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azsazz · 4 months ago

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Over Ice

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: I think we could really have fun with the different courts and Illyrian values on a thematic basis but ALSO if the reader is in something very artsy and hasn’t really been into sports and then she’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!! She decides to wear Cass’ jersey to make him mad and when he finally gets a hold of her after the game: *cue innocent shrug* he asked me to!

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 3032

Notes: While I work on a plot for an azzy hockey x figure skater au, please enjoy a rhys hockey au 🤪

This was originally an Az idea but I thought it fit better for Rhys bby so here we are. I feel like I've forgotten how to write and this is shit (dont judge me im going thru smthin rn)

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A giant FU stares up at you.

Well, actually, it’s only an F, but it may as well be the former with the way it’s circled in thick, red ink.

Three. Fucking. Times.

Tears sting the back of your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. It never feels good, failing, and even if you’d gotten a C+ like you hoped, you would’ve still beaten yourself up over the grade because plain and simple: that’s who you are.

Two months ago, at the beginning of the semester, psychology had seemed like a breeze. The lectures were easy to listen to and intriguing, and you had no trouble following along with the professors’ slideshows as you took detailed notes of everything on the screen. Your assigned readings were completed in a similar state, though they weren’t graded but included important information you’d find on the tests.

Somewhere along the line, your grade slipped, and you don’t remember if it had been between studying for Biology or reveling in your newfound freedom away from your parents, partying and enjoying a true college experience with your roommates.

Whatever happened, the repercussions are hitting you right in the face, the taunting letter you have never seen before on any of your assignments throughout all your years of learning.

If your parents saw this, they would bring the entire house down with their scolding.

It’s not like you didn’t try. You studied, even if the word is a loose term for what material you used. Things started piling up this month, with it being a new semester and all. You didn’t schedule out the time to focus on psychology when the classes you were really interested in—Introduction to Nutrition and Kinesiology—took first and second place for your attention. Plus, with the number of social events your best friends—who are also conveniently your roommates—invited you too, it was almost impossible to say no. Friends are a vital part of the college experience and you were in desperate need of some fun after having spent the summer lounging at home with your parents.

You found a psych support group that met at the library once a week to study together. It wasn’t anything like you thought it would be, a bunch of clueless students with grades similar to yours. All they seemed to want to do with your precious time was bitch and moan about the professor instead of actually trying to conquer the areas of study for the upcoming test.

And now the consequences of your actions have made themselves known.

Grumbling, you shove the test into your binder before shutting it with a snap that does nothing to ease your frustration. A few students still trail from the room, though most bolted right after being released. Some linger at the bottom of the lecture hall where the professor sits, answering their questions.

You have about a million-and-one of your own but you’re too worked up about your grade to go down there and hash it out with Mr. Hybern. His peppery colored hair is perfectly coiffed on this terrible day, his beard trimmed close to his jowls. His gleaming, golden skin makes you think that maybe he’d spent his weekend grading tests out in the sun, and you have half a mind to stomp your way down the stairs and demand a second review of your test.

It wouldn’t solve your irritation, and it would certainly be embarrassing if in fact your F is correct.

Placing your binder, notebook, and pens back into your bag, you zip it, sling it over your shoulder, and make your way to the exit, holding your chin high because if there’s one thing you’re not going to do, is cry over your terrible, awful grade in public.

The waterworks will just have to wait until you’re locked in your private bedroom in your shared dorm.

There is good news. It’s Friday, which means you can snag the pint of your favorite ice cream that your roommates won’t dare touch because ‘no ice cream that’s worth it should have fruit in it, that’s like asking for a steak on your spaghetti.’ You have no idea what Mor—one of your roommates—was on about when she brought up the awful comparison, and in reply all you’d done is scooped out a chunk of cherries embedded into the creamy, pink goodness and stuffed it into your mouth.

With it being the weekend, you can also wallow well into the night without having to worry about hiding your puffy eyes in the morning. You’ll have all day tomorrow to figure out a plan of action, once you allow yourself the time to properly grieve and process…and maybe have a drink or two.

You shoulder through the heavy lecture hall door with your head down, hiding the red stain to your cheeks. So, maybe you’re not going to hold you head high as you trail back to your dorm, but you will not cry.

The door swings open and you barely catch the noise of surprise before you’re barreling into something that’s akin to a brick wall. Your breath leaves your body in a whoosh and your balance slips out from under you, arms flailing as you fall.

You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for impact, but it never comes.

Slowly, mortified because you know exactly what’s cushioned your fall, you peek your eyes open, carefully meeting a sapphire gaze that surely would take your breath away should you have any left.

This close, you can see the perfection of his angular features: a long, straight nose, high cheekbones under the dusting of pink that caresses his own face. His lashes are dark as charcoal, the same color of his hair that looks as soft as silk.

Whatever it is that has you entranced by his beauty, the sentiment seems to be mutual. Those bright eyes trace across your features, carefully drinking you in. You don’t know if you’re thankful that your face is already as red as the marker on your test or if you want him to see the way your cheeks go molten.

There’s a warmth against your hips that you don’t notice until he speaks, his hands that have a solid grip around you, keeping you steady to his chest. His whispered breath brushes across your lips. “By all means,” he teases softly, “Take your time.”

“Oh, my Gods, I am so sorry,” you squeak, rolling off his chest. You can hear his chuckling as you scramble to climb to your feet, but your knees are so weak at the sight—and touch—of the most handsome man you’ve ever seen lifting gracefully to his feet, holding a hand down to help you up.

You try not to notice just how big his hand is in yours, and for the second time today, you fail.

“Don’t worry about it, darling,” he says, displaying an easy grin that makes your heart stutter in your chest. The door opens with a loud click and the both of you startle. His hand comes down warmly on your spine, ushering you out of the way of the student that’s beaming grin falters into apology at the idea of almost running you down, already on the phone with someone and gushing over their test result.

It’s hard to reign in your glare.

The student’s conversation seems to jolt the man out of his stupor. He blinks, shaking his head as if to rid him of a spell you might have cast on him, or maybe he’s testing to see if he has a concussion from the fall.

When he returns his attention to you, it takes everything in your power not to melt into a puddle beneath that gaze.

“Is Mr. H still passing out tests?” he asks, and you swallow the sourness that accompanies the name of your professor. You and he are not on good terms right now, not that this boy knows that.

“Yeah,” you answer, remembering you saw him sitting on his throne (desk chair) with his loyal citizens (students) kissing his feet (talking through their tests). “I think so.” Then, because you’re pretty sure you would remember a face like his if he were in your lecture, you ask, “Are you in this class?”

“No,” he answers with a scoff that tells you he breezed by this class. “I took Psych 101 freshman year, but I have Professor Hybern again for Cognitive Psychology and I need to turn in my paper early.”

Turning in a paper early? What is he, some kind of genius?

“Oh,” you answer lamely, “Cool.”

His answering grin cracks open the casing of the butterflies you didn’t know were living in your stomach, taking off in a flurry of emotion.

He shrugs like he couldn’t really care less about any of it, but to you, the fact that he’s managed to pass Psych 101 at all is an impressive feat, though you don’t know why he’d sign up for even more torture. “Sure. Look, I’ve got to run, but are you sure you’re okay?”

It’s nice of him to ask if you’re okay when he’s the one who had his back painted to the floor only moments ago. “Yeah, I’m fine, but I should be the one asking you that. Are you okay?”

His laughter is rich and warm, and you want to melt into it. Before you have the chance to make even more a fool of yourself in front of this handsome stranger, he answers. “I’ve been checked harder, darling. You have a nice day now.”

“Thanks, you too,” your words trail off as he catches the door on its next outswing, ducking inside without waiting for your response.

Jeeze, he must really be in a rush, then.

It’s when you exit the doors to the psychology building that you curse yourself. You should’ve gotten his number, his name at least. You could’ve invited him over for something more distracting and yummier than the ice cream you’d planned on demolishing.

At least you have something better to think about tonight than your test.

With a heavy sigh, you allow your backpack to fall off your shoulder. Now that you’ve arrived back to your dorm, you’re suddenly feeling more exhausted than ever.

The walk home from class had been nice, your time spent thinking about the boy you’d run into. The broadness of his shoulders you didn’t seem to notice until he turned away, stretching wide beneath his tight t-shirt. The bulge of his biceps beneath said t-shirt, flexing as he pulled the door open for himself. The shape of his ass in those snug jeans.

The sight of that is what had your eyes nearly popping from your head. What’s he doing that gives him such a bubblicious ass? Squats? Lunges? You can do those. You choose not to, but if there’s a guarantee that you’d have an ass like that, you’d start right this second.

Tucking your lip into your mouth in concentration, you plant your hands on your hips, making your way to the refrigerator that your ice cream is housed in, lunging your way there.

It’s not that far, the communal space in your shared dorm is small, but your heartrate is elevated by the time you’re two lunges away from your prize: your ice cream.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Mother!” You shout as the voice of your roommate breaks your concentration. Your knees wobble and your thighs shake, unable to hold you up from the burst of exertion you used. You clearly need to get into the gym more, another thing to add to your already busy schedule. “You scared me!”

Mor rolls her chocolate-brown eyes, sliding into one of the stools at your counter. It’s not built for it, the laminate countertop doesn’t hang over the island far enough for your legs to fit, but you and your roommates thought they were cute, nonetheless. You can suffer having to hunch over your knees to reach your cereal bowls in the mornings in favor of having more space for company to sit.

When you haul yourself off the ground, you take in your roommate. She’s wearing some kind of jersey, one you’ve never even seen in her wardrobe before, and you probably spend more time in there than her because she has every item of clothing you could ever imagine. The top she’s wearing now totally clashes with everything that screams Mor: silk scarves, tight bodice tops, leather pants, and what she has on now isn’t even red, a color that’s a staple in her closet.

“Well, if you were paying attention,” she scolds playfully, flipping open the compact in her hand, checking her makeup in the tiny mirror. She makes a few faces that would make you chuckle if you didn’t notice how she looks like she’s ready to go out, and that means she’s going to try to drag you with. “You would’ve heard me walk into the room. I am wearing heels, you know.”

Of course you know. Mor doesn’t do sneakers, only when it’s five in the morning and the sun is still sleeping, the perfect time for working out where nobody will catch her. Maybe I should join her, you think, mind wandering back to that boy’s butt.

“Why are your cheeks all red?” She asks, planting her palms on the counter and leaning towards you, eyes narrowed in inquisition.

“Nothing,” you wave her off, reaching for the door to the freezer. It’s the last thing between you and the cherry chunk ice cream calling your name.

Before you can open it more than an inch, it slams closed, Mor’s sharp, bright red fingernails splayed out to stop you.

Damnit, how does she move so silently?

“What do you think you’re doing?” You question each other at the same time, biting back your smiles at the mistake.

She answers first. “Why do you look like you’re about to get the ice cream, put your pajamas on, and wallow in bed all night?”

“Because that’s exactly what I’m going to do,” you cross your arms over your chest defiantly. “So, if you’ll excuse me…” You trail off, hoping she’ll step away and leave you to your peace.

She doesn’t. That’s not Mor.

“I had a rough day!”

“You say that every day,” she whines, stomping her heel-clad foot. “Don’t you even want to know what I’m inviting you to tonight?”

“From the look of your clothes, no, I don’t want to know what you’re doing tonight, Mor, and no, I don’t want to join you, either.”

Your roommate scrunches her nose, tipping it towards the ceiling. “I’ll have you know that this outfit is cute.”

“Yeah, if the definition of cute changed to ‘not pleasing or appealing to look at.’”

“You take that back,” Mor shouts, full naming you.

As your lips part in apology, because that was rude of you, your other roommate pads out of her room. Her reading glasses are perched up on her nose, blue eyes round and wide, and it always looks like she’s looking around the room in wonder. She has a blanket thrown over her shoulders and looks every bit of cozy you wish you were.

“Gwyn,” you sigh in relief at the sight of her. “Please, help.”

“I already said no,” she offers you a sympathetic wince. “I don’t think there’s any getting you out of the hockey game, sorry babe.”

Now it’s your jaw that falls to the floor. No, it falls through the floor and about five more floors down, hitting the lobby with a crack that echoes through the building.

You whirl on Mor. “Hockey game? Since when have you been interested in hockey?”

“Since my cousin got named team captain this year,” she says smugly, and you don’t know why she’s acting vain, it just means that he’s captain of the douchebags now, even you know that. Mor turns, showing off the back of her jersey. The number one stands out like a beacon, and you brush her blonde hair over her shoulder to read the smaller patches spelling out what is in fact, her family name.

Cunningham.

“Think of all the parties we’ll get into,” she says over her shoulder, and she does have a point there. The athletes at your college are a group of students that you don’t ever interact with, nor do you care. Mor is all about connections though, and if she wants to go to the hockey game, then it looks like you’re going with her.

You wonder what excuse Gwyn used to get out of it. She looks mighty comfy right now, slinking over the plop down on the couch and turn on a movie.

“Why do we have to go to the game? Can’t we just go to the parties?” You ask, grasping for anything to get out of this. You don’t want to go sit in the cold arena and watch a bunch of guys wearing full-body padding slide up and down the ice. Why couldn’t her cousin have been on the baseball team? They have nice, tight uniforms.

“Because,” Mor emphasizes with a glare, spinning to face you once more to give you the full effect of her irritation. “I’m a good cousin, and if we don’t attend the games, we’re going to be blacklisted from the parties,” she grumbles, the fight leaving her a little bit. “I’ve already argued about it with Rhys, I don’t want to have to argue with you too.”

It’s with your sigh that Mor brightens. “Fine. I’ll come with you, but I’m not going to be happy about it. And don’t expect me to cheer.”

Her squeal pierces the sound barrier. What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

Mor grabs your hand, dragging you towards the empty single room that’s left in your dorm. She uses it as an extension of her closet until someone else gets placed with you. So far, you’ve been lucky, living here since freshman year, just the three of you. “Great! I got you a shirt!”

_________________________________________

Over Ice Taglist:

#rhys x reader #rhysand/reader #rhysand x reader #rhysand #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #acotar au #rhysand hockey au #over ice

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the-oblivious-writer · 8 months ago

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Too Sweet

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Drabble

Summary: You and Wednesday were simply night and day, contrasting personalities preventing any chance of pursuit

Warning(s): No dialogue, pining!Wednesday, & no pronouns but the word 'goddess' is used once

Notes: Based off of 'Too Sweet' by the lovely Andrew Hozier, this song feels wenclair coded - hopefully I get the energy to edit them to it one day. This is my first time writing for Wednesday, so constructive criticism is more than welcome, and much appreciated! 🙏 (as it always is)

Wednesday despised you. She loathed every fiber of your being, every word you spoke, every path you chose. Yet no matter how deep her hatred for you ran, it was all out of pure spite.

You were close friends with Enid, so inevitably that meant you and Wednesday often found yourselves in the same atmosphere. Sometimes you and Enid would have sleepovers and it did not take long for Wednesday to discover you were an early bird opposed to her late night writing sessions.

You always looked so peaceful while resting. How do you sleep so well? Wednesday wondered. What do you dream about? It’s silly and utterly ridiculous, she knows. But her mind can’t help but stray when it comes to you. You have shown your own concern when it comes to the Addams’ erratic sleep schedule, if you could even classify it as one. You have always said to others—including Wednesday—to live right, to go to bed before the daylight.

You wake up to watch the sunrise; it was repulsing how rottenly pure that is. You were drunk on life, a poet—but far from Wednesday’s brand. You had a bright perspective; it was naive, yet wholesome. Your poetry revolves around the optimistic, steadfast side of life—while Wednesday’s consists of more realistic themes such as death, betrayal, and eternal heartbreak. It was a drastic contrast.

Wednesday could never bear such a naive way of life, so she simply doesn’t understand how you do. It was such a frustrating thought, the way you went about. Don’t you just want to wake up dark as a lake, smelling like a bonfire, lost in a haze? You lived such a reserved life in her eyes; treating your mouth as if it's heaven’s gate, your body like it’s the TSA.

She wasn’t oblivious to the glances you spared her; it was an internal battle refusing to meet them. But there were consequences. Wednesday has seen horrific things, things she believes would force a person like you into abandoning their wide-eyed outlook on life; she refuses to be the one who corrupts you. She wishes she could go along, don’t get her wrong. You were a goddess on earth, inside and out; bright as the morning, as soft as the rain, pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape. Tooth rotting was what you were, but Wednesday did always deem herself a masochist.

If you can sit in a barrel, maybe she’ll wait. But until that day, she’d rather take her whiskey neat, raw as the honey in your tea, and coffee black as the ink you use to craft your sugar coated poems. Your sweetness was too overwhelming for her to carry, the looks you gave her alone were laced in your perfection.

Everything pointed to the evident conclusion; you’re too sweet for her.

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A/N: I feel eh abt this one, but I need to experiment with Wednesday more if I wanna get used to writing for her

#wednesday addams x you #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday addams x gn!reader #wednesday x you #wednesday x y/n #jenna ortega x reader #wednesday addams

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jack-of-heartstrings · 3 days ago

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Some of us take it very seriously. There are a few things you have to accept if you want to enjoy Miraculous Ladybug, is all.

First is just that it's built like this:

You have to accept that watching it means dealing with the extremely over-the-top aspects, the stupid and the absurd, whether funny or frustrating in a given case. You have to accept that the world as a whole is heavily exaggerated, that Marinette memorizing Adrien's schedule for three years is this world's equivalent of an awkward teenager learning her crush's class schedule and going out of her way to bump into each other a few more times a day in the hall, etc.

You have to be willing to accept that everyone is frustratingly stupid. There are like four characters who own 98% of the world's braincells, and Marinette is only allowed to use most of hers when she's fueled with overwhelming anxiety on the behalf of others rather than her love life. Everyone else is surviving by passing around the last 2%. In that regard, yeah, maybe you've gotta not take some parts too seriously, be willing to groan or laugh or both at the absurdity.

But if you can deal with that or are the sort of person to find it fun more often than frustrating, then what Miraculous does well, it does really fucking well.

It's not always right away, and I feel like a lot of dissent in this fandom comes down to impatience or lack of faith in the ability to achieve a satisfying payoff when things aren't going like people wanted Right Now. (Ex: Chloe was set up for failure from the start, Marinette made numerous bad choices discouraging her progress and encouraging her to backslide, s3's finale explicitly said she lost hope, the most comically "evil" parts in season 4 follow a distinct pattern, and now she's finally had lasting consequences and been removed from the easy comfort enabling her behavior, but rather than think breaking down the world around her could be room to finally rebuild something new, all I see anyone take from it is a "bad ending", as if they don't think she's coming back, as if she's not living in the city where Felix, now a part of the team, also lives, and as if Audrey's words didn't hauntingly echo Tomoe's to Kagami. Like.... There's potential here guys. Yes this was a whole tangent mini-essay, I digress.)

But the themes? The symbolism? The subtle background worldbuilding from the very beginning? The rewatch value when you realize how long Adrien has had A Weird Relationship With Feathers, or you see the statue outside his house and how it differs from its real life counterpart, or you look into the painting Emilie's portrait is based on, or you've watched long enough to develop a Pavlovian chill down your spine when anyone says the word "Perfect" anywhere near Adrien or Kagami? The direct acknowledgement that Marinette's romantic fantasies are straight up turning her anxiety into a form of escapism so that she never actually has to DO the things she's Too Worried About and thus can escape the risk of rejection, and the fact that she's aware of what she's doing?

The way they've built Lila/WHATEVER-her-name-is up slowly but surely over time, starting with the chronologically last episode of season 1, and the first of the series to REALLY say, "Hey, this won't always get resolved in 22 minutes, actually"? The way her whole thing is LYING, and that's treated as horrible, and at the same time, a literal requirement for all heroes? The degree to which Marinette lies all the time? The bad excuses world champion? To the point that Luka, whose entire character was so deeply tied to truth and openness, experiences one of his biggest moments of character growth via embracing a bold-faced lie? The way season 5 set The Big Liar up as the new main antagonist while simultaneously setting up the biggest and most soul-crushing lie Marinette has ever told?

And yeah, to OP's point, the way characters parallels interact. Gabriel and Marinette, the humble tailors who fell for the beautiful rich blondes who never actually cared about being rich, but wanted to be free and loved. Gabriel and Adrien, the only two Agreste Boys to ever exist (with Gabriel's name change reveal and all), and the way Adrien's love for Ladybug was often all too much like his father-- obsessive, needy, prone to angry outbursts-- never on the same level, but something that might have gotten there, given time. Marinette, who has been desperately trying to stop overplanning for every single thing, but has been validated for doing so again and again, and punished numerous times when she didn't account for enough. Marinette, who wants so desperately to ensure that everyone and everything is okay that she ends up trying to control everything, precisely the kind of thing Gabriel spiraled from.

And yeah, Nathalie seeing those tendencies sounds like exactly the kind of thing we can hope to see, and dear GOD I hope you're right OP in that she'll oscillate between enabling habits and trying to do better as a mentor than she did as a peer.

