#only for her to then tell me she was MARRIED

[formula-ghost]

The Driver (FC43 x fem!reader)

SUMMARY: After years of being with your boyfriend, Franco Colapinto, you should feel secure and ready for your budding future. When old anxieties creep in, will your relationship withstand the pressure?

WORD COUNT: 9.5k 

WARNINGS: Semi-public car sex (reader and Franco are both switches, fingering, p in v). Angst, mentions of cheating. Heavy mentions of marriage, incredibly Champagne Problems coded but I have to stick to the Måneskin theme. Probably incorrect geographical depictions of Spain. Reader has an anxiety disorder/struggles with mental health. Same universe as Supermodel/RYD (in RYD, Franco’s Aston Martin contract is only one year, so we’re just skipping ahead here). 

A/N: You all asked for Franco car sex and instead I gave you emotional pain :) I don’t think I’ll ever stop writing for RYD!Franco, I just love him too much. After this I’ll keep writing for Wildflower and then maybe do a few one shots before the next series perhaps? Either way, hope you enjoy!

TAGLIST: [COMMENT TO BE ADDED TO MY FRANCO TAGLIST!]  @scopeiguess @storyteller-le @xivilivix @htpssgavi @wierdflowerpower @justsisse @uncreativetm  @ncrsbrg @tillyt04 @amz824 @ellelabelle @aliwritex

If you gonna set fire to the night, baby let me be the lighter

If you’re already high and you wanna fly, I’ll be the hit that takes you higher

If you wanna love when you touch the sky, you can be my midnight rider

If there’s nowhere to go when you wanna go wild, I wanna be the driver

After getting his first multi-year Formula 1 contract—complete with a hefty sign-on bonus—there were three things that Franco Colapinto needed to buy. 

The first was a house for his parents. 

He led his mother around the massive home, showing her every little detail that he had noticed when he chose it, all perfectly arranged according to her taste. At first, she wasn’t sure what her son was doing; he had wanted it to be a surprise, so he didn’t tell her anything. 

“Yes, Franquito, the home is beautiful,” she said, craning her neck to look at the high ceilings, the sunlight from the massive windows illuminating her face. “But why would you buy a house here in Argentina? You’re hardly ever home, you can just stay with us in the off season.”

Franco, like his mother, was a pragmatist. He’d never buy himself a mansion in Argentina unless he had retired from F1 and decided to settle down. But his career was just getting started. 

She continued, “I mean, you and YN don’t need this much space—”

“It’s not for us, Mami,” he said, finally letting loose the smile that he’d be fighting all day. He was never able to keep secrets, too much of a chatterbox. “It’s for you.”

“Franco—”

“Mami,” he said, already anticipating her hesitation. “It is the least I can do. I can never repay you for all you’ve done for me.”

“That’s my job. You don’t need to repay me.”

“Maybe I don’t need to, but I want to.”

Tears had begun to well up in his mother’s eyes. She knew it was impossible to stop him. It was every athlete’s dream to make enough money to buy their mother a house one day; she wouldn’t take that from him.  “I’m so proud of you, mijo,” he said, enveloping her son in her arms. “You have made me proud beyond measure.”

It was Franco’s turn now to tear up, though he blinked them away and smiled. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I figured something was up,” she laughed, “this house is too much my style for you to buy it. I think YN would like it, though. How is she doing?”

“She’s good,” he answered, unsure of how to proceed. His mother let him pause, knowing he was about to say something. “I’m… thinking about asking her to marry me.”

“Oh, wonderful!” she replied, her smile now stretching ear to ear. 

“We haven’t talked about it yet, though. So don’t get your hopes up. She might not say yes.”

“Why wouldn’t she?” his mother questioned. “You’ve been together for years, through thick and thin.”

“I don’t know,” he said, scratching the back of his neck in nervousness. “We just…haven’t talked about it. I’m nervous.”

“Well, don’t ask her until you’ve talked about it. But I see no reason why she’d say no.” She reached out to smooth over a piece of his hair that was stuck up at an odd angle. “Take your time,” she continued. “If you all aren’t ready now, there’s no harm in waiting. You have the entire rest of your lives to be together.”

Franco gave her a weak smile, his expression still plastered with nervousness. “But when you do get married,” she continued, as if it was a fact, “I expect grandbabies.”

He laughed, despite knowing that she was dead serious. That would be a bridge to cross later.

For now, he had a second purchase to make: his first real car. 

Franco, despite being a Formula 1 driver, had always been down to earth. When he drove for Williams, they had to fight him over taking the bus every day. Even in his early days, his future had been too unstable to spend all his hard-earned money on something like a flashy car, especially since he’d be away so often that he’d hardly be able to use it.

But now, he knew that the time was right, and he’d more than earned it. So, when Franco woke you up at the crack of dawn to go to the luxury dealership in Madrid to pick up his new car the second that they opened, you obliged him despite the hour being far too early. 

As the salesman handed him the keys, Franco beamed as if he was holding his newborn child, his eyes wide with love and anticipation.

“She’s beautiful,” he whispered, running his hands up and down along the hood of the flashy luxury car.

You stood back, afraid to even touch this car that was more expensive than your net worth. 

“She’s perfect. She’s the most perfect car I’ve ever seen.” He looked up at you, smiling like a giddy child. “Isn’t she perfect?”

You smiled back, amused by Franco’s happiness. “It certainly is a nice car.”

“It’s not just a nice car. She’s a machine.” You chuckled back at him. “Let’s go for a ride.”

You were honestly a little scared of getting in the car. But when Franco crossed over to open your door for you and help you inside, you couldn’t tell him no.

Sitting inside, you had to admit that it was a really nice car. Franco yapped on about the technical abilities of the engine, but it was in one ear and out the other—despite his many years in F1, you couldn’t say you had learned anything about the machines that your longtime boyfriend drove for a living. But you loved to hear him talk, especially when he was this happy, so you nodded as if you were listening intently. 

Franco went to back up the car, putting his hand on your headrest and leaning over his shoulder. The move showed off his prominent muscles and instantly melted you. Even after all these years, it was the little things that you never got tired of. 

He sped along the highways, giggling to himself as he heard the engine rev and felt the smoothness of the ride. His smile never wavered as he increased his speed and weaved through the slower cars. 

He skipped the exit that would lead back to your home, though. “Where are we going?” you asked.

“I want to show you something,” he said, being intentionally vague with his intentions. 

You raised an eyebrow. Franco wasn’t one for surprises; he talked too damn much to ever keep them. If he hadn’t told you before now, it must be something serious. 

He moved his hand over to hold your thigh, another one of those little things he did that still made you crazy no matter how many times he did it. “Trust me, amor,” he said.

Of course, you trusted him. So when he exited the highway and began driving into the Spanish countryside, you said nothing, instead choosing to enjoy the feeling of his hand rubbing soft circles into your thigh as the trees blurred past you and the engine purred.

After a while he finally slowed his speed, bringing the car up to an empty overlook off the main road. Through the tinted windows, you could see that this place was hidden, nestled off by the trees so that you could only get here if you knew where you were going. The view was gorgeous; miles and miles of lush greenery, and in the far off distance, the city that you had just left. 

“Wow..” you whispered. “How’d you find this place?”

“I used to run on these roads out here when I was younger,” he said, admiring you as you admired the view. 

“It’s beautiful.”

“I don’t get to come here much anymore,” he said. “I never thought I’d come back here one day as a Formula 1 driver.”

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you said, leaning over to kiss his cheek. His face had the slightest tinge of blush, so subtle that only you could see it. 

“Come on, let’s get a good look,” he said, turning off the engine and opening his door.

You got out of the car and softly gasped again when you saw the view with your own two eyes, rather than through the tinted glass. It left you breathless.

You sat cross legged next to Franco on the grass, taking in the sights of the countryside around you. For a while you were quiet, just soaking in the sounds of nature. 

Then Franco broke the calmness. “Have you ever thought about getting married?”

His voice was soft, but his words startled you. “Married?”

“I mean, we’ve been together for a while. About time, no?”

Truthfully, you had thought about marriage quite a bit. The mere idea of it scared you. And talking about it scared you even more. 

“You sound enthusiastic,” you joked. 

“You know what I mean.” He looked down, clearly also nervous for this momentous discussion. Still, he kept his voice light and steady. “I love you. I can’t think of anyone else I’d want to spend the rest of my life with.”

“I’d hope not,” you chuckled. But your attempts at diffusing the tension with humor failed.

He adopted a more serious tone. “YN, I want to marry you,” he said. His eyes looked up to meet yours, and for some reason, you felt your heart drop into your stomach. “I’m not proposing right now, but it’s something we should start thinking and talking about.”

You looked out into the distance and took a shaky breath. Why was this so difficult?

“So, talk to me, amor,” he said. 

“You want to marry me?” you asked, your voice small and squeaky.

“Of course I do,” he replied, brushing your hair out of your face. Now there were no barriers between you. “You’re the love of my life.”

You wanted to cry. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t know. It’s just so…final. What if something goes wrong?”

“Then we work through it, like we always do.” He was right. Your relationship with Franco had certainly had its rocky patches, but he treated you like a queen. You two overcame every obstacle, including your own mind that often worked against you. You often felt like you didn’t deserve someone so patient and kind. 

“Things change when you get married.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m not saying any of this lightly. I’ve thought about it a lot.”

Even after years of loving him, it still surprised you whenever Franco told you that he thought of you. You could never get used to existing in his head when you physically weren’t there.

“What do you think about?” you asked, moving closer to him.

He reached his arm around your waist, resting his hand on your hip. “I think about you, in a white dress. We’d be in the church in Argentina.” You knew the one. He’d gone there growing up, and had shown it to you several times when you went to visit his family. “And we’d have a ridiculous party, into the morning,” he said smiling, leaning his head down closer to you. “And, a while after that, maybe a few months or a year or so, you’d be eating for two.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop your eyes from watering. “That sounds…”

“Perfect?”

No. You were going to say real. That sounds real. And it scared you. 

Truthfully, you could imagine the wedding, and the babies, and the many happy years of being Franco’s wife.

But you could also imagine the distance. The exhaustion. The bitterness. 

“Growing up, I never thought I’d get married,” you said, shifting the conversation. “I just… I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to marry me,” you laughed. 

“I do,” he said. The effect of his words weren’t lost on you; the same words he would say to take the vow. “I want to marry you.”

You had told him a long time ago that your insecurities weren’t something he could fix. He remembered that, and he respected it. But still, it always broke his heart when he realized that even after years of loving you, those old wounds refused to heal. 

“Why?” you asked. Your head was beginning to hurt from holding in all the tears. 

“Why?” he echoed, incredulous at why you’d even need to ask such a ridiculous question. His voice held no malice, though. “Because I love you.”

“Don’t you get tired of this?”

“Of what?”

“Of…me being difficult for no good reason?”

“You’re not being difficult. Marriage is a huge deal, obviously. I don’t want us to rush into it if you’re not ready.”

“What if I’m never ready?”

He sighed. “Then…well, honestly, that would break my heart. I’d want you to work through whatever is holding you back. But I’d be with you every step of the way.”

You looked away into the distance. Part of you wanted to run and disappear in the thick foliage of the Spanish countryside. The other part of you wanted to bury your head in Franco’s chest, finally letting go of all the reservations that had haunted you for years. 

You knew Franco. You loved Franco. You trusted Franco.

So why were you still so afraid?

“Mi amor,” he said, gently guiding your head so you had to look at him. “Do you want to get married?” He tilted his head closer to you. 

You knew what he was asking. Not if you were ready right now, not if you were scared; but deep down, in your heart of hearts, did you want to marry Franco Colapinto?

“Yes,” you whispered. Just as he didn’t have to explain, neither did you. He knew what you meant; yes, but I’m scared. Yes, but I’m not ready. Yes, but I’m afraid I’ll never be ready.

He brought his lips to yours, gently kissing you as you let the few tears that had been welling up in your eyes finally go. When he pulled back, he wiped them away.

“We don’t have to make a decision now,” he said. “We’ve got time. I want us both to be ready.”

You kissed him again, this time more forceful. There was nothing sexier than a man with emotional intelligence. 

He pulled away again to finish his thought. “Just keep thinking on it, okay? We can talk about it as much as you want.”

“Okay,” you said, smiling as he looked at you.

“What?” he asked, his own playful smile dancing across his face.

“You’re so hot when you respect my boundaries.”

He laughed. “Mi amor, that’s the bare minimum.”

“Keep going,” you joked, “I’m so close.”

“Don’t say that,” he said, leaning down to kiss your neck. “I’ll start misbehaving.”

“Maybe I want you to,” he said, sharply inhaling as he gently bit the skin on your neck, sure to leave a mark.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he whispered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine as he nibbled on your earlobe. 

“Get me home and show me how horrible I am, then,” you teased, reaching out to touch his waist. 

“We don’t even need to get home.” He reached up to hold your neck with one hand as he continued kissing up and down your jaw.

“Here?” you said, darting your eyes around. 

“In the car,” he said, his voice already getting breathy. 

“No,” you urged. “It’s new.”

“Exactly. We have to break it in, no? Or bless it,” he said. His hands were beginning to roam underneath the hem of your shirt now.

“You’d never forgive me if I messed up the seats.”

“They’re leather, it cleans easy. I can get it detailed.” He stifled your next complaint with a deep kiss. “No one is ever around here. And the windows are tinted,” he whispered into your mouth. 

You laughed. “You’re a freak.”

“I’m your freak. And don’t lie, you love it,” he said, snaking his hand down to tease its way under your skirt. “I can tell how much you love it.”

You stopped him before his hand could go any further—after all, you were technically still in public. 

“Get in the car, whore,” you joked, before Franco hopped up and nearly sprinted to open the car door and set his seat back as far as it could go. 

He sat in the seat and patted his lap. “You joining me?”

You playfully rolled your eyes, getting up to meet your lover at the car and carefully climb onto his lap, occupying his lips with a deep kiss that he moaned into. 

“Did you plan this?” you asked. 

“Plan what?” he said, a devilish grin across his face. 

“Bringing me out to your scenic spot to fuck me in your new sports car?”

“Wasn’t planned at all. I’m a spontaneous man.”

“Mhm. How many other girls did you bring here before we started dating?”

“Less talking, more fucking, yeah?” he said. You probably didn’t want to know the answer. But that was all in the past. Franco was yours—he had been for years now, and he wanted to be yours forever.

There would be time to think about that later. Right now, all you could think about was the beautiful boy sitting beneath you, looking at you as if he needed you as simply as he needed air. You could feel him hardening beneath you. 

You shifted your weight to straddle him, grinding down on his length, eliciting a sharp exhale from him. 

“You’re so needy today, Franco,” you said as you ran your fingers through his soft curls.

“I’m always needy for you.” He brought his lips back to yours, hungry for the taste of you. His lips trailed down to your jaw and neck. “YN, you don’t know what you do to me…”

“I think I can feel it,” you joked, softly grinding your clothed pussy over the growing bulge in his jeans. 

“Don’t tease me,” he begged, roaming his hands up the hem of your blouse.

“But it’s so fun,” you said, leaning over to whisper in his ear. “I love to see you fall apart underneath me.”

“Fuck, YN—”

“Less talking, more fucking, no?” you said, mocking his statement from earlier. You met his mouth in a kiss, and he moved his hands down under your skirt, running up and down the soft skin of your thighs. When he finally teased his fingers over the wet spot that was already growing in your panties, you softly inhaled, showing your desire for him. 

“I’m not the only needy one,” he teased, breathing in the smell of your perfume and shampoo, his head buried in your neck. 

You softly moaned as he moved your panties to the side and began circling his fingers around your clit. 

“Franco, fuck…”

“What happened to all that talk, huh? Or are you too busy trying not to cum on my fingers?”

All you could do was breathe as his fingers found their way inside of you, pumping in and out to prepare you for his cock. 

“Don’t try to stop it,” he said, “let go. Cum for me.”

You obeyed, your legs shaking as your walls pulsated on his fingers. You whimpered into his neck, steadying yourself by holding him. 

He kissed your cheek, but wasted no time in unzipping his jeans and plunging into you while you rode out the waves of your orgasm. He let out a breathy moan as he felt the sweet warmth of you wrapped around him. 

You were overcome with sensation; the burn of his cock stretching you out, the last dregs of pleasure now mixed with the pain, and the burn in your legs from sitting in the same position for too long.

It was all the more motivation to bounce up and down on his cock, finding a steady rhythm as he guided his hands to your hips.

You rested your head next to his, moaning into his ear with every thrust. The small space of the car may be cramped, but you couldn’t help but appreciate the intimacy of the moment. Franco’s eyes were closed in sensual bliss, his breath ragged as you increased your speed.

You wanted to watch him come undone from the sinful pleasure that your pussy brought him. 

“YN—” he moaned, his hands digging hard enough into your hips to leave bruises, “Oh, God, YN, you always feel so fucking good. So good for me.”

You whimpered from both the praise and the pleasure. You had to slow down—the fast stamina was too much on your legs, which were now burning from the awkward position you were stuck in. 

“I think you were made for me,” Franco whispered. “And I was made for you. See how well we fit together?” He took control, lifting you up as if you were weightless and bouncing you up and down on his own. You yelped at first, then your surprise gave way to bliss as you both chased your release. 

But Franco was relentless in his praise. “You’re my fucking soulmate. I wanna fuck you every day for the rest of our lives.”

“Franco, I’m so close—”

“Cum for me, mi amor. Again.” His own voice was strangled with desire, so close to his own peak.

With a high pitched whine, you obeyed, and the heavenly feeling of your walls contracted around him brought your lover to the edge soon after. 

And when you did both finish, you held each other, too tired to even move from the uncomfortable position from the car. 

Franco was a talker. You always knew that. He loved nothing more than to fill your ears with sweet nothings when you made love. But the context of the conversation that just transpired weighed on you, even with the comfort of Franco’s hands rubbing small circles into your back as you both tried to catch your breath. 

“You okay?” he asked, and you murmured in response, unable to form any coherent words in the aftermath of everything. “Let’s get home and we can take a shower, yeah?”

A warm shower sounded heavenly right now. You awkwardly shimmied your way into the passenger seat and took one last look at the view, thankful that the overlook was still deserted. You sighed as you settled in and buckled your seatbelt, relishing the relief of finally being able to stretch your legs. 

“Hey,” Franco asked as he readjusted his seat and turned on the car. “Are you okay, really?”

“Yeah,” you said. It was true; you were exhausted, overwhelmed, and hurting, but it was all worth it for him. 

He leaned over to kiss your cheek and smiled before putting the car in reverse. 

The third item that Franco had to buy was the ring. 

Truthfully, the conversation hadn’t gone as smoothly as he would have liked. In his dreams, you'd jumped for joy when he’d broached the subject, and you’d live happily ever after.

But despite his disappointment, he understood your hesitancy. He was just as afraid to ask the question as you were to say yes. He knew that your struggles with self esteem and anxiety were lifelong. He knew all this about you from the very beginning, and he loved you anyway. 

Still, it was times like this when it broke his heart that he couldn’t fix it. 

It didn’t matter. You’d come around eventually, you always did. And you had been honest when you said you wanted to marry him—there was just a lot of stuff in the way, mentally and emotionally. 

So yes, he’d wait a while before he popped the question. But that didn’t mean he had to wait to buy the ring. 

He knew the exact one. You had fallen in love with it years ago, when you had worn it in a PR shoot for one of his high profile sponsors. Though time had passed, he still remembered the sadness in your eyes when you had to give it back after the photoshoot. He had vowed to himself that day that he’d earn enough to get you that ring.

And now he finally had. 

A few days after your conversation, he found the now faded card that he had stuck in his wallet and called the number. When the same brand rep picked up, he exhaled, letting go of his fear.

“Franco! How nice to hear from you. I was beginning to think we’d scared you away.”

“No,” he laughed. “The opposite, actually.”

“Let me guess. You’re ready for that ring?”

‘How’d you know?”

“I’ve been doing this a long time. When a woman looks at a ring like that, and she’s with a man that truly loves her, it’s just a matter of time.”

He had swiped another ring of yours to get the measurements, and he completed the entire order over the phone on his drive back home from a day of pre-season meetings. He had three months before the beginning of the new season, and he wanted to propose before that so you could start wedding planning once the season started. Would three months be enough time for you to think about it? He didn’t know. 

But he couldn’t wait any longer. The giddiness was eating him alive. 

You could tell something was amiss, but the idea of a proposal was the last thing on your mind. 

Franco was hiding his phone from you. Which meant that Franco was hiding something important from you, and he was doing a horrible job of it. 

Your lover was never the type to be quiet or secretive about…anything really. He talked too much. You had to physically restrain him every Christmas from spoiling what he got you weeks in advance. So if there was something that he was truly trying to hide, it was something major. 

And it scared you. 

The thought that you had been holding back for years finally broke through one night where he put his phone face down at the dinner table after his phone lit up with several notifications. 

“Who’s texting you?” you asked, trying to keep your voice innocent despite the rush of dread that was rising in your stomach.

“No one,” he answered, too quickly for your liking. You didn’t respond. 

You knew Franco was attractive. Every girl would kill to have him. He was kind, funny, beautiful, and flirtatious. But he was yours. Right?

Franco had never crossed the line before. You trusted him with your life. But something within you just felt deeply, deeply wrong, and it came spilling out later that night when he tried to touch you. 

His phone was left on the nightstand, untouched since dinner; his focus was on you, running his hand up and down your side, gently dressing his lips to your shoulder as you faced away from him.

“Not tonight,” you whispered, unable to keep your voice from shaking. 

“All you alright, mi amor?” he asked, pulling back your shoulder to make you face him, seeing how you were desperately trying to keep the tears at bay. 

