#i was maybe three metres away from him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eightmakesonebraincell · 7 months ago

Text

ateez as pirates who fall for you (maknae line)

read hyung line here

genre: pirate!ateez x gn!reader (fem!reader for jongho), fluff, angst, continuation of the pirate trope brainrot (but i must say i went all out for the plots this time)

length: 14.4k

c/w: heavy and mature themes - mdni, explicit language (swearing), death, violence, blood & injuries, weapons, illegal acts (piracy, attempted murder), alcohol, near-drowning, angst bc i mean angst, specific c/w for mingi’s au: hurt/comfort, allusions to depression

a/n: i’m very sad i never got to use this joke somewhere so - why are pirates called pirates? because they just arrrr ��🙉🙊 also to those who like connecting dots and whatnot there are a few easter eggs related to hyung line 🥚 big thanks to yumi @sorryimananti-romantic for getting me through the last three months of trying to work and write bc it’s been a ship time ha ha 😬👍

taglist: at the end

san

pov: you run away with san and the cromer

through your waning breath, you reach a trembling hand up to cup san’s jaw

“s-san, don’t do it”

he lets out a racking sob as he shakes his head, expression marred with agony and torment that you can physically feel in his white-knuckled grasp that covers your own hand

the tears that drip off his jaw become lost to the ground, which is damp from moisture and your blood

you swallow the metallic taste in your mouth, “the cromer isn’t meant for changing fate.” it hurts to take a breath and you wince as you stutter. “it never goes th- the way you want it to…you know that by now”

san’s voice is broken and pained, “i don’t fucking care. it’s not going to stop me from trying”

he grips your hand even tighter when he starts to feel it fall away from his cheek

it’s becoming tiring to keep your eyes open

maybe you can rest…just for a little bit

san will forgive you, right?

you close your eyes

just for a little while

just until the pain stops

faintly, you think you can feel your body being jostled against something warm

but it’s far away

far away

far

san clutches your limp body as he lets out a primal wail of anguish

you cannot die

you will not die

he snatches the glowing hourglass and flips it with desperation screaming in every cell of his body

and then his world goes white.

you don’t notice when the footsteps behind you suddenly fall silent

you’re too busy reasoning with the captain, whose back you are facing as he walks ahead and leads your crew further into the dim tunnels of the cave

“it’s much safer if we go over the mountain. we’ll have the advantage of higher ground to ambush the horizon”

your captain, taesung, doesn’t look at you when he answers over his shoulder, “it’s much quicker through the tunnels. we don’t have the luxury of time if we want to attack their crew before they leave the island”

“and what if they attack - the horizon can easily ambush us as long as they’ve got the cave’s exit guarded”

you immediately turn around to look at san, knowing that he’ll support your argument

only to find that he’s not there

he’s several metres behind the back of the group and frozen to the spot

even in the shadowed darkness of the musty cave, you can clearly see the ashen and shaken features of his face

approaching him slowly, your fire torch held out in front of you, you gently call, “san?”

at the sound of your voice, his eyes lock onto yours

he looks terrified

san is lost in a distorted warp of visions

he can’t make sense of nor connect what he’s seeing

but there is blood

there’s so much blood

it’s everywhere

you’re there

it’s your blood

there’s someone screaming; raw with despair

he’s screaming

the ground digs into his knees and he feels wet and sticky from your blood but also his tears and there are so many tears and the walls are cold from moisture and it’s so dark and musty even with the smell of iron in the air and god you’re dying

you’re going to die

“san?” you repeat, now in front of him and tenderly cupping his jaw

and san has to stop you from dying

his pupils focus on you once again before he desperately tries to gain his bearings

he looks around with increasing franticness

he’s in a cave and the only light he can see comes from the torch you’re holding and the others shared amongst the crew

water drips from the ceiling and along the rugged walls towards the damp ground, filling the cave with a stale and mouldy smell

all his senses scream the same thing to him

it’s just like when you died

his own voice sounds foreign to him when he manages to choke out, “let’s listen to captain”

your eyebrows pinch together at san’s sudden compliance, especially more so when he lowers the volume of his next words so that you’re the only one who can hear his soft don’t argue with him

there’s something about the way he silently pleads with his eyes that makes you nod numbly

you slip the hand that isn’t holding the torch into his and prompt him to walk again with a light tug forward towards the rest of the crew, who are not too far ahead

when the both of you have nearly caught up, san readjusts his hand in your grasp so that his is atop of yours

and so you two walk, san leading you with a sturdy hand; a line of defence between you and the rest of the crew…and the depths of the cave

the thin sheet of cotton that you lay upon does little to soften the discomfort of the cave’s floor as you and the crew prepare for a few hours of sleep, but your pillow makes up for it

your head is cushioned by san’s thigh, who’s seated upright against the wall after offering to keep watch

he’s gazing down at you with a tender smile as he slowly runs his fingers through your hair like a soothing lullaby

your eyes scan his, still trying to catch any changes in his expression that could possibly explain his strange demeanour from earlier

you want to ask him what’s wrong but there’s only so much privacy you can get in a cave with the rest of your crew

instead, you give his hand a squeeze

san’s smile fades a little and you wonder whether it’s the illusion of the light and shadows from the torches that makes his face look so gaunt

his eyes flicker around guiltily and then he looks at you whilst reciprocating your squeeze

he’s mouthing something, you realise

do you trust me?

you tighten your fingers around his in reassurance

with my life

the dimpled caverns return to san’s cheeks, and then he’s whispering to you softly, “sleep”

you don’t recall dozing off, but you must not have been asleep for very long before you’re woken by a light shake to your shoulder

the groggy mumble that starts to leave your lips is hushed by a warm kiss on your forehead

you’re met with the sight of san holding a finger against his lips when you open your eyes and your brain struggles to comprehend what’s happening

there’s a faint glow coming from under his bulging shirt, which could only be one thing

the cromer

as your neurons start firing again, you come to the realisation that apart from you and san, nobody else is awake yet

quietly, he helps you up to your feet

the silent question he asked before you fell asleep replays in your head, and although it does nothing to clear up your confusion, it helps to ease your anxiety because you meant it when you mouthed your response

you trust san with your life

so you turn away from your crew members and start walking, each step deliberate and careful, your hand clutched safely within san’s while he retraces your steps from today

and when san deems you two far enough and out of immediate danger of being caught, he pulls the cromer out of his shirt to use as a makeshift torch

you both make a run for it

when you emerge out of the cave’s entrance hours later, thighs burning from the strain, you almost stumble to your hands and knees from the blinding brightness of the afternoon sun

san tightens his hold on you and urges, “this way, love”

together, you climb the outcrop on the left and disappear further into the mountains because you can’t afford to rest near the cave

few words are exchanged as san nimbly navigates the rickety ledges and overgrown roots, muscles flexing as he pushes forward and helps you with an extended hand

you realise soon after that whilst he leads you two away from the cave, he travels parallel to the edges of the mountain trees - a guideline that keeps the long port of the island just within sight

“san,” you finally break the silence to point towards an overhang you spot, “we should take a break”

he’s sweating from exertion and lack of sleep, so he nods with a grateful smile and leads you towards it

the rock provides a decent amount of shade and conceals you two well enough with the surrounding greenery

only when he sits with a sigh does he finally let go of your hand after hours of holding on

you know that he’s one for constant physical affection, but this…this feels different

it’s like he’s afraid that you will slip away the moment he lets go of you

you turn to look at him

“san, what exactly is going on?”

he’s quiet

he doesn’t know how to tell you - is there even a way to package his next words prettily?

letting out a stuttering breath, san puts it blankly on the table, “i saw you die in my arms”

you’re stunned into silence and your throat feels even drier than before

“was it…” you dare to ask, “was it going to happen in the cave?”

he nods, “i just suddenly saw it and it felt so real. it- it was dark and wet and the smell - the smell was just awful and-”

“hey, hey, san. it’s okay, we’re not in the cave anymore,” you soothe, pressing your forehead to his

you feel him relax under your touch before he tilts his head to kiss your lips

“yeah,” he sighs against you, “you’re right”

when you pull away, the faint glow under his shirt catches your eyes

“why did you bring the cromer?”

if it had only been you and san missing from the crew, taesung might not have bothered going after the two of you

but with the missing cromer too, the captain will spend the rest of his life tracking it down - tracking you two down - if that’s what it will take

taesung isn’t stupid enough to just let go of the cromer and the inexplicable power it holds to travel between dimensions

san shimmies the hourglass out of his shirt and holds it carefully in his hands, “i need a fail-proof safety net, just in case something goes wrong and…i still don’t end up saving you”

“a safety net?” an uneasy feeling settles in your stomach, “san? what are you not telling me?”

he runs his fingers along the metal casing over and over again as he avoids looking at you

“i…i’ve used it before,” san finally admits, “i used the cromer to bring you back to life”

without thinking, you blurt, “it’s only meant for travelling between dimensions. nobody knows what the repercussions are if you try to mess with fate!”

“well, i did it.” he snaps, “you’re here, alive, and i would do it again and again to save you”

at his words, you soften

because san didn’t just see you die

he lived through seeing you die

you can’t even begin to imagine if you had been the one to experience san die in your arms

“i’m sorry,” you apologise. “thank you for saving me, and for loving me”

san’s eyes are red when he looks at you, “i’m sorry, too, for snapping at you. i know this is a lot for you to process”

you shake your head with your own watery smile

“i’m alive, and i promise i’ll stay alive”

“and i promise i’ll keep you alive,” he nudges your cheek with a playful peck

you laugh, because san makes you happy even in the most uncertain of times, and you ask, “what’s the plan now?”

“find a ship that’s willing to get us the hell out of here”

he makes a move to stand and you place your hand on the ground to push yourself up to your feet too

except your hand shifts with your weight and you end up cutting your palm open on the sharp edge of the rocks

hissing, you draw your hand back towards your chest

“shit, let me have a look,” san drops to his knees and takes your hand in his

he gently blows away the soil and rubble around your wound as you wince

it’s nothing too serious, but it’s deep enough that blood immediately begins to pool in the broken skin and seep further out onto your palm

the glow of the cromer pulses

“san,” you start when you see the cogs moving in his head

he removes one hand to pull the cromer out and presents it to the both of you

“i’m not losing you to infection from a cut, not after everything that we’ve done so far to get to here,” he quips

there’s only time to let out an exasperated sigh before he’s taking your good hand to turn the cromer together

your world goes white

the next moment when you open your eyes after blinking, you’re still there resting under the overhang in the mountain forest

san’s sitting next to you, the only sign of the cromer a faint glow under his shirt

and your hand…

there’s no cut

your head whips towards san and his eyes widen when he sees the unbroken skin of your palm

san makes a move to stand, but this time, he gathers your hands and pulls you up with him

“it worked,” you breathe out once you’re on your feet

“it worked!” san repeats, engulfing you into a crushing hug

the amount of relief he feels is uncontainable, because the cut is reassurance that he can change fate with the cromer

in high spirits, san tucks it back into the safety of his shirt after wrapping it in a length of sash and then he secures it snugly under his belt

you two need to look the part of inconspicuous travellers, and a glowing hourglass would most definitely draw unwanted attention

you and san cut through the back streets and alleyways of the small village that separates the mountain and the coast, keeping an eye out for not only your crew members - or ex-crew, you suppose - but also the members of the horizon

“remember,” san whispers into your ear as you both approach port, “if anyone asks, i’m your husband and we’re travelling merchants”

you’re too nervous to answer but you nod anyway, letting san take the lead once again

with the confidence of somebody most definitely not lying, san strides up to a sailor who is yelling at his men to load the crates faster and spins a story right out of his ass

somehow, san manages to concoct a convincing recount of how your goods were stolen by thieves, leaving you both without any means of making money, so now you are left with no choice but to go back to your hometown which happens to be on the way to the ship’s destination, which you know because you overheard the sailors talking earlier

when the sailor glances in your direction, you try to nurse your expression into one of simultaneous distress and gratitude in hopes of selling the story even further

he simply stares at the both of you and you think that he’s going to turn down your request, but then the sailor gives a sweet smile and extends his hand out in greeting, “daeho. welcome aboard”

that’s how you and san find yourselves in the ship’s hold, legs crossed side by side on the wooden floor and surrounded by a multitude of crates and barrels

neither of you realise that you’re holding your breaths and it’s not due to the stale air in the poorly ventilated hold

only when the shout of “anchors aweigh” is heard and the ship slowly starts to pull away from the dock do you finally relax, the feeling of hope slowly seeping into your bodies

because all that’s left now is to wait for the ship to dock at the next port and then you and san can disappear and start a new life

at the notion of safety, your stomach finally calls for attention with a grumble

san teases, “sounds like someone needs a bit of food,” just as his stomach answers with a growl of its own

you break out into laughter and pull him up with you to snoop inside the crates for something edible

lifting the lid to one of the crates, you peer inside to find what looks like a layer of burlap

you reach down with a hand to remove the covering and dig deeper, only to jerk your arm back when you feel the burning pain of a cut

“oh fuck, what?” you hiss as you look into the crate again, “why the hell are there so many knives?”

san is beside you within a split second, already turning you around to cradle your hand in his

the cut extends across your palm and there’s something sickening yet eerily familiar about the way the blood rapidly starts to pool and seep past the broken skin

goosebumps spread across your body when it hits you

“san,” you look up at him with a trembling voice, hardly audible over the pounding of your heart, “it’s the same cut”

his eyes bore into yours with reflected horror when your words sink in

because if it really is the same cut, then that means-

san’s attention suddenly shifts to behind you and that’s the last thing you register before your head explodes with blinding pain

your world turns black.

there’s a ceaseless hammering in your skull when you regain some semblance of awareness and it takes all of your willpower not to let the throb drag you back into unconsciousness

you open your eyes with a groan, trying to clear your vision, only to find san still out cold on the floor beside you

you scrabble closer towards him and brush his fringe out of his eyes

“san,” you shake him a little, “san, wake up”

his mouth tightens into a grimace as he’s slowly brought back to consciousness at the sound of your voice

“fuck…they hit hard,” he props himself up with another curse before he asks you in a panic, “are you hurt?”

you start to shake your head but then think better of it, “my head hurts like a bitch, but i’m okay”

san pulls you into his chest and wraps his arms around you

you let yourself sink into the safety of his embrace, pretending that everything is okay even if just for a moment

“i’m sorry, i’m so sorry,” san repeats the apology into the crown of your head

you can’t do anything but return hushed whispers of comfort and hug him tighter

a sudden clang draws you out of his arms as you both turn in the direction of the sound

that’s when you realise you’re no longer in the hold

you’re in a cell

the brig of the ship is much darker and the air is suffocatingly musty from the lack of ventilation and the perpetually damp floors and walls

damp from what exactly, you really don’t want to know

you hear the heavy thud of boots amplifying as the person approaches your cell, your eyes straining to make out their face in the dark

they squat in front of your bars

the sweet smile on daeho’s face makes him look crazed now and you shrink back to put some distance between you two

“did you have a good rest?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious

at san’s seething growl of anger, daeho raises his hands up in faux surrender and states, “i just want the cromer”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” san glowers

the other man wriggles his fingers at san’s waist, “you’re not very good at hiding it in your shirt”

almost as if it knows it is being talked about, the cromer flashes from under the layers of cloth

“why didn’t you just take it from us earlier,” you bite out

daeho clicks his tongue with a disappointed smile, “but then where’s the fun in that?”

he stretches a hand out and waits with his palm upturned just outside of the cell bars

“now give it to me,” he demands

san stares in retaliation, not once looking away as he slowly reaches for the cromer

he takes it out of his shirt and unwraps the sash from around it, then starts to extend the hourglass out towards daeho’s hand

as you watch with bated breath, you notice the subtle tightening of san’s grip around the metal casing and you realise he intends to flip it

except you’re not the only one who comes to the same conclusion

you see the exact moment the facade drops from daeho’s face and is replaced by his true derangement

the hand by the pistol at his side starts to move

but so do you

this time, everything turns red as the scorching heat of pain paralyses your entire body

the cromer falls to the floor at the same time as you do

from outside the cell, daeho laughs viciously, but it’s drowned out by the agonising cry that comes out of san’s chest

san desperately gathers you in his arms, hands pressing against the bullet hole to stem the blood flow

but there is so much blood

it’s everywhere

the ground digs into his knees and he’s wet and sticky from your blood but also from his own tears and there are so many tears and even with the pungent smell of iron in the air he can still smell the mustiness of the cell and he can’t get enough oxygen into his lungs because god you’re dying

and he’s suddenly struck with the heart-wrenching thought

did he unwittingly condemn you to your own fate?

or is it like the cut on your palm - is he unable to change fate no matter what decisions he makes differently?

the sob that wrenches itself out of san hurts you more than anything

“i love you,” you say, because your words are numbered and you want them all to be san’s

he shakes his head furiously, “shut up, you’re going to be fine”

your words come out effortfully, “please, i want to hear you say it one last time”

“fuck,” san buries his face in your shoulder, “i love you so, so much. i can’t live without you”

he pulls back heartbroken, “i can still change this”

through your waning breath, you reach a trembling hand up to cup san’s jaw

“s-san, don’t do it”

he lets out a racking sob as he shakes his head again, expression marred with agony and torment that you can physically feel in his white-knuckled grasp that covers your own hand

the tears that drip off his jaw become lost to the damp ground

san’s voice is broken and pained, “i don’t fucking care. it’s not going to stop me from trying”

he grips your hand even tighter when he starts to feel it fall away from his cheek

it’s becoming tiring to keep your eyes open

maybe you can rest…just for a little bit

san will forgive you, right?

you close your eyes

just for a little while

just until the pain stops

faintly, you think you can feel your body being jostled against something warm

but it’s far away

far away

far

san clutches your limp body as he lets out a primal wail of anguish

you cannot die

you will not die

he snatches the glowing hourglass and flips it with desperation screaming in every cell of his body

and then his world goes white.

mingi

pov: you're the crew's surgeon

you have all the time in the world to yourself

the recent raid was successful - the other vessel had surrendered quickly without putting up a fight and your ship is now well stocked up from the loot of supplies

hongjoong has promised the crew shore leave, a vacation of sorts, and so you and the crew are travelling to port malthov, a haven island for pirates

it’ll take about a week to arrive

and without a foreseeable raid or run-in with enemy vessels, there is no need for your medical duties

which is a good thing, really

but it also means that you have a lot of time

and time is your worst enemy

time is time alone with your own thoughts, time alone with your internal demons, and right now, your mind is a sinkhole of them and you are the very thing being pulled into its depths

you’re sprawled out on the upper deck, arms and legs splayed like a physical manifestation of your efforts to reach the edges of the sinkhole and hold on

you think to yourself that it’s reassuring when you can see blood

because it’s visible, physical, and you can fix it

step one, rinse the area with clean water

step two, disinfect the wound

step three, remove any foreign objects or dead skin

step four, suture as required for nastier injuries

step five, wrap a clean cloth over, under, over, under, then fasten

there’s a procedure and it makes sense

but when it’s invisible, what do you do?

there are no medical diagrams, procedures or journals that teach you how to heal your own hurt

you may be the crew’s surgeon, but you wonder how qualified you truly are if you can’t even fix yourself

the skies are clear today and the sun shines down directly on your exposed skin

it’s uncomfortable but you don’t move, limbs feeling just a little too strung tight to cooperate

you don’t think you have the energy to do much more than to just lie there and exist

and the burn of the sunlight is kind of nice

it tells you that you’re still alive - even if the feeling of living is pain

that’s where mingi finds you twenty minutes later, his face upside down as he leans over to look at your face-

only to very nearly drop a block of wood right onto you

“oh, shit,” he fumbles as the multitude of items he is carrying to his chest falls and clatters onto the deck around your head

you jolt up to save yourself from a bruised forehead and eye him, curiosity well and truly piqued

with a huff, he piles everything in front of you, followed by himself as he sits cross-legged in front of you

he looks suspiciously hopeful and expectant

“can you carve me another dolphin?”

months ago, you had tried carving ornamental animals out of small scraps of wood left over from a hull repair

most of your carvings had turned out hideous and you had tossed them overboard, but mingi had not stopped following you and begging until you gave him one

you could barely even call it a dolphin, but for some reason, he has kept it since like it’s something valuable

“i already made you one,” you start

but he protests, “i lost him!”

you blink

nevermind. maybe not so valuable

“...you lost it?”

you’re not sure whether you’re disappointed or relieved that it’s forever gone to the void

“i lost him, yes. so can you please carve me a new one?”

you blink once more and he looks back at you with wide, pleading eyes

“fine, pass me the knife,” you finally relent

he grins, handing something that feels quite familiar into your outstretched hand

“are these my scalpels?!” you clutch them defensively to your chest. “mingi, i am not carving wood with these”

mingi breaks out into pleased laughter, crescent eyes and gaping mouth as he produces a pocket knife that you can actually use

“you’re ridiculous,” you tell him, setting your medical instruments safely to one side, but you don’t really mean it

you bring the blade of the pocket knife to the edge of the wood and start whittling away

you expect mingi to get up and leave you to your devices, except he doesn’t

he stays and asks you question after question about the carving

which part are you working on now?

how do you shape the tail?

what was the first thing you tried to carve?

if you could carve something else after this, what would it be?

and it goes on for hours - as the wood gradually takes shape of the animal, as the harsh sun lowers and is replaced by the cool breeze of evening

…as mingi fills up your sinkhole and you are no longer grasping at the edges to stay afloat

it happens without you even realising, but he lets you take refuge in him from your own thoughts

and later that night, when the crew are preparing to sleep for the night, mingi will place the newly-carved dolphin at the head of his hammock

he will itch to rummage through the small chest that holds his personal belongings and treasures

he will want to unwrap the small object he has hidden away at the very bottom of his chest and put it side by side with the dolphin

but he won’t, because otherwise you’ll see the two dolphins and realise that he was lying about having lost the first one, so he’ll opt to keep it hidden

mingi thinks that he might even ask you to carve him something else tomorrow

he’ll say that his dolphin needs somebody by its side

what he won’t say though, is that he knows you need somebody by your side

and if he can offer you a few hours of mindlessness while you carve with him beside you, then he’ll ask you to make him a whole aquarium of animals

but that’s tomorrow

for now, he lets you rest on him, and you find that it doesn’t seem quite as hard to exist anymore

because sometimes, even surgeons need their own healers

you don’t have another bad day that week

technically, they’re all still bad days, but they aren’t as bad

but as it is with your luck, it all comes back to drag you underwater when the arriba pulls into port malthov and lowers its anchor

of all days, your head feels foggy, your body feels empty and your lungs feel laboured

you’re not even sad

you’re just…hollow

and the worst part is that you have absolutely no reason to be feeling this way

being up in the crow’s nest for once has given you the perfect vantage point to watch as the majority of the crew precariously run off the gangplank with whoops and hollers, splitting off to explore the town

their excitement is infectious - to everybody but you

instead, you had offered to take over yeosang’s lookout duties so that he could go to the town’s tavern

you’ve already rotted the morning and most of the afternoon away and your stomach grumbles in protest at having skipped both meals

it knows that you probably won’t be eating dinner either

“y/n,” a voice calls out to you from the deck, “are you not going into town?”

you peer over the edge of the nest and find mingi’s small form, his head craned upwards in your direction

“lookout duties,” you simply say

but mingi calls your bluff

“the whole point of shore leave is that we all get time off. captain’s still on board to make sure our ship doesn’t catch on fire or some shit, don’t worry”

when you still don’t make a move, mingi starts to climb up the rigging and you startle to your feet

“heavens, okay, i’m coming down”

he’s banned from rigging duties for a reason

when you land on the upper deck, he looks awfully smug with himself

he asks, “can we go eat seafood? not fish, but like the good stuff”

“since when did you like seafood?”

“always?”

mingi did not always like seafood but you let it slide

he guides you across the gangplank and towards the bustling streets of the town, keeping you tucked closely into his side

almost like he knows you’re feeling more fragile than usual

you two come across a market and he tells you to find a table in the outdoor seating area

when he returns to you after a while, both his hands are stacked with platters of shrimp, some crabs and even a lobster

“mingi, what-?” you break out into an astounded laugh

you can’t even find it in yourself to finish your sentence because it looks like he’s bought enough food to feed half your crew

he sets the plates down in front of you, one by one, until you can barely see the table itself

and you watch, still incredulous, as he picks up a steamed shrimp, meticulously peeling off the shells that he discards onto his plate

…before placing the peeled shrimp onto the plate in front of you

“eat,” he encourages

mingi picks up another shrimp to peel, looking away from you so as not to pressure you

but he can’t help but look and smile widely when you do eventually bring the food up to your mouth and take a bite

it tastes good

shrimp has always been one of the things you miss the most when you’re sailing and as the salty taste of the ocean spreads across your tongue, you start to feel your appetite returning

by the time you’ve swallowed, there’s already another shrimp on your plate, peeled and ready for eating

mingi smiles knowingly when you groan around your next bite

the sun may have already started to disappear into the horizon, but right now with mingi’s plate piling up with discarded shells and yours with juicy shrimp meat, the hollow cavity in your chest slowly filling with warmth, the sun is only just starting to rise for you

and mingi will keep filling your plate until your sun has fully risen into the sky

because sometimes, healing needs the help of an extra pair of hands

the day before your crew is scheduled to leave port malthov, you find yourself sitting on the sandy shores of the coastline, far away from where the arriba is docked

the wind tugs at your hair and the hems of your clothing in the direction of the ocean

you wonder what it would be like to just let yourself go and float along with the wind

your thoughts are interrupted by the soft squeaks of bare feet in the sand approaching you and mingi lowers himself down to sit by your side

no matter where you hide, he somehow always finds you

you give him a small smile when he calls your name in greeting, but it’s all you can really manage to do

it’s hard for you to talk today

but he already knows that

“can i tell you a story?” mingi isn’t really asking you

without waiting for a response he knows you can’t give, he starts to talk

“i don’t think i’ve told you about the time when yunho and i went skinny-dipping at night. i swear we saw the kraken that night”

he has told you this story before

more times than you can count on your fingers and toes combined - to the point where you have some of his exact phrases and expressions memorised

mingi knows he’s told you this story before

but he drones on anyway, adding his usual touches of dramatic flair and exaggerated details - words that he hopes keep you grounded to the spot so that you don’t disappear with the wind

(“did you know that yunho’s chest goes red when he screams in fright?”)

you want to make silly little comments about his silly little story

you want to laugh in harmony with mingi’s own rumbling sounds

except you can’t

it’s like whatever you want to say goes through a paper shredder right before it comes out of your mouth

and mingi knows

but he is willing to take all the time in the world to tape your words back together, shredded piece by shredded piece, until he can make you feel heard and seen

and even if you don’t talk, he is there to do enough talking for the both of you

some things don’t need to be said - he understands either way

because sometimes, healing looks like walking backwards on any progress that’s been made and that’s okay

after all…mingi’s been there before, too

the arriba sets sail again and hongjoong allows the crew one last night of rest before your usual duties resume

the stock of fresh produce and meat won’t last for longer than a couple of days anyway, so you all feast your stomach’s fill of food and alcohol

someone brings out an accordion and you all gather together on the upper deck as jongho sings to the music, background filled with the lively rattling of shared plates and mugs being passed around

the air is chilly but it’s crisp and fresh whenever you take a breath of it into your lungs

where being with the multitude of your crew usually makes you feel lonely, tonight, it feels okay

and from beside you, mingi sings along quietly to the music

his voice is not like jongho’s, which is soulful, emotional and powerful

mingi’s voice is deep, honest and raw as he sings the lyrics to the song of a man who is drowning and yearning to be saved

he looks at you during the last bridge, when the key changes from sorrowful to hopeful and the words tell of a man who is saved by his lover

you smile back at him, genuinely content in this moment

and even if it is only briefly, even if you will still have bad days in the future, you think that today is a good day

because healing takes form in all different ways, and being loved is one of them

maybe one day, mingi will be able to confess that he loves you

when he’s confident that you’ll be able to accept his love

not in the way where he expects you to reciprocate the same feelings for him, no

but in the way where you are able to accept the fact that you are worthy of being loved

there are no medical diagrams, procedures or journals that teach you how to heal your own hurt

but you have mingi and he is making one for you

it’s written with the ink of love on the very pages of his own heart and he will not stop writing until the day you are well and truly happy

and even if it takes forever?

well

mingi’s got a huge fucking heart

and it’s all yours

wooyoung

pov: you find a stowaway on your ship

“we’re headed off course again”

“again?” you look at your helmsman with furrowed brows

yunho nods, sighing out his next words, “i can’t get a read on north. the needle keeps flickering”

you look at the compass that’s mounted at the helm and true to his words, the tip of the arrow seesaws back and forth over the cardinal point

a quick glance down tells you that the newer compass you’ve got in your pocket is also behaving in the same manner, needle twitching despite the practised steadiness of your hands

so you know for sure that it’s not a fault in the instrument at the helm itself

but even if it were to be faulty, you would never replace it

not when it’s one of the only things you have remaining of your parents after they perished at sea

“maybe we should ask him,” yunho suggests, beckoning his head towards the deck

although seonghwa hums thoughtfully, having joined you both at the helm mid-conversation, you look at him incredulously

“you trust that person?”

yunho shrugs, “it’s not like he’s given us a reason to not trust him”

well

considering said man had been found stowing away in the cargo five days after your ship had left alcarres, who then also tried to plead for mercy by reasoning that he was ‘valuable’, you think that there’s plenty of reasons to not trust him

yunho rectifies his argument once he sees the pinched expression on your face, “as in, since we’ve found him on board”

you close your eyes and exhale

admittedly, yunho has a point

and there’s been one too many times where the man has flippantly suggested navigational changes or casually observed shifts in the winds and waters - which all turned out to be accurate - for it to be sheer luck

you open your eyes and call out to the upper deck

“stowaway”

yunho winces as seonghwa chides you with a slight elbow to your side at your choice of name, or lack thereof

said man looks at you from where he’s helping san and yeosang swab the deck, mouth tightening with wariness

the last time you had spoken the same word, it was along with an order to throw him into the brig with his wrists bound behind his back

but considering that that was the extent of his punishment for stowing away on your ship and he is now mingling amongst your crew with minimal security measures on your orders too, really, he’s gotten off scot-free

the stowaway approaches the quarterdeck with hesitant steps

you jerk your head towards the helm, “help yunho navigate the rest of the way to vlasgar. just until we can dock and work out what’s wrong with the compasses''

despite the curtness of your order, his face scrunches up into an enthusiastic grin

“of course, captain!”

you’re taken aback by his demeanour because you’re trying to find a reason to distrust him

but he’s not giving it to you

you watch as the stowaway makes himself comfortable against the helm rails and easily slips into conversation and banter with yunho amidst intermittent pointers to adjust the rudder

seonghwa nudges you from behind, “give him a little credit”

you scratch your neck awkwardly before calling out to your helmsman

“keep me updated on the ship’s course”

yunho nods and then you clear your throat, quickly glancing at the stowaway

“and thanks…wooyoung.”

you turn and leave the quarterdeck before you can fully catch a glimpse of the delighted smile the man beams at you

because if he’s not giving you reasons to dislike him, then you’re going to ensure he doesn’t start giving you reasons to like him

except…wooyoung attacks when you least expect it

it’s the night before your crew reaches vlasgar, and true to his claims when he was first discovered onboard, wooyoung has proven his value by navigating your ship through the waters without the aid of the malfunctioning compass

his innate sense for shifts in the wind and waters, combined with his understanding of celestial navigation and use of dead reckoning has meant that he is extraordinarily precise with his route

honestly, he’s freakishly accurate to the point where it’s a little unsettling

at least that’s what you tell yourself

you and hongjoong have given the crew the night off from their usual duties in preparation for a few busy days of maintenance and intel-gathering once your ship docks at vlasgar

wooyoung offers to cook in the galley and whip up a meal as fancy as he can from the select ingredients on board

you don’t have a good reason to deny him, not when the rest of your crew looks at you with eager faces at the thought of a meal that isn’t just the usual salted meat, so you send mingi along to help him locate the ingredients

also to keep an eye on wooyoung to ensure he isn’t using this as an opportunity to poison your crew, but you’re not about to admit that aloud

and that’s exactly when wooyoung chooses to attack

he attacks your heart with his cooking

granted, the standards are rock bottom, but wooyoung utilises a deadly combination of rosemary, thyme and bay leaves to prepare a hearty broth with preserved beef

he serves hardtack on the side to be softened and eaten with the broth, and jongho even manages to catch a few fish that wooyoung then scores and grills with lemon slices over the fire

mingi must also be in good spirits because he takes out the reserve of dried fruits and nuts that he’s usually pedantic over and allows wooyoung to arrange them artfully in a wooden bowl as nibblers to go with the profusion of rum that will inevitably be downed tonight

the impressive spread of food is placed on the upper deck where the entire crew sit in a rough circle together

you take one bite into the beef and curse without realising

“fucking hell, what did he put in this?”

wooyoung freezes mid-spoonful across from you in the circle

realising your words sound petrifying without context, you awkwardly amend them with your eyes glued to your bowl, “i could eat this every day,” before shoving another spoon of broth into your mouth to shut yourself up

there’s a chorus of teasing oooh’s at your words and somebody sing-songs, “captain likes youuu-r cooking”

“i don’t,” you scoff, completely ready to bite the bait and engage in this childish argument

but it’s him who comes to your defence

“it’s not my cooking, it’s just the spices that make a difference,” wooyoung insists

then he’s gesturing to the grilled fish and telling everyone to try, diverting the attention away from you

you accidentally make eye contact with him and initially flicker your eyes away out of embarrassment, but when you chance a peek back at him he’s still looking at you, his expression uncharacteristically calm and gentle when usually all you can hear these days is his raucous laughter bouncing across the deck

…not that you can recognise his laughter or anything

you stare at each other for a few more seconds before you lift up your bowl of beef broth and give him a little smile

you leave it up to him to interpret it however he wants

and just before you look away, you see the apples of his cheeks rounding with elation

wooyoung’s potentially earned himself a few points with his cooking (and perhaps with his unfailing happiness too), but maybe you’re just looking for excuses as to why you’re allowed to like him now

when you decide to take a walk in town long after midnight, your quarters having felt stuffy ever since you’d docked at vlasgar, you’re surprised to find that you’re not the only one still awake

“i’m going out for some air and maybe a drink, did you want to come?”

hongjoong shakes his head, “hwa’s gone out too, i’ll stay behind”

you pause, wondering whether it’d be rude if you didn’t extend the invitation to wooyoung, considering he’s literally two feet away

“what about you?” you end up offering

wooyoung excitedly hops up to his feet, “yeah, i’ll come with”

to your own surprise, you find that you’re not particularly disappointed by his response

the streets of vlasgar are empty, considering the late hour, and your leather shoes clack in unison against the cobblestones as you walk together

you’re not really sure what to say to fill the silence but wooyoung easily talks about anything and everything and you’re content to just listen

your feet eventually take you towards a small alehouse and you both settle down at one of the tables further away from the live music playing

the oil lamps flicker dimly along the wall, casting small dancing shadows on the surface of your mugs of ale

“my father never liked the taste of ale,” wooyoung suddenly muses after a swallow

you note the use of past tense

“is he…still around?” you ask tentatively

he makes a noise of refutation, the quietest he’s been tonight, before he reveals, “he took his own life”

“oh, wooyoung,” you breathe out

he curls his hands around his mug, “it’s already been two years, but it still hurts”

in a moment of empathy, you gently place your hand over his

your tone is bitter when you reply, “time doesn’t mean that it hurts any less, it just gets easier to pretend that it doesn’t”

he looks up at you, surprised by the touch of your hand but also by the sorrow reflected in your eyes

“have you also lost somebody?”

you nod at his question

“my parents,” you hesitate before adding, “their ship got swept under a rogue wave, the same night it turned into a tidal wave that destroyed the city of light”

wooyoung looks at you with wide eyes, “the one along the north coast? six- no, seven years ago?”

there’s not a single person who doesn’t know about it; when an apocalyptic wave had wiped out an entire city overnight

he places his other hand over yours when you nod again, creating a sandwich of comforting hands in the shared experience of loss and grief

you smile wistfully and he returns it

“well now that we’ve exchanged childhood trauma, care to tell me the real reason why you were on my ship, stowaway?” you half-joke

wooyoung laughs, each breath a pronounced cackle of joy, and you find the corners of your lips pulling themselves upwards too

“i’m being chased by a lunatic who’s out for my blood,” he deadpans

“that would have been nice to know before i let you join my crew”

wooyoung grins wickedly, “i’m part of your crew?”

