#its proximity to those dates… | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

maxlarens · 8 months ago

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Hi, I have a smau request for Charles (based on c.ai bot lol, and the fact that I love painting), so the reader is invited by her friends to a house for vacation, her friends are all with their s/o and they also always try to set up reader with someone, that's when her and Charles meet, and reader finally gives it a chance because she knows her friends won't stop to set her up. They talk for a whole evening about what they do in life (reader is an artist/painter) and they get along really well. Eventually they get together and reader is very liked by the public, even if there will always be haters, but most fans thinks she's just very adorable (especially because of her insta/twitter posts)

CL: slip up and i call you baby

pairing(s): charles leclerc x artist!reader

summary: you love your friends, you really do. you just wish they’d stop trying so hard to set you up with random guys. [smau + written fic] (read on: ao3) (part 2)

fc: faceless

word count: 5.1k

warnings: mild sexual references

a/n: this is such a cute idea! thank u so much for sending it in!! u will not believe how much this idea gripped me like i never write one shots like this its just unheard of for me if im honest. anyway i know u asked for a smau so i will be doing a second part/continuation to this that is solely an smau to make up for that. (ALSO sorry for disappearing i was super sick for the whole week and have been getting my shit back together in the aftermath😭)

(yn’s messages)

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@ynusername just posted…

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ynusername italy we are in u!!!

Amalfi Coast, Italy

You’ve never been particularly boy crazy. At least not the same way your friends are.

There have been a few not-quite boyfriend’s over the years, but those relationships never last long. They never really get you, or they never really get the art thing. Which means, of course, that they don’t get you and never will— and that’s fine, you’re content with that. If living for your art means you’ll never be in love then so be it and frankly, good riddance to them.

For the most part, you’ve given up trying. You go on a few dates here and there, but you never let them stick around. Even the ones that seem interested in your paintings you don’t bother with— none of them really seem to be able to grasp what art truly is to you. It isn’t just paint on a canvas, it’s living, it’s breathing. You are only yourself with a way to make art.

It’s difficult to put into words.

So you don’t. Instead, you send texts that say ‘thanks for your time but this isn’t working out’ and you keep the men your friends try to set you up with at arm's length. You placate Chloe and her partner Rowan– who collects friends like they’re Pokémon– with, “he wasn’t my type” and “I’m not looking for a relationship right now”, which you suppose is true, but also isn’t the entirety of it. Yet, every time without fail, there’s a new boy at the scene of the crime.

Chloe doesn’t get it, none of your friends get it. You don’t try to explain it to them. So, y’know, here you are again.

Anyway, here’s the thing: they’re getting closer. Inexplicably, without knowing how you really feel about it all, Chloe and Rowan are getting better and better at picking the boys who are able to tempt you. Which is a pain really, because sometimes you’re trying to have a perfectly nice vacation in Italy without the lure of a boy you can’t let yourself have. But alas, these things generally don’t go your way.

You should know that by now.

Charles Leclerc is bang on the money, he really is. He is unbearably cute, like so cute that you have to leave the room when he walks in, because you don’t trust yourself to be in close proximity to him right now. You have a hard time looking at his face when you are forced to be around him. The dimples when he smiles, the squint of his eyes even when he isn’t. If you look too long you’re liable to stare and that wouldn’t lead to anything good at all.

He’s nice as well. So nice, just like Chloe told you. You try to pretend he doesn’t exist and he still asks you questions about your job and the area of Monaco you live in— like he’s even interested, like he’ll remember you two weeks from now. You try your best to be pleasant, to answer without it being like pulling teeth, and to ask questions of him as well. You’ll probably see him again after this, so best to not to go too far and act like you hate him. It’s difficult though, toeing the line between friendly and encouraging of more. Or it feels difficult for you. Charles doesn’t make even the slightest suggestion of the two of you being set up by your nosy friends. That’s unbearable too. Part of you wishes he’d just make a clumsy pass at you so you can rebuff it and make your intentions abundantly clear. But, obviously, he doesn’t, because he’s perfect or something.

It sucks. You hate him, you think.

Or you want to.

On the second day of the trip, you’re on the villa’s private beach, laying in the hot sun. Chloe, Anaïs and Bea are there; everyone else is either still sleeping off the wine from last night or swimming in the glittering ocean. You’ve got a secondhand book, a 2B pencil and a pair of sunglasses over your eyes. You’re trying to read but you just end up doodling, drawing your friends bikini-clad bodies over the text and shading grapes into the margins. Trying desperately not to accidentally put Charles Leclerc’s dimples, messy hair, or sloped nose to paper.

“So,” Chloe says conspiratorially, as you abort an attempt at drawing a slightly squinted eye with thick lashes, “What do you think of Charles?”

You raise an eyebrow carefully at her over your sunglasses, betraying nothing of your inner turmoil, “I think nothing.”

Anaïs laughs, rolling onto her back, “That’s such shit. You practically sprint away from him everytime he comes near.”

“I do not,” you answer too quickly.

Anaïs laughs again, louder. Chloe joins in and Bea raises her eyebrows at you like you’re a fucking liar. You frown, glaring a little before stubbornly turning your head back to your book. The conversation about Charles ends there, but unfortunately your actions have spoken for themselves. A chill of something like panic chitters up your spine and into your shoulders. You have to roll them to make the feeling go away.

As the sun climbs higher in the sky you lose some people to the heat and gain others. It’s just you and Chloe sweating onto your towels when Rowan and Charles finally give up on whatever game they were playing in the ocean. Rowan collapses unceremoniously into the space between you and Chloe, kicking up sand and getting water droplets all over you like he’s a wet dog. You let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and an exasperated groan as you roll away from him, landing in the sand.

“Watch it,” you cry, “You’re getting my book all wet.”

Rowan laughs, “You’re drawing in it!”

“So.”

He pulls a face at you that makes you roll your eyes; then he turns into Chloe, shoving his face into her collarbone and flinging limbs over her. You snort, leaning over to snag the book off your towel before it gets dragged into the mess that Rowan is causing. You’re about to get up and go inside until you realise Charles is still standing there. Has, in fact, been standing there since Rowan ran over. Your breath catches, heart skipping a beat as you look up to find him standing there.

“Hey,” you smile briefly at him, quickly looking away from his damp hair and bare chest (–which is difficult to do because, holy shit–) so you can gather up your towel.

“Hi,” he replies.

He might smile back. You don’t look. You’re trying to get the image of his washboard abs out of your head. This proves difficult when you clamber to your feet and find yourself face to face with him.

“Are you heading back?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

God, you want to kick yourself. You’re being so awkward, and right in front of Chloe too, who may not be watching but is absolutely listening to you make a fool of yourself in front of a guy you have very firmly said that you are not interested in. It must be clear to him too, that you’re trying very deliberately to not be interested in him. You cant tell what would be worse; if that means he’ll think you’re a weirdo or if it means he’ll take it as a sign that he should make some kind of move.

Ugh.

“I’ll come with you?”

“Hmm,” you blink yourself back into existence, seeing the questioning look on Charles’ face, “Yes, yeah. Sorry.”

You say goodbye to Chloe and Rowan who barely look away from one another, still rolling around in the sand like teenagers.

“Gross,” you say to Charles, as the two of you trudge through hot sand toward the sandstone steps that lead up to the villa.

He laughs, a breathy thing that tapers off with a sigh, “A bit, yes.”

You don’t say anything else, but you find yourself staring at his back and the way his muscles shift and move underneath his tanned skin. At the top of the stairs you part ways, he smiles at you and you offer something awkward in return, trying to pretend you hadn’t been looking at him. You don’t think he notices, but your cheeks red burn anyway.

You don’t see him watching you leave.

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@chloegarelli just posted…

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chloegarelli hungover, sunkissed and lovesick

Amalfi Coast, Italy

Dinner is a huge affair, as it always is on these trips.

You, Anaïs and Chloe spend three hours in the kitchen that afternoon making chicken fricassée and about a hundred different side dishes to go with it. Everyone crowds around the dinner table to eat and drink even more wine than the night before. Piero Piccioni plays on the old record player, crackling away as you laugh and talk and tell stories with your friends well into the night. You watch the sun set through floor-to-ceiling glass windows and you wish wish wish that you had your paints right now.

You brought along a set of oil pastels and one of your art notebooks, but it doesn’t compare at all to painting. If you could get your hands on cadmium yellow in all it’s hues, maybe vermillion and a powder blue, your lack of paintbrush or canvas wouldn’t even matter. You’d use your fingers if you needed to. It bothers you so much that you get up in the middle of clearing away the meal and go to your room for the pastels and notebook. You need to get it on a page at least.

You push a few plates to the side, folding out your notebook and immediately marking the page up with a creamy white pastel. Bea teases you when she comes over to take the rest of the dirty dishes, but you just mumble something unintelligible, too engrossed with smudging the sunset into something that looks like what you’d seen out the window. When the oranges and yellows blend to your satisfaction you take the black and brown and draw in the top of your friends’ heads, not thinking about how much attention to detail you’re paying to the shape of Charles’ side profile.

When you’re finished, you’re surprised to see that the table is cleared save for a few half-full wine glasses and a fresh bottle. Only Chloe, Rowan and Charles are still sitting by you. You’re listening to another Piero Piccioni album now, or maybe just the other side of the record. You remember saying goodnight to the others and saying yes to a glass of wine, so you’ve not been totally dead to the world, but it’s all in a bit of a haze.

You think this might be part of the reason why you can’t hold down a boyfriend. The disappearing into your art like you cant breathe until it’s finished. That may as well be the case if you’re honest.

You sigh, wiping your stained fingers on the next blank page, then you take a long sip from your glass of merlot, pretending you dont notice the others’ eyes on you.

“All done?” Chloe quips, somewhere on the border of teasing and being annoyed at you.

You look at her, your eyes just narrowing enough for her to notice. She does and purses her lips. You raise an eyebrow to ask okay, what’s your fucking problem? And you see her eyes flash to Charles. You follow her gaze to see him and Rowan pretending to look disinterested in your answer. Charles is tracing the base of his wine glass and absently biting the inside of his mouth. You have to tear your eyes away.

“All done,” you answer, tone clipped, before gathering your things (including the wine glass) and leaving the room in a move you hope doesn’t come off as too rude.

At your back you hear Rowan ask Chloe, “What was that?”

Chloe means well, you think as you wind through the villa, making your way to the balcony overlooking the private beach. She wants you to be happy and she thinks you need a boyfriend to be happy. But she’d found the love of her life in Rowan after only a few years of dating around and she doesn’t quite understand that it’s never going to work like that for you. There aren’t enough people out there that understand the kind of passion you have for your art and certainly not many that would also be compatible with you. You’re fine with that, but Chloe doesn’t know what to do with it. Especially not now she’s cottoned onto the fact that you have some kind of interest in Charles. It’s killing her.

It’s irrelevant though, whatever interest you have in Charles doesn’t factor into anything. He’s cute, he’s nice, but so were the dozen boys that you’ve already dated and not continued dating. So really, Chloe needs to stop pushing it because it’s pissing you off. You’re here for a holiday, not to be forced into conversations with a guy you don’t know. If she needs to have an argument to finally understand that, then so be it. You’ve been friends for years, it’ll blow over eventually.

You flick a switch and blinking lights illuminate the balcony. Fairy lights are wound up the posts and draped on the awning, intertwining with the lush green vines that have grown up through the wood slats. The air is balmy and the breeze light as you settle into one of two cushioned chairs situated by a coffee table. It’s perfect. You spread the oil pastels out next to your glass of wine and set your open notebook on your crossed legs, listening to the sound of waves lapping against the shore.

You’re alone for what feels like a long time but is probably only an hour or two.

When the sliding door clunks open you expect it to be Chloe coming over to have it out, but it’s not. Instead, Charles slips through the gap with the rest of the wine gripped in one hand.

“Hi,” he greets, smiling at you in a way that makes dimples carve in his cheeks, and dashing any hopes you have that he’d walk right past you.

“Hey,” you forget yourself for a moment and bite your lip on a broad smile.

He holds the bottle out toward you, offering more. You lean over your notebook and hold your empy wine glass up in acceptance.

“Merci,” you say, and in a moment of weakness (and probable wine drunk-ness) you gesture at the plush chair across from you.

Charles, somewhat caught off guard, looks between your outstretched hand, the chair, and your face, before shaking his head almost imperceptibly and finally taking a seat. Despite his apparent shock, you find it hard to believe he’d come out here simply to offer you some of the last of the wine. Surely, this is Chloe and Rowan’s doing. Though, strangely, you cant quite bring yourself to care.

He sets the bottle on the coffee table, next to your oil pastels. You lean forward to place a few back in their rightful spots, snagging your wine glass as you go.

Charles eyes’ scan your face for a moment, searching for something you suppose, then he points at your notebook, “Have you been drawing?”

You nod, “Mmm.”

You think perhaps the answer is a bit obvious. He seems to realise this, you watch a blush spread onto the top of his cheeks and he flutters his eyelids slightly, almost like rolling his eyes at himself. You don’t think about his eyelashes, thick and dark as they brush against his cheekbone, and you don’t think about his eyes, the lights reflecting off them, making them sparkle.

“What are you drawing then?” he asks after a moment of collecting himself, an edge of embarrassment to his voice.

You give in easily to the strange urge you have to show him, grabbing the notebook off your lap and holding it out for him to see what you’d been scribbling in the book for the past two hours. You let him take it off your hands, ignoring the spike of anxiety. He holds it gingerly, like it's a precious artefact (of course, to you, it is), which makes something warm bloom in your chest. You take a sip of wine and gesture for him to flip through a few pages, which he seems hesitant to do without permission. The book is angled in such a way that you can see most of the page, so you’re content to let him. Or at least you are until he flips to the page you’d started when you’d first come out here.

Panic drops like a stone in your gut because he’s looking right at a fully rendered drawing of his eyes. It’s in amongst some pillars strung with lights and covered in climbing vines; your best attempt at capturing the way the beach looked earlier in the day; and, perhaps your saving grace, Chloe half asleep on her towel. But the drawing of her is haphazard, it’s half-scribbled and half-finished, whereas the one of Charles eyes’ is as detailed as the sunset scene you’d done the page before. It had been something you just needed to get out, drawn in one of those hazes of yours. You’d felt better after it was done, your hands had stopped feeling like they were itchy.

Now, you itch to snatch the notebook off him, but you fear that would be even more incriminating. So you watch him look at the page and try to sit with the panicked feeling spreading in your chest.

