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3amfanfiction · 25 days ago

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Darling and John Meet

Synopsis: Let's go back to the beginning and find out how Darling and John met. Did she go with her kidnapper willingly or was she snatched off the side of the road? 18+ smut, MDNI AN: This can be read as a standalone but technically takes place before this story. cw: Kidnapping, dubcon/noncon, spanking, threat of pain, hints of stockholm in the beginning section. Banner by @/cafekitsune

First || Previous

You weren't sure how long you'd been here. Time passed weirdly.

His name was John.

You were only allowed to call him Sir though, never John. Remembering how you were taught that lesson in the beginning made you swallow subconsciously, phantom aches plaguing your body even after all this time.

But at least it was something—that you knew he was a real person, with a real name, outside of this little house he kept you in. Something that reminded you there was a world outside even if you never got to see it again.

He was strict in the beginning when you were first brought to your new home. You didn't know the rules and he lost his patience frequently. It had been a while since you needed true correction from him, but it was always a looming threat.

He kept you healthy while you were here—made sure you ate and always snuck you a little treat with dinner if you had been good. He made sure you knew you were his Darling girl and how much he loved you. How perfect you were for him.

It was such a load of shit considering he wouldn't let you leave.

///

You thought your day couldn’t get any worse when you heard the thump thump thump of a flat tire as you were driving down the road. It was early evening and you hadn’t seen another vehicle for a while.

The sun was already starting to set despite the early hour, winter tightening its grip slowly if the chill in the air had anything to say about it. You shivered as you climbed out of the car, wrapping your too-thin jacket tighter as you crossed your arms trying to retain some heat. Walking towards the back you saw the thing you were dreading. A completely flat tire, not even enough air to drive on to get you to the next service station.

Of all the luck.

There was nothing for it, you guessed. It certainly wasn’t going to change itself.

Moving around to the trunk you pulled out the tire changing kit. You hadn’t ever had to change one before but surely it couldn’t be too difficult. You unscrew, take the tire off, put the new tire on, re-screw. Common sense would get you through this, you thought, trying to burgeon your spirits with forced cheer. It’s not going to be so bad, you’ll see.

With a forced pep in your step you lay the kit beside the tire, looking at what you had to work with. You were just reaching for the jack when you spied headlights coming down the road. Not wanting to accidentally be sideswiped, you stood up and moved to the back, stepping a few feet away from the road in order to give the other driver plenty of space.

You were surprised when the headlights slow, pulling in to park right behind you. You raised a hand to shield your eyes, squinting through the glare as you tried to see who was climbing out of the dark blue pickup.

“Need a hand?”

Oh, he was a handsome one.

A unique beard covered his face, emphasizing the allure of the man standing feet from you. A flannel shirt covered his bulky body with the sleeves folded up his forearms, showcasing a thick dusting of dark hair all the way down, under his watch to his square knuckles. His pants hugged his thighs in a way that had you swallowing before you pulled your eyes back up to his, warming at the mirth showing in his blue gaze.

“I don’t suppose you know how to change a tire?” you asked with an apologetic smile. It seemed your day was turning around.

///

Sitting in his truck, you were thankful for the warm air blowing strongly from the vents. When John started the truck one of the first things he did was point all the vents firmly towards your side of the cab and turn the fan on high.

You were appreciative that he was so thoughtful, especially after the mess with your tire.

John hissed in pain, yanking his hand back quickly from where it had smacked into the tire, the wrench snapping off the bolt and clattering to the ground. He pulled his hand back to look and you saw the blood welling from his scraped knuckles.

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I don’t think this tire is coming off with what we have here. You’re going to have to get into town and have someone come out to change it.” He gave a little frown in disappointment at not being able to help you out.

When you tried to thank him and let him go on his way he promptly shut down that conversation and convinced you to let him take you into town. “It wouldn’t be right to let such a pretty woman sit out on the side of the road at night,” he’d said.

He was startling persuasive because it was only a short while later that saw you sat in his truck, happily bundled in his coat and on your way down the road.

///

You first realized there was a problem when he missed the turn-off for the town.

“That sign said we were supposed to take a right back there,” you said, turning to look back at the road you’d just passed, thinking John had missed it.

“We can’t go in the front way. The storms that came through last week washed out the road and it’s still impassible. We’ll need to go past it and access it from the other direction.”

“I hadn’t realized it had stormed so badly over here,” surprised, you turned to look at him.

You didn’t notice his knuckles tightening on the steering wheel, the creaking leather disguised under the rumble of the road, “Do you think I’m lying to you, Darling?” quiet, with a hint of censure to be careful in how you responded.

“No! That’s not it at all, I promise,” you reassured, startled by his change in demeanor. John had been nothing but unfailingly polite so far so this was quite the shock. You supposed everyone had their triggers and being called a liar was certainly a common one. It wasn’t surprising John got prickly when you implied he was lying, especially after he went out of his way to help you when he didn’t need to. “I was only thinking of how bad it must have been, how worried everyone was. I hope no one was hurt,” you appease. Thankfully he accepted your pseudo-apology.

“Aren’t you just the sweetest little peach, worrying about them,” he allowed, seemingly willing to move past your faux pas. “I don’t think anyone was seriously hurt Darling, just a bit of structural damage along with the road. Nothing that can’t be fixed.”

And that was all it took.

By the time you realized he wasn’t taking a back way into town it was too late. You were far from town and your car, alone with a man who dwarfed you and your only way out would include throwing yourself from a fast-moving vehicle.

As you started to cry, struggling to wrap your mind around what was happening, he reached over and placed a warm palm high on your thigh. You couldn’t help your flinch away from him, pressing against the door as far as you could get.

“Well,” he sighed, as if disappointed in how you’d reacted and pulled his hand back to his own side, “we’ll work on that.”

What was going to happen to you?

///

You thought about fighting when the truck finally stopped. John climbed out and walked around to your side, opening your door just to block the exit with his body, one forearm propped up against the hood while he loomed over where you were sitting. You wondered if he was purposefully emphasizing his size to dissuade you from causing trouble.

It was working if he was.

You were still quietly crying when you looked up at him, frowning when he simply cooed at you before reaching in with one meaty paw to wipe away the tears, “Now now, there’s no reason for you to be upset Darling, nothing’s happened yet, has it?”

That didn’t bode well for you and did nothing but inspire more tears. With a soft hum he reached in to help you out, ignoring your trembling as he held your hand in his.

“Please don’t do this,” you tried again, even though you knew it was hopeless. You had tried every way possible to convince him to let you out on the side of the road during your trip with no luck. “Please. I’m not what you want, please let me go.” Your chin wobbled as you tried to keep from breaking into gasping sobs.

“Oh Darling, you’re perfect. I don’t ever want to hear that from your mouth again. Now let’s go. It’s time to get inside, I don’t want you out in the cold any longer.”

With his final say on the matter you shakily climb out of the truck, reluctant but complacent, dropping your head to stare at the ground through watery vision.

You had never been much of a fighter. You tried. You tried to be tough and to fight against the things that upset you but at the end of the day you would always be the first to fold, unable to dig your heels in the way other people seemed to do with ease. It didn’t look like your fawn response was going to get you out of your mess this time.

He held your hand tightly as he pulled you up the steps towards the house, ignoring your sniffling. You shuffled along beside him in terror-filled silence. Stepping onto the porch he turned to look at you, hand letting go of yours to grip you firmly by the back of the neck. A wave of fear skittered down your spine like an electric shock, causing goosebumps to spread over your skin as you shuddered involuntarily.

“You’re going to be a good girl for me, aren’t you Darling?” he asked with his chin tilted down, allowing a steady gaze to bore into your soul. “As long as you’re good, you’ll have a good life. Listen and obey and I’ll take care of you, you’ll never want for anything ever again. But if you fight me, you will learn very quickly who is in charge.”

Ominous.

You couldn’t do anything other than give a shaky nod which he didn’t seem to appreciate.

“When I speak to you I expect an answer.”

As he looked into your being with cold eyes you wet your lips before answering, “Yes,” but a tight squeeze of the back of your neck let you know what he wanted. An honorific. You knew he wanted one, you just . . . couldn’t do it. If this was your only rebellion then at least it was a rebellion. Something that said ‘I dissent. I do not want this,’ as minor of a stance it was. But it was something of your own.

“Yes, John.”

Pain.

It flooded your mind, muffling your ears and blackening your vision. Your brain rattled around in your skull, every bounce causing a new shockwave of hurt, of distress. You couldn’t think, you could only gasp.

You raised a hand to your cheek where you had been backhanded, in shock. Your jaw was dropped and you looked at John with wide eyes, unable to understand what had just happened. He was looking at you with a disappointed expression.

“I don’t like hurting you for little things like this, Darling,” he chided, “but you force my hand when you decide to be difficult.” Sighing as if you were a dog that had gotten into something he wasn’t supposed to, he continued, “Let’s try this again, shall we? Are you going to be good for me? Or do you need me to discipline you first before you behave?”

“I’ll be good,” you reassured quickly, not wanting another strike. Looking into his eyes you realized he was not going to let you get away without a title. “—sir. I’ll be good, sir.”

He beamed. “There’s my sweet girl. I knew you were perfect. So smart and so sweet for me.” Pulling you in, he ignored your squirming to press a kiss against the cheek he had just struck, his bristles felt shocking against the newly sensitive skin.

Still smiling, he led you into the house, tucking a guiding hand low on your back underneath his jacket you still wore, pinky trailing a touch too low to be fully chaste.

The house wasn’t what you were expecting. You thought it would be dark, winding hallways connected to closed-door rooms, curtains blocking out any view of outside, trash and debris cluttering up the floors and counters.

Instead it looked distressingly normal.

As you walked in, the space opened up. A comfortable living room sat to one side while an open kitchen sat to the other. You could see a handful of doors leading off the two rooms with a hallway tucked into the back wall. Large windows would let in the light come morning and while it was slightly bare, the house looked comfortably lived in.

Not at all what you thought a kidnapper’s house would look like.

John took his coat from you to hang up, “I’ll give you the tour tomorrow but I’m exhausted after today. Let’s go to bed, hm?”

You froze, every cell in your body locking into place as your heart took up residence in the pit of your stomach. Bed. You knew how this was about to go and for once your body kicked itself out of fawn and straight into flight. The problem was you hadn’t taken two steps before a fist was in your hair, dragging you backwards until your back collided with John’s chest. He shifted his grip around to the front of your throat to control you, the other slipping around your waist, keeping you pinned against him.

You weren’t a small girl by any means. You ate well and didn’t listen to the old biddies who insisted fat led to death. You were solid. That didn’t seem to concern John as he physically picked you up, ignored your flailing feet and moved you towards the living room.

You reached up and tried to pry his fingers off your throat but were unsuccessful. He wasn’t squeezing, which was shocking and relieving in turn, more just holding. You still wanted his hand gone from such a fragile area.

With wide steps he cleared the distance to the living room easily, taking a seat on the couch and holding you in his lap, chest to back. The tears which you thought were gone were back with a vengeance, running down your face in rivulets as you sobbed in his hold.

You felt him give a deep sigh against your back.

“I didn’t want to have to do this so soon, but I can’t have you thinking you can try and run away like that. There’s no one around for miles, Darling. Where would you go?” he asked the last almost to himself as if he couldn’t understand your thought process.

Letting go of your throat, his hand dove to your waist, making fast work of the buttons holding your pants up. Then, in a move too quick for your brain to understand he had you shifted onto your front over his lap, your pants and panties pulled down to your thighs, practically cupping your cheeks.

You yelped and reached your hands back to cover your ass but he gathered them easily to pin behind your back.

The first sharp crack made you scream.

The next handful of smacks didn’t lag, keeping a punishing pace if not quite as merciless as the initial one. You squealed, screamed and kicked to no avail. He simply pinned you more firmly and continued to lay his palm into your cheeks.

You didn’t know how long it was until something broke in your mind and you finally went limp, no longer fighting, just gasping great, heaving sobs with a sharp cry echoing out of your mouth with every connection. As snot, tears, and drool leaked into the couch fabric you missed the, there we go, almost there now, from above you.

You didn’t even jerk when he paused, switching from open handed hits to roughly squeezing your heated skin, dragging rough callouses over it in a facsimile of comfort.

“We’ll go easy this time, Darling, since it’s the first time you’ve misbehaved. I won’t accept you endangering yourself and you would die in the woods or the mountains before ever finding help. You’re not to try and leave again, do you understand me?”

You couldn’t answer through the sobs still wracking your body. He didn’t like this and gave a sharp little pat in the same spot as the first strike. When you yelped, he repeated.

“Do you understand me?”

“Yes—yes I understand,” you gasped out, eager for this to be over with. When he froze and you felt his thighs tense underneath you, you corrected yourself quickly, “I understand, Sir.”

His muscles softened as he continued, “Good. Now I said this one would be easy and I’m a man of my word. It’ll be 10 for trying to leave the house and 10 for fighting back instead of accepting your punishment.

Twenty more?!

“Wait!” you sobbed, distraught at the thought of your punishment (your torture?) continuing. “I thought you said easy, you’ve already passed that.”

“Darling girl,” he cooed sweetly, “those were to get you in the right headspace to accept your punishment, they weren’t the punishment itself. It’ll be 20 swats and you’ll be counting them for me.”

You almost vomited on the couch from fear.

Giving you no more time to wind yourself up, he started.

The first whip of his hand was equal to the one back at the beginning, although this time you withheld your scream admirably. When it made contact with your heated, throbbing skin you almost lost your breath, the pain was so sharp. It radiated out, up into your lower back and down into your thighs while sending a ringing thrum echoing through your head. The pain was all you could think about until he tapped two fingers softly on the spot he’d just struck.

With a wet, gasping breath you punched out a One, before he could decide he needed to start over.

He alternated between softer and firm cracks, moving as he saw fit from the crease where your thighs met the swell of your backside to nearly your lower back. You accidentally kicked out on ten when he spread your cheeks, aiming a hit at the soft skin which had been protected so far with where it pressed up against the other cheek. His fingers caught your asshole causing an electric current to shoot down your legs, making them jerk without your approval. He paused for a moment and you prayed he wasn’t going to start over or increase your punishment. He must have decided you weren’t trying to fight back because he continued on, waiting for your Ten, before giving you number eleven.

By the time he finished you were a sweating, sobbing mess sprawled across his lap with no care for anything beyond your burning skin. You must have looked quite the sight because he hummed at you in sympathetic adoration and gathered you back up into his lap, ignoring your yelp as your sensitive, impact-warmed skin made contact with the rough material of his pants. Tucking you into him he began showering you with praise.

“There we go, that’s my sweetheart. You did so well for me, taking your punishment like a big girl. I’m so proud, Darling.” He pressed a kiss to your sweaty temple and hugged you firmly, “It’s all done now, all over. I’m not upset anymore.”

You couldn’t do anything but sit there and breathe, tears slowly drying on your face as you calmed down. You were completely limp where you sat on his lap, your head lolled back onto his shoulder, too weak to even care about what face you were making.

He tilted his chin to look down at you, bristly beard rubbing against your face. With a fond smile he reached for your jaw and tried to tilt your mouth to his.

You couldn’t help the breathless, No, you let out as you turned your chin, pulling it from his grasp.

He paused and looked at you coldly, his blue eyes glacial before he gave a forced chuckle, “All right. If you don’t want to kiss me, I won’t make you. We’ll save that for when you ask prettily for it, hmm?”

You didn’t answer, couldn’t answer, could only look at him as he looked at you, watching the micro-expressions cross his face. He looked so normal. If the past couple of hours hadn’t happened you never would have expected this from him. You wondered if it was his handsomeness that allowed him to hide in plain sight. If an uglier person would have been under suspicion long before now and he would have been sitting in a jail cell as a result. What did that distinction imply of society?

You had caught your breath when you felt his hand making its way between your thighs, the tears starting up anew at what was next.

“My Darling still needs her reward though, doesn’t she?” he murmured warmly into your ear. “Good girls get rewarded and you did wonderfully for me,” as his fingers reached the apex of your thighs, swirling in the slick your body had produced in response to the previous pain.

You keened shamefully when he brought those slick fingers up to your clit, giving a soft circular stroke to the sensitive bud, “Please don’t, I don’t want this.”

“Don’t you? That’s not what she’s telling me.” He moved down again to press two fingers deeply into your cunt. The wet squelch was sordid as his fingers sunk all the way to his thick knuckles with little resistance. You couldn’t help the gasp as his palm made contact with your clit, giving you something to buck against when he curled and pressed inside of you. “Yeah, she’s eager for me,” he laughed almost meanly before giving you a rough stroke, grinding his palm over your sensitive clit at the same time.

“Wait! Wait, I don’t—” your voice broke on an Ah! as he found a sensitive spot right inside. With a smirk he honed in on it, focusing relentlessly as he built you higher and higher, whispering endlessly in your ear.

Fuck, but you’re perfect for me, Darling. Listen to those pretty sounds coming from your lips. I’m so happy I found you. Gonna keep you forever, you and me. Keep you in my home, keep you on my cock, on my fingers, on my tongue. The only thing you’ll have to worry about is when your next orgasm is, nothing else will belong in that pretty little head. You’ll let me do all the thinking for you pet, won’t you? Yes, look at that dumb expression, you like turning that brain off, don’t you? It’s okay, I’ll take care of you, I’m here now. You don’t ever have to be alone again.

With a final caress he sent you careening over the edge, tumbling end over end as the pleasure crested and carried you on a wave of endorphins. Heat traveled up the backs of your thighs through the tightened muscles of your abdomen before crawling its way up your chest. Your back arched violently, only held in place by the arm strung across your hips.

After far too short a time you came back to your body. The first thing you noticed was John petting your mons, stroking the hair repeatedly in the same direction as if attempting to make it lay flat. When he noticed you were back with him, his hand slowed before stilling.

“There’s my pretty girl. I thought I lost you for a minute.”

When you don’t respond he continues.

“Are you going to kick up a fuss if I tell you it’s bedtime again?”

You wanted to. You desperately wanted to. You just couldn’t. It was like every strong emotion had been rung out of you and you were nothing but an empty shell, waiting to be filled back up.

Even still, you couldn’t tell him you’d go quietly, choosing instead to stay silent, letting him take from that what he would.

With a rumbling hum he stood you up on trembling legs, pulling your pants back up over your hips but leaving them unbuttoned. Wrapping an arm around your waist he pulled you into his side before guiding you to the hallway leading further into the house.

By the time you reached the primary bedroom you were crashing. The trembling was becoming worse and you weren’t able to take in any external stimuli. You couldn’t even tell what his bedroom looked like other than the fact there was a bed against one wall.

Tugging you with him, he brought you to the bed and stripped off your clothes with quick efficiency, ignoring your weak, swatting hands and mumbled pleas until you were naked before him—one arm crossed over your chest while the other attempted to hide your cunt. You stood there trembling, watching him fearfully as he walked over to a set of drawers.

Opening a drawer, he rifled around for a few moments, apparently looking for the perfect shirt. He gave a soft Ah ha! when he found it, moving back towards you. Gently pulling the t-shirt over your head he treated you as if you were a small child, softly guiding each arm through and fixing the hem so it fell correctly around your thighs.

Directing you to the bed, he had you lay on your stomach. You heard the pop of a cap behind you before a cooling sensation began covering your skin, his rough hands working the lotion in.

You wondered at your current responses. It was as if you could see your emotions but you couldn’t feel them. They had become something to pick apart, to analyze from the safety of the other side of the glass where they couldn’t hurt you. You could see where you were panicking about John touching you so close to your center but you couldn’t feel the actual fear. It was something you were observing but not experiencing.

You were only existing. In this present moment.

You observed as he began to massage the plump tissue after rubbing a gentle layer of lotion into the skin. The pain was shocking for a split moment before you felt the relief, as if stretching out a charley horse. A low monotone hum was pressed into the mattress as you fought against the sound unsuccessfully.

Ignoring his responding chuckle was simply good common sense.

You were a limp, dozing puddle by the time he was finished, uninterested in anything past sleep. Your breath didn’t even hitch as he connected your wrist to the headboard with a rope, turning you on your side to curl up behind you, one arm under your pillow and the other wrapped around your waist, tucked under your borrowed shirt to hold the fat of your stomach.

“Sleep, Darling. We’ll talk in the morning.”

And you did.

///

You knew exactly where you were as soon as you opened your eyes the next morning. You weren’t granted the relief of even a few moments of confusion to bask in before reality cruelly stepped in.

John’s hand had migrated in his sleep and he now cupped your breast, cradling it in his warm palm, rucking your t-shirt up high. His knee was tucked between yours and you could feel his erection pushing into your bare backside where he was firmly pressed against you, only his boxers separating the two of you.

You laid there quietly, not wanting to disturb this subtle peace with whatever horrors the day was about to bring. You could pretend his hand wasn’t even there when he was still. Letting your mind wander, the time passed steadily until the sunlight filled the room and John stirred behind you.

You knew he was awake when he kissed the back of your neck, pressing his lips against your skin and holding for a moment before pulling away, “Good morning, Darling,” he rasped in a sleep-roughened voice.

“Good morning,” you whispered back, frozen where you lay.

He chuckled as he flexed his hand, realizing where it was placed. With a slight shift he moved to softly pinch and roll your nipple, tugging it every so often. You ignored the shameful heat it was building in your core with every pinch.

