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carebearbussy · 5 months ago

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ᥫ᭡ imagining heian era! sukuna tending to his pregnant wife, and slowly warming up to having a child.

౨ৎ when he finds out you are pregnant, he goes full 'nonchalant, but worried husband' mode. he did not want kids. he thought they were lousy and annoying, and they would not bring any use to his bloodline. he told you that this would just get in his way, and that you should find a way to get rid of it. but the way you looked up at him with your adorable dazzling eyes? eh, he could make it work, just for you. but he found it hard to warm up to the idea of having children.

౨ৎ hires the best of the best to guarantee your health is in tact. doctors? you will have daily checkups, which included the doctor coming to the estate, and keeping track of your daily prgress while you are bedside. such as seeing if the baby is kicking, how large your stomach grows, and even recommending you a special diet to hold the nutrients for your baby. he is doing all of this for you, not that pesky baby. handmaidens? they will double in number. you are more fragile than ever, and in his eyes, you need all of the female support you can get that he cannot provide.

౨ৎ would host a grand babyshower. there would be hundreds, even thousands of guests at your babyshower. it would be hosted somewhere with a large, outside venue, bustling with people coming to support you. people would give you their blessings, hoping the best for the newcoming ryomen. gifts for the baby such as clothes, furniture, etc. and for you? people will gift you a plethora of things. jewelry, trinkets, and everything under the sun. the citizens of the nearby villages will bow to your feet, wishing you the best. your pregnancy will be treated as an event. around the villages, it will be talked about.

౨ৎ makes a extravagant nursery for your child. it will be in a large room, making extra space for your baby. sukuna will notice you spend alot of time there, watching you decorate the nursery to your pleasing day by day. liked seeing you struggle to put the furniture together, as you are forced to ask him for help, as you watch his assemble a bassinette. you could tell he was starting to get used to the idea of having a child around the estate. as you list off all of your ideas for how you would decorate, he liked to think you might be a suitable mother.

౨ৎ you held a giant journal of names, keeping track of each one as time goes by. you wrote in the journal with an ink pen, sometimes even letting sukuna in on the name choosing. as you sat on his lap in his large office, he would suggest 'little roach', or 'annoying brat' for some of the names, which was quickly shut down. you will think intently upon each name, asking sukuna on his opinion. sukuna thinks he should be the one naming the child, but with his suggestions, that will not be happening. you'd be better off asking some of your handmaidens for advice.

౨ৎ would ask any ladies in the estate for advice as well. this is something he thought he would never have to do. but he finds it difficult to ajust to your pregnancy, due to your influx in hormones, making you seem emotional all the time. would ask your handmaidens why you become so emotional, but they seem offended with the way he worded it. but they realize that sukuna is naturally brash, so they help him by giving him tips and tricks for fatherhood. he tries his best, mostly caring about what he thinks is best for you, not so much your child.

౨ৎ liked looking at your stomach more often than he thought he would. he never knew you would look so goddamn cute swollen with his child, but here he was, watching as you lay in bed, reading a book of poems, as he sees his future child kicking inside your uterus. you child was larger than an average one, he noticed, due to his abnormal genes. placing his large hand over your stomach, he could feel every single kick, asking you questions as it happens. "why does this brat kick so much? tell him to stop." "kuna, hes a baby..." "i do not care, he needs to learn to stop being so restless."

౨ৎ your delivery will send him into internal panic. he demands that he is in the room with you, holding your hand. but your large group of handmaidens by your side strongly disagree, reccomending that he let you be. but making sure you were okay was his top priority, so he stayed in the large bedroom where you gave birth. your head and body would be covered in towels, your hands tightly cuffing your handmaidens. it was extremely painful, as your screams could be heard from afar. but with the way sukuna had rubbed his thumb on your cheek, it made you feel slightly better. after you, he would be the first to hold your child, demanding so himself.

౨ৎ he wants a boy, 100%. he is hoping for a strong heir that can add onto his legacy, even though it isnt entirely necessary. if he ends up having a son, he will teach him the ways of manhood. teaching him how to hunt his own humans, how to properly court a lady (in his mind), and how to become as strong as him someday. and most of all, how to take care of his mother. he will not tolerate any disrespect towards you. he will call his son names like 'ryomen 2.0', or 'annoying rat'.

౨ৎ but if he gets a girl? he will be upset when he finds out. but he will come around to love her after quite a while. will go from calling her a nuisance, to hosting mini tea parties with her stuffed animals which were gifted by her auntie handmaidens, squeezing himself into a small chair at a small dining table with fake tea and pastries. he will truly care for his daughter, and will become extremely overprotective over her. he will call her 'little princess', or 'spoiled brat'.

౨ৎ enjoys watching you tend to your children. he secretly enjoyed the fact that he could call you 'the mother of his children'. being domestic with you is something he had never imagined in his life, but here he was, burping your small newborn over his shoulder with one hand. he likes to see the way your eyes light up when your child walks for the first time, or when they say their first words. he doesnt think it is important, but since its you, he doesnt say anything. "woman, what are you freaking out over?" "come quick! he just said 'papa'!" "i knew it, thats my child alright."

౨ৎ but he will absolutely refuse to change the babys diapers. do not ever ask him to do that, he will very rudely decline. bu dont worry. like everything else, he will come around to do so.

#sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #heian sukuna #heian era sukuna #heian sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x Charlotte #heian #heian era #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x Charlotte #jjk smut #sukuna fluff

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salemlunaa · 6 months ago

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VOID STATE: NO PRACTICE NEEDED

you either know you’re getting in or you aren’t, there’s no “trying”

So this topic has come to my attention, as i see alot of bloggers saying to shift you need practice and to stop giving people “unrealistic expectations”. No shade but to that i say bullshit. Shifting/Tapping in to the void is and will always be as easy as fucking breathing. We are gods meaning that everything and i mean everything is easy for us. Saying you need practice for something that is inside of us, something so easy, really contradicts the idea of being a god. We don’t need to practice for something inside of us. Saying that shifting is as easy as breathing isn’t toxic and deceiving it will be true if that’s what you stand firm in.

Now for those who have known about the void for a “long time”. Stop telling me how much “time” you’ve “wasted”, because you shouldn’t care, it’s not real and you know you can flip your thoughts in nano seconds. Again, i see so many people who lie and say that they are confident but in the back of their mind they go “i’ve known about the void and have been failing for 2 years, why would today be any different” or “i’ve wasted so much time let’s just see if i get in today”.

but let me tell you, there is no “trying”. You are either 100% you are tapping in today, or you know you won’t, there is no “i’ll try tonight” or “i’ll use this method and MIGHT get into the void today”, no no no when you come into this with a trying mindset you will never get far in this void journey. It’s like that tomorrow riddle the one saying “what says it’s coming but never does”. Because if you tell yourself that you’re trying, you will always be in the state of trying for the void and never in the state of having the void. This applies to any desire, you will always be in the state of desiring something (in this case, being the void) and never in the state of having that desire. You must know that you are entering the void, know that there is no other outcome than the void and it will be as easy as breathing.

You can’t have one foot out the door you must know and don’t think that this is hard to do, just flip your thoughts and persist whenever you think about the void. And as god your subconscious mind will see this and reflect the fact that the there is no other outcome than the void. So please do not feel discouraged like you have to practice for the void and “waste more time” or do challenges that last weeks to “fix your self concept” because these are things that can be done in seconds. Do i need to remind you who you are? as god, whatever you want comes to pass immediately, just stand firm in that and shifting and the void will be as easy as breathing.