Eventually, he points at the page, “Is this me?”

You bite your lip, breathing slowly through your nose to try and abate the blush spreading up your neck. You don’t say anything exactly, just shrug and rock your head back and forth in a kind of confirmation that doesn’t really admit anything. Though, there’s no denying the drawing is him.

“It’s good,” he says, seemingly stumbling over the words, “It’s very good.”

You frown into your drink, “Thank you.”

“I mean it.”

You know he means it. It’s not that.

“Yes,” you put down the wine glass, looking at him but avoiding eye contact, “I know. I know it’s good. I’m just… I’m embarrassed,” you admit.

He furrows his eyebrows– or it’s more that he squints and his eyebrows fold in with it. You watch his tongue dart out to run across the top of his bottom lip and you stamp down the less than innocent thoughts that come bubbling up at that. He waves the hand that’s not still holding carefully onto your notebook about for a moment, trying to conjure up words that he doesn’t have yet.

Slowly, he says, “You shouldn’t be embarrassed. I– It’s–”

He’s about to say flattering, so you cut him off, not wanting to hear the tone of it, whether it be pity or something else entirely.

You try to explain yourself, “Things get stuck in my head sometimes. Like after dinner,” you reach forward and flip the page back one, to the sunset, “I have to get it onto paper. Or… or… it just runs laps in my head for the rest of eternity, I guess. I don’t stop thinking about it.”

You cringe internally. You’ve just told him that you were so consumed by thoughts of his eyes that you had to draw them immediately. That is perhaps worse than just wanting to draw him because you thought he was cute. Charles raises his eyebrows, clearly surprised by your admission, but there’s perhaps also something sincere in there? You can’t pinpoint it, but it makes you feel a fraction better you think.

You sigh forlornly, “That’s weirder, huh?”

He laughs, properly laughs, and it sends some strange feeling skittering down your spine, “No. No, I get it. I don’t have any way to get it down as quickly as I’d like, but I definitely understand the feeling.”

You bite the inside of your lip, hesitant but still curious, “You understand the feeling? Really?”

“Yes,” he smiles easily now, relaxing more in the chair after he places your notebook onto the counter with a cautiousness you still don’t expect, “For me, with racing, it’s like I get an idea and I can’t sleep until I try it on track or talk about it with someone. Some of them don’t work, or aren’t possible, which is fine, but if it sounds right to me and it checks out with the people that it needs to, then, well, then it literally does run laps in my head.”

You laugh, mostly to yourself. You’re not sure yet if he understands what you’re saying, but he’s trying. That’s more than you can say for a lot of people. You try not to let that thought linger for too long.

“You think it’s similar?” you ask in a way you desperately hope comes across as curious and not accusatory.

He hums, waving his hand around again for words, “Perhaps. I think the urgency is the same. The passion is the same. Do you ever feel like something terrible will happen if you can’t–”

“Yes,” you’re a bit breathless in your haste to agree, to talk about this feeling with someone who understands, “Yes. I do. It’s like I need to put it somewhere before I lose it. Otherwise, it won’t be perfect, or it’ll be too late.”

“Exactly,” his eyes seem to light up, for a long second you watch the flickering lights reflect in them, “Exactly.”

“It’s never as good as I want it to be,” you admit, finding it easier to look him in the eye now that some strange barrier between you has been broken, “It’s never quite how I imagine it in my head.”

Charles points at your notebook, “These are very good, really. I don’t see how they could be better. But,” he shrugs, “Eh, I will win a race and still think of everything I did wrong.”

You nod eagerly in understanding as you lean back into the chair, finally relaxing into the cushions. It’s strange to have this conversation, knowing you’re talking about two entirely different careers, but feeling like they’re so similar. Maybe it’s just you and Charles that are similar, maybe your jobs have nothing to do with it? You don’t know, you just know it’s nice to feel like someone gets what you’re talking about.

Charles continues, speaking like he’ll explode if he doesn’t get this off his chest, “It’s there all the time, do you know what I mean? Maybe I’m not thinking about it every second, but it’s always there waiting for something to draw attention to it. And people ask what else is going on in my life, and of course I do other things, and I enjoy other things, but I want to be on the track. I want to be driving whenever I can.”

You nod again, more subdued now, “Mmm, right. I want to be making art all the time, and when I can’t it’s like missing a limb. To me art is– it– it’s like–”

“–breathing,” he finishes, almost the lilt of a question to it, but not really, it’s like he knows exactly what you mean… how you feel.

You exhale, long and slow, “Yeah. Like breathing.”

Both of you are quiet for a little after that. You’re trying not to stare at him, but it’s not easy. He’s looking at you almost blatantly and you can feel blood rushing to your cheeks the longer he stares. The air feels thick with some feeling you can’t place. All you know is there are butterflies in your stomach and a smile keeps pulling at the edge of your pursed lips.

The smile takes over as you catch him starry-eyed in your peripheral vision, you mutter, “Stop that. Stop looking at me.”

“Why?”

You tip your head back so you can’t see him looking at you, “Because.”

“Because?” he laughs breathily, shaking his head at you, “Okay, well, tell me if I’m misreading anything, but I’m pretty sure that drawing of me in your notebook says something, at least.”

You run a hand down your face, sighing loudly, “Yes, okay. I suppose it does. But– I–” for a moment you struggle for the right words to explain yourself, “I guess I’m not really looking to date anyone.”

He tilts his head to the side, furrowing his eyebrows and looking for all intents and purposes, like a confused puppy, “You guess?”

You nod, resisting the urge to just launch over the table and grab his face. He is very cute and he is making this so hard for you.

He sucks his teeth briefly, shrugging, “I’m not really either.”

“Alright,” you say, “Good.”

As over as that should make the issue, strangely enough it doesn’t feel like you’re done with Charles Leclerc and it certainly doesn’t feel like he’s done with you either.

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Amalfi Coast, Italy

You try to avoid Charles after that, you really do, but he doesn’t quite let you.

For a few days of the holiday you give him pointed looks and purse your lips a lot when he’s around. Chloe catches on straight away and that makes it all infinitely worse until she finally realises she might need to leave you alone (yeah, shocker). When Chloe finally forces everyone to get off your back about Charles, it becomes much easier to be around him. You’re not glaring at your friends while they make eyes at you, or worrying if you’re acting weird; you’re just allowed to be.

It’s nice. He’s nice.

But you knew that already.

Neither of you are looking for a relationship so there’s no pressure for it to be anything at all. But you have this sneaking suspicion that perhaps both of you are looking for a relationship with eachother regardless. You try to ignore the thought.

On day five, you’re sitting together on an outcropping of rock that overlooks the ocean and you’re letting Charles doodle in your notebook with a ballpoint pen. The bare skin of both your arms are pressed together, they stick with sweat from the hot midday sun but neither of you seem to care. As you watch him doodle inexpertly you can smell him— salt and sweat and whatever cologne he uses masking the very faint scent of burning rubber. Your hair, still damp, brushes his forearm, you wonder if you smell of acrylic paint and mildew from all the water cups you accidentally leave out for your paintbrushes.

You reach out to trace a line he’d made, “Here, it should be more like…” you taper off, taking the pen from his hand and quickly fixing the curve of the beach before handing the utensil back.

“Hmm,” he hums, giggling a little, “I guess that looks better.”

“You guess?”

He nods, “What if I had a very specific vision?”

You raise an eyebrow in disbelief, leaning back to look him in the eye you tease, “A vision. Did you?”

He tilts his head down to look at you. You’re very close now, you can feel his breath fanning over your face. In the reflection of his sunglasses you watch your lips part slightly and your eyelids flutter. Your chest grows tight with anticipation and maybe a little bit of panic. Still, you reach out and slide his sunglasses up to settle in his hair. You’re a little careless, but you like the way his hair pokes out from them at odd angles. As he breathes out you hear it catch for a split second.

“Did you?” you repeat, knowing he won’t remember what you were talking about.

He blinks twice, still staring at you, “Hmm?”

“You said you had a vision,” you breathe.

“Oh,” as he says it, his eyes flicker down to your mouth, only for a second, but it’s long enough to you know you’re done for.

You both lean in at the same time, your noses sliding off each other in your eagerness. You breathe a kind of laugh into his mouth and you feel him try to suppress a smile against your lips. It’s slow for the first few seconds, just you and Charles figuring out how your mouths fit together. His mouth is warm and wet and so soft, and it’s easy to lose yourself in it. You move the hand that had adjusted his sunglasses, sliding it up his shoulder to the back of his muscled neck. Your fingers weave into the short hair at the base of it, your nails scratching absently there. He groans, ever so slightly into your mouth and it sends heat skittering down your spine, into the low of your gut.

The hand of his that isn’t clutching onto your notebook slips forward and winds around to press at your bare back. He pulls you closer to him as you slide your hand up to cup the back of his head, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Soon it’s a mess of tongue and teeth and Charles blindly shoving your notebook somewhere it wont slip into the water so he can grab you with both hands. He tastes like red wine and coffee and you love the way his fingers dig into your skin and the way his teeth have been grazing at your bottom lip, like he wants to sink into it.

You’re almost in his lap when you’re forced to pull away for air.

Foreheads pressed together, you breathe heavily into the space between you. Your hand is still stuck in his hair and one of his on the small of your back, the other holding your knee. The sides of your noses touch, you nudge yours against his affectionately, tempted by the proximity of his mouth.

He laughs and you feel it against your lips, intermingling with your own breath, “Alright. That was–”

“Yeah,” you finish, dipping forward to kiss him again.

You’re lost for another few minutes. Tongue and teeth and the sound of the waves crashing against the rock behind you. And his hand on your jaw and in your hair and pulling you closer closer to him.

He pulls away this time, turning his head to press your cheeks together, mouth at your ear, “So,” he drags the word out with a laugh, “are you looking for a relationship now?”

You snort unceremoniously, and tease, “Hmm. I guess I would be amenable to that.”

“You guess?” he asks— but not really needing to at all because you can feel his dimples pressing into your cheek as he smiles knowingly.

You nod, smiling too, “I guess.”

🎨 yes of course i made a playlist>> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6cAJaZjvK0V7SrmxoMosBX?si=ADlJGHxxQYKnlZ1jWFJxfw&pi=a-AI0MKbo3RTqE

taglist: (pls message if you'd like to be added to the taglist for charles. my yuck! one is full so need to start a new one😭)

#charles leclerc #f1 #formula 1 #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc social media au #charles leclerc smau #f1 x reader #f1 social media au #f1 smau #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc x artist!reader #FICS #🍓anon #oneshot:cl16

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morbidlcve · 5 months ago

Note

Saw that your requests are open so how about a drunk reader confessing her heart out for natasha not knowing they're already dating and stuff (or something along those lines) 👀

Drunk words are sober thoughts.

pairings: natasha x reader

word count: 0.9k

CW: alcohol consumption, vomit, use of painkillers.

an: this was SO fun to write, i hope you like it!!

"One more!" you squeal excitedly, reaching for another shot lined up at the bar. It was girls' night out with you and your friends; you insisted Natasha should come, and you told her that the rest of your friends were bringing their other friends and partners, so she was allowed. "1,2,3!" one of your friends said, and you all downed the shot, sighing heavily as it burned its way down your throat. You jump around with the music that's playing in the background, pulling Natasha by the hand to the dance floor.

Time didn't seem like a concept to you as you partied your little heart out with Natasha, clinging onto her, your arms around her neck swaying back and forth, and your mind adjacent to your body. Natasha stuck by your side the whole night, her warmth always in your proximity; you were safe.

Drinks continued being placed in your hands, and soon enough, your world tilted on its axis, your stomach flipping. "Natty!! You whined, pulling her with you to the bathroom. Ever the lady, Natasha held your hair and rubbed your back gently, muttering soft words of comfort to soothe you.

You leaned back against the stall, staring at the recessed lights, your eyes fluttering shut, attempting to calm yourself down. Natasha had brought wipes with her and began to wipe your mouth, pulling out a new one for the running mascara around your eyes, then your face, to cool you down.

Feeling the cool wetness against your face, your eyes coming into contact with the most beautiful woman you had ever seen. Her soft eyes bore into yours, and her lips are turned into a slight smirk. "You're so pretty", you mutter, cupping her face.

She rolled her eyes dramatically. "And you're far beyond intoxicated. Let's get you home", she replied, slowly pulling you to your feet; she wrapped her arm around your side, putting your arm around her shoulder, propping you up against her.

You and Natasha stumbled out onto the bustling street, trying to call a cab while trying to keep you upright. She finally managed to put you into the taxi; she climbed in next to you, noticing you fumbling with your seatbelt. She gently took it from your hands, clipping it in.

As the cab made its way through the streets of New York, your eyes swipe across the woman's features, admitting her to memory. Your hand works its way into hers, pulling her arm into your lap; you continue to stare at her, the many lights on the outer world illuminating her face and the unnatural beauty she seems to possess.

"Do I have something on my face moya lyubov'?" she smiles, turning to face you. You shake your head, "Do you have a girlfriend?" you slur, "Because you're too pretty not to have one."

She laughs lightly, "I do, and if my girlfriend finds out that other girls are trying to hit me up, I would be rather scared for them." She smiles, looking down at your hands entwined.

"Who is your girlfriend?" You ask, your cheeks flaming slightly, "Is she pretty?" you say, looking up at her from your head resting on your shoulder. She meets your eyes. "She's the most beautiful girl in the whole world. I don't think I could ever be without her", she admits to you, her thumb stroking over your knuckles.

Your eyes begin to flutter, and you end up falling asleep against her.

The cab pulled up around the corner of the tower- Natasha softly woke you up, her thumb stroking your cheeks. "We're here, love, wake up"- not wanting to give the driver Natasha's identity, given that he didn't seem to recognize her, she paid him and then took your hand guiding you out of the vehicle.

Natasha hobbled the rest of the distance with you to the tower, where she scanned her card and walked in with you clung to her. She called the elevator and waited whilst it came to pick the two of you up. Her hand stroked your head as you stood there still groggy from your near thirty minute sleep.

Once you got back to her room, she led you to the bathroom so you could go to the toilet, and whilst you did, she quickly changed into her PJs and met you washing your hands. "Sit down, pretty girl", she told you, pulling out your face wash slightly wetting her hands before rubbing the cleanser on your face, removing your makeup.

