#who can’t speak English that well
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Wearing shorts to work…
#and it’s supposed to rain later on today I’m still clocking that time on my check regardless since the weather is not on me#rambling#so tired I didn’t get much sleep at all#my fault for staying up watching jjk and playing Arknights#and I got on the phone with my friend who was already at work since she’d had an incident where a white resident hit her#and I was pissed#I hope they get kicked out#I knew a lot of these ppl were racist#all of the concierges are black and there’s one Hispanic girl#and all of the sanitation workers and maintenance are Hispanic#who can’t speak English that well#while 90% of the residents are white ppl with money because that rent is not cheap#like you can tell when they just look at you like you don’t belong lol#now you go white mfs slapping my black friend at work#white his gf laughs in the bg about it like it’s some funny inside joke#only to start begging for forgiveness and crying when the manager and threats of the police are involved
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i really have loved being in japan in general so far but most of my students are so fucking mean to me 😭😭 like they’re just so so sooo mean they parrot and mock me when i call someone’s name and laugh when i talk in general and it’s like how am i supposed to curry their favor or gain their respect when they are openly making fun of me from the second i walk into their classroom for the first time💀
#i think part of it is that 90% of the students are boys and they’re all super jocks so they don’t care abt english at all#also a lot of them are second semester seniors. and i was in their shoes not that long ago#which i understand. but like i wish they would at least be somewhat decent to me😭#like i wld fully be willing to say okay fuck the worksheet fuck the grammar let’s just shoot the shit. but none of them want to speak to me#also the ones who know i know japanese just speak japanese to me so i just stare at them blankly#at least in the us there were limits to the shit we cld say abt teachers in class because everyone was speaking english#to be fair i really struggle w conversational jpn & slang so most of the time i rlly don’t get the nuances#of what they’re saying to each other. and i can’t respond well at all. but i get the gist#its hard bc i’m new and also paired with new teachers for some classes so they don’t respect any ‘authority figure’ in the room#but like come on. don’t bully me.#i think part of the problem is there’s actually literally no consequences for anything. no detention or suspension or calls to parents#or getting benched for sports matches. which i think would actually get them to care#cuz there are things that technically i could try to do but there’s no way to actually enforce anything#idk. thinking out loud. the classes that have been decent & engaged have been super fun for me and energizing#but the others are rlly tough like so tough.#okay sorry i know no one cares
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In an alternate life I would have become a medievalist and been writing research papers about the saracens and probably stressing about my employability which is why I cannot possibly have any regrets about the way my life actually turned out. Do I mourn that my current life has no reason for me to be in rare book rooms or deep in the archives? A little, but not enough, on balance—which perhaps indicates that it wasn’t ever a viable metaphorical fig for me. Much to think about
#I’m just one of those people who can’t have profitable interests#I’m also one of those english majors who had 4-5 ‘main’ interest areas so I’m secretly glad I never had to choose#hm#also obviously when I speak of employability….i just know myself well enough to realize that I would have been bad at leveraging#relegating my love of literature to my personal life was my Best Option
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unstoppable force (my gf’s grandpa not being a native english speaker) vs immovable object (my social anxiety and inability to say no)
#he got me orange juice and i don’t like orange juice#but he had already gotten it wrong like twice#so now im drinking orange juice#her family is puerto rican btw#well. mom’s side. which is who i’m staying with#her dad is guatemalan#she was like ‘yeah when grandpa doesn’t understand my english i just speak spanish’#and i was like. well i can’t do that#i do plan on learning spanish eventually btw. probably while im here#just out of necessity
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HIIII!!! I just wanted to say that i really love ur writing! I've read ur traitor series and I can't wait for part 4! I'm a new author, and english isn't my first language, so it's sometimes very hard for me to write bcs i'm stil not that good, but ur fics have helped me improve<3💗!
thank you so much!🫶 im glad you’ve enjoyed the series! and speaking of part four, here it is :)
ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE
simon didn’t turn to watch you leave the gym.
he stood there, eyes forward, mask clenched in one fist. he could feel the blood drying on his skin. he made no move to wipe it away.
he didn’t blame you for your anger— he couldn’t. he understood the rage. had felt it himself a time or two.
but he couldn’t take everything lying down.
did he deserve your wrath, your fury? yes— and he knew that. there was no making up for what he did; he realized that, but why couldn’t you understand?
he’d never fully taken his walls down around you, and that was no fault of your own. he was a guarded man, and his past gave him every right to be.
he had been burned and broken too many times. he’d seen the people he loved murdered because of him.
he swore he would never let that happen again. he put those walls up, and you knocked some of them down.
but there were some you’d never gotten through, at least, simon told himself you hadn’t. there was always something he was holding back, a piece of himself he wouldn’t give freely. he told himself it was because he couldn’t stand to love you so deeply and then watch you leave.
but really, it was because he needed an out. he needed a way to justify his leaving if something ever happened— and that’s what got him here.
simon trusted the 141 with his life. he trusted his captain with his life. price had never led him astray; john knew his face well before any of the others. well before you.
and when someone you trust so deeply, someone you’ve followed for years, tells you that the person you love has betrayed your team?
you can’t help but believe them. and that’s what simon did.
the evidence was coincidental at first. wrong place, wrong time. but then, everything started to seem like more than a coincidence. pieces of a complicated puzzle were fitting together. things only you and the rest of the 141 would know were leaked.
and all the signs pointed to you.
and although he didn’t want to, simon couldn’t help it. the second price had confided in him that you may be the rat, simon began to distance himself. you had been confused, but he had offered no explanation.
price was the one to question you first. it was a heated conversation in his office, consisting of him showing you the evidence and you becoming furious at the accusations.
johnny came to you next, buttering you up with his flirtatious and unarming words before asking if you’d leaked information.
then there was kyle, who pleaded for the truth. he told you that a case was being built against you, and that if you came clean now, things wouldn’t be so bad.
simon never tried to talk to you about it. the other men would tell him what you’d said, but he had never gone to talk to you himself.
maybe it was pride. simon wasn’t trusting, not after his past. he had let the 141 in, had let you in. and now you were a suspected traitor, and he was angry at himself. angry he hadn’t seen it sooner; angry he’d let you in at all.
but maybe it was hurt. hurt that you’d done this to him, to the team, after knowing everything they’d been through. after stitching up wounds on the battlefield and taking bullets for one another. after sharing simon’s bed and whispering you loved him.
all he knew was that he trusted price. and as evidence built, so did the distance between the two of you, until you were tied to that chair.
and simon had taken his hurt, his anger, out on you. he wasn’t proud of it, and he knew now that he was wrong. but he was still a little angry. angry because you couldn’t see his side of things— not like he could see yours.
so, he was an ass. he didn’t apologize. he snuck flowers to your bedside but kept his distance. he told you to watch your tone because you were still part of the team, and speaking to price like that was only something an outsider would do.
and he told you that he’d spared your life because he had. anger had consumed him, and truthfully, you were lucky he hadn’t done worse.
even if he’d smothered his feelings for you with rage, he still harbored love for you, and that’s why some part of him held back.
he knew you would probably never forgive him. he had made his peace with that.
but he couldn’t stand the fact that you couldn’t understand why he’d done what he did.
the creak of the gym door opening broke simon from his thoughts. he pulled his mask back on before turning around and making his way to the door.
it took one firm knock on the door for price to answer.
the door clicked open, and price sighed when he saw simon, scrubbing a hand over his unruly beard before letting the taller man in. price turned, walking back to his desk chair, while simon closed the door behind him and locked it.
“this is a bloody mess,” the captain said, falling heavily into the chair. it squeaked at the sudden weight, old leather crinkling and crackling.
“doc came and saw me earlier, ‘fore she left for the night. told me about some new injuries, and yelled at me for letting that happen.”
simon didn’t speak. price’s eyes met his, and he sighed again.
“fuckin’ hell, simon. what the fuck did you say? doc said she had to stitch up both their hands.”
“doesn’t matter what I say,” simon spoke, eyes still on the captain “they won’t fuckin’ listen.”
price shook his head. “that’s not true, ‘nd we both know it,” he sounded tired as he spoke, dark bags under his eyes. he paused for a moment, then spoke again.
“spoke to laswell after you left earlier. she said she’ll try to speed up the transfer process. tryin’ to avoid more fuss, and im not fightin’ it any longer.”
“they’re part of our team,” simon spoke, tone rough.
price shook his head. “they are, but I can’t keep doin’ this. can’t keep pushin’ off transferin’ because of you lot. it may be better for us, but not for them.”
the room fell quiet. simon inhaled, exhaled. his fists clenched at his sides before quickly unfurling once more.
he didn’t have a right to be mad at you for leaving, but he was.
“laswell say anythin’ else about tha’ transfer?” simon asked.
price leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “not much. no word on where or with who, but even if she knew, doubt she’d tell us. for their sake.”
simon gave a small nod and made to turn, but froze as price spoke again.
“she did say she didn’t know if it would go through. they’d have to pass another eval.”
they both knew what that meant. if laswell said that, then she didn’t believe the transfer would happen. kate wouldn’t outwardly say it, but price had known what she’d meant.
pushing the transfer through wouldn’t matter if you couldn’t pass a physical and psychological evaluation— and laswell didn’t think you could.
although he wouldn’t admit it, price was unsure, too. torture was something that took an incredibly devastating toll on the mind and body.
but torture at the hands of your team? there was no telling the damage that that would do to someone. to you.
an honorable discharge was more likely. and, if that was the case, then your rage would likely grow tenfold.
you career, your livelihood, taken from you by the hands of the men you trusted the most. your family, cutting you up and pushing you out.
damned by your team and your country, regardless of everything you’d done for both of them during your service.
you were just another cog in the machine, one that had been damaged and discarded, and a discharge couldn’t make that any clearer.
he thought back to what you had said in the gym earlier, before you’d left.
‘you should have killed me.’
maybe he should have.
thanks to everyone for your patience! also just incase you didn’t see my post about it—
im no longer doing a taglist! my side blog @troiastitans will reblog my works from now on, so if you want to know when I post, follow that account and allow notifications!
as always, thank you for the love! (also I hope you all enjoyed a little peek into simon’s head!)
