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mannequinreligi0n · 2 months ago

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Mating Season

get bred, loser

pairing: dante x reader (female anatomy, gn pronouns)

wc: 2.2k

warnings: NSFW - breeding kink, monster-fucking, blood/blood play

author’s note: i’ve been meaning to write this for so long but unfortunately i am a depressed adult with a full time job, and finding time/energy to write is difficult :’) sorry if this isn’t up to standards or there’re mistakes. enjoy, smooches.

links: ao3

Twelve missed calls, six voicemails, and twenty-three texts from Dante is what you’re greeted with upon waking up - and it’s barely noon. Scrolling through the texts, you’re met with the ramblings of a madman, pleading for you to come over, to see him, to cancel your plans for the day. With a quick shower and change of clothes, you oblige in his wanton demands and head over to the loft.

You only manage a single knock before the door swings open and Dante is dragging you inside by the sleeve of your sweater.

“Dante! The hell has gotten into-“

”No time. Don’t ask.”

He pulls you straight into his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. Throwing you over his shoulder, he launches you onto the bed with a ‘thump’, your smaller form springing on the mattress. Dante reels over you, snatching your coat off and ducking his head into the curve of your neck with a deep inhale, nose sniffing your skin like a damn bloodhound.

”You showered,” he mopes, teeth pulling at the fragile skin of your throat. You squirm under the weight of him, hands pushing at his chest to levitate some of the burden.

”Yeah, so what?’

“You weren’t supposed to - I said not to. Did you even read my texts?”

”Dante, you’re being ridiculous. Do you even hear yourself?” You lift your head up to look at him, pushing him off of you. Dante makes a sad whine, a demeaning sound coming from the devil hunter. His messy locks flop down in front of his face and he lets out a long sigh, hands pawing at the fabric of your pants.

”I’m sorry, babe. God, you don’t have any idea how hard this has been without you,” he mumbles sheepishly, eyes fixated on the faint red mark he left on your neck. His hands trembled against your legs, clearly trying to hold himself back in order to have a coherent conversation with you. “I thought I could handle this alone, but I keep thinking about last week…how warm you felt, like that pretty little hole was made just for me,” he interrupts himself with a groan, hunching over as if in pain. You reach a hand up and push back the already sweaty strands to see his face, feeling his fevered skin brush your fingertips.

”Why didn’t you call me over sooner? You know I would’ve came,” you murmur, observing his needy state with a bit of concern.

”Didn’t wanna be a bother. I thought I could handle it on my own, y’know? I always have, but with you in the picture now-“ He lurches toward your hand on him, nuzzling into it with a choked breath. “Please…please, just-….just let me-“

You pet his cheek as you think over the proposition, mouth pursed. You finally agree with a small nod, pulling your hand away.

“Is it safe?”

”I won’t hurt you. I would never,” Dante reaches for your wrists, thumbs rubbing at the pulse points. He stares at you with his best ‘puppy-dog’ look, a pout on his lips. “I’ll be good, I promise. God, please, just let me fuck you - you got a man begging here.”

You chuckle and shake your head, pulling him back to you with a mumbled ‘c’mere’. Dante wastes no time latching himself back onto you, pulling your shirt off and biting down on your shoulder with a chesty groan. His hands work at your pants as he marks up your skin, the bites hard but nothing compared to the ones you’ll receive soon enough from his fangs. Clothes gone, you writhe under him and he sits up and sheds his own clothes, sparks of red already flitting off of his skin. Blue eyes morph red and he squeezes your thigh reassuringly, throwing you a shaky smile.

”You remember the safe-word, sweetheart?”

”Ciabatta.”

“Right.”

With a quick peck to your forehead, Dante rolls out his shoulders, cracking a few joints in his spine and neck. Warm, amber light coats his bedroom and Dante’s body morphs into his devil trigger, his nine-foot form casting a daunting shadow over your bare skin. Your breathing quickens at the sight - you’ve seen his DT before, but never like this, never between your legs and teeth glistening in your direction. Sensing your fear, Dante runs a knuckle over your cheek, mindful of his claws. A low, rustling rumble echoes from his vocal chords, bending down to meet his ghastly face to yours.

”It’s still me…” he breathes out, voice altered but still holding his signature lilt. Wings cocoon your body, cradling your form as he lifts you up to dangle in front of his chest. The heat of the flames rippling over his scales threaten to scorch your delicate flesh, the heat making your sweat glands break open and perspire. Dante’s mouth opens and an orange tongue lined with bumps and grooves laps a line across your own chest, taking in the decadent taste of you. Despite your trepidations, you can’t hold in the moan that drops from your mouth, eyes fluttering closed. Transparent, tangerine saliva drips down your abdomen as his tongue roams around, stimulating nerves from your throat to your navel, bumps dragging across smooth skin.

“My mate…Mine, mine,” Dante growls out, clawed fingers pinching at your thighs as he pushes your knees to your chest, wings supporting your weight from behind and below.

”Dante, c-careful, Jesus,” you whimper out, laser-focused on his claws dangerously close to shredding your skin open. All you get in response is another resonant growl, steam pillowing off his breath. Before you can warn him again, the sandpaper tongue swipes at your hole, making you shudder and go limp against his wings, forgetting your train of thought. One thing about Dante was that on the surface, he came off as reckless, impulsive - but it couldn’t be further from the truth. He had backup plans for his backup plans, and thought out every little thing. As much as your body was sounding off alarms to scramble away from the devil, he was taking the time necessary to warm you up before indulging himself - a preliminary ‘thank you’ for being a willing victim. You look up at Dante’s face, or what used to be his face, and lock eyes with the fiery orbs glaring down at you. It was hard to tell, but you could swear that little shit was smiling down at you, knowing you’ve put two and two together. A bass of laughter shakes his form, leaning forward to bump his forehead to yours as carefully as possible.

”Told you. No harm.”

You let out a shaky breath at his smartass remark, but it’s futile to steady your breathing. Dante’s tongue pushes into your hole, pointed and flexed as it slides between your inner walls. The feeling is indescribable, and for lack of a better word: devilish. Your juices coat the length of his tongue as it assaults you repeatedly, twisting in and out while talons keep you folded upright against your squirming. Heat floods your core as your release builds upon itself, gasps and symphonic moans invading the quiet room.

Dante can’t hold his instincts back when the taste and smell of your essence is practically reducing every cell in his body into a lust-driven beast. Ejecting his tongue, his wings cradle you down to the bed, knees kissing your ears in a mating press. Your thighs quake against his scaled palms, missing the fullness of his tongue. You open your mouth to ask what he’s doing, but the words jumble into a whine of pain as his head propels to take a bite at your shoulder. Fangs puncture skin and the devil seems to purr as the crimson nectar dribbles from the bite and into his mouth. The receptors in his brain are screaming at him to bite down again and again and again til you’re a battered, bloody mess - every centimeter of flesh peeled back and consumed in the most carnal way.

Thankfully, the human conscious in him refrains and with another nibble to your neck, he withdraws and centers himself with the pulsating warmth beckoning him in. He doesn’t need to check how wet you are - he can smell it, the pheromones rippling off your sex in waves that rivaled a tsunami. A bulbed shaft stretches into your slick and your head shoots up with a scratchy yelp, pain radiating to your hips. A huff of steam leaves the devil’s nostrils, halting to save you more pain despite his needs. Dante watches your fingers go white against the bedsheets, hanging on for dear life, and you can see his wings wilt at the realization he’s letting his devil instincts get the best of him. A clawed hand grips both of small ankles to hold you in place, the other letting go to scoop up one of your hands. Scales run over the skin gingerly, your fingers curling around his thumb for security.

“Deep breaths, baby. Big, deep breaths for me,” he hums out, the mechanic whirring of his vocal chords carrying his voice past your panicked thoughts. You obey, chest rising and falling as your blurred eyes trace the flame spitting from the top of his head. Dante can feel your walls unclench around him and he takes it as a sign to keep going. It’s a slow and painful process, but inch after inch, he manages to squeeze about half of himself in before hitting your cervix.

‘Damn human anatomy,’ Dante curses internally, but makes peace with the complication, thankful enough that you're taking it like a champ. After a moment of stillness, ensuring you’re okay, he starts to move. Armored hips lurch in and out of your tight hole, hushed growls filling your ears. All you can do is lay there, pliant and accepting. Your hold on his finger tightens as your body rocks around with the thrust of his unnatural cock, his name the only coherent word you can manage while he jabs at your g-spot continuously. Dante’s teeth find their way back to your flesh, leaving bloody constellations along your legs. So consumed by the fullness of his girth, you don’t notice the ruby fluid dripping down your limbs from the bites, barely registering his tongue greedily licking you clean. Bursts of white spot your vision, core muscles tightening as your orgasm tears through you and a scream of pleasure brings tears to your eyes.

“Mine…Mine to fuck, mine to…to take…gonna look so good when you’re full of my cum…” Dante snarls against your skin, pounding his cock into the wall of your cervix with ferocity. He can’t take it anymore - he needs to come, he needs to watch it drip out of you precious cunt. Securing his hand around your ankle, Dante runts himself into your hole, gusts of wind sending goosebumps down your frame as his wings flap behind him with excitement. With a bellowing roar from him, you can feel the powerful deluge of seed swarm your body, gushing out and down your center. You feel like you’ve been hit by a semi-truck, limbs trembling and aching as you lay lifeless under him, gasping for air.

A glare of red light makes you wince, eyes straining against the light to see Dante devolve to his human form, dripping so much sweat it’s like he jumped in a pool. Dropping your ankles, he pushes himself between your legs and plants a sloppy, loving kiss on your mouth, hands threading in your hair. You kiss back weakly, shaky hands holding onto his arms. Pulling his head back, he examines you for any serious injuries, eyes conveying a battle of concern and satisfaction.

“You okay? Hurt? Was it too much? God, sorry- sorry, I-“

“Dante, I’m fine,” you let out a wavering chuckle, sitting up slightly. “That was…incredible. You were incredible.”

Dante meets your eyes again with a surprised laugh, in disbelief you’re praising him in a state like this. His fingers trail down to the bites along the outside of your thighs, vaguely recalling how your skin felt between his fangs in his primal craze. He remains plugged inside you, the intimate mixture of releases leaking between your bodies.

“Look at you…” Dante traces along a more gnarly mark in admiration, blood trickling over his finger. “How’d I get so damn lucky, huh?”

He brings his fingers to his lips and sucks off the blood, that all-too-familiar teasing gleam in his eyes as they lock on yours. A throaty moan leaves him as he swallows, fingers falling away with a string of spit. The scene goes straight down to your heat, walls closing around on him with need. Sitting all the way up, you grab his hand and playfully nip at his wrist, dilated eyes devoted to memorizing him in this moment.

“Can we go again?”

“Again?” Dante laughs, raising both eyebrows at you. “Honey, I don’t think th-“

“Please,” you pout at him, kissing along his hand til you can slip two of his fingers between your lips. Dante’s jaw goes slack, a heady breath fanning over your face as his cock twitches inside you from your plea. With a hard swallow, he nods, free hand cupping your face.

“Fiiiiine,” he sighs out, putting on a show of dramatics before a smile tugs at his lips. “Flip over for me, princess.”

#dante sparda x reader #devil may cry #writing #fanfic #dmc #oneshot #smut #devil may cry smut #dante x reader #dante dmc #dmc dante #dante sparda #devil trigger #dante devil may cry

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thatsdemko · 1 year ago

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to live, to learn, and to love - d.ricciardo

masterlist

pairings: Daniel ricciardo x athlete!reader

warnings: time jump + talks of Covid + some depression talks + some inaccuracies of Daniels career

a/n: hope this cheers everyone up xx

2018 - to live

“so what do you guys have planned this summer?” you ask. the tiny microphone clipped to your shirt is finally off for good. for the first time in a year, cameras would no longer follow your ever move, microphones would no longer hover of your head, you could go back to a normal life of training and relaxing. freedom at last.

“we are actually filming a new docuseries, ever heard of formula one?”

you shake your head, puzzle look on your face creates a little laughter from everyone’s lips as they agreed to never hearing about it until Daniel. whoever Daniel was, he seemed to be quite popular to the crew.

“I guess I haven’t, but hey I’m all about growing sports.”

“well you wouldn’t believe where we get to go next weekend— you should come! it’ll be so much fun.”

the film crew talks of Monaco and the infamous track that they’ve learned can be brutal but kind. their invitation lingers around the room for a couple more minutes as crew begins to clean up the scene.

“so? you coming or what?”

“when’s the plane leave?”

—

Monaco roars with noise you’ve never heard. so much so, the noise canceling headphones can’t even drown out the cheers for the drivers. you spend all mid-afternoon shaking hands and learning names of the drivers you’re sure you’ll forget by the night. but Daniel sticks out.

you knew right away who he was. by the laughter and his smile, he had a way with the crew that nobody on your team had. the smile on all the crew members for not only Netflix, but his own team were contagious. he had you smiling within minutes.

“congratulations on your season and Netflix series! I’ve got it downloaded for the plane ride.” he engulfs you into a tight hug for a brief second before showing you his car. the mighty Red Bull car, sleek in its red and blue stripes under the Monaco sun, his pride is contagious, you can’t help but grow confidence in his racing skills.

“how’s Monaco treating you?” you look up at him, his tan skin kissed by the sun and genetics, his beautiful brown curls make your fingers itch to run through them. it’s not only his smile that makes your stomach twirl, it’s all of him.

“just about alright, I’ve got a good spot on the grid and I’m ready to kick ass.” he claps his hands mischievously making a laugh escape your body.