BE 100% SURE OF YOURSELF AND KNOW THAT THE VOID IS THE ONLY OUTCOME, THEN IT WILL BE AS EASY AS BREATHING. 🎆🌌💋

(ps: did you guys miss me? 😏)

#salemlunaa #law of assumption #permashifting #shiftblr #shifting #reality shifting #success story #void state #loa #the void #void concept #respawning #self concept #void state tips #the void state #voidstate #shifters #master manifestor #manifesting

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princessbrunette · 6 months ago

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so i know i always say that rafe is strictly a girl dad. well, he is. but sometimes i like to humour myself with the universe where he’s the father to the sweetest little boy ever.

the universe would be ironic like that. rafe foolishly knocked you up when he was 22 — the boy still having alot to learn. he was still walking around with that pistol tucked into his waistband, fighting pogues, mouthing off and going on coke rants. you had been terrified, wondering what kind of a father rafe was going to be — even when he promised time and time again, “i’m — i’m getting my shit together alright? i can, hey — we can do this? okay?” with sweat gathered at his hairline and tears in his eyes. thus, when the universe decided to play the hilarious prank which was having the doctor tell you ‘its a boy!’, your first thought was ‘shit.’

because he was bound to be just like rafe, right?

you had seemingly prophetic visions, a spoiled little brat — just like his father was, thundering around in a brightly coloured ralph lauren polo from the baby range, demanding the teet when he saw fit. a girl would have been fine — you’d seen wheezie grow up around rafe and turn out totally fine (aside from the likely trauma.) but a boy? what did rafe cameron know about raising a boy? was your son next up to become a drug slinging, pogue hating, maniac? (with no offence to rafe of course, you were unfortunately very much in love with him but contrary to popular belief that did not disrupt your common sense.)

rafe was over the moon about you being pregnant with a boy too, which did little to comfort you.

the anxiety subsided the second that baby was out of you, his sticky, slimy little body placed onto your chest with rafe crowding your space — his bravado dropped for a second to reveal a childlike awe. his own baby. you could tell it was only now that things became very real for rafe. his eyes well up, covering his shaky grin with an even shakier hand, saying stuff like “shit, oh uh nah i probably shouldn’t cuss infront of the baby anymore right? yeah… my god, you did it baby. brought me my boy. should be so god damn proud.” he croons as his hands dig affectionately into your sore shoulders, smearing a kiss to your sweaty temple. “ahh, aha — what the hell kinda man am i cryin’ at this huh? shit.” he sniffles as he wipes his eyes but you’re not listening. you’re staring at your perfect boy.

he grows into something perfectly reminiscent of both you and rafe’s features, all whilst smushed into the cutest baby you’ve ever seen. you were aware every parent said that about their child, but no — you were certain. he was pampers commercial level cute. ‘top ten cutest babies’ buzzfeed article level cute. sarah would often hold him to her chest and something would be healed as she’d whisper “i can’t believe you came from my brother.” into his wispy hair. he was a true blessing.

with big doe eyes that took up half his face and an appearance that somehow replicated a baby lamb that had been turned into a human on the basis of a magical spell — you had long forgotten about your worries regarding having a boy.

a few years down the line and not much has changed. your baby boy is three years old, chubby fists clutching his empty plastic lightening mcqueen plate as he toddles out onto the porch where rafe sits spread out opposite barry, sipping on a can of beer in the early evening. your son is distracted by a decorative plant, and the two men pay him no mind as they continue talk.

“but — but that’s the thing, right, barry? i dont do that shit anymore and… and i sure as hell am not looking to start again.”

“man i get that rafe you a father now, all serious and shit but think about the money. you thinkin’ with your husband head and not with your cameron head. your daddy was a piece of shit but he had that business mindset that you gotta adopt, bro.”

rafe’s expression flattens, finishing his can before leaning forward onto his elbows. “well uh, newsflash — i don’t wanna be anything like my dad. now if we’re done here…” rafes attention is caught by the mini him waddling into view, holding his plate infront of him.

“more please?” comes the sweetest voice in the world, blinking up at the man he viewed as his entire universe, much like you at times.

“finished your icecream already huh? where’s your mom?” he cranes round, but doesn’t bother searching much further when he hears the padding of your footsteps.

“aye buddy, you know we was just talkin’ about you.” barry leans forward with a smarmy grin and your son gets shy, lifting his shoulders practically to his ears and looking down, glueing himself to rafes leg.

“conversations done, actually.” rafe reminds him, lifting the boy to sit on his hip as he hoists himself to stand. as he does so, you appear in the doorway to the patio— sundress clad belly swollen with another baby.

“rafe could you bring him in? it’s too hot out there for him without his hat.” you furrow your eyebrows, deciding to ignore barry’s presence all together, which of course doesn’t stop him from conversing.

“shit, i ain’t seen you in a while mama. he got you again? you two stay busy, huh?” rafes oldest ‘friend’ chuckles, gold tooth glinting in the sun light, and like your only child — you shy away, sending rafe a parting glance that said ‘just hurry up and rid of him.’

rafe adjusts the baby boy on his hip, now staring down at barry.

“talk to my girl again n’i’ll bring out the old me alright, you don’t want that. go do somethin’ barry, i don’t care what it is just get off my goddamn property yeah?” rafe drawls tiredly, crushing the can in his hand and dropping it carelessly into the wastebin beside barry before heading inside, your son turning to stare sweetly at the dark haired man over his dads shoulder, offering a sticky, wide fingered salute in parting.

atleast rafe was still his usual charming self, son or not.

#dad!rafe #rafe cameron prompt #boydad!rafe

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kryptonitejelly · 7 months ago

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art donaldson x childhood friend reader who he hasn’t seen in a long time (whose had a crazy glow up) visits him at stanford at the same time as patrick and patrick starts hitting on her (him and tashi are in an open relationship) and art gets jealous.

(maybe she tells patrick she knows he’s in a relationship and he tells her tashi wouldn’t mind and she would probably be down to join idk)

art donaldson x reader // challengers // fluff; happy ending

a/n: i did not hit the prompt on the head 100%, but i’m not mad at it. this ended up turning into a monster i had no control off and ended up being alot longer than i expected (i haven’t done a word count, and did not mean for it to spiral into this but i enjoyed writing this very much). i am an art donaldson defender and this is my way of giving him everything he deserves (i hope you guys can see what i subtly tried to do in places - please leave comments/reblog if you see them, it would mean the world). also i typed this entirely on my phone without proofreading - you’ve been warned.

edit - as a disclaimer, i do not purport to comment on the victim/villain/any dynamic in the challengers universe. this space is purely for delusional thoughts and fiction only (see also)

Good luck.

Art shoots the text off to you before taking a swig out of cup of diet coke he has in hand. He leans forward, his forearms on his knees, teeth crunching on ice cubes as lets his gaze sweep across the court in front of him. It is devoid of players but already has the umpire and linesmen ready and waiting.

You’ll buy dinner if I win?

Art doesn’t expect to get a text back, so he checks his phone absently, but his face breaks into a tiny grin as he sees your reply. Most other players would have been hyper focused in the moments before a match but you, in the breezy light hearted way you always were, still had it in you to joke around.

Yes, but if you lose…

Art sends his response, the tiny grin still on his face.

I’ll feed you.

Your reply is fast and it makes art shake his head lightly a quiet chuckle dropping from his lips. He is just about to type another reply but is interrupted by the loud cheers that erupt from around him. Art looks up from his phone to see Anna Davies walk out on court in the same colour red as he had on. He claps politely with the rest of the men’s team who he was sitting amongst in the stands, in a show of support.

Art catches sight of Tashi and Patrick, both perched a few rows down from him with the rest of the women’s team both clapping and hollering in support. He notices the turn of Patrick’s head, no doubt to check in on Art but he doesn’t tilt his head or smile back in acknowledgement as he usually would - he is far too distracted by you.