#cod mw2 fic#captain john price#gaz call of duty#soap call of duty#ghost call of duty#captain price#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley#simon riley#johnny mactavish#john soap mactavish#johnny soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#kyle garrick#John price#simon riley x gn reader#simon riley angst#ghost x gn reader#ghost x you#ghost angst#ghost x reader#ghost cod#141!reader#141 x reader#task force 141
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How to show character in dialogue
By picking the right words, you can make anyone go from a ditzy sidekick to a dark, dangerous villain
—Slang
Setting specific slang, internet slang, or weird slang that they make up on their own can show more laid back characters, or you can make them culturally aware of their surroundings and the type of people who are local to the area.
—Voice pitch
This isn’t too important, but it is something to consider. Does the bad-boy love interest have a husky, seductive voice 24/7? Or do they sound like a text-to-speech robot? Regardless, you can show character by either making them irresistible to most, or they can be painfully aware that their voice doesn’t match and they have to go an extra mile to get people to move past it.
—Eye contact
Looking someone dead in the eyes can mean mature, intellectual types, or the creepiest person you’ve ever met depending on what they’re saying and what the rest of their body is doing. Are they firmly holding on to important documents, speaking clearly and sternly, or do they get way too close, breathing heavily and speaking in a raspy, dry voice as their eyes bulge out of their sockets?
—Posture when talking
Someone slouched over a chair and staring at the floor while mumbling to whoever’s nearby isn’t going to be as feared as someone who stands tall and proud, as if their own shadow was to command an army as they grip their weapon that looks small compared to their massive, demanding presence.
—Emphasis on certain words or phrases
Italics and reusing specific words signals to the audience that this is important. Maybe it foreshadows something down the line, or can come off as self-aware to something the character says constantly.
—Stuttering
I’m just going to end this by saying please don’t do the “b-b-b-b-b-b-but” thing. Instead, if you’re trying to make the character seem shy or embarrassed of something, have them quietly mumble, tripping over words and sentences and accidentally repeating things. I don’t want to draw too much attention to it because it’s something a lot of people say but it’s important to me. Someone who stutters constantly because despite speaking English my whole life, I for some reason can’t speak it well.
#writing#writers on tumblr#creative writing#Writeblr#character advice#writing advice#character description
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୨୧ how sugardaddy!rafe found his favorite little muñeca
rafe wasn’t entirely sure as to what it was that piqued his father’s need to go on vacation every few months out of the year, but he wasn’t against it. since returning back to tannyhill, following his brief collegiate stint, rafe needed an outlet — a place where he could go and blow a few tens of thousands of dollars and not be reprimanded, a place where he could lose himself in copious amounts of coke without judgement, a place where he could be the man — the one who was needed, the one who had all the answers.
so, when ward came up with the brilliant idea to send his eldest of kin to the island of culebra, puerto rico — just to keep his volatile son out of trouble … rafe was quick and eager to oblige.
the villa was immaculate, completely renovated from the ground up, with the pristine view of the clear turquoise waters that crashed against the powder white sand. but what caught rafe’s bright baby blues was the little puerto rican girl who stood bent over, tiny white shorts sucked in the soft fat of your plush ass as you carefully picked at the bright fuschia hibiscus flower that grew alone in the patch of crisp green grass. shiny blown out hair cascaded down the small of your back as rafe tongued the inside of his cheek, watching closely as you straightened your posture, the shorts now almost entirely swallowed by your plump ass.
rafe couldn’t help himself, but continue to ogle at you, his bloodshot eyes carelessly drinking in the way your bronze skin shimmered under the sun, as well as the cute hot pink heart-shaped glitter tattoo that sparkled on your lower back. and fuck, it took everything in him to not shove his hand down his pants with the way the fat of your ass sat all heavy and perfectly curved against the flimsy fabric of your shorts.
smiling to himself, rafe obnoxiously clears his throat, causing you to flinch and whip your pretty little head at him, all wide eyed and open-mouthed, “uh, don’t think y’should be pickin’ at other people’s flowers, huh?” he questions, his voice dripping in a condescending cadence as you immediately drop the pretty flower from your small fist, allowing it to fall at your sparkly pink toes.
remaining silent, you awkwardly shift on your feet, blinking your wispy lashes together as you close your mouth, “i’m sorry, i just — hmph,” you sigh, your nose scrunched in frustration as you struggled to find the right words … in english, at least.
cocking his head to the side, rafe chuckles at your fussy state, his stringy bangs masking the way he incessantly stared at the way the swells of your breasts bounced against your one size too small lily pink triangle bikini top. judging by your thick accent, rafe could tell that communicating with you would be a bit of a struggle — lucky for you, he considered himself to be a proactive man of sorts.
taking a step closer to you, rafe feigns a sigh of disappointment, even going so far as to pinch the bridge of his nose “i don’t know, i may just have to tell someone that y’just comin’ here and makin’ a mess of things — i can’t have that, sweetheart,” he shrugs.
your little heart thumped rapidly against your chest as you bit down into your pouty bottom lip, swallowing thickly as you brought your terrified gaze to the ground.
deciding to twist the knife, rafe nudged the point of your chin with the side of his signet-tinged index finger with squinted eyes, “y’parents never taught y’how to talk to people, huh?” he questions, his pupil-blown eyes searching yours as you parted your swollen lips.
furiously shaking your head, you take a short breath, “i-i dunno how — the words are h-hard,” you speak, your voice small and mousey as your eyes meet rafe’s intimidatingly blue ones.
“well, y’gotta learn, yeah?” rafe shrugs.
with bright and naive eyes, you let out an excited gasp, “you can teach me?” you question, swollen lips pursed together as rafe licks over his pink chapped lips, taking another step closer to you as his rough hand grasps the side of your face.
you were a naive little one, a bit too welcoming … but he could fix teach you.
bringing his thumb to curve around your jaw, rafe shushes you, “y’shouldn’t be walkin’ around stranger’s houses dressed like that — your daddy ever teach you that?” rafe lightly pushes your head back, a shit-eating grin now playing on his handsome face as you obediently answer him with a forceful shake of your head.
your bambi eyes now welled with embarrassed tears, you gently attempted to pull your face from the young man’s tight hold, “yo no tengo …” you whimper softly.
shifting your face, rafe raises a corrective brow at you, “english, kid,” he scolds.
poking out your fat bottom lip in a wobbly pout, you lightly stomp your foot in frustration, “i don’t have a daddy,” you whine, a warm teardrop rolling down the apple of your cheek as rafe tutted at you with a knowing nod to himself.
“that’s the problem, huh? y’don’t have a daddy to keep y’little ass in line,” rafe mumbles, bringing his thumb to mush against your swollen and somewhat sticky lips as you stare at him with confused, yet needy little eyes.
letting go of your jaw, rafe runs a hand through his greasy hair, before swiping at the corner of his mouth with his finger, “listen kid, m’gonna take care of you, yeah? buy you whatever girly shit y’like — maybe even take y’home with me one of these days —”
“like a daddy?”
letting out a huff, rafe takes in the way you reach down to grab ahold of the wilted flower, boobs nearly spilling out of your bikini tops as you fist it tightly in your grip, “yes, but i’ll be your daddy —”
“papi!” you beam, a wide smile stretching your swollen lips as you bat your cutesy stacked lashes together, “that’s your name?” you ask politely, reaching your small hands to tug on the waistband of your shorts, unknowingly pulling them further up your ass.
“rafe is my name, pretty girl — but y’can call me papi, okay?” he coos, swiftly snagging the flimsy flower from your hand, causing you to pout as you roll your eyes, leaving rafe to snap his fingers at you, “hey — don’t start that shit, now come here and let me fix y’up,” he commands, internally satisfied with the way you quickly removed the frown from your face and walked over to him, the tips of your toes meeting the tips of his sandals.
curling a ginger underneath the waistband of your shorts, rafe softly pulls on the stretchy fabric, taking a mental note of the frilly thing you wore underneath. placing the flower in your shorts, rafe carefully secures the band of your shorts to hold the flower upright, you dainty belly button ring also catching his watchful eyes.
craning your neck to get a look of your cute new accessory, you scoff with excitement, “aye, es muy bonita, papi!” you squeal, rushing to swing your arms around rafe’s tense and warm neck.
lightly patting the top of the curve of your asscheek, rafe gently pulls you away from him, “listen, kid — y’can’t just trust every person you meet, yeah? not everyone is going to be nice like your papi, hm?” he clasps his hands around your bare shoulders, biting back a smirk as you nod feverishly.
“tell me that you understand,” rafe pushes, silently encouraging you with a small squeeze of your shoulders.
“i und-understand,” you breathe out.
bringing a hand to barely pat your cheek, rafe reaches his free hand down to tug the hem of your shorts down to cover your ass, “good girl — now why don’t y’come with daddy and i’ll buy y’some pretty clothes,” rafe hums, massaging your cheek with his thumb.
#rafe cameron#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron prompt#rafe cameron x reader#obx#obx imagine#rafe cameron smut#rafe x reader#rafe smut#rafe imagine#sugardaddy!rafe
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happier than ever | jude bellingham x fem! fcb femeni! reader
summary; who knew barcelona femeni’s squad was protective after finding out who y/n was dating
face claim; salma paralluelooooo
warnings; cursing , chaos
all works taglist; @goldenmclaren @namgification @c-losur3 @minkyungseokie @lavisenri @ollieshifts
note; requested ! now this one , i like it🙂↕️ salma is soooo gorgeous it makes me forget shes a barca player 😞
masterlist !
⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆
yourusername uploaded to their story !