“you’ll do great! I believe in you!”

you like to think your words of encouragement solidified his win in Monaco, but that would be a selfish reason. you’d like to hate Monaco for all the reasons why you left completely enamored by Daniel ricciardo.

2020 - to learn

boredom struck. your legs, mind, and rest of your body itch to train while you’re copped up in your parents house; a tragedy as nobody else lives here. you sit alone in the basement that once had become your personal gym, but now only has a treadmill that you’ve become bored of.

you huff out a sigh, looking around the room there’s not one object heavy enough for you to lift. you curse your parents for taking all the things you needed to their stupid summer home, and you curse them for not wanting to spend time with you.

loneliness was at an all time high. you’d become so exhausted of it, that talking to yourself became the only answer. it was the only thing you had left.

you moved from the big city where all your teammates stayed put. you didn’t bother to look back once restrictions were set in place, you needed to be somewhere sane, but rather that was the opposite. you were going insane.

an alert on your phone pulls you away from the five pound weights in your hand. you look down on the floor to see an Instagram notification which was awfully unusual.

danielricciardo: if I show up on a horse in Austin, would that get me laid?

yourusername: depends. who are you trying to get with?

you can’t help but laugh. you hadn’t heard from him in four years. you’d occasional check his instagram, see what he was doing, and even become friends on LinkedIn, but the boredom must’ve been at an all time high for him to message you.

danielricciardo: you.

—

“I’d kiss the chef.” he says almost immediately once your face comes up on the screen. the apron you’re wearing was to prevent spilling or messes to your clothes, it was definitely not an attractive sight. but to Daniel it was.

“you can kiss me right here.” you point to your ass, hearing his laugh erupt on the other side of the screen. it was morning time in Perth, and by morning, you meant way to fucking early in the morning for anyone but him to be awake.

“what are you making?”

“none of your business.”

“well it’s my business when you call me.” he says watching you prop up the cook book that lay beside your phone. you point to the page that had flour, sugar, and all other ingredients across the page.

“ah a birthday cake, and who’s this for?”

“my neighbor. he turns ninety tomorrow so it’s a big deal! it has to be good!”

“and you need my help why?” he reminds you of why you called. you stick out your tongue and your middle finger earning a laugh. you want more of that laughter, you’d do anything to hear it in person again.

“because what do men like? I need to get him a gift.”

“y/n, I’m thirty. I’m not even close to ninety are you insinuating I’m old?”

a blush creeps into your cheeks that’s noticeable on the screen, “I’m kidding! I get why you called, you don’t have to close off.”

in the minimal amount of time knowing Daniel, he calls you out on all of your shit. like how he knows you missed garbage day based off the way your bathroom looks, or how he judges you for not taking the chance to run faster. he’s far worse than personal trainer, but you’d keep him around for his honesty and his kindness.

“I have to go to the store early tomorrow, so what do you think he’d like?”

“you didn’t buy toilet paper again?”

“people don’t listen to the two per person rule! I swear!”

he tsks you so much you can’t even put in a single word. your nervous laughter fills his ears and warms his chest. why did you have to live thousands of miles away? he’s praying they find a cure for Covid fast, he doesn’t think he can live another second without you.

2021 - to learn

a new year, a new set of restrictions, oh and you.

you, in the silly 2021 plastic glasses, sit on the couch in the mixed of his friends and family in his Monaco home. he couldn’t believe the sight, it was a winter miracle you’d made it out alive of the winter storm to his side.

after months of talking, you’d considered yourselves dating. it was different—with not being physically intimate or even having real dates—but the attraction and energy that flowed through you two was undeniable. you couldn’t stay friends, not after every phone call, text message, and filthy instagram dm, Daniel ricciardo wove his way right into your heart.

“what’s your wish for new years?”

“wish? isn’t it a resolution?” you give him a pointed look watching his hands fly up in defense, “we do things differently here. we don’t set goals, we set wishes. so what do you wish for?”

you think long and hard for a moment staring at the man in front of you. his brown eyes full of life and beauty stare into yours. his family and friends wait patiently as you think to yourself.

“I wish for love.”

he scoffs in response almost instantly. he couldn’t help it, to wish for love felt stupid, but Daniels hand clasping against yours makes your heart flutter and skin warm to his touch, “well your wish came true, because I’m here to show you just how much I love you.”

2022 - to love

pregnant.

it’s no wonder doing mundane activities were killing you, and getting up any time before 6am was a threat to your immune system. little did you know it didn’t matter when you woke up, you’d still be pregnant and with a heavy case of morning sickness.

and while 2022 is looking awful to different from the past two years of your relationship, Daniel was changing. you’d noticed how physically unfit he was for training, and it wasn’t because he lost his touch, he looked more sick than you did.

the smile that once reached his eyes and infected a dozen or more individuals, was fading. the light in his eyes barely shined anymore, and while he should be happy his girlfriend is pregnant, the glow on his face doesn’t reflect his words.

you’d talked with zak, asked him how Daniel had been doing and to monitor his health, but little did you know the same man you trusted was the reason for his depression.

“Danny,” you whisper slightly hoping to god he doesn’t answer, but he hardly sleeps anymore.

your touch sinks his body further into the mattress. you mold your body and growing belly against him, fingers drawing all sorts of relaxing shapes, “I love you,” you whisper trying to your best to hold in the sob desperately trying to escape, “but I hate how sad you are. I miss you, I miss us.”

your sudden words ache his heart. he hears your pain, it makes him lift his hand and clasp his hand on top of yours allowing your silent sob to increase in volume, “what’s happening to you, it’s not right.“

“I know,” he whispers back. his words hang in the room for a little longer before he turns to face you, his fingers quickly wipe your tears, “I’m going to get better. for you, for us, and for her. okay?”

“okay.”

—

“can you keep a secret?”

“depends,” lando responds turning on his heel, his adorable smile turning his lips upward, “what’s my reward?”

“a kiss on the cheek?”

he nods in approval, “kiss first, secret later.” he taps his cheek, watching you roll your eyes before you quickly press your lips to his skin and pull away.

“I’m pregnant.”

“old news, what else?” he shrugs it off.

“Daniels leaving.”

“what?” you watch lando’s shoulders fall as he collapses into the chair below him, “please tell me it’s because of the baby and not anything else?”

your hesitation earns a permanent frown on his lips, “I thought I could save him.” he lets out a deep sigh allowing you wrap him into your arms, “I think it’s what’s best.”

“I agree, but you’ll still have cool uncle rights.”

“yes! oh, that’s the best news ever! I have to tell max!”

Daniels foot steps echo throughout the hallway of the private room you were in with lando. not another soul is in the McLaren hospitality, as everyone had seemed to vanish once practice rounds were over, but you’d stayed waiting despite longing for a warm shower and Daniels hands against your belly. god, how much more love sick could you be? it was evident Daniel didn’t feel much of the same right now, and you tried your best to put on a big smile and positive attitude.

“there he is.” you move over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck pulling him downward so you can press a kiss to his lips.

“I have to stay a little later.” he mumbles before pressing another kiss to your lips, “why don’t you head back with lando?”

“but I want to stay.” you frown pulling away from his body. it gives you a chance to look him in the eyes, the dark circles are much more evident, the glimmer of hope and love have seemed to vanish his eyes replaced with sadness. why did this have to happen to him? it’s just not right, you think to yourself.

“will you at least eat dinner with me?”

he shakes his head, “I really have to get back to the car.” he pushes a strand of your hair behind your shoulder, “why don’t you order room service? it’s on me, get whatever you’re craving.”

“I’m craving you, but you’re making yourself unavailable—again, might I add.”

his eyes close for a brief moment. his fingers play with the hem of his bright orange shirt, you can feel the anxiety radiating off of him. it terrifies you what’s next. “y/n, they are terminating my contract. can you just go home with lando?”

the grit of his words are like nails on a chalkboard. you swear you could feel yourself becoming lightheaded you don’t even realize lando was the one to catch you from falling backward. terminate? they were done with him? you feel a sob take over your body, it takes ten minutes for lando to calm you down, as Daniel was nowhere to be seen.

the car ride to the hotel was silent. with lando taping away on his phone, and you staring out the window in a daze there was nothing that could pull you away. well, maybe there was.

danielricciardo: if I do ridiculous side burns would you still sleep with me?

a snort escapes your lips. he knows how to turn a bad day into a good one.

yourusername: depends. how ridiculous are they?

danielricciardo: so ridiculous you might wish I didn’t get you pregnant.

yourusername: now I would never wish on that. we love you Danny.

love. it’s a strange feeling that’s settling into his chest right now as he stares at zak brown, the man he’d been warned about years ago, but he never listened. now hearing it from you, he knew love conquered all of his fears and anxiety about leaving. because in the end, your love made him feel whole again.

to live, to learn, and to love.

[BONUS SCENE]

2023 - living, learning, and loving

“oh my, you’re so big now! what are they feeding you?” lando’s gasp earns a ripple of head turns. he’s rushing his way over to you and your new born daughter, mila.

“whatever it is, it’s clearly working on you too. what’s this you’ve got going on? is it a beard?” you carefully run your fingers over the hair on his chin making him pull away, a blush creeping onto his cheeks, “fine I’ll shave it.”

“take it from me, the minute I got home from Austin I wasn’t allowed in the bed until I shaved it all off.” Daniel rubs his fingers over the stubby hairs against his cheeks, “some women don’t like that down there—“

“Daniel!” you hiss, hands placed against his chest you give him a hard shove.

the roar of his laughter echoes throughout the paddock. it brings a flock of his friends and former colleagues together surrounding you both and your daughter, mila.

she was a happy blessing out of a horrible year. her arrival was earlier than expected, but seeing Daniels smile finally reach his eyes, it was like she knew he needed that.

“I can’t decide what’s cuter, her curls or her rolls. how do you sleep at night with such a difficult question?” Charles looks between you two and watches the devilish smirk lift upon Daniels lips, “actually don’t answer that, I see where your mind is taking you.”

“it’s good to have you back.” the Ferrari driver smiles. before he walks away he says one more thing to brighten your days, “and I mean that. it’s good to have the you we all love back.”

you lived, you learned, and you’re still loving.

tags: @oconso @xcicix @imsorare @weasleyswizardwheezes-blog @monzabee @lpab @frreyaa @motorsp0rt @lovelytsunoda @smoothopz @jaehyunluvcult @iloveyou3000morgan @lunnnix @leclerc13

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mayajadewrites · 11 months ago

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jjk men x christmas morning

prompt: christmas morning with the jjk men

mentioned: geto, gojo, nanami, choso, and toji

christmas fluff hehe ❄🎄🎅🏻🎄❄

authors note: for toji's one shot, megumi is 5-6 years old

suguru geto: Suguru tends to seep into seasonal depression during the holidays, so Christmas morning isn't as magical as it was when you were a child. He keeps to himself, making sure his mental health stays afloat while also being present for you.

This holiday season has been especially tough for him and your relationship, but you will do anything to make it work.

After tossing and turning for almost an hour, you finally meek up the courage to wake Suguru up.

"Sugu." You whisper, watching his chest move with his breaths. His eyes fluttered open, revealing his chocolate eyes.

"Good morning my love." Suguru half smiled, kissing your forehead.

"Merry Christmas Suguru." You bury yourself in his chest, while his arms wrap around your body.

"Merry Christmas. Do you want to go downstairs?"

"Why? I haven't brought the presents down yet." You tilt your head curiously.

Suguru was silent as he grabbed your hand and led you out of the bedroom. The apartment you shared with Suguru was so cozy and warm, making it hard to ever leave.

You walk down the stairs and see the Christmas tree lit up with piles of presents underneath it, along with a tray of cookies with a bite taken out of one.

"You did this? For me?" You grab Suguru, hugging him tightly.

"This is your favorite holiday, I wasn't gonna let you wake up and not feel the magic." He pressed his lips to yours gently, pulling his body into yours.

"You're gonna be such a great father." You look up into the pools of chocolate in his eyes.

Suguru did a double take when you said that.

"Are you...?"

You grab the small present on top of the table with a red bow, handing it to Suguru. "Merry Christmas, Suguru."

As Suguru neatly opened the present, his eyes lit up when he saw what was inside the box. A pregnancy test with the word "positive" as well and a + sign.

"Baby," Suguru paused and twists the test hin his hands. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I wouldn't want to start a family with anyone else." You rubbed your stomach lightly.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

satoru gojo: Satoru adores Christmas. Since you moved in with him, he has hyped up the holidays and how much he decorates his home.

The place you share with Satoru is currently covered in green, red, elves, and Santa Claus. Every single room looks like a scene from a Christmas movie.

"Sweetness." Satoru said in a sing-song way from the kitchen. "Come here."

You listen, Satoru hearing the your feet pad through the hallway.

"Yes, Satoru?"

"Look what I got!" He held up a mistletoe, his glasses on the bridge of his nose. His eyebrows looked almost cartoon like as they moved.

"Very cute." You watch as he lifts the mistletoe over his head and purses his lips. You push yourself onto your tip-toes and kiss his lips softly before he pulled you back in to snake his tongue into your mouth.

"Satoru," You giggle, gently pushing his chest. "Let's open gifts now. We have to head to my parents house soon."

"Well, they love me so we can be as late as we want."

"We're not going to be late to my parents Christmas dinner because you cannot keep it in your pants."

Satoru rolled his eyes, sticking his tongue out. "Not like you weren't thinking about it too."

You turn around to go to the Christmas tree, noticing all of the mistletoes hanging from several spaces in your home. "Satoru...."