Pressing more kisses into the back of your neck, he began to murmur, “Perfect, to be waking up with you in my arms. You feel so god damned amazing,” he squeezed you to him firmly, “I’m never going to give this up.”

What did you say to that? What could you say to that? You had a fine line to walk, being stubborn enough to hold onto your identity while yielding enough so you wouldn’t be ground down to your basest parts. You had no doubt he would enjoy working you down to the bone before building you back up in whatever fashion he saw fit.

Thankfully he didn’t seem to need a response this morning as he continued to kiss at your nape, massaging the handful of you he still held.

You froze when his hand eventually started to travel lower, pausing to knead at the fat of your stomach for a moment before continuing down. He pulled your top leg up, giving him more room to work while ignoring your faint trembling. Once there was adequate space he cupped your cunt, holding it in his large hand. His fingers lowered to trace the damp seam with a soft caress, a gentle stroke which did more to tease than to relieve.

As he continued to brush barely there strokes against your cunt, from your lips to your clit, you were fighting with yourself to stay still and not buck into his hand. It almost ticked with how soft he was touching you and you craved and dreaded a firmer stroke in equal measure.

You didn’t want to give in to him though. It was clear what he was doing, teasing you, taunting you with what you could have if you were only bold enough to take it. If you gave enough ground to take the pleasure he offered while giving up your morals.

You tried. You really did.

At the first soft twitch of your hips he groaned a, There we go Darling, take what you need, into the slope of your neck where he had buried his face. The hot breath and his press of teeth sent a shock through your body, causing your hips to buck slightly harder.

In moments you were riding his hand, finally being touched how you needed. Soft, little panting breaths were escaping you, the occasional strangled sound escaping your throat. It was fine. You were still in control.

He encouraged your rocking with the press of his hips, taking his own pleasure from you as you worked, panting hot wet breaths into your ear, neck and shoulder as he nibbled and sucked on the skin, working to pull blood to the surface.

When you came, you did so with a low groan, your mouth clamped shut in an attempt to deny him the sound of your satisfaction. Your legs jerked out with your orgasm, back arching and chin tilting up, unwittingly giving him more room to attack your neck.

As you came down you found yourself falling limp, letting him work you through the last echoes of your orgasm with skilled fingers. You were still limp when he rolled you over onto your back, hovering over you for such an intense moment you thought he was going to break his word about not kissing you and take one anyway.

His eyes practically glowed where they were focused on your, a blue so bright it was haunting. He studied your face, no artifice in the early morning light. When he pulled back slightly you found yourself releasing a breath you hadn’t been aware you were holding, cowed by his presence, however unwillingly.

You thought that you were done. You had made it through the horrors and indignities of the morning and you could move on. You were proven wrong when he began to shuffle down your body, pushing your borrowed shirt up above your breasts.

One arm was still raised, attached to the headboard but you used to the other to attempt to shield yourself from him.

He grabbed your wrist and pinned it to your side, giving you a firm look which said you wouldn’t like the consequences if you moved it to hide yourself again.

Leaning down he took your nipple into his mouth, groaning softly at your stifled inhale at the sensation. With skillful glee he focused eagerly on your chest, switching breasts as he saw fit, never leaving a nipple unattended for long.

Your breasts were heavy and aching by the time he was satisfied, nipples raw from the suction and delicate skin peppered with bristle burn where he hadn’t been cautious of his beard. He leaned back slightly to take them in, pleased with his results.

It was when he began moving further down that you panicked.

“No, no John, please don—” you cut off with a screamed yelp as he pinched a portion of flesh firmly between his teeth. For a moment you almost thought he was going to bite it off with how hard he was sinking his teeth into you. There were flecks of blood in his teeth when he eventually pulled back.

“Rule two: you will address me as Sir when you speak to me. Anything else will result in escalating corrections,” he met your eyes with a steady gaze. “Do you understand me?”

You couldn’t do it. You wanted to fight, to dig your heels in, but you just couldn’t, you were too scared, it hurt too badly.

“Yes, Sir,” you whispered, mind racing at what an escalation might look like.

Taking you at face value he continued working his way down, murmuring into your skin, “I’m going to be tasting this cunt,” he lowered himself between your thighs, spread wide by the breadth of his shoulders, “your only job is to lay there and let me eat.”

He dove face-first into your folds, not being shy about his groans of delight at your smell and taste. Pressing his nose to the crease where your thigh met your pelvis, you heard him take a deep inhale of the space which had trapped sweat and smell since your last shower. When he dragged his tongue along the hair covered skin you twitched, surprised at how sensitive the area was to his ministrations.

Biting your tongue to keep from making any noises, you struggled to lay still when he moved to your center, nosing apart your lips to press a firm kiss to your entrance before licking a wide stripe up the slit, collecting all your slick from your first orgasm.

As hard as you tried you couldn’t fight the buck of your hips when he reached your clit and switched from a broad lick to sucking on it with pursed lips. The grunt that slipped out was quickly swallowed back. You couldn’t do much but you could at least deny him this, deny him the sounds of your gratification.

You felt him smile where he was pressed against you before he went to work, eating you out with mind-numbing focus and intensity. It was as if he was pulling every bit of tension from your body and reworking it into a coil which was twisting tighter and tighter with each pass of his tongue. You felt heat start to build in the back of your thighs, toes curling in pleasure as you fought against bringing your free hand down to grip his hair, to hold him where you wanted him.

If he had teased you slightly longer you think you would have anyways.

When you came it was deafening. Your ears only registered the rush of blood, your eyes – the sparks lighting off in your brain. Your throat was still vibrating with your yell when you came back to yourself, panting as you stared at the ceiling in shock.

He pulled off of you with a pop, ignoring your overstimulated flinch as he pressed one more kittenish kiss to your clit before moving back up. You had drenched his beard to the point it was matted down around his mouth and chin, a shiny sheen on his nose.

When he got back up level with your face, he looked you deeply in the eyes as if trying to impart ancient wisdom, “This is your life now, Darling. The sooner you realize who’s in charge, the smoother everything is going to go.”

Reaching up he untied your wrist that was attached to the headboard, “Now come on, it’s time for breakfast and I’m going to watch you finger yourself while I’m getting it ready.”

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Story Repository || Main Repository

#dark fic #smut #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #john price x you #kidnapping #fanfic

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months ago

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Unorthodox 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you bring order to the disordered life of Captain Syverson.

Characters: Captain Syverson, this reader is known as Izzie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

The rumble keeps you awake. A storm but not the type in the sky. You yawn and lean against the hummer door, jostling with the wheels as the roaring snores fill the compartment. Pierson drives and sends dark looks in the rear view, equally as disturbed by the burly man snorting and snuffing beside you. Neither of you dare disturb him. You’re not that dumb.

The man is intimidating even in slumber. You pull on the seat belt and adjust your posture. The hours spent in the back seat have you stiff and restless. You envy Syverson. He can sleep through anything. You really believe that. If it wasn't for you, he'd oversleep the alarm in his phone every time.

You yawn as you sense Pierson's attitude shift. You're almost there. He nods at you in the mirror and you sigh. You reach to grab the thermos that will be lukewarm at best by now. Still, you have to appease the bear.

You reach to squeeze Sy's shoulder. He snorts and sucks in a deep breath. You try to shake him, an impossible task for most. You brush your fingers down his sleep and poke his muscle.

"Syverson," you say tersely, "time to wake up."

He slumps away from you and snores even louder. You roll your eyes. He's stubborn even when he's asleep. You pull your hand back and snap your knuckles against his arm.

"Sy! Up."

Still he is unaffected. You undo your seat belt and move closer. You uncap the thermos and reach around him, hovering it under his nose. He quiets and sniffs, grumbling. He moves stuntedly to wrap his hand around yours and slide the metal cup free. He sits up and purrs over the brim.

"Coffee," he growls and gulps deep.

"About there," Pierson states.

Sy hums flatly and finishes the coffee in another swig. He hands back the empty cup and you shimmy back to other end of the seat. You cap the thermos and put it back in the plastic holder.

"Remind me," he flicks two fingers at you.

You stir around and bring out your tablet, sliding back the protective cover. You tap and bring up the contract, flicking through the maps as you go over the numbers. Units in the east, with another party coming from the north. Estimates are about sixty men total, fifteen vehicles, and ammunition to match.

"They're tryin' to short us," Sy insists. "I can sell half as many for double."

"Yes, you can," you agree, "but you also need to network."

He chortles, "this isn't a boardroom, Izzie."

"Don't I know it," you utter. You miss those days sometimes. Sand and sun make you long for climate control and complimentary coffee. "Money is money, I get it, but this is a big one. Could open a lot of doors. Make it so you can demand your worth."

"Mm, so wise," he praises in his grizzly way, "kit."

You fold up the tablet cover and once more search around the pack. You take out the toiletry pouch and hand it over. He finds the mini toothbrush and uses a gulp of the bottled water to wash up, spitting out the window. As he checks his watch, you reach over with a tissue to wipe a spot of paste from his beard.

"Thanks, Iz."

You go about cleaning up yourself. Worse than the cold caffeine and sleepless night, its the lack of hygiene that gets to you most. You use a face wipe on your skin and ball it up. The money is convincing and as much as you might long for the old ways, those office walls drove you mad.

"I need a fuckin' drink," Sy grumbles as he rubs his eyes.

"Tell me about it," you scoff.

"Huh? You never do."

"Not with you," you counter. "Don't drink on the clock."

"Mm, so you do partake?"

"None of your business."

"Ah, come on, Iz, you can't dangle the bait in front of me like that."

"You got your vest on?" You ask.

"Always. Don't change the subject."

"Not much else to say about it," you zip up the pack and sit back, watching through the windshield, a cage between the front and backseats.

Sy straps on his fingerless gloves and furls and unfurls his fists. He's getting impatient. He always gets a bit uppity before a meeting. Especially with money on the line. You don't doubt him for a minute. He handles numbers as well as he does a gun.

"Let's say I get them to tack on another fifty," he says, "will you drink to that?"

You look at him from the corner of your eye, "depends."

"Depends on what?" He challenges.

"No Titos."

He's quiet as he drags his boot tread on the floor. Even in such a large vehicle, he's cramped.

"How'd you know?"

"Someone has to keep your pantry stocked," you tut.

He chuckles, "s'pose."

You tidy yourself as best as you can and set your jaw. It took a lot to get used to the whole not smiling thing. You were never very keen on it but every job you had before required it.

"You get this one, you get a lot more than money," you gird. "I know you will."

"Ah, you trust me, Izzie."

"Trust is a strong word. I know you'll handle it," you say as you stretch your legs, checking your own vest as you tighten the straps. You sense him watching you.

"Eh, I think I might let you take lead," he snorts, "you can be terrifying when ya want to."

"Whatever," you shrug off the joke. Scary? You?

What's scary is walking into a job interview with a brute sharpening a hunting knife as casually he might clean his nails. Scarier even is to say yes to the offer. Life does lead you to the most unexpected places. Still, you prefer it to the purgatory of predictability house in the white corporate walls of the past.

#captain syverson #dark captain syverson #dark!captain syverson #captain syverson x reader #series #drabble #unorthodox #au #bad bosses #sand castle

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randombush3 · 11 months ago

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audentes fortuna iuvat

alexia putellas x reader

part one, part two

words: 9541

summary: alexia and you as posh + becks III

content warnings: there’s some (a lot of) cheating + postpartum depression. it’s more frustrating than sad though x

notes: this covers 2019-22(ish). It was SUPPOSED to be the last part. It’s not anymore. I’m gonna do a fourth to deal w the mess I have created in a more self-indulgent amount of words than the 3k i had planned. That will probably have smut in it 😛

“Y/n left me.”

The limousine you are in is completely black, save for the white lines being measured out right next to you.

“What?” says Jenni.

“She left me,” Alexia says once more. The hotel room is a non-committal beige. They lie in the same bed, the older of the two welcoming her lost teammate wordlessly and without judgement. Tomorrow, they will return to Barcelona, losers yet another time. “She moved back to london. She took Nico.”

“She can’t just take Nico, can she?”

“Y/n, how’s Nico?” Your stomach turns, but whether that is provoked by the thought of the baby boy you left crying in your father’s arms or by the white powder outlining the rim of the woman’s nostrils, you don’t know.

Your son’s creasing eyes, red face, and grabbing hands appear in front of you. He screams as you walk away. He doesn’t understand why he has not smelt Alexia in weeks, and he misses the comfort of home.

Everyone waits for your answer. No one comments on the bags under your eyes. “He's fine,” you say with a smile. “He loves it here.”

“I think she is depressed,” Alexia tells Jenni, comforted by the arms wrapped around her waist, holding her close and tightly and reminding her that she is not as alone as you have made her feel. “She told me that she couldn’t be in Barcelona anymore, but she said that without giving me a chance to come with her. Her bags were packed before the conversation started — she might as well have called me from the plane.”

“Are you angry at her?”

“Yes.”

Alexia thinks about it.

“No.”

“No,” you say when they point at your very own line. The drug holds a place of both familiarity and hatred in your heart. The fine, white powder reminds you of greatness – of being the most successful girl group in the UK – but, also, of hospital visits. It’s not a past addiction, but it could have been. You light a cigarette instead, though it will make the vehicle reek. “I can't. I have a son.”

“You’re not a saint.” They boo. “You’re allowed to have fun. I saw you the other day, and you had no qualms with any drugs then.”

“No, I'm not a saint,” you reply. You regret that night — however little you remember. “But I am a mother.”

“Is it that thing? Postpartum?” Jenni asks. “The baby blues are really shitty, I've heard, but they’re not supposed to cripple you. Maybe the relationship has other issues.”

“I'm not angry at her, Jenni,” Alexia repeats. “I miss Nico. He looks like her. He has started to look a lot more like her now.”

“He would definitely suit those sparkly bralettes.” Jenni giggles at the thought.

With an understandable lack of good humour, Alexia ponders something more realistic. “He would suit a Barcelona kit.”

“He would be made for it. You are his mother.”

“I'm not angry at her,” Alexia says for the third time, just to make herself believe it. Just to carve those words into her bones and tell herself that it isn’t anger, what she’s feeling. “I don't want to be angry at her. I think I'm going to see if I can move to arsenal.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Well, I'm not angry at her.”

“Alexia.” Jenni cups her cheek tenderly. “Ale.” She knows she shouldn’t. She’s not angry at you, and so there is no punishment needed. Not that… Not that kissing Jenni would ever be utilised as a weapon to get back at you. Or that she’d actually kiss her.

“Daddy, I can't get him tonight. No, I don't want to stay over. Daddy, I…” You hate the baby. You hate yourself. You hate that Spain hasn’t done well, and that your fiancée is disappointed that nothing is how it was supposed to be. Alexia is probably lying awake in bed, missing her son, and missing you. You expect one of her teammates to call you soon, and tell her that she needs you. You’re her person. “I'm going to get some sleep and I'll pick him up tomorrow. Probably around lunchtime, okay?”

“Alexia, bésame.”

…

You had passively bought your house. It’s how property sale works when you’re a celebrity. People are always willing to do things for you if you know the price, and it never hurts to use your name to add a new flashy level to whatever stupid business they are running. It’s a mutual exploitation, to some extent.

Highgate is beautiful. The house is beautiful.

The reception room, with its high, decorated ceilings, is your favourite place to numbly take in the twisted jigsaw of your life when Nico has cried himself to sleep. The nursery is on the first floor. He is near enough for safety, but at a distance that allows you to regret all the mistakes you have made.

You watch him roll over onto his stomach, eyes trained on the baby monitor though your fingers graze the ivory keys of your new piano, attempting to compose something worthwhile. At this rate, your solo career is going to fail just like your relationship seems to be doing.

Yesterday, while Alexia seemingly disappeared from the face of the Earth, you came out. It was an off-hand comment during the Graham Norton Show. A quick ‘my fiancée named him. She’s from Barcelona’ was all it took. You hope Alexia, wherever she may be, has heard about it. Jenni would have told her. You trust Jenni to be somewhat on your side because she always has been.

The doorbell rings just as you sniffle, wiping away the tear that slips down your cheek. “Don’t be pathetic,” you mutter to yourself. “You didn’t pay five million pounds to sit here and cry. You chose to come back home.”

Being in England – colder, drearier, lonelier England – has made you realise that your decision was not the right one. Or maybe it was. It has proven that you are as terrible a mother as you convinced yourself you were back in Barcelona, and it has also shoved the cavity Alexia leaves in your life when you refuse her entry right down your throat in the form of a constant lump and a dull stabbing in your chest whenever you think about anything past whether Nico has had anything to eat. You can’t even feed him properly, despite it being supposedly in your nature. You buy formula from the nearest Waitrose.

The doorbell rings again.

The insistence is not uncommon seeing as you are, at the minute, the English press’s number one target. You open the CCTV app on your phone so that you can decide whether or not to ignore the potential stalker, and your heart rate spikes when you see the hooded figure standing on the porch. Back to the door, it is not possible to determine the threat. A well-buried maternal instinct kicks in for once, and you ensure that Nico is still peacefully out cold before getting up to answer the door with the poker from the Victorian fireplace firmly in your grip. Just in case.

You are a mother, in whatever capacity you have decided that role looks like, and so you undo the three latches on the door with brave, protective fingers. The baby monitor’s volume has increased, and the fuzz of white noise is audible if Nico were to make a sound. The vague repulsion at the idea of it all is only an aftertaste in your silent prayer for the hooded figure to not want to kill you. Some sick part of your brain imagines Nico dead, as well. It tortures you.

The poker in your other hand, for the most fleeting of moments, is almost plunged into your chest. The imaginary, self-inflicted wound makes you think of the blood and how the baby upstairs would wail until someone found him. The grimace of annoyance on your lips is nothing new, but you have no more time to torment yourself because the doorbell is pressed again, rather impatiently.

You open the door and the hooded figure is right in front of you. “He’s asleep,” you say, the Spanish foreign on your tongue.

Alexia shrugs, and her hood falls down, revealing the brunette tendrils that hang from her slowly sinking bun. “I came for you,” she replies, so earnestly that it is as if nothing ever happened: past pain forgotten and replaced by sprouting memories of soft kisses and mornings where leaving was too hard to do. Some of them, you think, are not real. They don’t seem to be. Your blank stare is unsettling. You almost don’t believe her. “Can we talk?” she tries, and you notice the team-issued duffle on the tiled floor she is standing on. Then, from the pocket of her hoodie, she extracts a pastry box. The plastic window is filled with circles of different colours, and she holds out the macaroons to you as if to bribe her way into a home in which she is unsure she belongs to.

Stepping aside, leaning the poker against the wall by the door, you scratch at the bare skin of your neck. Alexia, while sweeping an arm down to collect her bag, fixes her gaze onto the ring you are wearing, and the diamond glistens with hope that this can all be fixed. “Would you like to come inside?”

She swallows the whine of anguish that tears her heart open at the idea that this might never be her house to live in, too, and she follows you dutifully as you lead her through hallways far more luxurious than the flat in Barcelona could ever be. This is what you left her for – the person you are, no longer in worn clothing with messy hair, is quite the opposite of the woman with her back to her moments before she had to focus on football. The necklace draped on your sharpened collarbones is new, and she does not dare believe what she has been hearing is true. Yes, there are pictures, but she trusts you. She will always trust you.

“Have a seat,” you say, gesturing to the wooden dining table. It is clean enough for her to determine that it is unused. Alexia places the macaroons in front of her, and aches at how you sit at the opposite end.

“I…”

“I thought you were going to give me all the time that I needed.” It is a statement of distance, as if your location is not enough.

Alexia, eyes widening at how unwelcome she suddenly feels, needs only to remind herself of the impending date of the wedding. It is beginning to loom uncomfortably, with the excitement of getting married drained out like a low tide on a deserted beach. “We have two weeks. If it isn’t going to happen, then you should tell me now. We have to give everyone notice so that they can cancel their flights.” Your silence spurs her on. “You will need to contact the wedding planner, because you refused to let me have a hand in any of it so I don’t even have their number. I’m sorry that you won’t be able to wear your dress. Vivienne Westwood is a big thing for you, I know. I’m sorry that it’s inconvenient.”

“But Alexia,” you whisper, “I don’t not want to get married.”

Her eyebrows furrow, head tilted slightly to the left. “I know. That is why I am saying this.”

Your voice grows louder. “No, no. Sorry, that wasn’t the easiest thing to understand.” Across the dining table, your love that has faltered, that has hesitated and been reconsidered and been stamped down over the past month, extends towards her: its final destination, always and forever. Alexia feels it grab her by the throat, wrenching the words from her before she can even formulate a thought in response, and her body is so drawn to you, in such a powerful fashion, that she pushes her chair out from the table with a grating scrape and is stepping towards you with a finality that makes her wonder if she’ll ever leave your side.

As she approaches, the idea that she is here becomes a little too real. You have played with the fantasy of it, of course, but the tenderness in her usually fierce eyes does not match the anger you had expected, and, in the most feeble fashion, you have never felt more apologetic in your life.

“I’m so sorry,” you begin to say. Tears stream down your face with freed anguish, and the words are so simple yet they bear the weight of your entire soul. “I’m so sorry, darling. I made a mistake, and I have been met with the most crushing of realisations: I can’t do this without you, Alexia.” I still want to marry you, Alexia.