Yeah man. Miraculous Ladybug has an insane amount of stuff that can be taken very, very seriously. It's not everyone's cup of tea. The writing in early seasons is very different than later ones, and if people would like the later ones but can't get through the earlier ones (or lack the same investment for trying to skip them) that's fair, and if people liked the more light-hearted silly adventures and don't like the show taking itself so much more seriously, that's fair, and if people like the serious parts but find the remaining absurdity too tone-clashy for their taste, that's fair! It's not flawless. But for what it is and what it's trying to do and be, for those who like the things it's trying to do and be, it's really, really good.

thinking about how Marinette and Gabriel are the same

and how Nathalie is going to be uniquely positioned to be able to see that from within the narrative

i wanna see season 6 Nathalie project Gabriel onto Ladybug. i wanna see her fall in to old habits to both her and Marinette's detriment.

and i wanna see her recognize the worst aspects of Gabriel in Marinette and guide her away from them

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writingroom21 · 5 months ago

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Seeing the ghost face reader just inspired me with something. Imagine shy introverted reader (she's like fluttershy if you watched my little pony) nerdy pouge reader where she is sarah’s bestie who has a massive crush on rafe but doesn't show it but when he starts saying something really bad to Sarah (I don't know what) reader loses it inside since she can't show it so later that night she secretly goes to race room quietly while he's asleep wakes him up by slapping his face hard (he wont mind since he's always found reader hot) reader is secretly a dom as they have hardcore sex

Like A Virgin

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex(wrap it up), cream pie, overstimulation, chocking, oral (m receiving), (let me know if I missed any)

Wc: 3.2K

A/N: I'm loving all the requests I've been getting! Keep them coming! I'm getting through them as fast as I can, so sorry if it take a while. I also just started my new job so I have to figure out a writing schedule. So please bare with me, I will get to them

“What the fuck Rafe! Why do you always have to start something? He’s my boyfriend, he can be here.” Sarah’s voice echoes through the halls.You had just walked through the back door to get a drink. She had invited the pogues over for a pool day, you’ve all been outside all day. From the moment you had gotten there you could tell something was off.

Sarah was tense and a little short, apologizing straight after and blaming it on being tired. You would believe her if it wasn’t for the dark looming shadow that was Rafe Cameron. He was lurking around, making sly comments, objectifying your’s and Kie’s body. He knew better than to try with Cleo, she would kill him in his sleep in a heartbeat. There was definitely something going on because even if he normally is a dick, he would have quit by now.

You’ve been Sarah’s friend for ages, the only person she never actually tried to push away. It was shocking for everyone because she’s always been out going while you kept to yourself. Instead of making friends you were reading not wanting to be bothered by the other kids. Then one day Sarah came up to you and forced you out of your shell.From then on the two of you were attached by the hip, always together. She never onced judged you for being a pogue even when all her kook friends made fun of you.

They saw you as an easy target. The shy, poor, bookworm pogue who hangs off the kook princess with a vice grip. She would always defend you, telling them off. Even going as far as getting into an argument with Rafe about you. He wasn’t always a dick to you, at first he was even nice? If you could even use that word but when he started to do drugs he became a different person.

You’ve spent countless hours in this house and viewing how the family dynamic works. They sometimes tend to forget that you are there, your quietness hiding you from their view. You’ve seen how Rafe can get, yelling and making a mess of things. How Ward neglects his eldest and youngest for Sarah and so on. The family has a complicated relationship that’s for sure, but you knew something was wrong.

Now you can see what was wrong, it was all of you. “No, I don't want filthy pogues in my house. They are nothing but low lives Sarah. If you want to ruin your life fine but don’t drag the rest of us down.” Rafe’s voice booms over hers. “Ahhhh you are so crazy. You are literally the worst. I just wanted to have a good time with my friends. Why can’t you just be a normal brother for once?” Sarah storms off running into you on her way back outside.

“Hey did you?” She points behind her and you just nod. “I’m sorry.” You give her a quick hug and she goes back outside. Entering the kitchen you see Rafe texting on his phone leaning on the counter. He looks up at you and rolls his eyes. “What do you want, pogue?” You ignore the venom that was laced in his words. Doing what you always do, biting your tongue afraid of the confrontation's consequences. “Fucking spit it out, stop being such a baby.” With a deep breath you do.

“Maybe you should try being nicer to people. Sarah’s your sister and you treat her like shit.” Rafe scoffs as you get water from the fridge. “If I wanted advice I wouldn’t go to someone who’s poor. You and your criminal friends are just a waste of space.” He watches as you walk away, looking back to say one last thing today. “Don’t you find it funny how Sarah actually has friends. You’re still hanging out with high schoolers because everyone hates you. Maybe it's time to change and grow up.”

He left you alone after that. The rest of the afternoon was peaceful and filled with fun. At first you were scared of what he would say or do. You expected him to actually run out after you and start yelling. But nothing happened. Sarah had ordered you all pizzas and set up the movies in the living room. Everyone ate and walked as the movies played in the background. As it got later, the sun died, sleeping until it is brought to life once again in the morning. Mostly everyone was asleep, Kie and Sarah chatted and you chimed in time for time. But soon the sounds of Kie’s voice faded and became nothing.

“Sarah?” The sound of blankets indicates that someone is moving around.”Yeah?” There’s so much you want to say, tell her so she knows you are there for you. But none of them seem good enough. “Are you okay?” You hear a sigh and more shuffling. Sarah plops her pillow and blanket next to you, laying down, she finally answers. “I guess.”

“It must be tough when he acts like that. I’m sorry you don’t deserve this.” Usually you don’t really comment on these things. Rafe is an iffy topic for Sarah. After he tried to kill her, she finds it hard to even look at him. She wants to help him because he’s her brother but at the same time she doesn’t recognize him. You don’t like to pick at the sore wound so you tend to just lend a comforting hand. “It’s always kinda been like this, the drugs just make it worse.” She pauses, taking a deep breath. “I still remember when we were little and I was so scared of a thunderstorm that he held me the whole night. Told me that he would always be there to protect me because he was my big brother, he loved me. Sometimes I wish I could go back to that, I don’t know who he is.”

You hand finds hers over the blankets, squeezing her fingers. “Sometimes people get lost. Some get help and find their way while the others continue on the never ending path. It sucks that you can’t do anything, he won’t let you. If it makes you feel better I think that part of him is still in there somewhere, he just hasn’t had the chance to show it.”

Her fingers squeeze yours back. “I hope so.” Sarah fell asleep shortly after that conversation, leaving you to lay there and think. You think back to when you were young, Rafe seemed normal then. Sure he had some quirks but what child doesn’t. He would always hold the door for you everywhere you went. Ward would have you tag along on outings since he felt bad seeing your face after Sarah would tell you about something cool they did. There were also moments when he would try to make you smile, the little boy just wanted to make you happy.

At that time Rafe was okay with having you around, if you twisted it out of him he might even say excited. That didn’t last long because their mother died and with her she took the last last bit of hope he ever had. He never truly felt safe again knowing that the person he loved the most was just gone. The outburst was the first sign he wasn’t okay, yet Ward ignored it. Then it was the violence, once again ignored. Finally the drugs got him the attention he was looking for. All for him to hear what he always knew. “You’re a fucking disappointment Rafe. Knew it from the moment I laid eyes on you.” From then on out the world was dead to him, he only needed to focus on himself. Everyone else is the enemy.

Sarah’s words keep replaying in your head. Why can’t Rafe see he’s hurting people? You get why he shut you out, even when you were crushed and cried, you understood. But he can’t do it anymore to his own sister. Without thinking your body makes a mistake. It carries you up the stairs and straight into his room. The sounds of the door shutting wakes him up, he rubs his eyes trying to process what woke him. He opens his eyes just in time to see your hand in the air and strikes his cheek with your palm.

“What the fuck.” He had to take a second to fully realize that you just slapped him. “What is your problem? Can’t you just be nice to people.” He sits up on the bed and you try to push him back down but he catches your hands. “Me be nice? You just walked into my room while I was sleeping just so you could fucking slap me. How about you be nice.” You struggle to get his grip off of you to no avail, he was holding on tight.

“I’ve been nice since the first time I met you. Kept my mouth shut when you did fucked up shit. Stop ruining your life and the life of others.” His eyes are piercing yours, his hold somehow tighter. “Maybe you should keep it shut, I like it better when you aren’t talking.” He pulls you closer, your knee catching you on the bed so you don’t fall.

He’s staring at your lips, licking his to wet them. You go to argue with him but he cuts you off. “Come on. I bet a filthy pogue like you could think of ways to put it to better use.” One of his hands that was holding yours lowers. He stops once he feels your fingers brush against the bulge that’s forming in his boxers. The ignorant smirk that always bestows his face makes its way back.

Yanking your hand back, you slap him again, the smirk falling. Once again without thinking your body makes mistake two of the night. You kiss him. Pulling on the chain that lays around his neck, smashing your lips to his. Your other arms wrap around his neck, the hand holding the chain twists, closing it slightly. If this was a mistake then you can beg for forgiveness later, absolving your sins can wait.

He just tasted too good to stop.

His hands go to your waist, pulling you onto his lap. “I knew you had a thing for me.” If this was your childhood you then there would be no room for arguing. The person you are in this moment doesn’t want to admit how true it is. You have seen how bad of a person he’s become and you know you would lose Sarah if she ever found out. “Do you even know how to keep your mouth shut? For once shut the fuck up.”

From the corner of your eye you see his belt laying on the floor in a pile of his clothes from earlier. Leaning over the side of the bed, you grab it and return to your previous position. “What are you doin” You kiss him to stop him from talking further, hands slowly pulling him over his head. The motion of you grinding down on him was enough to distract him from the feeling of the belt wrapping around his wrists and headboard.

When you pull back and sit on his lap he goes to chase your lips just to be blocked by the fact his hands are tied. “What the fuck. Get these off.” The headboard rattles against the wall as he struggles to break loose. “Take these off right now or else.” Rafe’s tone is threatening but you can’t help but to laugh at the sight in front of you. The guy who’s been terrorizing your friend group is all vulnerable underneath you. “Or else, what? I’ll just leave you like this, maybe even take off the boxers so whoever finds you will realize you got played.” You scoot back to sit on his thighs.

“What do you think about that, huh Rafe? Personally, the idea of Ward finding you like that is hilarious. Better yet I’ll take a picture of you and post it everywhere, let everyone see the mean old Rafe Cameron as nothing else than a pussy.” Your teasing is accompanied by your fingers grazing over the bulge in his boxers. Rafe wants nothing more than to cuss you out right now. Make you regret even thinking that you could get one over on him.

The twitching in his boxers gives him away. He’s enjoying it. The big scary man that has a whole island afraid of him is enjoying the way you talk down on him. “You like that don’t you? You are a pussy, you know that right?” Your hand grips him tight, a whimper forced out of him. “Stop.” The words are weak and a contrast to how his hips are bucking up into your hand. Feeling generous you lower the boxers, taking his dick in your mouth without warning.

Rafe lets out a sigh when he feels the warmth of your mouth wrap around him. He goes to thrust into your mouth and you pull back, hands pushing his hips back down. “Do that again and I’ll leave you here to be found. I’m not kidding Rafe.” He nods at you, wincing as your nails dig into his skin. “Words.”

He looks down at you and can’t recognize who you are. Where has this side of you been hiding? He’s only ever known you as Sarah’s shy best friend. Yet the person in front of him looks like you but doesn’t act like you. “I get it. Fuck when were you like this?” From this view he looks so pretty.

His cheeks are a shade of pink from blushing, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. He looks good enough to fuck. If he took time to see what you were reading he would see that you’ve always been like this. You just never advertised it like he does. “Always have been. Maybe if you were nicer to people you would know that.” His eyes close when you go back to sucking him off. They scrunch up when he isn’t getting the satisfaction he’s looking for. You are barely even sucking.

It’s more as if he’s in your mouth and you are moving up and down on it. There’s no suction or hand to facilitate your movements. Not enough pressure for him to feel good, in fact he just feels frustrated. Your ears perk up when you hear his little groans and whimpers. “What’s wrong? Is it not good?” The words yes are on the tip of his tongue, they died as soon as his eyes met yours. There’s this defiant look in them, as if you want him to tell you somethings wrong. “No no it’s okay. Great”

You give him a smile. “Good boy.” The moans he lets out to your words are chocked on when you actually start to blow him. Rafe is no virgin that’s for sure, but god damn he feels like one right now. This has got to be one of the best blowjobs he’s ever received, scratch that it is the best. “Please.” He sounds pathetic and it makes you speed up. Rafe physically chokes on air from the sudden change, his body convulsing.

He keeps letting out these moans that sound whiny and a mix of pain. The way that he twitches in your mouth just confirms he’s close. Crystal blue eyes open to see why you stopped. Even in the dark his eyes are still beautiful, it’s not fair. Rafe watches as you slip out of your sleep shorts and panties, then you shirt. Leaving you fully exposed since you didn’t wear a bra.

Taking your panties, you crawl up to hover over his lap. He looks up at you ready to ask you to finally fuck him but you took him by surprise by shoving your panties in his mouth. “Hold this for me baby. Maybe that will finally shut you up.” The two of you stare into the others eyes as you sink down on him. Just from sucking him off you were soaked so he easily slid in. It was a good thing you muffled him. The moan he let out was so loud that it could still be heard, you had to cover his mouth just to stop the sound.

“God you act like a fucking virgin. Thought you were the kook king who could get anyone he wanted.” Rafe’s head was pinning, everything you are doing is making him so confused. He’s usually the one fucking, even when the girls on top he controls everything. Having you come in here and just fuck him as if he’s there for you is mind fucking. When he’s pictured this exact moment it was with you under him, screaming and clawing at his back as he fucked the shit out of you.

This is not how your first time should have gone. It’s the wrong way around yet it felt amazing.

Sweat is forming on your skin, the moonlight reflecting off of it. Your body is on overdrive, bouncing up and down. There is a tingle in your lower abdomen, a sign of your impending orgasim. As the feeling slowly crocendos, your body leans forward. You place the hand that was covering his mouth on his throat. The squeeze of your hand has his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

He’s so close to cumming, can feel it running from his fingertips to his arms that you have tied. He practically cries when you finally cum, your walls pulsating around him, triggering his own orgasim. You let go of his throat, wiping the tears from his eyes and shushing him. “It’s okay. You did so good.” He sobs around your panties, sucking the fabric lightly to ground himself. The way you keep slowly bouncing is killing him, he’s ready to pass out from the sensation.

Looking down to see where the two of you were connected was his first mistake of the night. The sight alone sent him into another smaller orgasim, his body thrashing from the overstimulation. You pull yourself up and fall down next to him. After a few minutes of not talking to catch your breaths, Rafe tries to speak. Looking over at him you can see he’s staring at you, leaning up you take your panties out of his mouth and slip them back on.

“Are you going to untie me now?” You smile at him and give him a short kiss. Getting up you gather your clothes and put them on. “This isn’t funny untie me or I’ll tell everyone you fucked me.” You walk over to the side of the bed he occupied, leaning to grab the belt holding his arms. Dipping your head to his ears you whisper to him. “Really think anyone would believe you?”

You move back watching his face drop when you walk further towards the door. “Think of this as payback for all my years of silence.” You shrug and open the door. “I’ll get you back for this.” With one last look at him you smirked.

“I hope so.”

#rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe obx #rafe x you #rafe cameron smut #rafe smut #drew starkey smut #outer banks smut #obx

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lilasamaaa · 7 months ago

Text

Havana | Charles Leclerc & Carlos Sainz x Reader

Genre | Angst, Hurt, Smut.

Word count | 5.0K

Warnings | Sexual content, alcohol consumption, cheating, some gaslighting, heartbreak!!

Summary | Reader and Charles, who've been dating for a few years, go on a trip to Cuba between two races. A few days before leaving, they learn that Carlos and Rebecca will be staying at the same resort. Good news, right? Well, if you forget Carlos and reader's years-long mutual attraction. Inspired by the « She chose me/Did she? » trend on TikTok… with a twist.

Author's note | Lord... This was so filthy I'm sorry. This piece is the result of this poll! Wrote half of this listening to These Walls by Dua Lipa, the other with Never Be The Same by Camila Cabello. Just so you get the mood. Not proofread, sorry!

She had been waiting for these holidays for months.

Since the beginning of the season, she hadn't been able to travel with Charles to any race, having no available days off. She was jealous of the others wags. The influencers. The ones who could rearrange their schedules in the blink of an eye to follow their boyfriends to the other side of the world without thinking about the consequences. But she'd foolishly chosen to pursue studies, foolishly found a job in marketing, foolishly trapped herself without even realizing it. She loved her job. Or at least, that's what she repeated to herself every morning when her alarm went off at 6 a.m. Sharp.

She had followed the start of the season through her TV and phone, and had savored every brief moment Charles had spent in Monaco (which represented, like... twenty days, tops, since the beginning of March). She knew she couldn't complain. That she didn't have the right to. She'd chosen to share her life with a high-level and high-profile athlete, and this situation couldn't obviously be all positive. She knew that other women would have sold their souls to be in her place. To wake up next to Charles, even just once a month. So, she never complained. She endured.

Charles had returned from China two days earlier, and they were heading to Cuba this afternoon, preparing for ten days of pure bliss. She was euphoric. Delighted not to set her alarm for the next day, delighted not to see her boss and colleagues for ten days, delighted to spend time with Charles. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. Yet... There was something.

Yesterday night, at the restaurant, as they were making the final preparations, Charles' phone had lit up on the table and the driver had grabbed it, staring at the screen for a few seconds before exclaiming, "Non, j'y crois pas!". She had shot him a questioning look, and her boyfriend had chuckled before saying "Carlos just texted me. Him and Rebecca are staying at the same resort as us in Havana. This is gonna be so cool."

Oh.

She hadn't responded, just smiled, and returned her attention to the plate of pasta in front of her. Carlos was... a friend. Well, it was actually hard to define. He was obviously primarily Charles' friend, but they had crossed paths quite regularly in the past few years, and naturally, they had hit it off. There was just one issue. One tiny thing.

The man drove her crazy. It was ridiculous. Almost humiliating. She had been sharing her life with Charles for four years. She was happy. She was in love! But... She couldn't deny that Carlos made her feel things that Charles never had. Just the thought of acknowledging this made her want to throw up.

She had never acted on her impulses. Absolutely never. But... she could have. She had noticed glances.

It had started one evening at the restaurant, in 2021, when the two Ferrari drivers had organized a double date for their partners to meet. She had immediately loved Isa, with whom she had hit it off right away. The dinner had gone admirably well, the food was amazing, the wine delicious. The wine. There had been too much of it. They all probably thought so, seeing the bottles go by, but no one had stopped. No one wanted to be the one to break the great mood of the evening. So, they’d drank. Again and again.

If at the beginning of the meal, Carlos had just been casting curious glances in her direction, the wine had changed that. By the time Charles was explaining to Isa how they had met, the Spaniard was piercing her with his gaze. Equally intoxicated and never one to back down from a challenge, she had not flinched at the driver's boldness, holding his gaze, not even blinking. It had lasted a minute. Maybe two. Or even five, before Charles had asked her the name of the movie they'd seen on their third date, you know, the one with the mansion, and she’d finally tore her gaze away from Carlos.

"I believe that was Knives Out," she'd replied, smiling fondly at her boyfriend.

The conversation had resumed its course, and a few hours later, the two couples had parted ways. Lying in bed, in the middle of the night, she could still feel Carlos' burning gaze on her. That could have been nothing. She could always blame it on the wine. But there'd been more.

One day, Charles had suggested that she came with him to an interview he was going to do with Carlos. "It won't take long," he had said. "And as soon as it's over, we'll go grab a bite at that Mexican restaurant you love". She had agreed. The questions had started simple.

"What would be your perfect day?"

"What's your pre-race tradition?"

"Describe your ideal woman"

Even though she had been browsing her phone for a while, absorbed by the device, this question had made her look up. Locking eyes with Charles, the driver had smiled at her before answering.

"That's rather easy to answer, because I've already found her. My ideal woman is career-oriented. She works hard, doesn't count her hours. She wants to succeed because she deserves it, not because she's dating me. She excels in everything she undertakes. She sets no limits for herself, fears nothing. Tries everything. She can be uncompromising, but she knows how to be gentle and caring. She has weaknesses, but she only shows them to me. I am her refuge, and she is mine."

She had smiled, touched, blowing a kiss to her boyfriend.

"Carlos?" the interviewer had said.

"My ideal woman..." the Spaniard had started, searching for his words. "Actually, I have the same, erm… taste as Charles. But I would add that my ideal woman isn't afraid to make mistakes. She allows herself to make wrong choices, to take the wrong path. It's okay, she will always find her way back," he had added, looking her straight in the eyes. That bastard can't be for real, she'd thought.

The last... "incident" had occurred at the end of last season. It hadn't been easy, but she had managed to get time off, and she had joined Charles in Abu Dhabi for the last race of the season. Her boyfriend had finished fifth in the championship, and everyone : drivers, engineers, girlfriends, had ended up at the club to celebrate Max's victory.

She wasn't a fan of nightclubs. She was very migraine-prone, and the music, combined with the neon lights, didn't do well with her. Feeling the pain starting behind her eyes, she had signaled to Charles that she was going outside, and despite his insistence, she had convinced him to stay inside, wanting him to enjoy the evening. In the dark corridor leading outside, she had closed her eyes for a second. No more. Just to relieve the pain for a moment. And she had bumped into someone, of course.

The someone being Mister Sainz himself. Of course.

"I'm sorry," she'd said, still rubbing her eyes.

"Are you alright?"

"Just a migraine."

