#today’s text battle ended with

[dearlyjun]

CALL OUT MY NAME ☆ c. seungcheol

☆ PAIRING: slightly possessive boyfriend!cheol x reader (f)

☆ GENRE: NSFW (18+ readers only!!)

☆ SUMMARY: your ex boyfriend can’t seem to stop texting you lately; wouldn’t want to make your current boyfriend angry would you?

☆ WORD COUNT: about 1.8k

☆ WARNINGS: cheol is possessive in a protective way, mentions of an ex boyfriend that won't leave you alone, ex boyfriend is min yoongi, cheol has a deep voice, mentions of cheol working out, cheol is tatted, he wants to fight her battles for her (king), unprotected sex, different sex positions (cowgirl, kneeling missionary), semi voyeurism, clitoral stimulation, spanking (like once), cumshot, foul language, cheolie is very sweet at the end!! lmk if i missed anything!!

☆ AUTHORS NOTE: posting this in honor of @miupow’s birthday!! happy birthday, lia!! you’re one of my dearest friends (and moots) on here. im so glad we met!! and also shout out to lia for beta-ing her own bday fic and correcting my half asleep writing. yeah even i don’t know what was going on there.

BE ADDED TO MY TAGLIST HERE!

You were setting a bowl of food and a glass of iced tea down on your kitchen island, when your laptop started ringing.

“Ah, Cheol, give me a minute!” You spoke out loud to yourself, quickly grabbing a fork before tapping your keyboard to accept the video call coming through.

“Hi, Cheolie.” You greeted in a sing-songy voice as he -was filled up your screen with a smile on his face.

Your boyfriend was in Japan on a business trip for a few days; scheduled to come home tomorrow. You both made it a routine to have dinner together every night over video calls.

“You look pretty.” He answered, his gaze never leaving you.

You giggled at his compliment. “You see me everyday.”

Seungcheol smirked. “And? You’re always pretty.” He motioned at your bowl that was in the camera frame. “What’s for dinner today?”

“Oh, um, spicy pork bibimbap. You know; my favorite. What are you having?”

Seungcheol pointed to some things on the table he was sitting at. “Tuna and rice with some spicy sauce and vegetables, and chicken.” He let out a laugh. “Kind of boring.”

You smiled at him before taking a bite of your food. “Did you go to the gym today? I saw the workout notification on my watch.” You referenced your activity sharing feature on your Apple Watch.

“Yeah, of course the last day I'm here I find this really nice gym.” Seungcheol rolled his eyes and took a bite of his food before speaking again. “I was so excited that I actually almost did a 400 pound deadlift.”

“Oh my god…” You were just as excited for your boyfriend’s gym achievements as he was.

“Hang on, I think I took some pictures.” He picked up his phone and was scrolling through some pictures. “Yeah, see?” Seungcheol turned his phone screen towards his computer so that you could see. He scrolled through pictures of the scenery of the gym, and some pictures in the mirror.

“I like that one.” You suddenly spoke up with a smirk on your face.

“Which one?” Seungcheol questioned before looking at his phone to see the one of him completely shirtless In the mirror, showing off his back that was beautifully adorned with muscles and his tattoo that you loved so much. “Oh with the tattoo?” He smirked, knowing fully well how much you liked it.

“Yeah.” You smirked, cheeks flushing like this was the first time you saw him. Seungcheol always seemed to have that effect on you.

“I didn’t go to the gym today, I went shopping instead.” You slightly laughed.

“Yeah, I saw the Amex notification.”Seungcheol joked, setting his phone back down. “Buy anything nice?”

You gasped, dramatically covering your face. “See! That's why I don’t like using it all of the time.” Seungcheol always let you use his credit card to treat yourself however you pleased, and sometimes you would buy clothing pieces that he’d like on you. Unfortunately, the notifications always went to his phone.

Seungcheol looked at his phone again, laughing at your dramatics. “It’s not like it shows me what you bought. It just tells me the store.”

“Well you’ll be home by evening tomorrow, right?” You questioned. “I’ll show you then. It’s–“

Your voice trailed off as suddenly a notification of a text message popped up at the top of your laptop screen. It was your ex boyfriend, Min Yoongi. For some reason he has been non stop bothering you lately; asking how you’ve been, if he can “catch up” with you. You ignored every one of his advances thus far, but you hadn’t said anything to Seungcheol.

“What’s wrong?” Seungcheol instantly noticed the change in your tone and expression. “You got so quiet all of a sudden.”

You sighed. “Cheolie, I hate you fighting my battles for me.”

“It’s my job.” Seungcheol quickly retorted. “What’s going on?”

“My ex boyfriend. Do you remember Yoongi?” Seungcheol nodded. “For some reason he’s been trying to get a hold of me; texting me like he wants something between us again.”

Seungcheol got closer to his computer, the tone in his voice suddenly deepening. “Show me the texts.”

You picked up your phone, showing him the screen of multiple texts to all of which you did not respond to.

“And you didn’t respond?” He questioned, reading the texts on your phone as you swiped through.

“No, I haven’t responded to any of them.” You answered.

“Okay.” Seungcheol spoke, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms in front of himself. “I can’t get an earlier flight out. But If this happens again, I’m dealing with him.”

“Yeah, fuck yourself on my cock just like that baby.” Seungcheol sighed, looking down at his lap to where his cock was disappearing inside of your wet cunt. “Fucking use it.”

Seungcheol brushed your hair off of your shoulders for access to your collarbones; sucking and biting at your skin. You whimpered In response, combing your fingers through his dark hair and giving it a slight tug. That only egged him on more; letting out a low grunt.

Seungcheol gripped onto your hips, angling them forwards so that when you slammed down onto him, his cockhead would be hitting a different spot.

“Cheol! Fuck!” You cried out, reaching to hold onto Seungcheol’s sturdy frame before falling into his chest.

“Yeah, gonna fucking cum?” Seungcheol’s grip moved to your thighs as you whimpered; your face buried in the crook of his neck. “Look at me, look at me.”

You pulled yourself up, still using him for stability. You couldn’t fight your orgasm right now if you tried to.

Until your phone starts ringing, lost somewhere in the tangled bed sheets.

You jump, clearly startled by the ringtone playing at almost full volume.

“The fuck….?” Seungcheol muttered, eyes fixated on his wet cock disappearing in between your legs.

“Ignore it.” You hissed, lifting yourself up off of him enough so just the tip was inside of you, only to slowly sink back down to feel every inch of Seungcheol’s cock.

Seungcheol knew that was on purpose, yet he still let out one of the hottest moans to ever come out of his mouth.

“Give me that fucking phone.” Seungcheol spat, putting one arm around you to keep you in place as he rummaged around the sheets to his right.

He managed to find it despite your whining, looking to see that the screen read a phone number across it and not any caller ID.

Seungcheol shot you a glance before swiping the green icon at the bottom of the screen to pick up the call. He then put it on speaker phone.

“Who is this?” The tone in his voice was deep and oddly steady considering that you were still perched up on his lap with his cock inside of you.

“Y/N?” The voice on the other side of the phone said your name, startling you. You froze. It was Min Yoongi of all people that could be calling you.

You saw Seungcheol’s jaw clench as he heard another man say your name, but with his free hand he still gave your ass a light smack to keep moving.

“Why are you calling my girlfriend’s phone? I know who this is.” Seungcheol used his free hand to pinch one of your nipples between your fingers, making you whimper.

“I just wanted to talk…” Yoongi’s voice trailed off and you didn’t know what he said only because Seungcheol whispered to you to lie down onto your back.

You followed directions, wincing at the empty feeling between your legs when you were on your back. Seungcheol immediately pushed your knees towards your shoulders and kneeled in front of you, aligning his cock with your entrance once again.

“We can talk.” Seungcheol spoke to the phone while he was teasing your folds with the tip of his cock. You grabbed a hold the comforter with your left hand, desperate for something to hold onto.

“Cheol, fucking put it in. Please.” You whined loud enough to be heard through the phone. Seungcheol had a satisfied look on his face, nodding as he finally pushed himself inside of you slowly enough so you felt everything; all of him.

You threw your head back; arching your back against the bed. Seungcheol put his hand onto your stomach to keep you still, then moved it down slightly to stimulate your clit with his thumb. Letting out a strained moan, you nearly wanted to scream.

“Awful quiet there, Yoongi. That’s your name right?” Seungcheol’s voice was so deep that your core clenched around him tight. “What happened to talking?” You were sure that the noises of his cock sliding in and out of you could be heard on the phone by now.

“I mean, obviously I’m a bit busy right now.”

“Cheol!” Your voice startled even you. Not quite a scream, but more like a whiny moan. Seungcheol’s body was quickly against yours within mere seconds; with his weight pressing into you.

“Mhm, call out my fucking name baby.” Seungcheol’s lips ghosted over yours as he lightly kissed you, then he found your right hand that was gripping onto the comforter and laced his fingers with yours. “Let him and everyone else hear it.”

The call either dropped or your phone died because it was silent, but neither of you were paying any attention.

“Cheol! fuck!” You swore, and just like that you were cumming all over his cock; shaking as he kissed you sweetly all over your face.

Seungcheol was on the brink of cumming, and you could tell. So naturally, you used his weakness to your advantage. He always gave in when you begged him to cum inside of you; he’d never tell you no.

“Cheolie, cum in me….please.” You gripped onto his thick arms as he supported himself above you; following your words exactly as his breathing became unsteady.

“Shit…fuck.” Seungcheol panted, dropping his head and making his hair fall into his face. You couldn’t help but let out a whimper at the feeling of him finishing inside of you.

The two of you were silent, and Seungcheol adjusted himself to not drop his entire weight onto you.

“I’m sorry, cheolie.” You muttered, running your fingers through his now messy hair.

He quickly had a concerned look on his face. “For what, princess? You didn’t do anything.”

You slightly laughed at the situation. “My ex is calling me, literally while we’re having sex.”

Seungcheol was smirking. “Yeah, but he’ll probably never call again.” He grabbed your hand, kissed the back of it, then kissed your face. “He should know that you’re mine.”

☆ TAGS: @lavnderwonu @dokyeomkyeom @https-yeonjun

[ponderingmoonlight]

Wicked Games

Pairing: Sukuna x fem!reader

Word Count: 3k

Synopsis: From the second Ryomen Sukuna appears on the surface on earth again, you are bound to each other. Until the Shibuya accident. Until Sukuna gets confronted with the fear of losing you first-hand.

Warnings: angst to fluff y'all, enemies to lovers in a kind of rushed way, this made me think about doing a series with like 5 chapters and a slow burn enemies to lovers with Sukuna x curse!reader - how do you feel about that? <3

Inspired by this prompt:

You remember it as if it was yesterday. The night was cold and eerily quiet when you sprinted through the dark streets, your body buzzing with the vibrations of cursed energy.

The reports had come in just an hour ago: a powerful curse had manifested, and it wasn’t just any ordinary curse. The whispers and especially Gojo spoke of something ancient, something nearly forgotten. Something that had slumbered within the shadows of legends until now.

“Guess what, (y/n)? Megumi found something that might interest you”, Gojo jeered at you through the phone when you already felt it.

Ryomen Sukuna.

You had heard his name your entire life - a dark deity, a figure so terrible that entire villages had been wiped out by his bare hands centuries ago.

Since you were a child, you've been obsessed with him, the so-called "King of Curses." Not because you were drawn to the death and chaos he brought, but because of the mystery he posed. The idea that something so cruel, so powerful, could exist outside the boundaries of human comprehension. As a sorcerer, you committed yourself to understanding curses, to studying their origins, motivations, powers. And there was no greater paradox than Sukuna himself.

But now, he wasn't only a paradox anymore. Now he had returned. They had found one of his fingers. Apparently, someone had consumed it.

“I’m in the middle of souvenir shopping and guessed you wouldn’t mind stepping in and helping little Megumi out.”

"Normally I'd scold you but today...thank you, idiot."

Yuji Itadori, the boy who had swallowed Sukuna’s cursed finger, who brought Sukuna back into the world after centuries of slumber, stood right in your sight along with Megumi Fushiguro. But you couldn’t let yourself worry about the boys; your focus was on the curse now staring straight back at you.

Your fingers tightened on the hilt of your sword, the cursed energy crackling around you like lightning in the dark night. You had prepared your entire life for this moment. The countless hours of sickening training, the sleepless nights spent poring over ancient texts and scrolls, and the battles fought against nameless curses. All of it had led you here, to your first confrontation with the King of Curses.

As you reached the completely destroyed school building where the cursed energy was originating from, you could already feel it. The overwhelming, tyrannical weight of Sukuna’s presence. It was unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, so thick it felt as though it was suffocating you.

You pressed on, despite the nausea building in your chest. There was no time to second-guess yourself. You moved swiftly through the corridors of the building, your footsteps echoing in the empty halls. The cursed energy grew heavier with every step, your breathing becoming uneven when the spiteful aura grew stronger. And then, at the far end of the hallway on top of a roof, you saw him.

At first glance, it was a boy, a teenager no older than Megumi. His body was rigid, standing in the middle of that roof, shoulders squared as though fighting an internal battle. But the look on his face, the wicked smile stretched across his lips, told you otherwise. The way his dark eyes gleamed with wicked amusement confirmed what you had feared.

This wasn’t Itadori anymore.

This was Sukuna.

“Interesting...” Sukuna’s voice rumbled from the boy’s throat as his gaze locked onto yours.

His smile widened, predatory and cruel.

“What do we have here? Another little sorcerer, so eager to die?”

You held your ground, your body tense but steady. This was no ordinary curse you were facing. Every instinct screamed at you to flee, but you couldn’t, you wouldn’t, allow fear to take control. Your entire life had been building up to this.

“You’re not getting out of here,” you said, your voice firm.

“Not while I’m here.”

Sukuna chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. His eyes narrowed, taking you in.

“Brave words, but foolish. Do you really think you can handle me, girl?”

You didn’t respond with words, Instead, you shoved Megumi behind you and let your cursed energy flare to life around you, the air crackling with power. You moved swiftly, launching yourself at him, your blade drawn and poised for the strike.

But Sukuna was fast — faster than you had anticipated. With barely a flicker of movement, he dodged your attack, his grin never faltering. He countered with a swift punch, sending you flying across the air and crashing into the opposite wall. Pain exploded in your chest, and you gasped for breath.

“Is that all?”, Sukuna taunted, his voice filled with mockery as he stalked toward you.

“I expected more from someone who’s been chasing me.”

You coughed, blood trickling from the corner of your mouth, but you forced yourself to your feet. Your body ached from the impact, but the adrenaline was stronger. You had trained for this. You wouldn’t go down so easily.

As Sukuna advanced, you focused your cursed energy into a powerful barrier, your eyes blazing with determination. You wouldn’t let him win. Not today.

“Let the boy go,” you demanded, your voice sharper now.

“I’m your opponent now.”

Sukuna’s eyes gleamed at the challenge.

“Bold. But you should know better than to give me orders.”

The battle was swift and brutal. Sukuna’s strikes were relentless, his movements impossibly fast and deadly. You could barely keep up, each of his blows a near-fatal attack. But through it all, you fought with everything you had, refusing to back down.

You’ve studied Sukuna your entire life. You knew his techniques, his fighting style, the cruel unpredictability of his power. But even with all that knowledge, facing him in person was something entirely different. His cursed energy was overwhelming, suffocating, a malevolent force that pressed against your very soul.

And yet, you stood your ground.

As the fight wore on, something shifted in the way Sukuna looked at you. What had started as amusement, as mockery, slowly turned into something else. Curiosity. Interest. Even a hint of admiration.

“You’re not like the others,” he jeered at one point, dodging one of your attacks effortlessly.

His eyes flickered with something dangerous, something… intrigued.

“You’re still standing. Most would have died by now.”

You spat blood onto the ground, your body screaming in agony but your will unbroken.

“I’m not most people.”

Sukuna chuckled, the sound dark and throaty.

“No. You’re not.”

That was how it began. The first encounter — your first dance with death and the King of Curses. It didn’t end with your victory or his defeat. No, you knew better than to believe you could win against him in a single battle. But it wasn’t a defeat, either.

It was the beginning of something bigger.

After your first encounter with Sukuna, something within you shifted. Yuji Itadori regained control, but you knew it was only temporary. Sukuna wasn’t gone. He was still there, lurking beneath the surface, waiting for his next opportunity to take control. And when he did, you were there.

Every. Single. Time.

Every time Sukuna resurfaced, you fought him. It became a twisted routine, an endless game of cat and mouse where neither of you could claim absolute victory. You learned his techniques, his fighting style, and the nuances of his cursed energy. You pushed yourself harder, training longer, grew stronger. And with every battle, Sukuna’s interest in you grew as well.

He began to speak to you during the fights, taunting you, teasing you, but always with that glimmer of intrigue in his eyes. He never seemed eager to kill you, not really. In fact, there were moments, brief, fleeting moments, where he seemed to hold back, almost as if he was enjoying the challenge you presented.

“Why do you keep coming back?” you asked him one day, your voice strained after yet another brutal fight.

“Why haven’t you killed me yet?”

Sukuna’s grin was feral, his eyes glittering dangerously as he wiped the blood from his lips.

“Because you’re amusing,” he replied, his voice low and menacing.

“And because I’m not done with you yet.”

You hated the way his words sent a shiver down your spine, the way his gaze seemed to pierce straight through you. But more than anything, you hated how much you wanted to beat him, to prove yourself against the King of Curses.

As the months passed, you found yourself drawn deeper into Sukuna’s world. You fought him, studied him, and slowly but surely somehow began to understand him. He wasn’t just a mindless monster, not like the other curses you’ve faced. There was something more to Sukuna, something ancient and calculating, a mind sharper than any blade.

And Sukuna, in turn, began to learn more about you. He observed your fighting style, your strategies, your strengths and weaknesses. He pushed you, challenged you, forced you to grow stronger with every battle. There was a strange, unspoken connection between you: a mutual recognition of each other’s strength, a respect born from the countless times you’d clashed.

But there was something else, too. Something neither of you wanted to acknowledge. Something that simmered beneath the surface of every encounter.

You hated him. You despised everything he stood for, the chaos and destruction he brought into the world. But there was a part of you that couldn’t deny the pull you felt toward him — the way his presence ignited something fierce and primal within you.

And Sukuna? Sukuna had grown attached to the thrill of facing you. You were unlike anyone he’d ever fought. Strong. Determined. Unyielding. It was no longer about crushing you under his heel. It was about keeping you close, about testing your limits and pushing you to your breaking point.

But neither of you were willing to admit what was truly happening between you.

You smile weakly to yourself, blood spilling from the corners of your mouth. Not even now.

The Shibuya Incident is chaos. The city is overrun with curses and the streets are filled with blood and screams. You dispatched alongside other sorcerers to contain the situation, but things quickly spiraled out of control. The curses were too many, too strong, and the collateral damage was catastrophic.

Your focus was on protecting your students, the young sorcerers under your care who had been thrust into this nightmare far too early in their training. You were always their protector, their guide, and you would do anything to keep them safe. But the battle was relentless, and the curses were closing in fast.

In the midst of the chaos, Sukuna reappeared, his presence like a dark shadow over the battlefield. He took control of Yuji once again, his cursed energy crackling through the air with terrifying force. You felt it the moment he arrived, your senses attuned to the overwhelming hatred that accompanied his presence.

You barely had time to react before you were caught in the crossfire. A powerful curse lashed out at you and you moved to shield your students from the blow. But the attack was too fast, too strong. It tore through your defenses, the cursed energy slicing through your body like a hot knife through butter.

Pain exploded in your chest when you collapsed to the ground, blood pooling beneath you. Your vision blurred, your breath coming in ragged gasps. You had suffered injuries before, but this… this was different.

This was fatal.

The world around you fades almost instantly, the edges of your vision go dark. You can feel your life slipping away, your body growing cold.

Out of all people, why does it have to be him you long for the most? Why do your eyes start watering by the thought that you'll might never see him again, that you were never able to feel his lips pressed against yours? Are you really so naive, so dumb? Fuck, you really fell for the King of Curses, the root of all evil.

But then… you hear his voice.

“Get. Up.”

Sukuna’s voice cuts through the haze of pain and exhaustion like a lightning strike. You blink, trying to focus, trying to understand what is happening. Is he really there? Are you hallucinating?

“Get up,” he repeats, his voice sharp and commanding.

But then you feel it. His hand pressed against the gaping wound in your abdomen. No, he's really there. It's really him.

“You’ve suffered bigger wounds. And if you don’t get up, I’ll destroy everything that’s left of this world.”

You force yourself to breathe, your chest burning with the effort. But your body isn’t responding anymore. The pain is too much. You simply can’t move. The only reaction you're able to build up is a weak smile.

Is this really how it ends? With another empy threat?

Sukuna growls, crouching down beside you. He can't let you die here. Not like this, not after this short time. There's still so much more he needs to show you, so much more he needs to say.

Before he realizes what he's even doing, his hands are on you, cursed energy flowing into your body, patching up the worst of the damage. It isn’t healing, not really - more like forcing your body to hold together for just a little longer. Just enough to keep you.

“Please…”

Sukuna’s voice is strained, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

“Please get up. Don’t die on me.”

You blink, your heart stuttering in your chest as his words sink in. He’s asking you. Pleading with you...Not to die?

“Please don’t die on me.”

With his cursed energy coursing through you, you really feel your strength returning, your wounds slowly mending under his influence. The pain fades away, replaced by a strange warmth that spreads through your body. You gasp for breath, your chest rising and falling as life surges back into you.

Did…Ryomen Sukuna save your ass? Your heart pounds so roughly against your ribcage that you feel like fainting all over again. This can’t be possible, right? You have to be dreaming. After all, Ryomen Sukuna is your greatest enemy, responsible for at least half of the mess here.

“I’m not… done yet,” you rasp, your voice weak but steady.

Sukuna’s lips curl into a smirk, his eyes gleaming with something dangerous paired with a hint of relief.

“That’s more like it.”

He helps you to your feet, his hand lingering on your arm for just a moment longer than necessary. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you, the unspoken bond between you stronger than ever.

"What, were you worried about me, dumbass?"