The room seems to close in on your despair, attempting to bottle it, almost, and keep you trapped underneath a haze of emotions you don’t quite know how to sort through. “I… I’m beginning to hate him.” The confession hangs heavy over Alexia’s bowed head as she stands frozen in place, stuck in her journey towards you but unable to arrive. “I’m acutely aware of how cruel it is,” you continue, this next admission being what agonises you the most. It floods the room with guilt, and your voice trembles with self-condemnation that reigns harsher than any other voice in your head.

“It’s ridiculous. I’m evil and I’m wrong, and I just feel like it is inherently in my nature to be like this, as though some fault has been built into me with warning signs we evidently ignored.” You struggle to breathe. “I wish I could take back the day we decided to have him,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper, lips doused in tears, skin searing with shame when Alexia cups your cheek with a strong, calloused hand. “He should not have to be stuck with me as a mother.”

Your chest heaves, and you are finished. You have never verbalised it before now, and it is impossible to decide whether it has helped remove the lead lining of your heart where it has been bolstered against your will. Her other hand steadily rises to your face, but then, with only a second of hesitation, she is pulling you upwards and enveloping you in her embrace. You feel a little bit closer to her. “Mi amor,” Alexia murmurs, tone cracked with sorrow and regret. “Lo siento mucho. Desearía haber sabido, desearía haber estado allí para ti.”

Gently, she tilts your face upwards to meet her gaze. “You are not evil and no estás equivocada. Estoy aquí ahora, y no te dejaré enfrentar esto sola nunca más.” You collapse into her. “I’m here, cariño, and I am not going anywhere.”

The sentiment is wonderful, and Alexia makes good on her word.

When Nico begins to cry, the sound piercing through your choked sobs, Alexia realises she has missed all of her life with you. Being separated and being apart due to work, she now knows, are two excruciatingly different things. The whiny wails from upstairs visibly jar you, though you pull away from Alexia to attend to him. “I will do it,” she declares, though her firmness is not mean. “Sit down. Eat the macaroons – they’re… ‘to die for’?” You nod with instinctive encouragement. “Sí. They’re to die for. Try. Jenni says that the pink ones are the best.”

“Jenni picked them out?” you ask with a briefly regained humour, eyebrows raising. “Had to get your friend to choose your apology gift?” In truth, neither of you know what Alexia would be apologising for, but Nico’s crying grows more incessant and Alexia is climbing the carpeted staircase before the topic can be discussed.

Alexia reaches her son with tears brimming in her eyes. The failure of Spain at the World Cup is amplified by the idea that she has disappointed him, though he does not yet possess the tools to pledge his allegiance to her country. In fact, Nico has been sleeping in Manchester United attire (your father has been his primary carer of late, and he does not charge you money, so the price is obviously Alexia’s sanity). She is more than glad to smell his nappy, and delighted about the opportunity to change him into something less hideous.

“Mama loves you so much,” she tells him as she manoeuvres his chubby legs into a plain, inoffensive onesie. “I promise, petit. I am going to help her, okay? And we are going to get through this together.” Alexia forgets about the taste of Jenni’s lips and the heat between them. “Mama just doesn’t see the direction she is going in. It is like her eyes are covered, and she is telling herself that she is walking down the wrong path, but this is not true. You are the most special thing in the world to us. You are the sunrise, the sunset, and the hours of the day.”

She pauses to stand him up on his tiny feet, hands hoisted underneath his armpits. He is heavier than when she last held him, but she is stronger than before, too. Women’s football is growing, along with her muscles. Nico babbles out a vague reply, but Alexia hears what he is trying to say. “I agree. We’ll be alright.” And, with all her heart, it rings true.

…

The following day, she calls the doctor for you, script written out on a piece of paper in front of her, translated perfectly so that her concern does not waver the information she needs to tell the receptionist. The clinic is famous and discreet, and they are quick to prescribe you antidepressants before the week draws to a close. You won’t be able to drink at your wedding, and everyone might think you are pregnant again, but Alexia reassures you that it will be worth it.

Wrapped up in your own bubble, the three of you enjoy London in a way that isn’t possible in Barcelona.

Here, Alexia has no commitment to football. There are no training sessions she must rush off to, there are no teammates to pry, and no one else to interfere with your private little routine. You quite like it, and she does too. It is only temporary, before you fly out to Menorca and hand Nico off to Eli in order to enjoy your respective bachelorette parties and then, in exactly seven days, your wedding itself.

“You’re still smoking,” Alexia says disapprovingly, the sleep in her voice enough to make you feel a pang of guilt. It’s late at night when Nico has finally been soothed from his aching gums, and she has been able to climb back into bed expecting to find you asleep already. “Why are you awake?”

“I’m still smoking,” you tell her. She sighs at the way you parrot her words, but presses an affectionate kiss to the junction of your neck and shoulders despite the lingering smell of cigarettes. “If I can’t drink, I’m going to smoke. This is Hollywood.”

“This is Highgate.” Her accent curls around the name with something a little too foreign for her to ever consider this place home. “Why are you awake?” she repeats.

You look down at the open notebook in your lap, the pages either blank or full of crossed-out lyrics. “He was so loud, but I can’t seem to write anything either so, really, it has been quite redundant.”

“I had to get a glass full of ice and hold it to my fingers so that I could help him. I could have lost some very important assets, but it seemed to do the trick.” He’s teething. You’re telling yourself that the antidepressants are little pills of miracle, and have kicked in already. “Feel.” She presses two freezing fingers to your cheek, and you gasp, flinching away from her.

“There’s a teething ring downstairs, you know,” you tell her. She shrugs. Maybe it isn’t clean. “Don’t give yourself frostbite. I happen to quite like your fingers.”

Alexia’s smirk is beyond suggestive, and her lips hit your neck once more with an entirely different heat to them. “Yeah?” You push her head away. “I bet it would feel good. Nice and cold.”

“You’re delirious.”

She continues to kiss you. “I don’t know what that means,” she mumbles into your neck, until her lips reach your face and she is near climbing into your lap – notebook long pushed onto the floor. “Dímelo en español.”

“No lo sé.”

“Ah. Una palabra inteligente.”

“Claro.”

She laughs into the kiss she presses against your lips. She never has never felt like this with anyone else. Never this relaxed, or loved, or safe. “Me vas a matar con tu inteligencia y voy a sentirme estúpida para siempre.”

“I love you,” you state softly. “I love every part of you.” Alexia, in that moment, decides to never do what she did with Jenni again, and to never break your heart by informing you of her betrayal.

…

You’re married.

You’re married to Alexia, a woman who bears the beauty of a goddess and the strength and will of someone who could capture the sun and tame the fire that rages on its surface.

You admire her as she sleeps so peacefully beside you, tanned skin warmed by the sunlight streaming in through the large windows of the hotel room. Later, you will get on the ferry, go back to Barcelona, and then fly to Capri for three days alone before Alexia’s preseason starts. Aside from a few meetings with Dave, you theoretically aren’t swamped with anything. You’ll be joining her in her city with Nico with a bit more permanence than last time.

Alexia buries her face in the covers, crawling into your open arms the minute the sunlight rouses her. “Everything is sore,” she groans, her bare skin slightly sticking to yours, the sweat from last night not yet gone.

“What happened to ‘mi vida, one more time won’t hurt’?” you tease, impersonating her heavy accent over your English with enough drama to get her to elicit another grumble. This time, it’s something about being bullied. “Darling, we have to get up. We’re having breakfast with our parents, and apparently Nico has been upset that we got a night to ourselves.”

“Pobrecito,” she replies with a newfound level of English sarcasm. She spent the wedding reception avoiding the dance floor, engaged in a long conversation with your father. The topics spanned over most areas of life, and briefly touched upon how you are doing now. Alexia, with much pleasure, confirmed the improvement, however miniscule it has been. She is very proud of you, and he is too. “I only want one thing for breakfast.”

Her hands begin to roam, the band of her wedding ring hitting your pubic bone. “Mi vida, one more time won’t hurt,” she mocks you from before but in her sexier, Spanish husk, sucking at your collarbone, straddling your waist.

You replace your near moan with a thoughtful hum. “I really want pancakes. Do you think they’ll make me some?”

Downstairs, where it is brighter and impossible to conceal the hickeys on both of your necks, you greet your parents, brother, Anya, and Gio. Alexia’s mother, her sister, and Jenni are sitting at the table, too. Your baby is pretending he isn’t teething, and grinning like an angel.

“How’s married life?” Anya asks as you take a seat opposite her, Alexia to your right. The table has a gradient of bilingualism, but Gio discovered that she picks up Spanish quite easily considering she can already speak one romance language. “We’ve already found, like, four articles talking about it.”

“How?” you ask, but you are not offended.

Gio shrugs. “Drones, I guess. Nothing bad, though. Some speculation about the other bride – if the article does mention that. Most talk is on the dress.” It was a bloody good dress. “And I suspect that there’ll be a juicy little question about who was your Maid of Honour.”

“Don’t be salty,” you tell her. The MOH issue was sorted out years ago – perhaps 2015 – when you binged Friends together despite having watched it thousands of times before. Anya has been yours, Gio will be hers, and you will be Gio’s. And they say trios never work.

“I left Mia with her dad for this.”

“You shouldn’t have had a baby with a man-slag,” Anya says with a snort, enjoying her second mimosa and Gio’s grimace at the idea of her daughter having to put up with her father’s revolving door of one-night-stands. “You’re one to make terrible decisions. At least our girl over here’s married someone who looks at her like she’s hung the moon.”

Alexia turns to you with a smile, as if on cue, with Nico in her lap. You glance at his rounded cheeks and shining eyes, looking back up at your friends as though to check they are still there. Alexia leans forwards so that she can whisper in your ear. “Te amo. Nico, también. Mi familia es perfecta.”

…

Returning to Barcelona comes with one negotiated condition on your part. You buy a bigger apartment, where there is space for an office and extra bedrooms. Alexia says her teammates will be taking the piss out of her grand new place the minute she sees it, but she is more than content to contribute to the finances with her new-and-improved salary for this season. “It’s weird to think that I’m from Mollet,” murmurs Alexia, standing in the middle of the large lounge area, surrounded by boxes. Most are from your old flat, but a few have been flown in from London. Alexia wanted you to have your Grammy with you. “This place is so fancy.”

“It’s half of what the men’s team get,” you remind her, holding Nico with care as he gnaws away on a frozen carrot. His saliva drips onto you, but the antidepressants are working, and the therapy has been effective enough for you to start taking childcare in turns. (You had tried to previously, but Alexia wanted you to focus on yourself, knowing that things will change for all of you once the season started.) “Hey.” You place your hand on her shoulder. She tickles Nico’s chin. “We deserve this. You deserve this. Why don’t you host one of your team’s dinners? I’ll take Nico round to your mum’s – God knows she’d love to shove some food down my throat, too.”

She shakes her head, strands of brown unstraightened due to the stress of the move and falling out of her bun with a determination to defy her hair bobble. “They would kill me if I did it without you. They’re all far too grateful that you invited Taylor Swift to our wedding.”

“She’s a friend.” If you hadn’t been distracted by various other happenings that night, you’d have clocked that Alexia’s side of the guests were completely up to their ears in celebrities they’d never expected to meet. “Okay, so do you want me to stay here?”

“I always want you to stay here,” she answers.

“Not what I meant.”

“I won’t take it back.”

Nico babbles an incoherent yet cutely Spanish-y noise, though his words are getting closer to being said at the old age of eight months. Then, suddenly, something in him clicks. “Mama,” he squeals, his little fist scrunching up the fabric of your t-shirt. “Mamama.”

“Nicolau!” Alexia replies with just as much enthusiasm, cupping his cheeks. She kisses his nose, and then his forehead, and then his chubby knees and socked feet. “Nicolau, sí, la mama et té a las mans! Bon noi, el meu bon i intel·ligent noi.”

“Does that count?”

“Mama,” Nico repeats, tugging your earlobe. “Mama. Mama.” It is easy to forget about the (lessening) resentment you harbour when he speaks. Alexia gets him to say it as many times as she can before he goes back to his carrot, but, even then, the two of you stay in that spot, marvelling at your creation.

Slowly, she turns around in a circle, absorbing the plain walls and towers of boxes. “This is going to be good. Life is going to be good,” you declare with such a firmness that it has to be true. “Darling, let’s get to unpacking and then we can think about a date for this dinner party.”

“We are going to plan the party?” She raises her eyebrows at you. “Is this party going to start at five o’clock?”

“Not all of us shit yellow and red.” (In a national sense – you’d have haemorrhoids for United any day of the week.)

Alexia takes Nico off you, in a show of cultural dominance. You’re actually outnumbered, considering he isn’t a British Citizen, and though he shares no DNA with your wife, he has inherited the same ability to narrow his eyes just enough to serve absolute cunt whenever he so pleases. If you weren’t feeling so ganged up on, you’d be a little impressed. “Nico y yo vamos a hacer croquetas de jamón. Adiós.”

“Darling, the kitchen isn’t–” But you cut yourself off, deciding that she can discover that on her own, along with the criminally empty fridge. You don’t hide your smugness at all when she finds you in your almost-finished bedroom, wearing a look of utter disappointment and mumbling out a heartbroken request for a food delivery as soon as possible.

…

November marks three years of being together and, also, four weeks of having Alexia’s ‘DNA’ – a pomeranian called Nala, whose Instagram account is run by her favourite parent after you called it silly and told your wife you’d much rather attend to your own seventeen million followers.

Towards the end of the month, after a well-spent morning and then a family outing to Barcelona Zoo, Alexia meets Jenni Hermoso in a restaurant in what Jenni calls ‘your new rich-people neighbourhood’ in her text to Alexia.

Alexia, really and truly, is happy to have her best friend back in Barcelona. She missed her last year, when Jenni had returned to Atleti, and that separation maybe made what happened the night Spain was knocked out of the World Cup just that bit more understandable. “You’re a Culer, no matter how hard you try to fight it,” Alexia had said when she had climbed back into her own bed, not wanting to fall asleep in Jenni’s arms. “It was terrible to not have Y/n or you.”

You and Jenni: Alexia’s people.

“How’s your wife?” Jenni asks with a grin, two glasses of wine into a pleasant evening at an expensive restaurant. “You’ve left her with Nico, so something must be working.”

In truth, you have been determined to get better. There were articles released not long after the photos of your wedding were circulated, and those speculated a lot about how you are finding motherhood. The baby pictured, captured by long-range lenses and invasive drones, was the world’s first glimpse at what Nico Putellas L/n looks like, and reminded many of them that you had a child to care for when in London, yet were frequently spotted at nightclubs and parties. You rise to most challenges, however, and find it a lot easier to adapt to weekly therapy sessions and pills every morning when you have a wrongful image to disprove.

“It’s as if it never happened,” Alexia says, both with pride and surprise. “She now seeks to spend time with him. She takes him with her to the recording studio – the album’s coming along well.” It’s your first on your own. Nico plays with one mixing desk, while Dave (flown in from London with the promise that the Barcelona sun will do wonders for his wife’s misery) plays with another. “And… Jenni, we’ve been talking. The clinic that we used for Nico asked us if we wanted to reserve sperm when we first had him, and now they have called asking if now is a good time. I think… I think that she is really considering it. She told me yesterday that her therapist wants me to sit in on the next session, so we can go over how we can make this time different.”

Jenni frowns, which is not what the woman opposite her had expected at all. “Why are you two having more children? You’re only twenty-five, Ale. Isn’t this going to affect your career?”

“The men do it all the time.” She’s done a spot of research. They are younger than her when their girlfriends start getting pregnant, and they continue to play with the added admiration that they are fathers as well.

“Yes, but they have the benefit of getting paid millions. They don’t have to fight with their federation for pitches or pay, and they can focus on football without their career sparking controversy for even existing.”

“Then my children will grow up with a mother who fights for change.”

“Or they grow up with a pop star who only wants things she cannot have and a footballer who can’t spend any time with them because she is too busy speaking at various conventions so that the next league match isn’t cancelled.”

“Jenni, do you think your opinion would be different if Y/n was a man?”

This elicits laughter from the other woman, who rolls her eyes in a way that can only be described as condescending. “Alexia, you’re forgetting that I’m a lesbian too, which is a magnificent feat.” Jenni references the kiss they shared, and what happened after that. “But, no. I don’t. I want you to be the greatest footballer in the world, and you want that too. What are you going to do when Y/n tells you she wants to move back to England? Are you going to give up your future here for her?”

The waiter interrupts briefly, collecting their empty plates and carting them off with a mission to retrieve the bill after a sharply declined offer for the dessert menu. “You don’t even know if that will happen,” Alexia scoffs, though she is a little sad that her exciting news hasn’t been well-received. “I was going to say that I’d think about the name Jennifer if it ends up being a girl, but now I’m leaning more towards María…”

She is kicked under the table, and she has to hold in her cry of pain because this restaurant is one of your favourite places to eat. “Mapi cannot have this victory over me. She’d be insufferable. Ale, you simply aren’t allowed to do that.” There’s another kick, but it is more playful this time.

Alexia laughs, smiling and thankful that the tension has diffused. “I’m only joking. Y/n has a list scribbled in the back of her lyric book. She’ll probably be called Elena.” That is much more acceptable to Jenni’s ears, and she files that information away for next year, when she’ll tell Mapi that Alexia doesn’t like her name.

…

It works. Alexia and you are lucky. The doctor tells Alexia that, if she were a man, the two of you would have to be extremely careful. Your wife marvels at your ability to destroy your body and stay fertile, but she supposes that you are not the kind of woman to be a lesbian. Sometimes, she wakes up in a cold sweat, believing that you have changed your mind and left her.

The New Year is a fresh start. Alexia decides to fix the (not so) hidden cracks in your relationship. She confides in her newly-acquired therapist. She may have made a mistake once; the secret is sandwiched between her worries about your susceptibility to depression and how Nico is a decided food critic.

Though the therapist, a lovely bilingual woman named Sofía, raises her eyebrows, she does not pry. She slides a paper calling card over to Alexia. The paper squeaks along the coffee table between the two comfortable armchairs of the office. “I specialise in couples. Seeing as your wife is already a client of mine, I think you should consider a joint session.” Alexia is new to the idea of mental health. Before, she had been too focused on football to care about it. Even when her father died, any professional she spoke to was only hearing how her mind worked because she knew it was what was best for her performance. “And, Alexia.” She looks up at the therapist with a small, nervous smile. “Congratulations on the pregnancy. I am sure Nico will make a wonderful older brother.”

Morning sickness drags you out of your shared bed most days.

Alexia asks you about couples’ therapy when you have finished your dry-heaving one morning.

“I mean,” you begin before pausing, gulping down the sour taste in your mouth and hoping nothing else is trying to hit the toilet water until tomorrow. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.” She is dressed in her training kit, but she slings her jumper over your shoulders as soon as you shiver. “Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“It would do no harm.” As long as Sofía does not bring up Alexia’s confession, your statement will ring true. “You book the appointment. It’ll be easier to work around your schedule that way.”

“When are you flying back to London?” Her question is not filled with hatred for the city, but with resignation to the fact that your job involves you being stretched between here and there.

“Not until next month. I thought that I could take Nico to an away game with my dad if I got a flight for Saturday. The rest of the week would be interviews and photoshoots.”

“How’s the album doing?”

So far, your songs are only written when Alexia has paid you enough attention to swirl your thoughts and blur your vision. It is in these moments that the lingering, sinking weight inside of you dissipates. “Dave remains hopeful. It won’t fail, but I need it to be better than what we currently have.”

Shamelessly, Alexia is aware of her effect on your songs. She smirks; “Alba has been begging to babysit, you know.” With no care for your current state, Alexia’s eyes rake up and down your body. You grow embarrassed by how you are slumped over the toilet, and how she is standing above you as though she runs your world. “You look beautiful, mi amor,” she murmurs as you bashfully duck your head between your bent arms.

“You’re a flirt.” It feels too late for her to still be in the flat. “And you’re going to miss training if you don’t get a move on. There are eggs in the fridge, and Nico definitely liked the omelette you made him a few days ago. He’ll be waking up soon.”

A small sigh escapes the midfielder’s lips, but the prospect of the things she loves most in the world appearing in her life consecutively is enough to convince her to pad her way out the bathroom, swanning into the corridor with a little grin on her face as she sings out ‘bon dia’ to an impressively multilingual toddler and heads into the kitchen with the domestic intention of getting breakfast started. She leaves an omelette out for you, which you attack shortly after Alexia and Nico disappear into their daily routine. She drops him off at preschool, and you pick him up a few hours later, taking him first for lunch with Alba, and then to the studio.

You come home to a showered Alexia who is memorising her most recent match. She lets Nico slide into her lap without hesitation, but she stays focused on the football even when he tugs on the strands of hair falling out of ponytail. You marvel at the idea of having enough room in your heart for so much love. You decide that you are not like Alexia, though it is not necessarily a terrible thing. A further observation from watching your wife settle her son with a calm, muttered Catalan telling-off, coaxing him into loving football as though he does not already, is that you are so very content with your life at the moment.

But 2020 kind of sucks.

For the entire world.

You’re cut off from your home in any other manner than a digital one, and being stuck in a luxurious penthouse in Barcelona isn’t the worst fate, but it really isn’t ideal.