"Here," he'd said, leading her outside. "Let's get some calm."

She was surprised to see no one outside. Granted, it was already late, almost 4 a.m., and many people had left the club already. But still, she'd expected to see a few people. Smokers, at least...

"Charles fought well," Carlos had said, leaning against a wall.

"Yeah. He'll be champion one day."

"Of course," the Spaniard had say, grinning. "He'll have the cup." A pause. "And the girl."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she'd replied, pretending not to understand.

"Everything Charles wants, Charles gets."

She wasn't in the mood for this. Not tonight. Even if she found it hard to meet the Spaniard's gaze. Even if feeling his eyes on her made her shiver. Even if she could feel her lower abdomen tighten every time the driver's smooth voice reached her ears.

"Maybe everything Charles has, Charles fought for," she had replied.

"Oh yeah? Is that the secret?" Carlos had asked, coming closer.

"There's no secret."

"Do you want me to fight for you?" he had added, so close that she could feel his breath on her neck.

"You must have misunderstood," she'd said, finally meeting his gaze. "I'm talking about the championship."

Carlos had let out a laugh. An ironic, mocking laugh. Disappointed, almost. A laugh that meant "You and I understood each other perfectly well, but you won't dare go further". And she hadn't dared. Casting one last glance, she had gone back inside, leaving him alone under the stars of Baku.

She hadn't seen him since. Good riddance.

"I still can't believe it," Charles had said, yesterday night, taking a spoonful of his tiramisu. "At least, you won't be alone when I go golfing. I haven't seen much of Rebecca, but she seems very nice. I'm sure you two will get along well."

"So that's it? Our romantic vacation just turned into a friend's getaway?" she'd asked, almost offended.

"No, of course not. I'm sorry, mon coeur. We'll spend as much time together as possible, but... it could be nice to do a thing or two with them, right? I thought you loved Carlos."

The sentence had overwhelmed her with guilt.

"I like Carlos. I loved Isa, though," she'd answered, pouting, while Charles looked at her with soft eyes.

"Yeah, I know. But we have to come to terms with the fact that we won't see Isa again. Or, at least, not with Carlos." the driver had said, rising from his seat. "I'll pay, will you wait for me outside?"

Three days and three flights later, she's sitting at the hotel restaurant table, facing Carlos, wondering what Charles could have possibly misunderstood in her request a few days earlier. We'll spend as much time together as possible, yeah, right, she thinks, clearly annoyed.

"It's a pleasure to officially meet you, Rebecca," Charles says, giving the model a big smile. "Carlos must only have eyes for you, because I hear about you every other day."

She chokes on her drink. The whole table looks at her.

"Sorry," she says. "Ice cubes."

The conversation resumes, Rebecca proving to be very interesting. And apparently very much in love with Carlos, she thinks as she watches the blue-eyed blonde. She doesn't like the pinch she feels in her heart. She doesn't even want to put a name on it. It doesn't matter.

"I'm so happy that you’re here," Rebecca says after a while. "I can't wait to spend more time with you all," she finishes with a big smile.

"Yeah. Can't wait," Carlos says, turning his gaze away from Rebecca's eyes. Finding hers.

The following days pass without incident. Charles divides his day between the hotel pool, the golf course, and their bed, where they make love several times a day. If for some time she had the feeling that they were less close, everything seems forgotten under the Cuban sun.

One day, while she was riding Charles particularly loudly, the driver's hands digging into her hips in a deliciously painful way, someone had knocked on their bedroom door. Surprised, they had stopped suddenly, like teenagers caught red-handed, before Charles had jumped out of bed, grabbing a towel on the go.

"You're not actually going to open the door, are you?" she had asked, hidden under the sheets, with only her head out.

"You never know, what if it's urgent... Like... A fire?" her boyfriend had replied before opening the door.

It very obviously hadn't been urgent, and she had felt like dying of embarrassment when she'd seen Carlos's smug face on the other side of the door. He'd quickly glanced past Charles to look at her. Very obviously naked.

"Sorry to interrupt," he'd said, accent thick, licking his lips. "We had agreed to meet ten minutes ago to go play tennis."

"Did we? Oh my god, I'm sorry," Charles had said, closing the door behind him, running to the bathroom to change. Ten minutes later, both of them had left and she’d found herself alone in the room. Hot and bothered.

In the evening, to make up for leaving her alone all day, a very tanned Charles had invited her to a fancy restaurant in Havana, before taking her dancing. She had loved that night, so close together in the anonymity of the Cuban capital. She would have liked to prolong the festivities, to pick up where they had left off, but as soon as they'd returned to the room, Charles had laid down "for five minutes," and had been snoring ever since.

A faint knock echoes against the door of the room, and she gets up discreetly, careful not to wake Charles.

"You've got to be kidding me..." she starts, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Are you sleeping in front of our door or something?" she spits out, annoyed to find herself facing the Spaniard for the second time today.

"Charles forgot this," he says, handing her a towel. A towel with the hotel logo. What is she supposed to do with that? There are plenty of them in the closets. She stares at him intensely, arching a brow. Making no move to retrieve the towel.

"Can I come in?" he finally asks after a few seconds.

Without a word, she steps aside, revealing the room, and the bed where Charles is still snoring.

"Wow," Carlos says, walking into the room, laughing. "He's fucking knackered. I might have gone a bit hard on him this afternoon."

"What did you do?" she asks, clearly unamused.

"Nothing special. Made him run a bit." he replies, smirking. "I'm so sorry if you'd planned to finish what you'd started earlier," eyes boring into hers.

"You're a little shit," she says, disappearing into the bathroom.

She thought he would take the hint. Understand that his presence was no longer desired. In the bathroom, she takes off her earrings in front of the mirror, the door to the bedroom wide open, when the Spaniard appears behind her.

"Are you happy with him?" he asks, leaning against the door frame.

"What kind of fucked up question is that?" she snaps, turning to face him.

"A simple one," Carlos says, eyeing her intensely.

"What are you even doing here?" she asks, turning once again to grab her hairbrush from the countertop. "Shouldn't you be fucking your girl or something?"

Her hate-filled sentence makes him pause for a moment, seeking her gaze in the mirror. Faced with his silence, she lifts her head, meeting his gaze in the mirror.

"I had other plans," he states.

"Well, go fuck someone else then," she says, vehemently brushing her hair. She doesn't realize what she's said until the driver presses his chest against her back, gently pinning her against the countertop. She lets go of the brush, holding the surface with both hands, trying to regain composure. His mouth slides along her neck, making her whole body shiver. He's still watching her in the mirror as he gently bites her earlobe with his teeth.

"You're the nastiest person I've ever met," she says, letting a moan escape her lips as the driver slides his hands under her top.

"I've been dreaming of this for years," he says, running his fingers up along her stomach. "Morals be damned."

In the mirror, she casts a glance at Charles, still asleep on the bed. She can't do this. She's not like that. She's never cheated on any of her partners, let alone him. He doesn't deserve that, she thinks, closing her eyes as Carlos licks her neck.

"We can't do this to Charles," she says, panting. "To Rebecca."

"Rebecca will be gone by dawn if you ask," Carlos replies, gripping her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"What about him?" she breathes, eyes sliding down his lips. "I can't do it, Carlos. I love him."

"Do you?" he asks, still holding her chin. "Say it one more time, and I swear I won't kiss you. I'll go back to my room and pretend nothing ever happened. We can even share breakfast in the morning, all four of us."

"I..." she stutters, closing her eyes.

"I'm about to do something incredibly reckless. I just need you to tell me if you're okay with it."

She doesn't reply. She just looks into his eyes, and crosses the distance between them. Their mouths collide violently, and both moan in unison, desperately clinging to each other. Her hands get lost in his hair, running along his scalp before pulling at the roots, eliciting a growl from him. He kisses her, biting her lips, encircling her face with his hands. His hands. His hands are everywhere. In her hair, on her back, on her butt. She feels like he's touching her everywhere at once, and his touch... His touch is burning, awakening things she's never felt. With anyone. She feels like molten lava. Like electricity.

He doesn't waste a second. He's too scared she'll snap out of it, change her mind. In one swift motion of the arm, he picks her up, sitting her down on the countertop, spreading her legs with his own body. His lips never leave her : he's exploring her neck, her mouth, her cheeks, her forehead, anything to get a taste of her.

He's afraid that he'll only have her that one time. That he'll have to live forever in the memory of that night. So he memorizes everything. The beauty mark at the corner of her mouth. The one on her neck. The fine white scar above her eyebrow. The tiny wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, the ones she earned through years of hearty laughter. He sniffs her, almost like an animal, absorbing her perfume until his head spins. He's so desperate, so pathetic for her, and he would probably be embarrassed by his own behavior if she weren't doing the same on her side. Her fingers trace every vein in his arms, every muscle in his back. She runs her tongue over his teeth, bites his lips, tugs at his hair as if she wanted to keep a lock of it in a necklace.

So far, they had just been kissing. Something she would have a very hard time justifying to Charles, but which could be ruled as a... distasteful accident. But as Carlos grabs her top, making her raise her arms in the air to take it off, immediately going for her breasts, she knows it's too late. That there will be no turning back. She's panting now, and over the shoulder of the Spaniard, as his mouth finds one of her nipples, she steals a glance at her boyfriend. Sound asleep. Unaware.

Carlos continues his descent, lower and lower, tracing a path with his tongue from her breasts to her belly button and down to her lower abdomen. Urgently, almost savagely, he tears off her floral skirt and her thong with both hands in one harsh movement, throwing them on the floor. He's been so impatient, so hurried all this time that when he finally kneels before her, her entire body tenses, bracing for impact.

But the impact doesn't happen.

Not yet. Carlos softly plants kisses on her pubic mound. On the insides of her thighs. On her knees. Anywhere but where she needs him the most.

"Please," she begs, breathless. "Please don't make me wait."

"I've been waiting for four years," he replies, looking at her through his long lashes, amber eyes diving into hers, "You'll survive a few more seconds."

When his mouth finally meets her core, she tilts her head back, moaning. He's slow. So deliberately slow. For years, she's driven him crazy, obsessing over every thought of hers. His revenge is childish. Immature. He's not proud of it, but he wants to drive her insane. To see her lose her mind because of him, just for once. She's having none of it, bucking her hips until his nose gets lost in her folds and finally, he snaps. Grabbing her by the ass, he brings her impossibly closer, lapping, nibbling, biting, even. Her back is pressed against the mirror, one leg over his shoulder, the other hanging down. She's closing her eyes, covering her mouth. Her moans. Praying that Charles hears nothing. Sees nothing.

With the tips of her toes, she finds his groin. Her touch is so soft. Barely there. His response is immediate, and she feels his growl reverberate through her entire core. Continuing his assault, his fingers join his mouth as he circles her clit before inserting one inside of her. Then two. He's watching her, somehow getting harder every time she moans, every time she tugs at his hair.

"I need you," she says between two breaths. "I don't know how much time we have, and I... I need to feel you inside."

He could have passed out right here, just hearing those words leave her lips. He rises, capturing her lips again, while she takes hold of his t-shirt, stripping it off. And then, they hug. Their skins are burning with desire, but there's nothing sexual here. For a few seconds, they stay like that, absolutely silent. Clinging to each other. The embrace tears them both apart. It's almost violent, suffocating, the way all those what's ifs, we could haves and others if only we'd knowns fill the room in those few seconds. The hug is heavy with things that'll never be. Things that'll never leave this embrace. This room. Feeling something wet reach his shoulder, Carlos pulls back. She's crying.

He seizes her lips again, yet this kiss feels so different from the previous ones. It's no longer a kiss of lust, of desire. It's a farewell kiss. He knows it. She knows it too.

Her hands crawl along his chest until they reach the button of his pants, which she pops open with a flick of expert fingers. He helps her remove the garment, which also falls to the ground, along with all the others. In this room, in this Cuban hotel, they are finally completely naked, pressed against each other. He kisses her again, intoxicated by her, her scent, her taste, while his hand finds his cock, stroking it gently. He's so lost in her, he almost doesn't notice her own hand chasing his, stroking him softly. And then, in a new kiss, he presses against her before entering her.

For a few moments, neither of them moves. He, concentrating like never before to not finish there and now. She, accepting the idea that another man than Charles has taken her, and that nothing will ever be the same again. Charles, she thinks, glancing towards the bedroom where her boyfriend has turned over, still asleep, but facing them. He's so close. So close to opening an eye and seeing his girlfriend and his teammate pressed against each other, forehead to forehead. Skin to skin. She's still looking at Charles when Carlos begins to move inside her, holding her tightly in his arms, pressing their chests together in an incredibly sensual motion.

"Tell me what you like. Tell me anything and I'll do it," he says, thrusting softly into her. "I want you to remember this. To remember me."

"I want you to make love to me as if I were yours."

It stings. It stings so fucking much, because the phrase reminds him that she doesn't belong to him. It stings because she's not entirely Charles' anymore, yet she'll never be entirely his either. From this night on, she'll be condemned to wander between them, to float between their desires, their loves. No matter how tightly he holds onto her, no matter how tight she feels around him, he'll never call her his. He obeys nevertheless, quickening his pace, capturing her lips.

His movements are precise, surgical. He feels her contracting around him, and the sensation drives him wild. Her hands are around his neck, seeking balance, support. His pace intensifies even more when he realizes something.

"Say my name," he asks, panting.

She knows why he asks for it, why he needs to hear it, so she doesn't question him.

"Carlos," she says, kissing him. "You're making me feel so good."

And it's true. In a way, it has nothing to do with his movements, with his skills as a lover. All those that he very surely possesses, but are only secondary tonight. It goes beyond that. It's about their connection. With each thrust, Carlos floods her with love, adoration, longing, with so many sensations that leave her feeling deliciously overwhelmed. He doesn't need to say it. Yet, in one thrust, one harsher than the others, he does.

"I love you", he breathes against her skin.

"I know," she says, holding his jaw with one hand, making him look at her, their lips brushing. "I've loved you all this time," she whispers back.

Her revelation must unlock something within him because suddenly, he lifts her, pressing her against the bathroom wall opposite from the sink, as she lets out a surprised cry, feeling him deeper than before. His thrusts resume, stronger, more aggressive. It's a good thing he's holding her as if his life depended on it, because everything is too much : the sensation of his body against hers, their feelings laid bare, the sounds he makes... Her head suddenly feels light, and she rests it in the crook of his neck as he continues to take her so deliciously.

She comes back to herself when she feels something stir in the pit of her stomach, something that takes her breath away.

"Carlos..." she starts.

"Tell me, baby," he replies, biting her ear. "Tell me everything."

"I'm feeling... I don't know... I'm feeling so, so good" she says, incoherent.

"Are you close?" he asks, still pouding into her.

"I've never felt anything like this," she says, panting. "Anything like you."

Then, everything explodes.

She can't hold back her scream, not caring about anything anymore, not even Charles, a few feet away. She's clinging to her lover, scratching his back. Trying to catch her breath. She clenches around him so tightly that he loses control, spilling into her in three thrusts, grunting.

"Give it to me, Carlos," she says. "I can take it. I can take you."

"Mi amor," he says, out of breath. "You're killing me," he adds, still thrusting into her, shooting some more ropes of cum into her cunt while groaning. "Te amo, te amo, te amo," he says, kissing her face.

The two bodies collapse on the floor, against the wall, nestled together in the intimacy of the small bathroom. She shivers, and he grabs a towel to wrap around her. Neither of them says a word. What is there to say, after all? Here, between these four tiled walls, they've already said everything. Shown everything. They've never been closer to each other. They've never been closer to anyone else. They'll probably never experience something like that ever again.

A few steps away from them, a sound of crumpled bedding alerts both of them.

"Babe?" comes Charles' sleepy voice, as their blood turn cold and she rises up impossibly fast to close the bathroom door, wobbling a bit, legs still weak after her orgasm.

"Go back to sleep, baby", she says loudly. "I'm just taking a shower."

There's no response, so after a few seconds, she opens the door again, seeing that Charles has fallen back asleep. Mouth slightly open.

"You have to go," she states, turning back to face Carlos, still sitting on the floor. Carlos stands up, and both of them dress in a heavy silence before quietly tip-toeing across the room. Once in the empty hallway, she gently closes the door of the room she shares with her boyfriend before letting out a breath. He knows what's coming. Something breaks in his eyes, and she feels her heart shatter.

"I meant everything," she says, head low. "I meant every word, every kiss. I'll forever regret the night we just shared, but not in the way you might think. I will regret for the rest of my life ever experimenting this happiness with you and having to let go of it. I love you, Carlos, like I've never loved anyone. That's why we shouldn't see each other again."

His dark eyes bore into hers, almost threateningly.

"Why?" he asks, raising his voice, and she winces, terrified that, on the other side of the door, Charles might wake up again. "Why stop yourself from being happy? Why give up on me?"

"I found a ring," she confesses, struggling to meet his gaze. "In his suitcase. He's going to propose to me, Carlos."

"If that's what it takes to have you forever, let me do it before him," he says, dropping to one knee as she looks away, tears welling up in her eyes. One more thing he'll have taken from Charles, she thinks. He'll forever be the first man to ever kneel before me. And he'll never even know this.

"Please, get up," she says, her voice trembling with a sob.

He does, and when he looks at her again, his eyes are filled with tears.

"Good night, Carlos," she says, taking a step back, holding the door knob to her room. She's gone in an instant, leaving him alone in the poorly lit hallway at half past three in the morning. Her scent all over his skin, her words all over his mind, her grip all over his heart.

#I'm not okay lol #might fuck around and write a part two with a pregnant reader #f1 #f1 2024 #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #carlos sainz #f1 x reader #charles leclerc #formula 1 #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x female reader #carlos sainz x you #lilasamaaa #smut

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curryalley · 3 days ago

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I agree it feels like season 6 is building up to something that just never pays off. Now, I've been a literati shipper since I was 16 (and Gentle Reader, that was a long time ago). I do think that Jess makes the most sense. But even removing the ship of it all, the themes of s6 is clearly leading to Rory breaking up with Logan. And that just...never happens.

Now, we don't know the production reasons that led to the atoey we saw. The Sherman-Palladinos famously did not return for season 7. Maybe they weren't sure there was going to be a season 7 and had to pivot when they unexpectedly got another year. Maybe they wanted to do more with Jess but Milo Ventimiglia became unavailable due to his Heroes schedule.

Whatever the reason, the story in the first half of the season leads up to a story beat that never arrives in the back half.

So let's discuss.

Rory starts s6 in a tailspin. She's facing legal consequences for her impulsive decision to steal a yacht with Logan. She drops out of Yale after Mitchum Huntzburger tells her she doesn't have the drive to make it as a reporter. And she's fallen out with Lorelai to move in with her grandparents.

Rory is facing an identity crisis. While falling in with Logan and the Life and Death Brigade taught her to relax and enjoy the moment, she's now facing consequences not even being a Gilmore can get her out of. She is sentenced to hundreds of hours of community service and probation for grand theft yacht. The show never tells us what happens to Logan for that same escapade and the presumption is he gets off scot free.

A lot of Rory's story on the show is on the tension of class issues between her working class mother and wealthy grandparents. The entire premise of the show is that Friday Night Dinner pays the debt of the cost of Rory's education. Dean breaks up with her (for the third time! while he was married!) when she stumbles drunk out of her grandparents' house wearing a literal tiara. Her path is bigger than Stars Hollow. But Logan and the LDB are another rung up the ladder. The Gilmores are standard WASP wealthy. The Huntzburgers are titans of industry. The yacht theft is Rory trying to keep up in a world she's never belonged.

She continues to play along in the world of privilege during her time off from Yale. She plans DAR parties and boozes it up with Logan and his pals. Emily makes it clear that she views this time as a stopover on the path to Rory's eventual engagement to Logan. Dropping out of Yale supports that assumption. The Huntzburgers believe Rory is not a suitable partner for Logan. Rory has goals and ambitions of her own - she wants see the world, write, be Christiane Amanpour. Logan's family insist that anyone who wants to work isn't fit to join their ranks. Being a Huntzburger wife is a full time job. Essentially Mitchum Huntzburger and her crisis of confidence has cut the heart out of Rory's ambitions.

So when Jess shows up out of the blue with a cool (and stable) job at an independent press with news of the publication of his novel, it cuts the knees out from her under. Because Jess started with nothing. Now he's made something of himself all on his own. He accomplished something. So when Jess gives her the famous "What's going on? Why did you drop out of Yale?" speech, she has no answer. Rory has been guided by the north star of ambition and now she is rudderless.

So with Jess back and in the healthiest place we've ever seen him, the comparison with Logan clearly points to Logan being one of the things Rory is doing because she is lost.

Consider what we see in Logan in s6. He's drunk. A lot. And not just drunk but wasted. Rory is throwing away her Yale education to...corral her blind drunk boyfriend and his friends?

And then the restaurant scene with Jess. Again, even if we leave ships out of it, we're supposed to believe that Rory Gilmore would EVER be in love with a guy who actually SNAPS HIS FINGERS at wait staff? That this guy represents the best choice for Rory's life? The same Rory who went out of her way to use her basic college Spanish to befriend the latest Gilmore maid? Emily Gilmore fired the maid for that and it's supposed to show her snobbishness in a way that Rory fundamentally isn't. But Rory loves a guy who calls a waitress with "yo yo yo!" I'm sorry no. There's no way. The show clearly wants us to notice the way Logan's behavior is antithetical to her values. He's a symptom of her own lack of confidence, not her great love.