“i’m definitely rethinking it,” you banter before you add on seriously, “only if you want to be”

he pulls his hands back to salute you loudly, “it would be my honour to be your human compass! jung wooyoung at your crew’s service!”

“shut the fuck up!” you hiss in embarrassment, but there’s no bite to your words and you’re laughing into your own hands

you tip back the remains of your ale and then beckon to wooyoung, “let’s head back, shall we?”

“yeah,” he gives you a dazzling smile

he pushes his chair back to stand up and you head towards the doors together

just as you walk past one of the tables, a man abruptly stands up and knocks into wooyoung’s shoulder harshly

your hand flies out to steady him as the man stares at wooyoung, then turns to leave without another word

“what’s his problem,” you mutter angrily. “are you okay?”

wooyoung reassures you with a placating squeeze to your arm before leading you out of the alehouse

as you retrace your steps back to the ship, you pass by a rickety stall that makes you falter

the wood of the table is rotting and standing on its last legs and there’s a roughly thatched roof propped up above its goods

even though the stall is enshrouded by the shadows of the clouded moonlight, you still wonder how you missed it on your way to the alehouse, considering it’s the only stall along the empty street, and with a vendor, no less

there’s an old woman bearing the burdens of living across her skin and in her posture, sitting hunched on an equally as weathered crate beside the table

you’re drawn towards it - by its ambience, seller or the familiar instruments lain on the table, you don’t know

the woman’s head is covered by a dusty shawl but you don’t miss the way her eyes bore beadily into wooyoung as you both approach

you reach out and skim your fingertips across the cool brass of the compasses on the table

a frown adorns your face when you notice there’s something strange about all of them

like the compass in your own pocket and the one mounted on your ship’s helm, the needles all swing indecisively over the north point, as if some unknown force is meddling with the magnetic field of the earth itself

you let out a little scoff of disbelief, “they’re all useless”

with a final glance at the table, you and wooyoung start to walk off

but then a raspy voice beckons at your backs, a ghost of a hand that tickles the hair on the nape of your necks, “the only time a compass is useless is when you have something better nearby”

unable to ignore the sensation, you look over your shoulder, “what do you mean by something better?”

a toothless smile; one that appears to know a secret that it doesn’t want to let you in on

“true north”

her cryptic answer alone is enough to tell you that you’re wasting your time

she doesn’t say anything else when you walk off for good this time after bidding her a tight-smiled farewell, not that you would have stopped either way if she did

wooyoung hurries to catch up to you

as he falls into step with you, he asks, “do you believe what she’s saying?”

“of course not, it doesn’t make any sense,” you glance at the tavern you’re walking past, telling you that the port is close now. “how can you have true north?”

wooyoung’s brows knit together, “well, there’s that old legend that says true north isn’t actually a direction, but a-”

he’s cut off by an amused voice behind you both

“so it really is you…jung wooyoung”

when you turn around, you’re met with the sight of a man donning a long, velvet coat and buckled shoes - articles of clothing very obviously pirated from the wealthy

it’s evident that he and wooyoung are acquainted in one way or another, but from the way wooyoung’s face loses its colour, they’re acquainted in a bad way

immediately, your hackles are raised

the man’s tone is saccharine as he continues, “when one of my men said that they had spotted you, i didn’t believe him”

“what do you want?” you snarl at the same time wooyoung murmurs next to you, “it’s the lunatic. jang hyunsoo”

hyunsoo cocks his head as he stares you dead in the eye, “i want him. dead.”

your face darkens, unwilling to back down, “and why are you so intent on killing him?”

“oh?” he raises an eyebrow in delight at your answer. “you must not know who he truly is”

sick of his bullshit, you reach down towards your belt to unsheath a throwing dagger and hold it in front of your body, “i don’t care who the fuck he is. he’s my crew member and that’s all that ma-”

“he’s the man that the legends speak of. blessed by the sea gods, bearer of the oceans’ wisdom - jung wooyoung is true north”

those two words again

you don’t understand why everyone you come across today seems to be so fixated on the idea of…

suddenly, you remember.

legends tell a story of true north - not a direction pointing to the earth’s axis, but a person

a man blessed by the gods of the sea with the power to be all-knowing when it comes to the waters

he possesses the innate ability to navigate without use of any instruments or celestial bodies; the wisdom of which passageways and courses to sail; the subconscious understanding of mother nature and her elements

the powers are passed down through his bloodline for generations, but the blessing does not stay sacred for long

human greed and coveting eventually lead to the murder of the bearer of true north at the time, and the powers are transferred to the murderer, permanently staining the bloodline and commencing the paradoxical cycle of sinning for a blessing

however, this does not go unpunished

the gods of the sea are enraged and in their uncontainable wrath they cause-

your memory ends there no matter how hard you try to recall the rest of the legend

wooyoung interrupts

“if you kill me, there’s no guarantee you’ll survive the consequences,” he tries to reason with the other. “just have a look at how close we are to sea”

you’re lost but hyunsoo sneers, “it’s not your power that i’m hungry for. it’s only fair that i spill your blood, after your father spilled the blood of my family”

at the mention of his father, wooyoung growls, “what the fuck do you think you’re saying”

“how do you think your father became true north? or better yet, let me jog your memory,” hyunsoo’s expression becomes hauntingly blank, “what happened seven years ago that wiped out a whole city because the sea gods had been angered?”

your breath hitches as you involuntarily whisper, the remaining piece of the puzzle slotting into memory, “...a tidal wave”

“yes,” he acknowledges your words but keeps his eyes drilling into wooyoung, “because true north - my father - was killed”

as were your parents by extension of the consequences

“killed by my father,” wooyoung concludes, voice frail as everything rapidly starts to reveal itself

one more revelation makes him look at you with a face of horror and remorse, “y/n…your parents…”

without hesitation, you push aside your own anguish for him

“wooyoung,” you warn, “it’s not your fault”

because you see it

the very moment his eyes start clouding over as he willingly takes on the burden of guilt wrongfully left behind by his deceased father - the same guilt that eventually took the man’s own life

wooyoung, who, with a heart and soul too pure, would rather take the blame himself than to push it onto somebody else

you step in front of him, knife raised in protection

because despite your best efforts, wooyoung had not only secretly stowed himself away on your ship but has also secretly stowed himself away in your heart

“what are you doing?” he tries to tug you behind him

there’s a teasing lilt in your voice as you stand steadfast, “stowaway, you’ve ruined navigating for me now - made it too easy for me and the crew. so you better fuckin’ take responsibility and be my compass for as long as i sail”

“how touching,” hyunsoo coos patronisingly before he draws the cutlass from his sheath, “looks like i’ll just have to kill the both of you”

you don’t stop wooyoung this time from stepping up to stand by your side, his own hands armed with dual daggers and his demeanour now iron-willed to fight

because if you’re prepared to fight for him, then wooyoung is prepared to fight twice as hard for you

tonight, either hyunsoo dies, or you both go down trying

the tension in the air is punctuated only by the slight scrape of your soles as you and wooyoung lower your stances and shift further onto your front feet

you had never believed in the sea gods until now, but you pray that they’re watching over you both

and indeed they are

they answer your prayers in the form of a deafening gunshot in the nearby tavern

hyunsoo flinches at the sudden commotion - only slightly, but the distraction in attentiveness is more than enough

now.

as you and wooyoung leap forward together in unison, weapons raised, the needles in your hearts’ compasses waver for one final time before they settle and point resolutely in one direction

your needle at wooyoung; wooyoung’s needle at you

because compasses will always point at true north and that’s exactly what you are to him and him to you

each other’s true north

jongho

pov: you're a mermaid who saves him

you follow the shadow of the ship’s hull, gliding effortlessly through the waters

you know that you shouldn’t be following so closely but it’s hard to refuse the temptation that comes hand in hand with storms

there’s a chance that vessels will toss cargo overboard as a last-ditch effort to save their ship from sinking

and if you’re really lucky, the vessel might sink entirely and you’ll be able to spend the next few days rummaging its ruins, scavenging for shiny treasures and intriguing objects

besides, what’s the worst that could happen?

no sailor or pirate in their right mind would think to cast a fishing net in this weather

you only have your carelessness and recklessness to blame, but regret won’t change anything about your current situation

you feel the strange lurch in your stomach as the fishing net you’re trapped inside is pulled out of the water, up along the side of the ship’s hull, until it levels with the gunwale

there’s someone standing there waiting

his face is still rounded and limbs still gangly with the telltale signs of youth

the fish around you jerk around desperately, a physical manifestation of your terror, while you lock eyes with the young teenager and grip at the net with white-knuckled fists

you are at his complete mercy

he stares in shock at your form, until you beg a single word

“please”

immediately, he draws a small pocket knife and starts to frantically cut through the net

there’s another questioning voice from somewhere on the deck that you can’t make out the words to, but from the way the boy in front of you picks up speed, you’re seconds away from being discovered

“come on, come on, come on,” the boy mutters through gritted teeth

there’s a slight jerk as he cuts through the strands of flax and a few fish slither their way out, the hole starting to become bigger

he lets out a hiss of pain when he accidentally slices through his own hand in his haste

but even then, he does not stop or falter

and then you hear it

the ripping of the material when the weight of yourself and the other fish tear the remainder of the net

you plummet into the ocean

and the last thing you see before the world above becomes blurred by the waters is the boy’s wide eyes peering over the ship’s edge as he watches you fall

jongho struggles to adjust his centre of gravity as the ropes stutter underneath him

he chances letting go of the rigging briefly with one hand so that he can wipe the rain out of his eyes, which is pouring down incessantly and obscuring his vision

overhead, the top sail continues to billow and flap in an angry dance as the rapidly shifting winds tangle it further

he swallows thickly and grips the rigging once again

he needs to climb up and untangle the damned sail, fast

one hand extending outwards to grab the running rigging, jongho supports himself on shaky legs so that he can unfurl the twisted edges of the sail from around the ropes

it’s difficult enough having to chase the mocking flits of the canvas in the gale, but it’s fucking hellish with the added lurching and pitching of the ship as it’s battered by the swells of the sea

he finally manages to get a good grip on the sail and tugs hard, feeling it give way and flush full as it catches the wind properly now that it’s free

except the force of it sends the material swelling right in his face and he slips

by some saving grace, the combined movement of another colossal wave sends his body careening through the air in a wide arch

he does not land on the upper deck in a heap of broken bones

instead, he plummets into the ocean

and the last thing jongho sees before he loses consciousness is the shimmer and flick of a tail

your body reacts instantaneously to the sudden intrusion of something plunging into the waters in front of you, your tail swishing to increase your distance

for a brief second your heart seizes up in fright at the thought of a harpoon

but then you see it - see him

apart from the young teen who had freed you years ago, you have never seen a human up close before

and certainly not one in the ocean; in your home

there is something about the man before you that is beautiful yet haunting

it is as if time and gravity have warped his very existence

you see a weak flail of legs, a desperate hand reaching for the surface, floating tendrils of hair, but even in the face of approaching death, his movements appear slow and graceful in the water

as the pockets of air and bubbles of foam dissipate from around him and cruelly escape upwards without him, the man stills - grand and slow as his form steadily starts to make a descent towards the sandy bottom of the ocean

in folklore amongst your merpeople, humans are as swift, sure and savage on land as they are aboard their monstrous vessels

and yet, watching the ethereal existence of this man before you, you realise that once humans are underwater, they are at the complete mercy of mother nature and her beings

you gingerly swim closer

when you wrap your arm around the man’s limp body, his skin is warm under your fingertips

you’re reminded of the fact that he is at your complete mercy

and so you swim.

the moment jongho regains consciousness, his chest involuntarily contracts in an attempt to take a huge, stuttering breath

he curls onto his side instead, one hand scrabbling in the wet sand and his other arm crushed between the ground and his upper body as he hacks up his lungs with retching motions

the salt water burns even more coming back up than it did going down and his eyes sting with tears

when the convulsions cease, jongho closes his eyes and rests his forehead against the cool sand, trying to regain his breath-

and bearings

the jarring clarity has him sitting up abruptly as he tries to recall where he is and what he’s doing

there was the storm

the tangled sail

him climbing up the riggings

falling down, down, down

and then…

you

your eyes widen when the man’s unfocused gaze suddenly sweeps the waters and lands on the small part of your face that is exposed and peering at him

instinctively, you duck underwater, the notion of hiding your existence from humans ingrained into you

but even though he only sees a glimpse of you, jongho would recognise you from anywhere

it’s hard to forget when he’s kept his eyes peeled on the waters since that day, hoping to see you once again

he can’t believe that the mermaid he once saved would end up being his saviour

but he guesses that’s what people call fate - an alignment of miracles

he glances around at his surroundings to find himself in the safety of a small cove

you dare to emerge your curious eyes again when you see the form of the man stand up with his gaze on the sand, seemingly in search of something

he fumbles along the edge of the coast, reaching down several times to grasp things too small for you to discern

it seems that he becomes satisfied with what he has found, because he then sets them all down in the wet sand - right where the tide kisses the shore in a teasing game of chase - and takes several steps backwards so that he is no longer close to the waters

the man scratches the back of his head as he gestures vaguely to the pile, appearing to want to say something before thinking better of it and turning around to pick at the driftwood further inland

you wait, trying to gauge his actions

but when it becomes clear to you that he is not attempting to catch you off guard, you cautiously swim closer to shore

you are able to rest your forearms comfortably on the shoreline’s sand from how close you get

and then you see it

a small pile of glossy pebbles and patterned shells

a peace offering of pretty things he could find that he thought you might like

you duck under the water again, but this time to hide your shy smile as opposed to an act of instinctual self-preservation

jongho looks at the hefty pile of dried wood that he has gathered in the meantime, deeming it enough to keep a fire going for the inevitable night he will have to spend at the cove

he’s tried his hardest not to look out to the waters, wanting to gain your trust

but he can’t help it this time when his eyes are drawn to the little mound of his sincerity in the sand

…only to find it untouched, and you nowhere to be seen

he tries not to feel disappointed

after all, you have no reason to trust him

so he sets his mind on starting a fire before the sun sets completely instead, trying to ignore the growing dryness in his throat

when he finally nurses a spark into a flame an hour later, jongho almost misses it in his fatigued state

but it’s unmistakable when he walks closer

gone is his own pile of pebbles and shells

in its stead is a jumbled collection of broken combs, rusted locks and a glass bottle

a peace offering of peculiar things you had found that you thought he might need

jongho doesn’t know it, but as he bends down to carefully gather every gift and safekeep them closer to his fire, he is not the only one with a bashful smile on his face

you tell yourself it’s purely curiosity and displaced familiarity that makes you linger and return to the cove the very next morning

you’re well aware what the risks are if you fall in love with a human

how many stories have you heard of mermaids and mermen alike, falling for a human, only for their love to be unilateral or rejected?

their tails slowly lose their lustre as gradual paralysis takes over until they lose complete control

quite literally drowning within their own body, they eventually sink to the bottom of the ocean to perish with the decaying wreckages of sunken ships…

and the countless corpses of sailors, pirates and other unfortunate souls alike

it’s ironic

no matter how much folklore makes out humans and merpeople to be different, you all end up the same in the face of death; buried in the soil of the earth or buried in the sand of the ocean bottom

side by side

jongho stands in that very ocean right now, sleeves and pants rolled up to keep them as dry as possible as he crouches over with the water up to his thighs

he would try to fashion a fishing hook or harpoon of some sort, but with the possibility that you may be close by in the waters, he doesn’t want to risk using anything that could hurt you

so he resorts to using his bare hands

you’ve been watching from the safety of the water for well over half an hour now, curious and slightly endeared by his clumsy attempts to grab at something

you’re not sure what, but you can see the fish as they dart teasingly through his legs and from out of his reach

for beings that are supposedly apex predators, this human doesn’t seem intimidating at all

so, very cautiously, you swim up closer to him

jongho feels himself freezing at the sight of you approaching - not because he’s afraid of you, but because he’s afraid he’ll scare you away

he holds his breath as you hesitate and linger just out of his reach, then swim up and bump his leg playfully with your tail as you circle around him once

he’s reminded of a puppy wanting to sniff out somebody unfamiliar and his eyes follow your form with rounded fondness

“hi,” he breathes out softly, “i’m jongho”

your tail swishes with sudden movement, splashing him with water and he giggles

you can hear it clearly even from under water and your heart nearly stops

if this man - if jongho - was a siren, the sounds of his happiness would be his song of calling

you want to hear it again

jongho sucks in a breath when you dare to emerge from the water’s surface, presenting him with a fish held carefully between your lips and one more in each of your hands

he’s a little dumbfounded at how easily you managed to catch them as he gently takes the one from in between your teeth

the still-flailing fish in his hands is peppered with two tiny neat rows of puncture holes where you had carefully bitten into it

he finds it so fucking cute, especially when you continue to peer up at him with expectant eyes, wanting to know if it was the fish that he was trying to catch this whole time

he wants to thank you, and not just for the fish

so he fumbles through his words when he asks, “would you like to eat with me? unless…” he trails off, “unless you don’t eat fish because…”

are mermaids technically fish?

did he really just offer you the mermaid equivalent of human flesh to eat?

before jongho can panic and try to salvage the situation, you give him a shy smile and nod

jongho makes a fire as close to the shore as possible without the wood at risk of becoming wet

as he spears the fish onto sticks so that he can hold them over the flames, you gather the courage to slide out of the shallow waters so that you can lay on the damp sand closer to him

whilst you can for short periods, you rarely ever fully emerge out of the waters because you leave yourself vulnerable without the full mobility of your body

but jongho makes you feel safe enough to do so

and he must at least partially recognise the amount of trust you are placing in him because he looks at you in awe, the unveiled beauty of your tail now in full display

your scales are a kaleidoscope of cerulean, mauve and periwinkle, reflecting onto the sand below you in a magical dance with each of your slight movements

he notices that the gradient peters out into shades of salmon and coral the closer the scales are to your waist and he cannot tear his eyes away from you

jongho thinks to himself that you were created by the hands of the sea god, who then named the word beautiful after you

and even then, the word does not seem to do you justice

“why are you staring?”

your voice is simultaneously bashful and teasing, yet jongho is utterly mortified that your first words to him are ones exposing his smitten behaviour

his brain kickstarts in panic and he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind

“if your tail gets too close to fire, will you start smelling like grilled fish?”

for a split second, your expression contorts into one of pure horror, before the absurdity of his question breaks down the remainder of your reservations and you lose yourself in laughter

a pretty blush settles over the round of jongho’s cheeks and then he is also laughing with you

together, where the land and sea unite, the sounds of your shared happiness fill the air

his song of calling chimes melodiously in your heart even as you swim away for the night

but the dangerous thing about a siren’s song is that you don’t realise you’ve become captivated…

until it’s too late

you’re looking down at the object in your hands as you swim for the cove

it’s cream-coloured and smooth to touch, with several blunt tips extending from one side

you’ve always wondered what it is and so you decide to see if jongho will know

you don’t notice the large rock formation jutting out of the seabed until it’s almost right in front of you and at the last second, you flex your tail to manoeuvre yourself around it

except you must miscalculate your distance because you end up grazing yourself on the sharp edges of the rock

it doesn’t puncture your scales but it certainly catches you off guard - your organs and senses work in a way that ensures you never collide into anything so long as you are underwater

so then, why?

you look down and your heart drops

tentatively, you spin around once, eyes never leaving their focus

you realise it’s not a trick of the lighting or the water

your scales have started to lose their shimmer

jongho is beginning to think that you won’t show up today when you finally do, one of your treasures cradled in your hands and a smile on your face that doesn’t quite reach your eyes

(you weren’t going to show up, not after realising that you need to stop yourself from falling further in love with jongho if you want to live, but you decide to be selfish one last time and say goodbye, even if you’re the only one who knows it’s a goodbye)

“what’s that?” he gestures towards your hands with his chin as you slide your upper body out of the shallow waters, leaving your tail to be submerged when the waves come in

you uncurl your fingers with a shrug

“it’s a comb,” he answers his own question as he turns it over in his hand, “made out of animal bone, i think”

you look at him curiously as he sits down, unbothered about wetting his clothes, and you ask, “what’s a comb?”

jongho brings it up to his head and pretends to move it up and down

“you run it through your hair to untangle it”

he pauses as his eyes flicker to your hair then back to your face

“i can…show you how to use it…if you want?” he offers

just once, you’ll allow yourself to get close to him just this once

when you nod and sit up, jongho shifts himself so that he is behind you

you try not to shiver when you feel the heat of his chest enveloping your back as he reaches forward to gently gather the hair from around your face and neck

he steadies your head with one of his hands, the other bringing the teeth of the comb through the slight waves of your hair

his touch is soft and loving in the way he tries not to tug too hard when he encounters a knot

his fingertips skim against you intimately but with an innocence that betrays the fact that he has never brushed somebody’s hair before

you feel your shoulders relaxing into his touch and your eyes close, blissfully - and perhaps deliberately - ignorant to the fading radiance of your body

“are you feeling okay?” jongho’s voice sounds even more alluring when it’s right next to your ear and you can’t help but shudder this time. “you seem paler than usual”

he brings a hand down to your waist and turns you towards him so that he can see you better

you try to formulate an answer, “i…”

i think i’m in love with you

of course, you would never tell him that

but before you can tell him that you’re fine, you become distracted by the glimpse of something on his hand that’s still resting on your waist

a scar

“is that- how did you get this?”

you run your thumb lightly over the taut, white line that runs from his wrist to the knuckle of his index finger

as you’re suddenly reminded of the familiar memory of a teenager with rounded cheeks and gangly limbs, the man beside you with those very same eyes looks at you fondly

“i cut myself trying to free a mermaid from a fishing net”

your gaze is unfocused as you process the information

the effects of the shattering revelation are immediate and a terrifying numbness starts to creep up your tail

because what you didn’t know - what nobody in folklore knew - was that the effects of paralysis and onset of death are accelerated when you fall in love with someone again for the second time

years ago, your heart had been claimed by the young man who had freed you at his own expense

you had managed to survive the heartbreak due to the briefness of your encounter, your paralysis fading and tail regaining its beauty when you never saw him again

but the effects of your unilateral love have not vanished entirely as you and your merpeople have believed it to

they have simply lay dormant like a disease, waiting for the right time to resurface when your feelings are rekindled

and so now it snowballs and gains traction at a speed that cannot be stopped, racing to catch up on the numerous years that you have cheated death where you thought you did not love jongho

“why is your tail turning grey?” the voice of the man you love is pinched with muted panic

you never thought you would ever be afraid of your own tail; your own body

yet, when you look down to see the monochrome advancing up each layer of your scales, you are absolutely petrified

your tail is starting to look like a stone statue and you know it won’t be long until that’s exactly what you become - motionless and unmoving

“y/n! why is your tail grey?!” jongho repeats with a shout, in full blown panic due to your lack of response

you can’t- won’t die in front of him

your lower body is almost deadweight with immobility and you bite back tears as you’re forced to crawl pathetically towards the water with your arms

jongho scrabbles to his feet as he hovers next to you, hands wanting to help but not quite touching you because he’s not sure what’s happening and he doesn’t know what he can do for you and you look like you’re in pain but he doesn’t know why-

“don’t!” you bark out sharply

he freezes in shock

you’re frightened and angry and you want to yell at something, someone, but…

you could never yell at jongho

with a much softer, albeit shaky voice, you tell him, “don’t look for me”

and before you can hear the pained noise that escapes jongho’s lips, you drag yourself back into the water

except a few metres after you’ve submerge yourself, the unthinkable happens

you. cannot. breathe.

you’re drowning.

jongho doesn’t care if you’ll hate him forever, doesn’t care if this is the last time you’ll choose to see him, but he will not just stand and watch when it looks like you are leaving to die alone

his body moves with the decisions of his heart before his mind tells him otherwise

he dives into the water after you

the world distorts around him; a moment of weightlessness as the waters easily shift to accommodate his body; the bubbling sound of air pockets reverberating inside his very skull; the shock of cold that overrides every other bodily sense

jongho forces his eyes open with numerous blinks until he can see you

your form is eerily still, and yet, you remain bewitching

he kicks his legs desperately with one arm outstretched and as soon as you are within reach, he tugs you into his chest

you’re limp to touch, lips slack and parted as if the very essence of your soul is escaping through your mouth

jongho will not let you die

lungs starting to burn and heartbeat pounding in his ears, he presses his lips against yours

a kiss of life-

he closes his eyes

-and love

but you don’t respond

jongho ignores his instincts even as his body screams to part from you and kick upwards for a breath

instead, he moves his jaws to kiss you even harder

and then he feels it

he almost sobs into you when your lips twitch weakly against his

with renewed vigour, you’re sealing your mouth around his bottom lip as you respond, capturing him in a real kiss

below your joined lips, your scales start to bloom with their full brilliance once again

your tail shimmers brighter than before, reflecting intricate patterns of fractals with each slight ripple of the water as you open your eyes to the sight of jongho’s face, beautifully swathed in the incandescence of the rainbow

you can move again

you flick your tail, jongho’s arms still firmly around your waist and you both burst upwards, breaking the water’s surface with spluttering breaths

he desperately treads you both backwards towards the shore even though you can easily hold your own now

“jongho, you-”

he takes one look at you before he cuts your words off and plunges himself back underwater, stunning you into stupor, until he re-emerges with another splutter

“your tail!” he yells with overwhelming relief, face still scrunched as he tries to sweep his fringe up and wipe the water from out of his eyes

“yeah…” voice muted as you process the fact that you’re still alive, “my tail…”

“fuck, you scared me”

jongho’s eyes are bloodshot as they stare into yours, and you know for a fact that they aren’t just red from the irritation of salt water

you bring up a hand to rest it on his chest, right where his heart still thumps rapidly under your touch, and you apologise with a small smile, “sorry…i scared me, too”

he huffs a little before looking at you earnestly

“don’t ever do that again”

the water is now shallow enough that jongho can stand, but it’s deep enough that you can still drift effortlessly

it’s the perfect harmony where land and sea unite; where a human and a mermaid interact

where you, the enchanter, and jongho, the enchanted, find a balance of love

“i won’t,” you promise

on land, humans tell a story of a mermaid who falls in love with a man

a mermaid who is ready to give up her voice in exchange for her happily ever after

but in the sea, merpeople tell a story of a man who falls in love with a mermaid

a man who is ready to give up his life in exchange for his happily ever after

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melobin · 2 months ago

Text

rules 𐙚 sungchan ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

warnings. best friend!sungchan, protected sex, unprotected sex, some mentions of oral (m receiving), mentions of masturbation, porn with plot.

wc. 7.7k

summary. you and your best friend sungchan end up having sex, but not without setting some rules first.

you felt your head spin as you looked down at sungchan beneath you, his chest raising rapidly against your hands as you sank down on his cock again, repeating the pace you had set a few moments prior. there was already a sheet of sweat covering his toned body, strands of his fringe sticking to his forehead as the rest of his hair stuck up messily from the way you were pulling on it earlier on.

despite how physically pleasuring the situation was, both on your body and your eyes, you still found yourself in disbelief of the position the two of you were in. sungchan was your best friend, he had been for over a decade. you grew up together, did everything together. pretty much every friend you both had was because of the other one, everyone knew you two as a pair.

you shared intimacy, spent nights together where you laughed and fell asleep leaning against one another, sungchan comforted you with his big arms and a slightly oversized tub of ice cream after your first break up and you done the same back after he failed his driving test - three times over. yet, your shared intimacy never went past anything platonic, it had simply never occurred between the two of you. until a few weeks ago that is.

it was normal for your friends to eventually meet sungchan, and it wasn’t that uncommon for them to find him attractive. you were used to the hushed whispers into your ear about how tall and handsome he was, whispers that you always replied to with an eye roll and a playful suck of your teeth. you knew sungchan was handsome, but it wasn’t something you ever paid too much attention to. you had no reason to. but your friends always did.

sungchan always gave the same response when you told him about your friends lusting over him, he laughed and brushed it off, not wishing to entertain your friends or feed into their desires.

“are you sure you’re not celibate?”

“fuck no” sungchan was absolutely not celibate, your friends just didn’t do it for him. you couldn’t have guessed who did even if you tried, and you did try.

“what about giselle?”

“no”

“mimi?”

“no”

“wonbin?”

“maybe” you hummed tilting your head to the side and looking towards the boy you mentioned who was sat across at the room at the bar.

“i don’t blame you”

“what?” sungchan’s voice took you out of your trance, you looked over at him and smiled.

“he’s cute but you couldn’t pay me to get with one of your friends” he began to argue but stopped himself, he didn’t want you to get with one of them either.

“why do you question me so much about me not wanting to get with your friends?”

“they’re all pretty girls and well, you’re a man” sungchan shook his head and laughed.

“yeah a man who doesn’t want to sleep around and end up with an std, plus my sexual interest is elsewhere” you cocked your head to the head and narrowed your eyes, about to question him once again but being stopped by your name being called from a few metres away.

sungchan would not admit to you that his sexual interest lay with you, sungchan thought you were insanely beautiful. irresistible. he would sell a piece of his soul just to be able to explore your body from head to toe, he’d worship every inch of you and make sure he makes you cum harder than anyone else ever has or ever will. sungchan adored you and had far too much respect for you to ever use you for sex or hurt you in anyway, so he kept his desires to himself, always finding it hilarious when you told him about your friends wishes to get close to him because he knew none of you were aware that whilst they were after him, he was laying in bed at night with his hand wrapped around his cock and you filling his brain. sungchan was certain he knows exactly how you’d moan, he’s pretty much perfected the fantasy in his head.

each time you told him about one of your friends, sungchan entertained the thought in his head but it always faded quickly, he was too awestruck over you. sungchan felt pussy drunk without ever even fucking you. he was sure things would get better if he just had you once, but he never felt like it was something he should bring upm not wanting to cause any discomfort or awkwardness in your friendship. the last time one of your friends showed interest in sungchan and he shot them down he promised himself he’d at least try with the next one, just to see if he could get his mind to focus on something that wasn’t you, he didn’t think it would work but he was sure it wouldn’t hurt to try.

that’s when sungchan met yujin, that very night that you were questioning him about being celibate. sungchan wasn’t blind, yujin was gorgeous but she was suffering the same fate that the rest of your friends did, she wasn’t you. sungchan could have hit himself for thinking it right away without even attempting to get to know her, so he gave it a chance. later that night

when you messaged sungchan saying yujin thought he was cute, he entertained it, told you it was okay for you to pass along his number to her and he actually spoke to her. he still found you creeping into his thoughts when he wrapped his hand around his cock that night, but that was just a work in progress, he was sure he would get past it once he spoke to her more.

he didn’t.

despite speaking to yujin none stop, her always being the second contact in his messaging app; you being the first due to your chat being pinned, sungchan still spent every single night thinking about you. he’d end phone calls with yujin and lay in bed to fall asleep and begin to think about you, how pretty you must look laying in your own bed right now and how soaked you’d be if you were touching yourself too. sungchan would give anything to have even the smallest taste of you on his tongue. he was beginning to think he really was a perv.

it took sungchan around two weeks to ask yujin to go out with him, he couldn’t deny that he wasn’t concerned about going out with her and being completely uninterested in her due to his thoughts being preoccupied with you. yet he still went along with it, at least he knew not to be surprised if he was right about his concerns. unsurprisingly to sungchan, he had every right to be concerned.

when he walked into the bar, the same bar he first met yujin at, he spotted her right away. it almost pained him that she was sat in the booth the two of you were in a few weeks before. yujin looked beautiful, and sungchan made sure to tell her the moment he greeted her with a hand barely touching her waist and a small kiss against her cheek.

sungchan listened to yujin attentively, allowing her to talk about what she wished whilst he nodded and added on his own comments every so often. he showed interest in her and made her feel as if he wanted to be there, the only thing was that whilst he physically was there, his mind was miles away. she mentioned your name a few times, smiling as she did, sungchan could tell she was fond of you. it made him feel guilty that he spent their entire date thinking of the way your shirt rode up your stomach earlier on during that day.

when yujin’s fingers touched his arm, sungchan thought about the way your skin felt against his, when she leaned against him he thought about how you unintentionally bury your head in his neck and whine when you’re napping next to him. sungchan was truly mind fucked. maybe the only way he could get out of this rut was to confront it head on, and doing that would mean confessing to you that he’s spent the last year and a half fantasising about fucking you every night and how he can’t even look at another girl without imagining you beneath him instead. so he acted oblivious to the hints yujin was dropping about him returning to her house with her for the night bidded her goodbye, not leaving until she was safe inside of her uber home. once she was, sungchan made his way to yours.

sungchan could freely admit that he wasn’t the smartest person in the world, he had his slightly more dense moments and showing up at your home unannounced at 11pm on a friday night was definitely one of them. he hadn’t planned how what he was going to say to you, telling you he couldn’t date anyone because he was too obsessed with the idea of having sex with you seemed too forward, and completely inappropriate.

he had no plan in his head when he knocked on your front door and even if he did, it would have slipped from his mind the moment you opened your door.

“sungchan?”

“is that my shirt?” you looked down at the oversized shirt that adorned your body.

“yes” that factor made everything seem one hundred times worse for sungchan. you stepped aside to allow him to enter your house, shutting the door behind him once he stepped inside “what are you doing here so late? didn’t you have a date with yujin?”

“that’s why i’m here” you cocked your head to the side, locking your front door before walking into your living room, sungchan sat down beside you before turning to you.

“are you okay?” you could feel the stress radiating off of him, he wasn’t as good at masking his emotions as he thought he was.

“i just wanted to talk to you abut something” sungchan felt his hands dampen, sweat forming as he clasped them together. you watched him intently, wondering what could be so important that hed show up at your house so late at night completely unannounced. sungchan shifted himself a few times, having already felt his cock pressing against his thigh due to the clothing you were wearing “i wanted to talk to you about me going on a date with your friend, and why i kept rejecting your other friends. you nodded, leaning back against the sofa. sungchan’s eyes darted to the way his shirt rode up your thigh, exposing more of your skin to him.

“finally”

“yujin is really sweet, i had a nice time with her tonight and i’ve enjoyed getting to know her and i do think maybe something could happen between the two of us but not right now”

“why not?” because i desperately want to have sex with you?

“because i feel like my, sexual intentions, are with someone else and i can’t seem to get them away from. that person” you hummed at him, leg crossing over the other as you looked at him. sungchan seemed to be in genuinely agony over this.

“have you had sex with them?”

“no”

“do they know you want to have sex with them?”

“no?”

“the only thing i can suggest is bringing it up to them, maybe if you talk to them and the two of you agree to it, you can just fuck it out of your system” you paused for a second, sungchan had spent a little too long staring down at his hands “who is it?” he looked at you, within seconds you could feel read the guilt on his face. you felt your eyes widen and sungchan panicked, quickly realising that you had caught on “you’re serious?”

“yeah” he breathed out, worried about how you would react.

“how the hell did that happen?”

“i don’t know it just, happened” sungchan felt his life flash before his eyes, he could have just ruined his entire friendship with you because he couldn’t stop himself from thinking with his dick “please don’t hate me i know it’s stupid and i know i shouldn’t think those things about you but it just happened and i promise i didn’t mean for it to”

“i don’t hate you” you laughed at the worry in his voice, narrowing your eyes at him “it just took me by surprise i never expected you to want to fuck me sungchan, we’ve known eachother for so long it never crossed my mind” he parted his lips to speak but stopped himself when you continued “i’m not against the idea of having sex with you sungchan, but i don’t think we should do it tonight” sungchan felt his cock throb beneath his briefs, he gulped again “i need time to prepare at least, let me sit on it for a few days and i’ll get back to you, okay?”

“take as long as you need” he breathed out.

