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mermaidgirl30 · 2 months ago

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✨Birthday Blues✨

Jackson! Joel Miller x bartender fem! reader

A/N: This is a little one-shot I did for @justagalwhowrites Joel Miller’s birthday celebration writing challenge! I had so much fun with this one and love it so much. I hope you enjoy! This one is all in Joel’s POV 🩵

Summary: Joel spends his birthday sulking on the porch, regretting the mistakes of his past. Just when he thinks he’ll spend his birthday alone, you come around and turn his cloudy skies into sunshine.

Rating: 18+ only

Word Count: 3.6k

Tags: Lots of angst, Joel’s POV, Jackson! Joel, losing Ellie, regrets, no use y/n, fluff, yearning, angst/comfort, lots of feelings, Joel’s birthday, age gap (Joel is 54, reader is 30)

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The wooden rocking chair creaks like a rundown, abandoned building, making the old floorboards of the porch groan beneath him with every shaky breath he takes. The acoustic guitar feels like a heavy anchor in his arms as he thinks about those long afternoons when he’d teach Ellie how to play songs of his past. Now, it feels like sawdust under his calloused fingertips. Brittle and old. Just like he is.

September twenty-sixth. The day he can’t fucking stand anymore. The day he was brought into this unapologetic world, not realizing he’d lose himself along the way.

Birthdays were supposed to be spent with loved ones. A celebration of life. But what does he have to celebrate anymore? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. He doesn’t have anyone anymore. He’s just… alone.

Sarah is gone, dead. And Ellie… she wasn’t coming back. Not to his house, his doorstep. No. She’d just stay away like the plague.

Fifty-four-years-old. Just one step closer to being six feet underground. He wishes he was already dead because that’s how he feels. Hollow, broken, lonely.

God, he’s so fucking lonely. Ever since Ellie found out about the fireflies. About what he did…

She hates his guts, hates the way he lied straight to her face for months, hates the reason he did it. She thinks he’s selfish and feels like she was used. But really, he only looks at it one way.

He saved her… And he’d do it a thousand times over if he had the choice. To lose another daughter. Well… he just couldn’t. So, he did the selfish thing and got her out of that hospital. Because if he lost her, he’d surely lose himself.

But he already lost her. Lost himself, too. So why does any of this even matter? It’s useless. He’s useless.

He strums along to the melancholy tune, the frail strings sliding along calloused skin, echoing the quiet melody back into the cool autumn breeze of Jackson. Maybe Ellie would hear it, come running back with tears staining her hazel eyes, apologize for moving out and screaming at him to stay away. But she was the one that stayed away. He never wanted to…

He just strums along and keeps playing. The song that he had written just for her. A song she probably hears in her nightmares now. Maybe it’d bring her back…

He gets lost in the music, greying curls tousled by the wind, his green flannel clinging to his flexed biceps, broken military watch glistening in the dying orange sky. Just when he starts to get drowned out by the screaming voices in his head, a soft, lilty voice pulls him from the darkness.

“Hey.”

His head snaps up and his calloused fingers still from the sudden intrusion. When he sees who it is, he freezes in place. His jaw locked, eyes wide, teeth clenched together. It’s you. The pretty bartender who caught his eye the moment he stepped into Tipsy Bison that first he arrived in Jackson.

There you are. Hair blowing gently in the brisk breeze, doe eyes locked on his, a half-smile curled against your glossy red lips. Jesus. You’re even more beautiful with the orange sun shining down on you, casting halos over the crown of your head.

You’re absolutely breathtaking.

“Haven’t seen you around Tipsy Bison lately. Was wondering where you’ve been.” You look at him intently, questions spiraling in those pretty shades of moonlit eyes.

“Been a little busy, I guess,” he mumbles, keeping his fingers locked tight around the neck of the guitar.

“Got your whiskey waiting for you behind the bar. Been saving it just for you,” you smile sweetly, nearly making him drop to his knees at the sight.

“Thanks, darlin’. You don’t gotta do that, though. Might as well jus’ give it to someone else,” he sighs, eyes dropping to his denim-clad lap. It’s been a while since he went and drowned his sorrows at the bar. He’d rather just do it in the comfort of his own home. A home that was empty now except for him.

“You okay?” you ask, voice leery as your eyebrows thread together in worry.

“’m fine,” he states lowly, eyes hollow and weathered from the pain he wears like weights under his eyes day after day. He’s not fine. He’s far from fine.

When’s the last time someone asked if he was fine? He can’t even remember.

“You don’t sound fine. You look… sad.” Your voice is quiet, subdued, and your eyes look like clouded skies with hurricanes and thunderstorms brewing ominously. You look just as sad as he feels.

You’re so empathetic and tuned into other people’s feelings. He wishes you’d stop that. Stop looking at him like he deserves to not feel like that. But again, It’s hard to look away when a beautiful girl who’s kind, caring, and all around good is standing right in front of him, asking him if he’s alright.

“Reckon I am sad,” he finally mutters, eyes cast down to the fading paint of the wooden boards on the porch. But then he looks up again, and there you are. Beautiful eyes swallowing him whole.

“You want to talk about it?” You lean against the stairwell on the porch, eyes boring into his, arms crossed over your soft blue jacket.

He shakes his head and sighs. “Darlin’, I really don’t think you wanna sit here and listen to an old man talk ‘bout how he’s feelin’.”

You shift your weight and flex your jaw, like he just punched you right in the gut. Fuck. He’s already ruining everything, but what you say next surprises him. “I’ve got time.”

He stares at you a moment, feeling like he just got struck by lightning. You want to stay and listen? You’ve got time?

“Why don’t you take a seat then? I don’t wanna bore you with my problems. And God forbid I waste more of your time,” he murmurs.

You shuffle your way up the steps and sit slowly into the wooden rocking chair next to him. The one he crafted by hand. “Like I said, I’ve got time. I’m listening.” You smile softly at him, and he can’t help but to memorize the outline of your pretty face. Your deep dimples that appear whenever you’re grinning, your light freckles scattered across your nose. The ones you get from sitting out in the sun for too long. You always did love the sunlight. That’s something he picked up on quickly.

He’s watched you for so long from a distance. Only really saying hi if he was stopping by the Tipsy Bison for a drink, maybe waving at you when you walked past him on the street, the casual back and forth glances the two of you would exchange every once in a while.

He’s shy, reserved, an introverted man that likes his space. But he’d have no problem sharing his space with you. Especially when you wear that flowery lavender scent that magnetizes him to you.

After a moment of comfortable silence, he huffs out a heavy breath and begins. “Look, I’m not the best at talkin’. Especially ‘bout how I’m feelin’. But let’s make this short ‘n sweet. I know you got better places to be.”

You lean back into the slant of the chair and rest your arm on the smooth armrest, smiling over at him with your sweet demeanor. “I don’t have anywhere to be, Joel. So take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

He sets his guitar down and leans it against the edge of the porch, carefully scooting back into the worn chair. His thumb taps nervously against the armrest, but you just stay quiet and keep your eyes on him. It helps him breathe a little easier, he thinks.

Taking his time chewing over the words, he finally spills them. “I’ve made some stupid mistakes in the past that I can’t fix. No matter what I do, nothin’ is gonna change what happened.”

You knit your eyebrows together like you’re mulling it over, guessing what he could be talking about. The way you bite your bottom lip and flick your eyes between the open mailbox that says Miller’s and back his way says you do know. “Are you talking about Ellie?” you ask hesitantly.

“How did you know…”

You shrug and push a piece of fallen hair behind the slope of your ear. He wishes he could be the one doing that. “This town is small, Joel. I notice things. It’s not a secret Ellie moved in with Dina.”

He sighs deeply and pushes his fingers back through his slick hair, letting the tousled curls fall back into place. “Guess gossip gets ‘round fast here. Shit.” He lets his head hang low, cursing under his breath when he thinks about the way Ellie stormed off that day. She said she never wanted to speak to him again, and it hurt just as much as Sarah’s death.

Your voice jolts him out of those dark thoughts. “Have you talked to her lately?”

He clenches his jaw and shakes his head defeatedly, tears lining the back of his eyes as pain radiates down his spine. “It’s been over two months. She can’t even stand to look me in the eyes. Fuckin’ hates me, and it’s all my fault.”

And there you go again. Looking at him like a lost puppy with those big doe eyes of yours. You make him so soft. Nobody else can do that. Not since Tess.

“I don’t think she hates you.”

You place your dainty hand on the back of his for a few seconds. Warmth shoots through his skin, races down his bloodstream, nearly chokes him up when you retrieve it and place it back in your lap. In just those few seconds, he felt what it would be like if you were his. But that couldn’t happen. You’re far too young for him, a twenty-four year age gap, fresh out of your twenties. Just now thirty. You’re too pretty, too out of his league, too good.

You’re just too good for him. He’d never deserve a woman like you. Not after everything he’s done.

I don’t think she hates you. The words permeate and sizzle deep in his brain.

“No? Well, sweetheart, I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but that jus’ ain’t the case,” he scoffs, kicking the heel of his worn boot into the porch to get his point across.

You twist your fingers together nervously and look up at him, sparkling eyes shining like starlight. “You know she asks about you, right?”

His mouth gawks open, and he stares wonderstruck at you. “What?” He can’t believe his ears. “She… asks ‘bout me?”

A faint smile lifts over your red lips. “Yeah. She sometimes comes up to me at the bar and asks if you’ve been in recently or if I’ve talked to you lately. She wonders about you, Joel.”

His mouth feels like sandpaper, throat dry and closed up. Maybe the dry air will suffocate him before he gets his hopes up. “Why would she do that…”

You shrug and give him a tight-lipped smile. “Look, I don’t know what happened between you two. And it’s not my business to ask, but I don’t think she’ll stay away forever, Joel. No matter what you did or how bad you think it is, she’ll come around. I know she will.”

His grip tightens against the armrest, nails digging like claws into the rustic wood. “I dunno. She really stuck it to me to leave her alone. Don’t think she wants me ‘round anymore. S’why I stayed away. She’ll never forgive me…” His voice is strained, sad, choked up like he forgot how to breathe. He wishes she’d forgive him. Just one word from her. That’s all he wants.

“Give her time, Joel. I know she will,” you say encouragingly as the wind laces through your silky hair, blowing it just enough for him to see the pretty blush painting your cheeks pink.

You’re so fucking beautiful.

His deep bravado voice drops an octave as he looks up through glassy eyes at the sunshine of a woman sitting before him. “How do you know?” he asks quietly.

You just shrug and smile. “I just know, okay?”

“Mmm.” Sitting back in his rocking chair, he thinks and thinks over your encouraging words, analyzing them like tiny jigsaw pieces. A puzzle that just can’t be put together. You never were the type to linger on sadness. Never seemed to let a rainy day cloud your joy. You were always so carefree, always bringing rainbows after destructive thunderstorms. Always just there.

Slowly, steadily, your fingers curl around his dark green flannel, hooking underneath his bicep. And your eyes, like a warm summer’s day, shine brighter than he’s ever seen them shine before. Just like shimmering sparkles under a starlit sky. Embers and all. “Hope is like a migrating butterfly. It spreads its long wings and takes off in the morning sky. The butterfly may not return to the same place for quite some time, but it always seems to come back to the place it came from. Eventually, it returns home. She’ll come back, Joel. Ellie will come home.”

His eyes cloud over, foggy from the tears building in his dark brown irises. And when one slips free and slides down his cheek, falling like a raindrop and landing on top of your hand, you don’t pull away. You stay. No one else had stayed. But here you are, smiling up at him like he’s the center of your gravity. Like he’s worth something to you.

And then something happens. Something he hasn’t done in so long. He smiles. He smiles at the pretty girl that turned his entire birthday upside down. He smiles because you stayed when no one else did.

You stayed.

“Think you jus’ might’ve struck some hope inside me after that speech, darlin’,” he drawls, brown eyes sparkling into yours.

“Glad I could be of service,” you giggle, your hand brushing over the fabric of his soft flannel. And there you go. Giving him that breathtaking smile. He wishes you’d never leave.

“Look at you. Ruinin’ my plans of sulkin’ for the rest of the evenin’.”

You tilt your head and give him that look. A look like you want to drown out all his sorrows. “Why are you sulking in the first place?”

Sighing loudly, he rakes a hand slowly down his patchy beard and stares out into the void of the green and yellow leaves littering the ground. “‘Cause it’s my birthday. And I got nothin’ to celebrate.”

You sit forward in your seat, drawing your hand back to your lap and staring all wide-eyed at him like you just can’t believe he’d be alone. “It’s your birthday?”

“Mhm,” he hums, feeling the excruciating pain of losing Ellie all over again.

“What are you doing spending it alone, then?” you whisper, heartbreaking eyes tearing his soul in two.

He pushes a hand painfully slow through his windblown curls and takes a deep breath as he thinks of that stupid fight he and Tommy got in. “Me and Tommy had a fight the other day. Reckon he doesn't wanna see me for a few more days after that. Maria’s on Tommy’s side. And Ellie… well. You know. Needless to say, I got no one to celebrate with.”

Silence permeates through the cool air, a deafening noise that rings through his ears. He wishes you’d say something, anything. Break the lull that hangs like a thick, impenetrable wall in the sky. Maybe you too are having second thoughts of being here alone with him in his suffering.

“Can you just… wait here for a few minutes?” you ask, pushing yourself up and hanging over the thresholds of his rickety porch.

He takes a minute to digest your words, thinking you won’t come back. “I suppose. Not goin’ anywhere. Why?” he asks hesitantly, his voice hoarse from the thought of you disappearing too.

“Just wait here. There’s something I forgot,” you plea, your pretty smile telling him you’ll be back.

Before you take a step off the porch, he stops you. “You don’t have to, you know. Come back, I mean.”

You give him a small smile, your hair blowing softly in the wind, tangling around your beautiful face. An angel cast in shadows from the purple and pink painted sunlit skies. “Nobody deserves to be alone on their birthday, Joel. Not even you,” you say in a soft, lilty voice.

You hang there a second, just watching each other. Waiting for something, but he doesn’t know what. And eventually, you take that step off the porch. “Be right back! Just wait here,” you shout, running off into the sunset.

“Alright,” he whispers, watching you go. And then you disappear down the street, practically sprinting back to your house or back to the bar. He doesn’t know. All he knows is that he hopes you come back.

Please, come back.

He fidgets in his chair, trying his best not to pull out the greys from his tousled curls. His chest feels tight, like his button-up shirt is stifling the chilly air all around him. He feels choked up, like something is lodged deep in his throat. Feels like he drank too much whiskey, palms sweating against his jeans.

Lord knows he shouldn’t feel like this. Shouldn’t act like this means anything. But what if it does? What if this is everything he’s waited for? He shouldn’t yearn for you, shouldn’t pine mindlessly for the pretty bartender that’s way too young for him to be falling for. But he fell head over heels the first moment you said hi to him in the bar. Your smooth fingertips brushing against his when you passed him a glass of whiskey. It felt like fire smothering his insides, igniting dangerous feelings that he should’ve never developed in the first place.

He shouldn’t have fallen for you, but he did. And now, he was wrecked.

You come walking back just minutes later, your hands behind your back, something hidden behind your jacket. And when you make your way back up to the porch, you hold out a single muffin with a blue birthday candle placed right in the center.

“What’s this?” he asks, eyes wide as you place it in the palm of his hand.

“A blueberry muffin. I just made them this morning. I hope you like blueberries. It’s not much, but it was made with love and care. So here, something sweet that I hope will brighten up your day.”

He stares in awe at the fluffy muffin, blueberries scattered around the pastry. His eyes mist over, tears licking at the edges, threatening to spill at any moment. He’s not used to this kind of treatment. Someone being nice, thoughtful, acting like he’s special.

He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve you.

“Th—thank you…” he chokes out, holding back tears.

“Happy birthday, Joel,” you smile, lighting the candle and making shadows cast over his palm from the flame. “Make a wish.”

“Think it already came true…” he whispers.

Your eyes meet, tension thick in the air, smiles bouncing off each other's mouths. And when he blows out the flame, you give him a quick, fleeting kiss to the cheek. A kiss that’ll surely never wash off his skin. It’ll stick like permanent ink until his mouth hangs over yours.

“You’re a sweet little thing, ain’t ya?” he asks, his skin tinged red from the blush you’ve painted over his tanned skin.

“Sweeter than a shaker of sugar?” you giggle out. A laugh that sounds like music to his ears.

“Sweeter than sugar, darlin’,” he confirms with a wide grin.

His hand finds yours, lacing his fingers through until your warmth is mixing with his. And as the sun goes down, stars igniting the sky in glitter, you lean your head on his shoulder while you tell him stories of your past. He could listen to you all night. He thinks he could listen to you forever.

You stay there until midnight, fingers entwined together, his hand pushing a strand of hair behind the shell of your ear, memorizing your perfect smile and dazzling eyes. And just before you go, he pulls you in for a kiss. A kiss that could make the entire world stop. Because in that moment, on your soft lips, he thinks he found heaven.

Just as you turn to go, a figure emerges from the dark shadows, leaving him breathless and dumbstruck from the sight. He rubs his eyes, figuring he’s seeing things. Maybe the sleepless nights have finally got to him. But your encouraging smile says it’s real.

“Joel, look. She came back,” you smile, eyes glossy just like his are now.

She hesitates out in the road, jaw locked and eyes watery. Those big hazel eyes haven’t changed a bit.

Ellie. She came back. She’s here…

And just like a butterfly, she spreads her wings and waves, mouthing happy birthday as she lingers by the open mailbox. But that’s enough. That’s one step to fixing a promise he broke.

“Ellie,” he calls, voice cracking as tears drop down his face.

“Joel,” she nods, giving him a half-smile. “Can I… can I come in?” she asks hesitantly.

“‘Course you can, kiddo.”

And it’s then, right at that moment, where everything fell back into place. Right when she stepped back into his life. He has a feeling you had something to do with it, but he’ll thank you for that later. Maybe tomorrow when he stops by your house and asks for some more blueberry muffins.

Today will go down in history as one of his favorites because he got the girl, and Ellie came back home. He got his birthday wish after all.

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #jackson!joel #outbreak!joel #joel the last of us #Joel angst #angst with comfort #joel miller birthday celebration

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shadowtriovibes · 1 year ago

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the train ain't even left the station

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Rating: G

Word Count: 2K

Summary: request: "If you're up for it I'd love to see a small lil fic of Sebastian sending his child off to Hogwarts for the very first time! Like maybe Sebastian is telling them about his adventures with Ominis and MC to make the child less nervous or just letting them know how exciting things will be for them :)"

in the same 'verse as "it's a sign of the times" [AO3]

Sebastian sets her down and rests a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Not too good, alright? It’s worth breaking a few rules every now and then to make a friend, or do what’s right.” “Like how you met Uncle Ominis and he showed you the Undercroft?” she says eagerly. A few feet away, you look up sharply from where you’re hugging Simon goodbye. “Did she just say ‘Undercroft?’” “No,” Sebastian and Anne-Marie say in unison.

September 1, 1910

Suspended overhead in the bustling terminal of King’s Cross Station is a massive clock. Every morning, hundreds of thousands of Londoners – both Muggles and wizards alike, though more often the former – pass underneath the clock as they hurry to catch their trains. Many will casually glance up to ensure they’re still on time as they make their way to work, school, or even the lucky few off on holiday.

As it happens, the first day of September brings countless students to the station on their way to boarding schools all over the U.K., meaning the station stays especially crowded well into the late morning. Worried mums and impatient dads all turn their eyes toward that clock, hoping their sprogs won’t be left on the platform on their very first day of school.

Just as the minute hand slides into place at the very bottom of the clock, a handsome young family emerges from a tiny waiting room positioned at the far end of the terminal.

Hundreds of Muggle men in their funny, black suits and odd little bowler hats have already walked right past the waiting room without sparing it a second glance. In fact, had any of them paused to do so, they would have read a small sign affixed to the door that simply read, “Out of Order.”

But inside that waiting room is a grand fireplace. Not just any fireplace, mind you – one that roared brilliantly twenty-four hours a day, never needs stoking, and, perhaps most importantly, spews out bright green flames.

Sebastian Sallow first exits the waiting room with a precarious cart loaded up with trunks, birdcages, and even some broomsticks of all things. If the Muggles passing by thought anything of the man’s rather odd collection of travel items, no one said a word.

He glances up at the clock and grins.

“Ten thirty,” he says confidently over his shoulder. “See? I told you we wouldn’t be late.”

Beside him is his young wife. Their smallest child, a boy just a few months shy of his fifth birthday, is dozing in her arms. Behind them are their oldest children, a pair of twins, chatting excitedly as they follow their parents toward the barricade between platforms nine and ten.

“Doesn’t it seem a bit redundant to Floo all the way down to London just to put the children on a train back to Scotland?” Sebastian mumbles as your family weaves its way through the flowing crowds.

“Perhaps, but all the children love riding the train,” you remind him fondly. “It’s a Hogwarts tradition, especially for the little ones.”

Having never had the chance to take the Hogwarts Express yourself, you find yourself mildly envious of your eldest children, both of whom will soon be taking their very first journey on the school’s scarlet red steamer train.

“Besides,” you add teasingly. “If I recall, you and Anne met Ominis on your first train ride to Hogwarts, correct?”

“Fine, I suppose you’ve got me there,” Sebastian relents with a soft smile. “I rather think this whole journey will have been worth it if the twins happen to make lifelong friends who save their lives several times over.”

“Do we have to?” your son Simon pipes up, sounding wary. “Because I packed a book I wanted to read.”

Sebastian raises an eyebrow at you and gives you a look that reads, He is your son through and through.

“Trying to prove you’re a Ravenclaw already, are you?” Sebastian teases him. “Just like your mum, you are.”

“I’m going to be a Slytherin like you, Daddy!” your daughter Anne-Marie chimes in proudly. “Even Auntie Anne said so!”