Then if you want to get shippy with it, look at the rest of the way Logan behaves with Jess. Logan does most of the talking, which isn't unusual for Jess. But Jess does mostly refrain from the angry aggressive snark of his teen years. Jess basically sits there and lets Logan look down on him in a way that is very different than Jess and Dean's jealous posturing over Rory.

Logan sits across from someone Rory cares about. He throws his money in Jess's face. He throws his education in Jess's face, never considering the possibility that a guy who published his first book at 21 might be more well-read than he is. Then he insults Jess's book, the thing that Rory beamed with pride about the night before. When Jess finally can't take it and leaves, Logan dismissively tells her to forget him, implying that Jess is someone they both should look down on.

But none of that behavior is reflected in Rory's values. "We used to make fun of guys like this," isn't about romantic jealousy. It's about Rory's choices and whether they help her be the best version of herself.

Rory lost herself trying to play in Huntzberger's world. This is the world her grandmother wants for her, the chance to take the path Lorelai walked away from. But it's not who Rory is.

Rory is hardworking, ambitious. A goal-oriented planner. Someone who not only values education but someone who wants to succeed via education. Trying to be like Logan, giving up her dreams for a chance to spend her life as a Huntzburger wife has pulled her away from her values. Returning to school and going back to pursuing her goals restores her sense of self. It is clear that the show was leading to her breakup with Logan. This would have been the final nail in her own self growth.

But it just...doesn't happen. Rory goes to Philadelphia to see Jess just to hurt Logan, only to realize she loves Logan. It's not an earned realization. It feels more like no one could figure out how to do s7 without a love interest and Logan was just easier. And it muddies the water on why Rory would reject Logan's marriage proposal at the end of s7, when she had been all in even after the show clearly tells the audience Logan is the wrong guy a year earlier.

Because Jess was right. Logan was one of the things in Rory's life that she needed to fix because he only brings out her worst qualities. And she just...doesn't.

was talking today to a couple of people about gilmore girls and one of them said he doesn't like s6 and I was like. I get it but also I love s6. and he was like, really? and I said well yeah! I feel like s6 is underappreciated sometimes or unfairly hated but so much of it is just the natural conclusion of Rory's characterization for the previous five years, the fact that she'd never been rejected, the perfection-is-the-only-thing-allowed attitude, it makes total sense for her to fall apart and need to rebuild herself, and I think it's remarkably well written. but I also feel like it's understandable to not Get It, because s6 is set up for payoff that would never come - bc s7 didn't have access to the creators' plans, bc s8 didn't happen at all, bc ayitl was too little too late and besides, Jess couldn't even appear in it much bc he was too busy on this is us. I mean whether or not you ship it, although I do, to me it seems obvious that literati was supposed to be endgame, in a clear parallel to Lorelai and Luke. Just like how Rory admonishing Jess' behavior led to his growth by s6, Jess putting Rory on the right path mid s6 was supposed to get her ready for him by a season or two later. this is so obvious to me! but since we get set up with no payoff, it just feels... empty, aimless, and kind of depressing. and that sucks bc it's really just so well written

#gilmore girls #literati #rory gilmore #jess mariano #logan huntzberger #rory x jess #rory x logan #this was so long you guys #snd i will be mad about it forever

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astroariska · 2 years ago

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ASTROLOGY OBSERVATION [Chapter 5] ✨ - The North Node Version

North node represent the new growth we are heading into. So it's very normal if you feel like you are uncomfortable to do everything related your north node chart.

But when you did it, your life starts to change

Once a Virgo north node started to get their fruits smoothies instead of wine, slow cooked meals instead of takeouts and having their schedule wrapped with yoga and pilates ... I swear it's DONE for y'all!

Virgo North Node need to carefully pick wisely who are worth their help. Because sometimes, people go through shit as their own consequences and yet feels like victimized????

I just want you to know that your Scorpio North Node friends is actually wishing changes in their life. They want change. They know that things supposed to change in order to grow. But what all they get is sometimes annihilation, destruction and even violence and that's not a pleasurable change for them.

Stop telling Scorpio North Node to let it go. They don't need them. Start to ask Scorpio North Node what can they do from the ashes. Transformation is the real fear of this placement. They had no idea if it will work or not and most time, they will feel the sorrow of having no idea is their adaptation to the new things is going to be painful or not.

This is the most underated documentary for Leo North Node. But i think Leo North Node is never about fame and get famous. It's more about strength and in general. Most people forget that Leo is a sign that represent fortitude and only highlighting the part of being "famous" and "taking the center stage" which is not true.

Leo North Node people learn to use all of their mental, physicological and soul power to cope with whatever life has thrown to them. They need to understand they have fight for their right instead giving it away to people (and this is when the fame and luxury come from, from finding what's already yours)

Pisces North Node and the art of letting go. It's not like they are holding into things that makes them uncomfortable. But it's learning that sometimes you can't fix what was broken from the first time. That life is imperfect, flawless and sometimes vague in it's own way and what they need to do is; just keep swimming.

Also, this north node need more sleep than other people. Sleep is the way they will gain productivity and mental clarity. Enough sleep provides them power to do the right things everyday.

Sagittarius North Node and the faith. It's not like they need to stick into one religion. But it's more like they need to hold the higher moral code and standard over a shortcut. Of course, you will outsmart anything. But this life calls your integrity and your morality as human being. Life ask your wisdom. So always be wise.

Sagittarius North Node is also a placeement that speak the law of assumtion and the law of attraction. So, positive mindset is needed because things will manifest easily with positive mind.

Aries North Node, y'all so angry. But what if i told you that life demands your action and not your insight? This is the north node that ask you to be the first who doing the impossible, the first who doing the things that nobody did it in the first place. You know what you need to do, so it takes courage to turn the table.

Aries North Node also have a knack to relieve after ... yes, cursing. Cuss some bomb and shit till it feels easy and lightweight again.

Taurus North Node. This is the most bitter north node that i've encountered because this north node is about self dignity and respect. They need to uproot themselves from what people has taught them to act and start building the strong boundaries and foundation for their own life.

No, Taurus North Node. This is not your time to be the biggest enemy of yourself. Because how people treat you, depends on how you TREAT YOURSELF.

Gemini North Node and equality. They are the type who need to understand that their difference and diversity doesn't mean that someone is in higher or lower class. So treat people equal and treat yourself as equal too. Treat the waitress over the restaurant the same respect like you treat the politician on their office.

Also Gemini North Node. STOP FIGHTING WITH YOUR NEIGBOURS AND BROTHERS/SISTERS. They will unlock you some good things in the future. So stay your COOL.

Capricorn North Node's pressure. In this lifetime, life wants you to be the authority figure of your own, so it's understable that you'll disappointing some people who love you and taken care of you. In turns, you'll see that sometimes loves and cares is form of emotional manipulation to prevent you from the growth you need. Don't get easily swayed by the fake love.

With the most respect. Get your shit together, Capricorn North Node. People tend to manipulate you because they can take adventage from you and rob something from you. Don't let them mess your kindness as a weakness.

Aquarius North Node need to take off some privilege they have in this lifetime and be the one who's responsible for greater duty. Responsibility and duty is unavoidable in this lifetime so make sure you handle them with care and love for humanity (people around you). You can't expect life is pleasure because only through the struggle, you'll understand how pleasure is priceless.

I will give some warning for you, Aquarius North Node. If you still feeding your ego, you'll become the public enemy. I've seen this placement falls down and rise up because their community is wishing them to. Make sure that people only wishing you the best so you could manifest easily.

Libra North Node need for the partnership in this lifetime has nothing to do with being in relationship. But being in the middle of the change. Most people in this north node will make the most life changing decision and partnership helps them to keep relate into the change they have made. Relationship happens when you are in the commitment in the change with someone who willing to helps you through thin and thick. So choosing the right partner means choosing the right person to change and evolve together.

No, Cancer North Node. Being in control and having your guard up doesn't mean success. Success to you is a sense of security to feel whatever you want to feel and everytime you want to feel. Your job, your salary and your social status doesn't define you. It's your warmth, present and personality that roots you deep for who you are that matters the most.

RELEASE YOUR JOB IF YOU ARE UNHAPPY AND UNDERPAID, CANCER NORTH NODE. DROP IT until they found that YOU ARE WORTH THEIR RESPECT.

#aries north node #astro notes #astrology #astro note #astrology observations #astro observations #taurus north node #gemini north node #cancer north node #leo north node #virgo north node #libra north node #scorpio north node #sagittarius north node #capricorn north node #aquarius north node #pisces north node #north node #north node in signs

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pikatsum · 4 months ago

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Lights, Camera, Chaos | 1 | Todoroki Shouto / Reader

Summary: You and Shouto are forced to make your first televised appearance as a couple. What starts as an embarrassing invasion of privacy completely upends itself once you realize just how cutthroat the world of reality TV can get.

Tags & Warnings: Reader uses she/her pronouns, Quirkless Reader, Pro-Hero Shouto.

Part of the Pretty Boy Summer collab! [cross-posted on ao3]

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Being the partner of a pro-hero was the kind of thing that should really come with an instruction manual. And emblazoned on uncoated paper stock beneath chapter one, the golden rule that nine of ten couples managed to break: keep it on the down-low.

Those who didn’t faced the consequences— particularly civilians.

Their faces were ultimately the ones that got splashed across the front page of every gossip-rag in Japan. They became public pariahs, their names repeated ad nauseam on the news, whispered with glee in hair salons and social clubs. In the story of their life, everything became forfeit to the public— their friends, their profession, their dating history, their homes. All of it.

Now, for nearly three months, you’d been one of them. At the end of the day, that was the noodles’ fault, really.

The summer after culinary school, you’d scored your first full-time role, working as the head chef in a small noodle shop just a few blocks from your college campus, at the edge of the city. The owner, Okuda-san, had been in business for years, but the dreams of grandeur that had brought him to central Mustafau as a young man had long since been struck by reality. Though the quality of his meals had never diminished, he’d vastly scaled back his operations over the last ten years— gone was the opulent restaurant in the center of downtown with its sleek metallic architecture and warm ambient lighting. Gone too was his wife, or so you suspected, based on the mutterings you could pick up from the front office, when business ran slow.

The day you met Shouto, the rain had been coming down in sheets, blurring the windows and filling the reception area with a soothing white-noise as you oversaw reservation bookings, dinner preparations and engaged in a small bit of gossip-gathering on the side. It was that same rain that had led you to warn him about the biodegradable styrofoam that his takeout was packed in, and offer the restaurant’s tiny enclave seating to avoid having his meal ruined by the deluge. You’d shared polite conversation— mostly offering tips for balancing buckwheat dough to make proper soba noodles.

Over time, the street in front of Okuda-san’s little shop had become a well-worn patrol path for Shouto’s agency. Conversations turned to texts, and invitations out with his friends. After an unhealthy amount of pining, you’d finally steeled your nerves enough to ask him on a date— an awkward but effective kickstart to almost two years of the best relationship you’d ever had.

There truly was no protocol for having such an intimate piece of yourself revealed to the public, to millions of your partner’s diehard fans. There weren’t words to describe the moment you first laid eyes on the incriminating photo that had started all of this: the two of you, sharing a kiss on the way up to your apartment. Your longing, exacerbated by Shouto’s tedious travel schedule had faced off against your building’s perpetually-slow elevator doors and came up short.

One grainy picture, posted to one account incited a slew of Internet detectives, stealing your anonymity in a matter of hours.

At the very least, you’d been blissfully unaware at first— overlooking the increasing stares from the diners at Okuda-san’s, and glossing over the fact that the cab driver knew your name on the way home. You’d remained blissfully ignorant up until arriving home to find Shouto on the doorstep, still in his costume. He’d quickly shepherded you up to your apartment and barricaded the door. In full pro-hero mode, he’d guided you through the essentials to pack in a duffel bag, and then quickly brought you back to his, to wait out the full extent of the madness.

The worst of it was concentrated in that first two weeks. You’d been unable to turn on the TV without hearing the diminutive nickname the media had chosen for you— “Noodle Legs”— coupled with the same clip of Shouto guiding you up the steps into his high-rise building, over and over. Unfortunately, your legs had been wobbling, as the full magnitude of what was happening had finally begun to set in. In those first days, you’d sequestered yourself in the guest room with the blinds drawn, the drone of the TV only semi-effective against the catastrophizing taking place in your mind.

The public had judged your relationship with Shouto and you clearly had not met expectations. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Even a decade on from the war that had rewritten the operations of superhuman society, competent wasn’t a word that paired well with Quirkless.

As the media storm raged, you had never seen Shouto so upset. In the first few days, his schedule was particularly erratic, his whereabouts always announced by text and sticky notes left on your door, or the bathroom mirror in tight, neat script. Often, he was out amidst the public, speaking to media outlets on his own, trying to stem the influx of public opinion about you that had become the nation’s topic de jour. As you slowly began to emerge from your cocoon of solitude, you saw just how oppositely this ordeal was affecting him.

When he was home, Shouto paced, relentlessly. He completed a book of Sudoku puzzles as you absently cooked enough udon to feed a small army— or at least four of his pro-hero friends. Each night, he scarcely settle in on the couch next to you before noticing a stray sock or a flickering lightbulb, some small thing to put right. Nothing was enough, anymore, and even as you asked him to come to bed— his bed— he only ever seemed to sleep on the couch, if at all.

After nearly a week, his mania and your melancholy finally collided, spectacularly. You could still remember the whisper of the paper against the hardwood, as it slid under the bedroom door, late that night. Nearly two pages offered a handwritten letter apologizing for the upheaval of your entire life, and his absence in the aftermath. The third carefully recorded the plan he’d been building to mitigate the fallout, mentioning the friends he’d enlisted to help him and proposed ideas for a manufactured scandal, enough to take the limelight off you. That moment of shade, he argued, would allow you to distance yourself.

“I promise to help you establish a future that will make you happy.” the letter concluded, “And I understand, if that future no longer includes me.”

It was carefully-worded, largely self removed and so quintessentially Shouto that it nearly broke you all over again. Not much about your future was determined that night, apart from one, indelible truth: you didn’t want a future without Shouto in it. If that meant you’d have to face the public— the cameras and opinions and bigotry— so be it.

You’d casually perused enough gossip magazines to know the general strategies that hero & civilian relationships used, publicly. Some couples went on luxurious (sponsored) vacations, their devotion shamelessly showcased through glossy magazine spreads and corny ‘What’s in Our Suitcase?’ Q&As. Others used their moment in the limelight to launch one partner’s passion project — a private art studio, a taproom, a crossfit gym— often trendy, always overcrowded and never necessary public infrastructure.

The rest wrote memoirs. So. Many. Memoirs. You’d just finished “Catching the Copycat. — How I Fell in Love with Phantom Thief” earlier that month, and it wasn’t half bad. Amidst the unending slew of public attention and the realization that you were going to have to market yourself somehow, the idea of writing a novel was contenting. At the very least, your partner’s versatile Quirk meant there was no end to the pithy puns you could come up with for a title.

And then, Shouto’s PR team put out a press release announcing that the two of you would be starring in the next episode of Split Shift— the Hero Network’s one and only reality television program.

‘Think you’ve got what it takes to be a hero? Think again!” announced its pithy tagline, in the promotional packet,’ Each week, Split Shift lets its viewers experience a day in the life of the nation’s top defenders, exposing their personal sides, through the eyes of their inner circle!.’

The two of you had tried to fight it. Oh, how you had tried, your combined efforts quickly spawning endless hours of email chains. But Shouto’s public relations team was relentless— apparently, the clamor of the public for more details, photos, evidence of your leaked relationship was stronger than any villain in the known universe. And without it, they warned, Shouto’s rank in the heroics charts was severely at risk.

“I’m sure you’re aware,” Omori Mika, Shouto’s head of PR, explained, fingers flying across her keyboard as a window of metrics popped up, “a significant portion of Shouto’s fanbase finds him anywhere from “considerably” to “highly” attractive. Early this year, he dethroned Best Jeanist to win Quirk’d Magazines’ “Hottest Hero Alive.”

“Oh, yes— well deserved.” you nodded, sparing a glance to your own well-loved copy, resting on the coffee table. The cover-shot had really captured his intensity, the haunting contrast of his heterochromatic gaze in low lighting.

From the other side of the couch, Shouto cleared his throat, and you found yourself impishly delighted by the fact that he refused to meet your eyes.

“Why does that matter?”

“Because that faction in particular wants to know — why her?” Mika made a brief gesture towards you as she expounded, “Why, out of every person in the nation— the world, even— why is she the one you chose?”

Shouto blinked, glancing between you and the laptop.

“Do they want a list? I’d have to ask Midoriya for—“

“—evidence is the name of the game, Shouto.” Mika broke in, “Photos, maybe, but what people really want is footage.”

“Footage that we have to get by being publicly humiliated, got it.” you sighed.

A notch appeared between Mika’s perfectly- plucked eyebrows.

“I know you’re both unhappy about the booking, but the Hero Network is the best platform to showcase Shouto’s capabilities. The nature of the show won’t just remind people why they trust him— it’ll show that he’s chosen a capable and resourceful partner, as well.”

You flushed and averted your gaze. Capable and resourceful were just about the last things that you were feeling, at the moment.

“And honestly, Split Shift is tame in comparison to some of the shows that have been asking for you.” Mika began to flip through her color-coded planner, “Let’s see… Quirktastrophe, Save my Love Life… oh, you’re lucky we didn’t put you on Zero to Hero, I hear that host is a real piece of work, off-camera…”

“Message received.” Shouto intoned, cutting off the diatribe. You moved your legs enough to allow him to scoot over, leaning forward to minimize the chat window and zoom in on a contractual document, written in a font size in the single-digits. He met your eyes

You took a deep breath and sealed your fates with a nod.

“Where do we sign?”

The devil worked hard, but apparently the scheduling team for Split Shift worked harder. Less than a week later, the two of you were arriving at the studio at the crack of dawn, for what promised to be a grueling day of filming. The process began two blocks before the filming lot, a two-man crew driving out to meet in an adjacent parking lot. You and Shouto were each asked to step out of the car in order to have a microphone pack strapped and secured beneath your clothing. They also hooked a small portable camera to the dashboard, to “capture your authentic reactions to arriving on-set.”

In a mutual act of defiance, you and Shouto remained dead-silent for the remaining two blocks. It was a welcome respite, especially given that it seemed those silences would be few and far between for the rest of the day.

Two steps out of the car and you were being accosted by a human gale-force. She arrived in a cloud of cherry-scented perfume, and wasted no time in handing over the two smoothies she was carrying. The badge pinned smartly to her dark blazer read “Noujuu Yōko”.

You’d just barely opened your mouth to offer a ‘thank you’, but the woman barely spared a glance before she turned and circled a finger in the air to follow.

“You’re seven minutes late.”

“Your crew was delayed and there were a number of road closures en route.” Shouto fell in line, his cooler hand lacing with your free one, “We weren’t—“

“—I sent a reminder email at 2:45 AM with these details. Your coordinator should have shared them.”

You watched as a notch appeared in your partner’s brow, a subtle display of his annoyance. Before he could retort, you broke in with a small laugh that felt as awkward and forced as it sounded.

“Sorry about that.” you said, “This is all… very new.”

You didn’t receive a response, nor at this point were you particularly expecting one. Avoiding the wires criss-crossing the asphalt while keeping up with her brisk pace was taking enough effort, anyways. Unfortunately, an experimental sip of the smoothie in your hand revealed that it tasted like chalk.

“Don’t feel the need to apologize.” Shouto murmured, as you slowed your pace. This close, notes of mint and jasmine stood out in his cologne as he leaned over to murmur to you, “She’s just high-strung. They can film and record as they like, now— I’ve already seen a camera following us, from the right. They’re looking for reactions.”

“So, no public meltdowns— got it.” you smiled weakly, a chill going up your spine at the prospect of indirectly being ‘on-air’.

Yōko led the way back to the first of the sound stages as she explained that Split Shift was filmed in a “psychologically-backed” sequence. The core of that process was candid footage, occasionally guided by interviews.

“You’ll be interviewing throughout the day, both separately and together.” she explained, at the door, “At midday, we’ll have a thirty-minute lunch, and a touch-up with hair and makeup. The afternoon will then be dedicated to wrapping up the heroics case.”

“The… what?” you asked, glancing at Shouto, “Is there something you’re supposed to look into?”

“Not that I am aware of.” Shouto said, “Although I assume, based on the increasing number of cameras that have tracked us here, that this is meant to be some kind of dramatic twist.”

It took you a moment to begin to spot them— angled around corners, hidden in the shrubbery and eaves of the soundstage. There was even a drone flying overhead, high up enough to muffle the whine of its motors. Apprehension bloomed in your chest, counting at least fifteen cameras, knowing there were likely more.

The tone Shouto adopted was pure apathy— but you knew it as a defense mechanism, to hide the anger he hated to show.

“Is there a particular direction you’d like us to face, to express our shock?” he said.

Yōko’s chartreuse eyes narrowed in a silent declaration of war.

“This way will be fine.”

In the next instant, a loud metallic screech made you jump. Whirling around, you realized that the garage door of the warehouse was opening, and although you couldn’t see much through the gloom, the sun’s rays did catch off another two camera lenses, at least.