“do you want to stay over? it’s getting late and i don’t mind”

“i should head home, i think i’ll sleep better there tonight” there was an uncomfortable look on his face as he stood up, you held back a laugh as you realised why he was acting so awkward. you opted against saying anything, to him, not wanting him to feel worse than he already did. sungchan left your home already knowing what he was going to do the moment he reached his house and he was grateful that it wasn’t too far away, the way his cock was throbbing in his pants was becoming almost painful to deal with. sungchan unapologetically jerked off before bed that night, he took a shower the moment he got home and found his hand wrapped around leaking cock immediately. he tugged at himself his other hand resting flat against the wall as the hot water ran over his body, he groaned as he brought himself closer to the edge. his eyes shut as images of you filled his mind, he would’ve given anything to take you in his shirt, to bend you over your kitchen counter and fuck you whilst you desperately cried out his name and told him how good he felt inside of you. he wanted to be the reason you’d be shaking and crying as you came and he was determined to be.

the following few days were a daze for sungchan, he knew you technically hadn’t said yes yet and he would respect you if you decided that you didn’t want to do it. but he was in agony waiting for your response, he didn’t bring it up to you, he waited for you to bring it up to him and he almost wet himself the moment you messaged him about it.

you can come over if you want tonight, we can talk about it and set some ground rules. i also brought something pretty to wear ehe.

sungchan was incredibly quick to respond, all shame left his body the moment he saw your message. you audibly laughed to yourself at how quickly you received his response, your fingers locking your phone as you dropped it beside your body.

you had found the past few days to be enlightening for you, your feelings toward sungchan shifted slightly the more you thought about him. prior to the conversation you had with sungchan, you hadn’t thought much about him physically. he was incredibly handsome, you’d experienced first hand watching him grow into his features and develop his physical maturity, you’d spent countless days watching him work out and even more days watching him do stupid shit that he always gets embarrassed over. your relationship with sungchan was something you cherished and you couldn’t deny your worries that came with the possibility of ruining that.

yet, you continued to entertain the thought of falling into bed with him. the more you thought about it, the more you craved to experience it, even if it did only happen once. sungchan seemed desperate to have you, the fact he couldn’t look at another girl in that way without thinking about you instead left a taste in your mouth. you found yourself unfathomably horny over the fact he was so set on you, you could barely imagine the amount of times he must’ve gotten off to you and that made it worse for you. it wasn’t kind of you to leave him sitting on it for a few days, considering you made your decision rather quickly, but you wanted to wait until you were completely sure and at this point you were sure that you were.

the wait for sungchan to turn up to your home later into the night felt longer that needed, once he messaged you saying he was on his way you were sat on your sofa, feet tapping against the floor and your fingers fiddling with one another. you weren’t sure why you had become so nervous to see him, but your heart seemingly fell to your stomach the moment he knocked on your front door.

you smiled at him as you opened the door, sungchan instantly took in the fact you were wearing his shirt again. he wondered how the last few days were for you, if you’d laid down and touched yourself whilst wearing it. sungchan was embarrassingly worked up without even stepping foot into your house. you led him to your bedroom rather than your living room, it was a place sungchan had been in countless times before, he’d fallen asleep in your bed just as many times as he’d fallen asleep in hs own, but something about it was more nerve inducing this time around. he watched as you sat on the edge of your bed, inviting him to sit beside you. he closed your bedroom door behind him and ran his hand through his hair before taking a seat next to you.

“i thought about it really hard over the past few days because i really don’t want this to cause anything bad in our friendship and i’d hate for things to be weird between us” sungchan took in the fact you seemed just as nervous as he was, your eyes trained solely on your fingers that sat in your lap “but ultimately i decided i think it would be okay for the two of us to, well, have sex. but i want to set down some rules just so theres no awkwardness or anything” sungchan nodded as you spoke, smiling gently to you when you finally looked up at him.

“i had a few things too, but you can go first”

“honestly my main rule is that there has to be protection involved but i kind of forgot to tell you that so i brought some condoms earlier today”

“i brought some with me”

“the other ones i had was that we shouldn’t kiss, we shouldn’t use each others names and i don’t think we should make eye contact” sungchan had to agree, especially with the latter. he’d spent far too long imagining how you’d look whilst taking his cock and he feared actually seeing your face when you do would destroy him as a person, inside and out “is there anything you’d like to add?”

“there is something, but it’s not really a rule?” you looked at him, curiosity in your eyes.

“what is it?” sungchan tried to ignore how gentle your tone was as you spoke to him. the softness of your voice seemed almost sick in the context the two of you were in.

“the only concern i really have is that” he paused, unsure on how to even begin to phrase his worries “i’m on the bigger side and i don’t want to accidentally hurt you because it doesn’t, fit” your eyes widened as he spoke, your blood running cold as you took in his words. you gulped before you spoke, shifting a little due to the sudden throb that came from your clit.

“show me”

“right now?” you nodded at him, genuinely wanting to see. you held his arm and pushed him gently so he could stand up, you pulled him to stand in front of you before looking up at him.

“can i?” asking softly if you could see it for yourself, sungchan let out a shaky breath as he nodded and watched you. you focused on what was in front of you, your fingers pushing under the waistband of his pants. you were slow to push them down his legs, his briefs dragging down with them. he watched as your eyes widened at the sight of his cock springing out, your lips parting as his tip leaked. your hands let his pants fall to his ankles, fingers lifting up his shirt so you could see him properly. he replaced your hand, holding his shirt up as you focused on his cock.

sungchan had never felt as vulnerable as he did in that moment, your face so close to his cock, your eyes laced with interest whilst your thighs pressed against each other. he wished he could know what was going on in your head, he wanted nothing more than to know exactly what you were thinking.

“can i touch you sungchan?” the last thing in this world that sungchan trusted was his voice, he had to hold back an almost pathetic whimper at your question, instead he breathed out a yes. he didn’t take his eyes off of what you were doing, when your hand reached out to wrap around his cock sungchan felt his knees buckle from under him. you slowly dragged your hand from the base up to the head of his cock, your thumb brushing over his tip where his precum seeped out of before you pushed your hand back down his cock. his precum caused him to become slicker, your hand moving more freely over his cock because of it.

“you’re right you’re so big” sungchan groaned, he physically couldn’t hold himself back from doing so. hearing you say something so crude to him, something he had basically dreamt of at that point broke down a piece of self control inside of him. you squeezed your hand tighter around his cock, without thinking too much about it in the moment you leant forward and let your tongue brush across his tip. sungchan’s knuckles had already began to turn white at that point, his hands balled into fists as his body betrayed him. more precum seeped from him the more you touched him, he felt useless when he realised just how much he was struggling to stand up.

things weren’t going as smooth for you either, hearing him express concerns over having a big cock only caused your panties to dampen and seeing it for yourself, how it weighed itself down because of its weight made the throb of your cunt worse. your mouthed watered when you took him into your hand and felt how heavy he was, you craved to taste him on your tongue just once and he didn’t disappoint. he melted against your tongue and the way he groaned almost caused you to whimper in return.

“i’ll cum so fucking fast if you suck me off” sungchan’s confession caused you to look up at him, that was a mistake on sungchan’s part. your wide eyes and parted lips only caused him pain, the hand you had around his cock didn’t help that at all either. there was still part of you that wanted to tease him for how he was acting but you held yourself back, an overwhelming part of you being too dumbfound to even attempt to anyway. you released his cock from your grip, doing so by slowly dragging it back to the top and letting it slip off of him, sungchan took in a shaky deep breath when you done so.

you watched as he pulled his shirt over his head, your eyes trained on his muscles as he done so. sungchan’s body was something he took pride in and you were incredibly proud of him for it, but this was the first time you had looked at him and wanted to feel him pressed against you. it was almost too easy to imagine the way his abs would flex against your back as he took you from behind or how his arms would flex as he fucked you against the wall. it pained you to think just how good he would feel inside of you. sungchan being completely bare in front of you felt like a fever dream, you almost felt bad for the fact you had planned to not be completely naked. yet your guilt turned to embarrassment when you stood up. somehow the two of you had swapped positions, sungchan had sat on the edge of your bed once you stood up, his bare body on show to you as you shyly stood in front of him. “i’m not completely naked under this, i think i mentioned it in the text”

“you said you brought something pretty to wear” sungchan remembered, how could he forget? he couldn’t wait to see what you had worn underneath his shirt but he also couldn’t help but notice the way your fingers fiddled with the hem of the shirt and your breathing became shaky “are you okay?”

“yeah it just feels a little embarrassing now” you laughed to yourself, lifting your head to look at sungchan. despite the fact his cock was out, literally, there was no awkwardness in the room and that was something you were both grateful for. there was a small smile on sungchan’s face, one you could spot from a mile away “don’t you dare tease me right now i just had your cock in my mouth” sungchan breathed out a laugh, finding comfort in the fact you were still yourself.

“if it helps you feel better, i can’t wait to see what you brought to wear, i already know it’ll make me want to fuck you ever more” you gulped at his words, finally letting yourself bring his shirt over your head. you avoided his eyes for multiple reasons once his shirt hit the floor. sungchan felt his cock throb just at the sight of you “you always looked so pretty in baby blue”

“i remember you saying” you stepped toward him, your eyes finally falling to his face as you watched him take you in.

“i get to fuck you in this?” sungchan groaned without meaning to, his eyes not leaving the thin, see through fabric of the lingerie that stuck to your body. his eyes settled on your cleavage, the material keeping nothing covered as your nipples poked through it. he reached his hands out to grab your hips, wanting to feel your skin under his touch “you look so good” he groaned again, sungchan had never experienced cumming untouched before but if anyone was to do it to him he knew it would be you.

he let his hand fall to your thigh, his fingers tracing your bare skin as he brought them closer to your core. he could feel how hot you were, the lightest touches against your lace clad core let him feel how drenched you already were. your hands fell to his shoulders, your fingers pressing into his muscles.

“i uh, prepped myself before you came over” sungchan swallowed hard hearing you say that, you did touch yourself whilst wearing his shirt. he couldn’t help but wonder if you used your fingers or if you used a toy, maybe a vibrator to work yourself up. he couldn’t bring himself to think of you fucking yourself with a dildo to the thought of him.

“because of the no eye contact thing” sungchan started, his fingers still softly dancing over your core. his eyes met yours and it almost felt as if he was defying the rule already “do you want it from behind” you nodded, breathing out a shaky please as he touched you. “you’ll tell me if it’s too much or if it hurts, right?”

“of course” his concern warmed your heart, sungchan desperately wanted to feel your walls trap his cock inside of you but he care more about your wellbeing to want to bring pain to you just to get that. he could never hurt you.

after a brief moment you stood back, watching as he stood up before you crawled onto the bed. you didn’t have it in you to look at him, instead your settled yourself with your head resting against your pillow and your arms hooked under neath it, holding it in your arms as you laid on your stomach. sungchan dug into his backpack for his pack of condoms, throwing them onto your bedside table after taking one out. he tried not to think too much as he moved back toward your bed, he settled himself on his knees before he touched your skin. he helped you lift your ass into the air, your knees bent and pressed into your mattress as your arched your back. he knelt up and pressed against your back lightly, causing you to arch it a little more before he moved back to the condom in his hand.

the wrapped found itself discarded onto your bedroom floor as he held the condom, he was careful to roll it onto him, breathing heavily as his hand brushed over his cock. he ran his hand over himself a few times before he let go, moving to focus on you. sungchan was careful to push aside the thin fabric of your lingerie, your cunt being exposed to him made his mouth water. he had to restrain himself from pressing his face against you and having you fill every corner of his mouth. he knew there were more pressing matters too attend to, it didn’t help that he could see how wet you were, your slick cunt was so inviting to him. he sighed when he wrapped his hand around his cock, he had to close his eyes when he pressed his tip against your clit. your body jumped and you let out a quiet whimper into the pillow.

“are you ready?” he spoke softly to you, not moving until he heard an audible answer.

“im ready” sungchan squeezed your thigh with his free hand as he guided himself down your slit, the already slick condom seeming to be impossibly soaked by now.

sungchan had to suck in a deep breath when he felt your hole with the head of his cock, he swallowed and stared down at where you two were about to meet as he slowly eased himself into you. he heard you gasp and he paused once the tip of his cock was inside of you, he had to dig his fingers into your hips just to ground himself for a few moments. when he pushed himself deeper into you he felt as if he was going to explode, he stilled his hips and moaned without meaning to. he had to bite back more sounds before he could speak to you.

“does it feel okay?” his voice was shaky, your walls seemed to tighten around him as he spoke to you. it took a few moments for you to respond.

“you feel so fucking good sungchan”

not saying each other’s names? you broke that rule a lot faster than you had expected.

your voice was nothing but a broken moan, your cunt pulling him further into you “i wanna feel all of you, i can take it” sungchan hadn’t expected you to become so desperate, he never expected to hear you begging to take all of him. he knew the idea of him lasting long was far gone out of the window by now.

he gave you what you wanted, easing the rest of himself into you before stilling again, wanting to be sure you could handle it before he pulled out and thrusted slowly back into you. as he built up his pace, he dropped his fingers underneath your body and attached them to your clit. his thrusts becoming a little harder and more frequently as he heard you whine into your pillow.

sungchan hated the fact you were trying to keep yourself quiet, he craved to hear each and ever depraved moan that was threatening to leave you as he fucked you. you drove him insane and he was determined to have you crying out for him. so he sped his fingers up on your clit, he leaned closer to your body and angled his hips so he could reach deeper inside of you. the first cry from your lips had sungchan biting back a whine, the way you sounded shot through his body and went straight to his cock. he held your hips tighter as he pulled your ass back against him, needing to hear it again and again.

but sungchan needed more. he needed to see you, he needed to watch your pretty face contort as you took him deep inside of you and let him explore depths of you that no one ever had before. so despite his better judgement he leaned over your body, his chest pressing against your back as he took your hair in his hand and pressed the side of your head against your pillow, you whimpered at the sudden roughness of his action,s how his demeanour seemed to shift from his previous gentle one.

“let me see you” he spoke deeply into your ear, his hips still bucking against yours “need to see your pretty face when you cum” your only response was your eyes shutting and your lips letting out a desperate please. begging was something sungchan realised you done a lot of, whether you meant to or not. he wasn’t going to complain, but he knew it was something he needed to hear more of.

pulling out of you had you both whimpering for a moment, both of you feeling empty and bare as he turned you over so you were laying on your back. your eyes were dazed as you looked at him, your chest rising heavily as you looked up at him.

no eye contact? sungchan almost laughed as he broke your rule, he needed to see you and he couldn’t stop himself from letting that happen.

sungchan was desperate to get back inside of you, he hooked his hand around the crotch of your panties and tore them off of you before he held your thighs apart. he found your gasp to be amusing as he broke them, not giving you time to say anything about it before he was sinking back into your heat. he let his head fall back as you sucked him back in, your mouth dried up as you watched his abs tense. you clenched a little tighter around him whilst looking at him, unable to fathom just how attractive he was.

when sungchan looked down at you again he was a wreck, his hips setting a pace that had both of your minds free of any thought at all. he couldn’t help but fuck you the way that he did, rough, deep thrusts that had your eyes rolling back and your voice breaking. eventually he leaned down, his forearms resting either side of your head as he fucked into you. he watched your face as you took him deeper into your cunt, he watched the way you struggled to keep your eyes open and how your lips couldn’t shut from how much you were crying out for him. he felt as if he was blessed being able to see you like this, you looked and sounded far better than he had ever imagined and he knew those things would be etched into his mind forever.

his orgasm chased him rapidly, he ended up burying his head in your neck, moaning into your skin when he felt your nails dig into his back. you breathed out his name followed by more and more pleads, all of it together left sungchan bucking his hips against yours in a rushed and uncontrolled way. both of you chasing your orgasms because of the way that it felt. he had never had sex in such a desperate way before and he loved it, he became obsessed with how pathetically needy you were for him too and he knew that his orgasm would hit even harder because of it.

sungchan barely lifted his body off of yours, his hand pushing between the two of you so his fingers could find your clit. him finishing was great but he had to make you cum, he needed to do it. so he did, his fingers rubbed your clit in a sloppy manner but it done everything for you when it was combined with his thrusts into you, your body withered under him as you babbled about being close and needing to cum, the moment he felt you still under him and cry out his name again he knew he had brought you to where you needed to be. he followed suit barely moments after. your name falling from his lips in a pathetic whine as he came inside of the condom.

it took both of you a few moments to even attempt to regain your breaths, your bodies stuck to one another until he finally pulled out of you and laid beside you, he instinctively pulled you against him.

“you can stay the night” you spoke, your head resting against his chest, a sleepy tone in your voice as you listened to his heart beat. your fingers laced through his as they sat against his stomach, your voice breaking the silence again as you spoke before he could say anything “please stay the night” sungchan couldn’t ignore how weak you sounded, he simply wrapped his arm tighter around your waist and kept you close to him, lips pressing against your head.

“i’m not going anywhere”.

the following few days with sungchan seemed as normal as ever, despite the fact you were both silently suffering over one another, you both kept it to yourselves. you spoke normally, neither of you bringing up what had occurred that night. sungchan had already accepted the fact having sex with you didn’t fix his problem, it only made it worse. he thought the no eye contact rule was the most important one you laid out but it seemed to be the easiest to break, he shouldn’t have broken it. all he was stuck with was the image of you laying under him, taking his cock with your eyes squeezed shut and your lips parted as the sweetest sounds sungchan had ever heard fell from them, he swore he could still feel your nails digging into his skin as you cried about being close.

yet, he knew he had to try. maybe seeing yujin again would help him, he knew he was being a little more than just delusional by assuming it but he didn’t see the harm in trying. he never told you about the fact he was going over to her home that night, in fact he wasn’t even aware that yujin told you. he wasn’t sure why he had kept it from you, he had no real reason to but something inside of him felt guilty over it.

yujin had told you as soon as sungchan messaged her, an almost overexcited text from her about him asking to come over later that night appeared on your phone screen and you responded to her with just as much excitement only to close your phone as your felt your heart sink. having sex with sungchan was probably the worst idea you could have ever had, but you didn’t regret it. you craved for it to happen again, to fall into bed with him and feel him rock into you over and over again whilst telling you how perfect you were. it was selfish to think of him in that light, to want him all for yourself after sending him to your friend. the best thing you could do was preoccupy yourself for the night to try to ignore the fact it was likely that he’d have her the way he had you only a few nights prior, shaking the thought out of your head was agony but you tried your best.

it only came rushing back to you when you heard a rushed knock at your door, it was a little past 10pm and you knew there was only one person who would randomly show up at your door so late at night. you knew the chances of sungchan standing there was low but you couldn’t help but hope it was him. looking through the small peephole in your door felt like the best thing to do, not wanting to open the door to just anyone. once you caught sight of sungchan you felt your body freeze, it took a few seconds for you to let him in, your fingers fiddling with the lock to try and get it to open.

neither of you said a word as you opened the door, it only took a second for sungchan to step inside of your house, close the door and have you pressed against the wall. he kissed you for the first time.

no kissing? rule broken.

his arms wrapping around your waist as he held you between himself and the wall. your arms instantly wrapped around his neck as you accepted him, fingers pushing into his hair.

“i need you so fucking bad” he only broke the kiss for a moment, speaking quickly as he held you impossibly tighter against him.

“please” your plea was nothing but a broken whimper. you let him lead you to your bedroom and lay you down, letting him strip you off and do what he had been dreaming of all day. it almost overwhelmed you to think that’s how you ended up in the position you two were in, his bare cock stretching out your walls as you struggle to rock against him.

protection? the final rule had broken far too quickly and neither of you were apologetic about it.

“sungchan please i’m so close” you whimpered, his fingers digging harder into your hips as

you leaned down, your chest pressed against his as your eyes shut. you felt his knees lift beneath you as he bucked his hips up against yours, you cried out as his arms wrapped around your waist. your hands landed either side of his head on your bed, eyes struggling to open and focus on him. sungchan didn’t give you time to before he leant up to kiss you, his head falling back against the bed, pulling you down with him whilst catching your lips with his. you moaned into the kiss, your walls squeezing his cock tightly as you took him over and over again.

there was a faint buzzing sound coming from sungchan’s phone on your nightstand, the lit screen not being close to enough to pull the two of you away from each other.

you laid against sungchan’s chest, your eyes closing once again as you felt his fingers slowly run up and down your back. you found yourself cuddling closer into him, eyes opening to see his adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped. his cock was still nestled inside of you as you both laid there, nothing but deep breaths could be heard in the room until you heard your phone ding, a text message coming through. sungchan’s arms tightened around you as you tried to lift yourself up, he kept you pressed against his chest as he lifted himself to sit up instead, the two of your bodies still connected.

he picked up your phone and handed it to you, your head resting against his shoulder as he took your phone from him and unlocked it to read the messages on your lock screen. your eyes scanned the messages from yujin, sungchan’s fingers still rubbing your skin as you took in the words. her messages began as curiosity, asking if you knew where sungchan was because he’d left her house abruptly, they changed to concern as she worried if something had happened to cause him to rush off but they seemed to end in anger, her tone changing as she realised he may just not wanted to be with her.

he didn’t stand me up, he left half way through and i think that’s worse lol, i know he’s your best friend but he can go fuck himself, stupid prick. you winced as you read it, sungchan only sighed out an apology into your hair.

“how do i tell her i’m not interested?” he peaked over at his phone to see the missed call notification on his screen. you placed your phone back down and lifted yourself up to look at him, fingers digging into his shoulders as you whimpered when his cock moved inside of you. you could only smile lightly at sungchan, his gentle eyes focused on your face as he seemed genuinely apologetic for causing such an awkward situation between you and your friend.

“you’re not?” sungchan breathed out a laugh, fingers creeping a little higher up your skin. he shook his head “i don’t want her to be upset”

“do you want me to date her?” you narrowed your eyes at him for a moment.

“of course not” he leaned forward, his lips pressing softly against your skin, only touching the corner of yours. he dropped his hands down to your ass, pulling you closer against him as he squeezed it. a moan slipped from you as you moved on his cock again, nails pressing into his skin. his voice was deep as he spoke to you, a shaky undertone taking ahold of it.

“then focus on me instead, we can sort her out later”.

#✧ melody posts #riize smut #sungchan smut #riize sungchan smut

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phone4pills · 2 months ago

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SHARED A SOUL dad!Chris

if you have daddy issues, this one may hurt a little but no other warnings

Chris followed the trail of hushed giggles down the hallway into the living room where Nick and Matt were opening a package from Lego. You sat next to Nick, reading the back of the box that showed all of the pieces and told you more about the Lego characters. Your glance panned up to find your daughter toddling swiftly across the kitchen, Chris trailing behind her.

You turned to Matt, who was already grinning at the sight while Nick whipped out his phone to record, before your head spun back around to face the hilarious scene. Chris’ eyes caught your gaze, almost pleading for your assistance as your daughter stood at the far of the table with a vlog camera in her hands. A devious smirk settled on her lips, teasing Chris who waited at the other end of the table with heavy breaths.

He took off his hat for a second, wiping the sweat on his forehead before placing it back over his brown waves. “Daddy tired?” The little girl opposite him cooed, causing the laughter you tried so hard to force under the surface to boil angrily and bubble up your throat. Still you bit your lip, wanting to let it play out.

Chris’ lips however, pursed tightly as he exhaled a harsh breath from his nose. “C’mon baby girl, you know me and your uncles need that to film our video.” She nodded innocently, despite her grip only becoming more intense. “And if you give it back… you can get a sweet.” The second that last word left his mouth, he darted around the table, reaching out for the girl. But he missed as she quickly ran under the table, her minuscule figure making just the perfect size for her to fit underneath without hitting her head.

Chris huffed, gritting his teeth before he descended onto all four and crawled after her. By now, the whole room had erupted with laughter from you, Nick and Matt. All three of you struggled to catch your breath as you watch the scene unfold. You never imagine the father of your child crawling under a table behind her. You never imagined he’d struggle to keep up with her little legs that only took her a few metres a minute.

Her little chuckles echoed through the room as he snuck away from her Dad, running towards you, grabbing onto your shin with one hand, still holding the camera in the other. She laid her head on your knee, wheezing slightly from all the running.

Within a few seconds, Chris was up again, he snuck behind your daughter, tickling her waist to surprise her. She jerked about as giggled bubbled out of her throat before Chris picked her up by the armpits and carried her to the sofa. He placed her down on the end, next to Matt and kneeled down in front of her. “Okay, I got ya. Can I have the camera back?”

She pouted, her teensy fingers loosening up on the tripod little by little until she let go so it dropped on her lap. He took it gently, giving her hair a ruffle before kissing her face repeatedly so it scrunched up. And she couldn’t help but smile with each peck. Neither could you, he was so perfect.

Every day she got older, you only saw more and more of Chris in her, like they shared a soul. Maybe it was why you loved her so much. Because she was such a huge chunk of the man you were in love with. The man you were infatuated with. And you wondered if when he stared into her blue eyes, he saw himself for a second as though he were looking into a mirror.

By the time you had snapped out of your trance, the boys were already setting up at the kitchen table while your little girl sat on it, fiddling with Matt’s keychain. You pulled your phone out of your pocket, snapping a quick picture before sending it to Mary Lou. Then you turned off your phone and got up, ready to help the triplets film their video.

Thanks for reading, I hope your enjoyed. Also we reached 300 followers a day or so ago so thank you guys so much!

I hate to break the news that I’ll be changing my theme soon. Let me know if you guys think it’s a bad idea. Love you guys… not as much as I love dad!Chris. If you want more you can request or go comment on my MASTERLIST.

- ©phone4pills

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rubysunnday · 10 months ago

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to leave you behind

a/n: let's not talk about how long its been or the fact this is likely (maybe) the last time i'll write for s&b...

summary: reader takes jurda parem instead of nina and kaz is losing it

To Y/N, they'd all accepted their imminent deaths far too easily. They'd done the impossible, they'd broken into the Ice Court. They were not about to die in a tank, a few hundred metres from the Ferolind and freedom.

She glanced over at Kaz. They'd hardly spoken since he'd fainted in the prison wagon. He'd been avoiding her gaze whenever they'd been together and barely acknowledging her existence.

Y/N was growing tired of it. She loved him, she'd come to accept that truth whilst wafting through the crowds at the Ice Court. Perhaps, deep down, hidden and suppressed, he loved her too.

But she had been waiting for too long. Her heart was aching and her mind was tired of the not knowing, of the constant hatred and love all at once.

Y/N looked from Kaz to the rest of their group. She loved them all in different ways. She trusted them all and knew that she'd gladly die for them all.

Which made the next decision that bit easier.

She turned to Kuwei. He noticed her gaze and looked back at her. Y/N didn't speak. The boys eyes widened.

"You don't understand -"

"I understand, Kuwei," Y/N said softly.

Kuwei reached into his pocket and pulled out the little leather pouch that had begun this whole heist.

"Y/N, what are you -" Kaz trailed off as his eyes fell upon the pouch, its rim stained with a rust-coloured powder.

"You're all out of tricks, Kaz," Y/N said, taking the pouch from Kuwei. She shrugged, a sad smile on her face. "What else is there?"

"No, Y/N, don't be ridiculous," Inej warned.

"Personally I think this is my greatest idea yet," Y/N replied, trying to hide her shaking hands. "Besides, not everyone gets addicted after the first dose."

"You can't risk it, Y/N!" Inej exclaimed.

"No, Y/N, she's right, it's not worth it," Nina said. "I'll do it."

"No," Matthias said, shaking his head furiously.

Y/N laughed tiredly. "I have no one to fight for me, Nina," she said softly, trying not to look at Kaz. "You do."

The voice echoed out from amongst the Fjerdan ranks, counting down, getting ever closer to the end. Y/N took a deep breath in. She mentally counted to three and then turned to look at Kaz.

She was aware of everyone else around them trying not to look. Y/N shifted her weight from right to left, bringing herself closer to Kaz. Their elbow brushed.

Y/N raised her hand and gently placed it against Kaz's cheek. She let her thumb trail over his cheekbone. He flinched, his eyes closing tightly. Y/N swallowed the disappointment.

"I expect ten percent of your cut for this, Kaz," she whispered.

Before anyone could realise what was happening, before Kaz could ground himself back into reality, Y/N tipped the parem into her mouth, forcing herself to swallow it in one stodgy swallow.

Instantly, her blood began to thrum, power surging through it, the fire making it grow hotter. She could hear her heartbeat, pounding away over and over and over again. Her cheeks were burning, sweat was running down the back of her neck.

Her fire was screaming to be released. All it needed was one spark.

No.

It didn't need any spark.

Y/N could feel it at her fingertips. It throbbed.

Her gaze moved across the Fjerdan soldiers. She could feel the gunpowder waiting to be lit. She could hear the pistols being loaded and cocked. She could feel the flicker of the flames dancing off the torches they held.

She tilted her head to the left. She focused her gaze on a bomb filled with gun powder.

Her fingers snapped. The fire shot across the space between them and hit the fuse, burning it up in seconds.

The bomb exploded.

Orange light lit up her face, she could feel the heat burning her skin. It was thrilling.

Everything was burning around her and Y/N could still feel fire burning through her veins, desperate to be released into the night.

Y/N took a deep breath in, letting the cold air burning her nose as she did so. As she exhaled, fire flowed from her fingers, lighting up the sky as it soared across and over the soldiers, sending them all scattering to the sides and into the water.

"Drive," Y/N said softly, looking ahead, staring at the fire as it burnt its way along the ground.

Kaz looked at her, a hint of fear in his eyes.

In the middle of the True Sea, there was no fire. Y/N's desire to burn the whole world to the ground had faded to a dull ache. Instead, it'd been replaced be a reluctant sense of acceptance for what was to come.

She was sat on the main deck of the boat, her legs dangling over the edge. It was quiet out here. Everyone seemed to be avoiding her and, when they did run into her, giving her pitiful looks.

Y/N sighed, tilting her head back, letting the ocean spray hit her skin.

"I'm presuming you can't just burn it out your system."

She didn't even react. "No. I'll be burning myself from the inside out."

Kaz stepped forward and pivoted on his heel so he had his back to the railing. He leant backwards, holding his cane loosely in his hand.

"I won't take anymore," Y/N said quietly.

"I wasn't going to mention it," Kaz replied.

"Then why are you here?" Y/N asked, turning her head so that she was looking at him.

Kaz didn't speak. He didn't acknowledge that Y/N had spoken for a while. Eventually, he looked down at her.

"I wanted to talk before it begun."

Y/N nodded, turning back to look at the water churning as they passed. "I fear you're too late."

Kaz glanced down. Her hand rested on the railings, shaking even as it sat there.

As the sun rose, the aches set in. Everything hurt, from her jaw to her toes. All Y/N could do was lie there, shaking, trying not to cry. Inej sat with her for a few hours, her cold fingers combing through her hair, massaging the back of her neck.

Nina, they had decided, was going to be a last resort. If she absolutely had to, she would lower Y/N's heartbeat enough that she went into a coma, allowing her body to work through the drug without causing her too much pain.

Every candle on the ship had been extinguished. Y/N could feel them burning even if they were the other end of the ship from her.

A few hours later, her skin began to burn. She lay on the bed, wearing the thinnest shirt she could find, unable to tolerate anything else touching her. All the blankets had been thrown to the side and her shirt was soaked in sweat. Y/N kept her eyes shut, trying to fall asleep, trying to pretend that what was happening to her wasn't happening.

When the tremors began, Matthias was sat beside her. In her delirous state she'd vaguely realised that they were all taking turns to sit with her, to watch her.

They're waiting for you to die.

"Do you need me to get Nina?" Matthias asked, gently dabbing her sweat covered forehead with a wet cloth.

Y/N shook her head. "No... not, not yet."

"Do you -"

"No," Y/N said, clutching her hands into fists. "No, I can't fall down into it, I can't Matthias, I can't."

"Okay, okay," Matthias whispered, dipping the cloth back into the water and then placing it back on her forehead.

Y/N didn't remember Matthias leaving. One minute he was next to her, the next he was gone and -

"Kaz?" Y/N whispered, turning her head to look at him.

"Y/N."

He'd undressed to just his shirt sleeves, rolling them up to his elbows. He still had his gloves on and his cane was resting against the wall next to him. But he was there.

"Why... what -"

"We're taking turns," Kaz said, his voice hoarse and quiet. "It was mine."

Y/N smiled but, as she did so, the aches overwhelmed her. Her bones felt like they might burst through her skin and her head was pounding, being squeezed through a vice. Her skin was burning, her face was on fire.

She groaned, arching her back as she tried to escape the pain, to free her sweat covered back from the mattress.

A cold hand landed on her arm, pushing her back onto the bed. Y/N groaned, tears rolling down her cheeks. Her heart was pounding, she could hear it.

"Kaz, I can't - can't do this, I can't -"

"Don't give up," Kaz said, leaning forward. His hands were bare, holding her arm down and combing through her hair. "Don't, promise me."

"I can't, Kaz, I can't," Y/N sobbed. "Please, please just -"

"No, don't you dare," Kaz replied, his voice firm. "You're not dying on my watch, Y/N."

Y/N cried, her back arching again, her nails digging into her palm.

The door opened. Kaz looked over, watching as Nina quietly walked in.

"I could hear her heartbeat getting faster," Nina replied, shutting the door behind her. "I wanted to check..."

Kaz looked back at Y/N. He turned to Nina. "Please, Zenik," he said quietly. "Just do it."

Nina stepped forward and sat on the edge of the bed. She took her wrist and pressed her fingers to her pulse point.

"Kaz," Y/N said, whimpering. "Kaz?"

"I'm here," he said, leaning forward. "I'm here."

"Stay till the end," she whispered, her tremors slowing down, her eyes growing unfocused.

"Y/N -"

"Promise me."

"I promise you," Kaz whispered, hand stroking her hair back from her face. He watched her eyes close as Nina gradually slowed her heart down. Y/N's eyes closed and her grip on Kaz's hand weakened, her body going limp as Nina put her body into a coma.

Kaz held tight to Y/N's hand. "I'm not going anywhere, Y/N."

#six of crows x reader #shadow and bone #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone imagines #shadow and bone x reader #six of crows #six of crows imagine #six of crows imagines #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #angst #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker imagines #kaz brekker angst

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holllandtrash · 1 year ago

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say don't go | charles leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

based off of taylor swift's 'stay don't go' why'd you have to lead me on? why'd you have to twist the knife? walk away and leave me bleedin'

word count: 5.2k tags/warnings: slight angst, mentions of being disloyal, this is kinda sad, mention of smut i guess but blink and you miss it

You weren’t one to let your past haunt you. It was the past for a reason, it belonged behind you, all you could do was grow into a better version of yourself.

But what the hell were you supposed to do when Charles showed up at your door after six months of silence?

It was a week into December and you were reluctantly putting up Christmas decorations because you were tired of the comments your friends made, telling you to get into the holiday spirit. Now you had the silver tinsel gripped in your hand as Charles stood on your front step, light flurries landing on his coat only to melt immediately after.

It was the middle of the day and you lived in a crowded area, but passersby on the sidewalk and those driving past had no idea there was a Ferrari driver only metres away from them.

But no one would guess that Charles Leclerc would be travelling to Bristol during his holidays.

“What? Were you in the neighbourhood?” You asked, flicking the tinsel off of your hand and shaking off any remnants. You watched it fall to the floor before looking up, “Felt like stopping by?”

“Can I come in?” Charles asked, glancing behind you. Was he looking to see if you had company? If you had moved on? Regardless of what, or who, he was looking for, his shoulders relaxed when he could tell you were alone. All that was behind you was cardboard boxes labelled Christmas.

“Give me three good reasons why I shouldn't shut the door in your face,” your demand was laced with your usual sweet tone, the same one that always intimated Charles because he never knew what to make of it. Never once did you raise your voice, you never yelled, never showed signs of anger. Even when you were annoyed, you always sounded calm.

He sucked in a breath, “Well, it’s cold out.” He chuckled, but when you didn’t see any humour in his words he just nodded and moved on. “I was, in fact, in the neighbourhood- well I was in London, just figured I’d make a quick trip out west.”

Those weren’t good enough reasons and he knew it. You moved to grab the door and Charles reacted by holding his hand out to stop it from shutting, eyes trained on yours.

His cheeks were red, not accustomed to the British winters. He wasn’t wearing mitts and you could see how his hands had responded to the dry air by cracking at the knuckles. His lips trembled, not because he was nervous but because this was probably the coldest his body temperature had dropped to in a long time.

