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shiorihyugawrites · 1 month ago

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Owned - Eren x Reader Modern AU

You were hired to sing at the most exclusive lounge in Paradis City—classy, high-end, and quietly owned by none other than the infamous Eren Jaeger. The moment he sees you on stage, he’s hooked.

You try to resist. He’s your boss. He’s dangerous. He’s taken.

But Eren doesn’t take no for an answer.

He showers you in gifts, whispers promises against your skin, and drags you into a world of dark secrets and criminal power. Even as guilt and jealousy twist inside you, the heat between you burns out of control.

He has a girlfriend. He doesn’t care.

And when he finally claims you? He makes sure you know one thing—you belong to him.

Part Five: Surrender

Four Months Later…

The clinic’s waiting room was a sterile cocoon of pastel blues and whites, the air faintly scented with antiseptic and the soft hum of a coffee machine in the corner. You sat on a cushioned chair, one hand resting on your growing belly, the other clutching your phone, where a Pinterest board of nursery ideas glowed on the screen.

At twenty weeks pregnant, your baby bump was more pronounced, a gentle curve beneath your flowy sage-green dress, its empire waist chosen for comfort and confidence. Today was special—a checkup that promised to reveal the gender of your child, a milestone that filled you with a nervous excitement that danced in your chest. The fears that had plagued you when you first discovered your pregnancy had softened over the weeks, replaced by a cautious hope, a determination to embrace this new chapter despite the chaos that had birthed it.

Ellie and Morgan had been your anchors, their unwavering support a lifeline through the whirlwind of the past months. They’d held your hand at every appointment, laughed with you over late-night takeout, and helped you navigate the emotional labyrinth of impending motherhood. You’d sold most of Eren’s extravagant gifts—the diamond necklaces, the designer dresses, the luxury sunglasses—turning his tokens of deceit into practical funds for your future. The money had kept you afloat, covering rent, groceries, and baby essentials while you searched for a new job. You’d held onto the Chanel purses, though, their sleek leather too perfect to part with, a small indulgence in a life now defined by necessity.

Finding work hadn’t been easy, especially pregnant, but Ellie’s sister, a corporate recruiter with a knack for pulling strings, had landed you an administrative job at a mid-sized law firm. The work was mundane—filing documents, scheduling meetings, answering phones—but it paid well, offered benefits, and, crucially, they’d hired you despite your visible bump. You were grateful, even if the office’s fluorescent lights and endless spreadsheets were a far cry from the stage lights and soulful melodies of Jaeger’s Lounge. Singing, your dream, was on hold, but you hadn’t given up; you hummed lullabies to your belly at night, promising your child you’d find a way back to music one day.

Your old one-bedroom apartment, once a haven of memories both sweet and bitter, was too small for your new reality. You’d moved to a two-bedroom space in a quieter part of Paradis, the extra room destined to be your baby’s nursery. The enchanted forest theme had taken root in your imagination, inspired by countless Pinterest boards—moss-green walls, fairy lights, a mural of whimsical trees you’d painted yourself, stroke by careful stroke.

You’d spent hours assembling a secondhand crib, draping it with soft muslin, and arranging stuffed animals—a fox, an owl, a deer—on a shelf you’d hung with Morgan’s help. The nursery was a labor of love, a tangible promise to your child that you’d give them a world filled with magic, even if your own felt fractured.

But the shadow of Eren loomed large. True to his word, he’d provided financially, covering every clinic visit, prenatal vitamin, and baby expense without hesitation. He’d wired money for a new stroller you’d mentioned in passing, paid for a prenatal yoga class Morgan had recommended, and even offered to cover your rent when he learned you’d taken a job. “You should be resting,” he’d said over the phone, his voice earnest but tinged with frustration. “I can provide for you. You don’t need to work.”

You’d accepted his money, depositing it into a savings account as an emergency fund, but you hadn’t quit your job. Trusting Eren again was a risk you couldn’t afford, not after his lies, and definitely not with your baby depending on you. You needed a backup plan, a safety net for the day he might change his mind—or betray you again.

Eren was in turmoil, a fact you gleaned from the rare glimpses you allowed him. He’d been trying to prove his love, his commitment, bombarding you with texts and calls that veered from baby logistics to desperate pleas for reconciliation. “I love you,” he’d say, his voice raw over the line. “I want to be in your life, in our baby’s life. Let me fix this.” You kept your responses curt, focused on the child—appointment dates, ultrasound costs, crib recommendations—shutting down any talk of us. “We were never truly a couple, Eren,” you’d told him once, your voice cold despite the ache in your heart. “You made sure of that.” You’d even used Ellie or Morgan as intermediaries when his persistence grew too heavy, their fierce loyalty a buffer against his charm.

But today was different. Neither Ellie nor Morgan could make the appointment—Ellie was stuck in a deadline crunch at her graphic design job, Morgan was visiting her sick grandmother out of town—and the thought of learning your baby’s gender alone felt unbearable. You’d wrestled with inviting Eren, pacing your apartment, weighing the risk of letting him closer against the desire to share this moment with someone, anyone.

In the end, you’d texted him, your fingers trembling: Clinic appt today, 2 PM. Gender reveal. You can come if you want. His reply was instant, a flurry of gratitude and promises to be there, and you’d steeled yourself, reminding yourself this was for the baby, not him.

Now, in the exam room, you lay on the padded table, the paper crinkling beneath you, your dress hiked up to expose your belly, slick with ultrasound gel. The room was small, its walls adorned with posters of fetal development and breastfeeding tips, the air cool and clinical. Eren sat in a chair beside you, his large frame hunched forward, his black button-down rolled up to his elbows. His hair was tied back, loose strands framing his face, and his emerald eyes were fixed on the ultrasound screen, his fingernails bitten to the quick, a nervous habit you hadn’t noticed before. He radiated tension, his knee bouncing, his breath uneven, and you caught the faint scent of his cologne—sandalwood and musk—a reminder of nights you’d rather forget.

The doctor, a middle-aged woman named Dr. Lin with a warm smile and steady hands, adjusted the ultrasound wand, the screen flickering with grainy images of your baby. “Alright,” she said, her voice soothing, “let’s take a look at your little one. Everything’s looking good so far—heart rate’s strong, growth is on track.”

You nodded, your heart racing, your hand instinctively resting on your bump. “I’m so excited,” you said, your voice soft but bright. “I’ve been waiting for this. I just want to know who they are.”

Dr. Lin smiled, her eyes crinkling. “I love these moments,” she said, moving the wand, the screen shifting to show a clearer profile—tiny limbs, a curved spine, a head with a button nose. “Your baby’s being cooperative today. Let’s see if we can get a good angle.”

Eren leaned closer, his chair creaking, his eyes wide with awe. “That’s… that’s our baby,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, his hand twitching as if he wanted to reach for you but thought better of it.

You glanced at him, your expression guarded. “Yeah,” you said, your tone neutral, focusing on the screen.

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and you saw the sheen of tears in his eyes, quickly blinked away. “You look… you’re glowing,” he said, his voice low, hesitant. “I mean it. You’re beautiful.”

“Don’t,” you said sharply, your eyes flicking to his, a warning in your gaze. “I invited you for the baby, Eren. Not for this.”

He nodded, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t push. “Sorry,” he muttered, his eyes returning to the screen, his fingers drumming on his knee.

Dr. Lin, sensing the tension, kept her focus on the ultrasound, her voice calm. “Okay, here we go,” she said, adjusting the wand. “I’ve got a clear view now. Congratulations, you’re expecting a baby girl.”

The words hit you like a burst of sunlight, your breath catching, a smile breaking across your face. “A girl?” you whispered, tears welling in your eyes, your hand pressing against your belly. “I’m having a daughter?”

Dr. Lin nodded, her smile warm. “A healthy baby girl,” she confirmed, pointing to the screen. “See here? That’s the anatomy we look for. She’s perfect.”

You laughed, a sound of pure joy, your tears spilling over. “A girl,” you repeated, your voice trembling with wonder. “Oh my God, I’m gonna have a daughter.”

Eren’s face lit up, a rare, unguarded smile breaking through his turmoil, his eyes glistening. “A girl,” he echoed, his voice raw, his hand covering his mouth as if to hold in the emotion. “We’re having a daughter.”

You glanced at him, your joy tempered by caution, but you couldn’t deny the shared moment, the weight of this truth binding you, if only for now. “Yeah,” you said, your voice softer, your eyes returning to the screen, where your daughter’s tiny form moved, a miracle you’d created despite everything.

Dr. Lin printed the ultrasound images, handing them to you with a smile. “I’ll give you two a moment,” she said, wiping the gel from your belly. “I’ll have the nurse schedule your next appointment. Congratulations again.”

She left, the door clicking shut, leaving you and Eren in the quiet, the hum of the ultrasound machine fading. You sat up, smoothing your dress, clutching the images, your heart still racing with the news. A daughter. Your daughter.

Eren stood, his hands shoved into his pockets, his eyes searching yours. “Thank you,” he said, his voice thick. “For letting me be here. For this. A girl… I can’t believe it.”

You nodded, your expression guarded. “You deserved to know,” you said, your voice steady. “She’s your daughter, too.”

He took a step closer, his eyes pleading. “I want to be there for her,” he said, his voice urgent. “For you. I know you don’t trust me, and I don’t blame you, but I’m trying. I’m paying for everything, I’ll keep paying, but I want more than that. I want to be her dad, not just a cheque.”

You sighed, standing, your hand resting on your bump, the ultrasound images tucked under your arm. “Eren, we’ve been over this,” you said, your voice firm but tired. “I appreciate the money, I do. But trust isn’t something you can buy. You lied to me, you broke me. I’m not letting you back in, not like that. You can be in her life, but that’s it.”

His face fell, pain flashing in his eyes, but he nodded, his jaw tight. “I get it,” he said, his voice low. “I fucked up, and I’ll live with that forever. But I’m not giving up. I’ll keep showing up, for her, for you. I’ll prove I’m not that guy anymore.”

You shook your head, your heart aching despite your resolve. “Words, Eren,” you said, your voice soft but cutting. “They’re just words. For now, you’re here for her. That’s enough.”

He nodded, his eyes glistening, and you saw the effort it took for him to hold back, to respect your boundaries. “Okay,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll take what you give me. But I’m not going anywhere.”

You turned toward the door, pausing to glance back at him, his tall frame silhouetted against the exam room’s stark light, his eyes fixed on you with a mix of love and regret. “I’ll text you the next appointment,” you said, your voice neutral. “And the bills.”

He nodded, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll be there,” he said, his voice steady.

You left the room, the ultrasound images pressed to your chest, your daughter’s existence a beacon of hope amidst the wreckage of your past. A girl. Your girl. As you walked through the clinic, the weight of Eren’s presence lingered, a reminder of the man he’d been and the man he was trying to become.

But outside, the clinic’s glass doors framed a world turned liquid, the rain hammering down in relentless sheets, transforming the parking lot into a shimmering mosaic of puddles and reflections.

You cussed under your breath, the word sharp and low, as you stared at the downpour. You didn’t have a car, had relied on the subway to get here, but the platform was a good ten-minute walk, and the thought of trudging through this deluge, pregnant and unprotected, was unthinkable.

You pulled out your phone, the ultrasound images tucked safely under your arm, and opened the Uber app, hoping for a quick ride home. The screen loaded, and your heart sank. The price surge was obscene—nearly $200 for a trip that usually cost $30—and the map showed no drivers nearby, the little car icons maddeningly absent.

“Just my luck,” you muttered, your thumb hovering over the app, your mind racing. That kind of money could buy a month’s worth of diapers, a new onesie set, or half a prenatal yoga class. You glanced outside again, the rain showing no mercy, and checked your weather app. The forecast was grim: heavy rain for the next three hours, with thunderstorms rolling in. You were stuck.

Behind you, Eren emerged from the exam room. His eyes flicked to the windows, taking in the storm, then settled on you, a flicker of concern softening his features. He knew you didn’t drive, knew the subway was your usual lifeline, and he could guess the rideshare situation without asking. In his mind, this was a chance—an opportunity to spend more than a fleeting moment with you, to talk, to bridge the chasm his lies had carved. But he treaded carefully, his voice low and cautious as he approached.

“Hey,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s pretty bad out there. Let me give you a ride home.”

“No,” you said, your voice sharp, automatic, your eyes narrowing as you turned to face him. “I’m fine. I’ll figure it out.”

Eren didn’t back down, his expression earnest but measured, like he was navigating a minefield. “Come on,” he said, gesturing to the rain. “There’s no way you’re walking to the subway in this. And I bet Uber’s surging like crazy, right? No drivers nearby, either. You’re gonna be stuck here for hours.”

You bristled, your stubbornness flaring, even as his words hit too close to home. “I don’t care,” you said, your voice firm, though the lie tasted bitter. “I’ll pay the surge. It’s not your problem.”

He raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking to your phone, where the Uber app still glowed with its outrageous price. “Two hundred dollars?” he said, his tone gentle but pointed. “You really wanna spend that when you don’t have to? Just let me drive you. It’s for you and the baby.”

Your heart twinged at the mention of your daughter, the $200 price tag a painful reminder of your tight budget. You could use that money for her. And the rain wasn’t letting up, the lightning flashing ominously through the windows, followed by a low rumble of thunder that made you flinch. You sighed, your shoulders slumping, the fight draining out of you. “Fine,” you said, your voice tight, avoiding his eyes. “But this doesn’t mean anything, Eren. It’s just a ride.”

His face lit up, a flicker of hope breaking through his guarded expression, and he nodded quickly. “I understand,” he said, his voice warm. “Wait here, okay? I’ll pull the car up as close as I can.”

Before you could protest, he darted out into the rain, his tall frame vanishing into the downpour, his boots splashing through puddles. You watched through the glass, your arms crossed, as he sprinted to his black G-Wagon, the sleek vehicle a stark contrast to the clinic’s modest lot. He started the engine, the headlights cutting through the storm, and maneuvered it right to the curb, as close to the entrance as possible. Then, to your surprise, he got out, rain soaking his shirt, and opened the passenger door, shrugging off his jacket to hold it over you like a makeshift umbrella.

Inside the clinic, a group of women in the waiting room—expectant mothers and a nurse at the desk—watched the scene, their faces softening, a few whispering to each other. “That’s so sweet,” one said, her voice audible through the glass. “Look at him, getting all wet for her.” Another sighed, clutching her purse. “Wish my husband would do that.”

You rolled your eyes, unmoved by their swooning, your walls firmly in place. Eren’s charm had fooled you once; you weren’t falling for it again. You stepped outside, letting him shield you with his jacket, the rain cold against your bare arms but his body heat a faint, unwelcome reminder of the past. You slid into the passenger seat, the leather warm and soft, and he closed the door, jogging around to the driver’s side, his shirt now clinging to his chest, his hair dripping.

He got in, shaking the rain from his hair like the dog he is, and turned on the heat, the vents blasting warm air into the chilled cabin. “You good?” he asked, glancing at you as he pulled out of the lot, the windshield wipers working overtime against the rain.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice clipped, your eyes fixed on the road. The rain was relentless, a gray curtain blurring the city, and a sudden flash of lightning split the sky, followed by a crack of thunder that made you jump in your seat, your hand flying to your belly.

Eren’s hand shot out instinctively, landing on your thigh, a gentle squeeze meant to comfort. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said, his voice soft, his eyes flicking to you with concern.

You recoiled, pulling your leg away, your voice sharp. “Don’t touch me,” you said, glaring at him, your heart racing from the thunder and his touch.

He pulled his hand back, his expression crumpling, a wounded look that made him seem like a kicked puppy. “Sorry,” he muttered, his hands gripping the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles whitening. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the rhythmic swish of the wipers and the patter of rain against the roof.

Eren’s frustration was palpable, not at you but at himself, a storm raging within as fierce as the one outside. He’d fucked up so badly, letting his cowardice with Mikasa destroy what he’d had with you, his dream girl, now pregnant with his daughter. Your walls were sky-high, and he was at a loss, desperate to find a way through.

He took a deep breath, his voice low, almost pleading. “What do I have to do?” he asked, his eyes fixed on the road, the city lights blurring through the rain. “To earn your trust back. I’m willing to do anything. I’ve been trying these last few months—paying for everything, showing up when you let me, doing every damn thing you ask. But it’s still not enough. You said you wanted actions, not words, and I feel like I’ve been giving you actions. So tell me, what’s it gonna take?”

You scoffed, his entitled tone grating, your anger flaring like a match struck in the dark. “Don’t act like you’re the victim here, Eren,” you said, your voice cold, your arms crossing over your bump. “You lied to me the entire time we were together. You manipulated me, promised me over and over that you’d leave Mikasa, that you loved me, that we had a future. But you proposed to her, Eren. You were gonna marry her. If I hadn’t caught you at that engagement party, would you have gone through with it? Kept me as your mistress on the side? Because I sure as hell believe you would’ve.”

His jaw clenched, his grip on the wheel tightening, the leather creaking under his hands. “I wouldn’t have gone through with it,” he said, his voice low, insistent. “I swear, I wouldn’t have married her. I only proposed because Mikasa was on my ass about getting engaged, nagging me for months, years. I felt backed into a corner, especially with our finances tied up, her family’s money in everything I built. I thought… I thought I could buy time, figure shit out without blowing up my life.”

You laughed, a bitter, cutting sound that made him flinch. “Bullshit,” you said, turning to face him, your eyes blazing. “That’s the weakest excuse I’ve ever heard. If you loved me as much as you claim, you would’ve broken it off with her, like you promised. Screw the joint finances, Eren. If you were a real man, you would’ve come up with a plan, taken the hit, done whatever it took to be with me. But you didn’t. You chose the easy way out, and now you’re surprised I don’t trust you? You’re delusional.”

The words hit like a blade, slicing through his ego, his carefully constructed defenses. His face paled, his eyes flickering with pain, but he didn’t argue, didn’t deflect. “You’re right,” he said, his voice quiet, raw. “I was a coward. I should’ve ended it with Mikasa the moment I knew I was in love with you. I should’ve taken the hit, lost the money, the businesses, whatever. But I didn’t, and I fucked up the best thing I ever had. I’m not surprised you don’t trust me. I’m just… I’m begging for a chance to make it right.”

You shook your head, your anger simmering, your heart a tangle of hurt and resolve. “You don’t get it, do you?” you said, your voice softer now, but no less firm. “It’s not just about what you did. It’s about who you were. You played me, Eren. You made me believe I was your world, while you were planning a life with her. You don’t just fix that with money or showing up to appointments. Trust isn’t a checklist you can mark off. It’s gone, and I don’t know if you’ll ever get it back.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes glistening, the road blurring through the rain as he drove. “I know,” he said, his voice breaking. “I know I don’t deserve it. But I’m not giving up. I love you, and I love our daughter. I’ll keep showing up, keep doing whatever you need, even if you never let me back in. I just… I need you to know I’m trying.”

You turned away, your eyes fixed on the window, the city a smear of lights and water. “Trying isn’t enough,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Not yet.”

The rest of the drive was quiet, the storm outside mirroring the one within. Eren navigated the flooded streets with care, his hands steady despite the turmoil in his heart. You clutched your purse, the ultrasound images a reminder of the life growing inside you, a life you’d protect at all costs. When he pulled up to your new apartment, the rain had softened to a drizzle, the thunder a distant rumble.

He parked, turning to you, his eyes searching yours. “Can I walk you to the door?” he asked, his voice hesitant, hopeful.

“No,” you said, unbuckling your seatbelt, your tone firm but not cruel. “I’ve got it from here.”

He nodded, his face falling, but he didn’t push. “Text me the next appointment,” he said, his voice soft. “And any bills. I’ll take care of them.”

“I will,” you said, opening the door, the cool air rushing in. You stepped out, pausing to glance back at him, his wet shirt clinging to his frame, his eyes fixed on you with a mix of love and regret. “Drive safe,” you added, almost an afterthought, before closing the door and heading to your building.

As you unlocked your apartment, the nursery’s soft glow greeting you, you felt the weight of the day settle in—your daughter, Eren’s persistence, the walls you’d built to protect your heart. You placed the ultrasound images on the kitchen counter, your hand resting on your bump, a silent promise to your girl. “It’s you and me,” you whispered, a smile tugging at your lips. “And we’re gonna be okay.”

…

The weeks following the clinic visit blurred into a rhythm of routine and resilience, your life a delicate balance of work, pregnancy, and the ever-present shadow of Eren. Now at nearly seven and a half months pregnant, your belly was a swell, a constant reminder of your daughter, the beacon pulling you through the fog of heartbreak and uncertainty.

Eren, however, was relentless, his efforts to win your trust a siege you hadn’t anticipated. You’d regretted letting him drive you home from the clinic that rainy day, a decision born of necessity that had backfired spectacularly. He now knew your new address, and he wielded it like a weapon, his gestures growing bolder, more intrusive, each one chipping at the walls you’d built around your heart. You’d tried to keep him at arm’s length, communicating only about the baby but he was undeterred, his persistence a mix of desperation and determination that both infuriated and unnerved you.

The first shock came on the first of the month, when you logged into your rental portal to pay your rent, only for the payment to bounce back instantly. Frowning, you tried again, your heart sinking as the same error flashed on the screen: Payment Declined – Account Settled. Confused, you called the rental office, your fingers tapping nervously on the kitchen counter.

“Good morning, Paradis Properties,” a cheerful voice answered. “How can I help you?”

“Hi, this is (Y/N), apartment 3B,” you said, your voice tense. “I’m trying to pay my rent, but the system keeps saying my account’s settled. There must be a mistake.”

The woman on the line typed, the clack of her keyboard audible. “Let me check… Oh, yes, I see. Your rent has been paid in full for the next six months, as of yesterday. A wire transfer from a Mr. Eren Jaeger.”

Your blood ran cold, your grip on the phone tightening. “What?” you said, your voice sharp. “I didn’t authorize that. Can you reverse it?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” she said, her tone apologetic. “The payment’s already processed, and it’s non-refundable per our policy. You won’t owe anything until next July.”

You hung up, your heart pounding, anger surging like a wildfire. Eren. Of course it was Eren, with his deep pockets and infuriating audacity. You dialed his number, your fingers shaking, your voice already rising before he even answered.