Faster than you're able to react, he grabs your arm again and pulls you in. When his lips press themselves against yours, you forget how to exist for a second. Out of instinct, you open your mouth, allow him to enter, close your eyes when your whole body starts to burn up all over again.

Oh, you imagined this more than once. How do his firm arms feel against your touch? Are his lips softer than his cruel words? Is Sukuna a good kisser?

A desperate moan escapes your lips before you can stop yourself, your arms now roaming all over his muscular frame.

This...this is so wrong. You shouldn't do this, shouldn't even dream about something like this. But as sudden as he appeared, he's gone again, leaving you with nothing but your swollen lips as a proof for what just happened.

Are you actually going insane?

Bonus:

After Shibuya, things changed between you and Sukuna.

The battles continued, of course. The fights, the challenges, the taunts, the unnecessary deaths and killing  - none of that stopped and you still hate him with every fiber of your being for all those horrible things he did. But there is something else now, something that neither of you can ignore. The second Sukuna saw you lying there in a pool of your own blood on the edge of death, he started to realize it.

You aren’t a simple enemy for him anymore. You are his obsession.

Sukuna’s possessiveness over you grew, but so did the strange, unspoken understanding between you. You weren’t just another sorcerer to him anymore. You were his: his opponent, his challenge, his equal. And though neither of you would ever admit it out loud, there was a twisted sort of affection in that.

And you?

You’ve found something unexpected in the King of Curses. Not love, not really, but something close. Something raw and powerful, a connection without any logic and reason.

You didn’t know where it would lead. But you knew one thing for sure:

As long as Sukuna was in this world, you would be right there with him.

And that was enough.

Tags:

@arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld

@hellkaiserinphoenix  @lauv4chuuya @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen

@magalimachete @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut 

@mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0

@ynackerman9499 @keepghostly  @froufrousnowman @tomiokathedepresso @gojosrealwife 

@coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain 

@risuola  @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny

@ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr

@sugu-love @belovedvamp @wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world

@oikawarz @darkstarlight82 @satoreo @kentocalls @cheesemachine44

@ryva @kenjakusconcubine @baku2345 @komelrebi-san @deezy12299

@okay-it-is-ivy @paridoliaaa @cupcaketeddybehr

[forteafy]

A House, A Home | CL16 & CS55

Summary: A loveless marriage usually comes after years, not before. You've always loved him, his best friend has always loved you.

Word Count: 10.1k

Warnings: Hard Angst, Cheating, Mentions of Sex, Death.

Note: This piece has two heavy inspirations. The first is @lxclerc's amazing pieces 'Moth to a Flame' and 'Call out my Name.' They are both incredible pieces and I highly suggest you give them a read. The second is from a TikTok Account called 'ForPercival,' they are currently doing a social media AU which I cannot recommend enough.

PART 1: A House, A Home | PART 2: Where Do We Go? | PART 3: 'You Think, You Know'

Charles Leclerc is a husband. 

At least, he was your husband on paper. One year ago, a hidden agreement had been put in place between Scuderia Ferrari and the Leclerc Household; their son, the ‘Il Predestinato,’ of the team, (albeit one whom had had the most terrible season,) could continue to drive for the team, so long as he married the daughter of one of their longest-running investors.

That so happened to be you. 

You had been against the entire idea since the first day. After being introduced to Ferrari’s driver, you had instantly felt the divide between the two of you. You’d reluctantly shaken his hand and since then, had been thrown through a mixture of fake dates, a fake engagement and the fakest wedding that could possibly be imagined. The ceremony hadn’t even ended with a kiss, per tradition. 

It didn’t take long for your walls to crack; living with Charles, seeing him at his highest and lowest points, his most vulnerable behind the four walls of your home had caused your heart to soften. Forget being forced into this marriage, you’d grown to care, to adore the man who’d once burdened you with his presence. You dreamed of the day he would return your affection; how long would it take for you to realise you lived in denial? In your late-night fantasies, lying alone in one of the guest rooms you’d sought refuge in on moving into this ­house, you’d dreamt of lying in his arms, lazy morning breakfast, slow kisses when he would come back to you. To your home.

A home, however, is where you feel safe, warm, protected. You lived in a house with Charles. The man who would barely glance your way and after three months of your marriage, started coming home, smelling of rich perfume and lipstick marks littering his jawline.

The first anniversary of your marriage should have been special, even if he despised you in every known form to man. You’d woken up in your room, slipped on the silk robe which had been lying on the empty bedside and slipped out of the bedroom. In your heart of hearts, you knew there would be no significance of today; no flowers, no card, not even a simple text from your husband to signify the date in question. The only text you had received that morning, was a stern reminder from your father, that you were due to attend the Monza Grand Prix in less than one week. 

A soft sigh emitted itself from your lips; it was a routine you knew all too well. Every few races, the more significant ones; Monaco, Silverstone, Spa-Francorchamps, Monza, you’d play the doting wife; cheering for your husband whilst dressed in soft summer dresses, a forged grin if he managed to battle his way into the points. On those rare days when he would obtain a podium position, he’d greet you on the barriers with a soft kiss. It was all fake; a routine which had been performed so many times. Yet, each time his lips met yours, you could dream he meant something behind the affection. 

The train of thought had played through your mind for so long that you were unaware of the tears pooling on your lower lash line. So, what if Charles wasn’t at home for your anniversary? It was your thought for feeling any kind of emotion towards him in the first place. It was a business deal, after all. Did your husband enjoytreating you like this? His disappearance on that morning was a cold reminder that he felt nothing towards you. No sentiment, no adoration. 

Despite the tears which had bade your eyes that morning, until the mid-afternoon, you had a productive day. Of course, leaving the house was out of the question; what would the media say if devoted wife of Ferrari’s driver was seen without him, on their wedding anniversary of all days? 

Instead, you’d played soft music whilst re-organising your wardrobe, something you’d put off for a while now. Cooking a meal whilst lazily treading around the kitchen, experimenting with the spices that Yuki had gifted to you on your previous visit to a Grand Prix. The meal itself was too big to eat alone. Instead, you boxed up the remainders of what was left in the tray, carefully placing it in the fridge, knowing Charles wouldn’t actually eat it. 

Your evening had been…less productive. You’d found solace in a glass of red wine, lounging on the sofa of the main living area; usually, you kept as far away from that zone as possible. Charles would spend his evenings in the couch, eyes flickering between the television and his phone, no doubt sending longing messages to his mistress whilst his wife was in the home. 

The ­third glass had just about been drained. You were adamant upon gaining a fourth, no longer caring of any commitments you had the next day. Instead, you sat up abruptly from the sofa, hearing the gentle click from the front door. 

He had come back to the house. 

His green eyes barely took a second to meet yours, slipping off his shoes and placing them into the rack situated by the front door. A rustle of his jacket signified his option to stay. You saw him carry the garment over his arm as he trudged into the living area, set to lie in front of the television for some personal relaxation. 

With his entry to the room, you suddenly remembered your position. You’d hastily stood up from the couch, collecting the half-finished bottle from the low table, holding the glass to your chest to draw the attention away from your beverage. 

Charles said nothing; he’d unlatched the top two buttons from his dress shirt; faint purple marks nestled on the lower joint of his neck; a clear mark that his mistress had previously made, a sinful reminder of his adultery. 

“I left you some dinner in the fridge.” You mumbled, voice barely picking up over the sound of the television. “There’s some clean loungewear on the end of your bed, too.” You finish your sentence. Your husband doesn’t even attempt to tell you he’s acknowledged your words, eyes transfixed on whatever news was currently playing on the television. 

“Happy Anniversary.” You mumble, feet leading you back to the kitchen, the bottle of wine against your chest now seemingly the only attention you’d ever get. 

Charles Leclerc is an actor. 

The entire drive to the track had been bade in complete silence; not even the radio had been switched on to drown out the undeniable tension in the car. You had originally tried to make light conversation with the man; he couldn’t even be bothered to make a sound in response to any of your questions. 

You couldn’t handle the harsh tone he had snapped at you with the previous time you had been in the car; instead, you watched the rolling hills and glistening sun of Monza. It was always one of the highlights of the year. If not for the racing, you would have come here in your own time, to bask in the sun and to enjoy the secluded section of Italy as an individual. 

The incredible views soon began to fade out, instead replaced by expensive cars and adoring fans, leaning over the barriers in an attempt to see their favourite drivers; there was an uproar as your husband drove past the crowds; he was clearly the home favourite, as any member of the Ferrari crew would be in this location. Silently, you slipped on the sunglasses which had been resting in the pouch of your bag, knowing the paparazzi would be blistering your eyesight sooner rather than later. 

Charles effortlessly parked his car in the allocated spot. Silently, he switches off the engine, removing the keys and shoving them into his jean pocket. The man doesn’t so much as register your presence as he opens his door, leaving you to venture out of the car yourself. You’d carefully adjusted the flowing fabric of your dress; the patterned fabric flowing gently around your calves. 

You looked beautiful. You just wished your husband would care enough to tell you.  

Instead, his priority is the cameras leaning over the barriers. He doesn’t even look in your direction, instead firmly grasping your hand in his own; an act the two of you had performed for the crowd oh-so-many times. He waves towards the crowds; neither of you miss the adoring sounds, the coos for many of the fan’s favourite ‘couple.’ To so many, his affection seemed to clear to you, and yours did to him. 

Charles didn’t hold your hand with any adoration. His grasp was harsh, palms roughly mashed together, no intent to keep your grip safe against his own. You were certain that if you were to let go, he wouldn’t think to remedy the situation. Your theory is proven when you gently let go, instead keeping in step, just behind his figure; Charles’ hand seems as if it’s gone into idle mode. His eyes, however, stayed alert, vigilant. Silently, the two of you pass through the paddock security, pausing every few moments for Charles to sign a cap, take a photograph with a fan. 

It isn’t until you reach the outskirts of the Ferrari Building that you see her. Soft hair around her shoulders, clothing exquisite, her eyes flickering to your husband, offering him a sympathising smile. 

He may have been a devoted husband towards the press, to Ferrari, even to the majority of his team. However, the moment that the cameras were turned off, microphones pushed away, he was sneaking to his mistress, one he had shamelessly invited to so many Grand Prix’s over the past nine months. She was what he wanted; a fun and fancy-free lady, rather than the wife whom stood by his side. There’s a glance between the two of them, as if a whole conversation is had in that moment. 

You stay silent as you follow Charles into the Ferrari Building. Instantly, you’re overwhelmed by the welcomes that your husband obtains; so many of them pass onto you. Upon the questions of how married life is treating him, he smiles, fakes a laugh as he pulls you into his side, one hand firmly resting upon your waist. 

“Married life is perfect.” He insists, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, one which you falsely giggle about, ignoring the butterflies which were nestling in the pit of your stomach. “It’s even better when she’s standing right here, beside me.” 

The entirety of the room buys the staged scene, all except for two people. The first, obviously, is your father. He’s always there, watching that the driver is performing well. He knows of his affair, but in his mind, as long as the affair is kept out of the light, and his marriage was still official, their deal continued. Besides, he would speak to you both sooner rather than later upon extending the family; that would seal both of your fates towards one another. Nobody liked a husband whom left a wife and child. 

The second was Carlos Sainz; the second driver for Scuderia Ferrari. 

The Spaniard was all too aware of the affair between Charles and his mistress; after qualifying from Baku, Carlos had found his teammate behind the garage, his hands with a firm grip on her waist, their kisses entirely formed of tounge and teeth. The man had furiously ripped Charles from the woman, bellowing in his face about the wife he had, whilst this woman warmed his bed. A deep blush had formed over both of their cheeks, Charles explaining that you were aware of his actions. 

Carlos didn’t want to believe it; he’d frantically messaged you that evening, to which you had answered his question, confirming you knew of the affair. That evening, you had revealed everything to him, watching his eyes get glossier as the cruel details were flickered in front of his eyes. It pained him; he’d cared for you since the moment you’d first stepped foot into the paddock alongside your father. His heart shattered upon finding out that you had been betroved to Charles, that he had missed his chance, all that time ago. 

He waits; waits until later in the day to approach you. By this point, you had made yourself comfortable in Charles’ driver room. Of course, your husband isn’t actually there. After a brief encounter with most of the members on his team, he’d excused himself. Carlos knew that he had snuck away from the crowds adorned in red to see his mistress, likely stealing kisses and rough fumbles between one another. Whilst that was happening, you, were sat in his drivers’ room, skirts spread across the soft lounger, eyes engrossed in a book which had been enclosed in your bag alongside your sunglasses.

 You were the epitome of beauty in Carlos’ eyes. He could have stood at the ajar door to the room, watching you as you engrossed yourself in the story. Instead, he offers a light cough, drawing your attention from the book in your lap. He’s engrossed by your eyes, how the light reflected off them, the glow they offered. Your smile, how you presented your real smile to him so naturally, not the one you forged next to your husband on every single encounter. 

“Good morning, Carlos!” You greet him with a bright tone, standing up from your position on the couch. You offer him a hug, feeling his warm arms wrap around your waist, his breath against your face when he kisses your cheek gently. ‘In another life,’ you always tell yourself. One where you were happy, free to marry a man who would return your affection. 

“Good morning, Mariposa.” The nickname rolls of his tongue; one he had presented ever since you had once showed up in the paddock, the most beautiful butterfly-imprinted dress flowing in the soft breeze of that Monaco weekend. “You’re hiding out in here today, yes?” He teases. You offer him a small shrug, eyes not able to meet those sweet brown ones of the man stood in front of you. 

“Charles is…busy.” You finish the sentence abruptly. Carlos knows not to question further; the two of you have a mutual understanding as to where he would be at this point during the day; wrapped up in the arms of another woman. “He’s probably on his track walk…maybe. I’m just…keeping occupied.” You motion towards the window, looking onto the first straight of the track. “Plus…it looks windy out there.” 

“Well…” Carlos invites himself into the room now, looking down at your attire, seeing that your feet were enclosed with the brilliant white trainers you’d left home in that morning. The man shrugs off his own windbreaker, holding it in his arm. “If I give you my jacket, would you like to come on my track walk?” He offers, holding out the garment to you. 

You knew you would probably live to regret that moment. However, if you stayed resting in Charles’ driver room much longer, reading the same line of your book whilst your thoughts trailed away to how he would be with his mistress, you would go crazy.

“I’d love to.” You finally respond, slipping your arms through the large sleeves of Carlos’ jacket. Offering you a pat on the shoulder, he motions towards the exit of the driver’s room, determined to keep you on his side whilst walking across the track loved by fans far and wide. He hopes that everybody misses the longing gazes and soft smile on his face every time you make a comment, or your hands brush a little too closely. 

Charles Leclerc is a neck kisser. 

It’s not as if you would know this. The only kisses you ever had were those for show. Cold, meaningless interactions between somebody who attempted to show unconditional love and one who could dream of being anywhere else in that moment. 

You’d carefully unlatched the front door of the house, your wireless earbuds resting comfortably in your ears, unable to hear any other sound apart from the music playing. Slipping off your shoes, hanging up your jacket; your only intention for the afternoon was to go through some of the notes you had made regarding education courses in the area; sitting at home day after day was truly aggravating. You couldn’t pick up yet another hobby. Maybe some form of learning would interest you. 

But first, you needed a drink to cool yourself off from the sun. You’d remembered the smoothie packs you made earlier in the week; one of those and going through your notes seemed a perfect plan for the current moment. 

The second you rounded the corner into the open-plan kitchen, you wished that you could have taken the scenic route home. 

His mistress was sat up on the kitchen island, back straight, legs wrapped around the waist of your husband, her hands grasping at the soft curls atop of his head. Charles’ hands slid across her back, soft grunts coming from his lips, his mouth leaving open-mouthed kisses along her slender neck. She was loving it, at least, that’s what you could judge from the noises leaving her mouth. 

Before either of them could clock your arrival, both too wrapped-up in their embrace, you’d stepped out of the kitchen, hand over your mouth to silence the sobs which were threatening to escape. In a moment, you’re out of the hallway, letting your feet carry you up the carpeted stairs. 

The only intention now embedded in your mind was to drink so much you would forget the scene unfolding in front of your eyes. 

Charles Leclerc is a slow replier. 

The smell of tequila and sweat is strong in the cramped hallway of the club. It was insane to believe that less than three hours ago, you had been cocooned in your king-size duvet, lips slightly parted as you strung a meaningless thread of text messages to one another; you didn’t truly care how one of your friends felt in that moment, the heartbreak shattering in your chest was stronger than any other emotion you could begin to comprehend. 

No, your sole reason for texting was to leave this god-forsaken house. You kept telling yourself not to care. Charles’ eyes were all you could think about as you picked out your shortest, slinkiest dress; one which enhanced every curve and dip in the most elegant way. Charles’ dimples were all you could think about when your attention was drawn to outlining your lips with a deep red gloss. Charles’ lips were all you could think about, your foot sliding into the black heeled shoe, your feet finding no solace in being propped up within six inches of their life. 

Your friend had messaged you the location of the designated club. How anybody could enjoy one of those places sober was beyond your comprehension. Instead, you had taken the route of every other supposed being in that club; one shot of a suspicious-looking liquid had turned into sixteen – his number, you couldn’t help remembering. That was the reason you had found yourself stood motionlessly in the hallway, trying to navigate yourself back to the bar. At least seventeen wouldn’t have been tied to any other emotion. 

The plan, however, was short-lived when you hear a familiar voice call your name. Turning too quickly in your ridiculous heels, you’re met with the figures of Kelly Piquet and Max Verstappen, hands linked together, clearly nowhere near as intoxicated as you were in that moment. 

Kelly moves first; you had always enjoyed her presence, spending time with her around the Paddock when you were bade to attend. Penelope was one of the sweetest three-year-olds you had ever come across, always greeting you with a toothy grin and a story of her and ‘Maxie’s’ escapades. When her mother encloses you in a hug, you can feel the tears fall, your drunken façade falling immediately. The woman simply cups your hand in her face, delicately wiping the tears from your lash line, making sure to remove any heavy clumps of mascara. She asks you where Charles is, where your husband is. You can’t make any sound which you believe is cohesive, something about him being back at the house.

Max by now, has his own arm resting around your shoulder. You were Charles’ wife, after all. He knew Charles would do the same for Kelly if she was ever to be found in this state. Something strange stabs at his chest; maybe he was too protective, but he would have never of let Kelly get into this state, at least, not on her own. The driver carefully fumbles in his back pocket, unlocking his own device and filing through his contacts to phone Charles. 

The phone goes straight to voicemail, not even a dialling tone. Max tries a second time, a third time. Instead, he leaves messages. How on gods earth did Charles feel relaxed, knowing his wife would be out, probably on some form of alcohol, and not think to check that she would be safe returning home? If only he knew. 

The duo moves to a second plan. You needed some fresh air before they could attempt to get you into a car and take you home; standing in the corridor of a nightclub was not an ideal situation, instead moving you to the exit. Your eyes widen, looking up to Max and Kelly as if you had shrunk right down to Penelope’s age, as if they would be the saviours to get you home. By the way Max was holding you by his side and Kelly stroking your hair behind your ears, you may as well been their daughter. 

Conversations are had; neither of them is sober enough to drive you home, nor do they think it’s wise to try and sneak you into their hotel room when they had already issues when checking in a little too late. Their prayers are answered when a group of men wander past, one of them stopping to smack Max, his fellow driver on the back. His dark eyes, ones you know so well, widen when he sees your figure, looking so fragile in the light of the early hours in the city. 

“Mariposa.” He murmurs, running a hand across your cheek, wanting nothing more than to hold your frame against his chest. Your soft eyes meet his own dark ones, glossed in concern for how on earth you could do this to yourself. The man murmurs something to Max and Kelly, ensuring them that he’d been the sober friend out of his group; promising he would get you home himself. The duo has no reason to not trust him, both of them leaving a gentle kiss on your cheek before retiring to their own hotel. 

As the couple walk away from the club, you can only feel the warmth of Carlos’ hand, still resting on your face. When he at last turns his attention back to you, he simply wraps a strong arm around your waist, supporting you to stand in those awful, heeled shoes. At the pace you’re walking back towards his car, you would get there just after the sunrise. Instead, he scroops you into his grasp. 

The affection, the physical contact is all too much for you. It had been so, so long since anybody had held you, cared for you like this. Your clouded mind, now overwhelmed by warmth and alcohol allowed you to lean your head into Carlos’ sturdy chest. If you were sober, you’d be able to feel the way his heart raced when feeling you rest against him. 

“Why do you do this to yourself, Mariposa?” He murmurs, settling you into the passenger seat of his car. He can’t help but remove his own jacket, wrapping the soft fabric around your arms, letting you nuzzle into the scent of his fabric softener and aftershave. Once settling himself into the driving seat, he begins the route back to the house, one hand gently resting atop of your leg, some form of comfort for the world in your mind which seemed to be caving in. 

“I’d never do this to you.” He whispers, turning into the driveway that he had become accustomed to since the marriage. 

Across the city, Max Verstappen is sound asleep. His phone, plugged in on the dressing table across the room buzzes once, notifying a text from his racing rival. 

03:21: Charles Leclerc

Hey, sorry, was busy with something. Is everything good?

Charles Leclerc is a traveller.

You hadn’t expected anything to awaken you after the way your body had reacted to the previous night. A natural awakening, however, would have been a lot nicer than hearing the clicking sound of wheels against flooring. Whatever, whoever was outside of your room most certainly had a death wish to awaken you that morning. 

It felt as if pins had been pressed into every square inch of your head, the task of even sitting up and forcing yourself towards the door of your bedroom, still dressed in your slinky garment and…somebody’s jacket? The night for you had truly ended as soon as you had that ninth shot of tequila; you thought you could remember Max and Kelly in the same location at some point, maybe that was your mind playing tricks on you, longing for people who enjoyed your company. 

You were pulled back to the present when the figure of your husband appears at your doorway. He’s dressed already; loose hoodie and tracksuit bottoms cover his frame; his hand is clasping tightly onto a suitcase. There wasn’t a Grand Prix this weekend, you were certain. He would have left days ago for that. There was-

“I’m going to stay with…” He pauses, clearly trying to think of the correct way to word the fact he would be staying with his Mistress until further notice. Even in your state, you understand, simply raising your hand to stop him from speaking. You didn’t want to hear her name, you didn’t want to know that he would be spending the next nights wrapped in her arms, because for once…you didn’t care. 