Elena, however, has the benefit of coming into the world with ever (physically) present parents, who could recite the java script for Zoom given that they spend hours on therapy calls. Elena, bright and smiley and the picture of her mother, spends the first few months of her life in a happy, happy family, protected by an entire football team and a fierce older brother. (And a yappy Pomerianian called Nala.)

“Y/n doesn’t like the name María,” Jenni tells Mapi when Alexia sends the first picture of your new addition to the Barcelona group chat.

“The next baby is going to be a Jennifer,” Mapi says, to both the forward and the unimpressed midfielder walking a few paces in front of such a silly conversation. “For that, I can only feel sorry for her.”

…

The routine changes the following year.

It starts with an abrupt but expected conversation. One that Alexia has been dreading.

Your album – the first one that is just you – was released two months ago, and it has done too well. Selfishly, Alexia had hoped it would fail. You have enough money, and she is earning more and more each season. Success, unfortunately, means that this little life can no longer exist. Or can it?

“I have to do it,” you whisper to her, tears in your eyes though the smell of sex still lingers. The quietness of a child-free apartment allows for you to hear her gulp. “It’ll be different this time, darling, but I can’t be here anymore. I can’t fly out to London every few days. I can’t leave you with a five-month-old and a toddler when you are training every day and playing matches every weekend. It’s not fair on anyone.”

Alexia kisses your bare shoulder, hands slipping round your waist as she pulls your sweaty body into her. Her chest presses against your back, but she is only behind you in this bed. She does not agree with you. She does not support it. But, like she always does, she bites her tongue. “If that’s what you want,” she replies, and part of you dies with the thought that she does not really care. “I love you. I want what’s best for you. For us.” And she tells Jenni all about it when she goes to see her a week later – the flimsy excuse of meeting a childhood friend for dinner enough to wrap a cloth around your eyes and leave you at home with a screaming toddler and a baby whose only flaw is that she grows distraught the moment she is put down.

In the dimly lit living room, the tension hangs thick in the air. You lock eyes. “Why can't you just move with us? Everyone will want you, darling, and life would be easier,” you plead, a month down the line. The house in Highgate has been readied for your more permanent return.

Alexia takes a deep breath, her gaze unwavering. “Why can't you get it into your head that I'm not leaving Spain or Barcelona? This is my home.”

“What about the children? School? Life? My career? Does it mean nothing to you?”

Her eyes soften. Your heart breaks, and the piece of you that has already died somehow dies again. “I'm thinking of the children. All the time, I think of them. About the reputation of my name – their name. Putellas, the greatest in the world, or Putellas, the one with potential wasted at West Ham?”

“You're being selfish, Lex,” you snap. “This is an opportunity for all of us, not just me. Think about their future!”

“Their future is here, in the culture they know, the languages they speak. I won't strip them of their identity for the sake of a 'better' life. And my career? I've worked too hard to build what I have here. I won't throw it away.” I don’t want to throw it away. Underscored by Don’t leave me again.

The room echoes with the weight of her voice. “Their identity comes from both of us.” It’s too final for either of your liking. Elena begins to cry in her cot. “I want to try it. I want you to be open to trying it.”

She gestures to the suitcases by the door. “Trying it and doing it are two different things. You’re taking them from me!”

“You’re probably going to love life without them anyway!” you shout. You feel like the crying baby, except the tears rolling down your cheeks carry much more suffering than hers. “You’ll – what? You’ll go out with your friends, and you’ll be able to go to the gym whenever you want. No arguing, no crying, no toddler to entertain, no nappies to change. You never wanted children. I forced it upon you. I regret it, and I’m sorry. We’ll go.”

“Don’t go.”

I don’t want you to go.

“I have to.”

You turn your back to her as you fly through the corridor, prepared to console Elena in a taxi. Alexia slips her ring off her finger, and clutches it in her palm instead. Desperately, she searches for a solution. There is nothing within her reach, not even you.

…

She is an island amongst a sea of happy people. She is going to be the greatest footballer in the world. It kills her to realise that she can now focus on football.

Nico starts nursery, attending the same school you once did. He adjusts to life in London seamlessly, and Elena does not seem to care either way. He learns more English every day, and his other mother calls him nightly to read to him.

With childcare more than sorted, you are free to be interviewed, pictured, and invited to events. You rake in the publicity, especially after laying so slow over the course of the lockdown in Spain.

“Alexia.” Jenni’s hands knead her tight shoulders, partly teasing her. Alexia wears a frown, eyebrows knitting together with an emotion she’s not sure she can name. “Ale, it’s the same game as always. Nothing has changed.”

“I know,” she murmurs. “I don’t understand why I feel like this.” She has continued to speak to Sofía, though your joint sessions have now come to a halt while you spend your time doubling as a singer and model. The therapist, try as she might, cannot evaluate the situation effectively enough. Eli and Alba have both tried to help, hoping that weekly dinners and the constant reminder about the invention of aeroplanes would ease the turmoil of Alexia’s mind. It does not. “I am so alone, Jenni.”

Nala is too small to fill the emptiness of the flat. Screens don’t allow for her to kiss you, or play with Nico. She is scared she will miss Elena’s first words.

“You don’t have to be.”

It only takes a month for Alexia to break, and it sort of works.

In Jenni’s bed, it works. Hips keening, soft pants falling from her mouth.

Quiet moans that stay locked in Jenni’s apartment.

Each time Alexia leaves, though Jenni repeatedly requests that she stays, she walks out as half a woman. She blinks back her tears and she checks her phone. When she calls you – not a video call – you are never any the wiser to the scratches down her back.

Alexia remains an island, but the sand beaches are tainted with the arrival of someone else.

In this way, she is functional.

She can do sex. She can deal with borderline romance. She can fill the space that you are tearing open with every passing minute spent in that god-awful country you insist on calling home. She can fix it a little bit with Jenni.

She tells herself that it does not mean anything more than a bandage means to a wound. Who wears the bandage once the gash has healed?

Where does she put the used bandage?

Why is she focused on bandages?! She’s having an affair. It’s not an affair! (It is.) Alexia doesn’t… quite… wanttoadmititjustyet.

…

The buzz of your phone is the final push that gets you to conclude the current interview you are trapped in. Before checking what the notification is, you glance at the time. You have half an hour before you need to pick up Nico, and your parents said they would drop Elena home once they returned from London Zoo.

Alexia: Jenni has had a really good idea

It’s an intriguing text amongst the more practical ones that oil the mechanics of managing the distance. Tonight, Barcelona play their last match of the season. After this, she’ll be flying out to London. You have missed her. The last time you saw her in person was after Barcelona embarrassed Chelsea in Gothenburg. Elated and filled with pride, it was incredibly nice to have the biggest room in the hotel to yourselves. Her medal was almost as beautiful as her.

You: Go on…

Alexia: Just draw a heart on Nico’s hand from me porfa. You’ll see.

You slide into the driver’s seat of your newest self-indulgent car; a Porsche. Momentarily distracted by a camera flash, your turn onto the main road is a little risky, but you manage to make it to the school in time to collect your son.

“Was he good?” you ask his teacher as she hands you Nico’s book bag. You take in the sight of him: hair messy, school uniform stained though they require the little ones to wear aprons for most of the day. “It’s a little different here. I’m hoping that he’s enjoying himself.”

“Our new assistant is from Spain,” says the teacher with a small, tired smile, batting her long eyelashes at you. “We had to pry him off her.”

You let out a laugh. “He misses his mum.”

“He’s extremely intelligent. He knew to speak Spanish to her and English to us.” Though your grasp of Spanish is near-fluent after such reluctance from your wife to try English, you know that the two-year-old has a talent for juggling the three languages he is growing up around. You’re proud of him. “You shouldn’t worry about him. And, speaking of, we have a parents’ coffee morning just around the corner. It’s always great for the parents to get along – it helps the school feel even more like a family. Will it just be you attending?” Nico’s teacher is around your age, and you can smell her rose perfume that mingles with the soft hint of ready-mixed paint. She has deep, brown eyes, and she is definitely flirting with you.

“Next week, right? I’ll have to check with my wife.”

It’s then that a toddler-sized hand grips your fingers and tugs. “Mama, me voy,” he groans; something akin to Alexia’s impatience. It reminds you of when you used to go shopping and she’d herd you out with the threat of getting in the car and driving away. “Venga.”

“One sec, sweetheart.” There are countless ways in which you miss Alexia. “My wife and I would love to come.”

Her smile does not falter on her lips, but there is a greyish disappointment that dulls the warmth of her irises. You smile as you turn your back and lead Nico to the car. You are so excited for Alexia to complete the broken puzzle.

You melt when she kisses the heart drawn onto her hand when celebrating her goal. Nico copies her, lips pursing and sloppily mimicking the action on a similar heart. “For you, sweetheart,” you tell him as he settles back into your side, careful not to jostle Elena who has fallen asleep on your chest (the therapist did wonders for you).

“It was for you,” Jenni tells Alexia after the match. Her goal is now serving as the move Alexia feared she’d make. They have changed and been massaged and done the media the are required to do (women’s football is growing): they are free to roam Barcelona if they so wish.

Her flight is tomorrow evening – “I have a flight tomorrow evening.”

“Come over tonight.” It isn’t a question, yet it is not quite a command. Mapi passes the two of them, eyes narrowing at the way Jenni has wrapped her hand around Alexia’s wrist. The defender is aware that something is going on, though it breaks her heart to imagine Alexia ever doing that to you. Not knowing they are being watched, Alexia steps in; cups Jenni’s face, brushes her cheekbone with a stroke of her thumb Mapi knows is meant for her wife. Mapi’s stomach lurches. She feels sick.

“I need to…” It’s not a ‘no’. “Jenni.” She hates that it is not a ‘no’.

“Ale.” There’s a beat. Mapi blinks twice, shakes her head, and backs away. “I’ll miss you, you know?”

…

Jenni doesn’t seem to mind when, the next day, blurry pictures of you on a family outing make rounds through the tabloids she usually doesn’t read. The fact that, up until now, no one has known that your wife is Alexia Putellas has no effect on her. She was stupid for thinking the last six months meant something. Winning together, losing together. Sleeping together.

In this deal, Alexia has fucked over both women who love her. Except, you don’t know. She hasn’t told you, though Jenni had hoped for it secretly – hoped Alexia chose her – and it is obvious. Obvious to Jenni, who is well acquainted with the blonde hair in the wings of your concert at the O2. Obvious to Jenni, who refuses to think of herself as the other woman.

She consults Mapi.

Mapi, who she has come to shamefully realise already knows.

“I can’t believe the two of you.” The defender is clear in her distaste and disappointment and, honestly, her disgust. “But I am not going to be the one to break that poor girl’s heart.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

What is she asking? What does she want from this utterly useless conversation?

“Mapi.” Jenni closes her eyes, but she sees two faces instead of darkness. Nico. Elena. She’s Elena’s godmother. You decided that – convinced Alexia to choose her best friend over her younger sister, told your wife that there’d be another for Alba to corrupt. “Mapi, I love her. I don’t know what to do.”

“She loves her wife.” The next sentence proceeds to brutally remind Jenni who that isn’t. “Tell her you’re done. Find someone else. Anyone but her.”

That is Jenni’s resolve, because she knows that Mapi is right.

…

June, July, and August pass with bliss.

Everyone says that you are a beautiful couple with beautiful children. Alexia beams with pride as she flaunts her practised English, and gladly claims ownership of Nico when he wins a prize on speech day. Every child in Reception is awarded something but that doesn’t stop her from boasting.

She explores the country with the children while you shack up in the recording studio, and brings hugs and kisses (and Red Bull) every evening after dinner. The visits are what reminds you of the sun Alexia brings, especially as the warmth follows her from Barcelona and London is blessed with golden days. Dog days.

“This isn’t permanent.” Alexia looks up from her phone, comfortable in your bed. The house in Highgate has flecks of Spain woven into the decor now, and you like it that way.

You climb into the bed beside her, and her arm lifts so that you can snuggle into her chiselled stomach (wow, she has been working hard this season). “What’s Jenni saying?” you ask, following your statement and hoping you’ll get her attention. She presses her phone screen into the duvet before you can translate the message – it is too long of a paragraph for you to handle. “Anyway, I wanted to tell you that this isn’t permanent.”

Alexia, over the past few months, has been the most affectionate, loving, amazing person with the same smile and giggle you married. You thought she had disappeared and was replaced with stern, career-focused Alexia Putellas, jugadora del fútbol. You were wrong.

“I’m thinking January is when we’ll come back. Nico’s English will survive.” Your parents are going travelling. They’ve never been on the Orient Express before. “I want to be with you.”

It is a good thing Jenni has just broken up with her.

“I love you,” you continue. “So much.”

Alexia hums. Her heart breaks, and she does not know for whom. “¿En serio?” She is happy, she thinks. Certainly, she is glad that the four of you will be reunited.

You are.

January 2022 ruins things for Jenni Hermoso. She calls Pachuca back.

#barca femeni #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso #fc barcelona #woso imagines #mapi leon #jenni hermoso #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas

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newobsessionweekly · 6 months ago

Text

A heartbeat away

Crossover 911 x The Rookie

Evan “Buck” Buckley x paramedic!Bradford!reader Tim Bradford x paramedic!sister!reader

Fandom: 911, The Rookie Summary: The tense relationship between your brother, Tim, and your boyfriend, Buck, comes to a head when a catastrophic car accident leaves you critically injured. Forced to confront their differences and work together to save you, both men come to terms with their shared fears and love for you. Angst Warnings: ANGST, Descriptions of injuries, blood, trauma, strong language, emotional conflict, intense arguments, vehicle accident, and hospital scenes, fluff at the end cuz my heart was breaking for my babies, not proofread yet?

Requested: No

Words: 3k

You finish restocking the medication kit, methodically checking each item against the inventory list. The firehouse is alive with its usual buzz, the sounds of laughter and banter mixing with the occasional clang of metal or hum of machinery. You adjust the last of the syringes in their slot and close the kit with a satisfying snap. This place, with its organized chaos, has become your second home.

Just as you’re about to put the kit back in its place, you glance up and see Tim and Lucy entering the fire station. Tim’s tall frame is rigid, his posture tense, while Lucy walks beside him, her hand intertwined with his in a gentle but firm grip. Her presence is calming, a subtle yet powerful reminder of why he’s here. Lucy’s eyes scan the firehouse with curiosity, taking in the new environment with an open mind. Without a second thought, you drop what you’re doing and rush over to them.

“Hey!” you call out, your voice filled with excitement and relief.

Tim’s stern expression softens slightly when he sees you, and Lucy’s face lights up with a warm smile. You reach them and wrap your arms around both of them in a tight hug, feeling the tension in Tim’s body as he slowly relaxes into your embrace.

“Thank you for coming,” you whisper, before you pull back, looking into Tim’s eyes, then turn to give Lucy a quick, grateful squeeze.

Tim grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. “You owe me for this,” he mutters, his tone a mix of reluctance and protectiveness.

Buck strides over behind one of the firetrucks and his face lighting up when he sees you standing next to your brother. His blue eyes twinkle with warmth, and he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close for a quick kiss on the cheek. His touch is comforting, grounding you amidst the tension.

“Hey, Tim. Good to see you,” he says, extending a hand towards your brother.

Tim nods curtly, his posture stiffening even more. “Buckley,” he acknowledges, ignoring Buck’s outstretched hand.

You lean in and whisper, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Give him a chance, please. Buck’s really changed,” you plead, your eyes searching his for any sign of softening.

Tim’s jaw tightens, his gaze remaining hard. “We’ll see about that,” he mutters.

You motion to the table where lunch is set up, inviting the officers to join you. As everyone sits down, Bobby walks over, wiping his hands on a towel. His authoritative presence is softened by a friendly smile spreading across his face.

“Sergeant Bradford. Good to see you here. How’s the force treating you?” Bobby asks, extending his hand to your brother.

Tim shakes it, his grip firm and unyielding. “Busy, as always. How’s it going here?” he replies, his tone polite but distant.

“Same old, same old. Always something to keep us on our toes,” Bobby replies with a chuckle, glancing around at his team bustling about.

“See? We're all just doing our best out here,” you add, hoping to bridge the gap. You reach for Buck’s hand under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He squeezes back, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand.

Tim softens a bit, nodding. “Yeah, I guess. Still don’t trust Buck though,” he says, his voice gruff but slightly less hostile.

The firefighter, taking mock offense, raises his hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m right here!” he exclaims, a playful grin on his face.

You laugh and playfully nudge your brother's shoulder. “Tim, give him a break. He's not so bad,” you say, leaning your head against Buck’s shoulder for a moment, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Tim looks at you seriously, his eyes softening as he meets your gaze. “I'm here because I love you, and I want you to be happy,” he says, his voice sincere.

“And Buck makes me happy. Can't you at least try to see that?” you plead.

The Sergeant sighs, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I'll try. But it's going to take more than a lunch break to convince me,” he admits, his tone grudging but slightly more open.

Buck, with a sincere expression, leans forward slightly, his eyes meeting Tim’s. “Fair enough. Just know that I'm not the same guy who stole that firetruck."

Lucy, nodding in agreement, adds, “Yeah, Buck's grown up a lot. We all have.”

Your brother smirks, a hint of a challenge in his eyes. “We'll see. Just don’t give me any reason to pull out the cuffs,” he says, a slight teasing edge to his voice.

Buck grins, reaching across the table to shake Tim’s hand. “Deal. I'll be on my best behavior,” he promises, his grip firm and sincere.

You smile gratefully at your, squeezing his hand over the table. “Thanks, Tim. It means a lot to me."

Tim’s expression softens as he looks at you, his eyes filled with brotherly concern. “Yeah, well, anything for you. Just don’t make me regret it."

As you stepped out of the ambulance onto the freeway, the first thing that hit you wasn't the rain, but the sheer chaos unfolding before you. Cars were strewn across the asphalt like toys in a child's playroom, their twisted metal frames bearing witness to the violent collision that had brought them to this sorry state.

The rain pelted down relentlessly, transforming the freeway into a shimmering river of asphalt and water. Puddles had formed in the potholes, turning them into miniature lakes that reflected the flashing lights of emergency vehicles like twisted mirrors.

And there, in the center of it all, was Tim, a lone figure amidst the chaos. His uniform was soaked through, the rain plastering his hair to his forehead as he barked orders at his officers, directing traffic with the precision of a seasoned officer.

But despite the controlled chaos Tim was orchestrating, there was an air of urgency that hung heavy in the air. It was as if the storm itself was a living, breathing entity, threatening to swallow everything whole if you didn't act fast.

Buck, your fearless firefighter, was already in the thick of it, his focus unwavering as he followed Bobby's orders in extracting victims from the mangled wreckage. You followed his lead, weaving through the sea of twisted metal and flashing lights with the ease of someone who had seen it all before.

But just as you thought you had the situation under control, your eyes fell upon a lone blue sedan at the far end of the pileup. The driver was slumped over the wheel, unconscious and vulnerable. Without hesitation, you rushed towards the car, your heart pounding in your chest like a drumbeat of impending doom.

"I'm gonna check that car!" you shouted over the din of the storm, your voice barely audible above the roar of the rain.

"Be careful, okay?" Buck's words were a whispered plea, lost in the chaos of the moment.

With a nod of determination, you wrenched open the door and slid inside, the rain-soaked interior a surreal sanctuary amidst the wreckage outside. The driver lay motionless, a ghost in the machine, and you wasted no time in assessing his condition.

Just as you began to work your magic, the sound of screeching tires and blaring horns shattered the relative calm. Before you could react, another car, blinded by the rain, crashed into the sedan with terrifying force.

The impact sent shockwaves rippling through the air, followed by a deafening explosion that seemed to swallow everything in its path. Pain exploded through your body as you were thrown forward, your head colliding with something hard and unforgiving.

Darkness enveloped you quickly, swallowing you whole as consciousness slipped away.

In that moment, as you teetered on the edge of oblivion, you couldn't help but wonder if this was how it all ended. Alone, in the pouring rain, surrounded by chaos and uncertainty.

Buck and Tim both turned at the explosion, horror etched on their faces. The sight of the blue sedan engulfed in flames, with you inside, was a nightmare come to life. Buck’s heart seized, a cold dread gripping him.

“Y/N!” Tim’s voice was raw, a mix of fear and rage, as he started to sprint towards the blazing car.

Buck grabbed his arm, yanking him back with a force fueled by desperation.

“Bradford, stay where you are and do your job. I’ve got her.”

Tim’s eyes were wild, burning with fury. “The hell I’m gonna stay behind. That’s my sister!”

“And she’s my everything! I won't lose her because of you!” Buck’s voice cracked, matching Tim’s intensity as he locked eyes with him. “If you want to help, you need to trust me and listen to me! This is my job and I know how to do it!”

Tim hesitated, torn between his instincts and his training. His heart pounded in his chest, the image of you trapped in the car searing into his mind. With a reluctant nod, he followed Buck, and they moved as one, sprinting toward the flames.

The heat was almost unbearable, a suffocating blanket that seared their skin, but they didn’t hesitate. Buck grabbed a crowbar, his muscles straining as he pried at the door. His thoughts were a chaotic whirl of fear and determination. He couldn’t lose you. Not now. Not ever.