“We’ve made a few changes on set.” Yōko had to raise her voice to speak over the shuffle of the film crew as they filled in the space, the descending screech of the drone, “Audiences used to prefer viewing the world of heroes at street-level, through the eyes of those they loved most. Now, they want to experience it, for themselves.”

You weren’t looking at her, though, or any of the multitudes of cameras. Instead, your gaze was focused on the mannequin angled in the center of the sound stage, and dressed in a disconcerting blend of lycra and tactical gear— specifically an all-too-familiar vest and utility belt.

Yōko’s voice rang out behind you, sending a chill up your spine as the full scope of what you had gotten yourself into began to click into place.

“So, [Last Name] [First Name]. Are you ready to become a hero?”

#todoroki shoto/reader #prettyboysummercollab #todoroki shoto #bhna x reader #mha x reader #beloved: shouto

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boothillssugarmomma · 1 month ago

Text

Consequences and a Wedding

(Wriothesley x Fem! Reader)

cw-: ANGST HELLA ANGST, one sided love, best friends to strangers, marriage!, pregnancy and childbirth mentioned!, tears, Neuvillette mentioned!

🎀 authorsnote: literally cried halfway through this so enjoy fr

please don't steal my work!

Taglist🎀Genshin Master list🎀Other Lists🎀

Wriothesley and you have been friends for years, being locked up in the Fortress together and being closely the same age, you stuck to each other like glue.

Now everythings different, still best friends, but you moved to the surface..and fell for Monsieur Neuvillette. Wriothesley disliked this but never spoke on it, he just wanted his girl to be happy.

Even if she didn't know how he felt..

On one of your regularly scheduled hangouts with Wriothesley he brought up that a Melusine had reported seeing you and your...boyfriend...around the Opera House the other evening.

"Oh yes!" You beam with excitement. "Monsieur Neuvillette proposed!" You shake his arm, squealing into the night air.

“He proposed to you?” He quickly looks at your hand, looking for a ring. Once he spots it, he feels like he's been punched in the stomach..

He sighs. “And you said…?”

Gazing into your pretty eyes...god how they sparkle. No. Not now Wriothesley. Focus.

"I obviously said YES! I mean the opportunity doesn't come along everyday!" You sigh happily after.

He takes a deep breath before replying, trying to sound as monotone as possible. “…Congratulations.”

Every part of him was SCREAMING to tell you, tell you how he always wanted to be the one by your side, to propose, to marry you, to have kids with you. But he can’t bring himself to say any of that. Instead he continues. “Whens the wedding?”

"Nine months!" You chirp happily, twisting your ring on your finger. Your hair blows a bit in the wind.

“Nine months?” He tries to be as nonchalant as possible. “That’s… pretty soon.”

He looks at the ring one more time. It’s actually a very pretty ring. It suits you. He looks away, gazing over the hilltop you both were sitting on.

After a small pause of silence, all silent except for the small chirps and noises from the nighttime wildlife. You break the silence.

"You'll come right?"

He looks at your eyes. They look…excited about the whole thing. A part of himself wishes to destroy that excitement, to tell you that he doesn’t want to go, that he doesn’t want you to marry someone else.

He sighs. He could never say that to you. “Of course. How could I not go?”

Your mouth curls into a smile. "See I knew you'd understand..."

Don’t blush, don’t blush, don’t blush.

He puts an arm around your waist awkwardly. A part of him would love to hold you forever, but the other part tells him it’s wrong. That he can’t do this, can’t get that close. That doesn’t stop him from savoring the moment, though.

Wriothesley lets out a small chuckle as he looks away. “Why wouldn’t I understand?”

"Neuvillette said you'd probably be upset. But I don't know why." You sigh softly with a confused expression on your face.

You looked so cute like that..

NO. Nuh uh Wriothesley, get it together!

"Is it cuz I'm getting married before you? Because Wriothesley believe me someone WILL marry you!" You pat his chest with your hand.

He couldn’t help but laugh at your last statement, amused by how confident you sound while saying such a thing. He smiles, still looking away.

“Oh yeah?” He asked, chuckling again, then sighed. “I don’t really care much about that. And I’m not upset, I assure you. I just…” He paused, like he’s thinking of what words to use next. “I just…want you to be happy.”

"You're a great friend Wrio..." You smile gently. "Wait wait!" You squeal, pulling away to stand in front of him before grabbing his arms. "Instead of a maid of honor I want you!"

Great…friend. Why does hearing that word hurt him so badly? He puts on a soft smile while looking at you once again.

"You’d want me to be your maid of honor?" He raised a brow jokingly.

You nod excitedly. "YEAH!" Jumping up and down, shaking him a bit in the process. "Wrio PLEASEEE!"

He watches your cute expression, as you jump, smile and look at him with those pleading eyes. He laughs at your excitement and shakes his head.

"Archons…fine. I accept."

You hug him crushingly tight before pressing a harsh kiss to his cheek. "Thank you, thank you!"

His eyes widen for a moment, not expecting the sudden hug. It takes a moment before he relaxes, putting his arms back around your body.

He smiled and let out a small laugh once again, feeling your warmth against him. He closed his eyes, savoring the moment. He then said in a sarcastic tone. "You’re gonna be the death of me…"

You let out a 'pfft' sound and roll your eyes. "Ahhh you know you love me~" You smirk teasingly.

He chuckled at your comment.

“Love” huh? If only you knew.

He then jokingly replied. “You’re a menace. You know that?”

You take his hands with a playful smile. "Yeah ok Wriothesley..."

He tries to pretend he isn’t affected by your smile or by you holding his hands. But his heart beats uncontrollably fast under his chest.

He looks down at your hands. Such small hands in his much bigger ones. He feels a sudden urge to close his fingers around yours, hold your hands tighter, never let you go.

"Ok now I have to go.." You sigh softly. "Neuvillette will be wondering why I'm home so late..."

Right. Neuvillette. He forgot about him for a short moment. Now being reminded of it, he felt that familiar feeling of jealousy again.

He swallowed before talking, trying to sound as calm as possible. “Yeah, I suppose you should go.”

"Same time next week?" You hold your pinky up with a glint in your eyes.

A small smile formed on his lips the moment he sees your cute, silly gesture, which he gladly returned with his own pinky, hooking yours on it. “Sure. Same time next week."

You let go of his pinky and walk off, looking over your shoulder to wave bye.

He watches you walk away, unable to take his eyes off you. Your figure, your hair flowing, the way you wave at him..he memorized every single detail. It’s not until you’re gone that he lets out a small sigh.

How is he going to watch you get married to someone else..and the Chief Justice no less...

That night he has the worst nightmares. Now others can say falling in your dreams or getting chased in them or natural disasters are the worst nightmares to have. But no. Wriothesleys was coming to terms with the fact you were getting married.

Not to him...

He tossed and turned in his sleep, dreaming nightmares. Nightmares of you, dreaming about you in a beautiful white wedding dress, walking down the aisle to the man waiting for you.

That stupid fucking judge...

You look joyful, happy, excited…and he can’t do anything. Nothing but watch you from afar, as you reach your destination and that horrible man holds your hands in his.

He CAN'T let that happen.

That single thought wakes him up from the dream. He gasps as he sits up on the bed, breathing heavily. He couldn’t do anything in the dream, but…could it be different in reality? He clenched his fists, determined to do something about it.

Days, weeks, and months fly by. The amount of times he had almost told you how he felt...yet he couldn't bring himself to do it. So now here he is, standing in the corner of the bridal room, watching you get ready to be wed to another man.

He tries to look calm, hiding how nervous he actually was. You look absolutely stunning in that wedding dress, but it only serves to remind him of the nightmare he had. Seeing you this close but not being able to stop you as you get ready to walk down the aisle, it felt like torture.

He takes a deep breath before speaking up, not looking at you directly. “You look… beautiful.”

Your eyes light up as you gaze at him in the mirror you were doing your hair in. "You promise?"

His heart skips a beat when you look at him through the mirror. He almost lost his composure for a moment, but he managed to reply with a smile. “Why do you even have to ask? Of course I mean it.”

As he watches you straighten your dress and take a deep breath you nibble your bottom lip. "Do you think Neuvillette will like it?" You whisper worriedly.

His grip on his tie tightened. The mention of that name irritates him, yet he puts on a fake smile.

“He’d be a fool if he doesn’t.”

Wriothesley keeps watching you with loving eyes that go unnoticed. Watching you being so excited about wedding, listening to you gush over Neuvillette, it makes his heart ache.

Eventually, when you start fixing your hair, he swallows before speaking up. “Can I say something?”

You just nod with a smile. Acknowledging him with a small hum.

He was about to say it, about to ask you to reconsider marrying that man. Then he looked at your smile, the way it lights up your entire face. Archons, you’re too beautiful…

But he has to say it. He has to make his feelings known, or he’d regret it forever.

He takes a deep breath, clenching his fists tightly. “Don’t marry him.”

...

....

The room plunges into a silence. Deadly quiet, you could probably hear a seam rip. He glances at the mirror at your fallen smile.

"...What?" You turn in your seat to face him.

Seeing the confused, hurt look on your face is almost too much for him to bear.

He stood up, looking straight into your eyes. He’ll say it even if you end up hating him.

“I…I don’t want you to marry him. I don’t want you to marry anyone, actually.”

He paused, taking a shaky breath. This is it. His one and only chance. “I…I love you. I’m in love with you. I have been for a long, long time.”

...

....

You stand up, eyes narrowing with anger and something else he can't detect. He could care less...you look PISSED.

His heart beats even faster. He can’t tell what’s going on inside your head, your expression is neutral now, showing him no signs of what you’re feeling. He swallows and continues speaking, slowly, like he’s thinking each word carefully.

“I know I…I know I have no right to tell you not to marry someone else. This is your life and you can choose who you want to spend it with…But I couldn’t just stand and watch, as you marry someone else, without telling…without telling you how I really feel about you.”

You take a deep breath and fold your hands together. "Wriothesley. You had ALL the time in Teyvat to tell me this." Your whisper is deadly.

His shoulders lower, feeling the guilt of his own cowardness.

He looked down, unable to look into your eyes, before saying quietly in a guilt-ridden voice. “I know. I know. I should’ve said it sooner. I meant to, many times. But I… couldn’t bring myself to do it. I was… afraid.”

"You could've told me BEFORE Neuvillette!" You snap at him. Wriothesley flinches back a bit, you've never snapped at him.

“I know that too…!” He couldn’t help but raise his voice as well. “I know that. Archons, I’ve been beating myself up ever since the moment you told me you were dating him, asking myself why I didn’t just confess before all of this. But I was scared. I didn’t want to lose you, even as a friend. I…I was a goddamn coward.”

"Wriothesley this is bullshit!" You raise your voice again. Which causes him to do the same.

His usual calm and composed demeanor was long gone. He was yelling too, his voice filling the entire room. He’s glad the guests have moved to the cathedral and there’s no one else left in this room except you two.

He takes a deep, shaky breath trying to gather his thoughts and spoke again, his voice still rising in anger.

“You think I don’t know that?! You think I don’t regret the fact that I didn’t tell you sooner, that I didn’t tell you before you met Neuvillette?!”

You clap your hands together and grind your teeth together. "You think this is APPROPRIATE to tell me at my fucking WEDDING!?" You shout in his face.

“No! I know it’s not appropriate! I know it’s too late! I know you’ve made up your mind and I know this is horrible timing! But if I didn’t say it, I’d regret it forever!”

His voice was getting louder and louder. “You think I can watch you get married to him and pretend like I’m so happy for you? I’d be torturing myself!”

You just stare in shock and anger. "You...you can go!"

He paused to catch his breath. His heart was still beating fast from all the yelling, but his eyes widened at your words.

“What?” He said, in a much quieter voice. Is that what he heard right? Is she...asking him to leave? The same person who was so happy to have him as her 'maid' of honor, not less than an hour ago? “You’re… telling me to go?”

You turn away for a minute. "Get OUT." A dark whisper. And it shatters him.

Wriothesley went quiet. He couldn’t believe he’s actually being thrown out, by you, the person he loved. Then, another feeling hit him, making him want to punch something.

Never. Never in front of you.

“So…that’s it? That’s all I get?” He said, his voice rising again. “I pour out my feelings for you, right when you’re about to get married, and you…just tell me to get out?”

You let out a broken laugh and turn to him. "I'm getting married! Wriothesley." You swallow. "Did you even HEAR yourself?"

“And I know that! But by the hydro archon, it’s like you don’t even care I’m hurting! I’m trying to tell you I love you, and you’re acting like it’s nothing, like you don’t care!”

He almost yelled by the end of the sentence, all the stress and anger building up together now that he’s finally letting out what he’s been feeling. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists, trying to fight the tears that started welling up in his eyes.

You take a deep breath. "You." You begin before biting your lip. "I can't believe you..."

He’s expecting some other mean words from you, words that’ll make him even angrier. He’s expecting another argument, but he didn’t expect to hear your own voice crack suddenly. He paused, looking back at you.

“You can’t believe me?” He asked, confusion and anger lacing his voice. “You can’t believe I have feelings for you? Why can't you…I’ve been loving you for years!”

You shake your head, blinking, so tears won't shed. "Wriothesley. Archons..I loved you." You whisper.

He wasn’t expecting that. Not at all. His anger fades away, his heart beating fast once again, but for a different reason.

“You…You what?” His voice went unusually quieter. Did he hear you right? Is this a dream? An imagination? Is all the stress getting to him?

"For years...so many!" You whisper. "And then you never expressed them back."

Wriothesley stared at you with widened eyes, his brain having trouble processing what you just said. He couldn’t believe it. You…loved him? The whole time? Then that’d mean…that’d mean he should’ve said it sooner, he should’ve told you a long, long time ago.

He slowly moved closer to you. “You…you really loved me?”

The room goes a bit quiet again. Guests shuffling by and then the noise disappears.

"Yes." You whisper. "But...I moved on."

“Moved on’ ” was the part that broke his heart. He clenched his fists, looking down. He was too late, and now he’s going to lose you. All of it because he’s a coward who didn’t dare tell you how he felt.

“You don’t love me anymore.” He said, speaking barely louder than a whisper, as if he’s trying to make sure those words aren’t true.

You both pause as the church bells go off. The bells signaled that the wedding is going to start. He knew the guests had probably taken their seats already. Neuvillette is waiting for you, down at the aisle. But he still couldn’t bring himself to just let you go, not after having this conversation.

He took a few more steps, now standing in front of you, looking down at you. The pain in his heart became unbearable.

“Please, don’t marry him…"

You blink away a tear and swallow, reaching out to hold his hands. "Stay or go Wriothesley. But I'm marrying him."

The moment you held his hand his heart hurt even more. This is it. You’re marrying another man. The thought of it hurts his heart so badly he almost couldn’t breathe.

He stayed silent for a few seconds, looking at your hand on his, before speaking quietly.

“If I…if I can’t change your mind…Will you at least allow me one selfish request before the wedding?”

You hesitate before nodding. Time ticking down.

He closed his eyes, mentally bracing himself. This is the most selfish thing to ask for yet he wanted, no, no… he needed it so badly. He took a deep breath before speaking, looking directly into your eyes.

“Can I…kiss you?…at least once, before you walk down that aisle?”

God those eyes..

As they widen and you stammer he can't help but crack the ghost of a smile, before you calm down and sigh. "This doesn't leave this room.." You whisper.

His heart skipped a beat at your answer. By the seven, it’s like he has never felt so relieved and hopeful at the same time. You finally said yes. He couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest man in the world for a moment.

He moved even closer, towering over you. He held your chin with one hand, tilting your head upwards to look at him. His other hand was on your hip.

“Promise.” He said, before leaning down to kiss you softly.

He felt like he was on cloud nine when your lips met his. After so many times of imagining what it would feel like to kiss you, finally feeling your soft lips against his makes his heart beat even faster.

He didn’t want to stop. He wanted to keep kissing you more and more, but he finally pulled away when you did. It took a few seconds for him to recover from the shock, and he raised an eyebrow at you.

“Why?” He asked quietly.

"That was wrong Wriothesley." You whisper, rubbing your lipgloss off before reapplying it.

“Wrong?…”

The way you said it stung a little. He knew it was wrong because you’re engaged to someone else, but he’s pretty sure the kiss wasn’t wrong itself. The kiss was absolutely perfect for him, and he had to swallow the protest already on the tip of his tongue.

He stayed silent for a beat, before speaking again. His voice sounded frustrated.

“Why did you agree then?”

"I..I don't know!" You whisper frustrated and flustered, face burning with embarrassment and worry.

He watched you frustrated, still standing in front of you. If he’s being honest, it’s making him frustrated too. You didn’t seem to know what you want, what you’re doing, and by the seven, it’s driving him crazy. Why did you let him kiss you if you believe it’s wrong? And why did you allow him that selfish request in the first place if you don’t even know why?

He stepped even closer, holding your chin again, tilting your head upwards.

“Answer me something…”

You swallow your worries and nod for him to ask.

He leaned down a little, looking directly into your eyes. His voice was quiet and low, filled with mixture of pain, frustration and maybe a hint of hope.

“When you kissed me back, did you feel it?...”

You gaze into his eyes. "Feel what."

It took all his self-restraint not to pull you into a kiss again. He looked at you, his eyes darkened a little.

“Feel…anything.” He swallowed before continuing, his voice getting slightly quieter. “Anything at all….”

"No." You whisper almost immediately. The icy tone in your voice pierces his heart.

It felt like a cold shower was poured onto him. He knew you’re lying. He’s certain you did feel something. You must have. He’s sure you didn’t kiss him for nothing. He stared at you for few seconds, before finally letting anger take over.

“You’re lying.” He said, almost gritting his teeth.

You take a deep breath and shakily swallow. "I-I must go now."

He gripped your hip a little tighter, preventing you from walking past him.

“No, no, you’re not going anywhere. Not until you tell me the truth.” He said, in a firm and slightly commanding tone.

"Wriothesley.." You meet his gaze again and he sees it. Love. But...not for him.

He hates that he sees the love in your eyes and it hurts him. He didn’t want to accept it, didn’t want to believe what he was seeing, but it’s impossible to lie to himself. That look in your eyes only confirms what he already knows, and it’s making his heart hurt so badly.

But he’s going to push it further. Just this once, he’ll force it out of you. He tightens his grip on your hip a little more, almost enough to leave a mark.

“Say it. Say it out loud.”

"I love Neuvillette..not you.." You whisper, voice cracking a bit.

He already knew it. He knew you don’t love him. The way you’re acting, the look in your eyes were all enough clues for him to know the truth. But…but hearing you say it out loud, so easily without hesitation, it’s like another kind of pain.

He was still holding his ground. He’s not letting you go yet. Not until he says his own thoughts out loud as well.

“Then why did you let me kiss you?"

"Closure..." You whisper sadly.

‘Closure’? It’s like a stab through his heart. Closure. Of course that’s all he’s going to get, a ‘goodbye’ kiss to finally get the closure you need. He couldn’t believe it. You don’t love him, this was all just a ‘closure’ kiss for you. He took a shaky breath and almost whispered.

“Just… closure…then?”

You just nod gently.

He doesn’t know what part of him expected something different. He doesn’t know why his heart still hoped that maybe, just maybe, you’d realized your feelings toward him were stronger than you believed. He let out a bitter and dry chuckle. Closure. That’s what you want, and that’s what you’re going to get.

He took a few more seconds to control his emotions, before speaking quietly in a low, dark voice.

“And is this going to be the only closure I get?”

You look into his eyes, sadness in them this time. "Watch me get married at least?" You whisper.

But he knows he can't

His heart ached at the thought of it. The pain of seeing you walk down that aisle, marrying another man, a man that’s not him, will be unbearable. He can’t do it. He can’t make himself watch you marry Neuvillette and act like nothing was wrong, like everything will just go back to normal after you tie the knot. He just can’t.

He swallowed. If he can’t watch you get married, then he’s going to let you go in a different way.

The duke suddenly stepped away, taking his hand off your hip and letting you go. His voice took on another commanding tone. He’s trying to keep his voice steady and firm, even though the pain was almost unbearable.

“Go…” He said, gesturing towards the door. “Go…and go marry...him...like you’re supposed to.”

You smile sadly. "I hope to see you out there.." Hugging him tightly, holding on a little too long before breaking apart and leaving. Glancing back to blink a tear away before disappearing from his view.

It took all his self-restraint not to pull you into a tight embrace and stop you from walking away. He had to do this for the sake of his own heart, even though his soul was screaming at him to not let you go, to stop you and just pull you to him, maybe even lock the door so you won’t leave.

But he didn’t do any of that. He just watched you give him one last sad smile before you hug him. He closed his eyes, not returning the hug, letting himself enjoy the last bit of contact between the two of you.

He can hear everything from behind the door. The bells, the music, the voices of the guests, people waiting for the ceremony to start.

And he hates it. He can’t stand the thought of you walking down the aisle, smiling at Neuvillette, holding his hands, making promises to stay with him forever. To be with another man, a man that’s not him.

He leans against the wall, closing his eyes and trying to block out all the noise.

The tall man tried to hold on as best as he could, but he just couldn’t. He had to take a look. He’ll never get another chance, after all. He slowly opened the door, peeking through the gap, trying not to attract attention. He just had to see you.

The moment he saw you, all beautiful and radiant in your wedding gown, it’s like something broke in his heart. You’re walking towards Neuvillette, your smile bright and happy as you approach the altar. It’s like a dagger, twisting slowly inside his heart. This is really happening.