Which had you questioning how long he had been standing outside your door before finally knocking.

“There’s some things I’ve been meaning to say for a while now,” Charles spoke softly and you could see his breath with each word. “And you don’t need to say anything, but I’d love it if you’d listen.”

Maybe you felt bad that he was cold. Maybe you were curious as to what he had to say to you after so long. Maybe part of you still missed him and if these were the last few minutes you’d get with him, you weren’t going to let them pass.

Whatever the reason, you held the door open and he stepped inside. You watched as he ran his fingers through his hair and slid his coat off, hanging it on the empty hook on the wall. Your eyes darted down to the shoes he wore and Charles recognized that look, knowing better than to walk any further with his shoes on. He smiled, sort of, remembering the first time you asked him to take his shoes off when he entered your apartment.

If this was six months ago, you would have had slippers waiting for him to put on, but instead Charles was left to just his socks. You, though, seemed quite cozy. The matching sweats and jumper was only a shade darker than the slippers you wore and Charles almost asked where you purchased the set from, but he held his tongue because now wasn’t the time for casual conversation.

“Tea?” You offered, glancing at the kettle sitting on the stove. It had started whistling only minutes before he showed up but you hadn’t had a second to pour yourself a cup, too caught up in trying to untangle tinsel.

“Don’t want to put you out,” he shook his head, but when you manoeuvred past him to step into the kitchen, he didn’t stop you from grabbing two cups from the cupboard. He watched, standing at a cautious distance, as you made the two drinks the same way you always did.

Charles was brought back to the time he walked into his own flat in Monaco and you were kneeling on the counter, trying to find a suitable cup because all of his mugs were too big and bulky for tea. He held his hand to your back, worried you’d tip backwards, which you didn’t, but you were happy he was there to help you off the counter and greet you with a kiss.

“I’ll invest in new cups,” he said. He never did.

He didn’t like the silence that lingered between you now, probably the first time it ever bothered him, so he cleared his throat, “I like your new place.”

You nodded, “Thank you.”

He glanced around at the decor and spoke up again, “So you’ve been well?”

“You don’t need to pretend to care about how I've been.”

“I do care.”

The slow yet icy stare you gave him as you peered over your shoulder had Charles wondering if showing up here was a good idea. Instead of opening his mouth again, Charles looked at the decorations littered on the floor.

He was drawn towards the open box of ornaments that was placed on the couch. He noticed the tree in the corner, but all you had put up so far was a string of lights. Curious, he looked closer into the box and smiled to himself when he saw a vintage Formula 1 Ferrari, no bigger than the palm of his hand. He also spotted a racing helmet, but couldn’t recognize the driver it belonged to.

It wouldn’t have shocked him if the rest of this box was F1 inspired Christmas ornaments. Either ones you had purchased yourself or ones that were given to you as gifts.

Charles was always amazed at your knowledge of Formula 1. With your father being a retired driver himself, he shouldn’t have been surprised when you swept him under the rug during a trivia night. He admired your passion for the sport and maybe that’s why when he met you in the Ferrari garage, he wasn’t as quick to judge you like he was to everyone else who had purchased VIP passes for the weekend.

You were there for the sport, for the racing, you didn’t care who was driving the car, it wasn’t like you had favorite drivers.

You were raised to appreciate the history of the sport, the roots, the beginnings. Because of that, you were drawn to the older teams, the classics. Williams, McLaren and against your fathers wishes, Ferrari. So of course you wanted to experience the Ferrari hospitality during a race weekend at least once. To see the cars up close, to be in the garage, to see the race from an entirely new perspective.

It was Australia, the third race of the 2023 season. It was a race that Charles tried hard to forget due to his DNF at the first turn, but there were highlights he cherished before the incident.

He remembered standing in the garage before the first practice session and turning his head to flash a smile towards the VIP members standing at the back. He paid no attention to any of them in particular, but you stood out. The way you were so focused on the screen, taking in the Tech Talk segment that was playing on F1TV. You hadn’t even noticed Charles looking.

He saw you again the second day, closer to the front of the group before the start of FP3. You were wearing a white set, arms crossed over your chest with the headphones resting around your neck. You weren’t watching anything this time, instead you were in the middle of a conversation with a few of the mechanics.

At first, Charles thought they were flirting with you. But when you pointed at the rear wing, lines drawn across your forehead and eyebrows pinched together in studious fashion, Charles got the hint that this wasn’t just a casual conversation.

And then you held out your hand to introduce yourself, your once serious expression turning soft. You smiled at the mechanics as you shook both of their hands, seeming truly grateful to have met them.

Naturally, Charles was curious as to what sort of conversation just took place. He waited a few minutes before asking Mark, the one of two mechanics who seemed to be doing most of the talking.

“What was that about?” Charles asked.

Mark looked over his shoulder at you, but you were too engrossed in the screen again to notice the few sets on you.

“You don’t know who she is?” Mark asked.

“Should I?” Charles glanced your way. This time, you caught it.

You were also the first to look away.

“Damon Hill’s daughter,” Mark chuckled, probably in disbelief himself over who he just met. “She’s also got her masters in engineering. You know what she pointed out- the activation time for DRS is delayed compared to everyone else on the grid. I don’t know how she noticed it, but we’ll take a look at the data and if she’s onto something we’ll fix it before qualifying.”

Damon Hill’s daughter. The 1996 world champion. He had made a name for himself, known for being one of Schumacher's rivals during his prime. Charles knew he had kids, but didn’t know who they were.

He wanted to introduce himself, but he waited till after qualifying.

Was he a little taken aback when you seemed to be paying more attention to Carlos’ side of the garage at the end of the day? Maybe, but you had been watching him all weekend so far so he didn’t like the sudden change.

His P7 starting position was nothing to be overly proud of, but the congratulations was the first thing out of your mouth when he approached you.

“Thank you,” he nodded, suddenly feeling a bit more pride now than five minutes ago. He glanced at the car and then back at you, at the VIP lanyard resting over your chest, at your eyes that momentarily had him forgetting why he walked over to you in the first place.

You held your hand in the same polite manner you had with the mechanics and you introduced yourself as Charles shook it slowly.

“Damon Hill’s daughter,” he stated. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”

You cocked your head slightly, “Is that a line?”

A blush crept up to his cheeks when he realised how flirtatious he sounded without trying to, “No- I mean,” he licked his lips. “I guess it could be but I wasn’t trying for that.”

“I only just graduated,” you answered his question, which wasn’t really a question. “Figured I’d watch a few races, check out a few teams before I decide if I want to dip my toe in the motorsports field.”

“Driver?” He asked, eyebrows raised even though Mark had told him what you studied. But you laughed and Charles was glad he brought up the idea of you getting behind the wheel. He could get used to your laugh.

“Engineer,” you corrected. “To be honest, I think IndyCar might be more my thing. Plus I know Arrow McLaren is looking to expand, hire a few more performance engineers. Mind if I use you as a reference? I saw those mechanics working on your DRS set up, don’t let them take the credit for catching the activation error.”

It was his turn to laugh. He liked your humour, something else he could get used to.

“Mark mentioned you pointed it out,” Charles nodded, unable to keep from smiling. He liked the way you spoke. Not only did he find your accent endearing, but he liked how sure you were of yourself. You knew your talents, you knew what you were capable of. He admired it.

“Good luck tomorrow,” you said, taking it upon yourself to end the conversation. You adjusted the purse over your shoulder and gave him a soft smile. “It was nice meeting you, Charles.”

And then you walked off, happily letting someone else from the team accompany you, probably an engineer. Probably someone who could match your expertise in a conversation.

Charles didn’t know when he’d see you again, but he took it upon himself to make sure it was sooner than later.

Following Australia, the drivers had a bit of a break. Almost an entire month.

It was only a few days into the break when he asked his manager to get Damon Hill’s contact information.

Confused was an understatement when your dad called you and said ‘Tell me why I just got an unsolicited text from Charles Leclerc asking if he could have your phone number’.

By the end of the week, Charles had flown you from Paris, where you resided at the time, to Nice. He was there at the airport to pick you up and drive you to Monaco.

You spent that entirety of the break together.

Charles was smitten. As were you.

But you were cautious.

You knew first hand that racing was at the top of his priority list. You weren’t about to get your hopes up and think that these few weeks meant anything. He just had time on his hands and you showed interest.

However, it was hard not to fall for Charles. He treated you well when you were together. He was easy to talk to. He made you feel safe, admired, wanted. He asked all the questions he could think of to get to know you. He made you breakfast in the morning, or at least he tried to. The mornings when you woke up to the smell of burnt eggs were just as entertaining. Plus you figured you could get used to the way he wrapped his arm around your waist as you took over. The kisses he peppered on your shoulder that tempted you towards pulling him back to the bedroom.

By the time the season picked up again for round 4 in Baku, you were so used to being around him that you had to tell yourself not to be hurt that he didn't suggest you go with him.

You and Charles did a lot of things during those few weeks, but never once did you label what you were. That conversation never came up. Neither did the exclusivity talk.

He still called. He texted you daily. He treated you like you were special, but racing came before a relationship. Even your dad reminded you of that. He told you not to dwell on it, that Charles would come to his senses when he felt secure with the team, with the season. He didn’t need the support of a girlfriend, he needed the support of his team.

And then Charles informed you he was flying you out to Miami. He wanted you to watch the race again. He wanted you there.

You didn’t accompany him to the track, but he greeted you with wide arms and the brightest grin when you showed up at the Ferrari garage. His hand stayed on your lower back for a bit as he showed you around, giving you a proper tour but when you came across Mark it was almost as if Charles passed you off.

He said ‘Here, chat with Mark for a bit, I’m sure you’ve got some opinions about the car’ and then he walked away.

You tried not to think too much about it, maybe he had obligations, media, signings, something. He wouldn’t fly you out to Miami and abandon you the first chance he got. He was a driver, he had priorities. You weren’t one of them, not yet.

It was a difficult situation to be in. When Charles gave you his attention, he gave you every ounce of it. But when he was gone, he was gone. Distant, on his phone, sometimes he quite literally disappeared like at the end of the day on Saturday and you were left in the Ferrari garage wondering where the hell he got off to.

But then he knocked on your hotel room door at a little after 10 and who were you to turn him away?

Charles pulled you towards the bed, dragging you with him as he laid on the mattress. He asked about your day between the kisses he left down your neck. You answered as best as you could, but when his hands found the button of your trousers, it became a little more difficult to collect your thoughts.

When he gave you his attention, he gave you every ounce of it.

You had forgotten all about his disappearances earlier. They didn’t matter, he was here now. His lips trailing every inch of your skin as your back curved off the bed. You tried to remind him that he had a race tomorrow, that you both could just go to sleep if he wanted but Charles only smirked and raised his face back to yours.

He hovered his lips above yours, teasing you with a ghost of a kiss, “Ma chérie, I’m not going to sleep until I hear you scream my name.”

He kissed the corner of your lips and then trailed down towards your ear, adding a quiet, “At least twice,” to the end of the original statement.

And Charles was true to his word. He had you seeing stars with just his tongue alone in a matter of minutes.

Charles worshipped you, he took care of you. In a short period of time, he came to know your body and how to get the reactions he desired. He loved seeing you come undone, loving being the one to bring you to the edge and watch you spill over.

Maybe it was a pride he was chasing, but you wouldn’t think of that possibility until it was too late.

When he climbed under the covers next to you at the end of the night, you could still make out the shape of his body, his gentle features, even in the dark. Your hand found his chest, sliding upwards until it wrapped around his shoulders, pulling yourself closer to him.

He traced his fingers over your cheek, pushing a strand of hair out of your face as he whispered, “Comment ai-je eu cette chance?” How did I get so lucky?

That did it for you.

You weren’t just smitten anymore. You were in love.

Another impromptu break after Miami meant you had a few more weeks with Charles before he had to give his attention back to racing. You didn’t spend it all in Monaco this time. After about a week, Charles suggested the two of you go back to your home. Back to Paris.

Paris with him was heavenly.

The rest of the world didn’t matter when it was just the two of you together. Your days were spent taking in the city, your evenings were spent in a variety of restaurants, lounges, anywhere he could spoil you, it seemed.

It was nearing your last few days before he had to leave when he suggested you take a midnight stroll. The weather was perfect, the streets wouldn’t be too busy. You had no reason to say no.

And there was something about walking the streets of Paris with Charles at night, holding his hand while he spun you under his arm beneath the glow of a street lamp. The Eiffel Tower was sparkling in the distance. Charles’ eyes lit up brighter than it.

There was something about him. About this moment. About the last few months. All of it led up to standing here with him now.

And you knew better, but that didn’t stop you.

“I love you.”

And just like that, you faded into madness. Slowly, silently, but it was inevitable.

Charles didn’t say anything. His lips parted like he wanted to, like he thought about it, only to ultimately lick his lips and inhale a sharp breath.

By saying I love you, you plunged a knife into your own chest, opening yourself up to vulnerability, but his silence only twisted it in deeper.

You backed up, hand dropping from his. Was that his doing or yours? He whispered your name, but only out of pity. He didn’t love you. He didn’t love you.

Suddenly Paris didn’t seem so heavenly.

Charles left that night. Maybe he thought you were asleep, but you heard the door swing on its hinges. You heard the wheels of his suitcase being dragged out into the hallway. You turned over in bed, despite knowing you’d find his side empty, but you didn’t think it would turn cold so fast.

A few days later, Charles was spotted walking into the paddock of the Monaco Grand Prix, but he wasn’t alone.

Next to him, the stunning Alexandra Saint Mleux. Even her name was beautiful.

You had heard whispers that Charles and her had a history, but you didn’t think anything of it. Why would you worry yourself with speculation when he was putting you on a pedestal when you were together?

He had a way of making you feel wanted, but you weren’t the only one who felt that way.

Did she know you two were together? That he was with you in Paris? Was he seeing both of you or did he run back to her the second you told him something he wasn’t ready to hear?

You tried to move on, really. There was no relationship for you to cling to, Charles never said you were exclusive. He just knew the right words to say to make you feel like you were.

You flew to Indianapolis for the Indy500. A rash decision, but the further away from Monaco the better. Your connections at Arrow McLaren gave you the chance to get a closer look at the inner workings of the team, had you momentarily forgetting about Charles. You wanted to be an engineer, not the girlfriend of a driver. You told yourself to get it together.

But then you returned home and seeing the slippers you had bought for Charles had you wondering why you couldn’t be both. You would have been both if he just said something, if he just told you he loved you.

You should have distanced yourself from Formula 1, at least for a little while. You should have turned down the invitation from a partnering brand of Ferrari, enticing you to come to Spain for the race. You should have flown back to the states, reconnect with Arrow McLaren.

Instead you found yourself in Barcelona. The entire time you were there you knew it was a mistake and if you couldn’t figure that out on your own, seeing Alexandra chat with some Ferrari team members below while you sat up above in the hospitality was a painful reminder.

Part of you considered talking to her. You wanted to know if she was in the same boat you were- and if she was clueless, maybe give her a heads up that Charles was going to say sweet nothings to her at night only to leave her in the dark.

But Alexandra wasn’t the one you needed to talk to.

Between practice and qualifying on Saturday, you made your way to the paddock knowing that’s where Charles would be. You walked past Alexandra chatting to someone a few motorhomes down, so you felt better knowing she wasn’t currently with him.

Luck would have it, you ran into Mark outside of Ferrari. He invited you in of course, always happy to chat about the sport with someone who appreciated it on the same level and you assured him you would, you just had to talk to Charles first.

You knocked on the door of his driver's room, not even sure what you were going to say. You were hurt, you were saddened, you were angry but you hadn't had time to think about what you would say to him when you were finally face to face again.

The door swung open and there he was. Shocked to see you, first of all, but not upset. You stood in the hallway and watched as Charles took a breath of relief, a sliver of a smile creeping up on his lips as he held the door open for you to walk in.

Your heart jolted at the idea that maybe, he still wanted you. The look he gave you was almost enough for you to forget he hadn’t said a word to you since you told him you loved him.

Almost.

You stepped in and leaned against the door after it shut, keeping a safe distance as he stood back against the massage table.

Your lips parted, but before you could get a word out, his phone started to ring. You both glanced at the contact, at who was trying to get a hold of him.

Alexandra.

You swallowed, waiting until he let it go to voicemail before your timid voice filled the room. “You love her?”

Maybe Charles didn’t know how to love anyone. You’d believe it, with the way he tensed the second the word passed through your lips. He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no, either.

“I can’t commit, Y/N.” He tried to say, like that made up for everything. Like that’s the answer you were looking for.

“No, you can, Charles, but not to me.” You stated, keeping your voice calm. You weren’t one to yell. Causing a scene wasn’t your thing. You were always so soft spoken. Soft spoken, but straight to the facts. “Were you seeing both of us at the same time?”

“She knows, if that's what you're wondering." Charles quickly slid that piece of information in there. “She found out- about us. Threatened to leave me if-”

“If you didn’t choose?” You raised your eyebrows. Once again, his silence spoke volume. “So did you make up your mind before or after Paris?”

Charles averted his gaze for a second, “I realised in Paris I couldn’t love you the way you loved me.”

“You probably realised that a lot earlier,” you pointed out.

Charles must have known you adored him. There was no way he didn’t see the way you looked at him, the way you worshipped him. He knew and still strung you along, making you think he could love you back if you were just patient.

“You didn’t need to lead me on as long as you did, Charles.”

“I didn’t want to lose you.”

I didn’t want to lose you, he says. Bringing light to the fact that he had you. You were his, in a sense. Despite never saying the words out loud.

But he was never yours.

“So I was there, for what?” You asked. “As a backup? In case things with Alexandra didn’t work out?”

Charles was intimated by how calm you were. He would have preferred if you yelled at him, if you fought with him. It would make it easier on both ends to put whatever this relationship was to rest. Instead, you were serene. You came here to talk, to get answers, you didn’t come here to form a divide.

Because if you were being honest with yourself, you weren’t ready to let go. How could you let go when you hadn’t spoken? He hadn’t given you closure, he didn’t say I don’t love you he just…didn’t say anything.

You weren’t going to beg for him to come back, but in the far corners of your mind you were hoping that your appearance here would make him question his decision. You were banking on the idea that when he saw you, he’d remember what he saw in the first place when you met in Australia.

If he changed his mind right now, you’d put all of this behind you. You’d stay at his side, you’d be there for him, you’d be his for real this time.

If he, once again, said nothing, you’d go. You’d go and you’d stay gone.

“I loved you,” you whispered. The past tense striking Charles more than he thought it would, but he didn’t show it. Loved. You loved him, and you still could.

Thirty seconds passed. Then a minute. Almost two and the only thing that lingered between you was silence. Heavy, loud, painful silence.

You grabbed the handle of the door and decided enough time had gone on. You deserved better than this, than a man who couldn’t make a decision, than someone who played with your feelings because they couldn’t figure out their own.

The second you pulled the door back, your name fell from Charles’ lips. You were one step into the hall, halfway to gone, and he stopped you.

All he had to do was say don’t go. All he had to do was tell you he wanted you.

With your back still to the Ferrari driver, you waited for those next words but they never came. You knew they wouldn’t.

That was the last time you spoke to Charles. You knew how to stay true to your word too.

So why was he suddenly here, six months later, sitting on your couch and looking at you like he was waiting for you to say something first when you made it clear a long time ago if you were gone, you were gone.

Charles only took a sip of his tea before putting it on the coffee table. He then moved the box of Christmas ornaments, not liking the divide it put between you as if he wasn't the one to create the wedge in the first place.

You were stupid, to speak first, but you were tired of the silence. He came here for a reason and if he wasn’t going to tell you why in the next two minutes, you were going to send him back out into the snow.

“How’s Alexandra?” You asked, not that you were interested in knowing if he was happy or thriving in his relationship. You were, however, impressed to see that he could in fact commit, but you were right about that. He just didn’t want to commit to you.

“Do you care?” He asked in return.

You shook your head slightly, “I do not.”

Charles smiled at your honesty. Your gentle tone didn’t match the brutal truth.

“So let’s not talk about her,” Charles said and you nodded in agreement. He shifted in his spot, glancing at the decorations, the tea, really anything but you.

And you weren’t about to wait again, not if this was going to lead to the one thing your silence always led to.

You sucked in a breath, “Charles if you don’t tell me why you’re here…”

He nodded, knowing that this was all on him. He was lucky enough to even be allowed into your home, and he knew you were slowly regretting that decision the longer he just didn’t get to the point.

Charles lifted his head, eyes finally meeting yours. He even flinched, like he was trying to reach for your hand only to decide against it at the last second, relying on just his words for a change.

“I shouldn’t have let you go.”

Part 2 - now that we don’t talk

#charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #f1 one shot #f1 fic #holllandtrash #say dont go #cl16 x reader #cl16

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targaryenluvs · 8 months ago

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AT FIRST SIGHT

PAIRINGS: Dark!Evan Buckley x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Never in his life would Buck have ever thought that he’d end up with the girl of his dreams. How she ended up with him doesn’t matter, right?

WARNINGS: Lovesick Buck, obsession, memory loss, kind of Stockholm syndrome, lying, gaslighting, fluff, kisses

a/n: this literally popped into my head after reading @mrsdarkandyandere7 fic on their firefighter so this is definitely inspired by it, go check it out! i know evan’s character isn’t like this but i just thought it’d be cool to explore maybe what could’ve happened if buck’s breakups and general trauma had taken a toll on him 👀

WORDCOUNT: 3.8K Words

Gif not mine, credits to the owner!

Buck was enjoying his day off when he first saw you, waving his way. He turned his head, expecting a friend of yours to be behind him but was thoroughly surprised when you approached him. “You’re a firefighter aren’t you? I saw you on the news.”

Buck smiled at the recognition and nodded along, “Yeah I am, how’d you know?” You laughed at his joke before smiling, “You did an amazing job there, just wanted to let you know. I know sometimes you don’t get the props you deserve so… just wanted to come over.” You looked gorgeous, and your smile was infectious. Buck had been lonely lately, feeling as if he’s behind everyone else.

Always wondering what would’ve happened if he never changed, at least he’d have girls around, right?

But then, he met you. And all of a sudden, he was glad he wasn’t the original Buck. The Buck who felt the incessant need to get into bed with almost every girl he wants. “I sadly have to get going, but it was nice meeting you.” Enraptured with your smile, he watched you walk away. As he smiled to himself he realised, “Wait! I didn’t—,” You’d entered your apartment already, and he didn’t know your name. But you had left your purse on accident.

He sighed deeply, settling back into the bench he was sat on as his hand tightened around his coffee cup. “Stupid Buck, should’ve asked her name straight away.” Whilst plotting about how he could find out your name, the smell of smoke invaded his senses.

Your building was on fire.

He sprung up straight away, his hands sliding all over his phone whilst calling 911.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“23 Rayweo Drive, there’s a fire!”

“There’s already been multiple calls sir, units are on their way. May I ask who’s calling?”

“Uhh, Evan Buckley. I’m a firefighter!”

“Okay Evan, can you please—,”

All composure faded away the second he saw you at your window, arms waving frantically. “Help! The doors blocked!” The muffled voice coming through his phone was discarded as he made his way up the fire escape. The conjoining apartment had a balcony only about three to four metres from yours, Buck jumped across before grabbing the metal table on yours.

Your apartments glass door shattered as Buck made his way inside, the sirens were getting closer. “Hello? Where are you?” Buck held his arm infront of his face, searching the place for you. “In here!” Your apartment wasn’t fully engulfed yet, the kitchen and entrance were inescapable. But the rest only had small fires, yet to grow. Your bedroom door was untouched but had ceiling debris blocking you from leaving.

Buck went right into action, carelessly throwing the debris to the side before bracing himself, “Move away from the door!” You stood in the corner of the room as Buck pummelled through, ending up on the floor. You rushed over, “Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?” His coughs were rapid, “I’m— i’m okay, let’s get you out of here…” A soft smile came across your lips, “Y/n.” He smiled back, “Buck.” The two of you slowly made your way out, but you stopped and stared.

A painting of yourself and your best friends, hung on the wall. The frame was gold, and melting. Your first ever apartment, up in flames with some of the most precious memories and moments of your life. “Hey, I know it’s a bit of a shock but we need to go.” Buck turned around to look at you, and at the right moment since the ceiling caved in on you. “Wait!”

Your hand waved around trying to grasp something as you held your breath. Were you going to die? All you could feel was a throbbing pain in your head, you’d fallen head first. And as your eyes closed you felt two hand grasp your arm, attempting to pull you out. “Stay with me!” Buck pleaded.

You woke up as you were being lifted onto the stretcher, eyes adjusting to the brightness. “Where— what’s happening?” The paramedic to your right smiled, “Welcome back, can you tell me your name?”

“Y/n/n!” Buck rushed to your side as you smiled, “Buck.” His hands brushed away the hair from your face, “Yeah, I’m here. Right here baby.” You smiled as they lifted you into the ambulance. Buck looked up, “I’m riding with you guys Hen.” The girl, who you assumed to be Hen nodded. You held onto Bucks hand the entire ride, earning some stares from Hen and Chimney.

When they thought you were out, they started questioning him. “You know her don’t you?” He nodded, “I do.” You opened your eyes, as everyone’s attention fell back on you, “Hey there, how ya feeling?” Chimney asked as you smiled, “Good, heads hurting a lot though.” Hen nodded, “You did take a bit of a fall, it’s a given. Your vitals look normal, seems like it’s just a concussion and some smoke inhalation. A few nicks and bruises, you’ll be out in no time sweetheart.”

“She’s right, you’re gonna be okay. Is there anyone you’d like us to call?”

“My mom. Her number is…” Your eyebrows furrowed at your lapse of memory. “Her number is…” You tried again to no avail, “Oh my god, I can’t remember. Why can’t I remember?” Hens face drained, “Uhm, you may have hit your head harder than we thought. Is your phone on you?” You shook your head, “It broke when I fell.”

The ceiling was all of a sudden the most interesting thing in that ambulance. How the hell did you forget your own mother’s number? You tried your hardest to recall but it was hopeless. You tried your fathers, and nothing.

“Maybe a sibling? A boyfriend?”

“I don’t have siblings. No I do, a sister maybe? Or is it a brother? My boyfriend… I—,” Buck watched as you tried your hardest to remember things, and he hated it. He felt horrible, watching you struggle. He just wanted to shout at you that he was here, you didn’t need anybody else. He muttered under his breath, “I could be your boyfriend.” You turned your head, “You’re my boyfriend?” Hen and Chimney looked up at him, “You’re the man? Why haven’t you said anything?”

He was going to disagree, he really was. But with you looking up at him so hopefully he couldn’t help himself. “I didn’t want to confuse her, especially if she didn’t remember. That’s not wrong.. is it?”

You shook your head. “No, no it’s not. I’m just glad you’re here.”

The last few days had been a blur, sitting around or laying down. Nurses fluttering in and out with a million questions of ‘How are you feeling?’ or ‘Do you need anything else?’

Yes, to go home. You wish you could yell at them, but then again, you didn’t have a home. But through it all, you had your boyfriend. Who was nothing short of a gentleman. Always with a smile on his face, always asking how you were. And with him you just wanted to answer his questions.

“Discharge papers are all signed, you’re free to go sweetie.” The nurse beamed as you sighed, “Thank you so much. Have a nice day.” As she left you squealed before hugging Buck, “Whoa there, slow down sweetheart.” You rushed back, “I’m sorry, I’m just so ready to leave this place, and eat real food.”

Buck laughed at your growling stomach, “I promise to cook for you every night.” He pledged with a hand to his heart, “Oh shut up! Quick question, does this mean I’ll be staying with you? Until I find a new place and talk to my insurance company?” Buck frowned at the idea of you leaving him, “I know this might seem a bit quick but, what’s the point in you moving out? When you could just move in with me? I mean… you’d never have to worry about a fire with me.”

You grinned at him whilst picking up your purse and slinging it over your shoulder. “I already look like you since I’m wearing your clothes. You sure you want me 24/7?” He’d want you glued to him if he could. “Of course, I could never get sick of someone so pretty.” Buck flirted as your cheeks heated up, his hand traced your back sending tingles up your spine. He cupped your face and brought you closer.

Your lips were soft and sweet, the lip-balm you used was flavourful and he couldn’t get enough. His hand traced down your back, pulling you closer into him as you smiled into him, “Buck.” Your voice was muffled as he continued on, you put your hands on his chest and pushed back, “Stop, we’re in public.” You giggled as he threw his head back, “If anyone looks at you I’ll just punch em’.” You gasped, “Buck!”

He raised his arms, “What?” The two of you finished packing up before saying your goodbyes to the nurses that had taken care of you. “You never told me you had a jeep.” Buck laughed, “I was kind of hoping you’d remember, you love her.” You nodded at his words, “I can definitely see why I did, or do.” When you arrived at his place you were irrevocably in love.

“I love the exposed brick!” Buck set your purse down on the counter as you ran your hands along the walls before making your way to the couch. “And the couch is tucked away, it’s like a bit of privacy yknow?” Buck leaned against the counter with his arms crossed, “Well duh, you’re the one that helped me pick it.” He knew you hadn’t of course, but it was somehow easy for him to block her out and replace her with you.

“I did?” You looked his way as he walked over before standing in between your legs, “You loved this place a lot. So I got it as a surprise.” You smiled at him before pulling him down on top of you, “Why don’t we spend the rest of the day at home, and you tell me all about you and me?” He smiled at the sound of ‘home’, your home.

And that’s exactly what happened, the rest of the day he spent making up an ideal version of the two of you. Of how you met, how the two of you were yet to tell anyone since you really loved keeping it to the two of yourselves. And how he was always a ‘in the moment’ type person, explaining the lack of photos together. You then went out to buy yourself a new phone, and trade over the SIM card.

“Hey babe?” You called out to him as he cooked in the kitchen, “Yeah what’s up?” He glanced over his shoulder to you, “I can’t find you in my phone.” Buck breathed in, he forgot about that. “We… had a bit of a fight the day before. Pretty sure you blocked me or something, and since I’m petty, I did the same thing.” You stared at your phone in confusion, “I’ve never blocked someone, especially over something as simple as an argument.”

“Well, you have. Your brains a bit fuzzy babe, it’ll come back to you soon enough.” You glanced up at him, suspicion filling through you. “Alright, can I grab your phone and put my number in?” He nodded before pointing to the bed upstairs. You jogged upstairs before unplugging his phone. “My birthday.” You quickly filled in the password and were met with a million messages and calls.

Hen: Buckkkk, reply to us. Are you okay?

Cap 🔥: Buck, you need to call in if you’re not coming.

Maddie ❤️: YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND?

Eddie: There’s no way you have a girlfriend and just forgot to tell me.

Eddie: I’m coming over.

These guys must be his friends and coworkers. But you couldn’t help but wonder, had he seriously not told any of them that he has a girlfriend? Not even a hint? The last text from Eddie was only half an hour ago, which meant—

RING!

The doorbell rung out as you made your way downstairs, “Hey, no I’ll grab the— door.” Buck was late to it, as you swiftly opened the door to reveal, “Eddie!” He smiled, “Hey Buck, and you must be?” You grinned, “Y/n, but you can just call me Y/n/n. Please, come in!” You opened the door wider to reveal a kid, “And who’s this?” Eddie had his hand on the kids back, “Y/n, meet my son Christopher.” You kneeled infront of him before stretching out your hand, “Well hello there Chris, I’m Y/n and it is very nice to meet you.”

“Hello Y/n. Buck never told us he had a girlfriend.” You laughed at the comment as the two shuffled in before settling on the couch, “Well, if it’s any consolation, we hadn’t really told anyone yet. So technically you’re the first to officially meet me. None of my friends or family know about Buck yet.” Chris smiled, “What do you mean officially?”

“Well technically, everyone’s kind of met me already but I was rescued from a fire.” Eddies face dropped, “Oh my god, I completely forgot to ask, are you doing okay? It must’ve have been hard to recover.” You appreciated his empathy, “Yeah, it was a bit difficult at first but I was in the hospital. I mean, it was my first apartment and it went up in flames, it’s pretty hard to just get over it. But Buck has been an absolute angel, I’m really lucky to have him with me. I’ve been having memory issues, to the point where I wake up and forget where I am,”

“Oh god, have you been put on any medication?” You nodded, “I have, and it’s been helping. I think with the days my memory will come back. I mean I didn’t even remember Buck and I were together in the ambulance.” You laughed as you looked over at Buck, he chuckled at the joke whilst Eddies eyes flicked between the two of you before laughing dryly.

“Dinners ready!” Buck shouted out, the conversation was getting a bit too much for his liking. The four of you stuck to light topics at the dinner table on account of Christopher as well as you. And it was super enjoyable for you, Eddie is an amazing father and you could see how close Buck was with him and Chris.

“Well I think it’s time for this one to go to bed.” Eddie rose up before collecting the plates, “Hey no, you’re a guest, you don’t have to clean up.” You spoke as you grabbed the plates from him, “No no, you should be resting Y/n/n.” You both made your way around, “Okay we can both do them. You wash, I dry.” Buck sat on the couch with Chris playing video games, whilst simultaneously trying to eavesdrop.

“It’s way too late for the two of you to be driving home no? I’m sure you could stay. Me and Chris upstairs and the men on the floor seems just right,” Eddie threw his head back laughing, “Ohh, I see how it is!” You bumped his side and he bumped right back.

If all of Bucks friends were this great, he would’ve had to be one of the luckiest people around.

Chris and Eddie did end up staying the night, but the two men couldn’t sleep. So Eddie and Buck ended up having a few late night drinks, “So, Y/n. She’s absolutely incredible. So I have zero clue how you ended up with her.” Buck shoved his arm, “Hey I am a catch.”

“That I’d throw right back out.” Eddie joked as Buck rolled his eyes, “But you never told us anything about her, and I’m not gonna lie, I’m a bit disappointed. We usually talk about everything Buck. And I know you well enough to know when you’re talking to someone.” Buck sighed, “It’s… complicated.”

And the weight of his secret was bound to come crashing down at some point, right?

Eddie stood with his head in his hands trying to understand everything his best friend had tried to tell him. “So you kidnapped her?” Buck immediately turned to him, “What? No! We were in the ambulance and she assumed I was her boyfriend, and god if you’d seen the look on her face you’d understand why I said yes. She was all alone, her apartment was burned down and her phone was broken. Maybe if it was some random person I wouldn’t have said yes, but I’d talked to her before. I knew she didn’t deserve anything that was happening to her. And she wouldn’t have a place to go if she couldn’t even remember her friends or a phone number.”

“So you took her in, to be a nice person? Were you going to kick her out when she remembered? What if she calls the cops?” Eddies head had about a million scenarios rushing through right now, “Eddie, please. You know me, I’m not a bad guy. If she starts to remember then I’ll tell her. But, we’ve gotten along so well these past few days, like you said she’s incredible.”

“Oh god, don’t tell me you fell in love with her.”

“Well…” Buck scratched the back of his neck as Eddie groaned, “Buck are you serious?” Eddie screeched, “Shh! Do you want to wake her up? Look, if she realises then I’ll explain everything I promise. But it’s not like I’m holding her hostage. I’m just trying to give her a place to call home before she gets back out there.”

“Buck, she calls you ‘babe’, and you do too. You have a million nicknames for her. Every time you get the opportunity you kiss her. It’s wrong, she has no clue what’s happening here.” Eddie tried to rationalise with him but it was no use. Buck sighed, “I know, it’s just— I know her. I met her before the fire and she was so nice, I was going to ask her out but then this all happened. And it’s not like she doesn’t like me either, is it really so wrong?”

“I guess not, but you need to tell her. If she really likes you, then I guess she’ll give you another chance to actually take her out.” Buck rushed forwards and hugged him, “You think she’ll give me another chance? Thank you Eddie!” Eddie scoffed, “You really like her huh?” Buck couldn’t help but look back up at you, “I do.”

Your eyes were wide open, adjusted to the dark. Eddie and Bucks conversation was playing over and over in your head, he lied to you. But again he wanted to keep you safe, would you be homeless right now if it weren’t for him? Or would you have found a friend?

The good and bad parts of the situation were equal in your eyes. He’d been lying to you, kissing you and treating you as if you were his girlfriend. Taking advantage of your state of mind, but you’d met before, and he was going to ask you out. And if he had, you knew what your answer would have been.

