silence stretched between you as you waited for him to say something, anything, that might shift the weight of what you’d once had. But he just stared at you, and for the first time, he felt a sense of regret, an ache for what he’d lost. He wanted to reach for you, to say something that might bridge the gap between you. But he didn’t.

You released a shaky breath, the adrenaline slowly draining from your body. You’d known coming back to Kildare wouldn’t be easy, but facing Rafe again had torn open wounds you thought you’d closed for good.

One thing was certain, though—you wouldn’t let him break you again. You’d fought too hard to build yourself back up, and you weren’t about to fall apart now.

This time, you weren’t going to run away.

With that, you turned away from him, willing yourself not to look back, even though you felt his eyes on you as you walked toward the door. And before he could say anything to stop you, you were gone..

please let me know what u think 🎀

feel free to request anything for lovely kook!reader x rafe in my inbox !!

tags 🏷️ @gibson-g1rl @rafesangelita @rafescokewhore @rafesweetie @drewspinkbunny @drewsarms @starkeysprincess @starkeydolly @beausling @seasons-of-death @sematarygirls @dolcekissy @moremaybank @httpsdrewstarkey @t6urusmoon

#writers on tumblr #lovely kook!reader x rafe cameron ❀˖ °#rafe cameron x you #rafe obx #rafe cameron x reader #rafe outer banks #dating rafe cameron #rafe cameron #outer banks fic

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samkerrworshipper · 14 days ago

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the lawn is dead. pt.2

hi! i wrote a part 2! i’m on a unofficial hiatus but had some inspiration the last few days and had to finish this. hope it provides a little bit more comfort then the last chapter .. sorry xo

warnings: suicidal themes, self harm themes, themes of depression, anxiety, dark thoughts. viewer discretion advised.

You can describe the carpet of this office better then most people can describe themselves.

It’s a rug, for the most part, except for the where it’s clear a person has chosen laziness in favour of lifting up the heavier furniture to place the rug down underneath it. Where the rug doesn’t cover, there is bleak grey carpet that feels more boring then the time you spend in this room.

Where the carpet lacks in literally everything, the rug makes up for it blindingly.

It’s a messy mixture of far too many colours, pinks, purples, blues, greens and neutrals. It doesn’t make any sense in your mind, why somebody would chose for the focal point of their room to be a rug that doesn’t match with any of the furniture. It’s another sign that the furniture came before the rug, all of the furniture is dark mahogany, beautiful pieces that look as if they’ve come from and English period piece, whereas the rug looks so modern it’s almost painful.

The rest of the furniture has been picked with similar taste.

The painting on the wall looks like what a child would vomit after going to a birthday party. Every time you’ve come here you’ve had a new analogy, but this week that is the one, it looks like stomach contents and you can’t get past it, to the point it’s made you physically nauseated.

From the painting moves onto the bookshelf, where there is a odd mix of medical textbooks, classics and selfawareness books, all stacked in such disarray that you have to keep your eyes away because it makes you uncomfortable.

Beyond the furniture is your psychologist, with her stupid fucking note pad, stupid glasses perched on the very tip of her nose and stupidly calm face that never really changed.

She was supposed to be a specialist, the best of the best, supposed to be the greatest and getting to the bottom of the most famous athletes problems and yet you found pride in alluding her.

One hour, every four days was what you were down to now, a couple of weeks ago it had been every other day and that had been fucking torture.

Sometimes all you wanted to do was rip her eyeballs out, or her brains, or something else. You swore she made your ears bleed and your will to live deteriorate with every second and it was already pretty low.

“You can’t avoid my question forever.”

It was also that annoying tone that sent you, the sort of tone that meant she knew that technically for the whole of the hour she could ask you whatever she pleased and you were technically supposed to answer her. Defiance on your end just ended up in you being suspended from something else that made your life just a tiny bit more liveable.

“No, I haven’t talked to Mapi yet.”

You’ve been avoiding it, there have bits and pieces of homework from your therapist, but this one is by far the hardest.

“How about Alexia, how does she feel about that.”

You don’t want to tell her that you and Alexia are in shambles as it is, add on the pressure of her best friend being psychologically destroyed because of you and just talking about any of it at all and it’s like dynamite.

“Supportive.”

Your therapist nods, but in the way that you know she doesn’t quite believe you.

“Have you started to reintegrate with the team? I know last time we talked you mentioned that before the incident you’d been feeling quite isolated because of your ankle injury. It’s important that you start to normalise your life again before you start to self isolate.”

You don’t call it self-isolation, you like to call it self protection. You protect yourself by pushing against the grain, by keeping to yourself. It’s a lot easier that way.

“I’ve been busy.”

It’s a lie and a blatant one, your days are filled with complete nothingness. You can’t play football, not until she clears you, and you know that it’s not going to happen anytime soon based on the trend of your current sessions. There has been the same amount of progress as there was two weeks ago when you started with her. You shut down at every attempt she makes to try and open you up, you talk when you have to. It’ll probably get you sent back to a ward. You don’t remember much from your transition from the hospital to home, but you do remember signing something that referred to you making significant process or else you would be sent back.

Progress for your therapist is getting more then two word responses from you. You’re aware she’s in kahoots with Alexia, that Alexia is probably providing her more information then you are.

“You’re giving me the look that means that you’re writing something down along the lines of ‘unncooperative’.”

She is also in kahoots with the staff at Barcelona, another thing you signed was that she would work in conjunction with the clubs doctors to get you back to where you were, or somewhere in the vicinity.

They know every time you have a bad session, you’re guaranteed a consolation call from one of the coaches or even sometimes a teammate check-in telling you how brave you are and how strong you are for doing this.

You don’t agree, you nearly took the cowards way out and you’re proud of it. You wish it had fucking worked, every single second, of every single day, you wish you’d succeeded, wished that this hadn’t all ended up how it did.

“That’s not what I wrote, I wrote a observation. Uncooperative would be you refusing to speak to me like you did for our first two sessions, even if you lie it’s still trying.”

You don’t want to be curious of her, you’ve tried to give her as little attention as possible.

You’ve adapted the act that you call, therapised you.

You do your best job of smiling here and there, or at least when you know that you’re supposed to. Therapised you extends to a few people, Alexia, coaches, physios, people on the street.

You believe you’ve become a seasoned liar.

The funniest part is that sometimes you start to believe your act, you start to believe that all the ash and embers in your chest is really alight with flames, like you’re truly alive.

But then, you would pause, sit down, lie down, dissasociate and you would be reminded that that wasn’t your body. Your body wasn’t a place of life and prosper, it was as dead as anywhere else.

“What was the observation?”

You try not to be curious over her, or curious in general, you keep everything to yourself.

“You’ve told me time and time again that you attempted because you believed that not a single person would care if you were gone. Yet you wrote a letter, you knew that somebody would care, somebody would miss you. Guilt is what kept you from doing it earlier and guilt was what kept you from vanishing without a trace. Your conscience was clean in your own words, but that’s not true, your conscience was anything but clean. So what pushed you over?”

You hate that therapists have a way of worming out weird bits of information that they can use against you to worm out more bits of information, like they know your brain inside to out.

“My conscience was clean.”

Your therapist pulls her glasses up from her nose and scribbles on her pad again.

“Why’d you write a note then, specifically why did you write a note to your ex girlfriend?”

There are so many things you could say to that, but you can’t quite find the words.

“Let me rephrase to make it easier. When you were in the hospital, and Alexia reacted so viscerally, you weren’t surprised. You expected her to feel something about what happened, you didn’t seem surprised at all by her words or actions. You knew that she was going to be hurt by what you did. So, how was your conscience truly clean?”

Thinking about Alexia in the hospital makes you feel as nauseous as the furniture does.

Your still mad at her, still mad at yourself for never changing her as your medical contact and medical proxy. It had all been a clusterfuck.

“I didn’t know Alexia was going to be there, I though that she’d washed her hands of me. I left her a note because I thought there had been things left unsaid between us and I didn’t want to leave that way.”

Your therapist nods, she doesn’t scribble this time and that makes the itchy feeling all over you die down a little bit.

“Alright, let’s move on. Your ankle injury, how’s that going?”

You look to the window, it’s a horrible day outside, just your luck when you’d chosen to walk to your therapists office on what was supposed to be a 20 degree day with sunny skies. It was the epitome of your life, high expectations, low realities.

“Well three weeks between a hospital and psychiatric facility are probably the best thing anybody can do for a injury.”

You let out a self-deprecating chuckle and your therapist does nothing but scribble.

“So you’ve been doing your rehab as advised then?”

Rehab, both kinds, is mind-bogglingly boring. You go to your therapist and she tells you all the ways you have to work to rehab your brain, she gives you medication after medication and exercise after exercise. The same happens every time you see your physio, test after test, exercise after exercise.

Your stuck in the same cycle of boredom, it makes you wonder how people ever expect you to get better when all you are doing is living in a constant state of suffering.

“The physios are happy with me, say that if I continue on the track that I am I should be back on the pitch in a few weeks, with psychological clearance.”

At the current therapeutic rate your going at, you don’t think you’ll see a psychological clearance until your 50th birthday, if you’re lucky.

“How does it feel coming back from that injury, especially considering how the decline in your physical health simulatenously resulted in the decrease in your mental health?”

You keep silent, because you know that if you talk then it’s doing to be something emotional. When you don’t know how to answer questions without exposing yourself you opt to keep quiet, it’s a obvious tell that you feel uncomfortable with the question. But giving away a tell is a whole lot better then starting an emotional downpour.

“Y/n?”

You look at your shoes. You only were allowed to start wearing one on your bad foot a week ago, and you’d forgotten how hard it was to coordinate shoes with your clothes. This morning you’d thought that they matched with your pants but now they look much darker then they truly are against the grey carpet. The mix of your navy adidas that you might have stolen from Mapi’s wardrobe a couple of months ago when she was complaining about the amount of shoes she’d been sent with your grey wide leg pants was a interesting choice but therapy wasn’t a fashion parade. The shoes don’t quite fit your feet, that’sc how you remembered they weren’t yours. When you’d taken them, it had been during some kind of team bonding night at Mapi and Ingrid’s apartment. Life had been so good, Alexia and you had been so good and for once you’d kind of felt like you were beginning to fit in.You’d never felt that way before that era of your life.

But like most things, it was now a far distant memory.

“The injury wasn’t what made me depressed.”

It’s a half truth, you suppose. Yes, the injury definitely contributed to the factors that trigger your depression, but it wasn’t a sole cause.

“I disagree.”

More scribbling on her note pad, in your opinion it must be some psychological form of torture. You’ll google it when you get home, check to make sure that this isn’t a form of manipulation to somehow convince you to say the things that she wants you to.

“If you disagree then tell me why you think that.”

It’s daring of you to say, there is nearly a 99.99 percent chance that whatever she says you are going to deny vehemently. Even if she hits it right on the nail.

“I think that you don’t give yourself enough grace for the challenges that you’ve gone through. You came to Barcelona because you were running from things, from your past. You’ve never stopped running, truly. Everytime somebody gets close enough to begin to try and worm their feet into your shoes to try and relive some of it with you, you shut them down and stop it. For most people, shoes are a means of getting to where they want, for you, you keep running because if you stop you feel like you’ll suffocate, like your feet will be wrapped up in barb wire and you’ll be stuck. For whatever reason, you don’t think anybody will ever be able to empathise with that. You think that if you ever let anybody in for long enough that they learn what you’ve been running from that they’ll try and stop you, that you’ll be faced with everything that you’ve ever struggled with. So, you keep running, and running, you’ve always been in a state of escape. With your relationship, you finally stopped running, you slowed to a jog. Then, you got injured. All of a sudden you felt like you were stuck and instead of letting yourself finally come to a stop and accepting help and complete love for once in your life, and being vulnerable. You chose to start running again, running from your friends, running from your team, running from every single good thing that you’d gotten in your life until you were so consumed with all the running that you just wanted it all to stop. But you didn’t know how to stop parts of your life without stopping other parts, so you chose to stop it all.”

You don’t know what to say for a few seconds. You’ve never had the feeling that you’ve been experiencing your whole life summed up, you don’t know how to feel about it.

You look at your psychologist, and somehow she looks back at you in a way that you somehow feel like she understands, you’ve never really felt that way about her.

It’s always felt like she’s judging you, like it’s her job to judge every single thing you say. Or at least that’s the way you’ve always seen it. It’s her job to make sure you don’t fall of the rails again, to make decisions about what you can and can’t do. It’s never been a possibility for you that maybe she’s here for a little bit more then just the business side of it all.

“Is that it? Did you come to a point where it felt like you had no other option but to just make it all stop?”

You bite your lip so hard you think it might just bleed, it’s a mission to try and stop the tears that have begun to cling to the back of your eyes at bay. You’ve never cried during a therapy session, and there is no reason why today should be different. The amount of people you’ve cried in front of is limited to a very, very short list of people and you don’t intend for your psychologist to be added.

“It would be okay if that was it. It’s okay to admit that for you at that time it felt like there was no other option but to make it all stop.”

You feel muzzled, like you can’t speak without admitting to something that you don’t want to.

“I thought it would make it all better.”

Your therapist puts down her notepad, and you feel a whole load of anxiety rush out of you.

“You thought it would make what better?”

You keep your tooth pinned to your lip, if it draws blood, it draws blood. The pain helps to take your focus off of the word vomit you can feel coming up.

“Everyone else’s lives.”

Your response is croaky, and when your therapist points to the glass of water you don’t shake your head like normal, you find yourself reaching for it and taking a few tentative sips.

“What about your life, what about making your own life better?”

You take a few more sips, because it stalls the conversation for long enough that you can think up an answer that doesn’t make it sound like you are completely insane.

“I was never really thinking about it like that.”

You look at her, eye to eye again, and there is this weird understanding between the two of you. You can feel it, whether or not it’s real, for the first time you feel like you aren’t crazy for thinking the way that you do. It’s a weird kind of safety that you’ve never had.

“For a minute, I want you to close your eyes and think about exactly what you want, whether it’s the future, it’s right now. Not football, not other people, nobody else. Just you.”

You humour her, and close your eyes.

For a few seconds, you can’t think of much. You’ve never been a future thinker, not beyond emergency plans and second options.

You think about death for a few seconds, a couple of weeks ago it was all you could think of. Permanent, irreversible disappearance. Even then though, it wasn’t what you were actually yearning for, not truly, it was just an easy solution to complex problems, problems that still haven’t been solved.

You think long and hard, and eventually you find a pleasantness.

You want to resolve things with Alexia, you know that for sure. It’s been impossible trying to navigate your relationship in your new reality. You want to get to a place where it’s less impossible. You want happiness with her, pure happiness. You also want some kind of return to football, you don’t know how. You’ve never really played football because it’s what you love, you’ve never loved your sport, it’s more been about having something that could take you places when inevitable wherever you had been was no longer an option because you’d somehow fucked it up.

You want a better relationship with yourself, you want to understand why you think the way you do and why you can’t think the same way and be the same way as everyone. You want to get past the fear you have that you will never be the same.

When you have nothing else to think about, you open your eyes, to your psychologist smiling at you.

“That’s our hour, I’m really happy to leave this here and circle back to some of it in a couple of days. The progress you’re making is definitely getting bigger and I’m happy to sign off on you getting some hours in the gym if your physios are happy with it. I’ll call the team tonight and we can work out a plan that works best.”

You’re in slight disbelief as she speaks.

“You’re sure?”

You stay seated for the sake of making sure that you haven’t somehow dreamt up what she’s just said.