You’re going to marry him...

He sees you exchanging the vows, watching from afar with a heavy heart. The pain is almost unbearable now, watching you commit your life to another man. He’s not the type to show his vulnerability in public, but he can’t help but grip the edge of the door harder, trying to keep himself composed as his heart breaks into pieces in the process.

Our eyes meet, and for a second your voice breaks in the middle of the vows. But you quickly fix it. Looking away from him.

He held onto the door tighter as your voice broke. You looked straight at him when it happened, and he couldn’t help but feel his heart skip when your eyes meet. But then you immediately looked away and continued with the vows, leaving him stunned.

You saw him, you’re the one whose eyes lingered on him for a long moment, only pulling away because you have to finish the ceremony. Why do you look at him like that when you’re about to marry another man?

He can hear the priest going through the final part of the ceremony, asking you and Neuvillette say the last few words, saying ‘I do’. His heart hurt so badly that it’s almost hard to breathe. It’s over. You’ll now be married. You’ll now be a wife, a wife to another man...

"Do you. Take Neuvillette to be your lawfully wedded husband?" The priest smiles. You swallow and glance at Wriothesley before looking into Neuvillettes eyes.

"I do."

He stared at you as you said those words. His knuckles almost whitened with how hard he’s gripping the door, wishing he could just burst through and stop you… but he stayed. He stayed, and the only thing he could do is to watch, the pain overwhelming his heart and leaving him breathless.

He stayed silent as the priest proclaimed the wedding done, declaring that you and Neuvillette are now a husband and a wife, legally bound to each other forever… forever. The finality of it all left a bitter taste in his mouth. It’s over, for good. There’s no turning back now. You’re a married woman now. You’re no longer his, and it stings to realize it.

You and Wriothesley lost contact after the wedding. He holed himself up in The Fortress of Meropide, went back to being just an underworld dweller. Ten years had passed, and Clorinde had convinced him to visit the surface.

He had asked her over the years to update him on your life. But she refused. Not wanting him to worry about it.

Ten years might have passed, but the pain hasn’t diminished in the slightest. It’s dulled a little, but the memories of what happened that day still haunt him to this day, leaving a deep ache in his heart every time he thinks about you.

He’s doing a bit better now, or at least he’s trying to convince himself that way. He threw himself into his work, trying to find some kind of distraction, but none seemed to be enough to fully make him forget you.

When he finally goes up to visit Fontaine's surface...for the first time in ten years...his heart stops as he hears a familiar voice near the Opera House.

It’s been ten years, but he recognized your voice immediately. He froze as he turned towards the source of the voice, feeling a sudden rush of emotions. Excitement, happiness, dread, worry, all mixed up into a messy bundle. It’s you. You’re here, for the first time in years.

You're holding a baby in a baby carrier, a grocery bag in the other hand. "Daddy will be happy to see you sweetheart~" You giggle at the baby.

He could barely believe his eyes. You’re here, and you’re holding a baby. As he observed you, the realization hit him. You’re a mother now. The thought sent a strange mix of emotions through him, a mix of happiness, sadness, and a sprinkle of jealousy.

The baby babbles and coos with excitement as you hand it a small toy.

He couldn’t help but smile a little as he watched you. You seem so relaxed, so at peace, holding your baby. You’re such a wonderful mother. He tried to push down the thoughts of him in Neuvillette’s place, standing beside you as you hold your child, but it’s almost impossible to keep it from popping up in his head.

His heart sank as he saw Neuvillette walking towards you, a small smile on his face as he finally catches up with you. He instinctively stepped back to stay hidden, watching you both with a mixture of emotions. It’s bittersweet, watching you with your husband and your child, knowing it could have been HIM if things were different…if only he was a little more brave...

He watched bitterly as you and Neuvillette exchanged a kiss, unable to look away. Seeing the two of you again, together, happily married with a child, makes the pain he was trying to push away come back, worse than ever before. The realization that you’re forever out of reach hurts even more now that he can see you right before him again.

As we walk past Wriothesley you don't even look. He doesn't even know if you recognized him.

He felt a pang of hurt as you walked past him without noticing him at all. Not even a single glance in his direction. He didn’t know if you didn’t recognize him or just didn’t bother to look, but the message is clear. You don’t care about him and you don’t plan to anymore. The realization stung, like a bitter pill he had to swallow.

He noticed you dropped something, a toy that your baby was playing with. He was reluctant to interfere, knowing he has no place in your life anymore. But the sight of you walking away with your child, unaware of the toy, tugged at his heartstrings. He took a deep breath, gathering what little courage he had, before reluctantly calling out to you.

“Hey…” He called out, trying to keep his voice steady as he called out to you from behind. He could feel his heart racing as he spoke, the anxiety of talking to you again after so many years and the fear of getting ignored leaving him on the edge.

You turn and laugh nervously. "Oh Gods sorry!" You hand the grocery bag to Neuvillette and take the toy from Wriothesley. "Thank you so-" You cut off as you meet his icy blue eyes.

He stood there, looking at you, his heart hammering in his chest as your eyes met his. For a moment, he couldn’t find the words to speak. Seeing you up close, those eyes, that smile, still the same despite the years that passed, it’s almost like he’s transported back in time before everything happened, before he lost you.

You don't acknowledge it as you clear your throat. "Thank you.."

He nods gently in response, still trying to gather his thoughts. Your casual tone almost stung, as if you don’t remember anything about their past. He took a shaky breath and forced himself to speak again.

“You’re…you’re welcome…” He said, his voice slightly unsteady.

He watches as you turn and move back to your place beside Neuvillette, his heart sinking just a little further as you don’t even look back at him. It’s like talking to a stranger. Or maybe that’s exactly what you two are now.

He let out a soft exhale, shoving his hands into his pockets to prevent himself from making a mistake by grabbing your hand and pulling you close.

His heart clenched as he watched you and Neuvillette walking together, laughing and enjoying each other’s company. The sight of you both, with your child, the family you’ve built together, it’s like a dagger digging deeper into his already shattered heart. It’s like a constant reminder of what could have been for him if things were different…if he wasn’t so cowardly and actually told you his feelings before it was too late.

What could've been...

🎀End🎀

#fanfic #genshin impact fanfics #wrio x reader #wriothesely genshin #wriothesley angst #angst #angst with a bad ending #genshin angst #genshin impact angst #wriothesley genshin impact #hella angst

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bornagainmurdock · 5 months ago

Text

my controversial matt murdock headcannons pt2

contents: sfw, very all over the place, but i'm sure you expected that

word count: .5k

has a playlist he listens to when he's getting ready to go on patrol that's full of 90s pop classics, including vogue by madonna and just a girl by no doubt

thinks about officially learning how to ballroom dance but is too scared to trip and fall in front of everyone, so he just practices in his apartment by himself

every song foggy has ever played for him is in a playlist called 'fog's favorites'

spotify user but doesn't pay for it, gets really frustrated when ads play but refuses to pay bc "It's the prinicpal of it all, you see they take music, a human thing and make you pay for it. that's unethical"

still owns a jump rope from when he was a kid but refuses to use it because he doesn't want to break it

has a large candle and mug collection bc he once said he likes coffee and when things smell good and now everyone gets him mugs and candles as gifts even though he refuses to have fire in the apartment

scared of fire in a way that is so visceral and upsetting

but loves a fireplace and listening to music and drinking a hot drink out of one of his hundreds of mugs in the winter

thinks a lot about taking classes at NYU in the history and psych dept to expand his knowledge

likes feeling the warmth of the sun in the morning and placed his bed perfectly in the room in order to be woken up that way every morning

his closet is organized in a way that is so orderly and simultaneously a nightmare to navigate bc matt uses his touch to find clothes so as long as he can feel it, it's fine where its at

has dropped and broken his phone hundreds of times and only knows its broken when he picks it up and he can feel the screen protector shattered

would call his partner 'counsellor' as a bit and then cannot stop doing it

hates going to stores where there's too much scent happening like bath and body works or lush

always dreamed of having an old man recliner in his future apartment, it's a financial priority and he would hold off retiring just to get his nice soft cozy chair

has timers set for specific times in the day because otherwise he will absolutely lose track of time and be unable to stay on schedule

has broken his red glasses often bc he puts them in his back pocket and sits, listening to them crunch under him

likes spin-y bar stools and will spin all night long at the bar

anime fan, like adventure anime where the protagonist and his friends have to go save the world or something

specifically loves hunter x hunter

enjoys doing lego sets but they never turn out quite right

has a lego collesium display in the office that foggy helped him finish and then glue together

hates sour candy

hates crocs, would rather lick a NYC sidewalk

has never been in a toys'r'us, but has nostaligia for the store

will feed the pigeons even though he understands the consequences

terrfied of geese

#matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut #matt murdock blurb

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falafelluva · 28 days ago

Note

Can you make a fic where reader gets accused of cheating and kenan believes them so he breaks up with reader. But later find out that it was all a lie, end with fluff please!!🤍🤍

; 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 - 𝘬.𝘺𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘻 ✮

summary: the req basically 😛

warnings: cheating even tho it’s not cheating? Kenan being rude and cocky? arguing, yelling etc. a man being weird towards women? betrayal

author’s note: I hope that this is what u meant anon, or if anything- close to what u meant! 🫡🫶🏽it’s 2:27 am rn, not proofread because I’m going to sleep🥰🙏😂😢

The afternoon sun poured through the window as you sat on the couch, scrolling through your phone. You felt content, waiting for Kenan to get home from practice, imagining how you’d surprise him with his favorite dinner.

Things had been good between you two, even with his busy football schedule. You knew how much he was putting into his career, and you were proud of him every step of the way.

Just as you set your phone down, you heard the front door slam open. The noise startled you, and you quickly got up to greet him. But the smile faded from your face when you saw the look on his face—Kenan stood in the doorway, his expression cold and furious, fists clenched at his sides.

“Kenan?” you asked, feeling a mix of confusion and dread. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t play dumb!” he exploded, his voice booming through the apartment. “You think I don’t know what’s been going on?”

“What the hell… Why are you yelling?” you mumbled, your heart racing. The anger radiating off him was palpable, and you could barely keep up with the storm brewing in his eyes.

He took a step closer, his nostrils flaring. “I’ve seen the messages, the screenshots! You’ve been sneaking around behind my back! Do you know how that makes me feel?”

“Kenan, wha—” you tried to interject, but he wasn’t having it.

“I don’t want to hear your excuses!” he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls.

“You think you can just do whatever you want without consequences? You’re nothing to me, i swear. I hope you know that I can hurt you ten times worse if I wanted to.” His words stung, and you flinched at the intensity of his anger.

“Is this really how you want to handle this?” you asked, tears threatening to spill over. “I would never cheat on you! You have to believe me!”

“Believe you?” he scoffed, his expression twisted in rage.

“Why should I believe a word you say? You think I’m stupid? Do you know who I am?” His eyes were wild, and you could see the hurt mingling with his anger, creating a storm that threatened to engulf you both.

As you tried to find the right words, he took another step back, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You’re unbelievable. I’m not doing this. We’re done.” He slammed the door behind him as he stormed out, leaving you standing alone in the empty apartment, your heart shattered into pieces.

The silence that followed was deafening, and you sank to the floor, feeling utterly lost.

How had it come to this?

You knew there were people who envied your relationship, but this felt too cruel, too calculated.

;;

Days passed, and life felt hollow. You barely ate, barely slept, replaying that moment over and over. Every time you tried reaching out, Kenan ignored your calls, leaving your messages unread. It felt like a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from.

Meanwhile, Kenan was hurting too. He threw himself into training, using the physical strain to block out the pain in his heart. But as the days went on, doubts began to creep in.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, that maybe he had been too quick to believe everything without giving you a chance to explain.

Every time he stepped onto the field, he felt the weight of your absence. His teammates noticed his distraction, throwing concerned glances his way. “Hey, man, you alright?” one of them asked during practice. Kenan merely shrugged, unable to voice the turmoil within.

Then one evening, as he scrolled through his messages, he received another DM from an account with no profile picture. It was the same person who had sent him the so-called “proof.” But this time, the tone of the message was gloating.

“Told you bro, don’t show these women no mercy😂”

Kenan’s heart raced as he read the words. His mind began to piece everything together.

The messages, the photos—they were all part of a lie, a deliberate attempt to sabotage your relationship. Realization dawned on him, followed by a wave of regret so heavy it left him breathless. He had believed a stranger over you.

Without wasting another second, Kenan rushed to his car and drove to your apartment, his hands shaking on the steering wheel. When he arrived, he hesitated at the door, fear and guilt gnawing at him.

He knocked softly, waiting, hoping you’d open the door— When you finally opened it, the sight of him brought a surge of emotions: relief, anger, love, and pain all mixed together.

He looked tired, his eyes filled with remorse as he stepped inside.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

You crossed your arms, holding onto the last bit of your strength. “What is there to talk about? You didn’t trust me.”

Kenan took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. “You’re right. I messed up. I let other people’s lies get into my head, and I didn’t give you a chance to explain. I’m an idiot.”

You looked at him, the hurt evident in your eyes. “I loved you, Kenan. I still do. But you made me feel like I was nothing to you, like you believed a stranger over me.”

He closed the distance between you, his expression desperate. “I was wrong. I let my insecurities get the best of me, and I hurt the person I love most.” He reached for your hand, his voice cracking.

“Please, give me another chance. I’ll spend every day making it up to you.”

A tear slipped down your cheek as you searched his face, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. You wanted to stay angry, to make him feel the pain he’d caused you. But the truth was, you still loved him, despite everything.

After a long pause, you sighed, your voice soft. “I don’t know if things can go back to how they were, Kenan. But maybe… we can try.”

Relief flooded his face, and he pulled you into a hug, holding you as if you were the most precious thing in his world. “Thank you. I’ll prove to you that I won’t let anything come between us again.”

;;

That night, he stayed with you, talking for hours, rebuilding the trust that had been broken. He promised to listen, to trust, and to be there for you, no matter what anyone else tried to say.

As he held you close, he recounted all the moments that made your relationship special—the late-night talks, the quiet walks, the laughter you shared. Each memory was a reminder of what he almost lost.

“Listen,” he said, his voice low and earnest, “I know I hurt you, and I’m going to do everything I can to make this right. I should have trusted you. I should have known you better than that.”

You nodded, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words. “I just want us to be honest with each other. No matter what happens, I need to know you’ll talk to me.”

“Absolutely,” he promised. “I’ll always talk to you. I’ll never let anyone come between us again.”

As you lay in his arms, the weight of the past few days began to lift, replaced by the hope of a new beginning. Love had been tested, but it hadn’t broken.

The following weeks were filled with healing and laughter as Kenan made a concerted effort to prove his love for you. He organized little surprises—like picnics in the park and movie nights at home—and slowly, the cracks in your relationship began to mend. The trust was slowly rebuilt with every conversation, every shared moment, until it felt like the betrayal had never happened.

#kenan yildiz x reader

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apollodarling-writes · 4 months ago

Text

INFECTED.

yandere! love infection au! levi x immune! doctor!reader x yandere! love infection au! reiner

commissioned by : anonymous

word count : 4961

cws : DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, yandere themes (duhh), delusional behavior, murder mentions, smut, cannibalism threats, levi can glitch through doors, abuse towards levi, edging mentions, aphrodisiac saliva implications, somnophilia, dubcon, whipping, pegging, needles mention, sub! masochist! levi x dom! sadist! reader,

author note : i went way over the word count, but i hope you like it!! sorry this took so long to get out to you !!

it wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

when levi purchased the love potion from that man in that dingy, cigarette-smoke filled alleyway, he had no idea that it would have such drastic consequences. looking back, the man’s smile had been too wide to have been in good faith, and it was possible that it had been political in nature as well. if not political, then maybe a shipment gone wrong or it had been smuggled in from marley, but an outbreak was not on his list of possible outcomes. he just wanted to be loved, not cause a fucking pandemic.

the sun hung low in the sky, the horizon painted in shades of pinks and reds— a testament to his love for you. somehow, levi had convinced you to have tea with him and reluctantly agreed to leave you alone afterward since it had been the only way to implement his plan.

levi’s mind was clouded with anxiety and doubt over the potion working; he’d bought it off of a shady man, and you had a fiancé at the end of the day. levi had high hopes that the potion would cause you to forget all about that beastly man and help you realize that you two were meant to be instead — that no one could love you as much as he does. even if levi was doomed to spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair, he was still confident that he was the only man who could truly appreciate you.

in the event that you didn’t forsake your fiancé, levi had made arrangements to kill reiner before having tea with you. after many weeks of watching, gathering information, and memorizing reiner’s schedule, he’d finally found the perfect opportunity to put an end to him once and for all. it’s a shame levi didn’t take the chance when he was still considered a traitor.

levi mindlessly placed two teacups from his most expensive set on the table, filling both with tea he’d prepared, then emptied the entirety of the potion into the cup he’d set out for you. the man from the underground had never told him how much to use or had even given him any instructions, and thus levi silently hoped it was enough. in hindsight, he really should’ve asked that.

once levi was satisfied with the arrangement and had finished making sure the difference between the two was unnoticeable, levi wheeled himself through the bustling city, the thought of his beloved finally returning his feelings causing a soft grin to tug at his lips — which had not gone unnoticed by the townsfolk.

upon arriving at the hilltop, levi positioned himself behind a tree with a sigh, watching as reiner left the survey corps establishment, and took a shuddering breath… missing his first shot due to his lack of depth perception. silently cursing himself and his circumstances, levi aims once more with a growing frustration, only to discover that his rifle is out of bullets. he had only prepared one, his excitement making him forget to account for his lack of sight in one eye.

levi glances at his watch, grumbling to himself about his failure to assassinate reiner, and decides to finish the job later. levi hurries back to ensure he was on time for his meeting with you, taking the time to inquire about reiner’s wellbeing as he passes through, promising to find the person who’d attempted to shoot him — a lie of course, but that was inconsequential information.

while levi was heading back to the agreed upon rendezvous place, his home, you had already arrived, blissfully unaware of the ongoings within the city. you wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible, not eager in the slightest to interact with the man who’d made your life hell for the last four years. your nose scrunched up in disgust as you lifted the teacup, smelling the sweet liquid in front of you. didn’t levi know you hated sweet things? he should have.

“for a man that claims to know everything about me, he sure as hell gave me some shitty tea.,” you muttered to yourself, switching the teacups after doing a sniff test on levi’s. you decided to tell him about the switch later, a sinking feeling forming in your stomach as you gaze at levi’s new cup.

when the man returned, his heart nearly stopped at seeing you already sipping on the tea. you looked beautiful. he wheeled himself to the table, greeting you with an imperceptible smile. “[name]…it’s good to—“

“cut the shit and get to the damn point, ackerman.” you scowl, placing your cup on the plate he’d provided and lacing your fingers in your lap.

levi sighs at your tone, begrudgingly beginning the conversation as he fidgets beneath the table. “after all of my efforts… after all these years, why don’t you feel the same? why can’t you just be mine?”

the man slowly lifts his gaze, regarding you carefully to see if the potion has taken effect yet. he watches as your lip twitches in disgust and contempt, his heart sinking as he realizes it had yet to work.

“you’re joking right?” you scoff, “you’re an underdeveloped man-child who can’t take a rejection and manage your jealousy — resorting to killing my loved ones and abusing your power as a captain.”

levi’s lips parted in silent shock as your words hit him right in the chest. he opens his mouth to speak, but you quickly cut him off, continuing your long-winded rant about how much you hate him.

“you’re entitled and demanding, which is hilarious because you’d think someone with that attitude would at least be the average height for a man — or have the dick size to make up for the lack of it. you have neither.”

levi’s bottom lip quivers as you bully him, his eyes burning as he casts his gaze to his lap and clutches his pants. of all the people this could have come from, it had to have been you. the one person with the ability to wound levi in such a way.

“not only that, but i enjoy having sex with submissive and humble men.” you continue listing off reasons, one of which includes that you hated the fact that he’d barked orders at you.

every word you speak pierces his heart, sniffling and quietly sobbing as he hears you say such cruel things — at the realization that the love potion isn’t working. levi opts to sip his tea, not saying anything and praying it’d work if you just got it all out.