Art can feel his jaw slacken slightly as you walk on court. He knows what you look like, but you in the flesh - Art thinks you are breathtaking. Your top is in a shade of your college’s colour, paired with a white tennis skirt that shows off a pair of toned, long legs. He catches a glint of metal just above your ankle, and he finds himself squinting in a feeble attempt to make out the look of the ankle bracelet that you have on. Art moves his gaze your face, taking in what he can see from his perch on the stands as you walk out towards your designated bench on the court, bright neon green bottle in hand, your tennis bag slung on a shoulder.

You had been close back home for most of your childhood and more formative teen years, and the both had kept in touch since he left for Stanford and you to your own school of choice, but too infrequently - the occasional text, more frequent reaction or comment on each other’s social media and the small conversations that spiralled from those interactions - like two planets orbiting in the same solar system, but not close enough. Life had overtaken, the excitement of moving your separate ways to a new environment, of college - tennis, academics, people, parties, it had overwhelmed you both, individually and together - made you just about forget that you had each other.

Art is transfixed. You are, lithe, glowing and with a hop in your step - Art finds himself questioning why he had never made more effort to keep you closer since you had both gone on your separate paths. He watches as you settle your bag on the bench, turning your gaze to the stands, eyes narrowing from the glare of the sun as you search the stands, only for your gaze to fix on his. Art sees you smile, lips turning up as you wink directly at him. It makes a series of heads turn to look back at him - your fellow team mates, the small group of supporters from your college who had come along, and the Stanford women’s team plus Patrick, half curious, half puzzled. Art can only raise a hand beside his chest in greeting as he remembers to breathe, letting the air he had been holding in his chest out.

He sees turn away while reaching for your phone which you had wedged in between the band of your tennis skirt and skin. Your fingers flying over the keypad briefly before you toss the phone into your tennis bag, hand fishing out your racket. Art feels his phone buzz in his hand and he looks down at the text that had come through.

Stanford still hasn’t taught you the right way to wear a cap huh.

Your text, a reference to his penchant for securing his cap on backwards, makes Art laugh, out loud, the sudden sound causing his team mates to crane their necks in attempt to look at his phone. Art swats them away as he refocuses his attention back on you, watching as you do a few hops, shifting your body weight from side to side before walking to your position on court, racket in hand. You lose the coin toss, and Anna choose to serve and yet your demeanour is one of ease, something Art can’t help but think is so stark in contrast to Tashi before a match. You aren’t smiling anymore, and yet in an unexplainable fashion, Art can feel you smiling as you bend to ready position, your hands flipping the handle of the racket around, poised to receive. He sees Anna toss the ball, her back arching, hand shooting up, before she connects her serve, and he watches you receive it with ease, your body moving in a smooth motion as you hit it back. Your strokes have their own weight and intention behind them, they are careful, thought out - but what surprises Art is he sees little calculation behind each. Instead, he watches as you let yourself feel each shot, as you let your instinct take control with each step. Art sees himself moving pieces of chess across the court when he watches replays of his game, but with your game, - Art manages to see colour, life, ease. He sees something he hasn’t seen in his tennis since he had last played with you, Art sees fun.

The match isn’t long drawn out, you win - effortlessly, just as each of your strokes and movement are. It frustrates Anna, as is evident from the increasing number of unforced errors she makes on her art which leads to her swearing loudly as you easily hit the last heavy, driving it quick and to the opposite corner of the court from where she is positioned. Art finds himself clapping enthusiastically along with the crowd as the umpire calls the game.

“You never told me you had such good looking friends,” Art feels an arm sling itself around his neck, pulling him close as he stands outside the court, waiting for you to finish your match debrief with the rest of the team.

“Shouldn’t you be with Tashi?” Art questions as he tugs himself out and under, away from Patrick’s hold. His eyes remain focused on the door of the tennis court, waiting for you to emerge.

“Some strategy meeting,” Patrick offers as explanation, “refocusing or something like that.”

Art starts to say something in response only to be stopped by the view of you walking out from the courts. You both lock eyes, not too similar from how you had with you on the court and him on the stand. Art thinks that your smile is more brilliant up close.

Neither of you say a word, as you walk up to him, hands reaching up to tug his cap off his head only for you to pop it promptly on your own head, the right way around.

“The right way,” you say in greeting, pointing towards his cap which is now sitting on your head, the Stanford red a confusing contrast to your your top, now a loose fitting tshirt in your college colours, as Art chuckles while running a hand through his hair, attempting to shake out any flatness.

“The red looks good on you.”

“Perhaps I should transfer.”

“Didn’t peg you for a traitor,” Art teases which makes you laugh.

“Do I get a hug,” you ask, both of you oblivious to Patrick who is just watching.

“C’mere,” Art says, his words inviting, but just almost slightly shy as he opens his arms to you. You step into his embrace, arms slipping around his body as Art brings his arms around your shoulders, hands bumping into the tennis bag you have on your shoulders. His embrace is familiar, and you let yourself relax into his hold.

“Could I get a hug?” you hear a different male voice chime in and you pull away to look curiously at the brunette who is standing just beside you both.

“Fuck off Patrick,” you hear Art say with no bite, but notice as he steps just that one inch in front of you in an attempt to place himself as some sort of barrier between you and the brunette.

“Patrick Zweig,” the boy says, ignoring Art as he proffers a hand to you which you shake to be polite while introducing yourself.

“Do you go to Stanford as well?” You take in his attire of jeans and a white tee, the lack of red - you would guess not but it didn’t hurt to ask.

“I’m just visiting,” he says, “I’m actually playing on tour.”

“Losing on tour,” Art corrects.

“Your tennis is insane,” Patrick comments, ignoring Art, “when will I see you on tour?”

“I don’t intend on turning pro,” you respond with the flash of a smile.

“Why?” Patrick continues the conversation, now slightly befuddled, “you’re a natural.”

You shrug with a laugh, not answering and simply brushing off his question.

“Why don’t I take you to dinner and you can tell me why.” Patrick’s statement makes Art roll his eyes.

“Aren’t you taking your girlfriend our for dinner?” Art chips to which Patrick simply shrugs not phased in the slightest and answers with a no.

“Thanks, but I already have a dinner to cash in on,” you offer Patrick a smile, before glancing at Art.

“I’m sure Art wo-”

“Nope, fuck off Patrick,” is what Art says again, not even giving the other man a chance to finish his sentence. It makes you laugh, but you follow as Art grabs your hand, tugging you off in a direction away from Patrick.

“It was nice meeting you Patrick,” you call out, turning your head towards him giving him a wave with your free hand, “good luck on the tour!”

You walk for a minute or two more until the tennis courts are out of range before Art stops. He lets go off your hand, but reaches instead to grasp the top of the tennis bag on your shoulder. You raise a brow questioningly only to have him tug again with a slight tilt of his head. You relinquish the bag to him and he hoists it on his shoulder instead.

“What a gentleman,” you joke, but with a smile on your face.

Art does a mock bow with a flourish of his hand which makes you laugh with a shake of your head.

“Your chariot awaits my lady,” he extends a hand to you, waist still tilted in a bow, but his head up and looking at you.

“Lead the way,” you place your hand on top of his again.

“My car is that way,” he says jerking a thumb towards his right as he intertwines his fingers with yours. Its the second time in the day where he’s holding onto your hand but you don’t think too much of it and neither does Art. It feels right, comforting, familiar and like it’s supposed to be - and you go with it.

“Sorry about Patrick,” Art says as he fiddles with the paper casing of the straw. You are both sitting in a booth, plates cleared, your drinks left in front of you. Art is leaning back but being across him you can feel his knees knocking into yours. Dinner had gone by way too fast for Art’s liking. There had been both plenty to catch up on, as well as new information to learn and yet - it had felt like no time had passed between you both.