[caption 1; good morning 😴] [caption 2; he says this is the best breakfast ?]
alexiaputellas …..
alexiaputellas who. is. he.
marialeonn16 who the FUCK is that
marialeonn16 it better not be who i think it is
marialeonn16 ANSWER MEEEEEEEE
ingrid_engen whatever makes u happy❤️
ingrid_engen THIS IS MAPI ANSWER ME NOW.
ingrid_engen Y/NNNNNN
ingrid_engen ignore mapi 🙏
patri8guijarro ???😀😀😀
vickyylopezz._ you’re dead amiga
yourusername oh i know 😕
judebellingham who is that sexy fella
yourusername told you to put a shirt on so my teammates wouldn’t go crazy but noooooo u had to show off ur abs😒
judebellingham i didn’t see you complaining🙄🙄
yourusername yeah but now mapi and alexia are spamming my phone 🥱
judebellingham do they know it’s me?
yourusername they know i’m dating someone but mapi keeps censoring words , i don’t know 🤷♀️
judebellingham i say hard launch
yourusername u want my teammates to kill u???
judebellingham idk i got a brahim w me
yourusername if he can’t protect u from my teammates then that’s on u
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liked by judebellingham, vickyylopezz._, and others !
yourusername: ☀️
tagged; judebellingham
judebellingham: well you’re a lovely lady, aren’t you
yourusername:🥰🥰
marialeonn16: don’t speak abt my y/n like that.
yourusername: mapi….
judebellingham: crazy but she’s in my bed rn
yourusername: JUDE????
marialeonn16: ?!’alxoqifksofo829399&&
alexiaputellas: i taught you better than this…
yourusername: who am i to deny my desires😞
aitanabonmati: YOU’RE LIKE 12??
yourusername: i’m 19 actually and taller than u
aitanabonmati: so he’s dating someone younger 🤨
judebellingham: by a few months 🤷♀️
alexiaputellas: u weren’t invited into this convo
username: the chaos in the comment section is KILLINGGGG ME😭🤣
username: jude has a gf🕊️
username: OH WHAT APOWER COUPLE
username: real madrid’s starboy and barcelona’s stargirl dating was nawt on my bingo card tbh 🙂↕️
username: wait…. i’m loving this 🤭
username: SHE LOOKS SOOOO GOOD
username: yall think she was at the ucl final??
patri8guijarro: no.
judebellingham: yes and she wore my jersey😁
aitanabonmati: ?????????????????????
ingrid_engen: y/n plz ignore any call u get from mapi🙏 she will calm down soon enough
marialeonn16: NO ANSWER ME😠
yourusername:🤦♀️🤦♀️
⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆
liked by yourusername, olgacarmona7, and others !
judebellingham: la vida 😴
tagged; yourusername
yourusername: te quierooo❤️
judebellingham: te quiero🤍
username: sleeping on the highway
username: SHES SO CUTEEEE
username: i love them ur honor
olgacarmona7: bienvenida a la familia ??
alexiaputellas: no.
judebellingham: SI.
marialeonn16: YOU DON’T KNOW SPANISH🤬
judebellingham: ur star girl is teaching me tho
yourusername: still trying to make him say visca barca but it’s not working 😕
username: i’m a madrid girlie through n through but i love them sm😫
username: everytime i see jude or y/n post each other im ready for the fcb fem team to be chaotic in the comments😭
lucybronze: i’ll let it slide this time
ona.batlle: we don’t do that here☝️
keirawalsh: but he’s english??
yourusername: you girls are so dramatic 😒
vinijr: 👀👀
camavinga: 🤫🤫
brahim: 🙂↕️🙂↕️
judebellingham: ��😁
marialeonn16: what does this mean.
yourusername: mapi LEAVE???
alexiaputellas: this is some secret real madrid code. marisabel_rguez what are they saying 😒
marisabel_rguez: 🥸🥸
username: the contrast of the comments section on ig compared to twitter is hilarious 😭
⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆
⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆
liked by judebellingham, alexiaputellas, and others !
yourusername: happier than ever
tagged; judebellingham
judebellingham: better when i’m w you😍😍
judebellingham: i love you te quiero mucho
judebellingham: i have the best gf itw
judebellingham: y/n l/n is my girlfriend guys
judebellingham: i am the luckiest man ever
yourusername:STOP i love you🥹
judebellingham: I LOVE YOU
alexiaputellas: 😒😒😒
yourusername: i’m telling on u rn btw
marialeonn16: damage control🥱
yourusername: ingrid_engen
marialeonn7: THATS NOT FAIR
username: jude is such a simp omg🥹
username: hes js like me fr
username: JUDES COMMENT IMOSOFK😭💓💞💞💖💘💘💞💓💞💘💖💝
username: screaming crying throwing up
marialeonn16: cute.
yourusername: thank u ingrid
ingrid_engen: 🙂↕️🙂↕️
alexiaputellas: as long as you’re happy, nena ❤️
yourusername: gracias olga
olgarios:😁
vickyylopezz._: SIMP
yourusername: oh shut up🙄
aitanabonmati: ok then… whatever makes you happy
judebellingham: i makes her happy😁
keirawalsh: hey don’t push it 🙄
username: the way they’re dominating football rn, dare i say mini goats 🤭
username: MIS AMORES😭❤️🩹
#footballer x y/n#football smau#football social media au#football player x reader#football x reader#footballer x reader#football imagine#football imagines#football scenarios#football one shot#jude bellingham smau#jude bellingham social media au#jude bellingham x reader#jude bellingham scenarios#jude bellingham imagine#fcb femeni x reader#barcelona femeni x reader#real madrid x reader#real madrid imagines#real madrid scenarios
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i cannot physically stop thinking abt american transfer student! reader x bkg
like i’m american and compared to japanese culture americans are so fucking messy 😭 that being said if you went to public school (and wasn’t apart of the “popular” group) you’ve witnessed crazy shit-ESPECIALLY in the south like these schools are not for the weak
you never back down from his insults or threats, bc you’ve dealt with dickheads like him all the time in america! public school was insane so this doesn’t phase you at all. when he notices that you don’t even flinch at his crazy antics he feels…different. especially when you insult him right back like it’s nothing. you always have a come back for him and you have physically fought him (and won) on multiple occasions. it makes him start to admire and respect you (and obviously fall in loooooove)
he slowly drifts closer to you, mentally and physically. i am a stern believer in physical touch bkg like fucking fight me. he would want to always be near you so that yall will accidentally brush hands or bump shoulders, every touch sending a shock down his spine
tbh i think the only way to be able to date bkg is to also be mean and i just cannot stop thinking about FUNNY their pre!relationship would be
*bkg saying some bullshit*
you, mumbling in english “big back bitch”
bkg: HAH⁉️WHATD YOU SAY⁉️
we know that shoto can speak english (at least like decently) and tbh i head cannon denki speaking english as well bc idk it suits him. with that being said, whenever you say something crazy in english shoto is always like 😮 and denki is HOWLING meanwhile bkg is CRAZY jealous bc he can’t understand english
like u don’t understand bkg is soooo jealous bc u and denki bond over music, tv shows, and movies and he keeps kicking himself on passing up his parents offer to teach him english. not to mention yall whisper shit in english a LOT and you guys are not slick with how much yall be giggling. bkg is always glaring at yall whenever that happens, and there have been a couple of times where you felt bad so u told him what yall were saying and you get so happy when you see his mouth turn up into a smile while he chuckles.
this is so random but it also pisses him off when u have t shirts on with english words. so it’ll be like dinner time and he’s huffing and puffing and ur like “???” and he keeps glaring at ur shirt like “what does he have against the tv show friends like he’s never heard abt it until now???” and it wasn’t until denki was like “yooo you watch friends? that show is so stupid i love it” that he settles down. from there on out you always find a way to translate your shirts for him
AND MUSIC don’t even get me started on music. you’re singing along so passionately and he’s like. “what are they singing abt i HAVE to know” so he’ll try to be sneaky and use his phone to translate stuff. if it’s a song abt a shitty ex he’ll have the most violent urge to fly to your home state and kill the ex who made you feel like this-but if it’s like megan thee stallion? my dude is sweating and blushing but pissed bc he’s sweating and blushing and basically long story short kirishima goes up to talk to him and gets blasted in the face.
he watches all your favorite movies and tv shows (subtitles on) and he will never admit it but he loves when you whisper the translations in his ear.
another thing that peaks his curiosity is you’re friends from home! america is 14 hours behind tokyo…so talking to ur friends from home can cause difficulties. when it’s late at night the class will see you furiously texting your friends bc it’s morning time for them. sometimes on weekends you guys are able to call, so if you’re ever on call walking into the kitchen for a snack bkg is so curious as to what you and your friends would be talking abt. he always sneaks a peek and you best believe he learns all of your friends names and faces.
friend: “who was that hot guy that you were talking to?”
you: “huh? oh that’s katsuki, i told you abt him”
friend: “dude…you were totally giving him fuck me eyes”
you: “AYO DO NOT EVEN START WITH THAT SH-“
(he was looking at you with such passion and love in his eyes but ur just too dumb to see it)
you tend to crave a lot of american snacks and food, and sometimes bkg will go out to a special shop that has american shit and bring it to you.
“you wouldn’t fucking stop saying how much you wanted it so here take it nerd”
*you’re all teary bc like “omg he went out of his away to go across town to get me some stupid snacks omg im falling for him”*
you love cooking american foods/foods you grew up with for the class and you specifically yearn for bkg’s approval. you eventually learn about his love for cooking and he teaches you japanese dishes while you teach him the dishes you know. the two of you bonded so much while cooking together.
(this part is me venting so just bare with me okay) and god forbid you have a toxic ex in america that’s some fucking loser white boy bc bkg will rip that man to SHREADS. he has you cry laughing over all the insults he comes up with when you finally crack and show him a picture.
“he literally looks like a block of feta cheese yn, he looks like the type to trip on his own shoelaces. he definitely doesn’t read any higher than a ten year olds level-“
it actually ends with a sweet moment of him watching you laugh and when you two lock eyes he tells you that you deserve better, that you deserve someone who will actually treat you well. he scurries off after that bc he realizes he was too soft in that moment and you never stop thinking abt that.
eventually you get him to confess and start dating, obviously having to take it slow bc there’s no way bkg dated anyone before you. slowly figuring out everything that works for the both of you, the relationship is very loving and accepting.
bkg slowly learns all of your favorite songs and knows what they translate to. when you sing love songs to him not thinking he knows what they mean, he just smiles and says smth cheesy like “oh you must really like me huh?”
you of course teach him words in english and you try to tutor him in the language but he’s not the easiest person to teach to, especially a whole new language. but the couple of phrases you teach him are just for your sake so you can talk shit and include him in it, and he loves it so much.