You and Sebastian exchange a fond, albeit exasperated look. Ever since Anne (and eventually Sebastian) had accepted the life-limiting curse placed upon her by Rookwood, she’d instead focused on honing types of magic that don’t drain her of her energy or cause her any more pain. She’d found comfort in Divination and has grown into a very powerful Seer, though she often uses her gift to rile up your children with premonitions of being spoiled rotten on their birthday or soundly beating the other village children in their broomstick races.

However, predicting that your mischievous little girl will end up in Slytherin is a fairly safe bet, you imagine.

“I won’t be the least bit surprised if that’s true,” Sebastian says warmly. “But just know your mother and I will love you all the same no matter which house you end up in.”

“Even Hufflepuff?” Simon asks nervously. “Ernest from the village says Hufflepuffs are boring.”

“Don’t forget your Auntie Poppy is a Hufflepuff,” you tease him. “She’s anything but boring!”

That seems to cheer Simon up a bit, but your sweet, slightly shy boy falls back beside you as you get closer to the platform barricade.

“Alright, my love?” you ask him softly.

He reaches for your free hand and squirms up tightly against your side. “It’s really big…”

You size up the high brick archway before you. To the naked eye, it appears as solid as rock, and despite Sebastian’s reassurances that it’s perfectly safe to run straight at it, you imagine you’d be intimidated as well if you were only eleven years old.

“Don’t worry, darling,” you reassure him. “Your father and I will come with you to the platform, you won’t have to go through alone.”

He nods wordlessly and you squeeze his hand. Ever her father’s girl, Anne-Marie takes Sebastian’s arm and the two of them push the wobbly luggage cart straight at the archway, and in the blink of an eye, they’ve vanished.

“See?” you murmur to Simon. “Not so scary, is it?”

With your youngest still propped against your hip, you and Simon walk toward the barricade at a slower pace. You glance around to make sure no Muggles are watching as you slip through the magical brick facade, and then in the blink of an eye you’re on a pack platform surrounded by wizarding families and children in bright, colorful robes.

“Over here!” Sebastian calls out, and you see that he’s pulled the cart right up to the train.

“Help each other with your trunks, just like that,” Sebastian says as Simon and Anne-Marie first carry the trunk marked with an “S.S.” aboard the carriage and then return for the other marked with an “A.M.S.”

Then they carry in their owls – both young tawny birds raised from hatchlings, a gift from their Aunt Poppy. Finally, they return for their brooms, which Sebastian knows for a fact they ought not to have as first years, but he hopes he can talk Headmaster Weasley into looking the other way once they arrive with the intent of trying out for their house Quidditch teams.

(Raising your children in a wizarding village had been quite an eye-opening experience for you. Your twins have been on broomsticks since they could walk, and over the years their godfather Ominis has insisted on making sure they always have the latest model – one for each, so they won’t squabble over sharing.)

You pull Anne-Marie in for a tight hug once the children finish unloading their cart.

“You’ve got everything you need?” you ask her, pretending your voice hasn’t gone thick with tears. “I’ve packed you both some sweets for the ride, remember to share with your new friends, and write to us as soon as you get back to your dormitories please–”

“Yes, Mum,” she says, somewhat impatiently. “We promise we will.”

Anne-Marie kisses her littlest brother goodbye on his chubby cheek, fondly brushing back some of those messy brown curls your husband had given him.

“Why don’t you let your father give you a hug goodbye, sweetheart?” you gently prompt her.

You expect you’re the only one who’s noticed that Sebastian’s eyes have gotten a bit wet as he’d watched his children load up their belongings on the train. Even though he’d likely try to deny it if you prodded him, he sincerely looks like he could use a hug.

As soon as Anne-Marie approaches him with her arms out, Sebastian scoops her up against his chest like he’d often done when she was much smaller – only now her legs nearly touch the floor, and soon he’ll only be able to sway her like this with her feet firmly planted on the ground.

“Have a great term, sweetheart,” he tells her softly. “I can’t wait to hear all about it – even the parts that’ll exasperate your mother.”

“I promise I’ll be good,” she says ruefully.

Sebastian sets her down and rests a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Not too good, alright? It’s worth breaking a few rules every now and then to make a friend, or do what’s right.”

“Like how you met Uncle Ominis and he showed you the Undercroft?” she says eagerly.

A few feet away, you look up sharply from where you’re hugging Simon goodbye. “Did she just say ‘Undercroft?’”

“No,” Sebastian and Anne-Marie say in unison.

You narrow your eyes suspiciously and decide to leave it be for now, but as soon as you turn away, Sebastian leans down and whispers, “Write to Uncle Ominis and ask him where to find it. It’s a Sallow’s rite of passage.”

“I will,” she says excitedly. “And I’ll bring Simon.”

“Good girl,” he says proudly.

Anne-Marie manages to free Simon from your weepy grasp so that Sebastian can also pull him in for one last hug, reassuring his son he’ll be proud of him no matter which house he eventually calls home. Then the two link arms as they make their way toward the train, climbing up the stairs behind a gaggle of redheaded children (whose surname you could likely guess on the first try).

They settle into a compartment halfway down the carriage. Anne-Marie eagerly presses her face against the glass and makes a silly face at Sebastian, which he delightedly returns. Simon waves goodbye as well and holds up the book he’d packed, showing it off as if to say, “See Mum? We’ll be just fine.”

With your groggy son in your arms and Sebastian’s arm around your shoulders, you watch as the train slowly starts to rumble down the tracks and into the brilliant September sunshine. It’s carrying your children ever closer to your home, and yet further away from you than they’ve ever been.

You hide a few tears against the lapel of Sebastian’s robes; he kindly wipes away the rest with a handkerchief and kisses the redness on your cheeks and nose until you’re smiling once more.

“They’re going to have an incredible year,” he whispers to you. “It’s Hogwarts.”

You simply nod, not trusting yourself to answer without a stray sob slipping out.

Dozens of parents begin to Apparate away from the tracks as soon as the train rounds the corner, but with your youngest, you’ll need to make your way back to the station’s Floo flames to get home safely. This time pushing an empty cart, the three of you slip back through the brick barricade.

“It sure will feel quiet when we get home,” Sebastian says a little sadly.

“We’ve still got the littlest one,” you say softly, cradling your sleeping boy’s cheek as he clings to you through his nap. “He’ll keep us on our toes enough as he gets older.”

“I suppose,” Sebastian sighs, still sounding morose even as he reaches over and gently strokes the back of his fingers down your singleton’s back.

Then he perks up and raises an eyebrow at you. “Or perhaps we could try for a fourth?”

You shoot him a withering glare. “Not on your life, Sebastian Sallow. We’ve just sent the twins off to school, I think that means we should actually get to enjoy some peace and quiet for once.”

(Though when your twins come home for the winter holidays with countless tales of their adventures with new friends and their pockets stuffed full of Zonko’s products, Sebastian gets to be the one to tell them they’ll have a new baby sister the following summer.)

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fic #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow fic #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian x reader #sebastian x mc #anne sallow #ominis gaunt #IT'S AN OFF TO HOGWARTS KIDFIC TADA

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mmhcs · 4 months ago

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The Big Dance (Prom AU)

Summary: Inspired by Chance the Rapper's 2019 album The Big Day (if you've listened to it, please tell me your favorite song off the album in the comments!).

Features: Gender-neutral reader, no mentions of reader's gender

Warnings: Mentions of grief and missing a loved one

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Miles Morales likes to consider himself brave.

Throughout the past four years, he's done a lot of brave things—especially during his career as Spiderman.

For one, he leaped off a skyscraper and into raging traffic. He was half-confident in himself, but he did it anyway.

And then there was that time when he followed Gwen into the portal, helped Pavitr and Gwen save Mumbhattan from collapse.

Oh, and when he challenged Miguel O'Hara about his understanding of the Multiverse. That was scary. But Miles did it and he managed to survive.

Point is yes, Miles Morales considers himself to be a very brave person.

Which is why he is so confused as to why he's struggling to simply even imagine asking you the question that has been lingering on his mind since September.

"Dude," Ganke says, looking away from his phone screen. "Just ask. You've been crushing for so long that these feelings might actually crush you."

Miles knows he's caught now. For the past few months, he's been casually mentioning that he wants to ask you to prom. And for the past few months, Ganke has only listened to Miles' ramblings with nothing more than one-word responses and nods that indicate his support and agreement. It's part of the reason why Miles loves to talk to him especially about this; in infinite universes full of people who demand so much and always want an answer, Ganke is the person that listens and understands.

Until now, though.

Ganke looking up from his screen is very rare. But when it does happen, it means that he's serious and is either about to give Miles some advice or tell him how stupid the decisions he makes are.

"I know, I know," Miles says as Ganke opens his mouth to say something else. He begins to pace back and forth, spouting all the possible things that he feels his best friend is about to say. "Miles, the world's not gonna end if you get rejected! Miles, we're still gonna go to Prom and turn up either way. Don't worry, man!"

"Okay, first of all, I do not sound like that," Ganke crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow. "And secondly, did you just say that we're gonna 'turn up'? I swear, sometimes you act like someone's twenty-six year old uncle,"

Miles pauses his pacing. "What? I think it sounds cool. Is that not what we say today?"

"No, Miles, that's not what we say." Ganke sighs, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "Anyways, look, man, you've been talking about asking (Y/N) to Prom literally all year now. I think you should do it—you two are always together—but I can't make the decision for you. If you want to do it, do it. If you don't, that's sad but Prom is gonna happen either way. All I'm saying is don't let fear stop hold you back."

With that, Ganke turns back to gaming.

Miles stands there, letting his words sink in.

Ganke is right.

If Miles hadn't jumped off of that skyscraper, he probably would have gone home and stuff his suit so far back in his closet that he would have thought it to be an old Halloween costume the next time he pulled it out. If he hadn't stood up to Miguel, then his father would have died. And, if Miles doesn't ask you to the prom, then he could possibly miss out on one of the best nights of his life—and regret it.

"Yeah," Miles says to himself, slowly beginning to nod his head.

He will ask you to Prom. And either way—whether you say yes or not—he'll walk into the venue and end his high school career knowing that he finally did one of things that he's been wanting to do for the past four years.

"Yeah!" Miles yells now, wanting Ganke to hear. "You're right, Ganke! I'm gonna ask (Y/N) to Prom!"

"Knew you'd do the right thing," Ganke's tone is slow and lackadaisical once more and his concentration is still on his video game. But Miles knew that his friend was being sincere.

"I'm gonna go—"

"Score!" Ganke yells as his player in the game dunks a basketball into the hoop.

"Exactly!" Miles is nodding frantically now, hyping himself up. Before he has room to further question himself, he opens the door and says, "See 'ya, Ganke! Don't wait up!"

"Uh-huh."

And with that, the door to their shared dorm closes and Miles sprints through the halls of Visions Academy, with a mission (and no plan).

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"Okay, let's see,"

Miles opens his contact list and begins to scan through the potential givers of advice that he could do.

First up was his dad, of course. That man, as square as he is, was able to pull his mother. And credit has to be given where credit is due, Miles supposes.

Second is Peter B. Parker. Though when he and Miles met, things with MJ were less-than-ideal, Peter managed to change, win her back, and now they have a baby together! You have to possess some pretty good game to pull that off.

Third was...everyone else.

Of course, there are a million and one other people besides his father and Peter B. that Miles can ask for advice but those are the first two options that came to his mind and he's kind of stressed for time.

Smiling, Miles goes to click on the contact icon for his father. He's about to press the 'call' button when he remembers Jefferson's words from the last time that Miles called him at work.

"Miles, son, I love you—I really do. You're my son and I'm always here for you. But please, don't call me at work unless it's an emergency. And, for reference, not knowing where the Cheez-Its are is not an emergency. I'm talking when lives or grades are in danger and your world is ending—that's when you call me!"

Miles makes a face.

Technically this is an emergency. The trajectory of his life could be changed. Who knows? Maybe he and you would get married someday. Maybe you two are destined to be and if he doesn't ask you to Prom then he'll have screwed up the positive trajectory and you two will be cursed to live miserable, loveless lives.

Miles inhales sharply at the thought.

Yeah, he's calling.

"Hello?" Jefferson picks up on the first ring. "Miles, what's up?"

"Hey, Dad," Miles says the words slowly and awkwardly, not knowing how to proceed. "I, uh, need your help with something."

A sigh comes from the other side of the line. "Miles, if you're calling to ask me where the fish crackers are, I swear, it's gonna be me and you boy—"

"No, no, Dad, it's not that!" Miles waves his hands as he speaks as if Jefferson could see him. "It's—I'm planning on asking someone to the prom and I wanted your advice on how I should—"

"Oh, is this your little friend that you met freshman year?" Jefferson asks sounding ten times happier and calmer than a second ago.

"Yeah," Miles nods, glad that his father remembers you but also impatient. "I was just wondering if you could give me some advice considering that you're married and made me—"

"Son, while I would love to give you some advice right now, there's a ten-thirty that we need to take of down here. Can this wait till I get home?"

Miles moves the phone away from him so that his father won't hear the deep sigh threatening to spill out of him.

Ten-thirty. Great. And people are probably going to expect Spiderman to handle that, too.

"Yeah, Dad, it can wait." Miles says, trying his best not to make his disappointment evident. "I hope everyone's okay down there. I'll probably swing by in a second."

"Thanks, son," Jefferson sighs into the phone and Miles doesn't know if it's from stress about the situation or because he too is sharing in his son's frustration of not being able to this needed conversation. "I love you. Be careful."

"Love you too, Dad. See you soon."

Miles hangs up the phone and pushes his hands against his eyes.

That didn't go as planned.

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After swinging by the robbery, Miles decided to head to the Spider Society in order to find Peter.

He expected it to be a challenging task, considering that Peter is always with Mayday and Mayday is always everywhere, but it may be possible that after his failed conversation with his father, today decided to cut him some slack because Miles didn't have to search for long before he found Peter (and Mayday) sitting at a table in the cafeteria, eating lunch.

"Oh, so you want love advice?" Peter asks in between chewing his fries. "I got 'ya, kid. You came to the right place."

Miles sits across the table, his eagerness growing by the second.

"Okay, first thing's first: You gotta be calm. Cool and collected. Which, admittedly, you have a hard time with. So I'd start there."

A burn, but advice nonetheles.

"Okay, well, what about what I'm supposed to say?" Miles urges. "Do you have any tips on that?"

Peter scrunches his face and look up at the ceiling for a moment, thinking. He hums all the while, causing Miles to inch further in his seat until he’s hovering over the edge of the chair.

"No." Peter finally says at last, picking up another French fry. "But I did write a speech for MJ when I first asked her out. I rehearsed everything that I wanted to say in mirror at least fifty times until it stuck. It was absolutely worth it to see the smile on her face when I finally said it in-person. And plus, I still remember each and every word to this day. So maybe you can try something like that."

Miles nods frantically again.

Should he be taking notes? He feels like he should.

"Okay, and what about—"

"Peter!"

Before any of the two could blink, Miguel O'Hara appears behind Peter, his somber aura casting a dark cloud over the previous atmosphere of the conversation.

"Hey, Miguel!" Peter says cheerily. "I'm helping Miles ask his crush out to the prom. Wanna join in? Give some advice to the youngins—"

"Peter, I know ate the empanada in my office from earlier." Miguel tells him so serious and gravely as if Peter had done something far worse.

"Oh, right, that!" Peter perks up and snaps a finger, remembering. "Well, you see, Mayday is teething and we were both hungry so without thinking, I may have—"

"Come with me."

"What?"

"I said come with me."

"Why? Where are you taking me?"

"You're going to get me another empanada."

If it wasn't Miguel speaking, Miles would be on the floor laughing. But because it is Miguel and because Miguel is interrupting a very important moment, Miles only stares as the interaction progresses, with Miguel eventually picking up Peter by the shoulder to get him to stand up. He then ushers Peter to the food line but not before looking back at Miles, a bit apologetically.

"You're smart, you can figure this out, kid," he says. "Do what feels best. Be yourself."

Miles only stares in disbelief as Miguel marches back to his office but not before telling Peter to bring him the empanada and not eat it.

For what feels like the thousandth time today, Miles sighs with disappointment and frustration.

Seriously?

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"Hey, Uncle Aaron,"

Miles sighs as he plops himself in front of the gravestone, gleaming thanks to the recent rainstorm that they had the other day.

"How are you? I'm stressed."

Miles wastes no time explaining his predicament to his uncle. He starts from the very beginning, telling him how he met you freshman year but never got the chance to introduce you two to each other, how your friendship has grown stronger over the years and how and when he realized that he had feelings for you.

"...And I've been trying all day to get some advice but it just seems like everyone's too busy. And, of course, no one's more of a love guru than you were."

Thugh his last sentence is a joke, Miles's face falls.

Were.

"I miss you, man. Some days it's hard to keep going without you. But I do. I wish that you were here so that you could give me some advice. You would've been the first person that I went to..."

Miles inhales deeply.

No, he's not going to cry—this isn't meant to be a sad visit. He's just here to get some things off his chest.

"But anyway, I got into Princeton!" A proud smile creeps up onto his face. "Yep! Gonna be majoring in Physics! Dad and Mami have warmed up to the idea of me going away and now Mami can't stop telling everyone about her son, the Ivy League scholar!"

Miles continues on, talking and updating his uncle about his life until he notices the sun beginning to set. Then, reluctantly, he days up his uncle's gravestone one last time before heading home.

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Hey son gonna be home late 4 dinner.

Still gonna talk tho.

Miles groans as he rereads his dad's texts over and over again.

At this rate, his promposal is going to be an absolute failure.

Miles flops back onto his bed with a defeated sigh.

"Miles?" Rio knocks on his door gently even though there is already a wide enough crack for it to be considered open. "¿Qué te paso?"

"It's nothing, Mami," Miles mumbles, not even bothering to hide the sadness in his voice. "It's just been a rough day."

"A rough day?" Rio frowns. She hates seeing her son like this. Despite all of Miles' moments, he's a good kid. And he's her kid nonetheless. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Miles nods and in an instant Rio is at his side. She sits down on his bed (which is made for once) and begins to gently card her finger through his hair.

"Ay, when was the last time you got a haircut?" Rio asks, trying to lighten the mood. "Are you trying to copy your multidimensional twin or something? You can't show up to the prom looking like this!"

Though it's a joke, the comment elicits another groan from Miles.

"Is this what this whole mood is about?" Rio asks, gesticulating to her son's defeated position. "The prom?"

Miles only nods in confirmation, the action rustling his bedsheets.

"Oh, Miles," Rio coos, bringing her son's head into her lap, "why didn't you say anything, mijo?"

"I did say something!"

Miles's hands shoot up in the air and one narrowly misses Rio's chin. She gives him an icy glares to which he apologizes.

"Sorry—I'm sorry," Miles sighs. He didn't mean to; it's just been a really frustrating day. Feeling like nobody has time for him and that he no one's priority.

"It's just that this is important, you know?" He huffs, running his own hand through his. "And it feels like no one around me cares! And I know it's not true—everyone's just really busy—but I need someone to help me. Someone to be my own Spiderman for a bit. Just someone to care."

Rio looks down at her son fondly. Her heart feels as though it's about to split in two. She wants to cry because her baby boy has grown into a young man with such an ability to articulate his feelings. But she also wants to cry because her baby feels alone—and he never should. Not while she's around.

"Oh, Miles, I'm so sorry about your day and that no one was around to help you, mijo," Now Rio's fingertips begin to ghost across his right temple. "But I'm here now and I care so please, tell me what's on your mind."

And so he does.

For the umpteenth time today, Miles starts from the very beginning and talks about you, how you guys met, how he realized that he has feelings for you and, of course, how he's been wanting to ask you to prom for a while now.

All the while, Rio listens and nods intently, smiles when it's appropriate, and tries to keep herself from happy crying at the young man before her.

"I think that it’s beautiful that you're putting so much thought into this proposal, Miles," Rio begins when it's finally her turn to speak. "But the truth is that no one can tell you how to plan the perfect promposal. Not me, not your father, not Peter nor Miguel. Only you know the person so deeply and intimately. Everything that we tell you to do should be taken into consideration, not as a fact. Only you know how this person so deeply and how your relationship functions. Use that to your advantage, mijo. You have a creative mind; let it shine and take the lead. Because you can say the same standard 'te amo' like everyone else does but it's how you say it that counts."

There's a beat of silence as Miles processes everything that his mother just said.

And then it clicks.

He knows what he's going to.

"Yeah," he says once more to himself. "Yeah, I know what I'm gonna do!"

Rio smiles. "You got it, mijo?"

"Yeah, yeah, I do, Mami!" Miles exclaims with a little laugh. He jumps up and wraps his arms around his mother for a tight hug. "Thank you, Mami! ¡Te amo mucho! You always know what to say!"

"My pleasure, mijo,"

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A week later, you and Miles are walking through the empty hallways of Vision's Academy hand-in-hand.

It's something that you two don't normally do but with this scavenger hunt that Miles has planned for you, you think it best that he guides you before you end up somewhere that you're not supposed to be.

"Okay, and now we reach the cafeteria," Miles says, gesturing to the grand, dimly-lit space. "A hint for your next clue: it involves us all those years ago on that fateful day that you discovered that I could turn invisible."

To anyone else, this would be a puzzling riddle. But you've grown to know Miles—all parts and aspects of him—throughout these four years. And so, the memory comes easily to you.

"Oh my gosh!" you scream, remembering. "It was that day when you kept hyperventilating after that Chem test!"

"Ding-ding-ding! Correct!"

You laugh looking back at it now. Miles was so nervous because was convinced that he had gotten a B on that test—the last one of the quarter—and was worried that he would end up with a B+ on his report card—a grade unacceptable for both Princeton and his parents who expected him to maintain that A+ that he had recieved last report card. The poor boy kept turning invisible every other breath. You couldn't believe it. So, once he was calm, you asked him to sneak you a few extra chicken tenders from the cafeteria line just to male sure that you weren't going crazy.