Yes.

And it wasn’t as if he was dangerous, or at least you hoped not. Tiredness came over you, the last thing you remember hearing being the sound of Bucks voice wishing you sweet dreams.

By the time you woke up Eddie and Chris were long gone, Buck was busy cooking up breakfast. “There you are sleepyhead.” His smile was always bright when directed at you, and with the morning glow you could only see the good. “Buck, we need to talk.”

Who knew five words could strike such fear?

And you sat infront of him, “I know. I know about the fire, and the fact that you aren’t my boyfriend. And hey—,” Buck didn’t waste a second apologising, “I’m so so sorry I knew I should’ve told you straight away. But when you said I was I went along with it and that was stupid. But I didn’t want you to be alone and if you want to go I will—,” Your laugh stopped him in his tracks, “It’s okay Buck. I’m not mad, well I am a little since you’ve been kissing up on me every chance you get but… you’re just a bit dumb in how you went about it.”

Buck smiled as he set out breakfast for the both of you, “Now how about this. We finish up breakfast and then you take me out on a proper date where we get to make all of our firsts for real. I really do like you Buck, your heart was in the right place, execution? Not so much.”

And the rest of the morning you spent laughing at Buck and his love sickness. “You know you’re kind of obsessed with me, it’s a bit creepy.” Bucks face immediately drained, he stared at your back as you washed the dishes. “But my heart was in the right place right?” He sounded desperate with the sentence, “Sure.”

You liked Buck, there was no denying it, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of weirdness.

As the two of you continued getting to know eachother Bucks happiness sky rocketed. And everyone could tell, “If you smile any longer we’ll need to tattoo it onto your face Buck.” Bobby joked as everyone teased Buck, “I am in a happy, loving relationship. Be proud of me.” Eddie couldn’t help himself, “Does she know that?”

The whole table burst out laughing as Buck groaned, “She has her memory back can we please not joke about it.” Hen pointed at him with her fork, “Trust me, we’re not laughing at her, we’re laughing at you Lover Boy!” The footsteps coming up the stairs were drowned out by the sea of laughter, “If Shakespeare was alive you’d for sure be an inspiration Buck.” Chimney spoke from the kitchen.

“Wonder what he’d name it.” Your voice caused the five of them to turn your way, “Y/n!” Eddie shouted as you engulfed him in a tight hug. “If I squeeze too hard you’ll forget my name,” He joked as you punched his abdomen, “Don’t make me hurt you.”

“There’s the famous Mrs Buckley.” Bobby smiled as you made your way over to him, “Cap!” He opened his arms up to you as Buck grinned, his team finally meeting you made him feel happy. “Great to finally meet you, but I feel like we already know you.” He spoke as he pulled out a chair for you. “He’s right, Lover Boy never shuts about you.” Chimney teased as you kissed Bucks cheek.

“Well aren’t you sweet? We all know how lovesick he is I presume?” The team laughed as Buck rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah let’s get the jokes out the way.” You smiled before holding onto his hand.

Buck downplayed just how much he loved his team, they were like a family, and now you were apart of it too. Buck was grateful to be in it, especially with you being the new addition. But every once in a while he couldn’t help but remember how he got you.

Love At First Sight.

#911 x reader #911 fanfic #911 imagine #evan buckley x fem!reader #evan buckley x reader #evan buckley #evan buckley x you #dark!evan buckley x reader #yandere 911 #yandere 911 x reader

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randombush3 · 9 months ago

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dies irae

alexia putellas x reader

part one, part two, part three

words: 12425 (sorry not sorry)

summary: part four, the part that made me realise another part was necessary

warnings: drugs, alcohol, cheating, (a lot of???) vomiting, general angst tbh

notes: in all honesty, i started this with the intention of finishing the series, but it hit 12k and i thought maybe not x

weird little comment, but the last section was originally written in spanish (hear me out: i was on the plane and i didn’t want the people beside me to read it over my shoulder) and i’m still feeling a little iffy about my translation of my og version but oh well!

i hope you enjoy this and are content w waiting another five years for me to churn out the new FINAL part

The sand is warm beneath your feet, each grain rubbing against your bare soles as you sprint. The ground under such surfaces often hardens, proven by the sweat trickling past the thin string of fabric that holds your bikini together. If the beach were not so private, you would be worried about wandering camera lenses.

However, there is no one else here but your favourite people. Well, maybe Nico has dropped to the bottom of the list now that your energy has been worn down while his does not seem to waver.

“I give up,” you pant as he continues to tumble down the shoreline, changing his tactics and swerving into the water, comfortable in his sea. The same sea he looks at each morning from your bedroom window. The one he learnt to swim in. (That and a variety of hotel pools.) “You win, you win!”

The small figure, around twenty metres away, comes to an abrupt halt, wobbling on little legs for a moment. Then he begins to run again, but this time towards the towels and constructed shade you had set up earlier. Unwillingly, you race him back to base camp.

“He ganado,” he declares as he taps Alexia’s shining back as though she is the signpost signifying the finish line. Your hand caresses the divots of muscle soon after, brushing sand across smooth, tanned skin. Nico peers at you strangely, but understands, thanks to Tia Alba, that the beach outfits are special to his mothers.

“Mi ganador,” comes a tired murmur of praise.

“Did you see, Mami? I was so far ahead.” She nods, craning her neck upwards to talk to him. You gladly sprawl out on the vacant towel, passing on the baton to your wife, fortunate that Elena has been asleep in her buggy for the past twenty minutes. “Can I play with Lela now? Is nap time over?”

“No, sweetheart, naptime has just begun.” He looks up at you with pleading, bored eyes. The one unfortunate consequence of going to a private beach is that, unless you bring along your babysitter, there is no one else for Nico to play with. Alexia and you are both exhausted, and today is supposed to be about relaxation. Three-year-olds don’t understand that concept. “If you don’t want to sleep, how about burying Mami?”

“In the sand?”

“Sí, in the sand.”

He leans close to your ear. “Mami says I’m not allowed to do that,” he whispers, though he has not quite mastered the volume of such a tone yet. Alexia pretends not to be listening, but you can feel her foot prodding your shin in protest.

“Rules are sometimes made to be broken,” you tell him. “And if you do bury her, the only way to make her happy again is to get ice-cream. Which means you can also get ice-cream.”

“You are so annoying,” grumbles Alexia.

“This morning, I believe the word you used was ‘sexy’,” you retort. With the Euros on the horizon, it seems that the two of you are using up what little time you have to spend together. Though Alexia sometimes feels like there are hands wrapped around her neck after she failed to win the Champions League once more, she is more than happy to take advantage of the time off before she tries to make amends internationally.

“Mm. You are magically both.”

You tug your sunglasses – Prada, brand-new from a modelling campaign – down slightly, so that they sit lower on your nose. The sun is warm and doing its best to wear Nico down as he finds his discarded spade and begins to dig, and Elena is still fast asleep.

A mischievous grin forms on your lips, one that Alexia knows well. Topless, she flips over onto her back, excusing herself with a muttered comment about an ‘even tan’, and that is invitation enough for you to cup her cheek, your touch as fiery as the surface of the sun that blankets the beach. The gentle breeze ruffles your hair as you lower yourself down to her level.

“The phrase is ‘annoyingly sexy’ in English, darling,” you murmur, your eyes locked onto hers. Even now, after six years, the proximity ignites desire over every inch of your skin, and you cannot wait to kiss. Alexia’s initial grumble turns into a soft chuckle, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and something more. Impatiently, you kiss her, aware that the moment will soon be ruined by a spray of sand as Nico pursues his mission.

She is just as eager to kiss you back, craving the way you seem to hold the solution to every problem. Part of Alexia’s mind has not yet been able to comprehend the way in which you love her. It is hidden by the other, much larger compartment: the one that reminds her every day that she should never, ever tell you, because it would break your heart. To you, Alexia is making up for lost time. To her, she is secretly begging for forgiveness that you don’t even know she is due.

She knows the minute your phone rings that everything is about to go wrong. No one is supposed to call you today; you have been emphatic about it. You blindly reach for the ringing device, ready to lob it into the ocean, but Alexia grabs your wrist. “It must be something important,” she says, and it feels like she is telling you she understands; you are busy, and she understands.

“I’ll be quick, I promise.” With a quick jog up the steps and onto the concrete of the promenade, you perch on the stone wall separating the beach from the carpark, bare feet swinging over the edge. The rough surface of the wall presses uncomfortably into the exposed flesh of your bum, but you remind yourself that you will soon be lying back down on the beach towels. “Hi? I thought we agreed that pretty much everything could wait until tomorrow. I don’t care about any photos taken of me, and you know that my automatic position is simply to ensure that the children’s faces are blurred out before they get spread around.”

“Y/n!” Your publicist sounds nervous. It’s a stressful job, you guess. Between organising interviews and brand deals and the like, she has to stamp down on unwanted rumours and be on the look-out for any perceived cracks in your very public person. Naturally, you are not perfect.

“Yeah, I’m here. Hi.”

“I’m afraid that it’s not a picture of you this time.” Alexia is now famous in her own right, as she always should have been. With a Ballon d’Or under her belt, you have been promoted to a ‘celebrity couple’.

“She has her own team, you know.”

“I’m sure she will be firing them soon.” The joke fails to land, instead crashing and burning and… You freeze.

“Why?”

“I am sure that you are aware we have feelers out for anything that could potentially harm your reputation.” You nod foolishly, caught up in the undisclosed severity of the phone call, forgetting that she cannot see you. “An hour ago, we were contacted by a photographer; one of the usual ones we get in when you’re in need of a bit of a press-boost. He’s based in Barcelona, has lots of friends in the area and such. I have the terrible job of telling you.”

Your heart quickens as the confession hangs in the air, leaving a heavy silence on the other end of the line. The anticipation builds, and you can almost feel the impending storm swirling just off the coast, waves beginning to thrash against rocks, nature beginning to tear the world down.

“He claims to have some photos, ones that could potentially damage your image,” she says, tone measured and professional. “I haven’t seen them yet, but he described them as… intimate, to say the least.”

“Of Alexia?” you question carefully, forcing the words onto your tongue. “Intimate? What do you mean?”

“Well, they are of her and someone else. Someone who isn’t you.”

“Who?” Dread sets in, and the wall is suddenly not the most uncomfortable thing about your position. You feel too exposed, unsafe in what you are wearing. Taken advantage of, perhaps.

Cheated.

“I have not seen the photos yet, babe. I don’t know what else to tell you.” He would have attached them in his email. Paparazzos don’t have time to harass you digitally as well as in real-life. She must have avoided opening them. Or. Or she is lying.

“I need to see those pictures,” you assert, your need for clarity driving the sentence forwards.

“Are you sure?” You nod again, unable to speak past the lump in your throat, knowing that she cannot see you but feeling helpless to do anything else. She takes your silence as confirmation. There is a brief click of a mouse, and the animated swoosh of an email. “They should come through in a moment.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you… alright?”

She quickly takes the hint from the lack of response and hangs up.

You rest your phone on your thigh as your arms grip onto the ledge of the wall, pulling yourself backwards so that you do not fling yourself off it. You shake as you reach safety, and your fingers feel numb as they tap the screen, accessing your emails robotically until a pinwheel is all that separates you from the photos.

Intimate, huh.

They are practically snogging.

There are eleven images, and each one delivers a blow more painful than the last.

The beach feels confined, like an elaborate cage that you cannot escape. The shoreline creeps towards you, and you seem to be pressed against the hot metal of the car in the carpark. You struggle to recognise the scenes captured as ones where you were present, and the unfortunate date in the bottom right-hand corner evidences the photos as a time when you were not in Barcelona at all: 2021.

The realisation hits hard and you find that everything you have ever believed to be true has simply been a cruel joke that you were excluded from.

What you have been sent is more than just proof; it is a betrayal etched in pixels, an undeniable record of a moment that shatters the foundation of your relationship. Your heart races as your scroll through the images, cruelly reminded of a reality you desperately wish were not true. One you had no idea existed. One that had been kept secret from you.

The lump in your throat grows, and your eyes blur with unshed tears. You are overwhelmed by sharp pain coursing through your veins, and it is as if you have been injected with a poison that burns through your cell tissue, disintegrating every block of your body. It scorches the things you know to be true.

Love goes up in flames before your eyes.

And then a voice that you really do not want to hear speaks, and, just like that, the ashes of what has disappeared are suddenly ablaze once more.

“Nico y yo vamos a tomar helado. ¿Quieres algo?” Sandals, sunglasses, a loose linen shirt. Nico holds her hand, proud of himself. You cannot bear to look at either of them, so you stare at the towels a few metres beneath you.

“Where is Lena?”

“Dormida, aún.”

Shaking, you stand up, enjoying the sharp rocks that pierce into your skin, reminding you that you are yet to die. “Take Nico. I’ll go back down and sit with her.”

“Vale. Te quiero.”

You don’t reply. You wouldn’t have known what to say anyway.

Every step feels as though the world is cracking open and you are going to fall to your death, yet, in the midst of the impending doom, you feel as calm as can be. Numb, perhaps.

Elena stirs as you adjust the parasol providing her the necessary shade. A hand reaches out, prepared to grab onto you, searching for your body like you are her lifeline. You are her lifeline; you are her mother. And so is Alexia.

A tear rolls down your cheek as you let her pull your fingers to her mouth, nails brushing her lips as she whines with the headache of waking up from a nap. “What are we going to do?”

…

The car journey home is silent on your part. You stew in your nothingness, unwilling to engage in the light conversation Alexia creates to keep Nico awake before his sleep schedule is ruined. Barcelona flashes past you, and the city that you once admired feels like the scene of a crime. Looking out the window is almost as sickening as if your eyes were to land on the woman beside you. Almost.

You withhold your grief for the evening, going through the motions of nightly chores; putting the kids to bed, finishing the remainder of your packing, drying the dishes without throwing them at the blonde hair that sails past as she sorts her own suitcases out. A few texts are exchanged between you and your publicist, in which you graciously decide that those pictures will not come from you. Though if her team fails to catch them before they reach Twitter, that is not your problem.

Under the soft glow of the bedside lamp and the comforting blanket of darkness, you clear your throat.

It has been six hours since you found out.

Every second that has passed has done so with excruciating pain, yet you cannot determine whether it has sunk in at all yet. You wonder if, given the chance, you would crumple into yourself and weep as though she has died.

When you look at Alexia, readying herself for bed, you decide that the whole situation is laughable.

You are so stupid. You thought she loved you more than that, and you were embarrassingly incorrect.

“I want you to leave now,” you say firmly, only the bed between you. Alexia pauses, pyjama shorts halfway up her muscular legs as she peers at you curiously. Her confusion is infuriating. “I want you to… go to your mother’s or something. You’re not sleeping here.”

“Why? What have I done?”

She speaks as though this is a normal argument, or as though you are hormonal and unreasonable. You clench your fists and remind yourself not to wake the children up. “I am surprised you didn’t follow her to Mexico.”

It is then that Alexia Putellas realises three things. The first: she hasn’t spoken about Jenni since she left for Pachuca, and she barely pays attention when Nico persuades her to find the stream for the striker’s matches. The second: it has been six months since Jenni called whatever they were doing quits. And the third… the third is how well and truly fucked she is.

She should have confessed her crime the minute she first slept with her; the night after they were knocked out of the World Cup. Elena wasn’t even a concept, then. You took her back though you were unaware you had ever lost her.

Last year, when it was Alexia all alone, she should have confessed her second betrayal. A longer, more hurtful betrayal. Something fuelled by meaningfulness, not passion and heightened adrenaline. If she were in your position, the physicality would not be what obliterated her heart; the emotion behind the entire affair would.

She wipes her eyes, aware that she has started to cry. It is all the confirmation you need. “I’m so sorry,” is the only thing she can think to say, but ‘sorry’ does not amount to the pain she knows she has caused. ‘Sorry’ won’t heal a wound that has cut deep, cut through years of love and happiness and supposed loyalty. ‘Sorry’ does not change the fact that Alexia lent herself to Jenni, let Jenni take her in any capacity she wished, and then returned to you as though it had never even happened.

In all honesty, part of Alexia is very curious about how you have found her out. Mapi would not risk being caught up in such a storm, and Jenni would gain only suffering from telling you because she knows that Alexia would never choose her. Though she has spent night after night with her finger hovering over her sister’s contact, she resolved never to tell Alba either, for fear that her sister would see her for the monster she is and side with you. Selfishly, Alexia does not want anyone to side with you, but even she finds it easy to hate herself.

“Is that all you can offer me?” you croak, and it is clear to Alexia that you are this calm because you are putting your children before yourself. They do not need to hear their parents’ marriage implode; not tonight, not ever. She cannot bear to meet your eyes as you pierce through her bowed head. “Alexia.” She pulls her shorts up fully, forehead parallel to the floor. “Alexia!” you snap.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats.

Alexia Putellas is regarded by most as intimidating, yet, here, she is anything but. She is meek. Pathetic.

She is a woman who continued to make a stupid mistake although she was given so many opportunities to fix it.

And, when Alexia finally grows the balls to look into your piercing eyes, she sees, reflected in your hardened, dark pupils, weakness and idiocy, rimmed with the most stinging of betrayals. It kills her to see you fight your own tears, and it is worse when you have to break eye contact because you are afraid you will vomit if it goes on any longer.

“You are packed, so you can leave tonight. Sort yourself out while I get the children up.”

Everything is ruined because of her.

It is the last night Alexia lives under the same roof as you. It is a horrible way to end a golden age, and the worst possible confirmation of the fleetingness of all things that exist. You hate the world, you hate Jennifer Hermoso, and you hate that you can’t bring yourself to hate your wife.

Alexia says goodbye to a sleepy Nico and a clingy Elena. Your daughter refuses to let her mother go the minute she is passed to her, and all four of you try your best not to cry, whether it be from confusion, regret, or heartbreak.

Nico, inquisitive as one is at his age, does not let the door open without questions. ‘Why now?’ is what causes Alexia to freeze, searching on your face for permission to have one more second with him. You cup the back of Elena’s head, fingers splaying out against her soft hair, soothing her back to sleep. And you nod.

She crouches to his level, dwarfed by her suitcases. In her pocket, her phone buzzes; her taxi has arrived. “¿Te acuerdas cuando te hablé sobre la responsabilidad? Soy la capitana, cariño, y tengo que cuidar a mi equipo, así que ‘ahora’ es lo mejor para ellas.” You are grateful for the lie.

“¿Ahora yo mando? ¿Como me dijiste?”

“Sí. Tienes que cuidar a Mama y Lela, y protegerlas como yo os protejo a vosotros. Y nos veremos prontito, petit. Te lo prometo.”

He is fighting his tears, stiff like a toy soldier marching off to an imaginary battle. You half expect Nico to salute with his chubby, unpractised fingers, but he simply stands there, between Alexia and you. Though Elena is safe in your arms, Nico is caught in the crossfire, two feet innocently leading him into no man’s land.

You take a deep breath as Alexia closes the door behind her. She has been driven out – her own doing – and she knows, because she knows you, that there will be no space in your life for her until your gaping wound dulls in pain. The journey to her mother’s house is the second time she ever considers killing herself, with the first being the night her father died.

But this is how it goes.

You fly to England the next day, holding it together until Elena and Nico are safely in the hands of Anya, but you do not give her a reason for her much-needed babysitting abilities.

It is a small secret. You keep it because on top of being in agony, you are so fucking embarrassed. You. You got cheated on. You weren’t enough for her. (And Jenni was?) It’s really easy to pretend you’re stressed for Alexia, knowing she is heading into a tournament that Spain could win but won’t.

The first official step you take – the very first – is with a nanny. You meet her the day after landing at London Stansted, and she seems to be the perfect choice for the interim period of your life that you have unexpectedly entered; she speaks Spanish, she is discreet, and she reassures you that she is there to enhance family life, not destroy it. And possibly another alluring factor: she is quick to sign an NDA and promise that no photos of your children will make it into any dogshit magazine.

Her first interaction with your children is two hours before your lunch with your publicist, manager, producer, and lawyer. They have agreed to congregate – they have seen the pictures (an exclusive peek, as the deliciously world-destroying surprise photoshoot has not yet been picked up by anyone with ganas to publish it). Each one has a purpose, each one wants to profit off your heartbreak, and, though they’d never admit it for fear of breaking their hard exteriors, each invitee would also like to see if you’re okay.

“Do you… like her?” you sheepishly ask your son while Isabela, the nanny, supervises Elena’s lunch. You’re not entirely sure your daughter understands that the hummus is supposed to go into her mouth, not redecorate the highchair table from white to beige, but Isabela does her best to instruct her, the familiar tinkle of Alexia’s language making your daughter’s eyes light up.

He looks a little puzzled. “Is she a babysitter?”

“Sort of.” You sigh, “it’s just that I have a lot to do, and Mami is playing football now. Isabela is going to help us, but I want to make sure that you want that.”

Nico shrugs. “Don’t care.”

“And she’s going to speak in Spanish, just like Mami does.” In anticipation of a worse reaction, you wince at the slight insinuation that you’re replacing Alexia. He doesn’t pick up on it.

“She sounds funny.”

“That’s because she’s from Colombia,” you answer him, and he nods, storing that information for later. Probably for when Alexia calls to speak to him (a moment you are dreading).

“Is Colombia near Mexico?” He perks up; you know what’s coming next. “Does Isabela know Jenni?”

You have to remind yourself that Nico has not done anything wrong. The fault of the mother is not the son’s, and, briefly, you pray he has inherited your fidelity for the sake of his future partners.

You pretend that the name that just fell from his lips does not fill you with the overwhelming urge to strangle someone. And, calmly, you reply, “probably not, but you can always ask her.”

…

Alexia does not know what to do.

She wishes, she really does, that someone would pass her a clock… and she knows she has trained and worked hard enough to wrestle the hands of time back a year and change her decisions in every situation. Alas, that is impossible.

She tells Mapi, as the team touches down in England, what has happened. The defender is unimpressed – angry, even, at her best friend – but nothing warrants what is to come.

The morning feels eerily normal. Breakfast is difficult, especially when all Alexia can think while she eats is that every morsel in her mouth fuels the monster she has become. Every bite, every sip of coffee, leads her to live another day. She is not particularly certain that she deserves that.

Mapi does not look at her, swerves her request to be partners when training begins. Head down, eyes slowly filling with tears, Alexia takes the punishment. She says nothing when Pina pinches her side, “Patri’s being annoying”, and drags her into the drill.

She runs, she passes the ball, Pina turns and shoots it into the mini-net.

Pina runs, she passes the ball, Alexia turns.

Something goes wrong.

Maybe it is that the pitch is uneven, cut up from whoever had trained before. Maybe it’s the pass, slightly off-target. Maybe she is at that point in her menstrual cycle where the risk of injury is higher – that’s being looked into, isn’t it?

Maybe it’s that her body can no longer stay so robust when everything else in her life is hurtling towards the ground in the most epic downhill slope possible.

Maybe.

The pop is unmistakable, and the pain searing. She can’t help the scream she lets out, barely registering whoever has rushed to her side while she presses her face into the dirt, tears watering the grass.

“I’ve done my ACL,” Alexia gasps, lifting her head up slightly. She catches sight of the blue sky, the green grass. The bright sun shining down on her, hot against her neck but nothing in comparison to the agony in her knee.

She blinks, thinking her eyes are blurring from her tears.

A second later, she is unconscious.

When Alexia wakes up, she is glad to have passed out. She has no memory of being hauled off the pitch or brought into the medical room. Her head aches and her knee throbs, but she knows that there is someone beside her so she does her best to hold in the immediate wave of sobs that seem to take over her.

A calloused hand reaches for hers, unclenching her fist, urging her to squeeze the pain away, pass off some of it to her companion. They have given her pain medication. She can tell because the white walls dance around her and the only word she can manage to get out is your name.

She whispers it over and over again.

“I know,” comes a soothing voice, poorly concealing the worry that cracks the tone. “Shh, I know, I know. You’re okay, Ale. She’s… she’s on her way.”

…

The call is unexpected.

Mapi never has much reason to talk to you on your own, unless you share a concern for your wife’s wellbeing. You suppose that’s a bit of a redundant commonality now. Your lawyers have drawn up a custody agreement and, upon meek request, divorce papers: a gift for after the Euros.

“Dime, Mapi. Estoy trabajando,” you say curtly, signalling from inside the booth that the phone call is nothing to worry about and you can resume the recording session in a moment.

Mapi’s news makes you even more resentful than you were already feeling, because you can’t help but sprint to your car the minute the address is given.

…

Pain becomes part of everyday life.

Crutches, too.

Alba and Eli already existed as frequent visitors, but the former increases her appearances so that she has moved in the day before Alexia’s surgery.

It spills out, the night of the surgery, that Alexia and you are no longer together. That you left her, with good reason. It’s a surprise, considering you had stayed by her side during the twelve hours in England between the medical room, the hospital, and the airport.

When Alexia reluctantly tells Alba why, Alba decides that you are a saint and her sister, a sinner. She holds her hands behind her back to keep herself from slapping Alexia across the face, but little does she know, Alexia longs for the anger, wishing she wasn’t being pitied for her injury. She wishes there was no injury to be pitied for, but, then again, she tells herself that she deserves it and accepts the agony as one would hold a blade to their wrists and slit them.

This behaviour, this quiet ideology that she has been punished for her mistake, is what leads Alba to ensure the keys to the balcony are hidden and the kitchen knives are tucked away in a cupboard, out of sight. Or perhaps it is what she hears her sister telling herself in the mirror. Worthless. Degenerate. Evil, cruel, horrible. Selfish!

She has two children with you, for God’s sake!

“I have ruined my own life.” Her words burn, the intensity of her anger enough to make Alba flinch, hands gripping the steering wheel harder, forcing her way forwards. The hospital comes into view and Alexia cries out in anguish. “I have ruined it, Alba! I have ruined everything!”

Alexia, The Ruiner.

She bears the new name with something more than disappointment. She lets the nurses examine her knee, compliment Alba for her care-taking, and reassure her about the surgery. She lets them talk her through possible complications, secretly hoping one will occur and she will wither away; no longer a footballer, no longer a mother, no longer your wife. Just Alexia, The Ruiner.

Alba and her argue, Alexia lying back in the cot, hospital gown patterned against clinically white sheets, light fabric against her paling skin. “You wanting to die is not you wanting to kill yourself. It’s your regret, and it’s your cowardice at not being able to face the consequences of your actions.” Alexia had been hot-headed enough to voice how she did not want to make it through the surgery. She is in excruciating pain, and is convinced they need to investigate it. “It’s your knee, not your heart. Your heart hurts because you cheated on her and she rightfully left you! Don’t you ever say something so fucking stupid again.”

“Alba!” Eli’s entrance is neither good nor bad. “Alba, leave her.” Alexia’s tears run down the sides of her face, hitting the sheets like little bullets. The soft caress of her mother’s hand across her cheek is no comfort, and Alexia only sobs harder. “You are going to be fine, mi cielo. The surgery is going to go well and you will come back even stronger.”

Alexia knows that, once you have torn your ACL, you are more likely to tear it again, so she mentally disputes her mother’s claim. She has no energy to voice the thought, however.

“Mamá, she’s convinced she’s going to have a heart attack.” Alba points to her sister’s chest, as if to disagree by showing their mother that nothing seems to be out of the ordinary. They begin to argue, and Alexia watches her family implode, deeming herself once more, Alexia, The Ruiner.

It’s not a heart attack, it turns out. She falls victim to a severe panic attack just as they begin to wheel her away. They increase her dosage of anaesthetic.

Unfortunately, the next morning Alexia comes to after a successful surgery and remembers nothing. That is until she looks to her bedside and finds only her mother there (Alba having gone to the big, empty apartment to adjust it to her sister’s newly-disabled lifestyle).

She relives the kisses Jenni used to press to her neck, the marks sucked into her skin though Jenni knew she was not hers to brand. She relives your expression when you told her you knew, the grimace you had worn, the way your eyes flicked to the ensuite as though you were going to throw up at any point.

She hears her knee pop again, sees the trophy slip from her grasp, sees it float into the realm of possibility along with the Champions League cup.

“You’re awake,” Eli says with surprise, offering a warm but sympathetic smile. She reaches out to touch Alexia, but Alexia jerks her body backwards, instantly regretting it when her knee begins to ache unbearably. “They said you’ll be in a lot of pain at first, but it will subside and, soon, you can start recovery. Your physiotherapist is going to visit in an hour or so, and I cannot count how many well-wishes you have received.” Weirdly, Eli thinks to herself, Jenni has said nothing.

Alexia shakes her head, trying to dispel the fog in her mind. “Do the… Do the children know I am hurt?”

“I believe so,” Eli replies with a nod. “Y/n broke the news to them, but we haven’t heard from her since you went into the operating theatre. I have no idea whether she’s going to come here. I assume she will.”

“She won’t,” mutters Alexia, refusing to look at her mother.

“Oh, don’t be so gloomy. She’s your wife, of course she is going to come.” A dark storm brews in the cagey hospital room, but Eli remains an oblivious ray of sunshine. “I know you don’t want Nico and Lela to see you like this, but they miss you. They must have been so excited for the Euros!”

All of it is the wrong thing to say. If Eli had known, she would have approached the uncertainty differently.

If Alexia were not so angry at herself, so guilty, so destructive, she would have calmly explained that your absence is both warranted and understandable.

Instead.

Well, instead, this comes out of her: “She is not going to come because I had a fucking affair and she has left me and taken the children to fucking England where they are probably never going to be allowed to see me ever, and I will live out the rest of my days as a fucking coach because I am useless and I am never going to play football again!”

Eli sits back in her chair, shocked.

“What have you done?”

Neither knows if it is a question or a damnation, but Alexia chooses to answer her mother regardless; “I have ruined everything, and now I am paying the price for it.”

…

Your friends gloat a little bit, calling it Karma. Anya and Gio are first in disbelief, but they soon progress onto the stage of hatred – something you have not yet been able to access.

For now, life feels as though it is on auto-pilot. Your children are happy and safe, your country is going to do well in the Euros, and time does not stop ticking no matter how hard you wish it would.

Alexia’s surgery is successful. You see the update on Twitter, not wanting to contact Alba or Eli in case Alexia thinks you have forgiven her. You haven’t. Perhaps you never will.

“There are two ways you can go about this,” Gio says with a smirk, holding out a thong to you as you stand in your bedroom in just a towel. “You’re hot and rich and famous… and now single, too.” You are not completely sure of that, but you nod, following along. You slip into the lace and then point to the England shirt folded on top of your pillow. It gets thrown at your face. “You can wallow in it and weep like a damsel in distress, giving her the satisfaction of breaking your heart…”

“I don’t think she wanted to–”

“She cheated on you,” Gio cuts you off bluntly. After a moment, your shoulders drop and you resign to hearing her plan. “As said earlier, hot, rich, famous… Babe, just get with someone else. Get with everyone else! Your babies are looked after 24/7 and this is London, my dear. The pond is really an ocean and you are a catch. As your bestest friend, I know what’s best for you. You’ve got an album coming out in September, a tour to hop on in November, and about three thousand dildos you can hop on after that!”

You cringe. “Don’t be crass.”

“Don’t be a prude.” She gestures to herself. “Look at me; Mia’s fine and healthy, doesn’t legally have to see her arsehole of a father, and I get a good shag every fortnight.”

“No, I’ve drawn up the custody agreement already. I’ll go back to Barcelona when the school year starts, and we can swap every two weekends. But I’m keeping our home – she can find somewhere else to live, seeing as all of this is her fault.”

“And the tour?” Gio asks as you pull on your England jersey and a pair of shorts. Good weather has blessed the start of the tournament, and you have been invited to the first match at Old Trafford by Manchester United themselves. Gio and Anya are coming, and you think they have put you in with a few of their players and executives. Your father has his own ticket, planning to meet you there and convince you to pay your grandmother a visit (she doesn’t like that you are lesbian and therefore you don’t like her).

“I don’t know,” you sigh, “because I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to make the children’s lives even more unstable. Maybe it’s best to give them a few months to adjust to the idea of us not being together.”

Gio hums in agreement, knowing she had it easy with her own co-parenting adjustment because her daughter was a baby with no recollection of her parents being a couple, much less in-love. “You’re a good mum.” She kisses your cheek and wraps you in a very needed hug. “You’ll get through this because you are stronger than a pathetic affair.”

You swear.

“What time’s our train leaving?!”

The match is a good one, and the atmosphere is enough to make you feel the slightest bit alive. Spain plays in two days, and though you have good reason to believe Alexia is going to be there, you are booking a family trip to Legoland to delay the first hand-off of many.

England win with one goal to nil, courtesy of Beth Mead’s chip. You are on your feet, cheering the entire match. One of the United executives tells you that he loves your passion and asks you if you’d take his ticket to the post-match drinks as he wants to head home for a nap. You laugh, the old Mancunian reminding you of your father, and accept. It’s just the one ticket, so you bid Gio and Anya goodbye, book a hotel for the night (comfortable with the idea that Isabela has safe hands to care for your children), and give your father a valid reason to pass up on the visit to Didsbury.

The only person at this event that you really know is Alessia Russo, after exchanging a few DMs last Christmas to wrangle a signed Manchester United jersey for Nico’s Christmas present (a gift Alexia had refused to say was from her as well).

“No kids today?” she asks with a grin, pulling you into a friendly hug.

“Didn’t manage to get them tickets,” you reply. “But now I get to drink, and you get to watch me and wish you weren’t on a nutrition plan.”

She shakes her head. “We’ve actually been instructed to celebrate the wins. Sarina Wiegman says it’s a key part of tournament success.” You look around the room, noticing every Lioness here, hair still wet from the showers and donning team-issued tracksuits, has a can of beer in their hands. Jorge Vilda could never. “Glad to see you haven’t yet become a Spain and Barcelona fan. Feeling patriotic enough to be introduced to our captain?”

Leah Williamson bears the same concentrated eyes gifted to Alexia; determination, victory, leadership.

You’re unsure if you have ever formally met her, perhaps at the Brits once. “I go with Alex? Alex Scott,” she says, as though she is trying to impress you. She takes the briefest of looks down to your hands that hang near your waist with no glass to hold (the bar has cut you off for half an hour).

You wear one ring. It is not the one with which Alexia promised you her total devotion, but it is from her all the same. An old gift – maybe from your first anniversary?

Leah doesn’t ask whether you are still married.

“I heard your son loves football?” He is obsessed with his mother, he wishes to follow her in every single thing she does. “You should bring him to our next match. I’ll get him one of those passes, and– Hey, you know what? I bet there’s a way I can get him a place as a mascot for one of the matches! Both our next ones are down south.”

You smile. “Really?”

“Yeah, course. He might be a bit young but I’m always glad to help out our little fans, and it might throw Spain off their game.” She winks, offering no further explanation, and is suddenly called away before you can request more information.

You have to admit, the idea of Nico walking (toddling) out with England makes you feel both proud and satisfied. It will be a tiny jab towards Alexia, which, honestly, is a privilege considering how she has stabbed you in the back repeatedly with a machete.

When your son’s first time on a proper football pitch is with Alessia Russo, holding her hand with wide eyes and a wider smile, you are sure Alexia has smashed the screen of whatever TV she has been studying her opponents with.

…

Spain playing England in the quarter-final feels intensely political within your family.

Alexia is in Brighton for the first time in her life, and she hates more than anything that she is not preparing herself for a match. She won’t be going through her pre-game rituals for another seven months, at least.

You tell Isabela to take the children to Alexia’s hotel, unable to put yourself in front of the wheel. Your hands have not stopped shaking since your manager texted you a screenshot of their conversation (seeing as you refuse to talk to her, not for pettiness but for fear of breaking yourself in two), and Isabela poured you a glass of wine before she left to calm your nerves.

You feel sick, and the toilet water turns red as your body rejects the rioja. Once you have wiped your mouth, you laugh at the notion that even Spanish wine is unwelcome inside of you.

“Who are you?” Alexia demands as the revolving doors of the lobby reveal her two babies with a stranger. She is quick to remove Elena from the arms of this new woman, although she is disgruntled by how comfortable her daughter seems. One of her crutches falls to the ground, Alexia not having been able to master childcare and post-surgery impairments because she has not seen the children she is supposed to care for, but she does not find it in herself to care.