“honestly, you’re so fucking pathetic. i don't understand how anyone would ever want to be with you.” you scoff, downing the final dregs of tea before adding : “and how could you claim to know me as well as you do when you cant even remember simple things i tell you? i told you i hate sugar and you gave me tea that fucking reeked of it. i couldn’t have drank any tea at all if i hadn't switched our cups!”

you slam the empty teacup down and storm out of his house, slamming the door so hard that his china case rattles. levi freezes, his eyes widening in horror as the realization that he was the one to ingest the potion dawns on him. he scrambles to wheel himself to the restroom so he can purge the potion from his system before it takes effect, however, his body had different plans.

due to his short stature and his lack of proper nutrition recently, the potion had worked in a much shorter amount of time. his fingers grip the tablecloth, his body leaning forward as shivers wrack his small frame. levi’s body grows numb, his grip slackening as he falls face first into the table — the teacups shattering and the shards from the broken glass slicing open his skin. levi recognizes that he should be in pain, but there was nothing. he stills for a moment, watching his blood pool beside him on the table with a morbid fascination — the color a softer, glossier shade of crimson than it should have been.

levi’s stomach felt painfully empty, something that seemed unusual for even him, but despite that, all he could think about was you. you were all that mattered. who cares about being hungry, hurt, or feverish if he can’t have you? he’d rather die than be separated from you.

falco and gabi, who levi had opened his home to after the war, had heard the ruckus. worried that levi had gotten himself hurt, the pair rush downstairs, their eyes widening as levi convulses on the floor, noting that his saliva had become pink. had he taken something? was he attempting to end his life?

falco forces his fingers down levi’s throat, attempting to get him to throw up whatever it is he took, but only after does he realize that levi hadn’t taken anything unusual. gabi and falco exchange a wary glance, wrapping their arms around him as they struggle to haul him up the steps to his bedroom. as the two get him settled in bed, falco pulls the sheets up around levi, observing the perspiration that had begun to dampen his hair. he motions for gabi to monitor levi, regarding the cuts on the older man’s face for a moment before rushing downstairs to grab the first aid kit, a bowl of cool water, and a cloth.

when falco returns, he tenderly cleans and dresses levi’s wounds, his lips pressed into a thin line and gabi’s eyes wide as she struggles to understand what was happening to their caretaker. the two discuss the best course of action in hushed whispers as falco places the cold compress on levi’s forehead to help his fever, deciding to monitor him in shifts.

days go by before levi’s symptoms get worse. falco and gabi were already struggling to keep up with levi’s increased appetite and fever — the crazed mumbling regarding you something they had fearfully taken a mental note of as well. the numbness in levi’s body had gone away, but the oddly colored saliva hadn’t.

it was later in the week, when levi had woken from a nap, that the children realized that levi’s eyes were no longer the dull shade of blue they’d always known him to have and were instead a vibrant pink. levi’s eyes were wide and frenzied, his tear ducts secreting the same pink substance that he had been salivating.

as the young boy removes the cool compress, levi’s hand darts out, latching onto falco’s wrist with surprising strength. falco whimpers in pain, sucking in air through clenched teeth as levi’s nails break through his skin, crimson marring the pads of the man’s fingertips. falco notices the way levi’s skin seems to be warmer than before — as if he were burning from the inside out.

falco struggles to remove levi’s grasp, and gabi quickly steps in to aid in falco’s rescue. the two struggle against levi, gaining multiple injuries from his sudden aggression. gabi, with a heavy heart, opts to strike levi with the lamp to save both of their skin. the older man’s eyes flutter shut, slumping against the bed with a thump!

gabi and falco pant, and with wide eyes, they watch as levi’s newest wounds heal. gabi immediately rushes towards her cousin, reiner’s, home and urges him to get his fiance — that levi was acting strangely and he needed help. rushing downstairs at the commotion, you take in the situation, recognizing that it was your duty as a doctor to treat levi. with a heavy sigh, you insist on reiner coming with you, not wanting to deal with a sick levi alone. you make haste as you grab your medical bag, throwing your coat on as you leave your home with the both of them in tow.

when you arrive, levi is awake, his gaze immediately shifting to you — recognizing the dainty perfume that you wear.

“you’ve returned…” levi grins at you, seemingly delirious. “have you reconsidered, my love?”

you scoff at his question, your lips curling into a sneer. levi’s gaze sharpens in response, gritting his teeth as his stomach grumbles.

“i can’t have you as mine, i’ll eat you instead. you’ll become a part of me forever.” levi growls. having enough of this behavior, in front of two children no less, you don’t hesitate to backhand him.

to your surprise, he shudders in delight as his tongue darts out to wet his lips. levi lunges at you, your fiance instinctively shielding you as the former’s teeth latch onto reiner’s forearm. reiner’s brows furrow, gritting his teeth as levi sinks his teeth deeper, the pink substance infecting the fresh wound. you hurriedly gather the restraints from your bag, a horrified expression etched into your features as falco and gabi both help to subdue levi, obtaining a few bitemarks themselves.

“what the hell is wrong with you, ackerman?” you exclaim, struggling to cuff his wrists. the three of you pant, having finally managed to restrain levi, the man in question scowls at that fact, his lips curling into a cruel grin as he regards reiner.

“i should’ve killed you when i had the chance, braun.” the shorter man all but spits. having enough of his behavior, you attempt to fasten a muzzle on levi, but the man sinks his teeth into you as well. you hiss in pain, smacking him in the face in an attempt to get him to release you. once again, what should’ve hurt only brings levi pleasure, a wanton moan parting his lips. you take the opportunity to fasten the muzzle, stepping back as you shield the children.

“falco, i need you to inform the survey corps of what’s going on. tell them to bring hange and armin… there might be an outbreak,” you order breathlessly, your gaze shifting to the boy. he nods furiously, his eyes wide as he takes one last look at levi before dashing off.

you carefully regard gabi, taking extra care to patch up and disinfect her wound before turning to reiner. you blanch as you realize that he too had begun to show symptoms — the strange substance trickling from his mouth, and his face flushed. you make haste to subdue your fiancé, the man chanting your name as if you were his religion, his words a prayer. you don’t hesitate to fasten a muzzle on him as well; despite the act saddening you, you knew you had to place the people above your wants and feelings.

“gabi, do you feel sick at all? anything out of the norm?” you ask, tearing your gaze from reiner with an aching heart. gabi shakes her head.

“what’s going on, [name]? why are they acting like this?” gabi sniffles, distraught at having seen two of the most important people in her life acting like rabid dogs. her lack of symptoms makes you conclude that anyone who hadn’t gone through puberty couldn’t be infected; your lack of symptoms meaning that must be immune, or that female-bodied adults couldn’t be infected. you make a mental note to test that hypothesis.

“i’m not sure… we’ll find a cure — i swear it. they’ll be back to normal in no time.” you respond after a few moments, gently threading your fingers through her hair as you pull her into a hug.

hange and armin arrive not long after you patch up your wounds. you waste no time in informing them of the situation as well as your conclusions. much to your horror, hange places you in charge of the research, and later it was ordered by higher-ups that you use this virus to increase the globally low population count.

a week passed before the lab and holding cells were fully prepared and ready for use. a team from each nation traveled to paradis to aid in the research and development of a cure, demanding that the island wait to investigate it any further until they had arrived. by the time the researchers had settled in, both reiner and levi were fully infected, and your observations of the stages, symptoms, and variations of this new virus were cataloged in a notebook you’d been provided with.

it was your duty to tend to their needs and to lead the research, yet even outside of political duties, you’d found yourself back in reiner’s holding cell. you felt responsible for his infection —if only you hadn't asked him to accompany you… maybe he wouldn’t have gotten infected.

“reiner… im so sorry.” you cry, causing a frown to tug at his lips. even now, he couldnt stand seeing you upset. reiner’s chains clink as he kneels before you, shuffling closer as he cups your cheeks in his feverish palms.

“dont cry, pretty…” he murmurs, lapping at your tears. your lips curl into a gentle smile, leaning into his touch. “there you are. y’look better when you smile f’me.”

you close the distance between the two of you, your lips pressing against his as you sigh into the kiss. your heart was heavy with regret and despair, but even if it was just for a moment, you could pretend that nothing had gone wrong — that reiner was still the same as before.

reiner groans into the kiss, his hands shifting to the back of your neck and your waist, tugging you ever closer. his fingers trail to grip the meat of your hips, your skin growing warm and your cunt pulsing with need. you waste no time, breaking the kiss as you shrug off your clothing, watching as reiner gazes at you through lidded eyes. he whines as your fingers wrap around the back of his head, shifting so reiner can slot his face between your thighs.

your fiance laps at you like a starved man, latching onto your clit as his fingers prod at your folds. you moan as his digits sink into you and curl into the places you need him most, his pace rough and fast as he prioritizes your pleasure. you rock your hips into his touch, eager whines from your lover adding to the pleasure you feel. your skin was slick with a thin sheen of sweat as your thighs trembled, lips parted and lashes fluttering.

“just like that, baby.” you moan breathlessly, your fingers tugging at his hair. “‘m gonna cum — doin’ such a good job f’me…!”

reiner whimpers at your praise, the vibration sending you over the edge as his fingers fuck into you relentlessly. your gummy walls flutter around his digits, your jaw slackening from the intensity of your climax.

“fuck, baby. yer such a good boy,” you whine, arching into reiner, rocking your hips into his eager tongue. your lover works you through your climax, his fingers sliding out of you and gripping your thighs as he cleans you up with his tongue — your hips bucking as he grazes over your most sensitive spots.

once finished, he gazes up at you with the same lovesick eyes, your heart sinking as you remember that this wasn’t the same reiner you’d always known. you sigh, prying open his jaw and ordering him to swallow the experimental treatment pills, then quickly dress to attend to levi.

when you walk into his cell, he beams at you, his gaze soon narrowing at the flush of your skin. “my love… i’ve missed you.”

“what the fuck are you so happy about?” you snap, tears welling up in your eyes, subconsciously shifting the blame to levi. “this is all your fucking fault.”

you kick him in the gut, your heel harshly digging into the meat of his stomach — but much to your dismay, the action forces a pleasured whine from his lips. you curl your lip in disgust as you zero in on the growing strain in his pants.

“i hate you. i wish i’d never fucking met you.” you grit out, harshly wiping at your tears. “i wish you died in the war — not eren!”

levi only grins, tilting his head at you. “i’m yours — your patient and your lover. don’t you get it? you’ll never be rid of me… the higher-ups are going to jump at the opportunity to increase the population — no matter how it's done.”

you clench your teeth, your fingers shaking as your fist connects with his jaw. you repeat the action over and over and over, his blood smearing across your knuckles with each strike. levi’s whimpers and whines only fuel your desire to hurt him — the erection he was sporting doing him no favors. you didn't care if you killed him — it would be better that way, you think. however, no matter how much you beat him, no matter how much you drove his skull into the wall, his wounds only continued to heal.

you angrily sob, pulling the experimental treatment from your bag with trembling fingers and filling the syringe with the serum. you dont bother to attempt to be gentle, harshly sinking the needle into his arm. “why can’t you just die already?”

“hit me more,” levi begs pathetically, his eyes half-lidded as his bloodstained form kneels before you. you jump at the opportunity, wanting to vent your frustrations in any way you’re able to. you don’t know how long you beat him, but by the time you’re finished, you’re utterly exhausted. your limbs are trembling from the effort, your lab coat covered in blood, and your knuckles are stiff and aching. you’re sure you’ve hurt yourself in the process, but you can’t bring yourself to care. not when everything is so fucked up… not when reiner isn’t the same as before.

that night, you fall asleep at the facility, knowing it’s your new home now. while you sleep blissfully unaware, levi decides to use the ability he’d accidentally uncovered a few nights prior. phasing out of his shackles, he roams the halls, searching for your room. once he stumbles upon it, he finds that the door is locked. levi clicks his tongue in annoyance, but takes great pleasure in how you were playing hard to get. didn’t you know you belonged to him?

stepping through the locked door, the sensation sending a shiver down his spine, his eyes lock onto your form. you were wearing nothing more than a thin nightgown — the material shimmery and see-through. he palms himself at the sight of you shifting, the nightgown riding up your thighs and revealing your panties.

levi groans, wasting no time in carefully tugging your undergarments aside as he unsheaths his cock from his slacks. careful not to wake you, the man slowly sinks into your gummy walls, nearly cumming from that alone. gently rocking his hips into you, he uses your body for his own pleasure, biting down on his lip to muffle his whimpers.

blood trickles down his chin from the effort, his cock twitching inside of you as your walls clench around him. his hands pull down the upper half of your nightgown, revealing your bare breasts to his hungry gaze. levi’s thumbs gently brush along your erect nipples — your walls pulsing around him as you let out a soft sigh in response. quiet whimpers leave your lips as he slowly fucks himself into you, his thrusts growing sloppy.

his cock twitches inside of you, hot cum spilling into your aching cunt as a quiet whine parts his lips. levi rolls his hips into yours a few more times, riding out his high, his digits gripping your hips to ground himself. he’s careful not to wake you as he cleans you up, pressing a tender kiss to the corner of your lips as he admires you for a moment longer.

during waking hours, you’d begun to experiment with levi, much to his satisfaction. levi recognized that what should have hurt only brought him pleasure — the sensation of whips and needles breaking his skin forcing him to rut against his mattress like a bitch in heat.

of course, due to levi’s favoritism of you, he became uncooperative with any other researcher on the team. reiner followed suit, lashing out at anyone who stepped foot in his cell. you’d had enough of their behavior — attempting to leave them alone for days on end to teach them a lesson, but it only made matters worse. others on your team wound up infected, leaving you with one other member to find a cure for this virus.

levi wasn’t happy with your obvious preference for reiner. he could hear reiner’s pathetic begging from the room adjacent to his when you’d edge him for hours on end, the sound of your squelching cunt reaching his ears and forcing him to fuck his fist — the feeling not quite the same as you no matter how tight he clenched his hand around his cock.

though, levi would admit that he loved it when you’d harshly fuck into him with no regards for his health and safety. he loved when your strap brushed against his prostate over and over again, forcing orgasm after orgasm from the man. no matter how long you fucked him, he could never get enough.

it was due to this that levi returned to your room after sabotaging your research every night; he never wanted this to end. if he could have you all to himself, even if you were cruel to him, levi would do anything… even if it meant placing his own selfish desires above humanity and abandoning every moral code and philosophy he had previously lived by.

some nights when levi visited you, he used your body while you slept. other nights, he simply admired you — studying and memorizing your features and the way you felt under his feather-light touch. tonight was different. levi was aware that you were having a wet dream, marveling at the soft whimpers that left your lips and the way he could see slick dampening your panties. you were all spread out for him, your nightgown riding up over your hips. levi is careful not to wake you as he hovers above your slumbering form, tugging your panties off and lapping at the wet spots on the fabric.

levi hovers above you, his lips inches from yours as he wonders how you’d react if you found out he was doing this. would you beat him more? he shivers at the thought, his cock straining against his slacks. without hesitating any further, levi tugs his manhood from its restraints, brushing it against your folds before slowly sinking into you.

he slots his lips against yours, the pink substance invading your mouth as his tongue brushes against every inch he can reach. your body grows warm, the aphrodisiac taking effect, and he feels your cunt pulse around him. trailing his lips along your throat and down your shoulder, he rolls his hips into yours, his cockhead brushing against a spot that has your lips parting with a soft whimper.

levi smiles into your skin, rocking his hips into that spot as he reaches his hand between your thighs to circle your clit. he could smell reiner on you, the thought of reiner being inside of you like this driving him wild. he growls, rocking his hips into you faster now, and intertwines his free hand with yours.

your lashes flutter, a sly smile tugging at his lips as he realizes that you’re slowly waking up, your quiet sounds of pleasure growing louder. the hand that was between your thighs shifts both of your hands above your head, using his weight to keep you in place as your eyes meet his. levi could tell that you didn’t know who he was — the lack of proper lighting and your grogginess aiding him in this endeavor.

“mmmf — fuck…!” you whine, your body arching into his touch. levi groans as your cunt tightens around him, realizing that your own orgasm was approaching. holding your wrists with one hand, he reaches between your thighs once more, the pad of his thumb circling your clit in time with each thrust. the sensation sends you over the edge with a loud moan, your nails digging into his fingers in an attempt to ground yourself. levi watches as your eyes roll back, your thighs trembling and closing around his hips, a guttural groan parting his lips as he cums.

“f—feels s’good!” you whine, rocking your hips up to meet levi’s sloppy thrusts. “s—such a good boy…”

levi whimpers at the praise, his jaw agape as he fucks his cum back into you. he buries his face in the curve of your shoulder, whining as the two of you come down from your high. you take the opportunity to switch positions, flipping the shorter man on his back and sinking his cock back into you.

the man’s fingers instinctively grip your hips, thrusting in time with each movement you make. the room becomes a chorus of pleasure; the squelching of your cunt, the sloppy kissing, the sound of skin against skin — all of it only heightened your shared pleasure. the only thing you could think about was how badly you needed to be filled with levi’s cum — how desperately you needed to fuck yourself on his cock.

the two of you continue until you both can no longer, neglecting to clean up due to your own exhaustion. the sun was well into the sky by the time you finished, collapsing beside levi as you gazed at him through bleary eyes.

for a moment, you feel as if you could get used to this — reiner filling you during the day, and levi at night. before you can think about it any further, your eyes flutter shut, sleep embracing you once more.

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inbloomwriting · 6 months ago

Text

Everything to me - Chapter 2

Chapter two - Blueberry & Kidney Bean

Chapter 1

Plot: Jamie Tartt is a lot of things: professional footballer, the island's top scorer .... sexually, extremly handsome. But one thing he never saw himself as was a dad. Too bad he has to deal with the consequences of his own actions. This fic follows reader and Jamie as they navigate life and turn from practially strangers to parents. Pairing: Jaime Tartt x female reader Warnings: Pregnancy, swearing, mentions of food and alcohol, slight mention of sexual intimacy (nothing graphic), strained/toxic parental relationship Notes: 5.6k words. I do not have a set uploading schedule. Please bear with me as I work on this story. I know hardly anything about pregnancy, all my information comes from google. I tagged everyone who asked me to do it when I posted part 1. Please let me know if you want to be taken off or added to the taglist. Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please

The store smells like dust and cardboard and old carpet. It's not necessarily a bad smell, it just doesn't live up to her memories.

She remembers the perpetual scent of menthol cigarettes and some kind of cheap men's perfume wafting through the air. The store used to smell like her dad and now it doesn't. And that just makes it all even more real.

Boxes upon boxes litter the room, filled with records. Some older, some newer. Guitars adorn one wall while the others are covered in posters from tours that happened long ago, some even before she was born.

There is something comforting about being here. It’s like stepping back into the past. Long nights watching Dad and his friends play their guitars after store-closing. Discovering new bands whenever a new shipment of records came in. And yes - she is the first to admit that in her younger years, she mostly chose the records by how cool the cover looked.

It’s also memories of Dad getting caught up in the after-hours jam sessions and forgetting about her dance recital and that one time he threw a guitar at the window out of anger that a shipment of records got lost. It took him months to get the window replaced. She could probably still trace exactly where the crack used to be.

Being here is very reminiscent in all the good and bad ways. But it’s a warped version of the past. One that’s laced with all the knowledge she has now. Like a movie that you’ve seen a million times.

“I don’t think pregnant women are supposed to be doing that!”

Jamie’s voice cuts through the nostalgia-induced fog like a sunbeam through the clouds. And it also gives her a little heart attack as the only sound filling the room up until now had been her moving around and the soft tunes of an Eric Clapton record playing in the background.

“Jesus fuck! You scared me. I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to startle pregnant women either and give them heart attacks.”

He looks at her with those big expressive eyes of his and a comically overdone pout on his lips. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. But seriously give me that.”

He’s so quick to take the box of records from her hands (Y/N) hardly has time to process what’s going on.

Quite honestly, his worry is a bit misplaced here but she appreciates the sentiment even if he might be a little overly cautious at that moment. It feels nice to be cared for.

“You know I’m pregnant, not sick, right? I can carry stuff.”

“Yeah but why would you if you got me carrying it for you?”

He has a point, she has to give him that.

“Fair enough. Those go over there in the corner please.”

Jamie follows her order without hesitation and, after setting the box down in its designated place, his eyes dart across the room and light up with childlike wonder and curiosity.

“This used to be your dad’s place, yeah? It looks really neat with all them posters and shit. Like stepping into an old person’s mind but like a cool old person that buys you alcohol when you’re 15 and lets you watch horror movies when your mum said no.”

Of all the adjectives in the world, (Y/N) wouldn’t ever think of using the word “cool” to describe her dad. He was creative and fun and eccentric and stubborn — but cool?

Then again he was her dad and no one ever likes to think of their own parents as cool. Oh god, will their kid think she’s uncool?!

“Uh yeah, the shop and the apartment right above us. He owned it, now I do. I’m trying to get it all fixed up and ready to be sold.”

“What? Why?”

There is something to be said about Jamie’s face and his absolute inability to mask his emotions. Everything he thinks and feels is mirrored twice as vividly on his face. He’s all furrowed brows and pouty lips.

“I mean — it’s a record store. People don’t really buy records anymore. Be honest, when was the last time you bought one instead of just streaming the music?”

“Like two weeks ago.”

“Fuck off, no you didn’t!”

“Uh — yeah, I did. Olivia Rodrigo if you must know.”

A soft giggle falls from (Y/N)’s lips. How fitting for Jamie to buy an album full of teenage angst.

��Well, you’re one of very few people though. In a perfect world, I wouldn’t have to sell. I’d keep it open. Instead of selling instruments, it’d turn that part of the shop into a little stage with a coffee counter or a bar. Host open mic nights and shine a spotlight on undiscovered artists. But the world isn’t perfect and there is no way I can afford to turn that vision into reality so really there’s no use in letting myself get too caught up in it.”

There is pity in his eyes and she hates it. She doesn’t want pity, not his or anyone else’s. Has seen enough of it, especially lately. If she had received just one more “Sorry for your loss” card in the mail from relatives she hadn’t seen in decades, she probably would’ve stabbed a fork in her own eye. Pity does no good to no one.

“Anyway, Jamie. Not that I don’t enjoy hanging out with you, it’s kind of necessary if we want to get this whole beings-friends-thing right, but uh — what are you doing here?”