Tim smashed the remaining glass with his bare fists, ignoring the shards that tore into his skin. His mind was a turbulent sea of rage and helplessness. This couldn’t be happening. Not to you.

“Stay with me, Y/N,” Buck muttered, his voice a desperate prayer as he wrenched the door open.

Tim reached in, his hands trembling slightly as he carefully but swiftly pulled you from the wreckage. “She’s breathing.”

“We need to move her, now!” Buck’s tone was urgent, his eyes scanning the flames that threatened to consume the car.

Together, they carried you away from the burning wreck, laying you on a stretcher that Hen had ready. Your breathing was shallow, your skin pallid against the backdrop of rain and fire. Hen immediately went to work, her hands steady despite the chaos.

“I've lost her pulse.” Hen said urgently. “We need to get her to the hospital now. There might be an internal bleeding and something more serious than a concussion.”

As the other paramedics loaded you into the ambulance and Hen began performing CPR, the adrenaline and fear between Buck and Tim transformed into anger.

“This is your fault!” Tim shouted, his face inches from Buck’s, rain mixing with tears of frustration and fear.

“My fault? You’re the one who—”

“I told you to watch her!”

“And I did! Until you—”

“Hey, hey! Stop it!” Lucy’s voice cut through their argument as she and Eddie rushed over. She grabbed Tim’s arm, her grip firm, while Eddie stepped between your boyfriend and your brother, a calm but authoritative presence.

“Calm down,” Lucy ordered, her tone brooking no argument. “This isn’t helping.”

“She’s my sister! I can't just stand by!” Tim’s voice cracked, his usual composed expression shattered.

“And she’s also one of ours,” Eddie interjected, his voice steady and firm. “This isn’t going to help her right now. She needs you.

But their attempts to calm the two men seemed futile. They continued to argue, the stress and fear bubbling over until Bobby intervened.

“Enough!” Bobby’s voice cut through the chaos. “Both of you, to the hospital. Now. You can fight all you want later, but right now, she needs you both to be there for her.”

The weight of his words sank in, and finally, the two men nodded, albeit reluctantly. As the ambulance sped away with you inside, Buck and Tim followed closely, their hearts heavy but united in their concern for you.

The hospital waiting room was a stark contrast to the chaos of the freeway, yet it felt equally suffocating. Sterile white walls seemed to close in on Buck and Tim as they sat in opposite corners, their bodies tense with worry and guilt. Neither dared to meet the other's gaze as if the mere sight of one another would ignite another fiery argument.

Tim's mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—fear for his sister's life, anger at Buck for not protecting her, guilt for not doing more to protect you, his little sister, from harm. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms as he struggled to contain the storm raging within him.

Buck's heart felt heavy in his chest, his eyes were red-rimmed from tears he refused to shed. He couldn't shake the feeling of helplessness that gnawed at him, the overwhelming sense of failure. He was supposed to protect you, to keep you safe, and he had failed miserably.

He replayed the events of the accident over and over in his mind, each moment etched with painful clarity. He should have been faster, stronger, better. But now all he could do was wait, his hands trembling with the desperate need for redemption.

Hours crawled by like an eternity, each passing minute stretching into infinity as they waited for news about your condition. They both knew the longer they waited, the slimmer the chances of a positive outcome became. But still, they clung to hope like a lifeline, unwilling to let go.

Finally, your doctor entered the waiting room, and both men shot to their feet, their hearts pounding in their chests. The doctor's expression was grave as she scanned the room, her eyes finally settling on Tim and Buck.

"Are you family?" she asked.

Both men nodded eagerly, a flicker of hope igniting in their hearts.

"How is she?" Tim's voice cracked with emotion, his hands trembling with anticipation.

The doctor hesitated, her eyes flickering with sympathy. "She's stable, but her condition is still critical," she began, her words hanging heavy in the air. "We're not sure when she'll wake up, or what the extent of her injuries might be."

The words hit Buck and Tim like a punch to the gut, leaving them reeling with a fresh wave of despair. They exchanged a wordless glance, their eyes filled with a shared anguish that transcended their grudges.

"We've moved her to a private room," the doctor continued, her voice softening with empathy. "You can visit her, one at a time."

Buck and Tim nodded numbly, their minds a blur of conflicting emotions.

"I'll go first. I'm her brother," Tim insisted, his voice a low growl.

"And I'm her boyfriend. I have every right to be with her too," Buck shot back, his eyes blazing.

"Look, I'm not—"

Their voices started to rise, tension thickening the air once more. Before things could escalate further, Lucy stepped in, her tone authoritative. "Enough. Stop it, both of you."

She turned her attention back to the doctor, silently apologizing for their behavior "I think it would be best if they both went in together. For everyone's sake."

The doctor sighed, clearly exhausted from dealing with more than just medical emergencies today. "Fine. But if you disturb the other patients or cause any more scenes, I will kick you both out. Understand?"

They both nodded, subdued for now, and followed the doctor to your room. Inside, the sight of you lying so still in the hospital bed was like a punch to the gut. Tubes and wires connected to machines that beeped rhythmically, a stark reminder of your fragile state. Tim and Buck rushed to opposite sides of the bed, each grabbing one of your hands.

Buck leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, tears streaming unchecked down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry, baby," he whispered, his voice breaking.

Tim held your hand gently, his tough exterior cracking as tears welled up in his eyes. "You better wake up, sis," he murmured, his voice a choked whisper. "I need you to be okay."

Both men took seats next to your bed, their eyes never leaving your face. Tim's usual grumpiness returned, masking the deep fear and guilt that gnawed at him. Buck wiped at his tears, trying to stay strong for you.

After a moment of heavy silence, Tim spoke, his voice gruff but sincere. "Look, Buckley... I'm sorry for what I said. For the fight. For everything else I said since you started... dating. I am scared for her every shift and I took it out on you."

Buck nodded, tears still glistening in his eyes. "I'm sorry too. Look... I know I'm not a saint, I've done a lot of things that I regret. But I've changed, she changed me. I want and I will be a better man for Y/N."

Tim sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I know, I saw that. I was just... terrified. I’ve seen a lot, but nothing scared me more than seeing her like this."

"She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to her because of me."

Tim's expression softened, a rare look of vulnerability crossing his features. "She’s always been the strong one, you know? Always looking out for me. She was 9 when I left home and she was always looking out for me, even if she didn't understand what war was. Ever since I joined LAPD, she thought I was this superhero and even then Y/N was taking care of me like she was the one 15 years older. And now... I couldn't take care of her."

"And now we look out for her," Buck corrected Tim, his voice steady with conviction.

They sat in silence for a while, the only sound the steady beeping of the heart monitor. The room was filled with a shared sense of purpose, the bitterness between them dissolving in the face of their mutual love for you.

"Let's make a deal," your brother said quietly. "No more fighting. We focus on Y/N and getting her through this."

Buck nodded, a faint smile breaking through the sadness. "Deal. For her."

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yunfox00 · 4 months ago

Text

TADC DREAMLAND AU CHARACTER'S POWERS/WEAPONS

MASTERPOST

POMNI

Magical Star Staff

The Magical Star Staff let's Pomni summon stars. Pomni can change the star's size and use it against evil NPCs. These stars are VERY sharp.

RAGATHA

Sewing kit

Ragatha has a sewing kit. With this sewing kit, she can sew anything she wants, and she also can change how hard or soft the stuff that she sew is.

JAX

Cartoon physics

Jax has cartoon physics. He can pull stuff out of nowhere, he has a bag that's FILLED with a bunch of stuff big and small, he can spin his hands in random directions while dust covers his hand and make a balloon animal/object/vehicle/ect and turns it into life size!

ZOOBLE

Themselves

Zooble can take a piece of themselves and turn it into a weapon. After taking a piece of themselves, they can regenerate other pieces. Zooble can also create people and animals.

KINGER

Summoning Chess pieces

Kinger is able to summon chess pieces to aid him. He can control clouds. He can use the clouds to go anywhere and shape it into whatever shape he wants.

GANGLE

Size change

Gangle can change her size anytime! She also uses her ribbons to wrap around the evil NPCs and with a tight squeeze, the NPC explodes and turns into dust.

Stuff might be changed in the future

#the amazing digital dreamland #tadc dreamland au #tadc au #tadc #the amazing digital circus

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ofaatuu · 2 years ago

Text

Similar

Go read part 1 here !

not my gif!

summary: you meet the Tsahik and Olo'ekytan of the metkayina clan and have similar features. They found you interesting and watch you from afar.

warnings: a bit of blood but nothing to big? , nothing else but bad writing

After the talk with the Tsahik and Olo'ekytan of the clan you walk straight towards the air ship, very very fast. They scare you. Why wouldn’t they?? They are huge reef Na’vi that have sort of same culture as you, and take interest in you. Your mind is fuzzy as you sit down in the pilot seat, Norm and Max enter as they ask you multiple questions about the “talk” you had with the reef Na’vi. “What the heck was that all about!! Norm said as he took a bite of his sandwich. “I don’t know.. They asked personal questions I’d rather not tell you.” You replied awkwardly as you start the air vehicle. “Stop asking me questions, I just want to get back to base and sleep. I’m still freaked out by them.” You say wanting these questions to end. “Alright fine! Just tell us tomorrow.” Max yells over the loud wind.

once you guys get home you flop onto your bed but feel a sharp sting in your shoulder. “Oh shit..” you had an 6 inch gash on your arm. “These damn beds!” You yell out as it still stings you hiss out your gritted teeth while looking for the first aid kit. You look in the mirror about to apply something but take a moment to notice your tattoos. You got them when you first turned 18. Wanting to represent your culture. You smile at the thought of your family back home in the islands. You then get back to work with your gash and wrap it nice and tightly. Heading back to bed you hear norm say “do you think she would let one knock her up?” He’s talking about you and those big buff ass reef Na’vi! “I heard that!” You yell back “you were supposed to.” You sigh sitting back onto your bed letting slumber consume you.

You wake up to Norm shaking you awake. “what.. what. What!” You say as he didn’t hear you the first or second damn time. “Get up! We have to go back. Kiri had another seizure!” Goddamn it. It’s not their fault obviously. But stay away from the damn tree for a few weeks. “Alright, alright. I’m comin.” You put on a tank top and shorts as to it’s very hot on the reef. You start up the air ship and sit down. “Are you guys ready?” You yell out loud enough for them to hear you. “Yes!” You hear in the distance. You start driving towards the reef but think. Shouldn’t the Tsahik handle this? She did it last time and it was successful. Why are we going back at 7 in the morning? You guys land and you get out to help them with all their bull crap. “I think the Tsahik should do it instead.” You say with sass. “Yeah but Jake insisted..” max says sighing. “I swear Neytiri is going to kick us out! There’s no point!” Norm says started to get annoyed. You nod and drop off their stuff near the Marui, helping set up. Once everything was set, you go and hug Neytiri and Jake greeting them with nice hello’s. “Alright bye guys I’ll be back I just need to grab something from the ship.” You say earning some nods and oks from everybody as they focus on Kiri. As you’re walking you feel something or someone grab your arm and you get pulled into a Marui. “Woah! Hey!” You yelp in surprise and pain as someone pulls on the bandages on your arm. That person is the Tsahik.

“What happened demon.” She says coldly “I uh cut it.” She looks at you with a “really bitch” face “on what?” She said while grabbing some paste. “My bed… I don’t think that paste will work on humans..” she hisses “Kehe. nonsense. This works on anyone.” She says as she unwraps your gash and sees how big it is. “This big cut from a bed?” She looks up at you and you nod nervously as someone walks in. “Tsahik I-“ they get cut off by her “i am busy. Wait outside.” They look at you hastily. “But Tsahik that is a sky demon-“ she hisses “out!” They rush out as you look at her with wide eyes. “What? Give me your arm.” She gets back to work as her mate walks in. Ah shit, both of them? While I’m in between?? Not cool. When she’s done she taps you to let you know “thank you.” You stutter out as she nods her head. “Hello Olo’ekytan..” you say as you back out creeped out by the way they both are looking at you. “Hello human.” He says in a chilling voice that still gives you chills. “I see you have cut yourself on the tattooed arm? You should be more careful as to you are more fragile then us.” You nod as you hear norm yell out it’s time to go back. You thank them one more time and turn around but they grab your arm. You look at them both, “come back tomorrow after eclipse. We want to discuss a serious matter with you.” You hesitate but nod your head “okay then. I have to go now.” You sigh as they let go.

“tonowari shes perfect.” “Yes she is. She is just like us when we were younger.”

you start the ship and head back to lab. “goddamnit these people are going to be the death of me.”

Taglist for similar!

@manumanulau

#tonowari x reader #ronal #tonowari x reader x ronal #tonowari #norm spellman #jake sully #avatar #atwow #x reader #WASTHISGOOD??😭

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jinxxangel13 · 10 months ago

Text

Phantom of the Night

Chapter 1

This will be a 141/female oc, with possible variations down the line depending on the route I take with a pairing.

Updates will hopefully be once a week, depending on my work schedule. So thank you everyone for being so patient with me!

Hope you enjoy!

~Masterlist~ -Next-

The helo finally started its descent. The front of the vehicle housed a quiet man with a bright smile as he spoke into his headset to the only other person in the air with him. The woman sitting behind him held onto her seat with a joyous laugh at the man's jokes.

“Nik, stop or my stomach is going to burst!” The woman was finally gaining control of her breathing as he landed on the helipad perfectly. Not that she expected anything less from the Russian man who had become a friend over the course of the last few years they had known each other.

With a deep chuckle, Nikolai shuts everything down as she unbuckles herself and starts to gather her backpack and two large duffles, dropping them to the ground out of the door before tossing another duffle towards him.

“Come on, Nik. We’re already late because of you.” She joked towards him, jumping down from the helo without difficulty. Funny now that she thinks about it; she had seen recruits hit the ground like a sack of potatoes more times than she could count, and here she is able to do it in her sleep most likely.

“Says the one who made me late, Kitty Kat.” He rolled his eyes and followed after her onto the tarmac.

She shook her head at the nickname, taking the hair tie out of her hair to let her braid out of its bun and grabbing her bags to find her way through the new base in search of only one person.

The two of them were attracting many looks, Nik seemingly used to it, but the woman next to him was definitely uncomfortable with the eyes on her but kept her head up as they made their way through a set of doors.

Nikolai stopped at a standard wood door, knocking before walking right in. The woman followed behind him and set her bags right next to the door before looking around the room.

It was a moderate sized meeting room of sorts, multiple swivel chairs scattered around a large mahogany table that took up a majority of the room. Two fairly large men were standing in the corner farthest from where Nikolai and Kit were at the door, one of which sported a black balaclava with a white skull imprint on the front and a UK flag on the front of his tac vest, while the slightly shorter man had some sort of weird mohawk and an SAS patch on his chest. There was another man, younger than the other two, dark skin and short hair sitting on the opposite side of the table.

There was a TV stand set up in the corner behind an open laptop between the larger men and the youngest, with the woman the pair came in looking for was standing. The person in question was standing just behind the small screen, an average size woman in her mid forties with brown hair pulled out of her face. She was standing hunched over the laptop with a man in his mid to late 30’s, brown mutton chops and some kind of odd looking fisherman hat.

A boonie hat? She hadn’t seen anyone wear one since she was younger.

“Kate Laswell, good to see you again, old friend.” The woman finally spoke up from next to Nik.

The older woman across from her snapped her head up to the voice. Kate's hard set eyes softened after taking the other woman in for the first time in what seemed like years, a smile appeared on her face as she relaxed slightly at the sight of the 5’9” woman.

The woman next to Nikolai had dark hair that tumbled down her back in a long braid, piercing silver eyes that seem to observe everything all of the time, and olive skin that was only disrupted by the sight of freckles across her face. She wore a grey long sleeve shirt under a camo jacket, black cargo pants and boots expertly laced up, with a small neck wrap tucked into the back of her jacket,

“Captain Felis. You know it is always a pleasure.” Kate walked around the man next to her, holding her hand out to Felis, to which Kate was pulled into a much needed hug.

Both women checkled as they stepped back from each other, Kate turning to address everyone else in the room but looking towards Nikolai.

“Thank you for the safe travels, Nik. I appreciate not being thrown from a plane this time.” Kit nagged, shaking his hand before he nodded with a chuckle.

“One time, Kit. Laswell, Price, a pleasure.” Nik turned and walked back out of the door and shut it behind him.

Kit sighed as he left, looking back towards the group in front of herself and Laswell.

“Captain Felis, I'd like for you to meet Task Force 141. This is Captain John Price,” Kate motioned to the older man she was conversing with before Felis came in.

Price walked around to shake Kit’s hand, with her returning the firm handshake.

“Nice to meet you, Captain Price. Most people just call me Kitty, or Kit.” She shrugged with a gentle smile.

“This is Lieutenant Ghost Riley,” He motioned to the larger man with the skull mask. “These are my Sergeants, Gaz Garrick and Soap MacTavish.” Price nodded towards the younger dark skinned man as Gaz, and the mohawk as Soap.

Kit nodded to the three of them, recognition flashing in her eyes at their names, having seen their files from Laswell a few months prior to being requested on this particular base.

Laswell waved her hands towards the table to get everyone seated. Kit took a seat closer to the door with her back to the far wall and the door in her line of sight. Old habits die hard.

Price sat next to Laswell at the other end of the table, with Soap sitting next to him, Ghost standing behind them and next to the door, and Kyle sitting to Kit’s right on the other side of Laswells and across from Price.

“Gaz, Soap, Ghost. Captain Felis is going to be your doctor on base, and a field medic when needed.” Laswell passed a folder to Price, most likely Kit’s if she guessed correctly. “As well as a strategist and stealth specialist.”

Kit took a deep breath, leaning her elbow on the table.

“I hope that’s the redacted version, Kate.” Kit chuckled softly, meeting Laswell’s eyes.

Laswell shook her head with a gentle smile. “As if you’d give me access to any other.”

Both women laughed softly together, much to the confusion of the four men in the room.

“And don’t worry, boys, I know how to handle myself with anything thrown at me. That’s a guarantee.” Kit shrugged, eyes meeting everyone's gaze head on with no fear.

#ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #poly 141 x reader #poly tf141 #141 x reader #captain john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #alejandro vargas x reader #rodolfo rudy parra x reader #cod x reader #cod mw2 #ghost x oc #soap x oc #john price x oc #gaz x oc

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hawkinsquarry · 2 years ago

Note

❝ please don’t go— i need. i need someone— i need you. ❞ and ❝ it doesn’t have to mean anything, i just don’t wanna feel lonely tonight. and i want to feel good for once. ❞ is making me feel things. honestly needy steve begging to not be lonely sounds lovely but either way ❤️

how could i say goodbye? - steve x gn!reader

no pronouns for reader used; fluff, angst; hurt/comfort; sharing a bed; friends to lovers; love confessions; steve cry :(; brief mention of p*rn section at fam video but nothing in depth!

You’ve seen Steve like this before. Beaten up, bruised, a bit bloody. You’ve seen him wear the scars after. Borrowing Robin’s concealer for a cut lip and making up lies about being a klutz. You’ve bandaged him up, grabbed an ice pack and a handful of ibuprofen and sat them down on his bedside table, taking in his sleeping face before shutting off the light and going home.

This time, he’s scared. Everyone is. The world’s up in smoke and fire and tens of people are missing or dead. You’d wrung your hands the entire walk to Steve’s at 2 am, just as big military vehicles are pulling in. You couldn’t sleep, not knowing what’s become of him, and you’re relieved when his big, dumb house is in view, intact. A warm light on in his bedroom window. His car in the driveway, his dad’s car not.

Steve’s terrified when he opens the door, but his features soften immediately. His shirt’s off. You notice the lacerations on his torso immediately, but Steve’s pulling you in and locking the door before you can ask.

“Did you walk here?” is the first thing he says. You shrug, and he sighs loudly before wrapping you up in his arms. He smells like earth. “I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

“Lines are down anyway,” you mumble into his shoulder, trying not to kiss the skin as much as you want to. “What happened?”

He sighs again. “Not an earthquake.”

“I know.”

“Guess you could tell I needed a nurse, huh?”

You don’t think it’s very funny, but you lead him to the bathroom, picking out the first aid kit you’d last restocked in July. “Think you’ll need to lay down,” you say, gently kicking the cabinet under the sink shut. “Bedroom.”

You work gently and diligently on his stomach. He’d sworn to you it was already disinfected by the same people who partially cleaned him up after Starcourt. You still apply alcohol, much to his dismay. But even when he’s wincing, he’s quiet. Steve’s not known to be quiet. Your anxiety nearly gets the best of you, almost screaming at him when you ask again, “What happened?”

He stares at you for a long time, brown eyes starting to wet. “Not tonight,” he says.

“Robin?”

“She’s alive, too. Almost -“ and he takes a deep breath, pauses when you dab some more isopropyl on his spent skin. “Eddie.” It’s all he says. You bite at your cheek. You didn’t know Eddie well, and you’ve still got a lot of questions - but it’s a confirmation that those you know who usually get into these kinds of messes are okay.

You’re not unaware of the pointed use of the word alive and not okay. He was okay after 1984, and okay again after 1985, but 1986 only brings the word alive.

You use gauze to wrap the cuts on his stomach before taking another once over of him. He’s still so beautiful, even caked with mud and dirt and some weird thick gross slime that he’d only moaned a little don’t ask about. “Your neck,” you whisper, brows furrowing.