You look around the cafeteria for a moment before spotting something on the lunch line. You rush over to it, only to be greeted with steaming hot chicken tenders (how? You don't know.) and a note in the center.

"Chicken tenders almost as hot as you," you read, your words faltering a bit towards the end.

You had your suspicions about this scavenger hunt of Miles' but you never thought that there was a possibility of them being true.

Was this it? Were you finally going to hear him say that he liked you?

"And now on to the art room!" Miles urges. You must give him a look because he adds, "You can bring the chicken tenders too, don't worry."

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Maybe the walk to the art room is longer than you thought or maybe you're just hungrier than you thought because by the time the two of you make it into the hallway containing the classroom, you're down to two chicken tenders.

"Okay, who wants to play Guess What’s Behind This Door?" Miles asks nervously. He tries to play it off as much as he can but he can't help it—not when you two have gotten to this point in your adventure.

"Is it a snake?" you ask dumbly, taking another bite of your second-to-lst chicken tender. You have a feeling about what’s behind the door but you don't want to get your hopes up.

"No."

"A box full of puppies and kittens?"

"Nope."

"More food?"

"Nuh-uh."

Okay, well that was kind of disappointing.

You take a moment, feigning thinking.

"Is it...a promposal?"

At this, Miles' eyes widen. He swears, for a moment his heart stops. And then it starts beating again—and rapidly so—when he sees the shy yet hopeful look on your face.

"It was supposed to be a surprise," he says, opening the door.

To his luck, the promposal still does surprise you. So much so that your last chicken falls out of your mouth as your jaw drops from shock.

Displayed all around the room are photos, paintings, paintings, and props—memories of your friendship. And in the center of the room is a painting that reads Will You Go To Prom With Me?

You've always known that Miles enjoys art, so much so to the point that he could create his own museum. But you never imagined that he feels that same level of passion with you.

"Everything in here is a collection of you and me and the memories that we've made together," Miles begins. He's speaking slowly and putting extra emphasis on properly annunciating his words—both for his and your sake.

"Everything on this scavenger hunt was, really. Because every time when I'm with you, that's what we do: we make unforgettable memories to look back on and I—" Miles pauses now, searching for words. He'd rehearsed this speech a thousand times and yet he still managed to veer off course. Dammit.

You look at Miles intently but you give him time to collect his thoughts. It’s not easy to do this, as much as you would like to think so. If it was then you would have told him how you feel a long time ago.

"What I'm trying to say is that I like you!" Miles finally says. "I think that you're amazing and wonderful and I know that this may seem sudden but I know—I've known that you were the person that I wanted to be my date—and date, if you're up for all of this—for a long time. So, this is all a really long way to say will you go to Prom with me?"

"Yes!"

You barely let Miles finish his last word before you say it. You spin around, taking everything in, stopping when you reach Miles.

Both of you stare at each other as if it's the first time you're meeting.

And, in some regard, it is. This is the first time that you two are exposing such a raw, vulnerable side to each other and you both can't help but stare in awe at the sheer beauty radiating off of the other person at this moment.

"Hey." Miles says sheepishly.

"Hi." You return the awkward tone.

Before you can think, you close the distance between the two of you, pressing your lips to his. Shocked at first, Miles quickly melts into it, his bodying visibly relaxing as his hands move down to your waist, pulling you closer.

The two of you stay like that for a while and when you both pull back, you're both a bit red and nervous to look into each other's once more.

Best promposal ever.

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A/N: Okay, that's enough writing for one year. See y'all in 2025! (H/jk)

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babydollmarauders · 9 months ago

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THE START OF IT ALL — JACK HUGHES

part of the el!hughes au

summary: how jack and y/n (lovie) met, through the grace of quinn

warnings: bad parental guidance, small mention of body insecurities and anxiety. (4k words)

notes: a well overdue fic! i’m so thankful to you guys for being patient with me as i navigate writing in my hectic new reality of college and working full time! <3

goosebumps trail my exposed skin, the chilling air of the practice rink nipping from my lack of sweater.

the sound of skates scraping against the ice rings in my ears, mingling with the bangs of sticks hitting against pucks and creating an oddly peaceful soundtrack for my meditation.

my feet are killing me.

capezio tights stretch across my legs, making them shimmer in the fluorescent lighting of the rink, and a black leotard hugs my body, neatly pulled together with a pink wrap skirt. ballet flats adorn my feet, my pointe shoes laying idly in my dance bag in the seat beside me as i watch the national development team practice.

it feels like so long ago that i came and watched my first practice; the one fateful day of september seeming light years away now. but in reality it was only a mere couple months ago that a group of us dance girls had decided to walk down the block and watch a practice.

Natalie and Thalia wanted to check out the guys, and me? i just didn’t want to be left out. but then watching one practice turned into watching two, and then three, and before i knew it, it became a regular occurrence. it didn’t matter anymore that the girls lost interest and no longer tagged along, in fact, i enjoyed the time spent alone.

this became my safe haven; no dance partners to critique my fouettés, no parents whispering in my ear that i’m not doing well enough in school or that i’m not practicing my dances enough or that i need to go on a diet because i don’t look as pristine or perfect in my leotard as the other girls do. just me and the sounds of several sixteen year old boys whipping pucks into the net and gliding around the ice.

as the piercing sound of a whistle slices through my peace, i know that afternoon practice has ended, my serene escape over until tomorrow.

as the team shuffles off the ice and back into their locker room, i revel in the silence for a little while, taking the moment to change from my flats to sneakers; the twenty-seven minute trek home will be a lot more terrain than the five minute one from the ballet studio to the rink, and a lot harder on my shoes.

pushing up from my seat, my hand wraps around the strap of my dance bag, slinging it over my shoulder as i slide through the rows of seats. my feet squeak against the cement steps, two at a time until i reach the exit floor.

pushing through the glass doors, i slip out into the crisp November air, ducking my head as i walk past a group of players that stand around their cars after practice, hair damp from post-practice showers. a few more players can be heard slamming the doors of their cars, obviously in much more of a rush to get home than their teammates.

it only takes five minutes of walking for me to become paranoid, a black GMC following behind me with every turn i make. my heart stutters with anxiety, my pace speeding as i attempt to shake the fear that rakes my body.

but as i speed up, so does the car, until finally the drivers window rolls down as they drive at a pace similar to my walking speed. inside is a teenage boy, a familiar face that i know i’ve seen on the ice of the usntdp rink.

“hey, you watch our practices.” it’s a statement, he knows i do, i assume a lot of them know. it’s kind of hard to miss the thirteen year old girl sitting alone in the stands every afternoon.

i stop, turning towards the boy as i nod in response.

“i always see you walking home, do you want a ride?” he asks before his eyes widen, stumbling over words, “wait, i just realized how that sounds— i’m not trying to kidnap you, i swear! you just live a few houses down, i figured i’d save you some time.”

i’m aware that my answer might be stupid and not very well thought out, but in this moment, i truthfully don’t care— the boy seems trustworthy, an odd sense of warmth radiating from him, so i nod again.

“yes, please.”

his head nods in the direction of the passengers side, unlocking the doors as he tells me to hop in; and i do so, slipping into the seat and hastily pulling the seatbelt across my body.

“i’m Quinn,” he introduces, a hand held out in front of me, “i play for the national development team.”

“i know,” i hum out, shaking his hand, “i’m y/n.”

Quinn steps lightly on the gas pedal, continuing the route to our apparently shared street.

“so, why do you come to the practices?” he questions, and though the question itself sounds a little judgy, his tone is soft, “at first i assumed maybe you were a sister, but then i’ve never seen you with any of the guys.”

i watch as the trees pass by in a blur through the window, my hands fidgeting with the strap of my dance bag that sits on the floor between my feet.

“it’s peaceful.” i confess, making him throw me a lopsided smirk mixed in with furrowed brows, “i don’t really get along with any of the girls in my ballet class, and my parents don’t get home from work until dinner time. its nice to just kill some time and listen to the sounds of the skates on the ice and the pucks hitting the net.”

Quinn hums as though he understands me, and for once, it actually feels like someone does. we’ve barely spoken to each other, we’ve only just met, but for once in my life, i feel as though someone isn’t judging me or about to tell me what i could do better.

“i get it.” he shrugs, “so, have you been a hockey fan, or are you just a little oddball and like the sounds?”

a small smile spreads across my lips, a laugh escaping at his joke, and Quinn garners an appearance of pride at making me laugh. his chest puffs out just slightly, his posture straightening and a smirk resting on his lips.

“i am,” i nod, before i realize i should clarify, “a hockey fan. i’m a hockey fan.”

it’s Quinn’s turn to chuckle now, eyes flickering towards me before they settle back on the road ahead, “but i get the feeling you are a little oddball, aren’t you? or at least maybe some other people think so.”

the vibe in the car turns stony, my body tensing.

“yeah,” i drop my eyes to my hands, finding great interest in the dirtied white color of my bag strap, “i prefer to keep to myself, you know? it feels like all everyone tells me is how i can do better. how i can perfect my dances, or how i’m so pretty but i would be so much prettier if i did this or that, or how despite straight A’s and a 4.0 GPA, there’s more i could do to get into a stupid ivy league that i don’t wanna go to-”

i suck in a deep breath, cutting off my rambles prematurely, because here i was dumping all my insecurities and problems on a boy three years my senior and who i’ve only just met.

“i’m sorry, those are some shitty people.” Quinn frowns, a hand tightening just slightly around the steering wheel.

“that was all my parents.”

“fuck,” he curses, glancing over at me quickly with wide eyes as we turn onto our street, “your parents said all that?”

i shrug, nodding my head, “it’s what a parent does, right? they criticize you to be the best you can be. the girls in dance aren’t much better.”

Quinn parks the car in front of what i assume is his billet house, turning in his seat to face me properly.

“a parent should guide you to be the best version of yourself, not criticize you until you become the person they want you to be.”

his words repeat in my head, my brows threading together as i hum in acknowledgment of his statement.

rather than truly respond, i unbuckle my seatbelt, pushing the door open as i gather my bag from the floor.

“thank you for the ride, Quinn. sorry for dumping all my problems on you.”

i don’t give him a chance to respond, hopping out of the car and slinging my bag over my shoulder as i shut the door.

i’m only one house away when i hear him yell, “hey! same time tomorrow?”

i spin around confused, finding him standing next to the car with his hockey bag slung over his own shoulder.

“what?”

“same time tomorrow! i’ll drive you home!” he smiles gently, before giving a small wave and heading into his house.

what the fuck just happened? did i just make a new friend?

***

my entire body aches, my toes in particular feeling incredibly sore due to the bruised skin that covers them, but i push through.

only a week until the spring performance and i still don’t feel that my solo is where it should be. my pointe shoes make my toes prick with pain, but over time, the pain turns into a stinging numbness.

my reflection stares back at me in the mirrored wall, a frustrated puff of air passing through my parted lips. my tutu caresses my arms as i let them fall to my sides, lowering back down to flat feet.

in the mostly empty building, i can hear the ring of the bell above the front entrance followed by muffled conversation approaching the private room i currently occupy.

i walk over to the chair that holds my things, my brows furrowing as i check the time. i still have five minutes until Quinn is due to pick me up. that gives me more than enough time to run through the solo once more.

walking over to the barre, i flex my feet a couple of times. but before i can begin to dance, i’m bombarded by the sound of conversation.

“what are we doing at a dance studio?” a male voice echoes through the building, grumbling in obvious annoyance.

“i told you, i have to pick up a friend.” i recognize that voice immediately; Quinn. my close friend of four months.

“a girlfriend?” i scrunch my nose at the other person’s question, part of me wanting to shout out that i can hear them.

“a girl that’s a friend, yeah. more like a little sister.” a heated blush rises to my cheeks, a smile spreading across my lips.

he thinks of me as a sister.

a knock sounds against the door of the private room before it creaks open, Quinn’s head popping in.

“hey, twinkle toes, you ready to go?” he smiles warmly, his eyes sparking with care as he eyes my outfit, “nice tutu.”

“you’ve seen this one before.” i giggle but it quickly dies off into a sigh as i think about how much work i still need to put into the dance, “give me one sec?”

“yeah, go for it.” he nods, “mind if i come in?”

“come on in.”

closing my eyes, i take a deep breath, tuning out the sounds of Quinn and his company entering the room. breathing out, i enter fifth position.

plié, passé relevé, back down to fifth position, my eyes open as i run through the rest of the dance, focusing on my core and watching myself in the mirror.

my sight flickers to Quinn, a smile on his face as he watches me dance, and for a moment i feel so proud of myself. but then my sights set on the boy beside him.

fluffy dirty blond hair mussed atop of his head, beauty marks dotting across his soft features, and beautiful blue eyes that watch my figure. he’s the prettiest boy i’ve ever seen.

i stutter in my steps, suddenly nervous and self conscious in front of the unfamiliar face, and before i can fix my form, i buckle under his stare; missing a step before my ankle twists, a sharp tinge of pain shooting up my leg as i stumble back down onto flat feet.

“shit.” i whimper, my facial features contorting in pain as i flex my ankle, gauging my pain level.

“are you okay?” Quinn stammers, eyes wide in concern, “what happened?”

“i’m fine,” i sigh. walking over to my bag, i pull my flats out and sit on the chair, beginning the process of taking off my pointe shoes, “i just got a little distracted.”

“distracted?” Quinn repeats, confusion plaguing his features before he looks back at his company, his lips quirking into a smirk, “y/n, this is my brother, Jack. Jack, this is y/n.”

my face heats under the heavy gaze of Jack’s blue eyes, his shoes tapping against the floor as he steps forward, extending a hand in front of me.

“hi.”

he smiles and it’s as though the whole world slowed, as though the universe was saying ‘look. look at him. perfection personified amidst your very eyes.’

“hi, it’s nice to meet you.” my hand slips into his, shaking lightly before i pull away, distracting myself by continuing my endeavors of changing my shoes.

Quinn and Jack share whispered huffs, mumbled words between the two of them as i slip my flats on, shoving my pointe shoes in my bag.

i stand now, removing my tutu and holding it carefully, leaving me in only my tights and leotard.

“i’m ready.” they both look over at me, Quinn nodding in acknowledgment before he turns and wordlessly begins walking out, leaving his brother and i to fall in line behind him.

“so how did you guys meet?” Jack asks me as we step out of the private room, his voice hushed.

“i go watch the development program practices a lot, Quinn saw me walking home and offered me a ride.”

“you like hockey?” he raises a brow as he looks over at me with a bright grin.

“mhm.” i hum, “i’ve watched it my whole life. my dad is a red wings fan.”

we exit the building, following Quinn to his car.

“good team.” Jack replies, his voice far off, eyes staring ahead as though deep in thought; and i assume that’s the end of our conversation until he speaks again, “i liked your dance. pretty.”

blood rushes to the apples of my cheeks and i bite my lip to hold back a smile, “thanks.”

i pull open the car door as Quinn unlocks it, climbing into the back seat so that Jack can sit up front with his brother. but i’m surprised when he joins me in the back, earning a look from Quinn.

it’s silent as Quinn starts the car, pulling out from the parking space and out of the lot.

“so,” Jack starts, gaining my attention once more, “you dance and you like hockey, what else should i know about you?”

i ponder the question for a moment before i look over at him, “there’s not much to tell. i’m an only child, i like taylor swift, i don’t know.”

“well what do you and your friends do for fun? do you wanna be a ballerina when you graduate?” he turns towards me, letting me know i have his full attention.

“i only have one friend.” i shrug, “Quinn. and he and i usually just hang out at his billet house or at the rink. he’s been teaching me to skate.

“as for the ballerina thing, i don’t think so. i love dancing, but i don’t want it to be my life.”

Jack hums, nodding his head in thought before his lips part again, “give me your phone.”

“what?”

“gimme your phone.” he makes a grabby hand, waiting for me to pull my phone out of my bag before i set it in his palm.

he turns it on, getting in easily with my lack of password, and quickly types something before handing it back.

“two.” he smirks.

“what?” my face punches in confusion.

“you have two friends now.” i look down at my phone, a new contact open with his number inputted in.

“okay.” i smile, not quite sure how to react to this gorgeous boy wanting to be my friend. it’s a new feeling that i’m not quite used to.

the car is silent as we pull onto Quinn and i’s street, but if i remember correctly, he’s staying at a hotel with his dad for the next couple of days.

“hey, twinkle toes.” Quinn calls out from the drivers seat.

“yeah?”

“you still coming to the game tomorrow?”

“i plan on it.” i tell him.

“alright, you’ll be sitting with my dad and Jack.” he informs me, “Jack, you good to wait for her at the entrance to take her to your guys’ seats?”

Quinn stops in front of my house, unlocking the doors.

“yeah, sure.” Jack confirms, watching as i exit the vehicle, “i’ll see you tomorrow.”

“see you tomorrow!” i smile. i shut the door, Quinn’s window rolling down as he calls out a goodbye, “bye, snuggles!”

i can hear Jack snort out a laugh as i walk away, a wheezed echo of “snuggles?!” coming from the back seat.

“shut it, Rowdy.” Quinn grumbles, rolling up his window before peeling away.

***

thirty minutes.

i spent thirty long minutes picking out my outfit for tonight. when i originally said i would go to Quinn’s game, i had just planned on wearing a USA Hockey sweatshirt and some leggings; but now that i’ve met Jack and know i’ll be with him? i refused to dress down so much.

descending the stairs of my house, my mother peers over the back of the couch, her hair in a tight bun and her laptop in her lap, slaving over a law case with files piled beside her.

“what are you so dressed up for?” she inquires, her glasses sitting low on the bridge of her nose.

“i have Quinn’s game tonight.” i walk around the couch to stand in front of her, my nikes shuffling along the area rug.

“i’m so proud of you.” she smiles, and for a moment i’m left to ponder where this could go, “you’re finally taking a care to how you present yourself.”

and there it is; the subtle jab. it can never be a real compliment, there’s always gonna be the underlying insult muddled in somewhere.

“are you going with friends?” she questions, her focus falling back on the open computer screen in her lap.

“kinda?” i’m not quite sure what to call Jack, he said we’re friends, but we also don’t actually know each other.

“kinda?” my mother echoes in wonder, looking back up at me as i wander into the kitchen to retrieve a water bottle.

“yeah. i met Quinn’s brother yesterday, the one a year older than me?” i start, “i’m sitting with him and their dad at the game. i don’t think i would call us friends really, but we exchanged numbers yesterday.”

my mother sighs, pushing her glasses atop of her head in order to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“does this boy play that brutal game too?”

my mind wanders back to what Quinn has told me about his family in the past, “yeah, they all do.”

“oh y/n, don’t get too wrapped up in these boys. they won’t do you any good.” she tells me, “find a nice boy, one who wants to do something substantial with his life.”

“we’re just friends, mom. it’s not like anything is gonna happen.”

“but you want it to.” she narrows her eyes, waving her finger towards me, “i can see it. mother’s intuition. don’t fall for this boy.”

who is she to tell me who i should fall for? she and dad barely even speak anymore. i wouldn’t even call what they have, love.

“it’s just going to a hockey game, mom. their dad is gonna be there too.” i sigh, “i gotta go.”

“how are you getting there?” she asks, “are they picking you up?”

“no,” i shake my head, “dad said he would drive me.”

her brows furrow, “your dad had to go into work.”

i gape at her, a blank look covering my face. i shouldn’t be shocked, this happens all the time. it’s the same reason i walk home from ballet, or why i’ve come to rely on Quinn to pick me up for school. but somehow, it still always feels like a cut to the heart.

my mother sighs, shutting her laptop and rising from her seat, “i’ll drive you. come on.”

“you would think he would try and spend more time with you. but it’s always work with that one. work then family.” she mutters, ranting to herself as she slips her shoes on, grabbing her keys from the dish on the entryway table.

i fall in line slowly behind her, dreading this car ride already; because it appears it’s one of those days. the days where my mother will do anything to appear better in my eyes than my father. including talking down about him to me in hopes to make me more upset with him than i already am.

and i was correct. the entire drive was spent with me sitting silently in the passengers seat, watching my surroundings pass by as she went on and on about all of the things my father has done wrong in the past week.

i couldn’t get out of the car quick enough, nearly breaking the car door off its hinges as i throw it open. calling out a goodbye to my mother and assuring her that yes, Quinn would be driving me home afterwards, i slam the door shut and jog towards the arena entrance.

slowing down upon the sight of the glass doors, my body lights up, butterflies flutter in my stomach as i spot Jack in the lobby just through the doors. he wears jeans and a gray hoodie, converse tied to his feet, and he looks down at his phone, glancing up every few moments.

when his eyes land on me through the clear glass, a friendly smile spreads across his lips, slipping his phone into his pocket and taking a few steps towards the door, propping it open for me.

“hey!” he chimes as i reach the entrance, “puck should drop soon! i was gonna text you to check in but, i didn’t wanna push anything.”

my heart rate picks up, my cheeks burning at the idea of seeing Jack’s name pop up on my phone, “you can text me any time.”

Jack’s smile drops into a smirk, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief and amusement, “i’ll keep that in mind.”

“our seats are this way.” Jack begins pushing through the lingering people in our way, many not paying any attention to the people in their way as they try and navigate towards their own seats.

for a second, i’m pushed away from him, worry flooding my mind as i think of how i’ll try and find our seats if i lose him. but then he looks back at me, his eyes finding mine, and he must see the anxiety that fills my body, because it’s not a moment later that his hand finds mine.

his hand slips into mine, interlacing our fingers as he gently tugs me closer to him as he walks, a reassuring quirk to his lips, “i got you. it’s okay.”

and somehow, all my worry melts away, just like that. for some reason, i feel like he’s telling the truth; it’ll be okay.

there’s something about Jack’s presence that calms my nerves. that makes me feel okay. and it sounds utterly insane because i’ve known him for all of twenty-four hours, but i feel like i can truly trust him.

as we reach our seats, Jack sitting next to his dad with me beside him, he still never lets go of me. instead, he rests our hands on his thigh, glancing over at me to gauge my reaction before he speaks.