“I’m fine,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek.

Even after all your years together, Franco never quite knew when to press on and when to keep quiet when you said those two infamous words. And he didn’t have much time to think, because you rose from the bed and left the room, mumbling about needing a minute to get fresh air. 

You stepped onto the back porch and took a deep breath, steadying your heart rate and calming your nerves, if only for a moment. The night air was serene; you felt vile contaminating the peace with your anxiety.

Would this last forever? You couldn’t remember a time when you hadn’t felt this push and pull. You wanted to tell Franco to go, to relieve himself of the burden of your mental illness. You wanted to bottle up every insecurity, every doubt, every negative thought into a vault that you didn’t share with anyone. 

But you couldn’t. If Franco left you’d be broken. You couldn’t stop yourself from letting these thoughts and fears control you. In the past, therapy had helped, but you knew this was a weight you’d always have to carry. And that made you miserable. 

So yes, maybe it was for the better that Franco move on, find someone better, more stable, and build a life with her. 

“Mi amor?”

Franco’s voice broke your hopeless contemplation. 

“Talk to me,” he said. 

You just shook your head. He must be so tired of reassuring you, endlessly, knowing that it didn’t help one bit. 

“YN,” he urged, “you know I don’t like it when you try to shoulder everything alone.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. That was all you could say. “I’m sorry that I’m like this.”

“Like what?”

“Impossible.”

“What do you mean?” 

“You know what I mean. We have the same conversation over and over again. Don’t you get tired of it? Of having to reassure me and it never helping? Of me crying over every little thing? Franco, I’m a mess!”

“YN…” he sighed, “When have I ever said any of that?”

He was right. He had never expressed any frustration regarding your mental struggles. He had always been there when you needed him. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Have you just been up in your head, or did something happen?”

You contemplated lying, but you knew better. “You set your phone face down at dinner.”

“I— did you think I was…?”

“It’s not you, Franco. It’s never you. That’s the worst part. You have to deal with all of this and it’s not your fault at all,” you said, not even allowing him to say aloud what you both knew was true. 

Franco took a deep breath. “YN,” he said, calmly, “let’s go back inside and go through my phone.”

“No—”

“Yes,” he commanded. “I want you to be 100% confident that I love you and only you.”

“Franco—”

“Let’s go.”

He had a firmness in his voice that only made your anxiety worse, and immediately you felt horrible for even insinuating anything to the opposite. But he was your rock of reason in times like these when your anxiety took over, and so you followed his command, unlocking his phone when he handed it to you. 

As expected, there was no incriminating evidence, just far too many unopened emails and messages left on delivered. Even his recently deleted texts showed nothing. 

The buzzing that you had been so afraid of turning out to be…emails from a jewelry company?

“I ordered a custom necklace for your birthday,” Franco explained. “They’ve been so difficult, though. They lost the order and then sent me the wrong thing. It’s been hell.”

You handed back the phone with your head hung low, ashamed. “I’m sorry I ruined the surprise.”

“You know I would have ruined it beforehand anyway,” he said. “I’m not upset at you.”

“You should be. You deserve someone who trusts you.”

“You do trust me,” he said, “I know you do. It’s not you that’s saying this.” 

Fuck. Franco really did know you too well. 

“You know why I stay with you, even with all this?” You looked up at him, curious for the answer. He had never been this direct before. He continued, “Well, first of all, because I love you. But even during times when I’m frustrated, I remember everything we’ve been through, when you forgave me and were there for me when I didn’t deserve it. I was so close to losing you and it terrified me.”

Once again, your eyes were watering. He said, “I promised myself that if you really gave me a chance, I’d never forget it. I’d be there for you and be the best boyfriend I could be. Because…” he paused, searching for the right words, “I know that some of why you feel these things is because of how I acted in the past. I’ve done my best to make it right, but some things never leave you.”

“When did you become so damn wise?” you said, laughing through the tears as he smiled and wiped them away. 

“You bring out the best in me.”

The conversation was laid to rest then. Franco held you until you fell asleep, safe in his arms. As he heard your soft breaths even out, he grabbed his phone and frantically searched for a necklace to buy to cover his lie.

He hated lying to you, but in this case, what else was he to do?

The necklace and the ring arrived a few weeks later, right before you all were scheduled to take a flight to Buenos Aires to spend the rest of the break with his family. 

But he had a plan. The break in Buenos Aires would be one to remember—for your “birthday” he was also flying out your friends and family for a few days. He had the whole idea plotted out, with help from many others, to plan a surprise karting birthday celebration, with all your loved ones there. Then, he would propose.

It seemed so perfect—surrounded by all your loved ones, doing a fun activity, the perfect balance between public and private. He knew you’d love it. He knew you’d say yes. 

He was giddy as he carefully packed the two jewelry boxes in his luggage, surrounded by clothes for safe keeping. 

And as the day of the birthday party came closer and closer, he could barely hold in his excitement. Everyone knew but you; he had colluded with every guest, telling them his plan and getting their blessing to finally ask you to spend the rest of your life with him.

Everything was perfect. The day before, you parents and friends arrived, and Franco told you everything but the grand reveal. 

He gave you the present, a beautiful necklace that complimented your tastes perfectly. You split a bottle of wine amongst loved ones, and your parents brought out their own gift: a photo album of pictures that they’d never been able to show Franco. 

You cringed at the embarrassing baby photos and records of bad middle school haircuts, but you couldn’t help the tipsy smile on your face. You leaned your head on Franco’s shoulder as he flipped through the pages.

Franco’s mother got out her own photo albums, showing picture after picture of him as a baby, his blonde curls and toothy grin smiling from ear to ear. 

“You were such a cute baby,” you giggled, and he blushed.

“Were? I’m still a cute baby,” he joked, kissing you on the cheek.  You scrunched your nose and smiled.

You were so in love with this man that it hurt.

That night, when you all retired to your room, he rubbed your back, enjoying the simple quiet between you two.

“I love you,” you said to him out of the blue. He smiled; he said those words often, and you always said them back, but it was rarer, more meaningful, for you to say them unprompted. 

“But it’s not fair. You were a cute baby and you’re cute now. You can’t have both,” you giggled. 

“We’d make cute babies,” he teased, and you blushed. 

“You trying to find out?” you responded, the alcohol in your veins giving you more boldness.

“Not when you’re this tipsy,” he said. “Besides, I need to put a ring on your finger first.”

At the mention of marriage, you sobered up quickly. You hadn’t really been thinking about that conversation you’d had back in Spain—in fact, every time you thought about it, it just made you more anxious, so it had the opposite effect of you actively avoiding it. 

Of course, you were still scared. You loved Franco more than words could say, and that was the problem—it was so good that eventually, it would have to not be good. It was a backwards logic, yes, you had convinced yourself that at some point, things would only be able to go down. 

You didn’t want to lose this beautiful thing you had created. But Franco had said he wasn’t planning to propose any time soon, right? In your mind, you still had plenty of time. 

But Franco did not, and the next morning was chaos.

His phone was blowing up with last minute organizing and words of encouragement from your friends and family in the proposal plan group chat. He was sweating bullets, constantly checking his pockets before you all left for the kart track to make sure that yes, he had the ring. He contemplated putting it in his bag instead, but he didn’t want to lose it, so he ultimately settled on his pockets.

He knew that he needed to stop checking them or else you’d notice and ask. You were always observant, in that way. 

But every time he sat down, the stupid box kept falling out of his shorts. The pockets were too small. He’d just have to check one last time before he left the house and be careful. Yes, everything was going to go according to plan. 

And as you all arrived and he changed into his race suit quickly, all he could think about was the speech he had tried to memorize. You were a woman who appreciated words; he wanted to express how you made him feel, but in his head, he kept stumbling over them. 

YN, you make me so happy. No, too simple.

YN, will you make me the happiest man in the world? No, too cliche.

YN, I never knew happiness until I saw your smile. No, too melodramatic. 

He’d have to figure out the words as he said them. For now, he’d just focus on enjoying the moment with you. 

And that wasn’t hard; you were as giddy as a child as you sped around the track, spinning out and pushing the poor kart to go faster and faster. 

Franco had arranged a tournament of sorts; of course, he had spoken with everyone beforehand to rig you as the winner. 

On your end, you knew everyone was letting you win. You were awful at karting. But it was your birthday event, after all. You didn’t care, you were having fun. 

It came down to the “championship” battle: you versus Franco. Of course, you knew your boyfriend would let you win, as he always did, but you loved the rush of adrenaline as the wind whipped past you anyway. You couldn’t stop smiling as you crossed the finish line and took off your helmet, flipping your hair out. 

You heard Franco stop his car behind you and get out, too. 

“I can’t believe YN won!” Franco’s mother said, smiling wide. 

“Thank you all for so graciously giving me that win,” you joked, looking to all your family and friends circled round, cheering for you. Franco was behind you still. You almost turned to him, but his mother interrupted. “Let me take a picture!”

This was the moment. All he had to do was take the ring out of his pocket and get down on one knee. 

He reached in his pocket and pulled out… nothing. 

His pockets were empty. 

He looked back at his father, the fear of God in his eyes, and patted his empty pockets. No one said a word. 

His mother, now done with taking the picture, leaned over to give you a hug. She sent a death glare to Franco over your shoulder, but still gave him the time to sprint back to the locker room to try and find the goddamn thing. 

He ran faster than his F1 car could drive, cursing under his breath at how stupid he could be. He could still save this, though. 

He found his bag and shook out the contents, frantically searching, until finally, at the bottom of the bag, he saw the box. He must have stuck it there while changing and forgot about it.

He let out a breath with enough power to shake the entire building. He opened the box to get a quick glance just to make sure everything was okay.

Except, everything wasn’t. There was no ring in the box.

He had grabbed the empty necklace box. 

Knowing you were far enough away to not hear him, he sweared very, very loudly. Unbeknownst to Franco, his father had followed him back to the locker room.

“Did you find it, mijo?” 

“I brought the wrong box,” he said, “This is for the necklace.”

His father sighed. “Franco…”

“I know, I know.”

“We can still fix this. Give her the ring at dinner!”

“I guess I’ll have to,” Franco said. He had never been more disappointed in himself. He had ruined everything. 

“Hey,” his father said, “chin up. You’ve still got this. The ring will be the perfect end to the perfect day, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, still not entirely convinced. But you would be wondering where he went soon; he couldn’t stay and mope too long.

His father left him to go relay the information to the rest of the group. Franco took a few deep breaths as he changed, mentally readying himself to see you again. He put on a smile as he saw you waiting for him outside the track with the others. 

“So, we’ll all head back and get ready, then meet for dinner tonight?” his mother said.

“Sounds good,” Franco answered, wrapping his arm around you as he walked you back to the car. 

Thankfully, when you got back to his parent’s house, you immediately wanted to take a shower and wash your hair, giving him time to search the entire room. Which he did, from top to bottom, and he still couldn’t find the ring.

It was just…gone. He had gone through every compartment of his suitcase, every pocket in his clothes, every hiding space. Still, it was nowhere to be found. 

His parents even helped him look, carefully parsing through every possible place until it was too late. You were nearly ready for dinner, and they all had to rush to get ready to make it to the restaurant in time for the reservation. 

Franco texted the groupchat the horrible news—he had fucked up. He had lost the ring. There would be no proposal. 

Kind words flooded his phone, but they meant nothing to the depressed Argentine. He had planned this out so perfectly; how did it end so badly?

And the worst part? He couldn’t even tell you. 

The atmosphere at dinner was more somber than usual. His sister had bought a bottle of nice champagne that would now have to go unopened. He would just have to propose some other time.

That’s what he reminded himself, every time the thought came up and threatened to choke him. Maybe next time he would fly his family out to Spain instead. He wasn’t in any rush. And you’d never have to know how badly he fumbled. 

Well, while you didn’t know the details, you could tell something was up. You mentioned it to Franco on the way home.

“Is something wrong?” you asked, and Franco cringed internally. He was always bad about hiding his emotions. 

“No, I’m fine,” he answered. 

“Well, everyone at dinner just seemed…off.”

“Probably just tired.”

You just hummed to yourself, refusing to allow your thoughts to wander any further. You, too, were tired. When you got back to the house, you both started to get undressed, taking off your fancy heels and jewelry.

You took off your necklace—the beautiful gift that Franco had given you, that you’d now treasure forever—but the box wasn’t on the nightstand where you had left it yesterday.

“Franco, have you seen my necklace box?” you asked from the bedroom. He was in the bathroom washing his face, and only barely heard you over the running of water. The mention of the box just made the whole night worse.

“Yeah, it’s in my bag,” he said, and you raised an eyebrow. How had your necklace box ended up there?

You leaned down to his bag, rustling around until you found the familiar box, though it was heavier than you remembered. 

When you opened it, you were nearly blinded by the glint of a beautiful diamond engagement ring. 

It was familiar; the same ring you had fallen in love with years ago. And it was in Franco’s bag. He had…bought you an engagement ring.

He was going to propose.

You could feel your heart rate increasing by the second. But you weren’t ready. You had only talked about it a few weeks ago. You were scared. 

It was okay, though. It was okay. You would just put the ring back. You’d find a way to hint to him that it wasn’t the right time. You could just fake it. He’d never have to—

“YN?”

You looked up at Franco’s face, widened with shock. You didn’t respond.

“Where did you find that?”

“In your bag.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. 

“I—” Franco was too stunned to speak. You quickly closed the box and put it back in the bag.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t see anything. This never happened,” you said, your voice rapidly talking without even thinking. You got up to leave the room, too anxious to stay seated, talking to yourself even after you were out of earshot of your lover.

Franco sat on the bed and sighed. Now he had majorly fucked up. First of all, how had no one found the ring in his bag, even after 3 people looked in there? And second of all, how did you find it?

But that wasn’t the biggest issue anymore. His plan had already been ruined, but he knew by the look on your face that your surprise was not a good one. He saw that fear that nestled itself into every crevice of your expression. 

You weren’t happy to find that ring. Not because it had ruined the surprise element—you just didn’t want him to propose.

He now had two options. He could do what he knew you’d want: act as if nothing ever happened and never broach the subject of marriage for several years to come, allowing you to shove away all those scary feelings until you’d deluded yourself into thinking you were over it. 

Or, he could do what he needed to do, and talk to you. 

He took a deep breath and followed you outside.

You were sitting on the back porch. Not crying, just quiet, looking out into the backyard. When Franco sat next to you, you didn’t say anything. He reached out to grab your hand, and you let him, softly admiring how he curled his thumb around your palm in soothing circles. 

“The plan,” he began, “was to ask you today. At the karting track. But I brought the wrong box.” He softly smiled at the absurdity of it. “When you were getting ready we were all frantically looking for it. I don’t know how we missed it.”

You just hummed in response, unsure of what to say. You needed to be honest. You needed to say the difficult things.

You began, though your voice felt choked. “Franco, if you would have asked me today, I would have said no.” You felt his hand tense up. “I mean, I would have said yes, because everyone was there. But…”

You trailed off, your words fleeing from you now. 

“I don’t understand,” Franco confessed. “We’re happy. You’re happy with me, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Then why don’t you want to marry me?” His voice dripped with sadness, and all you wanted to do was hold him. You turned your head to face him, and the deep sorrow in his eyes nearly brought you to tears.

“I do want to. I just…”

“I’ve done everything I can to be good to you. I’ve tried to always be there. I know I’m not perfect, but—”

“It’s not you, Franco. It was never you.”

“Then why? What can I do?” His voice cracked, seeping with hopelessness and frustration. “If it’s not because of me, then what am I supposed to do?” 

You got up. “Come here,” you said, and led him to the living room. The home was quiet; his parents were asleep, and the vast emptiness of the home was eerie. 

You grabbed the photo album that your parents had given you, and sat down on the couch, motioning for Franco to sit next to you. 

You opened it to a picture of you at your 4th birthday party. In the photo, you grimaced though the uncomfortable sensation of a plastic party hat. “Do you see her?” you asked him. He nodded. 

“I remember feeling like this when I was that little. This…fear. I desperately wanted friends but was too afraid to talk to anyone.”

You flipped to the next page, pointing to a photo of you sitting alone in a park, a forced smile across your face. “What do you notice about this picture?” you asked him.

Franco leaned in closer to look. “I don’t know,” he said. 

“I’m alone. See all the other kids in the background?” 

You kept flipping until you found the first photo of you when Franco knew you. You were fifteen, smack in the middle of your awkward teenage years, in the stands at one of his races. 

“I remember that,” he said. 

“That’s me, spending time with my first real friend,” you said. “I didn’t know it yet, but I had a huge crush on him,” you joked.

“He was going to ask you to marry him today. And you just told him you would have said no.”  

“I know,” you said, trying to be gentle with your tone. “But what I’m trying to say is that you’re not just asking me. You’re asking her. And she feels so alone, and she’s scared to trust anyone.”

Franco sat with the thought for a moment, before getting up to grab his own photo book. He opened it to the first page, and pointed to a photo of him as a toddler, wrapped in a scarf, toothy grin spread wide. 

“And that’s who asked you.”

You felt a knot of emotion in your stomach break. All you wanted was to cry. 

“This goes both ways, YN,” Franco continued. “I understand that you’re scared. But I can’t fix that fear. Only you can.”

The dam broke, your tears flooding forth. He was right. So you told him.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” you said, and he wrapped his arm around you, rubbing your back through the tears. 

“I’m not perfect either. I shouldn’t have rushed it, I was just excited.”

“Don’t apologize for being excited to propose,” you laughed through your tears. “I should probably go back to therapy.”

“If you think that’ll help,” he said.

“It will,” you sniffled. “I just… I’ve been so afraid that I’ve been ignoring all the signs. I should have seen this coming. You’re never that excited to let me beat you in karting.”

He smiled at your banter. You continued, “But really, you’re right. I’ve just been avoiding this because I’m scared, getting up in my head. I just feel so happy and that scares me, because at some point it has to fall apart, right? You’re never happy forever.”

“You’re not unhappy forever, either. Of course we’d have rough spots. But that’s the beauty of marriage,” he said, “you vow to be there for each other through it all.”

“How did I get so lucky to have you?” you asked, meeting his gaze. 

His eyes were full of compassion and love. “I’m the lucky one.” He leaned down to kiss you. 

You didn’t really believe him. You still didn’t understand how someone so perfect could love you, someone so…broken. But one day you would. You had to.

The next year was difficult. You began your healing journey again—a journey you were convinced you’d be on your entire life. But you’d do it for him, and for you. 

And slowly, bit by bit, the wounds began to heal. 

It wasn’t linear. With Franco’s new contract, he had lots of attention and responsibilities. He was away from home more. He was tired, stressed, more short-tempered. There were arguments. Some days it felt like you took one step forward and two steps back. 

But you made it through. For every argument there was an honest conversation. For every night away there was a sweet gesture or text message to remind you that he still loved you, and from it grew a solid, blooming trust. For every mistake—on both ends—there was an apology and a commitment to be better. For every night of tears, there was a night of laughter with the man you loved most in the world. 

And by the end of the season, you and the relationship were stronger than ever. 

Of course, things weren’t perfect. But the fear that had once held you hostage was an adversary you knew you could overcome. 

Franco kept the ring in his nightstand. You had found it again one day while cleaning. It wasn’t really hidden, as if to say, we’ll get to this later. It was no secret now.  You just put it back in its place and smiled, going on about your day. 

But Franco had been giving the proposal much thought. He decided against inviting anyone again, wanting it to be a tender moment of vulnerability between you and him.

No, he wanted this time to be simple. Honest. 

He just hoped you were ready. 

A few weeks before the beginning of the next season, he took you out to the place where all this had begun; the outlook in the countryside, where he first told you that he wanted to marry you.

This time, he double and triple checked to make sure the ring was there in his pocket. 

The sun was setting over the Spanish countryside, painting the sky rich shades of orange and yellow. The air had cooled with the impending coming of night. 

He opened your car door and set up a blanket on the ground, where you sat and he laid his head in your lap, letting your fingers run through his hair as a way to calm his nerves. 

He took a deep breath as he sat up, and you knew what was coming. Again, he had rehearsed a speech, but almost instantly forgot it the second he opened his mouth. 

“YN,” he began, looking you directly in the eyes, “I… I love you. So much. More than words can say.” He was nervous, swallowing before he continued, letting his eyes wander off to the picturesque view. But he had more important things to be looking at. 

“I can’t imagine a version of my life without you in it. I grew up with you. I want to grow old with you. You’ve made me into the best version of myself. We’ve gone through so many things and come out on the other side so much stronger. And I want this,” he said, reaching out to wipe away the happy tears that now flowed down your cheeks. “I want to be with you. Even though we’re both imperfect, even though we both have our problems to work through, YN, I want to do this with you, forever. I want to fall asleep next to you and wake up next to you. I want to have children and grandchildren with you. I…” he trailed off, not knowing how to finally say what he really wanted to say.

You smiled through the tears. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring, flipping it open and showing it to you. 

“Marry me,” he whispered. 

Your smile widened. “Yes,” you answered. “Yes.” 

He kissed you with a fervent passion. When he pulled away, his smile couldn’t be contained.

“She said yes!” he cried out, though you both were alone. “I did it! She said yes!” You laughed at his antics.

In a few weeks, you’d have the official photo shoot where he got down on one knee. You’d show the world the carefully constructed version that was all they got to see.

But this was real. And maybe it was imperfect; maybe he hadn’t really asked, more instructed, and maybe he hadn’t gotten down on one knee, and maybe, yes, you had found the ring beforehand. 

But this was real. In all the ups and downs, the hurt and healing, this love you shared with your now fiance was real. The world didn’t get to see that. 