They say alcohol causes dangerous mistakes, but in this moment, your hangover seemed to be your best friend. Every single time, you would think later, Charles would come back from seeing her, would leave to spend an evening by her side or sneak away during your paddock appearances…and you would be focused, your sole attention being on when he would return. Now? Your sole focus was on throwing up the remains of alcohol in your stomach, placing on a facemask and ordering some kind of comfort food to your home. 

You didn’t care about him, not right now. Your actions relay this, simply offering him a nod before speaking, your voice surprisingly clear for how much your throat was weeping for a drink.

“Okay.” You pause. There’s nothing left to say after that. What does he want you to do? Wish him a happy time? Charles looks equally taken aback, usually expecting some kind of warm drabble on how he needed to stay safe. In that moment, he can’t help but…want it.

“I’ll be back on Wednesday to pack for Singapore.” He pauses this time, taking in your appearance, your face so…gentle, soothing. “You’re coming, yes?” He remembers a conversation had many a time; his wife should be there to support him as much as possible, even if he wasn’t a fan of the sly ways he would have to leave her in front of his team members.

He isn’t expecting a shrug of the shoulders, bringing a hand up to rest on the door, clearly ready to close it at any given moment. 

“I’m not sure.” You offer him, sighing as you begin to close the door yourself. “My father said that race isn’t a priority.” That was the last sentence you offered him before closing the door. You obviously do not see it, but on the other side of the wall, Charles stands in confusion for a full twenty seconds before snapping back to his reality, his clutch on the suitcase a little tighter as he begins his decent down the stairs, wondering where on earth he had seen that jacket you were wearing before?

Your own priorities that morning was in full swing; you had placed your phone on charge, messages beginning to thread through as you stepped into the shower, the cool water savouring your skin. A fluffy robe is tied around your waist, brushing your hair around your back whilst your attention focused on rehydrating your skin, brushing your teeth and cleaning the dirt from underneath your eyes. 

The silence is strong when you walk back into your bedroom. In that moment, you opt for some music whilst changing into some comfortable loungewear, easy to roam around the house in and let your hair dry naturally. Sitting at the end of the bed, you’re able to check notifications, seeing Kelly had sent you a photo of Penelope that morning, smiling for her favourite aunt. You see your most recent text had come through from none other than Charles’ teammate, following one which had been sent early that morning. 

03:45: Carlos Sainz

Sweet dreams, Mariposa. Let me know if you need anything please. 

11:51: Carlos Sainz

Just seen on Twitter Charles is at the airport, he’s not off to see her, is he?

His message brings so many emotions to you, and also answers the question of who’s jacket you had been wearing that morning. Your heart can’t help but soften, knowing already that Charles is on his way to see...her. You think back to your mindset from earlier, how it was the last thing you wanted to care about. Why on earth would you care about them, when you could be focusing on ordering your favourite food and calling your nail technician to come to the house? That would make you feel better, better than he ever had.

You first drop a message to Carlos in response, wanting to let him know you had woken up from potential alcohol poisoning. 

12:25: You

Yeah, he is. Didn’t seem so happy that I couldn’t care less. Thank you for the jacket last night, I hope you had a good evening. 

12:28: Carlos Sainz

All the better for seeing you. Hoping the hangover isn’t too bad today. 

The messages spring backwards and forwards between the two of you for the afternoon; you’re smiling whilst you go through your favourite meal, the taste of it filling your mouth in the best way possible. There’s still a smile on your face when your nail technician arrives, painting some delicate designs into your fingers and toes, subtly asking who on earth has you smiling that much.

It isn’t until that evening; you’re sat in front of the television, a series you had watched one-too many times playing, your eyes glued to the storyline as if it would change again. The notification on your phone instantly drew your attention away from the screen, looking down to see a text on your screen.

21:03: Carlos Sainz

Why don’t you come and stay in Madrid for a few days? I’m sure we could both do with the company.

Charles Leclerc is a stalker. 

Well, maybe stalker was too strong of a word. However, his intentions were identical, having watched your latest Instagram story three- no, four times. Since leaving the home several days earlier, his mind could not stop thinking about the fact you truly could not care less about where he was going. This wasn’t you, was it? 

He’d arrived at her house, being temporarily distracted by luring himself into her bedroom, an afternoon of escapades and touches until she had rolled onto her side, telling him she was going to shower, and he would be more than welcome to join her. Instead, he pulled out his phone, seeing if you had done your usual; texting him to check that he had arrived safely, asking when he could be coming back to the house. 

There’s no messages, no notifications. Huffing to himself, Charles instead pulls up your Instagram, seeing that you had posted a new story that evening, a suitcase in hand, an emoji of an aircraft and a Spanish flag. You were off somewhere, and hadn’t told him? No, no. You always told him where you were going, you always-

“Are you not joining me, then?” Charles’ mistress’ voice suddenly draws him out of his trance, a towel wrapped around her body, hair around her shoulders. It was nowhere near as soft and as gentle as yours was, he realised in that moment. He eventually nods, pulling himself from his phone and following her into the en-suite. 

He’s so…distant for the remainder of his visit. When the two of them go to a secluded spot for lunch, when they go for a drive in a car they had hired for the afternoon. When she’s lazily pressing kisses along his neck, trying to grind into his crotch, desperate for his attention. When she finally falls asleep, Charles pulls out his phone, looking through any of the photos you had posted from that day. The soft sands of the beach, a hugestrawberry ice-cream cone, a mirrored selfie of yourself in the most beautiful sundress, hair curled and clearly ready for an evening in the Spanish sun. 

The routine continues, he sees your adventures, day after day. You’re touring small markets, trying local delicacies. One day, you’re simply lounging by a pool for the afternoon, a fat paperback resting on your stomach, clearly engrossed by the story which was resting on your stomach. Each time he sees a post, he can’t help but be drawn to how he wants to know how you’re doing. Maybe that’s why he drops you a text message, trying to gain some sort of traction from how you were doing. 

23:54: Charles Leclerc

Are you home? I’ve got a flight tomorrow afternoon.

You don’t respond; now, your phone is at the bottom of your bag, resting on the inside cabin of Carlos’ boat. For your final day in Madrid, he had insisted on taking you for a boat ride. You’d shyly mentioned earlier in that week that Charles had never taken you on his own boat, despite the fact that you were indeed married. 

The sun began to set over the rolling waves of the ocean; the boat is gently rocking, the sounds of water lapping over one another was music to your ears. You were sat at the edge of the now stilled boat, contemplating dipping your toes into the water. Your attention is so drawn to the scenery that you don’t hear him step away from the wheel, crouching next to you. 

“You could just go in.” He teases, “rather than staring at the water. You know how to swim.” The taunt causes you to roll your eyes, simply looking to the Spaniard on your right-hand side. 

“What? And have you speed off without me?” You retaliate, using your shoulder to nudge his body. Carlos clicks his lips together, mumbling something incoherent, before he’s suddenly scooped you up into your arms; despite your sounds of protests, he simply holds you against his chest tighter. His dark eyes flicker between yours and the ocean water below the two of you. Before you can say anything, his feet have made their own choice, jumping off the edge of the boat, both of you tumbling into the sea. Your briefly submerged entirely, before your head pops out of the waves, blindly reaching around until two strong arms encircle your waist. 

Both you and Carlos laugh for a moment, in pure awe that you just did that. He moves first, one of his hands releasing from your waist, tucking a strand of wet hair behind your ear. There’s a silence between the two of you, where the only sound emitting from your surroundings is the gentle waves of the sea. In that moment, Carlos Sainz wants nothing more than to lean forward, pressing his lips to your own. They look so…soft. He craves to give them the attention they had been longing for so long. But…you’re married. And even if your marriage is loveless, to a point where your husband is openly in an affair, he would never do that to you. Instead, he settles for resting one hand on your cheek, gently kissing the top of your forehead, murmuring some Spanish wording you would never remember. 

If you did understand it, however, you would have known that he said there and then that he would always be devoted to you. 

Charles Leclerc is a loud shouter. 

His voice seemed to travel for miles, you were almost certain the entirety of the secluded neighbourhood could hear him at this current moment. The man had returned home from his secluded stay with his mistress to an empty house; at that point, you were still in the depths of Madrid, packing up your own suitcase, wishing Carlos luck on the Singapore Grand Prix. You had intended to return to the house after Charles had left himself; the heartbreak of seeing him littered in love-bites, his eyes transfixed to his phone from her messages was too much for you.

However, if you had been at the house when he had arrived home, you would have seen his neck clear, phone shoved into his back pocket as he called out your name, wondering if you had returned home yourself. Charles notices your trainers haven’t been left on the shoe rack; there’s no music to signify your afternoon relaxation. A light knock to the door of your room signifies there’s nobody home. The house feels empty. 

Maybe, Charles Leclerc was beginning to understand how you felt. 

His first instinct is to message you. Surely, you would have seen his text from his previous message by now; what would it hurt to check in once more. The man feels against his rough jean pocket for the device, swiping away from the multiple notifications from his mistress, instead scrolling to your contact’s name, seeing you hadn’t been active in almost twelve hours. You hadn’t even opened his message. 

His thumb hovers above the keyboard, not entirely sure what to say in this situation. Instead, he opts to call your number instead; you had always picked up to him; whenever he needed you to stay away from the house, or to remind you to be ready to leave at a certain time. The phone rings once. Twice. Three times. On the fourth ring, your voicemail comes through the speaker, signifying him that you were too busy to pick up the telephone. 

Charles didn’t grow concerned during the evening; he grew angry. You were his wife. You were supposed to be at the house to greet him, to welcome him with open arms, ask about his day. Even if…even if he had chosen to ignore your welcoming’s and kind heart for over a year. The man found a distraction in going through the information that Scuderia Ferrari had sent him for his journey tomorrow, making sure his passport was in the correct place. He hadn’t needed to pack; you had made sure to do that for him before your own departure, making sure his comfortable clothes were packed and sunglasses safely secured in the pouches of the case. 

It was late, late for you when the door finally opened, signalling the arrival of a second being. Charles immediately sits up from his slouched position on the couch, stepping up from the sofa, almost ready to give you a piece of his mind. Upon reaching the hallway, he sees you, slipping off your trainers, leaving the suitcase next to the front door. Even underneath your jumper, he can see your skin is glowing from the Mediterranean sun, yet your eyes are watering, tears leaking from your lower lash line. 

“Where on earth have you been?” He snaps, not actually wanting to hear an answer. You open your mouth to respond, but the man cuts you off before you can speak. “I am your husband. You’re supposed to wait for me!” His temper is getting the better of him, green eyes flickering with anger. 

At this point, you’re exhausted, overwhelmed from the news you had received on your drive home, and for this man to question your loyalties to your marriage? You can’t help the scoff which falls from your lips, the emotions building a little too much.

“You’re my husband?” You mock in confusion. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise my husband was around at long last, not wrapped in the arms of another woman!” Your temper flares, pushing your hair behind your shoulders, grasping the suitcase to take upstairs and repack. 

“You didn’t pick up your phone once.” Charles retaliates. Oh, the cheek of-

“Like when you pick up your phone when I call?” The tears are beginning to flow freely now, wanting nothing more than to get upstairs and completely ignore what has been happening. “You don’t Charles. You’ve done nothing to show that you’re my husband in the past twelve months!” You can’t help yourself now. Instead of seeking the new suitcase, you simply turn around on the step of the front door, slipping your trainers back onto your feet. 

“Where are you going?” His voice is now laced in concern; you couldn’t leave yet, surely? You’d only just returned; you wouldn’t be safe to drive in this condition. Why on earth did he care now? His question is answered, but not in the way he desired. 

“Like you would care.” It’s the last thing you say before the door to the house is slammed shut. 

Charles Leclerc is an investigator. 

When arriving in the Ferrari Garage of Singapore, there’s already an eerie feeling through the air; there are no smiles, sympathising looks thrown towards the back end of the garage. The driver isn’t stupid, he knows something must be wrong. He’s unsure of who to ask; who would know what is going on? 

His original plan was to ask Xavi, maybe during their morning briefing, until he is told that his flight has been delayed and wouldn’t be there until the late afternoon. Eventually, he spots his racing partner, nestled in the corner of the garage, his eyes flickering across his own phone screen, rapidly typing a message to somebody he would rather not admit to. 

“Hey.” He speaks softly, not wanting to startle the man. Silently, Carlos looks up from his device, offering his teammate a small nod, not wanting to prolapse the eye contact for too long. Charles can sense he knows what has happened, eyes narrowing in confusion. “Why is everybody so…quiet?” 

The look on Carlos’ face signifies he’s said something wrong. His eyes darken, shaking his head in disappointment rather than fury. It correlates to the kind of look his father would give him during a long talk, when he had broken something and not admitted to it. The Spaniard isn’t sure he should even tell his teammate what had happened. Instead, he changes his phone application to the Emails App, handing the device over to Charles. His eyes flicker across the screen, taking in the information. 

Ferrari’s biggest benefactor, your father, would not be attending the race weekend after the untimely death of his wife. Your mother. It suddenly correlates; how the night before, you had seemed inconsolable, despite the fact you had obviously had an incredible vacation. You’d tried to simply walk away, to let yourself grieve without bothering him. Instead, you had found comfort in Carlos as he had driven you to the airport, whispering sweet words of comfort, promising that everything was going to be okay. 

Charles feels his blood run cold, he feels sick. The look on the man stood in front of him tells him enough; he had made the biggest mistake of his life. Murmuring an excuse, he leaves the garage, stepping to the secluded back area, the realisation that he is everything his mother never wanted him to be, hitting hard. He still had the ability to run to her, to ask for her advice. You didn’t have that anymore. You didn’t have anybody, least of all your husband. 

The first thing he does in that moment, is pull out his phone, scrolling to the contact of his mistress.

10:09: Charles Leclerc

We need to talk. 

Charles Leclerc is a phone call away.

The past day had been filled of tears, clinging to your father, to your younger siblings, to your elder cousins. How on earth your mother had left this world early was beyond you. It wasn’t fair. Nothing was fair. Your mother was the one whom had been your rock for the past miserable year of your marriage. If not for her, you were almost certain that you would have thrown your silvery key to the house down a drain so long ago.

Without her guidance, without her tutoring, you felt like bird trying to fly individually for the first time; surrounded by fears and almost certain you’d fall into compromising position. 

You hadn’t rested. Not since you had arrived at the bleak family home. As customed, every curtain was drawn close, doors to each room sealed, no natural light emitting to the large house, making every shadow and crook of the building seem more terrifying. Eventually, your father had retired to his own bedroom, your younger siblings tucked into their beds, butterfly kisses pressed against their foreheads, a silent promise you were only down the hall if they so desired you. 

The bedroom you had grown up in remained almost identical to the one you had painted in your mind; pale pink wallpaper, a luxury bed lined with a rosebud-patterned quilt set. The vanity you had last used to get ready on your wedding day remained pristine, the perfumes and scents which had been your favourite still sitting atop of your shelf. And the photographs. A polaroid of your two closest friends from your childhood; one of your sisters on her christening day, the entire family dressed so elegantly; Charles is in that photograph, off to the side alongside his brothers; you had no idea there and then that boy with the ocean eyes would become your estranged husband. 

You could have continued going down memory lane, if not from the buzzing which was coming from your bed. The phone you had carelessly thrown atop of the blankets when first entering the room had finally got some service, a thread of text messages and missed phone calls beginning to filter through. Silently, you take a seat on the edge of your bed, eyes flickering across each message. Some are from members of the Ferrari team, others from family members you hadn’t heard from in what felt like centuries. 

There’s one. One from the man whom you had spent the previous week with. The one who had consoled you whilst travelling to the family home. Your husband’s teammate. 

23:05: Carlos Sainz

Mariposa, please let me know how you are doing. I’m so worried about you. Let me know if you need anything at all. 

23:31: You

Thank you, C. I should be heading home tomorrow, with a bit of luck I’ll be able to swing by and say hello. 

You hadn’t expected anything else that evening. You were settled, ready to focus on yourself for the remainder of the evening; in your eyes, there was a high likelihood that your siblings would be burrowing into your blankets later. Once dressed in nightwear, the makeup that had stained your cheeks removed, you noticed the soft glow of your phone screen. Another message had just been received, and in your wildest dreams, you could not have imagined whom it was from.

00:24: Charles Leclerc

I heard about your mother this afternoon; I am truly so, so sorry for your loss. Please let me know if there is anything I can do. I mean it. 

Your eyes had barely had time to view the message which had just been received, before your phone screen changes, taking the message away from your sight. The message thread is replaced by a photograph of your husband, his name lighting up on you phone screen. You don’t even think; instead, your thumb swipes across the screen, pressing the green button and holding the device to your ear. 

“Charles.” You speak one word, hearing your husband visibly relax on the other end of the line. You realise it’s the first time you’ve said anything coherent in hours; the tone of your voices echoes around the room. Did you always sound that sad when you spoke to him?

“Hey.” He isn’t too sure what he wants to say; the lack of conversation between the two of you means he isn’t aware if there are any boundaries, anything you wouldn’t discuss with him. No, he just wanted to speak to you, to check in. In reality, he had realised how lonely the house was as an individual. His mistress was gone from his contacts, not inviting her around to fill the void had made him realise how you had felt for oh-so-long. 

“How…” He pauses, not sure on how to finish his question. He doesn’t need to, because despite the lack of understanding of one another, you know he’s trying, trying to make you feel better.

“I’m…yeah.” You can’t find the correct words to say; ‘sad’ is an understatement, ‘fine’ is a rude response. Neither of you can find the words, but in that moment, you crave somebody who isn’t mourning the loss of your mother as heavily as you are. 

“We have some new neighbours.” He’s trying to find anything to create some conversation. It’s almost as if he knows the quiet of the room is making you feel uncomfortable. “They left us an invitation to join them for a tennis session- not that I’m any good.” He laughs to himself, remembering the previous time he’d attended a tennis game alongside his fellow drivers; he’d had to step out after a few minutes, completely terrified he would end up breaking his hand. 

He doesn’t hear anything from the other side of the line but continues to talk. “Are you…” He catches himself for a moment. “Are you coming back soon?” His voice turns into barely a whisper, as if saying the wrong thing will cause you to hang up immediately. He doesn’t hear anything for a moment, taking a gentle sigh and awaiting your response. 

“Yeah.” You pause. Are you doing this? Are you having a conversation with your husband? “I’m going to fly home tomorrow afternoon. I think my father wants space.” Your sentence closes, looking around your room. The silence is deathly; in that moment, you don’t care about everything that’s happened. All you want is for somebody to hold you in their arms and tell you it would be okay. 

“I’ll come and get you.” Charles has spoken before his mouth has had time to catch his brain. Your eyebrows quirk in confusion. The only time your estranged husband ever drove you himself was on your endless journeys to races; you would sit silently, curled away from his figure, eyes transfixed as the world passed by around you. The man not only offering but wanting to pick you up from the airport was a new-found curiosity. 

“It’s okay.” You don’t let him continue. If previous standings have taught you anything, it’s that behind those mesmerising eyes cannot be trusted. You knew the secrets that lied beyond the ocean settled in his eye. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt you.” Part of your heart is craving to bring up his mistress; how she would probably be warming his bed in the current moment, walking around the house which you ached to find comfort in. 

“You wouldn’t.” Charles is quick to respond; in his heart of heart, he knows getting you to trust him again would be a monumental task. He’d do anything to prove he would be the husband who would look after you. Who would love you unconditionally; the husband you deserved.

“I’ll let you know when I’ve landed, okay?” It’s your final compromise. The woman whom you had been twelve months ago would love nothing more than to run into Charles’ arms; whether he cared for you the way you did; you would always desire his attention and affection. You’d had to learn through the months that some of life’s biggest temptations had to remain untouched.  

Charles Leclerc is your husband.

Landing back in the country was almost eerie; despite being away for only a miniscule amount of time, you felt changed; changed by the loss of your closest companion, changed by the fact your husband had been the one to call you, and not to throw some crazy request down the telephone line. 

Arrivals, as always, were completely smothered; couples reuniting, children screaming at the sudden change of scenery. After obtaining your own bag, your eyes flicker through the never-ending crowds, desperate to find some recognition. 

Standing apart from the crowd, looking effortlessly rugged in his athletic shorts and hoodie, hair pushed underneath a snapback. His eyes are trained on you, as if he had sensed your presence into the room in less than a moment. The breath catches in the back of your dried throat, a pair of eyes that you trusted undoubtedly. Stumbling, your feet carry you over to the arms of your favourite Spaniard, your head instantly finding solace in the joint between his shoulder and neck, the cologne you were used to from his attendances around the paddock creating a cloud of comfort. 

Carlos’ hands effortlessly lock around your torso, pulling you tighter into his chest, one palm rubbing up and down your back. It was the first time, the first time in a long time that anybody had offered you this sort of affection. Mindlessly, the soft tears begin to pool at the bottom of your lash line. Soft snuffles emitting from your lips cause the man to hush you gently, pulling your face away from his body, cradling your head between his larger hands. 

He mumbles something quietly, something about taking you back to the house. If it was him, the man would bundle you into his car and drive to his own home. He’d nestle you under his bedroom blankets, dress you in one of his hoodies. Instead, his rough palm finds your soft fingers, intertwining your hands together. Carlos takes your suitcase in his free hand, guiding you to his car parked outside of the airport. 

Not much is said during the shortening journey back to the house; the tears glossing your eyes reflect the streetlights, transfixed on the roads which you had left for a few short days. The tears will continue to fall; her loss had taken a part of you that you would you never thought would return. The man to your right, eyes focused on the road can sense your heartbreak. He doesn’t wait to push you; he had spoken to you shortly after the news had originally broken, in that conversation, you had barely been able to say ten words before your voice cracked. Instead, Carlos rests a warm hand on your leg, a silent promise that he will be there no matter what. 