“you okay?”

and finally, for once, i’m telling the truth, “yeah.”

#el!hughes au #jack hughes #jack hughes fic #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nj devils #faithlynn’s writings <3

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miupow · 2 months ago

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𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑷𝒀 𝑩𝑰𝑹𝑻𝑯𝑫𝑨𝒀 , 𝑳𝑰𝑻𝑻𝑳𝑬 𝑭𝑶𝑿

[ ☁️ ] ── choi yeonjun x gn!reader ⸝⸝ hybrid au , fox hybrid!yeonjun , hybrid rescue mentions , owner!reader , tooth rotting fluff , kind of sad if you think about it too hard , cuddling , forehead kisses , could be read as platonic

a/n ⸝⸝ happy yeonjun day !! this was inspired by my rescue fox hybrid yeonjun hcs that i have with @mapofthemazeinthemirror ... just had to write something small and cute <3 hope you all enjoy!

♡ ⸝⸝ ꒰ 1. 0k words ꒱ ‧ ꒰ m. list ꒱ ‧ ꒰ reblogs and feedback appreciated! ꒱

yeonjun had never had a birthday before. he wasn’t even completely sure what a “birthday” even was— when you had asked him a few days after bringing him home when he was born, he shrugged his shoulders and told you that truthfully, he wasn’t sure. it didn’t matter much to him, anyway. he had other, more important things to worry about when he was fighting for survival every day in the woods. he didn’t understand why his answer seemed to upset you so much.

unbeknownst to him, you reached back out to the rescue that was his home for so many years, hoping that they had the answer you were looking for. they told you that they couldn’t be one hundred percent sure, since yeonjun was born in the wild, but they had calculated an approximate birth date based on his time in the shelter…

The thirteenth of September, 1999. just a mere four months after you had first brought him home.

You threw yourself into planning a surprise party, just for the two of you; you stocked up on all of yeonjun’s favorite foods, hiding them away from his prying eyes and keen nose. you ordered decorations for the apartment in all of his favorite colors, down to the wrapping paper you wrapped all of his gifts in. you worked tirelessly the night before while the fox hybrid slept, set everything up so perfectly for when your sweet boy wakes up…

you called out of work so you could stay with him all day, let him hog up every bit of attention he wanted from you. he hated when you had to leave him, and you felt terrible every time, but you had to go and make money so you could afford to take care of the both of you… yeonjun understood the best he could, but he still whined and pouted every morning while you got ready for your shift. you wanted to make sure his first ever birthday was as perfect for him as you could possibly make it.

“happy birthday, jjunie!” you shout when the hybrid steps out of his bedroom the next morning, arms out to hug him under all of the banners and ribbon. behind you his gifts were stacked high, nearly as tall as you were, and you began to worry if you had taken it a little too far as yeonjun stood still and his wide bewildered eyes darted around the living room to take everything in.

“what?” he asks, cocking his head like a puppy.

“it’s your birthday today!” you replied with a giggle, stepping forward to hug him yourself— yeonjun didn’t hug back, too distracted by all of the glittery decorations and presents, the food on the kitchen table. he was still getting used to your sometimes smothering affection anyway, so you didn’t let it bother you.

“it is?”

“yes, silly!” you pull back from the hug to study yeonjun’s face; his fluffy fox ears stood straight up amongst his messy bed hair, twitching in curiosity, his pouty lips open in surprise showing off his little bunny-like teeth. you resist the urge to coo at him, knowing how much he hates it when you baby him. “you didn’t know your birthday, so i asked the shelter, i hope that’s okay…”

after a few more moments of looking around in shock, yeonjun nodded slowly, his puffy tail swishing behind him. “what does my birthday mean?”

“it means you’re a year older than you were.” you giggle. “you were twenty four yesterday, now you’re twenty five today. do you feel any different?”

“not really. is all that food for me?”

yeonjun still didn’t seem to understand birthdays that much, even as you tried to explain it to him as he shoveled food into his mouth. you couldn’t blame him one bit, growing up feral and away from humans, never catching on to the human-centric customs that surround him now as an adult. it was one of the things that you loved about him the most, if you were being honest with yourself— his childlike curiosity about everything around him, the sincereness in his ignorance, the feral in him waning more and more every day as the two of you grow closer. you don’t want him to lose that part of himself, don’t want to erase what made him unique.

but as you watched him tear into his presents, the first presents he’s ever received in his life, you couldn’t help but grow excited to share with him even more of the human world. you kept the gifts simple, just clothes you thought he’d like and toys to keep his hybrid side happy and entertained; he thanks you after every one, his sweet toothy smile growing larger until it lights up his entire face. it dug deep into your heart, haunted you as you finished up the early celebrations and went on with your day. you wanted nothing more than to see yeonjun smile like that every day, especially after how much hardship he had been through before he came into your life… your sweet fox deserved the entire world, and you would do anything you could to make sure he had anything he could possibly want and more.

“thank you,” he whispers to you later that night, cuddled with you in bed because you couldn’t refuse his pouting. “i like birthdays. do i get another one next year?”

you can’t get a good look at his face because he has it pressed up against your chest, his pointy ears soft against your skin as they listen to your heartbeat. you tighten your arms around his shoulders, lean into his touch as he purrs quietly to himself, a deep rumble in his chest. he finds it embarrassing when he purrs; you’re pretty sure it’s your favorite sound.

“you’ll get one every year, jjun.” you answer, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “and there’s more than just birthdays. just wait until i tell you about christmas.”

#txt x reader #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun soft thoughts #yeonjun soft hours #yeonjun fluff #txt fluff #txt soft thoughts #txt soft hours #txt fic #yeonjun fic #txt fanfic

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folkloresthings · 8 months ago

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❛ HEAVEN KNOWS ❜ ❨ lando norris x singer!reader ❩

📻 track two: wendy.

in which the they were the perfect couple, until they weren’t. or in which we take a look back into what made heaven itself fall apart.

. . . SEPTEMBER 2023

INSTAGRAM. september twenty—seventh.

liked by niallhoran, lizzymcalpine and 761,320 others

yourusername first song from the good witch! i wrote wendy after a day huddled under my duvet rewatching every adaptation of peter pan that exists. it’s all about falling for lost boys and trying your best to see the best in them even though your heart tells you better. it’s about not making sacrifices even though you want to, learning to put yourself first despite how much love might blind you to do the opposite. what about wendy!

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user STOP these songs are going to tear lando apart i just know it

charlottesiine wendy darling 🤍 lock the windows!!!!

user is lando her lost boy 😭😭😭

REWIND… AUGUST 2022.

for just under three years, heaven was all you knew. lando was a dream, all wrapped up in his love for you and forever devoted to your attentions. maybe the effect of being locked up together for months as the pandemic reigned had given you both a taste of stockholm syndrome and left you with nothing else to focus on. or maybe it was just time.

the beginning of summer break was when you felt the first shift. every other year, lando whisked you away on a holiday to the sunniest place he could find. he wined and dined you, making up for all of the lost time between the racing season and touring. only, this time, he had booked a trip to ibiza with max and his friends.

“what about me?”

“i don’t see them that often either, you know that,” he defended.

it was understandable, you supposed. he liked those kinds of places, you didn’t. so while he partied there, you spent a little extra time in the studio. but then it was a week in spain with carlos, another in croatia with daniel. the compromise came in the form of monaco. you would take some time off, leaving your london flat behind, and come stay with lando in his monte carlo apartment.

you were all excitement, until you realised your time there was scheduled around lando’s meetings and dj sets and boys night out. the desperation to be close to him trumped all else and so you followed him around like a lost puppy, forever blinded by the sweet kisses and doting promises.

“i’ll take you to dinner tomorrow night, just me and you,” lando would murmur in your ear, letting your frustration subside long enough to let him go back to his friends.

it took that whole month in monaco to realise that this is what lando wanted: someone to follow after him and live for the short term magic, only to be let down by the endless maybe’s, trusting that he’ll catch you when you fall. it terrified you, and yet your undying love kept you playing along.

“i have a show in brixton next week,” you told him on your last morning in monaco, shoving the last of your clothes into your case. “it’s low-key, for some of the really devoted fans. i got management to put your name on the list.”

lando zipped up the last of your belongings, soft thumbs caressing your cheeks. “i wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

you grinned happily, uncaring for whatever doubt sank in your stomach when it was just the two of you, his lips soothing on your warm skin. he loved you, truly.

INSTAGRAM. august twenty—first.

liked by nicolacoughlan, hozier and 780,629 more

y/nupdates y/n in brixton tonight! 21/8 🤍

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user the intimate shows w her are my fav 🥺🥺🥺

user mother!

user was lando there? i heard she gave him a shoutout

⤷ user she sang feels like this and dedicated it to him!

⤷ user yeah but it seemed like she was looking out for him in the back when she said it and it didn’t look like he was there ☹️

⤷ user ouch 🥲

“are you alright?”

it’s the first thing you ask when he answers the phone, and you know it’s horrible that you hope something bad has happened — but it’s better than the truth that weighs heavy on his lips.

“i’m so sorry love, i meant to call you earlier,” lando groans through your speaker, your dressing room door clicking closed behind you. still in your stage outfit, you await the excuses. “the flight was delayed and then cancelled. i would get the next flight but i’ve got that thing tomorrow evening.”

“oh, i see.” your eyes sting.. “are you back in the apartment now?”

“huh? oh yeah, i just got an uber back from the airport and i’m ordering some food now.”

if you had the energy to scoff and argue you would, for you can hear the distant bouncing of club music on the other end of the phone, most likely muffled by where lando has hidden away in the bathroom.

“that’s nice,” you whisper, picking anxiously at the skin around your nailbed. “well, the show went really well. i think that—”

“babe, you’re breaking up. i’ll call you tomorrow okay?” lando’s voice raises as the bathroom door on his side opens to let the loud music peek in. “i’m sorry again.”

“okay, bye,” you sigh, but the call ends before he can even hear it. sinking into the small sofa of the dressing room, curling into yourself, the tears flow over your perfect makeup — fading the lipstick you’d chosen just for him.

you couldn’t live like this, is what your friends told you when you spent your evening crying on their sofa. but you loved him, and you would follow him to the ends of the earth. you could be married soon, waiting up at night for the sound of the door unlatching. it’s a life you could have and you knew it — even if it wasn’t what you wanted.

INSTAGRAM. august twenty—second.

liked by charles_leclerc, taylorswift and 722,784 others

yourusername a week in neverland

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user boyfriend lando pics!!!

carlossainz55 so great to see you!👸

⤷ yourusername time for you to come to london now!!!!

⤷ carlossainz55 ✈️🏃🏻💨

user ofc lando brings her to the track even on summer break 🙄😅

landonorris my wendy darling ❤️

⤷ user does this make lando peter pan?

⤷ yourusername 🤍🤍🤍

user still sad we didn’t see lando at the london show :(

writers note: did i promise this new chapter ages ago? yes but just be happy you guys have it now 🫶❤️‍🔥

taglist: @openthenyoor01 @racingheartsworld @celestialend @cha-hot @gr1mes-cc @allywthsr @imsorare @youdontknowmeshh @bellewintersroe @orangetreekid

#💋 HEAVEN KNOWS.#lando norris #lando norris smau #lando norris drabble #lando norris instagram edit #lando norris blurb #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic

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querenciasturniolo · 11 months ago

Text

ghost ⮕ s.t.

word count: 4.1k

warnings: depictions of death (no active murder), mentions of death, mentions of vomit, blood, suspense, anxiety, fear, swearing

summary: murders in los angeles have been happening left and right, and right as you think it couldn’t get any worse, one of your best friends is gone.

a/n: this took much longer than it should have, and for that i’m sorry, but i have a few things to say beforehand. this was inspired by multiple edits, two separate convos i had with @floofparker and @champangekisses , scream being one of my FAVORITE scary movies, and, of course, the iconic “WHO’S MOST LIKELY TO BE THE GHOSTFACE KILLERRRR” from chris. this took FOREVER, but i’m so proud of it and so excited to put it out. this is pretty reminiscent to the movie, but i added my own little spin on it. PLEASE read the bolded disclaimer and take it to heart, i don’t think anything that goes down in this fic would actually happen, hence the name fanfiction. it’s supposed to be unrealistic, that’s the point. i hope you enjoy 🫶🏻

everything written is completely fictional. the people i write for are written with characteristics and mannerisms that i made for them, this is in no way depicting what would actually happen in real life.

Twenty year old social media star Christopher (Chris) Sturniolo was found dead outside of his Los Angeles home on September 22, 2023. His brothers, who he made comedy videos with on multiple platforms, Nicolas and Matthew Sturniolo, claim their brother had been out with long-time friend and fellow content creator, Y/f/n Y/l/n, hours before.

Nick and Matt told police moments before they rushed out to find their brother with multiple stab wounds, they heard yelling and a struggle. When they reached Chris, the assailant was gone. Y/n hasn’t spoken about their day together prior to his death, and has refused to answer any questions asked. Her and Matt Sturniolo seem to have ended their year-long relationship shortly after this tragedy, but we all want to know why. Was there an affair? Was the guilt too much to keep the secret after Chris’ death?

On October 13, 2022, Y/n’s brother was murdered brutally, and their mother suffered a very public breakdown. The assailant in her brother’s case has yet to be found.

Chris Sturniolo’s murder was the fifth in a little less than two months. Police have yet to tell the public any of their leads in this string of serial murders, but have disclosed that they are far from closing these cases.

The article had only been out for an hour, and your Instagram and Tiktok were already being swarmed with notifications. So many, that you had to delete both apps off of your phone to keep it from crashing.

You hadn’t left your bed since that day, only to get something to eat and some water when you ran out—you couldn’t even go to the funeral. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer your phone, you couldn’t even answer the countless messages you scrolled through in the days following your best friend’s death.

Today was the day, you decided, that you were going to do something. Three weeks couldn’t have been too late to get your shit back together. You had woken up in the late afternoon and gotten into the shower, standing under the hot spray for what felt like forever and just allowing yourself to relax and release any tension in your body.

You had made a full meal for the first time since…that morning. You were nauseous the entire time you ate, but you had to do this. When your brother died, everyone told you that the best way to get through your grief was to continue your regular routine as much as possible. Filming a video was on your to do list. You weren’t going to post it, it was just for you to get back into the routine of talking to a camera.

Setting up your camera was the hardest part. You knew how to do it blindfolded by now, but the thought of doing anything like this, even if you weren’t going to post it, felt wrong, almost. It felt wrong to look into a camera and talk about that day, talk about your last day with Chris.

You sat down on your couch after pressing record and ran a hand over your face, finally looking into the lens and sighing.

“It’s been awhile.” You started, rolling your eyes at the corniness of your statement. “I don’t even know why I said that, I’m not even posting this.” You grumbled, dropping your head into your hands and carding your fingers through your hair. The burning in your throat started, and you continuously fought through the knot and forming tears.

You looked up again, hoping your eyes didn’t look as red as they felt. “I picked Chris up at ten fifteen, and we spent the entire day together. We went thrifting, as much as he complained the whole time.” You said, a ghost of a smile forming on your face as your eyes focused elsewhere.

“He, oh my God.” You said, chuckling to yourself and shaking your head. “He would throw whatever I had in my hands in the basket and ask if we were done yet, every time I picked something up. I don’t know what his problem was, considering he had gotten a few things too.” You said, sighing softly and glancing over at the camera.

“We went to lunch—that honestly sounds more fancy than it is, we stopped at In-n-Out—and we just came back to my house afterwards. We talked about…a lot of things.” You started, tears pooling in your eyes as you closed them and let yourself remember.

“We talked…we talked about life, and getting older.” You said, dropping your head back and looking up at the ceiling. “Fears, hopes and whatnot. We talked about everything.” You said, sighing softly as the remnants of Chris’ voice in your memory sang through.

“I don’t know what I want right now. I’m grateful that I’m doing so well, but in five years, where will I be?”

“It started getting late, so I took him home. He told me to come in if I wanted, but I…I was tired, I wanted to go home. He…he got out of the car, and I didn’t. I never...” You dropped your head in your hands again, your breathing labored as you fought off the guilt that had been deteriorating you for the last three weeks.

You lifted your head, about to stand and turn off your camera when your phone buzzed next to you. You sighed and flipped it over, frowning at the screen.

No Caller ID flashed before you. Usually you’d ignore the call, but something in you couldn’t resist as you slid the icon over and pressed it to your ear.

“Hello?” You asked, your voice quiet and shaky.

“It was your fault, you know.”

You’d never ended a call so fast, your phone hitting the couch as you stared down at it with wide eyes. The voice was distorted, completely unrecognizable, but familiar at the same time. This was some sick joke, it had to be. You took a deep breath and shook your head.

You stood and walked over to your camera on weak knees, stopping the recording and taking your camera off of the tripod. As you shut off the camera, your phone buzzed on the couch. A sigh left your lips as you placed the camera on the coffee table and ran your hands through your hair.

What was the worst that could happen, right? You picked up your phone, No Caller ID still flashing across the screen. You slid the icon over again and pressed your phone to your ear.

“That wasn’t very nice.”

Your entire body went on high alert. “Who is this?” You asked, your voice trembling.

“That’s not important, what’s important is I know what really happened that day.”

All of the air left your lungs as you shakily sat down on the couch. “What are you talking about?” You asked. A dark chuckle rang through the receiver, your heart pounding in your ears as you waited for an answer.

“You didn’t wait for him to get inside, did you, Sweetheart?”

A broken sob left your lips as you hung up the phone and dropped it, your whole body shaking with each shattered cry that escaped you. The guilt was too much, it was the only thing about your last day with him that you couldn’t bring yourself to even say.

You blame yourself for Chris’ death, if you had just waited a few moments for him to get in the door, none of this would have happened. It was killing you every single day, not knowing if your being there would have changed anything.

You ignored the next call, and went through your contacts. Your finger hovered over Matt’s name, your chest aching as you swiped out of his contact, clicked the one under it, and held your phone to your ear. Before Nick could even finish his greeting, you were straining to get your words out of your mouth through the knot in your throat.

“Nick, something is wrong. Please, please come over.” You whispered into the phone, trying your best to keep your voice steady as his silence on the other end made your skin crawl.

“I’ll be there soon.”

You put your phone on the couch and took your time pacing around your living room.

Nick would be here soon, there was no reason to panic. The person on the phone was nothing, no one. Your phone’s incessant buzzing pulled you out of your pacing. You were frustrated now, the guilt and pain that you’d been holding in for so long was finally out in the open and slapping you right in the face.

How did they know? You hadn’t told anyone, you couldn’t even bring yourself to say it out loud.

It didn’t matter, the person on the phone had no idea what they were talking about, which sounded about as stupid as you thought it did, but it was the only thing keeping you from pulling your hair out of your head.

You pulled your phone from the couch and answered, the buzzing driving you up the wall.

“Listen, I’ve already called the police, and they’re tracing this call right no—”

The laughter on the other end cut you off, your heartbeat pounding in your ears as that sickening, metallic voice rang through the receiver.

“Oh, Sweetheart. We both know that isn’t true. I do know, however, that your little friend and boyfriend are on their way right now. Care to explain how they’re going to help you?”

Every hair on your body stood on end, your chest aching with the intensity of each beat against your rib cage. You fish-mouthed, unable to get any words out as the voice continued.

“How are they going to stop me, hm? How are they going to keep me from gutting you the same way I did your dear old friend, Chris? Or your brother?”

You froze, your gaze stuck to the floor as each word processed in your mind. “My brother?” You whimpered, a sinister chuckle vibrated against your ear.

“You heard me, Sweetheart. He put up quite the fight, too. More of a fight than your little friend.”

“Shut up!” You screamed into the receiver, hanging up the phone and throwing it across the room. You could distinctly hear the shatter of your screen as you crumpled in on yourself.

Michael’s murder had completely destroyed you. Your entire world was uprooted, and your mom, your mom hasn’t been the same since. She spends her days sitting in a rocking chair in front of the window, rocking slowly back and forth in a daze.

You’d never shaken more in your life, your entire body twitching and fighting each movement you tried to make as you stood from the floor. You needed to get up, you couldn’t let yourself stay on the ground or you’d never move.

Before you reached your kitchen, the sound of a knock at the door had you jumping out of your skin. It took everything in you to walk to the door and peek out the peephole, ripping it open the moment you registered Nick and Matt standing on your porch.

You hadn’t said a word before they rushed in and wrapped you in the tightest hugs you’d ever experienced in your life. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you pushed the door shut and held them tightly.

“I’m so sorry.” You sobbed, both of their arms holding you as you completely crumbled. “I didn’t wait for him to get inside, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault, he’d be here right now if it wasn’t for me. I’m so fucking sorry.” You rambled. Neither of them spoke, but their shoulders shaking softly against you answered the silent question of if they were listening.

When you finally pulled away, you were still shaking like a leaf. The guilt of holding it in for so long had been washed away, but the fear of that voice on the phone was still running rampant.

“No one blames you.” Nick said, his eyes rimmed red. “We’ve never blamed you. So you don’t need to worry about that.” You glanced at Matt, who’s eyes were still on the floor before you met Nick’s eyes again. “What happened?”

You sniffed and shook your head as you wiped at your face. “Nothing, it’s fine. It isn’t important.” You whispered, wrapping your arms around your abdomen as your eyes rested on Matt’s hunched frame. Nick sighed from where he stood and ran a hand over his face.

“I’ll leave you two to talk, but then I want to know what happened.” He said before he turned and walked towards the living room.

For what felt like hours, you and Matt stood across from each other in the mudroom of your childhood home, you staring at him, and him staring at the floor. When his eyes finally met yours, it felt as though your heart shattered and mended itself all at once. You hadn’t seen him since before Chris’ death, and the only message you’d sent him since then was telling him that the two of you needed to break up.