And maybe that fear was still within you. It was smaller now. And when you had seen that shine of the ring, maybe you had felt it rise within you again. But you knew now that it was just a feeling, something you could control. You didn’t have to ignore it or let it reign you. It was just there. 

It wasn't real though. And this was. The cold metal of the ring slid onto your finger. The feeling of Franco’s lips on yours. The strain in your face muscles from all the smiling. His hand around your waist, pulling you closer as the sun dipped below the sky, leaving you and your lover alone in the dark—yes, this was real. 

And this was yours; he was yours.

For the first time in a long time, you knew you had nothing to fear. 

[imsofreakingtired]

sevika gets drunk and ends up forgetting about her own wife and ends up in the brothel, and reader end up knowing all, but dont have courage enough to confront her, but she noticed the changes on your behavior like, dont wanting kisses often, dont wanting to cudlle at nigh or worried when she tells you that she have to work and etc.

(I am obsseeeed how you write angst, mwah mwah)

- 🧸

ohh absolutely. i love that idea<3 also tysmm!

leave you with nothing

content warning(s): idiot lesbians (slight angst) (not too bad i swear)

"are you sick of me? would you like to be? i'm trying to tell you something something that i've already said"

~~~

i think she would get drunk only when work was really stressing her out. or if her sense of self-worth is just at an all-time low (i’m thinking of the time silco dead up ordered her to help with a dead body, which was shocking even to renni, who was literally the mother of the victim.) when she feels trapped, hopeless, powerless, like the enterprise isn’t getting zaun anywhere closer to its ultimate goal. she doesn’t want to confide in you about this, she wants to keep up a front of stoic confidence to you, because she’s afraid if she reveals herself to be vulnerable you will leave her. 

so she drinks her troubles away and tells herself she’ll clear everything up to you in the morning if you ask why she came home late, she tells herself she’ll just play a round of cards or two with her drinking mates, that you’ll never know the difference (never thinks she’s more sober than when she’s stinking drunk.) 

one drink leads to another and she’s vaguely aware of her desire for something else that night - a woman’s touch, a woman’s voice, someone to hold her and tell her she is doing alright. she’s too drunk to remember where she’s felt this before, who has held her like this, and all she is aware of is an all-consuming loneliness that threatens to devour her alive. she’s thrown back into the old days before she met you, when all that awaited her after a hard day’s work was an empty apartment strewn with emptier liquor bottles. she doesn’t want to go back to this home. 

so she makes her way to babette’s, incredibly calm and collected—she’s good at playing sober when she wants to, and babette is surprised to see her check in— isn’t she married? — but she asks no questions and Sevika sees a woman who kind of looks like you. the eyes. the shape of the face. the hips, the way she moves in the dusky light. she picks her immediately. 

she’s too drunk to care about how it might look, asking the woman if it’s alright if she just lay with her head in the woman’s lap. telling her to stroke her hair and let her sleep for a while. even on the walk here she was hot with desire, but now she just wants to rest and hear the pretty words you would whisper in her ear when you thought she was asleep. 

she comes home at around 4 in the morning and promptly passes out on the couch, not even bothering to change. smelling of someone else’s perfume. you find her there in the morning and she doesn’t remember a single thing except that the coins in her pocket are gone. 

you know the signs; you’re not stupid, but you don’t want to think the worst. until you overhear Chuck talking to some of the patrons at the last drop. 

“yeah, Sevika was here, swept the table and then left in the middle of the round talking about Babette’s.” “Babette’s?? doesn’t she have a wife?” 

you wander through the rooms in a daze for the rest of the day as you wait for Sevika to come home. you’re furious at first, then you’re cold with dread. was it you? had you done something wrong to make her want something else, someone else? 

you don’t want to confront her, you’ve convinced yourself by now that whatever it was, it must have been something you did wrong, and even though you can’t think of a single time Sevika seemed angry or even unhappy with you, you can’t bring yourself to start the conversation. 

she comes home tired and her eyes light up when she sees you. when she tries to kiss you, you turn your face away. her hand reaches for your waist, you dodge her touch. 

“baby, what’s with you?” she asks. “i smell funny or what?”

yeah, you smell of babette’s. you smell of liquor. you smell of lies. 

“nothing. i’m tired. you want dinner?” 

“i ate already,” she says. “i’m going to bed.” 

okay, so we’re playing ignorant, you think. two can play at that game. 

as the days go on you avoid her more and more. you still clean up after her in the apartment, cook her meals, wash and mend her clothes as usual. but you don’t stay up waiting for her to come home, and you don’t let her kiss you in bed. Sevika’s at a complete loss—she’s never seen you this way before. unlike you, she’d never wonder if maybe she were at fault. if she feels she hasn’t done wrong, she’d stick to that conviction to the bitter end. but it exasperates her, the way you elude her touches, answer her with monosyllables, stare at her with a strange apprehension in your eyes when you think she isn’t looking. 

“i’m working late tonight,” she tells you one day. “don’t wait up.” 

you feel your heart drop. she’s already a regular for someone at babette’s, you know it. 

“what time do you think you’ll be back?” you ask, a little too quickly. 

she looks at you oddly. you’ve never asked her this before. “i’ll be back when i’m back.” her brows furrow in concern. “why, is something wrong?” 

“no,” you say. 

after she leaves you pace the apartment for about an hour before making up your mind and running out into the street. hood over your face so you won’t be recognized, you run straight to Babette’s and burst through the doors, ignoring the strange looks you receive. no one deters you—you were also a frequent patron before you met Sevika, but you see the workers look at you and whisper to one another. it only confirms your suspicions. you reach Babette’s office and she looks up at you in surprise. 

“can i help you, hon?” 

“Sevika,” you say breathlessly. “how many times has she checked in here?” 

her brows lift. she checks her records. “i don’t do this for anyone, you know - confidential information. but since you’re her wife…”

“how many times, please?” 

she looks up at you. “just once. a month ago. she seemed inebriated. stayed only for two hours.” 

just once? and drunk? Sevika, drunk? you couldn’t imagine it if you tried.

you walk back out of the brothel, barely thinking of where you’re going, barely thinking at all, when you hear a familiar voice call out your name. 

Sevika’s walking swiftly down the street towards you, her eyes dark. 

“what are you doing here?” she asks, grabbing your wrist. 

“what am I doing here?” you shoot back. “i’m here finding out what you were doing here!” 

she looks up at the sign of Babette’s place, as if she can’t understand what you mean. “i haven’t stepped foot in this place,” she growls. 

“Babette’s records say otherwise.” your voice is cold. 

then it all comes back to her at once. Sevika’s lips part slightly as she recalls that night, the desperation, the way she had lain in another woman’s lap. 

“baby,” she says. “listen.” 

“i’m done listening,” you snap, and turn on your heel. you walk away from her, leaving her behind on the street outside Babette’s.  