"It's gonna take us awhile to get to the tree." He picked you up and wrapped your legs around his waist, stealing a kiss. "Merry Christmas, sweetness."

kento nanami: Kento Nanami finds the holiday season exhausting - working long hours so he can afford to get you anything and everything you want for Christmas. At the end of the day, however, he loves the smile that appears on your face when you see Christmas lights and decorations. Christmas mornings with you consist of a eating Christmas cookies and baking other treats - something you and Nanami enjoy doing together.

"Kento, what shape should I make this batch?" You hold up two different cookie cutters. "Snowman or Santa?"

"Hm..." Kento tapped his chin, glancing at each of the cutters. "Santa. It's Christmas morning."

"Good choice." You smile as you pressed the Santa shape to the cookie dough. "Can you pass me the chocolate chip cookie dough?"

"Of course, beautiful." He grabbed the bowl and brought it to you, moving a piece of hair out of your face. "God, how did I get so lucky?"

"You are so sweet." You look into Kento's eyes, watching him study every detail of your face. "Thank you for making this Christmas morning my best yet." You mix the dough, bringing the spoon to Kento's mouth. "Taste."

Kento opened his mouth to let the spoon in and nodded in approval. "Amazing. I almost can't wait for them to be done already."

"It's my grandma's top secret recipe." You wiggle your hips with excitement, scooping the dough onto the baking sheet.

"I can't wait to meet her today." Kento wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. "You speak to highly of her."

"Christmas is her favorite holiday, like me." You lean back onto Kento's chest. "She's the best."

"I don't doubt it." Kento planted a kiss on your cheek before walking to the living room. "Let's watch a Christmas movie while we bake. Love Actually?" He held up the remote in your line of vision.

"It's like you were made for me."

choso kamo: Choso is a family man. He adores his brothers so much that he wants you to get along with them just as much as he does. Specifically, his little brother Yuji Itadori. You spent Christmas Eve with his family at their cabin, fully immersing yourself in Choso's family.

Christmas morning was full of wrapping paper and Christmas songs – the picture perfect Christmas.

"Baby, are you enjoying yourself?" Choso sat next to you on the couch. "You're quiet."

"I'm just... taking everything in, Choso. I've never had a Christmas morning like this. Laughs, smiles, music, all of it."

You never had a big family like this and adore how much Choso loves his family.

"I'm so glad you're here." He kissed your temple, glancing at Yuji. "He loves your gift the most I think."

You gifted Yuji a polaroid camera – he mentioned a couple of times that he loves having photos from moments that he wants to remember forever.

"I hope he loves it."

"He will never love it as much as I love you." Choso closed the space between you, pressing his lips to yours gently. His hand caressed your face, causing you to smile against his lips.

"Choso!! Get a room!" Yuji whined.

toji fushiguro: As a single dad, Toji has a hard time with Christmas. His son, Megumi, is his world but he has never been great at the whole Santa thing. This year, you helped him bring the magic.

"Daddy!" Megumi ran out of his room, gasping as he saw the decorations. Toji helped you set up the cookies, while taking (several) bites out of them, a gulp of milk, and shoe prints (Toji had to put on his work boots, walking through the house as quietly as he could so he didn't wake Megumi up) to make it look like Santa was there.

"Santa was here! Look at all the presents!!" Megumi hugged Toji's legs, earning a head pat from Toji.

You're leaning against the doorway in your bedroom that you share with Toji, smiling at your boyfriend being a dad. Toji turned around and flashed a smile at you, waving his hand for you to come over to them. He handed you a cup of freshly made coffee, briefly kissing your lips before Megumi interrupted.

"Look!!" Megumi called your name. "Santa came!"

"Oh wow!" You kneel down to Megumi's level, gasping at the piles of presents. "You must've been at the top of the nice list this year."

Megumi began opening his presents, showing both of you every one he got from Santa.

"You did good." Toji kissed the top of your head, wrapping his muscular arm around your waist.

"We did good." You emphasized the we, leaning into Toji's side. You sipped your coffee and watched Megumi open all of his gifts, then there was one left in the tree.

"Megumi, are you gonna open that one?" You look at the small box in the tree, not remembering setting that up last night.

"That's yours from Daddy."

"What?" You look at Toji as he walked to the tree and grabbed the box. Next thing you know, he's on one knee.

"Will you marry me?" Toji smiled as he opened the small box, your dream ring shining in the morning sun.

authors note: merry christmas everyone!! i had fun writing these, i've had these one shots on my list of to dos for awhile and i loveeeeee me some jjk men!!

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk fanfic #jjk fanfiction #suguru geto #satoru gojo #kento nanami #choso kamo #toji fushiguro #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk one shot #christmas

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lee-laurent · 5 months ago

Text

The Past - John Marino

Summary: The timeline of John and Tori's relationship

notes: This is like a prequel to 'Done Trying!' You don't have to read this part, but it gives background on John and Tori's relationship. How they got to where they are in the fic now. The part after this will be a continuation of 'Done Trying' so look for that in the next few days. Also, I do not want to hear any negative criticism about how I've written her depression. I have depression myself and this is how it manifests for me. It's different for everyone, so I don't want to see any hate. Your experience may be different than mine, but every mental health experience is valid.

content: angst, fluff, unplanned pregnancy, break ups, anxiety issues, arguments, birth (not super graphic), mentions of sex but no actual smut, depressive episode, body image issues, mentions of abortion

2019

Tori wasn't drunk by any means, just a bit tipsy. Her fake ID had worked and she was enjoying her night out with her friends. The bar wasn't particularly busy, but the girls were managing to make it feel like a party.

The group of girls all turned to look at the door as a group of rowdy men entered. They were all cheering loudly and patting each other on the back.

"Was there a hockey game tonight?" one of Tori's friends asked.

"I think so," she shrugged, downing the rest of her rum and coke. "I'm going to get another one."

"We'll be here!" one of the other girls giggled.

"Hi, could I have another rum and coke, please?" she grinned at the bartender.

"Sure thing," the man returned with the drink a few minutes later, placing it in front of her, "That'll be 6 dollars."

She reached into her back pocket, when a voice beside her stopped her, "I've got it."

She turned, looking at the man next to her. He was significantly taller than her five foot frame, with tan skin and unruly, dark curls he brushed from his eyes.

"Oh! Thank you," she grinned, taking her drink from the counter.

"I'm John."

"Tori."

"You come here often? Sorry, I know that's cliche as fuck."

"Ha! No worries, my friends and I come here some weeks. It seems your group of friends is making it a bit more lively."

"Hope we're not interrupting your night."

"Not at all. We were the only ones making noise before you guys showed up. You from around here?"

"I'm from Massachusetts. But I moved here for work. You?"

"Pittsburgh born and raised," she smiled, raising her glass up before taking a sip.

The couple continued talking for the rest of the night. Tori wasn't the hookup type though, so instead of going home with him, she gave him her number. Leading to a long line of dates, until he finally asked her out officially.

2020

The world had locked down. No more hockey. No more school. No more work. Tori had subsequently moved into John's apartment so that they would be able to spend time together during the pandemic.

"What're you making?" John asked, wrapping his arms around Tori's waist, tucking his face in the crook of her neck.

"Oatmeal cookies."

"Smells good, baby."

"How was your nap?"

"Relaxing. Would've been better if you were there."

"You know naps make me feel like shit."

"I know... but the bed feels so empty without you."

"God, you're cheesy," she grinned, lifting her hand up to run through his mop of curls. "You want me to trim these?"

"Mmm, not today. I like them long. Why? Do you not like them?"

"I love your curls, Johnny. So sexy."

He grinned, pressing a kiss to her neck.

"I'm going to play 'chel with the boys. Call if you need anything."

She nodded, turning back to rolling the cookie dough into perfect balls. She'd taken up baking during the lockdown. John kept telling her he was going to be out of shape for the next season if she kept it up, but he continued to taste test everything for her nonetheless.

Another month into the lockdown and Tori wasn't herself. She wouldn't leave bed, she was taking naps, and John could barely get her to eat. She claimed she was fine, but he didn't believe her in the slightest.

"Come on, baby. I made mac and cheese, your favourite," he tempted, sitting on the bed and running a hand through her matted hair.

"Not hungry."

"You've gotta be hungry. You haven't eaten since yesterday morning. And all you had then was a couple crackers."

"I'm not hungry. Let me sleep."

"You've been sleeping all day. Can you get up and take a shower for me?"

"Too tired."

"Tori, baby..."

She just rolled over, hiding her face in the duvet. He sighed, leaving the bedroom and going to eat the food he'd made... why let it go to waste.

"How's Victoria doing, love?" John's mom asked through the phone, worry lacing her voice.

"I can't get her to do anything except sleep. I'm trying, Mom. She just..."

"Do you know if she has a history of depressive episodes?"

"Yeah, one when she was in high school. But she said she learned skills to cope."

"Just be there for her, John. That's all I can suggest."

"Thanks, Mom."

Two hours later, Tori emerged from the bedroom. She was wearing the same clothes she had been for days and her hair desperately needed a wash to rid it of grease.

"Hi, baby," John smiled softly.

"Hi. Will you come take a shower with me?" she whispered.

"Sure, but first can you just eat a few bites of the food I made?"

"I... I don't know."

"Please, Tori. Just so I know you're eating."

"Okay."

She sat on his lap, picking at the bowl of pasta in front of them.

"Five bites and we can take a shower."

"Okay."

It took her 20 minutes to take those five bites, but she did it. The couple stood under the hot water of the shower, embracing the time together outside of their room. John helped her wash her hair and brush out all the knots. She forgot how nice it felt to feel clean. She turned in his arms, squishing her face into his torso.

"I've got you, baby. I've always got you. I love you so much."

"I'm sorry, John," she sobbed, "I've been a terrible girlfriend."

"Shh, no you haven't. You're just struggling right now. It's okay. We'll get through his together."

"I love you. I'm sorry."

"No need to be sorry. I just want what's best for you. And rotting in bed isn't."

She leaned up and pressed a soft, loving kiss against his lips. When she went in for another one, he turned his head, her lips landing on his cheek.

"Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry," she cried again.

"No, no. I just... I'd feel like I was taking advantage of you. I love you so much, but I can't... do anything until you're yourself again. Okay?"

"Okay."

The next day, John helped Tori find a therapist online. Even going as far as to join sessions to learn how he could help her to help herself.

2021

Now that lockdown restrictions had been lifted slightly, Tori was thriving. She was going on daily walks and working on new coping skills to use when she felt that numbness creeping back in.

John was back to playing hockey and finally their lives had back some normalcy. A normalcy that had formed itself into a very... intimate love life for the two. There didn't seem to be a day that the two weren't having sex. Tori was pretty sure roadies were the only days they weren't falling asleep naked.

It was amazing, until it all came crashing down at the end of December. Tori had been feeling like shit for almost a week now. She felt sluggish and the sent of John before he showered after practice had her sick to her stomach. The idea of being pregnant though wasn't even a thought that crossed her mind. She had an IUD. They were safe. Surely it couldn't be...

"Do you want me to pick up a test, just in case? I know you said it's like almost impossible," John asked as he walked to his car at the arena.

"Sure, if it'll make you feel better. Pick up two, just in case one is faulty."

"Sounds good, babe. Be home in 20. Love you."

"Love you too, Johnny."

The couple stood in the bathroom, re-reading the instructions for the tests.

"I think it's self explanatory, John."

"I just want to make sure you're doing it right!" he swatted her hand away as she tried to grab the paper from him.

"Whatever," she rolled her eyes, sitting on the toilet with the stick.

"Yeah, just piss on it. Then we've gotta wait 5 minutes."

"Sounds good. You stayin' in here while I pee?" she giggled.

"I'll be right outside."

Peeing on the test was harder than she thought. It was like she couldn't get herself to pee, she was so nervous. After a couple minutes though, she'd put the caps back on and placed them on the counter.

"Come in, John. But I'm telling you, I'm not pregnant. Trusty old IUD keeps your sperm outta there."

"Maybe I've got really persistant sperm."

"I-" the timer rang. "You ready?"

"Yep."

At the same time, they flipped the tests, the plastic clattering against the sink as Tori dropped it.

"They- They must be faulty. False positive, right? Right, John?"

"I- is that a common occurance? I'll google it," he typed on his phone quickly, spelling half the words wrong, "There's less than a 1% chance of that, Tori."

"So? Maybe we're in that percentage. Did you even get good ones?"

"They were the most expensive ones! I just grabbed them!"

"They're wrong."

"Victoria..."

"Don't 'Victoria' me! They're wrong! I'm not pregnant! It's just a cold."

John rolled his eyes, "Can you at least go to the doctor? Get meds for your cold then."

"Fine! I'll make an appointment right now!"

"Perfect. I'm going to make dinner."

"I'm not pregnant," she whispered to herself as she typed in the number for her doctor.

"Is there any chance you're pregnant?" the doctor asked, staring into Tori's eyes.

"I have an IUD."

"I've seen it happen. Would you mind giving us a urine sample?"

Yay. Peeing into more things.

It didn't take long for the results to come back. The doctor entered the room holding a stack of paperwork.

"So, the urine sample came back positive for high levels of hCG. Which means you are pregnant."

"That's not possible."

"I know this is probably a lot to take in right now. I've written down some suggestions for a few OBs I reccomend. As well as some supplements we reccomend for the early stages of pregnancy. From the test, I'd say you're about three weeks."

"Shit. Um, sorry. Thank you. I'll, uh, call these numbers," Tori forced a smile, rushing off to get home.