The journey feels too short; eventually the driveway to the house rolls into sight, Carlos slowing down the car. When it comes to a halt, he steps out immediately, obtaining your suitcase from the rear of the car, placing it down on the wheels. By this point, you’d wiggled from the seat, ready to wheel your case into the house. However, before you can move, his arms engulf you once more, clinging so tightly, your feet began to lift from the floor. You had clung back just as tight, pressing a kiss to his stubbled cheek; a silent ‘Thank you,’ for everything. 

The embrace ended, Carlos awaiting until the door had unlocked, nodding when he saw you safely enter the house. The building is practically silent; no television sounds, no gentle music, not even the whirr of Charles’ simulator in his downstairs office. Ears pricked, you could hear the jets of a shower from upstairs, the assumption that he must have been in the shower. Paranoia threads your mind, she wouldn’t be showering alongside, would she?

You don’t let your mind wander; instead, you focus on lugging the suitcase along the staircase, silently glad you had gotten further with it since your trip to Madrid. Beelining towards your room, the suitcase rolls behind you, resting it in the corner of the room, a silent promise you’d wash everything tomorrow. However, a delicate bouquet of soft, pink and fresh flowers decorated the vanity of the room; you knew you hadn’t bought flowers since Madrid, and these…They looked as if they’d been placed mere minutes ago. 

Overthinking had always been dangerous; instead, you keep yourself busy, wiggling your skincare bag from the suitcase, padding into your bathroom with that and a fresh set of long pyjamas; the late-night breeze had begun to tickle your skin since removing yourself from Carlos’ warm arms. The relish indulges your body, shampoo trickling through your hair, body wash bubbles tickling your body. You’d stepped out a few moments later, changing into the soft clothing, sitting in front of the mirror, brushing your hair out as carefully as you could have. 

Silently, your feet carry you from the en-suite towards the main bedroom. Standing at the head of the doorway, is none other than your husband, hair own hair damp from his shower, dressed in soft tracksuit bottoms and a tight tee-shirt. He’d seen your suitcase nestling in the corner of your bedroom, your phone had rumpled the blankets of your bed. Charles had been the one to hear the shower this time, deciding to wait, just to see your soft eyes.

They’re bloodshot; you look so…frail. The years of heartbreak littered across your face. Charles’ heart practically breaks; before you can say a word, he’s across the room, arms pulling around your torso, pulling your head under his chest. Your instinct tells you to fight it, why on earth would you accept some form of affection from a husband who had openly destined you for so long? 

And yet, you subcome to his affection, hesitantly holding your own arms to his chest. His scent, his warmth.You felt as if you were dreaming, eyes wet from the overwhelming care, feeling gentle kisses press to the top of your head. 

You don’t remember when Charles scooped you to his chest, tucking you into your fresh blankets before nestling in behind you himself. You remind yourself; this is a one-off. You’re almost certain that by tomorrow, he’ll be back in the arms of his mistress, your moment tonight will be an absent moment to your husband. You’ll take it; if it’s one night in his arms, feeling his breath against the back of your neck, tip of his nose pressing into your back, one hand pressed against your stomach in comfort, you’ll take it. 

Some point during the night, your phone buzzes, the sound barely audible on the blankets of your bed. You groan slightly, the bubble of yourself and Charles giving you a true form of sanctuary, a true form of home. Curiosity in the night takes the better of you, lifting the dying device to your eyes, slightly blinded by the glow of the screen. 

Despite being wrapped in the arms of your husband; you can feel your blood turn cold when you read the one sentence which had been left for you to find. 

01:46: Carlos Sainz

I’m in love with you. 

[coucouatoi]

don't want to be alone | h.s.

Pairings: Harry Styles x Reader

Summary: Divorcing the biggest superstar on the planet is the hardest thing you've ever done. Almost as hard as marrying him was.

Warnings: Angst, couples therapy, a little bit of fluff, hopeful ending

A/N: I don't know why I'm feeling so full of angst... but, please enjoy!

Flashback are in italic and present day is normal text

Boxes are littered around the house. Some full and taped shut others still being stuffed with your items. It's a slow and torturous process, having to choose what to take, what to throw out and what things are a conversation waiting to happen "That's a wedding gift from my aunt" or "When have you ever used that?" or even better "I know it was a gift, but I paid for it so i'll keep it". It's like he knows exactly which buttons to press to get the fights started. Granted you might be doing the same thing... But it doesn't make him entitled to all the belongings you've ever shared.

You've managed to find all the picture albums, the ones you decided to make for sentimental value. The ones you gifted him in tender moments. The ones filled with so much love, so much hope and promises for a future together. The ones you're now highly considering throwing into a paper shredder and tossing into the nearest incinerator. The ones you won't be able to get rid of. The anniversary album you gave him on your one year, the wedding album, the honeymoon album, the many travel albums and, of course, your daughter's first album.

Little Anya, barely 9 months old just starting to babble her first words. Chubby legs working so hard to keep her standing and exploring. She can barely take 3 steps one after the other but she's a fighter. Your little girl that is now a cause for argument, no, fights. Custody battles. The true war between yourself and your husband, Harry Styles. Neither of you want to lose or call for a tie, it's not how either of you operate in conflict. That, most likely, is the reason for the downfall of your relationship.

Frustrated you put the albums back where you found them and you head to the kitchen.

Most kitchen items have been packed up, Harry had never really invested in worthwhile cutlery or electronics of any sort. You take some orange juice from the fridge and pour a glass for yourself. The fridge itself is barren, with only the essentials left... neither of you has gone to the groceries in weeks. Today is not going to be a good day.

From the rediscovery of your love-filled albums to the boxes you've spent most of the day doing, you still have one horrible thing to do.

Couples therapy, your first-ever session. You thought, well still think, that this is too far gone to save in therapy. There won't be anything new shared that you haven't already screamed in each other's faces and self-help talks aren't exactly going to do the trick. Anne, Harry's mother, insisted that your marriage doesn't only include two people anymore. Anya makes it worth trying, she is worthy of a stable home as she grows up. No matter how unstable having a superstar parent may be, divorced parents might just add to that an unruly amount. So, you've both agreed to try. Try your very best to reassemble your love no matter how shattered it has become. Love. Love hasn't manifested itself once since about your seventh month of pregnancy. Love has vanished from your husband's once warm and inviting eyes, it no longer lingers on his fingertips and doesn't even creep into the more tender moments you must share with your baby. Love feels like a complete joke to you now.

-

The waiting room is empty of other clients which is a blessing in disguise. This is the absolute last place you'd want to run into Harries. Even if the media has already been dragging you in the mud for "breaking their dear superstar's heart" and has been making all sorts of claims about you and your marriage. In the very beginning, Harry had spoken up about these articles and had gotten his team to shut some people up but he's been losing care for... well, you.

"Harry and Y/N?" you look up meeting the eyes of who you can only assume is your therapist. Without sparring your husband a glance you get up and follow her into her office. It's cosy and smells like vanilla. There's a yellow glow to the room, it bounces off her multiple frames and decorations. Very nonthreatening, immediately putting you a little more at ease. She gestures for you to take a seat on her velvet green couch and you sit down squeezing yourself onto the left armrest. Harry does the same to the right.

"Good afternoon to you both, I am Trinity Finch. Can I get either of you something to drink before I sit down?" She smiles politely as her eyes shift between both of you. You only shake your head as an answer not trusting your stomach at the moment.

"Water if it's not too much trouble, please" Harry's voice is strained, he had been at the studio all morning probably preparing a new album you aren't aware of.

Trinity nods and quickly grabs a water bottle from a small fridge she's got right behind her desk. Harry mumbles a thank you as she hands it to him. You don't realise that his hands are shaking as you're back to looking around the room. He takes a few big gulps before your therapist gets to sit in her chair.

"Today I would just like to start with a history lesson on your relationship. How it started, all important moments, how parenthood has changed your shared life and just how you two are as a couple" She starts getting things ready around her, notebook, pens, highlighters, some sticky notes and you swear that you spotted some bright childish stickers. Her long manicured nails tap against the glass of her desk a few times as the silence stretches. Neither of you taking the first step in this session. When she looks up again she doesn't look annoyed or surprised by the lack of an answer.

"Harry, how did you meet your wife?" Trinity asks him gently.

Harry seems caught by surprise to have been asked a question directly. He looks at you briefly before turning his eyes back to her.

"Um, we meet on the plane. For some reason, my private plane for that day was not available and they booked me on a regular flight. Premium ended up being full and I got an economy seat. I had the aisle and she had the middle we ended up bonding over our shared movie choice. Then I asked her out and um here we are?" He ends with a question. As if unsure if "here" is a good thing, it's definitely not but meeting has, unfortunately, brought you both here.

"And when was this?" she asks.

"April 2018" he answers quickly. She nods presumably writing it down.

"How was your relationship before marriage Y/N?" she looks at you now with kind eyes. They are big and dark. Staring right into your soul. It makes you slightly uncomfortable but at the same time you don't want her to look away she's your lifeline right now.

"It was very easy. I work remotely as a translator and an editor, so I've always been able to tag along on his travels and tours. He, um, he always insisted that he rather have me with him even if we couldn't see each other every single day. Just knowing I was near helped him..." you sigh. You don't want to shed tears this early into your session. You don't want Harry to see you cry any more than he already has over your lost relationship.

"I really loved following him around the globe" you add, looking down at your lap willing your wet eyes to dry.

"Any fighting? How did you deal with that?" Trinity is still talking to you maybe even sensing that you're about to cry. Is that what she wants from this?

"Well, yeah. I mean all couples fight, right? We fought over the same things all the time really. I wanted more affection I guess pressuring him to take some time away from the spotlight or he wanted me all to himself whenever it worked with him without thinking of my work. Our jobs were the main reason for fighting between us" Besides you, Harry scoffs before taking another sip of water. Your head turns to him

so quickly that a sharp pain forms in the back of your neck. Your posture immediately tightens, muscles locking and your breath gets heavier.

"What? You don't agree?" you question him in a much harsher tone than you were previously using. He meets your gaze and shrugs.

"I do but that's not all we fought over" he shrugs again not looking away. Is he trying to pick a fight right now? Here of all places?

"Then what? What am I missing?" you prepare yourself for the worst. Ready to feel like absolute shit at anything he might say.

"Your constant jealousy was a contender for the most appearances in our fights" his entire expression is accusatory but he does this thing with his posture. Gets all soft and somewhat blazé making you feel inferior and so incredibly small.

You want to storm out. Call Anne to apologise that it couldn't work out and immediately sign the divorce papers that are permanently placed right on your dining table.

Not wanting to fuel this energy taking over him right now you shrug as well before facing Trinity again. She's watching both of you like a hawk, processing the way you react to conflict with each other. Making mental notes as well as some physical ones all while hostility happens between her clients.

"We'll move on from this for now. Harry, how was the wedding? How did married life change your bond?" this seemingly calms his overgrown ego. His face is neutral again but there's a softness to it now, recalling the happy days.

"We had an Italy wedding. We, I love Italy. I flew everyone out, our families and friends, and then we stayed there for a month more for our honeymoon. The wedding itself was... amazing. We kept it small. Intimate. With my life it's always been hard to have that so, it was important to us" he sounds blissful towards the last part. Probably back there now in his mind. Ah, the good old days as they say.

"I don't think married life changed us much. We were living together before that and we'd been planning it since we got together practically" he stops talking again to take another sip of water. You look at the lady in front of you again and as she begins to open her mouth to probably question him more Harry starts talking again.

"I guess tension started about a year in. The media wasn't kind to her. They made up cheating rumours on both sides and manipulated things to make them seem like something else. Someone even showed up at our old house while I was out" he took a deep breath, cracking some of his knuckles at the same time, "We were always on edge around each other. Throwing these rumours at one another just to I don't know, get a reaction? Plus, we were stuck at home because of Covid and my tour was postponed. It was a real shit show" he laughs bitterly and you nod along to what he was saying. That was just a terrible time. For everyone.

"Then I got to go on tour, Y/N didn't follow along for all of it but she was there most of the beginning. It wasn't the same as before. There was this distance that just never got better. And then she got pregnant" he almost sounds exhausted. Maybe he is, you're not sure how much he's slept lately.

-

Shit. Fuck. This can't be happening now. Shit! The word "Pregnant" seems to be mocking you as you look down at it. Mocking the fact that you and Harry have not seriously spoken in two days and that you're flying back home tomorrow. Mockingly reminding you that this can only make things worse right now.

"Y/N, come on the car is waiting downstairs" your husband's voice is weak through the thick hotel bathroom door. He's performing in Toronto tonight. The second day, the last day before he flies to New York and you go back to London.

You walk out of the bathroom, straight past Harry, not wanting him to read your face and figure out that something is terribly wrong. You slip into your shoes for the night and take a deep breath, no scratch that, a huge breath. Willing your facial expression to cooperate before you turn to him and smile.

"Let's go superstar!" he smiles back and walks over to you. Grabbing your hand and bringing it up to his mouth so he can plant a kiss on the back of it.

"We just might have to cancel tonight if you look this good" his free hand wraps around you tightly glueing you to his body. You know he doesn't mean it but you pretend to consider it nonetheless.

"Mh what about all your adoring fans? Won't they be so utterly crushed?" you tease against his lips. He smiles wickedly before slowly nodding.

"I do have quite the engagement this evening... how about I make it up to you after?" he presses soft kisses to the sides of your face. Framing it.

"That's a pretty good offer, I just might have to tak-"

"HARRY STYLES GET YOUR ASS OUT OF YOUR HOTEL ROOM!!" Jeff's voice is full of annoyance as it cuts you off. Rude.

You laugh before getting pulled out of the room by your husband. The small plastic stick forgotten on the washroom counter for now.

You get a harsh reminder tho when you're back at the hotel after yet another amazing concert. You're laying on the bed completely stretched out and now only dressed in your underwear. Harry's currently using the washroom to try and get some of the remaining glitter off his face when he finds the secret you've kept all evening.

"Y/N, what's this?" his voice is so shaky that you barely even understood what he asked you. However, when you look up your brain catches up. He's in his boxers, left hand in his hair and right hand holding the test like it's made of glass as he looks at it as if it's going to explode. Fuck.

"No chance that you suddenly lost the ability to read?" you try and lighten the suddenly very heavy mood in the room. It fails.

"You're pregnant. How, I mean no I know how. Fuck, you're pregnant" he looks up at you panicked.

"We don't have to keep it" is the first thing out of your mouth. Probably as a panic response to his reaction. Not wanting this to turn into another fight.

"What?! Why wouldn't we, you don't want, I um" he takes a second. He's just breathing heavily while looking at you desperately. "You don't want to keep it?" he breathes out.

"You do?" is all you answer. You stand slowly, finding the clothes you just took off to put them back on. Whatever mood you were in is gone you're now filled with anxiety and a deep fear.

"You leave tomorrow... We won't see each other for what 3 months? In Mexico?" he hasn't moved an inch. Feet seemingly glued to the floor and limbs were frozen.

-

Pregnancy. One of the worst and best times of your life. Your gorgeous baby girl came out of all the pain you suffered. She gave a new meaning to the way you live, made you forget about all the physical pain you endured and...

"Why do you say it in that way? Like you still dread what the pregnancy brought" Trinity's voice almost startles you. You'd been so lost in your thoughts that you'd almost forgotten where you were.

"I don't! I love Anya" his voice is stern.

"What about your wife? What happened during the pregnancy?" she's digging. Wants to find the right buttons to push.

Harry stammers, but no answer seems to satisfy him. His hands are squeezed under his things, his right leg bouncing and his eyes avoiding either of you.

"We didn't plan her, I was right in the middle of my tour. We, um, we weren't doing very good and she was about to go home" he looks at you suddenly surprising you when he meets your eyes. You can't read him, can't understand what he's feeling. You haven't been able to read him in months.

"She- You, Y/N, she got really sick in February the seven-month mark. I was in Australia and I couldn't be there. It really strained us, we fought all the time over the phone and in person. I guess that's really when we went downhill" his jaw tenses when he looks away from you. Looks like he's not happy to have to have shared this with the room.

"Okay, thank you, Harry. I think now's a great time to take a breather. I'll meet both of you individually when we come back. So, see you both here in 20 minutes?" Trinity smiles at both of you and keeps smiling until you both walk out.

-

Harry doesn't come back. You wait 45 minutes in Trinity's office looking like an idiot. She dismisses you with a look of pity on her face before scheduling another appointment 5 days later, lots of work to do you assume. You rush out of the building humiliation creeping into every inch of your body. How could he do this on the first day? It was going fairly well, well you think so anyway... did he give up on your relationship right then and there?

As you make your way to your car you see him. Harry is pacing back and forth in front of his car as he seemingly argues on the phone. His free hand waves erratically in front of him, gesturing like mad for someone who can't even see him. So this is what he's been doing? Arguing over the phone while you sat in a therapist's office waiting to try and work on your ever-crumbling marriage. You scoff before turning away from him and to your car. But nothing seems to be on your side today as your husband hears you and immediately calls out to you.

"Y/N! Why are you leaving?" you hear him walk towards you, the clacking of his shoes getting closer to you but you ignore him and walk away faster.

You're completely focused on your black Subaru, the "You're so Golden" sticker catching your eye and making you more pissed off. Something that was put there because you loved the song, because of how beautiful your husband's voice is in the song but now all you want to do is rip it right off. So, that's what you do.

Your nails claw at the edges of it desperately. You don't want any reminders of Harry on your car, you don't want to think of him while putting the groceries away, while walking around the car after putting Anya in her car seat and you don't want to see it in your rearview mirror anymore. The top corner lifts as you're pulling at it giving you the perfect leverage to rip it right off. You throw it to the ground right before turning around to stare daggers into Harry's eyes.

"45 minutes, Harry. I sat there 45 minutes with our therapist looking at me like a beaten dog!" you hiss at him. He is now only about 2 or 3 feet away from you. His eyes are wide, in shock you guess, as he looks at the sticker. "What could you have possibly been doing for more than an hour that made you forget what we were here for?" you're sure you sound desperate right now. Your head is all over the place and your heart feels like it might explode out of your chest.

"An hour? I, no, that couldn't have been more than-"

"You can go back up and ask her if you want because I really really don't want to be around you right now" and now you're crying. Fuck. Why are you crying now? You need to leave.

While rummaging in your bag for your keys Harry grabs your arm. Well maybe not grabs, he just places his hand on you, resting it there delicately. If you weren't so aware of every single inch of your body right now you wouldn't have noticed. No matter how delicate the touch is supposed to be you flinch out of it aggressively.

"I'm, I'm so sorry Y/N. That was my mother, she, fuck" he sighs and runs a hand in his hair gripping it tightly. "She wants us to go up... she's rented a lake house or something I guess" his voice is so soft, shy even.

"Us? You mean you and Anya?" god you hope so.

"I'm so sorry" is all he answers.

-

Anne Twist is a very difficult woman to say no to. Actually, it's impossible to say no to her. In the many years you've known her, she's always been able to find a way to make you say yes. Always in a good way. She loves you, she has told you that countless times, and you love her but now that you're... the way you are with her son you don't know where you stand. Yet, she has still found a way to get you to agree to something you would have much rather not have gone to. You're in a small townhouse almost 4 hours away from your home in London with your mother-in-law, your daughter and your soon-to-be ex-husband. What has your life come to?

Anya is sitting in her high chair passionately eating banana slices as you watch her. She's already gobbled up the strawberries and pita bread slices she also had for her snack. She's such a good eater always so ready to try new things and taste whatever the adults around her eat. Especially the sweet treats her dad sneaks her.

"Do you want to go take a dip after huh? We should enjoy the water my love" you coo at her as she takes her final bite of food. She smiles at you like she understood what you asked and you chuckle wiping her chubby cheeks and hands. She'll be able to float around in the water for a little bit with you before you put her down for a nap. The steps of your morning are perfectly planned so that you can have your solo Zoom session with Trinity.

There is a small river behind the house you're staying in. The water goes up to just above your breast and it's the perfect warmth at this time of day. You've made your way down to it and are now setting up Anya's towel for when she'll be too tired to entertain you and ready for her mid-day snooze. She's currently lying right by you looking up at the sky with such curiosity, probably trying to figure out what the hell clouds are.

"You're so curious my love!" you shake her gently as you smile widely. "What do you see up there?" as you look up to join her sky-gazing you spot Harry making his way to the river as well. He's only got very short grey swimming trunks on meaning his entire chest, thighs, calves, and arms are out for the whole world to see. Maybe that's an exaggerated statement as you're the only one looking right now. You want to scold yourself for staring, you really really do but he's just so... so captivating and very enjoyable to look at no matter how much you resent him at the moment.

"Mind if I join you ladies?" his voice is more cheerful than when you heard it last. Must be because he's actually speaking to and looking at Anya.

However, when you don't answer his question he looks up at you. Expression now closed off again, how it's always been for the past few months. You smile politely and nod before turning your back to both of them so you can take your robe off. Your swimsuit isn't anything special; simple black one-piece that's high on the hips and low on your back. You think it looks pretty good on you but now you feel very aware of the amount of skin you're showing. You decide to just get in the water hoping its dark colour hides you. Hides away the skin your husband might be looking at.

"Looks like mummy is in a hurry, we should join her. What do you think sweetheart?" Harry picks your baby up and makes his way into the water. He holds her tightly to his chest as he climbs in, just in case he slips on the stones he uses as stairs. Once your daughter's chubby limbs meet the water her mouth forms into an adorable "O" shape. It's the second time Anya's been in the water now so she must still be unsure about this feeling. Harry turns her so that her front faces you and her back is against him. She smiles when she spots you reaching her arms out quickly which splashes some water around. She looks at you with a shocked expression and does it again with a giggle now.

"You little troublemaker! Trying to splash me!" you tease her sending some water her way. She answers with a sweet giggle and shakes her arms around as fast as she possibly can.

"Mh, my jokester gene is strong in her" Harry's voice is laced with pride. You playfully roll your eyes at him and hum affirmatively.

"And her love for singing too" you add remembering so many moments where she hums to any song playing. Her favourite thing to do is to harmonise with her father. His deep voice always gets her attention, always gets her to mumble and hum along with her own lyrics.

"Oh yes, she's the next big thing this one" he affirms kissing the top of her small head affectionately.