He nods a bit. “Hurts.”

You disinfect it, too, gently dabbing him with a cotton pad. “Hurts to swallow? To talk?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s okay,” you soothe, “I’ll stop askin’ questions now.”

“Don’t,” he whispers, suddenly grabbing your wrist. “Keep talking. Please.”

You swallow and nod before continuing your work. “My house is fine. It looks most bad in downtown - I guess you already know that? The phone lines - I said that already. Guess what I did today?”

A hint of a smile. He shrugs a shoulder.

“I finally checked out the porn section at Family Video.”

His smile grows.

“Which I guess was really good timing. But Keith was there - something about how his employees didn’t show up? Do you know anything about that?”

“Nothing,” he mouths.

“I didn’t rent anything,” you continue, “I just wanted to look. And I guess - I guess I just wanted to see you, too.”

His big eyes get all soft again. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” You dab away the last remnants of blood from his neck and pull back to throw the cotton pad in the trash. “Shouldn’t apologize for saving the world.”

You’re prepping a band aid for a cut on his head when he whispers, “We didn’t this time.”

You look back at him in a little bit of shock. Yes, the things always come back. But he’s never come back and said “yeah, we really dropped the ball this time.” He’s always been relatively confident, giving it “an eighty to eighty-five percent chance” that this was the last time.

“Zero percent,” he says, like he’s reading your mind. “We didn’t.”

“Let’s worry about that tomorrow, okay? I saw those big government vehicles - they’ll help.”

He makes a face that tells you everything. They won’t. They don’t know how.

“I’m sorry,” you say, leaning back towards him and resting your hands on his chest.

You see his adam’s apple bob. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it safe for you.”

Steve has never cried before in front of you. He’s gotten close, but just walked away, pinching his nose and coming back a few minutes later like nothing ever happened. But now, he’s crying. It’s soft, a few tears riding down his cheeks.

“Steve.” Your voice cracks. “None of this is your fault. None of it. You can’t save the world. I’m - I’m so happy you’re safe.” You press your tongue to the roof of your mouth, trying to fight off a sob. “I’m just glad you came home.”

He closes his eyes and bites his lip. You move away with your kit, placing it on his desk before moving back to him. You push his hair out of his face softly. “Get some sleep. Okay?”

Steve’s eyes shoot open and he looks scared again. Panicked. He shakes his head and grabs your hands, pulling you into him so far that you almost trip and fall on top of him. “Please don’t go. I need - I need someone. I need you.”

Your heart jumps up to your throat and you swallow thickly. He’s never asked you for this before. And he’s genuine - his eyes are wild and still wet and he looks so, so scared. Scared of losing you.

“Okay,” you whisper. “I’ll get some blankets and -“

“Here,” he says, tugging you in again. “I - look, I know. But it doesn’t have to mean anything. I just don’t wanna feel lonely tonight. I want to feel good for once. I - goddammit. I want you. Please.”

I want you. It rings in your head. I want you.

You move to the other side of the bed and slide under the covers, cuddling up close to him. Steve turns onto his side as best as he can - you’d chosen his good side to lay beside. You wrap him in your arms as he rests his head on your chest. His grip on you is tight and it has to hurt. His muscles have to be screaming at him to stop and rest. But he holds you like you might get taken, too, along with all the others.

And he cries. You feel the tears soaking through your shirt. He tries his best not to make any noise, but he still sniffles and clears his throat. You rake your hand through his hair and hold him as tight as you can, too.

“Steve,” you whisper. “I love you. I just - I had to say it.”

There’s a pause, a shaky breath, before he pushes himself up to kiss you. It’s small and otherwise insignificant, but warm and sweet and what you’ve wanted for years. You’re surprised when he pulls back, but you melt as he whispers, “I love you, too.”

He settles into your chest again, and you resume combing his hair, heart pounding. “I’m here. Okay? I’ll take care of you. Just rest. I love you.”

He sighs and relaxes. “I love you, too.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington hurt/comfort #steve harrington fic #steve harrington #han posts

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hauntingkiki · 5 months ago

Note

Hi! I was wondering if you can do venture waking up from having a nightmare about reader dying and readers like lying right next to them and hears venture crying but reader try’s to comfort venture? Just some angst fluff please :c

OMGGG AWWW, IM SO EXCITED TO WRITE THIS!!

Hellish Night

Venture x Reader

Overwatch

2nd POV

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

venture scrambled into their room, tears poured out of their eyes, rolling down their cheeks and dripping on their clothing, skin and the wooden floor beneath them. “oh my fucking god.” they shakily sobbed, their mind backwards as they immediately forget where everything was located around their room.

their knees gave out from under them, catching themselves on their desk with a sucked in breath. their heart hammered against their chest, the scene from a few hours ago replaying in their mind.

“SLOAN!” you screamed, struggling against the strong hold that was around your waist. you threw your fists into the back of your kidnapper, trying to wiggle out of their hold.

sloan chased after you, stumbling as they tried to keep up with the pace. “Y/N!” they cried, reaching a hand out in your direction.

your kidnapper turned his torso, grabbing his mini gun then firing at sloan, dropping the weapon back to his side as he continued to make his way to the get away helicopter that drowned out the loud mini gun sound with the obnoxious whirling of the propeller.

venture was lucky that all the shots missed, punctuating the ground that was at their feet. venture came to a halt, skidding against the orange dirt as they started at the flying machine in front of them.

your attacker threw you off of his shoulder and onto the metal floor, enemy troops snagging you off the floor, trying to detain you but struggling as you kicked and bit, wiggling around.

venture covered their face with their arm, turning their torso away as the wind around the helicopter pushed them back slightly. when the wind slowly stopped, sloan peeled their arm away and cocked their head up towards the pink and orange sky, wide eyes, horror completely washing over their body as they watched the helicopter zoom off. they faintly noticed you reaching out the open side of the vehicle, getting pulled back by the troops inside.

“SLOAN!”

it kept playing in their mind.

over and over and over again.

a hand shot over their mouth, wide eyes as they gagged, but thankfully swallowed it down. sloan started at the wooden floor beneath them, the wax having a faint reflection of themself.

they felt so stupid.

they could’ve prevented all of this from happening.

sloan should’ve been more cautious about the situation, they could’ve warned winston about their past encounter so he could’ve been kick out of overwatch.

sloan knew what he was capable of. fuck, they’ve seen it first hand! back at illios, talon and some of his troops came into the sight, including mauga.

groaning through gritted teeth, sloan pulled themselves off of the floor, whipping their head around to find the needed supplies they were going to need for this journey.

their eyes landed on their canteen that was hanging on their doorknob. ripping it off of the door, they stormed out of their room and into their kitchen, placing it onto the island before walking off.

they did this for about 15 minutes, going into different rooms and grabbing things that they were going to use.

letting out a breath they didn’t even notice, they stood in front of the island, glancing over all the items that were scattered around the countertop.

a first aid kit; full of gauze, wrapping tape, hydrogen peroxide, alcohol wipes and a lot of other shit sloan didn’t even know were medical stuff.

a canteen with backup water bottles.

a few snacks; crackers, chips, small baggies of fruit and some assorted sweets. anything to give them and you fuel.

a pistol that their grandfather gifted them with boxes of backup ammo.

and their drill.

with backpack in hand, they started to pack, trying to organize everything so it would fit into the pouch the best it could.

just as they finished filling up their canteen, a knock echoed through the room. turning the tap off, they twisted the lid on the metal container, gently placing it on the counter as they walked over to the door.

“angela?” sloan gasped when they opened the door, revealing the medic. their eyes looked around her face, brows knitting together. “what are you doing here?”

angela peeked behind sloan, getting a glimpse of their backpack and their drill. she sighed when they stepped over to the side, blocking her view from inside, even though they were too late. “venture, you can’t go there alone.” she muttered, adjusting her glasses before reaching out and grabbing their calloused hands. “lucio’s getting winston now; we’ll all go with you to save y/n.”

venture turned their head to the side, eyes glued to the ground. “i can’t wait, angela.” they huffed, looking her in the eyes, watching as her face slowly softened at their words. “she needs me. she’s my girlfriend for christ’s sake!” they chuckled faintly at the end, shrugging their shoulders.

the two fell silent, angela letting go of their hands with a nod. “go get her then.” she whispered, nodding in approval. “just…stay safe. and bring her back safely.”

venture started at her with slightly wide eyes, their lips parted at her words. they nodded faintly before nodding eagerly. “i will.” they reassured, running a hand through their chocolate locks. “when winston gets reported of it, you guys can head straight there.”

angela hummed in agreement, giving them a quick hug before running down the hall to alert the others about the situation at hand.

venture quickly put the backpack on, then their canteen around their body. they grabbed the gun and put it in their waist band before dragging their drill and walking out, making sure to grab a pair of keys with them on the way out.

locking their door, they made their way over to all the hero’s vehicles, speed walking over to their motorcycle. they got their drill adjusted onto the back of their bike before they hopped on, putting the keys into the keyhole and started up the bike. revving the engine a few times, they slowly drove out of their parking spot before accelerating and driving off.

•••

coughs and hacks filled the room, the sound of liquid dripping into the floor faintly made it’s presence. shoes clicked around you as one of the soldiers walked around your hunched over body, all of the soldiers who took you hostage watched with chuckles and smirks as blood slowly started to cover the floor from their torture.

tears pooled into your eyes, your attention glued on the blood and spit mixture that dribbled down your chin and into your legs, rolling down your skin and spreading onto the concrete. you slowly turned your gaze over to mauga, your body shaking as you watched one of the soldiers try to coax him into joining the torture, but thankfully for you, he declined, staying in the shadows with his arms crossed.

“i’m going to ask you again!” a male voice spat, baton in his right hand. he got onto one knee, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head up, making eye contact with your wide, tearful eyes. “WHERE is the ffFUCKING ARTIFACT?!”

you shook your head against his hold, blood and spit rolling down your chin. “i don’t FUCKING KNOW.” you spat, blood spattering onto his mask that was covering his identity.

he let go of your hair and spun the baton in his grasp before swinging, landing a clean hit on your jaw.

you cried out, your head snapping to the right. you scoffed faintly, opening and closing your jaw before you spat out some more blood.

the soldier pushed you over with his boot, making you whimper as you landed on your fresh cuts and bruises. you brought your knees up to your chest, hissing as blood gushed out of your abdomen from one of the many stab wounds you’ve received. he raised his arm over his head, getting ready to hit you before pausing.

everyone froze, turning their attention onto the doorway as faint gun shots echoed throughout before a booming drill sound followed.

then silence.

your heart fluttered in your chest, pushing yourself up from your laying down position. you knew that clunky drill sound from anywhere.

venture walked into the room, blood slightly dripping off their drill and off their coat.

your eyes went wide, shuffling forward as tears started to pool into your eyes again. “VENTURE!” you sobbed, your body violently shaking as you wailed.

“GET EM!” a soldier from behind you called out, the rest of the soldiers (besides the one that’s next to you and mauga) started to shoot at the archeologist.

sloan dived behind a pillar, using the pistol to pick off some of the soldiers, groaning when they remembered they left their bag full of ammo back with their bike. tossing the gun to the side, their hands wrapped around the handles of their excavator before they burrowed under the concrete.

you watched your partner with a twinkle in your eyes, your lips parted slightly with a faint smile.

you were going home.

mauga slowly walked over to the soldier who stood a little ways behind you, clearing his throat to gain the man’s attention. once he had his gaze, he jerked a thumb over towards you. “she, uh…she won’t say anything.” mauga admitted, rubbing his neck as he glanced over to you before turning back to the soldier. “we just need to find someone else to tell us.”

the soldier’s eyes landed on a dagger that mauga was holding out to him. he gently took it from the inked up man, caressing the blade between his fingers, being careful to not cut himself with it. he slowly nodded, getting a comfortable grip on the handle. the soldier inched his way over to you, kneeling behind you and-

your eyes shot open, the coldness of the blade entering your skin before it quickly left. you slowly and shakily looked down, blood oozing out of your skin, soaking into your shirt. you felt the liquid trickle from your chest and your back, seeping into your pants.

breathing quickly became hard to do, making you put all of your energy onto a simple task.

the two men behind you quickly left, the dagger staying behind on the floor a few feet away from you.

sloan had their back towards you. their chest fell and rose rapidly, sweat building up and collecting in the blood that spattered onto their skin; they were covered, almost head to toe.

sloan snapped out of their odd state, turning to you with a grin before it quickly slipped of their lips, fear washing over. “y/n!” they gasped, dropping their drill as they ran over to your laying down frame. they slid on their knees when they got to you, rubbing a bloodied hand through their hair. “no…no, nonononono.” tears collected in their caramel eyes, gently lifting you up and holding you in their arms.

you wheezed, coughing as you felt the blood pool into your lungs, time quickly running out for you as you were drowning by your own blood. your own body was killing you.

slowly, you reached a freed hand towards your partner, sloan meeting your hand halfway as they leaned their head down into your touch, placing their bigger, calloused hand over yours.

tears were flowing out of venture’s eyes, dripping onto your face as they slid down. “i love you, cariño.” they whispered, their shoulders shuttering as they sobbed. “don’t leave me…please.”

you smiled meekly, caressing their cheek with your thumb, the blood on their face and on your fingers smudging into their skin. “i love you too, baby.” you muttered, taking a deep breath before slowly exhaling, your eyes closing for a brief moment. “i…” you sighed, before going quiet, falling limp into sloan’s arms.

•••

sloan let out a gasp, clawing at the bedding that was placed over them as they shot up. their hunched over frame stared at the base board at their feet, their chest rising and falling quickly.

sweat rolled down from their temple, their shirt was drenched in the salty liquid, so they quickly tugged the shirt off, some of the left over sweat sticking to their chest from the shirt, but it seemingly disappeared once the ac kicked on.

their vision was a haze, impossible to see in the dark. they blinked a few times and their vision got adjusted to the darkness. they glanced around the room they were in, their eyes stayed glued to the right side of the room first. a bunch of maps, drawings, rocks and gems, history books and other things littered the side of the room; their side of the room.

slowly they turned their head to the left side, their eyes immediately shot down to the bed that they were in.

there you were. sleeping peacefully, your lips slightly parted as you lightly snored, your hands gripping at the sheets and comforter that coated your body.

sloan immediately broke down at the sight of you, relief quickly washing over them when they realized that it was all a dream, a nightmare more than a dream. they threw their face into their hands, their back pressed against their pillows and the head board.

their hics and weeps were quick to wake you up, your hand rubbing the sleepiness out of your eyes as you let out a yawn. “babe?” you yawned, fluttering your eyes open once you were done rubbing them with your knuckle. you let out a gasp, pushing yourself up into a seated position as you leaned over to the person sitting next to you. “sloan?! w-what happened? are you okay?” you panicked as you turned on the small lamp on your nightstand, the soft light casting a gentle glow onto the two of you.

your eyes darted around the backs of their hands, scooting your way in between their legs so you were front of them.

sloan peeled their hands away from their tear stained face, choking on their sobs as they struggled to make eye contact. “i…i had a nightmare..” they admitted, almost embarrassed that they were sobbing like this over a nightmare.

you nodded, showing that you understood, sincerity lingering in your eyes. “okay..” you whispered, your hands rubbing gently along their bare, muscular arms. you would be lying if you said you didn’t blush a little at the sight of their bare chest, a small skull with your favorite flowers in your favorite color on their left side immediately catching your eye. you shook your head, scolding yourself at the thought. you can think like that later, you cursed to yourself. “what happened in the nightmare?” your left hand reached out towards their face, gently cupping their cheek as you gently made them look at you, a worried look twisted at your face.

sloan swallowed thickly, their hand atop of yours. they also linked their other hand into your free one, immediately getting a reassuring squeeze from you. “you were taken by talon…” they started, their eyes flickering between your eyes as you watched them. “and you were killed.” they whispered, you almost didn’t catch it.

you let out a huff, a frown tugging on your lips as you brought sloan into a hug. “oh, you poor thing.” you muttered, rubbing a hand in circles along their bare back as your other hand got lost in their thick curls.

sloan dove their face into your chest, gripping at your top as their body shook once again, sobbing into your pajamas.

you shifted around as you comforted your partner, your legs straddled their hips as you gently shushed them, your chin atop of their head as you gently pressed kisses against them every now and then.

“i don’t want to let go.” they muttered against you, loud enough for you to hear it. they pulled away from your body, looking up at you as your hands cupped their cheeks, thumbs grazing under their eyes.

“you don’t have to.” you whispered, kissing their forehead. “i’m not going anywhere.”

sloan sniffled, nodding their head against your hands as they leaned into your right, kissing your palm. “i love you.” they whispered, hands snaking down to your waist as they pulled you closer. “so much.”

smiling, you bright them into a kiss, their lips chapped from the cold air that was being blasted into the apartment. “i love you too.” you muttered against their lips, pulling them into another hug.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

oh…my…god…

that took so long to write holy😭 but totally worth it! (if you couldn’t tell, they’re my favorite character to write) i hope you enjoyed!

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sergeantsporks · 5 months ago

Text

Dadrius Week 2024 Day 2: Sewing

Darius blinked. And blinked again. Yellow covered his vision, but with every blink, it slowly faded into the Bat Queen’s forest. He was vaguely aware that he was holding up something heavy, but it wasn’t until he could fully see that he realized what it was.

Hunter.

Darius’ hand wrapped around his throat, and a violent gash tore open his right arm so deep it almost seemed a miracle his arm was still attached at all.

Darius dropped him.

Hunter collapsed to the ground, choking for air and clutching at his wounded arm. Already, purple bruises formed on his neck, and Darius’ stomach heaved at the damage he’d caused. He knelt next to Hunter, reaching out, but not touching him.

“Hunter, I—”

“’s…” Hunter winced at the attempt to speak. “…k…”

“Don’t—don’t talk. Don’t move, let me—”

Darius reached for his magic, willing abomination to take them back to Bonesborough, back to the nearest clinic, but nothing happened.

“Titan—fine—but your arm—” If he had to carry Hunter to the nearest healer then so be it, but if he didn’t stop the bleeding, Hunter wouldn’t survive long enough to get there. Darius reached again for his magic, holding one hand over Hunter’s arm and trying to summon a needle and thread to patch up the wound.

Again, nothing.

Hunter grasped weakly at his pockets, pulling out a tiny sewing kit. Darius recognized it—he’d been the one to give it to him. It was meant for travel, for sewing up loose buttons if the occasion arose while away from home.

Darius took the kit from Hunter’s bloodstained hand, his own hands trembling. It took him three tries to thread the needle, and he took a deep breath.

Steady

He needs you.

It’s just like sewing a rip in your favorite cloak.

But it wasn’t a cloak. It was Hunter, it was flesh and skin, and Hunter’s life depended on him doing this right. Darius took another deep breath, and began. The needle pushed through skin easily, and Darius fell quickly into the rhythm, in and out and in and out, and pulling the thread taut to seal up the wound.

“Darius!”

Steve skidded into the clearing, swinging his motorcycle to the side. “I tried to stop him—I’m sorry, he got away, and—and—” Steve hissed in. “Oh, that’s bad. Hop in.”

The sidecar of his motorcycle expanded to fit its two new passengers, and Darius held Hunter close, pressing the cowl of Hunter’s uniform against the wound and willing the blood to stop seeping through. The ride back to town was long, too long. Darius could see Steve’s foot pressing the gas pedal all the way down, could see how worried he was and how hard he was trying to get them to safety in the clench of his jaw, but part of him wanted to shake the witch and demand they be there this instant.

I should be able to get us there in an instant

I should be able to save him now.

Darius brushed hair out of his face, then froze, grabbing the locs in his hand. Transforming his hair was the easiest of spells for him, so second nature he changed it in the morning without a thought. The warp not working and being unable to use his magic to sew, he could put up to the fight, or the shock. But his hair? That was worrying.

He didn’t have time to think about it, though. Steve screeched to a halt in front of the clinic, and Darius was already out of the side car with Hunter before the vehicle had even completely stopped moving. He shoved open the door, startling the healer on duty. She recovered from the shock admirably quickly, though, and Hunter floated out of Darius’ arms, the healer’s hand already glowing with healing magic while she pulled him along to the back without a word.

Darius started to follow, but Steve’s gloved hand on his arm made him stop.

“Are you safe?” he asked in a low voice, “Is the mind-control over?”

Of course it is, Darius wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come out of his mouth. “Hunter destroyed the gem,” he said instead.

Steve let go of his arm. “Do you think that was the end of it?”

“No, of course I don’t.” Darius ran a hand through his hair—which was, worryingly, still hair. “Nobody got a good look at the culprit?”

“I was hoping you did.”

Darius shook his head. “Didn’t see much. Just a bright yellow light, and then…” he shuddered. “It felt like the Collector’s magic. Puppet strings.” His bloodstained hand opened and closed helplessly. “I hurt him, I…”

He’d hurt Hunter before, sure, with his words. Titan knew he hadn’t always been the kindest to the young guard. But he’d never, ever laid a hand on him. He’d thought he couldn’t—that he wouldn’t. Had he been mind-controlled? Yes. But still, the line had been crossed. Belos had hurt Hunter like this before—Darius had sworn to himself he never would. And yet here he was, ripping a hole in that promise.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Steve said quietly, “He shouldn’t have even been there—it was completely outside of your control, and he’ll know that. But—do you think it was the Collector?”