“He’s a bit of an ass isn’t he,” you say as you lean back, a mirror of Art. Your comment elicits a bark of laughter from him.

“Girls don’t usually say that about him.”

“What do they say?”

“Well not say, but they usually fall at his feet or into his bed,”

“No,” it makes you crinkle your nose while you shake your head.

“His girlfriend Tashi,” Art says, fingers still fiddling with the wrapper, “we played tennis for her number, she chose him.” Art said referencing the tennis match between him and Patrick. His sentence is blunt, to the point, and yet manages to be vulnerable at the same time. Art surprises himself as the words slip out from his lips so easily but it feels easy to tell you, safe to let himself be vulnerable, fine to let you view him for who he truly is.

You both sit in silence for a beat or two, the only sound between you both being the rustle of paper in Art’s fingers.

“Well,” you begin, “if she made you play for her number, maybe its for the better you didn’t win.”

Art’s fingers give pause and he looks up at you. His expression is unreadable, but you don’t feel like you’ve said anything wrong - just the obvious.

“I guess you are right,” he says after a few seconds of silence, before raising his head to look at you. There is a small smile on his face that you can’t quite place.

“When have I been wrong Donaldson?” You challenge in jest as you lift a leg under the table to jostle one of his lightly. Art leans forward, managing to capture one of your legs, your calf in the warmth of his palm.

“You really want me to start?” Art questions as you wriggle your leg in attempt to get away but no no avail.

“No.”

“Let’s see, the time we were six and you thought that the way to get strawberry milk was to dump pink food colouring in normal milk.”

“Stop,” you protest, but with a laugh on your lips.

“Or the time we were ten and you were convinced that the park we passed by on the way home from school was haunted and we had to sprint past that stretch of sidewalk for 3 whole months.”

“It was creepy!”

“How could we forget the one time we were thirteen and you thought that the way babies were made wa-”

“Arthur Donaldson,” you protest, managing to wrestle your leg out of his grasp which has grown looser with each anecdote. It allows you to set your foot on the ground, body shooting up to lean across the table, your palm coming to cover Art’s mouth to prevent him from announcing any further recollections from your youth.

You can feel his breath hot against the palm of your hand as his muffled laugher fills the space of your booth.

“Art,” you huff, relinquishing his full name for his nickname again. You move to drop your hand from his face, but Art catches a hold of your wrist. You sit back down, butt hitting the seat again, but with your hand still stretched across the table, wrist still loosely wrapped in one Art Donaldson’s hand. His shoulders are still shaking, now with a silent laughter.

“Art,” you try again.

“I’m sorry, it’s just so funny,” Art exhales, trying to collect himself as best as he can. He doesn’t remember the last time he laughed like this, freely and with such reckless abandon over something so innocent.

“Your dedicated court jester, always here to serve,” you mock with a roll of your eyes.

“You’ve been derelict in your duties,” Art says, now calm, but his eyes still twinkling under a mop of strawberry blonde hair. He keeps his tone light but what he really means to say is that it has been too long. You chuckle, not really having an answer for him.

“It’s been a while,” you finally admit, both your hands now resting on the table between you, you wrist now lying upturned in Art’s open palm. You had always been close

“It has, hasn’t it,” it isn’t really a question. Art has missed you - something he hasn’t realised until today. He had let himself be distracted by the complex, focused toxicity that was tennis, Patrick and Tashi, letting himself get sucked into the whirlpool, that he had forgotten to hold on to the things that grounded him.

“Maybe we should change that.”

“We should change that,” Art corrects you and you can feel the tips of your ears burning, and the skin across your cheek bones tingling for some reason.

You aren’t quite sure how ended up here, but one thing had lead to another as you both made your way out of the restaurant and back to Art’s car, and the next thing you knew you were heading back to his dorm to watch reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer for some reason.

“How do you not find her hot?” You ask again for the tenth time as you both focus on the screen of Art’s laptop which is perched half on his thigh and half on yours. You are both sitting on his bed, shoulder to shoulder, both of your heads damp from (separate) showers in Art’s ensuite, and you smelling quite like him from having used his toiletries and borrowing a short and shirt set, both of which which were a baggy fit for you.

“I don’t know, I just don’t.”

“You’re rubbish Donaldson,” you snort, nudging your elbow lightly into his ribs with a simultaneous yawn.

“Tired?” Art asks, as you stifle another yawn.

“Yeah,” you accept, seeing little point in trying to hide it. You had after all, played a match today.

“I should really get back to the hotel,” you mumble, the back of your head leaning against the wall beside Art’s bed, eyes closing.

“You could just stay here,” there is a hint of hesitation in his voice because he isn’t sure if you’ll stay.

“Here?”

“My bed’s a double,” Art shrugs, “it would also be quicker for you to get to the matches tomorrow.” You aren’t playing but Art knows you would be expected to show up as a supporter for the series of matches between your two schools that continued tomorrow.

“Are you sure?” You don’t mind, after all - it’s Art, the boy you had known growing up, shared milkshakes and apple slices with after school, but you wanted to be sure he was truly fine with it.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Art moves to shit his laptop, lifting himself to bend over the edge of the bed to place the laptop on the floor, “you can take the inside.”

He flops down on the outside of the bed that is further from the wall too easily, his right hand going behind his head. Him moving forces you to move in tandem as you flop down on Art’s left, legs scrambling under the covers which Art has somehow managed to worm his way under in the flurry of movement.

Art reaches a hand over, his arm extending over you in the process to hit the light switch that he has beside his bed. It plunges you both into darkness, the only light the faint glow from the street lamps creeping in from below his curtains, and the glow of his digital clock.

You flip onto your right side, eyes closed, missing the turn of Art’s head as he observes yours features, closed eyes, lashes, nose, lips, finding his gaze lingering a moment too long on your lips.

“Stop staring Art.”

“Am not.”

“I can feel it,” you respond, lips curving into a smirk. It was a habit he had developed from the sleepovers you both had either in his living room or yours when you were both younger. You would close your eyes, just about to doze off, only to hear the faint shifting of a head against a pillow while Art turned to stare at you, his blue-brown eyes boring into you.

“Am not.”

“Go to sleep Art.”

“So I guess I’ll see you around,” You are standing just a distance off the side of the bus which is supposed to take you back to campus. The matches for the day had ended, with your school having won by one match.

“Yeah,” Art replies, drawing out his words as he takes you in, he finds himself think that he had very much preferred you in his clothes despite them being oversized and not as well fitted as your own. You had managed to change into a fresh set of school colours before the matches started earlier that morning, having pleaded with your angel of a roommate to help you lug your overnight bag, which you hadn’t even had the chance to unpack the night before, over to the courts before the matches had begun. She had taken one look at you in Art’s tshirt, shorts with his hoodie thrown over, and had given you the widest smirk known to man despite your insistence that nothing had happened.

“I think you are scheduled to come play next month,” you refer to the Stanford men’s team, “I’ll see you then?”

“Or I could see you next week?” Art says almost shyly as he raises a hand to rub the back of his head. Art was a walking oxymoron, easily grabbing your hand, asking you to sleep in his bed, and yet somewhat bashful in the moments in between, “the drive over is an hour, max.”

“I would like that,” your response earns you a mega watt smile, his eyes twinkling at you. You both hear voices calling Art away from the bus, one male, one female - but Art ignores them both.

“Yeah and I told her-” your sentence is cut off by a nudge to your shoulder.

“Stanford” you friend explains with slightly too much glee in her voice. She had seen the smile on your face after returning from your away game last weekend, and the way you had been constantly glued to your phone, grin on your face, laughter peppering your days, the name Art Donaldson a constant fixture in your notifications.