You just sat there, letting her clean you, putting your toner, serum, and lotion on, your arms wrapped around the back of her legs. She soon moved to brushing your teeth, standing you back up so you could spit out the toothpaste and rinse your mouth. She gave you two painkillers and made you drink a glass of water because she knows you're going to be "dying" tomorrow.

"Go get into bed," she said softly, kissing your nose. She quickly washed her face and brushed her teeth, then came to join you. You were slowly falling back to sleep when she slipped in next to you. "I'm your girlfriend, aren't I?' you whisper, shuffling into her, wrapping your legs into hers. "Yes, you are, my love. Now go to sleep; you're going to need lots of it, " she mutters back, kissing your forehead and slowly drifting off once she hears your soft snores and even breathing.

thank you for reading!! <3 please leave feedback!!

(reqs are open for now!!)

#m:works #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x reader #m's replies #natasha romanov #natasha x reader #natasha x you #natasha x y/n

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hannieehaee · 6 months ago

Text

GOODNIGHT N GO (teaser)

18+ / mdi

summary: having always seen minghao from afar, you always considered him unattainable, with him never interacting with you while his friends brought you around. unbeknownst to you, he had similar thoughts about you, constantly keeping his distance, thinking you must've been interested in his members instead. luckily for you, you had two very meddling friends, too fed up with your mutual idiocy.

content: idol!minghao x hybeidol!reader, reader is mingyu and seokmin's bestie, afab reader, reader is implied to be a 97 liner but its not a huge plot point, acquaintances to lovers, very adorable crushes, assume minghao is a little shier and less social than he seems irl pls, reader is mentioned to have some family troubles, minghao literally courts reader aaahh he's too cute, smut, fingering, oral (f receiving), overstimulation (kind of), dry humping, mentions of pregnancy, penetrative sex, etc.

(^ no actual content warnings in the teaser)

wc: 771 (teaser); 9.3k (full fic)

RELEASE DATE: august 18th

or you can check it out on my ko-fi or patreon today by subscribing to either one!

a/n: this is one of my works im least proud of so pls have that in mind as u read<//3

masterlist | kofi/patreon

"C'mon, one more drink."

"Yeah, you can't leave yet, it's too early."

"I have a shoot early tomorrow. I can't be hungover for it," you said for the nth time in the past five minutes.

Currently, you were situated in Seventeen's dorm rooms in the Hybe building.

It wasn't too common for groups to stay within the building, seeing as most people had their own individual apartments or homes outside of the premises, but Seventeen would often frequent their own dorms for hanging out purposes, only ever spending the night if they were too tired to make it home.

As per usual, you were hanging out with Mingyu and Seokmin, with Wonwoo and Seungkwan having decided to also make an appearance. It was quite usual for them to keep you around after work (and even to occasionally steal you during working hours). As expected, the overly extroverted 97 liners of the group had taken you under their wing early after your debut, debuting you as a the only female member of the friend group.

Along with you, there were guys from other groups who had also been blessed with a birthday within the year 1997. This, of course, included Xu Minghao, though he was mostly an honorary member, as he mostly kept to himself and never actually joined in with the group. Even after years of being best friends with multiple members of the Seventeen, you were yet to really get to know Minghao. The man remained a mystery to most of those around him.

This was quite unfortunate to you, seeing as you'd developed a bit of an unrequited interest in the guy. There was something about his calm and confident aura that drew you in. Unlike most of his other members, he had a tendency to keep to himself and keep outside social interaction to a minimum. This had at some point caused you to hold the belief that maybe he didn't like you, but your friends had informed you time and time again that this was simply his personality. However, that didn't prevent you from wanting to seek him out (though never actually going through with it).

This was why despite your previous excuse to leave to sleep in early for tomorrow's schedule had been thrown out the window the moment you spotted certain boy with a mullet walk into the room, rubbing at his eyes as if he'd just been awoken.

"What are you guys still doing up? I thought you'd all be gone by now," mumbled the pajama-clad boy, approaching the couch Mingyu was currently leaning back on and taking a seat next to him.

Subconsciously, you straightened your posture, attempting to appear casual at his sudden appearance.

You could count the times you'd been in Minghao's proximity with one hand. Being honest, you weren't quite sure if he even knew who you were past the general knowledge of your role as an idol.

"Sorry, Hao. We forgot you were staying here tonight," apologized Seokmin as he absentmindedly handed the boy an open bottle of soju.

Minghao was joining in on the drinking, it seemed. Naturally, this caused you to comfortably snuggle into the couch and forget all thought of leaving before having that last drink you had been offered just moments prior.

In front of you was a coffee table and two boys sitting on the couch opposite; Mingyu and Minghao. Surrounding you were Wonwoo and Seungkwan, while Seokmin remained standing and leaning against the counter to your right. Despite your distance to Minghao, you had the privilege of having a seat in which you could stare at him without it seeming unnatural.

"Oh, you've met Y/N, right?", Seungkwan suddenly remembered, taking his usual role as mood-maker to make an introduction if need-be.

Minghao finally laid eyes on you for the first time, giving you a polite smile and a subtle bow of his head, "I think a few times. Hi, Nice to see you."

Returning his gesture, you responded similarly, taking your eyes off him right after and giving your attention to the large boy sitting next to him who was now speaking.

"So, staying for that last drink?", he asked you, holding out a glass for you, giving you the option to take or deny it.

"Sure. Just this one," you insisted, grabbing the glass and taking a sip. Cheers erupted from your friends at your agreement to stay, with all of them seemingly tipsy enough to get excited at such a minuscule act.

On your peripheral, you missed how Minghao continued looking your way, smiling softly to himself as he stared.

...

you can check it out today on my ko-fi or patreon by subscribing to either one!

#seventeen x reader #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #svt x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen oneshot #seventeen smut #svt smut #minghao imagines #minghao smut #minghao fanfic #minghao scenarios #minghao x reader #bookmarks

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drdemonprince · 3 months ago

Note

ENM/Poly circles explicitly discourage real talk around jealousy, and practical considerations around nonmonog in ways that routinely exclude and excise POC and disabled people.

ENM/Poly expects everyone involved to act as though “love” is the reason for every relationship choice. Cliche #1: love isn’t finite. Which… sure. Maybe love isn’t finite, but attention and time sure are— and those are at a premium.

Cliche #2: Love is all you need/love is what makes a family. I am familiar with criticism of this from a family abolition, anticapitalist standpoint, but I have seen this be uncritically repeated by ENM/Poly people. It’s not true that love is what makes a relationship work or not work. It’s also about dumb shit, like geographical proximity and practicality. Good luck being ENM if you can’t regularly host because you have roommates or live at home. Good luck being the gold standard of ENM (out to everyone, including family and maybe even the workplace!) if you are any kind of marginalized. Love is simply not enough. There’s real world shit to consider.

Most ENM/Poly people are white gen x’ers and older millenials for a reason. It’s a framework that works awesome if you have abundant spare space, disposable income to blow, and free time. Plus most ENM/Poly people are heavily in therapy, and just have a fuckton of time to deal with their various baggages… or at least like to posture as though they are doing those things.

Non monog can be liberatory— disabled polycules caring for one another. QPRs! Multiparent households! But ENM/Poly is very lodged in a liberal, hyper-independent Super Good Boundaries Thank You Very Much world of its own, and so most of the “resources” like More Than 2 or Polysecure have hella flaws in that respect.

COME OFF ANON SO I CAN FOLLOW YOU! Because you just said a whole word.

I find "ethical nonmonogamy" and polyamory circles to be viscerally unpleasant and alienating to be in as a crazy, chaotic antipsych person who does not always make choices for carefully therapized, restrained reasons -- and who doesn't believe that most other people do either, no matter how much they claim to.

I don't fuck multiple people to serve some higher purpose; I do it because I'm horny, impulsive, and have a variety of niche fetishes that are really difficult to satisfy.

I didn't choose to be openly nonmonogamous because I nurtured my soul and found that it was abundant with love that I just had to give -- all my relationships already were nonmonogamous at one point or another, either because I cheated or the other person did or both, and I eventually decided to move with my feelings rather than against them, and to stop denying all that is inside me -- all of the hunger and darkness as well as the light.

And I can't say that my nonmonogamy is inherently "ethical" either -- just like my monogamy sure wasn't! I'm a human being, and a crazy one at that, I get jealous, I have emotional blowups, I lash out and fuck other people to make myself feel better or to affirm that I am desired, I make big demands of the people I date, I fail to show up for people consistently, I get hurt, and I hurt others, and I will continually have more to learn. I will also continually have wild animal emotions and triggers, and I won't always deal with them in the way my partner(s) might want me to. I try to avoid hurting other people needlessly, of course, but sometimes your own needs are incompatible with another person's, and hurt is inevitable.

When there is only so much time and attention available in our lives, it's true that somebody's often going to come up short. And ultimately the person that I choose above all others is me. And so, no, I can't say I'm always doing nonmonogamy in some caring yet dispassionate way, or that love is the solution to all problems -- I am driven by passion and need, and sometimes being alive in those ways means getting hurt, or hurting in turn.

I would echo essentially all that you've said. We need time and resources and spaces to enjoy privacy with other people, and if you're not some rich work-from-homer, that shit's all in short supply. I hate the sheen of calm positivity that "ENM" and polyamory folks tend to place on everything -- as if no choices they make are fueled ever by bitterness, dislike, resentment, or hell, fucking white hot irrational DESIRE. With how fair and measured so many of them make their polyamory sound, I don't even see what's fun about any of it.

Sometimes you want to upend your whole life because you're so down bad for a person. Sometimes you hate the shit out of your partner's partners and you say and do little manipulative shitty things to convey those feelings, or to try and blow the relationship up. Sometimes the hours just don't add up and somebody gets shafted. Sometimes you make a promise and then you can't follow through, or just don't WANT to anymore because you have changed.

These are real human realities whether we like it or not, and I find it terribly unrealistic AND unsexy to refuse to acknowledge all the darkness and frustration that comes out in any relationship. I think a lot of the ENM/poly crowd that is white and middle class and heavily therapized is so averse to naming anything edgy or prickly in themselves that they make their spaces actively hostile to anybody who openly expresses negative feelings. That means Black & brown people get tone-policed a ton, "mad" people like me get no-true-scotsmanned out of "ethical" nonmonogamy for ever doing anything messily, and all the romance and sexiness of relationships gets sanded down into a Canva-graphic beige blandness of weekly polycule meetings and processing sessions.

In this world of self-optimization, even fucking and loving other people has to be cast as therapuetic -- our desires must justify themselves by somehow making us better, more capable, more controlled people, But fuck that. Sometimes sex or love is worth exploding your whole life over. The ENM/poly crowd says their way of loving makes them more even-keeled but it seems like a kind of death to me.

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greensagephase · 8 months ago

Text

For Better or Worse - Part 1

Pairings: Miguel O'Hara x Female!Reader Summary: Your siblings are marrying in two weeks and as the best man and maid of honor, Miguel and you are dragged to the dance lessons for moral support despite disliking each other. There, you're forced to pretend to be a couple. Word Count: 3k Warnings: slightly suggestive comments from the dance instructor, so MDNI; reader speaks and understands Spanish; unnamed sister for reader; reader and Miguel are grumpy with each other, so don't expect any smooching, but there's tension, hehe A/N: this was supposed to be a simple thought based on a movie scene (vid below the cut) that turned into something longer (a blessing and a curse). Thank you for reading! Masterlist

Source: The Wedding Date (2005)

Your little sister, or not so little since she’s all grown up, found love and is now getting married to Gabriel O’Hara. You’re elated about them marrying, truly. Ever since your sister met Gabriel, you could tell they were made for each other. They’re both so sweet and kind, sometimes they remind you of Jane Bennet and Mr. Bingley from Pride and Prejudice, too good for their own good.

They’re truly made for each other and you have to admit, Gabriel squeezed his way into your heart fairly quickly with how great he treats your sister, so it didn’t take long before you started to see him as part of the family.

But of course, a rose comes with its thorns. Or, in your case, your sister’s now fiancé, comes with a brother.

Miguel O’Hara.

You cannot stand the man.

And he cannot stand you.

That’s the one thing you have in common, the mutual dislike.

You finally met him and Gabriel’s parents when the relationship between your siblings became serious. You expected to like Gabriel’s family, and you did, everyone except Miguel. The two of you simply didn’t click. It was dislike at first sight.

Of course, you try to be polite to each other for the sake of your siblings, but when they’re not in sight, keeping an eye on either of you, your dislike is shown through scowls and narrowed eyes.

You try to stay clear from each other as much as possible, something that has become harder to do as your siblings’ relationship has turned more and more serious.

And now, the proximity will be unavoidable. Gabriel popped the question a year ago and that’s how you find yourself parked outside a dance studio, two weeks before the big day.

With you being your sister’s maid of honor and Miguel the groom’s best man, that means you’ve both been in each other’s presence more than usual to support the couple as they’ve gone through the wedding planning.

And that includes the freaking dance lessons.

As soon as everyone arrives, all four of you enter the building. Of course, Miguel and you avoid each other as you both quickly scan the place before your gazes find your siblings’ sheepish smiles towards the two of you. The sight immediately makes Miguel and you tense.

Those sheepish smiles are no good, you both know that too well. Those are the smiles of younger siblings about to ask something from you. Something neither of you are probably going to like.

“So… we asked you to come along today for moral support,” you sister starts, fidgeting with her hands.

“Because we really do need it but there’s another reason…” Gabriel adds, trailing off.

“What is it, Gabriel?” Miguel asks, his tone low with a hint of impatience.

“So… the instructor is a well known one in the community. They’re really good at what they do! It’s why we wanted to get lessons from her, but she had a tight schedule and it was looking like we almost didn’t get a spot. She said she’d only do it if we brought along another couple, unmarried if possible, but one that might potentially marry in the future. You know, as a way to get more business in the future…” Gabriel replies, offering a nervous smile.

“So, Gabri and I figured that…” your sister trails off.

Both Gabriel and your sister stare at you and Miguel, with hope in their eyes as their little plan sinks in.

“No way,” you say immediately, declining anything related to Miguel.

“Aw, please. It’s just a dance lesson. Just for today! Two hours at the most,” your sister tries.

“No.”

“You guys just need to act nice with each other, that’s all. Easy,” Gabriel says, shrugging as if he’s never ran into someone he didn’t like, which might actually be true. “I mean - we’re family now. Not officially, yet,” Gabriel adds giving his future wife a smile that shows pure love. “Very soon, just two more weeks and finally.”

Miguel and you watch, your siblings forgetting for about five seconds about death glares they’re receiving as of right now.