He picked up on the second ring, his voice warm, hopeful. “Hey—”

“Don’t ‘hey’ me, Eren,” you snapped, pacing your living room, the hardwood cool beneath your bare feet. “What the hell is wrong with you? Paying my rent for six months? Who gave you the right?”

“I just wanted to help,” he said, his voice calm but tinged with caution. “You’re pregnant, working, stressing about bills. I thought—”

“You thought you could buy me?” you cut in, your voice venomous. “Like I’m some piece of property you can own? I told you I don’t want your money controlling my life, Eren. I’m not your mistress anymore. I’m not your anything.”

He was silent for a moment, absorbing your words, and when he spoke, his voice was low, earnest. “I’m not trying to own you,” he said. “I swear. I know I fucked up, and I know you don’t trust me, but I’m trying to make things easier for you, for our daughter. You’re carrying her, working a job I know you hate, and I have the means to help. I can’t get the payment back, but at least now you don’t have to worry about rent for a while. You can focus on the baby, on yourself.”

You laughed, a bitter sound that echoed in the quiet apartment. “You don’t get it, do you?” you said, your voice trembling with rage. “This isn’t about the money. It’s about you thinking you can make decisions for me, like you did before, like when you lied about Mikasa, about us. You don’t get to play hero now, Eren. You don’t get to fix this with your wallet.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking, and you could hear the weight of his guilt. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I love you, and I want to take care of you both. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

“Stop trying to control me,” you said, your voice cold. “Pay for the baby stuff, fine. But don’t touch my life, my home, my independence.”

You hung up, your chest heaving, tears of frustration stinging your eyes. You sank onto the couch, your hand resting on your bump, a silent apology to your daughter for the chaos her father brought. But Eren’s gesture, as infuriating as it was, had eased a burden you hadn’t admitted aloud. Six months of rent paid meant breathing room, a cushion for the unexpected, and though you hated him for it, a small part of you was relieved.

But his siege didn’t stop there.

Every Monday, like clockwork, a fresh bouquet of flowers arrived at your door, their vibrant petals a burst of color in your modest apartment. Roses, orchids, lilies—expensive, hand-arranged, delivered by a local florist with a smile. Each came with a note in Eren’s handwriting, the scrawl achingly familiar: “Thinking of you and our baby girl. I love you. – E.” Your neighbor, a bubbly twenty-something named Hitch who lived across the hall, caught you signing for a delivery one morning, her eyes wide with awe.

“Wow, again?” she said, leaning against her doorframe, a bagel in hand. “Your baby daddy is something else. These flowers must cost a fortune. Most guys don’t even send a text, let alone this. He’s, like, rom-com level.”

You forced a smile, the bouquet of white orchids heavy in your arms. “Yeah, he’s… persistent,” you said, your tone dry, avoiding her gaze.

“Persistent? Girl, this is romantic as hell,” Hitch said, grinning. “You’re lucky. My ex wouldn’t even pay for half a pizza. Hold onto that one.”

You snorted, shaking your head as you unlocked your door. “Trust me, it’s not what it looks like,” you said, stepping inside. “Thanks, though.”

You kept the flowers, unable to deny their beauty, their soft fragrance brightening your living room, the nursery, even your tiny kitchen. They were a small luxury in a life stretched thin, but the notes went straight to the trash, their words too painful, too reminiscent of promises broken. You weren’t falling for Eren’s charm, not again, even if Hitch’s swooning made you second-guess yourself for a fleeting moment.

But it was the morning of a crisp February day, a few weeks later, that Eren’s audacity reached a new peak. You were sipping decaf coffee, scrolling through a Pinterest board for Galentine’s Day ideas, when a knock at the door startled you. You set your mug down, smoothing your oversized sweater over your bump, and opened the door to find a man in a crisp suit, holding a clipboard, his smile professional but excited.

“Good morning, ma’am,” he said, glancing at his clipboard. “I’m with Paradis Auto Sales. I’m here to deliver your new Mercedes-Benz GLC, courtesy of Mr. Eren Jaeger.”

Your jaw dropped, your hand gripping the doorframe. “I’m sorry, what?” you said, your voice rising, disbelief coursing through you. “A car?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, gesturing to the street, where a sleek, white Mercedes gleamed under the morning sun, a red bow tied across its hood like a gift straight out of a commercial. “It’s all paid for, registered in your name. There’s a note on the windshield.”

You stepped outside, barefoot on the cool concrete, your heart pounding as you approached the car. It was stunning, its curves elegant, its interior visible through the tinted windows—leather seats, a touchscreen dashboard, every feature a new parent could dream of. On the windshield, tucked under a wiper, was an envelope with your name in Eren’s handwriting. You tore it open, your hands shaking, and read: “You need a safe way to get around, especially when our girl arrives. You can’t rely on Ubers or the subway forever—it’s not safe for you or her. I know you’re still angry, but I’m not letting the mother of my child or my daughter ride in danger. I love you both. – Eren.”

You crumpled the note, your irritation flaring, but beneath it, a small, traitorous part of you stirred—a part that couldn’t deny Eren’s persistence was wearing you down, brick by brick. The car was practical, a necessity you hadn’t dared dream of, and the thought of driving your daughter to doctor’s appointments, to daycare, in this instead of a crowded subway was… tempting. But it terrified you, too, the thrill of his care mingling with the fear of letting him too close, of risking your heart again.

You turned to the salesman, your voice tight. “I didn’t ask for this,” you said, crossing your arms. “Can I send it back?”

He shook his head, his smile sympathetic. “I’m afraid it’s non-returnable, ma’am. It’s fully paid, titled to you. You’d have to sell it yourself if you don’t want it.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples, the weight of Eren’s gesture overwhelming. “Fine,” you said, your voice resigned. “Leave the keys.”

He handed you a sleek key fob, tipped his hat, and left, his van pulling away as you stood there, staring at the Mercedes, your emotions a tangled knot. You needed to vent, to process, so you grabbed your phone and FaceTimed Ellie and Morgan.

The call connected, Ellie’s face appearing first, her ponytail swinging as she squinted at the screen. “Yo, what’s up?” she said, her voice muffled by a bite of cereal. “You look pissed.”

Morgan’s face popped up next, her curls bouncing. “Yeah, babe, what’s wrong?” she asked, her brow furrowing. “You okay? Baby girl okay?”

“We’re both fine,” you said, your voice sharp, holding up the key fob. “But Eren’s lost his damn mind. Look at this.” You flipped the camera, stepping outside to show the Mercedes, its bow still gleaming in the sun.

“Holy shit!” Ellie choked, spitting cereal, her eyes wide. “Is that a fucking Mercedes? He bought you a car?”

Morgan gasped, leaning closer to her screen. “Oh my God, that’s gorgeous,” she said, her voice awed. “He just… gave you a car? Like, no strings?”

“There are always strings with Eren,” you said, flipping the camera back, your voice dripping with frustration. “He left a note saying I need it for the baby, that the subway’s too dangerous. Like he gets to decide how I live my life. First my rent, then flowers every week, now this? He’s trying to buy me back, and I’m not having it.”

Ellie snorted, wiping her mouth. “Man’s got balls, I’ll give him that,” she said, her tone half-amused, half-angry. “Paying your rent was wild, but a car? That’s next-level. You keeping it?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I can’t send it back, apparently. It’s in my name. But keeping it feels like… letting him win, you know? Like I’m admitting I need him.”

Morgan’s expression softened, her voice gentle. “Babe, you don’t need him,” she said. “But you do need a car, especially with the baby coming. The subway’s a nightmare, and Ubers add up. Maybe think of it as him doing his job as a dad, not as him owning you. You’re in control here.”

“Exactly,” Ellie chimed in, pointing her spoon at the screen. “Take his shit, use it for you and the kid, but don’t give him an inch. He wants to play sugar daddy? Fine. Let him pay, but keep those walls up. He doesn’t get a free pass just ‘cause he’s throwing money around.”

You sighed, rubbing your bump, the baby kicking softly as if in agreement. “I know you’re right,” you said, your voice quieter. “But it’s scary. He’s doing all this and I feel like he’s getting to me. Like, deep down, I’m starting to soften, and I hate it. I can’t trust him again, not after everything.”

Morgan nodded, her eyes warm with understanding. “That’s valid,” she said. “He hurt you bad, and you’re allowed to feel whatever you feel. But you’re not softening because you’re weak—you’re human. He’s the father of your child, and he’s trying, even if it’s messy. Just keep setting boundaries. If he steps over, shut it down like you did today.”

“Speaking of,” Ellie said, grinning, “how’d he take it when you told him off? Bet he looked like a sad puppy again.”

You laughed, a real laugh that eased the tension in your chest. “He just took it,” you said, shaking your head. “Didn’t argue, didn’t defend himself. Just said he can’t take the rent back and I should focus on the pregnancy. It’s infuriating how calm he is.”

“He’s playing the long game.” Morgan said, smiling. “ But you’re smarter than him, babe. You’ve got this.”

You nodded, the key fob glinting in your hand, a symbol of Eren’s persistence and your resolve. “Thanks, guys,” you said, your voice soft. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Crash and burn, obviously,” Ellie teased. “Now go test-drive that car. Tell us how it feels to roll up in a Mercedes.”

You ended the call, their laughter lingering, and stood, staring at the key fob, then at the car. Eren’s gestures were tearing down your walls, brick by brick, and the thrill of it was as terrifying as it was undeniable. You wouldn’t let him in, not yet, maybe not ever, but for now, you’d use what he gave you—for your daughter, for the life you were building. You grabbed your purse, slipped on your shoes, and headed outside, the Mercedes waiting like a challenge you were ready to meet.

…

A few weeks later…

The nightclub pulsed with a frenetic energy, its cavernous interior awash in neon blues and purples, the bass of the music thudding like a heartbeat through the polished concrete floors. Strobe lights sliced through the haze, illuminating writhing bodies on the dance floor, their silhouettes a blur of sequins, leather, and sweat. The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne, sweet cocktails, and the faint tang of vape clouds.

Floch’s birthday bash had commandeered the entire club, a rented-out extravaganza of excess that drew a crowd of strangers, business associates, and the usual hangers-on who flocked to Eren’s orbit. The VIP booth, perched on a raised platform overlooking the chaos, was a microcosm of privilege—leather seats, bottles of Cristal chilling in ice buckets, and a parade of women vying for attention.

Eren sat at the center of the booth, his long legs sprawled, a glass of bourbon dangling from his hand, the ice melting into amber swirls. His black silk shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the edge of a tattoo curling across his chest, his hair loose and framing his face in dark waves. His eyes were distant, fixed on the rim of his glass, his mind a thousand miles away—on you, your growing bump, the daughter he’d yet to meet. The club, the women, the noise—it was all a hollow distraction, a stage he no longer wanted to play on.

Levi sat across from him, his sharp gray eyes scanning the scene with thinly veiled disgust, his tailored blazer pristine amidst the debauchery. He sipped a whiskey neat, his posture rigid, clearly counting the minutes until he could escape. Jean and Connie were in their element, each with a girl perched on their lap, their laughter loud and slurred as they traded stories and shots. Jean’s hand rested possessively on his companion’s thigh, his ash-blond hair mussed, while Connie’s grin was wide, his arm slung around a giggling brunette, his jokes landing with varying success.

Armin, ever the outlier, sat quietly, his blond hair catching the neon light, his blue eyes wary as he nursed a single beer. He was devoted to Annie, his girlfriend, a fierce blonde who’d sooner gut him than tolerate a whiff of infidelity. The thought of her wrath kept him grounded, his polite smiles deflecting the advances of the women circling the booth. He glanced at Eren, noting the sullen slump of his shoulders, the way his gaze never lingered on the chaos around him. Armin sighed, recognizing the familiar weight of Eren’s obsession—you, always you.

Eren took a swig of bourbon, the burn doing little to dull the ache in his chest. It had been months since he’d shattered your trust, months of trying to rebuild what he’d broken with gifts, money, and desperate apologies. But you were a fortress, your walls impenetrable. The thought of you, pregnant with his daughter, building a life without him, was a knife twisting in his gut, and tonight, surrounded by strangers and shallow pleasures, the pain was unbearable.

Floch, the birthday boy, strutted into the booth, a bottle of Dom Perignon in hand, his red hair slicked back, his grin smug. He was in his element, the king of this rented kingdom, his suit slightly wrinkled from dancing and drinking. He plopped down beside Eren, clapping a hand on his shoulder, oblivious to the storm brewing in his friend’s eyes.

“Yo, Jaeger, why the long face?” he said, his voice loud over the music. “It’s my birthday, man! Stop pining over your baby mama who don’t even want you anymore. Look around!” He gestured to the women, their eyes glittering with interest. “There’s hoes all around you tonight, my guy, and you’re tripping over one woman?”

Levi’s head snapped up, his expression icy. “You’re disgusting,” he said, his voice low and cutting, his whiskey glass pausing mid-sip.

Eren’s grip on his glass tightened, his jaw clenching, the bourbon sloshing dangerously. “Shut the fuck up, Floch,” he growled, his voice low, a warning that went unheeded.

Floch laughed, unbothered, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Chill, I’m just saying,” he said, waving a hand. He leaned closer, nodding to one of the women, a tall blonde in a skintight red dress. “Hey, sweetheart, why don’t you show my boy Eren a good time? He needs to loosen up.”

The blonde sauntered over, her hips swaying, her smile practiced as she tried to slide onto Eren’s lap, her hands brushing his chest. “Hey, handsome,” she purred, her voice syrupy. “Let me take care of you.”

Eren reacted like she’d burned him, shoving her away with a force that sent her stumbling, her heels catching on the floor. She fell with a yelp, her dress riding up, drawing gasps and stares from the booth and nearby tables. The music didn’t stop, but the VIP area went quiet, eyes turning to the commotion. Armin was on his feet in an instant, helping the girl up, his face apologetic. “You okay?” he asked, steadying her as she glared at Eren.

“Eren, chill out,” Armin said, his voice firm but calm, turning to his friend. “You didn’t need to do that.”

Eren stood, his chest heaving, the bourbon glass slamming onto the table, spilling amber liquid. “I don’t want her,” he said, his voice raw, slurred from the alcohol and emotion. “I don’t want any of these women. I want my woman. I want her.” His voice cracked, and he ran a hand through his hair, his eyes wild, glistening with unshed tears. “I don’t wanna be here, in this fucking club, surrounded by strangers. I wanna be with her, cuddling in bed, rubbing her feet, picking out names for our daughter. That’s what I want, and I fucked it all up.”

The booth went silent, the women exchanging awkward glances, Jean and Connie frozen, their girls shifting uncomfortably. Floch raised an eyebrow, his smirk fading, replaced by a mix of amusement and disdain. “Jesus, Eren,” he said, leaning back. “You’re such a fucking simp. All this over her? She ain’t even all that, man. You’re acting like she’s some goddess, and she’s got you crying in a club? Pathetic.”

The word was a match to Eren’s fuse, his vision narrowing, rage surging through the haze of bourbon and grief. Before anyone could react, he swung, his fist connecting with Floch’s nose with a sickening crunch. Floch staggered back, blood spurting, his champagne bottle crashing to the floor, shattering in a spray of glass and foam. The girls screamed, scrambling away, their heels clicking as they fled the booth. Floch lunged, tackling Eren, and the two crashed into the table, bottles toppling, ice scattering.

“What the fuck, guys!?” Jean shouted, grabbing Floch’s shoulders, pulling him back as Connie wrestled Eren’s arms, his strength barely containing the taller man’s fury.

“Enough!” Levi barked, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. He shoved between them, as he yanked Eren upright, his grip iron. Armin helped Jean restrain Floch, whose nose was a bloody mess, his suit stained with champagne and rage.

“You fucking asshole!” Floch spat, struggling against Jean’s hold, blood dripping onto his shirt. “It’s my fucking birthday!”

Eren lunged again, his eyes blazing, but Levi held him back, his fingers digging into Eren’s arm. “You’re done,” Levi said, his voice low, dangerous. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Armin nodded, his face grim, helping Levi drag Eren toward the exit, the crowd parting like a sea, their phones already out, capturing the spectacle. Connie stayed with Jean, calming Floch, who was still cursing, his ego bruised as much as his face. The music pounded on, oblivious to the drama, the neon lights casting eerie shadows across Eren’s face as they stumbled into the cool night air.

Outside, the city was alive, its streets slick from earlier rain, the skyline glittering against the dark. Levi’s sleek Audi was parked nearby, and he shoved Eren into the passenger seat, slamming the door with a force that echoed. Armin slid into the back, his expression a mix of worry and exasperation, while Levi rounded to the driver’s side, his jaw tight, his patience shredded.

Eren was a mess, his shirt torn, his hair wild, his face streaked with tears he hadn’t bothered to hide. He slumped against the seat, his head in his hands, sobbing now, the alcohol and heartbreak tearing through his defenses. “I love her,” he choked, his voice raw, broken. “I love her so fucking much, and she hates me. I’ve tried everything—money, flowers, a fucking car—and it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough.”

Levi started the engine, his hands gripping the wheel, his voice a low growl. “You’re a fucking disaster, Jaeger,” he said, pulling into traffic, the city lights blurring past. “Crying in a club, starting fights, acting like a goddamn teenager. Sober the fuck up and man up. If you want her back so bad, stop this pathetic shit and do something real.”

Eren looked up, his eyes red, his breath hitching. “I’m trying,” he said, his voice trembling. “I’m paying for everything, showing up when she lets me. What else can I do?”

Levi glanced at him, his expression hard but not unkind. “Stop throwing money at her,” he said, his voice sharp. “She’s not a problem you can buy your way out of. You hurt her, bad. You lied, you manipulated, you broke her trust. Flowers and a car? That’s surface shit. If you want her to even look at you again, you gotta go deeper. Be vulnerable, really vulnerable. Tell her the truth, all of it—why you fucked up, what you’re feeling, what you’re willing to do to make it right. And don’t expect her to forgive you. You do it because you love her, not because you want a reward.”

Armin leaned forward, his voice softer, his blue eyes earnest. “He’s right, Eren,” he said. “She’s protecting herself, and her daughter. You can’t blame her for that. But if you keep showing up, not just with gifts but with honesty, maybe she’ll see you’re serious. It’s gonna take time, but if you love her like you say, it’s worth it.”

Eren wiped his face with his sleeve, his sobs quieting, the weight of their words sinking in. “I don’t know how to do that,” he admitted, his voice small, raw. “I’ve never… I’ve never been good at this. I’m scared I’ll fuck it up more.”

“Then learn,” Levi said, his voice blunt, pulling into the parking garage of Eren’s penthouse. “You’re gonna be a father. You don’t get to hide behind ‘I don’t know how.’ Figure it out.”

They parked, and Levi dragged Eren out, his grip firm but not cruel, Armin following close behind. The penthouse was a stark contrast to the club—sleek marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows, a view of Paradis’s glittering skyline. But it felt empty, a mausoleum of Eren’s past life, the one he’d built with Mikasa’s money and lost with his betrayal. Levi shoved him onto the couch, tossing a bottle of water at him, his expression exasperated.

“Drink this,” Levi said, crossing his arms. “And get some sleep. You’re no good to anyone like this.”

Eren nodded, his hands shaking as he opened the bottle, his eyes distant, haunted. “I just want her back,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I want my family.”

Armin sat beside him, his hand resting on Eren’s shoulder, his voice gentle. “Then fight for them,” he said. “Not with fists, not with money, but with your heart. Show her who you are, Eren, not who you were.”

Levi sighed, heading for the door, his patience spent. “I’m out,” he said, glancing back. “Don’t call me unless you’re sober and thinking straight.”

As the door clicked shut, Eren leaned back, the water bottle cold against his palm, his tears drying into a resolve he hadn’t felt before. He’d been fighting the wrong way, with gifts and gestures, when what you needed was his truth, his vulnerability.

He stood abruptly, swaying slightly, his voice rough but resolute. “Armin, grab my keys,” he said, his eyes locking onto his friend. “You’re driving me to her apartment. Now.”

Armin’s blue eyes widened. “Uh, Eren, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said, his voice cautious, his brow furrowing. “You’re drunk. And it’s late. She’s probably asleep, and you showing up like this… it’s not gonna go well.”

Eren shook his head, stumbling toward the kitchen counter where his car keys glinted under the pendant lights. “I don’t care,” he said, his voice rising, raw with urgency. “I’m done waiting, done fucking around with flowers. I’m going to her, and I’m getting my family back. If you won’t drive, I’ll do it myself.”

He snatched the keys, his movements unsteady, and Armin was on his feet in an instant, his hand closing over Eren’s wrist. “No way,” he said, his voice firm, his grip surprisingly strong for his slight frame. “You’re not driving like this. You’ll kill yourself, or someone else. Fine, I’ll drive, but you better have a plan, Eren. What are you even gonna do?”

Eren’s eyes met Armin’s, and there was a fire in them, a wild, unyielding determination that made Armin’s stomach twist. “I’m gonna tell her everything,” Eren said, his voice low, fervent. “The truth, all of it. Why I fucked up, how I feel, what I want. I’m gonna beg for her, Armin. For her and our daughter. I don’t care if she slams the door in my face. She needs to know I’m not giving up.”

Armin sighed, running a hand through his hair, his expression a mix of worry and resignation. “You’re insane,” he muttered, but he grabbed his jacket, shaking his head. “How do I get roped into this shit?” He led Eren out of the penthouse, the elevator ride silent, the hum of the city a distant pulse as they descended to the garage.

In the G-Wagon, Armin took the wheel, the leather seats cool against his jeans, while Eren slumped in the passenger seat, his head against the window, his breath fogging the glass. The city streaked by, its neon signs and wet streets a blur, the aftermath of the earlier rain leaving a sheen on the asphalt. Armin glanced at Eren, his voice tentative. “So, what’s the plan, exactly?” he asked, merging onto the highway. “You’re just gonna… what, bang on her door and yell about love?”

Eren’s jaw tightened, his eyes fixed on the road, the city lights reflecting in his pupils. “I’m gonna be real,” he said, his voice raw. “No more games, no more hiding. I’m gonna tell her I love her, that I’ve loved her since the start, that I was a coward who fucked it all up. I’m gonna beg for a chance to be the man she needs.”