Your head swivels up and to your left to spot Art leaning against his black jeep, hands crossed loosely across his chest. He smiles when he sees you, and your face mimics his expression.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” you friend calls out as she pushes you in Art’s direction. You pull a face at her while rolling your eyes, but letting your legs carry you towards Art.

“Are you stalking me Donaldson?” You ask in jest. Art had texted you half an hour earlier, asking which part of campus your last class of the Friday was in and where he should pick you up from.

“Hundred percent,” he says as he opens his arms; you step into his embrace for a brief hug, before he turns to open the car door for you. You unload your bag from your arm, dropping it onto the floor of the passenger’s seat before climbing in. You move to close the door, but Art is in between you and the door, reaching over to click your seatbelt into place.

“Ready?” He asks, and you nod, gazing into bright blue-brown eyes.

“Positivism,” Art says simply at your question of what theory of jurisprudence he found himself most inclined towards. You think for a moment, the side of your face propped up with a hand, elbow on the counter of the bar you both are seated at, your body turned towards Art who is likewise, facing you.

“Positivism,” you roll the words around your tongue, “I guess it tracks,” you shrug, before raising a brow slightly, “but how does an engineering undergraduate so much about jurisprudence?”

“I read.”

“On jurisprudence?” You frown nose wrinkling as you reach your hand out to place the back of it against Art’s forehead as if to check if he had a fever, “are you alright?”

“You mean you don’t read engineering daily in between sets?” Art questions you with mock horror as he reaches up to tug your hand down from his forehead. Your hand ends up, yet again, in Art’s, which is resting on his knee.

“Why engineering, and not something with a lighter course load?” The underlying question is clear - Art had every intent of going the pro track post-Stanford, and it wasn’t that he would be making full use of his degree anyway.

“I don’t want the only skill I have to be hitting a ball with a racket,” he shrugs, “it feels good to know I can do something else.”

You hum in bother understanding and agreement as you feel Art’s thumb begin to stroke the back of your hand. It distracts you, his calloused thumb sliding across your skin.

“In another life I’m sure you would have made a darn good engineer Art Donaldson.”

Your words make Art laugh, something he found himself doing a lot with you.

“So, this is me,” you point towards the dormitory buildings up in front and Art slows his car to a stop, pulling the gear into park. He kills the engine before hopping out of his seat. Your hand is on the handle of the door, ready to open it for yourself but Art is faster, his hand on the outside lever, pulling the door open for you.

Art offers you a hand as you hop out of the jeep before he shuts the door behind you.

“I had fun tonight,” you find yourself saying, suddenly feeling slightly shy for reasons you cannot fathom.

“Me too,” is what Art says in response, his hands stuck on the pockets of his jeans, heels rocking in a back and forth motion. You see his gaze on you, locking with yours before flickering to your lips. It makes you bite down one on side of your lip, an action which causes Art to gulp, making the Adam’s apple on his throat bob.

“We should do-”

“Can I kiss you?” Art blurts out his question in a burst and you can see his face flush slightly as he asks, a surprising and yet apt contrast to the Art who had no qualms about holding your hand in his. You feel your heart quickening, and with the silence between you both - you almost feel as if you can hear each beat.

“Yes,” you breathe out, a small nod accompanying your response. You see Art’s gaze flicker to your lips again, but you would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about this.

Art takes a step forward, pulling his hands out of his pockets. You feel him cupping your face gently, and you tilt your head towards him. Your eyes flutter close and your lips meet.

Art’s lips are softer than you imagined. You feel his hands move, slipping down the sides of your body, circling your waist and pulling you closer. You drop your bag off your shoulder onto the floor as your hands move up, one to cradle the side of his face, and the other reaching behind, fingers weaving into soft curls as you tug him closer towards you. First kisses with someone new had always been awkward for you - teeth, lips, noses, as you each try to figure out the grooves and crannies of each other, but with Art - there was no such thing. It felt as if you both had learnt each other long ago, each in and out, the curve of his neck, and the the planes of your body.

You break the kiss first, pulling away, eyes still closed, feeling as if the breath had been knocked out of you in the best way. Your forehead pressed against Art’s, body held firmly against his.

“I hope you aren’t going to send me packing after that.” Your eyes flutter open at his words.

“You packed an overnight bag didn’t you?”

“I might have,” Art pulls you even closer, his arms wound tight around you.

“Presumptuous much?” You run a hand through the front of his hair, pushing his fringe back.

“Just good at reading the room.”

12 years later

The skin across your knuckles are visibly tight, your hands clenched into fists, the only sign of the nerves that have taken over and riddled your body. Your eyes are shielded by dark oversized glasses, but your pupils are darting left and right as the final point of the match plays before you. The stadium is silent, save for the pop of the ball and the grunts from the two players on court. You hear an exceptionally loud grunt, the whizzing of a racket whipping through the air, and then you hear it before it hits you - the roar of the crowd, the thundering claps, and you feel your body freeze as even the announcer goes wild.

“Art Donaldson, ladies and gentleman, our new US Open champion.”

You remain glued to your seat despite the commotion around you - family, Art’s team, cheering, jumping, excited hugs being passed around. Your eyes watch as Art runs towards the center of the net, hand raised as he waves to the crowd around. He shakes his opponents hand, before waving to each section of the stadium in thanks of their support and there he is, jogging towards you. His hair is dripping with sweat, plastered to his head, shirt clinging to his body. He extends a hand to you even before he reaches the sideline and your body reacts from habit, standing, your hand extending back towards him. A warm hand, the back of it still slick from sweat grasps yours, tugging you forward lightly.

“Hi,” is all he says as Art’s lips meet yours. Art enjoys the tennis, but he doesn’t need it - doesn’t need the tennis, the fame, the money, or the trophies - all he needs is you.

You hear the crowd go wild at the display of affection, the announcer’s voice booming over the sound system with something about Art Donaldson and his wife, but it all fades - the commotion, the sound, the people, the tennis, because all you see is Art.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

#art donaldson #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x y/n #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson fic #art donaldson fanfic #art donaldson fluff #art donaldson x female reader #challengers #challengers fanfic #challengers fic #challengers imagine #not cm #not tg

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gayasswitchbitch · 12 days ago

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One Piece- Do they get jealous?

Synopsis: One piece headcannons! Do they get jealous when someone tries to flirt with you?

Ft: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Robin, Nami, Ace, and Law

Tw: none (I THINK) just insecure and jealous thoughts.

Luffy- He wouldn’t understand someone flirting in the first place. I think Nami would have to point out that another person is flirting with you, but even then he doesn’t get it. He would something along the lines of :

“There’s no way someone is flirting with y/n because they’re my partner! Geez.. you guys are dumb!”

He genuinely can’t fathom that someone would try to get with you when he is already with you!

Zoro- I don’t think so. He’s a very confident man and has a decent sized ego. He knows what he’s got. Hes not insecure enough to be jealous over someone liking you.

That being said, I don’t believe he’d just let someone flirt with you though. 100% ready to fight ESPECIALLY if someone puts their hands on you in any way. He’d tell them to back off because you’re taken maybe even a:

“Yeah my partner is really beautiful/handsome aren’t they?” with a smirk and an arm wrapped around your shoulder just to piss them off.

It’s his way of showing you off and making it known that he’s willing to throw down if needed, but he would most likely make another shitty comment and then leave with you in hand.

If they keep persisting though, then he’s going to get pissed off but he def tries to keep it cool before it gets to a fight breaking out.

Sanji- GOD YES. SO JEALOUS. Don’t even let mosshead BREATHE near you! Any time you give another person, specifically another man, attention he LOSES IT.