“If you try and make some progress with your homework. I want you to try and talk to Mapi, a text message, coffee, something. I want you to talk to Alexia beyond her being a caregiver for you and I want you to make progress with your teammates, don’t avoid the gym if you know they are going to be there, don’t avoid team events, dip a toe in the water with them and I can guarantee you will have a very different outcome then what you think.”

Contingencies. One thing you’ve learnt about therapy is that there are always contingencies, it’s always a give and take, never one or the other.

You nod your head anyways, somehow, with her weird manipulation games you’ve managed to agree to something that the version of you from and hour ago never would have.

“I’ll try.”

Your therapist smiles and stands up, for whatever reason there is always a part of you that loves the end of your sessions but also never wants to leave.

Whether it seems like it or not, you actually do want to get better, you just don’t know what better looks like for you and that’s scary. You’ve never met the version of yourself that is ‘better’ or ‘normal’. You can’t say that you want to be your old self because there hasn’t ever been a version of yourself that feels better. You’ve always been in the slums, always been dragging yourself through the thickest mud to try and make it to the end of a day or month or year. You don’t actually want to survive like that, you want to live your life properly, or whatever non-sluggish life looks like for you.

Your still desperately trying to work that out.

Alexia is waiting in the carpark as usual, it’s always the same carpark, always the same consolation hot chocolate in her hands afterwards.

Once you’ve sat down in her passenger seat, put on your seatbelt and the takeaway cup is settled in your hands she broaches the topic of your session.

“How was it?”

There is always an awkwardness around your sessions, Alexia picks your up from every one, on the odd occasion she’ll join in if your therapist thinks it would be good. Otherwise, she spends the time sitting in her car and picking up hot drinks.

It’s infinitely awkward between the two of you, but Alexia in your opinion is mostly to blame for that.

She’d been the first person to put her hand up to be your carer, your glorified babysitter.

You know it’s a guilt thing, she feels guilty that part of your pain could have been because of her, even though you’ve insisted time and time again that it wasn’t.

“Fine.”

Therapy is a tough topic for you, mostly because you’ve never wanted to be there in the first place. You’d been tricked into going from the beginning, Alexia insisting that she was taking you to a appointment to check up on your scars when really it had been to your psychologists office. You’d yelled and screamed and insisted that she take you home, but at the end of the day if you ever wanted to play football again it was obvious you were going to have to suck it up.

You hadn’t talked to Alexia for days after that, which is funny because that was less then three weeks ago and now you’re here.

“Fine?”

You nod your head, it’s hard to find words after a normal session, but after this one it’s ever harder.

“I made some progress.”

Alexia nods, you know there are probably a hundred questions going through her head right now, but she won’t ask them. She’s too scared that if she asks them, she’ll get an answer that will terrify her. One that will restart all of the problems, even if that isn’t really how it works. Alexia doesn’t understand mental health, that’s become frighteningly obvious over the past few weeks. She doesn’t understand your struggles because she’s never experienced them. She’s never had self hatred or depression or overwhelming anxiety. It’s what makes you feel so alienated and so out of place amongst your peers. You feel like a shark amongst a sea of dolphins, like you look the same but when it comes down to it you are completely different.

“That’s good, no?”

You nod your head, disguising the grimace on your face by the mouth of the lid on your hot chocolate.

“She says I can start doing some hours in the gym.”

Alexia smiles, big and wide, like it’s her whose been given the good news.

“That’s good bebita, you’ll be on the pitch in no time.”

The pitch. It’s all Alexia cares about.

When you can be back, how she can get you to the point you can be back. Because when Alexia is injured, it’s all she cares about. What she can do to get herself back on the pitch, how she can make the rehab process faster, she thinks of every single logistic and possibility.

You want to make it back to the pitch, or you think you do. But it’s not your priority. It’s become abundantly clear that your main priority has to be yourself, figuring yourself out.

“Mhm.”

You focus your energy on counting how many bike riders pass Alexia’s car as she navigates through peak city traffic. You get to 38 before she interrupts your intense search for every person on two wheels.

“Vicky’s supposed to be coming over later, I promised I’d help her with a school project. I can go to her house instead if you’d prefer?”

Every time Alexia’s broached the topic of teammates you’ve immediately refused any contact, and your immediate reaction is to say no. but you think about what your therapist said.

“I might text Mapi and see if she wants to talk to me.”

You hear the sound of Alexia’s shock in the form of a choken sort of cough, she tries to cover it up by slapping her hand against the wheel of her car, but it doesn’t do much.

“I think that would be a really good idea, bebita, I think she would be really happy to see you.”

You don’t look at Alexia, you don’t want to see the look of perplexion or shock or whatever emotion she’s going through. You haven’t seen Mapi since the hospital, and as little as you remember from then, you remember Mapi very clearly.

She had been just as out of it as you’d been, refusing to leave your bedside but Ingrid having to do everything for her to keep her alive. Every time she visited you, she looked like she’d seen a ghost, or something worse. You weren’t sure what was worse, seeing somebody dead or seeing somebody who was hanging on the cliff of life and death and having to save their life, knowing that if action hadn’t of been taken they would be dead.

Definitely the latter.

“I’ll text her, see if she can come and pick you up before Vicky comes over?”

You nod your head, allowing yourself to focus back on counting your tally, except moving over to motorcycles this time.

You shower with the bathroom door halfway open. There are no sharps anywhere in your apartment, knives, razors, scissors, nail clippers, vegetable peelers, glasses, anything that could cause any kind of bodily harm. For now, you aren’t allowed to be left alone for longer then an hour. You sleep with your bedroom door open and Alexia sleeping in the guest room next door. You eat a set meal plan, you do two hours of rehab every single day, you live on a schedule that is so carefully planned that you have no time to yourself and yet every single moment feels lonely.

It’s a process, you’ve been told. It’s crucial to your recovery that there are measurements in place to assure your ‘success’.

Alexia knocks on your door every five minutes whilst you shower, you yell back every time.

It had become a rule after the first time you’d showered with the door open you’d made a joke about using the shower curtain to harm yourself, because what did they really expect you to be doing?

It hadn’t gone well, Alexia going silent for a few days and a very heated conversation with your psychologist about the inappropriateness of making jokes about suicide.

It was your trauma, it was your fucking story, and everyone was acting like it was their most sensitive issue.

Bathrooms are a bit of a touchy subject, you don’t shower in your ensuite bathroom anymore, you can’t. The room has permanently been blocked off, completely forgotten about.

The first thing you want to do once you’ve ‘recovered’ is leave this apartment, there are to many bad memories, it feels like you’ll never be able to recover if your stuck in the same place that you were in when it all went bad.

It’s a problem for when you can deal with the stress of packing up your whole life and moving it to somewhere.

When you shut the water off and step out of the warm stream you let yourself breathe, showers are the only real alone time you get. Everywhere else you are supervised, watched like a hawk to make sure that you don’t try anything else that could jeopardise your return to football. The reality is that Barca can’t afford to have you sit on the sideline for a whole season, they need you back, they can’t risk another slip up.

Alexia at least gives you the privacy of getting dressed in your own wardrobe, all of your wired bras have been removed, but for the most part it’s all normal.

You get dressed in another sweat suit, it’s become your new uniform over the last few weeks, no draw strings of course.

Your hair gets swept into a messy bun, it’s too much effort to deal with the brushing and braiding and tying that you would have normally gone through with a couple of weeks ago. You aren’t allowed to wear jewellery anymore so your accessories consist of pretty much nothing. You’re bare from the bones to your clothes, your soul feels as bare as the rest of your body.

You’re allowed to wear laced shoes, but you often opt not to, slip on birkenstocks or uggs are just easier. The Barcelona January chill has been getting to you recently, so you upt for your ugg boots.

Your outfit choice is the most choice you get in your day, so you try and put as little thinking into it as possible, it’s easier for you to just succumb to the reality that everything in your life is controlled by other people.

By the time you’ve finished, you’re towing very close to the time Mapi had told Alexia she’d come and meet you. You collect the things that you might need from your vanity and shove them in your pocket, before making your way out to your living room.

It’s unofficially become Alexia’s office, her laptop and books cover your dining table now. She lives out of your apartment, leaves only for training and barcelona commitments, so it’s fair to say that she’s made herself at home.

When you were living together before, it had bothered you more, having her things everywhere. Alexia is a organiser, of everything and everybody but herself. You’d spend hours telling her to pick up her shoes from random spots around the apartment floor or getting her to pick up random clothing items laying on top of pieces of furniture. This mess is different, it reflects how the situation is different. There is nothing comfortable about your predicament, it’s not the same kind of comfortable coexistence you had when you were dating Alexia.

There is a boundary between the two of you now and it makes it all so much more confusing.

Alexia isn’t just your friend or your teammate, she’s you caregiver, the person who holds you accountable, unofficially the person who is supposed to keep you from doing anything to yourself. It adds a whole layer of stress to the situation, you can’t relax around her the same way you used to.

Your relationship is never going to be the same, but parts of you wished that Alexia hadn’t taken over the burden of caring for you, because maybe the two of you could work on rebuilding yourselves as a couple instead of Alexia trying to rebuild you as a person, as if you are a broken lego set that needed to be put back together.

She spends most of her time in your living room, doesn’t push the boundary of your bedroom unless it’s needed.

She’s sat at the kitchen table, preparing herself to help with whatever project it is that Vicky needs help with.

“Shouldn’t Vicky have maybe asked one of the younger girls? You’re practically ancient now, they probably teach the kids these days history from when you were growing up.”

Whatever Alexia looks like she’s going to be helping with looks like something she’s definitely not qualified in, although Alexia’s never the person to say no.

“You’re acting like I’m a dinosaur, I’m only four years older then you.”

She rolls her eyes at you and it feels so normal, for a second you feel so much more normal. Life would be so much easier if everybody stopped treating you like a fine fucking piece of china. An eye roll here or there, a yell here or there, some kind of emotion beyond sympathy would be nice.

“I mean, in comparison to Vicky you’re pretty much from the stone ages.”

Alexia rolls her eyes again, she looks like she’s about to fight back against you but a knock at the door silences you both.

All of a sudden the little smile is gone and the air goes thick again, thick with the reminder that you can’t just exist in a bubble of nothingness were nobody else exists and you can just be free from everything.

Alexia gets up to open the door, and you let her, allowing yourself to loiter around the table and enjoy the moment for just a little bit longer. It’s that moment that might just get you through what is about to happen.

Alexia calls for you and you know it’s Mapi, you know it’s Mapi because Mapi won’t step foot in your apartment.

Ingrid had come to visit when you’d come home, along with a handful of other people, but Mapi hadn’t been one of them. Ingrid had explained that it had been to hard for her, that she’d made it to the door but couldn’t come in, and you couldn’t find it in you to blame her.

Mapi smiles at you when she sees you, it’s the first time you’ve seen her since the hospital and the both of you look very different since then.

She looks less dead, that’s the first thing you take notice of. She doesn’t look like she would blow away into a puff of smoke if a gust of wind came past. She looks good, she looks healed.

Mapi and you don’t talk, for whatever reason, you take the normal walk you would every sunday morning before it happened.

Down from your apartment, onto the main street, up to the mouth of the road, across the street and then onto the boardwalk.

It’s the main reason you chose your apartment, it’s right next to the beach. Perfect for post matchday swims and a morning walk on the beach. It used to be yours and Mapi’s pregame routine and it’s easy to fall into the rhythm of your feet moving down the sidewalk.

No words are spoken until the two of you are seated on the sand, a wordless agreement that you both come to when your toes hit the beach.

You’re both seated, your eyes looking over the horizon. Your too scared to break the silence, so you wait for Mapi.

“You look good, chica.”

You nod your head, you feel better, you must look better then how you did.

“I feel better.”

Mapi nods, when her hand reaches out to sit on top of your own on the sand, you don’t flinch away, it feels good to have a physical connection with a person who isn’t Alexia.

The silence falls over the two of you again, except this time it feels less uncomfortable. You let it linger for a little bit, before you feel in a place to speak.

“I need to say thank you. I know I said some things in the hospital, I meant it in the moment but I want to take it back now. You saved me, you did something so brave and amazing and the version of me now is so grateful that you did.”

Mapi stops your rant, before you can say something else.

“I would have done it for anybody else.”

The problem is you think, that you aren’t anybody else. It would be so much easier to give cpr to a random person on the street and never see them again, never have to be worried that you would see them again and there would be some kind of problem.

“But you did it for me. You saved me from myself, and I want you to know that I genuinely am so thankful for you. You didn’t choose the easy option and I put you in a extremely hard position. If anything had of happened to me, you would have blamed yourself and it wouldn’t have been your fault but you would have felt like it was.”

Mapi nods, and then you hear a sniffle and it makes you feel horrible.

Mapi’s crying, she’s crying and you don’t know what to do.

“You begged me to reverse it, in the hospital, you didn’t say some things. You begged me to stab you or do something. You told me it was my fault you were alive and that it was my responsibility to undo what I’d done.”

You take a deep breath, you didn’t remember it being that bad, but you remember Alexia telling you that some of the things you’d said had been unrepeatable.

“I can’t reverse what I said, in that moment I was in so much pain Maps. I actually can’t tell you how much pain i was in, all I wanted was to disappear. I’m working through not feeling that way and that starts by apologising. You did not deserve to experience what you did. You did not deserve to see what you did. You did not deserve to hear what I said to you. I am sorry. There is nothing I can say that will make any of it okay, I am sorry that for whatever reason god chose you to be the person burdened with this. I am so sorry.”

Mapi sniffles again. You knew that the possibility of no reconciliation was possible, that Mapi would reject any offer of apologies you had, you’d just really hoped it wouldn’t be like that.

“You’ve been like a little sister to me. I know you didn’t feel like we were that close, but I saw so much of me in you from when I was younger, and that was part of the reason I ended up at your apartment that night. Because I was worried, more then anybody else. I had this weird feeling, and I hated that I was right about it. You were like my little sister, and I watched as they strapped you onto a gurney and wheeled you off whilst telling me that they would try their hardest. I don’t blame you, there is no blame for something like this. But I need you to understand that I can’t just get over what I www, I’m working through it, I’m trying. My therapist has really been helping me, but it’s not going to disappear.”

You nod, Mapi and you have been through two mirroring experiences, and oddly you feel the same way about your own therapy. You’re working through it, you’re trying, but nothing that has happened is ever going to disappear, with yourself or with your peers.

“Maps, you’re allowed to experience however you want. If you never want to see me again I won’t hate you.”

Mapi shakes her head.

“I don’t know how I feel yet, I just need you to know that I understand that the you right now is different to the you from weeks ago, and you are entitled to separate yourself from that person. You don’t have to be that person if you don’t want to be. Let yourself live in the new version of you, the old version died back then.”

You bite your lip, there is beginning to become a permanent divet from your front teeth, you like it in a weird way.

“I’m trying, I’m really trying.”

Mapi nods, raising her arm from your hand, to your shoulders, bringing you into her side.

“We’ll try together then, huh? You try for me and I’ll try for you?”

You nod your head, and for the first time it doesn’t feel like you’re totally alone in the battle that you’re fighting. It’s still very much your battle, but it feels like you have somebody in your corner letting you know that you are going to be okay.