Yes, they’re really too good for their own good. Or, maybe they’re just using their younger sibling privilege and the fact that they’re in love to get their older siblings to give in.

At last, Gabriel turns again as if he just now realizes - or feels - the glares.

“We’re basically family now. You’re going to see each other more often, unless you plan on not attending any family gatherings from here on now, or making some rotating schedule on who gets to go when. It’s just a dance practice, please,” Gabriel pleads, trying to reason with you.

“Gabriel, no,” Miguel says annoyed, exasperated that he and your sister would even think about this considering the fact that neither he nor you like each other.

“Please, if you don’t, she might cancel the session, or charge us double, or something.”

“She can’t do that,” you say. “Can she?”

“Please,” Gabriel and your sister say in unison, something they do a lot, which kind of annoys you sometimes, to be honest.

“It’s not like we’re asking you to kiss. Just - act like a couple,” you sister says. “Please, just for today.”

Miguel and you are both about to tell your siblings why this is inadequate, but you only manage to open your mouths before a woman comes in with a too cheerful smile on her face, stopping you from proceeding. Her presence in the room suddenly shuts all debating, leaving no room for Miguel and you to reiterate that neither of you wish to do this.

“Wonderful! Two couples. My name is Lyla,” she says turning to Miguel and you. “I’m your dance instructor. Let’s not waste any time, yes? The wedding is in two weeks! We need to start working immediately. Everybody, on the floor, please. Let’s go, you two as well, don’t be shy now.” Lyla walks over, immediately pushing Miguel and you forward. “You can be shy in each other’s arms, let’s go.”

You briefly wonder how this woman has so much strength to push the two of you into the floor but that’s quickly forgotten as she continues to speak.

“There. Ah - I see our engaged couple is ready to go,” she comments, making Miguel and you turn to find your siblings already in position, ready to dance. “Let me get these two going, they’re sooooo shy,” Lyla comments with a soft smirk, motioning to Miguel and you.

You both scowl when you hear your siblings laugh, something that cuts their laughter short and turn away.

“Sir, you need to place your hand right here. On your woman’s waist, come on, I’m sure you’ve held her before,” Lyla instructs, grabbing his wrist and placing it on your waist, making it so that Miguel’s hand grips you. Unused to his touch, you squirm when you feel Miguel’s warm hand on you. You try backing away but Lyla only pushes you forward, into Miguel’s touch.

“My, you two are really shy,” she says as she takes your hand and places it on Miguel’s shoulder, allowing you to feel his broad muscles beneath his top. “You need to learn to embrace each other. It’s intimacy.” She pushes you both together now, forcing Miguel to take more steps towards you. Again, you question how much strength Lyla has to move you like straw dolls, especially a man like Miguel. Maybe you’re both so dumbfounded by this situation, your bodies are just doing as she says, pushing you into this abnormal situation. The only sense of normalcy comes from the glares Miguel and you are shooting at each other. “Dancing is like - making love, I’m sure you two know what I’m talking about,” Lyla says before her eyebrows shoot up, thinking of something. “Unless you’re waiting for marriage then… that’s a tough one, but I think you might have an idea of what I mean.” At that, Lyla grins at the two of you.

Miguel and you silently groan at the thought of you two making love, meanwhile Gabriel and your sister are laughing in the back. You turn and give them a glare, same from Miguel, shutting them up.

“I can see you’re both tense. There’s so much - so much tension between you,” Lyla says, hand on her chin as if contemplating something deeply. “It’s that kind of tension only found in the bedroom, you know? Hm… Alright, you’’l be the leader. That means you lead the dance, sir,” she says patting Miguel’s arm.

You turn at that because why does he get to lead you?

“Why does he lead?” you ask, eyebrow raised.

“Uhh - okay, I see it now,” Lyla says with a smile, as if everything makes sense now. “That’s why there’s so much tension. You’re both - very dominant. I suppose you’re both - you switch, right? You’re switches?”

“What?” Miguel says with knitted eyebrows and a slightly opened mouth due to the shock because there’s no way this lady just asked that, right?

“Excuse me?” you manage to say, equally appalled.

“You take turns,” Lyla explains. “On who is dominant In the bedroom. The question is who will be the dominant one on the dance floor.”

You turn to look at Miguel, brows knitted. Not only are you being forced to pretend to be his partner but now you’re apparently “switches” and fighting for who dominates who. It’s stupid, you know that, but this has turned into a competition of sorts, and there’s no way you’re letting Miguel O’Hara lead you, even if it’s pretend.

“I assure you, it’ll be me. Just like how it is in the bedroom,” you state which earns you a squeeze from Miguel’s hand on your waist.

“We both know that’s not the case, amor [love],” Miguel replies through gritted teeth.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Lyla pipes in between you, amused. “I love your energy, though. Alright, time to dance!”

You exhale heavily. Just why did your sister have to drag you into this? Oh right, you’re her maid of honor and the man with his hand on your waist right now is the best man.

You’re stuck in this situation now, whether you like it or not. So, Miguel and you stand like two stiff boards against each other, meanwhile your younger siblings are in another dimension of rainbows and love. They already forgot about their older siblings since they got away with their little plan.

You sigh again and turn to face Miguel, standing in front of each other, like two statues. As the minutes have ticked by with Lyla’s talk about intimacy and dominance, your fingers are now interlaced, though neither of you have noticed yet.

“Just dance, guys. I want to see what I’m working with here,” Lyla says, hands on her hips as she watches the scene in front of her, music playing in the background now.

Stiffly, Miguel and you begin to move, taking steps side by side for a good minute or so before you look up at him. Staring at hm, you notice he seems… tense. Despite yourself, you can’t help but poke fun at him.

“¿Qué pasa, Miguel? ¿Tienes dos pies izquierdos? [What's up, Miguel? You have two left feet?]” You ask mockingly, which earns yourself a half scowl because Lyla is watching you.

Miguel grips your fingers and waist as you continue to dance. You still have a soft smirk on your face, satisfied with Miguel’s annoyance when suddenly, you’re tripping over his foot. Your breath hitches as you feel yourself falling but before that happens, you feel Miguel’s wrapped arm around your waist tighten, catching you. To further annoy you, he expertly uses his other hand and maneuvers you so that your back is leaning on his arm now, with you looking up at him as he leans down. For about three or four seconds, his dark eyes bore into yours before he spins you back to face him correctly.

Annoyed, you return the gesture and slam your foot on his, causing him to grimace in pain. Holding your hand, he pushes you back with a scowl before pulling you back harshly.

“Para tu información, princesa, sé bailar [for your information, little princess, I know how to dance],” he murmurs, staring down at you.

“Hm, I wonder where from? You never dance at parties.”

“And you do? All you do is sit at the table like you’re too good to accept any man’s offer for a dance,” Miguel replies as you move across the dance floor.

Somewhere, your siblings are already receiving help from Lyla, who’s instructing them on proper hand placement.

“And you? You stand around with the other men, talking about God knows what.”

“Women, of course,” Miguel sarcastically replies as he spins you around before bringing you back to him. “We talk about the women dancing and the ones who don’t, either because they’re too shy to dance, or just snobs, como tu… comprenderas [like you... understand, comprehend].”

You scoff. “Is that them, or your personal opinion of me?” you ask, pulling back from him, hands still joined.

Miguel snickers and pulls you back, your chest slamming right into his. You scowl in response. “Quiero decirte algo [I want to tell you something].” He spins you around again. “We are going to make this work.”

“Make what work?”

“This,” Miguel says as he pulls you back in. He stares at you while you keep dancing. “I’m not going to miss out on my brother’s life. Gabriel and I are close, always have been. I have no intentions of stepping out and missing out on his life, him building a life with your sister.” He turns you around, pressing your back to his chest, his arms crossed over your body, as if keeping you locked in them to ensure you’ll listen clearly. “I’m going to be there, at every family gathering. If they have children, you better bet I’m going to be there at every birthday party, or soccer game. So, I want you to know that right now. We’re either going to make this work, or you’ll be missing out, because I’m not stepping out.”

You scoff again, and to his great annoyance and astonishment, free yourself from his arms to face him once more. You place a hand on his chest, leading him back.

“I have no intentions of missing out, O’Hara. Don’t even think about it. Being part of my sister’s life heavily outweighs the annoyance of seeing your unpleasant face.”

Miguel scoffs and wraps his large hand around your wrist before he pulls you forward, your faces mere inches from each other.

“Unpleasant face? You must be blind, princesita [little princess]. Maybe I ought to take you somewhere to get those pretty eyes checked if that’s how you see my face,” he murmurs, staring right into your eyes.

You snort and pull back. “You’re not everyone’s cup of tea, O’Hara, but I digress. I’m going to be part of my sister’s life, too. So, get used to it.”

Miguel smirks, pulling you right back against his chest. “For better or worse, we'll tolerate each other. For them,” he murmurs, staring right into your eyes.

“For them,” you agree, meeting his gaze.

For the first time, you really look into his eyes. You’ve never been quite this close to the man, not enough to appreciate their color - a deep brown with a slight maroon undertone. You see the gentle wrinkles under his eyes and forehead, probably from his job as the CEO from some company you've never bothered to learn the name of. A quick peek at his slightly parted mouth allows you to really notice the plump lips. You’ve never noticed it before, but one side of his upper lip is higher than the other, adding to the full lips. You even manage to notice a crooked tooth at the front of his teeth, something that makes you pause internally for some reason.

In a society worried all about looks, Miguel hasn't had that fixed. You glance back into Miguel's eyes but his are somewhere else, somewhere around your mouth. You don’t have enough time to question why his eyes are there though.

His eyes meet yours again, his throat showing a visible gulp as the image of your lips flashes in his head. Staring at your eyes, he once again takes notice of your eye color and the way your eyelashes frame your eyes, something he’s noticed before.

“That!”

Miguel and you instantly pull away, releasing each other. Lyla quickly approaches you, smiling.

“That's the look I was hoping for,” she says. “A look of pure passion, tension, sexiness… love” she says, giddily. “That’s the way to dance! Oh, I have no doubt you two will know exactly how to dance when your wedding date comes. I have seen enough. Take five while I revisit my initial plan, our engaged couple needs a little more help than you two,” Lyla says giving you both a wink. “There’s a lot of love there but they can’t dance to save their lives, unlike you two. If you want to take a seat and just talk, you lovebirds.” Lyla nods and heads off to your siblings, immediately laying out what needs work.

Miguel and you stand side by side, watching in silence for a few seconds before Miguel breaks the silence.

“I need to make - a work call. I’ll be outside while they get finished,” he says, pulling out his cell phone.

“Sure, you go and do that,” you reply, staring at the other three people, not sparing Miguel a glance.

He faces you, watching you for a few seconds as if expecting you to say anything else, or maybe waiting for you to face him, but you never do.

“Great,” he mutters before he walks away. A few seconds later you hear the studio’s door close.

You sigh heavily. You didn’t even know you were holding your breath. He’s so annoying, so - You do a little head shake, clearing your mind. You’ve both agreed to tolerate each other for the sake of your siblings - to be part of their lives.

“For better or worse,” you murmur to yourself.

Next Part

A/N: Leaving it open-ended because this was only supposed to be a blurb and then I kept going! Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed this!! <33

Edit: This became a short fic 💀

Alondra❤️

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oopsdevil · 1 year ago

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COD + Tropes

which trope do they fall into when it comes to you.

SIMON GHOST RILEY + FWB TO LOVERS

i have said it before but simon really struggles when it comes to relationships.

he insisted that this was a casual thing but soon realized that's not true. from the way his heart beats faster when you rarely cuddle, to his trouble sleeping wondering if maybe you were with some other bloke. his insecurities got the best of him and he would end up saying something mean out of jealousy. when he saw you took offense to it he decided in four seconds that he was not gonna lose you. he confessed his feelings (in a sentence or two) and since then he has no problem with everyone knowing you are his.

KYLE GAZ GARRICK + THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY

kyle was always a romantic. outspoken, proud romantic. you guys probably met in high school and just fell in love. you both knew you were it for each other but everyone kept insisting it was just a first love kind of thing. it was not.

circumstances brought kyle into the army and leaving you was the hardest of it all. you both also decided staying together was just gonna be painful so you broke up.

a couple years later kyle came home and got his life together as an adult. after seeing the reality of bills, rent, taxes and just life, he realized maybe he doesn't wanna do it at all without you. a call and a few tears is all it took for admitting you are still each others soulmates.

JOHN SOAP MACTAVISH + FAKE DATING

look at me in the eyes and tell me this is not HIS trope. it was simply meant to be. maybe he saw you in a bar and some guy was being too insisting for his liking, maybe johnny got sick of his family asking about a future wedding or maybe gaz told you guys you couldn't pull it off and you took the bet. doesn't matter, but it happened.

after months of intense eye contact across the room, flushed faces when realizing you were holding hands but there was no one around and holding you by your hips for group pictures, johnny felt his stomach turn when you mentioned something about going on a date with some other soldier for real.

next thing you knew he was kissing you against a bathroom door. really kissing you, not like those pecks for the public that always left you wanting more. in breathless sentences you both decided to be together like you always wanted (probably in a quick to be continued kinda way so you could keep kissing)

KÖNIG + SLOW BURN

it took him years. years.

from the moment he saw you in base he was thankful his hood could hide his red face when he developed a crush in about 15 seconds. he was also very surprised when you just talked to him.

könig kept you as a friend for years and himself busy with missions, it wasn't until you were thinking about transferring when he decided you wouldn't do it. you can't just go, right?

the only condition to staying was a very long conversation with him, where you admitted being in love with him for the longest time, and thinking maybe he felt the same way. but after that many years you needed to have him now, or just try to move on.

i don't think könig ever felt that relived. he mumbled something in german, suddenly ripping his hood off and kinda tackled you to the bed in a hug. you laughed and decided yeah, this is gonna work.

JOHN PRICE + FORCED PROXIMITY/ SECRET RELATIONSHIP

having a new secretary in his office was the last thing john needed.

he was sure it was about the fact that it was someone new in his personal space, someone who knew nothing about his routine.

it obviously had nothing to do with the fact that he looked at you longer than he looked at papers. or about your accent being so distracting to him that you had to say most things twice.

being trapped in an elevator with him was the last thing you needed.

again, its about the fact that you have so many things to do for your impatient boss (not about his cologne being intoxicating and his shoulders looking a little too big right now)

neither of you knew how it happened, but it did. and you were sure he pressed you against every inch of the elevators walls while kissing you like a mad man.

the truth is everyone else on the team knew the reason why you drove each other crazy, and john was more than grateful when the person who opened the elevator doors and saw the state of you was simon.

after fixing your clothes and an awkward apologize to simon, you talked about it.

having a secret relationship with him didn't last long, this man likes to move fast. but after the elevator incident, you were more than okay with that.