"So? You are pregnant?" John asked, his eyebrow quirked.

"Yes. I just-"

"Okay."

"Okay? That's all you have to say?"

"What do you want me to say, Tori? 'Yay! I'm so excited to be a dad at 24!' Cause that'd be a lie."

"Stop acting like this is all my fault!"

"I never said that! I just... we've never even talked about having kids! This is all very sudden."

"How do you think I feel?! I'm the pregnant one! Now I have to tell all my friends and family that I got knocked up at 22!" she threw her purse down on the counter.

"You told me the IUD would work fine."

"Why are you blaming me? God, John! Grow up!"

"I should grow up?! You're the one yelling at me!"

"You're fucking infuriating!" she shouted, stomping off to their room. The door shut with a harsh slam, making the pictures on the wall swing.

"Fuck me," John muttered, grasping at his hair.

John slept on the couch that night, not wanting to deal with being yelled at again.

"We should talk about this, Tori," he offered at breakfast.

"Why? I'll just get the pregnancy terminated. You don't it."

"Tori... can we think about this? Make a rational decision."

"Why? Is getting an abortion not rational?"

"Not what I said. I just think you're still angry about yesterday, so you're not think rationally. We need to make a decision together here."

She rolled her eyes, "You made it clear how you feel."

"Did I?"

"Yeah, I think your words were 'I'm not excited to be a dad at 24!' So, there's our answer. You won't have to be," she sassed.

"Victoria, sit down."

"You're not my fucking dad."

"Stop acting like a child! Sit down!"

John rarely yelled at Tori, so the tone of his voice had her sitting right back down.

"Thank you. Listen, I'm not thrilled to be a dad right now, but I'm not telling you to end the pregnancy. I- we can make this work. I want you to make the final decision, but I won't be leaving if you decide this is what we're doing. I love you. And I support whatever decision you make. I will love that baby unconditionally."

"I... I need time to think about everything," she nodded, her lips pursed.

"I understand. But I really don't want to continue this arguing. I want us to enjoy our trip to Massachusetts. Not dwell on this and see our family."

"Okay, I have another appointment in January. You can come... if you'd like. I don't want to tell our families yet."

"Of course... I love you."

She sighed, "I love you too. No more fighting?"

"No more fighting," he nodded.

2022

Tori knew that nobody in the waiting area was judging her, but she felt judged. Her leg was bouncing, her nerves getting the best of her. She was filling out the paperwork that they'd given her. John placed a comforting hand on her thigh, trying to calm her.

"They're removing the IUD today. I don't know if you wanna be in there when they do it."

"I'll stay for moral support."

"Are you sure?"

"Why not," he shrugged.

Tori opened her mouth to respond when her name was called.

"Is your boyfriend coming with us today?" the nurse smiled.

"Yes, if that's okay."

"No problem! The doctor will be right in. We're going to start with the IUD removal. So if you could just strip from the waist down, she can get started."

"Do you want me to turn around?" John asked, taking a seat on the chair in the corner.

"No? Nothing you haven't seen before."

She sat down, throwing the sheet they'd.given her over her legs.

"Nervous?"

"A bit. It hurt to get in. People say it's worse coming out."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Want me to hold your hand?"

"That'd be nice," she smiled.

There was a knock at the door, "We all ready in here?"

"Yep. Come in."

"Hi, Victoria! I'm Dr. Reese. It's nice to meet you!"

"Hi. This is my boyfriend, John."

"Nice to meet you as well! We're going to start with the IUD removal, then we can start chatting about baby. Sound good?"

"Yeah. Is it okay if John holds my hand?"

"Of course! Alright, scooch, scooch. Perfect. Take a deep breath for me."

Tori inhaled, squeezing John's hand. Her eyes screwed shut. A pained breath escaped her mouth. Even John squinted, watching as the doctor pulled on the little strings.

"And done!"

"Thank God," Tori whispered.

"I'll step out! You can throw your clothes back on and I'll be back in a minute with the ultrasound machine."

"You ready?" Tori asked John, buttoning up her jeans.

"Yeah," he shrugged, sitting back down.

John and Tori had discussed things the day before. They were keeping the baby. It was an emotional discussion. Talking about the logisitcs of the whole thing. Especially with her still in school and John playing hockey.

"Ready to see baby?" the doctor smiled brightly.

"Yeah."

"Mhm."

"Alright. I warmed up the gel, it shouldn't be too bad," Dr. Reese moved the wand over Tori's lower abdomen. "And here is baby."

It looked like a little blob, but it still made John's eyes water.

"So, you're about 6 weeks. Measurements look good. I'll want to see you again around 18-20 weeks. You can schedule that on your way out. Congratulations, again."

"You alright, babe?" Tori asked, noticing how quiet John had gotten.

"Hm, yeah. I just... I didn't think I'd be this emotional. Especially over what looks like an alien."

Tori laughed, "Don't call our baby an alien!"

"I'm sorry," he giggled, wiping his eyes, "But it does look a little like an alien."

"Okay... maybe just a little."

The couple left the doctors' office laughing quietly to themselves, their hands intertwined.

Six Months Pregnant - May 2022

It was three in the morning and Tori was sobbing, "You don't understand, John. We're out of pickles."

"I heard you. I just... I don't understand why you're crying."

"I need pickles, John," she cried.

"I- I don't know where to get you pickles at 3am. Everything is closed."

Tori pulled herself out of bed, storming into the kitchen. She dug through the fridge and freezer, trying to find anything that would help her cravings. She pulled a bowl of watermelon out of the fridge, digging in.

John sluggishly joined her in the kitchen, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

"I'm sorry, baby. I'll get you pickles in the morning."

She just nodded, taking another forkful of melon. It wasn't as fulfilling was a jar of mini dill pickles, but it was helping. She couldn't even count how many jars of pickles she'd gone through during her pregnancy, but this was the first time they'd been out. It felt like the end of the world to her pregnancy hormones.

John loved Tori to bits, but the emotional rollercoaster of pregnancy was beginning to make him tired. He knew it wasn't fair and that she was going through much more, but lord was he exhausted.

"Do you want me to stay here? Or should I go back to bed?"

She shrugged, shovelling more food into her mouth. John sighed, coming around the counter. He placed a hand on her waist and one on her growing stomach.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"Do you want to go back to bed?"

She hummed, taking one last bite. They shuffled back to the bedroom, Tori hugging onto her pregnancy pillow. John fucking hated the thing, but Tori couldn't sleep without it, so... he'd deal with it for the next three months.

August 2022

John had just been traded from Pittsburgh to New Jersey and now... it was time for their baby to enter the world.

"Ah!" Tori gripped her stomach. She was walking around the hospital room, waiting to be fully dilated. John was being supportive as possible, getting her more ice chips when requested and holding her hand when ever she felt a contraction. "Is it time yet?"

"The nurse said it could be a while, because it's your first."

"It's going to be our only. Holy shit! Why did you do this to me?"

John laughed, "I'm sorry, baby. You're the strongest woman I know. You've got this. Do you want to use the yoga ball again?"

"No! I just want the baby out of me!"

"And they said that the yoga ball will help that."

"Fine," she groaned, squatting down on the blue yoga ball. John smiled, watching as she bounced up and down, her cup of ice chips in her hand.

"They'll be back with the epidural soon. Then it'll be smooth sailing," he comforted.

10 hours later and she was finally pushing. She was squeezing John's hand so tight he thought it might break. But he tried to be supportive nonetheless.

"One more big push, Mama," the doctor smiled.

"I can't do it."

"You've got this, Tori," John whispered.

"I can't do it."

"Just one more push and our baby is here, love."

She braced, feeling the pressure one last time. She pushed and a wail filled the room.

"And here's baby boy."

"It's a boy?" John was smiling so wide, it hurt his cheeks.

"It is. Want to come cut the cord, Dad?"

He nodded excitedly, watching as they gave his son his first bath.

"Here you go, Mama," they placed the baby on her chest.

"Hi, baby," she was too tired to cry, but her son was so beautiful. He had a head of dark hair which explained the heartburn she'd had during the pregnancy.

"We'll be back in a bit to help you get him to latch. And then they'll be in with the name paperwork."

"Here," John smiled, unbuttoning part of her gown so she could do skin to skin.

"Riley."

"Hm?"

"Riley Alexander Marino."

"It's perfect, baby. Here, I'll hold him. You get some rest."

December 2022

Things were falling apart. The couple was arguing almost every day. Tori was struggling. She hated the way she looked and that feeling of numbness was starting to creep back in. But she wouldn't allow it, she needed to be there for Riley.

John was going through the hockey season and adjusting to a new team. He was barely home. And when he was, he was beyond tired. Not being much help at all. Night shifts were nonexisitant. It was always Tori getting up to get their son. John either "slept through it" or "was too tired from hockey."

Everything came crumbling down a week before Christmas.

"You're not any fucking help! Ever!" Tori yelled, throwing the burp cloth down on the counter. "I haven't left the apartment in days! I haven't been able to take a shower in days! All I do is take care of Riley!"

"Your his mom! Did you think you wouldn't have to take care of him?!"

"God! That's not what I meant and you KNOW it! Your his dad! When are you going to step up and actually do some fucking work?"

"I'm providing for us, Victoria! Would you rather I quit and we have no income?!"

"That's it. I'm leaving!"

"You're leaving?! Where are you going?"

"Anywhere that you aren't, John. I can't fucking deal with you right now. Call me when you've grown the fuck up and decide you actually want anything to do with your son," she stormed off to the bedroom, throwing things into a duffle bag.

"Victoria! You can't just leave! Talk to me!"

"I can leave! I can do whatever the fuck I want!"

"You- you can't just leave with Riley!"

"Sure, I can! Not like you parent him at all!"

"Victoria!"

"No! Fuck off!"

The screaming woke Riley from his nap and his wails soon filled the apartment as well.

"Great! Look what you've done!" John threw his hands up in frustration.

"What I did? You're so fucking immature. Stop acting like you're 12 and start acting like the 25-year-old you are!" Tori went to the nursery, grabbing some of Riley's things and putting them in the bag as well. She picked up her son, strapping him into his carrier. John was standing in the door, shell-shocked.

"Please, Tori. Just think about this. Please."

"No. I'll be back for more of our things in a couple days," she shook her head, leaving John all alone in the apartment.

March 2023

It was official. John and Victoria were done. Tori had gotten her own place and Riley went to see John every weekend. Slowly but surely, John and Tori were forming a friendship. They wanted things between them to be good for Riley.

And this friendship leads us to where we are now...

#nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #luke hughes #john marino #njd imagine

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gay-wh0re-slut · 1 year ago

Note

I’ve just realised I’ve never read any fluff about cuddling with Rhea? Like wtf

oh that’s so true bestie

i gotta do everything around here lmaoooo i kid i kid. i hope this suits your needs!!

Anything

rhea x reader

content: pure fluff with babygirl rhea

This past week has been especially hard on you. You were extremely busy at work and the seasonal depression has finally hit, so you were drained mentally and physically.

Rhea had been gone most of the week too being on every WWE show imaginable. You watched when you could but it was hard to focus on anything for a long time. She usually told you when in the show she would be on so you tuned into those parts specifically.

It was finally Saturday night and you were doom scrolling on any and every social media but you couldn’t keep your eyes open any longer. You didn’t know when you fell asleep on the couch and you didn’t know how long you had been out until you felt a gentle hand rubbing on your arm.

A small whisper from above you, “hey baby.”

You jumped a bit when you saw her towering over you but your body softened once you realized who it was. “Hi,” your voice hoarse with sleep. You stretched wide as you groaned.

The wrestler let you finish as she watched you with a smile, “c’mon, let’s go to bed.” Barry and Luna followed orders and their nails clacked against the floor before they sighed into their respective beds. Ryuk didn’t move, unsurprisingly.

You raised your arms and weakly made grabby hands at her pouting, “not yet, c’mere.”

“I promise it’ll be more comfy in the bed,” she chuckled, but she couldn’t help falling for it.

As you slowly sat up rubbing your eyes, you scooted over just enough to let her sit down next to you. She sat as close to you as possible leaning back into the cushions, opening her arms for you to snuggle into her. You laid your head on her chest close to her shoulder and placed your legs over hers. She wrapped her arms around your waist and thighs pulling you in close.

“I missed you,” you breathed her in. The smell of her filled your nostrils, you missed that smell. You missed the feeling of her arms around you, her presence in the house, her voice, her laugh, her.

“I missed you too,” she kissed the top of your head, “I’m sorry you had a rough week and I wasn’t here,” her voice was calm and low, you could tell she was just as tired as you or more.

“Don’t be sorry,” you lifted your head to meet her gaze, “I know you’ve been all over and did so many things,” you gave her a small smile.

She returned the smile, “tell me about it,” she scoffed.

You puckered your lips to request a kiss and she complied giving you a soft but long one. The hand around your legs cupped your jaw as she did. Letting go, she gave you a few small quick pecks before rubbing your cheek with her thumb and pushing the hair out of your face. “I missed your pretty face,” she smirked.

You blushed in response, “I missed yours too,” you chuckled squeezing her cheeks.

“Alright,” she laughed swatting your hand away.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence with you cuddling into her muscular arms with her stroking your hair, almost breathing in unison. You both almost fell asleep after a few minutes until she came to, “We should go to bed.”

You nodded your head against her shoulder. So she cradled you and picked you up bridal style and carried you into the bed room. She laid you on the bed before she changed into her pajamas. As she did, you snuggled up into the covers waiting for her. It didn’t take her long to slide under the covers with you.