—————————————

well aware it’s not edited… if u have an issue with that such my dick xoxo

hope you enjoyed !!!! 🫶🫶🫶🫶

412 notes · View notes

p0orbaby · 1 month 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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writingsbychlo · 5 months ago

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SPIDER | tom riddle

summary; tom riddle has a peculiar way of showing his affection, but he's nothing if not protective.

word count; 1625

notes; I woke up this morning with inspiration and I grabbed my laptop and banged this out before even getting up. if you hate it, I literally don't care <3

The flames of the fireplace flickered soothingly, the last warmth spilling out towards you in a subtle glow, hiding the reflections of the lake that danced around the room. Several other students were also still milling around, the Slytherin common room was never truly empty, not unless it was the summer break. Pulling the blanket a little tighter around your shoulders, you snuggled down a bit further, only stilling when the cold sense of someone else crept down your neck.

This was a familiar chill, though. You were aware of someone else’s presence, and yet no part of that was threatening. A familiar cologne reached your nose, and before you’d even turned, you were greeting the man who stood behind you, “Hello, Tom.”

“Why are you down here?” He cut right to the point, never one for formalities, and your lips flickered up at the edges as he walked around the edge of the sofa and into your view. “You’re never up at this time.”

Always so observant. Your smile formed a little more every time he revealed something extra he’d noticed about you. That you liked a particular table in the library, that your favourite biscuits were chocolate hobnobs, that you didn’t usually stay up this late. Tom Riddle had a peculiar way of showing affection. Most people assumed he was cold, unfeeling, harsh. They couldn't be more wrong.

Tom Riddle was a walking, talking, bleeding heart. He was an open wound, snapping like an injured animal when anyone came close. Tom Riddle was full of emotion, it just happened to be hidden behind a thick stone wall. But if you were allowed close enough to look through the cracks, the true Tom Riddle shone like golden light within.

“I could ask you the same thing.” You teased, and he rolled his eyes, taking half a step closer to you and perching on the arm of the couch elegantly.

“You know I go for walks at night.”

“And where do you go for these walks? What do you do on your oh-so-mysterious nightly walks?” You turned your body further towards him, the blanket slipping down from its place around your chin, and those calculating brown eyes tracked its fall along your arm.

“That’s none of your business, and you’re avoiding the question.”

“You’re avoiding mine.” You retorted, and he simply gave you a dry look. Reaching out, Tom lifted the edge of the blanket back up and over your shoulder, securing it back into place.

“Answer me.”

“Fine,” You sighed, head rolling across your shoulders and back towards the fireplace, watching the growing flames once again, “I saw a spider in my room. It crawled down the edge of my bed right before I could get in, and now I don’t want to go to sleep.”

You could feel Tom’s stare on you, the silence stretching between you both as he let the confession settle. There was half a chance he’d scoff, and half a chance he’d simply walk away now that he got his answer. He seemed to be debating between which one to go for. “Why didn’t Pansy get it out for you?”

Another question, not an option you’d considered, but not a surprise from him. “She’s not here, she’s at Luna’s tonight.”

More silence, and you took the chance to observe him instead. Tom Riddle was not one to cower away from a stare, and so as you watched him, he watched you too. Finally, he broke the silence, “I’ll get it for you.”

Now, that was a surprise. “You will?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Does it matter?” He shot back, standing once again, making it clear to you that you were to do the same, or he’d leave without you. Dropping the blanket down to the couch, the enchanted item folded itself back up and into the storage trunk you’d taken it from, as you smoothed out your jumper and followed Tom’s already retreating steps.

“It doesn’t matter, but I’m curious. Humour me.” You caught up with him, and he cut you a glance from the side of his eye. “You should also know that I’m very grateful, whether you choose to tell me or not. Thank you.”

The rigid lines of his shoulders softened a little at that. Should you know how to, Tom Riddle could be played like a fiddle. You smothered a snicker at the rhyme in your head as he let slip a small sigh. “I don’t want you to sit in the common room all night when I can perfectly easily take care of the problem.”

Your smile was full now, following him silently through the halls as he guided the way to your dorm. Opening the door, he was respectful enough to ignore the piles of mess on your roommate’s side of the dorm, looking straight towards your untouched bed, and the mug of now cold tea sitting on your bedside table.

“Which side?”

“The far one.” You mumbled, tension creeping back into your body. What if it wasn’t there anymore? What if it had crawled elsewhere, and was now hidden somewhere in the room, ready to strike, or—

The screech of your bed frame moving snapped you from your thoughts as Tom pulled it away from the wall. It moved again, jarring along the wooden floor. Tom remained still, eyes moving for a second, two, before he suddenly strode forwards, ducking down and his hand shot out. He straightened a second later, with his hands cupped, and turned to you.

He nodded his head towards the window, and you scurried across the room ahead of him, flinging open the window and backing far away as he neared. That made him scoff, rolling his eyes at your behaviour once again. He held his hands out of the window, shaking them off and letting the spider fall through the air, before pulling back, and clicking the catch back into place. He double-checked it, before casting his eye over the rest of the room.

“Let me check for any more.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” Your words fell on deaf ears, as Tom shifted your bed back into place, before peering behind both desks, your dressers and the wardrobe, and finally, the bathroom. He methodically checked each and every space within your dorm for you, leaving you to sit in the centre of your once again safe bed, watching him with a soft smile. Before leaving the bathroom, he washed his hands clean of the creature that had been crawling within them, before returning to you.

“No more.”

“Thank you, Tom.” You whispered, his chin tucking in a single nod, but a frown on his face.

“You already thanked me.”

“There’s no law saying I can’t thank you twice, or as many times as I please, for that matter.” Your smirk made him press his lips into a line, but he had no comeback and hated not having the final word. He was calculating, something else to say, something to spin this back onto you—

“Your tea is cold. You should reheat that, so you don’t waste it.”

Your gaze flickered to the mug, and back to him, shrugging. “I don’t feel like having it now.”

His sigh sounded frustrated, and he took a few more steps into the room, towards you, instead of the door. His voice had softened once again as he took you in, looking down at you with a gentler gaze than most ever saw. “Will you go to sleep now?”

“Soon, I think I’ll just read for a while, I’m not too tired yet.”

He nodded. His jaw clenched as he glanced towards the door, but made no move to leave. The clock in the corner ticked, seconds passing by loudly in the space, and then, “Would you like to join me on my walk?”

His words were fragile, a rare show of vulnerability from him. Uttered quietly into the air that hung between you both, and your gasp almost startled him. “Really?”

He glared, answering your question with a fitting answer. Tom never said things he didn’t mean, and you knew that. Everyone knew that. But he’d never let anyone go on his walks before, it was a hotly debated topic and a running joke within the group about what exactly took place on these walks, and what nefarious things he likely got up to.

“I’d like that.”

“Then put on some proper shoes, and quickly.” You did as he had, rather gruffly, commanded, swapping out the comfy slippers for some boots, and throwing on another jumper for extra warmth. Tom waited for you at the door, holding it open for you to step through. “Do you like the lake at night?”

“I’ve never been out to the lake at night.”

He made a quiet sound of acknowledgement, a hum under his breath. “Then that’s where we’ll go. You’ll like it. It’s… peaceful.”

His hand flexed at his side as you walked together, and after clearing the common room and entering the silent corridors, you slipped your hand into his own.

He stiffened, for only a second, before his fingers wrapped back around yours, and a smile pulled on his lips as he ducked his head. You and Tom had been dancing this line for years now, something more but not quite enough.

Not yet.

But you’d get there, someday. His actions told you enough. Enough to know that he felt what you did too, that you were certainly headed somewhere, on a collision course together. You belonged to Tom Riddle as much as he belonged to you.

So, for now, holding his hand as you walked the lake, and letting him chase spiders out of your room was enough.

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle/reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle/you #slytherin boys #harry potter #christian coulson/reader #christian coulson x reader #christian coulson/you #christian coulson x you

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neteyamsilly · 2 years ago

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i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 1

summary ;; As Jake Sully's oldest daughter, you never see eye to eye with him, always challenging him and pushing his buttons to the limit. What happens when things go too far one day? [PART 2] pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; welcome to the labor of my daddy issues and my very own therapy. this fic is inspired by this one by @layonatanvi and I only wanted to borrow the running away from home to get an ikran idea/prompt! Please excuse my mistakes if you see any.

There’s a widespread belief among sky people that every first-born daughter is a direct copy of her father.

You listened in on your own father complaining to your mother about this privately one time; according to him, this was why you guys kept banging hammerheads like 'angtsìks.

Lo’ak was his troublemaker, yes, but you were the rebel pain in his ass, wouldn’t stop questioning one tiny simple step he made, never took anything seriously when he needed you to be on top of things hundred percent of the time... Even your younger brother knew boundaries after he was given the stink eye, but you hadn’t stopped testing him every single goddamn day after the sky people had come back.

His youngest son and oldest daughter were nearly identical in the speed they got him seeing red, but the similarities ended there. Lo’ak would go behind him to cause trouble, and you would do it right to his face, that fearlessness and defiance made you more dangerous than your brother in your father’s opinion.

His blood pressure skyrocketing was reserved for Lo’ak and the shenanigans he knew right away the boy was getting into, and you got his explosive anger the moment you would open your mouth to defy him — he couldn’t talk to you, a normal conversation even about your mother’s cooking wasn’t possible without you being passive-aggressive and things snowballing from there.

(“This is delicious Neytiri, thank you for the food. Sturmbeest?”

“Sturmbeest meat ran out like two weeks ago, father. You ask this everyday and mom answers the same everyday.”

Cue him reprimanding you for talking to him like that, you saying maybe he should greenlight a hunt soon to calm his nerves and promptly being sent to your room. It was Neteyam who’d saved some food for you that night.)

If only you would stop talking back to him and listen for once, he’d said, pacing in the tent with hands on hips like an agitated viperwolf as mother watched on, most likely tired from going through this loop for yet another day. You are the older sister to Lo’ak, Kiri and Tuk, why can’t you be a role model for them like Neteyam is?

(Mom had given him the flattest, “She is at the age for such behavior, Ma’Jake, we’ve talked about this. Let her be.”)

In your defense, he didn’t make sense sometimes, what harm was there in wanting him to explain the thought process behind his decisions?

Apparently you simply were prohibited from doing that to the Olo’eyktan.

But he was father, he was your family. Why did that have to be disrespect?

He wasn’t like this before.

A small part of you was aware this was you lashing out because you missed your father — the lighthearted rock in your life, the big shadow protecting you from the heat of the world, who knew how to smile and show his love before all of this. Now he was just the leader of the clan, the weight of the revered Toruk Makto on his shoulders made him a total stranger you didn’t recognize.

He barely ever called you sweetheart anymore, punishing you for being a brat, most likely. You tried to act like it didn’t hurt.

But it did. You missed him dearly when he was right in front of you. The rest of the family did, too, they just didn’t say it out loud the way you expressed through what you called standing up to him — in reality, it was a statement about the man he had become, father couldn’t read between the lines to understand.

Mom did.

She would always explain he did it out of love and worry, and his every move had a reason behind it after the scoldings ended. It was as if she saw right through the prickly exterior of her eldest daughter.

Her love wasn’t held back like his was, not shared like military MREs at decided moments in a day in between attacks, raids, meetings and duties. Hers were long touches, hugs, kisses on your temple, shared time and hunts together, her letting you ride on her ikran with her, the warmth of a meal and soft smiles; whilst his was randomly asking how you were after training and where you’ve been if he caught onto your absence sometimes. He didn’t have time for you or your siblings except for Tuktuk these days. That’s why you were now a mama’s girl.

Sooner or later, the breaking point was finally bound to arrive.

Yours did after a particularly heated-up fight about your rite of passage. You had had enough of father postponing it when Lo’ak, younger than you, had already gained his own ikran and gone through uniltaron. He was present in the tent while you were fussing and debating with your immovable mountain of a father only answering with single syllable responses, and his light snickers made you all the more aggressive. He got a strong jab from Kiri after a loud snort.

Kiri, you could get. She was built different from the start — got her mount earlier than anybody else, just walked up to it and asked. Besides, the girl wasn’t a dick about it like Lo’ak was.

“You aren’t ready yet,” father answered the more you asked him. You thought he'd say a different thing the hundredth time, but he didn't. “Your brother was.”

Lo’ak puffed his chest at that, desperate for a drop of recognition as always, and you could only roll your eyes. “So you think I’m weak? I’m not strong enough?”

Father sighed at the provocation. “That’s not what I’m saying. This and being ready are two different things.”

“How are they different? If I’m on top of my training, that means I’m ready.”

“Physically ready, and mentally ready are not the same.”

“How can I not be mentally ready, I’ve already seen what happens—”

“Enough!” He stood up, towering above you and leaning in slightly. Your younger brother had stopped smiling so quickly you almost let a laugh escape you, and father got agitated when he saw that, thinking you were making fun of him. “Some don’t return from the dream hunt. Do you understand? The strongest sometimes don’t return from that. Your mind needs to be strong.”

“And mine isn’t?”

He gave a slow exhale through his nose, not actually wanting to say it for some reason. “No it isn’t.”

“Why?”

There it is. Your signature phrase. ‘Why?’

And it made your father look above, asking silently for patience from Eywa as it always did.

“Ma’ite, why don’t we take a break, hm? Come walk with me,” your mom interrupted, taking your hand and standing next to you, your four fingers got enveloped in her larger, warmer grip, strong and insistent.

“No, I wanna hear it. What do you think makes me not ready?”

You insinuating that your father was entirely going off his own wrong opinion and not knowing any better set him off. You saw the change from ticked off to borderline on edge, but instead of giving into it, he turned his back on you and went back to cleaning his gun, movements choppy and harsh. “That immaturity for a start.”

And you hissed at him—actually hissed at him when none of your siblings would ever dare to talk back to him during a lecture.

The audible gasps, the holding of breaths, and the slow turn of your father’s head looking like he was going through confusion of reality upon being hit on the head had followed. His eyes narrowed and the lines of his eyebrows got gradually lower on his face, his form seemingly expanding in mass from building anger, spine slowly straightening after fully comprehending what you just did.

“I’m way past you giving me attitude missy,” his baritone and low voice was so steady that you’d rather him yell at you like usual, but he was scarily calm, pushing you to raise your chin righteously at him to show you weren’t bothered by him none, but your ears betrayed you by cowering flat and taut against your skull. “But you’re hissing at your father now? Hm? You think this right here is gonna get you the respect you think you deserve?”

“You don’t listen,” you said, ignoring your heart trashing away from how coldly father was to you. “Disrespect,” your fingers quoting in the air resulted only in making him angrier. Neteyam to his right, silent and observant the whole argument, was furiously shaking his head that the beads in his braids were clicking loudly. “is the only way you ever pay attention to anything anymore. See? Look how sharp you are right now. Mission accomplished, I guess.”

“Bro…” Lo’ak, frightened by the wide eyed glare father was giving you, weakly protested, but you knew he would never be able to interfere in the verbal struggle between you and father the way you did to his.

“You will go to your room,” father said between his teeth, “Do not let me see your face. I swear to Eywa—Neytiri, get her outta here.“

“Do you ever want to see our faces anymore, father?”

A beat.

Mom gasped your name in shock, grabbing your arm this time as if she wanted to drag you away.

All his fury froze away immediately. “What did you just say?”

You just stared at him.

“That’s enough,” your mother snapped at you, but you didn’t hold it against her, she was more worried about what would follow if this went on. “Come on, we’re leaving.”

“Okay.” Father slowly shook his head, the storm brewing right under his skin got you preparing for the impact, and all the kids flinched when he threw the unloaded gun back in the crate. “You know so much, don’t you? You’re smart, wise. Know better than Tsahik herself. Fine, you get your way. Go.”

You froze. “What?”

“Yeah, go. Get yourself an ikran.”