It's in moments like these that you tend to forget how bad it is between you. How many horrible things you've shouted at each other not caring how deep your words could cut. The accusations, the insults, the taunts and even the lies still weigh heavy on both of you. You like these softer moments, where you're reminded of how much love you both had for each other. Have? Had? You don't know anything about your feelings anymore, they are much too complicated to understand...

All three of you stay in the river for about an hour more before Anya starts yawning and fussing. When you exit the water you're quick to slip your robe back on still overly aware. Harry wraps the fluffy towel you had gotten ready around your baby. Her head rests in the crook of his neck, her eyelids already heavy as she blinks slowly. You all walk back to the house together silently. Might it be to keep the sleepy baby calm or to keep the peaceful aura around you and your husband, you don't know.

Harry insists that he will put the sleepy girl to bed and that you should take a shower first. After all, you have the first private sessions with your therapist. The mention of her does make the air in the townhouse tense again but Anne appears immediately to kiss Anya before she naps. You use that moment to sneak into your shared room with Harry. Luckily, it has two single beds so you don't have to share with him.

Signing deeply you rid yourself of the now damp robe you had on. Another blessing in disguise, this room has an en suite bathroom so you'll be able to jump right into the shower. Before that you do want to set up your laptop for the video call, you want to be as ready as you possibly can be. You grab your device from your backpack and make your way to the small desk in the corner of the room. There's a bunch of papers scattered around it, one glance at them and you immediately know what they are.

Lyrics. Drafts of songs and melodies written by your rockstar husband. You don't mean to read any of the words you really don't but as soon as you spot your name at the top of one of the pages you're doomed. You put your laptop down on Harry's bed which is right next to the desk and reach for that exact paper.

The words you read are full of longing, pain, sadness and fear. They mourn love, they are mourning your love. You pick up another sheet of paper, this one has no title but there are so many lines written. This one is reeks of self-hatred, of shame and guilt... it shakes the weak barriers you've built around your heart. All of the lyrics you read on different papers revolve around the same emotions. These are all about your relationship. About the death of it. About his desire to turn around. You don't realise you're crying until a tear falls onto the paper you hold. The ink bleeds into itself where it's been wet blurring the words slightly. You quickly wipe your face and put the papers down. You shouldn't be looking at these, you're invading his privacy.

"Thought you were showering" Harry's voice startles you out of the chair. You meet the floor with a loud thud. Your tear-filled eyes meet his sharp ones. Scrambling up to your feet you grab your laptop ready to explain, ready to apologise over and over again.

"At least tell me what you think" he sighs walking into the bedroom and shutting the door behind himself. This shocks you. What does he mean? He, he's not mad? Isn't disappointed that you invaded his creative space? Your mouth opens and closes a few times unsure what you should answer.

"I'm sorry" is all you're able to get out. Your brain is blank in absolute fear but tears keep falling from your eyes.

"I should be apologising... you, you weren't supposed to see those" he walks in your direction slowly, testing the waters of how close you'll let him get. He's closer than arm's reach when you flinch backwards slightly and he stops immediately.

"I was going to ask you for your permission before making any of those full songs but you know music is how I cope" he whispers now that he's so close to you. Silence takes over the room again, stretching out for too long. Your eyes somehow keep producing tears as you try and speak. Hopelessly searching for words to say.

"Do you really miss us? You miss me?" is what you come up with, your voice is so shaky that you're on the verge of sobbing uncontrollably.

This shocks Harry in place, seemingly not prepared for that kind of questioning from you. His mouth gapes and his eyes grow wide. This time you do see his hands start shaking. You're not entirely sure what this emotion is.

"Of course I do. Did you not think so?" while still whispering he reaches out to hold you but stops himself hands falling at his sides.

"Yo- Harry, you asked for the divorce. How was I supposed to know you miss me?" your voice breaks. You don't understand, why is this happening now, why is he saying these things?

-

"We should just get a divorce" Harry snaps at you as he fights back tears. Your expression immediately closes up, your body reacting before your thoughts and words do. Protecting you from what he just said, building walls around you and your heart as quickly as possible.

"Fine" you spit out as you turn away from him and walk straight out of your bedroom. If that's what he wants then so be it. You won't beg for anything now that he's made his decision.

-

"I know, okay? I know that I asked for it and that it's the reason why you don't talk to me anymore. Well, you do but not really" he sighs and sits down on his bed, damn swim trunks wetting the bed "We talk about Anya and when we're not we are yelling at each other... so when was I supposed to tell you that I missed you? That I regretted asking for the divorce..." he looks at you with a guilty expression, all his emotions are coming up at once.

"Why did you ask for it?" you ask him sitting back on the desk chair with your laptop still in your hands.

"I got in my head. You were saying we should take some time for ourselves maybe live apart... with everything that kept being said about us, I got so scared" he takes your laptop out of your grip and puts it down next to him.

"I thought you were going to fight me on it..." he adds as he grabs your hands tenderly. Like he's afraid you'll break.

You shake your head in disbelief not sure what to say. Your thoughts are all over the place, what should you make of this?

"It broke my heart" When did his face get so close to yours? You should really move away. You can't fall back into him, you can't let yourself do that. So you pull away from him roughly, your hands tugging out of his hold, face moving to the side, a sob making its way out of you as your back meets the chair-back.

When you meet Harry's eyes you can see the pain, the hurt, in them. They are brimming with tears that are so close to spilling out.

"Are we... are we too broken?" his voice has dropped to a whisper. He sounds so sad and scared.

"I'm worried" You take in a few breaths before you speak again, "What if we just end up hurting each other again? What if we can't go back?" you choke out the last few words. Tears spill endlessly out of your eyes and sobs rack your entire body.

It feels like you're running out of air and the little bits you get in are painful. Your eyes burn as you cry and your hands are shaking like crazy.

Harry might be answering or trying to communicate but nothing is making its way past your meltdown. What does make it through is the feeling of his arms around you. Him pulling you against his chest tightly, immediately rubbing your back as soothingly as he can. Your hands are grabbing his still bare skin desperately, wanting to anchor yourself in any way you can. Your face rests on his peck, right above his heart, the frantic beating bouncing around your head.

"Breathe, you have to breathe love" he speaks delicately in your ear, breaking through the barrier your body has put up.

"I'm- I'm, I can't... Harry I can't" your clawing at him almost trying to get under his skin, someplace you might be able to understand everything that's going through his mind.

He wiggles around a little before laying you both down as he keeps reassuring and encouraging you. He drags you on top of him your face now pressed up against the juncture of his neck. Your left-hand makes its way into his hair, pulling at it as softly as you can manage. Harry's hands run up and down your back, your arms, and your neck and he even pets your hair delicately. He's always known how to best calm you down... how to bring you back down to earth and out of the panic attacks you sometimes get when you're overwhelmed.

"I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry" he repeats that over and over with a pained desperation. Harry's scared shitless too. He doesn't know how things will go with your relationship. He can't guarantee that you won't end up actually wanting a divorce one day... But he can love you. He has and will keep loving you. He hopes it'll be enough to save your marriage. He'll work incredibly hard every single day to prove his love for you... if you let him back in he won't ever let you go. He'll leave it all up to you. Your little family is all he needs, he'll spend the rest of his life proving that to you if that's what it takes.

[sinnabum45]

Link to help Palestine and other resources! 🇵🇸

[Plain text: Links to help Palestine and other resources! (palestine flag). End plain text.]

[Image description: gray toned digital comic of Ace Attorney characters Franziska von Karma and Miles Edgeworth.

Page one: Franziska has her right arm in a sling due to being shot. She is quickly walking with an angry expression. She has a memory of when Miles and her were kids. She is giving Miles her cat doll and Miles is flustered, embarrassed. Manfred is smiling fondly behind them. Then she remembers studying intensely and being frustrated when she didn’t meet her own standards. Text throughout the page: “Nothing I did ever mattered. Nothing ever mattered…! Nothing… Nothing!!” Miles calls out the Franziska and Franziska’s face contorts with anger. Miles: “Where are you going… Franziska?”

Page two: Franziska turns toward Miles and says, “How did you know I was here…?” Miles looks worried. They start talking to each other, but there are no text. Franziska is thinking, “You…! How dare you show your face to me?!”

Page three: Memories of Franziska being left behind are shown. First, Miles is nine years old and covering his eyes, crying. He’s walking ahead of Franziska while she tries to catch up to him. She reaches her left arm to him. Second, Miles is twenty years old and Manfred is walking next to him with a hand on Miles’ shoulder. Miles is frowning and Manfred is smiling. Franziska is thirteen and she is left behind in disbelief. There is a big split in the middle of the page, separating Franziska from them. Text in the split represents Franziska’s thoughts: “All you’ve ever done was leave me behind… Don’t act like you care now! I’ve always hated you!”

Page four: Franziska is back to being depicted as the present Franziska. Now she is standing in the middle of darkness alone. Franziska: “I can’t change who I am. I can’t throw away everything I’ve been until today.” Miles responds, shocking Franziska, “I believe you can. Today, you chased after me, after I’ve left you behind all these years.” Franziska looks up at him with wide eyes, but still skeptical.

Page five: The page is in color. Miles and Franziska are facing each other. Miles: “And that’s why we’re standing here now, side by side.” Franziska: “…!”

Page six: The page is gray toned. Miles looks at Franziska with a determined look. Miles: “But I have no intention of stopping. If you say you are going to quit your walk down the prosecutor’s path… Then this is where we part ways, Franziska von Karma.” Franziska is listening, dumbfounded.

Page seven: Franziska looks down, clenching her jaw. Franziska is facing away from viewers and Miles is facing her. Franziska: “I… I…”

Page eight: Page is in color. Franziska is facing the viewer and she is crying. Franziska: “I am Franziska Von Karma. Don’t think I’m going to walk in your shadow forever…”

Page nine: Page is in color. Franziska loses her eyes, still crying and facing Miles. Franziska: “Our battle… Begins now… So you had better prepare yourself, Miles Edgeworth!” They are both facing away from the viewers, walking together toward the future. Franziska is wiping her eyes with her left arm.

Page ten: Page is gray toned. A memory of Franziska when she is two years old and Miles is nine. Miles is crying and walking ahead of Franziska. She is reaching out to him, but she is left behind. She starts crying by herself. A hand is extended towards her and she looks at it, surprised. Franziska becomes happy that Miles came back for her and she holds his hands, smiling. Text: “Thank you for being here…” End description.]

The scene that made me cry 🥲 I have so many thoughts about it— 🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️

HC (TW// suicidal ideation): I love that they added this scene to show how Franziska was also going through it, too. She was also hurt by what Manfred did and the pressure of the “von Karma name”. She’s literally a teenager going through all of this bs. I also loved that Miles related her to Adrian because YES. The similarities between Adrian, Franziska, and also Miles throughout the case- they were all dependent on their mentor and tried to act “strong” to cope with their self perceived weaknesses/failures. I personally think Miles was also suicidal and that Franziska was going down that same path. Her throwing away her whip is a hint at that HC. Her whip represents her strength and being a prosecutor- AKA her life, since that’s all her and Miles lived for at this point. Unlike Miles tho, Franziska had someone there to stop her and help her before she went down that path. I also like to think that because they were so caught up in their pain, they felt alone when they had each other the whole time. I don’t blame them cuz Manfred made it so they were only “worthy” if they were “geniuses” like he is. They put being the best prosecutor over EVERYTHING else. That’s going to mess anyone up, especially children who just wanted their dad to love them. AHHH I LOVE THEM 😭😭😭

I took out so much dialogue cuz it was already getting too long. I think the Adrian line could make for it’s own comic 🥺 (I love that they directly relate them so much SKLKJGK😭)

[oleander-nin]

I see that your requests are open- {at least I hope they are because I see that they're open in like- 3 places-}

Can I get a RoTTMNT Donnie x reader with these two prompts:

Stealing clothing

"One more chance. I'll give you one more chance."

It can just be a silly little fluff thing where they keep stealing each other's comfort clothing or something sifdhufiigejj I jsut like seeing 1 prompt that could be seen as angst then going like "how to turn FLUFF?" You don't have to make it fluff and sorry for talking so much in this paragraph I'm just. So far ufsuguu

What's Yours is Mine

A/N, not important: Aww, I liked that you wanted to turn it fluff and I tried my best to keep it that way. Sorry it took so long(this ask is back from SEPTEMBER). Sorry if Donnie's out of character, it's been a while. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me. -Ollie

CW: thievery, apologies, OOC Donnie

Words: 956

Summary: Donnie catches you stealing his hoodie.

The hoodie you were wearing was softer than most you’ve ever felt, the fabric so light and soothing you almost forgot it was on. You had to keep looking down before passing a window, making sure you hadn’t forgotten to put on a shirt so you don’t walk by with a bare chest. The earlier guilt from taking it had died down by now. No accusatory texts, no panicked calls. As far as you could tell, Donnie didn’t even know it was missing yet. Made sense, you thought. He never wore it that often. Not unless he was going out into the public eye. 

The sense of safety you felt in the hoodie so far has caused you to grow careless, cocky even. You knew Donnie was popping in today. The time of which, you weren’t entirely sure. He could pop in at any moment, yet you were still in the stolen hoodie. You sigh, deciding not to push your luck. It would only tick off Donnie to know you stole his favorite(and only) hoodie. Not to mention he'd have probably lent it to you if you just asked either way.

You slip the hoodie off your shoulders, shaking it twice to get the imaginary dirt off before hanging it up in your closet. The thought, while feeling a bit silly at first, ended up being a good idea. Seconds after you close your closet and take a step back, Donnie raps his knuckles against your window. Shaking off the guilt and the embarrassment, you open the window to let him in.

“Greetings,” Donnie says, a self-satisfied  grin on his face. It was later in the night, his back lit by the moon and his face by the lights of your room. It was nice to see him so relaxed, you realized. Having him content in your presence, his confidence showing through his eyes. You loved seeing him like this, and quietly vowed to never let that smile falter. You step out of the way to let him slip through the window, his battle shell sprouting spider-like appendages to assist him in balancing.

“Good to see you,” You say smoothly, walking across your room to grab the controllers and set up the console you weaseled into your room earlier in the day. You've already set up everything for you both to have your weekly game tournaments, with the stack of games selected now reaching up to your knees. Plenty of material to go through, and you could easily set up a movie or pull out the board games in your closet if either of you get bored of button mashing.

The sound of a door creaking open while your back is turned makes you jolt, your eyes widening as you realize that by opening your closet, he definitely had seen the stolen hoodie. You turn to look back at him, trying to push down the sheepish look and maintain your innocence as he pulls out the accumulation of your thievery. 

"What do you have here," Donnie muses, holding up the hoodie to his plastron and looking down at it like he was trying it on in a store. You shift on your feet, unsure what to say to him now that you have definitely been caught. The crazed twinkle in his eye and the urge to maintain your dignity held firm, causing you to double down.

"New hoodie I just got. You like it?"

Donnie looks you up and down, completely unimpressed by your innocent facade. “Oh really? You just happened to come by a large purple hoodie with the back modified to fit over a shell and larger pockets to fit hands like mine?”

You stare blankly at him, pursing your lips. “Mhm.”

“I’ll give you one more chance to admit this one’s mine,” Donnie says curtly, his eyes twitching as he looks the hoodie up and down for any damages. “I mean, you could have just asked before you rifled through my belongings to find it.”

You slump forward slightly, giving in. “Yeah, it’s yours. I’m sorry I took it, I should’ve asked.”

Donnie grins at you again, smug. “Apology accepted. On one condition, of course.”

You grimace at the thought, sighing deeply. Conditions from Donnie usually meant trouble, or you becoming a new assistant/experiment for one of his inventions. “And that condition is?”

“I get to take one of your hoodies in exchange. And allow Papá to make the needed alterations to it.”

You chew on your cheek, trying to weigh the consequences of your actions. “Who gets to choose the hoodie?”

Donnie scoffs, shoving the problem hoodie into his battle shell as it opens up. He crosses his arms over his chest, giving you an incredulous look. “Me, obviously. You stole my hoodie.”

The point he made was fair on all accounts. You knew deep down Donnie likely wasn’t mad, more frustrated you had taken something without asking(again). However, knowing he’d almost definitely choose your favorite hoodie to alter sucked. There was a reason you didn’t wear Donnie’s hoodie outside and instead used it as loungewear. Mentally mourning your collection, you wave your hand towards your closet as a sign to let him have at it.

“Take what you want. Mi casa es tu casa.”

Donnie grins smugly once more, clearly having expected that answer. He turns back towards your closet and starts to dig through it, looking through your hoodies to find his perfect victim. The glee in which he did so had you suspecting he had set you up in some way, but you keep those thoughts to yourself. If he wanted, he could alter your whole closet to fit him and you wouldn’t say a word.

Tag list: @f1oricide @itsyagurlchip @lordfreg @acutiewithagun @rottmnttmnt2012 @lixnininotnay @lexiechr @ssak-i @rottmntsimp

[solaarbeeam]

SAY IT — TOGAME JO.

SYNOPSIS — togame jo is the steadfast and sturdy leader of shishitoren. however, he’s a lot more soft and squishy around the ones he loves.

he just never thought he’d get the courage to say it.

A/N: Written for and requested by the awesome and gorgeous @toyogamii !! hope ya like it callum <33

Togame Jo has always been an observer.

He prefers to sit back and listen, sometimes analyze, to the situations he presents himself in or gets himself in.

He couldn’t spend as long as he did chasing after Choji’s happiness without sitting down and analyzing the playing field before he made a move.

You, however. You were not analyzed. You weren’t even a calculated risk. You were a surprise, one that he can’t quite say was unwelcome.

Togame Jo observes. He listens, he oversees. Within the confines of his strategy, he allows himself to yearn very little.

He allowed himself to yearn after Choji’s happiness. So that one day, the sun would shine again.

You, however? He didn’t just yearn, he craved.

Every look, every ramune bottle bought and passed, every patch work job after a brawl, he craved it.

He craved you. And he had no idea how to deal with it.

He thinks it may have started when you took his glasses and he never let out a peep of protest. Maybe it was when you wore his Shishitoren jacket to school once. Maybe it was the nice feeling of fingers carding through his hair.

Maybe it was to seek his own happiness, instead of sacrificing his own for the slight chance that another’s might come to light once more.

Maybe it was how he only consistently texted you on his own phone. He’ll never know, really. It was just something about you.

What will he do about this?

He doesn’t know.

Even after the battle of Bofurin, you somehow find him at his lowest point. On the roof of The Cage, nothing but silence running through the atmosphere.

The roof of The Cage is reserved for only him and Chouji.

Today is different, because you all but demanded to come up after hearing about the fighting tournament they had.

He watches you fix your uniform, smoothing it out in the rumpled places. He remembers why. He remembers seeing you running up to Sako, hair in a mess and uniform in shambles, demanding to talk to him.

He remembers the look of relief that came over your face the minute you laid eyes on him.

Togame craves.

As you patch him up, there’s a silent conversation passing in between the two of you. Words are silent, but the whispers can be imagined. Whispers of sorry’s and what happened’s and short descriptors.

Your touch lit the fire of yearning inside him. Wanting to touch, to hold, to hug, maybe even to kiss.

To carry. To rely on. To be relied on. To be carried.

To be loved.

Would it be so bad, to put the end to the yearning, the craving? Wouldn’t it just become worse, if you told him that you don’t feel the same?

That you don’t yearn? You don’t crave?

You don’t love him back? What would he do then?

What would happen to the freshly bought ramune bottles in his favorite flavor? What would happen to bandaging and patching him up after a brawl? What would happen to him lending you his Shishitoren jacket, so much so that people actually thought you were apart of the gang?

Could he even invite you to become apart of it? Would you even say yes?

Too many risks. Should he take it, with the way the atmosphere was?

Togame was an observer. He doesn’t think his findings will help him now.

He silently looks at your hands, those sweet hands that have bandaged him up and bought him things without prompting.

How would they feel, around his neck when he wants a kiss? How would they feel, if he tried to interlace them with his own?

“Fuck it.”

He gently removes one of your hands from his face, holding it in between his two palms. The warmness of it, the texture of it.

“Yknow, Togame, I think that you need me for something.”

He needs you every day, but that’s not exactly what he’s trying to say, is he?

“..I do. But not for something.”

“Then what for?”

He observes once more. It barely helps, if it helps at all.

Maybe he should just turn his brain off and just say whatever he wants to say.

A muffled sound from muddled words reaches your ears, but the sentence goes unheard. You poke him in the cheek to prompt him to speak louder.

It’s now or never. He’d rather sulk about the rejection than live with this craving any longer.

“Don’t need anything or something. I just need you.”

There, he said it. Now if you could just hurry up and reject him, that would be just great—

“I need you too, yknow that?”

His head snaps up faster than he thinks it ever has, his glasses falling from his face, revealing deep forest green eyes.

It’s gorgeous.

He’s gorgeous.

“Here’s one thing you don’t seem to understand, Togame.”

“Shishitoren needs the Lion’s Second in Command. I, however, need Togame Jo. The Togame obsessed over when new flavors of Ramune release. The Togame who lets me wear his jacket when I’m cold. The Togame..”

You take his glasses, and place them on top of his head. You can see slight tears coming out of his eyes.

“The Togame I love. Please, wipe your eyes. Your eyes look too pretty in the sunset for that.”

The Togame I love. Did he hear that right?

The Togame you love.

“I love you. I love you so much.” He says, slightly shakily from crying.

“I love you too, Jo. I really, really do.”

Togame Jo was an observer.

Just once, he’s glad that instead of sitting back and observing, he took a risk.

It’ll be the best risk, and will forever be the best risk he’s ever took.

Why? Because in the end, he got what he was yearning and craving for.

You.

© solaarbeeam 2024.

[your-nanas-house]

I have an idea, Cillian and his girlfriend/wife Victoria's Secret model🤭

Sorry if it took me so long, loved this pairing so much!! 🙇🏼‍♀️💅🏻

Missing you

◇ Pairing: Cillian Murphy X Victoria's Secret model!Reader

◇ Warnings: smut, age gap (both off age), model reader, sadness, missing each other, masturbation, phone sex, Cilly takes care of "business", she calls him daddy once, fluff.

◇ Summary: Cillian misses his girlfriend who is on a work trip.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English.

The sky was getting dark in Dublin, Cillian’s eyes could see it… his light blue eyes staring absently at his window while his focus on the book was completely gone.