“Do you hate me, my love? Am I not good enough for you? Tell me what I can do better. I’ll do anything for you just please spare me a passing glance again! What could they give you that I can’t? I’d walk to the ends of the earth for you. I’d starve if it meant you could eat. My love please tell me you still love me!”

When all that happened was you were asking Usopp to help you with some gadget and it took too long in Sanji time. (Which was probably an hour)

He would def try to compete with anyone that did flirt. It was a fierce battle and there was no way he’s losing.

“Did you know that my y/n-swan loves the rain? You can always find her by a tree, blissfully meditating. They love it because it makes them feel like all their stress is being washed away. You can see it fall right off their shoulders. Did you also know that their favorite color is (whatever) ? You can always catch a twinkle in their eye anytime they see it. They have exactly 7 outfits in that color. Did you also know that they like to collect trinkets? They pick one up at every single place we stop the sunny at. Yeah I took it upon myself to be the one to find the trinkets now. Did you know that? Did you also know-“ and he wouldn’t stop.

I could even see him taking it as far as to tell them that they’re not good enough for and could never be good enough for you, then would immediately turn around and seek validation from you to make sure you love him and only him.

Robin- She doesn’t get jealous, she gets possessive. Babygirl has had everyone she loves taken from her so she’s making damn sure you’re not going away and that means you are by her side 24/7.

Most of the time no one even dares to think about flirting with you due to how scary she can be.

She’s a very observant woman. If someone liked you she would instantly spot it and give death stares.

If they still tried to approach you, she would be crossing her arms to take them out, smiling the entire time.

Nami- I think it would only happen if she genuinely thought someone was prettier than her and they were around you alot.

She would get sad and seek reassurance by trying to push your buttons. If that doesnt make her feel better then she would walk up to you and turn at glare at the person before wrapping her arms around your neck to pull you into a deep kiss. After she’s swirling around and giving a “Hmph.” And walking away.

Most of the time she knows she got it. If you wanna be stupid and cheat then it’s on you when she burns down all your belongings.

Ace- This man is already insecure as fuck and your ass is out here being fine as hell. It’s stressful because he knows you’re fine and he knows that other people know you’re fine. He’s like a damn guard dog that doesn’t stop barking. He finds ways to constantly bring you up and it’s a front to make sure everyone knows you’re taken.

“What was that? Oh yeah my partner is really smart! I’m so proud of you babe!”

“Man look at my partner. They’re so strong!”

If he sees someone flirting he gets an instant wave of anxiety. What if you finally realize there’s other people better suited for you out there? What if you finally see that he’s nothing special and that you should move on? What if you see that he’s really not as handsome as you think he is? And what if you think this person is more handsome/pretty? What if they’re funnier? What if he never gets to be the one to put a smile on your face again? Then it’s breakdown time. This happens at least twice a month. He will go on about how he doesn’t deserve you, doesn’t deserve to be here, doesn’t deserve so much goodness when his blood is so corrupt.

Just remind that baby that you’re with him because you love him, you do think he’s the most handsome and it’s insane that he doesn’t see it, that he’s the only person that can make you laugh so hard and so on and he’s good for another month. This only lasts for maybe the first year or so. The more you reassure him, the more confident he gets in your love and starts realizing he is worth of it.

Sabo- Like Robin, he’s more possessive. He will politely laugh along with any onlookers while you’re around and thank them for complimenting you, but as soon as you’re not in the room it’s near death threats.

“Look, I understand y/n is very beautiful/handsome.. but you try and flirt with them again and it’ll be the last thing you ever do”

He says it so calmly, eyes so wide, that it’s actually terrifying.

I could also see him being much more calm about it and making some obscure lie to make them go away like telling them you have a contagious disease and then forcefully coughing until they run away. He’d walk back to the base laughing his ass off too.

Law- I wouldnt say he gets jealous.. he gets irritated. He knows when someone is flirting with you and as long as they don’t take it to physical touching he won’t do anything. He trusts you and knows where you two stand but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t cause burning pain in his chest.

Bepo may point out what’s happening and he’s like:

“I’m aware. If they needed help they would say.” But it’s honestly taking all his strength not to strangle the person.

Sachi and Penguin might stir the pot and ask their captain what he would do if you were enjoying it, which was an awful idea. Now he’s slammed a hand on the table and clenching his jaw.

“They don’t.” He says through gritted teeth.

“But-“

One word. The one ‘but’ was all it took for Law to jump out of his seat, rush over to you and grab your hand into his roughly.

“Come on. We’re leaving.”

If you tried to hesitate he’d whip his head around and give you a stare. One you know that if you disobey you’ll be scrubbing the deck for the next week. So he’s taking you back to the ship and throwing you against his office door in a heated kiss.

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its-avalon-08 · 5 months ago

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don't walk away from me (ln4)

✦ pairing - lando norris x female!reader

✦ genre - angst, neglect, alot of tears, fluff, it's super long

Y/N sat on the edge of her bed, her heart racing and hands trembling as she stared at the small, white plastic stick in her hand. Two faint pink lines stared back at her, confirming what she had both feared and hoped for. She was pregnant.

Tears welled up in her eyes as a whirlwind of emotions swirled within her—fear, joy, uncertainty. She and Lando had been together for five years, but they had never discussed having children. Not seriously, at least. She had always imagined they would have this conversation when they were both ready, when the timing was perfect. But now, the reality of her situation hit her like a ton of bricks.

She placed the pregnancy test on the nightstand and hugged her knees to her chest, trying to calm herself. The house was eerily quiet, amplifying her anxiety. She glanced at the clock. Lando would be home soon. How was she going to tell him? What if he didn't want this? What if he wasn't ready?

The sound of the front door opening and closing pulled her out of her thoughts. She wiped her tears away and took a deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation ahead.

"Y/N, I'm home," Lando called out from downstairs.

She stood up, her legs feeling shaky, and walked to the top of the stairs. "Lando, can you come up here for a second?"

His footsteps echoed through the house as he made his way up the stairs. When he reached the bedroom door, he gave her a curious look. "What's up?"

Y/N bit her lip, her heart pounding in her chest. "I need to talk to you about something. Something important."

Lando's expression shifted to concern as he walked into the room and closed the door behind him. "Okay, you're scaring me. What's going on?"

She took a deep breath, her voice trembling. "I'm pregnant."

For a moment, there was silence. Lando's eyes widened, and his face went pale. "What? How?"

Y/N's tears started to flow again. "I don't know, Lando. It just happened. I'm scared too, but we need to talk about this."

Lando ran a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth. "This can't be happening right now. I'm not ready for this. We have our whole lives ahead of us, our careers. A baby wasn't part of the plan."

Her heart shattered at his words. "I know it's unexpected, but we can figure it out together. We love each other, don't we? We can make this work."

He stopped pacing and turned to face her, anger and frustration etched on his face. "I don't want a baby right now, Y/N. This isn't what I signed up for. How could you let this happen?"

She flinched at his harsh tone, her tears flowing freely. "It's not like I planned this, Lando. You are equally as responsible as I am. But it's happening, and we need to deal with it. Together."

He shook his head, his voice rising. "No, you need to deal with it. I can't handle this right now. I'm not ready to be a father."

The room was thick with tension, the air heavy with unspoken fears and shattered dreams. Y/N's heart ached as she realized the depth of his feelings. She had hoped for support, for understanding, but instead, she felt more alone than ever.

"Lando, please," she pleaded, her voice breaking. "We can figure this out. We can make it work."

He looked at her with a mix of anger and despair. "I can't, Y/N. I just can't."

With those words, he turned and left the room, the sound of the door slamming echoing through the house. Y/N collapsed onto the bed, her sobs wracking her body. She had never felt so lost, so scared, so heartbroken.