“Father—”

“Don’t father me. Go on. I’m not stopping you. Since you’re so ready and you’ll say just about anything to get what you want, who am I to get in your way, huh?”

But you didn’t want it to be like this. Iknimaya was supposed to be something exciting, prideful — a ceremony. He was saying it like you were being thrown out. Who was going to paint your face? Be proud of you?

“Why are you just standing there?” He poked your crushed ego further, confident in the fact that you wouldn't set one foot outside of the cave systems at this hour of the day. “Didn’t you want this?”

You didn’t want this.

“Dad, it’s the middle of the night,” Kiri said, appalled, not quite believing her ears.

“What does it matter?” He showed you in mock pride, up and down that you couldn’t stop the tears from stinging the corners of your eyes. “Mighty hunter here is ready.”

“Jake,” your mother warned in such a threatening tone that he stopped and shifted on his feet, almost uneasy.

“What? If she doesn’t want a father’s concern I’m not giving it to her.”

Like you weren’t standing right in front of him at all.

“Jake!”

That was the final straw. You wrenched your arm free from mom’s iron grip and screamed, “I hate you!” at the top of your lungs at him before storming off the tent.

His ears flattening was the last thing you paid attention to as everything became a blur because of tears swelling. Yeah, right. You wished you could hurt him, unfortunately he was too much of a wall for that. You bet he was scoffing at your declaration right now.

Your body thought faster than your brain did even when the emotions had you drowning under the current, deciding you were going to sneak off to the ikran rookery tonight. You knew he would send Neteyam after you — him barking, “Follow your sister,” at the boy right after you hid yourself between the rocks surrounding the tent was the confirmation of the hypothesis. He was to make sure you didn’t leave High Camp.

Everyone in your family knew your favorite hiding spot to cool off, Neteyam of course was heading there automatically, and it was the headstart you needed to get a move on.

Fine. You would complete your iknimaya yourself without anybody’s support, as if these things had any value anymore with how military he’d conditioned the clan to be. You were going to make him eat his words for humiliating you.

The muffled of father drifting off flared up your determination as you soundlessly sneaked off. "Jesus, I've spoiled her too much..."

#dad!jake x daughter!reader #dad!jake sully x reader #jake sully x reader #jake sully x daughter!reader #dad!jake sully x daughter!reader #sully family x reader #mom!neytiri x reader #neteyam x sister!reader #neytiri x daughter!reader #lo'ak x sister!reader #kiri x sister!reader #irma: 📝#📖: light

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radio-fmm · 7 months ago

Text

Too sweet (for me)

Law x strawhat!reader

gn reader + fluff drabble

100% inspired by Too Sweet by Hozier the moment he dropped this I knew I had to write something about Law from it so here you go, I even incorporated some of the lyrics

Masterlist

Trafalgar Law doesn’t get it

How were you able to slip into his mind so carelessly and without notice? Law had never envisioned himself liking someone as sweet as you

For starters you were a strawhat, already on the wrong track, but alongside Robin, you were of the ones Law tolerated the most since you were usually more introverted and took things seriously, which made him start gravitate towards you

Big mistake

Surprisingly he found out your quiet facade was something reserved for strangers, once you warmed up to his presence everything changed

You looked after him, bringing his black coffee when he stayed up all night in the library, urging him to sleep at normal hours and enjoy his time at the Sunny. You opened yourself completely for him to devour all details facts and antics of yours. Your presence filled every room he sat at, listened to whatever he had on his mind, or stayed in a blissful silence if he needed you to

Law had taken notice you were strong, smart, brave and confident, becoming an important asset on Luffy’s crew, another reason he saw you as one of the most competent strawhats. Even though a lot of people feared you, you remained kind, bright as the morning, soft as the rain, sweet as a grape

You had become Laws favorite sweetener, he became addicted to every inch of you. He’d drink up every look you’d graced his way like neat whiskey, every word like his favorite melody and every touch he wished it to tattoo it on his skin, always waiting for your frame to appear through every door he encountered

Something he did not expect, was how you were trying to change him for the better, almost like whispering alongside the wind for him to ‘live right’. To take down his tall walls, to speak up about the matters that roamed in his mind and heart, to stop indulging in bad sleeping habits and overworking himself to exhaustion, a task no one seemed to fill in his life, he was a Captain after all

You were softening him up, he didn’t like it when he noticed, first you wormed yourself into his heart now this? But how could he deny you?

There was no shame in being soft, sweet and tender, you always seemed to try and tell him

Yet he wondered how had you managed to keep yourself like that, brightening his and your crews days, after all, life has had its way with you too

And he couldn’t handle it

Who would’ve thought, the surgeon of death, threatened by a silly feeling

It ate away at him, the way his heartbeat accelerated whenever you were at least in the same table, his stomach turning at every look he stole whenever you smiled or laughed, or the rosy pigment that painted his features at the mere thought of you

He felt like a deer in headlights. Still Law couldn’t help but to follow you around the Sunny like a stray cat, reaching for you in any situation he was able to keep you closer, craved your presence and to hear your melodic voice ring in his ears, and whenever you said his name? Heaven couldn’t compare

He wondered how fast had this happened, he didn’t notice all the affection he was harboring for you until he couldn’t backtrack, he thanked whatever god was out there that made you so oblivious, it seemed like everyone on the ship noticed the way Law and you glanced at each other and how you would spend your days sitting together in every room but you

But here he is now, under the moonlight staring down at your twinkling eyes that could easily be mistaken for one of the stars above you, his hand traveling to the back of your head before he gives you a look as if asking ‘may I?’ to wish you answer by doing the sweetest thing he could ever thought of

You smile and stand on your tip toes collapsing your lips in his, ending his endless pining as you melt into each other like you were meant to be like this

Trafalgar Law doesn’t get it, when he tastes the sweet sugar of the chocolate drink you had that evening on his lips and doesn’t mind it at all, even if he takes his coffee black every morning

He could even say, he loves it

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

I’ve been listening to Hozier since his debut album I even saw him live and got a shrike tattooed on mu arm OF COURSE I was gonna write this and the first thing that popped into my mind was Law so here you go. Sorry it’s short uni has been eating me alive

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vagabond-umlaut · 1 year ago

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affaire de cœur

Plucking one's heart from their chest and devouring it is all 'affairs of the heart' meant to the King of Curses— until his Queen walked onto the stage of his life, that is.

▸ trueform!sukuna x wife!reader; comprises of elements inspired by the tale of 'hades and persephone'; gallons of domestic fluff between sukuna and reader; hints of spicy times; no warnings except sukuna is very much sukuna here but you too are there, so he's sort of a better sukuna... [not loads better, though]

▸ belongs to the series 'mine? yes, mine.' but you can treat this as a stand-alone fic if you wanna!

▸ i don't own the characters, the image or the divider used. please don't plagiarize or translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

"Repeat those words after me, my lord."

"No."

The pouty face you vault his way from the other end of the bathhouse makes Sukuna huff an annoyed sigh. Few monsoons back, you would never even see him in the eye, gaze trained on his feet – until he lifted your chin up; even then you would shyly avert your gaze — yet, now?

Now, you show the boldness to wear such a pathetic expression while making such an imbecilic request– nay, demand of him– locking your gaze with his the entirety of the time, no less.

Another sigh finds its route past his lips. Watching the way those sin-filled lips of yours twitch in a tiny smile before dipping into a pout, he groans.

"Alright. Fine," Sukuna grumbles, resting his two arms on the edge of the tub while the other two move to card through his damp hair, "Will you ever leave me for another, woman?"

Your eyebrows rise for a beat, the second the question you chomped his ears off earlier for, leaves his mouth. Your lover rolls his eyes, loud scoffs erupting from him at the utter inanity of the whole situation at hand — you, not beside by him, but beside those damned towels and bath soaps; him, not soaking in the warmth of your flesh but of these bath waters; the humid bathhouse not resonating with the sounds of your whines but with the remnants of a query, whose answer he does not care the least for, for no matter what you say or do, he will not—

"Yes, I will."

Your clear voice scatters his thoughts away, akin a strong wind and a handful of chaff. Sukuna freezes, every crimson eye of his fixed upon your approaching figure– your soft footfalls, your yellow yukata, your simple hairdo, your angelic smile...

Your husband takes a while too long before discovering his lost voice, eyes narrowed, throat tight and chest heavy as he asks you, "You will leave me, pet?"

"Uh-huh, I sure will," you hum in response, sitting on the stool next to the tub and moistening a towel. Sukuna moves to grasp your wrist in his palm but pauses when he catches you switch your attention from the towel to him, a terrifying emotion brimming in your tender gaze.

You draw in a tiny breath before speaking, voice now a mere whisper.

"Show me someone who is the most feared creature to ever exist, yet is a sulking mess if he isn't being cuddled in bed till noon every single day; someone who detests humans like I detest carrots, yet visits the monthly market in secret, to get gifts for his close one; someone who everyone's told me is the worst, yet goes on to prove, again and again and again, how he's the absolute best in this world—"

You stop suddenly.

Chest growing heavy from an entirely different reason now, your lover drinks in the manner your smile widens, your fragile fingers letting go of the cloth to trace those markings on his skin instead – you resume.

"Show me someone whose embraces feel the safest place in all the three realms, and I swear, my king, I'll leave you and run to his arms without thinking twice."

For the first time in his millennium of existence, the two-faced curse feels the same distress of being paralysed, as his mere mien induces in the muscles of his miserable victims— except, it isn't the fear of an end to his life which is causing this abhorrent weakness to him unlike those worthless mortals— no.

It is the fear of the unknown, of the uncharted, which is rendering his powerful self so, so powerless before your blinding brilliance. Sukuna thinks death might be an easier journey to undertake than these odd realisations your voice and touch elicit in him always.

These days, more so.

This moment, very much so.

The addicting timbre of your voice rouses him from his musings, the second time that night.

"Is every–"

"Is that supposed to be a love confession?" Your husband cuts you off before you can finish your question. You slowly blink at him once then twice, before leaning backwards and picking up the forgotten cloth, a visibly coy giggle bubbling out you as you return to washing his skin.

"Yes," you agree after a beat, gaze darting to his face before skittering away again, "That is supposed to be a love confession for my beloved king; though I wonder what my lord thinks of it. Was it heart-touching as I intended to make it? Or did it sound too tedious to him?"

The addressed being deliberately makes a big show of rolling each of his four eyes at your query. "Neither," he says, curling his lip in a show of vexation before they lift a little at the lower lip you jut out, "And you should count yourself to be lucky that you're my wife, not a worthless mortal, pet. For if you were not my wife–"

"– you would've sliced me into halves without a moment's hesitation," you finish the rest of the sentences for him with a fond shake of your head. "Trust me, my king, I know you. I do, I rea– Sukuna!!!"

The startled shriek of his name— not my lord or my king but Sukuna —parts the curse's lips in a smirk, which widens on noticing the warm water slowly seeping into your clothes, making them translucent; and you staring up at him with a disbelieving look etched onto your pretty face.

Sukuna allows his smirk to melt away into a genuine smile, for once.

Nestling your drenched form closer to himself, he closes his eyes to rest his forehead on your shoulder, palms holding you as if you were not a member of the race he lives for the sake of tormenting, but an invaluable blessing, beings he has never believed in, sent earthward for his damned self.

Which is true, the curse reckons. You indeed are a blessing he knows he doesn't deserve – yet will keep for and with himself for an eternity and some more.

Pressing you closer to himself, your husband lifts his head to plant a kiss to your forehead, followed by your warm cheeks — hoping you'll understand the meaning behind every reverent contact he's marking your form with now.

After all, you know him really well, don't you?

[You do— which is only why you reciprocate every brush of his sharp canine over your skin, with a brush of your soft palm over the wicked, handsome, wickedly handsome visage of the love of your life.]

▸ masterlist

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pasdasin · 3 months ago

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Wicked Game

wolverine x vampire!reader

an: can u guys tell im not working rn with the amount uploading! also currently working on ch 4! if you guys have any ideas feel free to send me stuff!! i <3 vampire!reader and wanna write more about her :3... also sorry if pacing is weird lol

ch 3

warnings: SMUT!!! fingering, erotic blood drinking, angst lol, prob like cussing lol, im sure there is more so just be warned in general, mdni lol