“No, no. It was like the Collector’s magic, but… separate. Like an imitation. And it needed that gem; the Collector didn't.”

“Hm.” Steve tapped his chin. “I’m going back to the woods—see if I can find a trail, or any clue who was responsible. You going to be alright?”

“I’ll be fine. Go.”

Steve left, and Darius dropped into a waiting chair with a sigh. His hands twitched; he couldn’t quite shake the feeling of squeezing the life out of his ward, the crushing grip that would have killed Hunter if he’d been freed an instant later.

“Sir? Are you his guardian?”

Darius lurched to his feet. “That was fast.” Already, about ten different reasons that could be a bad thing had run through his head. Hunter was already dead. They couldn’t heal him because of residue magic. They’d somehow figured out Darius was the one to injure him and they were only keeping him busy until someone bigger could come drag him away from Hunter forever.

“Yes. Well.” The healer—Amy, her nametag proclaimed—nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “We’ve run into a problem. Nothing life-threatening!” she assured him quickly, “He’ll recover. It’s just… well, are you aware how healing magic works?”

“You draw the circle. It heals. And yes,” he added as an afterthought, “I am his guardian.” Technically speaking, he wasn’t Hunter’s only guardian, but he was for school days, and he was the one here right now, which was close enough.

“Yes, yes, but there’s limits. It uses my magical energy to keep the healing process going, speeding up the body’s natural progress. But it still needs the resources and energy of the body I’m healing to complete the process.” Amy chuckled nervously. “It’s the terrible catch of healing magic, that the more you need the magic to heal someone, the less you’re able to do.”

“What are you saying?”

“It was a deep wound,” she said quietly, “The abomination that cut him nearly nicked bone.”

Was that accusation in her voice? Had she figured it out, the ex-leader of the abomination coven bringing Hunter in with an injury made by an abomination—surely she was suspicious. Darius wondered blankly how he could possibly explain; word of a new power capable of puppeteering people couldn’t get out right now, but what was he supposed to say that wouldn’t result in more suspicion?

Although, who is there higher up than Steve and I that would be able to investigate anyway?

The thought did not make him feel better. Did Hunter ever think about that? Did he ever shudder, realizing that if Darius turned on him the way Belos had, if he and all Hunter’s other guardians worked together, there would be nowhere for him to run and no hope of rescue?

Titan, he must have felt so trapped in the coven.

“I’ve staunched the bleeding and knitted some of the muscle back together,” Amy continued, apparently unaware of his crisis, “but he’s far from done. He’ll need several more sessions before he’s completely back up to speed, and they’ll have to be spaced out. You did a wonderful job stitching the wound up, but he still lost a lot of blood.”

Darius’ worry sank into a numb kind of clarity. “What can I do?”

“Iron and protein-rich foods. Make sure he stays very well hydrated. Steer clear of any stimulants—energy potions and the type. He’ll be tempted, because he’s going to be exhausted, but it’s not good for him. I’ll prescribe some blood-replenisher potions. Bring him back in… two days? Three, if he still seems too peaky and worn. He should avoid moving the arm as much as possible, of course. I’ve got it in a sling for now. You shouldn’t have to worry about changing the dressing, since he’ll be coming back soon, but if the area seems swollen, or you notice any… smells… bring him back as soon as possible.”

Amy took a deep breath. “I think that’s about it. I’ll have all the instructions written out for you with your prescription and a list of foods, so don’t worry about trying to remember all of that. And I’ll set up your next appointment now, okay?”

“Okay,” Darius replied numbly.

Amy disappeared into the back again, returning a few minutes later with a few sheets of paper, and Hunter in tow. He looked… well, not better. If someone told Darius that among the other injuries, Hunter had gotten two black eyes, he wouldn’t have doubted it. But he was awake, and walking, if with Amy’s support. The cowl of his school uniform had been removed completely; he looked smaller without the drapery breaking up the shape of his body.

She offered Hunter to him, and Darius reached out, but flinched away when he saw the blood on his hands again.

“You did a good job,” Amy told him in a low voice, “You saved his life.”

She wouldn’t say that if she knew what he’d done. But still, Darius reached for Hunter again, letting him cling to his arm. He took the papers as well, and headed slowly, ever-so-slowly and carefully towards the door.

Eber was already waiting outside. Instead of his usual ratworms, a flat-backed Slither lurked behind him.

“Steve called,” Eber signed, “Said you needed help.”

“Remind me to thank him later,” Darius said wearily. He helped Hunter onto the wide, flat back of the slither, sitting on it with him. Eber took off—gently, thankfully—and Darius heaved a sigh. “Are you… well, I suppose you’re not okay.”

“Not… great…” Hunter rasped, then reached up with a wince to hold his neck.

Another pang of guilt tugged at Darius. Of course if Amy hadn’t been able to heal the great big gaping wound, she’d probably deemed the bruises a lesser problem. Still, even the slightest head movement seemed to be painful, and Darius wondered dully if it hurt him even to breathe.

“I’d like to say something. And I don’t need a response from you, because I know speaking is difficult right now, so please, just listen.” Darius took a deep breath. “We don’t know who attached that gem to me, or what they wanted, but I don’t know how long I would have been under their control if it hadn’t been for you. You saved me, and you may have saved others as well. So… thank you. I cannot express how glad I am that you broke the spell.”

He lowered his gaze to look Hunter directly in the eye. “With that being said, you should not have been there. You should have been at school. You should not have been in harm’s way. You should not have gotten hurt. You may have saved others—and you certainly saved me—but it could have cost you your life. It did cost you a significant amount of blood and the next few days of school.”

Hunter opened his mouth, a mutinous, stubborn look scrawled on his face, but stopped before he could argue, wincing again.

Darius brushed aside the guilt, steeling his nerves. “I am happy that I am no longer mind-controlled. But I am still very cross at you.”

Hunter looked away with a sigh, staring off the side of the slither.

Was I too hard on him?

Darius suspected Camila was much better at parenting than he was—which was fair, since she’d already raised one since birth. But still, he found himself comparing his words to what she would have done. Would she have waited until after recovery before lecturing? Would she have worded it better? Certainly she’d be able to take care of him better, since she had a medical background, albeit with animals.

The slither came to a stop and Eber waved Darius up to the front.

“You did not do a good job telling him you’d rather have mauled ten others than hurt your own fledgling.”

“Well, I wasn’t trying to say that,” Darius told him sharply. Logically, Hunter had been one of the best options to find him. He was combat trained, and his quick eye had picked out and solved the problem much quicker than most could.

That didn’t mean Eber was completely wrong, though.

Darius lifted Hunter off the flatworm, but let him walk into the house on his own two feet, with help. Every second seemed to improve his color just a little more, but… Darius eyed the stairs critically.

“I think the downstairs guest bedroom for now,” he told Hunter, “If you can make a list of things you’d like me to bring from your room, I’ll retrieve them, but I don’t think going up and down the stairs repeatedly is a wise idea at the moment.”

Hunter nodded, and Darius left him in the guest bedroom, traipsing upstairs to gather things he already knew Hunter might need or want. The massive wolf plushie he’d won from a carnival in the human realm. Extra pillows. The book that was already on the nightstand, his pajamas, and his reading glasses.

Hunter had already fallen asleep, curled into a little ball on the guestroom bed, so Darius quietly left his things at the foot of the bed, and left. He paced around the downstairs a few times, noted Hunter’s Hexside cowl where Eber must have tossed it on the couch, and paced around a few more times.

Find anything?

He sent the message to Steve, and picked up Hunter’s cowl. He could fix the rip, at least. He hummed to himself, carrying it to his sewing room and roving over dozens of spools of thread before picking out two. Both were just a shade off from the color of the cowl—not noticeable, really, but he still debated between the two of them for a few minutes before finally picking the one a shade darker—hopefully it would fade into the same color—and starting.

Without his abomination magic, sewing was slow work. In on one side of the cowl, out on the other. Small, neat stitches to make sure it stayed invisible. Back and forth. The repetitive movement was soothing, and Darius let his frazzled mind slip into the routine.

Back and forth.

If only relationships could be fixed so easily.

Back and forth.

Hunter wouldn’t say it, but there was no way he’d be able to look at Darius the same way again after this.

Back and forth.

He’d hurt him. Badly. The next scar had Darius’ name on it.

Darius came to the end of the rip and secured the thread, snipping it neatly and putting everything back.

There. Good as new.

He folded the cowl up neatly, pushing open Hunter’s door soundlessly and setting it with the other things he’d brought.

Despite what he’d gone through, Hunter’s sleep looked peaceful. Darius wondered idly if the exhaustion from blood loss had anything to do with that. But still, he looked so small, curled up. So vulnerable. Darius’ hand twitched.

It would be so easy to snap the interfering brat’s neck right now and keep him from meddling ever again.

Darius snapped up, stumbling backwards away from Hunter before he could do anything else. He closed the door much harder than he normally would, and leaned against it, heart thumping in his chest. Those words—it hadn’t sounded like him. He wouldn’t do that, he couldn’t think that. Especially not today, after everything.

But more worryingly, it hadn’t exactly sounded like anyone else, either.

#toh #the owl house #dadrius #sonter #dadrius week 2024 #darius deamonne #hunter deamonne #day 2: sewing #toh fanfiction #my writing

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billiedeansbitch · 2 years ago

Text

𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞

(𝐋𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

note: completely platonic and fluff. This is for you @reddragon30000 enjoy!

warning/s: slight mention of blood and wounds... being beaten up

Larissa hurried, grabbing her car keys, her purse—anything significant to her. “Don’t end the call, okay? Stay with me.” She maneuvered quick out of her office and into the moderately lit hallway, “Keep the phone close to your mouth so I know you’re conscious and breathing.” Jesus, if she had to cover one more death—“Okay but please hurry.”

A relieved sigh pushed past her lips, somehow hearing you speak eased her worry a bit, “I will be right there before you know it, sweetheart.”

The night was cold, streets were empty, you were trying to fight the sleep that was already heavy in your eyes.

Momentarily, with your phone still pressed to the side of your face while you sat on the dirty concrete curb, a vibrant crimson vehicle halted across the street just right in front of your therapist’s building. The headlights were flashing an almost blinding light, you covered your eyes with your arm, still situated on concrete.

The Principal revealed herself, her movements brisk and calculated but lacking its usual grace, “Ugh, thank heavens.” The phone almost slipped your grasp. When you swallowed, you tasted a hint of your blood from the little tear on your lower lip. “Take me home please.” You had both arms extended upward with grabby hands in an almost child-like manner, a tired look on your face, lips pouting adorably.

Viewing Nevermore as your home warmed the Principal’s heart, it tugged the corners of her lips into a tiny grin despite the sadness in her eyes upon seeing you.

She pulled you up, surprised with how light you weigh, “Can you walk?” you felt her hand on your cheek, while your head was nuzzled on her chest, using her to steady yourself. You only hummed.

Once you were settled on the passenger’s seat, all secured, the woman made her way around to slip into the driver’s side.

“Tell me what hurts.” With how much lightheaded you were, you didn’t realize she had already started the car and was halfway to Nevermore. Larissa kept glancing over you, checking you from time to time.

You had the side of your head pressed to the window, grateful for the cold glass that seemed to soothe your skin, “Everything.” You moaned, visibly in pain. She didn’t say anything, instead she peeled one hand off the steering wheel and wrapped it around yours. She felt you squeezed her hand with mild force.

Later, you found yourself conscious in the familiar atmosphere of your own room. As if on cue, Larissa appeared holding a first aid kit and began tending your wounds.

Though the silence was a comfortable one, the looming curiosity in your Principal’s eyes made you fidget. You knew you had to tell her what happened.

“I went out with this girl and then I told her I was an outcast. Next thing I knew her brothers came and beat me up.” You explained though she didn’t ask.

Larissa stopped damping the cotton ball on your forehead, her silence was your cue to continue, “I know I shouldn’t have told her right away but I thought it was okay. She was sweet and kind. I didn’t want to hide who I am.” You said trying to cover the hurt in your voice but Larissa knew you all too well.

She placed a hand on your shoulder in attempt to console you. You shrugged, “It’s whatever. She’s not that special. I know what I’m worth. You taught me.” There was a little beam on your lips as looked at her. It made her heart swell with pride.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out but it’s not your fault, never yours, do you hear me? And she never deserved you in the first place.” She tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear as if it would improve your overall battered look, but you didn’t care, you allowed yourself to appreciate the piece of affection she gave.

“mhmm.”

She moved next to you, taking your arm to clean the abrasion you collected, “I’m really glad you called.” She said.

“Who else was I supposed to call? You’re the only one I have.” Right. Larissa wanted to kick herself.

“If I were younger, would you adopt me?” Larissa laughed, and continued cleaning you up. “Maybe.” Was what she only said.

Not long after that when you were all patched up and clean, she stood up, “Get some sleep.”

You stared at her, “I mean it. I wish you could have been my mother.”

Larissa sighed and gave you the warmest smile you had ever seen before she bent forward to kiss your forehead while stroking your hair back. “Sleep and that’s an order.”

“Aye aye captain!” you said with a playful salute.

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night, Principal.”

Larissa mentally made a note as she left that she would need to contact the sheriff the following morning to report this incident. Whoever did this to you, she would make them pay.

#larissa weems imagine #larissa weems x reader #principal larissa weems #larissa x reader #larissa weems #gwendoline christie imagines #gwen christie #gwendolineuniverse #gwendoline christie

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barcaracing · 1 year ago

Note

bye you’re one of the best writers on here for pedri😭 could i request a one where his girlfriend meets his parents and brother for the first time at a football match?? You’re amazing!!!

pairing: pedri x fem!reader

warnings: none

a/n: ahh tysm :,))<3 sorry it took me so long to respond to this ask, i have no excuse. i’m just bad at checking my inbox and great at forgetting tumblr exists. hope u like this one!

******

"Mi vida, I love you, you know I do, but if you don't stop bouncing your leg, I will swerve into Lewy's car and we'll both die with no money and a lawsuit for a legacy." Pedri puts his hand on your thigh while looking over his shoulder to reverse the car into the parking spot. Meeting your eyes, he winks. "And that's usually not what football players get sued for."

You can't help but laugh, pushing his shoulder lightly before forcing yourself to relax. You know there's no reason to be nervous about meeting his family, especially since they're probably the nicest people on this planet given that they literally raised your boyfriend, the kindest and most down-to-earth person you know. But that doesn't change the fact that you need them to love you. There's literally no other option. It's either that or death.

"Sorry," you say sheepishly, glancing at the expensive vehicle parked next to you. You're not sure how much it's worth, but getting sued by the striker for property damage would probably leave you dirt-poor. "He wouldn't actually sue you for hitting his car, right?" You muse. "It's not like needs the money. Or the car."

Pedri shakes his head. "No, but he'd do it to get back at me for flinging the gymnastic ball at his face yesterday."

"Oh," you say, wincing. "Sounds fair."

Pedri snorts and turns off the engine before unbuckling himself. He turns to you with a gentle smile and those big, earnest eyes of his and you feel your heart stutter.

"Ready?" He says and for a second you need to remind yourself that he didn’t ask if you wanted to run away with him and start a cute little family on a island somewhere, but if you were ready to leave the car. That silly mind of yours.

"No." You laugh helplessly. "But can't back out now, can I?"

"You could," Pedri says slowly, thumb rubbing circles into your thigh. "But they'll love you. You've talked to Fer on FaceTime and my parents are fond of you already. You have nothing to worry about and there's nothing you could do wrong. I promise.”

You can see that Pedri genuinely means every word, and it warms your heart to know how important this is to him. You're important to him, you realise, and just like that, you'd do anything for him. That’s crazy, right? He really has you wrapped around his finger and that is one mortifying and reassuring realisation to have right before meeting his parents. Leaning forward, you capture his lips in a kiss before mirroring his smile when you pull back.

"What if I start cheering for Atlético?" You ask innocently.

Pedri pecks your lips again. He pulls the keys out of the ignition and pats your knee, the metal feeling cold against your skin. "Then I'll sue you for property damage."

"What did I damage?"

"My heart."

You burst out laughing. Pedri shoots you a cheeky grin before exiting the car and a moment later, the door on your side opens. You step out, shaking your head at your boyfriend's crooked smile. "That was horrible."

Pedri closes the door and pulls you closer by the loop on your pants, pressing a kiss into your hair. "Anything to hear that pretty laugh of yours." He leaves his hand on the small of your back and rubs the familiar fabric of his kit between his fingers. "Nice kit," he comments as you make your way to the entrance.

"Thanks." You hum, looking down at it. "I wanted to get Gavi's but they didn't have it in-store so I got this. Player 8 is alright."

Cutting you a sideways glare, Pedri pinches your skin, making you yelp. "I take it back. You're horrible." He crosses his arms. "I hope they dislike you and Fer pushes you down the stairs."

You look at him with wide eyes. "Pedri!"

"That's what you get. I hope you get a good tumble in. Toppling down those steps like a cartoon character until there are birds flying over your head." He manages to keep a straight face for a moment longer before he completely dissolves into giggles. Like actual giggles and it's the cutest thing you've ever seen even if you want to kick him.

You both come to a slow halt at the entrance. It leads to the changing rooms, but you need to go through another door to get to your seats. Mikky and the others are probably already inside and so is his family, which is honestly terrifying to think about. You really wish Pedri could at least come with you to introduce you or just stand there and look pretty, but he's already running late.

"I'm sorry," Pedri says with a hint of remaining laughter. He takes both your hands into his and meets your gaze. "Just breathe, yeah? You'll be fine, princesa. My parents and brother will finally meet the beautiful, smart, funny, and kind girl that I've been talking about since March. It’ll be special." He wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest. For a moment, all you hear is his heartbeat and things don't seem as dire anymore.

“I’m excited to meet them too, amor," you say softly and pull back to kiss him, whispering against his lips, "Go win this, campéon. We'll be cheering the loudest in there." You poke his side. "Only if I don't crack open my skull and bleed out on those stairs, of course. You fucking sadist."

Pedri chuckles and lowers his face into the nape of your neck, shoulders shaking with laughter. After some encouraging words and a few more kisses, you part ways and find yourself moving on autopilot while going to your seats. Weirdly, it calms you. Camp Nou always has. You've walked through these halls so many times now and every time, you feel like nothing bad could happen at a place this magical.

Your heart gets stuck in your throat anyway when you approach your seats and a familiar-looking dark-haired boy in a Barca kit takes one look at you and his whole face lights up. "Y/N, hola!"

This gets the attention of Pedri's parents, who spin around and immediately greet you with warm smiles and kisses on the cheek. "It is so nice to finally meet you," Rosy says, hugging you tighter. "Pedri has told us so much about you."

"He really did," his father teases, giving you a hug as well. "Can't get him to shut up even if we wanted to."

You laugh, feeling your face heat up at his words. "He's been telling me so much about you all as well, I'm so happy we finally get to meet." Rosy squeezes your arm and Fer flashes you a smile so familiar, it makes you feel like you can actually, genuinely do this. "So when did you arrive? I hope you haven't been waiting for too long."

"Oh, not at all," Pedri’s father replies, "we just got here ourselves. We were hoping to talk to Pedri before the match, but it's fine. We'll see him afterwards."

"About that," Rosy swoops in, and you notice how soft her voice is. “We were hoping to go out to dinner with you two if that's alright with you both. And if you don't have other plans, of course."

You shake your head, warming up to the idea of spending more time with them. "We'd love to join you. Especially after that lunch fiasco today."

"That's great," Rosy answers at the same time that Fernando asks,

"What happened at lunch?"

Sighing, you shake your head and sink to your seat. "It's too terrible to talk about." You glance at them conspicuously before leaning forward as if to share a secret. God knows where the confidence suddenly comes from. "Pedri tried to cook for us."

Horrified gasps meet your statement.

"What did he make?" says Rosy, sounding concerned. "I'm so sorry, mi niña."

"Don't ever let him do that again if you don’t want to get food poisoning. He cooked for me once and I nearly saw the light," Fer warns with a shake of his head.

"Pedri can cook?" Fernando asks, looking extremely confused.

“Can’t,” all three if you say at the same time.

“Oh.” He blinks. “Well, that’s a shame considering we have a restaurant.”

“At least he’s got football going for him. Plus, a beautiful girl who eats his deadly food,” Rosy says.

“Ah.” Fer sighs. “Young love.”

You join their laughter and let your gaze wander down to the pitch as more players start warming up. Honestly, you haven’t even noticed that they’ve come out, but you suppose that can only mean that you’ve gotten along pretty well so far with Pedri’s family, which is a good thing. Very good.

Your eyes land on your boyfriend, who is already looking up at where you’re sitting with his parents and brother. There’s a wide smile stretching across his face and when he gives a wave, you all cheer and wave back. Pedri’s eyes meet yours and you could swear there’s a twinkle in them. He holds up a thumb and arches an eyebrow.

Smiling brightly, you nod and mirror his thumbs up. A dopey grin break out on his face and he touches his lips to send you a kiss. It’s embarrassing how you can’t even pretend not to be absolutely giddy and smitten by this.