Armin’s grip on the wheel tightened, his heart sinking. “Eren, you’re drunk,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “She’s gonna see that, and it’s gonna make things worse. Maybe wait till morning, when you’re sober, when you can think straight.”

“No,” Eren snapped, his voice fierce, his hand slamming the dashboard. “I’ve waited too long already. I’ve been a fucking coward for months. I’m done. She needs to hear it now, even if she hates me for it.”

Armin sighed, shaking his head, muttering under his breath, “I’m so screwed if Annie finds out I’m enabling this.” But he drove on, the GPS guiding them to your apartment.

…

Meanwhile, in your apartment, the world was soft and quiet, a cocoon of calm. You’d just finished watching a rom-com on Netflix, the credits rolling as you stretched on the couch, your oversized sweater riding up to reveal your bump. You yawned, your bare feet padding across the hardwood as you headed to the bathroom, ready to start your skincare routine before bed.

The bathroom was small but cozy, its counter cluttered with serums, moisturizers, and a jar of prenatal vitamins. You tied your hair back, splashing water on your face, the coolness grounding you as you reached for your cleanser. The Mercedes key fob sat on the kitchen counter, a gleaming reminder of Eren’s audacity, and you shook your head, muttering, “Ridiculous man.”

But a sudden pounding on your front door jolted you, your heart leaping, the cleanser bottle slipping from your hand and clattering into the sink. You froze, your pulse racing, as the pounding continued, accompanied by a voice—Eren’s voice, slurred and raw, echoing through the hall. “Baby!” he shouted, the words thick with emotion. “It’s you and me forever! I’m never giving up on us!”

Your eyes widened, your hand flying to your chest, shock rooting you to the spot. Another voice—Armin’s, quieter but urgent—cut through. “Eren, shh, you’re gonna wake the neighbors!” he hissed, his tone frantic.

“I don’t give a fuck!” Eren yelled, his voice breaking, raw with desperation. “I love her, Armin! I love her and our baby girl more than anything!”

You crept to the living room, your bare feet silent on the hardwood, your heart pounding as Eren’s words poured through the door, each one a hammer against your carefully built walls. “I was a coward,” he said, his voice cracking, thick with tears. “Our relationship… it started with lust, I know that, but it turned into something I didn’t even know was possible. You’re the only one I can be myself with. The only one who makes me feel alive. When I’m with you, when I’m lying next to you, I can feel my heartbeat matching yours, and it’s the only time I’m not fucking lost.”

You pressed a hand to your mouth, tears prickling your eyes, his words hitting too close, too raw. You wanted to stay angry, to keep your guard up, but his voice, drunk and broken, was unraveling you.

“I wish I could go back,” he continued, his voice softer now, choked with sobs. “I fell in love with you weeks after we met, and I tried to deny it, but it was no use. You’ve got my heart, and you always will. Even if you don’t want me, even if you move on… I’m not moving on from you. I never could.”

Your neighbor, Hitch, cracked her door open across the hall, her hair tousled and eyes wide as she peeked out. She saw Eren on his knees, his hands braced against your door, his shirt torn, his face a mess of tears and desperation. Armin stood beside him, his hands raised in a futile attempt to calm him, his face flushed with embarrassment. Hitch’s jaw dropped, her eyes flicking to Eren’s chiseled jaw, his tall frame, and she mouthed, “Damn,” clearly recognizing him as the infamous baby daddy who’d been sending your flowers every Monday, and most recently, the Mercedes. This was better than any Netflix show.

Armin caught her gaze and groaned, his voice apologetic. “I’m so sorry,” he said, gesturing to Eren. “He’s… not himself. We’ll be gone soon, I promise.”

Hitch waved a hand, grinning. “No worries,” she said, leaning against her doorframe. “This is the most exciting thing that’s happened in this building all year. Carry on.”

Eren ignored them, his voice rising again, raw and pleading. “The gifts, the money… I wasn’t trying to buy you,” he said, his forehead pressing against the door. “It’s all I knew how to do, how to show I care. But I get it now—you need more than that. You need me, the real me, and I’m begging you, please, give me one more chance. I’ve changed, I swear. I’ll be the man you need, for you, for our daughter.”

You stood frozen, your hand on the doorknob, tears streaming down your cheeks. His words were a tidal wave, crashing against your resolve, and as much as you wanted to hold firm, to protect your heart, you felt it cracking, his raw vulnerability seeping through. You were flabbergasted, his drunken confession a spectacle you hadn’t expected, but it was real, unfiltered, and it terrified you how much it moved you.

Hitch’s door creaked wider, her eyes gleaming with curiosity, and Armin shot her another apologetic look, his voice low. “Eren, you’re disturbing the peace, man,” he said, tugging at his friend’s arm. “Let’s go, before someone calls the police.”

“Fuck the police!” Eren shouted, shrugging him off, his voice raw. “I’m not leaving till she hears me!”

You sighed, wiping your tears, knowing he wouldn’t stop, not in this state. Your neighbors didn’t deserve this, and neither did you, but you couldn’t let him keep screaming in the hall. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself, and opened the door, the hinges creaking softly.

Eren was mid-sentence, his voice faltering as the door swung open, his eyes widening, red-rimmed and glistening, as he saw you. He was a mess—his shirt torn, his hair wild, his face streaked with tears, his knees pressed into the hallway carpet. Armin froze, his hands raised, his face a mix of relief and dread. Hitch gasped, her door still ajar, her eyes darting between you and Eren like she was watching a soap opera.

“Baby,” Eren breathed, his voice breaking, and without thinking, he surged forward, his arms wrapping around your waist, his face burying against your belly, his sobs muffled against your sweater. The sudden contact stole your breath, his warmth seeping through the fabric, his tears soaking into your skin. It was the first time he’d touched you in months, the first time you’d felt his desperation so viscerally, and your hands hovered, unsure whether to push him away or hold him.

“Eren,” you said, your voice trembling, your hands settling on his shoulders, a mix of shock and instinct. “Get up. You’re drunk.”

“I’m sorry,” he choked, his arms tightening, his face still pressed against your bump, as if he could reach your daughter through sheer will. “I’m so fucking sorry. I love you. I love her. I’ll do anything, anything to make it right.”

Armin stepped forward, his voice gentle. “Eren, come on,” he said, touching his friend’s shoulder. “Let her go, man. You’re scaring her.”

You shook your head, your eyes meeting Armin’s, a silent signal that you could handle this. “It’s okay,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “Just… give us a minute.”

Armin hesitated, his brow furrowing, but he nodded, stepping back. “I’ll be right here,” he said, glancing at Hitch, who was still watching, her jaw practically on the floor. “Sorry again,” he muttered to her, his face flushed.

Hitch shrugged, grinning. “No complaints here,” she said, winking at you before retreating into her apartment, her door clicking shut.

You looked down at Eren, his arms still around you, his sobs quieter now, his breath warm against your belly. Your heart ached, his words echoing in your mind—his confession, his vulnerability, his promise to change. You wanted to believe him, wanted to let him in, but the scars he’d left were deep, and trust was a fragile thing.

He looked up, his eyes red, his face a mess of hope and despair, and slowly, he rose, his hands lingering on your waist before falling to his sides. “I mean it,” he said, his voice raw, slurred but earnest. “Every word. I love you. I’ll spend my life proving it.”

You sighed, stepping back, your arms crossing over your bump, a shield against his intensity. “You’re drunk,” you said, your voice firm. “And you’re a mess. I heard you, Eren, every word, and… it means something. But I can’t do this right now. You need to sober up, and we need to talk when you’re not falling apart.”

His voice, slurred but fervent, echoed in the hallway, his words a torrent of confession and desperation. “I love you” he choked again, his hands trembling as they rested on your hips, his thumbs brushing the edge of your sweater. “I love you and our baby girl more than anything. I was a fucking coward, I know that. I lied, I hurt you, and I’ll hate myself for it forever. But I’m begging you, please, give me a chance to make it right..”

You sighed, your arms crossed over your chest, a shield against the storm of emotions his words unleashed. Deep down, beneath the anger, the betrayal, the walls you’d built, you still wanted him—had always wanted him. What woman wouldn’t yearn for the father of her child, the man who’d once made her feel like the center of the universe?

Eren had been your everything, his touch a spark that set your soul alight, his laughter a melody that drowned out the world. Before the lies, before the engagement party that shattered your heart, you’d been so happy, a happiness no other man had ever come close to giving you. You doubted another ever would. But the scars he’d left were deep, raw, and the fear of handing him your heart again, only for him to break it, was a weight you couldn’t shake. Your daughter tethered you to him for life, a bond unbreakable, but could you risk loving him again, knowing the pain he was capable of inflicting?

Armin stood a few steps away, his blond hair mussed, his blue eyes wide with worry, his hands raised in a futile attempt to manage the chaos. “Eren, maybe we should—” he started, his voice gentle, but you cut him off with a glance, your expression softening.

“It’s okay, Armin,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. “I’ve got this. You can go.”

Armin hesitated, his gaze flicking between you and Eren, his concern palpable. “You sure?” he asked, his voice low, his hands dropping to his sides.

You nodded, a small, reassuring smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah,” you said, your eyes returning to Eren, who hadn’t moved, his gaze locked on yours, raw and pleading.

Armin sighed, running a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumping. “Alright,” he said, stepping back. “I’ll be in the car. Eren, don’t… don’t make this worse.” He shot his friend a warning look, then turned, his sneakers squeaking on the hallway floor as he headed for the stairs, leaving you alone with the man who’d broken your heart and was now begging to mend it.

The hallway was quiet now, save for Eren’s uneven breaths, the distant hum of the city filtering through the building’s walls. You looked down at him, his knees still pressed into the carpet, his hands hovering near your hips, as if afraid to touch you again. His eyes searched yours, and in their depths, you saw the question you were wrestling with yourself—could you give him another chance? Would he hurt you again? The vulnerability in his gaze, the raw, unfiltered love, was undeniable, and it shook you to your core. No grown man would bare himself like this, drunk and sobbing, unless he was truly, desperately in love.

“Eren,” you said, your voice trembling, your hands unclenching, falling to your sides. “Get up. You can’t stay like this.”

He rose slowly, his movements unsteady, his frame towering over you, but his presence was anything but imposing. He was a shadow of the confident man you’d known, his shoulders slumped, his face a canvas of grief and hope. “I mean it,” he said, his voice raw, slurred but earnest. “Every word. I love you. I’ve never stopped.”

You sighed, stepping back, your arms crossing again, your heart a battlefield. “ I heard you, Eren, and… it means something. But I can’t just forget what you did. You lied to me, you promised me a future while you were planning one with her. I can’t trust you, not yet.”

He nodded, his jaw tightening, tears still streaming down his face, carving paths through the grime and sweat from his night at the club. “I know,” he said, his voice breaking. “I know I fucked up, and I don’t deserve you. But I’m here, begging you to see me, the real me. Not the coward who lied, not the guy who hurt you, but the man who loves you more than life.”

Your breath hitched, his words a knife twisting in your heart, and you felt your own tears welling, threatening to spill. You wanted to believe him, wanted to let go of the pain, but the fear was a living thing, clawing at your resolve. “I loved you, Eren,” you said, your voice trembling, a tear slipping down your cheek. “I loved you so much, and you broke me. I can’t go through that again. I have our daughter to think about now. I can’t risk her heart, or mine.”

He stepped closer, his hands twitching at his sides, his eyes pleading. “I know you’re scared,” he said, his voice soft, raw. “But I see it in your eyes. You still love me, I know you do. You’re just afraid I’ll hurt you again, and I don’t blame you. But I swear, on my life, on everything, I’ll never hurt you again. I’ll spend every day proving it.”

Slowly, tentatively, he reached downwards, his hands hovering near your face, his eyes searching yours for permission. You flinched, your instinct to pull away warring with the ache to feel him, to let him close the distance. His eyes softened, a silent plea, and he whispered, “Please.”

Your breath caught, your tears falling freely now, and you didn’t move, didn’t pull away. Eren’s hands found the back of your neck, his fingers gentle, trembling, as he leaned down, his face inches from yours, his tears mingling with yours. He kissed you, soft and slow, a feather-light touch that carried the weight of his love, his regret, his promise. The feeling was nostalgic, a spark reigniting memories of stolen nights in your dressing room, lazy mornings in Paris, whispered confessions in the Maldives. You’d missed him, missed this, and despite your fear, you couldn’t help but kiss him back, your lips moving against his, a quiet surrender to the pull of your heart.

Eren’s kiss was gentle, reverent, as if he was pouring every ounce of his love into it, afraid you’d vanish if he pushed too hard. His hands cradled your neck, his thumbs brushing your jaw, his tears warm against your skin. You felt the world narrow to this moment, the hallway, the city, the past fading into the background, leaving only you and him, your shared breath, your tangled hearts.

He pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes locked on yours, their emerald depths raw with love, with hope. You stared into each other’s eyes, and in his, you saw it—true love, unfiltered, undeniable. Your own eyes mirrored it, the love you’d tried to bury, the love that had never left, no matter how hard you’d fought.

The memories of your time together flooded back—his laughter in the lounge, his hands on your waist as you danced in Tokyo, his voice singing off-key in the shower, the way he’d looked at you like you were his world. You’d been so happy, so whole, and the truth was, he was all you’d ever wanted. There was no one else for you.

“I’m not perfect,” Eren whispered, his voice thick, his forehead still pressed to yours, his hands trembling against your neck. “I know I fucked up, big time. I was a coward, a liar, and I hurt the only person who’s ever mattered to me. But I promise you, on my life, on our daughter, I’ll never hurt you again. I’ll be the man you need, the man you deserve. Just… please, give me one more chance.”

You closed your eyes, your tears falling, your heart a tangle of fear and hope, love and pain. His words were a lifeline, his touch a reminder of what you’d lost, what you could have again if you were brave enough to try. You wanted to believe him, wanted to trust that he’d changed, that he could be the father your daughter needed, the partner you’d dreamed of. The memories of your happiness were a siren song, pulling you toward him, but the scars of his betrayal were a warning, urging you to protect yourself.

“I’m scared, Eren,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, your eyes opening to meet his. “I love you, I do, but I’m so scared. You broke me once, and I can’t… I can’t survive that again. Not with her.” Your hand rested on your bump, a silent vow to your daughter.

He nodded, his eyes glistening, his hands sliding down to your shoulders, gentle but firm. “I know,” he said, his voice raw. “I know you’re scared, and I hate that I’m the reason. But I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. I’ll prove it to you, every day, every moment. I’ll earn your trust back, even if it takes years. I love you, and I love our girl, and I’ll never stop fighting for you.”

You swallowed, your throat tight, your heart pounding. “What if you hurt me again?” you asked, your voice small, vulnerable, the question a ghost that haunted you.

“I won’t,” he said, his voice fierce, his eyes burning with conviction. “I swear, I won’t. I’ve lost you once, and it nearly killed me. I’m not losing you again. I’ll be better, for you, for her, for us.”

You stared at him, your tears drying, your resolve wavering under the weight of his love, his promise. The hallway was silent, the city a distant hum, the world holding its breath as you stood at the crossroads of your heart. You thought of your daughter, of the life you were building, of the love you’d once shared with Eren, the love that still burned, despite everything. Could you take the risk? Could you let him in, not just as a father, but as a partner, a lover, a man trying to redeem himself?

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice trembling, your eyes locked on his. “One chance, Eren. One. But if you hurt me again, if you break her heart or mine, we’re done. For good.”

His face lit up, a mix of shock and hope, his tears falling anew as he nodded, his hands squeezing your shoulders. “One chance,” he echoed, his voice thick with gratitude. “I won’t let you down. I swear it.”

You nodded, stepping back, your arms uncrossing, your heart still racing. “You need to go home,” you said, your voice firmer now, though a small smile tugged at your lips. “Sober up, get some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow, when you’re not… like this.”

He smiled, a broken, beautiful thing, and nodded, his hands falling to his sides. “Tomorrow,” he said, his voice filled with hope, his eyes memorizing you. “I’ll be here, sober, ready. I love you.”

You nodded, your throat tight, and opened the door wider, gesturing to the hall. “Go,” you said, your voice soft, your smile lingering. “And tell Armin I said thanks.”

He laughed, a small, wet sound, and stepped back, his eyes never leaving yours. “I will,” he said, turning toward the stairs, his steps steadier now, his heart lighter than it had been in months. You watched him go, closing the door, your back against the wood, your tears falling freely now.

You sank onto the couch, your hand on your bump, your daughter’s gentle kick a reminder of the future ahead. You loved Eren, and he loved you, and for the first time in months, you believed in the possibility of a family, of healing, of love. Tomorrow, you’d talk, set boundaries, take it slow, but tonight, his kiss lingered on your lips, his promise in your heart, and you smiled, whispering to your daughter, “Maybe, just maybe, we’ll be okay.”

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Tags: faerie-soirxx

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sturnslutz · 5 months ago

Text

the beginning of nothing.

including: the intro of murderhouse!matt and sardonic!reader, cursing, tension, use of y/n. reader's nickname is 'bug' and last name is 'harmon' to correlate last names in the show. 1.5k words.

you didn't want to move. you didn't want to move to this fuckass town in the middle of los angeles. this place didn't even pop up on your gps, it just looked like a forest.

but, what you did like was that it was a mansion. something by the name of "The Rosenheim Mansion" whatever the fuck that meant. your dad, ben, was the most excited for this move and called it a "step into a new world" or so he says to escape his past.

your room looked somewhat nice, actually. the stained windows and gothic furniture was right down your alley, and your own decorations made it even better.

your dad was a therapist. or more so, child behaviorist? he had told you he had a client coming in today and to stay in your room, because apparently this kid was "dangerous."

your dad knew that you honestly didn't care about his clients, but for some reason told you multiple times more than usual not to come down.

you ignored him and said what you knew he liked to hear. "yeah, of course, dad. i won't go downstairs. i'll have a nap though, so try to keep the kid down."

when you woke up 2 hours after their appointment had started, you honestly did think it ended, especially because it was quiet. you stepped downstairs, on your phone and blasting some music in your headphones.

you looked up while you were walking and paused your music as you heard voices. you took your headphone out of your ear, and glanced down to your dad's office, which for some reason was open.

you stepped one step lower to actually see properly, and what you saw was not what you expected. what, or actually who you saw, was the most beautiful man you have ever seen. he had the fluffiest brown hair that fell perfectly right above his eyes.

he must've felt you staring, and his eyes locked onto yours. it felt like almost no time has passed before he smirked to you, then looking away back to your father who was sitting in front of him.

your breath hitched in your throat. this was the reason your dad didn't give any details about him. because he knew you would fall for him.

you could hear their soft conversation while you continued walking to the kitchen, where your mom was. "oh, hey bug. sleep well?" her soft tone was always what you loved about her, and she always felt the need to check up on you. "yeah, thanks mom. hey, do you know what the kid's name is, that dad is talking to?"

she had brought you a drink from a cafe near by, handing it to you as you spoke, to which you're drinking from now, waiting for her answer. "i think, matthew is what his name is, i'm not quite sure. he's cute though. think that's why dad didn't want you seeing him." she teased to you.

you nodded, laughing a bit. "me too. how long has their meeting gone on for? they had just started when i fell asleep, and they're still going."

"honestly, i don't even know. he told me matt is a handful with a bunch of trauma or something. but apparently he's also a good conversator." she says as she quiets down a bit, hearing footsteps come out of the room.

your dad pops around the corner, first looking at your mom, and then you. "oh, hey. didn't know you woke up, bug. i gotta pick up the phone, and matt's staying a bit longer. just watch him so he doesn't leave my office." his voice lowers to only you 3 could hear when he talks about matt.

you smile a bit, nodding before he walks to the living room. you walk away from your mom, and make eye contact with matt again, who's just sitting in the room, phone in hand, but looking straight ahead- right where you were.

you smiled at him a bit, to which he returned it, and you gestured your head up the stairs, and began walking up to your room. you sat on the ground, leaving the door open a bit once you heard, quiet footsteps coming up the steps.

matt peaked his head around your door, smirking. "hey." he walks in, closing the door. "hi, you're matt right?" he sits down across from you as he nods. "yup. you're y/n, or bug as i heard, huh?" you chuckle a bit, nodding just like he did. "yeah. it's a nickname everyone calls me, and you can too." he smirks, nodding as he looks around your room, his eyes landing on a certain record player.

"holy shit, this is nice. can i go see?" he looks back at you, his eyes practically begging. "yeah, of course." he smiles, standing up and walking to the player. he examines it before looking back at you. "you like kurt cobain? he's like my favorite artist ever."

you stand up, walking right next to him as you look at the set of tracks you have next to the player. "of course i do, his music is legendary. i got shit on at my last school for liking him, but i didn't really care."

he looks down at you, his voice lowering a bit as he scoffs. "fuck them. they're assholes who don't know real music. me and my brothers are crazy fans of him. you know any unreleased by him?"

you look up at him, shrugging. "you askin' about nirvana or actual kurt cobain?" "both, but for sake of time, nirvana." "do you love me, and pay to play are my favorites." he nods, his smirk coming over his face again. "you got good ass taste. never seen that from a girl. i like you."

a blush comes over your cheeks as you laugh, closing your record player before walking over and sitting down in your previous spot, to which he follows. "yeah, you're pretty cool too, i guess." he shakes his head, laughing, his spot being much closer than before as his knees hit yours.

"your dad warned you about me, huh? told you not to talk to me, and here you are, bug." his voice lowered, teasing you. "i don't really listen to him much. he's kinda an asshole." "oh yeah? that's why he moved you to this big, scary mansion right?" he shot back, his tone almost being serious, but you know he isn't.

"he moved us because he got fired from his last job for hooking up with one of his clients. she was the same age as me." your tone now serious, as his jaw clenched a bit. "that's fucked up. i'm sorry about that."