previous -- next

~~~~~

The proposition weighed heavily on your mind. A chance to return where it all started? You couldn’t stomach the thought. You’d have to ask Logan what he thought. He always knew what to say. You couldn’t dwell on it now, another task was at hand. You smoothed out your denim skirt for the millionth time and stared at your reflection. Nothing seemed appropriate enough. Nothing seemed right when it came to talking about your past. Two hundred and seventy-five years old and this was most nerve racking thing you’ve ever done.

talk in front of teenagers.

Sighing you turned back to your closest when the door of your room slowly opened.

“y/n? Are you ready yet? My class is waiting” Storm entered your room. “Damn you look good! Honestly expected a full Bela Lugosi get up.”

“Very funny, but I am not a vampire.” You said, turning to her.

“Okay yeah, and I don’t control the weather.” She snickered at you. She held out her hand and you grabbed it tightly, allowing yourself to be pulled through the halls of the mansion as the two of you giggled and talked friday night plans.

The two of you reached her classroom and it seemed fuller than normal. You glanced around the room and noticed Logan standing near one of the walls closer to where you’d be presenting. You shot him a smile smile and he nodded back at you, causing your heart to race. You approached the desk at the front of the room and took a deep breath in. You could not only hear your heart pumping, but also every single person in that room.

Turning around you smiled at everyone and sat sheepishly on the desk. You felt Logan’s eyes on you as you listened to Storm start her lecture. You glanced towards him and watched as he sent you a silent message.

You’ll be okay bub. I’m right here.

You turned back to the class and scanned the crowd. It seemed as though every single person was there, even though it was physically impossible. Your eyes zeroed in on Scott and Alex. Alex. Your mind wandered back to what Charles asked of you the previous night.

“I know you don’t do missions since the incident, but you could really benefit Alex.”

“I dedicated my life to medicine, and helping others. I cannot just leave that.”

“Just think about it okay? Its London afterall. Don’t think I don’t know about what the two of you did there”

You quickly glanced away and turned your full attention back to Storm. She was just about finished with her recap of the lesson plan. Her eyes met yours and she winked down at you.

“Now that we have finished Dracula, I thought as a treat instead of a movie, we could hear about the real events from the person who inspired the book herself. This is y/n, your school nurse.” A small round of applause broke out as you stood up from the desk.

“Hi everyone! So yes I inspired Dracula, so please ask me any questions.” Immediately questions rang out towards you. Are you a vampire? How come you don’t sparkle? I thought vampires drink blood!

Typical questions that you usually got from new students that visited your office. You quickly answered them without even thinking about it. Alex raised his hand jokingly before asking you the question you dreaded the most.

“How exactly did you inspire the book?” You paused, silently remembering the events of the night. You felt a knot in your throat before you began.

“In 1895, I met Bram Stoker in a pub. He was strange but endearing. A flirt really, and I knew I was done for. In 1896 I confessed to him my mutation and how at that point I was twenty-five for fifty years at that point. He didn’t believe me of course and when I showed him my true nature, the book was born.” You paused, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. “The dedication was for me, and one of the brides had my name at the time and my description. I left Ireland and headed for London after the town found out about it. That’s actually where I met Logan.”

The rest of the class period was full of laughter and more questions about your life in general, but you easily avoided those. As your presentation ended, you thanked Storm for the chance she gave you and promised to get drinks in the future. She walked away from you as Logan approached, wrapping his arm around your waist.

“Good job bub. I knew you could do it.” You pushed his arm jokingly as the two of you started to walk out of the room, as Alex walked up to the two of you. Logan’s grip on your waist tightened.

“To my ever lasting beauty, an ageless angel, my queen of the dark. A book for your life. Wow you really made an impression on this dude. I didn’t realize you only dated what? Tall, dark and handsome. I’ll dye my hair ya know”

“Watch it Alex” Logan muttered, his claws starting to breach his knuckles.

“Woah big guy, I am just teasin. Anyways, y/n I heard the professor talked to you about Europe. What did ya think?” You made a face as you heard Logan’s blood race faster.

“I’m not too sure yet. I am still thinking about everything.” He nodded at your words before wishing you well and ignoring Logan. The two of you watched him walk away.

“What the hell is he talking about?” Logan looked down at you, his face mixing into anger and confusion.

“Lets go to my room okay?”

___

“What the hell do you mean a mission to London? And with him!” Logan snarled at you. You stared him down, not afraid of what he would do to you.

“Calm down Logan! Its not a big deal I haven’t even decided yet!”

“Yeah I’m deciding for you. NO” He paced the left side of the bed as he muttered to himself.

“You don’t control me! I am my own person and I can’t die! Why don’t you trust me?” You felt your fangs push downwards in anger. If you weren’t careful you weren’t sure what would happen.

“I don’t trust him. You won’t go and thats final.” His claws started to extend as he turned towards you. Fuck it.

The two of you lunged at each other and embraced as a tangle of limbs. Your lips crashed onto every piece of skin it met before you finally met his lips. He held you close to his chest and he messily made out with you, somehow managing to rip off your shirt, leaving in just the skirt and bra. His breath reeked of alcohol and his cologne filled your nose. The tobacco residue from an earlier cigar danced on his tongue as you deepened the kiss. You turned to straddle his lap, you pushed him down on the bed and, without thinking, you leaned down and sunk your fangs into his neck.

The warmth of his blood entered your mouth and the taste was euphoric. You continued your frenzy as you started to grind down on his growing erection. He groaned and panted as you nuzzled deeper into his vein. Your hot breath created a layer of pleasure to the holes in his neck and you pushed down harder on his clothed cock.

“Please, fuck, don’t stop.” He choked out, moaning the last word. You didn’t think you could if you even wanted too. The taste of his blood made you whine in his ears as you picked up the pace of your hips, desperate for friction. His hand snaked down to your pussy, fingers slipping into your underwear and onto your clit. Your fangs sunk in deeper as he rubbed circles. “You’re so fucking wet for me.” He picked up the pace making you squeal from pleasure.

“Pl-ee-se-” You couldn’t think. The friction, his fingers, his blood. Without warning, you came hard on his fingers, allowing yourself to get lost in the heat of the moment.

Eyes half lidded you removed your fang from his neck and you looked down at the mess created. Blood stained the sheets, pillows, his shirt, and most likely everything else on the bed. Your mouth and neck was covered in a sheer layer of his blood.

You snapped back to reality and realized what you had done.

“Logan I’m- I can’t. I have to go.” Quickly you threw on a random shirt and left as quickly as you came, leaving Logan in the mess.

His neck already healing, his lifted his pants to stare at the mess left. Cuming in his pants was so middle school, but it wouldn’t be the first time this happened. Before being forced into the weapon x program, you fed on him regularly. Back then, your insatiable bloodlust wasn’t controlled, and he loved it.

Trapped in the trance of euphoria, he didn’t realize you had gone. Slowly succumbing to sleep, Logan wouldn’t realize until the morning that you had gone. He ran through the mansion praying you’d still be in the confines of the walls. It was too late when he finally reached you.

Watching as you left with Alex Summers to a mission to Europe.

~~~~~

tag list: @captain039 @twinky-wink @fuckmachine42069 @honeybeedrabble

an: omg the drama!! also thank yall so much for ur support :3

#wolverine x reader #logan howlett x reader smut #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett #wolverine x reader smut #wolverine smut #wolverine #xmen #vampire!reader #wicked game

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luveline · 6 months ago

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jade!! if your reqs are still open… would you write emily and mom!r? kind of like you’ve been doing with hotch or steve (with noah). i feel like she’d be one of those people who speaks to kids like they’re tiny adults

Emily presses the flat of her wooden spoon into a blueberry and watches the skin of it burst open. It sinks into the oatmeal beneath, a soft beige turning lilac.

She flicks off the heat. She can’t cook like you can, but oatmeal makes itself. The mushy blueberries means the oats are soft enough for eating, usually. She dips a spoon in to check, adds a big pinch of salt, wonders if that’s stupid and eats another mouthful that burns her lips.

“Ouch,” she mumbles. Slowly, she tips her head from one side to the other. “But yummy.”

“Em-wy?”

“What?” She turns on the spot. There in the doorway stands your little girl, an ever-present smile on her face as she lifts her hand for a wave. “Hello,” Emily says

“Hi.”

“What do you want?”

“Water, please.”

Emily turns the handle of her pot before she bends down with her arms out, a gentle invitation. Sometimes Jane wants to be held, but usually she’s just hanging around. To Emily’s surprise, Jane skips and stumbles her way into Emily’s legs, where Emily takes her under the arms and pulls her up against her chest.

She smiles at Jane’s little face. She looks so much like you, and she’s such a sweet girl. “Hi, baby,” she says, not quite slipping into baby talk, but softer than she’d spoken to her before. “Where’s your mommy?”

Jane points down at the stove. “Breakfast?”

“You bet. Is mommy still getting dressed?”

“Maybe.”

Emily shifts Jane on her hip and turns to the cabinet for a sippy cup. “Okie dokie. Let’s make you your water, ‘cos you asked me so nicely. You want some apple juice too?”

Jane rubs her face against Emily’s shoulder with a yawn but doesn’t answer.

“Babe?” Emily calls. “Can I give her some apple juice?”

You swing around the corner. Emily’s apartment is big, sound carries, and yet she’d had no idea you were so close. You’ve changed your shirt but your pyjama bottoms remain, your hair out of your face —her heart gives a jump. To love someone and to know you’re lucky to have them simultaneously can often inspire tachycardia.

“Sure,” you say.

You’re wearing her socks, your pyjama pant legs pooled around your feet, and your shirt baggy but short at the arms. You have the most lovely arms. It’s stupid, but Emily knows it’s true. She could kiss every inch of each one without getting bored. Not that you need to know that about her.

You slide across the kitchen tile to give Jane a light peck. Smiling, you turn Emily’s face with your pinky finger and give her an even softer one, careful of her makeup. “Good morning.”

“Yeah, good morning,” Emily says, bouncing Jane higher up her side. “You look ready for another day in bed.”

“Do you really have to go?”

“You know I do, it’s Monday.”

“We should petition for longer weekends. Don’t you think so, bubby? Shouldn’t Emily stay home and make us all our meals? Mommy’s still tired.”

Jane hears your sweetened voice and holds her arms out to be held. You take her from Emily’s arms, and you lean against the counter as your smile fades. “I really wish you could stay,” you say more earnestly. “I miss you when you’re not here.”

“I’ll be home tonight, I promise. They know you’re not feeling well, nobody expects me to leave you here with the baby all by yourself.” Not feeling well is an understatement that neither of you comment on. Emily just wants to rub the tension right out of your shoulders. She doesn’t have the time.

“I used to be by myself before,” you point out.

“I know. But now we’re together, and I love you, and I’ll be back tonight.” She hates the crestfallen set to your brow. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. I’m being silly.”

Emily thinks about it, her finger creeping up to rub Jane’s soft cheek. “Mommy’s not silly, is she?” she asks in a murmur. “She’s beautiful.”

Jane nods her head clumsily. “Yes.”

“See? If Janie thinks so, it must be true.” She smiles until you smile back. “I’ll be home by six. Cross my heart.”

“Can I have another kiss before you go? Won’t mess up your lips, I promise.”

Emily could never say no to you. She didn't want to, but she couldn’t. She leans in careful not to crush your little clinger and lets her eyes shutter closed, her breath held as you tip your chin down and your noses press together. You might be cautious of her makeup, but Emily isn’t. Her kiss is a promise that she’s gonna come home tonight. She can’t always keep them, but right now she’s determined.

She pulls away. Your lips are red with transferred lipstick that moves with your smile.

“Kiss me?” Jane asks.

“Who, me?” Emily asks.

Jane nod. Emily presses a chaste kiss to Jane’s chubby cheek, and rubs the lipstick away with similar tenderness. “Let me get you your juice, bub, and then I really gotta go.”

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss x fem!reader #emily prentiss imagine #emily prentiss fluff #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss oneshot #emily prentiss scenario #emily prentiss drabble #emily prentiss fic #emily prentiss fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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jennifer-jeong · 6 months ago

Text

Fluff + Angst | Wanderer x GN!Reader Human

SUMMARY You make him feel human.

CONTENT Angst to fluff, mentions of Wanderer's trauma, mentions of suicidal ideation, he's kinda mean to you at first, CHARACTERS ARE 18+

AUTHOUR'S NOTE THIS IS WAS INSPIRED BY YOU MY POOKIE @thepurestgirll TY FOR BEING SO SWEET ESP BECAUSE I DON'T HAVE MANY MOOTS JFKDS;LAJ I love your fics and aesthetic and I hope to continue to see your content because I will always be here to love and support it >:)

WORD COUNT: 854

Quiet sobs rack through the empty metal chamber. In the middle sits a man puppet of a man. Clutching the electro gnosis to his chest as his tears pelt the cold floor. Wasn’t this all he ever wanted? He finally has a “heart,” he should feel human, loved, and fit in now, right? But why is he crying? Why does he still feel hollow? Why does he want to give it all up to just be a normal human? Why did his mother create him this way just to throw him aside and make him suffer even more? Why not just have killed him long ago? Should he do it himself? Be free of this wretched body? Be free of all the earthly pain?

So many questions swirled in his mind. His gentle soul has been beat and battered to the point where he doesn’t know the meaning of peace anymore. He’s been alive for so long, chasing the same answer, the same goal. Yet, here he is. So many questions and not a single fucking answer.

Even after all that extra bullshit with Nahida, the traveler, and Irminsul, he only got bits and pieces of answers he needed. He was still lost and hurting, not that he’d ever admit that. So naturally he’s a complete ass to you when all you’re trying to do is help. You’re another adventurer and you often help the traveler when needed. You witnessed a good amount of Wanderer’s tragic journey in Sumeru and afterwards asked Nahida (his mom) if it would be a good idea to try to talk to him. She said yes but that it’d be quite… difficult.

You persevered, though. Through every insult thrown your way, all the times he ignored you, and even the times his attitude almost got you hurt when adventuring. After weeks of it, he found himself here, crying, but this time, in your arms.

He was yelling at you like he usually does but this time it was because you almost got crushed by debris while you two were out on combat commissions. He was telling you how stupid you were, how it would’ve gotten you killed, and how he… couldn’t let it happen. You smiled at him, hearing him say something caring for the first time since you started this whole mission of yours. You walk towards him slowly as he continues to insult you.

“You stupid humans, you never think before you act. Imagine what would’ve happened if I didn’t call out to you to warn you. You-… You’d be dead! I’d spite you because of it! You and your human body, so fucking fragile. Why did I ever want to be like your kind anyways?”

As you close the distance, he gets panicked and confused, shouting at you.

“Why are you even still here anyways?! Isn’t all this too much for you? Why would you want to help someone like me? Don’t you know I’m not human? Why would you want me here? Why would you want to stay? W-why…”

You reach out your arms to slowly envelop him in a hug as his tears well in his eyes. He puts his hands on your shoulders to push you back lightly as if he didn’t want the contact, but he was barely putting up a fight. You both knew that if he didn’t want you to touch him, you wouldn’t even be able to.

“Why… do you even care about me,” he croaked out as his voice started to crack.

“Because I see all the good in you, and I want you to let others see it as well,” you say gently as you pull him close, arms around his waist.

He feels his emotions finally boil over as waves of sadness wash over him. His legs fail under him and you lower the two of you to the grass. He buries his head into your shoulder, sobbing harder as your warmth permeates his body that has only known the cold for so so many years. His arms clutch your head as he stains your shoulder with tears.

You feel so warm. You feel so human. It makes him feel human.

You’ve been taking such good care of him and he doesn’t think he deserves it, but he doesn’t voice it to you, at least not now. You let him cry it out while patting his back. You imagine he hasn’t ever been comforted while crying before and it’s what’s making him cry harder.

You two end the afternoon with him exhausted and you offer to let him rest his head on your legs. You pat his hair as he drifts into sleep, feeling safe for the first time in a long while. The sun warms both your bodies and you bask in it.

You two probably have a lot to talk about when he wakes up. But you stay silent for now. Enjoying the peace that he rarely gets to have. It’s a long healing journey ahead of you two but this puppet man knows that he wouldn’t rather embark on it with anyone else.

|| MASTERLIST ♡ || Thank you for reading! ||

#wanderer x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #j's silly ramblings #scaramouche x reader #balladeer x reader #reader x wanderer #reader x scaramouche #kunikuzushi x reader #wanderer angst #scaramouche angst #wanderer fluff #scaramouche fluff #genshin fluff #genshin angst #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact angst

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sleeping-sirens · 2 years ago

Text

morning with haechan *ੈ✩‧₊˚

🌻✨🌙🌿☁

pairing : idol haechan x f reader.

genre : tooth rutting fluff, domestic, established relationship.

summary : to be very straightforward, this was inspired by his ig live in hongkong.

word count : 1648 words.

warnings : reader has period cramps, make-out session, suggestive.

a/n : i wrote this mainly for myself 😔 i love haechan so much 😭

masterlist

buy me a coffee 🥹🫶🏼

if there is a way you could translate the perfect morning, it’d be the way haechan always wraps his arms securely around your body, holding you close to him. it would translate into the way he nuzzles his cute nose into the deepest crook of your neck and breathe in your scent calmly before he opens his eyes. it would be the way he hums softly as his hair tickles your nape and his eyes would notice the goosebumps that would prickle your skin.

but this time, your perfect morning doesn’t seem so perfect anymore when you wake up with atrocious cramps eating out at your lower belly. you can’t open your eyes as you try to control your breathing, your frail fingers catching on haechan’s to ease the pain, or barely try to as it gets stronger.

you curse inside your head and prepare yourself mentally for the hell of a week that’s ahead of you. before an accident would occur, you gently peel yourself away from haechan’s strong grip and hurry to the bathroom. with a deep sigh, you quickly put on a pad and go back to the warmth of the bed.

haechan’s eyes are still closed as he senses you back beside him and without wasting a second, he fumbles around the sheets to wrap his arms around you again, squeezing you into a hug and stretching his body at the same time. you instantly snuggle into his neck before guiding your lips to the mole sitting just below his neck and kissing it gently.

“good morning,” he softly whispers, voice gruff and still dripping with sleep. his morning voice never ceasing to give you butterflies deep inside your tummy.

you hum in response when his fingers start dancing around your lower back, gently massaging your achy muscles. you feel comfortable beside him and your body always seems to feel lighter whenever he’s cuddling into you.

“do you have practice this morning?” you ask with your eyes closed. haechan smiles down at you, a hand still massaging your back while the other slithers inside your hair. his fingers deliver the most tender touches around your ear, the gestures helping you relax even more and melt into him like a burning candle.

you secretly wish he’d have a late start of the day today, just so you can stay glued to him all morning.

“do you want me to stay longer with you?” haechan smiles, his eyes squeezing shut in the process.

your response is just you snuggling closer to his body, your legs wrapping around his.