She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands trembling as she tried to compose herself. Lando’s reaction had been worse than she had imagined, and now he stood in front of her, pacing back and forth, his face contorted with frustration and disbelief.

"I thought you would fight for us. For me," she whispered, her voice breaking.

Lando stopped pacing and turned to face her, his eyes filled with a mix of anger and desperation. "Fight for us? Y/N, do you even understand what this means? My career, all of it—derailed! I’ve worked my entire life to get to this point, and now this?"

Tears streamed down her face as she looked up at him, her heart aching with every word he said. "Are you even listening to me, Lando? This isn’t just about you. This is our baby. Our future. You can’t just push this away because it’s inconvenient."

He threw his hands up in exasperation. "Inconvenient? Y/N, it’s more than inconvenient! It’s a complete upheaval of everything we’ve built. Everything I’ve built. How can you expect me to just accept this?"

She stood up, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and sorrow. "Because I love you, Lando! And I thought you loved me too. I thought we were in this together, no matter what."

He shook his head, his eyes filled with tears he refused to let fall. "I do love you, but this… this is too much. I’m not ready to be a father. I’m not ready for any of this."

Y/N took a step closer to him, her eyes pleading. "And you think I am? You think I wanted this to happen right now? But it did, and we have to deal with it. We have to face it together. Isn’t that what love is about?"

Lando’s voice softened, but his words still cut deep. "I’m scared, Y/N. I don’t know if I can do this."

Her heart shattered at the vulnerability in his voice, but she couldn’t let go of the anger and hurt that had built up inside her. "I’m scared too, Lando. But running away isn’t going to solve anything. We have to face this, together."

He looked away, his jaw clenched. "I need time to think. I can’t do this right now."

Y/N felt a surge of anger and desperation. "Time? We don’t have time, Lando. This is happening now, whether we’re ready or not. And I need you to be with me in this. I need you to fight for us."

He took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging with the weight of his emotions. "I don’t know if I can."

Her voice softened, but the pain was still evident. "Please, Lando. Don’t give up on us. Don’t give up on me."

He looked at her, his eyes filled with a mix of love and fear. "I’m sorry, Y/N. I just… I can’t."

With those words, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving Y/N standing there, her heart broken and her world turned upside down. She sank to the floor, her sobs echoing through the empty house.

In that moment, she realized that she was truly alone. She had hoped that their love would be strong enough to overcome any obstacle, but now she faced the harsh reality that sometimes, love wasn’t enough. But even in her despair, she knew she would fight for her baby. She would fight for the future she believed in, with or without Lando.

Because in the end, the love she had for her child was stronger than any fear, stronger than any heartbreak. And she would not let that love be derailed, no matter what.

The reality of her situation settled over her like a heavy blanket. She was pregnant, and the man she loved was not ready to face it with her. She was alone in this, and the path ahead seemed impossibly difficult.

But as she lay there, crying into the pillows, a steely resolve began to form within her. She would do whatever it took to protect and care for her child. She would find a way to make it work, with or without Lando.

a few hours later

Lando stood in the empty living room, the silence around him deafening. His eyes scanned the room, confusion and panic setting in as he noticed the absence of Y/N’s belongings. His heart raced as he hurried up the stairs to their bedroom, only to find it stripped of her presence. The closet doors hung open, her clothes gone, and the drawers emptied.

A notification buzzed on his phone, pulling him out of his frantic thoughts. He glanced at the screen to see a large deposit in his bank account. He froze, realizing what it meant. He rushed back downstairs, where a table was neatly stacked with items—clothes, jewelry, and gifts he had bought for Y/N over the years. Everything was returned, methodically placed as if to signify the end of their relationship.

Lando’s breath caught in his throat. He had never felt so lost, so utterly regretful. His mind raced back to their fight, his harsh words echoing in his ears. He had pushed her away, and now she was gone. Completely.

The doorbell rang, jolting him from his thoughts. He opened the door to find Carlos standing there, his expression a mix of anger and disappointment. Behind him, Rebecca stood with a comforting hand on Carlos’ shoulder.

“What are you doing here?” Lando asked, his voice hollow.

Carlos stepped inside, his eyes blazing. “I’m here because Y/N needs someone to look after her. Clearly, that’s not you anymore.”

Lando’s heart sank. “Carlos, I made a mistake. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

Carlos’s jaw tightened. “A mistake? Lando, you didn’t just make a mistake. You broke her heart. You left her alone when she needed you the most.”

Lando’s eyes filled with tears. “I know, and I regret it. Please, just let me see her. Let me make things right.”

Carlos shook his head firmly. “No, you don’t get to see her. Not after what you did. She’s devastated, Lando. Do you understand that? She’s completely heartbroken.”

Lando’s voice cracked. “I didn’t know what to do. I was scared.”

Carlos’s anger flared. “And you think she wasn’t? You think she didn’t need you to be strong for her, to stand by her side? You were supposed to be her partner, and you abandoned her.”

Lando buried his face in his hands, his body shaking with sobs. “I know. I know I messed up. But I love her, Carlos. I love her so much.”

Carlos softened slightly but kept his guard up. “Love isn’t just words, Lando. It’s actions. And your actions showed her that she can’t rely on you. That she can’t trust you to be there for her.”

Rebecca stepped forward, her voice gentle yet firm. “Y/N needs time, Lando. She needs to heal. Right now, the best thing you can do is give her space and let her process everything.”

Lando looked up, his eyes pleading. “Please, just tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I love her and that I’ll do anything to make it right.”

Carlos’s gaze softened, but his resolve remained. “She knows, Lando. But it’s going to take more than words to fix this. It’s going to take time and a lot of effort on your part. And right now, the best thing for her is to be surrounded by people who will support her and help her heal.”

Lando nodded, his heart heavy with guilt and regret. “I understand. Please, just take care of her. Tell her I’m here, waiting, whenever she’s ready.”

Carlos and Rebecca turned to leave, but Carlos paused, his face filled with a mix of anger and sorrow. “I thought you would stick around, Lando. I thought you’d be there for her, no matter what. But now, she’s alone because of you.”

Lando felt the weight of Carlos’s words hit him like a punch to the gut. “I never wanted this, Carlos. I never wanted to hurt her.”

Carlos shook his head, his eyes filled with disappointment. “Intentions don’t matter when your actions speak louder. She needed you, and you walked away. Now she’s left to pick up the pieces on her own.”

As the door closed behind them, Lando sank to the floor, his heart aching with the weight of his mistakes. He had a long road ahead of him, and he knew that earning Y/N’s forgiveness and trust would be the hardest thing he’d ever have to do. But for her, he was willing to do whatever it took.

Because he couldn’t bear the thought of a future without her, and he would fight to make things right, no matter how long it took.

Carlos carefully helped Y/N settle into his guest room, ensuring she had everything she needed. He placed her suitcase at the foot of the bed and fluffed the pillows before turning to her with a gentle smile.

“Mi niña, if you need anything, just let me know, okay?” he said softly, his voice full of warmth and concern.

Y/N nodded, her eyes red and puffy from crying. She tried to put on a brave face, but the moment Carlos wrapped her in a comforting hug, she broke down completely, sobbing into his chest.

“Shh, it’s okay, Y/N,” Carlos whispered, rubbing her back soothingly. “Everything will be okay. I promise.”

She clung to him, her body shaking with each sob. “I-I don’t know what to do, Carlos. It hurts so much.”

He held her tighter, his heart breaking at the sight of her pain. “I know, mi niña. I know it hurts. But you’re not alone. We’re here for you. Rebecca and I, we’ll take care of you.”