"nah, it's all good. my mom still hasn't divorced him and i don't know when or if she ever will. she's still super upset about it. besides that, tell me about you."

his face changes a bit, something you haven't seen from talking to him yet. "there's not much about me. i'm a triplet to 2 dumbasses named chris and nick. i think you'll like them, and i live right next door. hence to why i'm here longer than most clients and another reason to your dad not wanting me to see you. speaking of him, i hear him coming upstairs right now."

your face dropped when he said that, him almost calling it as your dad opens your door roughly. he looks down to you and matt, sighing. "matthew, i'm not comfortable with you seeing my daughter and being in my house like this. you both disobeyed my one ask. i'm sorry matt, but you need to leave."

you open your mouth to say something back to him, but matt quickly cuts you off. "it's all good, bug. i'll leave. sorry mr. harmon. i'll see you later." matt whispers quickly the last sentence to you, before standing up and sliding past your dad out of your room.

once he left, your dad closes the bedroom door before you stand up. "what the hell dad?" you snap. "like i said, you disobeyed my one rule. i knew you two would get along, but i'm telling you, bug. this kid is not someone you want to be around. i know his family, and they're not okay. i only took his offer to be seen because they're rich, and i wanted to see if i could fix at least one of them."

"don't talk about them like that, you don't know them," he quickly cuts you off. "and you do? you've talked to him for what, 10 minutes? and you're acting like you've known him for your whole life. i've known the sturniolos' for god knows how long. you cannot be around those triplets, or their parents. you understand me?"

his tone is something you haven't heard from in a while, and for a second your wall to him diminishes. "yeah. got it." you quietly say before you walk over to your record player once again, making sure everything is still intact, or to distract yourself from the awkward environment you both are in.

he leaves without a word, slamming your door in the process. you sigh as you look to the door, rolling your eyes.

they couldn't be that bad. right?

@muwapsturniolo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @m4ttg1rl @lypsiiii @tyummyz @sturniqlo @emely9274 @shadowthesim @mattsobvimyfav @sturnl0ve @wastelandzella @fallininlust @chrisslut04 @sophand4n4 @vainilladollie @slutforchrissturniolo2 @ncm9696 @snoopychris @ilovedanielcaesar @sofieeeeex @chr0mehrts @cockettechris @iloveduckssm @stvrnioloslvt @sturn777 @priscillaog @allylovescody @sturniolo101 @mattssslutbby @mattybsgroupie @mattysketchup @m11rx @slut4brunettes @trevorsgodmother @chrislova @slut4christopherr @sturns-mermaid @conspiracy-ash @p1mpactivities @sweeetbabysblog @brooklyncameron @chrisgetsmewetter @h3arts4harry @jetaimevous @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @raesturns @sturnsrecord @matteatmeout @luvvs4chriss comment to be added or removed.

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo fic #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew bernard sturniolo #christopher owen sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas antonio sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo #sturnslutz #=murderhouse!matt #=sardnoic!reader

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luigisleftshoe · 2 months ago

Text

Father to be Luigi Headcanons

When you tell him, he short circuits. It doesn’t matter how you tell him, cutesy note, direct announcement, accidentally show him the test. He just stares at you, dead silent, blinking like you told him you saw God in your breakfast toast.“You’re… wait. Wait. You’re—holy shit.” Then he drops to his knees and just wraps his arms around your stomach like you are literally holding the sun inside you.

He cries. Not like sniffles. Full tears. Starts talking too fast. Laughs mid-cry. Wipes his nose on his hoodie sleeve.“Are you okay? Are you scared? Are we gonna be okay? You’re gonna be such a good mom. Like unfairly good. I love you so much I might combust.”

Immediately panics about everything. Googles prenatal vitamins Orders 4 types of water bottles. Buys books with titles like "Engineering the Modern Father: Emotional & Structural Load-Bearing.” You tell him he’s spiraling. He stares at you like: “I’m literally responsible for protecting the vessel of our love, babe. I’m chill. This is me chill.”(He is not chill.)

Turns into the weirdest health nut alive. Bans you from lifting grocery bags. Meal preps aggressively. Has a meltdown over mercury levels in canned tuna. “Babe, this hummus has SODIUM. You’re carrying our future. You’re a national monument.”

He adds “baby-related zones” to his mental map. Hospital. Closest 24-hr pharmacy. The route to your OB/GYN. “Safe bathrooms within 10 miles.” honestly he'd probably build you a custom Google Map. Color-coded. Shared with you. Titled: “Pregnancy Pathways: Wife Protection Plan v1.” or something dumb like that

Starts timing your commute. Like if you normally take 13 minutes to get home and it takes 16 today?You’re getting a text like:“Not trying to be crazy but are you good? You’re +3 mins over your projected arrival time.”

Becomes weirdly obsessed with nesting but in a Luigi way. He’s not just building a crib. He’s: Comparing ergonomic gliders. Creating a color-coded “vibe board” for the nursery. Installing blackout curtains while shirtless and muttering: “I’m making a cave for our little cave goblin.” Also insists on a stupid theme like “Jungle Italian Renaissance”

Talks to your belly like it’s a walkie-talkie. “Hey kid. It's me. Your dad. She’s doing great. Kicked ass at work today. Just wanted you to know you’ve got a good one growing you.”, “If you ever hurt her from the inside, we’re gonna have beef. Love you tho.” Also puts headphones on your stomach and plays the Interstellar soundtrack.

Gets extra soft during sex. Like, he still knows how to make you feel good, but now he’s obsessed with holding you, whispering into your skin: “I’m inside my wife while she’s carrying our baby. This is some spiritual shit. I’m overwhelmed.” Also cries after and tries to hide it bc ya know he has to be tough.

Man is SAT at every doctor's appointment. He doesn't care what kind of work conflict he has or anything he is making it to every single one and taking diligent notes. He will ask a million questions and asks them again after you leave. He will start a shared notes app with you of all the stuff the doctor said too just so you can refer back to it at any given moment.

Once you hit the third trimester? He’s fully insane in the best way. Has you on live location. Has the hospital on speed dial. Has your OB’s entire office schedule memorized. Is running simulations in his head for “what if the water breaks at Target” vs. “on the freeway” vs. “in your sleep”. He’s sending you texts like: “Leaving for work. Your phone’s charged, right? Remember: if labor starts, call me, not Uber. I’ll dropkick a minivan.”

he absolutely spent the third trimester over-researching birth options. He’s made charts. He’s watched vlogs. He’s asked his friends inappropriate questions. He’s printed out: Hospital birth plan, Home birth plan, and “Emergency forest birth” plan (just in case). And he has each one stuck to your fridge just in case. He has a binder labeled “BABY STRATEGY.” When you ask what he actually wants, he says: “I want what you want. But also... home birth just feels so “sacred”. I wanna catch the baby myself. What if they imprint on me.” He’s both dead serious and so unqualified. You tell him: “I’m not pushing out a baby next to our houseplants.” He nods. Understands. Still gently lights a candle “for ambiance” when you hit 38 weeks.

When your water actually breaks, he thinks he’s the one dying. You're like “hey babe I think—” and he’s IMMEDIATELY ON THE FLOOR. “It’s happening. Oh my god it’s happening. Babe? Babe. Where is the bag. WHERE IS THE BAG.” Trips over the cat. Puts your sneakers on the wrong feet. Fully tries to hand you your skincare bag instead of the hospital one.

He’s still trying to convince you to labor in the bathtub before you go. “Babe. One bath. One soothing breath. You love baths. It’s in the plan. Page 3.” You’re like “I am leaking LIFE. We are LEAVING.” He salutes. Grabs the bag. Opens the wrong door. Walks into the closet.

In the car he is every kind of maniac. One hand gripping the wheel The other hand gripping your thigh like it’s an anchor. Voice shaking as he tries to coach you through contractions using a YouTube video he half-remembered from March “Breathe in 4. Out 6. You’re doing great. You’re incredible. You’re hotter than Beyoncé. I’m so scared.” Keeps whispering “my wife is having my baby” like it’s a spell.

At the hospital, he is both deeply unhelpful and absolutely devoted. Cries when they ask if he’s the dad. Holds your hand like he’s on a sinking ship. He is absolutely terrified of getting in the way of the doctors and nurses trying to help you but he also completely glued to you at the same time. And when the nurse says “she’s fully dilated”? He just blurts out:“Wait I thought we had more time. I didn’t even get to do the affirmation mirror thing.”

In the quiet moments between contractions, he’s whispering to your stomach. “Hey kid. I know it’s wild in there. Take your time. Be safe. But also please be chill. Mommy’s doing amazing. Daddy’s losing his mind.”

And when it’s go time? He’s right there. Holding your leg. Crying. Absolutely useless but incredibly present. He sees the head and gasps like he’s watching the Northern Lights. Then yells “BABE. OUR BABY HAS A SKULL. I CAN SEE IT. THIS IS INSANE.”

When the baby comes out, he falls apart. Just drops to his knees beside the bed. One hand on your face. One on your thigh. Sobbing. “You did it. You did it. I love you. I love them. I’m gonna pass out. But like romantically.” He’s shaking when he holds the baby. Can’t stop staring. Mumbles: “Hi. I’m your dad. I’ve been waiting my whole life to meet you.”

#luigi mangione #luigi mangione hc #luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione headcanons

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hanasnx · 1 year ago

Text

❝ incendium. ❞

── stephen glass x reader

MINORS DNI 18+ WORD COUNT: 3.3k SUMMARY: when a lie snowballs out of stephen's control, you swoop in for unorthodox damage control. NOTES: sorry i posted with the wrong title at first | wrote most of this over a year ago, so the style is a bit different, but stick with it trust me | if you say "part two" in the comments, you better come into my inbox with an actual plot or idea that will fit this "au" WARNINGS: f!reader | editor-in-chief!reader | suggestive content including sex and porn mentions so no minors still cos i dont want them on my page ever | deceit | inappropriate contracts.

When you’re the Editor-in-Chief for the biggest magazine of the year, you’ll have a couple thousand rumors spread about you. You wouldn’t pretend that its source wasn’t jealousy that drove poor opinions of you to circle the sandbox. It’s child’s play really, the way sparks of lies catch ablaze to spread like a dry forest’s fire. You’ve always imagined the end of the world to begin and end with a great flood— it was a blue planet after all. With that comforting metaphor, a measly incendium left you unbothered.

You didn’t have a free moment in your schedule, and it had been like that for months. Being in charge meant shouldering the work of the workers underneath you, and it often meant taking some home with you— work, not workers. Speaking of which, you’d wish you’d find somebody decent to take home. Unfortunately, a relationship really didn’t fit into your hectic calendar.

It was nice to have a personal assistant. She took care of the unimportant things for you, while you got to work on time and started on your bulleted list in order of priority. Said assistant, Maddy, sat at a desk outside your office, and when she entered to drop off your coffee she picked up, you seized the opportunity to inquire her knowledge on number one on your list.

Maddy hummed questioningly as you waited, blinking at her over your reading glasses. “Oh!” She clapped her hands together once her memory was jogged. “The New Republic ran something a little detrimental to our brand. Our CEO’s legal team reached out to me to ask you to handle it before they had to step in. The last thing they want is a lawsuit—“ she rambled on and you held up your hand, quieting her. Upturning your palm to invite her to hand you TNR’s piece that supposedly mentioned this company.

Maddy read your mind, spryly collecting the paper to place in your possession.

It took seconds for you to scan it, creasing your brows in response to its misinformation. Maddy studied your reaction to its error. For you, this was not a matter of opinion, it was a matter of fact, and required your addressment.

“Get Chuck on the phone, I want his earliest appointment.”

STEPHEN GLASS moistened his lips as he furiously typed up his latest story, anxious to meet the deadline with a particularly difficult article. His coworker Caitlyn swung in by his door frame. “Yo, Steve, Amy and I wanted to head to the bar after work today. You free?” Caitlyn had figured out the best way to ask him if he wanted to hang out was to put as little pressure on it as possible. He reminded her of a chihuahua…consistently shaken.

Stephen glanced her way but continued typing. “Yeah? Got it… maybe…” he drawled dreamily, and she concluded he wasn’t entirely listening.

Inviting herself inside, she slumped into one of his cold, blue, faux leather chairs. “What are you working on anyway?”

“The Gainsmen piece. I was supposed to have it done already but it got buried.” he responded, eyes glued to the screen as if hypnotized. His hand blindly fumbled for his pen off to the side, like a good friend Caitlyn leaned over to slide the utensil into his fingertips. He banged the end of it against the meat of his thigh, revealing the ink tip so he could scribble some sort of note on his pad, all without ripping his pupils off the growing lines on the monitor. His coworker had never seen him so… intense. To free up his other hand for efficient typing he tucked the staff of the pen in between his lips.

Stephen had the power to make her worry for him. From what she observed, he was overworked, and spent more time here than he ever did at home when he should be resting. That reasoning eased her into her next question, “You want me to help?”

A sudden shift in his demeanor, his full attention on her for the first time since she entered his office, raising his brows with a hopeful glint in his dilated pupils. He pinched the pen in his knuckles, balancing the end of it against the corner of his mouth. “Would you?” His disbelief was adorably naive, as if surprised he’d ever receive help… if he deserved it. A smile tugged at Cait’s lips when she nodded, parting them to respond when a slam of a door tore both of their attentions away.

It was you, the notorious editor of their largest competitor. It had silenced the entire floor, quiet enough to hear your heels click on the thin carpet, and Stephen’s pen drop onto his keyboard. Cait glanced at him as he scrambled to catch it in a failed attempt to prevent its further clattering against the keys.

Every pair of eyes was on you as you cut through the stations. Your mere presence froze those around you, as if afraid to do something wrong and offend you in some way. At least, some of them anyway. Stephen always thought it was because of how stunning you were. Bone-chillingly authoritative in stockings and a pencil skirt. Behind his glasses his pupils dilated as they scanned from bottom to top, watching you walk further from him through the glass of his office. He gulped, thoughtlessly leaning in his seat to consume every angle of you his limited view from his desk would allow. Caitlyn had faced him again just in time to catch him in the act, and he settled back into his chair as if he hadn’t moved at all. She resisted the urge to flash him a quizzical look as he sheepishly watched himself fiddle with his pen in his lap.

You did not waver your gaze from your goal, and Chuck had been expecting you. He wore the warmest smile he could muster as he opened his door for you, a headache having come on from the call he received earlier, announcing your scheduled arrival. “Miss (l/n),” he greeted with a nod, and you returned the greeting as he closed the door behind you. The frosted windows left a lot to the imagination of the employees on this floor. Everyone wordlessly agreed to remain reticent in order to eavesdrop on any juicy tidbit they could claw their sleep-deprived hands onto. Not only that, but as if enslaved to their subconscious desires, they shifted closer, gravitating towards Chuck’s office, crudely concealing the way they inclined their ears.

Stephen’s hands clammed up, and he dropped the pen in between his legs so he could wipe his palms on his pants. He had a feeling he knew what you were here for.

The conversation inside was indecipherable to the surrounding throng, except for one fragment at the resolution, resounding through the room, causing prying eyes to desperately study your blurred figures in hopes to interpret what kind of violent gestures you punctuated your threat with.

“I will not be trifled with. My magazine did not tank my first year, it was the year before I was brought on board.” Able to see your arm raise, clutching a fluttering page, and slam it down onto Chuck’s desk. “When I came on I saved that establishment. I’m sick of reading about how the last Editor’s fault was mine! I expected more from The New Republic.” You had straightened. “Let a simple fact like this go unchecked in the future and I’ll poach you. Understand?”

It was impossible to tell whether or not you waited for Chuck’s response before storming out. Stephen still thought you were as elegant as ever, observing you as you strode to the exit. He had suspected why you were here, and what you said at Chuck’s had confirmed it. You had nipped Chuck for signing off on Stephen’s piece. His mouth ran dry when your gaze landed on him. You didn’t recognize him as the man who wrote what you had come to pontificate on. Instead, you saw a boy in glasses, gawking at you from the seat of his desk as you happened to face him and accidentally make eye contact.

Stephen had no idea you didn’t know who he was, and that assumption caused him to raise his hand at you to offer you a polite smile and a wave. You acknowledged it to be proper, unfaltering in your traipse. Just as soon as you’d left, the floor reignited, bustling and trucking through paperwork as if you’d never appeared.

Caitlyn, unaware of Stephen’s current situation, had stood from the chair, and leaned against the back of it as she collected her thoughts, narrowing her eyes at Stephen. “What was that?” she inquired slyly, curious as to why Stephen had greeted you so familiarly. According to Cait’s knowledge, you and Stephen have never formally met, and you weren’t exactly the most accessible person to befriend. Casually greeting you was simply not done, unless it was a peer like Chuck.

Stephen had returned to his monitor, nervously tapping the pen against the desk surface as the gears in his head turned. “What? You mean the wave?” he affirmed with a smile tugging at his lips, about to tell her the truth of why he did it.

When you re-entered his mind, he idled, reminiscing on your outfit today. How your hips swayed in your smart pencil skirt, the lines of your stockings at the backs of your legs, the tasteful blouse and how it accentuated your exquisite outline. As a writer, Stephen admired your professional work. As an artist, he agonizingly wished he knew you— inside and out. When Caitlyn demanded an answer, Stephen looked up at her with a bashful snicker. “I mean… okay, alright,” He clasped his hands together, reminding himself how sweaty they were.

“Go on, Steph, I’m waiting,” Cait said in a playful tone, eager to hear the gossip she knew he would inevitably spill. Her favorite source of entertainment was Stephen: the human embodiment of the overflowing cup.

He longed to do just that, hanging his head briefly before feigning defeat. “We kissed.” he conceded as if it was reluctantly drawn from him rather than readily supplied as soon as it was conjured. He didn’t know why he said that, it just slipped out.

“Hey, Stephen,” Amy peeked her head in, seemingly oblivious of the nature of the conversation he and Caitlyn just shared, evidenced by Amy’s immediate interest in Cait’s gaping mouth, readjusting against the door frame. “Wait, wait, what did you say? What did I miss?”

Cait flashed a look at Stephen as if to ask permission to repeat what he’d just spread. Stephen merely smiled childishly, and pinched his fingers together at the corner of his mouth, running across his lips pretending to zip them. Caitlyn got the message, nodding, and mimicking him.

Amy sighed in playful annoyance, which only caused the other two to grin knowingly. “Whatever. Stephen, Chuck wants to see you in his office.”

One more quizzical look from Cait, and he reassured her, “It’s probably nothing,” He met Amy’s gaze, “Tell him I’ll be right there, Ames.”

We kissed. He’d said. We kissed. A lie he couldn’t stop pondering, and it snowballed into expansion. At first it was an innocent kiss, as virtuous as a young white flower. When it was received with such shock and entertainment, Stephen couldn’t help himself. A kiss became a heated make-out session at a company Christmas party he snuck into. A make-out became a regular occurrence when you just couldn’t stay away from him. A regular occurrence became seeing each other. Became experimental oral.

All until it became dirty fucking on the side using your power as an Editor over him. “What am I gonna do? Say ‘no’ to her? No,” Stephen shook his head and sipped his Colombian coffee from the slit in its lid. “No,” he swallowed, “not to an Editor-in-Chief.” His regaling earned him pats on the back and laughter from those taking it as a joke. No one thought he was in any real danger. It’s not like he worked underneath her— in an employment stance.

He couldn’t give it up. Cooking was one thing, but earning the respect of those around all because a woman made of ice was supposedly wrapped around his finger was another high entirely. One he couldn’t give up, no matter how immoral. He admired you— immeasurably— and still he let those words run out of his mouth faster than he could stuff them back in. Filthy secrets about what you’re like in bed, how rough you like it, what position is your favorite. It’s not like he could reveal those details without unveiling a little of himself and his fantasies as well.

He never expected that it’d turn out like this.

Never expected he’d be summoned to your office.

“Miss—“ Maddy’s clear voice rings in your ear, interrupting you during your process of scratching your notes into the margin of the text.

You sigh. “Madeline, if you’re here about Frank’s paternal leave again I’ll be forced to fire that baby myself.”

She stutters, caught off guard by your sour attitude and poorly-timed joke. “No, Miss, I’m here to announce Mr. Glass’s arrival. I made him wait a few minutes- like you asked.”

You peer up from your work at Maddy who’s in a straight-and-narrow posture by the door as you gesture incredulously with your hand. “Go ahead, send him in.” She nods, and hastily abides by your notion, fetching him.

This time you don’t redirect your eyes from your thick pile of papers as you annotate, the nervous footsteps of your anticipated company echoing through your cavernous office. He follows the rug across the long pathway to the chair in front of your desk, taking a seat, and the leather creaks against itself.

He takes notice of your strategic reticence. “Hi.” his wavering voice is a near whisper. Your script comes to a screeching halt.

“Mr. Glass,” you reply, “you are a man-in-demand, aren’t you?” You swipe a page to the left, noting at the top right to bookmark it.

Sheepish, Stephen stutters in his response, lips curled politely up, “I- I suppose so. I suppose I wouldn’t know.” To keep him nervous, you hum, and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Every movement, no matter how minute, creates the leather din that damn-near echoes in your resonate office-space. He waits for you to speak, and when it becomes unbearable he fills the silence. “Is this about your talk with Chuck– er, Charles Lane? Because- about that, if you just listen–”

At that, your eyes finally flicker up to meet his. “No, Mr. Glass, it is not.” He swallows. It’s becoming increasingly clear why you’re known as cold. It’s an unforgivable atmosphere, and a shiver runs up his spine powerful enough that he takes his hand to rub his own arm to generate warmth. You stand, and he presses his lips into a thin line, watching your every move as you gracefully close the script on your desk with a rare finesse. “You’ve brought a lot of attention to my door, you know that?” Strategically, Stephen remains silent as you leisurely round your desk. His hands begin to clam up again, and he rubs them on his thighs as he stares hard at his lap. A whole new level of intimidation has been reached being this close to you at the center of your focus. He’s unsure how to play this right now, and he finally registers your proximity when out of the corner of his eye he sees you sit on the edge of your desk adjacent to him. Your smooth legs are crossed within arm’s length of him. You fold your arms over your chest, your unwavering gaze making him feel smaller and smaller. Regardless of that, you can tell he’s not going to break. So you increase the pressure. “Have we met before?”

Big, innocent eyes peer up at you, hesitant to face you as he shakes his head marginally. The instinct to question if you’re mad at him dies in his throat. “No, ma’am.” The panic rises in his chest now that he’s denied having met you aloud, but you can’t possibly know about the lies he’s told, can’t prove he told them. Yet when he meets that piercing gaze, there’s a part of him that wants to come clean to you about everything if it means pleasing you. Though there is his job to think about, what would people say about a writer who lies about sexual encounters with the company’s competitor? It can’t be good.