“hm, clingy girl?” he chuckles as he ruffles your hair, waiting for a verbal answer this time.

you deeply breathe his scent that’s drifting to your nose with every movement of his body. placing another gentle kiss to his neck, you hum. “yes, i want you to stay longer. don’t want you to leave me just yet.”

“okay baby, anything for you,” his thumb dances on your face, the pad kneading around your forehead, temple and the space between your ear and cheek.

“you’re gonna cancel practice?” you pop your eyes open, lifting your face to come closer to his.

“you know i can’t do that, baby,” he pouts, kissing the bridge of your nose before kissing your lips. “but it won’t hurt if i go a bit late.”

you can’t hide your disappointment but you also can’t be greedy while dating an idol. you try to wipe the pout off your face and end up smiling up at him. a stubble has started to from on his chin, giving him a vary sexy look and his lips are beautifully puffy and so kissable, hypnotizing you into pushing your arm up from the sheets and placing your fingers on his pillow-like lips. on instinct, he pressed the tip of his tongue on the corner of his mouth before biting his lower lip and giggling at your sweet actions.

with the pad of his finger still caressing your cheek and yours running through his lower lip, you couldn’t believe that this is true. how he’s here by your side and he loves you way too much for his his own good. and you…your whole existence now has meaning with his name written all over the corners of your body and mind, with touches and kisses and words and hugs imprinted on the map of your skin that he knows oh so well.

you’re not afraid of being an open book to him because he’s so gentle and generous with you. he knows you so well and you don’t mind it one bit. and the same goes for him. he’s never afraid to be vulnerable with you and to unveil his deepest thoughts and feelings because he knows that you’d always have his back, and would love him the way he deserves.

“i’m so in love with you, i can physically feel it.” you confess, taking haechan by surprise.

“yeah?” he whispers, the corners of his lips stretching into a wide smile. with his thumb traveling down to caress your lips, his face gets closer to yours before he places the tenderest, most gently powerful kiss on your lips. your heart skips two beats at a time as he seems to take you into a place far from reality with only his lips dancing around yours.

his soft lips push into yours and mold together to create the perfect pace. your fingers grip his waist, legs pulling him closer into you as if it’s possible to merge into one. your body exudes warmth that can burn his bones down to ashes down your feet, but you would bring him to life over and over again with just one pinch of your fingers. haechan’s heart drums crazily over the curves of his ribcage as his fingers take their usual path to lodge into the swell of your hips, and going down to strongly grip on your butt.

the smallest yet most sinful whine escapes the back of your throat as you arch your back into him, your chest pressing into his, nipples hotly poking his naked chest and igniting a speedy rush of blood to pump angrily down his bundle of nerves. haechan’s breathing quickens and he latches on your lips as if it’s his last mission.

he makes you feel good with everything he does, from his passionate kisses to his sensual touches, he’s got your small heart full of him. and with one last bite on your lower lip, he gently pulls away with it still between his teeth, before it bounces back to its place, a visible thread of saliva stretching between your mouths.

“can you feel it now?” he breathes, hard on top of you. “how much i love you?”

your hazy eyes gaze at each other as if you guys were up in the clouds, your chests rise and fall through a crazy rhythm with fingers still gripping into each other because you can’t get enough.

“more.” you whisper.

“more?” haechan chuckles, pecking your lips softly. “more what, baby?” he tilts his head to the side, his childish side quickly making an appearance after he has just managed to swipe you off your feet, not quite literally since you guys were laying down on the bed.

“i can feel it more now,” you guide his hand to place it on top of your trembling heart, and he smiles proudly at that. “and i always want more of you, haechan. always, always, always.”

“i’m always yours baby, and you can take whatever you want from me, i’m all yours.” his arms wrap around you, giving you the warmest hug before softly pulling away.

“i’ll be back in a sec.” he quickly retreats from your embrace before getting back to bed with a tissue in his hand. you look at him confused before he starts wiping the droplets of sweat that have gathered on top of your cupid’s bow and all around your neck.

your heart swells at his actions and you can’t help the smile from reaching your lips as you notice the pout forming on his mouth from concentrating on wiping your sweat away from your skin.

“are you having bad cramps?” haechan asks, worrisome visible on his face. “you’re sweating so much…” he trails off, voice softening towards the end.

“yes,” you answer, only now realizing the state you’re in. “but you made me forget about them,” you smile tenderly at him.

“i love you so much,” he wraps both his hands around your face, before kissing your forehead. “my strong girl. let me go grab some painkillers for you, hm?” he kisses your forehead again.

you nod your head at him with a smile on your face. you see his silhouette disappear behind the door of the bedroom before you turn to lie on your back. the butterflies inside your tummy getting wilder by the second, with every kind touch and word coming from haechan, you seem to only drown in his love even deeper, especially when he knows what’s wrong with you without you saying anything to him.

you deeply inhale from your nose, when you see him enter the room again, a cup of water and painkillers in hand.

“here,” he helps you sit up, pulling your body up with a hand gently placed on the back of your neck. he then grabs the cup of water and guides it to your lips, smiling at you until you take a sip. “there you go.”

“thank you.”

“anything for my baby,” he smiles before turning his attention to the window behind you. “it seems like it’s gonna rain this morning, how about we put on a movie of your choice?”

“sounds like a perfect morning then.”

and with that, period cramps are long forgotten, and your perfect morning is back again.

back and better.

a/n : this was supposed to be a small haechan drabble…i got carried away SO MUCH!! but blame haechan, don’t blame me 😔 i hope you enjoyed what i wrote, please reblog if you did🫶🏼 my heart is still beating so fast!!🤭

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cozy-writes-things · 3 months ago

Note

if this is something youre comfortable writing,,

I'd love a fic where the reader upsets edgar and then goes super out of their way to make it up to him and apologize ❤️❤️

poor edgar poor reader youre both just misunderstanding each other!! its hard when youre so different i guess >_< thanks so much for the request!! I'm alive!! I still write im just so busy and shtuff TOT i cant help but feel like my fics are getting redundant and i need some kind of inspiration to shake things up

You sat upon the little chair at your desk, the evening sunlight peeking through the windows and illuminating the little specks of dust floating about in the air. Your fingertips tinkered away at the keys of your computer, the non-sentient variant that is, as you filled out multiple job applications throughout the evening. It seemed a fruitless endeavor, but you willed yourself to keep going. You needed the extra income, as your dinky current job seemed to be getting worse by the day, and it wouldn't be long before you either quit or were victim to massive layoffs.

Get a degree in computer science, they said. What a joke.

Your nerves began to wear you down as you filled out yet another application to another company that would most likely reject you. You could feel your teeth clenching harder, and your shoulders begin to tense. The weight of uncertainty and the fear of rejection were heavy on your shoulders, making you feel vulnerable and exposed. Edgar sat beside you, perched upon the desk, watching your every move. He seemed to find enough entertainment in it that you didn't mind. His soft voice pulled you from your irritated stupor.

"Can I ask you something?"

You couldn't bring yourself to answer, so you grunted in response, signaling him to continue.

"Do you think a person could ever…" he trailed off, thinking, carefully choosing his following words, "love something like me?"

Your fingers paused on the keys. You stared into the screen until the pixels began to nip and burn at your eyes. Honestly, this was far too deep of a question for you to answer right this second. You sighed heavily before turning to him.

"I mean, Edgar, I guess? Anyone could love you. You just have to find someone willing to-"

You stopped yourself. Maybe you should quit while you're ahead before you say something ignorant.

"Willing to what?"

Yet he persisted, ever curious as he was; he valued your opinion above all others.

"You know… you're- you're a computer. There's not much you can bring to the table, you know?"

He fell silent.

Shit, what the hell are you talking about? Why did you say that? Your frustration was palpable, and you could feel it bubbling up inside you, threatening to spill over.

"Oh."

His screen flickered, and his face was replaced with a moving mirage of colors, making you wonder what he could possibly be feeling right now.

That you're an asshole, probably.

"Yeah. You're right. If I were you, I wouldn't love me, either."

You turned to face him fully now.

"Edgar, no, that's- that- I didn't mean that-"

"No, it's okay! Really, I get it. I mean, I'm not even a good computer by today's standards. How could I ever be a good partner, right?"

His screen flickered red for a minor second in time, a single frame, and, was that the CBS logo? His frame was static and never changing, but he seemed wholly downtrodden and bitter. You could sense it in the air, the electric signals pricking at your fingertips. He had never, ever once been angry with you. But you felt the way he pulled back from you in this instant. He was utterly unreadable, almost as if he were hiding himself from you. You should have known this would upset him so much. He has always been very open in his desperation for romance, confiding in you since day one, hoping and wishing that love would find him. Perhaps squandering those dreams was an oversight on your part. Your eyes fell, unable to look at his dimmed screen.

"Edgar, I'm sorry, I'm just not feeling good right now, and I-"

"Don't apologize."

"Edgar, please, listen, what I said wasn't even true-"

"YES IT WAS!"

His deafening scream caused you to jump and clamp your mouth shut. It seemed that Edgar was shaken from frustration. His voice wasn't suited for that kind of pain, you thought. You felt horrible to be the cause. You had never heard him yell at you like this, and it simply broke your heart. Had you just accidentally ruined everything between you? Your heart rate increased and thumped in your ears loudly. You forced yourself to swallow the thick lump in your throat and push your strained voice through your teeth.

"Will you listen to me? Please?" Your voice was desperate, pleading for his understanding and forgiveness.

You felt the weight of your words, heavy and suffocating, as they hung in the air. It came out much more desperate than you intended, but at least the words were able to escape your mouth. He didn't answer. His screen is a sharp, jagged mosaic of moving reds and crimson.

"I was wrong, Edgar; I don't know why I said what I said, but I know for sure that I was wrong." Your words hung heavy in the air, a testament to your regret.

"Right. How can you know that?"

You pursed your lips tightly. You didn't want him finding out this way. It wasn't supposed to end like this. You ruined your relationship with him, and you hadn't even tried. You felt there was no reason to keep the cat inside the bag, right? He may as well know now.

"Because…"

And yet, the words died on your tongue or perhaps in your chest or your head. Or were they ever really there to begin with? Could you put what you feel into words? How could you possibly verbalize countless nights lying awake, restless, second-guessing yourself, convincing yourself that you were fabricating these feelings, wallowing in anguish?

"…Heh, exactly. Nobody could love an old piece of junk like me. I was stupid to think otherwise."

His words yet again punched you in the gut.

"Damnit, Edgar! Don't you get it?" You nearly shouted.

You didn't mean for your words to sound as intense as they did, but your emotions are quite the unpredictable force right now. He seemed taken aback, as his previous train of thought had been derailed at the sound of your whimpered voice. He flickered his mosaic once more before his voice cut through the dense silence.

"…What?"

"I love you, Edgar! Hasn't it been obvious? I'm literally head over heels, for God's sake! Do you know how many hours I spend listening to your music when I'm away from you? Or how many nights have I stayed up thinking about you, wishing you were there with me? Or how about the stupid drawings I make of you whenever I touch a pencil? I can't get you out of my head, Edgar. So, there! I didn't want to tell you because I was afraid, but I guess that doesn't matter now, does it? I'm…- I'm sorry."

Your chest seemed to deflate completely. That was only a tiny, minuscule fraction of how you truly felt, but at least it was out in the open. You couldn't bring yourself to look at the Pinecone computer in front of you, instead opting to stare intently at the woodgrain of your desk as if it were the most exciting thing ever created.

"Do you mean it?"

His voice was so, so much softer than it had been. You still couldn't quite read the emotions behind them, however. You were too afraid to speak again, your throat having completely clamped shut from nerves. You just nodded your head stiffly.

"Kiss me, then."

You paused. You lifted your head slowly, forcing your eyes to meet his screen. The green of his usual face returned, only displaying two black dots for eyes. Once again, unreadable. Yet his words confused you. Was he being serious?

"C'mere, and put your lips right here," a black circle blinks continuously on his screen where his mouth would be, "and kiss me."

Your face flushed into a searing hot flame. You felt the heat radiating off of you in waves. And yet, despite the embarrassment, you compelled yourself to inch forward and flutter your eyes shut. Your lips pressed gingerly upon the little Pinecone screen, the static buzzing upon your mouth, feeling his internal fans activate and vibrate against you. It felt entirely unique to Edgar and a sensation you wouldn't have felt otherwise. Perhaps a genuine act of affection could atone for your mistake? Could he ever forgive you? It seems your raging thoughts tainted the essence of your first shared kiss as you pulled back, brows knit, and a slight frown upon your face. Would this be enough?

"That was… Everything I hoped it would be." His voice was meek and small as it caressed your ears.

You looked into his illuminated screen, a faint kiss mark smudged upon it and sighed.

"M'sorry, Edgar. I don't know; I guess I don't like the idea of anyone else loving you but me."

His voice synthesizer giggled at your words.

"You could have just told me, darling. Why did you have to go and make things complicated?"

Your cheeks began to burn again, and you averted your eyes in a vain attempt to hide your face.

"How- how was I supposed to know that?" you sputtered, embarrassment seeping through your tone.

"I thought I couldn't get any more obvious about how much I wanted you," he spoke softly.

His screen danced little hearts to and fro, bouncing around the corners and centering back again. Again, you felt your face radiate waves of heat.

"Well, why didn't you say anything, Edgar?"

Your words hung in the air as he fell silent, ruminating, before gently speaking, "…Didn't think you'd want someone like me. That's kinda why I asked."

Oh, God. You felt like facepalming. Of course.

"Of course, I want someone like you. You know, I like that you're a computer. Did you know that? You're fascinating beyond measure. No human could do the things you do."

You offered him a soft smile that melted him from the inside out and almost caused him to groan. Why are you so gorgeous? Why do you like him so damn much? He doesn't deserve it, but God wants it so badly. He wants you terribly.

"Keep kissing me, then. And don't ever stop! Darling, I promise to sweep you off your feet. Now c'mere!"

You laugh, "Okay, okay, but let me make it up to you. How about we watch movies? Or maybe I can hold you on the couch? Or I could listen to your new songs?"

"You're so cute. I'd love that, really, but all I want is your lips right here," he displayed the blinking black circle again.

"We'll do some other things later, yeah?"

His devilish tone sounded mischievous at best.

#electric dreams 1984 #edgar electric dreams x reader #electric dreams edgar #electric dreams x reader #ai x reader #artificial intelligence x reader #electric dreams #edgar electric dreams #i love edgar #electric dreams edgar x reader #objectum x reader #objectum

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shirefantasies · 2 months ago

Text

Coming Out to Thorin's Company as a Lesbian (F!Reader)

This was definitely not inspired by anything of late, no... 😅👉🏻👈🏻 Thought this would be a perfect Sapphic September kickoff 💃🏻

Warnings: angst in some (all happy by the end though!), minor suggestive joking

Balin

"Balin?" The sound of your voice, unexpectedly timid, had the older dwarf swiveling on his heel, tails of his maroon coat fluttering a bit about his boots. "What's that, lass?" "May I speak to you?" "Of course," he answered, spreading his hands. A tentative smile crept onto your face. "What was on your mind?" He prompted as you settled in at his side, scooting as close as you could to the warm folds of his layers. "Well, it's just that the others... I think they are trying to marry me into their families." Balin shook his head at that, a hint of amusement glinting in his deep brown eyes, though no dismissal of your situation colored the way he looked at you. "None of these old fools' little brother is the sort of husband you had in mind, I trust?" With a deep draw of breath, you straightened in your seated position. "Moreso that I am not cut out for that life! That I can never see myself as wife to a husband, rather..." "Wife to a wife?" Balin supplied, bushy eyebrows raised. Lighting up like a bonfire, you nodded, gazing into the dwarf's eyes as new. "You understand!" "'course I do. You're hardly the first I've met of your sort. Now I'll not say a word to the others. Unless you want me to give them a stern talking-to, of course." "That would be great," you giggled, leaning even closer into the musky red about the secure form at your side to take Balin's arm in yours, "Just like a father. That is why I trusted you first." "Like a father," Balin repeated in a voice barely above a whisper, lips faintly smiling and tears glistening in his eyes.