~~~

note: idk why this idea struck me as so funny i think i'm sleep deprived lol. obviously she will explain herself as best as she can and you'll forgive her. she sleeps on the couch tonight though.

~~~

taglist~ @notlores @demothers-empty-blog @theyluvbix @archangeldyke-all @prettyinpink69 @beatdariceee @sevikaaaalover @intrnetrbl @00valentina-writes00 @zelluna @mamas-evil-hag @sevikassluttywaist @justhereforsubsevika

[goldenroutledge]

someday my prince will come

pairing ⤜ rafe cameron x fem!reader

word count ⤜ 3.7k

summary ⤜ fluff. in which you’ll never feel alone as long as you have rafe, and he’ll never feel alone as long as he has you.

warning(s) ⤜ wedding planning stress, toxic family members

a/n ⤜ inspired by ‘alone together’ - sabrina carpenter || masterlist

Expect the worst and you won’t be disappointed. That’s what you try to tell yourself, hoping it will wish away the cynicism surrounding what is supposed to be the happiest time in your life. Transactional relationships set the norm on Figure Eight for friends and foe alike. Everyone used anyone they could get their hands on, only leaving them for dead when the conditions were no longer suitable.

It should’ve been no surprise that people would be treating your upcoming marriage to Rafe that same way. As if it’s nothing but a transaction curated to mutually benefit yourself, Rafe, and your respective families. Truthfully, your relationship was anything but.

Years together proved that passion still burns between you, in a way that most can’t begin to dream of. Every look, every kiss and every touch holds that passion somewhere deep inside. There was no denying that you two have enough of it to last a lifetime and then some when Rafe got down on bended knee and asked you to spend your life with him. You love Rafe Cameron for all the right reasons and he loves you the same.

Your families and friends around you are fools to not acknowledge that, seemingly destined to have their own ways of projecting insecurities onto the both of you. Planning your wedding was something you imagined to be a magical time, selecting colors and florals that would paint a picture reminiscent of a fairytale. Expect the worst and you won’t be disappointed.

From the moment your perfectly cut diamond ring was noticeable on your left hand, some chose to take it as a personal invitation to assert their unwarranted advice. It started with your mother, divorced and remarried now more times than you care to keep track of. Her guidance hardly resembles the special experience between mother and daughter that planning a wedding usually brings. After one of your first meetings with your wedding planner, you’d come to regret asking your mother to accompany you.

“I just don’t see why he’s walking you down the aisle instead of me.”

“You mean my father? I didn’t think you’d have such an issue with it given you chose to marry and have a child with him.”

“And I chose to divorce the asshole, too.”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with me, Mom. You both made your choices and I made mine. My father is going to be at my wedding whether you like it or not.”

“50 feet away from me at all times, I hope.” She speaks lowly, barely under her breath. You’d be burning with embarrassment right now if it weren’t for your wedding planner, ever attuned and able to spot an argument a mile away, who kindly left you and your mother to chat in private.

“Please, don’t worry about that. I’m sure he wants nothing to do with you either. The only difference is that he’s willing to tolerate you for the sake of my happiness.”

“This isn’t about happiness, Y/n. It’s about respect. Had I not raised you right, you wouldn’t be able to attract a man like Rafe in the first place. The least you could do is acknowledge your mother on your wedding day.”

“That’ll make for a beautiful toast at your next brunch with the ladies from the club. I’ll be sure to write that down.” You chide sarcastically, unable to hold back from rolling your eyes at her audaciousness. “It’s good to know that’s what you’re really excited about. Showboating to your friends that I found someone successful, not that I found someone I love.”

“Like it or not, it’s the truth. I’m not afraid to be honest with you unlike some people in your life.”

“What exactly is honest about guilt tripping me into letting you make all of my wedding decisions for me? For us! You’re lucky Rafe isn’t here or he would’ve thrown you out by now.”

“And risk our relationship just when we’re about to be in-laws? You’re ridiculous. I hope he knows the kind of dramatics he’s marrying into.”

“No kidding.”

“I’m not trying to be malicious, dear. I just want you to have your priorities straight.”

“Believe me, they are.”

“You can’t forget your family in the process, my darling. You can’t just leave me behind like I don’t exist because when this marriage is over you’ll realize that I’m not as crazy as you think. You’ll need me again one day.”

“When my marriage is over? This isn’t some fucking contract. We love each other.”

“There’s no need to get hysterical, Y/n. I told myself all the same things too. You’ll see.”

—

Your conversation with your mother left you disheartened at best, infuriated at worst. One look into Rafe’s eyes would have your worries melting away, but you can’t help the nagging feeling inside that’s telling you to say something. You know how much courage it took for him to open his heart to you in the way that he has. You know how much courage it’s taken for you to open your heart, too. You know how with each other it’s been so easy that neither of you really noticed how naturally your love has blossomed. When you fell for each other, there was nothing that could stop you.

That explains why this nagging feeling, that you assume is guilt, simply won’t go away. How can you imagine getting married to Rafe Cameron, the love of your life, and feel anything but unbridled joy. To give a big ‘fuck you’ to everyone doubting your relationship, you’d love nothing more than to proclaim your love for each other in front of a crowd. But in the many scenarios you’ve played in your head, none of them put you at ease.

There was no denying the deep trust that connects you, knowing that you can tell him whatever is on your mind. The worst thing you’ve ever done, the darkest thought you’ve ever had, he will stand by you through anything. And you would do the same for him. It’s why the idea of saying: ‘Hey, by the way, I don’t want a wedding’, is not something you can muster the courage for. Guilt begs you to tell him anyway, knowing how badly he would feel to know you’re suffering in silence like this.

Little do you know, Rafe is troubled in reconciling his own guilt. It’s not just your mother who wants to see the worst come of your relationship. Considering Rafe’s strained dynamic with his father, that should come as no surprise.

Cameron Development takes up most of Rafe’s time these days, leaving him and Ward to spend quite a lot of it together. Rafe prefers to keep their topics of discussion focused on the company. Their relationship works best that way, a transactional partnership between father and son that would benefit the Cameron legacy for generations.

But if it weren’t for Ward’s nagging, Rafe never would’ve ended up here at the Island Club having lunch with his father. He knows for a fact that it would’ve been time better spent with you, his future wife, desperate to feel the kiss of your lips or be able to exhale in your arms in the midst of a busy day.

Ward spends all of 5 minutes discussing some company stuff that could’ve easily been sent in an email drafted by his assistant before getting down to his real intentions. He always hides them behind the mask of a loving father.

“I lied about why I needed to speak with you today.”

Rafe scoffs, but always manages his expectations when it comes to Ward. “Imagine that.”

Ward chuckles, trying to play off his son’s jab as innocent sarcasm. “I wanted to talk to you about your soon-to-be marriage to Y/n.”

Rafe takes a gulp of his drink, already feeling slightly on edge and on guard at the mention of your life together. “What about it?”

“Have you two discussed a prenup?”

“Dad-” Rafe tries to interject, but to no avail. Ward’s already a step ahead of him.

“I know it’s only been a couple months into the engagement, but it’s never too early to have these conversations.”

“I don’t need to worry about having these conversations at all. And you definitely don’t need to be concerned with it either because I’m not asking her to sign a prenup. Simple as that.”

“Rafe, if there’s anything I’ve learned in my marriage to Rose-”

“Your marriage to Rose is a sham. And Y/n is nothing like her.”

“Y/n’s great.” Ward seemingly surrenders, in hopes to disarm Rafe while still getting his point across. “I’m not trying to suggest otherwise. I’m just saying that things happen in marriages and you need to be prepared. What do you think will happen to Cameron Development if she winds up with half in a divorce?”

“If we get divorced, it means that I’ve got bigger problems than potentially losing Cameron Development.” Rafe laments, finishing his drink. “Besides, she wouldn’t want it.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“I know her. For sure. Alright?” Rafe fires back, firm intent behind every word. “I know you have a hard time imagining what it’s like to be loved for something other than your money. And I’m sure you have a harder time imagining how she could love me without it. But you can save your fatherly advice, I’m gonna live my life with Y/n without any of your prenup bullshit.”

Rafe grabs his wallet from his pocket, throwing down several bills on the table that he doesn’t bother counting. All that’s on his mind right now is getting back home to you.

“Have a nice day, Dad.”

—

At this point in his life, Rafe has mastered the art of ignoring Ward Cameron. He’s come to accept that they’re simply a better duo in business than as father and son. The family he came from felt less like family when he fell in love with you. Now that you were about to be married, it was gonna be real. You would be each other’s family not only in spirit, but officially on paper. For the rest of your lives you would be where you always belonged; together.

Right now, Rafe can’t shake the feeling that his father is already preparing for everything to fall apart before you two have a chance to build anything more. Logically, he knows the concept of a prenup isn’t a stupid idea. But his father’s intentions for him have proven to be anything but pure. There’s always something in it for Ward.

Rafe loves you, and that means he’s ready to share his life with you, money be damned. Besides there’s nobody more deserving for him to spend it on, no matter how badly you insist that you don’t love him for the fine jewelry or the dates at expensive restaurants around the island. For him, that’s all the more reason why he commits to showing you a lifestyle that’s beyond comprehension.

He wants to tell you about the absolute bullshit his father brought him to lunch to talk about today but hesitates in mentioning it at all. In any other scenario you’d both laugh it off, but this was a special time for your relationship. It’s delicate, and deserves to be handled with care. Rafe wants nothing more than to protect you from anyone looking to tarnish it.

Rafe’s final straw strikes later that night while waiting for you to finish your skincare routine and join him in bed. His phone sounds with several text messages from Topper. His eyebrows furrow in curiosity, expression quickly turning sour as he reads the messages.

Clearly, after cutting lunch short, Ward was quick to enlist Topper Thornton into his agenda. Seeing the way he wears his heart on his sleeve, he’s an easy enough target to carry out something like this. Rafe scans the messages, catching the gist of it.

Something about ‘A prenup is just insurance, you might not need it! But you should be prepared anyway cause she could leave you at any time, bro’ and ‘Have you heard of the infidelity clause? I'm not saying she would, but you know what Sarah did to me, better be safe than sorry.’ Rafe’s frustration catches your attention when he curses something about ‘this motherfucker’ under his breath.

“Everything okay, baby?”

Rafe looks up to meet your eyes peeking outside the bathroom door. He gives you a reassuring smile, but you can tell that it doesn’t reach his eyes. Coupled with the fact that his energy has been off ever since he got home today, you can’t help but wonder what’s going through his mind.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s nothing, it’s just Topper bitching to me about the wedding. He doesn’t think he’ll find a date in time.” Rafe cringes at his white lie, but figures it’s better not to stress you out when you’re about to go to sleep. And it’s not completely untrue, Topper has expressed his concerns about finding a date ever since he found out about the engagement. At this point, it’s to be determined if he’s still invited.

You chuckle at the thought. “Our wedding date is 7 months away, surely that’s enough time.”

“Speaking of our wedding.” Rafe starts, which reminds you of the pit in your stomach. “How did it go with your mom today?”

“It was good.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows inquisitively, picking up on the uncertainty in your voice. Finishing your nighttime routine, you make your way to your shared bed. Rafe gets up to meet you halfway and to make sure you’re okay. He’ll be able to tell with just a glance.

“Okay, baby. You know as long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Your heart flutters and you smile at him, knowing in your heart that he truly means it. “I know.” You press a kiss to his cheek, wrapping your arms around his large frame. Being in his embrace drowns out any lingering thoughts of frustration. After all, you could choose to blame it on pure exhaustion clouding your mind. “Can you believe we’re getting married in seven months?”

Rafe beams at the thought. “No. Can’t even fathom what I’ve done in my life to deserve you in the first place.”

You shove his chest softly, the tips of your ears warming up at his words. “If anything, it’s the other way around.”

“Not sure about that one, baby.”

You sigh, full of contentment while being held in the secure hold of your fiance. Yet a part of you still feels resigned from the stresses of today. “Just ask my mother.”

You can feel Rafe’s muscles tense slightly before he pulls back to look at you. “What do you mean? I thought it went well today?” The gears are turning in his head as he anticipates your response. He’s always been great at picking up on the smallest of cues, be it the change in your tone or the look in your eyes.

“It could’ve been better. I mean you know her, she always has something negative to say about everything, she’s pretty much allergic to my happiness.” You chuckle softly, trying to deflect and keep the conversation from going where it’s headed.

Rafe is having none of it. “She doesn’t think we should get married?”

“Not without her involvement, ad nauseam. Everything I suggested, she had a better idea. She’s trying to guilt trip me into letting her walk me down the aisle instead of my dad. It was just her usual schtick, trying to control me any way she can, hoping she’ll get my attention by using our wedding to play her little mind games.”

“You don’t owe anything to her, not about this. Besides, security will take care of it if there’s any problems. I’m not gonna let anything ruin this for us.”

“I know.” You reassure him, running your hand up and down his arm. “It’s just a lot of tradition this, and family legacy that. She’s sucking the joy out of everything, like usual.” You mumble that last sentence, almost hoping Rafe didn’t hear it. “Not that I’m not excited to marry you. You know what I mean, right?”

Rafe nods, flashing back to the conversation he had with his father at lunch today. It’s almost uncanny to him how you two are often on the same page about everything. It’s comforting above all else. “Yeah, I do. I know exactly what you mean. I had lunch with my dad today, got a lot of the same bullshit.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, I shut him down. I guess our parents are just hellbent on making sure we do things the same way they did.”

“As if we want to be anything like them?”

Rafe chuckles at your quip, relieved at how you two are able to make light of the stress your families have imposed on you. “As if.”

You both stand in silence for a few moments, enjoying the calm of being in your lover’s arms. The weight of your worries feel lighter now that you’ve shared them with Rafe, unfortunately knowing that they’ve made a home with you until the big day is over and done with. Hopefully you make it, if the stress doesn’t kill you first. If there’s anyone you’d have by your side through this, it’s Rafe. You can’t imagine enduring the hardships that life has to offer with anyone else. Then again, there are worse problems to have. Just seven more months.

“Did you ever see yourself here before? Getting married?” You ask Rafe.

“Not until I found you.” He charms, satisfied with the way you snuggle even closer to him. “How about you?”

“The same. Never thought I’d find the one until I found you. If I’m honest, that’s all I’m excited for, to just be husband and wife.”

“Y/n?” You hum in response, matching his curious tone. “Do you even want a wedding?”

You freeze, noticeably tensing the same way Rafe did some time ago. You knew the answer and had a feeling that he did too. It was painful to put into words. “I want to be married to you, Rafe. You know that right?”

“I know that, silly. I wanna be married to you too, clearly.” Rafe acknowledges, brushing his thumb over the engagement ring on your finger. “But a ceremony and a reception, the tradition. Do you want that?”

You can’t help but give him a knowing look, one that says damn, you’re good. But it’s also filled with a plea for understanding. “I could live without it, but our wedding will be beautiful, Rafe. I just want to make sure that it’s ours. I hope you don’t have the wrong idea, that I’m having second thoughts or anything because I-”

Rafe cuts off your ramble by kissing you, your face cupped in his hands delicately. He’s gentle, but reassuring. He needs you to remember that he knows you and he’ll never forget.

“Run away with me?” His eyes gaze into yours and there’s an intensity of love behind them that leaves you tearing up. “Our wedding will be beautiful, because it will be ours. Just you and me. We can still have the actual event, don’t think that I don’t dream of you walking down the aisle towards me. We can still have the party and the tall ass cake that you deserve. But having that doesn’t mean we can’t have what we want.”

Rafe’s never been more sure of himself as he watches a tear slip down your cheek, his thumb wiping it away before it can fall too far. You beam at him, and it’s your turn to kiss the man that you love. The man that you’re about to run away and elope with.

“Screw tradition, let’s get married.”

—

The sun sets in the distance, giving you and your husband the perfect view of your spot on the beach, taking turns at feeding each other bites of a miniature cake, coated in a silky white frosting to commemorate your marriage. It was Rafe’s surprise to you, having ordered it custom, and practically overnight, decorated with icing rosettes and your new titles, Mr. and Mrs., written beautifully in the center.

“Our families might kill us, you know.”

Rafe’s smile doesn’t budge, he’s convinced it might just be stuck on his face forever as long as he’s spending it with you. “I guess that means we’ll have to die together then, doesn’t it?”

“I guess it does.” You whisper, closing the distance to kiss your husband. You’ll never get sick of it. Golden rays from the setting sun surround you in glowing warmth, something you’ll feel in your heart from this day forward. The light catches your diamond ring perfectly and it winks at you with a sparkle, forever a reminder of the love you and Rafe share.

He pulls back, yet never too far as he holds your face in his hands. His cerulean eyes glimmer with a hope you only see when he’s looking back at you. “You don’t regret it? Not having the fairytale wedding?”

“This is my fairytale wedding. Just you, me, and a cake.” Rafe smiles, unable to imagine that this is his real life; unable to imagine that having him and him alone, is more than enough for you. There’s not a decision he’s been more sure of in his life than asking you to marry him. “Do you regret it? Marrying me without a prenup?”

Rafe scoffs lightheartedly. “You’ve already taken my heart so you might as well have the rest. Nothing else matters to me as long as you’re mine and I’m yours. I love you, remember? ‘Til death do us part.”

He holds out his pinky and you happily reciprocate the youthful gesture by locking your fingers together. “‘Til death do us part.”

Emotion overcomes you once more, pouring your heart into a kiss that’s as true as your promise to each other. You know he intends to keep his, and so do you. Daring to love each other through the pretty and the ugly, healing each other with a simple look or touch. You wouldn’t trade it for anything. If you don’t have each other, then you have nothing at all.

💌: reblogs & comments are always appreciated! thank you for reading <3

[nightblackowlbat]

She came to him in a dream.

Who you may ask? His future wife. His queen.

Preparation for the ball:

"Is this really necessary?" Jazz asked, picking at the skirts of her teal dress. With the layers of silk gossamer and ribbons woven through her hair, she looked like some sort of fairy princess. "It feels very... disingenuous. And manipulative."

Ghost Writer tsk'ed. "No more manipulative than catering any argument for your audience. As I told you, the candidate for regency is a fan of romance novels. This plan is already fantastical, it is bound to work if we appeal to his tastes. Besides, you'll fit right in to the dream Nocturne has planned."

Jazz huffed. "That's another thing! It's a total invasion of privacy, breaking into his dream like this."

"Dreams are MY domain, girl." Nocturne scoffed. "It is hardly breaking and entering if it is mine to begin with."

Danny saw Jazz was opening her mouth to start a moral debate with the ghost of dreams and decided to cut in.

"Jazz, c'mon. This guy is a crime lord, and I know-" he raised his voice to preemptively cut her protest off, "-that doesn't mean he's entitled to any less consideration. But he's dangerous. I already don't like that we're considering this plan over just having Clocky age me up."

"You deserve to have the rest of your childhood Dany!"

"And you deserve to not adopt me and marry a stranger! I'm just saying, Jazz, you can't just go up to a criminal known for decapitation and tell him his half-dead status makes him eligible to temporarily rule the kingdom of the dead! You know bringing up someone's death is touchy, and we have no idea how familiar he even is with the supernatural!"

Danny shouted.

"At least in a dream the suspension of disbelief will make him more likely to hear you out. At least in a dream he can't hurt you. In a dream if it turns out he's shitty you can leave and he'll never know because he'll think that it's just a dream! I know you have moral concerns, Jazz because you're a good person. But I'm not letting you do this first meeting in person."

"Oh Danny." Jazz sighed, pulling her little brother into a hug. "I know. And I already agreed to all this. You know I just get nitpicky when I'm nervous."

"You don't have to do this." Danny grumbled into her shoulder.

"I want to, little brother. I want to. Besides, Red Hood isn't the only one who likes romance novels." Jazz said for the sole purpose of eliciting a groan from Danny. It worked. She let go and ruffled his hair. "Alright. Let's go propose marriage to the man of my dreams!"

Danny groaned louder.

The Ball:

Soft music filled the air, the ballroom bathed in the warm glow of golden flower lights. Jason watched the masked dancers circle their partners on the floor. His own domino mask hugged his face like a second skin, familiar as an old glove.

"Sir Red Hood?"

Jason was startled at the approach of a dazzling red-haired woman in a gown of teals and turquoise as clear as the Caribbean sea. Her expression was open, tinted with nerves, determination shining behind her eyes- Jason felt his face flush at the realization that she wasn't wearing a mask. It was a masquerade, it felt indecent.

"May I have this dance?" She asked.

"Isn't that supposed to be my line?" Jason croaked, then immediately wanted to hit himself as her face twitched in irritation. "I mean- yes! Of course, you can have anything you want. You can ask me to dance! Women can ask men to dance. That's perfectly fine! I'm not- I, just."

God, Jason wanted to sink into the floor in mortification.

Luckily his fumbling seemed to endear the lady rather than chase her off. Her lips quirked with amusement and her eyes crinkled with mirth. She held out a hand. "Well, then, Red Hood. Shall we?"

He took it. "Call me Jason, my lady. My name is Jason Todd. May I have the honor of knowing yours?" Jason thought he did pretty well with that, managing to sound smooth and not at all oafish. That sentiment died a quick death as he saw her look at him askance.

"I'm Jazz- Jasmine Fenton. But Red Hood, you didn't have to tell me your name! It's why we're at a masquerade!" She pursed her lips and shook her head. "I'm sorry, I'll do my best to forget it."

Jasmine took the opportunity of his baffled confusion to pull him further onto the dance floor, drawing him into a waltz.

"You don't want to know my name?" Jason finally got out, hoping he hid the slight hurt from his voice.

"I want a great deal more than your name, Red Hood, but only when you are capable of consenting to give it to me."

"What do you want then?" Jason asked, disappointed. Of course a beautiful women wouldn't just want to dance with him for the sake of it. Obviously not. What was he thinking?

Jasmine bit her lip, deep in thought. "Gosh, where do I even begin? I need- I..." She sighed. "Okay. This is the situation. My little brother has won the throne of a kingdom he is too young to rule. We are in need of a reagent with certain... qualifications. In all the realms there are only two who would qualify."

"And I'm one of them?" Jason filled in dubiously.

"Yes." She nodded.

"Why can't you do it?"

Jasmine hesitated. "I am not... of the kingdom yet."

Jason narrowed his eyes. "What kingdom did you say this was again?"

She gulped, but stared into his eyes. "The kingdom of the dead."

Jason stopped dancing. The lights of the ballroom turned to sickly green. He dropped her hand as if burned. "I'm. Not. Dead." He growled.

"No, no, of course not." She hurried to reassure. Then, "You're half ghost, there's a difference."

Jasmine seemed to realize this was not the right thing to say as the green flared and ichor began oozing down the walls. Echoes of maniacal laughter and ticking rumbled the hall.

Looking around at the mess, she grimaced. "...Aaaand, you're severely poisoned. Great. I mean, don't get me wrong, you're also just super traumatized for sure, but all this gunk is definitely impeding your healing. We'll have to book you an appointment with Frostbite."

Jason could barely hear her as the laughter got closer. There was a jester The Joker in front of him, juggling club crowbar in hand.

"Well, well, well. Looks like the little birdie came back wrong after all!"

Jason was frozen as the Joker leaned into his space. "No wonder daddy dearest didn't fight for you! After all, who could love a corpse!"

"Okay, that's enough of that." A well manicured hand grabbed a fist-full of the Joker's green hair to slam him face-first into a wall. Again. And again. And again.

Once a sizable crater was dented into the wall and Joker's face was a mess of blood, Jazz picked the clown up by his collar and began swinging him over her head helicopter style, only letting go once she'd built up sufficient speed to launch him into the stratosphere.

Jasmine wiped her hands together and looked back at him, sheepish. "Sorry about that, I really should have been more tactful when bringing up something potentially triggering-"

Jason got down on one knee. "Please marry me!"

"O-Oh!" Jazz gaped down at him, a bright flush overtaking her face. "Really? I mean, yes- that was the idea. It doesn't have to be permanent of course, just until Danny is of age- we can work out the details in person when you're awake. How does midnight Saturday at the Batburger by crime alley sound?"

"What?"

"Midnight. Saturday. Batburger. Meet me there and we can talk about your proposal. Sleep well, handsome."

Danny is the rightful Ghost King, but since he's not of age he needs a regent who is a) his species, b) his family, and c) an adult. The only adult haftas are Vlad or this Red Hood guy from Gotham that he's never heard of. Since Vlad is not going to happen looks like it's Red Hood, now how to make the guy count as family...