Though she was taller than you, you loved being the big spoon. You let her get comfy then you formed your body behind hers pulling her in tightly, “I love you,” you said quietly.

“I love you, baby,” she breathed.

You were so content with where you were in this moment. You smiled to yourself feeling her breathe against you thinking about how you’re the luckiest person in the world and you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. You both fell asleep pretty quickly and barely moved throughout the night, but neither of you cared, it’s where you’re meant to be.

#rhea ripley #wwe #rhea ripley x reader #cuddling & snuggling #i wanna be wrapped her beefy arms so badly

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lol-jackles · 7 months ago

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tumblr /jenmishperceiver/747567018487726080/i-think-if-anything-put-the-final-nail-in-the> I've seen this assumption before and imo it's spin: Jensen said repeatedly that he told the group he wanted to think about the script, went home TO HIS WIFE and said he was uncomfortable, who then suggested calling Kripke, ect // In all the retellings, I've never actually seen it said Jensen fought with the writers OR EVEN TOLD THEM and Jared he was uncomfortable until AFTER he'd changed his mind to agreed

Bitter Destiel shippers are those kinds of people who fall for IRS telephone scams.

You're correct, Jensen never said in any of his retellings that he fought with writers nor did he tell them or Jared he's having a hard time "digesting" until AFTER he talked to Kripke and was convinced by Kripke that "Carry On" was the right ending for fans. You know, the real fans who watch the show for what it really is: Sam's hero journey with his beloved brother, Dean.

That said, while you're correct that it's Jensen's job to sell the concept, he has also been pitching a Dean-led spinoff for years. Remember his "dream" (X) that he pitched during the SPN press junket? I didn’t side-eye his PCA campaigns or his pursuit for Dean-centric storylines, but I did raise my eyebrows at his ballsy move to publicly pitch his post-Sam projects in front of Jared and Misha. What does the jenmishperciever's Anon say about that? Hummm?

Actors are always pitching their project ideas, they're just a bit more subtle about it. I'm certain Jensen had hoped the "dream" would catch on with the fans and they would campaign for it. Except not even AAs were down with the idea. Casual fans even less so. Lucky for you I saved the screenshot from the article:

Reading through jenmishperciever's Anon's self-soothing fanfiction is like watching bread grow old right before your eyes; same delusions we've seen for the past 12 years. Blame Jared for playing Sam who was in the way of a fake fetish ship from becoming canon that Less than 1% of the SPN audience ships. Said Jared's drunken arrest (I refuse to call it a bar fight, it was a group hug gone wrong) could have threaten the ENTIRE filming of the SPN final season while ignoring Anthony Starr's drunken arrest, which by the Anon's logic, would have threaten the ENTIRE filming of The Boys.

Lol they still pretend to believe that Kripke gave the SPN rights to Jensen when Kripke is SUEING WB over profit participation over SPN.

The only thing Jensen cared about with his SPN spinoff was lens crafting, which was why The Winchesters was a Shein version of an AU fanfic. Remember when Jensen told TW cast “don’t fuck it up for me”? After 15-20 years, Jensen is used to lead actors/Jareds doing the heavy lifting in carrying the show and being leader of the cast and crew and he benefitted from the sweet spot as #2 on the call sheet i.e. the good guy who is friends with everyone.

If Jensen keeps trying to be in charge of SPN projects, SPN fans’ reaction is going to be the same as today Marvel fanboys’ reaction every time they hear Kevin Feige’s name: “What did you did do this time you Son of a Bitch!? What train did you derail this time?”

Since Supernatural ended 4 years ago, the bitter Destiel hellers and AAs are stuck in a time loop of step 1 through 4 of grief (denial, anger, bargaining, depression). S tep 5 is acceptance, which is long delayed due to Jared’s continue success i.e. Walker in it's 4th season and #1 scripted show for CW.

#anti destiel

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montammil · 1 month ago

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ouu! for those requests, can we see a super sick sawyer being taken care of by rowan? 🫶 (up to you if he's sick bc sawyer poisoned him or if it's something he got on his own :3c )

TW: Intentional poisoning of food (nothing lethal), vomiting, creepy/intimate whumper, creepy comfort, captivity, non-sexual nudity

...

Rowan was getting tired, to be frank.

Sawyer's defiance had been getting worse instead of improving, much to Rowan's growing irritation. He thought after enough punishment, Sawyer would begin to learn his lesson and eventually obey, but his misbehavior and impudent attitude remained staunch in place. Not only that, but it was getting far more obvious with each passing day.

Despite Sawyer's attitude, Rowan did feel more optimistic each day at work, every time he needed to go to the office.

Sure, he still hated leaving the house (more importantly, Sawyer), but he felt in a much more chipper mood now that he wouldn't have to return to an empty home.

He would never again go back to that lonely, depressing life.

Soon enough, Sawyer would come to his senses and allow himself to be cared for and loved. Rowan just had to be patient, surely. Who in their right mind would continue to deny a life of luxury and romance? It'd be ridiculous.

No matter how stubborn Sawyer was, even he had his breaking point somewhere within. And once it's breached... everything would finally fall into its perfect place, where Sawyer could be happy to spend his time with Rowan.

When he got home, he shucked off his oxfords and placed them carefully by the door, straightening them out. He then slid the briefcase from his shoulder and set it aside, loosening his tie as he went into their bedroom.

He heard pained coughing when he entered the room, and saw Sawyer laying on the bed curled up in the fetal position, sniffling softly.

"Sawyer? Darling..." Rowan frowned down at him, sitting himself on the edge of the bed and feeling his forehead. He felt incredibly warm and a bit damp too.

Sawyer looked at him silently, his face scrunched up from the pain he was enduring. His nose was red and irritated, skin hot to the touch, dark circles around his eyes indicating lack of sleep.

"You must be sick, poor thing... don't worry, I'll get you some medicine," Rowan kissed his head, going off to search through his bathroom cabinets.

He always stocked up on medicine for flu and fever season, so he knew he should have some left.

When he came back with a bottle of cold and flu medication, he shook out a couple pills in his palm and filled a cup of water in the kitchen sink, returning to Sawyer's side.

"Here, love. Can you sit up for me? Just need to take this medicine, alright?" Rowan hummed quietly, setting the medicine and glass of water on the nightstand before turning to assist Sawyer in getting upright.

The raven haired man groaned weakly as he got lifted into a half sitting position, accepting the medication from Rowan and gulping down the pills along with some water.

Once that was taken care of, Rowan wiped the wet bangs from his forehead and pecked his burning temple.

"My poor darling... I know what will help you feel better. Do you want me to make some soup?"

"Stay away," Sawyer hoarsely mumbled. "I'll get you sick."

Rowan's frown split into a grin. How sweet he was to think of him like that! He hated to admit it, but he couldn't deny he liked Sawyer's sudden change in behavior.

Now if only he could act like this all the time instead of being uncooperative and difficult.

"Oh, sweetheart," He leaned in to press kisses against his forehead again, wrapping his arms around him, stroking his fingers through his hair. "It's okay, I don't mind at all. I'm here to take care of you. Let me do my job..."

"But—"

"Shhh," Rowan gently hushed, brushing a thumb over his lips. "None of that. Don't strain yourself any further. Please, let me get you some soup. I don't like seeing you in such misery like this." He kissed Sawyer's warm cheek and laid him back down, bringing the comforter over his body. "I'll be right back. Not one step out of bed, alright?"

"...Alright..."

After finding his apron and tying it neatly around his waist, he headed off into the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator to find vegetables and broth he had saved for dinner later on.

As he prepared Sawyer's soup, he heard loud coughing erupt from the bedroom.

He sighed to himself. Maybe leaving him in the cold shed really had been pushing it too far... but what else was he supposed to do with Sawyer's continued resistance?

What more would it take for his sweetheart to realize it was all hopeless? He had faith that soon enough Sawyer would learn to trust him.

Maybe this was the final push he needed.

"On second thought, 'm not that hungry."

Rowan turned around to see Sawyer standing in the hallway of the kitchen, swaying dangerously on his feet as if he'd trip any moment.

He dropped what he was doing, quickly striding over to hold Sawyer before he stumbled.

"What are you doing?! You're supposed to stay in bed," Rowan reprimanded firmly, looking into Sawyer's glazed eyes. Sawyer only grumbled an incoherent noise. Rowan clicked his tongue and led him over to the couch, placing him there while he went to fetch some blankets. "Just can't sit still for a minute, can you?" Rowan returned with a large quilt in tow, tucking Sawyer inside and making sure he was wrapped snugly in it.

Sawyer sniffed for the seemingly millionth time. "'M fine."

"I'm sure you are," Rowan spoke in a mocking tone, kissing his sweaty forehead, "My poor baby... just can't stay put for even a second. Here, wait." He went back to finish heating the soup and poured some in a bowl, taking care to blow on it before carrying it back over to the couch. "Open up."

"I don't—"

"Ah-ah, I know what you're going to say. Open."

Sawyer opened his mouth reluctantly, letting Rowan spoonfeed him bits of broth. After a while though, he did refuse to eat any more when he suddenly covered his mouth with his hand and swallowed thickly.

"Noo, please, my love. Can't you finish the rest of the bowl? It'll be so good for you," Rowan pleaded, trying to coax Sawyer into finishing.

"Feel too sick..." Sawyer hid his face in his sleeve in a desperate attempt to hide his tears, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. His breathing began to pick up and shudder.

"Oh... oh no, oh baby, hey, hey... look at me... it's okay," Rowan whispered to him. "Come here, come here..." He set the bowl aside and crawled onto the sofa, gathering Sawyer into his arms and rubbing his back. Sawyer started to sob. "Hush, hush... you did nothing wrong," Rowan shushed. "You were so brave for me, love, so brave. There's no need to be upset."

While this was breaking his heart, he also couldn't help but feel thrilled. This was a drastic change compared to how Sawyer used to behave. It was so incredibly refreshing.

"It hurts," Sawyer rasped.

"Where does it hurt?"

"My throat, and— and my stomach. And I feel so gross and sweaty, but I'm so cold."

"How about a nice bath?" Rowan offered. "Hmm? A lukewarm one, maybe?" Sawyer shrugged his shoulders, which Rowan took as a yes. "Up we go now," He muttered while shifting Sawyer in his hold. He was glad he started working out more before he took Sawyer in. All those exercises and diets were paying off well.

He managed to scoop him up into a bridal carry and stood from the couch carefully. They made it all the way to the bathtub successfully and he eased Sawyer down onto the closed lid of the toilet.

Sawyer instinctively looked away when he saw Rowan undressing. "You're getting in, too?"

Rowan smiled. "Can't a man bathe with his husband?" Sawyer didn't comment on how they weren't even boyfriends, much less husbands. Rowan stepped closer and stripped Sawyer of his clothing until he was completely nude. "I won't try anything, if that's what you're worried about. Unless you want me to." He winked.

Even Rowan knew his answer was obvious, so Sawyer didn't bother replying other than with an unamused frown.

When Rowan was done filling the tub with the appropriate amount of water, he slipped in and then beckoned Sawyer over with both hands. Sawyer climbed in, cringing when Rowan pulled him close and trapped him within his arms.

"Why is the water cold?" Sawyer grunted.

"We don't want you getting warmer," Rowan informed him, moving aside and returning with a bar of soap. "I take cold showers every morning, so I'm used to it."

Sawyer huffed. He thought kidnapping was proof enough that Rowan was insane, cold showers in the morning though? Now he knew he was insane.

"Why?" he asked, only to distract himself from the skin-to-skin contact. "Is there a reason for it or do you just want to torture yourself?" He felt Rowan's chuckle reverberate through his chest.

"It actually does have many health benefits. It improves your circulation, mood, sleep, and is healthier for your hair and skin," Rowan claimed. "Though if you want to ever join me, I'm more than happy to make the shower as hot as you want it." Sawyer remained silent. Rowan continued to scrub him down, along with his hair. "After this, I'll make you some tea and you can get some sleep. I'll take a few days off work just to make sure you get better."

Sawyer suppressed a scoff. "You don't have to do that, I'll be fine—"

"Oh, hush. Of course I have to do that. You know I can't bear to be without you for even a little while. I'll hop at any excuse to take work off for you." The water sloshed lightly when Rowan shifted around, pouring water over Sawyer's head to rinse him.

For the next few minutes, Sawyer spaced out, that when he became aware of his surroundings again, he was already sitting in bed bundled under two large blankets and wearing warm clothes.

He felt the heat of a cup being pressed against his palms and blinked away the dizziness when he took a sip of what was given to him, tasting herbal tea with a hint of lemon and honey.

After that, he fell asleep with Rowan wrapping an arm around him securely, like he had to be afraid Sawyer was going to disappear at any moment.

When Sawyer woke up the next day, he immediately noticed a body curled behind him, and there was something heavy on top of his hip. Casper was resting on him and purring loudly when he saw that Sawyer was awake.

Sawyer went to pet him, then felt a wave of nausea overcome him. He leapt out of bed and sprinted to the bathroom, lifting the lid and spilling whatever he could muster out of his insides and into the toilet.

He didn't realize he was crying again until a thumb brushed the tears away from his cheeks while fingers gently pulled his hair out of his face.

Rowan rubbed circles over his back with his free hand. "There we go. Let it all out, love."

Soon enough, Sawyer finished expelling the contents of his stomach and slumped into the strong arms awaiting him. "Fuck," he whispered. His throat burned and felt raw.

He made small shushing sounds, guiding Sawyer back to bed and tucking him in.