“Is that a fact?” You raise your brows at him, and he nods slowly. “So, can you tell me why others have a different perception on that?”

He shakes his head.

“Mr. Glass, as frustrating as this all has become, you’re not here so I can berate you.” you concede, and at those words he visibly perks up. You reach over, plucking a folder from across your desk that stretches your body out in a specific way that rides your skirt up. Before he knows it, he’s sneaking a glance at the exposed skin of your thigh, how the flesh pushes together. The promiscuous rumors he’s spread about you and his own animal attraction to you has gone to his head because in that very moment he considers how warm and tepid your thighs must be against his ears. His salivating tongue rolls between his lips. He morphs into the posture of a goddamn saint as soon as you slam the folder onto the surface in front of him, he jolts right into it from the sudden noise, as if a chastising ruler had just struck his naughty hands. “I’m prepared to make you an offer.”

“What is this?” The shiny material of the folder falls open, and he inclines forward to read the cover of the thick stack of papers within it.

“An NDR.”

“An NDR? For what?” Stephen plays dumb, but you naturally would assume he’d know nothing about what this deal entails. You give him a silent moment to scan it. Uneasily, as if he’s reading it wrong, he relays the synopsis of one of the passages. “You want… you want to have…”

“Sex.” you reply casually. “You have heard of it?” you joke. “You paint our encounters so colorfully in your little stories, I assumed you were far from a virgin. Or at least well-versed in porn.”

Stephen can feel his throat closing up, shifting in his seat as he engages with you, his mouth in a permanent gaping position, looking for an opportunity to get a word in. “No, no.” He shakes his head, gesturing to himself at his chest. “You don’t understand, I don’t know what you’re talking about- honest!”

“Mr. Glass.” you chide with a playful curl to your lips. Your hands grip the edges of the wood, leaning towards him as if you’re exchanging coy secrets. “Don’t be modest, you’d make a killing in the fictional industry. Whatever are you doing at The New Republic?”

He rallies, sharply inhaling through his nose. “Let me just get out of your hair, and we can forget this whole thing happened—” he pleads, and in an effort to remove himself from the confrontation, he rises from his seat. Your hand gives him a firm push at his chest, planting his ass right back where it belongs.

“Mr. Glass, by all means I’m not keeping you here against your will, but need I remind you: I am not to be trifled with. Forgive me for being indelicate, but why not have the real thing?”

A second of silence passes, and Stephen gulps. You stand, and return to your chair behind your desk. “Think about it.” you tell him, and he takes it as his cue to leave, hastily gathering himself to stride towards the exit.

#indy: one shots #ch: stephen #stephen glass one shot #stephen glass x reader #stephen glass x fem reader #stephen glass x you #stephen glass x y/n #stephen glass imagine #stephen glass fic #stephen glass fanfic #stephen glass fanfiction #shattered glass x reader #reader insert #stephen glass #shattered glass #shattered glass 2003 #shattered glass stephen glass #hayden christensen

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justarandomweeb · 1 day ago

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GHOST APARTMENTS

Transformers x Human! Reader

Log#00 Prologue before the hauntings

Tw: Yandere themes, Dead Bots, mentions of suicide and self harm, Spooky shit.

You worked so hard in your entire life, part-time jobs here and there, you've gained a lot of experience and connections, yet you wanted to retire despite being in your early 20s. During your walk in the theme park, with sickenly delicious treats in each hand, and you have a celebration alone after accumulating a huge amount of money from the hard work you've done. You thought to yourself, what should I do with the money? Pondering and wondering as you munch on the snacks, you had an idea! A rental apartment! You definitely would earn a passive income and achieve your dream early retirement while at it. Gobbling the last bite, you quickly type out in your phone an appointment with a real estate for the earliest scheduled meeting they can offer.

2 days passed by, and you're sitting in an office and a smiling businessman in front of you, his hair shiny and glossy with his signature smile you've seen in the poster of his office window before you came in. His navy blue suit looked crisp and uncrinkled, and his face was freshly powdered to cover his aging.

"Welcome to my office, Mx. (L/N) It's nice to meet you. What can I do for you today?" He smiles with his pearly white teeth. He poise himself with a straighted back and still shoulders.

"I want to buy an apartment building, and I want to know my options." You replied, "budget doesn't matter, but location do."

"And what location do you want to buy it from?"

"Ummm, in the side of the city, the northwest near the forest."

The agent quickly opened his drawer from the filing cabinet, his fingers glided on the names till he found the right one. Gingerly picking the folder that was is needed and gently placed on the desk infront of you.

"Here are the buildings in that area. There's this building on 678 Byorne St, which holds 8 apartments, although small, it is near a school and is near the park. 891 E Kaine St, holds 24 apartments. It's a little far from the forest, but it gives the perfect view of it and the beach as well! 768 Ting Hasture St holds 54 apartments, quite the luxury building, however its needs heavy maintenance 24/7 and security guard. Of course, all of them have elevators and parking spaces for the rentors as well as a roof pool on the later two."

"Hmmmm, I'll take building on E Kaine. It seems to be a good spot and like the deal with it." You point on the map.

"Of course! Now, how do you want to make the payment?" The man pips the question, "if you can't pay in full, we can do plans for it! We have options that can help out with the payment." The agent was about to reach for the flyer but you cut him short.

"Oh, don't worry, I can pay in full!"

"That's great!" The real estate agent glees.

For the next 3 weeks, you prepared your apartment building, basic yet up to date furniture and house appliances. You were happy with the results, and you've finally reached your dream of retiring early. That may have cut short after some complaints...

"GRYAAAH DUDE THERE WAS A GHOST ON THE CORNER OF MY ROOM! FORGET THE DEPOSIT I'M OUT OF HERE!"

"I HAVE HAND MARKS IN MY ARM WHAT THE HELL IS THIS BUILDING!?"

"I'M LEAVING, I'M LEAVING, I'M LEAVING, I CAN HEAR THEM! AAAAAAGHHH-"

Uuuugh, who the hell is ruining your business?! Better find the bottom of this, or you won't achieve your dreams if retiring early.

#transformers #transformers x reader #transformers x human #maccadam #yandere #maccadams #optimus prime x reader

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inky-writing · 6 months ago

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Carlisle Cullen x Reader

Read Book I here!

Warnings: hospital, sickness

Word count: 2,811

Book II - Chapter 1: Whispering Nightmares

The first week of september arrived with the soft chill of autumn, the morning dew clinging to the grass as the sun rose over the small city of Forks. Y/N stood in front of the mirror in her room, adjusting the strap of her shoulderbag. She smoothed her long black skirt, already feeling a touch of nervousness creep into her chest.

“First day back,” she whispered to herself, taking a deep breath.

Downstairs, the smell of Charlie’s coffee wafted through the air, mingling with the faint sounds of the radio playing in the kitchen. The familiar rhythm of the Swan household was comforting, a welcome distraction from the day ahead.

Bella was already at the table when Y/N came down, nursing a mug of tea and still looking half-asleep.

“Ready?” Y/N asked as she grabbed an apple from the counter.

Bella shrugged. “As ready as I’ll ever be. I don’t expect senior year to be much better than last year.”

Y/N chuckled softly, biting into the apple as Charlie walked in, his police uniform neatly pressed. He gave them both an encouraging smile and a thumb up.

“You girls will do fine,” he said, pouring himself another cup of coffee.

“Thanks, Dad,” Bella muttered.

As they stepped outside, Y/N glanced at her forest-green Jeep Wrangler parked in the driveway. It still felt surreal, driving the car her uncle and late father had worked on together. Sliding into the driver’s seat, she started the engine and waited for Bella to climb in beside her.

The drive to Forks High School was quiet, the familiar roads lined with towering trees. Bella stared out the window, lost in thought, while Y/N focused on the road ahead.

The high school parking lot was already buzzing with activity when they arrived. Y/N parked the Jeep near the edge of the lot, and the two girls stepped out, greeted by a breeze.

“Here we go again,” Bella said with a sigh.

Y/N spotted Angela and Jessica near the entrance and gave them a small wave. Angela smiled warmly and waved back, while Jessica was already too engrossed in telling her about the last gossips to notice.

The day passed in a blur of new schedules, and the low hum of gossip that filled the halls. Y/N tried to focus on her classes, but her mind kept wandering. She again couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, though every time she turned around, no one was there.

During lunch, she sat with Bella, Angela, Eric and Mike, the latter was overly enthusiastic about recounting his summer adventures. Y/N half-listened, her attention occasionally drifting to the Cullen table, though only Alice and Edward were present. She hadn’t seen Carlisle since the end of summer, and the thought of their conversations during those warm months brought a small smile to her face.

Later that day, Y/N had an appointment with the school counselor, Mrs. Hollis. The small office smelled faintly of lavender, a diffuser humming softly on the corner desk. Mrs. Hollis was a kind woman in her early fifties, her short, blond hair framing a face that always seemed to radiant empathy.

“So, Y/N,” Mrs. Hollis began, folding her hands on the desk, “it’s your senior year. Have you given much thought to what comes next?”

Y/N hesitated, fiddling with the strap of her bag. “I have, sort of. I’ve been thinking about medical school.”

Mrs. Hollis raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at her lips. “That’s a big decision. Any particular reason?”

“I guess I’ve always been interested in helping people,” Y/N said. “And after everything that’s happened… I feel like I want to do something meaningful.”

Mrs. Hollis nodded thoughtfully. “It’s a noble path, but also a challenging one. Have you thought about where you’d like to apply?”

“I’m not sure yet. Carlis…, uh, Dr. Cullen. He’s been helping me look into some options. He’s been really helpful.”

“Well, it sounds like you have a solid start.”

The conversation continued for another twenty minutes, with Mrs. Hollis offering advice on college applications and scholarships. By the time Y/N left the office, she felt a little more grounded.

Evening

Y/N joined Bella and Charlie at the diner, a cozy spot they frequented for its simple yet comforting meals. The chatter of other diners filled the air as the three of them settled into their usual booth.

Charlie was in a good mood, recounting a humorous story from his day at the station. Bella listened with a faint smile, while Y/N picked at her fries, her mind still lingering on her conversation with Mrs. Hollis.

As they ate, Y/N glanced around the diner and caught sight of Carlisle walking in, his coat neatly folded over his arm. He exchanged a few polite nods with the staff before approaching the counter to place an order.

He looked over his shoulder and met Y/N’s gaze, offering her a warm smile. She felt her cheeks flush slightly as she returned the gesture.

As Carlisle left the diner, coffee in hand, Y/N found herself wondering if their paths would cross again soon. Something about him always made her feel… steadier, like a lighthouse while she was lost at sea.

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully, but as Y/N lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this year would be different.

That same night

The clock on Y/N’s nightstand read 3:07 a.m. when her eyes flew open, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. Her heart pounded in her chest, a frantic drumbeat in her ears. Sweat clung to her skin as her gaze darted around the dimly lit room, her body trembling from the aftershocks of a nightmare that felt too vivid, too real.

She had been standing in a forest shrouded in mist, the trees towering above her like sentinels. A low growl reverberated through the air, and when she turned, she saw glowing red eyes staring at her from the darkness. Shadows twisted and contorted, forming shapes that lunged at her with outstretched claws. She tried to run, but her legs felt attached to the ground.

And then, suddenly, the scene shifted. The forest melted away, and she found herself in a circular stone chamber, cold and oppressive. Figures in dark cloaks surrounded her, their faces obscured, save for one man with piercing, almost hypnotic eyes. He reached out, whispering words she couldn’t understand, and as his hand touched her forehead, a searing pain shot through her skull, white-hot and unbearable.

That was when she woke up.

Her body jerked upright, but the disorientation only grew worse. The room was in chaos, her desk chair was overturned, books scattered across the floor, and the curtains billowed inward as a cold breeze swept through the open window.

The pain in her head was excruciating, a sharp, stabbing sensation that felt like it was splitting her skull in two. She cried out, clutching her head as tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Stop, please… stop,” she whimpered, her voice breaking.

The noise must have startled Charlie and Bella awake. Moments later, she heard the sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs, followed by a frantic knock on her door.

“Y/N?!” Charlie’s voice called out, laced with panic. “What’s going on? Open up!”

Y/N couldn’t answer. The pain was too much, her body curling in on itself as she buried her face in her hands.

The door swung open, and Charlie rushed in, with Bella close behind him. His face paled when he saw her on the floor, trembling and sobbing.

“Oh, God, Y/N,” Charlie breathed, dropping to his knees beside her. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

Bella stood frozen in the doorway, her eyes wide as she took in the overturned furniture and the eerie chill in the room. “I—I’ll get her some water,” she stammered, disappearing down the hall.

Charlie gently placed a hand on Y/N’s head, but she flinched at the touch. “Kiddo, it’s me,” he said softly. “It’s okay. I’m here. We’re gonna fix this.”

She tried to speak, but all that came out was a strangled sob.

Bella returned with a glass of water, but Charlie shook his head. “This isn’t normal. We need to get her to the clinic.”

Carefully, he lifted Y/N into his arms, cradling her like a child as she continued to clutch her head. She felt fragile, as if the slightest jostle would shatter her entirely.

The drive to the clinic was a blur. Charlie’s police cruiser sped through the empty streets of Forks, its sirens cutting through the silence of the early morning. Bella sat in the backseat with Y/N, the later’s head on her knes, though she wasn’t sure if Y/N even noticed.

When they arrived, Charlie carried Y/N inside, calling out for help. Dr. Carlisle Cullen appeared almost immediately, his expression shifting from calm professionalism to genuine concern when he saw Y/N’s state.

“What happened?” Carlisle asked, motioning for Charlie to place Y/N on a gurney.

“She woke up screaming,” Charlie explained, his voice tight with worry. “She’s been complaining about headaches for a while, but this… this is something else.”

Carlisle nodded, his sharp eyes scanning Y/N as he gently checked her vitals. She was barely conscious now, her body limp except for the occasional twitch of her fingers.

“I’ll run some tests,” Carlisle said. “She’ll need to stay here for observation.”

Charlie hesitated, glancing at Bella. “You stay with her,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I need to call her school and let them know she won’t be there for a few days. And… I’ll call Harry and Sue. They should know about this.”

Bella nodded, her throat tight as she watched Carlisle wheel Y/N away.

A few hours later

Y/N woke hours later, the sterile white walls of the clinic room slowly coming into focus. Her head still throbbed, though the pain was duller now, like an ache settling in her bones.

“Y/N?” Bella’s voice was soft, pulling her from the fog.

She turned her head slowly, her gaze meeting Bella’s. For a moment, Bella froze, her heart skipping a beat. Y/N’s eyes were a deep, unnatural purple, almost black, their color shimmering faintly in the dim light.

Y/N blinked, confusion etched across her face. “Bella?”

Bella forced a smile, pushing aside her panic. “Yeah, I’m here. How are you feeling?”

“I… I don’t know,” Y/N admitted, her voice hoarse. “What happened?”

“You had a really bad headache,” Bella said, carefully avoiding any mention of her eyes. “Carlisle said you’ll be okay, but he wants to keep you here overnight to make sure.”

Y/N nodded weakly, her head sinking back into the pillow. “Thanks for staying.”

“Of course, anything,” Bella said softly.

As Y/N drifted back to sleep, Bella sat beside her, her mind racing. She didn’t know what was happening to her cousin, but one thing was clear—this was far beyond anything they could explain away.

Two days later

The morning sunlight felt almost too bright as Y/N stepped out of the clinic. She leaned heavily on Charlie’s arm for support, her legs still shaky after two days of rest and medications. Each step felt like a monumental effort, but the cool breeze on her face was a welcome reprieve after the atmosphere of the clinic.

Behind her, Carlisle stood at the doorway, watching her leave with an unreadable expression. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his white coat, but they were shaking, and his mind was anything but calm.

He had felt her pain. Not just seen it in her expression or read it in her medical vitals, he had felt it deep within himself. The memory of that connection gnawed at him, even though it had been fleeting, disappearing almost as soon as he’d acknowledged it.

Carlisle’s jaw clenched as he tried to make sense of the sensation. It was unnatural, inexplicable. Yet the moment he had begun to dwell on it, the feeling had vanished, slipping through his mind like water through his fingers. He glanced over his shoulder, his gaze sweeping the clinic’s empty hallway, and a wave of unease washed over him.

When they arrived home, Charlie opened the front door, leading Y/N inside as if she were made of glass. She offered him a weak smile, trying to assure him that she wasn’t as fragile as she seemed, but even she wasn’t convinced.

“Go straight to bed,” Charlie instructed, his tone kind. “I stocked your room for now, stacked everything up so it’s out of the way. You can organize it later. I didn’t know where you wanted everything.”

Y/N nodded, appreciating the effort despite the exhaustion clouding her mind.

“I’ll go grab dinner,” Charlie added, already reaching for his car keys. “You want the usual?”

“Yeah,” she replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze before heading out the door. Y/N climbed the stairs slowly, gripping the banister for support. When she reached her bedroom, she was relieved to see it had been tidied to the best of Charlie’s ability. The furniture was back in place, and the scattered books and objects had been piled neatly against the walls.

She sank onto her bed, letting out a long breath as she laid back against the pillows. For a moment, she let her eyes close, hoping the rest would quiet the faint ache still pulsing in her temples.

And that’s when she heard it.

A whisper.

At first, she thought it was her imagination, a remnant of her nightmare or a side effect of the medication. But the sound persisted, faint but distinct. It was a language she didn’t understand, the words smooth and rhythmic, like a chant.

Y/N opened her eyes, sitting up slowly as her heart began to race.

“Hello?” she called out hesitantly, her voice shaky.

No response.

The whispers faded, only to return seconds later, more insistent this time. She clutched her head, wondering if it was just another trick of her mind. But the sound wasn’t coming from inside her head, it was coming from somewhere in the room.

Pushing herself off the bed, Y/N scanned the space, her eyes darting from corner to corner. The whispers grew louder, almost guiding her movements as she checked under her bed, behind the desk.

Finally, her attention landed on her wardrobe. The large piece of furniture stood against the far wall. Kneeling down, Y/N hesitated before reaching underneath it, her fingers brushing against something cool and metallic.

She pulled it out carefully, holding it up to the light.

It was a necklace, unlike anything she had ever seen before. The chain was thin but sturdy, crafted from what looked like tarnished silver. At the center hung a pendant with an intricate design, its edges adorned with tiny, delicate engravings that looked almost like runes. The centerpiece was a purple stone, an amethyst, that glinted softly in the light.

Y/N stared at it, her breath catching in her throat. It didn’t look like Bella’s birthday gift; this was much older, almost ancient. Her fingertips brushed the amethyst, and for a brief moment, a strange warmth spread through her chest. The whispers stopped, leaving a deafening silence in their wake.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, staring at the necklace, but the sound of the front door opening jolted her back to reality.

“Y/N?” Bella’s voice called from downstairs.

Panicking, Y/N stuffed the necklace into the pocket of her hoodie and quickly climbed back onto her bed, pulling the covers over herself just as Bella knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Y/N said, trying to sound as normal as possible.

Bella peeked her head in, her brow furrowing. “Hey. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Y/N lied, her fingers brushing against the hidden necklace in her pocket.

“Charlie’s got dinner downstairs,” Bella said, stepping further into the room. “You want me to bring you a plate?”

“No, I’ll come down,” Y/N said quickly. “I just need a minute.”

Bella nodded, though she still looked concerned. “Okay. But don’t push yourself, okay? You’ve been through a lot.”

Y/N managed a small smile as Bella left the room. Once she was alone again, she pulled the necklace out of her pocket, staring at it with a mix of curiosity and unease.

Where had it come from? And why did she felt like it belonged to her?

Book II - Chapter 2 >>>

Tag list: @inky-bonnie

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city-of-ladies · 9 months ago

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"Embet Ilen (c. 1801-1851), was a woman of high birth who played a distinguished political role during the Zamana Mesafent (Era of the Judges, 1769-1855) in the region now recognized as Eritrea. Her fame is underlined in nineteenth-century sources by the unusual reference to Ras Woldemichael as the “son of Ilen” without any connotation of disparagement. The society's norm otherwise required one to be called after the father. She was no doubt the most emancipated woman in Marab-Millash (highland Eritrea) in the nineteenth century.

Very little is known about her upbringing, education, and family history. Even the name of her father is not given with certainty. Killion calls him “Aite Hagos, Kantibai of Zagher” and the informants of Kolmodin refer to him as “Ayte Fisseha, the son of Ayte Seltan” (p. 142), while Yesehaq Yosef uses both names alternately. However, all sources agree that she was extraordinarily intelligent, a persuasive speaker, an astute politician, and a valorous leader. She is said to have personally commanded men in combat and fought herself like one of them, but she was never taken captive in the field.

Ilen entered politics, not by choice but by the exigencies of the time. She was given in marriage to Ayte Selomon, who was the eldest son of Kantiba Zar’ay of Hazzega, who ruled the greater part of Hamasen—the highlands around Asmara—for over forty years. They had a daughter, Temertsa, and two sons, Woldemichael and Mar’ed. After her husband’s death, she had two more children from political liaisons. Her husband apparently suffered from poor health and was not popular within the family or powerful in the political arena. His own father, Kantiba Zar’ay, was said to have preferred Gabray Habtetsayon, a grandson, to be his heir; but tradition required that he name his son. He did, however, bequeath much of his wealth, including slaves, to Gabray, while Selomon received the hereditary office.

These circumstances developed into a bitter rivalry within the ruling family. Ilen was forced to deal with incessant intrigues during her husband’s lifetime and after his death around 1837 in order to preserve her sons’ right to ascend to the ruling seat. Sometime after his accession to the office in the mid-1820s, Selomon attacked the neighboring district and rival center of Tse’azzega for an unknown reason. His men were quickly routed by the defenders, and he fled to Gura’e, Akkale-Guzay, his mother’s home region. The unprovoked attack revived an old conflict between the two centers of Tse’azzega and Hazzega, which continued unabated until the Italians arrived in the region in 1889.