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chososcutie · 3 days ago

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⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ ─── BOUND BY VOWS, TORN BY DESIRE ─── ۫ ׅ ✧ ⊰

pairing ── satoru gojo x reader

teaser ── your kingdoms have been at war for what seems the longest time, ancient ancestors dating back bloodlines never ceasing in their feud. but now, with the upcoming of a new age, and a desperate need for heirs with an old, dying king on the throne, you are forced to resolve and seal the peace by marrying prince satoru, of an opposing nation.

content ── fluff, slow burn, heavy angst, eventual smut, royal!au, forced proximity, arranged marriage, one bed troupe, mommy issues, jealousy, historic!au, language, mention of drinking, kissing

count ── 5k

author’s note ── thank you to everyone who voted for this series!! this is going to be a multi part story, and i hope to continue if it does well, also i think i’m going to make more series’ down the line because this was fun :)

in two days you were to marry prince satoru.

it was at the crux of the two kingdoms' warring, and father was weak and desperate in those times.

your mother had grown unusually cruel, even more so than usual, her voice sharp and reprimanding, put under pressure by the ongoing conflict that never seemed to be getting better.

you were heartbroken when they told you, but not surprised. you had hoped you would get to choose your own partner to spend the rest of your life with, but it seems cruel fate had other plans.

you had tried to reason with your mother to get out of it, that there were other ways to resolve a war other than sending off your daughter to be married to an unknown man from another kingdom, but she was having none of it.

it was really a matter of convenience. a way to set up a peace treaty, arrange a marriage, and combine two impossibly rich kingdoms? you had known your parents long enough to know they never loved in the way they were supposed to, always king and queen before mother and father, and that they’d take this opportunity in a heartbeat, no matter the cost.

you hadn’t however, known how soon everything would progress, until days later when you received an invitation in the mail, unsigned, and enclosed in a thick brown envelope, complete with the royal seal stamped pristinely on the front.

we hereby invite you to the royal marriage of… it read in rich gold lettering, looping cursive filling the page. little illustrations litter the margins, and a single grainy folded-up picture flutters out upon its opening.

when you unfurl it, it reveals the man you were to marry.

prince satoru gojo, in all his glory, wearing a pristine white and gold suit, a coy smile curving his lips, and soft, cloudy white hair fluffed up, a sword at his hip and azure blue eyes boring into yours.

for a second all you can do is stare, taken aback by his beauty.

you had heard of how gorgeous the prince was, being the talk of almost every woman in the kingdom for his good looks and charm, but you had never seen him up until now.

he was drop-dead ravishing. the kind of beauty one saw only in dreams.

“i see you’ve received the invitation.”

your mother’s calculated voice.

you quickly wheel around, her eyes fixed on you coolly. “we’ve gotten word to head to the gojo clan estate now. they will receive you there.”

“but..” you start, hoping against hope that maybe you could get through to her, and beg her not to send you off.

“please don’t disappoint us.” she eyes you disdainfully. “this arrangement means a lot for our kingdom, and it’d do you well to start thinking about what’s best for your disciples rather than your own wants.”

you stare at her. was she calling you selfish for not wanting to wed a man you had never met?

suddenly, the heavy hoofbeats of a horse-drawn carriage breaks the silent tension stretching between you two, a graceful steady gait of horses coming toward you causing you to quickly turn back to your mom, eyes pleading.

“please.. don’t make me.”

in your wildest dreams, her eyes soften and she looks at you with something different then, something resembling love, before scooping you up into her arms and kissing you on the forehead like a mother would, calling you her precious only daughter, and promising to never send you off, and what was she thinking, before calling off the wedding completely.

but instead, she stares at you, detached as if you were nothing more than a pawn in her intricate chessboard of royalty, your worth determined only by what you could provide for the kingdom.

the carriage comes to a halt in front of you, horses snorting and whinnying as you stare back at the face that looks so much like your own, only lacking the empathy you had always longed for.

“get in the carriage.” she says simply.

and realizing she’s not going to change her mind, you study her face for the last time, as if committing it to memory, that same stony unchanging expression that had been with you all through your childhood, before opening the door, and looking ahead, eyes hollow.

maybe this new husband wouldn’t be that bad, after all.

after a few hours of the carriage lurching and bumping along cobblestone trodden pathways, your head craning to look out from the slightly drawn curtains, you make it.

and just as you imagined, prince satoru's estate is big.

in fact, big didn’t even begin to describe it, with towering iron-wrought gates, and a winding driveway all leading up to a fairy-tale like palace.

statues of noble figures stand tall, outlined against its magnificence, and the castle itself is a rich ivory color, accented with shimmers of golden turrets reaching up into the sky, their tips brushing the clouds themselves.

quickly, you are ushered out, the carriage door held open for you by the coachman, and before you get a chance to take in the elegant grounds of the estate, royal servants are already waiting to greet you, all polite smiles as they advise you to follow them inside.

on the way, they tell you that you were to be properly welcomed to the gojo clan before tomorrow's highly anticipated ceremony, in the form of meeting the king and queen in charge, along with your husband to-be.

you take the chance to glance around, taking in all your surroundings, everything ancient and wooden, with small adornings of mythological figures decorating the walls along with paintings dating back to centuries-old wars, history written all across the panelling prominently.

finally, the royal attendants come to a stop in front of a long-winding corridor, leading all the way down toward an ornate wooden door, its magnificent size amongst the others causing it to stand out notably.

"this is master gojo's suite, and where you will be staying with him for the rest of your time here." says the servant nearest to you, beginning to back up slowly, the others in tow. "the king has asked that you meet with him beforehand, so you two can become acquainted. we shall leave you to it."

and with a final bow of his head, he's gone, leaving you to stand in front of the intimidating mahogany door, its broad outline almost menacing in the dimness of the passageway.

as you make your way to it, you push on it hesitantly, only to be met with resistance as it groans in protest, unwilling to budge.

you try the door handle. locked.

you look up again. you know this is the right door. so why isn't it..?

it opens so suddenly, you with all your weight resting on its frame can't stop yourself. you immediately topple over, letting out a soft oof! of surprise as you crash into something warm yet solid, your body pressing hard against it.

budging.

regaining yourself, you can't help but feel the flexing muscle under your palms, looking down to see a man's chest, his quick exhale of breath making you retract immediately.

and looking up, you're met with the sight of none other than soft white hair and blue eyes coming to blink hazily at you.

a vaguely familiar smirk curving his lips as he sets sights on you.

the man in the picture.

your husband to-be.

satoru.

"hello wifey.." he drawls out, tone almost mocking as he stares down at you, dressed in traditional heavy white robes. "i take it you're excited for the marriage?"

pointedly, his eyes fix on where your other hand is dangerously close to gripping his... lower half, so to speak.

flustered, you instantly step back, face blushing immensely. "m-my apologies my lord, i didn't mean to be so forward. i was sent here to meet you before the meeting, and.."

you notice his teasing grin seems to drop for a moment, eyes searching the halls for signs of life. once he knows you two are the only ones, his expression hardens, blue eyes becoming unreadable.

you were alone together.

"lets get one thing straight, princess. you're here to fulfill your role, nothing more, nothing less. i don't care for pleasantries. there's no reason for us to pretend we're anything other than strangers bound by a marriage of convenience."

you try to back away, eyes wide as you make a small involuntary noise in the back of your throat, but he doesn’t let you, coming closer.

"we'll carry out the duties expected of us, and that's all." he continues. "do what is necessary, but don't make the mistake of thinking i'm interested in anything beyond that."

you bristle slightly at his words. "oh, you think i want this? you think i want to be married to you? in a foreign enemy kingdom i don’t even know? because i don't! but there's no way of getting out of it, so why can't you at least afford to be nice?"

he scoffs. "nice? you and your kingdom have ruined my life! you've robbed me of any chance i had at making my own life choices, and i'm supposed to be "nice?"

"why are you acting like i made this marriage? it's not my fault! that's the whole point of an arranged marriage, it's arranged for you!" you don't even realize you're raising your voice until your words begin to echo off the vast walls, bouncing around you tersely. "and if i had, i certainly wouldn't have picked an asshole such as yourself.”

he steps closer, tilting his head at you. “careful what you say about your husband, sweetheart. or you just might get yourself in trouble.”

you know you should stop before you escalate things, but you can’t help it, jutting your lip out at him in a mocking pout. “yeah? make me then.”

in a heartbeat, he has you pinned against the wall behind you, one thigh holding up your weight as the warmth of his bulky frame surrounds you, cerulean blue eyes raking across your face steadily.

you let out a small gasp of surprise, but quickly recover, eyes narrowing on him fiercely.

he leans ever so slightly closer, crowding your space completely as his loud, sultry patchouli cologne surrounds you, alluring and familiar all at once.

his breath ghosting over your lips, is warm and cinnamon-y, as he stares down at you, eyes lidded and just daring you to defy him again.

"excuse me, mister and mistress gojo? your presence is requested now."

immediately, satoru jumps back as if stung, eyes lingering on you a moment longer, before stalking away in temporary surrender.

you push off the wall, feeling the servant's eyes on you questioningly, but not bothering to indulge him, simply brushing yourself off before rapidly following suit.

“your majesties, it is truly an honor to meet you both.” you take a small curtsy to the king and queen you were standing before, lifting your dress to show respect.

satoru rolls his eyes subtly, shifting beside you.

his father shoots him a look, all graying hair and wise crinkling eyes. “the pleasure is all mine, my dear. it’s nice to meet someone with proper mannerisms and respect for the crown.”

you smile. “yes, well i was raised in a kingdom, after all.”

beside him, satoru’s mother, the queen, grants you a kind smile, long white hair flowing around her mirroring her son's. “that you were.” she agrees. “which is why we are so honored to have you here at our own, and to finally resolve the peace that has been fleeting for so long. you have no idea how much this marriage means to both us and the kingdom.”

satoru sighs.

instantly, the queen’s eyes bore into him. “i’m sure you’ve been acquainted with your husband, prince satoru. he is just as pleased as the rest of us for this opportunity you and your kingdom have bestowed upon us, it was rather benevolent of them, and we are eternally in their debt.”

you get the feeling that they've been having disagreements with the arranged marriage, judging by their body language, and instantly the air grows thicker, more tense.

before the situation can progress however, the queen clears her throat, smiling politely at you. "why, it's been a long day, and i'm sure you're tired, sweetheart."

her attention turns toward her son, her voice holding a warning to it that you can't ignore. "satoru. walk with her to your rooms please, and accommodate her."

he nods, and doesn't even wait to see if you're following before retreating hastily, leaving you to chase after him.

finally, you find yourself back in front of the long-winding hallway leading to his─your─ bedroom, and he pauses, as if remembering something.

"we're going to have to share a bed."

your heart skips a beat, breath catching in your throat as he opens the door to reveal a mahogany bed, draped with quilted covers and over-extravagant silk pillows slightly rumpled by sleep. you had forgotten that as a married couple, it would be custom for you two to sleep together, just the thought of being in such a close, intimate space with him causing your pulse to race, whether with anger or.. something else, you can’t tell.

"no we're not." you move toward the bed, grabbing spare pillows and blankets to make your own on the plush carpet, vowing to stay as far as possible from that stuck-up prince.

you hear him sigh from where he's leaning against the doorway watching you.

footsteps pad across the floor toward you, before coming to a stop. "listen. i know this isn't ideal, but it is part of our arrangement to sleep in the same bed, as a married couple."

you gaze up at him coolly. "i'm sleeping here."

he runs a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. "this is part of what is expected of us, and we need to fulfill our duties as a royal couple. just.. get on the bed, and face the other direction, if you must."

you ignore him, tucking yourself into the blankets you had set up with a small yawn, turning to face away from him pointedly.

all is silent for a single, peaceful moment, but then, two unfairly muscular arms are wrapping around your frame, and lifting, scooping you up into him as with a squeal, you kick, trying to get away.

one of your feet makes contact with his side, and he lets out a low grunt before throwing you roughly onto his stupidly huge bed.

"keep fighting all you want, sweetheart. i can do this all night."

for some reason, his words come off more provocative than anything, and you can't help the fact that the stern sultry purr of his coupled with it tinges your cheeks pink ever so subtly.

"i'll tell you one thing about this arranged marriage. as my wife, you are going to listen, and you are going to obey what i tell you, okay? i will not put up with attitude and immaturity.”

your cheeks warm at being scolded like a child, and all you can do is scoff in disbelief before turning over, resigned to your spot on the bed, vowing to stay as far away from him as possible.

you scoot all the way to the edge, squeezing your eyes shut angrily as tears of frustration prick at you.

just who was he to boss you around?

a few terse minutes tick by, with both of you silent, facing away from each other, the only sound being satoru's soft puffs of breath, sleep eluding you further.

you’re trying your best not to let your skin make contact with his in the slightest, but it’s proving difficult with the way his weight makes the bed dip in the middle, trying to draw you toward himself.

this was going to be a looong night.

you figure you eventually fall asleep at some point, because when you open your eyes again, sunlight is peeking through the windows, and something hard and hot is pressed stiffly against your back, insistent with its prodding.

you reach down, half-asleep, to move it away, but your hand connects with something pulsing and.. large. you trail your hand further up, eyes scrunching in confusion only to feel a small shudder under your palm, someone breathing fast and loud right next to you.

satoru.

you instantly scramble away, eyes wide, in your haste falling off and hitting the floor with a low thud.

this wakes him up, half-lidded eyes opening to take in your tangled form on the ground. “what are you doing?”

“y-you..!” you sputter out, frozen as you stare at him in disbelief.

he follows your gaze to his pants, a straining bulge printed on the front clearly.

his cheeks warm, and he looks down, mumbling under his breath. "mornin' wood.."

before you can bring yourself to speak however, two sharp knocks against the door break the awkward silence, followed by the voice of a servant outside.

"madame and master, it’s time to prepare you both for the wedding ceremony."

“ow!”

you scrunch your eyes tightly, pain washing over you in waves.

the stylist pauses, taking in your expression sympathetically before resuming to tug at your poor hair, putting it up into an intricate updo, a plaited bun with face-framing hairs and bangs, hot curlers and bobbypins attacking you left and right.