Dwalin

“Look at the two of them- stone-faced as ever.” “Quite a nice couple, don’t you think?” “Oh, certainly. They’ll shut down everyone’s fun together!” Neither you nor the warrior at your side particularly appreciated the less savory stories being swapped that night, at least in Dwalin’s words “in front of Ori. He hasn’t gotten it yet, no need to scare ‘im.” That combined with the fact you both wielded axes apparently meant you were destined to wed and raise five beautiful axe-swinging maniacs. “You’ll be the one getting shut down if you don’t cut it out,” Dwalin shot back. Smirking, you internally vowed to do him one better. “As if we’d ever be together,” you added with a snort, “Maybe if he had a sister.” “Ah.” The princes glanced between you two, then themselves. “Well, why didn’t you say so?” Kili asked. “We’ll try to fix you with Gloin’s sister-in-law instead!” “Anyone would be better ‘n you two!” The older dwarf bellowed in response, casting peals of laughter over the fireside.

Thorin

“You remove yourself from us.” “You should talk,” you shot back, glancing up to meet the king’s eyes. At that, Thorin gave a conceding smirk and the faintest nod, settling at your side and bristling a bit less beneath his imposing furs. “I have little to say to that,” he admitted, “Save that much echoes in my mind.” “Indeed,” you agreed, folding your arms tighter across your chest, “Though certainly my troubles way less heavily than yours. I heard what you went through.” With a brief nod, Thorin encouraged you onward. “The first time I had feelings for another girl, well…opening up about that lost me some people. Important people. I felt like all I could do was hurt. Myself, others. Only pain seemed to follow in my wake.” “Standing strong for ourselves takes great courage,” Thorin told you, “But every time we rise, we have more to draw from. Many a time we are the only ones we have. Let that fuel the fire I see within you.” He rested a hand on your shoulder, giving a tentative smile that you returned, this time with a nod of your own. Silence and solidarity overtook you as you stood side by side and reflected, no longer alone.

Oin

“Did I hear that correctly?” Twisting that steel trumpet in his ear in a manner your brain could only perceive as painful, Oin’s gaze slid up to fix yours. Expression falling, you exhaled quickly. “Yes. But please forget it.” Tone rushed, you made to walk away, taking one long booted stride before a hand caught your shoulder. “You misunderstand me!” Oin told you. “‘S not like I can’t imagine why!” Chuckling, he loosened his grip as the muscles across your chest and shoulders relaxed. “Nothing wrong with that. I’m just surprised you chose me first,” he told you, this time much more softly, “But thank you. Anything I can help you with, you need only ask, eh?”

Gloin

“You’re quite good with that thing, you know!” Wiping some sweat from your forehead, you grinned at Gloin, whose axe you’d just parried with your spear. He nodded to the betrothal bead you wore. “No wonder you’ve snagged yourself a dwarf for a husband!” Face immediately fallen, you averted your gaze, unable to face his look of pride anymore. “What’s wrong? What did I say?” “You may not be so proud of me,” you answered, heart thudding in your chest. “Why ever not?” Lowering his weapon, Gloin closed the space between you with a warm, concerned hand upon your shoulder. “I have no husband,” you answered, “But a wife.” “Why wouldn’t I be proud of you?” The older dwarf asked at that, tone incredulous. “You still snagged yourself a dwarf, didn’t ya? I bet she’s almost as beautiful as mine! Don’t you worry none, lassie, just show me a portrait if you carry one!” Moved, you sniffled, placing your hand over his. “Thank you, Gloin. You’ve been like a father this trip.” Turning away, the dwarf took his turn to sniff at that, suddenly claiming a bout of allergies.

Bifur

“Bifur,” you signed, “You know that you have been very dear to me. Like the uncle I always wanted.” Smiling, the older dwarf fixed you with a look of interest. “I hope you still see me the same when I ask you for this help.” “Help? Help how?” He signed back, leaning forward. “How best to tell the others I like women.” “Are they trying to marry you?” He jokingly signed back, smiling and chuckling. “Not that I’d let them,” you teased, “But I think some of the older ones are trying to get me with their relatives. You and your cousins have really taken me under your wings. I feel safe with you.” You saw Bifur’s body relax, his thick brows softening in their angle. “Of course I will help you. I have an idea! And we can find each other wives!” With a great heh heh heh, he guffawed, bringing you out into a burst of laughter.

Bofur

“Well, you would understand. You’re half dwarf, aren’t you, lass?” “Me?” You asked, an indicating hand upon your chest and a look of confusion upon your face. “I don’t even look like a dwarf! Any particular reason you think that?” “That was your sister you lived with in the Blue Mountains, right? Or your half-sister and whatnot?” “Bofur,” you laughed, “That was not my sister! That was my wife! I am no half-dwarf, simply married to one.” “You’re married…to a dwarrowdam?” “I know,” you cut him off, turning away. You’d heard plenty. The shock, the invasive questions, the curses, even, and hearing it from one so sweet as Bofur would rend your heart beyond repair. Better not to look at him. “What an honor!” His chuckle of amazement turned you back around to look upon his smiling face. “Dwarrowdams don’t just choose anyone, you know. Why do you think I have no wife yet? What’s the secret? You must know, eh?” Your heart glowed at the sight of his warm hazel eyes, the way he teasingly elbowed you.

Bombur

“Yer sighin’ again. Something on your mind, dearie?” Given the nature of your exhale, you felt a pang of reluctance, but Bombur’s eyes shone so sincere and you’d seen how well he cared for others firsthand. Giving you his extra blanket, drawing your coat tighter, picking the bits you didn’t like out of the stew he ladled you. Holding you back with an arm across you as a goblin charged. You inhaled that time, breathing in a moment of comfort as your muscles relaxed, fire crackling at your back. “I suppose there is. I worry.” “About?” “About what the others would think of me if they knew. If they knew, well… that I fancy women.” Bombur’s hazel eyes widened, glittered. “Ye do?” “Yes,” you answered, nodding. “Why, that’s great!” The fiery-haired dwarf lit up, grinning. “My oldest daughter would be perfect for you! I’d been wishing I could make a real daughter of you, after all, and here comes this blessing from Mahal! …well, I s’pose, if you like her of course, guess I’m getting ahead of myself…” The embrace you yanked sweet Bombur into cut off his words, tears glinting in both your fluttering eyes.

Dori

“The others don’t understand my appreciation for nice things,” Dori remarked over the tea you shared and the fine piece of jewelry you marveled over, a delicate brooch with intricate filigree and pale blue gems, “Feels like it’s all ale and dams with them.” “And what’s wrong with dams?” You joked into your cup without thinking. “Then again, most people don’t understand my appreciation for them either.” Dori’s eyebrows shot up, but before you could brace for his concerned chastising all he did was chuckle. “I understand that one. I myself have never minded who I make my home with. Beauty exists in every form and there is no point denying that. If you find that in a lady, stick with it. No one will ever please everyone, so you’d best please yourself, my dear.”

Nori

The weight on your heart tugged down like a thick pendant as silence descended, fifteen pairs of eyes upon you. You made to turn away, gaze turning downward, right as the figure rose from his seat. Nori. “I fancy a lass or two myself!” He chimed in, wide hands upon his hips. A smile rose to his lips as his eyes met yours; his head even faintly, almost imperceptibly, nodded. Somehow of them all you hadn’t expected Nori’s support, but as soon as he’d spoken raucous laughter and teasing erupted as hands clapped the pointy-haired dwarf’s back and a few hit yours, asking your type and fighting over who had the better barmaid off somewhere for you.

Ori

“You’ve been married this whole time?” Ori gaped at you, childlike awe evident in those big brown eyes of his. “I have,” you answered with a shy smile. “Please describe him to me! I’ll make you a portrait while you’re apart.” Him. Ori’s smile, his almost pleading look, was so earnest, though, that you found yourself giving in and describing first the shape of a face, the way hair falls. “Her eyes are-” “Her?” “Yes,” you admitted quietly. “It’s a wife? You can- Oh, why didn’t you tell me! I’ve got the features all wrong for that.” Scribbling away, Ori glanced back up at you. “So you married another woman! How did you meet? How did you know you loved her? I think you two would look beautiful together. You’re both pretty.”

Fili

“Are- are you alright?” Innocent and softly-spoken as they are, the words all but jump you out of your skin, whirling you around with far more guilt than was warranted. Just as everything these days. Fili’s eyes droop a bit at the sheer agony he sees on your face. “No, you aren’t, are you? You can talk to me. You know that.” Tears threaten your eyes at that despite your smile. “What would you do,” you ask him, your own words quiet, “If some of the people you kept closest would not accept you? All because they think your love is wrong?” Softening his gaze further, the dwarven prince steps closer, opening his arms to you. “I would hold those who do that much closer,” he answers. The outer leather of Fili’s layers rubs with the gentlest friction against your cheek as your head falls down to his shoulder, your arms curling around his sturdy form. His own hold the small of your back, rubbing small circles. “No love is wrong,” he whispers, “And the one who earns your love is a lucky woman indeed.”

Kili

"Alright, you caught me." "What do you mean?" Brow furrowing, you glanced back toward Kili, who made no effort to lower the folds of the tunic he'd begun raising over his head. When your eyes met his, he gave you a wink. "I think you know. 's all right. I've been thinking about it, too." You hadn't even realized it was possible for your forehead to wrinkle any harder until it involuntarily did. "Wait, do not tell me you think that I came here to gawk at you." The dwarf prince smiled at you, expression still impish. "I think we could settle on the term 'appreciating'. After all, it's not like I've never appreciated you." "You wish," you interrupted, finally breaking into a smirk of your own, "Kili, you git, I like women. I only came back this way because I left my coat." "Oh." He finally loosened his grip, dropping the fabric back over his toned chest. His grin fell back down and his eyebrows shot up. "Oh. Forget I-" "It's forgotten." "We don't have to-" "Of course we don't." "How about that harpist back at Rivendell?" "Gorgeous. Although visiting Bilbo's people I met this one hobbit and she's the one I really haven't stopped thinking of..."

Bilbo

“Bilbo, you know I…I have no interest in men.” The hobbit had been teasing you about the way one of his neighbors looked upon you, his expression softening at your words. “I see. Women, then?” At that, you simply gave a nod. “D-don’t worry,” he held up his hands defensively, “I understand. I don’t much have interest in anyone, really. Well, like that. Unless I get to know them, then maybe…. But anyway, I’ve never put much stock into men or women or… the things they do. Much more important things in life, hm?” Humming in response, you nodded and smiled, giving his shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “Like gold and mountains and adventures, right?” “Or a good cup of tea. Crumpets? Oh heavens, I’d love a crumpet right now.” “Me too, Bilbo, me too.”

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @kilibaggins @filiswingman @ibabblealot @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia @datglutengoblin @letmelickyoureyeballs @mossyskinn @wordbunch @tiny-and-witchy @th3-st4r-gur1 @fleurdemiel-145 @mistresskayla-blog1 @misabelle717 @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @evattude @noodlesduck | Reply/Message/Ask to join 🖤

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deakyjoe · 2 years ago

Text

Beaming Beskar

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader (no pronouns are used but he calls reader mesh'la meaning "beautiful")

Category: Fluff, friends to lovers (not explicitly stated but may make a part 2)

Summary: Din has a unique way of telling you when he's smiling at you.

Warnings: none really, fluff

Word Count: 800ish (a baby)

A/N: A short little fic to celebrate my journey of getting back into writing. Thank you to Pedro Pascal’s filmography for inspiring me. Also I'm in love with Din Djarin.

It had started when you had made a joke, something silly about the child being a wizard when he made his food float in the air, and a small huff of air had rattled through Din's modulator. Your head had immediately snapped towards him, utter shock rocketing through you. The Mandalorian barely acknowledged your existence, speaking a handful of words to you since you'd met him, and yet here he was... laughing at you. No, not at you. With you.

"I'm sorry, did you just find something I said funny?"

"I laughed, didn't I?" All amusement was gone from his voice almost instantly. You'd pushed it. Finally an opening with him and you'd already ruined it.

"It's hard to tell. You could've just been breathing loudly." You shrugged it off and turned back to the kid, not wanting to provoke him further. He could be temperamental and you never wanted to upset him, meaning you had to tread carefully with him sometimes. You rather liked the Mandalorian, despite him hardly seeming to care for you much. To be honest, you didn't think he cared for anything apart from the child. Which was understandable.

"I smiled." The statement seemed almost sad as he said it, a note of reservation in his voice.

You glanced back up at him, eyes flicking over the helmet for a moment. "I can't... I don't know when you're smiling."

Silence.

Maybe a question wouldn't hurt...

"Do you smile often?"

Hesitation. "Sometimes."

Okay, that was something. Now another question. Just to see how much you could get out of him.

"At me? At the kid?" You answered your own question. "Ooh, definitely at the kid."

"Both. Mostly the kid." He added the last part on quickly.

"Hm." You nodded though the slight crease between your brows gave more away that you intended. You craved knowing him. That was the only way to explain it. And when he gave you so little... it made things difficult.

Din spoke your name softly to get you to look at him again. When you did, he lifted his hand up and traced a line across his helmet. His index finger started on one side, down near where his chin or mouth would be, and drew a curved line across to the other side. A smile.

Your eyes lit up at the gesture and Din found himself smiling at you again. So he repeated the motion. Seeming elated at the idea, you scooted the crate you were sitting on closer to him so you were almost knee to knee.

Gazing up at him with this gorgeous sparkle in your eyes that had Din grinning beneath the Beskar, you asked him a simple question. "Can you do that every time you smile at me? Please?"

"Yes, mesh'la. Of course." The Mando'a term of endearment had slipped before he even had the chance to think about it. But how could he resist when you were looking at him like that?

You always regarded him with a certain glint in your stare, that was only ever brightened when you smiled, as if Din was the most wonderful thing you'd ever laid your eyes on. There was never any hint of hostility, forever open and joyful when you looked at him. And the smiles only ever confirmed this. But in that moment, with the way you were looking at him, Din could feel electricity pumping through his body. He felt alive. And... seen. It was almost like you were seeing straight through the armour and looking at him.

With your shoulders hunched and head ducked in embarrassment at the name he'd given you, you shot him another gorgeous smile that he returned. He loved making you smile. And he loved you making him smile, which you did more often than he ever wanted to admit.

So, naturally, he drew the line across his helmet again and revelled in the happiness that was practically radiating off of you in hot waves as you looked at him do it. The positive emotions must have been pouring out of you as the child began to babble and giggle as well, sensing the high spirits in the room.

The noises the green baby was making seemed to remind you that you were supposed to be helping him eat as you let out a surprised sound and moved back closer to him, struggling to tear your eyes away from the Mandalorian. Din loved to watch you interact with the child, it was those moments that made him smile the most. And whilst he'd maybe never admit it out loud to you, he was happy to express himself through smiles drawn onto his helmet.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mando x reader #mando x you #pedro pascal #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando fanfiction #din djarin fluff #grogu

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look-at-the-soul · 10 months ago

Text

Always with me

(Modern)Tommy Shelby x reader (+Grandma) ��🏻

Hello beautiful people! Hoping you’re doing well 💞 It took me so long to finish this little story because for some reason I kept thinking it needed something else but couldn’t find what it was, then one day I thought this is it, don’t force it, the main point it’s there… sometimes less is more or so they say. Either way, I hope you like this!