Ilen mobilized the remaining men of Hazzega and her relations in Karneshim and attempted twice to avenge the defeat of her husband but in vain. Fighting two fronts—Tse’azzega, on the one hand, and Gabray (who split her base), on the other—was too much for her. She then looked beyond the Marab for help. She allied with the ruler of Tigray, Shum-Agame Subagadis, who, having subdued Marab-Millash, appointed Ilen governor of the whole of Hamasen. After the death of Subagadis in 1831, the old rivalries of Marab-Millash broke out anew and Ilen had to look to other quarters for support. She succeeded in winning Dejjazmatch Wubé (also Webe) Hayla Maryam, ruler of all the northern provinces from 1831 to 1855, to her side and was confirmed in her office. She tended to treat her enemies harshly. Consequently, Gabray refused to submit to her rule and lived as a rebel in the heavily forested Ansaba region for many years, a situation which made her all the more uneasy and vigilant. She was generally regarded as excessively revengeful, an attribute which not only terrorized opponents but also brought about her untimely death.

In the late 1840s, she felt it was time for her to give up her regency in favor of her elder son, Woldemichael, who was then in his mid-twenties. Probably she was also tired of the ceaseless conflicts. She retired to the St. Mary Church of Hazzega as a nun. It was here, incidentally, that Kantiba Woldegaber, head of Dimbezan, visited her on his way back home. She received him cordially, in spite of the fact that they had been enemies for a dozen years.

Selomon had allegedly entrusted to him 40 rifles on behalf of his young children, but Woldegaber gave them away to Wubé as a present. When Woldemichael and Mar’ed requested him to hand them over some years later, Woldegaber denied having received any rifles from their deceased father. Besides, he had mistreated and dismissed his wife, the daughter of Ilen. Hence, Ilen had fought and defeated him in a battle some years before this unexpected visit. Woldegaber was murdered after his departure from Ilen’s friendly reception, a tragedy which the people of Dimbezan attributed to a sinister scheme of Ilen. As a consequence, Woldegaber’s relations surprised Hazzega; Ilen escaped and took refuge in a neighboring subdistrict. But her protectors feared an attack by her enemies and extradited her together with two of her small grandchildren, who were eventually tortured to death. This event became one of the underlying causes for Woldemichael’s contemptuous and rancorous attitude toward Hamasen for the next 30 years. "

Bairu Tafla, "Ilen, Embet", In: Kwaku Akyeampong Emmanuel; Gates Henry Louis (eds.). Dictionary of African Biography

#embet ilen #ilen embet #history #women in history #women's history #warrior women #historyedit #women warriors #warrior queens #19th century #eritrea #eritrean history #african history #black women in history

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birbleh · 5 months ago

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7 ways to write Reigen in-character/Reigen-centric

1. Make him ugly

Yes, he is extremely sexy man and he is extremely sexy ugly man. You wanna write he has delicate porcelain wrists and his waist is snatched?? Sure, but he also picks his nose in private.

2. Encourage him to be a repeat offender

Don’t limit him to con artistry, any petty thing that helps him save a little cash is even better. Taking 30+ napkins from the front of the food franchise store???? He’s running a small business, officer.

3. Reigen is always trying to strike a deal. Even with your readers

And you can get an additional discount if you continue reading, sign these terms and purchase the following bulk items… Don’t resist. Let the luminous allure of capitalism flow through you.

4. Reigen is also trying to cheat your readers

Reigen admitting he has no powers?? Pffffffff what series did you read/watch?? Mop Sycho???? (At this point it’s fine cuz everyone knows he’s obviously lying (aka obvious unreliable narration)). And yes, when it matters he’s honest about it.

5. Add a sprinkle of self-loathing

Does Reigen hate himself?? :DDDDDD Of course he does! But make it subtle. Can’t have any employees feeling guilty cuz they turned down his dinner offer (and he instead spent that night downing lemon sours and not enjoying it).

6. Remember Reigen’s love for Mob is boundless

Of course shishou would reschedule all his appointments, drive into uncharted forest and hold back a stranger in a chokehold so Mob can have free milk or a frog sticker.

7. Make Reigen struggle to be emotionally vulnerable

My man’s a feminist alas the societal norms of emotional suppression grip him still. If you’re writing him pre or during canon he’s not gonna cry so easily. Post-canon tho???? Yassssssssss let those snotty tears drown his eyes and airwayss we love that. And if sharing smth personal means his nuggets of wisdom will sound a little more meaningful to the people he cares about, then he will.

Obviously there are many ways to write this stinky lingerie-wearing man, but assume you followed these steps…

The result?? I wrote a reigen-centric fic here :)) Let me know what you think

#mob psycho 100 #mp100 #reigen arataka #mp100 fanfic #writing #fanfiction #weekly updates #Reigen loves Mob as a guardian figure to be clear #Reigen is the best anime mentor to exist #disclaimer: we don’t condone crime ok #we don’t encourage self-hate either pls try to be kind to yourself

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dreamy-gal-30 · 4 months ago

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What Remains - Chapter 4

Masterlist link

Please read below the cut or AO3 - enjoy!

Beta-reader: @writingsoftarnishedsilver 💜

The waiting room smelled like lavender. It was clearly designed to soothe the people who sit here, stuck in endless loops cluttering their minds. Yet it left Sebastian feeling like he was suffocating. He sat stiffly on a wooden bench with soft cushions, his knee bouncing fast enough to make the floorboards creak beneath him. He was alone in this room. For him, the silence was oppressive. No ticking clock, no faint murmurs from behind closed doors. Just the frantic pounding of his own heart.

He could still leave.

It had taken him a whole week to even reply to the appointment confirmation which came with a mind-numbing questionnaire. Bee and Ominis had both been subtly, but not so subtly, checking in with him. Worried he would bail. Their delicate badgering worked though.

Which is why he found himself the night before the questionnaire was due, after having downed two glasses of firewhiskey, filling it out in a single sitting.

First, a list of tick box questions asking about different symptoms he might be feeling, assessing the intensity of them. They were direct and clinical. He ticked them quickly, only halting when his stomach dropped at one of them.

“Feeling bad about yourself – or that you are a failure or have let yourself or your family down.”

His hand shakily filled out the bubble marking ‘Nearly every day’ even though it didn’t seem to cut it.

Then the open-ended questions.

"What brings you to therapy?"

Parents died when I was eight. Uncle was a real bastard. Twin sister was cursed when I was fifteen, lost everything trying to fix it, ended up worse than when I started. Do you want the long version? A copy of my court hearing is attached.

"What do you want to work on?"

Take your pick.

And then he sent it off. He had no idea what to expect from there. He hadn’t foreseen a response, but he received one. A simple, handwritten note:

Thank you for sharing this with me. I look forward to meeting you, Sebastian.

Cecile Hepthorne.

Now, here he was, on the verge of walking out before his very first session, gripping the bench until his chuckles became white.

Just as he was about to bolt, the door creaked open.

“Sebastian?”

He tensed, looking up towards the door.

The woman at the doorway wasn’t what he imagined. To be honest, he didn’t know what he pictured. Some rigid, stern-looking therapist with a clipboard? A bit like Scriber? But, Cecile looked… normal.

Her wavy, greying brown hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, the sleeves of her knitted, beige jumper were rolled up around her elbows, and tucked loosely into her navy trousers. She had kind, brown eyes and offered him a warm smile, with laugh lines on her cheeks.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d come in,” she remarked.

Sebastian scoffed, shifting against the bench. “That makes two of us.”

Cecile’s lips twitched. “Well, you’re here now. Shall we?”

For a brief moment, he hesitated. But then he thought about everything that led to him sitting on his bench in the first place.

He couldn’t keep doing this. He was tired.

So, instead of running away, he stood and slowly followed her.

He took in the sight of her office. The office wasn’t clinical at all. He’d been in clinical places before. The hospital wing at Hogwarts, St. Mungo’s, the interrogation rooms in the Auror office.

But this space felt cosy – lived-in.

Bookshelves crowded the walls, filled with thick, leather-bound texts, some in perfect condition and some with cracked spines and faded titles. A beige rug softened the wooden floor in the sitting area. There was a comfortable-looking, forest green couch and two burgundy, velvety armchairs, and a small table in between with a pot of tea already steaming, close to a box of tissues.

His eyes spanned the other side of the room. There was a desk in the corner and a window overlooked a small, walled garden, granting a sense of privacy which can be hard to find in London. There were a few potted plants that sat on the window sill, one of them nearly withered.

Noticing his quick glance at the struggling plant, Cecile teased as she sat on one of the armchairs, “I’m much better at helping people than I am at keeping plants alive, I can assure you.”

Sebastian huffed out a quiet laugh as he stood rigidly by the doorway.

“Please, sit wherever you’d like. Would you like a cup of tea, Sebastian?”

He stalled, then chose the armchair across from her and nodded. Sitting on the couch felt like too much.

She flicked her wand and the teapot levitated, filling up their cups on the table, and then floated towards each of them.

Cecile crossed one leg over the other, relaxed but observant. He took a sip of his tea, and she followed by taking a sip of hers.

“Before we start,” she said, “I just want to say that I’m happy you made the decision to come. It is a big step.”

“Yeah well, my friends probably would have dragged me here if I didn’t.” He deflected, looking at a serene oil painting of the sea hung on the wall behind her.

“You still came. You have some very caring friends – Bee and Ominis, was it?”

Sebastian’s eyes found hers again. “Yeah, Bee and Ominis…” His jaw tensed. “You get a lot of 'concerned friend referrals’?”

“You’d be surprised.” Her voice was calm.

He took another sip. “And? What’d they say? Bee and Ominis.”

She tilted her head. “Enough to give me some idea of what was going on, but that’s not the same as hearing it from you. It was helpful to read what you submitted. Thank you for sending that over again.”

Sebastian nodded and then exhaled. She let the pause settle before asking, “I’d like to ask – what do you hope to get from these sessions?”

Sebastian blinked. “What do I –?” He furrowed his brows in confusion and a hint of annoyance. “Dunno. Isn’t that your job to figure out?”

Cecile didn’t react the way he anticipated. No frown, no sigh of disappointment. Just a small, thoughtful tilt of her head.

"I could figure out what I think might help," she mused, "but it’s always better if we start with what you want – what feels right to you."

Sebastian exhaled sharply through his nose, then looked down at his tea, turning the cup in his hands. What did he want?

He didn’t know how to ‘fix’ himself. Didn’t even know what fixing himself looked like. But he knew he couldn’t keep doing this.

"I guess…” He exhaled, staring at the surface of his tea and the steam rising from it. “I just don’t want to keep feeling like this.”

Cecile’s voice stayed even. "What do you mean by ‘this’?"

He let out something that might have been a laugh, but it was void of real humour. "Just…" His hand gestured vaguely as if that could fill in the words he didn’t know how to say. "Being tired. Feeling like I keep ruining things—even now. Like I can’t fix anything, no matter how much I try."

The words came easier than he thought.

"There are moments," he muttered, "where it feels like I’m fine. And then—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Something happens. Something big or small reminds me of,” he swallowed, “my f-family. And then it’s like I’m right back there again – that’s what happened at the mission that Bee probably told you about – And I… I react before I even know what I’m doing. I do stupid shit. I feel like – like I can’t stop it."

His grip on the cup tightened, and he kept his eyes firmly on it, avoiding hers.

"And then Bee and Ominis have to deal with it. Again. Have to deal with me. And I wonder if today is the day they realise they don’t have to stay. And then I’ll lose them. And I’ll be –"

His throat closed around the words before he could finish. He hadn’t meant to say that.

The silence stretched for a moment, but Cecile didn’t rush to fill it. She just nodded, as if everything he said made perfect sense.

"That’s already a great place to start," she said simply.

Sebastian arched a brow. "Yeah? I don’t even know exactly what I want. Or if it’s even possible."

"That’s alright," Cecile said. "We don’t have to know exactly where we’re going just yet. We’ll figure it out as we go. But knowing you don’t want to keep feeling this way? That’s already a great step."

Sebastian watched her for a moment, as if weighing her sincerity. Then, he looked away, lifting his cup to his lips and taking a slow sip of tea. Setting it back on the low table in front of him, he crossed his arms and met her gaze.

"Right," he muttered. "This is the part where I bare my soul, yeah?"

Cecile didn’t laugh at the sarcasm. Didn’t bristle, either.

"Only if you want to," she said. "But we can take it at whatever pace works for you. How about we start off simple?"

Sebastian blinked, not expecting that, and nodded again.

She didn’t push him too much. She asked about his work, and he offered only the essentials. She asked how he liked London, and he gave her some generic answers. When she asked if he slept well, he quickly fibbed, “Yeah, fine.”

Raising an eyebrow, she commented, “That was a quick answer.”

He smirked. “What, you want me to say I have nightmares?”

Her expression didn’t change. “Do you?”

His jaw tightened, but instead of probing further, she let the silence linger for a moment before moving on to ask about his home life, his friendships, and what he liked to do in his free time. Understanding who he was. Easing him in.

After a while, Cecile asked, “So, what made you decide to stay?”

Sebastian tapped his fingers on the armrest as he thought of the answer. “I figured I might as well see if this lives up to all the hype.”

Her lips twitched in amusement. “And? What’s the verdict?”

He huffed, leaning back. “The jury’s still out.”

Glancing at the time, she said, “That’s it for today, Sebastian. You’ve done really well. I will keep your slot open for the same time next week, but do let me know if you’d like me to cancel it.”

He exhaled, though relief eluded him, and said thank you as he stood to leave. He got to the door, but her voice gently stopped him.

“Oh and Sebastian?”

He looked back, bracing himself.

“This isn’t about erasing or changing the past,” she explained softly, “It’s about helping you live with it.”

Her words tightened his chest before he closed the door behind him.

–

Sebastian trudged up the steps to their front door. His mind was a mishmash of half-formed thoughts and feelings as he reflected on today. It wasn’t too bad, but he still felt shaken. When he reached the door, he wordlessly unlocked it and paused, taking a moment to compose himself, and then stepped into the comfort of their home.

He sluggishly slipped off his coat and hung it on the coat rack by the door, moving on to kicking his trainers off. He walked quietly through the corridor towards the living room, where he found Bee curled up on their L-shaped couch, her legs tucked beneath her, a book balanced on her knees. A mug of coffee sat on their coffee table beside her, forgotten as she lost herself in whatever she was reading.

She looked up as he entered, her eyes finding his across the room. A small smile curved her lips, but she didn't speak, didn't rush to fill the silence immediately.

"Hey," she said softly, marking her place in the book with a finger, closing it.

"Hey," he replied, his voice sounding rough even to his own ears, crossing the room. He sank down onto the couch beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed. “Ominis home?”

"Nope," she said, accentuating the 'p' while a smile spread across her face. He gave her a puzzled look. "He's apparently on a date."

His eyes widened, "What? With who?"

"He wouldn't say, the bastard. Maybe you can coax it out of him."

“I can try,” he chuckled softly.

There was a short moment of silence between them, until Bee finally asked, "So, how was it?" her voice was gentle, giving him space to answer however he needed to.

Sebastian exhaled slowly, tilting his head back against the soft cushions. "Fine," he said after a moment. "Not as terrible as I expected." He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "She didn't make me lie on a couch like in the muggle films you showed me."

Bee chuckled softly, warming him. "No soul-baring confessions? No dramatic breakthroughs?"

"Not yet," Sebastian quipped, surprising himself. He hadn't consciously decided to go back, but it slipped out anyway. She didn’t miss it either, as he caught quick, subdued awe in her eyes.

His eyes drifted to the book resting on Bee's knees, her hand partly covering it.

There were two silhouetted figures across the cover – one in a sharp suit and an umbrella, the other in a flowing, ballroom gown, connected by a curling red ribbon that wove between them.

"What's that you're reading?" he asked, nodding toward the book.

Bee glanced down, her fingers caressing the edge of the page. "Oh, this? It's called 'The Night Circus.' Muggle novel.”

"What's it about?" Sebastian shifted, turning to face – curious, but looking to change the topic.

"Well," Bee began, her green eyes lit up the way they always did when she talked about something that captivated her, "it's about this circus that only appears at night. It arrives and leaves without warning. And it's the venue for this competition between two magicians who've been trained since they were kids for a game they don't fully understand…”

She glanced at him with a small smile, “I just started it. It's quite beautiful so far. I think you’d like it."

Sebastian nodded, finding himself drawn to the idea. Stories had always been a refuge for him. There was something soothing about losing himself in a world that wasn't his, with problems that belonged to someone else. Plus, he was curious to see muggles’ take on magic.

"Would you..." he hesitated. "Would you read some of it to me?"

Bee's eyes softened and nodded, shifting slightly on the couch to make more room. "Here," she said, patting her lap. "You look exhausted."

Sebastian wavered for just a second, biting the inside of his lip, before giving in. He stretched out on the couch, crossing his ankles, and lowered his head onto her lap. He felt the warmth from her thighs beneath his head.

Bee opened the book, flicking back a few pages to the start.

"The circus arrives without warning," Bee began, her voice melodic as she read. "No announcements precede it, no paper notices on downtown posts and billboards, no mentions or advertisements in local newspapers. It is simply there, when yesterday it was not."

As he listened, her free hand moved almost absently to his hair, fingers gently weaving through the dark strands and massaging his scalp. Sebastian's eyes drifted closed at the touch, a sigh escaping him. As she continued reading, describing the tents that appeared as if by magic, Sebastian found himself spellbound – not just by the story, but by Bee.

With half-lidded eyes, he traced the way the afternoon light highlighted her dark auburn hair, turning the edges and ends to copper. The way a slight furrow appeared between her brows when she reached a mysterious passage. The way her voice dipped lower for certain characters, rose higher for others. The way her plump lips moved around certain words or when she smiled at the enchanted imagery.

His breathing slowed, deepened, as her fingers continued to play with his hair, sometimes brushing against his temple and ear. The tension he'd carried home from Cecile's office melted away beneath her touch. It was replaced by a warm ache in his chest as he listened, hanging on her every word while unable to look away – something both painful and sweet.

He couldn’t name it. It somehow frightened him too much to examine it more closely.

Instead, he allowed himself to unthinkingly sink into the moment.

–

A week later, he found himself back in that same cosy room. Only this time, his knee wasn’t bouncing quite as much, but his fingers held his tea tightly. He shrugged off questions about his week, claiming work had been busy and mentioning the book he and Bee had been reading together.

At some point, she redirected the conversation to their previous session, seeking any lingering reflections. Sebastian remained elusive, using a long sip of tea as a shield against deeper inquiry. He had definitely thought about it – more than he wanted to admit. About the things he said too easily, the things he almost said. But also about how it hadn’t been as painful as he thought it was going to be, but still left him feeling… exposed. But he was here again, wasn’t he? That had to mean something.

"How did you sleep this week?"

A quick, reflexive answer rose to his lips, the same "fine" he'd offered last time, but he caught himself.

"Some nights are better than others," he admitted, his gaze fixed on the desk in the corner of the room. A stack of parchment sat neatly organised next to a quill.

Cecile nodded slightly. “Why are some nights better than others?”

Sebastian exhaled. “I don’t know.”

She didn’t push. She just waited.

The quiet stretched and maybe that was why he kept going.

“Some nights, I manage to sleep fine,” he said, voice slow, like he was choosing his words carefully as he spoke them. “It helps when I’m physically exhausted after work.”

Cecile hummed. “Makes sense… And the nights that aren’t better?”

Sebastian clenched his jaw. “The usual. Nightmares. Wake up at three. Can’t get back to sleep without–”

Shame rose in his gut and he averted his eyes to the newly revitalised plant from last week.

Cecile cocked her head slightly to the side, “What was that?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

She didn’t press. Instead, wordlessly, she reached for the teapot and poured him another cup after he nodded yes.

The sound of tea filling the mug was the only sound in the room aside from the faint chirping of birds outside the window.

Sebastian knew what she was doing. She wasn’t pushing, but she wasn’t moving on just yet either. He could sit here in silence if he wanted to. Wait for her to move on. But he didn’t.

“Bee helps me,” he said finally, his voice quieter now.

Cecile’s voice remained neutral but still warm. “That’s nice of her. How does she do that?”

Sebastian swallowed, his fingers twitching slightly against the armrests. “She…” He stopped, then exhaled, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

His face flushed, which only irritated him further.

“She holds me,” he muttered. “When I wake up like that. She comes over and holds me for the rest of the night – because of a nightmare. Like I’m a child.”

His voice broke ever so slightly and was laced with irritation, but it wasn’t directed at Bee – Cecile could hear that. It was directed at himself.

She nodded slightly, taking a sip of her tea before saying, “It sounds like she cares about you a lot.”

Sebastian scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah. That’s the problem.”

Cecile raised an eyebrow. “It’s a problem that she cares?”

He exhaled exasperatedly, “It’s a problem that I need it.”

Cecile set her cup down. She studied him for a moment, then asked, “What does it mean to you to need comfort?”

His jaw clenched again.

“That I’m weak,” he said finally.

She hummed, “And what about Bee? Does she ever need comfort?”

“Yeah…” he murmured, running his fingers on the velvet of the armrest.

“And do you think she’s weak?”

His dark eyes flashed to hers, “No, of course not!”

Cecile nodded as if she predicted the answer. “Everyone needs comfort sometimes, Sebastian. Where do you think you learned that? That you’re weak for needing it?”

Sebastian's throat felt tight. His pulse kicked up slightly like his body was already trying to outrun the question.

He swallowed, shifting in his seat, his grip tightening on the warm ceramic of his mug. A sudden pressure built in his chest, something that made the room feel a little smaller than before. His shoulders were tense, nearing his neck and ears. His heart drummed too fast, his breaths growing shallower. His fingers tightened against the cup almost painfully, and clenched into a fist against his shaky knee, as though he could shake off the feeling like lacewing flies were fluttering on his skin.

“Sebastian.”

His head snapped up. Her voice was steady, grounding. Not urgent, not concerned–just there.

“Take a double breath for me.”

Sebastian blinked. “A what?”

“A double breath,” Cecile repeated, her voice calm. “In through the nose, once. Then hold. Then again before you exhale very slowly.”

He frowned, “I’m breathing fine.”

She tilted her head, “Please try it. In through your nose. One breath–then another before you let it out.”