He looked as beautiful as he always had, but he looked different. Under his eyes were dusted in a dark purple, the whites of them tinged pink, his cheeks sunken in.

“Matty,” you whispered and took a step forward. He shook his head and looked back down at the floor.

“Why?”

It took everything in you not to wrap him in your arms and never let go. You knew exactly what he was asking you, and you knew the answer. It had taken these three weeks of you doing nothing more than surviving to realize you had no other reason to break up with Matt, other than the fact that looking at him would remind you of Chris, and you couldn’t handle it. It was selfish, and you could only imagine how he felt.

“I…I don’t have a good reason.”

Matt nodded and sniffed before looking up and meeting your eyes. The blue of his iris’ was striking against the red rimming his eyes. Your own eyes were burning as his gaze scanned over your face.

“Is it true?”

You frowned, confusion clouding your mind as he sighed and shook his head.

“What the article said, about you and Chris. Is it true? Was there…did you…”

You gasped as the realization hit you of what he was asking.

“Matt, what? I would never, I could never do that to you. I didn’t look at Chris like that, you know that.” You rambled on.

Matt nodded. “I know, I know. I’m sorry, just…a moment of weakness, I didn’t mean it.” He mumbled, taking a step closer to you. “Why did you end…us? I needed you, and you just…you shut me out.”

You took a deep breath in through your nose and shook your head. “I couldn’t bear looking at you and seeing him. I know, that’s selfish, and I’m sorry.” You whispered.

“I shattered the mirror in my bathroom the other night.”

You looked up, your eyebrows furrowed as Matt held up his hands. A gasp left your lips and you reached forward, delicately taking his cut up and bruised hands in yours. Before you could ask him why, he answered the silent question brokenly.

“Every time I looked in the mirror, I saw him.” You met his eyes again, and didn’t stop yourself as you pulled him into a bone-crushing embrace.

“I’m sorry, Matty. I should have been there.” You mumbled into his shoulder, his arms tightening around your waist as he breathed you in. Neither of you said anything, just held each other for as long as the other needed.

“Um, Y/n? Did you do this on purpose?”

You pulled away from Matt and turned around, seeing Nick holding your shattered phone in his hand. You sighed and nodded, the fear you’d completely forgotten about creeping up.

“I was getting prank phone calls, it’s not that big of a deal.” You mumbled, pulling away completely and walking towards the living room.

“What kind of prank phone calls would make you shatter your phone?” Matt asked quietly, you turned to face him and shrugged your shoulders, trying desperately to hide the shaking of your hands. You didn’t want to talk about it, you couldn't talk about it. If you talked about it, that would make it real.

Before you could even sit on the couch, Nick’s phone was went off in his pocket. Your heart pounded as he pulled it out and looked down at it with a frown.

“No Caller ID?” He mumbled, your jaw dropping as he pulled it to his ear. It was a few moments of silence before he met your eyes and handed it to you. “They asked for you.”

You whimpered as you took the phone and pressed it to your ear, not saying a word as the mechanical voice spoke again.

“You really thought smashing your phone would get rid of me, Sweetheart?”

“What do you want?!” You cried, the other line buzzing in silence for only a moment before Matt stepped forward and almost snatched the phone from your hand.

“I’m upstairs, come find me.”

The line beeped right as Matt grabbed the phone and pressed it to his ear. You froze in your spot, Matt turning to face you and dropping Nick’s phone on the couch. He grabbed your shoulders and shook you once lightly.

“What did they say? Baby, breathe. What did they say?!” Matt asked, his grip on your shoulders tight as you fought off the panic.

“He’s in the house. He’s in the house.” You whispered, your eyes meeting Matt’s. Nick moved from his spot and stopped right next to Matt, his eyes wide as he scanned your face.

“Y/n, who is in the house?” He asked, his voice quiet in shock. You shook your head, nausea overtaking you as you pushed past Matt and sprinted to the kitchen. You couldn’t make it to the trash, turning and vomiting into the sink, your breaths heaving as you felt a warm hand rest on your back.

It took everything in you not to crumple to the floor as you looked up and shook your head.

“H-He told me he’s the one that killed Michael…and C-Chris.” You whispered the last word, your throat burning and your stomach lurching. Matt’s eyes widened and he shook his head.

“How long have you been getting these phone calls?” He asked, his voice shaky as Nick handed you a bottle of water.

“It’s only been the last couple of hours, I thought it was some sort of sick prank until—”

A shatter from upstairs had your entire body tensing, your breath catching in your throat. Nick’s head whipped to the stairs as Matt reached for a knife and turned away.

“What are you doing?” You asked, grabbing his arm tightly and making him face you. Nick had his phone dialed and already pressed to his ear, speaking quickly to the 9-1-1 operator.

“I’m fucking going up there.” He said, pulling his arm from your grip and continuing his way towards the stairs.

“Matt, are you stupid?” Nick asked, stepping in front of the staircase as he hung up the phone. “The police are being dispatched, don’t do anything rash.” Matt shoved past Nick and ascended the stairs, his knuckles white on the handle of the knife. Nick groaned and faced you fully. “What are we gonna do?” He asked.

“We can’t just let him go up there by himself.” You whispered, walking past Nick and slowly stepping up the stairs.

“Jesus, you guys are gonna get us killed.” Nick grumbled from behind you. You heard a shuffle in the kitchen and turned, seeing him follow you up with a knife in his hand. “What? One of us had to grab something.” He whispered. You faced forward again, listening for any bump or creak that could indicate where Matt or the man that was in your house were.

It was silent as you walked through the upstairs. Each door you passed was closed, the only sound upstairs being the sound of Nick’s and your footsteps, and the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears.

“Matt?” You called out, the back of Nick’s hand hitting your shoulder. You looked at him, bewilderment etched into your face.

“Have you never seen a scary movie? Calling out in a dark house is the number one way to fucking die.” He said through his teeth. You rolled your eyes and opened your mouth to fire back.

“Get off of me!”

You jumped, your head whipping down the hallway to see a door slam. “Matt!” You shouted, running without thinking towards the door and shoving it open. The moment you stepped into the center of the room, you knew something was wrong. The door clicked behind you, and you froze in place.

“Look what we have here.”

You turned, your eyes meeting Matt’s. His entire demeanor changed, the heartbroken boy you’d seen before was gone. In his place, stood what you could only describe as a monster. His eyes were dark, his smirk sinister, and his shoulders were square.

“Matty?” You asked, Nick coming from behind him with an almost identical smirk.

The both of them chuckled and looked between each other. Nick stepped forward, causing you to take a quick step back.

“Oh, Honey. Matty’s been gone for a while.” His hooded eyes stared you down as you fully processed what was truly happening. The both of them had tricked you.

You took in a shaky breath past the knot in your throat as you took another step back.

“You?” You exhaled, your eyes switching between them as their smirks grew impossibly wider. Matt rolled his eyes and looked over to Nick.

“Us?” He mocked, meeting your eyes and taking a step closer to you. “Yes, Baby. Us. Is that so surprising?” He teased, your eyes brimming with hot, salty tears. The cool air in the room had them burning, and your throat felt like it was on fire.

“You two were behind the murders all along?” You asked, your voice barely reaching a whisper as they moved closer to you almost strategically, boxing you in with each step they took.

Nick chuckled and nodded his head, his eyes never leaving yours as he cocked his head to the side. “She’s catching up, Matt. Yes, every single one.” He said, his voice thick with venom.

“But why?” You whimpered, your back hitting the wall. You were cornered, you couldn’t get past them no matter how hard you tried. Nick and Matt’s eyes were wicked as they watched you, Matt’s smirk growing as he glanced over at Nick.

“Hear that, Nick? She wants a motive.” He said, his eyes meeting yours again. “It isn’t enough that we just felt like it?”

“You killed Michael in cold blood, just because you felt like it?” You spat. Nick quirked an eyebrow and lightly ran the tip of his finger over the blade of the knife he was holding.

“See, now you’re getting it. Not everyone needs a motive, some people are just sick and twisted.” He pouted at the end of his sentence, anger flushing through you and coating your skin in heat.

“And Chris?” You asked. Matt chuckled and shook his head.

“You really can’t be that dense, Baby.” He said.

“Don’t fucking call me that.” You said through gritted teeth.

“It was only a distraction. We were getting sloppy, and what’s better to get the cops off of our case than getting rid of one of us?” Nick interrupted. You shook your head.

“Murder isn’t a distraction, you sick fucks.” You spat, looking around the room for any escape.

Matt chuckled, and flipped the blade in his hand. “Oh, Baby. You really aren’t understanding, are you?”

Before you could spit in his face, the door behind them was pushed open, your eyes shifting to the shadowed figure walking into the room. Your heart pounded in your chest as realization slowly set in, a broken cry leaving your lips as you shook your head.

“No.” You whispered.

The white mask on his face would have been comical if every hair on your body wasn’t standing on end. You watched each movement closely, your knees buckling as you slid to the floor. The wood was ice cold as the man crouched down in front of you. He pulled the mask from his face, your choked sob being caught in your throat as you shook your head and looked down at the floor.

His warm finger rested on your chin and he lifted it up until your eyes met his, a broken whimper leaving your lips as you met the familiar blue eyes you’d looked into a million times before.

“What’s the matter, Sweetheart?” Chris said, his voice gravelly and rough as it left his smirking lips. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

tags: @lvrsparadise , @ssturniolo , @floofparker , @cat-loves-music , @geniejunn , @its-jennarose , @dwntwn-strnlo , @20nugs , @hiraethlimerence , @lavieenvalentina , @strniolo , @toyourloves , @jellybeanbby , @thetriplets3 , @mxriverse , @stvrni0lo , @gabbylovesreading , @tylerscreat0r , @angelcake-222 , @obsessivencrazy , @lollibumblebee , @stargirlv0id , @idontexistman , @emssturniolo , @soursturniolo , @bernardenjoyer , @mxqdii , @leah-loves-lilies , @mattsnutsack , @lovelysturniolo

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #scream #scream inspired #sturniolo #querenciasturniolo #nick sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo imagine #ghostface

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psychedelic-ink · 1 year ago

Text

𝐅𝐚𝐫 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞

pairing: dbf!ellaria sand x plus size!f!reader x oberyn martell, ellaria sand x oberyn martell

genre: smut, modern au, hurt/comfort, minors dni

word count: 7.2k

summary: Wanting to get away from it all for a while, your dad suggests that you go and stay with his friend in the city; Ellaria Sand. It's been a hot while since you last saw her and you must admit, you have a bit of a crush on the older woman. What you don't expect, however, is to find an equally charming stranger staying with her as well.

warnings: threesome, age gap (reader being in her late twenties), weed use, dirty talking, body insecurities (weight related), piv, oral sex (male and female), praise kink, light bdsm dynamics, subdrop, aftercare, squirting (but like very non explicit squirting as ironic as that sounds dfvdv), use of petnames (little one, pet, good girl), no use of y/n, both ellaria and oberyn are mentioned to be polyamourus, edging

a/n: this is hella indulgent and an idea I've had since September but never actually gotten around writing it. However, while I was taking a nap the idea suddenly consumed me and I had to pause everything else to sit down and write it. Enjoy the filth, there's so much going on ❤️‍🔥

**dividers by @firefly-graphics 💜

You’re anxious as you wait for the door to open in front of you. It’s been a rough couple of months—years, actually. You feel suffocated by the world around you and yourself. Every day is another battle. You hate to admit it but you’re just so tired of fighting. There’s a constant weight on your chest that doesn’t seem to go away no matter what you do. Which led you to the doorsteps of your dad’s friend, Ellaria Sand.

The idea had came from your dad. Noticing your troubles fitting in, he recommended you go and visit her. You were more than eager to oblige. You loved her company, she had an aura about her that just made you feel welcome. Talking to her came easy since she did most of it, and when you had something to say, she would actually listen.

While you’re thinking about all of this, you’re trying very hard to ignore the fact that you might have a teeny-tiny crush on the older woman. However you’re ready to make the argument that it’s not your fault, she was just too charming—who wouldn’t have a crush on her?

Ellaria’s excitement mimics your own as she opens the door. With a wide smile, she wraps her arms around you and drags you inside.

“How was the trip?” she asks excitedly. “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”

“Of course not, I like traveling,” you answer. “Thank you for having me by the way. How are you?”

“Oh, pretty much the same. Nothing new.” she helps you with your luggage and you follow her to the spare bedroom. “Also I forgot to mention on the phone but a friend of mine will be visiting and staying with us as well. Is that okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be,” you say with a leveled voice. “Does the mystery guest have a name?”

As you step into the room, she turns to you, still smiling.

“His name is Oberyn.”

For your first night, you weren’t expecting to get high on the couch with Ellaria, yet here you are, your chest full of cannabis as your head rests over her lap.

“So who is this guy?” you ask as she places the joint between your lips. You feel the warmth of her fingers. “A boyfriend or something?”

“Or something.”

You draw your brows together, confused, “What does that mean?”

“It means my sweet flower,” she answers slowly, dragging her knuckles up your heated cheek. “We’re together but we both agree that the pleasure of the world is too many to limit ourselves to one person.”

“You’re in an open relationship?” you take a deep drag from the joint, your lungs expanding with smoke.

“We’re both polyamorous.”

“Wow, lucky,” you say with an envious tone. She quirks an eyebrow yet her smile continues on to be a humorful one. You stammer with your words. “I-I mean, it’s lucky that you found each other. Must be nice having the same ideals as someone.”

She nods, placing the blunt back between her lips, “It is.”

“Is he nice to you?”

You’re not quite sure what prompts you to as that. First of all, it feels way too personal of a question to be asking your father’s friend. Even though Ellaria has spoken about her sexual relationships before, it still feels like your might be crossing an invisible line. A fog settles over your mind, loosening your tongue. You’re fascinated by functioning relationships. You’re fascinated by the idea of two people actually being understanding and caring towards each other—as ridiculous as that may sound. You haven’t had the best experiences when it came to partners, most of them going into it with hopes of changing who you are, so anytime you see two people actually liking each other’s company you can’t help but want to pull out a camera and record everything.

Ellaria blows smoke toward your face, the warmth of it ghosting over your skin like a summer breeze.

“He is. I wouldn’t really be with him if he wasn’t.” she pinches your cheek. “You have a weird look on your face.”

“Oh,” you answer dumbly. “Sorry.”

“I’m just worried. Your father didn’t really say anything other than you really needed a break.”

“I guess I’m just a bit lonely.”

“Well,” she says and reaches towards the ashtray to snuff out the blunt. “If that’s the case you came to the right place. You can stay as long as you want to.” before you can say anything, she starts rolling another one and a loud knock echoes across the dimly lit apartment.

“Ah, that must be Oberyn.”

Begrudgingly, you remove yourself away from her lap and watch Ellaria make her way toward the door. She’s wearing an orange dress, the color warming her skin. You can’t help the way your gaze drops to her behind, the soft fabric hugging her curves delicately.

With a noise, you hurriedly snap your eyes away. It’s not the time to be ogling her like a piece of meat.

No matter how good she looks.

You weakly attempt to collect yourself when Ellaria returns with a tall man in tow. As you get up, you stagger a bit but manage to immediately keep yourself upright by holding on to Oberyn’s outstretched hand. His smile is kind, and the kindness reaches the depth of his eyes. Though you also see a hint of curiosity in them. His palm is searing against yours and his fingers are long and nice-looking, you spot a stylish golden ring on his thumb.

A bit scared, and a bit excited, you meet his gaze. He’s quite handsome. In fact, you believe you might be in the presence of the most attractive two people in the city. His facial hair is neatly trimmed, framing his jawline which in return gives it an even more sharper look.

While you two remain hand in hand, Ellaria makes the introductions. Oberyn’s thumb smooths down your inner writs. A shiver rolls down your spine. “It is very lovely to meet you,” he says earnestly.

“Likewise.”

Oberyn picks up the unlit joint Ellaria had left on the coffee table before she went to greet him. You see a faint sparkle in his eyes. “You two were smoking?” he asks, turning to Ellaria.

“To relax the nerves, my love,” she answers with a playful smile. “Help yourselves, I’ll be back in a minute.”

You feel as if someone poured cold water over your head, “Maybe I can help?” you take a step forward, intent on following her to wherever she was going—which you assume is the kitchen. But she stops you with the raise of her hand.

“Please, I’ll be right back. In the meanwhile you two get acquainted.”

A second later it’s just you and Oberyn alone in the living room. He seems unbothered and lights the joint as he takes a seat. There’s a certain air of expertise and elegance in whatever he does. He pats the cushion next to him, “Sit.”

You sigh softly, collapsing next to him. He flicks the lighter and leans towards the tiny flame, his eyes fixed on the empty threshold. He takes two quick exhales, the tip of the joint burning a bright orange. Smoke pours from the corners of his lips. You’re mesmerized by the sight of him. Shadows dance over his face, giving him a dark look.

“How do you two know each other?” he asks, snapping you away from your thoughts.

You blink, momentarily lost in his gaze, before extending your hand to take another drag from the joint. Your fingers feel slightly numb as you bring it to your lips. "She's a friend of my dad's," you explain, your voice barely above a whisper. "We've known each other for a while."

Oberyn nods, his fingers gently brushing the back of your neck, sending tingles down your spine. Your breath catches in your throat, and you find yourself leaning closer to him, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

“What about you?” you ask, hating the way your voice trembled.

A soft smile plays on his lips. His thumbs continue their soothing caress on the back of your neck, tracing delicate patterns that send a shiver of pleasure through your body.

"She walked into my lecture one day," Oberyn begins, his voice carrying a hint of nostalgia. "I was talking about the ancient civilizations of Essos, and there she was, her eyes filled with curiosity. After the lecture, she approached me with such confidence, asking questions that sparked my own curiosity. I learned that she was an artist and she was lacking inspiration. She thought a trip to the past would spark something in her." he says blissfully. “And spark it did.”

“You’re a professor?”

He hums, elevated by your intrigue, “Yes, but I do prefer excavating and traveling to new sites.” he explains, his voice tinged with a hint of longing. "It's much more freeing, rather than being trapped between four walls."

His words wash over you like a gentle caress, and you find yourself leaning into his touch, craving more of his warmth. The joint burns low between your fingers, forgotten for a moment. With a jolt of panic, you extend it back to him.

Oberyn's voice lowers even further, a velvet murmur that tickles your ear. "She's a remarkable woman, isn't she? So full of life and passion."

A soft sigh escapes your lips as you find yourself nodding, captivated by the combination of his words and the tender touch of his thumbs on your skin. "Yes, she is," you reply.

“You like her,” Oberyn says, a statement, rather than a question. You’re horrified by the implication of it. Your lips part and close, words failing to come out. His sudden burst of laughter makes you jump. “Do not look so worried, I’m not here to judge you. I appreciate anyone who sees her for the gorgeous woman that she is.”

His fingers find purchase under your chin, he lifts your gaze, dark eyes boring into yours. You forget how to breathe. With a soft smile, Oberyn brings the joint to his lips and takes a deep inhale, You can hear the sizzle of it, and feel the heat that radiates from the crimson tip. Your lips part by instinct, he leans closer.

Oberyn fills your lungs with delicious smoke. Your lips never touch, yet you swear you can feel them pressed together. He breathes life into you and when it’s all done, he licks himself deep into your mouth. Pressing deeper, Oberyn flattens his tongue against yours and nips your bottom lip. Sweat drips from your spine and gathers at your tailbone. His hands affectionately cradle your face, inhaling you one last time, he breaks the kiss.

You’re a panting mess, your lips tingling for more.

“Take off your clothes.”

Your eyes go wide, “I—Excuse me what?” slightly inching forward, you stare into his eyes. “Ellaria is right down the hall, wouldn’t it be. . . rude?”

That sparks an amused chuckle from him. “You’re adorable,” he muses. “I promise you that she wants this as much as I do.”

“She. . . does?”

“Ellaria adores you. She also enjoys sharing her favorite things with the one’s that she cares for,” his fingers curl around your throat and you swallow. Oberyn tilts your head to the side. “Now, let me see you.”

And this is the part where your insecurities make an ugly appearance. You avert your gaze, hugging yourself while Oberyn continues to stare. You want to do this. You absolutely do, if the slick gathering in your underwear is any indication, but it’s still hard for you to believe that he wants to.

You feel the bite of his nails and bring your gaze back to him. You’re not sure what does it, but you find yourself scrambling off of the couch. You don’t see not one ounce of a lie in those eyes—you only see lust and intrigue. Besides, you came here to loosen up, what better way is there to do that than making out with a handsome stranger?

When you’re left only in your bra and underwear, Oberny pulls you to his lap and you let out a soft gasp. He unclasps your bra and throws it over the small pile of clothes you had left behind, leaving you only in your, visibly soaked, panties.

“Oberyn. . .”

You jolt at the soft lilt of Ellaria’s voice. You stiffen over the older man’s lap, not knowing what to do. With a smile, he draws soothing circles over your thighs.

Ellaria takes a seat next to you two. You’re too flustered to look at her but despite not looking, you see the delicate curl of her lips.

“She’s too beautiful not to touch,” Oberyn drags his nose down your neck, and you smile giddily. Your heart beating a mile a minute. “Don’t you agree with me, Ellaria?”

Her tongue swiping over her bottom lip, she reaches out and holds your breast, weighing it with her palm. She brushes a thumb over your pebbled nipple, a soft whine parts your lips. “I do.”

“You think I’m beautiful?”

“Of course, love. Why would I not think you are beautiful?”

You grow silent. Ellaria’s fingers dances along your arm and heat settles in your core. Oberyn, with a curious gaze and a half smile, drags his thumbs down to the soft contours of your stomach rolls and gently pinches. You whine, sticking your bottom lip out, you look away from them both.