Sawyer was past the point of caring about his own humiliation by now. He buried his face in Rowan's stomach once Rowan sat down on the bed and closed his legs around him.

"So clingy today," Rowan chuckled. He sounded more happy than worried, but Sawyer didn't even notice over the ringing in his ears. "Let me get you some more medicine first, then you can latch onto me."

"Nooooo..." Sawyer whined, nuzzling his abdomen like a cat. Rowan huffed out another laugh and simply reached into the nightstand's drawer to fetch the fever medicine, popping out a pill and grabbing the glass of water from now just a few hours ago.

After Sawyer swallowed both down again, he fell back asleep. Rowan couldn't stop smiling.

...

Just three days later, Sawyer was starting to improve. He wasn't slurring his words nearly as much, and his throat and stomach pain were only mild.

It was a (rare) good day for Sawyer, but for Rowan? Not so much.

He knew it was selfish, but he missed having Sawyer depending on him and needing constant care and attention.

As much as he wanted him healthy, he missed having Sawyer clinging onto him and acting like he needed Rowan for everything. It made his heart ache to know Sawyer would return to his regular behavior eventually... that it was only a matter of time before he ended up trying to escape again or denying his affection.

"More soup!" Rowan claimed. "Vegetable soup, to be specific."

Sawyer sighed. "I'll eat it, but then I want to be left alone."

"Sure, darling. What ever you say."

His tone wasn't sarcastic, but that's what made Sawyer more suspicious. Rowan never would've responded that way. He shrugged it off and sipped on his soup until it was all gone. The clock ticked silently as Rowan watched over him, smiling cheerily as if it were Christmas.

Sawyer gave the bowl to him and turned his back to close his eyes and get some more sleep.

Rowan left, still cheerful and bubbly. He was thankful he had decided to grow those irises in the backyard because it would work wonders with the soup. In more ways than one.

#answered ask #rowan oc #sawyer oc #whump #poisoning whump #whump writing #sick whump #yandere whumper #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #creepy comfort #sick whumpee #little fun fact irises aren't deadly (typically) but still have a ton of side effects when eaten #i wanted to do a low dose of belladonnas or something but that'd be kinda out of character for rowan because he wouldn't want to risk it

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sbdskate · 1 year ago

Text

Laws Of Attraction (Part 5) - DR x lawyer!fem!reader

Summary: McLaren is in breach of contract, dr3 hires a lawyer to deal with the aftermath. Tropes ensue. Slow burn. Enemies(kind of) -> Friends/colleagues -> Lovers

Pairing: lawyer!fem!reader x Daniel Ricciardo

Warnings: language, angst, mature themes

Word Count: 4,371

A/N: In a shocking turn of events, this is in fact not the last part. I really wanted to put something out there this week but I’m still not quite finished with the last bit of the story. That being said, I think I found a good break point. I’m not even going to jinx myself by saying the next part is going to be the last, so TBD. Thank you again for your support. Please don’t be a ghost reader, and please feel free to comment or DM with any positive or constructive feedback. Enjoy!

You woke up the next morning feeling refreshed. Perhaps that was your fatal flaw all along. The entire time you spent trying and failing to suppress and divert your feelings for the driver, you would have been better served leaning into them and letting them go in a controlled space.

In clearing the air with Daniel, you felt a weight lifted. You were still shocked by the revelation that the feelings were mutual at least in part, but there was comfort and stability in the understanding that had been reached. The lightness allowed you to finally stand in your confidence and share in the excitement of the next phase of negotiations. The season would be over in less than a month, with only two races left including Brazil. You were grateful for the light at the end of the tunnel.

You discreetly made your way to Red Bull hospitality on Thursday morning, bright and early in Sao Paolo before the chaos of media day began. There was only an admin there who greeted you showed you around. You made yourself comfortable in the empty kitchen area, where it was immediately obvious the difference in resources. It felt opulent yet comforting, especially compared to the aggressive orange and sparse theme of McLaren. Then again, spending any excessive time around McLaren hospitality or their garage nowadays just made you depressed and resentful.

It was early, even for you, and you desperately needed to caffeinate before the meeting. You saw the coffee machine, but no mugs in sight. You began opening drawers and cupboards in search of a vessel, cursing Christian Horner in your head. You finally found them, but of course they were on one of the upper shelves. You strained your body to extend as far as it would go, everything you needed just out of reach. While adjusting your balance on your tiptoes, you felt a warm body press against you and a shadow of an arm reaching over you. You closed your eyes and sharply inhaled, relishing the pressure on your back and the smell of familiar cologne. You opened your eyes again when he peeled away from you.

“I think you were looking for this?” Daniel handed you a mug. You took it, feeling your fingers brush again. The epiphany you had earlier was dispelled in an instant. Engaging in self pleasure may have acted as a momentary release, but it did not subdue the feelings that had taken firm root over the last few months. Masturbation was simply a light pruning for the sturdy tree that now grew in your garden that refused to be moved by earthquakes or hurricanes.

“I could’ve gotten it,” you grumbled avoiding eye contact. You had told yourself you had no reason to feel awkward about the other night, but you felt yourself shrinking in his presence nonetheless. His voice went up several decibels and he batted his eyes to mock you.

“Good morning, Daniel! Thanks so much for helping me! Good morning to you too, no problem, so happy I could help.” You rolled your eyes.

“Good morning. I promise I’ll be nicer in ten minutes once I’ve had my coffee.” You haphazardly raised your empty mug. He raised his hands and backed away, a small smirk on his face, but did not leave. He found a seat elsewhere in the kitchen, and you felt his eyes on your back as you went about your business.

You locked eyes when you turned around with a full cup. He innocently smiled and waved, while you forced an aggressive smile back. Leaning against the counter, you took a few sips of coffee without breaking eye contact. After a few minutes you joined him.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

“Are you done being a cunt?”

“Are you done being a douche canoe?” He snorted.

“I guess not.”

“Likewise.” You paused. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting you to be here so early before the meeting.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. Me neither. I’m excited, I think. And a little nervous.” He looked like a child on his first day of school, fidgety and unable to contain the energy requiring release. He couldn’t help the growing smile on his face. It was contagious, and you quickly found yourself smiling too.

“You should be – excited! Not nervous,” you quickly clarified. He looked down while he continued to bounce his knee.

“What if I make the wrong choice again?” he timidly whispered, though it could have been a question directed at you or the universe. It was no secret that many thought him leaving Red Bull in 2018 was the worst professional decision Daniel Ricciardo ever made, his short stint with Renault followed by his experience with McLaren as evidence. However, hindsight is 20/20. Perhaps he had too much hubris at the time, but he very validly thought he was being forced into a second driver position. How could he have known the series of unfortunate events that would follow? You did not fight the urge to hold his hand this time, gently placing yours on top of his in the middle of the table as you leaned in.

“There is no wrong choice this time,” you whispered back.

You truly believed that Daniel was in a win-win situation. Mercedes was a well-oiled, professional machine. The relationship there would be a symbiotic one. You thought they could help ground and focus Daniel, while Daniel could improve their public image and perhaps allow them to shed their somewhat stuffy, mechanical persona. Moreover, it would represent a clean slate with a new team. Conversely, you couldn’t deny how poetic a return to Red Bull would be. The place where Daniel spent so many years at the beginning of his career, it would be a momentous homecoming.

The Red Bull kitchen was quiet and empty. He looked at your hand. You were about to pull away but he lightly took hold of it before you could.

“Thanks,” he said in a soft voice to match the soft smile that graced his features.

“Of course. You know I’m always here for you.”

“I know.” He lazily rubbed your fingers with his thumb.

“Do you want to go over anything before the meeting?” You feebly attempted to redirect the conversation to be more professional, but you both knew there was no real effort as neither of you moved.

“Not really. I feel good this time.”

You remained in comfortable silence for a beat, lost in the exchange of energy that passed through one another. Your phone buzzed, pulling you away from the moment temporarily. Your face fell slightly. He looked at you expectantly.

“Well, you’re stuck with me today. The partner’s tied up with something.” You raised your gaze to meet his, searching for some kind of approval. He feigned distress.

“Oh no, what will I do? You’ve only handled 70% of this whole process on your own.” You squinted, skeptical of his confirmation.

“You trust a meager, low level associate to handle the entire trajectory of your future?”

“At this point, I trust you with my life.”

It was hard to tell whether he was being overdramatic for comedic effect or genuine. Foot steps in the distance pulled you from your trance, your hands quickly recoiling. With his back to the entry, he didn’t miss the chance to give you a wink and a smile that made you want to melt into the floor. Instead, you rolled your eyes in response but your bashful smile gave you away. You stood up when you saw your expected hosts enter.

“My two favorite people!”

“Good morning, Christian. I appreciate it, but you know flattery doesn’t work with me,” you quipped as you shook hands. When he wasn’t pissing off the rest of the grid, Christian really was quite the charmer when he wanted to be.

“On the contrary, it will get you everywhere.” The smile didn’t leave his face when he turned to Daniel, arms wide open. Their energy was well matched as they embraced in a warm hug. As happy as the driver was last week with his points finish, he seemed immensely more comfortable now.

When they separated, Christian looked at you again.

“What is this? Coffee and no Red Bull?” he teased.

“Sorry, had a bad experience in law school with energy drinks I’m afraid. Nothing personal. Though I was beginning to wonder whether the coffee machine was for decoration only.”

“They hide the mugs on purpose,” Daniel chimed in. Given the dimply smile and his tone, you would think he was joking but knew he was absolutely telling the truth.

“He leaves for four years, comes back, and thinks he owns the place and can share company secrets.”

You had seen it several times now, but it amazed you how easy their relationship seemed. Although technically Mercedes was not out of the question, you already knew where Daniel’s heart was. It was now just a matter of ironing out the details.

Christian and the Red Bull lawyer joined you at the table in the kitchen. It was a nice change of setting, the informality of it made the weight of the discussion feel a bit lighter. The process with them was easy, especially compared to McLaren and even Mercedes. While it was slightly less formal, at all times you felt respected. Not once did anyone assume you were an admin or paralegal, which admittedly is a low bar. But even beyond that, especially with the partner’s absence, you were never treated as a subordinate and your professional capabilities were never called into question. Of course this process was not about you, but in your opinion you believed choice of outside counsel was an extension of the type of work environment your client could expect. Red Bull had been a pleasant surprise in this respect.

It was all smiles when you exchanged handshakes as you parted ways. You and Daniel were shown out the back door to avoid a few media that had just started to arrive at the paddock. You walked behind the teams’ hospitality stations so that you could join the main entry of the paddock without raising suspicion.

“So. How do you think it went?” you casually asked. You didn’t want your own opinion to taint whatever his genuine response may be.

“Honestly… I think it went really well.” The dimply smile you had become so fond of returned to his face.

“Honestly… me too.” You allowed yourself to show your enthusiasm, feeling yourself break into a wide grin. Away and hidden from the main walk of the paddock, he grabbed your hands and you both quietly squealed and jumped up and down. After a few seconds when you stopped and regained composure, he asked:

“So, what’s next?”

“Well, that depends on you. If you think you’re ready to pull the trigger with Red Bull, you let me know ASAP and assuming we’ve already nixed any dealbreakers that would’ve been in their offer, we go through everything again with a fine-tooth comb, see if they’re able to come up on anything and sign.”

“And Mercedes?”

“We keep them in play until everything is in writing and executed. No need to have a PR disaster like Alpine.” You were, of course, referring to the unfortunate circumstances of Alpine prematurely announcing Oscar Piastri as their second driver for 2023. He chuckled as you continued walking towards McLaren. You could hear the hustle and bustle from the press getting louder as more people began to arrive. He paused just before you were about to turn the corner and enter the circus.

“I want to be at Red Bull,” he said definitively. You smiled.

“Ok then. I’ll get to work.” He gave you an encouraging fist bump before taking a deep breath, knowing this would be the last bit of downtime you both had for the rest of the weekend, reluctant to leave the nest of the quiet sanctuary you shared just behind the organized chaos.

“Shall we?”

You sighed. “No time better than the present.”

Brazil was an eventful whirlwind. It was no surprise to you that Daniel continued to skillfully navigate an onslaught of questions about his future in the sport on press day and the rest of the weekend. On Saturday, the two of you gossiped excitedly when Kevin Magnussen got pole in qualifying despite Daniel’s own mediocre performance. Obviously the sport was cut throat, but everyone couldn’t help but root for the Haas underdog. There was a buzz during the sprint, Daniel just out of reach of the points in p11. Unfortunately, the race itself ended up resulting in a DNF for both McLaren boys. With each day of events, Daniel’s mood seemed to sour despite the positive steps being taken behind the scenes. Of course DNF-ing on what could be his second to last race ever is not what anyone wanted. However, while you sympathized for Daniel, that’s not what you were focused on. There was the celebration of George’s first win with Lewis also on the podium, but then there was the internal team drama you watched unfold at Red Bull.

You anxiously waited out the post-race interview process so that you could update your client. If there was any question on what the path forward was before, it became crystal clear today.

As he walked through the paddock eager to get to his drivers room for some solitude, he saw you practically bouncing on your toes. He was a little annoyed to see you in such high spirits after an abysmal race, but it also made him relax a bit.

“I should DNF more often if it makes you this happy,” he dryly joked as he approached you. You should have been used to this song and dance by now. He makes a questionably flirtatious comment, you blush and get flustered, and after a bit of fumbling you redirect course and get back to business. You knew he wouldn’t change his behavior, no matter how many times you halfheartedly scolded or ignored him. It shouldn’t make you flustered any more, but there was excitement in not knowing whether there was any truth behind it. And as much as you hated to admit it, you liked it. But that was before your conversation in Mexico, where you divulged so much about your own inner turmoil. You had made yourself vulnerable. After that, you had assumed he would stop out of respect. What was a thrill before now felt like a cruel joke at your expense.