Y/N pulled back slightly, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. “I just… I thought he would fight for us. For me.”

Carlos gently wiped away her tears, his expression one of deep sorrow and fierce protectiveness. “Lando made a mistake, and he’s going to regret it. But right now, you need to focus on yourself and the baby. You’re strong, Y/N. You’re going to get through this.”

She nodded, trying to believe his words. “Thank you, Carlos. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You’re like a little sister to me. I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

Y/N leaned into his embrace, finding comfort in his unwavering support. “I just feel so lost.”

Carlos held her close, his voice gentle but firm. “You’re not lost, mi niña. You’re just finding a new path. And you have us to help you every step of the way.”

Rebecca entered the room quietly, carrying a tray with a cup of tea and some snacks. She placed it on the bedside table and joined them, wrapping her arms around Y/N as well.

“We’re going to take care of you,” Rebecca said softly. “You’re family to us, Y/N.”

Surrounded by their love and support, Y/N felt a small glimmer of hope. She still had a long road ahead of her, but with Carlos and Rebecca by her side, she knew she wouldn’t have to face it alone.

Carlos pulled back slightly, looking into her eyes. “Remember, mi niña, you’re stronger than you think. And we’ll be here to remind you of that every day.”

Y/N managed a small smile, her heart feeling a little lighter. “I’ll try to remember that. Thank you, Carlos. Thank you, Rebecca.”

Rebecca squeezed her hand gently. “We’re here for you, every step of the way.”

As Y/N settled into bed that night, she felt a sense of peace she hadn’t felt in weeks. She knew the journey ahead would be difficult, but with the support of those who loved her, she believed she could find her way.

Over the next few months Lando was adamant in trying to prove to Y/N that he will be there for her.

first instance: the midnight voicemail

Lando sat in his car outside Y/N's apartment, his fingers trembling as he held his phone. He had been doing this every night for the past six months, just listening to her voicemail. It was his way of feeling close to her, even when she needed space.

“Hey, it’s me, Lando,” he started, his voice soft and full of emotion. “I just wanted to say goodnight. I know you’re probably asleep, but I hope you and the baby are doing well. I-I just needed to hear your voice. I miss you. I love you. my love.”

He ended the call, tears streaming down his face. He knew she might never listen to these voicemails, but it didn’t matter. It was his way of staying connected, of showing her he cared.

second instance: the doctor's appointment

Y/N sat in the waiting room, nervously tapping her foot. She glanced up as the door opened and Lando walked in, carrying a small bouquet of her favorite flowers. He smiled softly at her, his eyes filled with concern and love.

“I thought you might like these,” he said, handing her the flowers.

She took them, her heart warming at the gesture. “Thank you, Lan.”

They sat together, waiting for her name to be called. When it was time, Lando stood up, offering her his hand. She hesitated for a moment before taking it, feeling the warmth of his support.

During the appointment, he stayed by her side, asking the doctor questions and making sure she was comfortable. It was clear he was committed to being there for her and their baby, no matter what. Towards the end Y/N interlocked her fingers with his.

third instance: the late-night cravings

One night, Y/N woke up with a sudden craving for chocolate ice cream. She sighed, knowing it was late, but her craving was too strong to ignore. She was about to get dressed to go to the store when her phone buzzed.

A message from Lando: “Hey, just thinking about you baby. Do you need anything?”

She hesitated for a moment before replying, “Actually, yes. I’m craving chocolate ice cream. But it’s late, and I don’t want to bother you.”

Within minutes, her phone buzzed again. “On my way. Be there in 10.”

Ten minutes later, Lando knocked on her door, holding a bag with several tubs of chocolate ice cream. “I wasn’t sure which one you wanted, so I got a few different kinds,” he said with a sheepish smile.

Y/N’s heart swelled with gratitude. “Thank you, Lando. You didn’t have to do this. It means so much to me.”

He shrugged, his eyes full of warmth. “I want to. I want to be here for you, for both of you.”

fourth instance: the nursery

Lando had spent weeks secretly working on a nursery for their baby. He knew Y/N wanted to keep things simple, but he wanted to surprise her with something special. He enlisted the help of Carlos and Rebecca, who both supported him in his efforts to make things right.

One afternoon, he called Y/N and asked her to come over. When she arrived, he led her to the room that had once been his office. He opened the door, revealing a beautifully decorated nursery.

Tears filled Y/N’s eyes as she took in the sight. The walls were painted a soft, calming color, and there was a crib, a changing table, and a rocking chair. Everything was perfect.

“I wanted to show you that I’m committed to this, to our family,” Lando said, his voice full of emotion. “I know it’s just a room, but I hope it shows you how much I care.”

Y/N walked into the room, touching the crib and the soft blankets. “It’s beautiful, Lando. Thank you.”

He stepped closer, his eyes locked on hers. “I’ll always be here for you, Y/N. I promise.”

fifth instance: the ultrasound

The day of the ultrasound was a mix of excitement and nerves for Y/N. Lando had insisted on coming, even though he knew she still needed space. As they sat in the exam room, the technician prepped the equipment.

When the image of their baby appeared on the screen, Lando’s breath caught in his throat. Tears filled his eyes as he saw the tiny life they had created.

“That’s our baby,” he whispered, his voice full of awe.

Y/N looked at him, her own eyes filled with tears. “Yes, it is.”

He reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “Thank you for letting me be here baby. I wouldn’t want to miss this for the world.”

Six months had passed, and Y/N knew Lando had done everything he could to prove his love and commitment. One evening, she found herself standing outside his apartment again, her heart pounding in her chest.

She knocked, and moments later, Lando opened the door, his eyes widening in surprise and hope. “Y/N,” he said softly, stepping aside to let her in. “Come in, please.”

She walked in, the familiar scent of his apartment washing over her. It felt like stepping back into a memory, a life that had once been hers.

Lando closed the door and turned to face her, his heart in his throat. “How are you feeling love?” he asked, his voice full of genuine concern.

She placed a hand on her growing belly, a small smile playing on her lips. “I’m doing okay. The baby’s doing well.”

He nodded, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “I’m glad. I’m so glad.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between them. Finally, Y/N spoke, her voice steady but soft. “Lando, I’ve seen how hard you’ve been trying. You’ve been there for me, even when I didn’t want you to be. And I appreciate it. I really do.”

He looked at her, his heart aching with regret and hope. “I’ll never stop trying, Y/N. I know I messed up, and I know I have a lot to make up for. But I love you. I love you and our baby, and I’ll do anything to prove that to you.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she took a deep breath. “I know you will. I can see that now. And I’m ready to give us another chance.”

Lando’s breath hitched, and he took a tentative step closer to her. “You are?”

She nodded, wiping away a tear. “Yes. I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, and I’m not saying I’m not still hurt. But I want to try. I want us to try.”

He closed the distance between them, gently taking her hands in his. “I promise, Y/N. I’ll do everything I can to make things right. I’ll never take you for granted again.”

She squeezed his hands, her eyes searching his. “I need you to understand that it’s not just about words, Lan. It’s about actions. I need to know that you’re in this for the long haul, that you’re committed to us, to our family.”

He nodded, his eyes filled with determination. “I am. I swear I am. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”

She let out a shaky breath, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders. “Okay. Then let’s do this. Together.”

Lando pulled her into a gentle hug, careful not to press too hard against her belly. “Thank you, Y/N. Thank you for giving me another chance. I won’t let you down.”

As they stood there, holding each other, the future seemed a little brighter, a little more hopeful. They had a long road ahead, but they were ready to face it together, hand in hand.

And for the first time in months, Y/N felt a sense of peace, knowing that they were going to be okay. That they were going to be a family. She was going to be with the man she loved and all was going to be right again.

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