“Hola, Sra. Putellas. Encantada.” Isabela holds out her hand but Alexia does not shake it, jaw clenched at the way you have gotten a Spanish-speaking nanny as though to completely erase her babies’ Catalan accents and memory of their other mother! “Me contrataron para ayudar a Y/n con los niños. Me dijeron que usted se encargaría de ellos hoy.”

“Sí, lo estoy haciendo, porque son MIS hijos.” She looks at Nico, who has been hiding shyly behind his nanny’s leg, afraid of his mother’s fierceness. Alexia softens, hoping to welcome him into her embrace, but her stupid knee won’t bend and she can’t get onto his level. Isabela reaches out to help her, or to at least steady her so that she doesn’t drop the squirming toddler she is holding, but the help is unwanted and, quite frankly, embarrassing.

Alexia’s frustration brings tears to her eyes.

She quickly blinks them back.

“¿Le gustaría que la ayudara, Sra. Putellas? Me han pagado por trabajar hoy, así que no es un proble–”

“¡No!” Alexia snaps. Silently, she curses how condescending and petty you have become. Paying the nanny in advance to taunt her for her injuries! “No. Estaré bien. Soy su madre.”

“Por supuesto, pero también está herida.” Isabela looks around the lobby for a moment. “¿Está sola?”

Alexia knows that Mapi’s parents are going to be arriving any minute now, kindly offering to help out with Nico and Elena. “Oh, we do not mind! We’d love for María to have children of her own,” they had said.

“Soy perfectamente capaz de manejarlo–”

“Isabela,” Isabela supplies.

“Isabela,” Alexia repeats. “Ahora, si ha terminado, vaya a disfrutar su día libre.”

She waits on the sofa just left of the door for Mapi’s parents, silently begging them to arrive as soon as possible. Nico is bored and would like to run around, upset that Alexia denies him his fun whenever he whines to play. Elena is tired, grumpily napping in Alexia’s lap, but that means she can’t position her knee the way the surgeons had asked her to. Isabela hadn’t meant to, but she had dumped two rucksacks of toys, snacks, and clothes onto Alexia, who still hasn’t been able to retrieve her crutch from the floor.

Close to tears and very overwhelmed, the arrival of the couple comes as a great relief. “Oh, you poor thing,” coos Mapi’s mother, a caring woman from whom her friend inherited the same quality. She kisses Alexia’s forehead and instantly takes the weight from her lap, hushing the soft whimpers Elena lets out. “Let us look after the babies. You make sure you have the tickets sorted. Have you taken your pain medication? Oh, let me take care of it for you.”

The fuss is something she has had to get used to, but she is thankful for the assistance. They wrestle Nico into his red Spain jersey, something he was not delivered in, and they ensure all three of their wards are comfortable before the stadium appears in the windshield of the taxi.

Alexia begins to get nervous.

Spain has more talent than England – always has – but they don’t have the same funding nor support. Their manager is a dickhead and the federation corrupt, and Alexia’s teammates suffer daily in a way no Lioness would be able to comprehend. She fears for their reputation, for their progression.

Her nerves increase when she sees you in the stands, in your own box of course. It seems that you see her too, but your only acknowledgement of her presence is the wave you give to your children. Alexia has to remind them sharply in Catalan that they are Spanish.

Afterwards, when Spain lost and Alexia is blaming herself for the defeat, you walk through the tunnel, following Leah’s directions that she had sent over text. You’d added her to your contacts yesterday, growing tired of Instagram DMs.

The odd thing about this area is that to your left, nothing is heard and the air hangs its head in shame, but to your right, a nation celebrates its victory. Sadly, you know you have to fetch your children from the Spain changing room before you say goodbye to the English heroines.

You knock on the door, politely. You have never been more glad that a player has not been selected for a squad. Jenni has missed the Euros due to injury, much like her partner-in-crime.

A solemn Ona Batlle, a Manchester United player who serves as a bridge between worlds in your household, opens the door, making no attempt to force a smile when she sees that it is you. You are (were) their captain’s wife; you are like family.

“Hi,” you breathe, not wanting to be the one to pierce through the silence.

Ona stands to one side and you pass.

Most of the girls are tearful, sniffling into their jerseys, heads in their hands, but no one is as distraught as Mapi. Her sobs take the fun out of winning, her devastation crushing and contagious and impossibly hard to ignore. She buries her face into Alexia’s shoulder, but it does nothing to muffle her cries.

You gulp, catching hazel eyes, understanding the plea to not make this feel worse.

You are heartbroken, and so is Mapi. For different reasons, yes, but both organs are shattered in the same way.

Alexia mutters something very quietly, secretly wishing Mapi does not let her go because this is the first time the defender has actually spoken to her since Alexia did what she did, but the blonde hair stops itching her face soon enough.

Rooted to the spot, you search the room for two smaller Spaniards, finding them both taking after Alexia, comforting the players.

“Nico, Lela, come on,” you croak, finding tears in your own eyes. “Say bye-bye to Mami.”

Their hugs and kisses are missed the moment Alexia leaves the country, and the absence of them makes Alexia crumble completely when she finds the letter from your lawyer that Alba has been hiding from her.

…

September rolls around with school, the start of your custody agreement, and the release of your new album.

Judgement Day.

For many, it confirms the split from your wife. Those pictures were never picked up by a magazine, so you have had them deleted with a baseless threat to sue for defamation.

Alexia no longer has to communicate with you through one of your employees, but any texts exchanged are few and far between. She tells you that she is renting a flat near the training centre. It has three bedrooms, but Nico and Elena share one because her mother is living with her while she recovers from her ACL. She also partially tore her meniscus, though she had hesitated to pass that news on, but everything seems to be in order and she is ahead of schedule.

You reluctantly text her whenever you leave the country, whether that is because you are flying to London for work (and to visit Leah, who you are now good friends with) or because a club opening has called and you have answered. It’s not as messy as the media makes it seem, but you agree with the articles that say you seem to drink as though it is what keeps you alive. The word ‘addict’ gets thrown around, but you are sitting in an armchair in front of your therapist before that escalates, if not for yourself then for the sake of your children.

They themselves do not understand. Nico frequently asks when Alexia will come home, though he has usually just visited her when this question pops out, and Elena throws big tantrums during the swaps. Those are done at a neutral location: the park near you. You hope the playground takes the edge off the palpable tension between you and Alexia as you sit on opposite sides of the same bench, exchanging brief updates about your shared duty until whoever is a mother for the next two weekends makes up an excuse to go.

Just before Christmas, once you have calculated that it’s technically Alexia’s turn with their children until January, you go on your biggest night-out since the days when all you were was a 2010s pop star in a girl-group. With no one to go home to and an empty house in Highgate awaiting your return, you get the closest to sleeping with someone else since before meeting Alexia. Her lips trail down your neck, the white powder on her nose rubbing onto your skin as she presses herself into you. You grope her body desperately, painfully dissatisfied by the bones and creamy skin your hands find. You are used to muscle, to strength, to power.

Not some anorexic model who calls you a MILF and hasn’t had a sober day in years.

In the end, you don’t end up sleeping with her, but it makes the headlines nonetheless. Your publicist lets them. “The world needs to see you move on, even if you aren’t,” she says. Your slight disagreement is not voiced, and social media explodes with further confirmation that you are single. A group of football fans are quick to attack you, calling you cruel for leaving Alexia when she is injured, but the thousand-person army doesn’t particularly bother you. You are doing your ex a favour by not opening up about the reason for the split, and you are both aware of that.

You spend Christmas with your parents, who are not pleased to have you moping about their house. Your father tells you that success is the best revenge. You tell him that your album has topped the charts in December, winning its battle against Christmas music.

“But that hasn’t mended a broken heart,” he is unkind enough to point out. “And neither will models, drugs, or alcohol.”

At this point in the day, you have made it through a bottle and a half of wine and a pack of Marlboro Golds. Voice hoarse from smoking and sobbing the entirety of Christmas Eve, you tell him to “fuck off” and call a taxi for yourself.

You don’t remember the destination you had typed in, but you end up at Leah Williamson’s house.

Leah is home, having returned from Milton Keynes half an hour ago, and is not really surprised by the state you are in. She supposes that she has gotten to know you well enough to realise that you are far from stable. This is the first time the English captain has seen you heartbroken, but she is unsure whether it will be the last.

…

Your tour commences the following month, with January being a fresh start to a new year. You tell Leah, who invites you out with her on NYE, that this year you won't be cheated on. It is not the comment that makes her laugh, but rather the way it slurs out of your mouth.

Barcelona feels suffocating when you arrive at the park to say goodbye to Nico and Elena. You’ll be in the States for the entire month and maybe some of February. Alexia is sure it will be fine, especially since the team has taken it upon themselves to look after the two children and help where they can. Additionally, Alexia is growing closer to one of her friends, Olga, who loves children and wanted to be a teacher before she decided on something much cooler.

Alexia has the courtesy to send Mapi and Ingrid in her place, knowing that you do not want to talk to her. You haven’t yet heard her explanation, but that does not matter. Nothing excuses what she did, and nothing will. (And with Jenni, who is no longer the godmother to Elena, the title being revoked instantly.)

“Will you miss us?” Nico asks as you kiss his soft hair, hugging him tightly. “Mami said that we have to swap every three findes so why no now?”

“Why not now?” you gently correct him. “Because I have to work. I’m going to sing in front of lots and lots of people and, maybe, write some new songs!” Your attempt to excite him crashes and burns, but you are not going to give up. “This is a secret so you can’t tell anyone, but some really, really special people want to make songs with me.”

“Who?” he pouts.

“Well, one of Mami’s favourites, Karol G. She is very nice, and she told me she has an idea for a collaboration.” Petty, yes, but also a career move. Nico’s innocence and lack of understanding about the meaning of separation means that he sees your plans as a very nice gift for Alexia. “And, let me think. Ooh, Bad Bunny – you know him, don’t you? I’m sure Pina or Patri or–”

He pulls away from your embrace, taking a step back. “Sí,” he says, sounding exactly like Alexia, “but to Mami, she no like because he says rude things.”

“Adults are allowed to say rude things,” you reply with a cheeky smile, winking at him. “Your mami says rude things all the time, but not in front of you.”

“Really?”

“Yep, but you’ll have to ask her about that.”

Alexia has hobbled through the nighttime routines, aided by Olga, who has halved the job by picking Elena and Nico up from nursery and school and watching them until Alexia’s day at the training ground had ended. Her and Olga haven’t kissed yet, but Alba has advised her sister to be quick about it if she ever intends to. Alexia is not sure she does want that, because your absence has only made how much she loves you (and how much she fucked up) even more obvious.

Their beds are on opposite sides of the room, which is technically the master bedroom – only fair, Alexia thinks, because they are having to share here but not when staying with you – and Elena is fast asleep by the time Nico is tired of the bedtime stories he has relentlessly requested. She brushes off the slight sting of his dismissal of her acting and helps him settle underneath the covers.

As usual, she presses a kiss to both cheeks and the tip of his nose, and tells him to have nice dreams and a good rest. The weekend starts tomorrow, which means he gets to join Alexia at the training centre and sit in on the sessions. Alexia is slightly jealous because she is still stuck in the gym, but as long as he is entertained, she will get over it.

“Mami, how long is a month?” asks Nico, voice small and groggy and… is that a hint of an accent? Maybe the two and a half months of Isabela’s Spanish has affected him. She will look into it.

He tugs on her jumper when she spaces out. “Sorry,” Alexia whispers. “A month is thirty days. Maybe you need to pay attention at school.” She pokes his cheek playfully, and he giggles.

“I do pay attention, I do. Thirty days is long.”

Alexia dreams of the football pitch, of the grass she has been promised she will play on before April. “It can be very long,” comes her agreement, picturing where in her recovery she will be come February. “It can also be very short.”

“I miss Mama.”

His statement, unbeknownst to him, is uncomfortably relatable.

“Thirty days will be very short. You’ll see her again soon, and, you know what? She made me promise to give you goodnight kisses from her every night! She is going to send them to me from America, and I’ll pass them onto you.”

“Really?”

“Sí,” says Alexia with pursed lips, raising her eyebrows to invite him to doubt her. He looks up at her with adoration, as if her word is law. She can only be thankful that you are merciful enough to have not turned her own children against her. You have expressed your wish to keep them from being collateral damage, and Alexia respects you for that.

“Mama said that she makes songs in LA with Karol G!”

Then again, there are other ways to be petty.

…

Touring has always exhausted you. Eat, sleep, travel, sing, in varying orders; the schedule grows repetitive and tight after the first week.

After the first show in LA, you bring a blurry face to your hotel room. You kiss her, you can’t bear to do anything more, and you let her sleep off her drugs in your bed while you take the sofa in your suite.

High on adrenaline half the time and utterly knocked-out when not, you zombie your way through the travelling, grouchily rehearsing new songs on the road, signing merchandise for your screaming fans. You get asked about your private life in a few interviews initially, but the journalists soon learn that the topic is to be avoided if they wish for you to talk to them at all.

The headlines continue to tear apart images captured of you at clubs, and magazines never seem to find the pictures of you with your children when you visit them while you make your way around Europe.

There comes a point where you look at a woman and she becomes, in the eyes of the media, your latest plaything.

Alexia is seething by the time your two-night show in Barcelona rolls around.

One day, when Nico and Elena understand the concepts of affairs and heartbreak, they will see the articles written about their mothers; the hate Alexia gets, the times she has been called a whore by fans of the same sport she devotes her life to, the stark inequality between her and her male counterparts. With these horrors of the world, they’ll see the pictures of you, pupils blown out, eyes red. Women clinging onto you that perhaps faintly resemble Alexia.

Because Alexia knows you, because she loves you, she can see that what has been labelled your ‘slay’ era is really fuelled by devastation. A disaster that she caused. It riddles her with guilt, but she doesn't know how to expel that emotion from her head without reverting to the early days of her loneliness where she ate nothing and made her sister seriously worry whether she was going to find her bleeding out in the bathtub one day. And so, with a lack of command over such a strong feeling, she decides to rage. She is furious with your irresponsibility.

“Where should we eat?” your guitarist asks with a grin as you touchdown in Barcelona. The soft murmur of Spanish and Catalan is unexpectedly comforting, the familiarity grounding. Maybe Barcelona has become your home. Maybe it never stopped being that, because home is where the heart is and, frustratingly, yours still belongs to the woman who tore it out of your chest and didn’t even have the guts to tell you about it.

“I can’t,” you reply quickly, wiping the sweat from travel off your brow with the sleeve of your turtleneck. “I promised my son I’d tuck him in while I’m in the country, and my daughter has been drawing at nursery so I’d like to collect some of the pictures and see if I can get them blown up onto canvases.”

Laughing, your crew make their way off the jet. “You know, most celebrities would pay thousands for abstract art but you get yours from a toddler.”

“She’s talented.” Mapi draws with her, you’ve been told. Elena is what makes Ingrid yearn for a ring to appear in their relationship sooner rather than later. “And take the piss all you want, but if you had had to put my kids through what I have, you’d feel the same.”

The sofa in the Putellas household (the apartment no longer inhabited by Eli, who was very glad to escape the intense atmosphere as soon as Alexia was cleared to live by herself) houses three unsettled humans of varying sizes. The biggest, Alexia, shifts on the soft, new cushions, awaiting your arrival with gulps of brewing tears and the latest set of paparazzi photos of you fresh in her mind. The boy, Nico, practically vibrates with excitement, promising himself that he will drag out this bedtime as long as possible to make up for all the others you have missed. The smallest is upset because she hasn’t fallen asleep yet, kept awake by her older brother who shakes her whenever she starts to drift off, hastily scolding her with a ‘no, Lela! Mama is coming home’.

With no key to this flat, you are forced to be buzzed up.

The anticipation builds. Nico and Alexia try to remember what you smell like, testing themselves to see if they can recall it scent for scent. Have you changed your shampoo? Alexia wonders, Do you still use the same moisturiser?

“Hi, my darlings!” you squeal as the door flies open and Nico comes hurtling into your crouched form, closely followed by his unsteady little sister. “Oh, how I’ve missed you!” You squeeze them as though you are never going to let go, and only release them from the hug when Elena begins to whine, adrenaline rush dying and tiredness overcoming her once more.

“Mama, home,” Nico says with an inaccurate finality. You spare Alexia a glance as he pulls you through the bare walls and grey decor until you reach a door with stickers up and down the white-washed wood. “Mami made me change, but you can read! Lela wants this one.” He rumages through the box of books near the children’s whiteboard (on it, the odd x’s and o’s of football tactics), pulling out a few to stack into his own pile before thrusting something you recognise very well.

“Mami reads to us in English sometimes,” he says matter-of-factly, though Alexia silently curses him from where she is standing in the doorway. “Important to know.”

You chuckle. “Mm, very important. How else would you talk to me?” Elena quietly crawls into your lap, happy to take over Nico’s bed, where you are sitting. You stroke her hair, holding her close. “Mami reads you ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar’?”

He is too young to know what scepticism looks like.

“Es que hay ‘La Pequeña Oruga Glotona’.”

You refuse to look at the voice which speaks, but you nod.

“Alright, why don’t you get into bed, and then I’ll start to make my way through the mountain of books. I am absolutely all yours for tonight, my loves.”

…

Alexia’s hands slam down on the dining table, slapping against the wood with a loud bang. “Enough!” she exclaims, her voice slicing through the tense air like a knife. Her eyes blaze in fury and you shrivel, not quite sure what you have done to her. You grant her the silence she needs to continue, though her shout echoes through the shattered tranquillity like a bomb that continues to explode. “It is enough.”

“What, Alexia?”

You sound kind of… bored once you have regained your composure. Your shock is now replaced with a blank expression, and you run your eyes over your nails, examining your cuticles so that you don’t risk making eye contact with her.

“You think you can just waltz in here as if you haven’t offered yourself to the entire world and expect everything to be okay?” Her voice trembles with indignation, venom dripping from each word she spits out. “You can’t go from common slut to mother in one day!”

Nails forgotten, you square your shoulders and set your jaw. “I hadn’t realised you were the jealous type, Ale.” The nickname slips out like a poisonous dart, taunting her, wounding her. It rattles her, and you intend to shake her more. “It’s none of your business, not anymore. Deal with it – or don’t, I don’t care.”

“What kind of example are you setting for our children?” she continues, lips curling into a scornful sneer. “Kissing anything with a mouth! Like some, some hormonal teenager. And to have it all over the papers? It’s trashy! It’s embarrassing for me, because my wife has her hands down the pants of every woman she meets, pumped full of alcohol and drugs and… You, you go to these events, paid to get yourself on the front pages so that they can be mentioned in the location of the incident, and… and that’s like prostitution! Making money from your body, from sex!”

Her fists clench and she storms towards you, footsteps harsher than her bad knee can probably take, but you make no move to back down. You lift your chin up; “I don’t have to resort to prostitution for money. I have more than enough.”

“Then you do it for attention,” Alexia reasons with herself, albeit very loudly. “That is what you are, aren’t you? A slut for the cameras and the glitz and glamour of it all. So quick to jet off on tour, leaving me with our children–”

“I may be a ‘slut’ for attention, but at least I am not a whore for a woman who is not my fucking wife!” You press your hand to her chest roughly, pushing her away from you. “I’m not the one who had an affair, I’m not the one who ruined everything!”

Alexia recoils at your words, freeing herself from your searing touch before she melts. She forces her fury to its boiling point. “How dare you,” she seethes, voice cracking at the ferocity in which she forces the sentence out. “You think you can just throw my mistakes in my face?” You hold your ground. She will not intimidate you. “You think you’re so righteous, but you’re not as innocent as you pretend to be.”

It is a baseless accusation. You both know it.

“The only fact we have here is that you fucked Jenni. Our daughter’s godmother. Your ‘best friend’, my friend too! I trusted her, and I trusted you, and you took that trust and obliterated it by sleeping with her!”

Alexia wants to cut you deep, wants to give you the gory details of it all, but she hears the croak of your voice and knows you will not make it to your hotel if she tells you.

“I slept with Jenni, sure, but you have passed yourself around enough to make us even.”

“Nothing will make us ‘even’, Alexia,” you cry, meaning to sound scarier than you do. You can’t help the tears from streaming down your face, nor the hoarseness of your throat. “And I would never ever do to you what you did to me!”

You have to go on vocal rest the next day, otherwise the concert would be called off.

Alexia refuses to attend, even though most of her teammates will, instead pawning Nico and Elena off to your backstage staff and dangerously driving herself to Alba’s place.

It is one of those nights where Alba cannot leave her side for fear Alexia will choke herself to death on her tears. When the elder of the two can longer hold it all in, Alba ties her hair back with an old hair bobble so that the blonde strands don’t get in the way of her sister’s vomit.

("I don't want to live like this," Alexia says, her eyes wide and alert. Her little sister looks at her with empathy, searching, with a broken heart, for a version of a woman from the past she's not sure she knows. This Alexia is not the same.

"Of course you don’t." It's obvious. Obvious by the way she forces her existence without happiness, without company, without a smile. It's like there is no sun in Alexia's world, nor a blue sky, nor an end.

It never ends.

So, she says, "I don't want to live like this, without her, without the family I dream of every night, every waking moment. I don’t want to live, Alba. I didn’t want to live in August, and I haven’t since, and I… I do it because people rely on me." She takes in a deep, acidic breath, grimacing at the taste of bile on her tongue. “If it were just me, just Alexia”--The Ruiner, she silently adds–“I wouldn’t be here. Alba, Alba, I don’t want to live like this.”

She carries on repeating it because Alba has to understand. There can't be a possibility that Alba thinks her sister is insincere. What a lie that would be! To Alexia, she prefers death over continuing like this, with her head in the toilet and vomiting, vomiting, vomiting.

"If I had the chance, I would go back to August 2021 and never sleep with Jenni. I’d not let her kiss me, not give into it. I'm exhausted from it; from my loneliness, from the kids' questions, asking when their mother will come back home. Do you know that Nico asked me if we still loved him? If she still loves him? And why his friends have two parents and he seems to have a shell of a woman for one, and a vacant space in the king-sized bed for the other?"

"She might not want you again, however, and your imagined future may be false – it is the opposite of reality, no? If I were her, I wouldn't. You cheated on her when she only gave you love and patience and… Well, Alexia, I swear I really want to see you happy, but I just don't think she'll forgive you."

"And why not?"

Alba sighs. She places her hand on Alexia's back, moving it in circles to calm her sister down. When they were little, it was always Alexia who helped Alba. With school, with her problems, with new lovers or ones from the past. It was her responsibility to take care of her little sister, and when their father died and there were only three of them, Alexia felt that responsibility even more.

Here, roles reversed, Alba can only apply that which she has learnt from the heaving lump of flesh slumped on the chequered tiles.

"Alba," repeats Alexia, lowering her voice, relenting. "She loves me."

The younger of the two can’t help the tears that brim in her eyes, distressed in her own right. "She loves you despite your other girlfriend because she's a saint. She's a saint but, if you want her to be happy, you cannot take advantage of her," Alba warns gravely, sincerely, and correctly. Alexia lifts her head and looks at the clock on the bathroom wall. Alba's apartment is clean and trendy, just like the woman, and she has dirtied it with her presence. She remains, for the foreseeable future, Alexia, The Ruiner.

"Smartass."

"It's just the truth."

"Well, if that's the truth, I'd rather you be a liar."

Alba sighs again, more heavily, and asks Alexia to get up from the floor. If Alexia's knee hurts, she says nothing and jumps up and down. "Ay, your knee," Alba grumbles but Alexia keeps going. She keeps going and going until she can't breathe and her lungs hurt. She keeps going because she believes it will rid her of her sadness, or at least hopes so. She hasn't stopped when Alba asks her to. A loud voice breaks the silence. "What are you doing?"

"Destroying everything. If I can't be with her, I don't want to play football. I don't want to walk, or see, or talk. I just don't want to live."

To Alba, this tells her two things. One is that her sister has gone batshit crazy. The other? Well, that is the solution. It's simple, really; one sentence, and Alexia will know what she has to do.

"You need to fix this.")

Heartbreak is ugly, but Alexia’s guilt is uglier.

#woso x reader #woso #woso fanfics #barca femeni #woso imagines #fc barcelona #mapi leon #ona batlle #alexia #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #alexia putellas imagine #randombush3

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crescenthistory · 11 days ago

Note

heeeyyyy I love your series with Barty! Can I request for a one shot where they weren’t dating already but the Yule Ball or some Ball is coming up and Barty asks reader to go with him and surprisingly they say yes? Love your work!

hey love! thank you for your kind works<3 i couldn't make the ball work with the timeline and everything, but i've written a hogsmeade dancing floor equivalent lmao

Words: 2.7k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader (she/her pronouns), no use of y/n, some suggestive flirting, bickering, featuring jegulus and most marauders era characters, dancing, pretending to hate each other

Note: this is set in the grumpy!reader/bickering series before reader and barty get together, so after part 1 and before part 2 and part 3 <3 not sure how i feel about this one

The Three Broomsticks was alive with music, chatter, and a constant hum of laughter. Tonight, every chair, booth and barstool was taken, every inch of the pub was packed with students, all celebrating the Hogsmeade weekend. The air was filled with a kind of rowdiness that had you wedged between Lily and Sirius, sandwiched in a booth that was definitely not meant for seven people.

Across the booth from you, James had his head turned not-so-subtly to the side, practically bending his whole body to get a better look at Regulus, where he was sitting at a table a few metres to your right. The Slytherin boy was not any better, giving James a shy wave that Barty promptly slapped away, with some offhand comment you couldn't hear.

Sirius, stretched out with his arms over the backs of the seats, ever making himself comfortable, looked displeased as he took in the sight. "Can they be any more obvious?" he muttered.

"Let them be," you drawled, half-amused, half-mocking. "Who knows, maybe it'll soften your baby brother's rough edges."

"As if." Sirius smirked, but his eyes softened just a bit.

Your gaze shifted to where Regulus sat, surrounded by friends – Evan and Dorcas in some animated discussion while Pandora seemed to be petting the wall beside her. Opposite Regulus was Barty, hands still all up in Regulus' space. Insufferable.

Even in the dimly lit pub, even in the middle of talking to his best mate, Barty's eyes found yours with the ease of somebody who had been looking far too long. He didn't move his gaze either, instead tilted his head with a smirk. You rolled your eyes, going back to chatting mindlessly with your own group of friends.

James, upon catching Regulus’ eye for about the fifth time in the past couple of minutes, threw his boyfriend a wink that caused him to practically swoon into his drink, promptly turning the colour of a ripe tomato. That was about when you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” you said, barely able to hold back a snort.

“I know,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “They are simply so disgusting.”

“I can hear you, you know,” James huffed, but didn’t look too defeated as he smiled at Regulus once more. If you knew this is what him finally making a move would come to, you might have not encouraged him.

Lily chuckled, reaching over to give James a nudge. “It’s not disgusting, Sirius, it’s sweet. Not that you’d know what sweet looked like if it hit you over the head with a Bludger.”

“Well,” Marlene added, giving James a sly smile, “it is a bit too much on a rather empty stomach.” She leaned her chin in her hands, staring James down. “But seriously, how long do you reckon you two will keep up the pining act from opposite ends of the pub? You're dating aren't ya, go talk and stop making it everyone's problem.”

James opened his mouth to respond, but he was cut off by a loud, cheerful voice from beside the table.

“Why not ask him yourself?”

There, grinning like he had just won the Quidditch World Cup, was Barty, hauling Regulus close behind him, having decided it was high time to join in on the fun.

"I'd rather not," mumbled Sirius.

"Fantastic news that I wasn't talking to you then, Black."

There was no room for more people to cram into your little booth, but James solved that problem by promptly pulling Regulus onto his lap, ignoring Sirius' pained noise. The two of them immediately launched into soft, excited chatter, blissfully unaware of any and all proceedings around them from then on.

Barty, on the other hand, was still standing, and his gaze swept around the group, eventually landing on you with that familiar, aggravating gleam in his eyes. In this position, you see his t-shirt had its hem cut off and was riding dangerously high over his hips.

“Evening, Treasure,” he greeted with a lazy smirk, saying it with all the derision he could muster. “You look as miserable as always."

"Funny, I felt quite decent until you waltzed in," you shot back, barely looking at him.

"Was it because you were looking at me then instead?"

Lily furrowed her brows as she looked back and forth between Barty's flirty gaze and your tense expression. "Would that insinuate that you're decent to look at, but awful to speak to, Junior?"

"Yes," Sirius concluded before Barty could defend his case.

"I think decent to look at is a stretch," you mumbled into your butterbeer.

"Now we both know you don't mean that, Treasure." Barty winked at you, unaffected. "I'm happy to see you’re actually out tonight. Thought you’d be back in the library, plotting ways to charm your way through exams.”

“Only one of us has to charm our way through exams, Junior."

"Actually," Regulus for some reason beyond you, decides to chime in, reciting as if from memory. "He got 12 OWLs."

Barty just pointed at Regulus with a told you so look on his face.

Marlene let out a snicker at that. “Are you seriously fighting already? You've barely been here for five seconds." The last part was aimed at Barty, but the judgement in her gaze was for the both of you.

"You're acting like those old married couples who never shut up," Lily agreed.

“Oh, they wish,” Sirius chimed in, leaning in with a broad grin that dared you to disagree. “Unfortunately for Junior here, our dear friend hates him too much for that.”

Barty didn’t miss a beat. He leaned back, casually draping an arm across the back of the booth and raising an eyebrow at you. “You hate me that much, Treasure? I hadn’t noticed.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no ignoring the way he was looking at you, with a glint of challenge and something that looked just a little like amusement. “Hating you isn’t something I’d exactly consider a challenge.”

“Oh, but I’m always up for a challenge, and I know you are too,” he said, smirk widening as he shifted closer. “Is that why you keep looking my way? To make sure I’m suffering from all that scorn?”

Your friends exchanged amused glances, most of them failing to hide their grins as they watched the exchange unfold. Even James and Regulus, paused to look your way.

"You are aware that me looking at your table does not equal looking at you, right? We were mocking Jamie here." You ignored James' soft hey at that.

“And," you added pointedly, crossing your arms in defence. "If I were to look at you it would only be to ensure you don’t do anything stupid, Junior. Though, I fear that’s a losing battle.”

Barty didn’t waver, even as your friends gave varying degrees of laughter, clearly relishing in his – and maybe your – misery.

“Please, Treasure. There’s only one losing battle here, and it’s you trying to resist me.” Barty’s voice dropped to a murmur, and his words sent a shiver up your spine despite yourself. You hoped no one could tell.

Sirius nudged Remus. “Taking bets. How many seconds ‘till she hexes him?”

Remus chuckled, holding up his fingers. “Ten, at best.”

You shot them both a glare, and Barty laughed, a low chuckle that drew your attention back to him. “Well, Treasure,” he said, his voice just as taunting as ever, “think you’re up for one more challenge tonight?”

“Oh, Merlin,” you sighed, though your pulse sped up, aware of his hand still too close on the back of the booth. “What now?”

He leaned in, his gaze sliding briefly to the newly assembled dance floor in the middle of the Three Broomsticks, where more and more people were swaying to the groovy song that was playing. He didn’t look back at you right away, just enough to let you see his grin widen as he nodded in the direction of the music. “A dance. If you’ve even got it in you.”

There was a moment of stunned silence around the table, then loud, unabashed laughter. Lily was grinning, Marlene and James looked beyond entertained, and Sirius gave Barty a pitying shake of the head.

“There's no way you even tried that, mate,” he said, with a shrug of certainty. “She'll say no. You’d have better luck asking Nearly Headless Nick.”

“Oh, I’m counting on her saying no,” Barty replied, that trademark smirk still firmly in place. His eyes were locked on you now, a challenge shining in them that made your skin prickle.

Everyone was staring, eyes flickering between you both, waiting for you to deny him. Yet, spite bubbled in your stomach at that faux knowing look in his eyes, teasing you with some power you knew he didn't hold over you.

So: "It's on." You raised an eyebrow, matching his smirk. “I’ll dance with you.”

Barty’s grin faltered for just a split second, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly, and the surprise on his face was worth every second of this ridiculous charade.

It spurred you on.

Remus gave you an almost concerned look as you crawled over Lily to get out of the booth and face Barty, making sure to keep your chin up. Your fists were unconsciously curled by your sides and Regulus eyed them curiously.

“Knew you’d come around.”

“No, you didn’t.” You looked up through your lashes at that, and you swore you could see him gulp.

“Oh, well, this should be good,” Sirius muttered, looking around the table as if anyone else could see what he was. Marlene and Lily seemed to be the only ones who exchanged a knowing look, sizing the two of you up as you squared up against each other.

Barty didn’t waste any time. He took your hand, dragging you toward the dance floor with that signature air of self-assurance that was always just a little too smug. The moment you reached the floor, he turned to you, one hand sliding to your waist and pulling you in with far more familiarity than you believed he had any right to. It bothered you even more how natural it felt to you.

“Look at that,” he murmured as you started to sway in time with the music, his voice barely audible over the crowd. “Didn’t think you’d actually say yes.”

“I like keeping you on your toes,” you replied, rolling your eyes as you rested your hands on his shoulders, a bit closer than you had intended.

"Tell me," he drawled. "Do you really hate me as much as you pretend?"

"Even more." You raised a brow at him as you moved surprisingly elegantly together. "And it's not pretend."

"Liar." The smile playing over Barty's lips was coy. He dipped you – unnecessarily, might you add – and the smile widened as his face got closer to yours.

"I can still walk away, you know." You held his gaze, refusing to back down from this odd challenge between you.

"You could," he relents knowingly. "But you won't."

Barty’s fingers tightened just slightly at your waist, his gaze sweeping over you in a way that sent a flash of heat to your face. “Seems to me like you enjoy this as much as I do.”

As I do…

“Please,” you scoffed, but you could hear the slight edge in your voice, and his knowing look told you he’d caught it. “I’m just proving a point. Watching you struggle to keep up is its own reward.”

“Is that so?” His smirk softened into something more intense, his eyes searching yours as you swayed closer together. “Because from here, it looks like I’m the one with the upper hand.”

"You're embarrassing yourself, Junior. Looking entirely too pleased with yourself."

"And you," he replied in a low voice, head dipping slightly to be more in your line of sight. "Look entirely too interested."

"You wish." It was less biting than you had hoped for.

Before you could think of saying anything more, any words caught in your throat as he spun you, his hand steady and warm at the small of your back. You stumbled slightly, and he caught you, his other hand moving to your waist to pull you close again. That slightly cropped shirt of his rode up, and a piece of his bare skin was pressed against you, heat emanating from it. You had to force your eyes to remain either on his face or the background. Your heart was racing, though you fought to keep your face composed, determined not to let him see how much he was getting under your skin.

You decided to play dirty as well, and moved your hands that were around his neck so that your fingers brushed the exposed skin there. You bit back a grin when you saw him shiver, just ever so slightly.

Pushing your luck, you let your nails dig just slightly into his skin, enough for him to know it was deliberate, and you felt his chest hitch a breath against yours. You desperately wanted to shut him up, and this seemed to be working.

The song began to fade, but neither of you moved, the rest of the crowd and your friends seeming to melt away as you held each other’s gaze. His eyes flicked briefly to your lips before settling back on your eyes, and you felt a thrill of anticipation that you couldn’t let yourself fall into.

Your handy eye-roll broke whatever tension was there as you took a half-step away from him, letting your hands just barely brush your chest as they fell back to your sides. His smirk never left, but this time there was something else in his expression – an intensity that hadn’t been there before, a softening around his eyes as they held yours.

It was almost nice. Until he ruined it of course.

"So, we're like, lovers now, right?" he teased, cocking his head at you.

“Nice try, Junior,” you said, your voice deliberately cool. “It’s going to take a lot more than one mediocre dance to impress me.”

“Mediocre? I dipped you.”

“Mediocrely.”

You found yourselves grinning at each other at that.

Something you couldn't quite place, and perhaps didn't really want to, flashed across his face. “Challenge accepted, Treasure,” he murmured, his voice low and promising. "We don't back down from those, do we?"