Happened sometimes during the day that he started to dissociate, losing himself in his thoughts… especially now that his girlfriend wasn’t there for him because of work.

He really missed her and was feeling kind of lonely but the older man didn’t want to bother her knowing well how work was important and that she needed to focus on it.

She wasn’t an actress but a model, a quite famous one.. since she worked for the brand Victoria’s Secret and was one of the angels.

Cillian was in trance for almost 5 minutes when his phone lit up and interrupted his trail of thoughts, bringing him back to reality that way.

His baby blue eyes glanced at the black screen as his hand reached for it, his whole body moving from the armchair while the book dropped on the small table.

‘Hi, honey. I’m finally on break! How was your day?🥰’ Y/n’s text showed, making Cillian smile softly as he walked closer to the window to close the curtains before replying.

His girlfriend answered again just a couple of minutes later, lighting the dark room with just a message and warming his evening as well.

‘Can I call you?’ the older actor texted her hesitantly, his free hand rubbing slowly against his lips and chin as if he was nervous but still thinking

‘Of course!’ she replied quickly, as soon as she read it.

As the phone started to ring, Cillian’s heart started to beat harder, his body reacting as one of a teenager in love even though he was already in his 40s… and then the world disappeared around him completely as soon as her sweet voice interrupted the beeping of that object.

“Hi love” Y/n hummed softly, noises of rubbing fabric in the background, she was probably busy with the clothes she had to wear at the fashion show she had the next day “How was your day, Cilly?” she added after he whispered a greeting.

The young woman could feel the atmosphere and the mood that was slowly getting at her and just wanted to be sure her boyfriend was alright, even if she had a pretty stressful and long day.

“Cilly” she urged him softly, waiting now patiently still and worried on the sofa of her hotel room, her eyes moving around the room. “I miss you” the Irish man revealed with a tired sigh as he headed to the kitchen and grabbed a cold beer from the fridge “Missed you so much today” he emphasised his state of that moment.

A small smile creeped on Y/n’s face, her cheeks heating slightly up at her boyfriend’s sweetness. It was really one of the qualities she loved most about him.

“You did, baby? I missed you too” she cooed, not finding any discomfort in babying an older man, a soft pitiful smile on her face as she imagined to be there with him, his piercing baby blue eyes staring in hers as his he would rest his chin against her tummy… just watching her with pure love and devotion.

“Missed you all day long, been thinking about you. It’s pretty cold the bed without you next to me and I miss to cuddle… and make sweet love to you” she murmured in a soft tone, hearing Cillian inhale sharply, hesitating… creating that way an unbreakable silence before finally letting his inner battle end

“What are you wearing?” he rasped out, catching her a bit off guard but in a pleasant way.

Although he did not anticipate it, Cillian smiled slightly when she replied without hesitation, her tone becoming more alluring and appealing... as she played along with his idea of evening.

“I’m wearing a pink see-through tank top and short pants” she hummed, biting her bottom lip, lying carefully down on the bed “you can see my bare breasts, the shape of them and my hard nipples… the short pants are pretty pretty short, my thighs are showing off divinely” she described with a purr.

Her tongue daring out, licking her bottom lip slowly as she heard Cillian working on his clothes through the phone.

“You know what I would do if I were there with you, honey?” Y/n whispered softly, her eyes glancing at the phone since he took a bit of time to breath out an answer “What?”.

Her small smirk became wider as she heard Cillian’s desperate voice “I would kneel on the cold floor of our living room, my body would stretch slowly before I would start to crawl closer to you… you sitting on our favourite armchair, thighs spread just for me” the younger woman explained, letting a moan slip out of her mouth followed by a low purr.

The actor's body moved on its own, his whole weight dropping on that specific armchair… his beautiful eyes remaining closed as his breath became quicker and heavier.

“My hands would slowly run up… caressing slowly your calf… then your knee.. now your thighs” she continued, smirking as she heard a small whimper coming from the other end of the phone “I'm unbuttoning your sexy old man pyjamas pants” her sensual voice added, her tone becoming mocking as she teased him for his outfit… before returning back to her lustful mood.

Cillian hands stroked slowly his clothed thighs before undoing his pants as she kept talking.

Her voice echoing in the room as if she was there with him, her small moans and dirty sentences making him shiver in anticipation.

His fingertips brushed against his now bare hairy thigh… not touching his throbbing cock at all.

“I'm holding it now, my tongue is teasing your tip and you taste so good, baby” Y/n commented, squeezing her thighs together as her man groaned softly, spitting on his hand to wet his tip before taking care of it.

His hand slowly wrapped around his length, following the exact dynamic that Y/n was narrating for him.

“My hand is squeezing it slightly as my mouth is sucking on your sweet spot on your jawline” she whispered, adding a moan and a soft whimper as she whispered his name under her breath.

Her hands were busy preparing herself a warm drink before relaxing too, finally ending that busy day.

“Oh fuck daddy” she fake whimpered, adding sugar in her pink cup…. Cillian groaning automatically in response, his hand tightening the grip a bit as he worked his cock like she did and… like he knew he enjoyed it.

His breath got heavier as his hips moved upwards, meeting his movements.

“Oh darling” the older man groaned, caging his bottom lip with his teeth after letting a soft curse slip his mouth.

“Yes, yes! Just like that, Cilly” Y/n moaned eagerly for him as she took a seat on the comfortable sofa of her hotel room.

His hips shuttering as he shot his load, dirtying his hand and his thighs other than his lower tummy.

Silence fell by the both of them, Y/n could only hear the heavy breathing of her man while Cillian was still too lost in the pleasure to register anything else.

“I love you, Cilly” she hummed softly, a shy smile on her face since it wasn't long ago that they started saying that to each other.

Three simple words so powerful that could light up the day of anybody.

“I love you too, love” Cillian whispered back with a soft smile on his own freckled face.

Taglist:

@gabile18 , @mrsfullbuster500 , @rex-ray , @elizamalfoyy, @eovjjj , @monkeyking-and-liuer-mate , @jeremiah-va1eska , @gothamchic16, @rabbiteggz , @dieg0brandos-wife , @rottenecstasy , @lazyexcuse , @teh-vampire-bunny , @lobotomy-lover , @slasher-smasher , @sleepycreativewriter , @mrkdvidal1989

[dazais-guardian-angel]

Dazai Osamu and the Dark Era: the visual novel (a fan project)

On a whim, I've decided to finally just publicly release this project that I've had laying around for two years at this point, for Dazai's birthday today. It was originally made for my very dear friend @letmereachforthestars , when I first introduced her to the series and wanted her to be able to read my favorite BSD light novel in an easier-to-read format. You need a computer to be able to play. The details and links are under the cut:

If you've never played a visual novel before, it's basically a novel in the form of a video game. Text will appear line by line, one a time on the screen, and it will be accompanied by relevant background visuals, music, and sound effects, to make the reading experience more immersive, and more stimulating than just reading from a book. Some visual novels have actual gameplay elements to them, and some are just books and nothing else (oftentimes dating sims/choose-your-own-adventure novels), the latter of which this is. If you've played the mobile game Bungou Tales/Mayoi, the story sections of that game are basically mini visual novels.

This game was made with screenshots and music from the anime, sound effects from the anime and Bungou Tales and free sound effect online sources, as well as graphics and fonts and other assets from Bungou Tales and other official BSD art (particularly the official anime soundtrack cd covers). The script is taken entirely from the official Yen Press translation of Dark Era, with the exception of about two or three iconic lines that I used different translations of because I felt like they had more impact. Additionally, at the very, very end, I added on the original ending scene from the Dark Era stage play and wrote a few fanfic lines of my own to accompany it you can tell because they are very cringe and don't match Asagiri's writing style.

Before playing the game, there are a few very important things to keep in mind; PLEASE read all this:

I am not a professional in the slightest. I took some coding classes in high school, and have some photoshop skills (when it comes to the design elements of the menus), but for the most part the former wasn't much help here; this was my very first time ever using the Renpy engine, and I made this entirely from scratch. I used my knowledge of playing other visual novels to emulate the kinds of effects and timing that is typical for these games, and I think it turned out pretty well all things considered, but it's still very amateur. This is most evident in the sound effects. The sound effects have no volume consistency between them, and some of them, particularly the gun/battle sfx, can come on very suddenly and be loud. I highly, HIGHLY encourage going into the settings and turning down the sound effects volume (the music should be fine), so that you're not startled by certain sounds when they happen, and for a lengthy time. I wouldn't blame you if you decide to turn the sfx off entirely if's too distracting, honestly 🫠 I am no expert in sound files equalizing and making sound files loop seamlessly, so this was by far the most tedious and frustrating part of the process of making this for me. Hopefully it doesn't ruin the game or break immersion too much if you decide to leave them on (I hope you do, for the rain and clock sounds at least, but again I wouldn't blame you if you can't).

Dark Era is the most faithful light novel adaptation in the anime, but there are still a handful of scenes, mostly fight scenes, that got shaved down significantly. Because of this, there are numerous occasions where I had to simply linger on a black screen or the same screenshot for a long period of time, while tons and tons of narration happens, because there's simply nothing I can show to accompany said narration. This is not ideal, but unfortunately I didn't have much else of a choice in those instances, so I hope it's not too distracting. There are also a few instances of straight-up inconsistencies between the novel and the anime (ex. the fight between Oda and Akutagawa happens in the woods in the novel, but in the anime it's still right outside the art museum), so sometimes what you're reading won't quite match the screenshots I use. Fortunately it's never anything major, but it does happen.

There will sometimes be long, unchanging black screens. Don't worry, the game isn't broken; just wait long enough and it will continue.

Sometimes, a character will get cut off when speaking, and when that happens the dialogue will auto-force to the next line. If you didn't get a chance to see what was said before, check the text backlog/history (in the menu or the H key).

Last but not least, this game was made with the default text speed in mind. Meaning, that when it comes to certain specific scenes, the mood/tone of them, made up of the timing of music, transitions, sound effects, etc, all of it was arranged around the speed at which things progress when using the default text speed. I completely understand if you can't, but if at all possible, please try not to change the text to go too much faster or slower, especially faster, because certain scenes will lose a lot of impact otherwise. If you already know Dark Era, you probably have an idea of some of the scenes I'm referring to. At the very least, during the more high-stakes/intense scenes, please try to play through those all at once without stopping, for the greatest impact based on how I designed the game, and only pause/quit during the slower scenes. There are specific moments that I'm really proud of how they came out, and I'd like for them to have the maximum impact that I intended :') (also note that if you make the text appear instantly, the cut-off dialogue mentioned above simply will not appear at all, and you won't even know to look back for them, so please refrain from making the text instant at the very least)

Ignore the cringe sappy final message

...I think that's everything. With all that out of the way, here are the links for both PC and Mac:

Download the PC version

Download the Mac version

This was a passion project for me for a good many months back in 2022. It started out just as a gift for my friend, but in the end I was really satisfied with how it turned out, despite how tedious and frustrating it was to work on. I've been hesitant to share it with the fandom for all this time because I kinda doubt anyone would really be interested in something like this especially since it's not stormbringer or beast, but someone on discord who tried it told me that I should share it, so here it is. I'm sharing it not just because I'm proud of my work, but because Dark Era is a truly amazing light novel — underrated, in my opinion (yes, I said what I said) — and far better than the anime adaptation, as good as that is, and I want more people to read it. If reading the books is hard for you and you've never read Dark Era before, if I can help just one more person to read it with this, I'll be happy, and consider my job done. 💖

I so desperately want to make more of these visual novels for the other light novels, but sadly, some of them simply aren't possible thanks to how many scenes are missing from the anime, like with Entrance Exam in particular. I've also been waiting with vain, thin hope that Bungou Tales will eventually reach seasons 3 and 4, so I can use their Fifteen and Untold Origins title screens like I did here, if those ever exist. However, I'm also held back thinking about certain scenes that would require some redrawing/drawing additional details to match what's written in the novels. If anyone has any ideas on things I could do to possibly get around these issues, or just thoughts in general about how the other light novels might be tackled, or if you're an artist who can recreate the anime's style and takes commissions/knows someone who does, I'd absolutely love to hear from you! As well as any advice/help on how I can smooth out/improve this project here!

Anyway, sorry for the long wall of text. Thank you for reading all this, if you did, and if you do try the game, please let me know your thoughts; I crave any and all feedback. 💙✨

[tadhgsstuff]

Hear me out on Simon Ghost Riley getting stares from people, I mean that's normal for the man but even people he knows are shooting him a whistle and some are giggling at him, at the end of the day he checks a mirror to find a big red kiss mark on the forehead of his mask. Visible to all. Thoughts?

HEY so i love this and I just had to get a move on immediately because it just started to roam around my head at random intervals of the day .

Warnings: Suggestive if you squint, cursing

Prior to Simon going out to buy some groceries for the week he was at home with you, sitting on the couch, a casual sunday afternoon, you had both just finished the leftovers in the fridge. Cuddled up on the couch, the clock reading 6:00pm, the sun shining a golden light through the sheer curtains, you get up off the couch and walk to the room as Simon shouts

“Where ya off to?” from his comfortable spot in front of the TV

“Forgot I had a work dinner tonight! I have to leave in an hour! I should be home by 9 or 9:30” You yell down from the bathroom as you begin to brush out your hair.

You’re almost ready as you hear him get off the couch and slowly trudge up the stairs, his footsteps get closer and closer to the bathroom just as you finish slipping on your silky black dress, the one that clings to every curve of your body perfectly, the one thats elegant and simple, the one that drives Simon nuts.

He comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you backwards despite your string of lighthearted pleas about how you just did your hair and how he’s gonna mess it up.

“Jus stay here tonight” he says as he rests his head in the nook of your neck before turning you to face him with ease, he sits the both of you down on the bed so you’re straddling him, your dress hiking up to your upper thighs, he drinks in the image of you before nipping at your neck, hearing your light giggles and scoffing at your faulty attempts to push him away.

“You know you wanna”

“Si’ you know good and well I have to go- and shit I have to go now” You say trying to get up, but he just pulls you closer, putting those big ass muscles to use

“Hey while I’m out and before the store closes, can you grab some milk and a carton of eggs? ran out this morning” You can almost hear his eyes roll, he was trying to seduce you into staying and you had to go all housewife on him.

“alright fine, gimme one more kiss babydoll.” He says grabbing at your ass attempting to lift your dress one more time, before you check your watch once more and quickly stand up, he grabs his mask and his keys and walks you out to your car, you pull him down by the collar of his shirt and plant a big fat kiss to his masked forehead. Watching him get into the car with a devilish smirk planted on your face, you start your car and drive off.

Simon walks into the grocery store, his big baggy cargos, chunky black combat boots, with scratches and a worn down look to them, his mask is covering the majority of his face, besides his eyes of course. He walks around without a care in the world, he’s used to getting stared at in public, he’s quite a large man, and his battle scars seem to draw loads of attention, but he’s getting more stares than usual, and more…snickers? He’s not too sure why people are giggling and whistling instead of covering their children’s eyes today he furrows his brows, checks out and gets in his truck, heading back to the house.

He puts everything away in the fridge and goes into the downstairs bathroom, low and behold he walks right past his mirror and slowly inches back only to see a bright red lipstick mark on his mask. He sucks his teeth and mumbles to himself before taking his phone out and sending you a text

“Think yer so funny huh sweet’art?”

He debates sending more but he refrains, he sets his mask out on the table and waits up for you on the couch, when you walk in the door and kick your shoes off, all he does is give you a sly look, watching your gaze switch from the mask to his face, his grin got bigger and bigger.

“anything you gotta say luvie?”

“did you get what I asked you to get from the market?” you say with a smile cracking at your lips

“yer just full of fuckin’ jokes tonight yeah” he says before picking you up by the legs and roughly kissing you ripping off that sexy black dress that he will now have to replace, but its worth it.

hope you guys enjoyed!! reblogs appreciated as well as sending in some ideas !! ❤️

(@cafekitsune for the dividers!)

[ns-games]

2024 CrowdStrike Incident

I just wanted to document my day today. Since I feel this is a pretty major historical event in the history of computing.

From my understanding, the update that CrowdStrike pushed occurred last night, but I wasn't made aware of it until this morning.

I heard the notification for Microsoft Teams go off on my work phone a couple of times while I was still in bed. I decided not to answer right away since employees are supposed to call me directly if there's a production issue. However, around 5:30 this morning, I got a call from one of my team leads telling me that a CrowdStrike update got pushed earlier that has now "BitLockered" a bunch of computers.

For context, my team uses the term "BitLockered" for any time a computer crashes and requires the BitLocker encryption key to recover.

In any case, I was asked if I could run over to our local distribution center right away to start mitigating the damage. I immediately got up, got dressed, grabbed my work laptop and bag and left. I skipped my morning coffee and shower so I could get there ASAP.

When I finally managed to get inside the building, I started taking a look around the front office and saw several computers stuck on the Windows Recovery Mode screen. Already starting to look like a bad sign. I started booting up my work laptop, which I thankfully did not leave turned over overnight, and headed upstairs to a bank of production computers. As soon as I got up there, I saw a sea of Windows Recovery Mode screens.

By this point my Microsoft Teams notifications started going off non-stop, and I started running the recommended fix on one of the computers. Basically I was trying to make sure I understood how to perform the fix. At this point, it became apparent we were going to have to touch every endpoint in our network at every facility.

Around 6:00AM, I got a call from a manager from a separate facility asking me about what was going on. This is someone that's constantly just called me instead of submitting a help desk ticket, and I've tried to be patient with. Today I had to be a bit more blunt and state that I couldn't drop what I was doing to come over and help, but that someone would be there later today to assist. This manager continued to try and call me throughout the day, but I had to keep telling him that I was not going to be available all day.

Around 6:30AM one of my co-workers made it to the distribution center to help. I ran the fix on his laptop and we started working to fix each computer one by one. A bit later I noticed my mom texted me that she heard about this in the news. So I looked up "CrowdStrike" on Google and found that not only were we affected by it, but many other major companies were.

As we started getting workstations back online, it became apparent that was only going to be half the battle, as this issue caused most of our servers to crash as well. But at this point, we figured it would be best to continue to get as many workstations back up and running one by one. But because the servers were down, I kept getting asked if I could restore a connection, which unfortunately we couldn't do until the server team could run the fixes on our servers.

Eventually I was asked to join a Zoom call so I could start providing other facilities with BitLocker keys so they could start running the fix on their own computers. Some machines we determined could be fixed by reverting to a restore point. Others we had find a way to manually remove the "C-00000291*.sys* file by booting the computer into Safe Mode with Networking. Those devices ended up costing us a bunch of time to get back up and running.

By the time 5:00PM rolled around, I asked if I could go home and continue to work from there. So I took the opportunity to go home, get myself cleaned up, and continue to work. By 8:30PM it seemed that things had died down to the point we could stop for the day. I'm sure we've got a few machines we still need to apply the fix to, but we managed to get our core business back up and running within the matter of a few hours.

So yeah, long story. But I just felt like documenting it, given that this is an event that's probably going to be pretty well remembered in the history books.

[daydreaming-in-letters]

I don’t have a picture specifically but it is my birthday today! Can you write something with Andrew surprising you when you thought he’d be on tour somewhere else and wouldn’t be able to make it for your birthday? Can start out fluffy but then turn into smut please :)

Well, let me present you with a picture then... (He is on his way.)

Happy Belated Birthday, love. (It seems we share that special day. 😉) I hope you don't mind I kept it fluffy this time. I'm having a mild fever and I couldn't handle more heat than I am already battling with.

warnings: language; a little heartache

 Only fifteen minutes left. Thank god, you thought. You could not wait for this day to be over.

It was your birthday today. And you loved your birthday. But birthdays without Andrew sucked. It did not even feel like a real birthday, much less like a day you wanted to celebrate. And so you had not. 

You had told your friends and family that you would be busy at work all day and that after that, you definitely would not be in the mood for company. And astonishingly, they had all accepted your excuse and taken to calling or texting you instead of coming round to congratulate you in person. 

All the better, you thought, as you prepared to go to bed. Disposing of your empty glass in the sink, you walked over to the open window. The world outside lay in complete silence, slowed by the darkness of night that had settled a while ago. It was time to let go of the day and rest. 

But how could you let go? How could you find peace when a part of you was missing, leaving a void in your chest that seemed to grow bigger with every passing second, like a black hole that swallowed all the goodness you should have felt on a day like this?

You sighed. This was unfair. You knew it was. It was unfair to you as much as it was unfair to him. If there would even be the slightest chance, the tiniest possibility, he would be here with you right now, no doubt. And still you felt like crying.

He had called you, first thing in the morning and you had talked for a long while. He had reserved some extra time for you, more than he usually could, and still you missed him. So much. More than you had ever thought it possible to miss someone. In some moments, the worst of them, when you just could not hold up your walls anymore, it hurt. It hurt to a point that you needed to lie down and roll up into a bundle of misery, and all you could do was just stay like that until the pain had faded. 

Afterwards you always felt a little stupid for being so whiny. He would be back with you soon enough, no time to act like a clingy puppy. But most importantly, he could never know. It would break his heart. And one broken heart was bad enough already. 

You jolted as your ears picked up the harsh buzzing of your phone on the living room table. Probably another message of birthday wishes, you assumed, as you walked over to pick it up. But as soon as you read the name on the screen your heart jumped a little. It was his goodnight text. He sent you one every night. 

Told the moon to hold all my love. So don’t be surprised if it shines a little brighter tonight. Just for you.

Well, someone had clearly been listening to an awful lot of Mitski lately, you thought, and chuckled to yourself. But only one glance outside was enough to make your heart drop, opening the vaults, and letting your eyes spill over. The moon was nowhere to be seen. 

If only he were—

But you did not get to end that thought as the clock made you jump again, telling you it was midnight. Your birthday finally over. 

The wave of relief that washed over you made you sigh through the tears. Time to go to bed at last. With two harsh strokes of the back of your hand, the visible remains of your heartache were gone and you were just about to switch off the lights, when an unexpected noise startled you for the third time tonight. 

Had that been a knock on your door? At this time? It could not be. You had probably misheard. Still you chose to stay for a moment and wait, and it did not take long before it came again. Loud and clear this time. 