Jason has had a lot of weird shit happen to him over the years but a woman tracking him down as Red Hood to propose a temporary political marriage so he can be regent of a death dimension until her brother is old enough to rule in his own name is a new one for him. Of course he accepted. The only other option was apparently a creepy uncle figure. He's read enough romance to know a forced marriage of a woman to her creepy uncle never ends well. A forced marriage of a woman to a crime lord doesn't usually end much better, but he's ignoring that for now. He's going to woo and romance his spit fire of a wife with respect, spontaneous poetry, his damn good cooking, and by not being a Darcy. And he is going to rock not just this whole regent thing, but also and more importantly the mentoring her brother and his new ward on how to rule this dimension. Competence is always attractive. He runs a tight ship in his crime empire, surely running a dimension can't be that much harder.

He actually already has a plan on how he's going to handle the whole 'The USA declared war on the dimension he's regent of' thing. It's simple really he goes to the next family dinner and causes chaos. The faces everyone will make will be glorious when he drops that he's lord regent of a dimension, the USA is at war with his dimension, and it's such a shame that no one can meet Jason's wife or ward till there is a peace treaty. Then he just needs to sit back and watch the entertainment as his siblings realize he has forever won the position of favorite child by being the first married and first to give Bruce a grandkid. Also you know the chaos of Bruce willing to wage a one man war if necessary so he can meet his grandson. Jason figures it will take at most a month for the government to cave.

And like a cherry on top he's going to get on a medical treatment plan for the pit. Everything is looking great for him.

[allthingssteddie]

Steve Harrington thought he'd managed to keep him being an omega a secret from his parents. He'd been on suppressants since he was 16, a late bloomer, and his parents were rarely home the last few years. But one fateful day, as he was in the midst of his heat in his room, his father burst in, yelling behind him to his mother about what a disappointment Steve was as a son.

The harsh words cut deep, and Steve felt his heart sink. His father stormed out of the house, leaving Steve reeling. His mother stood outside his door, a sad look etched on her face.

"Mom," Steve called out, his voice shaking.

But she just turned and walked away, leaving Steve feeling isolated and alone.

Steve's father didn't return home until the early hours of the morning, a self satisfied grin spreading across his face as he puffed on a cigar. A complete 180 to his earlier demeanor was jarring.

It wasn't until the following evening that Steve discovered the reason behind his father's sudden change in mood.

His parents summoned him to the dining room, a space that had once been the heart of their family but now felt like a relic of the past. The fact that his mother had cooked dinner only added to Steve's growing unease.

"Sit down,son," his father said, his voice booming through the room. Steve hesitated, but his mom's encouraging smile put him at ease. He took a seat, his eyes darting between his parents.

"We need to talk ," his father said, his grin returning. he could feel his gut twisting with anxiety.

"You see, son," his father began, "while I was away, I went to the bar to clear my head, and wouldn't you believe it, I ran into, the owner of all those restaurants from the commercials you know, with that catchy jingle." His father snapped his fingers, trying to recall.

Steve's face fell. "Yeah," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

His father smiled. "Well, he was telling me he was looking to marry, and I mentioned I had an omega son... and one thing led to another, and we signed a contract." He looked at Steve expectantly.

Steve's eyes pleaded with his mom, but she looked away, avoiding his gaze.

"Please... I can't," Steve whispered, his eyes fixed on the table to avoid his father's gaze, knowing he would see the anger and disappointment burning within them.

"Why not, Stephan? Huh? You have a long line of suitors, do you?" his father sneered.

"Richard," Steve's mom cautioned, her voice soft but urgent.

Steve's dad slammed his hand on the table, making both Steve and his mom jump. He smoothed his hair, attempting to compose himself. "You are doing this, son. And that's final," he declared, his voice cold and unyielding.

With that, he stood up, his chair scraping against the floor. Steve's mom followed suit, her eyes cast downward in a mixture of shame. They left Steve alone, the silence in the room oppressive and heavy.

That night, Steve sat in the darkness of his room, his mind racing with thoughts of the arranged marriage. He debated calling Robin, knowing she would freak out, but he desperately needed to talk to someone. The weight of this was suffocating him, and he couldn't bear the thought of carrying it alone.

The next day, Robin dragged Steve to a carnival, hoping the bright lights and lively atmosphere would lift his spirits. But Steve would have rather stayed home and wallowed in his misery.

"I seriously hate your father, Steve," Robin said, her voice indignant. "I can't believe your mom just let him do that. I really wish we could run away together." He felt a pang of longing he wanted to escape with Robin too, but he knew it was impossible.

As they walked through the carnival grounds, they stumbled upon a colorful tent with a sign that read "Eddie the Powerful Reader." Robin's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Hey, Steve, want to check it out?" Steve just grunted in response.

Inside the tent, a guy about Steve's age sat across from a woman with a crystal ball. He looked up, catching Steve's eye, and flashed a warm smile then continued talking to the lady.

She scoffed at Eddie, "What a crock of shit!" Gathering her things, she stormed out of the tent.

The guy who had been sitting across from her raised an eyebrow, shrugging. "Some people can't handle the truth," he said, smiling wryly at Steve and Robin.

Robin and Steve sat down, and Eddie's eyes sparkled with interest. "So, what can I do for you guys? Maybe a couple's reading?"

"Nope," Steve said, while Robin chimed in, "Platonic."

Eddie nodded, a hint of satisfaction etched on hir face then his expression turning serious. "But there is something we really need to know," Robin continued. "Steve's parents are arranging a marriage for him, and he doesn't want to go through with it. Is there anything that can be done to prevent it?"

Eddie's eyes locked onto Steve's, then shifted to the crystal ball. "Uh huh," he murmured, his voice filled with conviction.

"What?" Robin asked, wide eyed and leaning on the edge of her seat.

"The spirits say the wedding won’t happen," Eddie declared, his voice firm.

Robin said excitedly, "Really?"

Steve sighed, rolling his eyes. "Robin, come on. The wedding is happening. My dad will make sure of it. Let's just go." He stood up to leave, but Eddie grabbed his hand.

"Steve, am I right?" Eddie asked, his eyes intense. "I can guarantee a hundred percent it's not happening."

Steve felt a shiver run down his spine as he met Eddie's gaze. For some reason, he believed him. A spark of hope ignited within him, and he felt a sense of calm wash over him as he left the tent with Robin.

It was the day of the wedding, and Steve's father, Richard, had orchestrated everything to perfection. He had spent the preceding days yelling at Steve's mother, criticizing her for not doing enough to prepare for the wedding. "It's a woman's job to plan these things!" he would bellow, his face red with annoyance.

Steve's mother would remain silent, her eyes cast downward, as Richard's anger simmered just below the surface. Toward the end, she had brought in her sisters to help with the preparations, and despite Richard's grumbling, everything was falling into place.

As Richard surveyed the wedding arrangements, a satisfied smile spread across his face. He had secured a large dowry, and soon he would be rid of Steve, the son he saw as a burden.

Steve's aunts swarmed around him, helping him get dressed in the cramped, chaotic room. They threw clothes and accessories around, dabbing makeup on his face and trying to squeeze him into a elaborate wedding dress. Steve protested, his face red with frustration. "I don't want to wear this!" he exclaimed.

But his aunts just exchanged stern glances. "Do you want your father to come in here?" one of them asked, her voice low and warning. Steve's heart sank, and he reluctantly submitted to their ministrations, his eyes fixed on the floor in resignation.

As Steve stood there, trapped in the chaos his mind wandered back to the words of. "The wedding won't happen," Eddie had said with such conviction. Steve's rational mind told him it was just a fantasy, that the wedding would indeed go on as planned. But a small spark of hope had ignited within him, and he couldn't help but cling to it, no matter how impossible it seemed.

Steve's mother burst into the room, her eyes hidden behind black glasses, a deep frown etched on her face. "Is he ready?" she asked, her voice tight with tension.

Maria, one of Steve's aunts, nodded hastily. "Yes, he's all set."

Steve's father, Richard, strode into the room, his eyes scanning Steve's attire before nodding in approval. He grasped Steve's arm, his grip like a vice, and began to escort him down the aisle.

As they walked, Steve caught sight of his groom, a man with a permanent scowl etched on his face, eerily reminiscent of Steve's father. Steve's heart sank, his earlier hope dwindling in the face of this bleak reality.

Steve's eyes locked onto his groom, and the of his father and then a wave of panic washed over him. He couldn't do this. He wouldn't. With a surge of adrenaline, Steve pushed his father out of the way, ignoring the cries of "Steve, come back!" and "What's wrong?" from the guests.

He sprinted down the aisle, his wedding attire fluttering behind him, and burst through the doors of the venue. Outside, the bright sunlight was a welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere of the wedding.

As he looked around frantically for an escape route, a sleek motorcycle roared into view. Eddie, the physic, was grinning at him from the driver's seat, his eyes glinting with amusement.

"Told you it wouldn't happen," Eddie said, chuckling, as he gestured for Steve to hop on.

Steve didn't hesitate. He swung his leg over the bike and settled in behind Eddie, feeling a rush of happiness as they sped away from the wedding venue, leaving his father's angry shouts and the stunned guests in their dust.

[steddieas-shegoes]

if you fall, i will catch you

for @steddielovemonth day 2 using Time After Time by Cyndi Lauper

rated t | 855 words | no cw | tags: high school, prom, slow dance, flirting, open ending but assumed getting together

🪩🕺💃🪩🕺💃🪩🕺💃🪩💃🕺🪩

Prom is stupid.

Steve didn’t even want to come. He didn’t have a date and nothing is more embarrassing than showing up to prom alone. Even the nerds come as a group, dancing and laughing together.

His mom made an appointment for his suit fitting and he couldn’t really explain to her that there was no need. She still thinks he and Nancy are on track to be married when Nancy graduates high school. He doesn’t know how to tell her that he’ll probably die alone.

Okay, that’s a little dramatic. He’s probably not gonna die alone.

But he may die unhappy, and that’s worse.

Most of the music hasn’t been terrible so far, at least. Only one slow song played and no one seemed interested in dancing to it.

Steve’s a fucking wallflower at his own prom. He never saw this coming.

He figures he could probably escape within the next few songs, no one would even notice his absence. He makes a mental plan to wait until one of the parent chaperones walks back to the other side of the room.

Then he’s off.

He manages to escape to the hall behind the gym, the one that leads to the auditorium and drama class, not the main building of the school. No one should be back here. It’s the perfect escape route.

“Never thought I’d see the day when King Steve is trying to escape prom,” a voice says from the end of the hall. The music from the gym is echoing in here, but the voice is much louder. It’s familiar, too. “Miss Wheeler too busy with Byers to dance?”

It’s Munson. Steve sighs.

“Why are you even here?”

“It’s my senior prom, too! Or should those of us not graduating not be allowed?” Eddie walks closer and Steve sees that he’s actually dressed up. It’s not a designer suit like he’s been forced into, but it’s nice. Eddie looks…nice.

“Wait,” Steve registers what he actually said. “Not graduating?”

“Yep. Apparently quadratic formulas are crucial to my development and I cannot enter society until I understand them.” Eddie kicks his foot across the tile, leaving a scuff mark from shoes that have probably been waxed beyond necessity. “And I guess dissecting a frog and turning in homework may have helped.”

“But aren’t you pretty smart?” Steve thought he was one of those dungeon dweebs like Dustin. Dustin’s the smartest person he knows, without a doubt, kid or not. He thought all the nerds who play that game were like that.

“Sure, I’m smart enough,” Eddie scoffs. “But I don’t play by their rules. I forget to do homework. I argue.”

“But if you know the stuff, they can’t fail you.”

“Ah, but they can. I don’t have the Harrington name to convince them to change a D to a C. It’s all good. Everyone expected it.”

Steve’s brows furrow, forehead creasing as he thinks about how many things people expected of him that won’t happen.

“Just because people expect it doesn’t mean you have to give it to them,” he says.

Eddie’s eyes widen and he seems shocked by Steve’s words. But the shock wears off quickly. Steve wonders if he imagined it.

“Right you are! Very wise words from the king,” Eddie bows dramatically.

Steve laughs.

Eddie glances up, tense until he realizes Steve’s not laughing at him, just at the entertainment. He stands straight and holds out his hand.

“I do believe such wise words should be repaid with a dance,” Eddie puts on a fake British accent, nose pointed to the sky, smirk playing on his lips.

Steve thinks this must be what it’s like to be charmed by someone.

“A dance?” Steve asks. “Here? With me?”

“It would be my honor,” Eddie loses the accent and turns his head back down so he’s looking right at Steve’s eyes. “Miss Lauper wrote this song just for us, after all.”

Steve’s confusion grows until he hears the song coming from the gym. He can only imagine how awkward it must be in the gym while some couples slow dance with chaperones watching their every breath. He reaches out and takes Eddie’s hand.

“The honor is mine, sir Munson,” Steve tries for an accent like Eddie had previously, but it falls flat.

Eddie pulls him close, but hesitates before he puts an arm around his waist. Steve feels breathless all of a sudden, like they’ve rocketed into space and he forgot one of those astronaut suits. He nods, giving permission for Eddie to take the lead.

When Eddie pulls him closer, they’re almost flush against each other.

Steve’s heart is racing.

“I didn’t know you were weird,” Eddie admits quietly. It sounds a lot like admiration. He’s swaying them back and forth gently, and Steve finds it’s easy to lose track of everything but the way Eddie’s hands rest on his body. “It’s nice to see you, Steve.”

It’s a lot more than what it sounds like.

As Cyndi Lauper plays, Steve wonders if this is how his prom was always meant to be spent: in Eddie Munson’s arms, falling.

[truelovepolinator]

State of the Ship Address: Where we stand after the Hard Launch

Well, this has certainly been an interesting week, hasn’t it?

Last Saturday, I was the happiest of shippers, sharing why I’m so sure it’s Luke. By Wednesday, I was sharing my thoughts on why Nicola’s “just a friend” comment was nothing to worry about. Yes, truly, Nicola’s comment was a hit to the ship. A very palpable hit. Yet, we sailed on. Then on Thursday, well, the ship very nearly sunk with Luke’s Hugo Boss “hard launch” of Antonia. Nearly.

There’s one thing I’ll say I know for sure. Nicola knew she was getting that question about fans wanting her to marry Luke and she had her answer prepared. I have no doubt about that. In all likelihood, her people asked him to ask that question. Otherwise, it’s out of the box for that kind of industry/awards promotion interview. It’s not an interview for the fans, it’s for the voters. She WANTED to dispel the idea that she and Luke might have fallen in love on set because that perception would hurt her chances at the SAG Awards.

There’s no question that Nic and Luke decided together that the time had come to send an armed nuclear torpedo into the ship for once and for all. And so, they did. Indeed, it’s only thanks to our wits, grit, and some very skillful maneuvering that we managed to keep the ship from sinking to the bottom of the ocean. We may be taking on water, but we’re bailing it faster, and we’re still afloat, if only just.

This does not, however, mean that I’m ignoring what they’ve said this week. On the contrary, I’m paying very, very close attention. I’m paying attention not only to their words (or in Luke’s case, the story he’s telling with that hard launch), but also to the subtext, the backstory, the character histories, and the outtakes. I’m paying close attention both to what they’ve told us and to what they haven’t.

I’m thinking about every bit of it. I am, by nature, very analytical. In the Lukola intelligence community, I’d say I’m more of an analyst than a detective. I don’t go out there gathering information (tracking every tag, monitoring friends, family, adjacents, finding old, hidden content, etc.). I don’t even know how to get metadata from Instagram. I’d be grateful if someone could tell me.

But when the detectives bring me evidence, I analyze the hell out of it. There are great detectives out there, but that’s not my skillset. I’m great at sitting at my desk and studying the evidence presented to identify patterns, interpret clues, and assemble those clues into a watertight case.

I thought that’s what I had, a watertight case. And you need your case to be watertight when you’re sailing these rough seas, right?

Then this week, Nicola and Luke decided to tell me my case had fallen apart, and to be honest, I’m not sure how I feel. I’m not as devastated as I thought I might be. I think that’s because I’m still not sure I believe them. They’ve both told us the same thing this week, that they are absolutely, positively not together. They’ve told us in no uncertain terms. And I always thought I would believe them if that time came. And yet, there’s something just a little too suspicious and convenient about the timing for me to trust it entirely. It doesn’t quite pass the smell test.

To be clear, I’m not saying I definitely don’t believe them. I think it’s very possible they’ve told us the truth this week and we simply have to live with it. We have to shift our ship back to “endgame” mode, and out of “happening now” mode.

In some ways, this would be a relief. If I actually accepted that they are not together at all at this point, I could begin to let them go. If I don’t see their launch coming, why hang around? The wait for endgame could be eons. I love them together, but I could do a hell of a lot of other things with my time in the meantime. Why do I need to follow and discuss their every move if it’s not headed to the only result I care about? I could check out completely and let them do their thing.

I’ll watch Bridgerton, and their other work when it looks interesting, and otherwise peace out. I don’t have to be “a fan” to enjoy their work. I have loads of favorite actors whose work I love, and I follow very few of them on socials. I could simply shift NicLuke into that category and move on.

I don’t actually have to care so much about them. All this parasocial bs takes a lot of time and energy, and while that investment of time and energy is good for them because we keep them in the public discourse, it’s not necessarily the highest, best use of our time for ourselves, is it? I could just let it go. We could all just let it go. Wouldn’t that be a relief?

The problem is that I do care about them. They got us hooked during that World Tour and now we’re invested. I’m invested. I’ve put a lot into them and I’d like a return on my investment, thanks. I want to see them happy. Together. I want to see them happy together. Many of us do. So, what if we don’t get that?

Well, I’ll come back to that question. But right now, I’m more interested in the question of WHY. Why did they decide now was the time to torpedo the ship? After all these months of weird, yet skillful combination of utter silence and semi-explicit hints and breadcrumbs. Why now, after a year of active shipping, seven full months after the WT ended, long after Bridgerton 3-month ratings were locked, why spontaneously this week? And why did they do it in such a coordinated way? The SAG nomination, yes, but is there more to it?

I have more theories and variations on theories than I can count. But here are the four key interpretations I want to explore.

It’s exactly what I said this week with Nicola’s interview and my quick post on Thursday. They are still together, with major life changes ahead, and Nicola is up for a SAG. They need more privacy than ever AND Nicola needs to distance herself from the “they fell in love on-set” narrative so that she can be taken seriously as the terrific actor she is, who acted her ass off in Season 3. She doesn’t want to be seen as someone who was only that good because she was “really falling in love.”

They’re genuinely not together, Luke is actually with Antonia (whether on-and-off or all along) and they decided to shut down the shipping now purely because it was impacting Nic’s SAG nomination (see 1 for details). Or maybe L also decided it was time to launch to take the invasive scrutiny off his family.

They’re not together, L is with A, and Nic knew he was going to take her to the HB event, so she prepared fans and pre-empted any “poor, rejected Nicola” perception by saying what she did during her interview.

They were together, and now it’s over (not mutually exclusive with 2 or 3).

You’ll notice none of these theories turn on Nicola’s hypothetical romantic relationship with Jake. This is largely because I have always said that simply isn’t a romantic relationship. And regardless, it’s not relevant to this week’s developments as the state of her relationship with Jake is unchanged from the past few months. That’s not a new factor in this week’s decision.

Obviously, number 1 above is my preferred explanation. It still continues to be the only explanation that makes sense of absolutely everything we’ve seen. INCLUDING Nicola’s words in that interview, and even Luke taking A to that event if you follow the logic of protecting themselves at a critical time both personally and professionally. It’s easy to forget all the extensive evidence pointing to this, but a review of my recent posts will refresh you. There is much to this saga that literally only makes sense if Lukola is real and the other apparent relationships are PR fakery/fuckery to keep our eyes off the truth.

However, this week, they have actively told us that is not the case. So, we owe it to ourselves to be emotionally and intellectually honest and to be open to the other possibilities as well.

Okay, so let’s talk about options 2 and 3. Both posit that Luke and Antonia are really together. Or at least casually dating. It is certainly possible that Luke simply wanted or needed a date to this event and Antonia is a casual date. Certainly, their body language is not particularly close or affectionate in most of the photos or videos. And A clearly does not calm Luke’s anxiety and event nerves like Nic always could and did. And they didn’t seem to hold hands naturally, nor did their arms around each other seem particularly close or natural in most of the photos and videos we saw. And yet, they did walk and pose arm-in-arm as a couple. No arguments there.

It has been widely noted that the Daily Mail story featuring Luke attending this event with his “girlfriend Antonia” was published mere minutes after the first event photos were published. And the story talked way more about A and her vague resume/background than about Luke. For all the world, it sure looks like this appearance was designed to give Ant a PR boost with a story pre-planted and ready to roll. But that doesn’t necessarily mean they aren’t together.

There is one video recorded inside that shows them in a different light. They seem to be enjoying themselves together, laughing, smiling, and talking close. However, there was loud music, it seems, so all talking needed to be close. We saw this when Luke talked to David Beckham as well. David was leaning in and Luke was talking directly in his ear, so clearly, volume was an issue. But he did have his hand on her back and she even copped a feel of his celebrated lukey newts butt. Yes, that video looked very couply indeed. Again, no arguments.

Did I like it? Of course not. Obviously, I hated it. I loathed it even. Do I wish the whole evening would crawl away and sink itself into the bottom of the ocean in lieu of our very leaky ship? Yes. But that video still exists, as does the other photographic and videographic evidence.  So, it’s irrefutable, right?

Almost. There is one thing that rankles a bit in that video. And indeed, about all the Luke & A stuff that came out so quickly. Literally, it all dropped faster than even the Beckham stuff, and Beckham was the host of this event. Why did it all hit so fast? Okay, sure, we already established it was at least partly planned PR for A. But why was that video so exclusively focused on the two of them specifically? What was the videographer doing shooting them from behind, ostensibly “in secret and candid,” for so long? Why so much footage (edited from pieces, therefore taken over time) of the two of them specifically, including that saucy, little butt grab?

If indeed this evening were intended to launch A with the explicit intentions of 1) blowing up the ship and 2) promoting A as the official girlfriend, then it’s not hard to imagine Luke’s PR handler/escort for the evening whispering a little encouragement in his ear. Something like, “It’s not really playing yet, you need to give it more. You two need to get cozy, amp it up, and we’ll get it on video.” Of course, it’s also entirely possible that this “canoodling inside” video was always planned as the final blow to seal the deal after the red carpet content hit.

And, to be fair, it’s also possible that they simply relaxed once they got inside and started having fun. If theirs is a real relationship, whether long-term, serious or a casual dating one, then that would make sense. But why were they so tense on the red carpet to begin with if they’re so close? Why did they look so uncomfortable? Either way, it seems someone had a very clear intention to capture “proof” of the relationship.

Now let’s shift gears and talk about Nicola briefly. Let’s start with this. Nicola is a terrific, gifted, hard-working actor. She deserves all the accolades. She’s worked hard to achieve the success she’s now enjoying and she sure as hell deserves her SAG Award nomination for her beautiful, delicate performance that was by turns moving, heartbreaking, heartwarming, and hilarious. She’s the real deal. And she’s unbelievably, ridiculously beautiful. To my eyes, many times more beautiful and sexier than the other woman who appears in this saga, for what it’s worth. That’s perhaps beside the point, but I wanted to throw it in anyway because what can I say? I’m feeling a little petty and in the mood to spit truths.

She’s also a woman with a right to privacy. And a woman with a career to maintain and grow. And an award nominee who’s campaigning for a win, knowing even if she doesn’t win, the nomination will open doors for her as long as she is taken seriously. And maybe, just maybe, a woman with big life changes coming up fast. I fully support her in doing what she needs to take care of herself and those she loves. And knowing what I know, having seen what I’ve seen, believing what I believe about her, I still believe she would absolutely do what she needs to do in this critical moment.

So, I’m just going to be honest and say I simply don’t know what to think at this point. I still believe number 1 above makes the most sense, both logically and emotionally. But… but… sigh.

There’s also another very real possibility, which is that Lukola has indeed been just as real as we all believe – and now, sadly, it’s over. I actually believe this could be a very real possibility, though this possibility breaks my heart most of all. But I think it’s distinctly possible that they tried and it just didn’t work out for any of the millions of reasons couples don’t make it all the time. Plus, as I’ve written about before, all the reasons they have extra challenges because of their lives and jobs. So maybe the shipping was sweet to them while the relationship lasted, but is painful now that it’s over.