Before you could respond, he let your waist go – that you had not realised still lingered in his grasp after you dropped your own hands – and made a mocking bow before he backed several strides away from you, eyes glued to yours. He held his hands up in an I'm innocent gesture before cackling as he turned around to stroll back to his friends. You kicked yourself for still looking at him when he threw you a grin over his shoulder.

You let out a breath, from the total exhaustion that is sparring with Barty Crouch Junior, heart still pounding as you made your way back to your friends. Marlene was grinning like she had just witnessed the scandal of the century, and even Remus and Sirius were exchanging looks, barely holding back their amusement.

“Well, that was… intense,” Lily said, eyebrows raised as she made room for you and handed you your drink. You hopped in beside her, cracking your neck that had grown stiff with tension.

“Oh, please,” you said, waving her off as you took a sip. “He’s insufferable as always.”

“Yeah, yeah, we know,” Sirius said, over your antics for the night.

As you glanced across the pub, catching Barty’s eye for just a second, you couldn’t ignore the way he was looking at you, his gaze lingering with a knowing smile, as if he had managed to peel back a layer of you that you tried to keep hidden.

And from the other side of the pub, his eyes still on you, Barty didn’t look away, his smirk softened into something genuine, something just for you.

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g1rld1ary · 4 months ago

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a little manpower - neighbour!james potter x reader

wc: 1141

cw: none? reader moving into an apartment and meets james

an: i wish it was summer here so bad I'm struggling!!! what are 1 degree mornings!!!!

Why did nobody tell you it was so bloody hard to move out? Like, everyone talks about the money and the forms and all the confusing adult things, but why did no one tell you about the actual pain in the arse it would be to have to physically move everything you own into a flat three floors up? You didn't consider yourself the fittest person ever, not by a long shot, but you worked out and you didn't think you were weak. Yet there you were, panting like a dog after carrying another box up to your new home.

And of course, it was just your luck that you'd planned your big move-out during what may be Britain's only hot day in the whole year (only slight exaggeration). Still, you felt bad complaining. Your parents had helped you in the morning, moving in some of the IKEA furniture you'd picked out and had a good go of assembling some of it too, so you did have a bed to sleep on. Plus, a college friend had stopped by for an hour or two to keep you company and lifted some boxes with you.

So you didn't have much of a reason to complain, except that you didn't want to be doing it anymore. You were tired of walking up the bloody stairs and your arms were aching from the over-filled boxes. Plus, you had one armchair you'd found at a vintage store that had been sitting near the entryway all day, waiting for you to develop the motivation to drag it upstairs.

When your full-length mirror (deceptively heavy) had you almost in tears you decided enough was enough and it was time for a break. Not brave enough to sit in the woefully unpacked flat you trudged down the stairs one more time, crumpling on the grass nature strip until you were lying on your back.

Everything seemed a bit calmer like that, grass surprisingly cool on the back of your arms and legs. Your muscles relaxed for the first time in hours and you thought if you were in a cartoon you'd probably start fusing into the earth. The only thing that would make the moment nicer would be the peace of mind of knowing your belongings were all safely away in your new flat. And maybe an ice cream.

"Alright, love?" A male voice came from just beyond your head. You tilted it back to crack one eye open. A man was standing a few metres away, more shadow than human because of the positioning of the sun.

"It's hot," You said, "And I'm tired. And my limbs don't work anymore." You knew you probably sounded a bit like a child, but who were you trying to impress? The man laughed and it didn't quite match his silhouette; carefree and juvenile juxtaposing the muscles he clearly had.

"Understandable." You could kind of see him running a hand through his hair, "You must be the new tenant, right? I heard you were moving in soon. We heard you drop something heavy before... and cry a little." Sensing the conversation probably wasn't going to end with that, you sat up and turned to face him, still squinting from the sun.

"You heard a girl cry and didn't do anything about it? What a gentleman."

"I came out here, didn't I?"

"And you're not on the way out somewhere?"

"Touché." He had the decency to appear a little sheepish, at least from what you could see of him. He held his hand out for you, pulling you to your feet effortlessly. It was easier to see him now, the sun not being at such an uncooperative angle, and you tried not to look so surprised. The man was gorgeous, tall and muscular with dark curls, but his face was so friendly you couldn't help but smile. He was physically intimidating, but in the way that you knew he wasn't trying to specifically gain muscle, it was something he'd gotten through activity, like a sport or trade.

You stood for a minute, face to face but both silent. You wracked your brain for something to say.

"I'm sorry about the big old armchair blocking the entry hall, I can't lift it on my own and I just need a little extra manpower but I couldn't get any friends over to help today. I promise it'll be gone by tomorrow," You said, glad for both something to say and to get the guilty feeling off your chest. The man's face broke out into a wide smile.

"It's no worries," He assured you, "The people here hardly ever leave their apartment, I doubt they'll even notice. Don't you worry about it." Something about the way he spoke calmed your nerves, both about the chair and moving into the building as a whole. It was your first time properly living on your own, and you wanted to find somewhere quiet but welcoming. If this neighbour was anything to go by, you'd made a good choice. You smiled in return, weight lifted off your shoulders.

"Right, thanks. I guess I'll see you around..."

"James," He finished, shaking your hand firmly in a way that you didn't expect. You introduced yourself in return and you both hesitated, unsure of how exactly to end the conversation.

"Right, well, I've got training," James said awkwardly, gesturing to the kit bag around his shoulder. You nodded, starting to step back towards the door to the building.

"Have fun with that," You said, giving him a small wave. You waited until you were safely inside before cringing at your attempts at conversation, sending a bitter glare to the armchair as you passed it.

You didn't leave the apartment until the next morning, opting to peck at whatever you had in the pantry for dinner before passing out on a half-made bed. But you had to pick yourself up and decided you did need to grocery shop and actually fill up the pantry you'd just acquired, so you laced up your Converse and picked the keys up from the temporary table next to the door.

And there, waiting outside your door, was the old green armchair, waiting for you as if it had been there all along. You smiled, rubbing a hand along the velvet slowly. There was only one answer as to who it could have been, and James was clearly honouring whatever higher being gave him all that muscle by using it for good. You decided you'd have to make him cookies to thank him and set off for the shop.

#giasfics˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀#love #fluff #james potter #james potter x y/n #the marauders #marauders #marauders era #hp marauders #dead gay wizards #james potter fluff #james potter x you #james potter x reader #james potter imagine #harry potter #neighbour!james #neighbour!james potter #neighbour james potter

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povlnfour · 1 year ago

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ੈ✩‧₊˚ OVERDRIVE (LN4)

pairing: lando norris x f!reader

summary: a practical stranger is determined to change your opinion on cars (and maybe make you fall in love in the process)

word count: 2k

content warnings: brief mentions of alcohol, brief make out, 110% irresponsible driving (don’t take ur eyes off the road kids)

“you’re right next to me, feel the heat, going overdrive” — conan gray, overdrive

cars were never something you understood.

your friends growing up had always had a weird fixation whenever they saw specific models racing down the streets where you lived, stopping to ogle and obsess as they used key words that were entirely lost on you. when you expressed your disinterest and lack of care over a model’s ‘horse power’, you were met with groans of disappointment and a quick change of subject.

perhaps that was why those particular friendships never lasted out of teenhood. they became stagnant over the years when you found new interests and connections that led you elsewhere.

somewhere in the back of your mind, despite time making those old acquaintances nothing more than a distant memory, you wondered what they’d say if they could see you now.

so it stood true that you never understood cars, but you certainly had an affinity for pretty men driving them. and lando norris definitely fit into that category.

sat in the passenger seat of a mclaren model you had entirely missed the name of, you gained a new outlook on what made such cars so good. granted it had nothing to do with the technicalities of the car, and more the way the wind whipped through your hair as lando guided the two of you through the streets of monaco. it was dark by now, but the city still shone bright with the lights from the buildings that towered over you — casinos and restaurants much like the ones you found the driver in to begin with.

you barely spared lando a glance, too afraid to lose focus on the road ahead of you. if you were to spend too long admiring the man you might never be able to look away. he had a certain transfixing aura around him you couldn’t quite explain from just the short time you had known him.

the city whizzed by as lando made green light after green light, turning onto less clustered roads where he could finally show the full potential of the car he was clearly so fond of.

“you look like you’re enjoying yourself no matter how much you’re pretending not to.” lando commented, and for the first time since accepting his offer of a drive home, you turned to face him. he was already looking at you, paying no attention to the roads despite the danger such an action possessed, and you couldn’t help the blush the attention brought to your cheeks. “let yourself have fun. stop trying to hate it so much.”

laughing, you shook your head, amazed at how a man who was nothing more than a stranger to you less than three hours ago already had such a good read on you. you’d have plenty to tell your friends who you had met at the casino in the morning it would seem.

“i’ve got a reputation to withhold here.” you admitted, enjoying the way he laughed as he looked back towards the road that grew quieter with every passing metre.

“not a car person?” lando observed.

“not at all.” you admitted, shaking your head fondly as you recalled those times you disappointed your friends. “i don’t think i’ve ever quite understood the fascination behind it.”

lando hummed, going quiet momentarily. he made an action similar to that of checking a watch, seeming to think over a grand idea. “you don’t have anywhere to be, right?”

it was already long gone two in the morning, he knew as well as you did the answer to that. “besides my bed, nope.” popping the ‘p’, you looked back towards the man driving.

“then let me show you what you’re missing.”

you underestimated to what extent his determination reached until his foot was on the pedal, and the slick car was rushing away from the city with nothing more than a light humming sound. your laughter mixed in with the whisp of the wind as suddenly you shot off into the night with a man who was barely more than a pretty stranger.

lando seemed to enjoy the sound, one hand slipping to the bottom of the wheel so he could rest on the door of his car whilst he eased his way through the roads. he navigated with such an ease you were sure he had done this route many a time before, slowing just enough when he reached cameras as to not be caught, but keeping the experience all the same.

“you’re insane!” you laughed as he skidded the car around a perfectly timed corner, knowing your mother would be crying in fear if she saw how reckless you were being.

“admit you’re enjoying yourself!” lando prompted, still finding time to look over at you once more throughout the journey.

grinning through your lies, you refuted “you’ll have to do more than that to impress me.”

“oh come on!” he whined, no malice or despair in his voice, but a glint in his eye that told he was more than prepared to take the challenge, “you’re a hard crowd to please.”

with that, he shifted the gear once more, finding a corner at which he unexpectedly spun back around on, bringing you back onto a straight towards the city that gave him plenty of opportunity to show off.

“you’re going to kill me!” you squealed, clinging on to the door for dear life as you giggled over the wind once more.

lando barely missed a beat before he shifted speeds once again, offering a playful “i’ll make sure they say you died enjoying yourself in the obituary.”

as you swung another corner, you let the motion pull you back towards the centre of the car, the electricity between the two of you becoming more prominent than ever. lando noticed it too, swapping the hand which held the wheel as his right one found its way to your left. you looked at the contact, unsure for just a moment, until he lifted your arms above your head, letting the recklessness wash over you until it shifted into exhilaration. you couldn’t help but lift your other arm to enjoy it, till you were practically shouting with adrenaline field joy into the night.

the fear of the speed was outweighed by the thrill, and you closed your eyes for a beat, enjoying the simple sensation of wind in your hair and lando’s hand in yours.

when you began to emerge into those more populated areas once more, the sight of red lights up ahead, lando spun once again, masterfully avoiding any disturbance with a practiced ease. the motion threw you further to the side, and this time, the squeal that left your mouth was entirely involuntary. you whipped your hands down from the air, this time choosing to find purchase on lando’s bicep as you steadied yourself.

lando chuckled lowly, making no quick decision to move away. instead, his hand that previously held yours found it’s way to rest on your thigh, holding you in place against the centre console and his shoulder. his comfort made you bolder, so even when you had steadied yourself, the grip you had on his arm only faltered enough to provide him momentarily relief, staying close to his side with your hands still linked now at his elbow.

“if you crash, i’ll kill you.” you joked, lando whipping his head around to face you with a smooth wink in your direction.

“you underestimate my skill, baby.”

the way your heart fluttered at the pet name made you briefly consider your own insanity. speeding down unpopulated streets with a stranger, with no care for what may happen. selfishly, you only wanted to bask in the feeling of his hand on the scarcely clothed skin of your thigh, and the look on his face whenever he met your eye.

you spared a glance towards his lips, pulled taut into a smile as he showed off for you. there was something about his confidence that only added to the compellement you felt towards him.

before you could readjust your attention, his eyes flickered back towards you, and the sharp decrease in speed told he had caught where you were looking. you may have pulled back in embarrassment had the grip he had on your thigh not tightened in response.

the temptation to apologise was quelled just as fast when he brought the car to a less extreme speed, able to spend longer fixating on you without the imminent threat of crashing if he lacked too much focus.

“i’m gonna need you to stop looking at me like that.” he practically growled. “otherwise i’ll do something stupid.”

you considered for a moment, debating just how reckless you would allow yourself to be tonight before the words left your lips involuntarily. “nothing’s stopping you.”

it was as though something shifted in the man, his hand finally leaving your thigh just long enough to bring the car to a halt in a convenient lay-by. and before you even had the chance to react to the standstill, he was pushing back over the centre console and connecting his lips with yours.

his hands found the back of your neck with a terrifyingly practiced ease. one your own gripped onto his forearm, your other finding it’s way between his curls and giving a sharp tug that had him gasping into your mouth. he recovered fast, using his tongue to swipe against your bottom lip in a request you couldn’t deny.

as lando deepened the kiss, he tugged you towards him, one hand slipping down to your waist and helping you across the console without ever having to disconnect your lips. you planted yourself firmly against his thighs, chests connecting as his tongue encircled yours. both his hands now crept towards your ass, squeezing firmly when they found their goal.

you almost automatically rolled your hips down as he gave a tug, eliciting a groan from his lips you so desperately wanted to hear again in a less public situation. he only held you tighter in response, tugging your bottom lip between his teeth in an attempt to gain some power back. you let him take it happily, bracing your hands against the headrest to gain some stability.

you were sure your lips were red and swollen by now, too enticed by the man below you who tasted vaguely of mint from the singular mojito you had seen him nurse all night.

the alcohol in your own system would be little match for the memories of lando’s hands on your skin. his fingers found their way up your waist and between the slits in your outfit so that they could dance along your skin with a wave of electricity.

lando tugged you closer, a feat you didn’t feel possible until your bodies were flush together, your knees taking the brunt of your weight to allow the closeness to remain. you let one finger slip from the headrest to trace the curve of his neck, enjoying the way his muscles tensed in anticipation at the contact. the sly smile it brought to your lips was enough to finally break your kiss, the two of you panting shallowly as your foreheads rested together.

lando took a moment, squeezing your waist as he closed his eyes to regain some of his own sanity.

“i should really get you home.” he muttered, voice void of any real haste “you make it quite hard to let you go.”

as he tilted his head to trail sweet kisses along the side of your jaw, you couldn’t quite help the offer that left your lips. something about the man below you had you believing that a rash decision would somehow be worth it.

“i never said you couldn’t come in.”

lando grinned in response, connecting your lips again as he turned the ignition back on in a clear acceptance of your invitation.

you’d have to clamber back into the passenger seat soon enough, but for one last second you allowed yourself to revel in the realisation that your night was about to get a lot more interesting.

so maybe you didn’t understand cars, but you’d certainly thank them for this outcome.

hello pals

soooo my first one shot ?! on this account at least. i used to write terrible 1d fanfic so this is a step up lmao. written based on overdrive by conan gray, 10/10 recommend

if you’re still here, thank you SO MUCH for reading. feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments/reblogs/asks, i always love reading what people have to say. i have not proof read this bc i hate my own writing so apologies if there are glaring mistakes.

i’ve also only been to monaco like three times but these quiet streets are entirely made up that place is manic (for someone who lives so close i do not go enough)

got some ideas in the brain, mostly around lando but also a few charles and oscar bits as they’re my boys so let’s see how this goes

but for now, big love! taglist can be found in my pinned post along with masterlist i’m slowing filling out🧡

- love, gigi xx

tags: @idkiwantchocolatee @vellicora @alessioayla @bborra @crimeshowjunkie @paolexsstuff @champagnelovers101 @loxbbg @hobiismyhopeu @moonypixel @celestialpato @champagneproblems17

#ੈ✩‧₊˚ works #f1 #f1 x reader #lando norris #lando norris x reader #mclaren #lando norris au #lando norris blurb #lando norris imagine #lando norris scenario #lando norris one shot

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ramirezmindset · 2 months ago

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ғᴀɴʙᴏʏ ʜᴀs ᴀ ᴡʜᴀᴛ?!

ᴍɪᴄᴋᴇʏ ɢᴀʀᴄɪᴀ x ғᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

→ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: you've been married to mickey for nearly three years now, but things can only stay secret for so long, especially when a certain Jake discovers you two on a coffee date...

→ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: adult language, but mainly fluff and a few sexual innuendos (no smut) :P definite naval inaccuracies, mickey and y/n are both around twenty-eight years old during this. ↳ wc: 3050

→ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: first post on this blog also first time writing in maybe 4 (??) years eeeek!!! hope it lives up to the hype, feelin funky fresh - requests are open!

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

seven years ago

You were a fresh spring chicken. A graduate, an adult, a taxpayer, looking on towards the horizon at your fresh and gleaming new life, the excitement was palpable. You and your best girlfriend, Cara, had moved into your new San Diego apartment a mere seven months ago, both of you having job offers out the door. Maybe being grown up wasn't so bad.

There was one thing missing from your life, you thought, as you looked out the window of the café you and Cara settled on for coffee. You didn't have anyone.

"Hey, what am I? Chopped liver?" Cara exclaimed, a slight smirk on her face. You didn't realise you said that out loud. She knew exactly what you meant by 'anyone', she just loved to tease you. You rolled your eyes at her and chuckled.

"C, you know exactly what I mean. You have Sophie, who, by the way, might as well start paying rent considering she's at our apartment every. Single. Night." Now it was Cara's turn to roll her eyes.

You had always been the shy guy out of your friends, much preferring comics and solo nights in to crazy nights on the trot. It's not that you were against an alcohol fuelled 'gals about the town' evening with all your best friends, but nothing beat the comfort of laying on the couch doing absolutely nothing all by yourself.

And you complain you don't have anyone. The hypocrisy is almost laughable as you take a sip of your coffee. You were just never the type to attract anyone, it's not that you were bad looking, or lacked the social skills to keep someone engaged in conversation, it's just that you never liked the people who approached you. They were always too this, or too that, and despite all of your friends telling you that "his favourite spiderman suit will not affect the sex", you just couldn't do it.

"Yeah, about that" Cara trailed off, running the tip of her finger over the rim of her mug. "Sophie and I have been together for a while now..."

"Six months, three weeks, and five days" You replied, closing your eyes in disbelief at the fact you even know that let alone said it out loud.

"Yes, however long that is" Cara waved her hand at you. "Anyway, Sophie mentioned that her and I get our own place together." She squinted her eyes at you, trying to gage how you were feeling, but you stayed silent, lips pursed.

"Ok" You sighed. "I don't blame you. Do it!"

"Really? You're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad?" You giggled before reaching across the table to hold her hand. "You're my best friend, and I'm so glad that you and Sophie found each other, and I want you to go and be happy and live life and have sex and not have to worry about waking me up 'cos the walls in our apartment are so thin!"

Cara chuckled and shook her head. "Yeah, that is a perk, actually. But now, you'll have an empty apartment, go rent the spare room out to a hot guy or bring someone home and fuck them as loud as you want and-" Her jaw falls slack. "Don't look now, but look now, is that not the most delicious man you've ever seen!"

You turn your head to look in the same direction as her, and sure enough, the most attractive man you've ever seen in your life is approaching the barista just a mere few metres away from you.

"Holy shit" slips off your tongue before you can even think, and you can't stop yourself from staring at him.

He was standing there, looking around nervously, his hands thrust into the pockets of his loose-fitting jeans. A mop of inky curls sat upon his head, just leaving his chocolate brown eyes in your view as they darted around the room. His T-Shirt hugged his biceps almost too well, as if it was made for him, and you could feel your mouth practically watering at the sight of him.

"Cara, kill me right now. Just fucking kill me immediately" You pulled your eyes away from him to see Cara sinking into her chair, her hand covering her mouth as she was nearly crying from laughter. "What is so funny?"

"Nothing, I've just- I've never seen you like this before" She takes a deep breath and rubs her eyes. "Go talk to him! If you don't fuck him, I will, and I'm gay!"

"No! Cara, no, I can barely talk to ugly guys, and he is-" You close your eyes and swallow. "And he is actually raw sex appeal"

Before you know it, Cara is kicking your shins underneath the table, using her feet to twist your knees to the side and practically force you to stand up.

"At least go order another drink whilst he's there! Just smell him, I know you want to!" She laughs as you nervously approach the space at the register next to him.

He makes eye contact with you as you walk past, whipping his head to follow your body as you make your way to the counter. You're internally cursing yourself for wearing a stupid Spiderman sweater for coffee, I look like such a freak, you think.

"1984, Secret Wars" someone says from beside you. You whip your head towards him, eyes wide and confused. "Your sweater. The first black Spiderman suit, 1984, Secret Wars" He smiles awkwardly.

"How did you-" You shake your head. "Yeah, yeah it is" You glance over his shoulder at Cara, who is sat there with her mouth agape at your absolutely horrendous attempt at chat. "Um, it's nice to meet someone who knows this stuff. I felt like a total dork in this sweater five seconds ago"

"You shouldn't" He grins at you, a big, gleaming, shit-eating grin. "I love Spiderman, and I think you're cute as fuck" His hand instinctively comes up to nervously scratch at the back of his neck as a blush rises up your face.

"Thank you" You say, grabbing the coffee you forgot you even ordered because you were too busy tripping over your thoughts when you walked over. "I'm Y/N, by the way"

"Mickey" He replies. "I'm Mickey, and I'd love to take you out"

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

present day

It had been seven years to the day since you first met Mickey in the café in San Diego, and here you were, in the exact same spot, with the exact same man, ordering the exact same coffee's, except this time with rings adorning your fingers.

The last seven years had been a whirlwind, Cara did end up finding her own place with Sophie, the two of which were still together, and you did end up bringing a hot guy home and fucking him as loud as you wanted to, just as she said on that fateful day, and instead of renting out Cara's old room, you invited Mickey into yours, turning the now empty second bedroom into your comic shrine just two months after your first meeting.

It turns out, yourself and Mickey had more in common than you could've ever imagined, and for the first time in your life, you didn't feel like a total misfit. When you learnt he was a naval aviator, it was a surprise, but something you were willing to work with, there was no way in hell you were going to let a guy this perfect slip from your grasp. Plus, you knew it would all work itself out in the end, evident in the fact he's now working in the city you both live.

You look down at the wedding bands sitting delicately on your finger, thinking about the life you've shared with Mickey, the love, the laughter.

"Cara, I don't think I'm ready for this" Your maid of honour fanned your face with her hand, her eyebrows furrowed together as you paced around the bridal suite of the beautiful wedding venue.

"Pull yourself together, for Christ's sake!" She replied through gritted teeth, grabbing your shoulder's and twisting you round to look at her. "It is your wedding day! I'm the one that's meant to be stressed out, I practically planned this whole thing. You're walking down that aisle, I will drag you down it by your hair if I have to!"

You closed your eyes, Cara's grip on your shoulders feeling like a tonne. Slowly, you sink to sit down on the floor, probably crumpling the skirt of your perfectly steamed white gown.

"I just-" you sigh "What if he runs? What if he realises I'm not what he wants?"

"Are you crazy?" Cara joins you on the floor, holding your clammy hand in hers. "He's probably just as nervous as you are, and I know that sounds bad considering what just came out your mouth, but that man loves you. He practically kisses the ground you walk on!" You let out a small chuckle at this, you know she's right.

"I'm serious!" Your friend continues. "For the last three years, that man has been hellbent on making you smile. He's like a man possessed, he has been ever since he saw you wearing that horrible Spiderman sweater in the café!"

That part was true. Almost immediately after Cara overheard Mickey say he'd loved to take you out, she stalked over, blurting out a quick "she's free tonight!" before grabbing the coffee out your hand and scuttling out the door.

"That works perfect" Mickey blushed shyly. "If you'll let me?" You remember blushing, and bashfully nodding. You were all jelly legs and a puddle of nerves when your doorbell rang at seven on the dot, looking up to see Mickey's vague silhouette through the fogged window of your front door. Since that day, he's never left your side. You've never opened a car door for yourself, never refilled your own water bottle at night, never spent a dime on a pair of shoes, because, no matter what, he's always two steps ahead, reading you like a book.

"Now come on" Cara said, heaving you up and smoothing out the tulle of your dress. "Let's go get you a husband!"

You were enjoying the peace and quiet of the café, hearing the nearby waves crash and fall through the open windows, and the delicious smell of pastries and espresso wafting around the room, the feeling of your husbands protective arm around your shoulder. He looked at you as if he had the stars and the moon in the palm of his hand, the universe glimmering in his eyes as he opened his mouth to say, what you already knew was, 'I love you'. That was, until, the bell above the door behind you rang and, quite frankly, the loudest gasp you've ever heard rings across the place, louder than the gasp Cara gave you when you showed her the huge rock on your finger when Mickey proposed.

"Fanboy?!" Mickey's eyes go wide next to you, and you can practically see the cogs turning in his head. There was no specific reason Mickey kept his marriage a secret from his pilot friends, though he prefers the word 'private'. Not only did it spare him a whole lot of hassle at work, but it kept you free from the pressure of having to actually have to talk to new people. He knew your distaste for meeting new people, the whole 'What's your name? What's your favourite colour? What do you do for a living?" causing actual bile to rise in your throat at the thought of such boring conversation. So when you nervously requested that he not tell his co-workers about your marriage because, in your own words, "I'll have to meet them and then I wont be able to go out and do what I want", a weight was lifted off his shoulders.

"Fanboy, that is you!" The voice repeated. "And...a girl, oooh!" Mickey turned around to see, who you had learned prior to be 'Hangman', Jake Seresin.

"He's nice" Mickey would say. "But he tries to fuck anything that is female, human, and has a pulse, so he's not going anywhere near you!"

"Hi, Hangman!" Mickey forces out, through gritted teeth. "What are you doing here?" His arm falls off your shoulders as he disappears a few steps behind you to greet his friend.

"Getting coffee and a sweet treat, what else?" He laughs, and you can feel his eyes burning into your back. "And who is this?"

You were hoping he had forgotten you were there as you slowly shuffled further and further down the counter, pretending to peruse the pastries as to avoid any social interaction. Mickey and Jake appear next to you, a look in your husband's eyes that can only be interpretated as 'I'm sorry.'

"Uh- Jake, this is Y/N" Mickey says, holding his arm out in an almost jazz-hand manor, presenting you as if you were a finger painting a child was showing their mom.

Jake makes eye contact with the gold band on Mickey's finger before he makes eye contact with you, his eyebrows furrowing. He grabs your left hand, faster than light, inspecting the matching wedding band, the gold glimmering in the afternoon sun that beat through the window. He grabs Mickey's left wrist, holding your hands up next to each other as his eyes flick between them. Suddenly he drops them both as his eyes go wide and another yelp leaves his lips.

"Garcia, you're married?!" He looks like a proud dad.

"Hangman, please-" Mickey's practically starts begging, his hand instinctively reaching for yours, but is cut off by a boyish slap on the shoulder.

"I cannot believe this!" Jake laughs, throwing his head back, his free hand clutching his stomach. "How did I not realise this? What the actual fuck, have I died? Have I died and gone to hell? A world where Fanboy, of all people, has a girlfr- no, not girlfriend, a wife?!?"

Mickey chuckles with him, shaking his head and blushing. He pulls you into him. "Hangman, we keep this private for a reason, so please can we just keep this between us? As in, my wife and I go about as normal and you keep quiet?"

"Keep quiet? About this? No way, I can't, I've never kept a secret in my life!" Jake is practically squealing, who knew a grown man would be this thrilled over someone else's marriage. "I'm sorry, I haven't even introduced myself, I'm Hangman, my friends call me Jake, or daddy, depending on which friend's you're talkin' to, if ya catch my drift"

You shook his hand politely, a nervous smile on your face. "I'm Y/N, uh, nice to meet you"

"So this is why you didn't want anyone to know" Jake looks at Mickey knowingly, crossing his arms and squinting. Mickey raises an eyebrow and cocks his head in confusion. "What, dude, your wife's hot. Better keep her away from Rooster, don't worry, bud, your secrets safe with me."

And with that, Jake retreats out the café, not even ordering his coffee, or sweet treat.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Your secret was not safe with him.

Later that evening, you were sat at The Hard Deck bar, where you and your husband were frequent flyers, no pun intended. Cara and yourself sat in the corner, nursing a drink each, catching up on the past few weeks, mainly talking about her upcoming wedding. Mickey was on the other side of the bar, pool cue in hand as he made eye contact with you, stealing a sly wink before turning back to his aviator friends.

"Earth to Y/N!" Cara says, waving a hand in front of your face. "God, I wander what would've happened if I never pointed him out to you at that café!"

You were interrupted by a thundering yell by the front door. "Guys!" Oh Christ. "Guys, Fanboy has a wife!"

"That wouldn't have happened, I can tell you that for certain" You rested your head in your hands, avoiding Jake's gaze like the plague before he inevitably would pull you over to the group. You sank further and further into your seat, practically merging with the chair as to avoid being spotted. As per usual, Cara was sat there with a hand slapped over her mouth, muffled laughter escaping through her palm.

"Fanboy has a what?!" The group yell back, almost in sync, as you make eye contact with Mickey who has his head down chuckling. He squeezed his eyes shut, nervously clamping his bottom lip with his teeth, desperately trying to drown out the thousands of questions being hurled his way.

"Since when?"

"Who is she?"

"Do we know her?"

"Is she here?"

"Guys, I think we should all give Mick his privacy, I mean, there's obviously a reason he hasn't said anything-"

"Shut it, Bob!"

"Tell us everything!"

With a nod of his head, you're rolling your eyes and dragging Cara along with you towards him. Your hand is clamped to Cara's, who's still regurgitating laughter behind you. Micky extends an arm as you get closer, putting the pool cue down to reach under his shirt and pull out his dog tags, a gold ring sitting on the chain.

"Jake!" You call out, playfully furrowing your brows at him. "That was supposed to be our little secret" Mickey's arm finds it's way behind your waist as he places a kiss to your temple, you're more than aware that his friends are looking at you, shock plastered across their faces.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry Y/N" Jake said, theatrically wiping sweat off of his forehead, giving you a quick side hug as a greeting, despite only meeting him a mere four hours ago. "I just couldn't keep it in. Our little Fanboy has a wife!"

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

#top gun maverick #mickey garcia #mickey garcia imagine #fanboy #fanboyxreader #fanboy imagine #jake seresin #top gun 1986 #jake seresin imagine #danny ramirez #danny ramirez imagine

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4ranghaes · 7 days ago

Note

song fic w myungjae PLEASEEE<3

song fic!💋

now playing… lay all your love on me by abba

myung jaehyun x reader [fluff, fem!reader, reader smokes lol]

20:12 - “do you have a lighter?”

myungjae looked at the girl next to him, nodding quickly. he didn’t smoke himself, but he kept a small pink jet lighter with a hamster and jewels spelling out the word ‘princess’s’ on him, ever since he realised how often you lose yours.

“yeah of course!” he quickly smiled, ever helpful as he dug into his pocket and pulled it out, handing it over.

the girl chuckled, “princess’s?”

you, standing on myungjae’s other side, seethed. you grabbed it from her, the flame still open as you did so, the cigarette having barely been lit. “yeah, it’s mine.”

myungjae bit his lip, holding back a laugh as the girl thanked him quietly, walking back to her friends. you shoved it back in his pocket, sighing irritably.

“you know, before we met,” jaehyun mused, watching as you took a long drag from your cigarette, “you used to say that you didn’t understand jealous girlfriends. said it was insecurity, or bad boyfriends. no way, am i… a bad boyfriend?!”

“i’m not jealous!”

“oh yeah?” jaehyun laughed, “then why else did you just try and burn that girl’s hair off?!”

you rolled your eyes, smiling slightly at your own ridiculousness, “ah i don’t know! i just… i can’t let anyone get too close to you. she might’ve been hitting on you!”

jaehyun laughed, cooing at you as he placed his hands on the side of your face, kissing your head, “hmm, maybe.”

you huffed, dropping your cigarette before wrapping your arms around him, pressing your lips to his. you felt myungjae laugh into the kiss, he kept his grip tight, keeping you there as he felt you start to pull away to tell him off.

“right, stop, stop,” sungho said, arriving beside the two of you, riwoo and woonhak in tow, all three of them carrying hotdogs from the stand just a few metres away.

“ah she’s not even smoking anymore! noona! you could’ve come and helped after all!” woonhak exclaimed, pointing to your empty hand.

“sorry, woon-ie,” you smiled, wiping the lipstick stains from around myungjae’s mouth, “i got distracted.”

“our baby,” jaehyun cooed, moving to wrap his arms in a back-hug around the maknae, his lips already pouting to attack him with kisses as he always does. myungjae stopped suddenly, looking at you who was staring intensely back. he smirked, moving his attack to you.

woonhak noticed, being left shocked. he looked to riwoo for someone to share the shock with, “he– wha— y/n–”

“don’t be pouty now you don’t have my love, woonhak-ah!” jaehyun teased, his arms wrapped around your body, his lips leaving soft kisses atop your head, “gotta save it all for my girl.”

81 notes · View notes

autisticlancemcclain · 10 months ago

Text

“Keith, I need a favour.”

Keith stops in his tracks. Slowly, he sets down the helmets he’s holding, freeing his hands, then holds the phone out in front of him. He ponders it carefully.

“I could throw you into the sea,” he says to it. He does some quick calculations. If he drives to the nearest seafront now, he will be approximately twenty-three hours late to his date with Lance by the time he gets back. However, if he skips the fanfare and drops his phone into the disgusting oil-filled puddle right next to him, he can proceed to his date on schedule.

“Decisions, decisions,” he muses. Fanfare is important. Dropping his phone into a puddle is whatever. It’s derivative. But dropping his phone into the North Atlantic…now that is revolutionary.

“Fucksake. Keith,” sighs the voice coming from the phone. “If you don’t answer me, I am going to change the Netflix password.”

Keith frowns. “Hey.”

“Thank you,” says Shiro emphatically, “you brat.”

“Netflix is sacred,” Keith protests. “You can’t joke about the Netflix. I am a delicate orphan, Shiro. What will happen to me if my primary care figure breaks his promises? I’ll regress and act out and end up in prison. Do you want me to end up in prison?”

“A little, honestly.”

“Gasp, Shiro. Gasp. How dare.”

“I think you should consider a degree in the dramatic arts.”

“I think you should eat my farts.” Keith snickers. “Hey, that rhymed.”

Shiro sighs, long and loud, and Keith can practically see the smile twitching on his face. “Where did I go wrong. Truly. To think I tried to raise an upstanding young man, respectful to his elders, happy to help when needed. Shame that you’re a gremlin and a changeling.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Blah blah. Get to begging for my help. I have places to be, old man. A new jacket Adam bought me to wear in front of pretty people. Well, one pretty person. Anyways.”

“God, you’re whipped,” Shiro says, and Keith ignores that because if he doesn’t he’ll combust. “You and Lance going out?”

Keith tucks his phone between his ear and his shoulder, picking the helmets back up and continuing his walk to his bike. “Yep.”

“Where’re you going?”

“Dinner at Caribella. It’s an excuse for a ride, really. Maybe walk around downtown for a bit.”

“Sounds fun. How much more fun would it be with your little sister, huh?”

Keith stops for the second time. He can see Red maybe fifty metres away. He looks at her mournfully.

“So close,” he despairs quietly, then turns back to his phone. “Not super fun, Shiro. Since she’s, you know. A year old. And a date is something you traditionally do with your boyfriend. Alone.”

Shiro makes a weirdly strangled noise halfway between a laugh and a stressed croak. “Well! The thing is.”

Keith waits. No thing is listed.

“Shiro.”

“It’s no big deal! Really.”

“Oh? I guess I’ll just hang up, then —”

“It’s just that Adam and I are at his sister’s, right, and —”

“There we go.”