“I think I have an idea why she thinks like that,” he hums. Ellaria’s gaze drops to where Oberyn’s hands rest, meaning your stomach. Your cheeks burn. Her eyebrows raised, you feel the weight of her gaze locked onto your face, but still, you refuse to look at her. Or him. “She lives in a cruel world that makes her think she’s anything but desirable. But we see her for what she is.”

“And what’s that?” you mutter, embarrassed to be read so easily. He was right, you never thought of yourself as being desirable, even if you desperately wanted to. There were mornings you just woke up hating yourself, staring into the mirror and poking endlessly at your face and observing every imperfection. You’re tired of it. Tired of thinking of yourself as less. Which is one of the reasons why you came here. Why your dad wanted you to spend time with Ellaria, he knew the woman had ways of making you feel better.

Oberyn's firm yet gentle grasp on your chin draws your attention, anchoring your gaze and shifting your focus solely to him. His smile is wide and predatory, like a snake. You tremble as his hands slide from your stomach to your waist, their scorching touch and commanding presence stirring a primal reaction within you.

“You’re a gorgeous girl,” he answers with a melodic lilt from his sinful tongue. “The type of girl we want to ravish for as long as you’re staying here.”

“If you want to, of course,” Ellaria adds, playfully pinching your nipple. Your eyes flutter closed. The sudden mixture of pleasure and pain makes your skin tingle pleasantly. “Do you, little one?”

You nod. Everything that’s happening feels like a fever dream. The scent of cannabis is still heavy in the air, making you feel soft and slow like molasses. Ellaria’s fingers dance along your nape, nimble fingers sliding into the roots of your hair, she gently tugs. Meanwhile, Oberyn nips at the soft skin of your neck.

“Words, love.” Ellaria commands.

“Yes,” you breathe out, voice shaking. “I want to. . . if you guys want to.”

Oberyn whispers, “Good girl,” against your skin, and a wave of dizziness engulfs you. The two devour with the ways they touch and bite. Ellaria’s lips melt into your own as Oberyn cups both your breasts, kneading the soft mounds.

Kissing Ellaria had been a fantasy you frequently indulged in over the years and you’re pleasantly surprised to realize she tastes like cherries and roses. You have endless memories of slipping your hand between your legs as soon as you were in the privacy of your room. You always had a feeling that she knew. Her gaze too observant, too cunning not to see the thoughts lingering in your head.

Oberyn lowers his head and lifts your breasts to his mouth. He laves his tongue over your nipples hungrily. A wanton moan echoes in the back of your throat, your head falls as you part away from Ellaria. You hear her chuckle. “You taste sweet,” she comments, making you keen. “Despite the smoke Oberyn blew into your lungs.”

“You saw that?”

“You two weren’t exactly being discreet.”

You’re hot all over, embarrassment pouring over you like summer rain. Oberyn doesn’t seem to care, consumed with the taste of your flesh. Your underwear sticks to your folds and you squirm over his lap. The man groans when you brush his length, you feel him twitch through the soft fabric of his sweats. The blood rush is loud in your ears.

He feels. . . big.

“Shit,” you mumble, delving your fingers into his short locks. You tug him closer to your chest and sloppily grind on top of him. You feel the sharpness of his teeth and then—

He bites you.

With a sharp cry you jerk away, your gaze instantly finding Oberyn’s. The man is grinning from ear to ear. Your heart beats wildly against your ribcage. “What was that for?” you gasp, chest heaving.

“It was an affectionate bite,” he teases, then presses his lips over the tiny dents. “Did it hurt?”

“No . . .” you answer, sounding uncertain. “I was just surprised.”

Ellaria rolls her eyes and tugs Oberyn towards her. The man goes willingly, his wicked smile never fading as she crashes their lips together. You see the pink of Ellaria’s tongue slip between Oberyn’s lips. His hands drop, his thumbs digging into the crease between your thighs and hips. You watch wide-eyed at the way the two devour each other. They’re so earnest, so hungry. It makes you ache between your legs and a bit in your heart. While Ellaria licks herself deeper into his mouth, Oberyn guides the roll of your hips.

Suddenly struggling about where to put your hands, you place them on his chest. The fabric of his shirt bunches underneath your fingers. Your eyes roll at the delicious caress of his clothed cock. You want to feel more.

When they part, a string of saliva connects them still. Oberyn grins at her and tilts his head toward you. “She likes the show it seems,” he states.

With a soft smile, Ellaria turns to you. She cups your cheek and smooths her thumb over your heated skin. Your heart soars. She’s so tender, so soft with you. It makes you dizzy. You never thought someone like her would be interested. And you don’t only say this because of your physical insecurities, you just always felt like she would find you too inexperienced. Too young. You always had this unnecessary fear of sounding dumb when you talked with her.

“What are you thinking?” she whispers, coming closer. Her hot breath fans your skin as Oberyn flattens his tongue over your neck, dragging the wet muscle up until his nose is firmly pressed against your jaw.

“I’m thinking that this must be a dream,” you answer. “And I’m thinking how intoxicating you two are.”

Oberyn’s smile is wide as he pulls away, his eyebrows raised. “Look at that, she found her tongue. How delightful.”

Ellaria kisses the right corner of your lips and addresses Oberyn. “You’ll scare her, she’s fragile.”

“I’m not fragile,” you pout. With a laugh, she presses her lips against your jutted lip. “I’m just nervous. . . you know my experiences haven’t been—” You clear your throat, suddenly aware of Oberyn’s eyes on you. “Great.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

Obeyn chimes in, his gaze moving to Ellaria, “What does that mean?”

“Poor girl never came from another hand but her own.”

“Ellaria!”

“Oh?” Oberyn’s eyes bore into your own. It’s so intense that you can’t look away, and honestly, you’re not sure that you want to. He pulls down your bottom lip, dipping his thumb into the seam. “You won’t have to worry about that with us, sweet creature.”

“I’m sure,” you hum, a coy smile playing on your lips. “So can we uh. . . can we take this to the bedroom? I’m not that comfortable on the couch. If that’s okay?”

“Of course,” Ellaria answers. “Besides I hate how this fabric feels against my skin. So the bed is definitely preferred.”

Oberyn, without saying a word, nuzzles your neck before pulling you to your feet. You falter, still a bit dazed. Yet, his arm catches you, keeping you from falling.

“Careful,” he tuts, lips touching your forehead.

Oberyn’s arm never leaves your waist as Ellaria guides the two of you through the hallway of her home. A route you don’t doubt Oberyn has taken many times before.

You aren’t sure what to expect when you enter Ellaria’s room. It’s quite neat, the bed quite big, which doesn’t surprise you in the least.

Ellaria looks at you with a smile, curling her fingers around the elastic of your underwear, she tugs you close. Oberyn looms right behind you, he hadn’t closed the door as he entered. His cock hard and aching, resting between the crease of your clothed ass cheeks. His palms caress the soft mounds, his breath warm and wet against your nape.

You’re suddenly highly aware that you’re the only one practically naked. Noticing this, heat crawls up your chest and curls around your neck. At any moment you expect to wake up in the familiar setting of the guest room, none of this seems real.

“Lay down, Oberyn,” Ellaria’s voice breaks the silence, her eyes never leaving yours as she addresses her lover. “We’ll join you shortly.”

“Hmm,” he kisses your neck, your legs shake in response. “Should I take off my clothes?”

“Yes.”

Oberyn smiles, gives your ass one last firm squeeze, and retreats. And as much as you want to stare at the man in his full naked glory, it’s hard to pull your gaze away from Ellaria. You hear the bed creaking under the man’s weight. Still, you don’t turn to look. Ellaria kneels before you, tugging your underwear along with her. Her hands, despite not being large as Oberyn’s, feels all consuming. They languidly slide above your calves and thighs as she raises to stand on her feet once more.

When she stands, you make a move to take off her garments but she gently pushes your hands back. “You watch,” she says, pulling off the straps of her dress and allowing it to pool at her ankles.

You touch her like art. Soft and slow. Almost as if she wasn’t there. You cup her waist and skim your palm until you reach the side of her breast, in which you hold tenderly under your hand. A soft gasp leaves her and you look at her with shock and amazement. You bend forward, closing your lips around the tender nipple. You swirl your tongue around the areola, her eyes fluttering as she lets out a sigh.

“That’s nice,” she says, looking at you between heavy eyelids. “You don’t need to be shy with us.”

If it were anyone else saying that you wouldn’t have believed them, “I think you’re right,” you whisper, more to yourself rather than her. “You’re sure you don’t mind me being. . . timid?”

Her brows furrow with confusion, her gaze searching your own as your thumb continues to dance over the darker patch of skin. Then you see it, the recognition flashing in her eyes. She might’ve forgotten, but you remember her talking about how much of a bore it was to be with unsure people. Timid, as she had put it. Which is something you’re being right now—you think.

Your eyes find Oberyn’s from above her shoulder. It’s a fleeting moment. But he seems to be eating you both with the darkness of his eyes. Your heart skips a beat. Ellaria’s hand cradles the back of your neck, gently tightening her grip. When your gaze moves back to her, you see that she’s smiling.

“I didn’t mean you when I said that,” she answers. “You lack confidence, there’s a difference. And I doubt you’ll be holding yourself back after regaining it.”

“You don’t think I’m boring?”

“I don’t,” leaning in, she drags her nose over yours, soft lips only an inch away. “Let’s not keep Oberyn waiting.”

When you both turn, you see that Oberyn is softly touching himself. Fingers teasingly moving up and down his impressive length. You clench your teeth, arousal overwhelming every orifice of your body. “How should we do this?” he asks, eyes on Ellaria.

Grinning, she gently nudges your shoulder with her own, you can’t stop staring at Oberyn however. He’s all lean muscle, the extra padding making him look fit. The coarse dark hairs lead a path from his softened stomach to his pulsing cock. Noticing your gaze, he wraps a hand around himself and starts to fuck his fist with hard strokes. He watches with delight at the way you lick your lips when a bead of precome appears on the tip.

“Would you want to taste him?” Ellaria’s lips touch your ear.

An awkward chuckle bubbles from your chest, “Am I being that obvious?”

“Only slightly.”

She guides you to the bed, and you take your place between Oberyn’s legs while Ellaria is more to the side. His hand instantly finds the side of your face, thumb tugging at the corner of your lips as he stares at you with a softened gaze.

“Needy,” he murmurs. “I’m going to enjoy playing with you, little one.”

You feel your pupils physically expanding. Ellaria drags her nails down your scalp, you purr at the sensation. “He likes it when you go slow,” she informs. “Start at the tip and drag your tongue down, he likes being teased.”

With an urge to please, you do exactly as she says. First, you swirl your tongue around the bulbous head, his thighs stiffen, then you flatten your tongue and move down. The moan that comes from him is unfiltered and loud. Slick gushes between your legs.

“Good girl,” he gasps. “You too.”

It takes you a while to understand what Oberyn means. You only become aware that he was addressing Ellaria when the other joins you, licking a stripe up the other side of his length. You moan as you take the head between your lips, meanwhile, Ellaria closes her lips around the base, sucking the delicate skin. A choked out moan parts his lips, not being able to keep still, his hips stutter, forcing you to take more of him. His width spreads your lips wide. Your eyes water and you feel Ellaria’s tongue as she kisses the skin right under your eye.

She replaces your lips with her own. You watch in a dazed manner as she takes Oberyn down her throat with practiced ease. His fingers tangle into her curls when she hollows her cheeks, forcing her head down. The sight alone makes you drip for them both. Now feeling even bold, you meet Ellaria’s lips while she’s sucking on the tip. You swear you see a ghost of a grin when she slips her tongue into your mouth. You taste a mixture of them in your mouth, and your head spins. Not wanting to part away, both of you lower yourselves, taking Oberyn between your lips as your tongues struggle to meet around his cock.

“Fuuuck,” he groans, cock twitching between the pair of lips. You feel his rough fingers moving along your cheek. “You’re doing so well—both of you are,” Ellaria pulls away and winks at you before turning to Oberyn. You take him halfway into your mouth, the tip touching the back of your throat. He makes a sound, burying his head further into the pillows. “If you continue doing that I’m going to come.”

The sound of his voice lights a flame in you, the strokes of your tongue becoming more wild and eager. You swallow around him, over and over, until Ellaria pulls you away.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” you choke out, eyes flitting between the two. “I want you to come,” you then add, jerking him.

“Oh it is,” he answers with a sly smile. “But before that, I want to see you come undone on my tongue. And my cock.”

Ellaria feels you shudder as she traces the line of your spine, “Get on all fours,” she says barely in a whisper.

You do as you’re told. Arousal coils tightly in your stomach, your body burning from the inside out. You’re over-excited. Your breathing coming out in short, rushed pants. Oberyn gets behind you as Ellaria takes Oberyn’s place and pulls you between her delicate thighs. Your one arm instantly curls around one leg as you brace yourself with the other by flattening your palm over the mattress.

Oberyn’s fingers languidly slide down the curve of your ass and slip two of them into your soaking heat with ease. You melt into the touch, your elbow immediately giving way and falling. Without thinking much you kiss the inside of Ellaria’s thighs, sucking and nipping her ample flesh. Oberyn begins to thrust his fingers in and out. Your walls flutter around the digits, your body growing tenses.

“So wet,” he approves. “You must be very excited.”

“F-Fuck, I am,” you whimper, attempting to meet the thrust of his fingers.

He scissors his fingers and curls them, applying pressure to a delicate spot deep inside. A jolt of electricity rushes over you. Your body engulfed in a crackling heat.

“Taste her,” he says. “Aren’t you curious?”

Instead of answering, you meet Ellaria’s gaze before pressing your lips into her cunt. You moan into her, and she draws up her legs, bracketing you between the inside of her thighs. She cradles the back of your head with both hands, guiding you as you drag your tongue between her folds. She tastes fucking delicious. You love this, love giving her pleasure. With a hum, you close your lips around her aching clit and suck. Hard.

Her body jolts, the bed underneath creaking. Oberyn swears from underneath his breath, and you imagine him staring at Ellaria’s debouched face. You bet she looks beautiful. Nudging the bundle of nerves with the curve of your nose, you tease her entrance with your tongue, slowly pushing in.

“And you worried you would be timid,” she croaks out, her back arching as she tugs you closer. “Look at you now, my sweet girl doing such a good job in pleasing us.”

Oberyn’s fingers are replaced with his sinful tongue, heat drips from your spine. Without wanting to, you pull away from Ellaria, moaning loudly between her legs. His tongue delves deeper, kissing your folds and lapping at everything you have to offer. He grazes his teeth and you writhe against him, your lips moving sloppily along the apex of her thighs as you attempt to kiss her.

His tongue feels too damn long. . . he pushes the soft muscle inside, the mild stretch making your stomach roll. Oberyn is much better at this than you are. No doubt about it. Ellaria only watches as the most sinful sounds escape your throat. He fucks you with his tongue and between thrusts, he manages to flick your clit with the pointed tip. It makes you feral. You’re not even sure what you’re doing anymore. You continue to taste Ellaria, albeit much more sloppily compared to before. You catch her gaze whenever the fog in your head lifts, her lips are parted, eyes half-lidded.

“I think you’re ready to take me,” Oberyn says, his voice hoarse.

Before you can answer, Ellaria cups your cheeks, pulling you away from her core. Your chest heaves. She swipes her thumb over your lips, spreading the wetness caused by her cunt. “I want you to pick a word, love.”

“A word?” you cringe internally at how out of it you sound. They haven’t even fucked you yet and you’re already a mess.

“A safeword,” Oberyn explains Ellaria’s words further. His hands grip your love handles and squeeze them tenderly, he pulls you back and you feel the warmth of his cock heavy on your ass.

You think for a minute, your eyes darting around Ellaria’s face and the wall behind her. Your mind is completely empty. Blank. Not even one word comes to mind.

Oberyn licks his lips, “How about that stoplight system? Green for go, yellow for slow down, and red for stop?”

Ellaria’s gaze searches your own, and you nod, “That sounds good.”

“Alright then,” Oberyn purrs, etching closer. He slides his cock between your folds, his hands skimming up your waist. Ellaria continues to hold your face, watching your every expression with interest. Your eyes widen— is she waiting to see your expression when Oberyn enters you? Fuck. Heat blossoms in your chest. “What is your color now?” he asks, hand cupping the back of your neck.

“Green,” you say with a whimper.

Oberyn pushes in inch by inch. He stretches you beautifully, only a hint of pain following while he fills you. Ellaria smiles as your eyes roll back, your lips parting with a guttural sound. He feels so good. So deep. When he’s fully sheathed inside, he waits for you to adjust to his size. Your legs shake. You’re barely keeping yourself together. Ellaria slips her thumb into your mouth and you wrap your lips around her diligently. She hums with approval.

“Does she feel good?” Ellaria asks Oberyn.

“Yes. She feels like she was made for me. Such a perfect hole to fill.”

You shudder, dripping down his cock and the inside of your thighs. “Oh god—” you choke out, your voice thick.

Ellaria releases you when Oberyn rocks his hips impatiently. Your cheek drops to her thigh and with a shaky hand, you bring your fingers to her cunt, slowly slipping two of them inside. You know she wasn’t expecting it when her head snaps back. You can’t help the little smile that graces your lips. Her heat consumes you. Oberyn’s thrusts become faster, harder, sinking deep into your cunt. And with every stroke of his cock, your fingers go deeper into Ellaria.

It’s a beautiful mess.

You’re not sure how thin the walls are, you hope that they’re thick. You mentally apologize to the neighbors if not because none of you are making an effort to keep quiet. Ellaria grinds to meet your fingers, meanwhile, Oberyn’s cock is splitting you into two. His pace is brutal, you feel your skin rippling as his hips snap into you. Honestly, you’re not even trying to move your hand anymore, it’s all Oberyn—So technically, he’s fucking two people at once.

Suddenly you find yourself being shoved into Ellaria’s delectable cunt, Oberyn pushes you down, blunt nails biting into your scalp. With a groan, you once again close your lips around her clit and suck. You swirl your tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves, then gently —almost fearfully due to the harsh grind of Oberyn’s hips— you graze your teeth.

Ellaria cries out, a sound that takes you by surprise. Between wet eyelashes, you watch as her face contorts in pleasure, her walls squeezing your fingers tight. Her clit throbs against your tongue and just like that, she’s gushing heavily into your mouth. Oberyn’s movements slow, his brutal pace becoming a lazy one as his cock massages your walls. You have a feeling he’s watching her as well.

Noticing that she’s crying out both your names, your pulse quickens.

You pull out your fingers and hold her hips, wet streaks glisten on top of her sun-kissed skin. Burying your mouth deep within her folds, you allow your tongue to lick the remains. Another, more gentle, orgasm washes over her, the cries from before becoming sighs of languid pleasure.

“Good girl,” Oberyn growls, his hand becomes a necklace around your neck and he hauls you up. He shoves his lips against your ear, the tremor of his voice making you tremble. “You know, I’ve never seen her come quite that hard with the others. She must like you a lot, pet.”

fuckfuckfuck

The way he rolls his tongue as he says it, pet—you don’t expect it to affect you that much but it does, your entire body tenses, his cock easing in and out of you even faster thanks to the way you gush around him.

“You like that?”

Shit, he noticed.

“I—I—”

He grabs your chin and clashes your lips in a bruising kiss. Oberyn leaves you breathless, your lungs convulse, burning with the lack of oxygen. You taste a hint of yourself on his tongue.

“Our sweet pet,” he murmurs against your lips. “You’re stunning like this, all fucked out.”

Oberyn kisses you once more then turns to Ellaria with a smile, “I can still taste you on her tongue.”

“I would think so. She was quite thorough,” she teases, her gaze fixed on you.

Ellaria touches herself slowly as Oberyn resumes his brutal pace. Wet noises flood the dimly lit room, Oberyn buries his face where your neck meets your shoulder. You feel the softness of his lips and the sharpness of his teeth. Your loins burn.

Oberyn dangles you on the edge of a cliff. Every time you’re close to your release, he slows his hips into a gentle roll, only to build you up again. Ellaria simply watches, gently drawing tender circles while Oberyn toys with you. Their pet.

“Please,” you beg. “I want to come.”

You sound teary and embarrassed. Oberyn kisses your neck. “You have been good,” he murmurs, eyes moving to Ellaria. “What do you say?”

“Let her come,” she sighs, smiling. “Make it feel good for her, Oberyn.”

Oberyn makes a sound of eager approval. His one hand slips between your legs as the other grasp your breast, keeping your sweat-soaked body flush against him. His fingers draw tight, quick circles around your clit as he presses into you, hips smacking against your flesh over and over.

It doesn’t take you long after that.

Your orgasm hits you like a truck—hell, it hits you like a train. It’s violent, intense. Every muscle grows taut and your skin tingles as if it’s burned. You can’t even cry out properly, your mouth wide in a silent scream. Something warm trickles down your thighs, and if it wasn’t for Oberyn’s constant, steady praise in your ear you would’ve been embarrassed. But instead, you just slump against him. Your body feeling limp as if you might never be able to stand again. He rolls his hips, and each time waves of pleasure wash over you, it’s not as intense, but it feels amazing.

“That’s it,” he rasps. “I’m going to pull out now, okay?”

Your nod is followed by a hiss when he does, the sudden lack of him making you feel empty, and frankly, a little bit sad. However, you don’t get the chance to linger on the feeling as Oberyn guides you toward the empty spot next to Ellaria.

She holds you in a tight embrace, whispering praise into your hair. Oberyn shuffles until he’s behind her, his arm draped over her waist. His cock is still hard and heavy between his legs, glistening with your slick.

You ask weakly to Oberyn, “What about you?”

“Always so thoughtful,” Ellaria purrs. She throws her arm back, pulling Oberyn close by the neck. He kisses a delicate path up that follows the curve of her neck. “You don’t need to worry about him. Just relax. . . and enjoy yourself.”

When Oberyn sinks into her, you understand why Ellaria was so eager to watch your expression.