This was impossible. Insufferable. Had you not been absolutely clear about not wanting any company today? Well, obviously not. But you would correct that mistake right away.

“I told you I didn’t want to see anyone. Go away!”

But instead of some well-earned silence, there was another knock. 

“For fuck’s sake, can’t you just leave me alone?”

Obviously they could not. Just as they most likely could not read the atmosphere to understand when it was time to leave. And when they even showed the audacity to knock yet again, you felt like you had no other choice. With a huff of pure rage you stomped over to the door, let your hand smash down on the knob and yanked it open. May god have mercy on the poor soul that was waiting outside.

There had been so many words on your mind, all the curses and swearwords your vocabulary had to offer, but as soon as your eyes landed upon the intruder that stood in your doorway, you could not remember even the simplest one of them all. 

“I just wanted to make sure the moon is shining perfectly for you."

This was not real. It could not be. You had probably fallen asleep and your desperate mind had chosen to give you exactly what you needed, what you had been craving ever since he had left through that exact same door, looking back at you from a pair of watery green eyes. But it seemed you were not granted this little treat for long as tears began to blur your vision once again. 

“The moon is not even shining tonight,” you managed to pipe up, your voice breaking halfway through your statement, making it sound awfully shrill.

“So, it’s a good thing I came then. Because how else would you have know how much I love you?”

A loud, clattering noise echoed through the night as his bag fell to the ground. It had taken him less than a heartbeat to decide whether to hold on to it or hold you instead, and as his arms closed around you now, the familiar warmth of his body pressed against yours, back where he belonged, for the first time in months your heart seemed to remember its natural rhythm again. 

“Sorry I’m late, baby.”

You hugged him a little tighter, basking in the way his breath slowly crept along your neck as he spoke, the way even one word from his mouth was enough to silence the white noise in your brain and let you breathe again.

“It would be so out of character if you weren’t.”

You chuckled, and so did he. 

“Happy Birthday, my love.”

[arlana-likes-to-write]

Visiting Hours by Ed Sheeran

Summary: It has been a year since you lost the love of your life. How were going to live in a world with her gone and a daughter to raise?

Warning: Cannon character deaths (Tony, Natasha, Loki, Vision), Sam is the new Captain America, drinking, grief, survivor's guilt, reader is Wanda and Pietro's older sister who has similar powers to Wanda, angst, sort of happy ending??

Note: At the moment, I do know have a part 2 planned.

Word Count: 3.4K

Today was not a good day. When you flipped the calendar from September to October, you dreaded today. But you put on a brave face so your daughter wouldn’t see her mommy upset. You were thankful your sister could watch her niece for the night. Today, you wanted to be alone, where you could let your mask fall and grieve. One year ago today, you lost the love of your life so the rest of your family could return. It felt so unfair that the universe put you in this position. You wanted to scream and cry until your throat went raw. But you couldn’t. You were so numb to it all. How were you expected to raise your daughter without your other half?

You sat on your bedroom floor, resting your back against your bed. There was a half-opened bottle of vodka that you were sipping on the moment Wanda picked up your daughter. That could explain the numbness you were feeling. Your hands shook as you held your phone, rereading the text messages you sent back and forth. You couldn’t delete them or the voicemails, but you weren’t ready to hear her voice again. Even though you missed every pet name she called you or every time she told you, she loved you.

She loved you. She loved you.

It was the mantra that you kept replaying over and over again. But if Natasha loved you so much, why did she leave? Sighing, your phone began to ring. “Yes?” You answered.

“Just checking in on you, kid,” Clint said.

“I’m fine.”

“How much have you had to drink?”

“None of your fucking business,” you snapped. “Besides, Delilah isn’t here.” The older archer sighed, and you felt one of his fatherly talks coming.

“Look, I know-”

“Barton,” you cut him off, feeling a pressure that began to build at the base of your skull. “I don’t want to talk. I want to sit here, drink, and be sad because I can’t do that every other day. So please, leave me alone.” Your jaw clenched, and each word was laced with your native accent.

“Okay,” he sounded defeated. “Call me if you change your mind.” You hung up the phone. Closing your eyes, you pushed the palms of your hands to your eyes.

“Breathe,” you mumbled. “Breathe.” Your powers were connected to your emotions. You lost control when Pietro was killed and when you faced Thanos a second time. There was so much anger and grief building inside you that it almost consumed you. For Pietro's death, you had to focus on Wanda, and Natasha pulled you out of the darkness. When the battle was done, it was Delilah. She wasn’t born yet, but we knew she was there. The little girl, a perfect blend of you and Natasha, was the only light you saw. The only reason you kept going.

‘It’s okay, moya lyubov’ (my love), it’s okay,’ you heard Natasha’s voice echoing inside your head. You shook your head. You could almost feel her hand on your shoulder, pulling you into her arms to help you regulate your breathing.

“No,” you pleaded. “Please go away. You aren’t here. You are gone.” Gone. Dead. She wasn’t coming back.

‘I’m right here, baby,’ Natasha whispered. ‘Join me.’ You were becoming too weak to resist it. Suddenly, your bedroom door burst open, and your sister was standing there.

“Where is-”

“She’s safe,” she said quickly, pulling you into her arms. “I need you to focus on me. Right here. Do you feel my heart?” You moved your hand to her chest and felt her heart. It was steady, strong, and real.

“Wands,” you gasped for air. “I can’t.” The warmth of your sister’s arms as she rocked you back and forth was helping, but the pull was stronger.

‘Come on, darling,’ Natasha whispered. ‘Come with me.’ Wanda began to hum a Sokovian lullaby that your mother used to sing to drown out the sound of the bombs.

“We’ve been waiting for you. Now you are here. More perfect than I imagined…”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦    

“Where is my daughter?” you asked when Wanda returned from your kitchen. She held a cup of tea in her hands. When you refused to take it and sat on your bed, she placed it on the side table.

“She’s with Pepper. I would have been here sooner but wanted to ensure she was settled.”

“How did you know?” She smiled, took one of your hands, and laced your fingers together.

“Call it twin intuition,” you scuffed, looking away from her but keeping your hands together.

“We aren’t twins,” you were two years older than Wanda and Pietro and were so excited when your mom told you she was pregnant. It was even better when she gave birth to twins. You made it your mission to protect them and seemed to fail at every step. They followed you to HYDRA; you couldn’t stop Pietro's death, and then you and Wanda were thrown into the RAFT. You couldn’t stop Thanks from snapping half of the Earth’s population, and your sister was ripped from you. All this power, and you couldn’t protect those that mattered.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered. “It hurts too much.” Wanda squeezed your hand, fearing you’d slip away from her. “I want her back.”

“I know you do,” Wanda said. “But the world your mind is trying to bring you to isn’t real. She’s gone.” You hated that she was right. That was your power. You could go into the minds of others and bring their greatest wishes and desires to ‘life.’ You made them believe they got their dream job or their loved ones returned from the dead. People have gone mad because of your influence.

“I wish heaven had visiting hours,” you whispered and looked at Wanda’s hand that held yours. “So I could ask for advice. Because I don’t know how to raise her,” Wanda was quiet as she let what you said to sink into her. “I’d go to see Mom, Dad, and Pietro and have them meet Delilah.” Wanda’s face softened at your confession. “I’d ask if I could bring them home, but they wouldn’t let me. So I’d sit till they close and let my worries disappear.” Your sister sighed.

“They’d want you to live life the way they taught us because it’s not a goodbye. It’s a till we meet again.” It was unfair how cruel life was to you and your sister. She lost Vision. You lost Natasha.

“What is grief?” you whispered. “If not love persevering,” you quoted the man she loved. Wanda let out a breathless laugh and wiped away a tear with her free hand.

“I miss him too,” she said. “So much.” You were blinded by your grief and failed to realize how much this day must hurt for everyone.

“Come here,” you said, pulling your sister into your arms. Her head was buried into your shirt, and she let out a few more tears.

Sometimes, you wonder if your family is cruised. Maybe centuries ago, your ancestors angered a god, and now you are facing the consequences of their actions. All you want is for your family to be together and safe.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦    

You woke up to the smell of bacon and fresh coffee. The way your stomach growled made you realize how hungry you were, but leaving your bed sounded awful. Then you heard Wanda’s voice. "I know, Lala,” she cooed to your daughter. “Your mom can’t say no to my cooking, so she’ll be out soon.” Your daughter’s babbles and giggles pulled you out of bed. The annoying alarm clock read that it was 11:36. Shit. You hadn’t slept in like this in a long time.

Sitting up, you stretched your arms above your head and listened to the sound your bones made. The first stop was brushing your teeth and washing your face in the bathroom. Then you changed out of the clothes you fell asleep in and walked into the kitchen. Delilah was you first. Her legs started to kick, and you were thankful the high chair was stable. You gasped and picked her up with ease.

“There is my beautiful girl,” you smothered her cheeks with kisses. “I missed you. I missed you.” Wanda laughed from her spot on the stove.

“See, told you, sunshine,” you smiled at using your native language. “She can’t resist my cookie.” You used your powers to pinch her sides and smirked at her help.

“Cheeky witch,” you teased. You knew she would retaliate if you weren’t carrying Delilah. “Wands,” she looked over her shoulder. “Thank you. For everything.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦    

Once breakfast was eaten and the dishes were put away, you were sitting on the couch while Delilah played on the jungle-themed play mat that Clint had gifted her. Her hands reached for the hanging elephant. Her laughter made you smile as she touched it. Soon, an ache filled your heart. You took out our phone, captured a video of your daughter, and sent it to Clint. A response was immediate. ‘She’s gotten so big.’ Followed by another text, ‘We need to get together soon.’ It was a simple statement but filled your heart with guilt.

You didn’t intend to cut off the team, former and current members, once your daughter was born. They all reminded you of what was. ‘How about I come to you? I bet D would love the farm,’ you hit send.

You loved the Barton homestead, too. It was quiet and peaceful, and it became your second home. It was coming up on 6 years since the last time you stepped foot in Iowa. “Can I ask you something?” You ignored your phone buzzing in favor of taking the mug from Wanda. “Are you going this weekend?” It took a moment for you to realize what she was asking about. Then it hit you.

Honestly, you forgot about it. The email from Sam was left unread in your inbox. The team’s new leader invited current and old members to a party at the brand-new compound. A celebrated, he called it in the email. In some way, it was a celebration. You won the fight but lost Natasha and Tony. “Are you going?” You countered.

“Answering a question with a question is a cheap shot,” Wanda said. “But maybe,” she shrugged and sipped her coffee. “It would be nice to see everyone.” It would be, but you weren’t sure if you were strong enough to see everyone. However, you wanted Delilah to grow up with her aunts and uncles.

That was the plan. You and Natasha would retire, find a property close to the Avengers, and build a family. You wanted a big backyard for your dogs and kids to run around. On nice summer days, you could have barbecues. You saw yourself asking Clint to help Natasha build a jungle gym set for the kids, bringing them lemonade to help cool them off in the summer sun. But that was all a dream, a fantasy. The New York City apartment you lived in was home for you and your daughter.

“Maybe,” you answered. You knew Natasha would have hated how isolated you became. “Yeah,” you gave in. “I’ll go as long as you are there.”

Delete Created with Sketch.

It was a bad idea. As soon as you got out of the car with Delilah on your hip, anxiety and dread filled your stomach. Luckily, Wanda drove with you. The squeals of your daughter distracted you. “Hey,” you looked at your sister. “Sam told me you have a room here fully equipped for Delilah. So if you need a minute, you can go there,” you made a mental note to thank the man. He was busy being Captain America and trying to make this place comfortable for you.

“Let’s do this.” The party was in full swing when you and Wanda stepped out of the elevator. A knot was still in your stomach, but it loosened when you saw your family.

“There is my niece!” Clint was the first to see you arrive and swooped Delilah out of your arms. The man covered her face with kisses. Her squeals were getting the attention of the rest of the party. Thankfully, Laura was the only one to come over and join her husband.

“She’s getting so big,” she cooed, tickling her belly. You were surprised how easily Delilah warmed up to people. Maybe she knew how important these people were to you.

“I know,” you felt Wanda squeeze your shoulder, and you nodded as she walked into the party. “I want her to slow down.” Clint passed your daughter to Laura and pulled you into a hug. You were surprised how easily your body slumped against him.

“How are you, kid?” You let out a shaky breath.

“Okay,” you answered. “Just taking it day by day.” You felt him nod and kissed the side of your head.

“That’s the best we can do,” he admitted. “Come on. Let’s try to enjoy ourselves.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦    

At this rate, you only held your daughter when you entered the party. While it was nice to have a break, you were anxious whenever she was out of sight. So you sat in a chair while Pepper was holding her. Your sister was by her side with Morgan in her arms. You knew she wanted kids, but you weren’t sure what her plan was with Vision gone. Sighing, you sipped on your drink. You felt it. The lingering sensation of your powers trying to take over. You dug your nails into your thigh. Wanda glanced at you, a question of concern on her face, but you gave her a thumbs up. You were fine. You weren’t going to ruin her night. “Lady Maximoff,” you turned to see the God of Thunder.

“Thor,” you smiled, stood up, and hugged the man. He looked much better than the last time you saw him. The God was off-world when Delilah was born. “How are you?”

“Better,” he sat next to you. “My time with the Guardians did me well.” You were happy for him, indeed. For the five years of the Blip, he was overcome with his grief. It was understandable when he watched his brother die for those stupid stones. “How are you? I have yet to meet your little one.” You smiled.

“Good luck trying to get to her,” you teased, ignoring his question. “She’s a popular girl.”

“She looks so much like Natasha,” your breath hitched in your throat at the mention of your partner. You looked at the God as he stared ahead, watching the scene fold before him. Morgan was now on Wanda’s lap while your sister helped her hold Delilah. You could see Natasha and Tony over with them if you thought about it. Maybe Thor was imagining Loki. “Sorry,” he finally spoke. “I’ll see you again tonight. I am going to make my rounds.” Thor stood up and left you alone before you could tell him his apology wasn’t needed. Instead, the God walked over to Sam, Rhodey, and Bruce.

It felt stronger now. The pressure was building at the back of your skull. You needed to escape, a quiet moment without feeling everyone’s grief. It was suffocating. Standing up, you walked to the bathroom and closed and locked the door behind you.

Your hands gripped the sink as you closed your eyes. Each breath was shaky that you let out. Everything hurt. For a place of celebration, everyone’s thoughts were filled with those who weren’t there. You could feel Pepper’s loneliness, Clint’s guilt, and the weight of the pressure on Sam’s shoulders. “Shit,” you turned the water on cold and splashed the water onto your face.

‘Hi, detka,’ You looked in the mirror and saw Natasha behind you. She looked like she did when she returned from a morning workout. Her red hair was pulled back into a braid and she was wearing black leggings with a matching sports bra.

“Go away,” you told her. Natasha frowned.

‘Why would I? You want me here,’ you shook your head and dried your face with the towel.

“Not like this,” you admitted. She moved closer until her front was pressed against your back. It was pathetic how easily it was to lean against her. A soft chuckle rumbled through her chest.

‘See,’ her lips traveled up and down your neck. ‘You can bring us all back together. Nice and safe. Just how we dreamt it.’ It felt so easy to sub-come to it; the warmth and safety she provided. It happened subconsciously, the way your fingers began to glow. Natasha chuckled. ‘Good girl,’ she encouraged. ‘Almost there.’

Even the knocking and banging on the door couldn’t pull you out of it. You could give them everyone back - Natasha, Vision, Steve, Loki, Tony. It hurt and burned as you felt their grief overpower you. ‘Good,’ Natasha whispered. ‘Let go. I got you.’ Her arms kept you standing as you screamed, and a pulse of your powers left your body.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦    

The movement of the bed woke you up. Your eyes fluttered open. Even with your vision blurred with sleep, you saw Natasha climbing into bed with Delilah. “Sorry, dorogoy,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I think our girl wanted some morning cuddles.” You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. You weren’t sure if it was Natasha or your daughter that wanted extra cuddles. Your wife found it impossible to say no to Delilah, almost claiming your daughter had your eyes, and it was hard for her to say no to you, too. The new one-year-old was fast asleep on your wife’s chest.

“It’s fine,” you said, sitting up slightly and snuggling closer to her. With her free arm, Natasha pulled you closer to her. “We have to get up soon,” you mumbled. It’s a busy day today.” Natasha hummed and kissed the top of your head.

“Yes, we do. We have to celebrate this little one. Wanda said she and Vision would be here around noon to help set up,” you nodded. You were hoping to have everything done by then. You loved your sister, but sometimes, she stressed you out when it came to planning parties. Pietro wasn’t much better, but he said he was going to be late. “I can’t believe she’s one,” you noticed the emotional hitch in her voice.

“She’s growing up so fast,” you added, pushing a tear that fell down her green eyes. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Do you want to have another one?” She asked, drawing her eyes away from Delilah to look at you. It was an idea you weren’t against, especially with Natasha taking a step back from the business. She was out of town and missed Delilah’s birth.

“Yeah,” you shrugged. “Not against it.” You ran her hand over Delilah’s back. She would make a great older sister, you knew it. Looking back at your wife, her green eyes darkened. “After we celebrate our first child, you horn dog,” you gently slapped her arm. “Can you start breakfast while I shower?” You stole a kiss, stood up before she could respond.

“Such a tease,” she mumbled when you closed the bathroom door. You loved your little family and were excited for it to grow.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦    

After you showered, you found your family in the kitchen. Delilah picked apart the pancakes while Natasha made breakfast for you and her. The phone began to ring, disrupting the peaceful morning. “I got it,” you told Natasha as she wiped her hands to pick up the phone. You kissed Delilah on the cheek before answering the phone. “Hello, Romanoff residence,” it was mostly static. You could make out a voice trying to speak, but you couldn’t hear them. “I’m sorry. I can’t hear you; you may want to try calling back.” More static answered.

Suddenly, the voice became more evident over the static. “Hello-,” Bzzz. “SWORD-,” Bzzz. “Let them go." Bzzz. The pounding in your heart increased.

“I’m sorry you have the wrong number. Goodbye.” You hung up quickly. With your hands shaking, you walked over to Natasha and hugged her from behind. You placed her hand on her heart and felt the organ beat.

“Everything alright? Who was on the phone?”

“Prank call,” you answered. “I just missed you.” You felt her chuckle, and your mind began to race, so you missed her joke about joining you in the shower. This was real. She was alive and safe. No one was going to take your family away again.

[diazsdimples]

hi james <3 make em swoon prompt: hugging them from behind for bucktommy

Hi Nolan!!! As you wish 🫡

Something Buck was really learning to love about having a firefighter boyfriend was how well he fit in at the station with the 118.

Granted, it helped that Tommy knew Hen, Bobby and Chimney from way back when he was a probie himself, and can provide banter with Eddie that even rivals Buck's level of teasing, but it still takes Buck by surprise at just how perfectly he nestled into their little family.

The first time Tommy came over to surprise Buck, he'd been leaning against the outside wall of the station when the engine had pulled in after responding to a 2 alarm fire. He'd had his arms crossed over his chest, with that indulgent "god you're adorable, Evan" smile on his face as Buck had dropped down from the passenger seat and strode over to him, burying his face in Tommy's shoulder.

Times after that included Bobby secretly inviting him over for lunch with the station on the 4th of July after Buck had lamented about spending their first holiday apart, Tommy showing up with breakfast after a long, arduous night shift, and Tommy hiding in a storage closet late in the evening during one of Buck's 24 hour shifts, grabbing Buck as he walked past and pulling him in for a mind-blowing fuck while the rest of the station slept.

And Buck - well Buck was pretty sure he hadn't been happier in all his life. Whenever he saw Tommy playing pool with Hen, or sparring with Eddie, or battling Chimney on the XBOX, his heart would flutter, like it had become a butterfly and grown wings, and ready to beat out of his chest. It just felt so... perfect.

It had been a couple of days since he and Tommy had seen one another, and Buck was missing him. They'd exchanged texts and facetimed a couple of times but it wasn't the same as having Tommy's arms around him, or feeling Tommy press soft kisses against his neck. He missed that physical contact.

"You seem a little down today, man," Eddie muses as he and Buck chop vegetables in the kitchen. Bobby had ordered 3 finely diced carrots and some chopped celery sticks to make part of tonight's dinner, and had put Eddie in charge, with Buck's supervision.

Buck looks up from where he's been systematically shredding the end of a celery stick with surprise. "Really? I-I'm fine, I swear."

Eddie raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. Not that Buck's entirely surprised; his best friend could scope out a change in Buck's mood before it even happens. He'd be stupid to think he could hide anything from Eddie.

"Uh, sure you are. Nothing to do with the fact that you're missing a certain 6'2 muscular pilot, hmm?"

Buck blushes, the red heat creeping up his cheeks, and he quickly drops his eyes back to the celery in front of him, trying desperately not to meet Eddie's eyes.

"That obvious, huh?"

Eddie laughs, a sound that Buck had heard so rarely over the last year and now can't seem to go a day without hearing, and pats Buck on the shoulder. "Just a little bit, yeah. I mean, you've been moping around the station the last few days, and everytime your phone buzzes, you practically pounce on it to see if it's him."

Buck's blush deepens, and he shoves the half-shredded celery stick back onto the chopping board, dropping his head into his hands. "I miss him," he says, his voice small.

Eddie softens a little, and reaches up to grasp Buck's shoulder, giving it a little squeeze.

"Yeah, I'll bet," he says sympathetically. He puts the carrot back on the chopping board with a sigh. "Hey I left something downstairs, mind if you keep doing this? I'll be right back."

Buck rolls his eyes, familiar with Eddie's get-out-of-cooking tactics.

"Yeah, whatever. I'll finish it for us."

Eddie gives him a big grin and claps his shoulder again.

"Lifesaver. Be right back!"

And with that, he's crossing the loft and taking the stairs two at a time, footsteps echoing through the firehouse. Buck shakes his head and chuckles to himself. He's pretty sure Eddie would rather step on a thousand Legos than ever help prepare dinner.

With a small shake of his head, Buck continues to chop the celery and carrots, throwing them into a small bowl together. He's been doing it for a few minutes when he hears footsteps behind him. Assuming it's Eddie, Buck doesn't turn around, and continues to chop.