“And we have a sitter. Obviously. All is well. Except, you know. The storm forecast. And everything.”

“And you’re four hours away with a car that you haven’t put snow tires on yet,” Keith surmises. He looks forlornly at his bike, sitting all pretty in her parking spot, freshly polished red paint gleaming under the fluorescent lights of the parking garage. So, so close. “You dumbass.”

“The forecast was clear this morning!”

“You’re a dad! You’re supposed to know these things!”

“Well!”

“Can’t the sitter just — stay? Overnight, or something?”

He feels bad. Any other day, he’d be happy to have Hana over, or go stay over there. He does it all the time. Hana is the coolest. He has no idea how she’s the daughter of the two biggest goobers he knows. Hell, he’s already got plans to watch her this Thursday, so Adam and Shiro can go to their old person museum date thing.

But he has plans tonight.

Fuck.

“She’s sixteen, Keith,” Shiro explains, sighing. Keith envisions his brother slumped against a wall somewhere, rubbing over the scar on his nose. “She’s too young for that. She’s Adam’s friend’s daughter, and she’s a sweetheart, but she’s got school. She can’t be responsible for a baby overnight.”

“No, I — I figured.” He drags his free hand down his face. “You need me to go over there?”

“Yeah. Mara – the sitter – can’t drive yet. Her parents are coming to get her in an hour.”

Shiro’s voice is quiet, subdued. He sounds guilty. Keith hates when Shiro is guilty. He covers his hand over the phone so Shiro can’t hear, screams a little, breathes deeply, then forces a smile wide enough that it will bleed into his voice. Hopefully.

“It’s fine, Shiro. Seriously. Lance and I’ll reschedule, Hana and I will make sure to fuck up your Netflix profile. All is well.”

“Thank you, Keith. I owe you.”

It is a dire thing when Shiro doesn’t complain about Keith messing up his Netflix profile. Once, three years ago, Keith forgot to switch the TV in their living room and watched some Hallmark movie as he sketched, just to make noise in the background. Shiro made snide comments about his taste for three months, because he’s a pretentious indie loser who watches shit like Empire unironically.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll start a tab.”

That, thankfully, makes Shiro snort. “Brat.” He brightens. Keith can almost hear the ding of a lightbulb going off in his head. “Hey, I know it’s dorky, but maybe you and Lance can still go on your date! Me and Adam used to when you were little, in the old apartment.”

Keith furrows his brows. “What, like when you marathoned Lord of the Rings on the shitty futon and ordered the greasiest pizza known to man? That’s not a date.”

“Is so! We enjoyed it, you had pizza so you weren’t having a tantrum, what else could we need?”

“You guys have been weird old people your whole entire life. Did you know that?”

“Only because you aged me. You pain. Anyways. Go pick up my daughter, or you can stay at our place. Minivan keys are where they always are. I gotta go. Love you, kiddo.”

“Ugh. Love you too.” He hangs up, blowing a raspberry at the phone. “Minivan keys are where they always are, he says. What a soccer mom.”

He stares, hands on his hips, at his bike.

What to do, what to do.

He really doesn’t want to cancel on Lance. It’s been a couple days since they’ve seen each other, because Lance’s job hates him. Plus, Hana isn’t very fussy. It’s kind of dweeby and embarrassing, but. Well. Lance likes kids. So it could be fine, honestly.

“Hana first,” Keith decides, nodding to himself. He lifts the seat compartment under the bike and shoves the extra blue helmet in, strapping on his own and starting Red up. To bring Lance to Shiro’s for an embarrassing old person date, or to cancel. That is the question.

Eh. He’ll decide on the ride.

— — —

He does not decide on the ride.

“What do you think,” he asks his sister, lips pursed. She gurgles happily at him from her high chair, shaking her soggy-Cheerio-covered fist at him. “I mean, you go to bed in a couple hours. So it’s not like it’s pure babysitting.”

“Abdalalala,” she says, which Keith translates to mean actually, now that I know you want me to sleep, I will spend tonight completely resistant to sleep, as karma. Enjoy.

“That’s rude,” he informs her.

You’re batshit, says the Pidge that lives in his brain. Also, quit procrastinating.

“Ugh,” he says, out loud. He pulls out his phone and hesitates over Lance’s contact.

to: lance <3

hey you like kids right

from: lance <3

oh my god

from: lance <3

keith, are you…

from: lance <3

pregnant??????

Keith laughs.

to: lance <3

you are not funny

from: lance <3

i’m hilarious actually it’s a tragedy

from: lance <3

i carry the burden of knowing i am solely responsible for my friends’ good humour

from: lance <3

heavy is the head that wears the crown. pensive face emoji solidarity fist emoji broken heart emoji

Keith refuses to dignify that with an answer. Also, he has been informed by Lance’s best friend that if he ignores the emoji bit it will go away eventually. So far it’s been going strong for three months, though, so Keith’s not certain. He can only hope Hunk is correct.

from: lance <3

anyways yah i like kids why

to: lance <3

how much cooler and charming would i be if i picked you up in a minivan. with my sister

from: lance <3

aw, keith!

from: lance <3

to be coolER and MORE charming you have to be cool and charming to begin with :)

from: lance <3

and you are a dweeb 💖

from: lance <3

sounds good tho

from: lance <3

Bring Forth The Child

from: lance <3

oh also bring forth burritos on ur way over

from: lance <3

i’m hungry

Hana yells and bangs on her tray. When Keith looks up, she lobs a Cheerio at him. It hits him squarely between the eyes.

“You’re right,” he says sagely, peeling it off and flicking it back at her. She shrieks in joy. “I cannot let this shit slide. I cannot simply allow myself to be roasted, Hana. I must have self respect.”

She blows a raspberry at him and bangs harder on her tray. Baby conversations are, honestly, riveting.

“Exactly, squirt. You get it. Let’s get cleaned up and go, hm?”

— — —

He picks up burritos on the drive.

Hana laughs at him.

— — —

He’s hardly pulled up in front of Lance’s apartment building when a blur streaks across the front walkway, yanking open the van’s side door.

“Oh, hell-o, precious darling!” gasps Keith’s boyfriend, tumbling into the backseat and slamming my the door shut behind him. “Hi, Hana! Hi hi hi! Aren’t you the bestest ever? You are!”

Hana, evidently pleased with the attention, babbles something incomprehensible and pats Lance’s cheek. He melts, babbling something so quickly it’s equally incomprehensible and shaking her hand. Keith watches, torn between endeared and affronted.

“Hello, boyfriend I have not seen in days,” he deadpans. “Yes, I missed you also. No, I don’t mind at all that you leave me to wither away, alone, in the front seat. Excellent chat.”

“You have a very very grumpy brother, don’t you, Hana,” Lance coos. His shoulders shake with held back laughter.

“Lance, get your ass in the front.”

“But I’m meeting the baby!”

“She is not going anywhere! Meet her at home! You turd!”

“Name-calling is not very nice,” retorts Lance primly, crawling over the console and finally settling in the passenger seat. “What kind of example are you setting, huh?”

He leans over the armrest once he’s buckled in and kisses Keith gently, cradling his hand against his jaw and tilting their heads together. He smells, as he always does, of flowers and sunshine, and Keith sighs as he sinks into the softness of him, the curve of his smile and nip of his teeth.

“Hi,” Keith murmurs, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, his chin, and then squarely on the mouth again.

“Hi,” Lance responds, a little breathless, grinning widely. His hair is damp and curling at the edges. He’s left out his contacts for the night and the gold lenses match the gold flecks in his brown eyes. Everything he’s wearing is stolen right from Keith’s closet, except his socks, which are bright purple and covered in obnoxiously orange weiner dogs. Keith is so in love with him that the intensity of it embarrasses him, and he pulls away, face red, very interested suddenly in adjusting is rearview mirror.

Lance, knowing, only smiles.

“These are for you,” he says gruffly, shoving the paper takeout bag at Lance’s chest. Lance wastes no time digging through and shoving half of one in his face.

“Aw, baby,” he says, mouth completely full. “You’re literally the best. Sweet, attentive, manipulable, obsessed with me. Everything I intended when I did the love spell on you.”

Keith eyes Lance from his peripherals. He’s digging through his patched backpack, face completely serene. Keith is reminded of the actual sigil he has tattooed on his ankle. (He’s very familiar with it. It’s often right at eye level. Hard to miss, really.)

“…You’re a strange, strange man.”

“Anyways!” Lance continues, visibly gleeful. Keith reminds himself to focus on the goddamn road and remember his sister is watching with her giant wide eyes in the backseat, probably committing all his embarrassing actions to memory to report to Adam the second she is capable of speech. “I brought lots of movies. Mostly Jurassic Park, but also some educational stuff for the baby. Ghostbusters, High School Musical, you know. All that good stuff. And I stashed popcorn behind your microwave last time I slept over so we’re set for snacks.”

“Oh, we’re going to my brother’s place, actually, ‘cause Hana’s more comf— wait, behind the microwave? Why behind?”

“Wait, wait, hold on. We’re not going to your place?”

“No,” Keith says carefully. “I have some baby stuff in my apartment, but not a lot. Plus, Shiro has a better T.V. and also Adam just bought Moose Tracks. So.” He slows to a stop at a red light, noting Lance’s odd expression. “That okay?”

Lance screws up his face for a second, thinking. “I’m pretty sure? As long as there’s an extra toothbrush there. I have one at your place so I didn’t bother bringing one. And I guess I can survive a night without my face serum, but if I get one single wrinkle we’re beefing.”

“You’re not gonna get a stupid wrinkle,” Keith grouches. “And why would you get pissy if you get a wrinkle? We’re gonna get them eventually, and you —”

“‘We’?” Lance teases. “You gonna grow old with me? Gonna marry me someday, Kogane?”

“—can even use Shiro’s face stuff, anyway, I’m sure it’s the same.” Keith clears his throat. “And plus —”

His voice cracks horribly. Lance makes a valiant effort to keep his giggles to himself, but as Keith face continues to get hotter and hotter he loses control and laughs, head thrown back, adam’s apple bobbing with every hitched breath. His laughter sets Hana off, too, both of them encouraging each other’s ridiculousness until they’re as red as Keith is, gasping for breath.

“I hate it here,” Keith mutters darkly. “I’m turning around and bringing you back. You’re the worst. Why do I go out with you.”

Lance, barely recovered, makes kissy faces at him. “Because you want to maaaarrryyyyy meeeee, you think I’m seeeeexxxyyyyy, you want to kiiiiisssss meeeee —”

He cuffs Lance in the back of his head, pretending to check his blindspot and ignoring Lance’s cries of spousal abuse. “I actually just want you to watch Miss Congeniality twelve percent less often. For your own mental health.”

“Lies and slander! Peddling of falsehoods! Perjury and defamation!”

“I’m burning your thesaurus.”

“And now threats! Hana, you shall be my witness! I will testify against you in court! You will be jailed! I will visit you twice monthly!”

“That’s the second person today who wants me in jail,” Keith comments, pulling into Shiro’s driveway. “You’d visit me even if you put me in there?”

“Well, duh. Have to make sure you don’t go around kissing cute criminal boys or I will become a cute criminal boy.”

“Right, of course. I should have known.”

“You should have, yes.” Lance leans over and kisses him on the forehead with an exaggerated ‘mwah’ noise. “But it’s okay, I like ‘em a little dumb.”

“Help me get the diaper bag, goober,” Keith snorts, shoving him away. “I want to get inside so I can have a burrito before you eat them all.”

———

Lance was not kidding about High School Musical.

Obviously.

“Do you want her to grow up with no understanding of community, Keith,” he scolds, and pays no mind when Keith replies, “Well, she has a family, dude, so I’m not worried.”

They watch the stupid musical.

Keith is horribly endeared by Lance’s extensive knowledge of the choreography. Lance is horribly appalled at Keith’s ignorance. Hana is intrigued, mind body and soul, by every scene with Sharpay Evans. Keith assumes this will be a problem for Adam in the near future, and resolves to make that problem worse.

All this to say he’s having a very embarrassing night, in terms of mushy thoughts and feelings.

“I can’t wait to have kids of my own someday,” Lance sighs, a very sleepy Hana tucked into the crook of his arm. He watches her, soft, and Keith pauses with a DVD held loose in his hand, enraptured, because there’s a curve to Lance’s smile that he’s never seen before, and suddenly his left hand looks bare. “I know it’s supposed to be stressful and everything, but I used to force Hunk to play house with me when we were kids. Literally every day. And when my neice and nephew were born I hogged them all the time, even when they were screaming. I dunno. Being a parent sounds awesome. You get to…like…grow a person. It’s like growing a plant but a bajillion times better, probably.”

“Yeah,” says Keith, softly, and without meaning to he’s thinking of Shiro’s tired smile and the gentle hand Adam lays on the back of his neck, of their door that was always open for Keith’s nightmares, of Shiro’s clothes ruffling as he slid to the floor and sat for hours as Keith screamed himself hoarse and cried for a mother who left. Of Adam’s boiling pots and gentle hands as he guided Keith around a chopping knife. Of both Shiro’s choked-off sobs and Adam’s right embrace as Keith came back, thirteen, in the middle of the night, scared and no longer angry, and their quiet I’m so glad you’re safe. Thank you for coming back. “Yeah, family is important.”

Lance hums. He’s quiet long enough that Keith looks up, realising for the first time his gaze has been locked, unseeing, on the pictures on the wall, of Shiro and Adam and the two of them together and with Keith and with Hana and with Keith and Hana. Lance is watching him, quiet, dark eyes knowing, Hana finally asleep in his arms, beautiful and strong and everything Keith has ever wanted, suddenly, at once.

“I love you,” he blurts.

Lance smiles. “I’ve noticed.”

“Oh, you dickhead.”

“I’m saying it back!” Lance says, snickering, free hand held up in surrender. Keith walks over and slots their fingers together, squeezing slightly, leaning in and holding, a second, a hair’s breadth away from Lance’s mouth, watching his lips part, feeling the heat of his breath. His words are breathless, near silent, mouthed as much as spoken. “You changed my life, you know. I made you chase me because I thought it was funny, but — I made Hunk get me your number from Pidge the night I left the bar. I was going to text you if your brother’s tweet didn’t go viral and cement your dorkiness for eternity.”

“That’s a lotta words to say ‘I love you’, dorkbrain.”

“I know. You make me nervous.”

“You never get nervous.”

“I do with you.”

“Yeah?”

They’re so close now that their lips brush with every word, and Lance is grinning, eyes crinkled and lashes fluttering against Keith’s cheeks, and Keith has a hand careful on Hana’s head so he doesn’t crush her and is smiling just as wide. Cheesy, dorky, corny, and everything Keith wished for after every romance novel he’d steal, fooling no one, from Adam’s shelf and read long after bedtime.

“Yeah. ‘Cause I love you. Even though you’re a dweebus and a simp.”

He is, really, because he lets Lance get away with that, kissing him to shut him up, to feel his laughter right up close. It’s sparks flying and warmth spreading and heart slowing, and in the gentle darkness of the night.

It’s the promise of more to come.

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grey342 · 5 months ago

Text

The babysitter

Singledad!Phil x Babysitter!reader

synopsis - There's been an underlying tension between yourself and Phil for a while and he finally decides to do something about it...

warnings - MDNI 18+, Age gap (Phil is in his early thirties and reader in her early twenties), unprotected sex, kinda nipple play, breeding kink and hints of cockwarming.

authors note - ummm hey 😅 I know it’s been SOOO long but I hope you didn’t forget about me! Exam season is rough atm however it is slowly coming to an end (thank god) so I should be back to regular scheduled updates - I’m thinking once every two weeks? Let me know how you guys have been and give me some feedback, I’ve missed you all so much and I can’t wait to write for daddy Phil again 💗

please do not steal my work - belongs to @grey342

"Wanna make one?"

The baby finally settles. Well you say baby, he's nearly three but he'll always be a baby to you. You started babysitting Finley Wenneck when he was 18 months old and it's the best job you've ever had. The pay is great, Fin's very well behaved and his dad is sexy as fuck.

There was no denying Phil Wenneck was a very attractive man, the moment you met him you were immediately entranced by his good looks. However, your relationship was strictly professional.

Although, there were a few moments where you could've sworn it was more than that. Like last week: Phil came home a little earlier than you were expecting, you were stood in the kitchen making a snack when he came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist.

This necessarily out of blue, Phil and you often hugged each other but, this time it felt more intimate in a way. His head rested in your neck and you could've sworn you felt him press a soft peck there. He didn't say anything though, he just got a beer out of the fridge and walked into the living room and that was it.

You look down at Finley's sleeping face and can't help but smile.

"That's how they get you," You jump and yelp quietly, turning quickly you see Phil leaning against the door frame. "look so cute when they're asleep and as soon as their eyes open you're reminded of just how much of a little shit they can be." You let out a sigh of relief and chuckle slightly.

"I disagree, your son is an angel."

"Yeah," he chuckles and walks up behind you, "that's what he wants you to believe."

"Maybe he just doesn't like you." You smirk up at him.

"Hmm, maybe." He hums, looking down at your lips. Feeling flustered you turn back to the sleeping baby.

"He's so adorable."

"Yeah?" Phil leans in close to your ear, "Wanna make one?"

You freeze and slowly turn to look at him, his face shows no sign of teasing. Oh shit he's serious. He begins to ramble;

"I'm serious, I know I don't say it often enough but you're so good to him. Well not only him but me too-"

"Phil-"

"Y'know he's started calling you mom, I know I should stop and tell him no but I can't because it feels right-"

"Phil-"

"I know, I know, I don't wanna scare you off but.. this fits and it feels SO right an-" You shut him up by pressing your lips against his. He wastes no time and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into him. Deepening the kiss, you throw your arms around his neck.

A little snore interrupts the steamy kiss and you quickly remember the sound asleep baby merely a metre away and reluctantly untangle yourself from him.

"Bedroom." Is all you need to say. He lifts you, you wrap your legs around his middle as the two of you stumble across the hall and into his room.

He throws you down on his bed and kicks the door shut with his foot. He takes in the sight of you sprawled across his sheets. He begins to unbutton his shirt and says only one word;

"Strip." And strip you do, right down to your underwear as Phil does the same.

"Holy fuck," he crawls on top of you, "you're so fucking sexy baby." He starts to kiss your neck and make his way down to your chest. Reaching around your back, he unclasp your bra.

"Shit." He says involuntarily and cups your tits. He starts groping then and leans down to take your left nipple into his mouth.

"Fuck," you moan, "Phil please honey."

"Talk to me, tell me what you want." He switches over to the right.

"You, all of you."

He groans pulling down his underwear and leans over to his bedside draw where you grab his arm.

"No condom, please." You plead with him.

"Fuck, you're gonna be the death of me." He pulls you back in for a searing kiss, he slides your underwear over and fully pushes into you. You moan in unison, he breaks away from the kiss.

"Shit, you okay?" You smile and cup his cheek.

"Yeah, never better." He chuckles and slowly starts to glide in and out of you. The only sounds that can be heard are your moans mixed with the sounds of slapping skin.

You reach around to rake your nails down his back, he hisses with pleasure.

"Gonna fill you up," he grunts, "give you my kids you want that huh? Want me to make you a mama?" He speaks through gritted teeth now, his pace quickens.

"Yes, fuck! Please, Phil!" You moan. His hand reaches down to slowly rub on your clit, you feel the knot in your lower stomach start to tighten.

"Yeahh that's it baby clench around me, c'mon cum for me." That's all it takes for you, your legs start to shake and Phil's movements begin to falter.

"Shit." He groans and you feel his cum fill you.

You both begin to come down and he rolls you over, him on his back with you curled into his side.

"I'm not moving 'till i'm sure that shit is in there." you giggle and lean up to kiss his neck. You feel his breathing slow down and begin to hear his soft snores, smiling you let sleep take over you.

#bradley cooper #phil wenneck #phil wenneck x reader #the hangover #x reader #bradley cooper x reader #smut #i’m just a girl #im back #imagine #one shot #grey342

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tadpolesonalgae · 1 year ago

Text

Azriel x Cam-Girl!Reader: His Personal Assistant - Part 2[*]

A/N: This one’s pretty light for October, but I wanted to have a bit of fun :)

Warnings: masturbation, sex toys, exhibitionism (?)

Word Count: 3,378

-Part 1-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Your lips part, back bowing off the bed as you tip over the edge.

The small red dot flashes, showing the camera’s still recording, and if you squint, you can see the comments rolling in. Complimenting your form, your body, your moans, everything. Occasionally a critique from a guy who probably hasn’t been within three metres of a woman, but… Well, they brought you to fame. Of course there’s going to be the occasional creep.

Your lipstick’s smudged a little from when you slapped your hand over your mouth, and you run your tongue over your teeth before sitting upright, facing the camera. “Well, that’s it for tonight guys,” you pant, your tits pressing together as you lean closer to the recorder.

“As always, exclusive content will be going up on my private channel, so if you want to see a little more of me…” You give a feline grin, as your spine arches, thighs parting a little wider to serve as a reminder of what sort of content they’ll be getting.

How much is it. why isnt it free

Exclusive contant????

Id fuc u so good bby

The usual assortment of comments roll in, and you scan for a final talking point.

You’re working a job?

Bingo.

You give a wide smile, settling back onto your knees so they have a full view of your pretty nipples and the mess decorating your thighs. “I am working a job, yes! Stuffy corporate business—lots of men who could use a little fun, if you know what I mean,” you purr, winking at the camera, shifting to be comfortable without compromising their view.

You should definitely fuck your boss

Lush shout me out!

Where u working at

The smile widens into a grin, “I should fuck my boss? I did ask you guys that, didn’t I?” You laugh, dipping your head before straightening again, feigning a little embarrassment. Human. Draw them in. “He’s a bit of a stick-in-the-mud. Could really use a night out with a woman—or two,” you grin, tongue flicking out to wet your lips.

“Would you guys watch that? If I get him to fuck me?” You ask, already knowing the answers. Sure enough, the enthusiastic encouragements come spilling up the screen in rapid succession to one another. You laugh again, looking away from the camera, “well, I’m not sure if I can promise that, buuuttt…” Eyes return to the camera, looking up through your lashes, lips lifting into a feline grin. “The office I’ve been given doesn’t have any security cameras in, so… I could accidentally slip over one day… You know, happens to the best of us, sometimes,” you say, shrugging nonchalantly. “Maybe I could record a short little video for you guys.”

More questions spill in, asking for details, but now you’ve whet their appetite, it’s time to pull away. “Well, that’s it for tonight, everyone. Tune in next week for the stream, and get on that private channel for some additional content,” you purr, reaching forward to turn off the recorder. “Maybe I’ll do some personalised videos to someone who tips well.”

And it’s off.

You flop back into your bed, the vibrator bouncing besides you, arousal already drying on the rubbery toy. Excitement sizzles in your belly—filming yourself at work.

It could go so wrong…

————

You lean over his desk, the deep V in the neck of your navy dress showing off just a little too much cleavage as you set the mug of coffee down.

To your utter irritation, he hadn’t shown any appreciation for the last one. Made by a professional! Now, you’ve taken to stopping in at different cafes, just to see if one of them can get it right. So far: nothing. Every single one has been sub-par, and it’s getting on your nerves.

It’s been nearly a full week since your first day, and you’re still no closer to cracking him. He’s almost always submerged in some sort of Matter, dealing with organising files on his computer, or stamping out email after email. Really, you don’t understand how he doesn’t bore himself to tears every day.

The only highlight has been Gabrielle who seems to be the only spark of life to exist on this miserable floor.

You’ve been on the lower ones, too, and it really is just this floor that seems to be completely devoid of any kind of life. Nobody’s talking by the water cooler, no hushed gossiping girls by the photocopier, and not even a single person waiting in the waiting room. It’s ridiculous. The only way you’re saved from insanity is the brief interactions you have with Gabe, and those are still too infrequent for you to consider yourself safe from the madness.

You sigh internally, moving onto the next stack of papers he’d made that need photocopying, swinging your hips subtly as you depart from the office. Not even the slight prickle of hairs rising at the nape of your neck to signal a sneaky peep.

Stick-in-the-mud.

Putting your bad luck aside, you begin formulating a rough outline for when you’ll have the chance to record that sweet, little video you kind of promised. Well. Technically you didn’t promise, so it’s not owed or anything, but…

It’s exciting!

Rhys had specifically told you not to—so you have to. That’s just how these things work, and he’s a fool if he doesn’t understand that appeal.

Either way, you’re looking forward to it. Fuck him if he thinks he’s going to spoil your fun.

————

You slide your phone back into your bag, hastily wiping down the chair and opening the windows. You don’t want the cleaners getting any ideas, nor do you feel it would really fair to subject them to that sort of mess.

A quick sanitisation and few short spritzes of perfume later, and the room seems pretty normal. The small remote is still on the desk, vibrator deep inside your warm, wet cunt. You should probably take it out, but… It’s fun, and you could use a little excitement. Especially working long, boring hours like you currently are.

The door to your office swings open, and you spin on your heel, taking a startled step back, nearly toppling onto the desk as you do so. Your widened eyes flit to the source of the noise, just as Azriel steps over the threshold. He halts, pausing as if he hadn’t been expecting you.

With a hand over your heart, you lean fully against the desk, legs still a little weak from the orgasm. “What are you doing in here?” You ask, too rushed and too breathless to be acceptable. You clear your throat, straightening your dress—hoping you don’t smell of sweat.

Sharp hazel eyes run over your form, and it’s the most he’s looked at you since you arrived here. You’re unaccustomed to being at the centre of his attention, and all of a sudden you find yourself flushing under his scrutinising gaze.

His brow narrows, closing the door behind him, holding up the papers in his hand. “I was going to put these on your desk,” he says, moving silently across the room, aiming for where you’re leaning. “For tomorrow,” he explains.

You stiffen, then dart away—he’ll be able to smell sex on you if he gets too close, so you shift to be the opposite side of the furniture. “I was wondering which demon was sneaking those in,” you joke, bringing your gaze to meet his. It’s so piercing and intent, it’s difficult to maintain. Suddenly struggling to function under his attention. “Looks like it was you,” you smile.

Azriel’s eyes stab into you, raking beneath your skin, and you fight the urge to fidget. Instead you straighten your back, spine curving enough to push your chest out—just a little.

Your attention flicks over his shoulder to the door, which you know you locked. “Say, how did you get in here? I know I locked it so I wouldn’t be disturbed,” you ask, peering at him from across the desk. You’re now leaning the majority of your weight on the spinning chair, legs trembling slightly.

He’s quiet for a moment, and you wonder for a dreadful second if he somehow knows. You dismiss the thought quickly. There’s no way he does. You sprayed that perfume, and it’s pretty strong. He can’t have figured it out, there’s not enough evidence to even suggest you’d been doing anything other than flicking through emails and moving files about to the correct Matter.

He pulls something from his pocket, holing it up the metal ring. “Skeleton key,” he answers, simply. You nearly blanch at the information—he could have walked in at any moment. A flicker of arousal licks between your thighs as you imagine him walking in on you like that. How would he react?

He’d probably be pissed off for potentially getting some files dirty. Typical stick-in-the-mud behaviour.

You shift on your feet uncomfortably, “so, you have access to any room in this building?”

“That is how a skeleton key works, yes.” You blink at his tone. Narrow your eyes. The dry tone…the slight tug on his lips, as if suppressing a… “Oh my god you made a— You have humour.”

You stare at him, slightly mortified the thought slipped out, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Simply raises a brow, “I’m loosely acquainted with the concept.” You stare longer, unsure how to react, lips nervously twitching up at the edges. You nod, slowly, blinking—dumbfounded.

His lips curve almost imperceptibly, and you stiffen, for once unsure what to do, how to react. He seems to have difficulty suppressing his smile as he takes in your reaction, “I had no idea humour would have such a profound effect on you.”

You snap back to reality, tightening your grip on the chair. “No, it’s not that,” you explain hurriedly. He raises a brow, lips still slightly quirked in a way that only magnifies his beauty. Classically complimenting his features.

He’s waiting for your explanation.

You flush, realising you don’t have one.

“I just…didn’t expect it, is all,” you try, concealing your wince. But the slight lift of his mouth doesn’t fade, and you realise you should be using the time to make a move on him. Drop a couple of hints. Maybe he’ll be different outside of working hours.

Azriel opens his mouth to respond, and you prepare yourself for whatever quip he’s going to surprise you with, but instead his eyes flick down to your desk. More specifically, the small remote that’s connected to the device inside of you.

Your heart actually stops in your chest for a moment, time slowing as his brow narrows, and—picks it up.

For the few seconds he examines it, you’re paralysed, holding your breath and praying for the love of god he doesn’t recognise it.

“What is this?” He asks, and you have to control the sigh of relief that wants to whoosh from your lungs. You’re saved. “I have no idea,” you lie, unable help the smile that’s graced your lips.

His brow narrows, eyes flicking to yours as he holds the remote in his large hand, making it look tiny. “It’s not yours?” He asks, and you mentally kick yourself for the mistake. You should have said it was some kind of charger!

But you’re stuck now, so you nod stiffly, feigning ignorance.

His brow narrows further, flipping the device over in his hand, making you tense. If he presses one of those buttons… You don’t allow yourself to consider that path. No way.

“Are they for the lights?” He asks, peering closer at the small buttons. Seven in total, all different types of vibration. Labelled with their number, nothing else. You shrug, stepping out from behind your chair, moving to walk over to him, “no idea. I’ll drop it off at reception or something and see if they—”

He presses the the third button.

You stumble but catch yourself, thankful for the whisper-quiet motor. He won’t be able to hear anything, thank god.

Teeth dig into your lip as you halt, fingers pressing onto the hard wood of the desk, a shaky breath exhaling from your lips. Your mind scrambles for an excuse to take it from him, but you come up empty. All you can think about is the high-speed buzzing, how good it feels against your sensitive walls.

“Azriel…” you manage, unsurely, becoming temporarily breathless when those hazel eyes slice into, carving your exterior clean off. “I’m not sure it’s wise to press those if we don’t know what they do,” you argue, fairly soundly considering the situation.

He weighs your point, peering at the remote again. “Maybe if it’s on a different setting we’ll see what it is,” he says instead, and you have no time to prepare as he presses the fourth button. Your thighs tremble, nails digging into your palm.

“I’m really not sure—”

Fifth button.

You stumble backward, knees hitting your chair as you collapse down. The fall pushing the toy deeper inside of you, brushing against that wonderfully delicious spot, switching to a patterned pulse. Your teeth dig into your lip as you shift in the seat, attempting to relieve the pressure, but it only leads to the toy pushing harder into that spot, abusing it continuously as you bite back any reactions that would be off.

His attention switches to you, and you nearly come apart right then and there.

“Are you okay?” He questions, concern shining in his sharp eyes. You manage a nod, fingers digging into the arms of your chair, attempting to sit upright. You need an excuse to leave, to go to the bathroom, or something. If you don’t soon, you’re going to fall apart right before his eyes, and there’ll be no way for you to conceal that.

“Absolutely luscious,” you reply out of habit, mind too preoccupied to sift through each word, switching onto autopilot. His brow quirks, and you could really moan at the sight. Thankfully, you don’t, clamping your teeth together as you dig crescent shapes into the heel of your palm.

“Luscious?” He repeats, the letters dragging appetising from his throat, coated in something dark and syrupy, something that would melt and splash over your skin. He sounds vaguely confused, but you have no time to unpack that.

“Delicious,” you correct, weakly, “I meant delicious.”

Upon seeing his confused look, your mind whirrs and spins for an explanation. A dizzy smile makes its way to your lips, hopefully just appearing a little drowsy from a long day of hard work. “I know it’s a weird phrase. My friend and I used to say it all the time because it made us laugh.” The smile becomes a little too sleepy looking, appearing closer to blissed out. “Guess it stuck.”

For a moment, you don’t think he’ll believe you. His gaze pierces into you, and you tighten around the vibrator, bringing the sensations…deeper.

“Full of kinks and quirks, aren’t you?” He drawls, attention returning to the device, looking ready to press another button. “Maybe you should stop messing around with that,” you suggest with forced lightness. “What if it’s messing with someone’s computer?” You argue, being dragged closer and closer to the edge with every second. “I can think of at least one Director who would be pissed if someone was messing around after-hours and accidentally deleted some files.”

He gives you an indecipherable look, then says, with a little too much pride, “every single file on my computer is backed up and stored elsewhere. If someone hasn’t taken precautions, that’s their own fault.” And presses the sixth button.

If you had been standing, you would have collapsed.

As it is, your spine arches ever so slightly, and you shift in the chair again, fingers digging into the arms. The pleasure hums between your legs, and for a second you’re worried he’ll be able to see arousal dripping to the floor.

“Either way,” he says, seemingly completely unaware of the hell and heaven he’s putting you through—for better or for worse. “It doesn’t seem to be doing anything.” And sets it down on your desk.

Without thought or explanation, you snatch it up, holding the power button for three second. Blissful reprieve soothes your nerves, even as a small part wishes for her release. At the odd look he’s giving you, eyes gleaming with something you can’t read, you manage to fumble out a vague explanation for your antsy behaviour, “I’m a bit anal about things like that.”

Not your best word choice, but it’ll have to suffice.

“About strange devices and stranger buttons?” He asks, and you could hiss at him. He so nearly— You don’t even bother expending energy on what would have happened if he hadn’t put it down. How you would have come apart right before his eyes. How furious Rhys would be, if it got back to him.

You’re not sure Azriel would be the type of man your usual persuasions would work on.

So you just nod, tiredly. “It’s like with plug sockets,” you manage, albeit a bit breathlessly. “I can’t stand when they’re on but not plugged in. Seems like a waste of some kind. Bothers me.”

Azriel simply hums, making your thighs squeeze together, shifting nervously as you try to relieve the intense buzzing feeling—the memory of those delicious, rapid-fire pulses.

Your breathing begins to even out, and you reach for your bag, hoping to get out of the room as soon as possible. Escape the situation. You must seem a little too out of it, though.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Azriel asks in that usual disinterested, monotone voice. Deep and rich. You manage to nod, “slightly unaccustomed to working a nine to five,” you explain, grabbing the device. “I’ll drop this off at reception on my way out,” you mutter, silently cursing your carelessness.

He shifts, and you realise he’s checking the time, brow raising. “A seven-thirty to half-ten, is more like it,” he corrects. You nearly groan as you realise how long you’ve been in this damn building for. In fact, you do groan, covering your face with your hands.

Heat shoots straight to your cunt when he laughs—actually laughs. Deep and delicious.

Bloody hell.

He’s so…different, outside work hours.

Maybe… No. No way. It wouldn’t work.

Unless…

“How was the coffee today?” You ask, sounding a bit too casual even to your own ears. His lips quirk and that’s it. You’re done for. He’s far too attractive to be working a job like this.

Well, you’re working a job like this, so you suppose it’s not too unbelievable.

Still.

“You can do better,” he replies, a faint smirk on his mouth. Damn him. You narrow your eyes, half teasing, half entirely serious. You take pleasure very seriously, even if it’s not sexual, and it seems his coffee may be the only thing that keeps him from throttling someone in this job.

“I don’t even know what I’m aiming for, Azriel,” you point out, a genuine smile curving your lips. “How do I know you’re not just sending me on a wild goose chase to create this perfect cup, huh?”

“I suppose you’ll just have to take my word for it and keep trying,” he replies easily, amusement gleaming in his hazel eyes.

“Or,” you say, and you can’t believe you’re actually trying this. “You could give me a taste of this heavenly coffee. Firstly, to prove that it actually exists,” —you glare at him— “and secondly, to see if it’s better than the ones I’ve made.” You offer him a challenging smile, “because I’m going to be furious if I have a sip and it’s not even half-decent.”

He regards you silently, features unreadable, but you don’t retract the offer. Stand with a straightened spine, staring him down.

“Okay, then.” He relents, and you blink. Wow. Great.

Where from here?

His lips curve into a quiet smile, “I’ll show you tomorrow. Be ready to leave at five past one.”

Huh.

That settles it, then.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022

Az Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming

His P.A. Taglist: @i-am-infinite @going-through-shit

#Azriel #Azriel x reader #Azriel x reader smut #Azriel smut #azriel shadowsinger #His Personal Assistant #October

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