(dw bc by the time he’s an adult he can speak english and his accent is SO cute and you love it so much bc everything he does is so amazing)
when the two of you get older you are able to bring him home! he meets all of your friends and family, even tho he’s literally the most nervous you’ve ever seen him. he knows english by this time but he keeps overthinking it so much, and once he’s surrounded by a bunch of people who’s first language is english he messes up a couple of times and sometimes messes up translations. he gets so mad at himself but you are able to talk him down and tell him not to be so hard on himself.
you bring him to all of your favorite restaurants and areas, shopping included. he wants to know everything about where you grew up, hoping it will somehow grow the two of you even closer to each other. once you’re in public and at restaurants you still insist on speaking japanese since that was the language the two of you used when you fell in love, and even tho you guys get weird stares you refuse to switch. bkg also enjoys it bc when it’s the two of you speaking japanese it’s like you two are in your own little world, like you two really do belong together.
but also you guys shit talk in japanese so. much. like it’s not even funny. if you have family members that you dislike, you better believe you’re whispering in his ear all about it catching him up on family lore when he meets all of your family.
that’s all i can think of rn, but god. i’m obsessed.
#bakugou x reader#my hero academia#bakugou katsuki#mha#bnha#my hero academia x you#my hero academia x reader#my hero academia x gender neutral reader#katsuki bakugou x you#katsuki bakugou x reader#bakugou x you#bakugou katsuki x you#bakugou katsuki x reader#katsuki x reader#katsuki x you#bakugou katsuki x gn! reader#bakugou katsuki x gender neutral reader#bakugou katsuki x transfer! student reader#bakugou katsuki x american! reader#it’s so silly#i love it#i love him#i love bakugou katsuki#like it’s not funny anymore#rho writes
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Theo Nott Headcannons!! *.•
*.-{{ellsarchive}}-.*
Rebelogs are appreciated <3!!
Either sleeps for at least half of the day or never sleeps at all. This man has never had a normal nights sleep.
—> once, the Slytherins won the house cup. I kid you not when I tell you he didn’t sleep for two days and then slept for 20 hours straight.
Has never been angry in English
—> stubs his toe? Italian. Betrayed? Italian. Someone acting up? ITALIAN.
His arm WILL be around you at all times times whether you like it or not. Whether that’s an arm around your shoulders as you walk through the halls, a hand on your waist when you sit together, or arms wrapped around you as you sleep, is for you to find out.
Actually very loyal when in a relationship, but if he’s hung up on you whilst single he’s the most promiscuous man known to the wizarding world. It’s one of few distractions, in his eyes.
Speaks to you in Italian, saying the words he can’t bring himself to tell you in a way you’ll understand (assuming you don’t speak the language).
He knew he was in love when he found himself scribbling words on to a paper, his quill seeming to know nothing but your name and the way his soul screams it.
—> he’s never considered himself much of a writer. He took up the hobby after falling for you.
His mother taught him to play the piano as a child.
I wouldn’t say he “didn’t believe in love” before you, moreso he wasn’t sure if it was made for him. If he was meant for it. You made him feel so wrong.
Struggles with depression, it gets especially worse when his dad reaches out more.
He cried in the washroom when you took him to meet your parents.
—> your dad loved you despite you taking different paths than him, and your mother is still there. There’s nothing more to ask for. ‘Maybe that’s why he turned out him and you turned out you.’
—> Not long after, he received another letter from his father, and found himself crying into your arms for hours. He couldn’t even explain why, but you didn’t ask. You just held him. In that moment, he was sure his mother had brought you to him.
Offers you a smoke whenever he lights one, but not necessarily because he wants you to take it. He just feels wrong if he’s not offering you what he has.
Actually really nice, despite his sarcasm and apparent coldness. That may be who he seems to be, but anyone who bothers to look further will see what lies beneath.
Not necessarily quiet, but the most reserved of the group. Everyone knows him, but barely anyone knows him.
Lwk Noah (the notebook) coded, but in the “Well that's what we do, we fight... You tell me when I am being an arrogant son of a bitch and I tell you when you are a pain in the ass. Which you are, 99% of the time. I'm not afraid to hurt your feelings. You have like a 2 second rebound rate, then you're back doing the next pain-in-the-ass thing. So it's not gonna be easy. It's gonna be really hard. We're gonna have to work at this every day, but I want to do that because I want you. I want all of you, for ever, you and me, every day.” Way.
Reads when he actually has the time, like when the dorms aren’t being used like a frat house and his life actually seems normal. He keeps it to himself, though.
Ended up buying his own first aid kit because you were always in his dorm patching him up.
—> what can he say, though? Mattheo’s always fighting, and he’d be a bad friend not to jump in. Don’t even get him started on when he fights for you, either.
When he fights, no emotion is poured into it. Instead of red hot anger that shoots through his veins and into his knuckles, he’s ice. Face straight as he beats men into the infirmary.
Dresses like if Jacob Elordi, David Beckham, and Brad Pitt had a fashion baby.
Never makes his bed (he’s not leaving it half of the time anyway)
Always says his favourite food is pasta but will DEVOUR a grilled cheese like no other
Loves chocolate chip cookies, holds a particular hatred for oatmeal cookies.
Dreams of people he loves being ripped away from him, and all he can do is beg for it not to happen.
—> sleep talks. Sometimes you’ll hear his faint pleads, and all you can do is hold him tighter and hope it ends soon. You never mention it after because he’d be embarrassed.
A broken, broken boy whose light shines through the breaks in his heart. He’s scared to glue it back together in case it will block out the light, but you’ve made him sure you’ll shine through him no matter what.
“Blue - Billie Eilish”
_.•*
Also please comment recs for a playlist I’m making for him, or if you’d like more! <33
#me opening up to a new fandom????#wrote this in a half our as I lay in a hotel bed so spare me of your criticism#theodore nott x reader#theodore nott#theo nott#theo nott x reader#theodore nott x you#theodore nott x y/n#theo nott x you#theo nott x y/n#theodore nott headcanons#theo nott headcanons#ellsarchive#harry potter#hp#slytherin#slytherin boys#harry potter x reader#slytherin boys x reader
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Cruel Summer | Felix Catton
Your mother's money issues make it hard for you to enjoy your summer at Saltburn. Thankfully your cousin is there to comfort you. But what happens when you realize his interest in you isn't just familial concern?
Warnings: DUB-CON, NON-CON, Start! Reader, Incest, Secret Relationship, Manipulation, Corruption, Innocent Reader, Drugs, Smoking, Filming
This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.
Your eyes round as they absorb the massive castle and the vast, lush gardens surrounding it. As you drag your suitcase behind you, you can’t quell the urge to admire everything. Even the towering, perfectly symmetrical trees lining the path to the iron gates. It’s been years since you visited Saltburn, but you don’t remember it being so big or intimidating.
Still, you bask in the chirping of birds and the brightness of the sky above you. You’re compelled to admit it. The English countryside is lovely, a haven away from the pollution and noise of the city. A sharp contrast to the familiar chaos you’re used to back home. The uproar of traffic, from the honking to the shouting. The endless stream of people strutting down the streets. The gigantic ads and the skyscrapers that graze the stars.
A city that never rests or stops for anyone.
While this is home, it all can be so overwhelming. There never is time to just…breathe and be. Here, as you look at your surroundings, you figure it’s all there is to do. Breathe and be.
You push the small iron door on the side, astonished to find it ajar. Did they leave it open for you? You doubt it however. From what Mom told you, consideration for others isn’t one of your aunt and uncle’s strong suits. They’re too wrapped up in their “posh little world”. One your mom isn’t a part of anymore. And neither are you, as you’ve been raised overseas.
As for your brother…well he’s another matter. Shipped from school to school thanks to Uncle James’ “bottomless well of generosity”, he is a free spirit. Seas apart from you in every possible way.
Ever since you were young, the pressure to succeed has gripped you tight and never released you. When others partied and experimented, you were nose deep in your books, stressing over finishing every assignment on time and acing every test. It paid off. You were accepted into your school of choice this summer, with a scholarship no less.
Slacking off isn’t an option for you.
While your brother has a sort of safety net, you’re not so close with that side of your family. You’re their estranged American niece, one they haven’t seen in over a decade.
In fact, you’ve no idea how you’ll be received.
The long walk to the castle is harrowing but gives you time to comb through your memories. You were so little the last time you visited. Still, foggy remembrance floods your thoughts. You played with your cousins by the pond. Made up stories and ran around the fields. You even faintly recall skinning your knees when one of them dared you to try and climb all the way to the top of the stone stairs beneath the stained glass window. You slipped for a long time and wept on the floor, you think. Auntie Elspeth scolded her children and you for playing dangerous games.
Their cherubic faces flicker in your mind.
There were two of them.
A little boy with dark hair and a gummy smile. A blonde girl who giggled all the time. And of course, your brother.
When you’ve reached the castle’s front door, you suck in a wide breath. Before you can even knock on the tall, black doors, they swing open in front of you.
A surprised exhale spills from your throat.
Swallowing, you fall back.
Hands behind his back, a stern man in a suit runs his gaze over you. He is so still, for a minute, you wonder if he’s real.
But then he speaks. “Are you lost, miss?” he asks.
You shift, a surge of inadequacy filling you. Still, you clear your throat and give a tremulous answer.
“Hi. I…I’m here to visit my family.”
The man doesn’t budge, still pinning you with his unflinching stare. Sweat breaks out on your back. Are you at the right place?
“The Cattons,” you offer, an awkward smile stretching your lips. “My brother should already be here.” You start rummaging through your backpack to pull out a map. “This is Saltburn, right? Auntie Elspeth sent me the itinerary but perhaps I-”
He cuts you off, seeming almost annoyed with you.
“Right, you’re…earlier than we expected, Ms. Start.”
“I could come back later-”
“The gates aren’t open. We’d have sent someone to pick you up.”
You glance back, dumbfounded. The gates were definitely open, weren’t they? Or perhaps that little door wasn’t supposed to be crossed. Your cheeks flame. The elaborate rules your wealthy relatives abide by are already eluding you.