"just sit still, dear." one pushes your head back, while another tilts your face to the side to furiously blend foundation on your cheeks.

this day would only come once, in your lifetime at least, and being a royal wedding, of course, everything had to be perfect.

you and satoru were being relied on as human peace treaties to prove to the world that for the first time, your kingdoms were united, marking the official end of the war.

which is why, not only were appearances important, but also your actions towards satoru had to be convincing enough for the clan to wholeheartedly believe you two were in love, and effectively stop the fighting at hand.

so today was more important than ever that you look fully and maddeningly in love with satoru gojo.

you sigh to yourself, but suddenly your thoughts are cut off by the proud voice of your main stylist taking a step back to admire her handiwork.

"perfect. absolutely perfect." the rest nod in agreement, and with a few last touches, you're ready.

and as you all head to where the ceremony would be held, to describe how you're feeling right now as overwhelmed would be an understatement.

currently, there's about two thousand people waiting for you, all elegantly dressed, their heads held high with self-importance.

even the palace is decorated for the occasion, banners and emblems of the gojo clan stamp hanging proudly over the room, while decorative flowers in vases cover every available surface.

you shift your feet nervously, waiting for your signal to walk the aisle, praying that you wouldn't trip or embarrass yourself, fidgeting with your dress anxiously.

the wedding dress in question, was a classic take on a vintage ball gown look, with a too tight-fitting cream-colored corset billowing out dramatically from the waist into a poofy, tulle skirt, and currently it was killing you as you tried to take deep breaths, its taut stiffness practically constricting your lungs.

to make matters worse, it pushed your breasts obnoxiously up, and showed off your outline far too much to be comfortable, contouring every curve distinctively.

before you can try and pull it down however for what seems the hundredth time, the renowned quality of a simple elegant instrumental begins playing, signifying your entrance, and time seems to stop.

your heels click softly on the marbled stone, each step seeming to magnify in the large room spread out before you.

highly prestigious people, who had dismissed you before as nothing but a simple child princess living in her daddy’s kingdom were now all craning their heads to get a better look at you, hushed gasps and chatter sweeping through the crowd as you pass.

slowly, you begin to make your way down the dramatically decorated aisle, and as you get closer to the altar, you spot satoru, leaning slightly, cerulean eyes focused solely on you.

he’s dressed elegantly, in a frilly suit that matches the color of his eyes, all extravagant buttons and poofy sleeves, with crisscrossing gold lace, and a white overspilling cravat on the front.

he tilts his head as if to study the dress you're in, intense blue gaze raking up and down to ravish your clearly outlined figure.

your cheeks flush, his effect on you instantaneous as unbearable though he is.

slowly, you come to stand at your spot beside him, nervous as you look around at the crowd.

what happens next, you hadn't been expecting at all.

as one, they get up, and shower you both in applause, claps as precise and unified as their owners, the sound heard all the way around the entire palace, as they all give a standing ovation to their new king and queen of a new era.

the blush creeps up your neck, and you look around at your new subjects, all of them cheering for you.

after a minute or so of this, they begin to gradually quiet, sitting back down while both you and satoru turn to face each other.

the royal priest clears his throat for attention, and begins his long winding speech, garbled words slurring together as you stare at satoru.

he was so beautiful, breathtakingly so. his white hair is fluffed up, showing his high cheekbones, and he even has a bit of makeup on him, contour and powder.

in fact you’re staring at him so intensely, so swept up in him, you don’t even realize the priest is talking to you until he’s raising an eyebrow at you expectantly, the crowd hushed.

“huh?” you hear yourself say, embarrassment pinking your cheeks.

he clears his throat, speaking a little louder. “do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better..”

when you glance back at satoru, he’s looking at the priest, but there’s a curve to his mouth, amusement glinting in his eyes.

insufferable.

you take a second to let your eyes roam the audience, and happen to land on a particular face, one you hadn’t seen before.

she's wearing a knee-length navy blue dress, one that highlights her chubby figure and pudgy stomach, and a hat which covers most of her face. her head, though covered, is bowed low, as if in shame, which stands out to you as most of the audience is gazing up, at you and satoru, heads perked for a better look.

before you have time to further analyze however, you’re snapped back to the priest who is finishing up his speech.

“..till death do thy part. do you pledge your faithfulness and devotion, and promise to be thy loving wife, forevermore?”

your head starts to spin, the weight of his words sinking into you fully. you were to be with this man, whom you hadn’t even met before yesterday, for the rest of your life. all your hopes and dreams outside of the kingdom may as well come crashing down on your head once you were to speak those forsaken words.

after today, you would be queen, alongside your husband, the king.

at the very thought of being so responsible, the words stick in your throat, face paling. you have the urge to say no, to call the whole thing off, to truly disappoint your parents and disgrace satoru’s family for eternity, because this was your life. your life, and nobody got to take that from you.

you force a smile. “i do.”

the ring-bearer comes up to you, a ring on a fluffed pillow for you to take, its band gold and cool in your palm as you pick it up, a baby blue gem encrusted with the gojo symbol across it staring back.

you had never chose, nor seen this ring in your life.

he turns to satoru. “and do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to..”

you turn to satoru, expecting to see that same playful smirk, but something else has replaced it, more open and raw.

maybe he was feeling the implications too?

“..promise to be thy loving husband, forevermore?”

he swallows, pauses for a second too long, before speaking, the words cool and strangely detached. “i do.”

his ring comes, silver and chiseled with symbols of royalty, all sleek metal and polished, shining pristinely in the light. it has diamonds encrusted all over it, each worth more than a house, along with his precious initials, s.g, carved into it.

he takes it without looking at it.

“then by the power vested in me, i now pronounce you man and wife.” he turns toward satoru. "you may now kiss the bride."

your mouth goes dry, and for a second, all you can do is gape at satoru while the priest's words register in your head.

shit. how could you have forgotten you would be expected to kiss him? it was a wedding after all.

satoru's mouth curves up as he leans in slightly toward your ear, his hair brushing you. “c’mon princess, kiss your husband for the audience, yeah?”

you blush, and oblivious to all the people and the priest standing less than a foot away, he goes on, “although, don't be too good of a kisser, or i might get used to..."

before he can continue, you grab his face in your hands, pressing your lips hard against his, if just to make him shut up, and he pauses, taken aback, before slowly his hand creeps up to cup your cheeks gingerly, hesitantly leaning in to it.

the crowd all cheers around you, but you can’t even hear them anymore, all of it fading around you.

he's your first kiss.

he tastes like cinnamon and clove, like something spicy and reckless, his tongue already coming to meet yours in a brash tangle.

as quickly as he had been on you however, he draws away, wiping his mouth with that same lopsided smirk tilting his lips upward, leaving you practically dizzy.

and as the rest of the ceremony drones on, you can't help yourself from wanting more.

it wasn't enough to leave you satisfied, and now that you've gotten a taste, you fear you might not ever get enough.

after the wedding ceremony, there was to be a reception where only the most prestigious and important of people would attend.

it was held in the palace ballroom, lavishly decorated for the occasion with crystal chandeliers, and silk draped tables filled with shiny silverware, everything overly classy and elegant.

when you enter beside satoru, they're already serving flutes of champagne, people milling about amiably and making pleasant conversation.

and if you thought you were popular before as a princess, you had no idea the kind of attention being a hot topic like you were now would bring.

before you're even two steps inside, there's already people surrounding you to congratulate you on your marriage, kiss you on the cheek in greeting, and welcome you as newfound queen to the throne.

after a few minutes of this, with no sign of the crowd of people easing up, you begin to get nervous.

there's just no way you can see to get out of it, and as you start to feel claustrophobic, your body being pushed and jostled by all these people wanting to meet, you feel a warm hand on the small of your back, guiding you away from the crowd.

satoru.

“i think it’s time for a dance.” he says before grabbing your warm, gloved hands in his, and twirling you out to the center of the dance floor, where a few couples were already swaying to a slow tune.

satoru takes his hands, placing them on either side of your waist, just above your hips, a lazy smirk curling his mouth up as his touch seems casual, natural almost.

it seems almost genuine, the way he flirts with you in the public eye only to blatantly disregard you in private.

well, two could play at that game.

you wrap your arms around his neck, and draw yourself closer, lips hovering above his, your front rubbing against him dangerously.

he inhales sharply, eyes flickering with heat for a second but before you get the chance to revel in the fact you could draw a reaction from him, he starts spinning you.

you gasp as he whirls you around, before starting to glide back and forth with you across the dance floor, a smug grin on his face as you try and keep up.

luckily for you, as royalty you were expected to know how to dance, and your parents had enrolled you in private lessons weekly, your feet falling into familiar steps as you swept along the floor with him.

he takes notice, hands gripping your waist tighter as he sways with you, quickening the pace. “who taught you to dance, princess?”

you can't tell if he's teasing, or being genuine so rather than answer, you glance down, pretending to focus on your steps as you try to ignore the fluttering in your chest.

and finally with one last dramatic twirl, your hands tracing delicate arcs in the air, the music crescendoes and satoru catches you in a perfect dip, your head tilting back with a flourish.

instantly, cheering erupts, the room absolutely filled with clapping and whistling as your chest heaves up and down, still in his arms.

you had been so caught up you hadn't even realized everyone had stopped to watch you two, and with your finish, you were now the center of attention.

and as you seat yourself in a chair across from satoru, the formal banquet about to begin, you finally answer his question, seemingly out of nowhere, making him come to a start as he looks at you.

"my mother put me in dance classes from a young age." you smile bitterly as the memory washes over you. "you know it's funny, she was always the most beautiful dancer in the ballroom at my kingdom, but she wouldn't teach me. said i was "too slow", "had two left feet", "didn't pick up quickly", and i was nothing like her. she had someone else instruct me, and every day i would go and practice as much as i could, in hopes of getting better and pleasing her."

"did you?" satoru presses.

you sigh sadly. "i did, but it was never enough for her. nothing was. i remember thinking when i was younger, that maybe there was something wrong with me, and that's why she couldn't love me. why anyone couldn't love me, really. i've always felt like just a mere decoration in my palace, just another step on my mother's agenda."

what he says next surprises you. "i get what you mean. ever since i was little, my parents have been telling me, "you're going to be king" "one day you're going to overtake the throne" and "think of your future kingdom", when all I ever wanted was to be a child."

he draws nearer to you. "but, that gets taken from you once you're born into a monarchy, right?"

you nod. "that, and everything else down to your way of life, your interests, your dreams.." you break off, eyes flickering down to his lips for a moment. "..your husband."

the conversation between you becomes more intimate as he leans in too, lips above yours, and just as you start to close the distance..

the distinct sound of a fork clinking against a glass.

the royal toasts were starting.

it was from satoru's father, the king, his wise, crinkled smile looking around at all his subjects. "hello everyone. we thank you for coming out tonight to celebrate the birth of a new age, as my son and the daughter of a rival kingdom have come together in marriage, forever binding our palaces as one. this marks the start to a new era."

he pauses, letting the people around break out into clapping, some cheering, before going on.

"as you are aware, i will be stepping back from my role as king, knowing our future is in capable hands, by your new king and queen.."

at that, he lifts a glass toward your table, winking solemnly.

"to satoru, my successor, my pride, and the future of this kingdom. may your reign be long, your rule wise, and may you bring many heirs to this kingdom."

wait.

heirs?

you turn to look at satoru, his face paling.

"to the future, to the kingdom, and to the continuation of our legacy!"

"long live the king!"

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pen-and-umbra · 10 months ago

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The second episode of the Remake, FF7 Rebirth, has proven to be a terrific experience thus far. SE obviously made a few big decisions here and there.

It is seemingly implied now that Jenova wasn't "brain-dead", and it is hinted that Sephiroth was addled during his breakdown.

It all begins with a strategically placed cut, when Sephiroth touches the door bearing the name Jenova and instructs "Cloud" to close the valve. The scene is merely functional for new fans, yet leaves a vacant space that Crisis Core players will quickly fill in with the inferred arrival of Genesis. Smart move that, leaving the interpretation to the player. Whether Genesis exists inside the Remake's continuity or not, the moment reads differently to each fan. Quite frankly, I was half-expecting “Cloud” to come across a banora apple, rolling on the floor, but I suppose that would be telling.

What's remarkable is that they give Sephiroth almost identical symptoms to those that Cloud has in the remake. Glitches and odd headaches superimpose themselves nicely over the original Crisis Core scene. And, as much as I loathe Tyler Hoechlin's acting in the game, he lends a tangible sense of rage to Sephiroth's disparaging remarks about Hojo and his experiments. You can hear the hatred, a touch of pity, and disgust directed at Hojo's work and the creatures he tortured. In Crisis Core, he refers to the test subjects as “abominations” with the same touch of bitterness.

Back to the point: glitches, pupil dilations, and headaches are visual cues for Jenovaroth's influence or proximity, as shown in the first part of the Remake. However, at this point, Sephiroth is still sane — cracking, but still himself — so the only agent who can exert influence on him is, well, Jenova.

Now, a widely established fan hypothesis maintained that Jenova was brain-dead or comatose. Bodily functions sustained, but brain activity plateaued. Rebirth, however, strangely suggests otherwise.

When "Cloud" returns to Sephiroth in the manor's basement for the second time, Sephiroth recites an excerpt from a journal purportedly written by Professor Gast:

“The specimen, found in a strata dating back two thousand years, smiled with what could only be described as 'ethereal grace'… Though the truth eluded me at first, I later determined that she was an Ancient - or a 'steward of the planet', as they are referred to in legend”.

Remembering the battles with Jenova Dreamweaver and Jenova Emergent, the creature is far from "graceful" or "ethereal". There is nothing graceful about her figure in the tube either, and she is not smiling. The game goes out of its way to lampshade the glaring contradiction by showing the flashes of Jenova’s fanged skull and grotesque body as Sephiroth quotes the passage. So how could Gast perceive her as such?.. The answer is most likely found in Jenova Dreamweaver's description given in Ultimania: the entity has the ability to induce hallucinations in individuals who come into proximity with it, which is further corroborated by Jenova Emergent description.