You stare into the small bathroom mirror above the sink, the light irritating your eyes. You’re fresh out of the shower, naked, still dripping, the drops warm as it slides down your skin. Ellaria’s reflection comes into view, also naked, her hands delicately moving over your body, examing to see if you’re hurt anywhere.

“How do you feel?” she asks, satisfied with her examination.

“I’m fine,” you answer dismissively, still staring at your reflection. You feel detached, your limbs slow and tenderly aching.

Oberyn squeezes a tub of minty toothpaste over the bristles of your brush and holds your chin. Instinctively, you turn to him. He gently pinches your jaw. You open your mouth.

He starts to brush your teeth. This man you just met, this man who just railed the ever-living shit out of you. . . is tenderly brushing your teeth. You taste the mint and without meaning to, you wrinkle your nose. He laughs.

“It’ll be over soon.”

The thing that makes you tear up is how delicate they are with you. It’s unexpected. They don't think you’re invincible just from your looks. They see that you’re broken, see that you want to be taken care of. And they humor you, treating you as you wish to be treated, without you having to say so.

They touch you as if you are a glass rose. It makes your chest ache.

“I think I have ointment somewhere,” Ellaria mutters to herself, turning on her heel and looking over the shelves. “It will soothe your skin.”

The small sniffle you make goes unnoticed by Ellaria but not Oberyn. With a raised eyebrow, he pulls out the toothbrush. “Rinse,” he says simply. He turns on the faucet for you and you fill your mouth with water. You swish it around. Then look to him before doing anything else. “Spit.”

You watch as the foamy water goes down the drain. You straighten back up, watching the reflections that dance in the mirror once more. You feel his eyes on you but you’re too flustered to answer his gaze. Ellaria holds a small container of ointment, when she sees your expression her brows furrow.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you mumble, not truly knowing the answer yourself. Oberyn opens the faucet again and rinses the toothbrush. After placing it back, he brushes his lips over yours, the gesture sparking life back into your body. “I don’t know,” you then say. “It just feels all so nice, I’m not used to. . . I don’t know, sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Ellaria says, opening the small container. She takes a hefty amount with two fingers and rubs it into the tender skin of your asscheeks. “It’s normal. You haven’t been feeling well lately, and it’s common to feel a bit of a drop after.”

“Is it really?” you ask.

Oberyn answers you instead, “It is. You’ll feel much better when we’re back in bed when you’re between us.”

Ellaria nods and you manage to smile. With a soft chuckle, you shake your head. “You two are too nice to me.”

“The bare minimum shouldn’t be surprising you this much,” Oberyn’s gaze softens. “But we’ll fix that.”

As the two guide you back to the bedroom, you believe they will.

#oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell x f!reader #oberyn martell x fem!reader #oberyn martell x ellaria sand #oberyn martell x reader x ellaria sand #ellaria sand x reader #ellaria sand x f!reader #ellaria sand x fem!reader #game of thrones fanfiction #got fanfic #oberyn martell fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters

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alacants · 20 days ago

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if you saw the full video of carlos alcaraz and his team watching rafa's retirement announcement, perhaps you noticed that his coach seemed, dare i say it, reluctant to join in. if you follow juanki and/or jcf academy on social perhaps you noticed that amidst effusive tributes from across the spanish tennis establishment both were conspicuously silent. why the seeming reticence from one spanish great to the spanish great? well. WELL.

juanki, rafa, and the case of the green-eyed monster

("but user alacants, in creating this post aren't you ignoring the vagaries of human nature in favor of imposing a narrowly crafted narrative onto a twenty-year relationship that is probably both more complex and less contentious than you make it out to be?"

of course i am. what are you, new?)

davis cup 2004

prior to 2004 juanki was Mr Davis Cup. he often cites the 2000 cup (where his win decided the tie) as the most meaningful title of his career, more so than roland garros. then 2004 rolls around, spain makes their third final in 5 years… and the day before the tie begins juanki is dropped from the lineup in favor of some 18 year old who's never even played a match at roland garros. (<- actually. isn't that crazy??)

"obviously i am not jumping up and down with happiness." and to be fair to him everyone else sounded baffled as well. and then… the 18 year old had the nerve to play andy roddick in front of a record-breaking 27k home crowd and win.

to twist the knife: at the last minute juanki got named to the doubles match alongside tommy robredo and they got CRUSHED, just absolutely destroyed, by the bryan brothers. held serve once in three sets.

so it is maybe not a surprise that afterwards juanki does not exactly look happy despite nominally winning a major trophy.

it's noticeable enough to make the news. rafa is forced to tell the press nooooo, it's not true that they don't get along. juanki then goes on the record to say that on the trip back from sevilla the captains were only paying attention to nadal and moya, the winners, and ignoring him and tommy, the losers. while this may be true there is no way to make it sound good that you're saying it, yk.

(if you click through you will see that in the same interview he describes himself and rafa as "good friends." rafa goes on to describe them as friends on several more occasions! juanki does not.)

three months later, spain went out in the first round of the 2005 cup, 4-1 to slovakia. juan carlos was not part of the team lmao. and indeed a qualification play-off in september would be his last taste of davis cup action for several years. (that last call-up was ferru's first btw. red string of fate. SORRYYYY I KNOW IT'S NOT ABOUT THEM.)

roland garros 2005

unfortunately if you're juanki it did not get better. here he is in 2005 "[accusing] spanish media of a nadal obsession." (that link will also give you a taste of the contemporary fan discourse lmao.) he was baited, but also, they baited him because they knew he'd rise to the occasion.

rafa nadal btw had just played his first roland garros, which he won. juanki at rg: "unlike the media-designated extraterrestrials i'm just a HUMBLE PLAYER trying to win matches. i'm not one of the favorites but maybe if i keep trying…" he was then forced to deny he was jealous.

(this was shortly after rafa beat him for the title in barcelona, resulting in this cheerful take: "when you're on a high like nadal is everything seems to go right - but it doesn't last forever.")

rafa, meanwhile, is not helping:

QUESTION: Other than Carlos Moya, were there any other Spanish players you grew up watching, admiring? Did you follow Juan Carlos at all when you were growing up? RAFAEL NADAL: No, my favorite was Moya.

rome 2008

the hits continue. by 2008 rafa nadal is THE spanish tennis man, he's the guy everyone thought juanki was going to be. (ouch.) and now they are about to meet in rome. rafa btw has been undefeated on clay since the famous federer hamburg final, for an overall record of 117-4 since 2005. he's never lost in rome.

so imagine the reaction when juanki actually wins.

—wait did you think it was something like "ferrero shocks king of clay in tantalizing return to form." lol of course it's not, it's "nadal suffers freak loss due to blisters." harsh? rafa didn't think so: "i congratulate juan carlos, but today for sure was not my best tennis."

never mind that juanki was also playing through injury, bad enough that it took him out of barcelona then functionally killed his roland garros. (safe to assume that after 2004 he's more or less always injured.) this is typical sports media syndrome, nothing new or particularly unexpected. but once again: juanki is not, like, shy about expressing his thoughts.

QUESTION: The fact that Rafa was injured - he complained about the foot injury at the press conference here - what does that take away from your win? Do you feel it takes a little bit of shine away from your win? JUAN CARLOS FERRERO: [...] When you go to the court and you decide to play, I think the injury is not reason to say yes or no… You know, at the end I play a little bit better than him. I don't know if it was big reason to don't play at his best level, the injury. QUESTION: How much do you think this loss and the injury is going to affect Nadal's preparation for Roland Garros? JUAN CARLOS FERRERO: I don't know. Maybe you have to ask him.

fortunately (???) this match was immediately followed by an explosive spanish tennis row that ended with top players including juanki and rafa joining hands in solidarity to push the president of rfet out of his job, so this did not become the topic it might have otherwise.

davis cup 2009

it's now 2009. juanki hasn't played a davis cup tie since 2005. he's just dropped out of the top 100. and then… rafa and ferru get injured. juanki gets a dc call-up. he heroically saves the qf tie! he wins his sf rubber! his teammates are tossing him in the air, the crowds are chanting his name! he doesn't make the final roster bc everyone is healthy but he's a reserve, he's there with the team. they sweep the tie, the heroes are undisputedly his special friend ferru (epic comeback) + verdasco/lopez (deciding win over undefeated opponents). …and then they go for the obligatory meeting with the prime minister who's like, RAFA YOU WON THE DAVIS CUP FOR US THANK YOU SOOOO MUCH WE LOVE YOU.

a lot of people were unhappy about this, presumably (??) including actual rafa. afterwards, juanki says, "most of the team thought it was disrespectful." one wonders who was not included in "most."

(honestly? probably feli lopez.)

valencia 2013

speaking of actual rafa, did he notice and/or care about anything of this? i mean he definitely noticed. but i assume he didn't care. (rafa experts are welcome to chime in here.) after all, a couple years later rafa spoke at juanki's retirement ceremony. there was a hug and everything!

so like, ok, they are cordial, they are friendly, rafa's place is cemented in history and juanki is retired anyway. THEN less than a year later rafa pulls out of juanki's beloved valencia open to enter a different more lucrative tournament instead and he is fully dead to juanki who is calling him out in the press like, i think it's his DUTY as a SPANIARD to support a spanish tournament.

which event did he choose instead, btw? Roger Federer's Basel™. which he hadn't played since 2004. and then he ended up withdrawing anyway. there was some conspiracy theory type thinking at the time that he only committed to basel so he had an excuse not to play valencia (well that and the $$$) which is almost certainly untrue but is also very funny.

meanwhile juanki sooort of backpedaled like i mean we don't understand his decision but we respect it… sure, juanki.

late-career detente (?)

juanki has since repeatedly gone on the record noting 1. the only player he ever felt inferior to was roger federer 2. who btw is the best player of all time. these are not neutral statements coming from a spaniard and no one is taking them that way.

now having said that, he has also had plenty of nice or at least diplomatic things to say in recent years about rafa's will to compete, etc. "i wouldn't like him to get [to roland garros] and not win matches." while also dropping gems such as:

q: which of the big three was the hardest to play and why? juanki: federer. but i'm just glad i managed to beat all three of them before i retired. :)

with all of this in mind, the aforementioned video of carlos and team watching rafa's message. is. so. funny. JUAN CARLOS GROW UPPPP. like presumably the academy at least will say something once the big moment rolls around but when literally every other spanish tennis player under the sun is posting their glowing tributes and you are Haughtily Silent it's so obvious!! son!!!

additionally: this makes juanki spending the olympics at home so fucking funny. yeah, i bet you DIDN'T want to watch your special friend and your beloved protege coo over rafael nadal for two weeks. like in the year 2024 there's no way it's that serious, nothing more than "my annoying ex-coworker i still have to be polite to." just, they're not friends. and ferru and rafa (and now carlos) are. and it's very funny to me personally.

in conclusion: "rafa largely to blame for ferrero's downfall" (espn, 2012)

#juan carlos ferrero #rafael nadal #to be clear although this post is written from juanki's perspective i am not precisely a sympathizer #like it's rafa nadal what are you gonna do man #i am sympathetic tho. i would probably handle the same situation equally ungracefully.#it really does suck when the narrative you thought you were in is not the narrative you are actually in #you thought you were the protagonist and instead you're the cautionary tale #the doomed backstory. the preliminary foreshadowing.#senpai's not dead he's pursuing higher education at the juan carlos ferrero tennis academy #yes i did talk myself into kinda wanting fic btw.#sounds like perfect conditions for an angry and ill-advised hook-up to meeee

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hrtsdevils · 1 year ago

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you made me love the number forty-three | fall to me au

summary: a close-knit bond is formed between luke hughes and y/n l/n throughout the years. they have their ups and downs, but they’ll always be there for one another.

pairing: platonic luke hughes x family friend!reader

wc: 1564

warnings: fuck ass bob

a/n this is based off of abby by gracie abrams, and it’s very dear to my heart! pretend that luke wasn’t committed to umich 2 years before he graduated… for the plot! sorry jack’s kind of a meanie, i love him!!! i swear!! it just fits w the lyrics <3 enjoy and thanks for reading!

tell me your secrets, ask every question. my door is open twenty-four/seven. think you were made from something in heaven. you made me love the number eleven forty-three.

october 2008-september 2010

Your family had known the Hughes family for as long as you could remember. Your mother had played soccer at the University of New Hampshire with Ellen, and she was the first person to cheer her on once hockey season started. This allowed them to form a close bond over their four years of eligibility. The Hughes family travelled a bit around the country due to the careers of Ellen and Jim, but as soon as they settled in Toronto with their seven, five, and three-year-old sons, your mother followed suit with five-year-old you and your eight-year-old older brother.

The older two boys in each family started hockey, and Jack was soon to follow. This left you and little Luke to hang out in the care of Ellen, and occasionally your mom. At first, you loved him, he was like your personal baby doll that you could drag around, dress up, and have tea parties with. Luke didn’t usually object, except for that one incident where you tried to make him wear “clip-clops”, as you called them, to which he had a temper tantrum about the sheer idea of putting them on his feet.

As you grew older, Luke wanted less to do with you and your girly things and more to do with hockey, along with whatever else the boys were doing. Although normal of him, you still felt betrayed. What can you say; you were seven years old. To try and make you fit in, Luke took craft scissors to your long, wavy hair and cut it to look like the boys. Maybe you’d have looked better if you had a pixie cut done by a professional salon, however, he was slightly less than and you came out with the same shaggy haircut as the five-year-old. You ran to your mom immediately, about to cry of embarrassment.

“Mommy, something bad happened!” You screeched, interrupting her conversation with Ellen and catching the attention of the three boys.

Covering her mouth slightly, Ellen was the first to speak, “Oh, sweetie.. what happened?” She reached out to touch your now chin-length locks and brushed a few stray longer hairs out of your eyes.

“Luke cut it, so I could play hockey with them.” You gesture towards the boys, “And now I... I look like him!” You exclaimed out of horror, finally realizing the drastic nature of your actions.

You started to tear up before your mother cut in, “Baby, you both look adorable! It’ll grow out soon, don’t worry about it.”

You were still seething for the rest of the day, and you were plotting your revenge plan on Luke for weeks. You wanted to kill him, and had been ignoring him since that very moment.

You figured your life was over, and what better way to spend your final moments pretending Luke didn’t exist after what he’d done to you. You decided that he was public enemy #1, or at least that’s what he was until you looked in the mirror, albeit a month or two later, and your hair had grown out into a short bob, framing your sweet features beautifully. You started to feel better about it.

Later that day, you went up to your mom and curled up in her lap. “Do you think Luke and I will ever get along again?” You asked while she was reading a book.

Your mother sighed and smiled at you, “You and the boys just have different interests. When you get older, things will be different and you’ll be even closer.”

december 2015

Your mom was right, although you and Luke were pretty far in age, he was practically your baby brother and best friend. You were close, despite differing interests and he would confide in you on a regular basis. One particular night, Luke rode his bike down the sidewalk in the cold, snowy winter and knocked on the window to your first-story bedroom.

You immediately let him in, then asked him what was wrong. Ten-year-old Luke pulled you into a hug and started spilling out his feelings and secrets. “Jack’s so rude!” He exclaimed into your shoulder, “He thinks he’s so much better at everything! Hockey, Mario Kart, basketball, all of it.”

“And?” You inquired, “Just ignore him, Lukey.”

He sniffed some more and released himself from your arms, “He keeps excluding me from his friends and stuff, they’re over and he pretends I don’t exist because I’m not good.” He wiped his nose and sat on the carpeted floor by your bed, “Quinn’s not home, he’s at a tournament with Mom.” He attempted to clarify why Quinn couldn’t stop, although you already knew because your brother was with them.

You frowned, “That’s not cool of him.” You quickly shot a text message to Jim saying Luke came over here to hang out, so nobody got worried. “Are you hungry?”

He nodded, and you offered to make some Kraft mac and cheese. “Feel free to listen to music or something, love you.” You slipped out the door and went to make him some dinner.

Since you were little, you knew for certain that you’d always be there for him and now you knew you’d always look out for him, whenever he needed it. Even if one day he’d be more able to protect himself than you ever could, today you would refrain from marching over to the Hughes residence and getting in a physical fight with Jack.

march 2020

It was almost your eighteenth birthday, so you were visiting home to hang out with your parents, the Hughes’, and a few other hometown friends. You entered the front door to your house after catching up with your friend over coffee to see your parents and the Hughes’ bent over Luke and his laptop. “What’s up?” You question, hanging up your big, puffy jacket.

“We’re waiting for my UMich college acceptance letter, they sent them out today.” He said, nervously. You could tell by the shakiness of his voice.

You joined them at the table, “Don’t be silly, Lukey. You know that they’ve already expressed interest in you and your game.” He smiled a little as you ruffled his hair, and sat down at the chair to the right of him.

“I wish Jack and Quinn were here.” Luke sighed and scratched his head, “Jack promised he’d call, but I think he’s busy.”

You frowned for him, you knew how much closer he and Jack had become in the last few years, but they’d drifted again when Jack moved to New Jersey last year. A part of you wished Jack had gone to college and stayed closer, but you and Luke knew he was too good for the NHL to wait on. “I’m sure he’ll call soon, bub. Give it a little bit.”

After about twenty minutes of refreshing and chatting, the letter from the University of Michigan popped up. It was nerve-wracking. Luke had already been accepted into a few safety schools that wanted him on their hockey teams, but he really wanted to follow in Quinn’s footsteps and go to Michigan. Luke’s cursor hovered over the email for a few moments before clicking it, and to nobody’s surprise, it was an acceptance letter. Everybody cheered, but you seemed the most excited (besides Luke, of course.)

“Luke!” You squealed, hugging the boy from the side as tight as possible, “You did it!”

He hugged you back, “Thanks for supporting me, and letting me sleep on your floor.. and buying me food all the time.” He chuckled, “Couldn’t have done it without you, sissy.”

present day

It was Luke and Jack’s day off, as they had zero games scheduled for the next few days. You had come to visit them to watch a few games, and you were staying at their apartment. It wasn’t a rare occurrence that you came and watched their games, stayed in the guest bedroom of their Hoboken apartment, and hung out with their team and whatever WAGs were joining them. But today it was just you and Luke, chilling on the couch and watching ‘Elf’.

“Remember last November when we went to New York?” You recalled while watching Buddy run through the city. Luke turned the TV down and grinned.

He nodded, “Yeah, good times. And we ate so much chocolate that you almost threw up.”

“That wasn’t because of the chocolate,” you objected, “it was because you were making me laugh so hard my organs hurt.”

Luke snorted as he remembered the vacation and the hotel room you guys stayed in. It was a spontaneous trip on a week when he was injured to try and cheer him up. You guys sat all night judging random music albums and your boyfriend at the time. It was all just a part of a collection of memories you loved to revisit, a photo album in your head.

“God, I can’t believe how old we’re getting.” You said, a tone of sadness. “You used to fit on my shoulders, and now I think you might break them if I tried to give you another piggyback ride.” You laughed softly.

“I’m grateful that our moms raised us two houses down.” Luke threw a piece of popcorn at your face.

You threw it back, “I’m grateful I get to know you.” You stated, a smile gracing your features.

i’m right here. fall to me, to me. fill your head with sweet dreams, sweet dreams. you’d never hurt a thing, nothing. i hope you know to talk to me.

end

#luke hughes #jack hughes #quinn hughes #nj devils #hughes brothers #hughes family #nhl #nhl hockey #luke hughes x reader #jack hughes x reader #quinn hughes x reader #nhl fic #nhl blurb #hockey fic #hockey #maddie writes stuff #hockey au #umich hockey #fall to me au!

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miraculousystuff · 2 months ago

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hi there! I have a request. Since it’s spooky season,my request is that Mrs.Bustier is on maternity leave and the class has a substitute. They are to be going on a class trip with Mrs. Mendeleiev’s class to Salem to study the differences between the Salem witch trials and the witch trials in Europe at the time, however lila starts her usual crap like trying to get Marinette to give up her first class seat or get her left behind with a sudden “disability” but the teacher isn’t taking any of her crap despite the class’s protests and objections.

The sub scolds the class and especially Lila, then the scolding continues when Lila continues lying and trying to get marinette into trouble.

however Lila messes with one of the historians, who happens to be a descendant of one of the accused. The worker, placed a “real curse” on the liar, making her have unfortunate accidents.

she tries to blame Marinette but Adrien shuts her down and tells her off.

soon the accidents get to her and she gets revealed as a liar. The class tries to ask for forgiveness but marinette brushed them off. And transfers to Mendeleiev‘s class.

Thank you @animechefgirl454 for the amazing request! I hope you like what I wrote!

The Corey Curse

Marinette Dupain Cheng was not in the mood for this. It was the 19th of September, or in other words, the day her class went on an expensive trip to Salem, all the way out in Massachusetts, USA. And of course, she had been peer pressured into organizing the whole trip, from the plane tickets to the destinations they were visiting. After about a month of sleepless nights (Hawkassmoth) the trip was finally here. And after multiple consultations with Tikki and Master Fu, she figured there was no way out of it. Anyone else would be jumping at the opportunity to go. But Marinette had a feeling that Lila would certainly ruin the trip for her, especially through the rise in snide remarks and bathroom death threats in the past few weeks. Thankfully, they hadn’t done anything physical recently, but that was mainly because Ms Bustier was on maternity leave, and had been replaced with a sub, Miss Fournier. She was a young, dark haired and sharp woman in her late twenties, and held a no-nonsense classroom. Marinette was still wary, because she had never openly discouraged Lila, but at least she hadn’t forced her into fake apologies or sympathy, a major level up from Ms Bustier.

She trudged to school with her pale pink suitcase. It was adorned with elegant roses across it, along with a rose vine curling across the handle as a finishing touch. Her style had changed after most of her class had abandoned her, and she began finding the Marinette beneath the social mask she put up. Her hair had grown out to her mid back and she usually just left it out. However, today was a special day, or special enough that her mum had convinced her to tie it in a braid, draped across her shoulder. Her usual outfit had changed too, from the boring pink white and black to a more colorful range. Today she adorned a blue, spaghetti strap sundress with a floral pattern across it. Her ears adorned gold hoops and matching jewelry, along with a pair of white converse. In other words, she looked stylish, and as she reached the massive group outside the school, a certain liar, unfortunately, was the first to notice.