I wish this didn’t feel so valid as a possibility, but it does. And this, too, would make sense of just about everything, unlike the alternate versions where the adjacents (or at least one of them) have been real partners all along. But who knows? As ever, none of us (and none of the Jakolas) knows them, so none of us will ever know anything for sure. Unless they one day decide to come clean.

I’m a big fan of the show Castle. Castle and Beckett, or “Caskett,” is one of a small handful of fictional couples that I have shipped with devotion. I LOVED Caskett and could not wait until they finally got together. The delicious tension, the longing, the near misses, the banter, the micro expressions that broke your heart. They were perfect together. Unfortunately, in reality, they grew to hate each other by the end, but onscreen, they were fire. I will never not love Caskett.

Lukola is my one and only real-world ship, and I will never not love them. Unless they really blow it with too much BTS fuckery. I feel as if they are continually jerking me around and playing games, and I’ve been A-OK with that as long as I knew where it was headed. I was willing to ride the waves of the choppy seas because I knew where the ship was sailing and I loved the destination. I didn’t begrudge them hiding behind PR fakery (or fuckery) because I had faith it was in the best interest of their careers, privacy, and more recently (once I settled into my personal opinion regarding the delicate matter), their family.

That may yet be the case. And if it is, I am 100% there for it.

But if it’s not, if Antonia ends up being a real relationship, that’s going to be very, very hard for me to accept. I’ll do my best to stay the course for Luke as an actor, but the side I see of him as someone dating her is not the same good guy he sold us on the tour. Not the same sweet Colin-alike that the cast has told us he is. Not the same perfect man Nic has told us he is. Because the choice to be with her – based on what I know of her (as well as her youth) — reflects poorly on him, in my opinion. I’m not sure about his “treatment” of her because there’s so much we don’t see and a lot of assumptions are made on that front. But simply based on who she has shown herself to be through her posts and the jobs she’s taken, I can’t respect the choice. I would accept him with many people who aren’t Nicola, but not her.

And my feelings about Nicola would also be dented because she’s posted so many of the crumbs that have (intentionally) kept me hanging on. And if, by some strange twist, she is dating Jake, well… I have a higher opinion of Jake than Antonia. I have no real issue with Jake. From what little I’ve seen of him speaking, he seems like a good kid, earnest about his work, maybe even sweet. But like Antonia, he’s so young. Setting aside aside all the other reasons I don’t believe they’re dating, he’s still 13-14 years younger than her, and just starting out while she’s sailing the heights. I have to be honest and say that the age difference and the power differential do make me uncomfortable.

Her relationships are still not my business. Nor are Luke’s. But as a consumer of media, I do get to have feelings about the people I stan and where I choose to devote my energies. As I said, Lukola has been my one and only ship. I’ve loved them individually as well, but if I’ve been played for a prolonged time, if they’ve been stringing me along with a fake ship, how can that not sour me on them as individuals?

So, yes, if these particular, adjacent relationships are real, my respect for each of them will take a hit. But they can date other people. I’ll get over it. I’ll be disappointed. I’ll think they’ve missed out because they clearly have something truly unique and special, maybe more unique than either of them realizes yet. I still believe they’ve gotten together at some point, but if they’ve now moved on, I’ll sigh and move on as well. And hope that one day, they find their way back to each other where they belong. That’s what endgame means, after all.

However, I will say again that I am not yet entirely convinced that the adjacents are anything more than I’ve long thought they were, decoys and distractions. Or that these latest hits to the ship (the mom comment, Nicola’s interview, and the “hard launch”) are anything more than ramped up efforts to camouflage the truth at a crucial time.

But the one thing that is crystal clear is that they want us to back the fuck off. Whether it’s out of a time-sensitive need for greater professional separation for career reasons (awards consideration chief among them) and greater privacy for family reasons… or because it’s actually true that they are not together at this time… either way, they’ve clearly decided to shut down the shipping this past week.

And this brings me back to Castle. If you know Castle, then you know there was a long-running throughline story about who murdered Kate’s (aka Beckett’s) mother. For years, Kate was obsessed with finding who was responsible and what happened, and more than once, that fierce dedication led her to go too far on the job. She’d stay on cases when she had a clear conflict, she’d hide things from her superiors, she’d go rushing into danger in a ruthless pursuit of the truth. Needless to say, this behavior eventually led to a suspension even though she was the best detective in the precinct. But instead of accepting the suspension, Kate tossed down her badge and quit, because OBVIOUSLY, she was going to go right on investigating privately.

So, am I going to pull a Kate Beckett and charge forward, despite every warning, to investigate every lead until I get the truth? No matter what it costs to me or those I love (namely, Lukola)? Or will I sadly accept my suspension, hang my head, and take some time at home to catch up on my Netflix until the clock runs out? Hmm… Maybe, a little of both?

Here’s what I’m going to do. Keep watching. Keep collecting information, analyzing, and seeing how I think the picture most clearly takes shape. And I will keep sharing my thoughts with all of you.

But since they want us to back off, I will slow roll those observations. For my part (NPC that I am), I will politely take a step back and give them the time that I believe they need for certain very specific reasons. If they need folks like me to back off, then I will. At least for now. And I’ll see what the next couple of months bring.

At some point down the line, depending on how things shake out, I may feel comfortable going full force again with my thoughts and opinions. But right now, it’s my belief that there are things important enough that I’m willing to take a step back to support them, because my intention has only ever been to share my thoughts and bolster the spirits of my fellow shippers. Never to harm Lukola.

In the meantime, I won’t disappear entirely. I may blog a little less, and maybe shift a bit to lovely Polin. Or maybe I’ll end up blogging more with short, fun stuff in lieu of the analysis. Who knows? Got to keep busy somehow, at least unless or until I decide to step off the ship entirely.

Actually, now that I think about it, it may be time to rewatch Castle. At least I know Caskett will never let me down.

[quarterlifekitty]

wifey here again with stepdad!Nik, so I think SD would insist on finishing college since she only has like a year left anyway and because she feels like she'll be able to get a job easier with a degree, she doesn't wanna be a burden. Nikolai ofc lets her finish college, it keeps her busy while at home, settling in nicely to their house. He takes care of her every need, and slowly starts to convince her that she doesn't owe him anything, she's his wife now, or soon to be at the very least. All she needs to do is stay home and worry about their little one. Anytime she has doubts about how much he wants her and wants to provide for her she gets reminded thoroughly. It's when SD's bump is getting noticeable that Nik really steps it up. "What if we both miss the important moments?" and SD eventually is like "yeah, okay, but if it ever becomes a burden I'll get a job" and Nik is real proud of himself. SD also becomes very needy, in just the way Nik loves, she wants to be with him as much as possible and needs help a lot because hormones are fucking with her. And she definitely thanks him plenty for his help whenever she can. Bonus NikPrice x SD reader John decides to visit Nik and his new bird since on their last mission Nikolai wouldn't shut up about her and he immediately gets why when he sees SD, she's so sweet and nurturing and she looks gorgeous all round with Nik's kid, stays a few nights and gets drunk one night and jokingly (sorta) tells Nik he'd love to put the next one in her and Nikolai just hums with a smile "why not?" and reader is suddenly being flirted with by her fiance/husband's friend. Is real worried about it cause she likes it and guility goes to Nik who is 1. Very pleased by her honesty and 2. reassures her and tells her that he's okay with it if she is. (Totally wasn't his plan to get his two favorite people together so he could have them both, nope, that's totally not why he raved about her to John and not one other soul. Mmhm)

Also im really sorry if once again this doesn't make sense, stress has got me by a chokehold lately and its making my brain bad lol

Ooooooh wifey you are killing me. Isn’t that the perfect solution, though? You’re so worried about being a burden, let’s bring in another source of income!!

You know. Maybe it’s kinda degrading. But I totally imagine Nik comes up with little tasks for her. Let’s be real, it’s so easy— he saw what her mother was like, he can see how starved she is for approval, it practically blinds her. Things like “I want us to get a new car with some more space before the baby comes— can you research what models are best for family? You have a better mind for things like that than me,” he says with an almost sheepish smile. You’re practically wagging your tail with excitement— and you just look so happy when you present all of your work and he seems so pleased with you.

Also, in a bit of darker move, I can imagine if you’re not as into John as all that— they come up with a story. They say that John wants to have a baby of his own, but he’s not married, and he wants to have a kid before he’s too old and his career gets in the way of romance. So he would love for you to be like a surrogate for him. You’ve done so well with this first pregnancy, and you’re still so young— plus! John would be willing to pay, so it’d be like you’ve got your own income to help out!

The only thing is that John believes in natural conception. And he wants to live with you both during the pregnancy to help out. And he doesn’t actually plan on leaving once you have his kid. And Nik knows how sensitive and caring you are— when you confess to him your doubts about giving the baby up for good once it’s born, he comforts you. Of course he’ll talk to John about it, milaya, he’s sure they can come to an agreement.

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

Autopsy of a Scene: “Ellen's Possession”

Context

Victorian society (early 19th century): Wives were their husband’s property; sex as marital duty and for male pleasure alone (women's sexuality owned by their husbands); married heterosexual sex was the only socially acceptable sexual expression; women seen as innocent and naïve (infantilization); marriage and motherhood as women's destiny; men as providers and authoritarian figures (wives must obey their husbands); love vs. passion (opposites concepts);

Literary themes: the "threat of female sexuality" from "Dracula" by Bram Stoker; the figure of the "sick woman" as one of the principal ways in which female sexuality manifests as a contagious disease;

Ellen's supernatural gifts (trance mediumship) medicalized by Victorian society as "hysteria" and "melancholy"

Ellen and Count Orlok "countdown"

When Orlok arrives at Wisburg, Ellen gives him entrance into the Harding household by opening the window to him, dooming everyone inside (Orlok has to be invited in, like every strigoi, and the narrative establishes this several times). This is the first time they are meeting "in the flesh". Ellen accuses him of corrupting her innocence and of being a villain, to which he replies he's an appetite because she cursed him to be a strigoi when she bought him back from the dead ("O’er centuries, a loathsome beast I lay within the darkest pit ‘til you did wake me, enchantress, and stirred me from my grave. You are my affliction"). Orlok tells her that Thomas has signed an annulment of their marriage in exchange for a bag of gold, and that Ellen is promised to him, but she needs to accept him of her own free will ("the compact commands she must willingly re-pledge her vow. She cannot be stolen").

Ellen is both attracted and disgusted by him, and claims to hate Orlok, and he accuses her of being false. Ellen being repulsed by Orlok is connected to her inner conflict about her own sexuality, and her sexual cravings (all connected to Orlok himself). And so, he vows to prove his hostility, too, giving her three nights (which are, in fact, two) for her to accept him.

The first night was the present, and she denied herself by denying her nature, and so Ellen will suffer him, the monster of her own creation, to vanish the lives of those she loves. And Orlok tells her she will "submit" on the third night, otherwise “he you call your husband shall perish by my hand”. Until she commands him to come to her, “shall you watch the world become as naught”.

Orlok cannot actually kill Thomas without being given entrance into his house (invited in), but this empty threat has another purpose; Orlok is set on destroying Ellen’s Victorian self-deception ("you deceive yourself"), and forcing her to see what he told her twice already (“you are not for the living, you are not for human kind”). He wants her to see that her nature will never be accepted by Victorian society.

“It is not me. It is your own nature.”

Friedrich Harding kicks Ellen and Thomas out of his house

Friedrich Harding (unlike his wife and Thomas) isn't so convinced of Ellen’s innocence and naivety, and he resents her because of what she represents; not only “sickness”, but mostly female sexuality ("the threat of female sexuality" as a contagious disease), and he doesn't want her near his wife and daughters ("I thought it was agreed you were to keep the girls from her. You mustn’t be swept up in her fairy ways"), and reluctantly accepts this friendship between Anna and Ellen out of respect for Thomas. Friedrich recognizes his own nature in Ellen (“rutting goat”; “always hungry”): “her dashing young husband is leaving her bedside cold” as he jokes with Thomas before his departure. And he tells Ellen himself: “I am most sensitive to your ardent nature”. But he's a man, and she's a woman.

This will culminate with Friedrich blaming Ellen for Anna's sickness and demand Thomas and Ellen to return to their own home, even though he loves them both. Friedrich represents the “Victorian patriarch”, while Anna is the “ideal Victorian woman”, a devoted wife and mother, God-fearing and respectable. Ellen tries to explain to Friedrich that Professor Von Franz is right, it's a demon. But, Friedrich won't have any of that, because he already made up his mind. Ellen spend the night with Anna and, now, she's sick with a "blood plague": the culprit is Ellen's contagion. And he scolds her for her behavior (nature): “Find the dignity to display the respect for your caretaker” and calls her a "social embarrassment" to Thomas by behaving the way she does: “And for your husband’s sake, I pray you might learn how to conduct yourself with more deference".

Ellen thinks both Orlok and Friedrich Harding are wrong about Thomas; he loves her, and, as such, he doesn't see her as "social embarrassment" nor does he rejects her nature. She tells Orlok: "you know nothing of him" and "you are a deceiver"; and, in Ellen's mind, Harding's words are motivated by his hatred of her ("Why do you hate me? You never liked me. Never."). And so, that very night, Ellen is set to prove both Orlok and Harding wrong, and reassure herself that Thomas fully accepts her. And this is the context of Ellen's possession scene, and we'll have parallels to both in the scene itself.

The "Possession scene"

Back at their house, Thomas tells Ellen they must run away and leave town, she's in danger because a "devil" has come to Wisburg for her. And this is when Ellen reveals to Thomas her personal history with Orlok (past lovers), because she trusts Thomas, and knows he will understand: "I know him."

Ellen reveals to him she was the one who unleashed Orlok ("I have brought this evil upon us") because she wanted company and tenderness: "At first it was sweet, I had never known such bliss. Yet it turned to torture, it would kill me. But Thomas, it was you that gave me the courage to be free of my shame – you!" And Thomas is confused, because he doesn't know what she is talking about ("what do you mean by this?"; "what are you telling me?").

“I have never shared my secret with any soul."

And Ellen is herself baffled because Thomas doesn’t understand what she is saying: "Don’t you understand? You cannot understand?" Of course Thomas doesn't understand, because women are suppose to be innocent and naïve, with no knowledge of the world, less alone of sexual matters. And she's talking about "sweetness" and "bliss" in connection to a "devil" who attacked him, violently, and from which he barely escaped alive.

And Ellen tells Thomas that Orlok is the reason why she's medicalized ("melancholy", the diagnose the Victorian doctors gave her), and he's her "shame" ("hysteria") because Victorian women aren't suppose to have sexual desire, and every sexual expression outside of (heterossexual) marriage is seen as evil and sinful. Sex was a marital duty, often seen as a painful task women had to go throught to have children; and women's sexuality was owned and controlled by their husbands. And this is why Orlok is Ellen's "shame", he's not only her repressed sexual desire, her sexuality.

"He is my shame! He is my melancholy!" | "You are my affliction."

And while Thomas is still digesting this information, Ellen takes upon herself to show him her true nature, her mediumship, as she starts her communication with the spiritual realm. Is she even speaking to Orlok here? Or she just connects to the other side to make a point?

"He told me about you. He told me how foolish you were. How fearful. How like a child. How you fell into his arms as a swooning lily of a woman. He told me how you sold me to him for gold. Our love was supposed to be sacred."

"Your husband has signed his name, and covenanted you to my person for but a sack of gold. For gold he did absolve his nuptial bond."

Ellen starts by weaponizing Thomas ambition against him, because she knows he values money (gold): he wishes to climb the social ladder, being “no longer a pauper” who needs to ask his wealthy friend, Friedrich, for money, drowning himself in debt. As he tells Ellen at the beginning of the film, he aspires to buy them “a fine house” of their own (implying the one they live in, is probably rented), with “a maidservant”. Ellen says she’s doesn’t need any of that, all she needs is his love: and, indeed, she married “down”, because Ellen comes from a wealthy family, and we see the contrast between her family house in the prologue (a manor), and the small apartment she shares with Thomas (with old and damaged wallpaper).

Thomas wants to fulfill his "Victorian husband" gender role: marriage was the institution where Victorian men fully accomplished their male responsibility and privilege: to form a household, provide safety and comfort, and exercise authority over dependents (wife and children) where the trademark of a successful man. This was also connected to their social and professional success, making them respectful in the eyes of other men. A man who couldn’t govern his wife was also seen as unfit, socially, professionally and morally.

“You never listen. Well where is it? Your money? Your promotion? Your house? Where is that which is so precious to you? Have you paid back kind Harding your debt? Have you repaid him with this plague that infects his wife? [I left for us, for our future] For what? For what? For these… things?!”

"Hartmann will call you a coach, at my expense – of course."

Thomas wants to be a good Victorian husband, and tells her: "I left for us, for our future. For you!" But Ellen is showing him he's a failure as a "Victorian husband", that he doesn't belong to this society, either, and they are meant for each other. Because she doesn't care about material goods nor being wealthy ("we needn't any of that!"), all that Ellen wants is his love, and to be his greatest treasure, because money doesn't matter, "they are already dead". She doesn't want to be married to a patriarch like Friedrich Harding ("stupid and cruel").

Now, we have to talk about the importance of Ellen's corset to the plot, which was confirmed by costume designer Linda Muir in an interview with "The Art of Costume":

"One example of costume design serving the plot, as you mentioned, is Ellen’s corset. I came across a particular style called a fan-laced corset during my research, which I’ve also referred to as a “self-tying corset”—though it doesn’t actually tie itself! This type of corset can be tightened from the front, allowing the wearer to adjust it independently. For Robert, this design was ideal. When Ellen is in the throes of her supernatural connection with Orlok, the men around her—Sievers and Harding—try to impose control by tightening her corset. Because of the fan-laced design, we can see her anguish and convulsions, as well as the men’s oppressive actions, without needing to obscure her face or body by laying her prone. This moment is a perfect example of how research and storytelling can come together harmoniously in costume to enhance a scene."

Historically, corsets have always been considered an instrument of women’s oppression, so it’s not surprising to see them having the same meaning in “Nosferatu” (2024). Corsets were restrictive devices that rendered women immobile, passive and prone to fainting, and the Feminist movement of the 20th century saw them as “as one of the quintessential Victorian social horrors”. Corsets were also considered a sign of respectability, because they controlled the body, and, by extension, physical passions.

And, indeed, we see Ellen corset consume her, to the point she tries to break free from it during this scene with Thomas, as he begs her to stop it "Ellen, please!"

Ellen is desperate to break free from Victorian society medicalization and expectactions of her. She wants freedom, she wants to be herself in a society which will never accept her, and will always restrain her (metaphorically and literally) not only with drugs and tying her to the bed, but with gender roles of marriage and children. And she shows Thomas her true self, her nature, her mediumship. Because she needs to be sure he accepts her, to prove both Orlok and Harding wrong.

Not knowing how to handle the situation, Thomas does what Victorian society tell him to do: call the doctor to deal with Ellen. "I shall send for Doctor Sievers." A doctor that will contain her with drugs and/or tie her to the bed, who will restrain her nature, and she doesn't want that. And she breaks off her trance. And in this scene we see that Ellen does have control over her trances, as she snaps out of it, at will.

As she ends her communication with the spiritual realm, she kneels before Thomas, in full submission, and promises to be good: "Please. I’ll be good, I’ll be good." She'll be a good Victorian wife to him, and sees the relief on his face. That's the kind of wife he wants, and Harding's words haunt this scene: "Find the dignity to display the respect for your caretaker. And for your husband’s sake, I pray you might learn how to conduct yourself with more deference."

“Please, have pity. I throw myself at your feet. Why can you not hear me? Listen to me, please!"

“No! No! Please. I’ll be good, I’ll be good."

Then, Ellen gives him the final insult of saying "You could never please me as he could", which parallels "Remember how once we were? A moment. Remember?"

However, here, we have two points of view, both focused on Orlok:

Ellen is taunting Thomas to stir him to be passionate, and only sees the wildness of his next action, because that's the kind of passion Ellen desires and craves, and she wants Thomas to prove he can give it to her, and for Orlok to see that love is not inferior to her, after all.

"Let him see. Let him see our love!" | "Love is inferior to you."

"Kiss my heart! My heart!" | "Yet I cannot be sated without you."

But Ellen's pleasure is not what Thomas seeks here, because Victorian women "don't have sexual pleasure". Sex is a marital duty, and the only pleasure here is male, because husbands own their wives' sexuality. Which is why Thomas calls Ellen a "doting wife" at the beginning of the film: in Victorian context this doesn't mean "loving" or "adoring", but "devoted" as in "excessively submissive". Ellen's sexuality isn't hers, it belongs to Thomas, and that's why Thomas thinks of her as "a doting wife": to him, it's not about her having sexual pleasure, it's her fulfilling her role as a Victorian wife of pleasing him. And a scene which parallels the last scene between Ellen and Orlok.

So, when Ellen tells him "you could never please me as he could", he’s interpreting this as Orlok having “defiled" his wife, and he's taking ownership over her, again. Because she's his wife, and she belongs to him, not to Orlok. Her sexuality belongs to him, not to another man, and, surely, not to herself.

But as Ellen grows wild and more animalistic, Thomas recoils from her, terrified. Ellen laughs and says she'll become a demon without him (because husbands control their wives' sexuality, and without a husband Victorian women's sexuality becomes "evil", "sinful", and, yes, "demonic") and she's unclean (because of her sexual cravings, her sickness, her "contagion", and also reference to the "Dracula" novel, and she got kicked out of the Hardings household because of it).

And now, Thomas vows to destroy Orlok, himself: "I’ll kill him! He shall never harm you again. Never!" after Ellen says she must go to Orlok, otherwise he'll kill Thomas, taking away her agency, because she's not asking for his help, she's saying she must go to Orlok.

And until this point, Ellen was possibly consider sacrificing herself (“we can’t leave”) because of Thomas ("it was you who gave me the courage to be free of my shame. You.") and/or because she feels guilt over unleash him to the world ("I have brought this evil upon us"), but that's not what the "compact commands", because "compelled" does not equal "willingly", and Orlok knows this. And this is the scene that changes everything.

Now, Thomas blames Orlok for Ellen's "sickness". Orlok is the true responsable for his wife's "medical condition", not her supernatural gifts. In Thomas mind, she was corrupted by him, and he turned her into a "melancholic hysteric". And it will be all over once Orlok is destroyed, because his wife will be "normal" and a "perfect Victorian wife" to him, then. Thomas didn't understand what Ellen just told and showned him. She revealed to have unleashed Orlok ("I have brought this evil upon us"), that they were lovers and she enjoyed it ("at first it was sweet, I had never known such bliss”), and she displayed her true nature to him, and her desire to be free from her medicalization. Thomas still doesn't and can't understand her, as he plays the role of the "Victorian husband" who can govern his wife.

Which is what Robert Eggers tells us, in one interview: "Ellen’s husband loves her, but he can’t understand these ‘hysteric’ and ‘melancholic’ feelings she’s experiencing, and he’s dismissive of her." And Willem Dafoe says something similar to “Deadline”: “I’ve heard Robert describe it as a triangle between Ellen’s husband, who’s a loving guy, he loves her dearly, and he’s conscientious. He wants to be a good husband, but he doesn’t quite see her, and he doesn’t understand what she’s going through.”

And, as Ellen realizes that Thomas will never accept her true nature, Orlok, through Ellen’s granting him entrance into the Harding household, kills the “perfect Victorian wife” archetype, Anna Harding, and her children; because the roles of wife and mother are deeply intertwined in Victorian society; they are a woman’s destiny. And he also feeds off Friedrich Harding, too, the man Thomas aspires to become.

"There’s a monster in the room! Papa! Papa! Don’t let her feed me to the monster! Stab him! The Monster! The Monster!"

And Ellen realises that Thomas isn't so different from Friedrich Harding. Friedrich is the character Thomas wishes to emulate and become, after all: a successful businessman, with a good and wealthy house, and a devoted and comfortably settled wife, who elevates his social respectability: "I envy you. You’ve truly taken your father’s place now… it’s incredible." Like Harding, Thomas will always medicalize her, as does the rest of Victorian society. She showned him her true nature, her mediumship, and his reaction was to call Dr. Sievers to deal with it, a doctor who will restrain her nature with drugs, corsets and tie her to the bed.