An ancient lifeform that Shinra Company has kept under strict confidentiality. Those who come into contact can have their conscience interfered as well as see illusions. Professor Hojo has dedicated half of his life to researching Jenova, and within the Shinra Company building's top floors lies a secret research center called the "Dome," where Jenova's cells are injected into lifeforms or machinery to conduct experiments. (Ultimania)

Gast even writes that “the truth eluded him at first”, but LATER he determines the specimen belonged to the race of Ancients, as if that answer was suggested. The implication is chilling: Jenova may have purposefully misled Gast in order to present itself as an Ancient. As Sephiroth later explains in the FF7Rb, Jenova is capable of seeing deep into one's soul and impersonating individuals you fear, love, or hate.

If ShinRA and Gast were determined to unravel the mysteries of Ancients and their Promised Land, it would make sense for Jenova to "scan" Gast and determine the best course of action: disguise itself as an Ancient in order to escape captivity in geological strata jail.

The scene in which Sephiroth reads Gast's notes is possibly the final time he is more or less himself, before Jenova's image intermingles with his for a brief moment. Again, I appreciate Tyler's voice acting in this particular section and the real rage he brought to it. Admittedly, I was concerned that with next-gen visuals, they would take a more gruesome approach, displaying Sephiroth conducting the Nibelheim carnage with sadistic pleasure, but they took a different route. Slow, zombie-like movements, and a glassy expression.

He speared the militiamen as casually as if he were spearing bugs, which is far more frightening from a narrative point. What jumped out was how they emphasized the possessed-like behavior: from snarling and flailing the book like a suffering person to an empty countenance and automaton-like strides, as if he was being beckoned. Which is what "Mother is waiting" implies.

The final segment of the Nibelheim flashback is likely the most essential as well. According to previous developer claims, Sephiroth's will took precedence over Jenova's, and he was in control — whether Jenova was brain-dead or simply of lesser willpower. However, the Rebirth appears to suggest something different right off the bat. First, "Cloud" shouts, "I believed in you… No… Not you — whoever the hell you are!", highlighting the significant personality change and the resulting lack of recognition. But then "Cloud" sees Jenova's image superimposed over that of Sephiroth in a rapid, glitch-like succession.

In other words, he sees Jenova inhabiting Sephiroth's body as a vehicle to once again escape the confinements. Whatever that means, whether it suggests that Jenova is in control from the start, or whether Sephiroth is literally the greatest functional agglomeration of her cells, and therefore literally “becomes” Jenova.

If Jenova's original body was severely damaged — either as a result of eons of incarceration or Hojo's tinkering — it stands to reason that, if she wished to carry out her plan, she would need a new body, one capable of moving at the very least. Perhaps Sephiroth, an able-bodied skilled Mako-infused fighter of considerable might, served as a better "vessel" than her original damaged one.

But the crux of the matter lies elsewhere. The possibility of Jenova being conscious and influencing Gast is very terrifying. With the potential to affect others in close vicinity, she may have influenced the minds of the whole science team behind the Jenova Project, particularly those who had long-term contact with her tissue — Gast and Hojo. It could turn out that the whole idea to revive an “Ancient” was planted by Jenova in order to grow itself a powerful host. In fact, if it could "peer into one's soul," i.e. read minds and memories, it might have easily identified a pressure point to indoctrinate people who could forward her objective. It's one thing to inject tissue samples into an adult body; it's quite another to devise a plan to inject cells into a developing human fetus. Who knows. Perhaps Hojo is such an obsessed Jenova nutcase in large part because he fell under its spell; feelings of inadequacy and being overshadowed by his colleague may have offered a crack in his defenses.

One that Jenova easily took advantage of. After all, as Dirge of Cerberus implies, Hojo ended up implanting himself with alien organic material.

Again, Jenova's power to extract information from an individual when in proximity supports a bleak reading of the events leading up to Nibelheim's ransacking. A person who kept on carrying a photograph of his supposedly late mother and badgered others about his background, as suggested by Ever Crisis episodes, was literally wearing his weakness on a sleeve.

Perhaps the 30-something years of the Jenova Project were supposed to bring Sephiroth there.

Perhaps the chain of events had been nudged in that direction, starting from the very discovery of a derelict non-human lifeform. Nudged by an intelligence both cunning and incomprehensible. And that makes Jenova a much, much scarier presence in the remake than it was ever suggested in OG.

#ffvii@luv fandoms #ffvii rebirth #ff7 #ffvii #ff7 rebirth #jenova #sephiroth #hojo #gast

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vestaignis · 3 months ago

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Стратовулкан Фуэго ("вулкан огня") - один из самых активных в Гватемале. Он находится неподалеку от города Антигуа на высоте 3763 м над уровнем моря. Вулкан является частью Тихоокеанского огненного кольца, района, известного своей интенсивной тектонической активностью и многочисленными действующими вулканами. Его постоянная деятельность и близость к населенным пунктам сделали его предметом большого интереса для ученых, геологов и органов по чрезвычайным ситуациям.

Вулкан Фуэго имеет долгую историю, которая насчитывает тысячи лет. Его извержения были задокументированы со времен испанской колонии, и он остается одним из самых активных и опасных вулканов в Центральной Америке. Как и другие стратовулканы, он состоит из чередующихся слоев вулканическо��о материала, включая потоки лавы, пепла и пирокластических обломков.

Фуэго извергается в среднем каждые четыре-пять лет, при этом выбросы газа и пепла достигают 10-километровой высоты. В 2018 году в результате извержения реки лавы хлынули по его склонам, опустошив деревню Сан-Мигель-Лос-Лотес, убив 215 человек, еще столько же пропали без вести. Вулкан также извергался и в 2021 году. После извержения были предприняты усилия, чтобы помочь в восстановлении поврежденной инфраструктуры и оказать поддержку тем, кто потерял свои дома и близких. Кроме того, извержение привлекло внимание к оценке вулканического риска и важности просвещения общественности о вулканической опасности для повышения устойчивости населения перед лицом будущих извержений.

The Fuego stratovolcano ("volcano of fire") is one of the most active in Guatemala. It is located near the city of Antigua at an altitude of 3,763 m above sea level. The volcano is part of the Pacific Ring of Fire, an area known for its intense tectonic activity and numerous active volcanoes. Its constant activity and proximity to populated areas have made it a subject of great interest to scientists, geologists, and emergency management authorities.

Fuego Volcano has a long history that dates back thousands of years. Its eruptions have been documented since the Spanish colonial era, and it remains one of the most active and dangerous volcanoes in Central America. Like other stratovolcanoes, it is composed of alternating layers of volcanic material, including lava flows, ash, and pyroclastic debris.

Fuego erupts on average every four to five years, with plumes of gas and ash reaching heights of 10 kilometers. In 2018, an eruption sent rivers of lava flowing down its slopes, devastating the village of San Miguel Los Lotes, killing 215 people and leaving another 215 missing. The volcano also erupted in 2021. Following the eruption, efforts were made to help rebuild damaged infrastructure and provide support to those who lost their homes and loved ones. In addition, the eruption brought attention to volcanic risk assessment and the importance of public education about volcanic hazards to build community resilience in the face of future eruptions.

Источник:/korzik.net/video/167201-v-gvatemale-vo-vremja-izverzhenija-vulkana-fujego-nachalsja-shtorm-s-molnijami-kotorye-bili-prjamo-v-zherlo.html, //ru.geologyscience.com/стихийные-бедствия/извержение -вулкана/вулкан-де-фуэго/,/sputnik-georgia.ru/20180609/strashnoe-izverjenie-vulkana-v-gvatemale-kadri-s-mesta-bedstvija-240787586.html,/fishki.net/2439490-fotografii-izverzhenija-vulkana-fujego.html, /aif.ru/society/gallery /izverzhenie _vulkana_fuego_v_gvatemale,/vsegda-pomnim.com/vulkany/6011-vulkan-fujego-71-foto.html.

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stellasdrafts · 2 months ago

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Coffee & Confessions - Leon Kennedy

Summary: he regrets what he said. (RE2R Leon x Reader)

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: none really- angst, thoughts of cheating if you squint (not on reader), forced proximity, no use of Y/N, reader’s features are not described but is briefly mentioned as female – self insert to your heart’s desire <3

Notes: Leon may be a bit OOC, still working on characterization. It’s a long one! Kinda let myself go. Hope you enjoy my first one shot! ~Stella

“Don’t you understand?! No! I’m sick of saying no to you!”

His words reverberate through you, pounding in your head incessantly. You feel the wave of burning embarrassment crawl up from your stomach to your face. Your limbs go numb and you’re not even sure how you’re standing upright. There’s a spotlight shining down on you, highlighting your lowest moment in the dimly lit, deserted west office of the RPD. Your consciousness floats somewhere in the shadows above, the bezoar of nauseating dread being the only thing keeping you grounded to this damned blue tile floor.

You’re not even processing Leon standing before you, panting and lingering in the weight of his words. Kind, soft-spoken Leon… Even he doesn’t know what came over him. It was a moment of irritation brought forward by an exhausting day, and a girl unfortunate enough to be standing in his line of fire. You hadn’t even realized you had been pushing his buttons. Sweet, sweet you – feeding into an innocent crush on the newest addition to the task force with soft greetings and warm smiles… You don’t recall when humble acceptances of coffee turned into apprehensive ones, then polite rejections.

Sure, maybe those cordial acts of service were your subtle way of flirting and making an impression upon the rookie, but you had never seen yourself as pushy. They were simple acts of kindness, special enough to make him notice that you were going out of your way, but simple enough to pass off as coworker decorum – or so you thought. You had even backed off to a certain degree after finding out that he had a girlfriend. Though, clinging to the selfish hope that maybe things wouldn’t work out between them. Leon isn’t like any man you’ve met before. He’s selfless, caring, funny… There was something about him that kept you hooked, despite your better judgement. He was a real find, and you couldn’t bring yourself to completely let go of him. The guilt ate up at your insides.

Your subtle relentlessness wore him down. Unbeknownst to you, he had been battling torn feelings of his own. He didn’t enjoy rejecting your coffee date offers – though you never used the word date. He’s a smart young man… perceptive. It was part of the job. He didn’t miss your longing stares, the purity of your smiles when directed toward him, and the way your warm fingertips lingered just a moment too long when you handed him paperwork and office supplies. That had grown to be his most used word around you: no. Not because he doesn’t want what you continuously offer, but because he is a faithful man. His relationship feels more like a duty at this point, much like processing perps that came in the station or filling out paperwork after an arrest. That love had lost its spark a long while ago. You on the other hand… He had always found you to be a pleasant presence. There’s something about you that brings a glowing light into his life. A spark, brighter and more powerful than the one dimmed by the woman in his bed.

And now he has to watch as he snuffs out that spark from your eyes.

“R-Right… Okay.” You’re completely taken aback by the bite in his words. You step backwards, stiff as a statue. Your mouth gapes open and closes repeatedly. Never had you expected him to speak to you like that. Tears immediately well in your eyes. You look utterly heartbroken… Maybe you deserved it.

Leon is so caught up in his own tormenting feelings that the realization of having hurt you doesn’t really hit him until he sees the tears in your eyes. His expression drops from frustrated to shocked. This is the first time he’s seen you without your usual effortless smile – it’s the polar opposite of it. “Wait- That’s not-” the officer tries to say something, but the words catch in his throat, a war raging in his mind.

You lift your hands in surrender, still staggering back and blinking back tears. You raise the white flag at his counterattack. “N-No. I understand. I should… I should’ve stopped a long time ago,” your voice breaks.

Leon flinches. His heart clenches as he realizes just how badly he’s hurt you. You with your pure and loving intentions… A sickening feeling of guilt arises within him. His mouth opens and closes, so much like yours had just done. There’s a million thoughts racing through his mind, yet he can’t find the right words. His body yearns to reach out to you, to stop you from walking away and leaving this irreparable fracture between the two of you, but he finds himself unable to move. There’s so much he wants to say – anything, really, but he’s frozen in place, terrified to say the wrong thing again. Terrified to let the emotions swirling inside him take over.

You look away in a futile attempt to hide your crying, to salvage the last bit of your dignity. You quickly gather your things from your desk and messily dump them into your bag. You head for the door at a fast pace, wanting nothing more than to remove yourself from this living nightmare. “Goodnight. See you… tomorrow.”

The man’s body jolts as he registers the slam of the door closing behind you, the sound ringing in his ears. The realization of what just happened hits him like a bus. He could have stopped you. He could have called out your name, said anything, tried to move. But he didn’t. He just stood there and watched you trip over your words, watched you go. He just stood there and watched you take a part of his joy with you.

Tomorrow. He had to make things right with you.

But you don’t let him. Downright humiliated by last night’s incident, you pour all of your efforts into avoiding him. The day turns into the week, which turns into a month, which turns into ten. Ten months without speaking to Leon Kennedy beyond simple task updates at work. Maybe it was excessive, but you were plain embarrassed to talk to him, and when you felt slightly okay again, it felt too awkward and out of place to approach him after the hiatus.

Approaching him is what set him off in the first place, and he had made it clear that he wanted nothing of yours. You realize perhaps you had been pushy, but what’s done is done. It felt bizarre to cut him out of your routine when your heart still yearns for him, despite the shame he’s caused you. Alas, you learned how to live without him: one less warm greeting as you enter the station, one less enchanting smile, one memorized coffee order stored in the back of your mind never to be ordered again.

Your vow of silence is successful these ten months until Chief Irons assigns the two of you to a dreaded stakeout. As if being stuck inside a cold car at night for who knows how long doesn’t sound like hell enough, you’ll have to do it with someone whom you can barely even look at. Wonderful.

The ride to your suspect’s house is as silent as a tomb. That combined with the cold of winter and the feeling of unease circulating around the small space – you both might as well be in one. You can’t say you’d mind being six feet under right about now. Leon parks a few houses down and across the street from the target. He turns off the engine, bathing you in complete silence now, save for your breaths and the occasional crumpling of your coats as you readjust your positions. It’s excruciating how aware you are of his icy eyes on you. You keep your eyes on the house because you’re frankly terrified of looking at him.

“Look out for any movement, particularly women, coming in and out of the house,” you softly remind him of your orders, hoping to entice him into turning his unwavering attention away from you.

“Noted,” he grunts, clearing his throat to fill the silence. “And how long are we supposed to keep watch for?”

Was he not listening while you were getting briefed? You sigh. “Until we see something interesting.”

He lets out a sigh of his own. “And if we don’t?”

“Until the sun comes up.”

This has to be a form of torture. Leon nods absentmindedly, his gaze shifting from you to the house and back. He can’t help but steal glances at you, his chest tightening as he notices how you go out of your way to avoid looking at him. He taps his fingers against the cold steering wheel in a slow, irregular rhythm as he tries his damnedest to keep his eyes on the house. “Guess this could take a while, huh?” he mumbles, his gaze slipping to you once more. The tension couldn’t be cut with a knife, you’d need more of a fucking chainsaw.