Your shoulders heave and fall.
“It’s okay, it wasn’t that long a walk.”
The man stiffly allows you in. You note the two black men standing by the door. They haven’t uttered a single word, blending into the background. Always seen but never heard. You believe your brother mentioned something like that in his sporadic texts and letters. Your gaze tears from them. The inside of Saltburn is even more majestic, a thing you didn’t think possible. Standing in a museum wouldn’t be much different, you suppose, between the antiques sitting on shelves, paintings hanging on the walls and crystal chandeliers hovering above you.
So, this is what generational wealth looks like.
When you were little, you didn’t notice this. You were too busy playing. Now, it’s all you can see.
“Just leave your bag there. Someone will get it for you,” the man says.
“Someone, as in…”
“Someone,” he repeats, staunchly refusing to elaborate.
The grip on the handle of your suitcase tightens.
“I really don’t need it. I can carry it myself.”
The man considers you, his face twitching as if you just spat in it. Your insides stir in confusion. All you’ve said is that you don’t mind carrying your own luggage.
The loud utterance of your name has your head snapping sideways.
Your mouth falls open when a towering, young man in a yellow shirt around your age strides in your direction.
He halts in front of the stern man, chiding him with a playful lilt in his tone.
“Really Duncan? You’re scaring the poor girl. Duncan, stop being so terrifying. She’s family.”
“Well, I shall try.”
You note the subtle warmth in the man’s tone as he addresses the newcomer.
He turns to you, beaming. Your stomach flutters. “Cousin, try not to be too terrified of Duncan.”
You’re taken aback when he grabs the hand gripping the suitcase. His large hand completely engulfs yours.
“I’ll show her to her room. Don’t worry,” he chimes. He pulls you away and you’re forced to keep up with his long, enthusiastic strides. He tosses you a glance, laughing when you sort of hop behind him. “Sorry about that. Duncan’s a bit odd, but he’s alright, you’ll see.”
“And you are…?”
Disappointment creeps on his face at your question. He spreads a hand over his chest.
“Felix, your cousin. Golly, you don’t remember me? Really? That kind of hurts.”
Your eyes grow. The picture in your mind was that of a chubby-cheeked, clumsy little boy. Your cousin definitely isn’t that anymore.
“Oh my god, yes! Felix. You don’t have a lisp anymore and…You’re like a giant now.”
A smug expression lights his features.
“Puberty.”
You laugh in response. “Yeah, I guess we all grew up.”
A strange glint fleets across his gaze as he gives you a quick once over.
“Clearly,” he says, his smile expanding.
He shows you around the estate. You can’t suppress your awe when he mentions Henry VIII, surprised Saltburn’s history stretches that far back. The library also radiates ancient and priceless, countless rare leather-bound books sitting on the shelves. A smile creeps on your face when Felix greets the ghost of your grandmother.
He takes you through a vertiginous amount of hallways until taking you to what will be your room. It’s apparently right next to Venetia’s. You glance around, expecting another long lost cousin to pop up perhaps. But it’s just you and Felix in the vast bedroom.
He leans against the doorjamb while you soak in the room and the massive bed, large enough to welcome three or four people. It’s nothing like your tiny bed at home or the one in your college dorm. This is something you never had, and that is just Felix and Venetia’s normal. It makes you speechless.
You drop your backpack on the floor at the foot of the bed.
The mattress bounces as you plop down on it. You let your fingers skim over the blissfully soft sheets.
Your contemplation is abbreviated by the ringing of your phone. You flip it open. The screen lights up, signaling a new message received. You type on the glowing arrows to find out it’s from Mom.
Remember to ask your aunt and uncle for what we talked about.
I really need you, sweetie.
You unleash a heavy breath. Your mom is the one who pressured you to go on this trip. Ever since her brother’s regular payments have dried up, your mother’s been relentless. She keeps claiming she wants her share of the trust and your uncle argues that she used all of it. First, she recruited Farleigh to speak on her behalf. Your brother’s attempts have met little success however. So your mother enlisted you.
You don’t know what more you can do that your brother couldn’t, but you can never say no to anything your mother asks.
“Is something wrong?” Felix inquires, making his way to your bed to sit near you. The scent of his pricey cologne tingles your nose.
“It's nothing,” you lie. “Just Mom asking if my arrival’s been smooth.”
Your cousin seems like the living embodiment of sunshine, just like you remember. If possible, you want to keep him out of the money issues between your mom and Uncle James.
Felix tilts his head as he studies you.
“It’s kinda funny.”
“What?”
“The way you say ‘mum’”
A laugh peals from your lips.
“I guess I’m gonna have to get used to my accent being made fun of.”
Felix shrugs. “My mum will think it’s exotic.”
You cringe inside. You never liked that word, how it makes you feel like an animal in a zoo.
Switching topics, you ask, “Is my brother around? I haven’t seen him in forever.”
“Ah, Farleigh’s probably skulking about somewhere.”
You chew on your bottom lip. “I don’t know what to say to him.”
Felix collects the book poking through the zipper of your backpack. He flips through the stained pages of your copy of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood prince. You accidentally spilled coffee on it during a late night study session.
“You could talk to him about this,” he offers, waving the book. “We’ve kind of been passing around Venetia’s copy. Although I tend to skip to the most interesting parts, but don’t tell everyone else.”
You smile.
“Your secret’s safe with me,” you reply solemnly.
He watches you for a long time, long enough for your gaze to find the floor as your face heats.
“It’s really good having you here with us, cousin. I mean it.”
You fidget in your spot. “Thanks.”
Felix flashes you a mischievous grin.
“But I’ll need to make sure you remember me this time.”
The rest of the day is spent reconnecting with your other relatives. Everyone gathers in the library and you get to meet Venetia, realizing she too has changed a lot since you were kids.
Oliver, Felix’s friend from Oxford is also there. From your cousin’s broad explanations, it appears he’s grieving the loss of one of his parents, so he invited him to make sure he isn’t alone. It’s unbelievably kind. Besides, you’re guessing from Oliver’s lost puppy dog stares and awkward manners, that he’s as out of place as you are here. Instant sympathy blooms inside you when you’re introduced to him.
A woman named Pamela is also in attendance. She is Aunt Elpseth’s close friend, though it’d be hard to tell, the way she orders her around like a servant and exposes the long list of tragedies her love life has been to the entire room.
A saying about friends and enemies flutters through your mind as you witness their interactions. It’s such a bizarre spectacle, watching this red-haired woman, dead behind the eyes, bend over backwards for your aunt. You don’t remember Aunt Elspeth being this cold-blooded.
And naturally, there is your brother. Farleigh. Aloof in the back, apart from the Cattons, your eyes collide from across the room. He smiles at you. You smile back. Warmth flows through you.
It’ll be a while before you’re comfortable around each other again. It pains you to say, but you don’t know your own brother all that well anymore.
Dinner’s a strangely formal affair. Everyone’s dressed to the nines, giving the family gathering more of a cocktail party vibe than that of a family dinner. Venetia lends you a dress so you aren’t the odd one out. You thank her profusely. All you packed when you left America are jeans and a few pairs of shorts. It never occurred to you that you’d need any kind of formal wear since you figured you would be around family.
But you failed to take into account said family is also a part of British high society.
Awkwardness fills you as you hesitate over the utensils, the different kinds of knives and forks making you dizzy. You don’t want to make a fool of yourself on the first day. Seeming to grasp your predicament, Venetia nudges your elbow when you grip the right fork and knife.
You mutter a quiet ‘thanks’ and she winks at you.
Several courses are brought on silver platters, one after the other. The entire time, you focus on your plate, swallowing every bland, flavorless bite.
Stiff conversation is exchanged at the table, most of it centering on Aunt Elspeth’s dour-looking friend. Once more, compassion flutters through you.
It’s blatant to everyone at the table that Pamela isn’t wanted at Saltburn anymore.
It’s a relief when dinner concludes and you can return to your bedroom.
You sit by the large window in your room to admire the night sky. Between the skyscrapers and artificial lights, it’s hard finding a spot to look at the stars in New York. Here however, you can make out constellations and various other glittering shapes.
Venetia joins you on the windowsill. She takes a long drag of her cigarette and blows smoke on the window. She shoots you a cheeky smile.
“So, do you regret coming already?” she teases.
You fiddle with your hands.
“It’s fine. Everyone’s nice. It’s…kind of unreal being here.”
“Just remember this is your home too.”
You mull it over. It is becoming clear to you how much you don’t fit in with the Cattons, despite sharing blood with them. You wonder if it’s how your brother has felt all these years. Like an outsider amidst his own kin. Although, you have to admit he looked quite comfortable at dinner. Far more than you, definitely.
“I’ll…try to remember that.” You hesitate, gnawing on your lip before speaking again. “Is Pamela gonna be okay, you think?”
Venetia shrugs.
“I think she’ll be alright.”
Your lips purse. Who knows how that haunted woman will fare once she’s on her own in the world again? You’re not too hopeful. But it seems like Aunt Elspeth is done with her, so it cannot be helped you suppose.
“If you say so.” You tilt your head at your cousin, dropping casually. “Do you think Uncle James is still up?”
“At this hour, Daddy will be in his study.”
You nod and get to your feet. Wandering the halls of Saltburn at night is a peculiar experience. The shadows clinging to the walls seem to follow your every step. Dusty slices of moonlight spill from the windows, bringing the stern portraits of your distant relatives to life, the aged hues of the paintings shifting in the dim light. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you're being watched. The back of your neck tingles as the sound of your fearful steps echoes in the vast halls. A breeze of cool air seeps through your clothes. You tug on the cardigan Venetia let you borrow from her closet, hurrying your pace.
For a long time, you spin in circles, growing desperate to find your uncle’s study. Your spirits sour. You followed Venetia’s instructions to the letter yet you got lost. A left, a right, straight along the green room, then…another right?
You frown. Now you can’t remember. Why does every hallway look the same here?
Astray in your own mind, you carelessly bump into a hard object.
You lift your gaze. Your jaw drops.
“Felix,” you exclaim, placing a hand over your heaving chest. “You scared me.”
Mirth glints in his brown orbs.