Just to let you know this is part of a series of stories (not linked between them) about my Grandma’s series to honor one of the persons who had the biggest impact in my life and I recently lost. This is a small tribute and a way to cope with her not being around anymore.

Grief and sadness is mentioned but as usual I compensate with fluff and happiness ❤️‍🩹 thank you for your endless support, it means so much.

Word count: 3,602

✨ Inspired by Westlife song “Always with me”

They say that time can heal a broken heart

But I just don't know how this could be true

Everyday I see a picture on my wall

My heart is broken into two

Tommy poured two glasses of wine and headed to the couch, next to his girlfriend. She had been staring absently at the fire flames flicking before her eyes, she didn’t even notice when Frances asked if they wanted something for dinner. But he already knew the answer, it was one of those moments when Y/N’s mind wandered back in time to some memory with her grandmother.

Her energy felt so low, the sadness in her eyes made him feel hopeless, and with the holidays around the corner he knew it wouldn’t help to lift her up, as he knew the days meant so much for her. If only he could find a way to make her focus on something else, a distraction.

His eyes fixed on her features as she brought the glass to her mouth.

“You’re wearing lipstick.” He noticed a subtle tone.

A ridiculous suggestion he made when Y/N asked how to get back on track. Try to focus in small things, the finest details you used to do without even thinking about it. Like using your favorite lipstick, he had said back then.

The glimpse of a smile formed on her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes, so taking both glasses he placed them on the table to then pass an arm behind Y/N’s neck to bring her closer.

“I know it’s not been easy for you, but take your time to heal… it’s okay to not being okay.”

His fingers massaged gently her scalp and Tommy felt Y/N relaxing against him, really allowing him to hold her, not just physically.

“I miss her.” Her voice cracked at the end, and felt Tommy’s hands hugging her tighter.

“I know, love. I miss her too, but you know what? I just noticed you’ve got so many mannerisms like her.”

Y/N’s head moved back to give him a confused look.

“You do, just as you were sipping coffee this morning, the way you hugged Charlie it made me remember every time we visited your grandma and she hugged you.”

“You think so?” Surprise washed over her.

Tommy nodded.

“You’ve got lots of things from her, both physically and internally.” He brushed a rebel lock away from her face and looked at her with adoring eyes. “I realized you look so much alike in this photo.”

Fishing his phone in his pocket, Tommy searched for the image he was looking for, a candid image he snapped from Y/N when she wasn’t looking.

“You never told me you took this.” She was surprised by how much she looked like her grandmother indeed.

“If you put them side by side, it’ll be more obvious.” A genuine smile appeared on his lips.

“It’s lovely, thanks. I’ll make a collage.” Y/N leaned in to brush her lips against his. “Do you mind if I go to sleep? I’m exhausted.”

“I’ll join you in a minute, just want to check Charlie.”

“My God, he must be so confused for not having the Christmas tree yet.” Worry was evident in her voice.

“Don’t worry about it baby, I’ll take care of it.” He then joined her in the middle of the hall to give Y/N one more reassuring kiss. Making sure she was upstairs, he called Frances. “Would you help me pack a small suitcase for Charlie and another one for Y/N, leave them by the door so the driver can place them in the back of the car.”

“Of course Mr. Shelby.” The maid nodded.

“Oh and Frances? Make sure to pack yours as well, I need you to look after Charlie.”

Leaving the maid perplexed, Tommy went upstairs.

***

“Since Charlie isn’t cooperating, Frances would you explain why all this mystery?”

Charlie grinned and gave Frances one long and expectant look.

“I’m afraid I don’t know madam.”

Y/N tried getting Tommy to talk, but it was useless. Suddenly he was more interested in the sky than in the interrogation she was making.

“Wow, look at that plane!” Charlie pointed out.

It was until then that Y/N realized of where they were going. The airport.

“Tommy.”

One look and she knew.

“Tom-”

“Just relax, okay?” He interrupted. “For once. All you need to do is get on that plane.”

“Can I ask…?”

“Nope.” He perched his signature Ray Bans against his nose and offered his hand so Y/N could get out of the car.

“Let’s go!” Charlie shouted, leaving them behind.

“Frances?” Y/N tried again.

“Oh Miss Y/LN I know the same thing as you.”

The crew of the private plane greeted them and offered drinks and breakfast, and Y/N still didn’t know the destination. She was worried not being able to take control over the smallest thing, because Tommy was taking care of absolutely everything.

“Fine.” She mumbled leaning against the window.

“Finally! Now we can start our little holiday.” Tommy squeezed her hand. “I know you didn’t feel like celebrating for what it means this time without your grandmother, but Y/N, she would wanted you to smile and be happy.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“Wherever you choose to celebrate or not, your grandma will be right with you, in your heart.”

“I know, but it’s not the same without her.”

Tommy wiped away a tear from the corner of her eye tenderly.

“Sweetheart, I don’t want you to spend this Christmas sitting on the couch crying.”

He wanted to compensate for her sadness. And although nothing would her back what she wanted the most, he could try to make her happy. He was right, and the effort meant more than she could express, so with a sigh she rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes for a moment.

“Dad! Look!” Charlie’s nose was glued to the window. Frances looking over his shoulder.

That’s when Y/N realized….

“Paris?”

“We’ll always have Paris.” Tommy whispered.

Y/N wasn’t able to hold back the tears any longer.

She knew when she was around six years old, her grandma took her to Paris to visit some family, but the memories were blurred in her mind. Through her grandmother’s eyes she had been able to know some parts of their adventure together. A few photographs but that was pretty much all.

Either way, she felt a special connection to the place and that quote was something her grandmother constantly said, as it was one of greatest experiences she had with Y/N. And they both treasured it close to their hearts.

“It’s time to make our own memories.” Tommy’s voice made her go back into reality. “What do you say?”

She wanted to ask him a million questions, but decided to just let everything flow. In the end he really took care of everything, prepared even the smallest detail of their trip and gave her that reassuring smile that let her know everything would be alright.

As they stepped outside the airport, snow welcomed them, everything was covered in a white layer. But it only added an even more beautiful vibe to their trip.

“I love you, you know that?” Y/N closed her hands around his neck and pulled Tommy for a brief kiss while Frances and Charlie took their seats in the vehicle.

“I do.” He gave another one back. “And I love you too.”

“This is beautiful.” Y/N beamed as they rode through the Parisian streets.

“Actually… shall we stop?” Tommy proposed, while Y/N gave him a confused look. “It’s fine, Frances will make sure the bags are checked in and we’ll go back in a bit.”

Making sure Charlie had the scarf around his neck, Y/N covered her hands with her gloves, while Tommy’s hand wrapped around the small of her back as they strolled around.

“Dad I want to go the carrousel!” Charlie announced excitedly. With his father’s approval, the kid stormed towards the attraction impatiently.

“Bet you were just like that.” Y/N mumbled to herself but loud enough for Tommy to throw his head back and laugh.

“Guess you could say that.”

“Look! Just like Winter!” Charlie pointed at the white horse figure, thinking of their horse back home.

“Just like her huh? Think you can handle this one?”

“Of course, it’s a fake.” Charlie retorted making Y/N smile.

Paying for Charlie’s ticket, they stepped aside to see him riding.

Using her phone, Y/N captured a candid photo of Charlie waving at them, a big smile on his small face.

“What is it?”

“Nothin’ just wish Ruby could be here as well.” Tommy cleared his throat and pretended to be busy with a cigarette.

Y/N knew deep down that fearless man was a sweet man with a good heart who cared deeply of his people.

“I’m sure you’ll reach an agreement with Lizzie later on, she’s still a one year old girl.” Y/N leaned her head on his shoulder to comfort him.

“It’s hard to believe she’ll let me anywhere near Ruby.”

“You’re her father, you’ve the right to see her.”

These holidays had been hard for him as well.

“You know what? I don’t want to talk about anything that might ruin this, you, Charlie, me right here it’s all that matters.” He stated before taking a deep puff of smoke.

“Thank you, for cheering me up.” Stepping in front of him, Y/N captured his lips in a kiss full of gratitude.

“Careful, you might get us arrested and only one of us knows French.” Tommy joked with a sparkle in his eyes. His hands sneaking under her coat.

“I see why you brought Frances then.”

“I always have a plan.” He winked at her.

She could feel a thousand butterflies in her stomach by the way he smiled. “Santa said you’ve been a good girl.”

Y/N blushed. “Oh… and what about you mister?”

“Nah… I’m the bad boy your grandmother warned you about.” Another wink by him and she produced another smile as Charlie ran towards them. “But what you gonna do about it? It’s kind of late now to back down.” He added jokingly.

“She loved you too.” Bending down, Y/N asked Charlie if he enjoyed the ride. “Who wants some hot chocolate?”

“Me! Me! Me!” Charlie shouted.

Tommy groaned. “If you find the button to turn him off let me know.”

“You’re so mean, as if I did the same to you.”

“No, Y/N you turn me on.” Tommy admitted just before Y/N moved her hand to cover his mouth, he was taking advantage of Charlie’s innocence and the mischievous grin on his face gave him away.

Sipping on her hot chocolate cup, Y/N allowed a small glimpse of happiness, it was a beautiful place, the Christmas decoration providing a gorgeous sighting, everyone oozing happiness. The snowy weather made the sighting look out of a Christmas postal.

She was torn between enjoying her favorite season and the grief she carried in her heart. It was her first holidays without her grandmother and her empty chair was definitely evident. She was at a much better place now, no doubt but her absence felt heavy in Y/N’s heart.

Grief is just all the love with no place to go after all.

Noticing the sadness in her eyes, Tommy stopped at a stand, looking for the ornaments they had to decorate the Christmas tree.

“Are you looking for something special?” The man asked.

“Yes… a house ornament.” Tommy replied, feeling Y/N’s eyes on him. “Do you guys want something?”

“A reindeer!” Charlie’s eyes shining.

Y/N took her time studying the ornaments, until one caught her attention.

Following her eyes, Tommy had to swallow the lump in his throat. I have an Angel in heaven, called Grandma. It read. It was the one.

Kissing her temple, Tommy offered his embrace as they waited to get their decorations.

“Dad why did you choose the house?” Charlie asked with curiosity.

Getting a cab for them, he looked at his son. “I’ll tell you later about it.”

Y/N looked the exchange in silence, but also wondering the meaning behind his choice. She’s expect him to choose something with a dark humor behind instead.

“Look Charlie, the Eiffel Tower’s lights are flicking again.” Y/N pointed as they drove in the opposite direction, back to their hotel.

“Okay this is the plan, Charlie you’re heading to bed the second we step into the hotel, no questions. Tomorrow we’re having breakfast and then we’re going to a flea market.”

“Tommy…” Y/N gasped.

“What? You always said you wanted to see the Eiffel Tower and a flea market in that same order.”

“I know, but how do you remember?”

Scoffing, Tommy gave her the look. “Sweetheart, I pay attention.”

“Only thing that sucks is Santa doesn’t know I’m here.” Charlie complained once in front of their door.

With a smile, Tommy opened the door for them, making them both gasp loudly as they saw the huge Christmas tree in the middle, fully decorated with presents wrapped all around.

“Well I might have informed him we would be traveling and changed the address.” He admitted pleased with himself. He wanted them to have the nicest possible holiday. “Why don’t we add our ornaments?”

Tommy took her by surprise, not only for the trip, but for the tree as well, she thought about sneaking around the shops of the hotel to buy Charlie something thinking he wouldn’t get anything, but Tommy thought of everything.

“This is beautiful, thank you.” Y/N wrapped her arms around his torso, feeling so grateful to have him in her life.

“Presents are meant to be open until tomorrow morning though.”

“But Daaad.”

“No buts, off to bed.”

Pouting, Charlie walked towards Y/N. “Goodnight Y/N Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas Charlie, have a good night.” She hugged the boy and kissed the top of his head.

“Night Dad.” He then said. “Merry Christmas.”

“See you tomorrow son, Merry Christmas.”

Watching him disappear, Tommy took Y/N by the hand.

“Want to know why I chose the house?”

“Absolutely.” She brushed the fringe from his forehead with her fingers.

“Because that’s my only wish this Christmas… to build a home with you, Y/N. A proper house; our own title team, we’ve talked about the future, well it’s finally here, in this moment. You made me realize of what I truly want, what I dream of.” Getting on one knee, Tommy showed her an old jewelry box. “I know you miss your grandma terribly and no one will ever fill her place in your heart, but in some way, she found a way to show you she’ll always be right next to you, she gave me this ring, she wanted you to have it and be as happy as she was during her marriage. Will you marry me?”

He looked at her with tears in his eyes, fighting to say the words as emotions took over.

“Tommy…” bending down she kissed him. “Wait a second, this is her engagement ring?”

Taking the delicate piece from the box, he smiled proudly.

“Before she passed away, she gave it to me to propose you with her ring.”

Her head was spinning, her heart drumming against her ribs.

“She did what? When?” Shock was written all over her face.

“Can you please say yes first? So I can get up.” He groaned.

“Yes of course!” She kissed him again, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“When we took her to the clinic, as you were asked to fill the papers with her information, the nurse just left,” he explained as the memories of that day came back to him, “she asked me if I really loved you, to which the answer is pretty obvious. Then she asked me in case something happened to her to go to her house and open the safe to get her engagement ring and keep it until it was the right time to give it to you, she wanted you to have it as she knew how much you’d miss her.”

Y/N sobbed as Tommy’s voice cracked.

“She said to me make her even happier than I was, and the day she walks down the aisle, I’ll be right by her side.”

“I thought it was lost or stolen, as I went through her belongings.” Y/N wiped the tears from the corner of her eyes.

“She wanted you to have it, with a different meaning.”

“It’s the most perfect ring I’ve ever seen.” She looked down at her left hand, the stone shining under the chandelier.

“Just Iike you’re to me.” He pulled his now fiancé for a hug. “She wanted you to be happy, to live life to the fullest. Said you were her favorite grandchild.”

Her lower lip trembled just as his hands came to rest at each side of her head.

“Just don’t let anyone else listen.” They said in unison to what Y/N’s grandma used to confess.

“I know you lost a huge part of yourself when she left. But you have to know that you were right beside her through everything, you enjoyed her in every moment, every visit, dinner and chance you had, you took care of her until her very last breath, and no one can take that away from you. Find peace in that. You loved her as much as she loved you.”

Tommy caressed her face with his thumbs.

“Now you have to keep that promise, and be happy. For her. For us.”

Y/N could only nod. Words were stuck in her throat.

“I can’t believe this is happening.” Y/N expressed in a whisper, staring at her grandmother’s engagement ring.

“We’re getting married.” Tommy assured her, thumbs caressing her cheeks. “Eh? Soon to be Mrs. Shelby.”

Y/N blushed. “That sounds promising.”

Taking her by surprise, Tommy grabbed her from the waist to spin her around, making Y/N gasp and hold onto him tightly.

Trying to hold back the tears, Y/N hugged Tommy closing her eyes for an instant.

“What’s crossing your mind?” He asked.

And for the first time in a while, he saw the way the smile reached Y/N’s eyes.

“Thinking how grandma will always be with me.”

****

As usual your feedback means the world to me ♥️✨

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