Thomas' love for Ellen is no different from Friedrich Harding's, at its core. And it becomes clear: this "Victorian love" is connected to Ellen's medicalization and the containment of her nature. Every character who "loves" Ellen in this story has the same course of action: dismiss her supernatural gifts as a consequence of her "sickness", and call the doctors to deal with it. They all see her nature, her true self, as a dangerous disease who needs to be stopped. As female sexuality in the Victorian era was seen as a plague and a monstrosity in need of containment, and "the threat of female sexuality" theme from the "Dracula" novel.

Now, Ellen wants to talk to Professor Von Franz, the only (human) character who has shown respect and validation for her nature, and hasn’t medicalized her for it. Not before Friedrich Harding proves, once again, how neither she nor the Professor have a place within Victorian society: “Take that blackguard from this place! Your diseased mind has brought all of this outrage– Your very presence does me wrong!” 

He's interrupted by Thomas, who convinces him that Nosferatu exists, and it’s his fault, while he asks for Friedrich’s forgiveness ("Please, it is my fault! Forgive me my dear, sweet friend!”). Driving home the point that Thomas paid no mind to what Ellen told him the previous night, and he does not recognize her supernatural abilities, either. It's all Orlok's fault, and Ellen is an innocent and passive victim at his hands, and everything will be alright once he's destroyed.

[luigifan1998]

luigi x wife!reader headcanons. can be set before or after he went mia

right right right. married lu. throws myself on the floor

for the sake of length ill keep this to before he dropped off the face of the earth but ive written a memo to write about the after in a separate post soon

my personal biases might get in the way of this because i am unwell and genuinely think he is in desperate need of someone whos up at 3 am fighting a manifestation of their own hubris in their bed. he needs someone that experiences romantic delirium and is convinced her dreams tell her stories of the two of them from thousands of years ago. a girl thats considered showing up to a convent and who has a favorite saint. a rotten girl who wants to eat a piece of his birth certificate. this is so crucial to me unfortunately

that being said. its my belief that lu is saccharine, something he didnt know until you came along and peeled the wallpaper off his psyche. the way his customary sweetness unravels itself is sickly and all enveloping. hes the neediest boy in the world, forever coming to you with quiet infirmity. he drapes himself over you whenever he can, always saying how you were made to hold him. his incessant appetite for affection didnt ease with marriage. he plays with your ringed finger absentmindedly. presses his lips against it, not registering the habit

he would think of marriage early on in the relationship, unreachable to the anxious expressions of others when he'd say hes going to marry you weeks into dating. when he decided this, he paced back and forth in his bedroom, hardly able to focus long enough to tell the time before seeking his mom out to tell her. it all came out in one big prosaic wave. she thought he sounded like a child but his cheeks were flushed and his heart is so painfully stitched onto his sleeve in regards to you. he doesnt press the idea of the union but he likes to tell you how hes going to make you his wife during random moments. when youre eating. when you make him laugh. when hes fucking you

i can see lu trying and failing to preserve going all the way when you mess around once youve accepted his proposal. the engagement would be long. he is so busy and so wanted by everyone around him, but the novelty of you being his fiancé would wear off after the first couple of months. he wants to fuck his wife, not his girlfriend. he wants the sanctimony of marriage to wrap around the two of you when hes inside. the vow acts as a spectator in the bedroom, and he needs it. needs you to be his and only his under a holy decree. he calls you his bride and his little wife

in my heart of hearts....... i know lu would want to propose in the most cheesy way ever. his sister behind foliage, filming the whole thing. balloons. one knee. the rest of your family nearby. the video would be uploaded onto instagram, people you havent ever met commenting with what a beautiful couple the two of you make. but i think the right girl could pavlov him into asking in a whisper under the soft cotton of a bedsheet. face kisses and crying and pleading for the rest of your life to belong to him in some capacity. he cant live without this

the ring would be beautiful and heavy with weight and the diamond would be absurdly large. he'll never let onto the price, just like hes been doing with the checks at each restaurant youve been to together since your first date. bastard. whats next? steak tartare at the reception? he starts biting you each time you deny being able to accept such an insane piece of jewelry

[alaskan-wallflower]

thinking about imperfect boyfriend soda

imperfect boyfriend soda who gave into his impulses way too much for sandy’s liking, and would brush off her concerns with “quit worryin’ so much, baby” or “aw, don’t be such a square, sandy girl”

imperfect boyfriend soda who flirts back with the girls at the dx and seems to be blind to the absolute hurt in sandy’s eyes whenever he does this

imperfect boyfriend soda who would vent to her way too much about things she genuinely didn’t know how to help with—she only had an older sister who moved out years ago, she doesn’t know how to help him.

imperfect boyfriend soda who gets into trouble with the cops, and who worries sandy sick day in and day out because who knew what kind of trouble he’d get into with steve?

imperfect boyfriend soda moves way too fast for her liking—she isn’t sure she wants to marry him in a year. she isn’t ready.

imperfect boyfriend soda who accidentally says the wrong thing at the wrong time— “thank god you ain’t trashy like the rest of the greasy broads”

imperfect boyfriend soda who is impossible to read, and who doesn’t tell sandy when she’s doing something wrong and then explodes about it weeks later

imperfect boyfriend sodapop is so important to me

[the-froschamethyst4]

She is My One and All

𖤐Pairing: Husband! Price x Wife! Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐Warnings: fluff, language, kissing, praising, children, married couple, use of John, overprotective, smoking,

𖤐Summary: I mean can you blame him? You carried his children for 9 months and you are so perfect, of course the man is going to be whipped for his wife

————

————

7:00PM

Getting ready for the Military Ball, Y/n was just putting in her earrings and was doing the last bit of her makeup, John was downstairs talking with his mother on not to give Beau and Iris candy after a certain time, almost like the gremlins.

"My love, are you almost done?" John came into the master bedroom and coming around the corner to the big bathroom, he shared with her.

"Almost," she says, John stops in the doorway and looks at his wife, mesmerized by how she looks in her silk white dress. She then peaks at him through the mirror. "What is it?" She asked.

"Nothing...you just look beautiful," he says.

"Thank you," she puts her brush down and walks to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his lips. "You look very handsome," she says, messing with the collar of his shirt and rolling the tie in her right hand.

"I try," he smirks.

"Mum, do you have to go?" Beau came into the bedroom.

"Yes, baby, I do, you'll have fun with grandma, you always do, what's wrong this time?" She asked.

"I just don't want you to go."

"What about me?" John looks at his son kind of offended.

"You'll be fine, you have friends there."

John just shakes his head at his son and rolls his eyes. "Whatever," John said, he placed his hand on Y/n's hip and looks at her. "You ready now?"

"Yes, come on," she grabs her purse and John grabs his keys. They told their kids goodbye, to behave, and go to bed on time, and they'll be home later tonight.

--------------

7:30PM

John opened the car door and helped Y/n out, she linked her hand through John's arm as they walked up to huge mansion. Y/n looks at the white marble, it was gorgeous but it wasn't drawing John's attention, his eyes were only on Y/n.

"Price!" Both John and Y/n looked to see where the voice came from and it was Kyle, he waved to both of them.

"You go on ahead, I'm gonna go find a drink," Y/n tells him.

"You are?"

"Yep," she kisses his cheek. "Go talk with them, you haven't seen them in a year, go on."

Y/n walked to the bar and had asked for a mai tai, she takes a few sips as then someone had approached her, she ignored them at first cause she knew it wasn't her husband.

"Hey," the guy said, she moves her eyes to look out of her peripheral.

"Hi," she gives him a short response.

"I see you're alone? You here with a friend, or where you part of-"

"I wasn't part of the military and I'm here with my husband," Y/n cuts the guy off. "And who are you?"

"I'm Jake Herron-well...Sargent Jake Herron," he sounds cocky, full of himself, an asshole. "I'm here alone." He adds in like that was suppose to mean anything to Y/n.

"Again, my husband," she repeats, she picks up her drink and starts moving to where the last time she saw John.

"Hey wait!" Jake grabs Y/n's wrist.

"Let go," Y/n says, trying to yank her wrist away, but Jake held a good grip on her.

"No, wait, just talk to me, give me a chance-"

"I'm sorry did you not hear me, the first time? I have a husband, I am very much NOT INTERESTED IN YOU!" She yanks her wrist, getting it freed and she slightly falls back but was caught.

"The fuck is going on?" John says, his voice deep and serious as his focus was on Jake because he knows he's the one who started it.

"Captain...I...I umm~"

"I'm pretty sure, my wife told you she is married, so get your ass moving," some of the people that were around all glared at Jake and started moving towards Jake, not touching him but instead puffing out their chests in a way and pushing him out that way.

"What was that about?" John asked, holding Y/n close to him.

"I don't know, I've never experienced that before," she says.

"And you won't again, not while I'm here," he says.

"Y/N!!" Kyle yells hugging her.

"See you're turning heads, Y/n," Simon says.

"I don't want to be," she said.

"You want a cigar?" Johnny asked Y/n, offering her one of his big cigars.

"Oh, no thank you, Johnny," Y/n politely declines as John takes one and lights it. Both Johnny, Simon and John were smoking each a cigar, while Kyle and Y/n just stood to the side listening to the guys speak.

-----------------

8:30PM

Kyle and Y/n had walked to these couches sitting in the middle of the room while John was still with Johnny and Simon outside smoking, but John wasn't focused on the conversation anymore but was focused on his wife.

Y/n's head was resting on her hand that made a fist, she reached out and placed her hand on Kyle's hand to agree with him, her smile was bright, brighter then this Heavens Gate white lighting in this mansion.

John trusted his friends, so he isn't going to storm to Kyle and yank him off that couch and possibly chuck him out of the mansion.

"Price, you listening?" Simon says.

"Hello?" Johnny then says.

"Sorry, no, I wasn't, what were we talking about?" John said to them both.

"Never mind, you were looking at her the whole time," Simon said.

"Sorry," John says, turning and looking at her again.

"You are so fucking whipped for her," Johnny laughs and Simon chuckles.

"Of course I am...she carried my children for 9 months, and she is the woman I've been asking for my whole life...I'm fucking lucky to even have her in my life."

"Whipped," Simon says.

"You both have wives, you're not like this?" John asked.

"Oh no we are," Johnny says.

"Mine drives me absolutely mad," Simon says, putting his head back but held a smirk on his face, if you catch his drift.

"You could say that again."

"Whipped," John then says.

"John." Y/n walks up to her husband. "I think I'm ready to go." And with that sentence, John and Y/n both said their goodbyes to John's friends and headed back home for the night.

------------

9:10PM

Y/n had opened the front door, John comes in behind her and before Y/n could bend down to take off her heels, John had beat her to it, lifting her foot out of the heel and placing her foot on the ground and doing the same with the other foot.

"Mum?" John calls out. He removes his jacket and Y/n walked further into the living room.

"John," she whispers. Looking over the couch there was John's mom on the couch with Beau snuggled to her left, Iris on her right and a children's book that fell on their grandma's chest. All three passed out.

"So cute," Y/n says. She picks up Iris and John picked up Beau.

John watches Y/n tuck Iris into bed and hearing a yawn they turned and saw John's mom.

"Well, good morning sleeping beauty." John jokes with her and earned a smack on his shoulder.

"You two are back early."

"Someone wanted to leave," John says.

"I just wanted to get back home," Y/n says, walking to the door and shutting it behind her. "Thank you for watching them."

"Of course, and I'll keep doing it too, they are such sweethearts."

"Well, they have a good mother." John says.

"And they have a good father," Y/n smiles up at him.

"You both are perfect."

--------------

John had escorted his mom to her car and waved her goodbye as Y/n was inside getting her pajamas on ready for bed.

"Mum says bye, by the way."

"I wish I was done there, but I'm so tired."

"She understands, you're a mother, and you just got back from a party basically," he says, as he starts getting his pajamas on.

John sits on the bed and gets under the covers, and cuddles close to Y/n.

"Did you have fun?"

"I did."

"What did you and Kyle talk about?"

"The good old days with you two being in the military, funny moments, stuff like that," she shrugs her shoulders.

--------------

Waking up the next morning, John was getting ready for his morning routine run, he was downstairs when he sees Iris come down.

"Hi, baby."

"Daddy, where's mama?"

"Still in bed."

"Where are you going?" She asked.

"Out for a run like usual."

"Can I come?"

"Not today, baby."

"Morning," Y/n says, yawning and coming down the stairs, Iris runs towards Y/n and she picks her up.

John looks at Y/n who was in one of his shirts and some shorts. Y/n then walks to him and stood on her tippy toes and kissed his lips.

"Be safe."

"I will."

"Daddy are you going to bring me back a pretty rock?"

"You know I will." John always did a few laps around a nearby park and always collected the prettiest rocks for Iris, he usually brought back 2 or 3...maybe 4 if he's lucky.

"Bye, I'll be back, soon," he smiles.

"Bye, say bye, Iris."

"Bye, daddy."

[really-burnt-toast]

Hi! Can you tell us more about your head canons for Fena and the other special followers you drew a bit back?

You don't know how excited I was to answer this! 🙏

Please allow me to ramble a little, because I decided Im going to go through every NPC / OC I made for cotl, specifically my au!

These are them all! I decided to finally get around to drawing Echo, Latra and the concept for Nalen too!

Imma be writing down a brief history of them along with fun facts/head canons (who are technically canon).

(all of that under cut, tw; mentions of abuse and death) (I may have missed something. Also brief mention of fertility struggles.)

Fena

Let's start with Fena first, cuz she's a fan favorite!

Fena was born in Darkwood within a big family that was traditional and mainly worshipped the old faith for protection. Their village was often the target of wolves (who have connections to the teeth in the darkness). During one of these attacks, the Villagers had to evacuate and thus, Fena's family were forcefully split up. Fena and their sibling had to spend days trying to get to another village, but were caught at night once again. Fena managed to get "rescued" by the old faith - only to be offered as a sacrifice to Leshy. Mellia (my Lamb) saved her. Fena is currently the head of disciples and Loyalty enforcement.

Fun facts: Fena is a trans woman. Fena was once married to Thorantre but got divorced. Fena is Mellia's favorite follower. Fena's sibling was later rescued by the Lamb. Fena has Cynophobia (fear of dogs and canines), but it's most aggressive against Wolves. Fena currently thinks Thyma is a spy.

Other hcs: Jumpy, definitely the type to get scared and then act all tough. Loves her body and is a proud lust rite champion (why she wears a flower crown). Unhealthily cautious. Horrible at flirting. Would probably crack someone's rib while attempting to. Kinda like the thought of her getting too obsessed with finding info about Thyma and then eventually she realizes they have lots in common... Like fuck, that guy is kinda funny and cool but also, he's definitely going to kill someone.

Thyma (real name unknown)

Thyma's story, as per they claim, is;

They were raised in Darkwood by their family/pack and one day an "incident" occured which left their family dead. The Lamb rescued them and promised safety. Thyma is not willing to speak any further on it. He is currently Night patrol and trying to dispel any distrust put against him.

Fun facts: Thyma is a Demiboy, born afab. Thyma has Nyctophobia (fear of the dark) and Insomnia. They chose to be a night guard to be alert at night. They also wear the Moon necklace to be awake 24/7. If they sleep, they do so in the day. Thyma has permanent markings on his face that cannot be removed. He is medically noted to suffer from hallucinations.

(More story to be revealed soon)

Other hcs: Sarcasm king. Also King of internal panic. Definitely gets horrible period cramps. Gets sick of seeing blood. Probably tried going vegan to look less suspicious but ended up horribly sick and malnourished. Tucks tail whenever Fena is near. Besties with Agana. Acts cool and stoic but is actually kinda pathetic. Monologues to himself when patrolling. Stares at bright lights, despite being told it could blind them.

Thorantre

Thorantre was also born in Darkwood. During the Genocide, his family were often harmed due to being mistaken for Sheep-kin. After the death of multiple family members, Thorantre decided to protest against the old faith and stand for the protection of Sheep. For his spreading of "propaganda", he was going to be put to the blade but was fortunate to be trialed at the same time as Mellia was beheaded. They rescued him and he became their first ever follower.

Fun facts: Short-fused and dramatic. Has canonically killed another follower during a petty fight. Doesn't really do his job as a disciple and is only still a disciple for Mellia's sake. Often mistaken for a sheep by the Lamb in moments of unclarity - personal gossip girl and somewhat Therapist to them. Close friends with Fena despite being exes.

Other hcs: Girls girl by heart. Shameless flirt but extremely picky with partners. Divorced because he was too high maintenance. Knows of everyone's business and keeps pulling Agana into gossip. Gets annoyed when people ask him for stuff so he makes them pay him to answer. Will say the most gayest thing followed by the most straightest cis-guy take ever. Will just randomly ditch disciple meetings because he's bored. Also suspicious of Thyma but for no particular reason.

Agana

First born in the Cult, raised to become a disciple. As a child they were wild and unruly but settled down with age and is now determined to befriend every cultist.

Fun facts: Is afab genderqueer. Had a huge crush on Fena growing up. Currently has a little crush on Thyma. Is usually the first to know of ANYTHING happening in the cult, even private happenings. Will often share their own savings with children in the cult. Is pretty forgiving with Tax enforcement.

Other hcs: Chronic simp. Fandom girlie, probably. She's the type to ship people unironically. Probably saw the tension between Thyma and Fena and misinterpreted it. Says "hello fellow kids" but is actually up to date with trends. Has been trying to integrate Thyma more into the group. Probably gets the most affected by sin.

Latra

Born in Silkcradle to a family of Shamura's worshippers. Latra ran away and got married on the outskirts of the domain. Her marriage was cruel and abusive, fueled by her husband's growing rage of her infertility. Despite praying daily, no one had come to save her and so she took matters into her own hands. One night she plotted to kill her husband but was caught, resulting in a fight to the death where she was the victor. Latra dragged herself away with two of her limbs damaged beyond repair and managed to run into the Lamb. She was taken into the cult and became a Missionary, as her knowledge from Silkcradle aided her skills. She has been in the cult since the first crusade through Silkcradle and has been resurrected multiple times. Currently she is in retirement again.

Fun facts: Latra was offered a position as disciple but declined. She is known to delay retirement until physically impossible to work. She originally didn't worship the Lamb, but ended up doing so after many years of staying. Latra was one of the people to dissent from Shamura's curse. Currently engaged to Echo.

Other hcs: Has had rumors go around about her past. Has been working with children and has been helping rehabilitate rescues. Has babysat a few times before. Actually great at flirting but prefers pulling dad jokes and bad flirts. Wanted children but gave up on it due to her age. Actually best friends with the Lamb. Only didn't accept discipleship because she is worried about her own reputation straining Mellia's reputation.

Echo

Born in Anchordeep before it had that name and before Kallamar had the crown. Experienced first hand his climb for power and the subsequent events that shaped the downfall of the old faith. Was also a disciple for a short while before becoming a field medic during the genocide of Sheep kind. Echo married the general of their group and the two along with a troop were sent to patrol Anchordeep. That continued even after Mellia was resurrected and started killing the bishops. Once Kallamar started growing paranoid and cowardly, Echo started to question the strength of their god. That was met with backlash and after a huge fight in the group, Echo stayed back a bit. Eventually they found their group having been attacked by the Lamb and Echo mercy killed whoever was still alive. Echo dissented against Kallamar and was later found by Latra during a Mission. Echo was indoctrinated and became the cult nurse.

Fun facts: Echo is intersex. Echo is considered to be mute, but has the ability to talk. They only talk to Latra, Mellia and Kallamar (to screw with him). Echo is widely known to be an asshole, but is the most respected nurse in the cult. Echo suffers from mild PTSD. Is currently Latra's personal caretaker and has been trying to convince her to accept the golden skull necklace Mellia offered her (which is included in discipleship).

Other hcs: Fell in love after having to pull an arrow from Latra's shoulder. Has to go in evacuation after being flirted with because they are worried they'll explode (they won't). Academically smart but Interpersonally stupid. Can communicate with sign language but rather uses their expressions to communicate their opinions. Had begged multiple times for Mellia to resurrect Latra whenever she died. Has been secretly trying to figure out an early form of Fertility treatments in order to grant Latra the wish of having children. Also has been looking into adopting.

Nalen (real name unknown)

(This character is currently still a character concept and might change with time.)

Born and raised in the Lands of the old faith after the Bishops had already died. He was raised as a pup to become a spy that would sneak into the Red crowns cult to find any special information that could allow the old faith to overthrow them. He managed to sneak in during a time where the cult was facing a hectic time - entering with a group of people who were starving and asking to be indoctrinated. Able to avoid detection for a full two years now due to building trust and reliability, building relationships and faking worship. His mind hasn't even been read once yet due to Mellia struggling with their new godhood. Perfect time, perfect alibi.

Fun facts: I don't really have any yet, so I'll offer the description of the concept; I wanted a spy character that looks like they could just be any other cultist and who's a species that's both unassuming but reliable and easily trainable. So the golden retriever it was. And while all followers of the Lamb have a red base, his base colour was dark purple.

(same with hcs, but you know the stories of band kids just pretending to play the instrument all year? Kinda that. Him praying and just mumbling the words bc he has no clue what's going on. It's a miracle he made it this far.)

(Also, sorry for the lack of pictures but I got too impatient and wanted to answer as quickly as possible LOL)

[emotionally-cuckolded]

Your wife may have been surprised to have received the invite, but you certainly were not, because it was well known within the company that he has a real thing for pretty young redheaded wives of his employees. In fact, his most recent two girlfriends have each been exactly that, and you knew that he had stopped dating his most recent girlfriend only a few weeks ago because she had become pregnant -- by him -- which his girlfriend had been sure was the case because (as had become well known within the company) he was always insistent that his girlfriends stop having sex with their husbands as long as he was dating them.

As a result, you were very sorry when he noticed your wife at the company party and had come over to introduce himself to her. Your fear, of course, was that he might decide that SHE should be his next girlfriend. And the truth is, she had seemed charmed by him and didn't hesitate to give him her cell number when he asked for it, and even though your wife had never dated anyone else since she married you, it was obvious now that she was attracted to him, was flattered to be asked out by someone as rich and important as him, and was eager to accept his invitation.

"Well" you said. "I guess it's really up to you. If you really WANT to go out with him, I don't want to say that you can't."

"Mmm -- you're so sweet" she then said. "I've never been on a yacht like the one he has, and I'd love to see, and spend the night, in a penthouse apartment. So since you're OK with it -- I'll tell him yes."

What then surprised you a bit was that your wife then put down her phone without seeming to have texted him a reply.

"You probably should text him back right away" you then suggested. "I'm sure he's expecting a reply pretty much right away."

Your wife then smiled at you and laughed. "Well, actually -- I already did tell him yes, even before I mentioned this to you." Then she laughed again and continued by saying "Because even if you had tried to tell me "no", it was something I was going to do."

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

the hottest man north of havana

pairing: cabana boy! javi x rich older woman! reader

cws/tags: oral f! receiving, p in v, (semi) public sex, young (adult) javi!!, cheating (reader has a husband but he is prob cheating too and sucks)

summary: lonely rich woman at country club while her husband is away has a thing for the cabana boy

a/n: title reference to copacabana by barry manilow (that's either really obvious or really not obvious idk). obv you should listen to that while reading (long version) and margaritaville bc mentioned as well, but i listened to a lot of steely dan while writing this?? so, do with that what you will

*the cosmo article referenced is real and i have it saved to my computer and might post it bc it's so funny

wc: 3.6k

thank you @almostempty for your help on this one <3

Your husband’s away on ‘business’. AKA he’s in bed with a girl half his age a couple thousand miles away from where you sit on a lounge chair by the country club pool. It fazes you less than it should, but women like you don’t marry men like him for love. Or, at least, you don’t stay married for love. Half the women, wearing designer swimsuits and oversized sunglasses to hide aging under eye bags, are with their husbands for money too. The only difference is that you’re willing to be honest about these things. 

Honestly, the new cabana boy is handsome. They usually are, but this one has a certain charm that has you hiding behind an issue of Vogue to sneak a peek at his toned body when he’s not looking in your direction. 

In your persistent delusion, he pays special attention to you. He delivers fresh towels to the women on the other side of the pool, but he never lingers around them like he does with you. That pretty grin is genuine, you tell yourself, he’s not only working for tips. 

He nearly startles you when he comes by to offer you a refill of your margarita, a dizzyingly beautiful concoction since the bartender never skimps on the tequila, at least not when you’re the one ordering. He surely has a thing for you, or the way your tits look in a bikini, especially when they’re pressed up against the counter as you call his name.