“Lost, cousin?”
Avoiding his eyes, you scratch your am.
“Well, this is embarrassing,” you mumble.
Felix chuckles and seizes your arm.
“It’s not. It’s easy to get lost here.” You gasp as he pulls you alongside him. “Just tell me where you need to go and I’ll show you the way.”
Too dumbstruck by his abrupt appearance, you let Felix drag you through the somber hallways. The sharp twists and turns he takes make your head spin. There is no way you’d have found the study on your own.
He halts in front of two mahogany doors. Your feet bounce as your hand lingers on the brass handles.
Felix knocks on the door and your heart leaps.
“I’ll wait for you here, so you don’t get lost again,” he says.
“You don’t have to,” you squeak.
He leans over you and smiles.
“I insist, cousin. I have to prove to you not all of us are completely horrible…despite what you may have seen.”
Your face warms.
“T-Thank you.”
James’ voice rises from inside the room, giving you permission to enter. You nod at Felix and take shaky steps inside the study. The crackle of logs burning away reaches you. The swaying flames mingle with the shadows, casting a faint orange glow on the room.
“Uncle James, may I speak to you?” you bashfully inquire.
He lowers his round glasses and puts down the notebook in his hands.
“Of course. Anytime, love. Have a seat.”
“Is something troubling you, child?”
You gulp the lump stuck in your throat, staring at your lap for a while before you meet your uncle’s gaze again. You shift in your seat.
You don’t know how to ask or, more precisely, the appropriate way to ask. A wide lungful enters your lungs. Why delay the inevitable?
You elect to dive right into your reason to be here.
“My mother. Well, she was wondering…” Your nerves buzz as your uncle’s sharp eyes cut into you. You clear your throat before continuing. “We were wondering if there were issues on your side because she hasn’t…” Sweat blooms inside your palms as your voice dwindles to a whisper. “Well, you haven’t sent anything like you usually do and it’s been two months now.”
A heavy coat of silence falls over the study. After a while, your uncle unleashes a deep sigh.
“And she sent you to vouch for her.”
“I’m sorry.” Your shoulders slump. “Mom, she…She isn’t really good with money.” This is a massive understatement, and from the way Uncle James’ eyes bear into yours, it’s clear that he’s also aware of that fact. As much as you love your mom, she’s never been the most responsible with money, often squandering it on flashy things and pretty clothes. More than once growing up, she fell short on a bill and you couldn’t even shower before going to school. “If you could help this one time, then I’ll figure something out for her. I promise.”
“And how do you plan on doing that, young lady?” your uncle challenges.
“I…I’ll find a way. We always find a way.”
“You’re a very good daughter, which I can appreciate…” Your pulse races as you wait with bated breath. “But I’ve given your mother more than enough for her to get on her feet. Still, she always asks for more.”
Your heart plummets. The finality laced in his tone didn’t elude you. Why did you even think you could sway your uncle’s opinion in any way when your own brother, who has been around the Cattons for years, couldn’t accomplish that feat?
“She has issues…but I promise, uncle, she’ll get herself together this time,” you offer.
“I will give it some thought.”
He flashes you a sympathetic smile. You recognize its meaning right away. It’s strikingly similar to the one Aunt Elspeth gave her “friend” at the dinner table.
Understanding you are being dismissed, you get up from the chair and bid your uncle good night.
“Thank you for listening,” you say glumly before leaving.
As Felix escorts you back to your bedroom, you can’t help but notice that Uncle James never once referred to your mother as his sister.
You frankly doubt he will give what you said any semblance of thought. In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if that entire conversation vanished from his head the second you stepped out of his study.
The rest of the week goes smoothly. Lazy summer days with your cousins and brother fly by in a hazy blur. Hanging by the pond beneath the sizzling sun. Displaying your terrible tennis playing skills to the entire group. Scary movie nights with the whole family during which Venetia and Felix laugh at you because you watch most of the film through your fingers and hide your face in a pillow whenever the monster appears.
It’s nice. You start thinking that reuniting with your extended family for the summer wasn’t such a rotten idea.
You nearly forget your mother. Nearly.
Though with the daily messages you receive detailing the squalor she’s living in, it’s impossible to forget. Guilt grows within you each day.
“She’s been texting you too?” Farleigh asks as he sits at the edge of the tennis court next to you. He’s still in his tux while you’re still wearing one of Venetia’s sparkly dresses, as all of you decided to sneak out of Aunt Elspeth’s uptight dinner party to catch the sunset and play a game of tennis. One thing you’ve come to learn about your cousins. They do whatever the hell they want, whenever the hell they want. Part of you envies that. The carefree knowledge that whatever mess you make, someone will clean up behind you…discreetly and in silence at that.
You flip your phone shut and sigh.
“Nonstop.” You sag in the chair. “I’ve done all I can.”
“Yeah…Me too.”
“I feel awful.”
You’re taken aback when your brother says, “Don’t. This isn’t your fault.”
You tentatively reach over his armchair to squeeze his hand.
“It’s not yours either,” you assure softly. Your brother shocks you when his fingers wrap around yours. You don’t think you held hands like this since you were toddlers. You were always the clingy one, following after your big brother like a lost puppy.
You and your brother remain like this for a while, eyes trailing the downward race of the sun over the horizon.
When night falls, you’re surprised to find a tall, familiar form slipping through the wall of your bedroom.
“Felix!” He puts a finger over his lips as a sign to lower your voice. It instantly dips to a whisper. “How did you get here?”
Amusement paints Felix’s features at your flabbergasted expression. He clicks the door shut.
You blink. Once closed, the secret entrance blends seamlessly into the wall. There is no way you could have known this was here.
“Secret passageway. Old castles like Saltburn have plenty of them,” he explains, crawling over your bed.
“Oh.”
As your eyes drag over his frame and you note that Felix’s just in his shorts, fire creeps inside your cheeks. Of course, you’ve seen your cousin in trunks but usually, it’s around the entire group. For some reason, a sliver of discomfort pools within you. You look away and clear your throat.
“Is it…okay for you to be here?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s just that…nothing.”
A deep chuckle peals from his chest. The mattress bounces as Felix lets himself fall onto your sheets. He makes himself comfortable on the pillow near you, putting his hands behind his head as a lazy smile spreads on his lips.
“Don’t be silly. We’re family. It’s like when we were little and we’d all sleep in the same bed.”
You can’t help but smile at that. He’s right; you’re overreacting.
“Right. That was so fun.”
He lies on his side, elbow bent as he buries one hand in his tousled brown curls.
“You used to have nightmares so you’d always sneak into my bed or Farleigh’s.”
“Now that you’re saying it, I think I remember that.”
“You’re still as cute as I remember.” Felix’s brown eyes twinkle as he drinks you in. “No…Even cuter.”
“Thanks.”
He approaches you and starts playing with the hem of your cotton shorts, twiddling the fabric between his forefinger and thumb.
Brown eyes dive right into yours.
“I saw you with Farleigh today. You looked sad.”
You shake your head.
“It’s nothing…just got some stuff on my mind.”
Felix’s smile dies.
“You also looked sad when you left Dad’s office the other day.”
You bristle. “It’s nothing important, really.”
“Your mom?” he inquires. When you don’t reply, Felix’s knuckles sweep over your outer thigh, his deep timbre softening, “You can trust me, cousin.”
You unleash a sharp, audible breath, budding tears tickling your eyelids.
“It’s just a lot. She’s asking things from me that I don’t know if I can do much about.”
Felix collects one of your stray tears with his thumb. He then snatches your hands from your lap and clutches them in his. They completely swallow yours.
“She shouldn’t ask anything of you. It’s not fair. You’re her daughter. She should protect you. Not the other way around.”
You sniffle. “I don’t know. It’s just been me and my mom for so long. Especially after Farleigh decided to stay in England most of the time. So I feel like…I need to take care of her, you know? Because she always took care of me.”
He cups your cheek, wiping more of your tears.
“You’re far too sweet for your own good, cousin.”
Felix then sits up and conjures a lighter and a blunt from the back pocket of his shorts.
You gawk at him as he lights it in front of you, taking a deep drag before blowing smoke in your face.
Your stomach tingles when he offers it to you.
“I don’t know if I should…”
Felix’s timbre lowers seductively as he grabs your hand and slips the roll between your fingers. Even holding it doesn’t feel right.
“Come on, you’ll feel better. It’ll free your mind. No thoughts. No troubles. Just…light and happy.”
“That sounds amazing,” you mumble.
“Then try a puff.”
You bring the blunt to your mouth and immediately cough.
“You gotta go slow,” he chuckles. Once you’ve retrieved your breath, he nudges it against your mouth again. “Here, another.”
The room begins to swirl around you. You lie back, a heady, cotton-like sensation spreading from your head to your toes.
“Damn…” you whisper as your limbs slacken, the tension in your body slowly melting away.
Felix lies back next to you, his grin growing.
“See? That’s why you should always listen to me, cousin.”
It becomes a habit, Felix sneaking into your room and the two of you smoking in your bed every night. Him slipping through the secret door doesn’t even faze you anymore, and your reservations about getting high evaporate a little more with every puff you inhale. The serene sensation and warm tingles you get afterwards are entirely too pleasant.
It’s something you’ve never experienced. Letting go. For a few precious minutes, the burdens on your shoulders can vanish.
You don’t tell Venetia, or even Farleigh. You still remember him going full big brother mode that one day when you tried to join the rest of them when they hung out naked in the field. The Cattons siblings laughed as you were escorted away, burning from head to toe at the humiliation.
You don’t want a repeat of that. Always being the good girl is exhausting. Not that your brother would understand. He gets to live life on his own terms. Get kicked out from as many schools as he likes. Charm his way through the world. You don’t. For once, you want to revel in doing something…a little forbidden. Something the nerdy, party-avert, studious girl you forced yourself to be all these years would never do.
So the nightly meetups become you and Felix’s secret.
It’s all casual, harmless fun. Until, one night, everything changes. As your head lolls back on the pillows, your gaze fixated on the ceiling, your cousin’s fingers dance over your half-exposed belly.
“Feeling better?” he mutters, his voice low and secretive.
“Yeah.”