“Very funny,” you deadpanned. “I have some important news to share with you, can we go somewhere private to discuss?”

“You’re not going to buy me dinner first?” He had said this before, but it wasn’t landing like it used to.

“You’re going to have to buy yourself a new lawyer if you keep this act up.” For someone who didn’t finish the race, he was being awfully cocky today. And by goodness, did it make you feel things.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re the one who said you wanted to be alone with me -”

“Daniel.” He usually stopped after the first rebuttal.

“Not that I’m mad at it-“

Your previous excitement began to sour in your mouth as your heartbeat quickened. You grabbed his wrist and dragged him through McLaren hospitality to his drivers room. You didn’t care who saw or what it looked like. You practically pushed him in and shut the door behind you. His eyes widened as you got in his face.

“Oh shit, is this actually happening?” he began to pull at his shirt.

“What?! No. Shut up. What is wrong with you today?”

“Oh come on, I was just joking! You know I always do this.”

“No.” You pushed your pointer finger into his chest. “Today, you’re being an ass. I don’t know if this is you acting out after a shitty race or what, but pull it together. You are not a 21 year old frat boy, you’re a 33 year old world class athlete with a fully developed frontal lobe - who is now wasting my time, and rest assured, I am billing you for it. And if you stopped your inappropriate jokes for two fucking seconds and let me do my job, I would have told you that there’s a solid chance you can be on the grid in 2024 in a fucking Red Bull. Thought you might want to know.”

You had backed him into a wall and were inches away from his face, huffing and puffing. You were so mad, that one man could make you so infuriated and horny at the same time. His eyes were still the size of dinner plates, but his expression had fallen slightly. It was his turn to blush. He had been surrounded by yes-men for so long, he couldn’t remember the last time he had been chastised like this.

“I’m sorry-” You continued, your tone somewhat more even.

“Max wouldn’t let Checo through today despite what it would mean for the driver’s and constructor’s championships because he thinks Checo purposefully sabotaged him during qualifying in Monaco. The girls are fighting which is more bad PR for Red Bull, Checo’s contract is up next year, and if this dynamic continues between the two drivers then there’s a good chance they won’t renew it.”

“That’s great news-” You cut him off again.

“Am I a joke to you? Because I know you wouldn’t be making these comments if I was a man. I know you thought I was some secretary when we first met, but I really thought I had earned your respect throughout this process.” He looked at you now wearing the pink pantsuit you’d worn on that fateful first day.

“Can I just-”

“I’ve had to deal with so many mediocre men with undeserved self-inflated egos my entire life. I’ve dated them, I’ve been in class with them, I’ve worked with them, I’ve worked for them – especially the last five years at this godforsaken law firm. Lord knows I don’t need another one. I’ve had to work twice as hard and be better than them to prove myself as an equal. And even with all that, no matter what, as soon as I leave the room I’m the punchline of some joke I never asked or wanted to be a part of because I have boobs. Maybe we got off on the wrong foot initially but I really thought you were different. But no-”

One second you were ranting, the next you were cut off by lips crashing into yours. In your fury you missed his warm brown eyes darting between your eyes and your lips. In a flash he had grabbed the lapel of your suit jacket to bring you towards him, your hands landing firmly on his chest. Fireworks flashed behind your eyelids and for a moment you forgot what day it was, where you were, and who you were. You don’t know how long it lasted. You should have pulled away. You definitely shouldn’t have kissed back. But the taste of saline on him from the demands of the day and the scruff of his beard on your chin and cheeks made you want to stay. You smelled his cologne mixed with musk and, what was that, aftershave? Instead, he pulled away first.

You blinked a few times, jaw slack. You brought a hand to your lips, half to make sure they were still there but also for confirmation that you didn’t just hallucinate.

“Sorry, it was the only way I could think to get you to shut up so I could get a word in edgewise. If you’d let me talk, I would say I think you’re the most brilliant person I’ve ever met. You’re smart, witty, funny, and no, it doesn’t hurt that you’re as good looking as I am. You think I give a fuck about billing? I would spend my entire fortune down to nothing if it meant I got to spend more time with you. I’ve known for weeks I wanted to go to Red Bull and I didn’t tell you until three days ago because as excited as I am about figuring out what I’m doing next year, I’m equally dreading it because as soon as I sign that means you leave. When you’re not in the room I only sing your highest praises. So yes, of course I respect you. And I realize, kissing you just now may have proved your point, and I’m sorry about that. And you’re right that I’ve been a cunt today and a lot of this weekend, and I’m sorry about that too.”

There had been very few times in your life where you were left speechless, and this was one of them. It was literally your job to be good with words, and right now they failed you.

“And I know you’re going to say ‘let’s forget that this ever happened’ and I’ll move on and get back to business, but I can promise you I won’t. I’ll never tell another soul for your sake, because I don’t want you to lose your job, but I refuse to forget this, our conversation in Mexico, or that Sunday in Austin. You’re unforgettable f/n l/n.”

You stood there in silence for a few moments. Your adrenaline was through the roof and your mind was blank. He was clearly looking for a response, yet you had none. You did your best to break the tension.

“Well if your goal was to get me to shut up, you succeeded.”

“Honestly, I’m as shocked as you are,” he said with a small laugh. There was another long pause. “I shouldn’t have said all of that, I’m sorry.” You gave him a knowing smile.

“No you’re not.” He smirked.

“Yeah, not really.” You had become particularly focused on a speck of dirt on the floor, but finally returned his gaze.

“You know nothing can happen,” you whispered. It wasn’t a question, it was a statement of fact that was directed at yourself as much as him. You unsuccessfully tried to hide the disappointment in your voice. He refused to look away from you even when you continued to avoid eye contact.

“Yeah, I know.”

Silence descended again. There was nothing else to say. You realized through your tirade and this whole exchange you had been standing dangerously close to one another, and you hadn’t backed away after the kiss. You could feel his heartbeat on your chest, and you were pretty sure he could hear yours. You separated yourself and tried to pick up whatever pieces of dignity you had left. You straightened out your suit jacket and cleared your throat.

“I’m going to try to add some clauses in the contract for 2024 primary driver placement. They’ll almost certainly come back with red lines to make them conditional, perhaps based on Checo’s performance and/or your own performance in the sim, but Horner loves you so much that I think they’ll be receptive to the idea overall.” Your heart hurt at how crestfallen he looked.

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“I’ll send you a draft before it goes to Red Bull. You can expect deliverables by tomorrow.”

“Ok.”

“Assuming everything goes smoothly, I anticipate the agreement to be fully executed by Abu Dhabi. Does that sound like a reasonable timeline?”

He was incredulous at how quickly you could shut everything off. He had spilled his heart to you and in return he received merely an acknowledgement before you put an abrupt end to the conversation. You had done it so many times before to a lesser extent that he shouldn’t have been surprised by how quickly your walls went back up, but he somehow thought this time would be different.

“Yeah,” he finally answered. “But… I want to wait until after the race. I don’t want to have to worry about sneaking away in the middle of practice or qualifying.” It was his way of saying he wanted you there for the duration of the race weekend, he had gotten used to your presence over the last three months. Despite whatever this altercation did to your relationship, professional or otherwise, he couldn’t imagine finishing the tumultuous season without you by his side. He hoped you would pick up the subtlety, but it went over your head.

“I don’t know Daniel, Red Bull probably has a million celebratory events immediately afterwards seeing as their driver won the championship and they won the constructor’s. I imagine McLaren also has a bunch of end of season events planned as well that you’ll have to attend.”

“Can we ask if they can spend an extra day in the country?”

“If you want to wait until after the season is over I totally get it, it might just be easier if we try to schedule something at Milton Keynes the following week.” For someone so smart you were also awfully dense. He tried to come up with a logical explanation that you would be willing to go along with.

“I just thought it would be smart to be able to announce this within a few days after the end of the season, where there’s still buzz and interest and before we get too far into winter break. Plus then it would give the team a few days to come up with a press release still within that timeframe.”

You couldn’t argue that such timing would be better publicity for both him and Red Bull.

“Hmm, I suppose you’re right. No promises, but I’ll reach out to Red Bull to see what their schedule is like.”

He was satisfied with the victory, no matter how small.

“Is there anything else?” The words felt hollow as they left your mouth. He looked away, shaking his head in disbelief.

“No, I guess not,” he said in defeat. You felt terrible. There were so many things you wanted to tell him, but saying them out loud would only serve to stoke the wildfire you so desperately wanted to put out.

“I’ll see you next week in Abu Dhabi,” you said meekly. You left the room, ending the exchange in a stalemate with neither party satisfied.

Taglist: @ravenqueen27 @leslizzle @zendayabelova @eitak-t @chiliwhore @wewoo1233

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finifugue · 4 months ago

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Reject reality (Hungary GP) embrace delusion (Landoscar Bridgerton AU) - opening snippet of a fic which I will update whenever Event Horizon gets too depressing and existential. Pre-landoscar, pre-lestappen (minor). 1.6k so far and I'll probably edit the fuck out of it. One day.

It is in the words of another anonymous Lady, that the truth of our merry ton may be found: “a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”

“Are you quite sure it’s hers?”

“Who’s else might it be? There aren’t any copycats brave enough to write under her name!”

These words, though plain to the learned man’s ear, ring clear to those nervous mamas which, on this bright day, are finally given the opportunity to demonstrate their mettle in a battle of wit, courage, and pride which has been tended to from near the moment of our country’s consummation. For today, dear reader, is the day the marriage market opens, and the sharp teeth of society await the new nobility to step from the solitude of darkness, to the blinding light.

“Let me see! Let me see!”

“Ow ‒ do not push me, George!”

For many a family, young misses are being decorated with as much wealth as their families possess ‒ such as in the Bridgerton family, where the long-awaited Eloise Bridgerton is rumoured to finally be stepping out from her Diamond sister’s shadow…

“Damn Bridgertons. They’re all she ever writes about, and the Featheringtons, and all those however else associated.”

“Would you rather Lady Whistledown write about you, Alex, and your escapades?”

“I did not say that. When did I say that?”

… But for others, the fervour of this day only sends the gossip mill into a feeding frenzy. For it seems that this season, moreso than any other, it is the gentlemen of the ton which invite scrutiny; particularly the likes of the noble Lords Albon, Russell, and Leclerc, who have once again failed to be seen courting any eligibles of the ton, and are well on their ways to becoming a trio of ‘Capital-R Rakes.’

“Bollocks.”

Lando bursts out laughing. He’s met with three identical, loathing stares from his best friends, all trussed up in their frilly cravats and long coats and beaver hats. In Lando’s humble opinion, they look rather silly ‒ though, he’d never say it. They all have such odd ideas about clothing, as they do with housing ‒ George’s bachelor apartment is lavishly decorated, velvet lining almost every available surface. He wipes a non-existent tear from his eye, just to piss them off. “’Capital-R Rakes?’ Blimey, better get a move on, then. No worse fate than a fucking Capital-R Rake.”

It makes George roll his eyes. “Not all of us are content with bachelorhood, Lando. Some of us wish to appease our fathers.”

“Or our mamas,” Charles mutters. “Though it seems impossible.”

Scoffing derisively, Lando pushes himself up to a seated position from where he was lying on the chaise lounge, whipping the Whistledown article from Alex’s hands. “How very noble of you all.” His teeth clench, and he averts his gaze from them all, where they stare at him with a sort of tired pity that makes his bones itch. He lifts the page up, half-obscuring his face as he pretends to read it, not perceiving any of the writing at all.

There’s an awkward silence, in which Charles gives Alex and George a significant look, and in response Alex elbows George, who sighs. He sits next to Lando, where his feet had just rested. Puts a hand up, as if to rest on Lando’s shoulder, then thinks better of it and settles it on the back of the lounge, running a finger along the ornate mahogany frame. “Do not brood.”

“I am not brooding.”

George pokes him. “You are. You know we didn't mean anything by it. Besides, I do believe Charles’ mama frets about our marital statuses well enough to have more than enough spare for you.”

Against his better judgement, Lando cracks a smile, lightly shoving George away. “Fine, fine. I’m alright. George, keep reading this.” He pushes the page into his hands, lying back and throwing his legs over George’s thighs and resting his arms over his head. George, who has had to endure Lando’s dramatics and quick changes in temperament since they were children, just rolls his eyes.

Despite the misadventure of our most well-known Lords, it must be said, dear reader, that the polite society of the ton shall be graced with the presence of one who will be certain to turn every shrewd mama’s head: His Highness Oscar Piastri, Crown Prince of England.

Charles moans. “Oh, we are ruined. How are we going to compete in the marriage market with a prince?” Charles’ mother, as George had said, is becoming increasingly worried about his marriage prospects, despite the fact that he’s only in his twenties and a Duke, for God’s sake, and — and this part, in Lando��s mind, is the significantly more important factor — gorgeous enough that any of the eligibles would be chomping at the bit to have him court them. Not that Lando would ever let Charles hear him say that ‒ his head’s already far too big. If he knew that he’s been considered one of the most eligible bachelors of every season since he went on the marriage market, it would grow too heavy for his neck and he’d never be able to stand up.

Despite this, Lando feels a little sorry for him. He puts far too much pressure on himself. Lando pats him on the shoulder, smirking. “He can only take one spouse, Charles. I’m sure the rest of the eligibles would be content to settle for the likes of yourself… eventually.”