Sebastian rubbed a hand down his face and noticed that his pulse hadn’t settled.

So he did what she asked.

Inhale–once.

Then again, a second sip of air before exhaling slowly.

It felt… strange. Forced. But the second breath stretched something tight inside of him, loosened it just slightly.

He tried again.

And again.

And he could feel it–his chest opening up, his hands unclenching, his body releasing some tension and stilling, his pulse slowing from a frantic beat to something more manageable.

Cecile waited, watching him carefully, not speaking until he was ready.

When he finally exhaled again, she said, “That’s it.”

Sebastian mumbled, “That was weird.”

Cecile’s lips twitched into a gentle smile. “It helps, though, doesn’t it?”

He swallowed. “...Yeah.”

She let a brief silence pass before asking, “Did you notice anything just now?”

Sebastian frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

She gestured lightly toward him. “About your mind, your body–anything that changed as you got anxious.”

He hated this part. He considered brushing it off, but… something about the way she asked made him want to at least try.

His brows furrowed slightly. “I don’t know.”

“Take your time,” Cecile said softly.

Sebastian exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “My… hands. They were really tight. My skin was tingling.” He flexed his fingers as if realising it for the first time. “My chest felt… tight too. Like it wasn’t getting enough air. My shoulders kind of hurt. And my head–it felt like everything was moving too fast to catch a thought properly.”

She nodded approvingly. “That’s good, Sebastian.”

He grimaced. “Good?”

“It means you noticed.”

Sebastian scoffed lightly, shaking his head. “Right. Noticing things...”

She smiled. “Noticing means you can do something about it next time. Double breaths help because when anxiety rises, your body thinks it’s in danger. That second inhale tells your nervous system that you’re safe.”

He absorbed that for a moment. He wasn’t sure if he believed all of it, but he had to admit that it worked.

Cecile studied him for a moment, then asked, “Would you like to continue with what we were talking about?”

He gulped and shook his head, “Not today.”

She didn’t press. She simply nodded. “That’s alright.”

And then, with the kind of fluidity that made it seem like this was always where the conversation was going, she said, “You mentioned earlier you were reading The Night Circus with Bee.”

Sebastian's shoulders eased a little more, “Yeah.”

She tilted her head slightly. “How’s it going?”

He told her all about it. The corner of his mouth lifted unconsciously as he described their reading sessions. The tight lines around his eyes relaxed, his posture easing back into the armchair rather than perching on its edge. His hands now rested comfortably on the armchair. He shared how sometimes Ominis joins them, relaxed on their armchair, listening with closed eyes but never falling asleep. He didn't realise that for several minutes, he'd been speaking openly and not carefully.

Cecile observed the transformation with quiet attentiveness, noting how his voice softened when he mentioned Bee's name, a knowing, but subtle smile growing on her face.

She eyed the small clock mounted on the wall behind Sebastian. "We're almost out of time," she remarked.

"Yeah?" Sebastian replied, unsure whether he felt relieved or annoyed at how quickly the time had slipped by. He grabbed his mug, finishing off the last sip of tea.

She gave a brief nod. "But before you leave, I have some homework for you."

His face twisted into a scowl, though it lacked any real bite.

She chuckled lightly. "I promise, it’s nothing too strenuous."

He exhaled sharply as he adjusted his hold on his now-empty mug. "Alright, what kind of misery are you about to serve me?"

Ignoring his dramatics, she continued, "I want you to be aware of when you slip back into that state."

His mouth pressed into a firm line. "What state?"

He knew what she was talking about. He just didn’t want to acknowledge it.

She continued, gesturing subtly toward him. “Like earlier, when your chest tightened, when your hands clenched. When your mind started racing.”

He nodded, “And?”

“That’s it. Just notice it.”

His frown deepened. “That’s all the homework?”

“That’s part of it,” she corrected. “And when you do notice it, I would like you to find a way to comfort yourself, like using the double breath.”

Sebastian nodded once, slow and measured. He wasn’t sure if he liked the idea, but it wasn’t the worst thing she could’ve asked him to do.

Cecile then added, “There’s one more thing.”

Sebastian groaned dramatically with a hint of a smirk, tilting his head back against the chair. “Merlin’s sake, there’s more?”

“I want you to notice when you avoid something,” she said calmly.

At that, he stiffened; his fingers, which had been loosely wrapped around his cup, curled around it tightly.

“And what, I’m supposed to just sit there, basking in my self-awareness?” he muttered, unable to hide the edge in his voice.

“No. I just want you to write it down.”

“Write it down?” Sebastian asked with an annoyed tone.

She nodded. “Not to confront it. Not to act on it. Just… record it. When it happens. What you were avoiding. Nothing more.”

Sebastian did not like the sound of that.

“Not sure I see the point,” he said carefully, watching her reaction.

Cecile shrugged. “There doesn’t have to be a point. Not yet. But humour me.”

After a long moment, he sighed. “Fine.”

–

The room was surrounded by a hazy twilight, its air perfumed with the intoxicating scent of violets.

Soft, muted sounds filled the space–staggered breaths mingling with almost inaudible moans, all synchronising with the echoed meeting of skin. His body moved of its own accord, driven by a raw, aching need, his bare hips meeting soft inner thighs.

He groaned against the blurred nape of her neck, his lips brushing over smooth, glistening skin, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses. Doing whatever he could to keep her whimpering around him.

Her legs were wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, anchoring him and meeting his thrusts. His chest pressed against hers, the softness of her skin and her firm, pebbled nipples.

He was so close, so completely enveloped in her, sensing her need for him as much as his for her.

He heard his name escape her lips – a husky, muffled moan that lingered in the air. Something tugged at the edges of his consciousness, a hint of familiarity that he couldn't quite grasp.

His movements faltered slightly, a brief hesitation as his hips continued to grind against hers, pulling almost completely out before slowly sinking back in – making her gasp and clench around him. His hands, once interlocked with hers and pinned by her head, wandered down her hips, gripping her as he thrust more languidly and let his head dip from her neck, against her collarbone.

Her hands found his ribs, skimming upward and curling at the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair in a way that felt achingly right and recognisable. She wasn’t grasping onto him in mindless, fevered lust.

She was holding him.

She pulled him closer, her touch soft yet insistent, guiding his kisses up her neck to her ear. One of his hands moved from her hip, gliding over her curves, ribs, and up her side, until his fingers tangled in her hair. He tugged gently, evoking a hoarse cry as her body began to tremble with release beneath him.

Everything was blurred. The feeling of soft skin, the quiet, breathy sounds filling the space between them. He couldn’t see her, not really. But as he was kissing and nipping at the lobe of her ear, he noticed that his fingers were entwined in dark auburn strands — snapping her into focus.

His chest tightened and before he could fully comprehend, she breathed, her voice soft and pleading,

"Look at me, Seb."

Those same fingers in his hair led him from her neck, drawing him upwards until their foreheads pressed together, noses brushing, breath mingling, as she pulled him closer with her legs and he sunk into her, to the hilt.

Blissed-out green eyes met his in an unbreakable gaze.

And then, the scene cracked down around him.

Sebastian woke up with a sharp, startled inhale. His heart pounded, his skin was damp, and for a moment, he didn’t know where he was. But he knew that the smell of violets followed him here.

The remnants of his dream clung to him, like her legs wrapped around him, the faint sounds of her breathless moans, the heat of her skin, the way she had held him so tenderly, so completely–

Then, reality settled in and he felt her – not a dream, but in the flesh. Her head was tucked into the crook of his neck as he held her, her arm draped over his waist, while her leg rested on one of his.

The rise and fall of her breathing was soft and steady.

Sebastian swallowed thickly in between heavy breaths, shutting his eyes for a moment, desperately trying to ground himself. But his mind was suddenly confronted by another reality: the unmistakable, insistent pressure between his legs. His entire body flushed as he shifted slightly, trying in vain to will it away before she woke up and–

“Mmph,” she murmured, causing him to freeze. She stirred with a sleepy inhale, shifting slightly against him.

“Seb?” Her voice was thick with sleep, her breath warm against his skin.

He silently cursed under his breath. Clenching his jaw, he tried desperately to calm himself before she noticed. Quietly, he pressed his palm against his growing arousal under the covers, in an attempt to hide it, biting back a groan to avoid drawing her attention.

Bee lifted her head slightly, her hand tightening against his stomach for just a second before she lifted up enough to see him.

“You okay?” she murmured, voice still groggy but with a touch of concern.

Sebastian swallowed hard, staring at the ceiling. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice rough. “Just… woke up too fast.”

She furrowed her brows, fingers grazing against his chest absentmindedly.

“Bad dream?” she probed.

Sebastian exhaled through his nose. He couldn’t exactly tell her. Couldn’t explain how his subconscious had dragged him through something so intimate, something so raw – something he had no right to want from her.

So instead, he just murmured, “Something like that.”

He shifted onto his side, turning away from her, and she followed suit, her arm still wrapped around him, her warmth pressed against his back. He could feel her watching him intently.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” she asked, voice quiet, gentle.

Merlin, no.

There was no reality in which he would ever speak this into existence.

But out loud, all he said was, “No. It’s okay.”

He sensed her nod against his back. With a slow exhale, she relaxed, her body moulding easily against his once again.

Silence settled between them, but Sebastian’s mind was far from still.

He was at war with himself.

Desire still lingered in him, searing him with that dream. The one he couldn't afford to think about. The one he was trying so hard to shove back into the recesses of his mind. His body still traitorously ached from it. Her dreamlike touch still burned against his skin, even though she hadn't touched him like that.

Because that wasn’t what this was.

She wasn’t his to dream about. She wasn’t here for that.

She was here because he had woken up shaking again, the second time that week. Because she had heard him. Because she had come to him like she always did. And here she was, curled against him, grounding him, comforting him. Holding him together. And what had his mind done in return? Twisted her kindness into something–

He clenched his jaw, shame pressing in his ribs.

He told himself it was just a dream – dreams weren’t real, he couldn’t control them. They weren’t his fault. But that was a weak excuse, and he knew it. Just like that time in the shower not too long ago.

Some part of him had wanted it, had conjured it from his own mind. And worse, some part of him still wanted it, even now, even as she lay beside him.

The guilt gnawed at him.

He should pull away. He should put distance between them, roll onto his back, shake her off, something.

But he couldn’t.

Instead, he lay there, rigid and restless, while her arm remained draped over him, fingers curled slightly into his shirt as if even in sleep, she refused to let him slip away.

His throat tightened.

Why?

He wasn’t easy to care about. He wasn’t good at being cared for. He fucks up. He drives people away. He’d made a mess of everything ten years ago. And yet, she was still there.

Hasn’t she had enough of his shit by now?

“…Why do you do this?” he found himself asking, voice quieter than he meant.

Bee let out a small, sleepy hum. “Do what?”

“This.” The word felt too small for what he meant. He swallowed hard, trying to force the rest out. “Holding me. When I…” He couldn’t finish it. When I wake up shaking? When I don’t deserve it? When I wish I didn’t need it but I do?

There was a pause. Then, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, Bee murmured, “Because I care about you, you idiot.”

Sebastian didn’t move. He couldn’t. He felt like if he moved, he might shatter into pieces.

She fell back asleep not long after, her breathing even and steady against the back of his neck.

His own body, mercifully, had calmed down enough that he didn’t have to worry about humiliating himself further.

So – very slowly and carefully, he turned to face her.

He found himself holding his breath. Her arm still lay draped over his waist, her body warm against his. Her hair had been mussed into a mess in a way that he adored. He travelled from her sleep-tousled fringe down to her slightly parted lips as she breathed deeply. His eyes lingered there, then continued their path.

The blanket had slipped enough to reveal a few freckles were scattered across her shoulders and the sight of them stirred the quiet urge to trace them with his fingertips. His eyes drifted lower before he could stop himself – down to the soft rise of her chest, the way her top clung to her as she lay on her side. His breath hitched and he tore his eyes away, jaw tightening.

Get a grip.

But something inside him ached.

His fingers twitched where they rested against the sheets as if caught between restraint and surrender.

Carefully, tentatively, he moved closer. As if sensing him in her sleep, Bee shifted, closing the space between them. Only then did he gently reach out and pull her against his chest, wrapping his arm around her. Her nose grazed against his collarbone, her fingers lightly clutching onto the material of his shirt.

She sighed softly, instinctively tucking herself against him, as if she knew, on some unconscious level, that he needed it. It almost felt like she needed it too.

Sebastian shut his eyes, his throat tight, his heart pounding.

He wasn’t ready for whatever this was.

He didn’t even fully understand what this was.

But for just a little while, he let himself pretend everything was fine.

Previous chapter

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #harry potter #sebastian sallow smut #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow x oc #hogwarts sebastian #hogwarts legacy fandom

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townpostin · 1 year ago

Text

Shaba Alam Ansari Takes Charge As New Jamshedpur DFO

Former Officer Returns To Role, Pledging Continued Forest Conservation Efforts Outgoing DFO Mamta Priyadarshi Highlights Achievements In Forest Protection JAMSHEDPUR – On Friday, Shaba Alam Ansari officially started his role as the Divisional Forest Officer (DFO) for Jamshedpur. He was appointed by the state government. "I am dedicated to carrying on our work in conserving forests and wildlife,"…

#जनजीवन #Divisional Forest Officer Appointment #Forest Community Employment #Jamshedpur Environmental News #Jamshedpur Forest Conservation #Jharkhand forest department #Jharkhand Government Postings #Life #Mamta Priyadarshi Forest Initiatives #Shaba Alam Ansari DFO #Sustainable Forest Management #Wildlife Protection Jamshedpur

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fatehbaz · 1 year ago

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when the Empire's researchers realized that the cause of the ecological devastation was the Empire:

much to consider.

on the motives and origins of some forms of imperial "environmentalism".

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Since the material resources of colonies were vital to the metropolitan centers of empire, some of the earliest conservation practices were established outside of Europe [but established for the purpose of protecting the natural resources desired by metropolitan Europe]. [...] [T]ropical island colonies were crucial laboratories of empire, as garden incubators for the transplantation of peoples [slaves, laborers] and plants [cash crops] and for generating the European revival of Edenic discourse. Eighteenth-century environmentalism derived from colonial island contexts in which limited space and an ideological model of utopia contributed to new models of conservation [...]. [T]ropical island colonies were at the vanguard of establishing forest reserves and environmental legislation [...]. These forest reserves, like those established in New England and South Africa, did not necessarily represent "an atavistic interest in preserving the 'natural' [...]" but rather a "more manipulative and power-conscious interest in constructing a new landscape by planting trees [in monoculture or otherwise modified plantations] [...]."

Text by: Elizabeth DeLoughrey and George B. Handley. "Introduction: Toward an Aesthetics of the Earth". Postcolonial Ecologies: Literatures of the Environment, edited by DeLoughrey and Handley. 2011. [Text within brackets added by me for clarity and context.]

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British colonial forestry was arguably one of the most extensive imperial frameworks of scientific natural resource management anywhere [...]. [T]he roots of conservation [...] lay in the role played by scientific communities in the colonial periphery [...]. In India, [...] in 1805 [...] the court of directors of the East India Company sent a dispatch enquiring [...] [about] the Royal Navy [and its potential use of wood from Malabar's forests] [...]. This enquiry led to the appointment of a forest committee which reported that extensive deforestation had taken place and recommended the protection of the Malabar forests on grounds that they were valuable property. [...] [T]o step up the extraction of teak to augment the strength of the Royal Navy [...] [b]etween 1806 and 1823, the forests of Malabar were protected by means of this monopoly [...]. The history of British colonial forestry, however, took a decisive turn in the post-1860 period [...]. Following the revolt of 1857, the government of India sought to pursue active interventionist policies [...]. Experts were deployed as 'scientific soldiers' and new agencies established. [...] The paradigm [...] was articulated explicitly in the first conference [Empire Forestry Conference] by R.S. Troup, a former Indian forest service officer and then the professor of forestry at Oxford. Troup began by sketching a linear model of the development of human relationship with forests, arguing that the human-forest interaction in civilized societies usually went through three distinct phases - destruction, conservation, and economic management. Conservation was a ‘wise and necessary measure’ but it was ‘only a stage towards the problem of how best to utilise the forest resources of the empire’. The ultimate ideal was economic management, [...] to exploit 'to the full [...]' and provide regular supplies [...] to industry.

Text by: Ravi Rajan. "Modernizing Nature: Tropical Forestry and the Contested Legacy of British Colonial Eco-Development, 1800-2000". Oxford Historical Monographs series, Oxford University Press. January 2006.

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It is no accident that the earliest writers to comment specifically on rapid environmental change in the context of empires were scientists who were themselves often actors in the process of colonially stimulated environmental change. [...] [N]atural philosophers [...] in Bermuda, [...] in Barbados and [...] on St Helena [all British colonies] were all already well aware of characteristically high rates of soil erosion and deforestation in the colonial tropics [...]. On St Helena and Bermuda this early conservationism led, by 1715, to the gazetting of the first colonial forest reserves and forest protection laws. On French colonial Mauritius [...], Poivre and Philibert Commerson framed pioneering forest conservation [...] in the 1760s. In India William Roxburgh [and] Edward Balfour [...] ([...] Scottish medical scientists) wrote alarmist narratives relating [to] deforestation [...]. East India Company scientists [...] [including] Roxburgh [...] went on to further observe the incidence of global drought events [...]. The writings of Edward Balfour and Hugh Cleghorn in the late 1840s in particular illustrate the extent of the permeation of a global environmental consciousness [...]. [T]he 1860s [were] a period [...] which embodies a convergence of thinking about ecological change on a world scale [...]. It was in the particular circumstances of environmental change at the colonial periphery that what we would now term "environmentalism" first made itself felt [...]. Victorian texts such as [...] Ribbentrop's Forestry in the British Empire, Brown's Hydrology of South Africa, Cleghorn's Forests and Gardens of South India [...] were [...] vital to the onset of environmentalism [...]. This fear grew steadily in the wake of colonial expansion [...] particularly [...] after the great Indian famines of 1876 [...].

Text by: Richard Grove and Vinita Damodaran. "Imperialism, Intellectual Networks, and Environmental Change: Origins and Evolution of Global Environmental History, 1676-2000: Part I". Economic and Political Weekly Vol. 41, No. 41. 14 October 2006

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The “planetary consciousness” produced by this systemizing of nature [in eighteenth-century European science] […] increased the mobility of paradise discourse [...]. As European colonial expansion accelerated, the homogenizing transformation of people, economy and nature which it catalyzed also gave rise to a myth of lost paradise, which served as a register […] for obliterated cultures, peoples, and environments [devastated by that same European colonization], and as a measure of the rapid ecological changes, frequently deforestation and desiccation, generated by colonizing capital. On one hand, this myth served to suppress dissent by submerging it in melancholy, but on the other, it promoted the emergence of an imperialist environmental critique which would motivate the later establishment of colonial botanical gardens, potential Edens in which nature could be re-made. However, the subversive potential of the “green” critique voiced through the myth of endangered paradise was defused by the extent to which growing environmental sensibilities enabled imperialism to function more efficiently by appropriating botanical knowledge and indigenous conservation methods, thus continuing to serve the purposes of European capital.

Text by: Sharae Deckard. Paradise Discourse, Imperialism, and Globalization: Exploiting Eden. 2010.

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vettelsdarling · 2 years ago

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Hey Lissie! Another Hamilton 5+1 for you because I love the format, hehe. Straight to the point, here it is:

5 times Y/N woke up without Lewis and one time they woke up together.

I can definitely see a potential for angst and a bit of misunderstanding or yearning?! Lewis can either be a f1 driver or have it as an AU with another job! The prompt needs a good reason of “why” for the absence and I am more than certain your mind will come up with a brilliant answer. I am thrilled and again, have fun!

𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐨𝐮

Lissie note… I love this prompt so much ugh!!! I changed it a slight bit to falling asleep rather than waking up (just for dramatic effect). Thank you for the prompt, love<3

Things to note

Reader is a paralegal

Lewis is frequently gone for races

They’ve been dating for 4~5 years and live together

There is a tiny age gap but it isn’t that bad

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x gf!reader

Warnings: Slight angst???

Word Count: 5.3k+

Playlist recommendations: 𝐋𝐇𝟒𝟒, 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭💔, 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟💗

Taglist: @allwaysalleyway, @drugged-kitkat, @darleneslane, @littlesatanicassholebitch

His arms were warm. They were comforting to lie in and snuggle into. He trailed his fingers gently through your hair, as you slowly dozed off.

That was a dream.

The cruel reality of the real world, in the form of an obnoxious iPhone alarm, woke you up. It was already 6 AM, and your routine consisted of a hefty amount of self-care. This meant that you had about 10 minutes for a shower, 50 for hair care, and 30 for skin and makeup. Breakfast was out of the question. So much for self-care.

Before you left, you made sure to feed Roscoe and give him his well-deserved cuddles. Things had been hard ever since Coco passed, but Roscoe was still a happy spirit.

You went to the garage, noticing your boyfriend’s all too famous purple Mercedes. Your heart stung for a second, but you brushed it off. It was important to support his endeavours, instead of sulking about him.

You decided to go with your vintage beetle. Driving around in it was what kept you grounded. You’d gotten it for your 18th birthday from your parents. Not from your lover.

The fact that you didn’t quit your 9-5 paralegal job was also rationalizing, you didn’t stay home and leech off of your rich man. He was more than just a wallet. He was your partner. Besides, the media had already started to suspect that he wasn’t single anymore. Though he hadn’t been for years. The two of you had met coincidentally over a cup of tea with your boss. Lewis was his client and you were the first to oversee the situation before handing him off. That was about 6 years ago. For four, the two of you had been together. You had only given him your number regarding his case, but he’d taken the opportunity to ask you out.

Now, the two of you lived together in a mansion overseeing a large forest. It was quite far from your workplace, but you didn’t really mind. Having to wake up early was a small price to pay for the tranquillity of the surroundings. Although it would’ve been more tranquil, had you had more time with your lover.

Alas, there was nothing you could do about it.

1 | Shades Of Cool

You sat there on your dreary chair in your dreary office. The white walls hypnotized you into thinking time was going much slower than it actually was. You stared away at it for a while, before someone knocked on your door.