“I really shouldn’t,” you say with a smile that begs him to convince you to have another. “It’s too early for more alcohol.”

“What’s that saying… ‘it’s 5 o’clock somewhere’?”

“Sure, in Margaritaville. I think we’re still a couple hours behind, though.”

“I’ll be back in a couple hours, then,” he says, taking your glass from the table beside you. “In the meantime, can I get you anything else?”

You can think of many things you’d love him to get you, but you settle for a seltzer with lime. 

You take a short nap and when you wake up, you know exactly what time it is because Jimmy Buffet is playing through the speakers to let you know, in addition to cabana boy who is humming along to the tune.

Your knight in a tightly fitting t-shirt approaches swiftly with your drink already in hand.

“How’d you know?” you ask, coyly, before taking a tiny sip. 

“What can I say? I know how to please a woman,” he says with a wink. 

You smile through the scoff you give him. “Alright, cabana boy, don’t let it get to your head.”

You learn his name the next day when you overhear one of the women you used to play tennis with bitching to him about this or that. 

“Javier,” you say as he walks past. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, turning on his heels with a look of relief on his face. 

“I heard you getting an earful back there. What’d you do to earn that?” 

Knowing her, whatever he did shouldn’t have landed him on anyone’s shitlist, but she’s got just about every name in the phonebook written down. 

“She requested an extra towel and a bottle of water to be brought to her in the women’s locker room, but I wasn’t very prompt.”

“Risking your tips, aren’t you?” you tut, teasingly. 

“Doesn’t usually tip me anyway,” he says under his breath, looking off to the side, pretending the confession isn’t meant for your ears.

“Oof. Even you can’t win her over,” you say with a pout.

“Suppose I was wrong about the whole ‘knowing how to please a woman’ thing,” he says with a faux-dramatic sigh. 

“I suppose so,” you say. Sitting upright so he can hear your voice when you say much lower, “but, you’ve really tugged on my heartstrings here, so I give you my deepest sympathies.” You grab a couple twenties from your wallet and hand them to him. 

“Pity tips,” he muses, a smirk tugging at his lips as he plays along with your little game, “I’ll bring you another sob story with your next drink.” 

The wink he gives you is his way of saying ‘thank you’. 

While you’re acutely aware of the power dynamic between the two of you, it does feel like he’s become a confidant in a way. You’d be far happier with his company than anyone else’s. 

While you’re in the midst of reading the latest issue of Cosmopolitan, Javier comes by to check up on you - something he seems to do more frequently now. Maybe it’s the tips, maybe it’s the tits. 

“Is it any good?” he asks, nodding to your magazine. 

“About as good as trashy magazines get. Why? Were you looking for some fashion advice, sex tips, embarrassing breakup confessions?” You offer up the gifts promised on the outer cover, nonchalant with equal attention paid to each, hopefully masking the fact that one of those topics is far more interesting than the others when you’re up close and personal with the effortlessly handsome Javier. 

Your eyes meet briefly at the mention of sex tips. 

“Hmm. How ‘bout those sex tips?”

“Alright, then,” you say, patting the spot beside you, beckoning him to sit. “Here are the best places to have hot summer sex…”

You can feel his body heat, his hand placed behind your body to hold himself steady as he leans in to read over your shoulder, pretending to be enthralled with this stupid article. 

“Number one,” you begin, “in the water.”

“A classic,” he notes, looking towards the pool only a few feet from you. 

“It says here that the ‘dirty mermaid’ position is ideal.” You point to the illustration of a couple getting it on. 

“Seems simple enough.”

“Wait ‘til you hear this,” you say, pausing for suspense, “their next suggestion is sex on a trampoline.”

“I can see the appeal,” he says. 

“Okay, well, then you better try out ‘the circus freak’ position the next time you have a rendezvous on a trampoline.”

“I’ll keep that in mind in case the circumstance arises.”

And just when you think you’ve got him to yourself, he’s whisked away from you by another dissatisfied country club member - maybe she’s jealous, you think,  until she gives you a sneer and then, you’re positively certain she is. Before he departs fully, he places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Let me know if you find anything you think I might like in there.”

The magazine tells you to fuck in a tent, on a sailboat, or in the woods, but all you want is Javier, right here, right now - be it the dirty mermaid, the circus freak, or just a man and a woman unable to ignore their overwhelming attraction to each other. 

Alas, you go home alone. The only one to touch you that night is your vibrator, and no matter how creative your imagination can be, you can tell the difference between silicone and the real deal. 

You return to your spot by the pool the very next day. Usually, you can apply your suntan lotion by yourself, albeit with some difficulty, but today, you struggle to get the part of your back that would normally be covered by your swimsuit - but of course, you know to avoid tan lines you need to keep your top off and your tits pressed to the towel. 

“Need any help?” Javier asks at a most opportune time.  

“Maybe a little, but let me just lay down first. I don’t want to flash you or anyone else.”

“It wouldn’t bother me at all, but I’m a gentleman, so I’d look away if you asked me.”

“I didn’t take you for a gentleman.”

“I could be one. If that’s what you’re into.”

You struggle to get your top off enough to put lotion on without exposing yourself, and Javier whispers to you, “Just take it off. No one’s around.”

You look at him, suspicious - and excited - about his motives. 

“I’ll be a gentleman,” he reiterates. 

“You better be,” you say with a face that dares him not to be  one, before turning and taking your top off. 

Javier takes the bottle of suntan lotion and squeezes a dollop onto his hand before rubbing it from your shoulders down your upper back, remaining cautious not to touch you anywhere too scandalous. Still, his touch lingers and he begins to massage your tense muscles. 

“Wow,” he says, “You’ve got a serious knot right here. What’s got you so tense?”

“A masseuse and a shrink?” you tease, expertly avoiding the question. “Javier, you’re really working overtime.”

“I’m just trying to build a good rapport with one of our most loyal members. It’s part of my job description.”

You suppose it is, but he’s surpassed ‘good rapport’ and made it to the number one spot on the list of men you have sexual fantasies about. You want to give him more than cash tips or sex tips. You also want to take far more than the tip from him. 

So, you keep him beside you for longer by letting him see deeper into your life as he shifts his touch. 

“Well, if you really want to hear all of my life’s hardships - Ooh, yes, right there - I’ll spill.”

You swear you can hear him inhale a sharp breath when you tell him where you want his hands. 

“Right here?” he asks, tentatively pressing his thumbs in more forcefully. 

“Yeah, that’s perfect,” you say. “You’re doing great, Javier.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he says, but you’ve heard those words enough times to know that his voice is different this time. That he’s affected by your praise. 

“It’s so stupid,” you begin with a light laugh, “I’m just pissed off at my husband.”

“Oh?” he says with a hint of disappointment in his tone. 

“Yeah, he’s off on ‘business’,” you say, air quotes included, “but we all know what that means.”

“Do we?” he asks, and he may have said something else, but you cut him off. 

“Ooh, down a little bit, babe.” The pet name slips from your lips accidentally, but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

He moves his fingers to the perfect spot and you nearly moan. 

“I can’t believe your husband would give up spending a day with you, especially… one like this…”

“One like what?” you ask, curiosity piqued. 

“Ma’am, I’ll be honest, you look great in this swimsuit.” When he hears your laugh, he adds, “I swear. I wouldn’t lie about something like that.”

“Well, Javier, I’m halfway out of this swimsuit right now.”

“As a gentleman, I wouldn’t dare take a peek, but I imagine you look even better like this.”

But you know he’d love to - as would you. You imagine there’s a tent forming in his uniform swim trunks. 

“I know I was planning to lie on my stomach, but would you mind getting my chest as well,” you suggest. 

“It would be my pleasure,” he says. 

You turn to him, revealing your naked upper body, simultaneously praying that the pool area is empty and that it’s crowded with women who’d certainly be jealous of what’s going on between you and the cabana boy. 

You’d think he’d never seen a pair of tits before if you saw his face - absolutely awestruck, unable to tear his eyes away from them. 

At your request, he gently massages them. 

“Goddamn, your husband is lucky,” he says under his breath. 

“Is he?” you say. “You’re the one touching me right now.”

His hands trail down your sides, testing the waters. 

“It’s a hot day… you don’t wanna get burned… so maybe you’d like me to get your thighs too? Just to be safe?”

You never thought you’d have a man begging just to touch your thighs, but you can’t complain. 

“You’re so thoughtful,” you say, “if you don’t mind, that’d be wonderful.”

You can tell he’s itching to get your swimsuit bottoms off. 

You whisper to him, “You can take them off if you want.”

“But my hands are covered in sunscreen. I wouldn’t want to give you an infection or anything.”

“You have a mouth, don’t you?”

His brown eyes melt as he eagerly dives between your thighs without another word.

His tongue works wonders as it glides over your folds, paying special attention to your clit, flicking his tongue teasingly, then sucking lightly. You realize how large his hands are when he wraps his arms around your thighs and pulls you into him. You’re fixated on his fingers, how badly you wish he could give you them.  

“Javier,” you say, “I want you to fuck me.”

(If you weren’t so needy, you’d beg to get on your knees, to scrape them on the concrete, and to suck him off. He serves you too often, you owe him more than just tips).

When your vulgar language reaches his ears, he looks up at you, wiping the shock off his face with a hand through his hair. He looks excited from his eyes to his shorts as you give him the once-over. YOu quickly slip your bikini back on before he takes your hand and leads you to a slightly more secluded part of the pool. Anyone who swims nearby could see you, but women further away with their noses in their trashy romance novels (when they’re not stuck in everyone else’s business), won’t be able to tell who is getting it on behind the waterfall. 

No, it doesn’t look even close to as gorgeous as the tropical destinations you’ve visited, but it does conceal your identity. And, Javier looks better than any man you’ve ever seen. The country club made an active decision to hire hot young men who could easily be printed on an advertisement in one of those stores in the mall that you no longer frequent - you’ve outgrown the overbearing scent of cologne and the juvenile style. Last summer, there was a blond pool boy, the summer before, he had blue eyes. But, Javier is something else - he’s a walking wet dream. And he’s yours. 

The water is cold, particularly so when you’re in a shady area, but Javier’s sun-warmed chest pressed against yours keeps you from shivering. And, with every subtle touch, heat pools at your core. 

When you’re submerged in the water, he slides your bikini bottoms to the side and lowers his swimsuit just enough to free his cock. You can’t resist the urge to touch him, so you stroke him slowly and you can tell he’s holding back pretty moans that you’d die to hear.  

Before he can lose himself to the feeling, he picks you up and you hook your legs around his hips. He keeps you close to him, not letting your back scrape the edge of the pool behind you. His grip is firm but his touch is soft. 

You coax his cock to your entrance, and he lets you, but not without warning.

“If we do this, I’m gonna need you to be real fucking quiet.”

“Same to you.” Your voice falters as he slides the head along your folds. 

Quite frankly, you couldn’t care less if everyone in the general vicinity heard the moans you hold back - in fact, you’re proud to be the one in Javier’s arms - but you try your best to collect yourself, to pretend the first inch, the initial stretch, doesn’t faze you. Even the anticipation of being filled by him makes you clench around him, your body trying to pull him closer, ignoring your intentions to keep up this coy persona with a quip readily stowed just behind your lips when he says something flirtatious and witty. You want to be the one to make him blush.

It is the opposite of sex with your husband. Not only because Javier is younger and far more attractive, but because you have to make an active effort not to cum too quickly when his fingers reach between your bodies and find your clit. You’ve spent years faking orgasms with your eyes closed, imagining a man like this is the one panting above you. Better make it last. 

Javier’s hands have a steady grip on your hips, forcing them to meet his with every thrust while your arms take place on his shoulders. You lean in and kiss his neck, eliciting the slightest moan, and you have to hold yourself back from sucking at his skin. You want to hear him, you want to mark him. You want to make him yours. 

You hear the clop clop sound of sandals approaching accompanied by a pair of feminine voices. It snaps you from the momentary daze and what is meant to be a warning comes out like a whimper. 

“Javi,” you say, and the sound of his name coming from your lips only spurs him on. 

You have to stifle your cries by burying your face in the crook of his neck. Your words are muffled but you manage to convey enough to get a response - not the one you were expecting, though.

“I don’t care,” he says. “I want them to know I’m fucking you.”

You know that Javier can have just about any woman he wants, you feel lucky to be chosen, but you know, despite his words, he wants you in secret. He’s just good at dirty talk, and you’ll gladly take the fantasy he builds for you. 

“I’m serious,” he says. “I want them to know how good I’m making you feel.”

Good would be an understatement. Pleasure ripples through you, threatening to push you over the edge, into an intense orgasm. He angles his hips so that every time his cock fills you, it strokes your g-spot along the way. And his fingertips work tirelessly on your clit. 

But he slows his pace, he pulls you back from the ledge.

“I wanna hear you when you cum,” he says, and he’s unable to hide his ragged breathing behind his sternness. 

He’s not demanding, he’s begging. 

And it works all too well with you. 

You meet his eyes - an agreement - and he returns to his previous routine, the one that makes your thighs tremble and your head loll back. 

“Javier…” His name flies past your lips and you wonder if you would’ve said it anyway, without his direction. It comes out in a desperate cry — one that covers up any noise that comes from Javier. You only catch the latter end of his orgasm, taken entirely by your own, but his face will be forever etched into your mind, in that corner that you keep secret and sacred. 

All of a sudden, in your post-orgasm haze, Javier pushes you gently into the waterfall, so you end up soaked (in a new way). You understand why when he pulls you out of the pool bridal style. 

As everyone in the area gawks at you, likely having heard you scream Javier’s name, he acts like the hero he is. 

“Someone had a few too many drinks,” he announces. “Luckily, no CPR is needed, but I’ll be taking her to the med station for a checkup. Everyone may resume their regularly scheduled lounging.”

There are whispers amongst the crowd - there always are - but you’re impressed by his acting. 

When he sits you down on a chair meant for the aftermath of swimming-related accidents (most of which result in nothing more than a bandaid), he says to you, “It’s important to stay sober if you don’t want to end up in sticky situations.”

“Sticky situations like the one on the front of your shorts?”

“Goddammit,” he says with a sigh. “They’re gonna fire me.”

“I hope it was worth it,” you say. 

“I’d say so,” he says, but you can still see a tinge of worry in his eyes. 

“Besides,” you say, “I think I might be able to get another job.”

“Really? That’s awesome,” he perks up. “But, I’ll miss seeing you every day.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that.”

Your husband arrives home the next day and you immediately complain about how the maintenance men did a terrible job keeping the backyard pool clean. Truthfully, they really weren’t the best and you’d been thinking about finding a new pool boy anyway. 

When your husband goes to look up ‘pool maintenance in my area’, you say, as nonchalantly as you can, “I heard that one of the cabana boys at the country club is quitting, and he’s actually really good at his job. He works super hard, never slacking off.”

“Alright. I trust your judgment. Maybe you can get his contact info from the club and we can ask for his rates.”

You already have his number saved in your phone so you call him and get his email address and pretend you’re calling the country club. You draft the perfect email for him to send your husband, to show him that he’s the perfect man to work for you. 

“Wow,” he says, when he receives the email. “He says here that he even offers extra services like bartending and poolside service… whatever that means. His rates look reasonable too. You did a great job, honey.”

“Thank you,” you say, accepting a kiss on the cheek from him. “I can stay home and monitor him, assuming you have to work on Monday…”

“Actually, I’m so sorry, but I’m leaving again in the morning.”

“What? Where are you going?”

“San Francisco. Another conference. But, don’t fret, I’ll be back in a week. I would love it if you stayed home when he’s here - just in case - but I trust your decisions either way.”

Needless to say, Javier is great at his job when your husband is home, and even better when he’s away. 

[svt-rosalie]

. . . ♡ PREGNANCY ! ? 🪷 AU ★ ﾟ๑

ׁ ׅ ୨ ❪ what could of been! ❫ ୧ ⊹ ࣪

© 2024 , svt-rosalie rosalie masterlist!

content warning / incorrect info on pregnancy and birth, rosie is emotionally, descriptions of birth, rosalie has an at home birth, not spelling checked, brief mention of sex (only brought up once), jihoon is the man we all need in our life

author note / i’m so proud of this! i got the sudden urge to write a pregnancy au for rosie and couldn’t stop writing so here you go! im gonna do some other parts to this au like rosie and her baby in going seventeen episodes, insta post, ect! i hope you enjoy, let me know if you want more AU’s like this :)

one of me is cute, but two, though?

give it to me, baby

juno, sabrina carpenter

THE BEGINNING

✿. rosalie finds out she’s pregnant!

A gasp left Rosalie’s mouth as she sat on her couch, a wave of nausea hitting her faster then she’s ever felt causing her to quickly leap from her spot and rush towards her shared bathroom with her boyfriend Woozi. Her stomach did not hold back as it brought everything back up that she had eaten for breakfast just a mere 4 hours ago.

“Are you okay Rose?” Woozi questioned, you could hear the concern in his voice.

Rosie simply sat there after throwing up and flushing the toilet. Her throat was scratchy and her body fatigued but she nodded her head the best she could.

Woozi rubbed her back with one hand and grabbed some toilet paper to wipe her face with the other. “Is everything okay? You’ve been throwing up a lot more recently from what I noticed.” He questioned.

The girl shrugged her shoulders leaning closer into her significant other, craving comfort. She had been so tired recently — her body felt like it had been rung through a ringer over and over. It didn’t help that she seemed to have caught a bug that made her throw up at randoms times.

Woozi started to chuckle making Rosie look up from her position of resting her head on his shoulder to look at him skeptically.

“What’s so funny?” She asked.

Woozi’s laughter softened but didn’t end as he spoke, “Maybe you’re pregnant!” There was a tone of humor in his voice.

Though as Rosie’s eyes widened and her body became stiff — Jihoon’s laughter died down, “You’re pregnant. . . ?” The statement came out more as a question than anything else.

“We should make a doctor’s appointment.” They both agreed, not realizing it would be the beginning of the rest of their lives.

WE’RE PREGNANT

✿. telling everyone their pregnant

It’s been a couple of months since the couple found out they would be having a child. They were young and in love, though they weren’t married they felt ready for this life. Others had different opinions and concerns especially since they just started their relationship but those words were fed in one ear and out the other.

Telling the company was one thing and the members they were expecting a child was one thing, it was honestly the easiest part they would deal with in the beginning. Telling their parents was another.

Rosalie’s parents are extremely protective of her, not in the sense of “you can’t do anything blah blah you live by my rules till the day you die” but just protective of the fact that she is their baby, their first born and they just want to best for her.

They had already told Jihoon’s family a week before when the couple went to visit the family for the weekend. Reactions of surprise and happiness was overwhelming and the nerves melted away from the two.

“We will be there to help you two no matter the time of day, just give us a call.” Jihoon’s mom had said to Rosalie when she made her way around to hug her.

Now it was time. The couple was sat in the Dumont’s kitchen room gathered around the table, dishes were filled with food as an everyone ate their filling. It was silent for the most part, the only thing heard was the smacking of Rosalie’s little sister Valentine’s mouth eating food and the clanging of metal chopsticks hitting the sides of dishes.

“Okay out with it, what’s going on? You two never act like this during dinner.” Rosalie’s father, Hyeonju asked after swallowing his mouth full of rice.

At those words Rosalie’s palms got sweaty. The speech she had practiced so thoughtfully on to break the news to her parents hasd flown out the window and straight into the pond beside their house.

Hyeonju crossed his arms, “Well—” “We’re pregnant!” Rosalie blurted out. There was no sugar coating it, no ‘Appa, I know I’m young’ speech, just straight for the jugular.

Reactions were mixed between her family, Valentine was confused, her mother had a smile on her face, and her dad; well you couldn’t tell the reaction on his face.

The deafening silence was broken by a chair scraping across the floor as Rosie’s mother got up to her hug her eldest daughter.

“Oh my gorgeous girl, I’m so happy for you.” She said cupping her daughter’s face with tears in her eyes. Her mother went into a tangent asking as many questions about the couple’s pregnancy as possible before she was cut off by her husband.

“Lee Jihoon?” Hyeonju asked. He stood up promoting the boy to stand as well and leave his position of watching his girlfriend and her mom alone. “Yes?” Jihoon answered.

Hyeonju sighed, “You better take care of my daughter and future grandchild, anything and I mean anything gets back to me that is even remotely upsetting — you and I will have words.” said boy nodded and expressed his love for the man’s daughter and their future child. “You have my word, I will be the man your daughter asked for and the best father our child could have.”

Hyeonju nodded and smiled broke out on his face “Come here!” he said, laughing and pulling the boy and his youngest daughter into a hug with his eldest and wife.

The tension in the room disappeared as they all hugged and laughed.

“Wait . . . does that mean Unnie had sex?” Valentine questioned innocently.

Rosalie’s face went red as the group laughed at the younger girls question seemingly meaning no harm by what she said.

It was a good family dinner, and soon instead of just 5 — there would be six!

SHE’S HERE!

✿. rosie finally gives birth

The room was bustling with noise and people. It was finally time for the couples little girl to come introduce herself to her family.

It had been a stressful morning with her water breaking and then immediately her contractions were causing her more pain than she ever expected.

At moment she was sat in her pool of luke warm water. Her desire to have a home birth just like her mother did with herself and her little sister overshadowed any other ideas, only wanting to go to the hospital if deemed necessary. Her mid-wife was instructing Rosie that she was at 9 centimeters dilated and soon enough she would be having to start pushing soon.

The girl nodded and continued to breathe in through her nose and out through her mouth as her boyfriend, Jihoon held her hand close to his chest whilst rubbing her tense shoulder.

“You’re doing amazing Rosie.” Jihoon stated softly, he brought up the hand he was holding to give a delicate kiss. Rosie looked up at him as he was kneeled beside her with tears in her eyes. “Really?” She asked, “Because I’m absolutely terrified.” Rosie groaned out as another contraction hit.

The boy nodded as she squeezed his hand as the pain passed through her. If all she needed from him was to hold her hand through this pain then that’s what Jihoon will do, she carried their child for 9 months and was about to birth her, it’s the least he could offer at the moment.

The couple sat in silence as the midwife came over the check the files dilation once more before confirming she was at ten centimeters and was ready to push.

Rosalie’s mother who was their to assist in any way possible kneeled on her daughters other side offering a hand of support.

“Okay Jihye, on your next contraction. Push!” The midwife stated loudly.

And that’s what Rosalie did. It took the girl only 15 minutes to push her child out into the world which caused the medical staff and mid-wife to laugh out stating “We’ve got an eager little girl ready to meet her Omma and Appa.”

Despite being exhausted and out of breath, Rosalie took her baby girl in her arms after she was cleaned off and checked for any signs of health issues. A wave of relief came over the young girl and her partner as they watched their little Young-mi take a breath in and a breath out.

They were alone together for the first time in hours, the medical staff and her mother took their leave after cleaning up the girl, checking for any signs of tearing (thank god there was only a tiny one, she got stitched up in minutes) and getting her dressed and on a bed to be as comfortable as possible.

“We did this.” Rosie stated blissfully. Her voice cracked due to the strain of her yelling out as she pushed a couple of minutes ago.

Jihoon shook his head at her words.

“You did this. You kept her fed and healthy, you made sure she had a safe place for nine months, you brought her into this world. I wouldn’t have her without you, so thank you. Thank you so much.” His words didn’t go unspoken without tears shedding from both parties eyes. Rosie titled her head up to reach the boy sitting next to her and placed a sweet kiss on her lovers lips, cherishing this moment for as long as she could.

“Welcome to the world Lee Young Mi, you’re gonna be so loved.”

T͟I͟M͟ELINE.✶ 🧸

july 2020, baby is conceived august 2020, rosalie and jihoon find out they are pregnant september 2020, company is told about pregnancy november 2020, gender of the baby is confirmed december 2020, fans receive the news of rosie’s pregnancy december 2020, rosalie and jihoon go on pregnancy leave march 2021, baby yvonne dumont/lee young-mi is born

♡: ANNOUNCEMENT POST!

Liked by saythename_17, everyone_woo, and 4,678,092 others

parkjihye ♡

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rosalienews there is no way…….

tigerose I KNOW THEY ARE LYING WTFFFFFF

rosiecheeks woozi works quick don’t he

saythename_17 열일곱 번째 멤버를 맞이하는 것이 기다려집니다

translation, cant wait to welcome the 15th member of seventeen

roseswrld HOLY FUCK HOLY FUCK HOLY FUCK

rosepetals y’all i have nobody i can share this news with, what am i supposed to do

smelltheroses i died, came back to make sure it wasn’t a joke, died again

woozi_universefactory ♡

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taglist — @angie-x3 @alixnsuperstxr @allthings-fandoms @peachyaeger @sakufilms @aysxldea @swagcandyfun @wonwooz1 @s4nsmoon @seolarzone @miyx-amour @novwonia @marissa-11 @magicsoyeon @skzfairies @btskzfav @vhsdolly @iamawkwardandshy @yaebbinnie @conniesbbymama @jihoonsbbygirl @kaitieskidmore97 @cheolsboo @mars11rules67 @svt-manon @g4ns3y