“Jesus, can’t a guy just come around to say hi to his baby? “

She thinks the way he says the word “Baby” in his thick accent is surprisingly and undeniably adorable. As if it ends in an “eh” instead of a “y”.

“By the way, they’re as big as a blueberry now.”

And the way he’s keeping track of the baby's growth gets her right in the heart. For some reason, this seems to come so naturally to him when it all still feels weird and foreign and surreal to her. As if it were happening to someone else and she’s just a mere spectator. The idea that something as small as a blueberry will one day turn into a proper baby, a child, a teenager … a whole ass adult - is so wild to her. Almost incomprehensible. A person with their own feelings and dreams and personality. (Y/N) wonders if at any point in this pregnancy, she'll wake up and it'll all just make sense or if that only comes once she's holding the baby in her arms.

“That's cute. Doesn't answer my question though. What brings you here?”

A shadow of something flickers across Jamie’s face. Something unreadable and unfamiliar. Something that makes (Y/N) feel a sense of dread bubbling up in her stomach.

“I uh — I can’t do this.”

And there it is. That unfamiliar shadow is now a metaphorical atom bomb, a mushroom cloud of all that could have been and won’t be.

“Oh okay. I mean no, not okay. This sucks actually. You said you wanted to be part of the baby’s life and now you’re bailing? That’s a shit move, Jamie. You’re a right prick for pulling that crap.”

“What? Oh no!” his eyes widen as the realization sets in. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Well then what did you mean? Cause you’re truly giving me a heart attack right now. Second one for today. You really need to start working on your conversation starters.”

She had given him the chance to opt out of being a dad, to not be a part of the baby’s life. It seemed like the right thing to do and, foolishly, (Y/N) had believed that she’d be okay with him doing just that. In this very moment though, she feels everything but okay. The idea of Jamie changing his mind is terrifying.

Sometimes you don’t realize just how much you need something — or someone until you’re faced with the possibility of losing them.

“I mean, I can’t do this alone. I need to tell someone. All I keep thinking about is the baby and I feel like I am going to explode any second now. I know we can’t tell everyone yet ‘cause of — well you know, things going wrong and stuff. But I need to tell someone. You got to tell Rebecca and your mum, I think it’s only fair I get to tell two people as well, yeah?”

A sense of relief floods her. Starts in her toes and fills her all the way to the top of her head. He wants this — wants the baby. It’s not just her in this. It’s nice to know you have someone in your corner. It’s also scary. Because he deserves to know just whose team he’s on. And being vulnerable fucking sucks.

“Jamie, that’s fine. Absolutely you can tell your mum.”

“And Simon? You got two people so — “

“I didn’t though.”

“Uh yes, you did. I know you told Rebecca.”

“That’s right.”

“And your mum too”.

The silence that follows his words is deafening. Being vulnerable means also admitting guilt. It means owning up to all of your mistakes. Though we are not the sum of our mistakes, they are what help shape the person we become. And (Y/N) really doesn’t think they make her a very good one.

“And your mum too?”

More silence.

“You didn’t tell your mum? Why not? “

To his credit, Jamie looks truly surprised and confused. There is no judgment there, just absolute bewilderment and that signature softness that rounds out his features and settles in his eyes whenever Jamie talks to her about something serious. Granted they’ve not had that many conversations but she hopes that softness stays. She hopes that maybe their baby can have those soft, gentle eyes too.

“I’m not sure. I think I’m scared. My mum and I have a — complicated relationship. I disappoint her, she judges me. You know, the usual.”

“You think she’ll be disappointed because we're having a baby? Is it because of me?”

(Y/N) shrugs, breaking eye contact and fixing her gaze on the old grey carpet with the ugly 90s pattern. What if those soft eyes can look straight through her, see all the ugly parts and the insecurities? That’s too scary for now. Too much too soon.

“No, it has nothing to do with you. Think she’ll just be disappointed I didn’t get pregnant according to the timeline she dreamed up for my life when I was like 2 years old. Had it all planned out for me and I never stuck to it.”

Jamie is quiet for a moment but (Y/N) doesn’t dare to look back up at him. She can’t deal with any more pity.

“Well if you want to practice telling a mum, we can start with mine.”

“Huh?”

“You can come to Manchester with me if you want. To tell my mum. We’ll have one mum down then, makes it easier to do it a second time. It’s science.”

Jamie has the fascinating quality of making you believe in his words just by being so undeniably charming and because he believes in them himself. He makes it look easy when it is everything but.

“And if things don’t go well with your mum at least you’ll know you have at least one mum you can rely on, even if it’s not your own. She raised me pretty much by herself so she knows a thing or two about babies and parenting and stuff.”

The mocking raise of (Y/N)’s right eyebrow doesn’t go unnoticed by Jamie who opens his lips to a silent gasp and clutches his chest with an overly dramatic gesture.

“What? You saying I didn’t turn out perfectly?”

“No,” she laughs, a lightness festering in her chest. Like the first rays of sunshine after a cold winter that never seemed to end. Like a glass of wine after a long day at work. Like your favorite song on the radio at the exact moment you need it most. “I think you turned out exactly the way you were supposed to.”

“Thanks,” Jamie says with that cheeky smile playing on his lips that makes him look a little younger than he actually is. Then he dares to wink at her and it’s a little annoying but also insanely charming. “Not sure you meant it as a compliment but I am taking it. Now when are you free for a trip up to Manchester?”

(Y/N)’s been on a lot of road trips around the country when she was younger. She’s even spent a whole summer traveling Europe, partially by train but most of the time was spent stuffed in a Fiat Punto with 3 of her friends and all their luggage. It was stuffy, it was chaotic and it was immensely fun. None of those road trips ever involved a shiny black Aston Martin Rapide though.

Or a famous footballer dressed in the ugliest lime green sweater (Y/N) has ever seen.

“That’s all the luggage you got?” Jamie questions as he moves the black shades off of his eyes and sets them on the top of his head, holding back some of his hair. It shouldn’t work so well but it does.

“I mean, we’re only staying for a night right? Why? Should I have brought more? How much did you pack?”

He glances at her, then towards the car, and back at her. A sheepish look crosses his face before being replaced by his childlike cheekiness. “That’s confidential. Don’t worry about it, yeah?”

“I got my ginger lollies, that’s all that matters really.”

“You feeling alright?”

“Mh, I’m good. Just pregnant.”

His eyes drop down to her stomach for just a second before he nods his head in what (Y/N) can only describe as a mix of pride and satisfaction. “Yeah, you are.”

That’s new. Well not new-new but it hasn’t happened since the day of the funeral. That tingly feeling in her stomach that has fuck all to do with the baby and everything with how the baby got there. Yes, Jamie is hot and (Y/N) is the first to admit as much but there has been so much stress and chaos and she hardly had time to think about anything but surviving and making sure not to completely lose herself in bad visions of what-ifs that her brain has had no time to process any feelings of arousal or lust. That look he just gave her though, that one made her remember it for just a second.

“You sure you’re alright?”

Jamie’s voice shakes her from her daydream and brings her back to the real world, her eyes focusing back on the obscene car parked in front of her tiny apartment building looking so insanely out of place.

“Uh yes, I’m fine. I just — sometimes I forget that you’re famous.”

Jamie regards her for a moment before shrugging his shoulder and grabbing the bag from her hands. “I don’t. It’s fun. Now come on, let’s goooooo.”

His voice is dipped in excitement and there’s a bounce in his step. If this is how the prospect of seeing his mother makes him feel and behave, she must be one lovely woman. Whenever (Y/N) thinks of her own mother her chest fills with tiny metaphorical icicles. Sharp and rough and painful. It’s all regret and judgment and disapproval. It’s “You gained weight”, “you look tired”, and “You should really look into getting a new job”. Daggers disguised as roses. Stabs right to the heart in the name of being honest. “I just care about you, because I love you, because I am your mother!”

If there is one thing (Y/N) knows for sure, it’s that she will never ever find the need to resort to criticism and thinly veiled malice in order to show her child that she cares. They will know. Every single day. Because she’ll make sure to show them. Every single day in all the big and tiny ways a person can show their love.

“Kidney Bean?”

“Kidney Bean. And apparently, the baby is sprouting webbed fingers and toes right now. Oh, and it’s starting to move!”

“Can you feel that?”

“No, not yet.”

“It’s mental. Last week she was the size of a blueberry and now she’s a kidney bean. Kid’s growing up too fast.”

It’s true. There is so much happening all at once and it’s almost impossible to really process it all. Suddenly there is a tiny spark of a human inside her. Not really a baby yet but a baby to her. And it's moving and developing and changing every second of every day. Fucking insane.

“Wait … you said she. You think it’s a girl?”

Maybe it’s the sunlight casting a glow through the windshield but (Y/N) is almost certain she can just about make out a blush dusting Jamie’s cheeks.

“Dunno.”

“Jamie Tartt, do you want to be a girl dad?”

He glances at (Y/N) through the corner of his eyes for just a moment but it’s enough for her to see the sincerity in him. This is something he’s thought about before. Learning new things about Jamie is fascinating.

“Ah, it’s stupid, really. It’s — It’s dumb or whatever.”

“No, come on, don't go shy on me now. Tell me.”

He takes a deep breath. A moment passes then another. There is no rush. Sometimes silly thoughts are the result of harsh truths.

“Told you my dad was a prick. Like the biggest piece of shit walking this earth, yeah? And I knew that all my life. Thing is I still tried to impress him. I just — I wanted him to like me so badly. Just felt wrong that me own dad didn’t care about me and that made me angry. And I kept that anger inside me for so long. Sometimes when I think about the baby and the future I am scared that if I have a son that anger will jump over to him. Like maybe all Tartt men are cursed or some shit like that. But if I had a little girl maybe that would make it easier for me to be a good dad. I don’t mind either way, obviously, but the idea of having a son scares me.”

It’s the most vulnerable he’s been with her so far and by the way he clenches his jaw and grabs onto the steering wheel just a little tighter, (Y/N) can tell this isn’t easy on him. It means a lot that he shares this part of him with her anyway. It feels like they are actually becoming friends. So opening up to him in return is only half as horrifying.

“When I was a kid, maybe 11 or 12, I wrote a short story for school and I won an award. They did this big ceremony thing where the 3 finalists got to read their stories out loud for an audience and then receive their prizes. My mum didn’t show up, not sure if it was because she stayed longer at the office and didn’t care enough to leave on time or if she just didn’t feel like getting out of the house. Point is, she wasn’t there. When I came home that night I was sad, obviously, and I was also pissed. Because why the fuck couldn’t she take one night off to come see me succeed at something even if it wasn’t something she deemed worthy of praise.

So I yelled at her and I’m sure I said some hurtful things. But I was so devastated and angry and I needed an outlet for once. She called me ungrateful but I was used to that, she always called me ungrateful. Then she looked at me with that look of absolute resignation and malice and she said that she hopes I have a daughter like me one day and that she makes me realize how hard it is to love me.

When I think of the baby, sometimes I see a little girl too. One that I will love so much she never has to doubt it for a single second. And I will also prove my mother wrong. Because it will be so easy to love my little girl and it would’ve been so easy to love me, her little girl.”

It’s the first time she’s ever said those words out loud. Truly, (Y/N) had not expected for them to come out in an Aston Martin, on the way to meet her baby’s father’s mother but life doesn’t seem to care for plans very much these days.

Softly, as if to not startle her, Jamie places his hand on hers, squeezing gently.

“I think your mum is a right bitch.”

“Thanks. I think your dad is a huge asshole.”

“We’re gonna be better than them, right?”

It’s not really a question. It’s more of a promise.

“We will. I know it.”

His hand doesn’t leave hers for a good long while.

The nerves don’t hit her until they pull up to the quaint little house with the white front. There’s a rose bush to the side and some kids playing football just across the way. The nerves don’t hit her until Jamie puts the car in park but when they do, they hit her like a freight train.

“Woah, you alright?”

“Huh?”

“You look all pale and like you’ve seen a ghost or something. Do you have to puke?”

A chuckle falls from her lips at the absurdity of it all. In all honesty, she’s not met a lot of parents yet but the few she did meet were parents of actual partners. People she had been dating for a while. It was a natural progression of steps. This is all wrong and sideways and topsy-turvy. You’re supposed to meet the mum first and then get pregnant.

Again with the life and the plans.

“I’m fucking nervous.”

“Hah,” Jamie laughs. The audacity of this guy. “You’re nervous to meet my mum? Why? She’s an angel.”

“Do you not know how intimidating that is? Like, if she was shit I wouldn’t care but she sounds wonderful and I want her to like me. No, I need her to like me. Desperately. And I can only imagine what she thinks of me already. Some floozy who gets knocked up and really just wants your money.”

Before she even fully realizes what’s happening, (Y/N) feels Jamie’s hands on her cheeks, framing her face in warmth.

“Calm down, please. I promise it’ll be alright. My mum will love you, I know it. Probably more than she loves me. Actually no that’s a lie, but she will love you and she will love our baby. Promise.”

“She’s not gonna judge me for — you know. Getting pregnant even though we’re not dating or anything.”

“My mum was married to my dad, worst person on planet Earth. Don’t think she’s in any position to judge you. It’ll be alright, trust me.”

She hardly knows this man and yet she can’t help but do just that. Trust him.

The first thing (Y/N) notices about Georgie is her smile. A smile that is so familiar because it looks exactly like Jamie’s smile. Warm and radiant and true. A part of (Y/N) hopes that their baby inherits that same smile. Partially because it’s a really good smile and partially because maybe that could help Jamie realize that he is more than the sum of his father’s problems and mistakes. He is all his mother’s boy.

“Oh, I missed you, my baby.”

Georgie wraps her arms around Jamie’s middle, getting swallowed by his frame for a moment. There’s no denying that part of (Y/N)’s heart breaks a little seeing how loving of a relationship these two have and wondering where she and her own mother went wrong.

And as it so happens with so many kids that have never been loved quite the way they deserved, (Y/N) can’t help but search for the problem in herself.

“Yeah sorry for not visiting earlier. You know how it is with training and stuff.”

“Don’t worry about it. I know my boy is busy being a star.”

The words hold a slight mocking, never mean but in the way that only people who are close can tease each other. You know every word comes laced with deep affection, with pride, with love.

“And it’s so nice to meet you too. I’m Georgie.”

It takes a second for (Y/N) to realize that Jamie’s mum is now talking to her directly.

“I uh — oh thank you. Nice to meet you too, I’m (Y/N).”

Georgie smells like mint chewing gum and floral perfume as she pulls (Y/N) into a hug. She’s soft and gentle and it’s been the first hug from a mother (Y/N) has received in quite some time.

“Sorry, didn’t even ask if you’re a hugger.”

“Oh that’s alright, don’t worry about it.”

She’s not a hugger, never really was, but there is something about Georgie granting her some affection that isn’t all that bad. Maybe their kid can have at least one grandmother who cares and who isn’t completely disgusted by the idea of showing any kind of positive emotions.

“Jamie never brings girlfriends around so I’m a bit out of my element here if I’m being honest.”

“Mum we’re not — she’s not.” Jamie takes a big breath before starting again “(Y/N) and I are friends, yeah? Told you about it on the phone.”

“Right, right. Well, you don’t bring around a lot of friends either so same difference, really. Now come inside will you, I’m sure we got a lot to catch up on.”

Oh if only she knew how true that sentiment really is.

There are pictures of Jamie staring back at (Y/N) from every corner of the house and Georgie leads them through the hallway and towards the kitchen. Every wall and every shelf holds a memory of him at one point in his life. Gap toothed with a football in hand smiling, surrounded by a field of tulips arm wrapped around his mother’s shoulder, his teenage self smoldering at the camera with an even more questionable haircut than the one he is sporting right now. Oh to be loved in a way that every past version of you is being remembered.

As they reach the kitchen a sweet scent fills the room when a man clad in an apron turns around and faces them with a huge smile playing on his face. He has a dorky kind of charm to him that immediately puts you at ease. Maybe it’s just the frilly apron, maybe it’s the big oven gloves, maybe it’s the smile. Either way, (Y/N) thinks that if they take the news well, her kid might have truly lucked out on one side of the grandparents department.

“Jamie, welcome home.”

“Hi Simon, thanks, mate. Glad to be back. This is (Y/N).”

“The friend, right.” Simon says and shoots Georgie a look that neither of them misses. Subtlety doesn’t seem to be one of his best qualities. “It’s nice to meet you, (Y/N).”

“Nice to meet you too. It smells amazing in here.”

“I found this new recipe for honey blondies. Not sure if they'll be any good but I guess we'll find out. If you guys want to go have a seat, I'll come bring them over.”

“Actually,” Jamie speaks up while nervously fiddling with his hands. “I was hoping we could have a talk before we do anything else. There’s something I need to tell you both.”

Imagining the hypothetical scenario of telling your mum you’re having a baby and actually doing it really are two completely different things it seems. Gone is all of Jamie’s confidence and replaced with a whole lot of anxiety.

“You're worrying me, Jamie. What has you acting so serious? Did you get someone pregnant or something?”

Georgie's words are followed by a thick awkward silence. It's heavy and suffocating and it makes (Y/N) feel uneasy in both her heart and her head.

It doesn't take long for Jamie’s parents to realize what his silence means. Everything communicated by not saying a single word.

“Oh, fuck.”

And there's nothing to add to Georgie's reaction. It's the exact same one (Y/N) had when she first saw those faint blue lines.

Of all the possible outcomes and ways this day could’ve gone, (Y/N) had not expected to find herself staring at not only a curly-haired Roy Kent but also come face to face with two very persuasive arguments belonging to no other than Keeley fucking Jones.

“This is surreal.”

The posters stare back at her all crinkled paper and bleached ink, as if to mock her silently.

“Ah, well I told them to redecorate when I moved out, think they just haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

A light dusting of pink settles on the apples of Jamie’s cheeks as well as the tips of his ears. This man can’t hide his emotions for the life of him. It’s quite adorable really.

“Do they know?”

“Does who know?”

“Roy and Keeley. Do they know you have their pictures up in your room?”

“Well no and It’s not my room anymore, is it? ‘S not like I have ‘em hanging at home. Put these up ages ago.”

A giggle slips through (Y/N)’s lips at his desperate attempt to talk himself out of this situation.

“It’s okay, Jamie. I won’t tell.”

“There’s nothing to tell, alright?” he responds in mock offense before sitting down on his childhood bed next to (Y/N). “Just liked boobs and football and those two were the best those fields had to offer, yeah? Can’t really blame me.”

“Not much has changed has it?”

He shrugs his shoulders in response “Nah. Still like boobs and football but no way I’d put up a poster of granddad’s ugly mug nowadays.”

From the few times they talked about his job, including his teammates and coaches, (Y/N) was able to gather that Jamie’s relationship with Roy is something special. Odd, but special. Maybe that’s what happens when you end up working with your childhood idol. Either way, no matter how much shit he likes to talk about him, it’s clear that Jamie respects and admires Roy a great deal still.

“And uh — and Keeley?”

“What about her?”

“Is she — are you — how are things?”

She still remembers that crestfallen look on his face on the day of the funeral. That infinite sadness in his eyes. She hadn’t put two and two together at that moment but later that night it all clicked. Keeley was the woman he was in love with, the woman who did not love him back. And while (Y/N) knows that she and Jamie are only bound together by happenstance and fate — if one chooses to believe in that, and that there is nothing romantic about their situation, it does sting a little to know that the man you’re having a baby with is in love with someone else.

“We’re good. We’re friends, think that’s all we’ll ever be. Her and Roy, they’re happy and I don’t want to ruin it for either of them. Keeley and I just were not right together.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

He nods his head, a small smile playing on his lips “Yeah, I’m alright with it. If I hadn’t made a fool of myself at the funeral then you and I wouldn’t have — you know, and then we wouldn’t be having a baby. Little Kidney Bean.”

“That’s true. Your mum seemed excited.”

“Hah, sorry about her. She can be intense.”

Intense might be the understatement of the century. It took her approximately 2.3 seconds to get over the initial shock of the announcement and really process it before Georgie let out a scream of pure excitement and joy and wrapped both Jamie and (Y/N) up in her arms. She didn’t fully let go for a good 20 minutes. It was intense. It was also phenomenal.

“Don’t apologize. I am so glad she took it so well, Simon too. At least now I’ll have the certainty that my baby will have one set of loving grandparents at least.”

“Hey,” Jamie says and nudges her shoulder with his “We’ll sort out telling your mum next, okay. I’m sure it’ll go better than you think. And if not we can always call up my mum for some more hugs and a pep talk. Whatever happens, you won’t have to do it alone. I promise.”

For what is probably the first time in her life (Y/N) lets herself believe that there truly is someone else having her back, undisputedly and all the way. It’s unfamiliar. It’s a little scary. It’s also wonderful.

“Thanks, Jamie. I appreciate it, I really do. Think so far we’re doing alright, huh?”

“I’d say so. Two sexy parents and a little Kidney Bean.”

Their laughter echoes through Jamie’s childhood bedroom for quite a while longer until at some point it stills and gives room to soft breathing and quiet snores. The bed isn’t meant for two grown adults and really Jamie truly meant to sleep on the couch but somewhere between talks of baby clothes and childhood memories, eyes grew heavy and tired, and soon enough both of them are fast asleep.

Just them and their little Kidney Bean

— and a curly-haired Roy Kent

— and Keeley’s boobs.

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