“Hey, can you please do these briefs? I need to clock out for a dentist’s appointment in a few minutes. I promise I’ll owe you.” You accepted the pile and started going at it. Work usually made you forget the empty feeling of not seeing him often. Sometimes you even thought of staying all night. However, for Roscoe’s sake, you never stayed past dinner time. He couldn’t be alone for too long. It wasn’t fair to the poor boy.

It took hours and hours to get through the pile. You clocked out well past midnight and stopped by a pub to pick up some food before driving home. You knew a huge “sorry” was in order for your dog. He hadn’t seen you for several hours, definitely missing you.

You had 12 missed calls from him. Even though he was on an entirely different continent, he somehow found the time to call you. 12 times no less. You decided to call him back after finishing your dinner and making yourself comfortable next to Roscoe on your sofa.

“Hello, love.” You heard from the other end of the line, as he turned his camera on. There he was. His exhausted, but beautiful face. His hair wasn’t tied up. It was relaxed and so was he.

“Hey, Lewis,” you said and turned on your camera, showing yourself next to his beloved dog,

“Roscoe’s here too.” He let out a huff, which stirred a chuckle out of your boyfriend.

“How’s work? How are you doing?” He asked, knowing that you dreaded most of your coworkers if not all. Additionally, he knew that every day was the same at the office. You handled briefs and got files in piles by your superiors. It sucked.

“It’s okay… same old same old. How’s Spain?” You were so used to staying in the UK, you’d forgotten what it was like to travel. As a paralegal, you didn’t have the luxury to do so that often.

“It’s great. Did you see the videos I sent you? This car is incredible, darling.” You hadn’t seen them for one very specific reason; your heart would clench. It would simply give out at the sight of your boyfriend. Missing him was always a big problem, but with races being back-to-back… it hurt that much more.

“I haven’t had the chance to yet, no, but I’ll check them out later.” The hesitation in your voice must’ve been apparent, as he decided to ask into it,

“Something wrong?” You didn’t want to worry him, so you told a little white lie. You were simply just tired. That was it. That was all. Knowing him, he’d worry too much to focus on driving, which was the exact opposite of what you wanted for him. Besides, it’d be selfish of you to make his work all about yourself. Gosh, you really couldn’t stand your obsessive thoughts.

“Well, I promised Valterri I’d meet him at the gym. Sleep well, darling.” You blew him a kiss goodbye before shutting off the feed and turning over. Roscoe huffed and curled up beside you. It was dead silent except for the few wind rustles you heard from the open window next to the TV. It didn’t feel tranquil. No, you were lamenting the thought of being alone for so long. You hated it. It wasn’t an issue during the day. You had chores and you had work to do, but in the evenings when everything always gets quieter— your mind gets louder.

Roscoe was sleeping soundly next to you. Your hand stroked him gently whilst you scrolled through your Instagram feed. Naturally, you ended up on Lewis’ page. He was highly selective of who he was following. You, however, were amongst the few that he did. A smile spread across your face like room-temperature butter would be spread on a piece of bread. You didn’t appear much on his feed, as you liked being private. Though the posts you did appear in, all had captions with romantic undertones. You really were in love with that man.

I can’t break through your world, ‘cause you live in shades of cool…

2 | Sad Girl

The sun had already come to greet you. It was an early Saturday morning, which would’ve been peaceful— had you not forgotten about the LSATs. You woke up on the sofa that you’d passed out on the night before. Dried drool decorated the corner of your lip. What time was it? You checked your phone, only to realize that your battery was low and the test was in an hour. The sudden sound of your phone ringing sent you scrambling to answer it.

“Hey, are you on your way? I studied all night… Hopefully, we can do this.” Your friend, who usually sat in the cubicle opposite you, whined. She wasn’t a strong test taker, based on the fact that it was her 5th time taking the LSATs. 7 and she’d be all done. No more chances. In comparison to her, you were going in for the first time. You’d studied, but you had no idea how the whole thing would turn out. The tests only got harder and harder every year.

“I am, I am. The traffic is just insane at the moment. I’ll see you there.” You hung up and swiftly ran around the house to get ready. Roscoe was reasonably confused at the rush you were in. You kissed his wrinkly forehead before shutting the door behind you.

For nostalgic reasons, you decided to take Lewis’ purple Mercedes. It was the only one of its kind, so it’d make sense if some people recognized it. You didn’t care. It felt like Lewis was still with you, even if he was in an entirely different country. Speak of the devil, your phone buzzed. One message from him… “Good luck with the LSATs, darling”. Your heart clenched. You missed him so.

Traffic turned out to be light and breezy. Luckily, you made it in time for the test. Being a paralegal had its benefits, but it was and would always be a step below the real deal. You weren’t a real lawyer until you took the LSATs. Then, there was the deal with the bar exam as well. That was another story.

“Did you do good? I croaked. I’m toast. I’ll have to take it again…” said your defeated friend and munched down on her lunch that she brought.

“I don’t know. Maybe? I don’t really care at this point…” Of course, you did, but your mind was too occupied by the absence of your lover to hold an actual conversation. He expected you to tune in on his races whenever you had time to do so, but the fact of the matter was— you never could. It made your heart ache with longing. A painful longing for him to come back home. Especially on weeks when the race weekends were happening back-to-back.

“I guess you don’t need to worry. You’ve got your boyfriend’s money to take care of you.” Although you barely listen to all of her blabbering about the test, that particular thing got through to you.

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah. You’re literally dating a celebrity. You’re set,” she chuckled.

“Do you actually think you’re being funny right now?” She likely didn’t mean any harm, but with your pent-up agony and rage, it was hard not to let loose on her.

“Calm down, I was only kidding…” You’d made a scene. You were uncomfortable, things were awkward, and the only place your mind wandered to was Lewis.

“You know what, I’m sorry. I’m just really tired after the test. How about we catch up soon? I need to head home.” Your heart was pounding rapidly in your chest as you put the keys in the ignition. It almost felt as if you were an irrational teenager again. His absence did a number on you. It wasn’t always like that though. Throughout the previous season, he would always do whatever he could to see you in person. Whether it was bringing you with him, or flying back home. As the following season started, the two of you realized how unethical and harmful the solutions were to the environment. Coupled with the fact that you were trying to become a lawyer, there was no way to see him. No way to be held by him. No way to fall asleep in his arms.

That night, you stared into the ceiling for what felt like hours. The spot next to you was empty. Completely untouched. The sound of the gentle wind rustling the trees outside helped your brain work its wild imagination. Vivid pictures of Lewis played over and over and you couldn’t help but feel as though the two of you weren’t meant to be. You had conflicting schedules and you couldn’t just take a weekend off every week to go with him to his races. He couldn’t stay for your sake either. He had a job to do. A job that millions of people depended on for their entertainment. Were you an obstacle? All these thoughts drove into your heart like a stake. You wept. It was inevitable. You’d tried to not do so because you knew he wouldn’t want that… but it was hard. Too hard. Your vision was blurry and the sounds of the nature surrounding you were dimming slowly. You were falling asleep.

You haven’t seen my man…

3 | Off To The Races

Sunday morning was brutal. You woke up with a pounding headache due to having cried yourself to sleep. The sun made your situation much worse, blinding you as you tried to get out of bed. Upon checking your phone, you saw a slew of unread messages from your beau. All of them were minutes apart, making it clear that he’d been trying to reach you throughout the evening.

21:30- Hey, you’re not answering your phone, so I just wanted to text you instead. How are you?

21:55- Are you there? You’re usually not asleep at this hour…

22:45- I suppose you may be busy or asleep. In that case, sleep well baby❤️

22:46- Call me whenever you wake up

“Fuck,” you sighed and went to the bathroom. The reflection in the mirror seemed unfamiliar. You didn’t look like yourself at all. No, that wasn’t you. The face looking back at you had swollen eyes and redness coating the corners. Its mascara had been running and dried, giving the face a crustier look. It felt as if you were some little kid who couldn’t stand to be alone for the day, whilst their mother went out to buy groceries. It was embarrassing.

After feeding yourself and Roscoe, cleaning yourself up, and doing chores around the house— you decided that you’d turn on the TV to watch your boyfriend. You were too late for lights out, as they were on their 10th already. It didn’t matter though, for Lewis was in the lead. He had mentioned how good his car was, but you didn’t imagine a 20-second gap. It was pure insanity.

Finishing on top, he ran to embrace the team with a smile. The cameraman followed his every move, and as he did so; Lewis came up to him and stared directly into the lens.

“I love you,” he said. Your heart keeled over and you felt your tear ducts get to work again. It was impossible to watch the rest of the celebration. You shut it off and went to calm yourself down. Breathing heavily in front of the bathroom mirror made you feel like a fool. Love made you weak, but it was a good kind of weak whenever your darling was around.

After a hearty nap, you woke up to your phone buzzing itself off your nightstand.

“Hello?” Your voice was jagged and rough from just having woken up.

“Are you okay? You’re not sick, are you?” His voice was breathy and exhausted. Physically, he was obviously worse off than you.

“Hey, no-yeah, I’m okay. I saw you out there today. You did so great, Lew.” His nickname was one that he adored. The way it rolled off your tongue made his heart flutter with joy.

“I’m glad you saw it. Did you… see the celebration?” He was obviously referring to the message he left for the camera. Your heart pumped faster and faster with adrenaline.

“I-uh… I did…”

“So?”

“I love you too. You know I do.” So much so that it hurt that he wasn’t next to you with his arm around your neck. You wanted to lean against his shoulder as he read you stories that his mother used to read to him. Fuck, it hurt.

“When are you coming back?”

“We still have a few things to do here. Thursday? I’ll be home for two weekends after that.” It was better than nothing, though hearing him say it felt like a long time.

“I understand… I just hope you maybe miss me as much as I miss you?” Yeah, you stooped to that level. Your desperation was starting to reveal itself. Layer by layer.

“Are you insane? Not a second goes by without my thoughts being consumed by you. All I’ve ever thought of this weekend has been you. Staying safe for you, training hard for you, winning… for you.” For a moment, he almost sounded frustrated. But it was just a mask for how deeply he felt for you. The two of you sat in the same boat, rocking through the crashing tides of longing together. Each move was careful to not let the other drown.

“Are you crying?” He asked, careful not to step on any thorns.

“No…” you replied with a slight sniffle, signalling that you obviously were.

“It’s okay, I’m right here. I’ll be back home before you know it.” You wanted to hug him. You needed it so badly.

I’m your little scarlet, starlet, singin’ in the garden. Kiss me on my open mouth…

4 | Video Games

It was Monday, which meant that you could be distracted by your otherwise unforgiving job. Being a paralegal, your duties often consisted of briefs upon briefs which took up most of your 8 hours. You were crammed into a small cubicle with little to no space for any of your personal possessions. You’d hung a few pictures of Lewis and yourself and that was about it.

You stared into the dull computer screen, feeling the existential dread looming over you for every number you typed in. Your eyes were basically goo and the bags dragging them down were more apparent than ever. It would’ve been a pitiful sight for your coworkers if you weren’t surrounded by walls.

“Hey you, wanna grab lunch together? Same place as always. It’s on me this time… since I owe you.” Even an invite to free food wasn’t enough to fully pull you out of your trance. You slowly forced your sluggish head to turn and meet your friend’s. The look of horror etched onto her face was enough to let you know you needed to get outside.

“Sure… I guess.” You dragged your feet along the floor as you followed her to the elevator and outside.

“Is it Lewis again or shitty briefs?” She put in her sunglasses and led the way, locking her arm with yours to not look like she was dragging you against your will.

“Honestly? Both. I don’t get why I keep missing him this much, and I don’t get why some briefs suck that bad.” Lewis was one thing and briefs were more of a frustration. Nothing to cry over, really. You generally enjoyed what you did, so there was rarely anything to complain about. The job was cushy and allowed a lot of free time after hours. Team building exercises were scarce, but not to the point where conflicts arose every day. It was fine.

“We’ll have our usuals,” she said to the waitress.

“Look, you can’t control every aspect of your life. It’s meant to be unpredictable. Briefs suck sometimes, you’re going to feel bad about your boyfriend being gone— c’est la vie.” You knew she pulled that straight out of a podcast. At least the general gist of it.

“Whatever. I guess you’re right, that’s life.” You were just about to jump into a different topic when you heard Lewis’ ringtone from your purse.

“Sorry, I have to take this. I’ll be right back.” You scurried off to the restroom to take the call.

“Lewis? Why are you calling?” A bit harsh with his lack of context.

“Am I not allowed to call my girlfriend who, by the way, is very missed?” Just hearing his voice brought back the life that all those briefs drained you of.

“Of course you are… I’m just out for lunch right now.” You felt like a schoolgirl sneaking off to the bathroom to call your beau.

“Sorry, I forgot you usually do that. I was just checking in to say hi before I go in for a meeting.” His voice was so happy-go-lucky, it made you wonder if he missed you as much as you did him.

“… when are you coming back?” You heard a sigh on the other end,

“They’re keeping me here until Wednesday. I’m really sorry, babe.” Of course. It was as if they didn’t want him to go home. Whilst you supported his job and did whatever you could do to show it— you wanted nothing more than for him to stop everything and be with you.

“It’s okay, we can wait. You should focus on your stuff, okay? Good luck with the meeting, Lew.” Luckily, he wasn’t able to see your face. It didn’t match your uppity voice.

“Thanks. See you soon.”

“Bye.”

You left the bathroom and went back to the table where your friend had begun eating. You followed suit and got back to the office after you finished.

After hours, you stopped by a deli to grab a sandwich to eat for dinner. Roscoe greeted you at the door with a huff and followed you to the dining room. The entire house felt empty without your other part to fill it with joy.

That night was another filled with tears and running mascara.

Pull up in your fast car. Whistling my name…

5 | Go Go Dancer

Your depressive slump had faded after the realization that you only had to survive one more night without him. You decided to call in sick and cash in on a few hours for yourself. It was going to be a personal day. You needed to pamper yourself.

Your eyes were still bloodshot from all the crying, but your soul was cleansed of any negativity. Your favorite playlist was on and you began your day of treating yourself like royalty. All of your skincare was out on your vanity and Roscoe sat in the bed behind you. A warm bath was the first thing you did. Whilst flicking on a rom-com, you sat and soaked in the lavender-infused water. Thereafter, you retreated back to your bedroom. Your hair was up in rollers and your bathrobe clung tightly to your damp body.

Today was a day with no briefs, no worries, no salty bosses or annoying clients. You had all the time in the world for yourself. You ordered brunch and whilst you were waiting for it to arrive, you finished your skincare and makeup. After finding something to wear, you picked up the food from the awestruck delivery guy. He complimented your garden and your house. If there was one thing you enjoyed, it was gardening with Lewis. The two of you had worked tirelessly to make the front yard look perfect.

You ate quickly, drying your hair and styling it afterwards. Roscoe was fed and you were already through most of the day.

You pulled out your nail kit from your stash of beauty products and laid out a protective layer on your bed. The playlist kept shuffling through some of your favourites. A gorgeous purple colour appeared before you under the tons of polishes you had. It was perfect and you knew Lewis would love it too. Not that you did it for him. You brushed layer after layer until you were satisfied with the result. It was glossy and simple. Just purple. Sophisticated, but not boring. The process was repeated on your toes as well.

After that, you decided it was time for some movies and popcorn. Lewis never really enjoyed things like popcorn, only ever allowing himself some dark chocolate with his espresso out on the veranda. So, you had to go out to get some. Since you lived quite remotely, you had to drive for a bit before the nearest store appeared. It was worth it though because you spent most of that night with comfortable blankets, popcorn, and bad rom-coms.

Roscoe was beside you all throughout the night, keeping you company with his huffs here and there. Pure tranquillity was what it was, and you couldn’t wait to do the same with Lewis the next evening.

The current movie had to be paused though, as you heard your phone ringing. It was your coworker.

“Hey? What’s up?” You asked, trying to sound hoarse.

“I just wanted to know if you were okay. Heard you were sick.” It sounded like she wasn’t fully sober and on public transport as well.

“Are you drunk?”

“No- yes- you tell me. We just went out for a drink after work today.” She was very clearly slurring her words beyond sensibility.

“We have work tomorrow, why would you ever do that?” Nobody had the guts to do something like that when your job consisted of aiding clients in stressful financial or legal situations.

“We don’t, actually. All of us were just fired on the spot today. He fired us all,” she chuckled and let out a hiccup.

“What?! What’s that supposed to mean?” Your heart sank. Your job… it was just gone.

“Yeah… I don’t know. I think he was in debt or something. Couldn’t keep it going so he decided to sink us all down with him.” You always pictured the CEO as someone with gravitas and money, but apparently, it was all a front.

“What do we do? Can’t we report it to HR somehow? Sue him for wrongful termination?” Admittedly, as calm and collected you usually kept yourself with work-related issues— you were panicking.

“There’s nothing we can do at this point. The entire company has gone to shit. Wouldn’t want to go back there if I was given a raise.” It sounded like she got off the bus, as you heard the doors open.

“You’re lucky you have Lewis. He can take care of you, right?” There was that dreaded guilt of leeching off of your boyfriend. It was a fear that kept gnawing at your ankles, eventually making it to your throat, knowing you had just lost your job.

“I… I don’t know what to say right now. I’ll call you later when I’ve thought about all of this. See you.” There was nothing more to say. It stung that you were in a position where Lewis had to take you under his wing. It felt wrong. It felt criminal.

You really couldn’t catch a break no matter how hard you tried. Something always prevented you from enjoying life as it came.

… and that night you didn’t sleep at all. You stayed up all night contemplating what to do, whether to sue, whether to leave Lewis and tell him to live a good life?! You were going insane. Embarrassment consumed every fibre of your being. The thought that you would depend on him for your survival…

I'm the girl next door, let me come in. I know I go-go dance but I do it for kicks. I never have to work ‘cause my daddy is rich…

+1 | Once Upon a Dream

You’d fallen asleep in the late afternoon after working on a lawsuit against your former boss. It didn’t matter if you’d get it thrown out of court. You just wanted to fight as much as you could. Your great lawyer friend agreed to help you out, representing both himself and you in the case.

Lewis tried to call you several times with no answer. He wasn’t one to worry about you, since he trusted you and knew you wouldn’t do anything stupid. He disregarded it and tried to enjoy his flight home. He was exhausted and just wanted to come home to his little family.

You usually called him before he’d take off, assuring him that you’d be waiting for him at the airport. However, this time was different. You didn’t call and you didn’t answer. His options were limited, forcing him to take public transport. He didn’t want to call a taxi, as they’d be able to note his address and could potentially put you in danger.

People took pictures and some asked him for signs. He didn’t mind it, though he was falling in and out of sleep. When he got off his stop, he decided to walk the rest of the way. The weather was fair and didn’t look like it would change for a while.

On his way, he stopped by a florist to buy you a bouquet of your favourite flowers. He knew you loved having them on the dining table to show any guests.

He wasn’t far away and could see the garden of your house from afar. Meanwhile, you were still buried under your blankets with the lawsuit on your laptop on the coffee table in front of you.

The sound of the front door clicking and closing could be heard, but you were too far gone in your sleep to notice. He called out your name with no response. You weren’t in the bedroom. You weren’t in the kitchen. No, there you were. Your face was buried in the arm on the sofa and the TV was still playing a movie he remembered watching with you some time ago. He saw your laptop, reading some of the contents that were visible on the screen. It didn’t quite make too much sense, but he didn’t want to pry in case it was private.

“Hey… I’m home.” He shook you gently and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. Being something of a light sleeper, it woke you up almost instantly.

“Lewis?” Your eyes fluttered open, as you had to adjust to the light. You saw the face of your lover and embraced him in an instant,

“Oh, I missed you!”

“I missed you too, darling.” He stroked the back of your head as it rested on his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t come get you, I was caught up with work and I fell asleep.” It wasn’t a lie per se. It worked… sort of.

“It’s fine. It’s completely fine. You seem distressed, are you alright?” There was nothing you could hide from him. One way or another he’d find out anyway.

“I lost my job. We were all fired.” He was almost as shocked as you were the night before,

“Are you serious? Why?”

“My best guess? The company was sinking.” You sighed and picked up your laptop. The document already contained 3 sections and 15 pages. You were, however, far from done.

“My friend and I are trying to sue. I’m not sure if it’ll hold up in court though.” Your face looked droopy and sad, something Lewis hated.

“You know what? It’s going to be okay. I know it seems rough, and it is. But look on the bright side. We can find you a better job. Better pay, better equity. Plus, for the time being— you could come along to my races. We wouldn’t need to be separated all the time.” He was right. Your job was cushy, but it had its faults regarding exactly the issues he pointed out. The feeling of missing him constantly didn’t bode well with you either. It was a win-win, really. You weren’t actually depending on him, because it didn’t hurt to ask for help every now and then. Especially when the two of you were so in love.

“Yeah… that’d be nice, actually. I do need to file this lawsuit though. I need it.” Lewis nodded in agreement and smiled,

“Of course, love. You do what you need to do. I’ll be here to help.” You closed the laptop and smiled back at him,

“I think we should cook some dinner. What do you have in mind?”

“Anything. It tastes amazing as long as you make it anyway.” The flattery never stopped. As cheesy as it was— you loved the sentiment.

“Right. I’ll see if we have some rotten eggs and spoiled milk in the fridge,” you joked and he chuckled,

“I love you, darling.”

“I love you too, Lew.”

That night, you fell asleep with his arms wrapped around you and your head on his chest. You could hear how his heartbeat synced with yours. This was complete tranquillity, and you couldn’t believe that this would be your reality for a long time now.

I know what you’ll do. You’ll love me at once. The way you did once upon a dream…

𝗥𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻…

𝘾𝙝𝙚𝙘𝙠 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙪𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙪𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚!

𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩! (𝙄𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙤𝙣, 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙨, 𝙙𝙢𝙨, 𝙤𝙧 𝙖𝙨𝙠𝙨: 𝙒𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙧(𝙨) 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙩𝙮𝙥𝙚(𝙨) 𝙤𝙛 𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙜𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣.) (Please note that just liking the taglist will not put you on it!)

#fanfiction #fanfic #f1 #formula 1 #formula one #x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #reader insert #fluff #light angst #angst #sir lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton #5 + 1 fic #f1 x you

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