“I know a way you can feel even better.”
You don’t think much of it. Not even when he slithers across the sheets, finding his way between your legs. He tugs your shorts down, slowly, until you’re down to your panties in front of him. The rush of cool air on your skin makes you tremble.
“Felix, what are you doing?” you chuckle, high enough not to fully register what’s going on.
A playful smile ghosts over your cousin’s lips. He blows on your clothed center and the sensation draws a giggle from you, even as a faint layer of panic is trying to pierce through the haze.
“You seemed so stressed today. It’ll help you relax…” he promises, trailing sluggish kisses up your inner thigh. As his lips travel upward, your stomach clenches. He hooks two fingers inside your panties to push them aside.
Your cousin’s gaze darkens, his smile broadening, as he basks in the sight of your bare, shuddering folds. He licks his lips before kissing the center of you.
Your limbs tense as Felix starts unraveling you with his tongue. He licks a stripe over your folds, his tongue tarrying over your tender bud. The breath catches in your throat. He traces slow circles over your button, tearing a soft gasp from you everytime he suckles the sensitive spot between his lips.
Felix hums while his head bobs between your thighs.
A tingly, warm feeling starts blooming in your core, scattering to your entire body. Hot and irresistible. A wave of heat that slowly takes over your entire frame.
You clutch the sheets.
Your eyes rise to the heavens as heat pulses through your core.
“No, Felix, this is… this is wrong,” you wheeze out between aching breaths.
His devious laughter ripples through your core.
“I’m just trying to make you feel good. How can that be wrong, cousin?” he says innocently, before flicking his tongue over your folds. He spreads you even more, dipping in and out of you as quiet shouts rip from your throat. Your back curves over the sheets. Your lids flutter as you peer at the ceiling unseeingly.
His sinful baritone nudges you to your undoing.
“Just let go. It’s okay. It’s just me.”
You quake, the tense heat growing too much to bear. Your insides coil. Sparks erupt from your center, traveling outward. Your body goes limp as you collapse over the sheets, dazed and breathless. Tears of arousal trickle from your core and your cousin greedily savors every wayward drop. Shame scalds your insides as you feel him lap up your nectar, your wide gaze glued to the ceiling.
The next morning, panic rushes through you as your eyes snap open.
“Hey, hey, you don’t need to freak out,” Felix says lightly, pulling you against him from behind. His hand settles over your rapidly moving chest.
“Last night…” you say, choking on a sob as you recall bits and pieces. You were so damn high. Still, you’re pretty sure what you think happened…happened. Even in your own head, you can’t put it into words. You rub your thighs. Stickiness lingers there from Felix’s ravenous tongue. Shame burns in your gut.
As you try to climb off the bed, Felix yanks you back. He slams you down on your back. Your heart jumps as he looms over you, his broad body easily caging yours.
He frames your chin, drawing your attention to him.
“We just had some fun, you and I,” he says, thumb tracing your quivering lip. “That’s all. No one ever has to know.”
Tears well up in your eyes as you keep pulling on your tiny camisole, pathetically attempting to cover your nakedness. Felix chuckles.
“Gosh, you really need to stop being so uptight, pretty cousin.”
He drops a quick peck on your cheek before dragging his lips over your earshell.
“It’s okay. We’ll work on loosening you up.”
For a few days, Felix doesn’t visit your room again. You’re thankful for that. You can barely meet your cousin’s gaze now, the fear of someone finding out what happened eating you alive. You can’t imagine coming back after so many years only to cause havoc and drama.
Your mom would be so disappointed. Your brother would be livid.
So you do as Felix says. You keep your lips firmly sealed. It’s not like it’ll go further than that anyway. The two of you were high, that’s what you keep telling yourself.
None of this would have happened otherwise.
Unfortunately, your meticulously crafted wall of denial explodes when your cousin shows up again one night.
You tremble as your eyes rest on him. Felix smiles at you, pushing the secret door closed. You note the camera dangling from his neck. The entire day was spent snapping pictures to remember the summer. You took so many silly ones with Venetia and your brother. For a while, you let yourself forget. Felix took most of the pictures today, appearing in very few himself. You just didn’t expect him to still be wearing it this late.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” you reply shyly.
“How are you feeling today?”
Your lips clamp shut. Today was awful. Apparently your mom might be getting evicted soon. She hasn’t stopped texting you about it the entire day, and even some of the night because of the time difference. You feel so dauntingly powerless…and awful. You’re staying in a literal castle while your mom might be homeless soon.
“I’m good.”
He takes lithe steps towards you, his handsome face twisting in sympathy as he plops down on your bed. He removes the camera from around his neck and tosses it over your pillows.
“No you’re not. You’re still worried about your mom. You were checking your phone all day today.”
You bring your knees close to your chest.
“It’s fine, Felix.”
Felix sighs, concern swimming in his brown gaze.
“No, it’s not fine.” His fingers roam over your ankle as he lies on his side. “You know…” Felix pauses, eyes holding yours. “I could talk to my dad if you want. He never refuses me anything.” He flashes a sunny grin. “After all, I’m his precious boy. His firstborn son.”
You gape at him.
“You really would do that for my mom?”
Felix sits up and closes the distance between the two of you. He bends over you, placing his large hands over your feet. You follow the stars tattoos etched atop his hand; his sister has the same ones if you recall.
His knees graze your ankles as he says, “Not for your mom. For you, cousin. So that frown on your face can finally…” He flicks your brow with his thumb and laughs. “...disappear. Like magic.”
You consider Felix, relief and awe storming through you.
Without giving it much thought, you toss your arms around his neck.
“Thank you so much,” you exclaim.
“Of course…” His fingers travel along your spine. “I’d just have a little favor to ask in return.”
“Sure, anything,” you answer easily.
He pulls back, lacing his fingers with yours.
“It’s not much.”
The heady scent of his cologne washes over you as he leans forward.
“I’ve been aching somewhere lately and I need you to make it better, cousin.”
“Oh, aching…where?”
“I think it’s best if I just show you.”
A foreboding inkling flares in your gut. Still, you don’t move as Felix “shows you”. He tugs on his shorts. He slowly pulls on the fabric, shimmying out of it as you hold your breath. When his length springs free, you unleash a small squeak. Your reaction drags a laugh out of Felix.
Though you don’t really want to, you can’t help but stare. It’s thick and long with veins running alongside the shaft. The tip points upward, glistening and red.
“I don’t know if I can help with…something like that,” you mumble, your voice wavering at the end.
“Sure you can.”
He lifts your chin, diving his eyes into yours.
“I just need somewhere warm, and soft, to slip the tip of my cock so it doesn’t hurt anymore.”
Shock parts your lips.
“Felix…”
He hooks his thumb inside your open mouth, a lopsided grin stretching on his face.
“Come on, it’ll just be the tip, I promise. Then we never have to talk about it anymore. You won’t even feel it, I swear.”
“Just the…tip?” you say, your throat knotting as your gaze drifts down. You take in Felix’s size, swallowing thickly. It matches the rest of him, you suppose. You don’t even think it could fit, not fully. So just the tip is probably for the best. “Nothing more?”
“Just the tip. And I’ll talk to my dad first thing in the morning.” He strokes your cheek, uttering softly, “I bet your mom will be so happy for what you did for her.”
You heave out a deep, resigned breath. Right, your mom. While you’re not too comfortable with what Felix is asking for, if it means he’ll talk to Uncle James, you don’t have it in you to refuse. A favor for a favor. Then you’ll spend the rest of the summer forgetting it ever happened. You can do that.
You peer up at Felix.
“Okay then but don’t…stay too long.”
He beams at you.
“You’re amazing.”
Felix leans back. He removes his shorts fully, revealing himself in all his naked glory.
“Just lay back for me, cousin,” he instructs. He slants his head, satisfaction filling his gaze when you do as he says. “Open those perfect legs of yours.” His pupils swell with lust as you part your quivering thighs.
“Good girl,” he praises.
Felix crawls over you. You freeze. He grips the waistband of your pajama bottoms to slide them off your legs. He takes his time, agonizingly slow as he soaks in every tiny shift on your face. Horror curls your insides. You wish he’d just get it over with. But it’s clear Felix wishes to enjoy every mortifying second of this.
Your panties are next. Once again, he drags it out. Warmth blooms in your face as cool air hits your bare folds. It’s worse than last time, because there’s nothing to dull your senses, or pretend it isn’t happening.
“Don’t close your legs. I want to see everything,” he says when you try to hide from him. His throat bobs, hunger lurking in his eyes as he licks his lips. “You have a really pretty pussy, you know that, cousin?”
“Please, don’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“B-Because it’s embarrassing.”
He smirks.
“You’re so fucking cute.”
Your cousin plucks the discarded camera and points it at your face. The blinding light sears your eyelids as he quickly snaps a series of pictures of you in the compromising position.
Adrenaline pumps through your veins, your pulse soaring.
“W-Why did you just take a picture?”
“Because I want to remember you like this.”
He chortles as you try to snatch the camera from his hands, keeping it out of your reach with ease with his long arm.
“Delete it, Felix,” you plead.
He tilts his head, his expression dripping with mischief.
“Sure, if you do everything I say, I’ll delete it.”
Tears brim beneath your lashes. You want to trust Felix. You really do. But he always asks for more. You wonder where it’ll end, if it ever will.
“You promise?”
“Of course. I’d never lie to you, cousin.”
He places the camera on the floor near the bed. If you thought you could get past him, destroy the camera, you would. However you’re beginning to realize something about Felix. He always gets his way.
He crawls his way to you. You don’t resist as Felix nudges you down, trapping you beneath him. The fitful drumming of your heart fills your ears.
He bends down, stealing your lips in a heated kiss. His lips sweep over yours, hungry, feverish. He cups the side of your face, moaning as he explores your mouth. His hands start wandering over your body. They feel everywhere at once, kneading and teasing your flesh. Felix pulls your top over your head so you’re in nothing but your bra.
He deepens the kiss, his tongue stealing your air and sanity. You melt beneath him.
The air is robbed from your lungs when he starts prodding at your entrance. Your fingers clench around the sheets. His thick tip stretches you so much already. You can barely take it.