"You find what you were looking for?"

"Oh, I think I did."

A deep, gravelly voice fills Buck's ears as a pair of thick, strong arms circles his waist, and Buck's heart leaps instantly as he recognises the smell of Tommy's cologne.

"Tommy? What are you doing here?!" Buck exclaims, putting down the knife and lacing his fingers with Tommy's. Tommy rests his head on Buck's shoulder, pressing small kisses into the skin just above Buck's uniform shirt.

"Thought I'd stop by and surprise you, baby. I missed you. Eddie helped me organise it."

Buck grins widely and turns in Tommy's arms, leaning forward and pressing their lips together in a deep, searing kiss. His arms wrap around Tommy's neck and he tugs him closer, revelling in the feel of Tommy's hands resting against the small of his back, holding him steady.

After a moment, they break apart, and Buck leans their foreheads together, a wide, beaming smile on his face.

"God, I've missed you," he murmurs. "This is the best surprise."

Tommy smiles back at him, rubbing their noses together.

"Yeah, I missed you too, Ev. It's good to see you."

He gives Buck one last peck on the lips, and then releases him, turning his attention to the celery and carrots Buck had been chopping. He picks one up between his thumb and forefinger, scruitinising it with mock-intensity.

"So, what you making?"

Tagging bucktommy friends

@theotherbuckley @bidisasterevankinard @watchyourbuck @neverevan @hippolotamus

@wikiangela @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @jesuisici33 @emilybahu @detectivehorror

@disasterstans @ioncedreamedaflower @bandluvr97 (mutuals pls lmk if you want to be tagged in Bucktommy stuff, I haven't quite scoped out who's okay with them and who isn't)

[edgeray]

BENEATH THE MASK

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)

A/N - Have this Father's Day special oneshot.  enemies to lovers villain arlecchino x hero reader, aka, is it gay to sleep in the same bed as your enemy? Your hero name is Rover, because heheh wuwa reference.  Might make a part 2 if someone wants it.  Content warnings / info - arlecchino is mean and threatens you, arlecchino's pov, gn! reader, 2.2k words

A knock sounds on the front door, making Arlecchino pause in the midst of her meal. A visitor? Certainly, there’s no one she was expecting today, especially at–Arlecchino glances at the clock– 9:18PM. Anyone who she would allow to visit her would text or call beforehand. Should she just pretend that she's not there? Frowning, she sets down the fork on the table. Damn it, she really should install cameras already but she always pushes it back. 

Cautiously peering through the eye hole, her breath hitches and her eyes widen. If she had a heart, it would have sunk into her stomach. Her hands fly to the door handle, unlocking it and flinging it open. 

At her doorstep, you stand there, blood staining your torn and ripped suit as you clutch your arm. There's a knife lodged in your shoulder, and she could see your face– scratched up and bruised. Your pupils are foggy and your expression seems far away, hardly able to direct your attention onto her. Upon seeing her, an abnormal smile finds your face, then, your knees buckle and you tumble into her arms. She catches you effortlessly, slotting her arms behind your back and tugging you into her chest. You go boneless in her grasp.

“What the hell happened to you, Rover?” She demands through gritted teeth while she glances down at you. She carries you into her house, closing the door with a swift kick, doing her best to haul you into her living room and setting you down to lay on her couch. Your blood seeps into the furniture. You wince at the new movement, sharply inhaling.

“Got… into f-fight. With some, some new guy. Real asshole he was. Fucked… fucked him up pretty good,” you force out in between your labored breathing, before you cough out more blood. Your eyes flit over her form.

“Heh… nice sleepwear,” you remark with a trembling, cunning smile. “Who would have known… the notorious Knave sleeps in Hello Kitty pants… you're a lot less scary now… you know? Nice place as well…” 

Arlecchino proceeds to ignore your comment. “How did you find me? Why did you come here? Do you have a fucking death wish, Rover?” She presses on, her hardened features showing no hint of empathy or concern. 

“I'm… smarter than you think. And… I came because… hell, if I know.” You wetly cough. “Didn't have… anywhere else.” 

The two of you know that she won't kill you, at least not now. For as often you found one another on opposite sides, the two of you have come to understand each other. 

Arlecchino breathes in deeply through her nose, processing her enemy's word. Rover has always been a major hindrance in her plans– a constant rose thorn in her side for years, but she always appreciates your grit and strength. You've battled her tens of times, and each fight she can't deny the exhilaration she feels. She's yet to beat you and the vice versa is the same. A frequent dance between players of different sides, somehow the two of you always found the other in each other's paths. It would be romantic if it wasn't outright irritating.  

Only you could truly challenge you and for that it's why the pitiful state you're in disturbs her to no end. You can't die, not here, not now, not when it's not by her hands. She will pry your last breath with her own hands, she will not allow anyone else to have that honor. She wants to see what kind of expression you'd make when she snuffs out your final bit of life. It would be so easy to end you here. To wrap her claws around your pretty neck, watch your pathetic attempts of struggle, savor the despair in your eyes, oh how easy it would be. 

But if there was anything the Knave was, it was not a freeloader. She will not take other people's efforts and use them to further her own goals, which she will strive for by herself alone. If she killed you here, her own dignity would be singed. 

There will come a day when the Rover is brought down, and the perpetrator will be clear: her. Until then, your survival is of the utmost importance, and next? To pay this scum a lesson of who can touch her angel and it is certainly not him. 

“Who is this new villain that's sprung up?”  She questions as she walks to the bathroom, grabbing her first aid kit, cotton balls, and some alcohol. 

“Get this. The Doctor…” The hero then chuckles weakly. “Massive dick.” 

“I see…” the Knave mutters as she approaches you. “Why did you come to me instead of the hospital?” 

“Closer… easier to hide…”

“He was actively hunting you?” 

“His ‘segments’ are still out there… no doubt wanting to finish the job…”

“Segments?”

“His clones.” 

“Why you?” 

“Jealous… of my good looks, maybe…?” 

Arlecchino frowns. So you don't know why. She sits down in between your legs, leaning over you as she observes you, examining any wounds she can see. A couple of cuts on your sleeves and face, a deeper laceration over your sternum, and the knife wound. At least he gave her a little keepsake, though it is just like any cheap, small knife. If he has multiple ‘segments,’ then supplying them with proper weapons would be costly… 

“Can you remove your costume?” Her finger trails over your ribs making you hiss out in agony. 

You shake your hand. “C-can't… can barely lift my arms.” 

The Knave sighs, letting her claws extend out. “I'm going to have to cut it off you.” 

 “Go ahead.”

Deliberately and precisely, she uses one claw to slice open your costume, exposing your chest to her. You flush and squirm slightly before she places the same clawed hand over your stomach, talons pricking your skin. Her fingertips feel impossibly hot, just like her blood flame abilities. Your abdomen muscles flex just from the contact and she can feel it when her frown twitches. 

“Stay still,” she gruffs, piercing red-crossed eyes bores into yours. 

“At least…take me out… to dinner first, Knave,” you snicker. 

“You're insufferable.” 

As she patches you up and tends to the various bruises and cuts you have, a silence forms between the two of you. She notices that throughout the entire interaction, you're peering at her, but not at her hands–her face. 

“Lift your hips. I need to bandage your abdomen.” 

You try to comply, but find yourself barely able to lift it past a little up. You grunt in agony, and then give her puppy eyes. The Knave is a villain. She's able to destroy the city center with the snap of her fingers, has brought down buildings with no effort, and has cremated numerous people. She is either feared by the mass or revered by scums. She would never be defeated by something as commiserable as your pleading expression.

“Do I have to do everything for you? I wonder how I've yet beat you when you're this incompetent injured,” Arlecchino huffs. Her hands grasp your hip, raising your hips until she slides your bottom over her lap, your bent knees on either side of her. The sight resembles something terribly intimate to Arlecchino, and from your flustered appearance, it seems that way to you too.

“Didn't think I would… have the Knave in between… my legs so soon,” you smirk cunningly, wiggling your hips as best as you can to further enunciate your archon-awful humor. One hand of hers finds your thigh before she grips it, claws digging through your costume and nicking into your skin. It's shallow enough to act as a warning but deep enough for you to feel it, a gesture to show that she doesn't appreciate your mouth. 

“Did you forget? We are enemies. Just because I choose not to harm you now does that mean it would be wise to provoke me.”

“Not currently.” 

That much is true. Silence fills between the two of you again. 

“You know… you would be a lot easier to look at without your mask,” you whisper. Arlecchino looks up at you, her stone cold expression betrayed by her eyes, focused intently on you. How you had the audacity to trifle with her, she's uncertain. Perhaps it's just a distraction tactic you’ve turned into a habit, though she's unaware of whether or not you use this with other villains. 

“Are you suggesting I'm rather hard to look at when I do?” She inquires.

“Quite the opposite. You would look even better, though.”

“The reason I wear a mask is the same reason you do.” Though, you don't need to wear yours right now. She already knows where you reside, and your true name. 

“We don't have to wear masks when it's just us, Arlecchino.” The villain shivers at hearing her name come from your lips; it sounds immorally ethereal, wicked to associate something so vile with something as seraphic as your voice. And that voice that's slipped past her rational, calculating thoughts whispers that she'd like to hear you say her name again. It's just as electrifying as when you bellow her villain name in fury. 

She swears that the dead heart inside her chest beats for a moment. 

She comments nothing. She doesn’t enjoy the dalliance your words seem to imply, doesn't like how the air between you becomes thick with something that inspires hunger. She physically turns away from you. 

“I've finished patching you up. Rest is the only thing you can do now. With your regeneration, you should be back to normal conditions.” 

She packs up the various medical items, slotting the items into their respective containers. She's about to get up and put them away when your hand catches her wrist, a frail grip that she can effortlessly wrench herself out. She doesn't however. 

“Do you have… anywhere else for me to rest?”

“I've tended to your wounds and you ask for more? How selfish can you be, Rover?” She frowns. 

“The blood makes it feel… sticky.” 

“You need to wash off the blood.” 

“Well… considering I can't move my arms or legs…”

You're going to make her burst a blood vessel. 

“Know that your death will be excruciating,” she sighs, and you give her a cheeky grin that she wants nothing more than to rip off your face.  

She scoops you up into her strong arms, carrying you as firmly yet tenderly as possible in order to not aggravate your wounds. She takes you upstairs to a hallway, turning to the closest door. She seats you on the edge of the bathtub and turns on the faucet, letting the tub fill with hot water. She exits the room, presumably to grab some extra clothes and towels. She returns with exactly that, setting them down on the sinker counter. 

She picks you up again, seating herself first squarely in the tub before you're placed on her lap, your back towards her. 

“I'm going to have to remove your pants.” 

“Seems unfair if I'm the only one that's going to be naked.”

“Do not make me stain my walls with your blood tonight. I prefer not having to clean up the mess.” 

“You already have to clean up the living room, what's one more?” 

She shuts you up with a loud tearing noise as she slits down the seams until finally you're left exposed to her. You gasp, squeezing your thighs. Arlecchino takes note of this, a small smile disappearing on her lips the moment it appears. Once she peels the pant sleeves off of you, she tosses them carelessly onto the bathroom floor. She retracts her claws to rub off the dried blood on your back, a long exhale escaping her as she gapes wordlessly at all the scars and faded bruises that scatter your back. 

“No bath bomb?” You whine–yes, a full grown hero whining about a bath bomb–which quickly interrupts her stare.

“I'm not wasting one on you,” she says. 

Although Arlecchino can't see it, she knows that you pout.

Thankfully for the rest of the time she cleans the blood off, you hold back on any more suggestive quips. Arlecchino shuts off the faucet and dries you off without another word, dressing you in a satin robe. She turns, quickly removing her own wet clothes and donning proper dry ones. When she returns her gaze on you, you seem oddly flustered–ah, she forgot she had an audience. If you appreciated her bare self, you had said nothing about it.

She hoists you into her arms again, marching down to the room right next to, which is a bedroom, and you’re placed onto the soft bed. You waste no time indulging in the mattress before you stop. 

“Wait, isn't this your bed?” 

“Indeed,” she says nonchalantly after she shuts the lights, sliding under the covers beside you. 

“But, wait, you, don't you, don't you… have anywhere else?” 

“What seems to be the problem?”

“Well… it's just… you're not going to kill me when I'm asleep right?” You chuckle though the unease is evident in your words. Arlecchino grasps your chin, making you face her. Your face is only a hair's breadth away from hers and she feels your hot breath against her lips. 

“Do not mistake me. When I kill you, it'd be when you're awake and beaten by me alone,” she whispers huskily. She lets go of you, and turns to the side, her back facing you. 

She can feel your eyes burrow into her. She pays no mind. 

[bloodylullaby]

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Word Count: 2114

Author's Note: Enjoy all the fluff

Life has been relentlessly knocking you down again. It seems like every corner you turn, there's a new challenge waiting to trip you up. Whether it’s the daily grind of dealing with difficult people who test your patience and resilience or the frustratingly mundane obstacles like hitting every red light on your commute, it feels like the universe conspires against you with a vengeance. These constant setbacks, big and small, accumulate, weighing heavily on your spirit and making each day a battle to stay optimistic and keep pushing forward. Despite your efforts to maintain a positive outlook, the persistent barrage of annoyances and hardships leaves you feeling worn out and defeated, as if you’re fighting a losing battle against an unseen force determined to test your limits.

These long, exhausting days have left you severely burned out. By the end of my workday, you find yourself sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the wall. Later, you’ll lie in the dark, gazing up at the ceiling, feeling overwhelming dread. This cycle perpetuates itself, leading to even more disappointment and disillusionment. The activities that you used to enjoy in your free time no longer bring you joy. Your creativity has ground to a halt, replaced by a paralyzing self-doubt that makes you question whether anything you create is good enough. The burnout has drained your energy and eroded your confidence and sense of purpose, leaving you feeling disconnected from the things that once brought you happiness.

Your isolation starts to intensify. Even though you’ve never been outgoing and preferred a night in over a night out, it keeps worsening. You haven't talked to friends or family in weeks, leading to the gnawing thoughts that you don’t matter. This isolation exacerbates your struggle to keep taking your medication—the very thing that helps you function like a normal human being. It helps your body produce the right chemicals so you can function and enjoy life. But what’s the point of enjoying life if everything you do only leads to more exhaustion? The loneliness, coupled with a lack of communication with loved ones, deepens your sense of despair, making it increasingly difficult to find any motivation or reason to continue.

Today has been no different for you. With a day off from work, you’ve been wrapped in a blanket like a burrito, mindlessly playing on your Switch. Your phone has been blowing up with messages from Noah, but you’ve been ignoring him, too drained to respond. You read his texts but don’t reply, and it’s starting to get to him. He’s used to your occasional isolation spells, but it’s gnawing at him now. Typically, you get back to his texts by the end of the day or the next day when you’re going through a rough patch. But this time, you haven’t answered him for a week. The guilt of leaving him in the dark only adds to your overwhelming sense of dread and exhaustion.

There was a knock on the door that made you freeze. You hadn’t invited anyone over, so the thought of someone knocking was nerve-wracking. Slowly, you get up, making as little noise as possible, and avoid all the windows to stay undetected. Looking through the peephole, you see that it’s Noah. With a confused look, you open the door and are greeted by his smiling face.

"Hey," he says softly, holding up a bag. "I brought some things for us to do today."

With a soft smile, you step aside to welcome him in. He heads to the living room coffee table and sets the bag down. Sitting on the couch, he pats the seat next to him and waits for you to join him before pulling items out of the bag. The first thing that he pulls out is two spa headbands. One is black goat horns, and the other is white kitten ears. Next, he pulls out face masks, nail polish, and a manicure set. He turns and gives you a broad smile. 

With a soft smile, you step aside to welcome him in. He heads to the living room coffee table and sets the bag down. Sitting on the couch, he pats the seat next to him and waits for you to join him before pulling items out of the bag. The first things he pulls out are two spa headbands—one with black goat horns and the other with white kitten ears. Next, he reveals face masks, nail polish, and a manicure set. He turns and gives you a broad smile.

“I thought we could have ourselves a little indoor spa day today,” he says.

The gesture touches your heart deeply. What did you do for life to grant you such a kind and wonderful human being in your life? Noah has always been the light at the end of the tunnel for you, but today, he is shining extra brightly. He puts the cat ears spa headband on you and the other on himself. When it comes time to put the face masks on, you watch him struggle to apply them evenly, spreading them all over his face and dropping a glob or two on his shirt. You smile to yourself as you put yours on.

Once everything is cleaned up, Noah sets up the manicure kit with the different colors of nail polish neatly lined up in a row. He takes your left hand and tends to your nails as you gently rest your head on his shoulder. You sigh in contentment, feeling a wave of relaxation wash over you as you listen to him hum and watch him tenderly take care of you. Each stroke of the polish brush feels like a small act of love, reinforcing your bond and reminding you of how lucky you are to have Noah in your life. Time seems to stand still in this moment of intimacy and care as you bask in the warmth of his presence and the simple pleasure of being pampered by someone who means the world to you.

As he switches to your right hand, he gently kisses the inside of your wrist before tending to your nails. You tenderly kiss his temple in response, prompting him to look up and smile at you. A slight giggle escapes you as you see him wearing his face mask and headband. Returning his focus to pampering you, you can't resist the urge to capture this precious moment. Grabbing your phone, you snap a picture, immortalizing the scene of love and care. With a smile playing on your lips, you set the photo as the background on your phone, cherishing the memory forever.

Once he finishes tending to your hands, he looks at you with pleading puppy-dog eyes, begging you to reciprocate the gesture and pamper him in return. With a soft smile playing on your lips, you reach out for his left hand, your fingers tracing delicate patterns across his skin as you begin attending to his cuticles. There's a tender rhythm to your movements, a dance of intimacy and trust as you gently push back the cuticles, ensuring every detail is tended to with precision and care. When needed, you delicately trim them, your touch feather-light yet purposeful.

Moving on, you take up the file, the soft sound filling the air as you expertly shape his nails. Each stroke of the file is deliberate, sculpting his nails with finesse as you bring out their natural shine. With a gentle touch, you then proceed to buff them, smoothing out any imperfections and leaving them gleaming with a healthy sheen. You paint each nail meticulously, ensuring every stroke is flawless and every curve is accentuated. After completing your task, you step back to allow him a moment to admire your handiwork. Impressed by the results, he leans in to plant a grateful kiss on your forehead, expressing his thanks.

He gently reaches out, his fingers tracing a tender path along your cheek before brushing against his own. "I think it's time to wash these off," he declares softly, his voice hinting of playfulness. You nod in agreement, and together, you go to the bathroom.

Once inside, he wraps his arms around you from behind, enveloping you in a warm embrace. With a mischievous twinkle, he reaches for his phone and captures the moment. You effortlessly remove your mask, but Noah struggles, getting some of it in his eye. You gently assist him, ensuring his comfort as you help him wash away the residue. Once his face is clean and dried, he gestures toward the bathtub.

"Wanna take a bubble bath together?" he asks softly, his voice carrying a hint of anticipation. You nod in agreement, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you watch him start the bath. With a sense of purpose, he moves to your sink, retrieving a container of Epsom salt. With careful measure, he pours it into the steaming water, the scent of relaxation filling the air as the salts dissolve, ready to soothe away the day's tensions. 

Once everything is prepared, you both begin to undress, shedding the layers of the day's weariness. Noah eases himself into the warm embrace of the tub, settling comfortably into the soothing water. You follow suit, slipping into the bath and settling between his legs. He starts to massage your shoulders. 

“You know I love and care about you, right?" Noah asked softly. You hummed in response, feeling lost in his touch. "Just remember, I'm here to catch you when you fall," he continued gently, kissing your shoulder. His words touched you deeply, and you felt a swell of emotion, tears forming in your eyes.

"Then maybe Hell ain’t so bad after all," you sang quietly with a small smile. He responded by wrapping his arms around your shoulders, gently pulling you back to lean against his chest. He kissed tenderly on the top of your head, his affection palpable. You both lingered in the bath for a while, basking in the warmth and comfort of each other's presence, letting the world outside fade away.

Noah helped you out of the bath as the water began to cool and gently dried you off. Taking your hand, he led you to the bedroom and seated you on the bed. He then rummaged through your dresser, selecting some comfortable lounging clothes for you. After you finished getting dressed, Noah positioned you between his legs and began to brush your hair. His touch was incredibly gentle, and he checked in with you over the slightest of tugs, ensuring your comfort and showing his deep affection and care.

Noah's gentle attention with the hairbrush gradually calms you, each stroke soothing and reassuring. After a few moments, he sets the brush aside and wraps his arms around you, resting his chin on your shoulder.

"Do you feel better?" he asks softly, his voice filled with genuine concern. You nod, leaning back into his embrace, feeling a profound sense of peace. The room is filled with a comforting silence, only broken by the gentle sound of your breaths.

"How about we watch a movie?" he suggests, his tone light and warm.

You agree, and he quickly sets up a cozy spot on the bed with blankets and pillows. As he puts on one of your favorite movies, you both snuggle under the covers, your head resting against his chest. Throughout the movie, Noah's gentle touches continue, his hands occasionally brushing your arm, back, or hair, ensuring you are still comfortable and feeling okay. His constant, tender reassurances make you feel cherished and safe, enhancing the moment's warmth.

As the movie progresses, you both become more relaxed, sinking deeper into the cozy atmosphere. The comfort of his touch and the familiarity of your favorite movie create a serene ambiance. After the movie ends, Noah turns off the TV, and the room becomes tranquil. He looks down at you with a soft smile, his eyes reflecting the affection he feels.

"Ready for bed?" he asks gently.

You nod, feeling a peaceful drowsiness settle over you. Noah shifts slightly, helping you get under the covers properly before he joins you. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close so you’re nestled against his chest. With the lights dimmed, the room is enveloped in a soothing darkness. The rhythmic sound of his heartbeat and the warmth of his body lull you into a state of complete relaxation.

"Goodnight," he whispers, kissing the top of your head.

"Goodnight," you reply softly, feeling safe and content in his embrace. Slowly, you drift off to sleep, surrounded by his love and the comforting sense of being together.