You shouldn’t be this upset by it all… Everything happened almost a year ago. You’d both changed. Hell, he wasn’t even with his girlfriend anymore. In theory, you should both be able to behave normally – professionally. But that’s not the case. It’s so strange. You two used to be able to chat and joke around together. Now, neither of you could say ‘hello’ without feeling like you were treading on thin ice. Your heart aches at the thought that you drove him away, that you ruined things between the two of you. You suppose a dark, freezing car with nothing to entertain yourself but the mist of your own breath isn’t exactly great to keep up morale.

Once again unable to stand the silence, Leon hesitates before speaking. “You cold?” he asks quietly, catching on to how you hug your thin jacket tightly around your frame.

“No,” you lie.

But his sharp analytical eyes don’t miss your slight shivering. He can’t help but roll his eyes and let out a half-hearted huff. “Liar,” he mutters under his breath, careful to hide the slight fondness in his tone. This is so like you; brushing aside your comfort to appease those around you.

“Believe what you will.” You tuck your legs underneath you, hoping to maintain at least some of your body heat. You still can’t find it in you to look at him, settling for the perp’s house and his neighbours' holiday decorations.

The young officer’s lips twitch. Why couldn’t you just admit it? Was it really that hard for you to let him help? He sighs again. “Stop being stubborn. You’ll freeze in here. Take this,” he scolds, already unbuttoning his coat.

You shake your head when you notice what he’s doing in your peripheral. “That’s stupid. I already have a jacket. You won’t have one at all if you give me yours.”

He rolls his eyes again, his hands pausing on one of the buttons. “I’ve got a sweater on, I think I’ll be fine. It’s the middle of winter, that excuse of a jacket won’t keep anything warm.”

“I’d feel better if you kept it. It’s going to be a long night.” You clench your jaw.

It was almost infuriating, the lengths you would go to deny any kind of help. He scowls at you, but he can’t deny the fact that part of him craves the chance to take care of you. “I don’t care how you think you feel at the moment. You’re taking my jacket. It’s no good if my partner gets frostbite during the night and we have to call the stakeout off,” he rumbles, already pulling the jacket off his body.

“I don’t think that’s how frostbite works.”

He bites back an amused smile and reaches over to drape the coat over your shoulders. You try to hide the immediate relief it brings – a blanket of his body heat. It smells like him too… his aftershave, you think. It makes your heart ache with memories of earlier this year. How you would’ve done anything for him. How you still would if it came down to the wire… He watches as you bury yourself in the material, practically being engulfed by the puffy thing. The sight alone makes his chest pang with emotion. Seeing you wearing his jacket – he couldn’t think of anything more beautiful than that.

“Let me know if you start getting cold,” you say quietly because you can't bring yourself to say thank you.

Leon nods quietly, his lips pressed into a tight line. The deafening silence returns yet again. He struggles not to say anything. This is unbearable. Sitting in a silent car, with you a mere foot away, and he can’t even speak to you normally. It’s driving him crazy.

“God damn it, why can’t you just look at me?” he suddenly blurts out, breaking the silence.

Fuck. You knew this was coming. “Because we’re supposed to be keeping our eyes on the house.”

“Quit being a smartass. You know we have nothing to do but sit and watch the house for god knows how long. But you’d rather stare at the damn streetlight than talk to me or look at me for even a split second.”

That’s true. You think that seeing him – bewitching as ever even when you want to hate him – would break you. “I’m doing my job. I suggest you do yours.”

Leon clenches his jaw, annoyance flaring up inside him again. You are infuriating, acting aloof as if nothing is wrong. As if it doesn’t bother you at all. “You’re being impossible, you know that?”

You hug his coat tighter around you, wanting it to swallow you whole right about now. “We’re coworkers. I wasn’t aware you expect me to be a certain way.”

The sight of you melting into his jacket just makes Leon’s heart clench painfully once more. He’s torn between your evident hurting, and cold words and attitude. “You’re twisting my words and you know it,” he retorts, narrowing his eyes at you. “We used to be more than coworkers.”

That’s it. You look. And dear god it’s a mistake because things are always more beautiful when you can’t have them. He’s everything you remember – everything you etched into memory all those months ago. If anything, he looks even more ethereal now as the streetlights and holiday lights reflect off the snow and onto his pale face.

“No, we weren’t. Because you never let us be, Leon.”

His heart tightens in his chest all over again as you finally look at him, his breath catching in his throat. It’s almost painful how beautiful you look in this moment. Sitting here in the car with him, wearing his jacket, with the soft glow of the outside lights illuminating the planes of your face. As much as he’d like to deny it, you are right. He is the reason for your coldness toward him now, so how could he possibly blame you for it?

“You really want to go there?” he asks softly, his eyes not leaving your face.

“No, but you seem to be pushing me there,” the hostility slips out.

“Because you’re not being honest. Not to me. Not even to yourself.”

“You think you know better?”

“I think I know you.” He looks deep into your eyes. “You act like you don’t want anything to do with me, but look me in the eye and tell me you feel nothing for me. Tell me and I’ll leave you be.”

You can’t. You couldn’t lie if you tried, not about this. You feel that bezoar of dread return to the pit of your stomach just thinking about cutting him out of your life completely. That’s about the last thing you want. “Why are you doing this? So you can humiliate me all over again?” Your whole demeanour softens, that naïve, lovestruck girl from ten months ago trying to claw her way out of the cage you banished her to.

He hates how hurt you look right now, all because of him. It breaks him. “I-I didn’t mean to hurt you. I know I did, but-”

“You raised your voice at me and told me you were sick of me. Not that you needed some time to yourself, not that you were having a bad day, not simply that you didn’t feel the same, but that I made you sick. Do you realize how fucking damaging that is, Leon?!”

He winces away from your outburst, his mind reeling at the memory of that night. It still makes him nauseous to think about it. He is ridden with guilt – has been for the past ten months. He takes a breath. “I didn’t say I was sick of you. I said I was sick of saying ‘no’ to you… Look, I know nothing I say can make up for speaking to you like that, but please… Just try and hear me out, okay?” He tries to reach for your hand gently, but you pull away. “You don’t have to forgive me or believe me for that matter. I just need to explain myself. You deserve at least that… It’s no excuse, but- but I was already stressed to my limit from things at home… And you-”

He sighs, looking dreamily into your eyes. “God, you made me feel. You made me feel so much that it scared me. I went to work and all I wanted to do was search for you in every room… You were so kind, so- so compassionate. I got attached and at some point, I started to feel guilty. I had my ex at home, but our relationship was rocky and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was like… like some emotional affair. I knew that wasn’t right – that it wasn’t fair to either of you, so I was stupid enough to think that distancing myself from you until I got my shit sorted out would be the lesser of evils… I was wrong. Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I hated rejecting you every time. I hated hurting you. A-And I guess it stressed me out so much that I just snapped…”

Tears glaze over your eyes. Do you believe him? You thought you were done crying over him. “H-How was I supposed to know what you felt- what you wanted?” You feel the warm tears slip down your cheeks.

He’s quick to lift a hand to wipe your tears. “You weren’t- You weren’t,” his voice is more delicate than you’ve ever heard it before. “That’s on me. That was my fault. You couldn’t have known,” he coos. “But I want you to know now…” You look up at him expectantly through wet lashes. “I want you to know that I wanted this. I wanted you. I still do.”

Your breath hitches. You’re surprised at how unsure you are about something which you thought you wanted more than anything. The hopeful part of you wants to trust him again – trust him with your heart. You remember how you thought of him before that night; gentle, caring, selfless… One mistake didn’t mean that that had changed. It’s not like you had never accidentally raised your voice at anyone before… A weight lifts off of your shoulders. Only he could lull out that old part of you, the one you had so carefully tucked away for safekeeping.

You open your mouth to scramble for an answer when the dark figure of a hooded man exits the suspect’s house. Leon follows your gaze.

“You got something?”

Making up your mind, you extend the hand that you had previously pulled from him. “Let’s go catch our guy, Kennedy.”

He takes it, his face lighting up. “I’ve got one condition.”

“What?” you ask confusedly. Your suspect was right there.

“In the morning, you let me buy you that coffee.”

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #resident evil 2 #fanfic #one shot #leon s kennedy #raccoon city #leon kennedy x you #re2 remake #re2 leon

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astraystayyh · 1 year ago

Text

Photobooth

Your first date with seungmin, except he pretends he's confident when he's just as nervous as you.

You quickly go down the stairs, trying your best to steady your racing heartbeat, but it only quickens as your gaze lands on Seungmin. He's wearing a black blouse, his hair slightly tousled as if he ran his fingers through it multiple times. His face lights up once his eyes set on you.

"Hey," he smiles as he walks up to you, a single red rose in his right hand.

"Hi," you smile back, a rush of butterflies erupting in your stomach, fluttering their wings all across your body.

"You're beautiful," he compliments, eyes tracing your face over and over, drinking in each one of your features. He didn't tell you that you looked beautiful, rather that you are beautiful. As if it doesn't matter what you wear, as long as it's you.

"Thank you," you reply, a wide grin spreading across your face. "You're beautiful too."

"I know," he smiles confidently, prompting a playful eye roll from you. "Right, let's go," he abruptly says, handing you the flower and grabbing your free hand into his. His fingers seamlessly intertwine with yours, and he doesn't look at you as he starts walking, as though this is second nature to both of you. As if your heart isn't on the brink of bursting from your chest, ready to spill its emotions at his feet.

Seungmin leads you to a hidden arcade, where the next two hours quickly go by as you take turns playing the various games- and competing in them. Your stomach aches from how hard you've been laughing; joy coming naturally to you when you're with Seungmin.

You're standing in front of a claw machine- your third attempt to retrieve a frog plushie. It's kind of weirdly sewed, and the color is neon rather than pastel, but you want it still.

"Still not giving up?" Seungmin smiles, as he leans against the machine's glass. "These are a scam, the odds of you winning are very slim."

"Keep your pragmatism to yourself," you reply, inserting another coin. The allotted fifty seconds go by in a blink of an eye, and you fail once again.

"Forget it," you pout. "I'm thirsty do you want something to drink?"

"Sure, just water. Can you order? I have to go to the toilet."

"Okay," you give him a thumbs-up before heading to the register. The queue is long, since apparently, everyone around is craving something too. Fifteen long minutes go by before you finally receive your coffee order. You bought an iced americano for Seungmin too, you know he can never say no to those.

"I'm back," Seungmin drapes his arm across your shoulder, drawing you closer to him. "Here," you bring the straw to his lips and be sips from his drink diligently.

"I thought you only wanted water," you chuckle and he scrunches his nose at you.

"Fine, keep your coffee and I suppose I'll keep this," he brings out the plushie you've been dying to win.

"You got it?" you ask incredulously, taking it from his hands excitedly.

"Mm."

"But I thought these machines were a scam," you repeat his earlier words and he shrugs. "I mean they still are. But you really wanted it."

"Thank you," you murmur, pulling him into a grateful hug, your chin resting on his shoulder blade.

"Anything for you," he mumbles into your hair, his arms blanketing you in a warm embrace.

You are walking hand in hand, stomachs full from the dinner Seungmin just treated you to. He insisted on paying, and you made a mental note to buy him coffee for the next following weeks.

"Look!" you point excitedly to a photobooth on the side of the road. "Should we go in?" you propose and he nods, pulling you in.

The booth is tiny, leaving room for only one stool at the center of it. Seungmin settles on the seat, before pulling you on top of his lap. You feel a crimson red blush bloom on your face, as Seungmin fixes up the camera's setting. He seems at ease by your close proximity, and you take in a deep breath as the timer starts counting down.

You plaster a smile on your face, Seungmin's hand wrapping around your waist as you both pose, flashing a peace sign. A giggle escapes you as he gently tickles your sides. "What should we do now?" he asks.

"Let's blow a kiss to the camera," you suggest, and he shakes his head slightly, an amused smile drawn on his lips.

You pucker your mouth, blowing a flying kiss as the camera snaps a photo of the two of you. But you soon realize Seungmin isn't staring ahead- he's looking at you.

"What?" you giggle nervously, and he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ears, eyes fixated on yours. "I really like you," he confesses in a hushed tone, leaving you overwhelmed by the warmth of his body, his velvety voice and the weight of his words.

"You make me very flustered."

"So do you," he giggles sheepishly and you raise a brow at him. "Really? you've been so sure of yourself this entire date."

"Can't you feel my hands shaking?" he asks softly and sure enough, slight tremors are cursing through them. Almost imperceptible, but it's there.

"You drive me insane. I think I almost died each time you smiled at me tonight."

"That's a lot of near-deaths."

"I know," he smiles at you, but it slips away slowly as his eyes land on your lips. "Can I kiss you?"

"Yes." Your reply comes out breathless, as his warm hand cradles your cheek, beckoning you closer to him. His mouth falls perfectly on top of yours, the camera's click a mere echo to you as you lose yourself into the kiss. His cheeks are heated up under your touch, a contented sigh leaving him as your lips meet once again. And again, and again, until you lose count.

You pull apart dazed, and Seungmin places a much sweeter kiss on your forehead. "I really like you. I'm afraid of messing this up."

"You won't. I really like you too."

Seungmin buries his head in the crook of your neck, as you rub your hands softly across his back.

"What is it?" you smile and he shakes his head. "I'm malfunctioning give me a minute."

"What happened to your confident self?" you tease and he chuckles lowly, the sound traveling in your body and carving its melodies into your heart.

"Got tired of pretending."

"You don't have to. I really like you, if I hadn't made it clear."

"Yeah I don't think I will make it through the night," he sighs and you laugh loudly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. It felt comforting to know you were both just as flustered by each other's existence.

You finally get out of the booth to find the picture printed out. You and Seungmin doing a peace sign. You blowing a kiss while Seungmin stares fondly at you. You and Seungmin looking at one another. You and Seungmin lost into the kiss.

"It turned out nice," you hum and he nods, throwing his arm over your shoulder once again. "It really did."

You keep the picture safely tucked in your wallet; only taking it out to frame it in your new house with Seungmin, five years down the road.

#stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #skz x you #skz x reader #kim seungmin x reader #seungmin x reader #seungmin x you #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #seungmin fluff #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz fanfic #kim seungmin imagines #seungmin imagines

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