You are quick to send a kiss back, which he catches and presses into chest while walking backwards, eyes still locked onto yours. He nearly trips over a ball and you can’t help but laugh, his parents and brother joining in and teasing the both of you relentlessly. The smile your face is hard to wipe off. You really had nothing to worry about.

*****

feedback is always appreciated, stay hydrated kids :)

#pedri one shot #pedri x reader #pedri imagine #pedri x y/n #pedri #pedri fluff #pedri x you #pedri gonzalez #pedri fanfic #pedri fic #fc barca #fc barcelona fanfic #fc barca fanfic #pedri blurb

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sleepyfan-blog · 5 months ago

Text

Cuddling

Author’s note: The fifth fic for Nadesir! First. previous. Next. “Blah.” Gothic “blah” english

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @whorety-k @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@the-pure-angel

Warnings: cops, emotional breakdown,

Summary: You and Nadesir speak to Relevant Authorities post-kidnapping, and then cuddle in a safe place.

“-and that’s when I felt her distress. I hunted the vehicle that was holding her hostage, popping the tires and tearing in through the roof. I killed the baseline who dared threaten her with a gun and left the rest for the Salamanders to deal with.” Nadesir explained to the Dark Angel Interrogator chaplain, his wings resettling irritably on his back as he stares the loyalist down. He is holding onto your hand as tightly as he knows won’t hurt you. He wants you in his arms, but you’re talking to the human police officer not far from where you and he are standing, so this is what he’s going to get for now “Given the mood the Dragons are in, if you want to talk to any of the kidnappers while they still live, you should do so now. The Dragons’ Wrath is well known, after all.”

“Do you have any idea as to why your bonded might have been kidnapped? Does she have any living enemies who might want to capture her for whatever reason?” The Chaplain asks, a concerned frown appearing on his face “This is not the first couple of times that bonded baselines have been attempted to be kidnapped while their astartes are away from their side.”

Nadesir’s wings flare open and his eyes begin to glow a furious red, his thin, long tail whipping back and forth before wrapping around your waist, yanking you to his side, a low, unhappy growl in his voice as he speaks "There have been what?” His distress skyrockets. “I thought this had to do with whatever the hell the Hydra have been up to in this area for the past several months. A pack of them tried to kidnap my bonded weeks ago, but only the once. I don’t know why they would want her, other than that she is amazing, wonderful, beautiful and talented.”

“... I hadn’t been informed that there was an active Hydra cell in this area.” The Chaplain murmured, the frown on his face deepening.

“I was tracking one of the Hydra before I felt my beloved bonded’s distress and fear and went to rescue her.” Nadesir explained. Part of him knew that the Salamander patrol wouldn’t have let the kidnappers get far… But he couldn’t let you fester in your fear and distress, not when he could try and alleviate it. Was it possible that was done by the Hydra in order to keep him from getting one of the injured fuckers and dragging him to base to be slowly roasted on a spit by irritated Salamanders? Possibly. But he couldn’t muster up the ability to care, not with the scare that both you and he had. “The Hydra was injured, or at least feigning an injury to one of his legs.” Just in case a random brother showed up injured in the same way for treatment, it was possible that he was an incognito Hydra. Nadesir reported where he’d followed the Hydra to, before rushing off to go rescue you. “Is there anything else you needed from me in this investigation?”

The chaplain shook his head “No, if your bonded is done speaking with the investigator-baseline you may retreat to your personal nest, or to the nearby base.”

Nadesir did have a room assigned to him in the relatively small Astartes in the little town you lived in. It was well fortified and largely unlived in, as your cozy home was usually adequate for a place to sleep and spend time together in… But as it was possible you’d been taken from there… His wingtips twitched and his tail tightened around where he’d curled it around you, a low rumble leaving him. “Very well.” He turns and scoops you up, switching to English “Are you ready to go home?”

You sigh, leaning into his familiar warmth, grateful beyond words to have his steady presence with you in this awful time. “I would love to say yes, but I was kidnapped from our home, and the police have cordoned it off as one of the crime scenes to investigate. We’re going-”

“-to be staying in the Astartes base. I have an assigned room there, as I am a permanent resident of our home town. I do have some things stashed there for extra comfort. It is safer than a hotel.” Nadesir offered firmly. Part of him wanted to make it a demand, but you could get prickly about such things. “It is much safer. Please?”

You sigh and hug him tightly. You can see the anxiety in his big, midnight black eyes, the tension in his wings, and of course, his tail rarely squeezes you this tightly unless he’s terribly anxious. You also know that you’re in shock after being kidnapped, and that when the adrenaline and emotional numbing wears off you’re going to be a complete mess. “Alright, we’ll go to the base. I’m going to need clothes for work, once I’m ready to go back.” You’ll need to talk to your shift lead about taking time off to process being kidnapped… and you’ll probably have to talk to the (ugh) police again… You feel your lower lip tremble a little and your voice hitches “Okay, we can go n-now.”

The police officer asks “Do you want to take a ride back to town in my car? With your Astartes it’ll be a tight fit.”

You flinch at the thought of getting into another car, but Nadesir speaks up before you can try and figure out what to say.

“I’m going to carry her back to the Astartes base. Astartes can run as fast as most standard cars, and with my wings, I can fly her a more direct path there. There are other humans who were briefly taken.” He also doubted that the Salamanders were going to let their humans out of arm’s reach, much less driven by car back to base, but that was their conversation to have, not his.

“Alright then.” The officer nodded, heading to the next freshly traumatized human to speak with.

You enjoyed the flight to the Astartes base, despite the adrenaline crash causing you to start sobbing and shaking as you cling tightly to Vanya, burying your face into one of his broad shoulders, your body shaking violently from the force of your sobs. You’d been terrified when the armed kidnappers had dragged you from your home, threatening worse than death if you didn’t comply with them.

You had no idea why you’d been kidnapped, and had desperately hoped that Vanya would somehow be able to find you. And find you he did. The strength it took to rip open a van was… It was incredible. He was incredible, and you loved him so much. You were so, so grateful to have met him, that he’d decided to stay, despite your frequent nightmares and long working hours as a medical professional.

“I’ve got you, beloved. There is nowhere on this world where you could be taken where I would not eventually follow and free you. I do not know who tried to take you, but I will guard and protect you more vigilantly. I just… I hope you can forgive me for being away when you were under threat.” Vanya apologizes, dark eyes filled with guilt and determination as he landed lightly in front of the base, silently showing the door guards his id and you and he being waved through. “Do you need to be seen by an apothecary?”

You shake your head “I wasn’t physically harmed… and me being kidnapped wasn’t your fault, wasn’t due to some failing on your part, Vanya. It was the fault of the kidnappers who tried to take me away, for whatever reasons they thought they had.” You lean in closer to him, hugging him tightly as he brings you to a midnight blue door with red trim.

He opens the door, revealing a sparsely decorated room, with astartes sized furniture. It did have little touches that made it clear that this room belonged to Vanya, but it was nothing like yours and his bedroom in your home. “What do you need, my love?”

“I… Hold me? And… I’m starting to get hungry, now that the adrenaline has worn off. Something mild and filling.” You ask, feeling timid and exhausted. “And something to drink. I should drink water…” though the idea of having a stiff drink was appealing.

Nadesir nodded, carrying you over to his bed and setting you down. He gives you a gentle kiss on the lips before kneeling down and dragging a small (to him) chest out from under his bed, pulling out two boxes of your favorite kinds of granola bars, and several plastic bottles of water. “I’ve some nonperishable food stashed in here for the both of us, so eat as much as you like.”

“That’s… that’s really thoughtful of you. I’m glad you didn’t have to leave to get me food.” You respond, grateful beyond words. You were hungry, but the idea of going to the communal cafeteria in the base, or him going out to grab you something to eat outside of the base… Away from you for who knew how long, filled you with a nervous anxiety that you did not want to deal with. Nor did you want to be perceived by others right now.

“I figured if I brought you here, it was likely due to an emergency situation of some kind, since our usual nest is much more comfortable, and planned accordingly.” He explains, preening at the praise as he sits on the bed, leaning into you, one arm curling around your waist as you open one of the granola bar’s packaging and biting into it. He pulls a blanket and drapes it around both you and him, humming softly, eyes partially closed.

You pause eating long enough to crawl into his lap, giving him a kiss on the cheek before settling down in his warm, familiar, safe lap, nibbling on the food he’d thoughtfully provided for you until the post-adrenaline energy crash dragged you into sleep.

#cw cops #cw emotional breakdown #oc: nadesir #x reader #fem reader #reader insert #night lord #dark angel #warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry sentience #space marine husbandry #my writing

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randombush3 · 1 year ago

Note

YEAHHHH!!’

gladly x

---

“Y/n left me.”

The limousine you are in is completely black, save for the white lines being measured out right next to you.

“What?” says Jenni.

“She can’t just take Nico, can she?”

Everyone waits for your answer. No one comments on the bags under your eyes. “He's fine,” you say with a smile. “He loves it here.”

“Are you angry at her?”

“Yes.”

Alexia thinks about it.

“No.”

“You’re not a saint.” They boo. “You’re allowed to have fun. I saw you the other day, and you had no qualms with any drugs then.”

“No, I'm not a saint,” you reply. You regret that night — however little you remember. “But I am a mother.”

“Is it that thing? Postpartum?” Jenni asks. “The baby blues are really shitty, I've heard, but they’re not supposed to cripple you. Maybe the relationship has other issues.”

“I'm not angry at her, Jenni,” Alexia repeats. “I miss Nico. He looks like her. He has started to look a lot more like her now.”

“He would definitely suit those sparkly bralettes.” Jenni giggles at the thought.

With an understandable lack of good humour, Alexia ponders something more realistic. “He would suit a Barcelona kit.”

“He would be made for it. You are his mother.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Well, I'm not angry at her.”

“Alexia."

---

what do we think?

#woso x reader #woso #woso fanfics #barca femeni #fc barcelona #woso imagines #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas

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xiaq · 1 year ago

Text

Steddie Time Travel Fix-it: Pt.9

Ao3 Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5 Pt. 6 Pt. 7 Pt. 8

It’s 2am and Eddie is sitting alone on the front steps, knife still in one hand, when Hopper’s truck turns into the cul-de-sac. Steve is leaning out the window, grinning. He’s got one hand pressed to the side of the cab, his hair a riot in the wind, and it feels like Eddie can catch a full breath for the first time in hours.

The truck has hardly stopped and Eddie has hardly managed to push himself to his feet before Steve is shoving open the passenger door and stumbling across the lawn to––‘hug’ seems like a woefully ineffective way to describe the way that Steve slams into him. The way that he pulls them together, desperate and aching, like he wants to merge them into a singular entity. It’s a collision of a gesture. Chest to chest. Steve’s arms are tight and undeniable and a little bit violent around him. His hands are fisted in the fabric of Eddie’s shirt. His face is in Eddie’s neck.

“You’re ok,” he says, and Eddie is reminded of that first, baffling, meeting in the bathroom, when Steve couldn’t seem to stop himself from touching, from reassuring himself that Eddie was real and whole.

“I’m good, man, but I’m really fucking confused.” He tries to pull away. Steve doesn’t let him. Eddie isn’t going to fight him about it. “Are you ok?” he asks, mostly into Steve’s hair.

“I’m fine. We won. And we’re alive. And we’re all—everything is going to be fine, now.”

“That is great news, but I still need an explanation and, whoa, hey.”

There’s a wetness smearing on his chin and Eddie realizes that despite Steve’s claims of being fine, he’s definitely reopened the line of stitches on his temple and one of his arms is seriously jacked up.

“You’re getting blood on me,” Eddie points out.

Steve lets go.

“Sorry,” he says, reaching up to try and wipe it away. His fingers are just as gory as his face, though, maybe even worse, and he looks a little panicked at whatever he’s done to Eddie’s jaw. “Sorry,” he repeats. “Oh jeez—here, let me––”

“Steve,” Hopper says, slamming the driver’s side door of the truck. “Can you have your touching reunion inside?”

There’s a kid Eddie hadn’t noticed before with a shaved head, blood all down her lips beneath her nose, getting out of the back seat. A bearded man and Joyce Beyers follow her, and there’s another car pulling up to park behind Hopper’s truck. Nancy is in the driver’s seat, and Robin and Jonathan and a couple other people he doesn’t recognize are piling out, bloodied and weary-looking, but all smiling. When a third and fourth car, both black, government-y vehicles arrive, Eddie looks to Steve who still has one disgusting hand wrapped around Eddie’s wrist, like he’s afraid to let go of him.

“Inside,” he says.

Eddie agrees that’s probably best.

Steve is met in the foyer like a conquering hero. The kids fling themselves at him with hugs and questions and shouts of dismay over the state of his bloodied face and his mangled arm, which under the entryway lights looks far worse than it did in the yard––like something had been chewing on it. Something big. Steve and the others spend a solid five minutes just repeating that they won, it’s over, they won, it’s over, while Eddie and Barb and Chrissy stand on the fringes and share confused looks.

When it becomes clear that no one else is in any hurry to take care of Steve’s injuries, Eddie grabs him by the arm that doesn’t look like it’s been stuck down a garbage disposal and drags him down the hall to the bathroom. He knows where the first aid kit is, now.

“Sit,” he tells him, nodding to the toilet.

Steve sits.

And then he’s looking up at Eddie, all wide-eyed and appreciative like some kind of triumphant but humble gladiator awaiting his reward for a battle well-fought. Eddie wants to punch a wall or something because he should not be endeared by this. He should not.

And yet.

“Take off your shirt,” Eddie says brusquely. “Or do you need help?”

“My ribs are still pretty fucked up from before,” Steve murmurs, “so I won’t lie, lifting my arms above my head isn’t great.”

Eddie benevolently does not point out that haring off to fight interdimensional creatures, or whatever the hell Steve was doing, probably hasn’t helped with the broken ribs situation.

“So, help?” Eddie says.

“Yeah, please.”

And he should have seen that coming. He offered, after all, but Eddie is stymied for a moment before he moves forward, leaning over Steve’s back to get to the hem of his shirt so he can pull it forward over his head and off without making him lift his arms.

It forces them close again. Eddie can smell him: sweat and blood and whatever nameless viscera is smeared on his clothes. It’s disgusting.

And yet.

“New plan,” Eddie says, tossing the shirt onto the floor and then kicking it further away for good measure. “Shower first, and then we’ll patch you up without worrying about secondary infections.”

“I don’t have any other clothes,” Steve says.

“Well, I’ve got a bag full of clothes in the car and you’re not that much bigger than me. Also, at some point you’re going to start explaining things. Feel free to start now.”

“Well,” Steve glances at the closed bathroom door. “The others are probably filling in Barb and Chrissy right now, if you want to join them.”

Eddie drops to his knees to unlace Steve’s boots. “No,” he says, slapping at Steve’s hands when he tries to do it himself, wincing. “I don’t want the others to tell me, I want you to tell me. I want you to explain why your personality has done a 180 and you’re suddenly best friends with Buckley and Nancy,” he cups one hand around the back of Steve’s knee so he can pull off his boot with the other, “and why you’re basically parenting a dozen middle-schoolers and why you’re afraid of DnD monsters and have a trunk full of weapons and lose your mind when lights flicker and why there’s some sort of portal in my living room ceiling and why you keep looking at me.”

“I—I don’t look at you,” Steve says, fucking looking at him. “How do I look at you?”

“Like that,” Eddie shouts, gesturing at Steve’s face with his own dirty sock. “Jesus.”

He pulls off the second boot, the second sock, even dirtier than the first, and tosses them aside.

“I’m sorry,” Steve exhales. “I don’t mean to. And I don’t know where to start. I’m not—none of any of this sounds believable.”

“Well, I was thinking time travel at first but now I’m leaning toward alternate dimensions, so I feel like I’m good with whatever you want to throw at me, here.”

“Alright,” Steve says. He leans forward, gritting his teeth around a grimace, to brace his elbows on his knees. “Honestly, it’s a little of column A, and a lot of column B.”

“Fuck. Okay. Give me the like, two minute version.”

“So there’s an…alternate dimension of Hawkins,” Steve starts. “Like, it’s still Hawkins, just. Wrong. We’ve been calling it the Upside-Down. And there are places where the dividing line between between our reality and the Upside-Down is weak. And those places can turn into gates where people or things can move back and forth between the two. There was one in your ceiling.”

“And Lover’s Lake,” Eddie says. “There was one there? And your…pool?”

“Yeah.”

“Following you so far. You said ‘things’ can move back and forth. What uh, dare I ask what populates this Upside Down version of Hawkins?”

“Monsters, mostly,” Steve says.

“Figured.”

“The kids named the monsters we’ve been fighting after D&D characters. Which is why I get weird about shit like demogorgons and mind flayers and stuff.”

“Okay, alright, so much is making sense right now. So there aren’t any people there?”

“Not really. There was one guy, an evil guy, I guess. Vecna. Who was responsible for the Upside Down going bad. He lived there. Sort of.”

Steve ducks his head and scrubs a hand through his hair with his still-operational arm. “I feel like I’m not doing a good job explaining this, you should really let one of the others––“

“You’re doing great,” Eddie interrupts. “We’ve got an alternate reality tenuously separated from real life, inhabited by an evil villain and his monsters. What else?”

“El, the girl with the shaved head? She came from a lab—the Hawkins lab––where they were doing experiments on kids. Giving them superpowers. And also finding out how to make gates to the Upside Down. The bad guy in the Upside Down was also one of the kids from the lab, a long time ago. They can both open and close gates.”

“Okay,” Eddie says slowly. “So El is the heroine and he’s her villainous foil in the story.”

“It’s not a story,”

“No, I know, I’m just, this is how I’m contextualizing, sorry. How did all the kids get involved?”

“By accident, mostly. Will––the nice one with the bowl cut and enormous eyes?––he ended up trapped there for a while. There was a gate in his shed. But he made it back, obviously.”

Eddie tries to place him but struggles. There are a lot of kids running around.

“The others are all friends with him,” Steve continues. “And also they found El in the woods when she escaped from the lab. They’re all pretty great, honestly. Even if they’re annoying as hell.”

“Where does the time travel bit come in?”

Steve’s attention drops immediately to his hands. His nail-beds are black. It’s going to take forever to get him clean and apparently Eddie has signed himself up for that task. He should probably be dreading it.

And yet.

“In our timeline,” Steve says, “it’s 1987. Or it was when we left. Things went really bad with Vecna and people died. A lot of people. Hawkins was pretty much destroyed. And we didn’t think we’d be able to stop him at all, his reach was just going to expand and get worse and worse until one of the people from the lab came to talk to El. Told her she could basically open up a portal in the Upside Down and go back in time. And prevent all the shit that happened from ever happening. So she did and we all went through with her. Except the first couple times we tried we only went back a few months and it wasn’t enough. Vecna still won every time no matter what we changed or how we tried to fix things. So this time we went back years instead. To stop him at the beginning. When he was unprepared.”

“Wait,” Eddie says. “Why don’t I remember this then? You all act like you know me, so I must have been involved in this shit at least a little, right?”

“Right,” Steve says. “No, you were. But it was only the people there in 1987 who went through the portal that remember.”

“Only the people there. What does that even mean? Where did I go?”

He might be a little bit of a coward, but there’s no way he would have abandoned a bunch of kids and Steve Harrington to fight monsters alone. He doesn’t think.

Steve’s attention is so forcefully on his hands, fingers now curled tight and painful-looking around his knees, that Eddie reaches up to stop him before he hurts himself.

Oh, he realizes, thumbs tucked between Steve's palms and his knees.

Oh, no.

“I fucking died, didn’t I?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah,” Steve says.

Well. That’s…sobering.

“So,” Eddie says, rocking back onto his heels, feeling winded. “Time travel. Parallel worlds. Bad dude. Monsters. Kids with superpowers. My untimely demise.”

“That’s about the shape of it.”

“And this Vecna guy. You said—when you first got back tonight you said it was over. Is it, though? Like, over over.”

“I think so. We won this time. And El thinks he’s gone for good and she’s closed all the gates but one. We’ll do a couple of patrols over the next few months to make sure, before we close the final gate permanently. But we’re pretty sure it’s over. Finally.”

Steve’s eyes are dark and wet and huge in his dirty face when he finally meets Eddie’s gaze.

“Well,” Eddie says. His hands are still wrapped around Steve’s. “I guess I should thank you for saving my life, then.”

Steve huffs out a laugh, then winces. “Yeah, no problem.”

“Sounds like it was a little bit of a problem. Just a smidge.”

“Worth it,” Steve says.

He shouldn’t be attractive like this–smeared in dirt and grime and his own blood. Leaning a little to one side to take pressure off broken ribs.

And yet.

Eddie clears his throat. “You really need to take a shower so we can patch you up.”

Steve is still looking at him.

The same way he’s been looking at him.

Eddie is starting to understand the depth behind it. He’s starting to have questions about the depth of it. Questions that are probably more wishfull thinking than anything else but also––

“I’ll need help,” Steve says evenly. “With showering. Because of my arm.”

“Right,” Eddie says. “Well, I’m…here.”

“You’re here,” Steve agrees.

It sounds like he means something else. Something more.

Eddie swallows.

He lets go of Steve’s hands.

He slides back the shower curtain and turns on the faucet.

Pt. 10

#steddie #steddie fic #eddie x steve #steve x eddie #steve harrington/eddie munson #myfic #fixit fic #stranger things fic

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