Lila let out a loud squeal and gasped. “MARINETTE HOW COULD YOU!” she yelled out, and Marinette’s eyes widened in response. “Me? I’ve been here for like 30 seconds!” she sputtered, her face heating up as all eyes glared at her. Lila ignored her however, and continued yelling. “You stole my suitcase!” she wailed loudly, huge tears welling up in her eyes. The whole class immediately went to comfort her, except for Alya and Adrien. Alya was the first to speak. “HOW COULD YOU MARINETTE! Stealing Lila’s suitcase is NOT COOL!” she yelled, and stormed up to the bluenette. She grabbed her and hissed “This is jealousy to a whole new level. Apologize to Lila!” Marinette stood, shocked. “Wh-I-but-” she sputtered, the utter stupidity was astounding. Nino was quick to agree with his girlfriend. “Yeah dudette, not cool!” he yelled, while comforting Lila. Soon, the whole class was bombarding Marinette with insults. Through the cacophony of it all, another voice cut through the crowd.

“That’s Marinette’s suitcase.” Adrien said, stepping forward. All eyes turned to him in shock, including Marinette’s. Adrien, unphased, continued. “Marinette had the same one in the first class trip to London, before Lila came. Remember?” Slowly, the class began to nod, they yells dissipating into murmurs. Lila’s eyes widened before stammering out an excuse. “Oh, umm, sorry Marinette, you just had a suitcase that looks really similar to the one I got from Switzerland when I…” she stammered, continuing on to a story about rescuing the Duke’s puppy. Marinette was no longer listening however, staring at Adrien with wide eyes. “Wh-what happened t-to taking the high road?” she stammered, a faint pink dusting her cheeks. Adrien brought his hand to the back of his neck and smiled sheepishly. “Well I’ve been meaning to talk to you about th-” suddenly, he was cut off by Miss Fournier, yelling at the class to line up in front of the bus that goes to the airport.

*time skip brought to you by Lila’s sausage hair*

After going through security, it was finally time to board the plane. As they reached their seats, Marinette realized she had a window seat, and smiled widely. She had only ever been on a plane once before, and had always adored the beautiful sky outside. She grinned as she got in, and immediately took out her headphones. Just then, someone sat beside her, and she was about to move away when she realized who it was. “A-Adrien?” Marinette squeaked, and said Adrien just laughed. “That’s me.” he said, and Marinette almost melted on the spot. The bubble was ruined, however, when none other than the devil herself plopped down in the aisle seat next to Adrien. “Hey babe…” she started, already pouncing on Adrien, who immediately pulled away in disgust. “What do you want, Lila?” he said through gritted teeth, and she was about to reply when she noticed Marinette. “YOU!” she screeched, and the whole plane turned to look at her. Lila blushed and coughed loudly, before making a fuss again. “I-um-yes-uh-I need the window seat!” she blurted out, before recovering quickly. “I have this skin disease, which requires me to sit on a window seat at all times. Could you switch seats with me, Marinette?” she simpered, garnering the attention of the rest of the class, who immediately took Lila’s side.

“Switch seats with her!”

“Don’t be mean!”

“Hurry up Lila could die!”

Marinette squeezed her eyes shut and was about to give in when a savior came in an unexpected source, “What is going on here?” Miss Fournier yelled, cutting through the crowd. Alya was quick to respond. “Lila has a skin disease and she has to sit on the window seat, and Marinette refuses to give up her seat!” she says, and to her surprise, Miss Fournier sighs. “And why should Marinette switch with Lila? It is not her duty to accommodate Lila’s needs. In fact it is Lila’s.” she says, shutting down the whole class as everyone gapes at her. She continues. “And seeing as Lila has failed to do so-” she pauses to give a sharp glare to the liar “It is now my duty to ensure Lila is safe. There is a window seat next to me. You will sit there for the remainder of the plane ride. Get up, let’s get going.” Lila slowly got up, burning with shame as she stormed to the seat next to Mrs Fournier. The whole class was bristled and annoyed, but left it at the fact that Lila was now ‘safe’.

To say Marinette was overjoyed was an understatement. She was beyond herself that not only one, but two people had stood up for her today. She put her headphones in and began to drift to sleep. Meanwhile, Adrien was going through an inner battle of whether or not to take back his high road advice to Marinette. “What if she hates me?” a voice whispers in his head, contradicting “She could never hate me…right?” Finally, he gathered the courage to turn around and speak to her, when Marinette’s head suddenly dropped on his shoulder. He turned rigid until he realized she was asleep, her small, steady breathing sending flutters down his chest. Adrien pulled out his phone and took a photo of them together, smiling softly. He then glanced at Marinette once more and moved his hand to brush her hair, and that was how they remained for the rest of the ride.

*time skip brought to you by Adrien’s obliviousness*

After they got off, their first destination was the Salem Witch Museum. It was based off the witches of Salem, exploring the 20 people who were executed for supposedly practicing witchcraft, one of whom was accidentally killed through torture. Needless to say, this gave Marinette chills, and as they reached the brown bricks and iron gates, she gulped. Lila however, didn’t share this sentiment, and had no problem yelling about the place, complaining about its structure, color, everything. Marinette was just about to yell at her to stop when someone else beat her to it. “Miss Rossi. I take it you have not learnt obvious respect in your old schools, however this is a place that deserves to be preserved and not be hurled upon by insults, especially by you.” Miss Fournier barked sharply, leaving the whole class silent once more. “I see that your friends are having an influence on your tongue, so until the tour guide shows up, you will come stand by me.” Lila’s face turned red as she glared at the teacher, but begrudgingly did as she was told. Marinette stared in awe as Lila was put in her place, and completely ignored the daggers the lying fox sent her way.

Marinette soon realized how no-nonsense Miss Fournier truly was. As soon as the tour guide showed up, Lila didn’t hesitate to go back to Alya, and began rather loudly criticizing the poor woman’s outfit choices. She hurled insults like “Her clothes must have been dug out from a trash can!” and “Are those shoes fresh out of the 1700s?” The tour guide looked like she was going to cry and Marinette was about to fight when Miss Fournier stepped in once more. “That’s enough Lila. How dare you disrespect this incredibly well dressed woman who has the effort to put up with you? And let’s be honest, Miss Rossi, your outfit choices aren’t exactly flattering enough to be considered better than her’s. Apologize to her immediately and then come walk with me AGAIN.” she’d said sharply, leaving Lila humiliated and the class astounded. A while after, Lila began moaning about how boring this whole trip was, and how Marinette couldn't even plan something decent. The substitute once again came to the bluenette’s rescue. “Well Miss Rossi, I’ll make sure you plan the next trip then? But while we are here, I suggest you pay attention to the trip that Marinette has graciously planned for us and worked hard for while you have done nothing. Apologize to her now.” This continued on for the whole trip until they reached a historian, Molly.

Miss Fournier suddenly spoke up. “Excuse me students, I need to pop to the restroom for a moment. Please behave.” she said, giving a very pointed glare to Lila before disappearing. Molly gave her a smile before turning to the class. “Hello. My name is Molly. So boys and girls, I’m sure you have been waiting for this moment. I’m here to talk to you about what can be considered the most horrible death throughout the Salem deaths: The murder of Giles Corey.” she stated, and immediately the class broke out into whispers. Marinette froze at her word; she had learnt about this in history, and it wasn’t pretty. Adrien seemed to notice her state and put a comforting hand on her shoulder, to which Marinette flushed bright red. Lila noticed the interaction and her eyes burned with jealousy. Desperate to get the attention of her boy toy back on her, just as Molly was about to speak, she yelled. “Did you guys know that I actually know Giles Corey! He was a great friend of mine!” she yelled proudly. The whole class froze, and Molly full on flinched. Just as they began gushing over Lila, Marinette spoke up. “Lila, Giles Corey died in 1962, before you were even born. How could you have known him?’ she stated, hands on her hips. The class looked at her confused and expectant and Lila shrunk under their gaze before stuttering out an excuse. “Ah-uh, silly, silly me, umm, I mean, I’m-i’m-I’m related! That’s right, I'm related to him. My Alzheimer's acts up sometimes and I forget things, but that’s right, Giles Corey is my great grandfather.” Marinette rolled her eyes, knowing there was no way to convince the class otherwise as they once again crowded around Lila and gushed over the fact. Lila continued on a rant about him.

“...but good old grandpa Giles was really an asshole in reality. He had a lot of money but he practiced in…” she dropped her voice to a not so quiet whisper “...unholy practices, so he was killed obviously, and he gave his money to his daughter and none to my grandpa because he was sleeping with her.” The whole class gasped. That was the final straw, Molly spoke. “I’m sorry, does Alzheimer's cause you to lie as well?” The class turned to her, and Alya immediately started yelling. “How dare you accuse Lila of lying?” she screamed, but Molly remained calm, a small smirk playing at the corner of her lips, but her eyes betrayed her anger. “I know Lila is lying because my name is Molly Crosby.” she stated, and the class stared at her blankly. Suddenly, Marinette gasped, eyes wide. “Oh no..” she said, pale. Adrien stared at her in worry, but Alya grew impatient as Molly grinned at the realization. “So what, you have a weird last name? Your point is?” Molly smirked and stepped closer. “Alya…” Marinette warned quietly, but as usual, she didn’t pay attention as Molly spoke again. “I’m Molly Corsby, granddaughter of Deliverance Corsby and direct descendant of Giles Corey.” she stated “Also known as the lineage of the most evil witches in Massachusetts.” The whole class was shocked into silence, gaping and staring. Nino was the first to get his wits about him. “So…Lila was lying.” Silence hung over the air as everyone turned to Lila, shock in their eyes. Lila laughed nervously and played it off. “Sorry guys my lying disease must be acting up again.” she stuttered, and everyone seemed to accept it soon enough, though a hint of doubt lingered. As everyone faded back into their own conversation, Molly walked up to Lila. “You know, Giles Corey was said to have put a curse on a town that lasted 300 years. I wonder what would happen to you.” she whispered and clicked her fingers.

Suddenly all the lights flickered and died. The people in the room screamed. They came back moments after as staff reassured everyone it was just a technical issue. Even after they had recovered, Lila was still pale, with Alya and Rose simpering over her, asking if she was sick. The remainder of the tour continued on peacefully, in comparison at least, as Lila didn’t say a word the whole time. It seemed she had genuinely been shocked to silence. This peace didn’t last for long and after they reached their hotel rooms, Lila was already spinning a tale of how Marinette had used Molly to threaten her, but she had been subdued by Miss Fournier enough to not say it to Marinette herself. However, inside, a storm brewed inside of her as she watched Marinette and Adrien bid each other good night. She was going to make her pay, and with that thought she entered her hotel room, scheming.

The next morning, Marinette woke up feeling more refreshed than ever. The feeling of her teacher not being a complete pushover and at least one person on her side made her significantly happier than when she started her trip. Lila however woke up feeling crappy, with a sore throat and a headache. After they got ready, they were meant to meet Miss Fournier in the cafe for breakfast. Marinette had chosen a blue halter top and bell bottom jeans with a delicate scarf draped over her neck. Lila on the other hand, has on a bright orange latex too and orange checkered shorts along. Just to copy Marinette, Lila decided to wear a tacky orange scarf. As they entered the cafe, Adrien immediately complimented Marinette’s scarf. As usual, she flushed bright red. “I-uh-oh th-th-thanks, I actually, um, made it!” she squeaked out. Lila saw red as she stared at the scene. How dare Maritrash interact with Adrien. She immediately stormed up to them and flashed her scarf at them. “Hey Adrien! Do you like MY scarf?” she simpered, and Adrien recoiled. “It’s okay Lila.” he said uncomfortably. She continued showing off. “You know I actually made it.” she said, fluttering her eyes annoyingly, Adrien rolled his eyes. “The tag is still on it.” he stated, unimpressed. The liar immediately began crying huge tears, and though the class immediately comforted her, it wasn’t enough for her. She needed to make a certain bluenette pay. The room was very hot, and as Marinette got up from her seat, she placed the scarf on the table. Big mistake. Lila pounced almost immediately, grabbing the scarf, then walking back to her table nonchalantly. Just as she was about to sit down, someone bumped into her, sending her falling to the floor. They also, unfortunately, were carrying multiple glasses of juice, which all spilled over Lila, her clothes, her shoes, her hair. Miraculously, the only thing that remained untouched was Marinette’s perfect;ly stitched scarf. Speaking of the scarf, Adrien came and picked it up, smirking at her. “Lila don’t you know it’s rude to take things without the owner’s permission?” he mocked before walking off, leaving a soaked and sticky liar sputtering on the floor,

After Lila had cleaned up and changed into a clean pair of clothes, even though she got sympathy from the class, she couldn't stand the fact that Marinette got away scott free, and with Adrien at that. And that smirk. It looked like Satan’s grin himself, and she shivered at the thought as the image replayed in her head. There was no way Maritrash was going to get away with this. Today, they were going to the Salem witch Trials memorial, and it cost $25 to enter. Which means that if someone’s money just happened to go missing, they would be left out of the destination, and she would get Adrien all to herself, Perfect. As they neared the brick walls of the area, Lila smirked. Marinette, ever so forgetful, had left her wallet on the bus. And Lila, ever so thoughtful, was the only one left on the bus, and simply took out all the cash she could find in it before walking out and stuffing it in her pocket. Grinning widely, she walked up to Marinette and handed her the wallet, making a big show of giving it back to her in front of the whole class. “Here Marinette. You forgot your wallet.” she purred ‘innocently’ as the class cheered praises.

“Oh my god girl, you are such a good citizen looking past her bullying and still being kind!”

“Damn dudette you are a literal angel!”

“Yeah Lila, I could never!”

However soon, the comments dissolved as Marinette gave Lila a tight lipped smile. “Thanks Lila, but that’s not mine.” she said, and Lila turned pale. “Wh-what do y-you mean it’s not y-yours?” she sputtered as the whole class looked at her in disbelief. “I mean that that’s not mine. Actually, I’m pretty sure that’s Miss Fournier’s.” she stated calmly, and Lila paled even more if that was possible. “Oh no-” she breathed as she turned around and came face to face with the teacher. “Miss Rossi, that is in fact mine. Thank you for collecting it for me. In fact, your mother has actually entrusted the fees for your memorial with me, so_” she dug through her wallet until she came with nothing, pretending not to notice Lila’s shocked expression. “Oh, it seems I don’t have it. Did you see it anywhere?” the teacher asked, glaring at Lila. Ashamed, Lila had two choices: she could admit she had taken it and blame it on some disease or fault the teacher. Of course she chose the one with the least effort. “M-miss, how could you lose my fees!” she wailed, and the class came to her defense, criticizing Miss Fournier. “Actually Miss Rossi, I think that if we look in your left pocket we can find the fees.” Lila stopped crying and gaped as she pulled out the money and smirked. The whole class gasped, and while still defensive of Lila (claiming it was her lying disease or Alzheimer’s) were more subdued, some even giving sneaky doubtful looks. Meanwhile, Adrien and Marinette were having a ball, laughing with each other and entering the memorial. Miss Fournier was also giving her smug looks (even though she would deny it vehemently.)

These kinds of incidents continued on throughout the day, First, Lila tried to trip Marinette up as she moved past grave stones, but unfortunately, golden boy Adrien was in front of her, ready to catch her, Even worse, Lila had stuck her foot out too far, resulting her to fall forward, face flat onto the ground. Then, as Miss Fournier asked questions about the history, Marinette answered. Lila had tried to claim that she was wrong, and of course the teacher had said that the stupid bluenette was right and she, in fact, was wrong. It was humiliating to say the least. Then, as they stopped to eat food, Lila gathered up a bunch of dirt in her fist and dropped it in Marinette’s juice cup. But for some reason, as she brought her mouth to her own, there was disgusting mud in it, so bad that she spat it out. Right onto Miss Fournier’s face, who once again made her sit next to her for ‘disrespecting the area.’ To rub it even more, when Marinette drank her juice, she was perfectly fine, and not only that, but Adrien even wiped some of it from her cheek as she grumbled next to the teacher. The icing on the cake however was when they reached the hotel again. They had to cross the road, and Lila had the perfect plan. She was going to push Marinette into oncoming traffic. And sure enough, just as a giant black SUV began speeding down the road, Lila’s hands found the bluenette’s back and gave her a hard shove, throwing her onto the road. However, instead of getting pummeled, Marinette recovered even faster than the car and moved out of the way at the speed of light, earning loud cheers from the crowd. The SUV had even stopped and apologized to her profusely, and of course the owner had to be some rich guy driving by for a history tour, and oh of course he also knew the OH SO FAMOUS MARINETTE DUPAIN CHENG LIGHT OF LIFE EVERYDAY LADYBUG. AND Adrien had witnessed the whole thing, so he was even more clingy and protective of Marinette. It was the final straw when they were relaxing in the lobby and Marinette gave an AUTOGRAPH to someone. “THAT'S IT!” Lila screamed, stunning the whole room into silence.

“YOU!” Lila screeched and pointed to Marinette, who stood with eyes wide open, gaping. “YOU HAVE BEEN RUINING THIS WHOLE DAY FOR ME!” Alya stood up in an attempt to end this before it started. “Now Lila, I know she’s been bullying you, but I’m sure-” Lila held up a hand to shut Alya up before advancing on their ‘Everyday Ladybug’. 'FIRST IT WAS THE STUPID HAND MADE SCARF, THAT FOR SOME MAGICAL REASON COULDN’T GET SOAKED EVEN WHEN I DID!” she screamed “THEN IT WAS THAT USELESS TEACHER’S WALLET. THE MONEY I STOLE WAS MEANT TO BE YOUR MONEY, DUPAIN-CHENG, BUT OF COURSE, SO CONVENIENTLY IT WASN’T EVEN THE TEACHER’S MONEY IT WAS MINE!” she ran her fingers through her hair as Mylene put the pieces together. “Wait so, when you took the money…it was on purpose? To sabotage Marinette?” she gasped, her eyes wide, but Lila wasn’t done. “OF COURSE IT WAS! AND THEN SUNSHINE OVER HERE WAS SO READY TO CATCH THAT BRAT WHEN SHE WAS MEANT TO FALL WHEN I PUSHED HER, AND THEN, I FELL! HOW DOES THAT EVEN HAPPEN?” she squealed, aggressively pointing at Marinette, her hair a mess, ignoring the class’ shocked looks. “AND THEN, OF COURSE YOU WERE RIGHT ABOUT THAT STUPID QUESTION ON MARTHA WHATEVER, AND YOU JUST HAD TO SHOW ME UP! AND THEN, YOU WERE COMPLETELY FINE WHEN YOU DRANK YOUR JUICE, AND MY JUICE HAD THE DIRT IN IT, BUT IT WAS MEANT TO BE YOURS!” she screamed, and this time Nathaniel stepped in. “Wait so you purposely tried to poison Mari-” he was cut off by Lila once more. “SHUT UP TOMATO. AND OF COURSE, WHEN I PUSHED YOU ONTO THE ROAD, YOU COULDN’T JUST DIE, AND YOU HAD TO BE AN INSUFFERABLE HUMAN BEING AND BE ALL NICE ABOUT IT!” she finished, yelling at the top of her lungs, breathing heavily. Dead silence. Everyone stared at her as she exposed everything, including her attempted murder. Suddenly, a voice was heard deep and dark. “Lila, it sounds to me like Marinette is the victim here. You tried to destroy her property, poison and murder and you think YOU”RE the victim.” Adrien hissed, softly, but it cut through the silence like butter. “How dare you try to blame MY PRINCESS when all your friendships are based on lies, and when all you care about is hurting others. You are a disgusting, lying cockroach, and I hope you rot in juvie.” he finished, loud and clear, then gestured to the security cameras. Lila visibly paled as chaos resumed, the whole class turning on her, bombarding her with questions.

“Oh my god, Jagged Stone doesn’t have a cat, and would never write a song about a teenage girl!” “I literally know Ladybug, she would never be friends with a random civilian!”| “That rare fox necklace that Marinette stole is $5 on ebay!”

At the mention of Marinette’s name, it was like someone pulled a switch, and everyone turned to Marinette, apologizing profusely.

“I’m so sorry Marinette, we should have believed you!” “Yeah we’re so sorry!”

“Please accept our apologies!”

Marinette raised her hand to silence everyone. “I understand that you’re sorry. Believe me, I do. But it hurt. My friends for years betrayed me over an orange clad liar. Who threw away years of trust for something better. So, I accept your apologies.” audible sighs of relief could be heard from the class “...but I don’t forgive you. And I don’t know if I ever will,” The apologies started again, Alya being the loudest one. “PLEASE GIRL. WE’RE SORRY! THE LEAST YOU CAN DO IS FORGIVE US!” Marinette turned to her former best friend sharply. “The least I can do is forgive you. No. The least I can do is damage your things-” she gave a glare to Ivan and Nino “humiliate you-” she faces Alya and Sabrina “hurt you." She turns to Kim and Alix, then swivels to face Alya. “Believe me, I know the least I can do, because I’ve been facing it for the past 2 years. It would be a miracle to ever gain forgiveness from me, Alya Cesaire, or the rest of you.” Marinette finished, leaving the room in dead silence. She then straightened up and spoke in a clearer tone. “Actually, I’m planning on getting rid of this toxicity forever. I’m transferring to Ms Mendeliev’s class, straight after this trip, along with Adrien. I hope I never see any of you again. And I hope you suffer.” she finished before stalking off, Adrien at her heels. Leaving the class in chaos.

Let me know if you guys want an aftermath with Lila justice and Adrienettte fluff ❤️❤️❤️.

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