In return for his awfully kind and generous words, Charles grabs the Whistledown article and whaps him over the back of the head with it, as if he were an irritating insect instead of someone who’s seen Charles fall out of a tree trying to impress Alex’s pretty nanny when they were children. “You are rude and I do not know why we continue to spend time with you.”

“Because I buy you beer and lose at cards.”

“Your two only favourable traits.”

The Crown Prince has been the subject of all the conversation in society since the confirmation of his return to England from the perilous frontier of New Holland ‒ or as radical explorers of the New Age refer to the mysterious continent, the vast new colony of Australia. What he has been doing amid the penal colonies and military operations during his long expedition is unclear; certainly, his escapades are a topic which many a debutante will be sure to delve into in the battle that shall come, as the Prince’s favour is fought for.

Lando thinks about that. It is quite insane, really, that the King allowed his Crown Prince — his only son — to sail away across the globe to a new, faraway, tiny little colony full of the Empire’s criminals, utterly defenceless and all alone, with only a few military bases to house him. He wonders if the King simply did not care for his son. Or if his son wished too desperately to be away from all the pomp and pride of England’s society. Lando’s heard it said that Australia is vast, vaster even than the British Isles, full of life and animals completely different to those seen promenading the streets of Mayfair. “Why’s he decided to come back, then?”

Alex shrugs. “Perhaps he was lonely.”

“Perhaps his father became tired of him wasting his time in a colony a million miles from England, and called him home for supper,” George shoots back, before returning to the article.

The Prince is due to make his first appearance within society within the coming week, at the delightful annual occasion hosted by Lady Danbury ‒ the first ball of the season. Mamas, ensure your children are well prepared in their speeches and talents, for this author hears that the Crown Prince, though most entirely the Incomparable bachelor of the season, has, in fact, very little desire to marry ‒ nor, by many an account, to court at all.

That makes Lando roll his eyes a bit. Of course the Crown Prince of England has no desire to court ‒ to have mamas and eligibles fawning over him and pawing at his lapels for a chance to be next in line for the consort’s throne. Lando can only imagine the type of person to skirt his responsibilities to the throne to adventure the frontiers of the Empire ‒ self-interested, dull, puffed-up and vain. He’s convinced himself, then, that His Highness, the Crown Prince Oscar must be terribly arrogant.

“Ha!” George crows, righetous anger colouring his voice. “Simply because he is a Prince, he is afforded every excuse known to man ‒ no, the Crown Prince of England could never be considered a Capital-R Rake!”

“Well, yes, George, that would be because he’s the Crown Prince of England.”

“You know what I mean, Alex.” George shoots him a glare. “It seems that Piastri is the only person Whistledown refuses to name a rake. Apart from Lando, of course.”

It’s quite amazing, Lando thinks, how long George can hold a grudge. “I don’t think I pass across Lady Whistledown’s mind enough for her to even consider calling me names in her writing,” he replies tersely. “Same as she never talks about your cooks. Or your servants. Or your nannies ‒”

Sidling down beside him on the lounge which is absolutely not made to seat three people at once, Charles throws an arm over his shoulder. “Ah, but Lando, you are terrible at cooking, and you have never once had the indignity to serve us, and on account of the fact that you seem to have been raised in a barn, rather than Lord Rosberg’s countryside manor ‒”

“Charles‒”

“‒ I would not ever call you a nanny.” Charles grins at him. “Perhaps you are just more noble than us all, after all.”

A challenge, then, to all eligibles of the season; for charming Prince Piastri seems to have become the most fruitful task of all… and the most Herculean.

#I'd like it to be known that I wrote this in maybe ~2 hours exluding a very long break so forgive any messiness #set in a world just that bit more radical than bridgerton where poc AND gay people are allowed to exist. extraordinary. /s #might be called charming prince piastri. Might be called something better. the voices have yet to tell me #also vaguely another excuse for me to write in an archaic tone bc it fun #landoscar #landoscar fic #f1 fanfic #mctwinks #fin's fics

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winterisol · 2 months ago

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"tenho medo da minha cabeça"

inspired of "Medo do Medo" by O Terno Rosquez AU (BIG ANGST) Warnings death, depression

So this is a really dark idea I've been playing around with for a while involving the whole 2015 divorce.

So the title of this fic literally means "I'm scared of my head" and I would like a fic where it applies to both Vale and Marc in 2015.

I would say by the beginning of 2014 these two are fucking, maybe even dating. Its like those shallow high school relationships, and probably with an unhealthy power dynamic. But over time its clear that those power dynamics are in place, not because Marc is any less than Vale, but is willing to give Vale that power because Marc loves and trust Valentino that much. And maybe that is part of the reason the divorce happens.

Young and emotional Marc giving his heart a little bit too easily V. Valentino Rossi, a man famous for his commitment issues.

Starting with Assen, Valentino begins to doubt Marc, aka being delulu, starting to believe maybe they aren't as buddy buddy as Marc acts in front of the camera. (Though he is really looking for more of an excuse to put distance between them)

Typical 2015 and then bam the Philip Island conference. I think Marc searches Valentino out after the conference, hoping it was all some joke, only for Valentino to be cruel and cutting, maybe poking at some of Marc's biggest insecurities. Perhaps Valentino says Marc is "dangerous" that he's "reckless" but the words that hurt the most is that Marc was "dumb" to "fall in love" and that Valentino "never loved him." (This is categorically untrue but so is a lot of the other BS vale says, so yeah). If I really want to go darker, maybe Valentino even says, that he knew Marc was dangerous the day he crashed out in 2011, you know the crash. The crash that almost killed and ended Marc's whole career.

Anyway, Marc is definitely in his head, but tries to use Sepang as a way to get back at Vale. Just like in IRL, this backfires, Valentino kicking Marc off his bike and the divorce is finalized.

Marc is now completely lost in thoughts, perhaps second guessing every aspect of his relationship with Valentino. I think there are a few incidents leading up to the finale. There is of course journalists trying to break into Marc's family home. People yelling things at him on track, at the paddock even at the airport. He has security to following him constantly, and everything is a lot. But I think Valencia is where shit truly hits the fan.

It's suppose to be a home race for Marc, a race in his country, Spain. But even here, he's jeered, people abuse him and it feels like no matter where he goes, no on likes him, because no one is greater than Valentino Rossi.

Following the end of the season Marc falls into a depressive rut not even his mother or brother can drag him out of. He feels lost and not in control, which only panics and depresses him more (another control freak). It's like a negative feedback loop, and he just wallows for weeks.

Then finally, for some reason, maybe it's after Alex cries begging his brother to be happy again, Marc tries to go about life again. But he's an empty husk, just going through the motions of a person who no longer exists.

Perhaps its at the beginning year test in Sepang. Marc is riding, and even while riding the thoughts seem to not go away. Perhaps he loses focus because of the biting feelings of depression, or even worse he's silently wishing to just die already. Either way, he crashes, letting the front slide and the rear lift, throwing him head first into the tarmac.

I think Marc passes away basically on impact (idk how realistic it is with these types of crashes). Perhaps there is a mistake with the medic team, pre-season testing and everything leading to the correct safety measure not being taken. He's basically lying there on circuit, slowly dying, brain turning fog, but his last thought is that he's thankful for the reprise (ouch).

His death is obviously a shock to the whole motorsport world. A young talent, the youngest motoGP world champion, the baby alien, a kid with so much more to live for. gone.

Then in Marc's motorhome as Alex's goes to sob on his brother's bed, he sees a series of papers. Marc wrote notes to him, his parents, his friends but also Jorge, Dani and Valentino. (These notes are NOT suicide notes, more like Marc trying to collect his thoughts, and doing it as letters to people he cares/cared about bcuz its easier that way. These notes were never intended to see the light of day)

Alex is obviously inconsolable, reading through it, realizing its less of a note to him, but a confession. Marc venting all his dark thoughts through a message to his younger brother, thinking that Alex would never find or hear these thoughts.

Then there are the letters to Dani, Jorge and Valentino.

These letters are apologies, Marc overthinking every mistake, trying to rationalize the reason for his loneliness.

Dani reads it and feels like a failure. Not being a good enough teammate, a good enough mentor, a good enough friend for Marc, who's only goal in life was to win and enjoy winning.

Jorge is furious at first, storming towards Valentino and yelling bloody murder, before throwing Vale's note at him. Jorge feeling guilty that he secondhandly caused the divorce.

And then Vale, is a mess. In every sense of the word, he almost withdraws from the first race of the season because of how messed up everything is. He feels, guilt, loss, despair but also an indescrible amount of regret. Not only is Marc dead, but they ended on such horrible terms. Valentino not only lost the love of his life, but let the love of his life believe that he was unlovable.

I think it takes the combined effort of Vale's friends (yes even Uccio) as well as a reconciliation with the Marquez family to make Valentino feel even remotely human again.

It's slow, and perhaps it ends with Valentino creating a small monument for Marc in his Ranch, which every February 17 at 12:00 AM he leaves a bouquet of forgetmenots and daisies.

#sol's writing #sorry angst is all I can write these days #I actually love this a lot more than I thought #(might be my next big project)#why have recconcilation when you can be depressed 🤠#tenho medo da minha cabeça fic #fic ideas #rosquez

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black-amortentia · 11 months ago

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Despite the Darkness | Lights - Snolidays 2023

Severus Snape x Professor!Reader | Warnings: Secret relationship, hints of seasonal depression, just fluff, barely proofread so please excuse mistakes!

This is my story for week two "Lights" of Snolidays 2023! Like last week, I decided to take all the prompts together and use them to inspire one little story. This is a follow up to my story for Week One, and I think the next two weeks will all follow the same narrative.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Winter days grew shorter and shorter, and it seemed like you spent less and less time with the warmth of the sun. Darkness rarely bothered you, but sometimes it just felt like too much. Tonight was one of those nights, you thought, alone in your quarters.

Wand out, you conjured a string of tiny magical lights, threading it around the room. Meant to add a touch of cheer, the blinking lights only reminded you of the holiday blessings that seemed so far away. Standing back to admire your handiwork with the lights, you heaved a weary sigh.

"Something on your mind?" Severus drawled from the doorway.

You looked up, surprised by a visit from the potions master. He didn’t visit often, lest he be seen by one of the other professors. "No, just a little out of it. What do you need, Severus?"

His black cloak swirled around him as he stepped through the door, closing it behind him. "Just you."

You smiled at the softness that crept into this voice. Your Severus, not the man he still showed everyone else.

"What’s this?"

"Fairy lights." You shrugged. "Something to cheer me up."

Severus’s eyebrow raised ever so slightly. "I wasn’t aware you needed cheering up."

"Just in something of a mood. It’ll pass."

A shudder of hesitation ran through Severus, and then his hand clasped yours. Your heart skipped at his fingers around your skin. His other hand withdrew his wand and pointed it at the fireplace. The dying fire roared with new life, filling your office with light and heat.

"Oh! This should be warm now." You flicked your wand, and a small cauldron warming over the flames levitated from the fireplace to your desk. "I made hot cocoa. Do you want some?"

"Sure." Severus spoke as if he were indulging you, but you caught a spark in his eye. You always felt pride in your little victories of learning something he allowed himself to enjoy, even if he hid it well.

Cocoa in hand, the two of you sat in front of the hearth, backs against your desk. Wrapping your fingers around the warm mug, you took a sip of the cocoa. You scrunched up your nose, causing Severus to raise an eyebrow in amusement. He almost smiled, even.

"Missing something."

"Such as?"

"Cinnamon!" You grabbed a small pot of the spice and stirred a pinch in your mug.

Though Severus seemed unsure at first when you offered it to him, he followed your lead and added some to his own drink.

"Thank you for coming to Hogsmeade last week. I enjoyed having you there." You tilted your head, letting it rest on his shoulder."

He tensed, an automatic response, but then relaxed. His arm skated up your back, hand landing on your shoulder, fingertips gently squeezing. "I enjoyed seeing you smile, and knowing that I was cause. In part, at least."

You sat like that for a while, watching the fire, sipping cocoa. The rhythm of Severus’s breathing soothed you, his thumb stroking your arm. Finally, the cocoa was gone, and the feelings weighing on you were too heavy to ignore. Lifting your head from his shoulder, you looked at the man in front of you.

"Severus?"

He turned to look at you, your noses almost touching. "Yes?"

"Do you believe in miracles?"

"No."

The answer was quick, no hesitation.

You faltered. What had you expected? Some romantic words proclaiming you his miracle? Maybe.

Severus searched your eyes, his expression changing when he finds what he’s looking for. The words remained unspoken; they didn’t need to be said aloud. Severus couldn’t give you what you sought, not yet. Your eyes darted back to the fire, unable to meet his any longer.

Despite this, he wasn’t ready to let you go. His arm tightened around your shoulder, drawing you close.

"That does not mean," he began, the low timbre of his voice resonating through you. "That I intend to take the goodness in my life for granted."

He tilted your chin up with a single finger until your gaze met his. The fire cast flickering shadows across his face, but his eyes burned with an intensity all their own. They dropped briefly to your lips before returning to capture you in their depths.

Severus’s lips claimed yours, passionate and hungry as his fingertips traced your jaw. Your hand crept up his shoulder, inching into his hair. Severus leaned into you, meeting no resistance as he laid you down on the floor. You pulled him against you, his body covering yours.

Kisses trailed down your neck, breathy sighs drowning out the crackle of the fire. The flames painted your shadows on the walls as Severus chased away your cold and darkness with the warmth and light he showed no one else.

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