His voice comes out hoarse and strained.
“You feel so bloody good.”
He pushes a bit more. You tense, your walls aching at his size. Your tearful gaze rises to the ceiling. Felix seizes your chin, pulling it so your eyes lock with his.
“Look at me,” he instructs.
He piledrives into you, sheathing himself inside you completely. Your vision flickers as he finds the hilt of you. Your lips part in a silent scream. Your chest heaves and falls quickly.
“Felix, you said…”
He shushes you, pinning both of your wrists above your head as he begins moving inside you. A wicked glow burns in Felix’s brown gaze. “I know what I said…but it feels too good inside you, cousin.”
“But you promised...” you sob.
He kisses away your tears, his voice mellowing.
“I’m sorry,” he says after thrusting inside you deeply. “I’m so sorry…” Your toes flex, stars creeping in your sight with each of your cousin’s vigorous thrusts. His pace doesn’t relent, even as you weep and plead him with your eyes. He almost seems to pluck joy from your quiet helplessness. His chest brushes over yours as his lips ghost over your earshell. “But I don’t think I can stop.”
Your breathing quickens. As Felix’s cock grazes along your sensitive spots, little whimpers spill from your throat. He drapes one hand over your mouth, still pounding inside you.
“Shh, be quiet for me, cousin. Wouldn’t want anyone to hear us, right?”
“I think our uncle likes you better than me.”
You look at your brother through your sunglasses. You’re thankful for them. They’ve done a nice job concealing the puffiness of your eyes. You’ve been crying a lot lately. Too often. It started the night Felix snuck into your room and the flood hasn’t really stopped since. All of it turns your stomach. The lying, the sneaking around…the sick, twisted lies. His sick, twisted lies. It was supposed to just be one time.
Felix deceived you.
Every night since that one, your cousin found his way into your room, coaxing you to do things that make you hate yourself afterwards. It’s even slowly escalated to daily trysts. Felix would conjure excuses to steal you away while your other relatives are blissfully unaware. Having his way with you in a dark corner. Fingering you in the library. Cornering you in the maze to taste the nectar between your legs. Your cousin seems determined to make sure no inch of Saltburn isn’t tainted by his wicked desires.
This is a nightmare.
Your mom was so overjoyed on the phone after receiving Uncle James’ payment. And you’re glad you could help. But the cost…Did your mother’s happiness have to occur at your expense? You’re so exhausted, ashamed. You don’t know how long you can stand to be the vessel for your cousin’s lurid fantasies.
Even proper rest is denied to you now, the fear of someone figuring it out keeping you wide awake for hours every night.
“I doubt that,” you say, your lips curving in a stilted smile.
Farleigh leans back in his lounge chair, pushing his sunglasses over his nose.
“Still, good job, little sis.” A wide grin blooms on his face. “Guess being a goody two-shoes has its perks.”
Your chest clenches at your brother’s remark.
As Felix’s eyes find yours from across the pond, your blood freezes. He smiles at you. Goosebumps erupt on your skin. You shift, your attention returning to your brother.
“I-I don’t know about that.”
You thought the awfulness reached its peak. You were wrong. A new brand of twisted is introduced by Felix during breakfast with the entire family.
He sits next to you, smiling at you. You don’t think much of it. Why would you? He’s done this before. Taunt you. Tease you. Torment you. Even in front of the rest of them.
But what he does today, while Aunt Elspeth sits across from you and your brother is on your other side…it’s just ghastly. Impious.
Felix’s digits roam atop your thigh. You shoot him a glare. He pointedly ignores you, carrying a casual conversation with his mom while playing with the hem of your dress.
You focus on your plate. He caresses the inside of your thigh as you bring the fork to your lips.
He presses two fingers against your clothed center. Pushing, pressing and swirling around your tender bud. Your knees rub, heat gathering at the apex of your thighs.
The metal of the fork damn near shatters your teeth as you choke on a mouthful of eggs.
You apologize swiftly, shakily grabbing the glass of water near your plate. You take a long swig from it and clear your throat. Felix’s digits dip further inside you. Your breath hitches. He stops just shy of letting you come apart, bringing you to the cusp only to retreat at the very last second. A meticulously thought out torture.
It lasts for almost the entirety of breakfast, only reaching an end when Venetia rises from the table. You follow right after her, excusing yourself with a tense smile.
Hollow steps take you through an endless series of hallways. You can hardly even think, the enormity of what your cousin just did in front of his parents, in front of everyone, shocking you into numbness. Where will his depravity end? You long for summer to end so perhaps you can finally be free from your cousin.
You wind up in an empty room brimming with dusty books and antiques. You sit in a corner, knees against your chest, as you revel in a rare moment of respite. You don’t get these as often anymore. Not if your cousin has anything to say about it.
As usual, it doesn’t take long for Felix to find you a little later. Your heart skips a beat when his towering frame darkens the doorway, blocking any chance of an escape.
“Playing hide and seek, cousin?” he teases, amusement laced in his voice.
Tears swim in your eyes as you shoot him an accusing look.
“At breakfast, really? Someone could have seen, Felix. M-My brother, he could have seen.”
Rolling his eyes, he hops towards you to take a seat next to you. His rebuttal is disturbingly nonchalant.
“We’re not gonna get caught.”
“I think we should stop,” you sputter, your mouth wobbling.
His brows squeeze together, a mix of annoyance and confusion twisting his features.
“Why?”
You fiddle with the bottom of your dress, struggling to meet his irate stare.
“I’m grateful for everything you did, really, but this doesn’t feel right.”
His cheek pulses, a strange grin dragging his lips upward. Your stomach sinks.
“We’re just having fun, you and I, cousin.”
Your words warp into a watery croak.
“This isn’t fun, Felix.”
A weary sigh drops from his chest.
“It’s because you’re overthinking it,” he says, reaching out to cup your cheek. You turn your head. Frustration flickers in your cousin’s eyes. As you try to stand, he grabs you and shoves you on the floor.
“Felix, no…”
Ignoring your sniveling pleas, Felix hastily unzips his jeans and yanks your underwear down to your ankles.
A strangled sob flows from your lips as he nestles himself inside your wet heat in a single deep, cruel thrust.
You’re a whimpering mess on the floor as your cousin pounds into you from behind.
“Just stop fighting it,” he grunts. He twists his fist in your hair, your scalp singing in pain when he tugs at your roots. Tears stream down your face while your cousin snaps his pelvis into your ass.
“See? This is good.” His warm, heavy exhales tickle your nape. “Doesn’t my cock inside you feel good, cousin?”
“Yes…” you begrudgingly admit, loathing how every time he sinks into you, your toes curl and your eyes roll back on their own, warm tingles dancing through your core.
“Look outside.” You wince as he angles your chin towards the window, his other hand still tangled in your hair. You’re greeted with a beautiful sight of the lush gardens sprawling before the castle. His hot whisper grazes your temple. “Do you see all this? How beautiful Saltburn is…especially in the summer.” His smile carves into your skin.
“One day, all of this will be mine, cousin.” He plants a soft kiss on your cheek. Shivers course through your spine. “And it could be yours too… if you behave.”
#saltburn#felix catton#saltburn fanfiction#felix catton x reader#dark!felix catton#dark!felix catton x reader#saltburn 2023
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Little fic where is alexia dating an English player who finds it difficult how affectionate Spanish people are with each other. Alexia having to reassure her that it’s a Spanish thing and she’ll try to be less touchy etc.
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You’re not sure when exactly it starts to get on your nerves, but by the time you notice, you’re on a sun-bleached terrace in Barcelona, watching Alexia kiss three people hello in under five minutes. It's an odd thing to obsess over, and yet here you are, eyes narrowed as you sip on an overpriced cortado that tastes like dust and regret. You’re not jealous. Of course not. That would be absurd. You’re simply... perplexed by the excessive touching, the relentless stream of hugs, kisses, and arm squeezes that seem to form the bedrock of Spanish existence. Everyone’s always touching someone.
In England, a handshake is intimate enough, and in London, where you’re from, if anyone dared speak before your tea even cooled, you’d probably alert the authorities. But here? It's practically a greeting card in motion. You’ve seen grown men embrace in the street like they’ve just survived a shipwreck. It's baffling.
Alexia sits down across from you, smiling in that way that makes you feel foolish for being annoyed by anything. She’s impossibly beautiful, and the knowledge of that fact gnaws at you constantly. She’s all golden skin and nonchalance, legs casually crossed, one hand fiddling with her sunglasses as if she’s in some sort of commercial for ‘cool.’
“Are you okay?” she asks, her accent making every word sound softer than it should be, like it's wrapped in velvet. She’s genuinely concerned, or she’s pretending really well. You can’t tell which.
“Yeah,” you say. “Fine”
And then, because you’re not actually fine: “Do you have to kiss everyone?”
She looks at you like you’ve just asked if the sky is blue. “It’s how we greet people here”
“I know that,” you say, setting your cup down with more force than necessary. “But does it have to be every time? You’ve kissed three strangers today already, and it’s not even noon”
Alexia blinks at you, then laughs. “It’s just being polite”
Polite? You're thinking. In England, you say "hi" and move on with your day. No one has to swap saliva to prove they like you. But this? This is something else.
“Well, it’s... it’s excessive.” You try to explain, gesturing vaguely in the air like you can catch the sheer madness of it all. “People just... touch all the time. And I’m not used to it”
Alexia’s mouth twitches, trying to suppress a smile. “We’re just more affectionate”
“Affectionate?” you say. “It’s like a plague of hand-holding and cheek-kissing”
She finally lets out a laugh, full-bodied, the kind that makes her eyes crinkle. “You sound like an old lady”
“Maybe I am,” you mutter, trying to keep a straight face. “Maybe England has made me emotionally unavailable”
Alexia reaches out to touch your arm, then stops, hesitating, her hand hovering mid-air like she’s not sure if it’ll set you off again. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No, no,” you sigh, waving her hand toward you, now feeling like the crazy one. “It’s fine. Just... give me a heads-up before the next 12-person cuddle fest”
She grins, leaning back. “I can try”
You shake your head, biting back a smile. “You’re so annoying”
“And you love it
You do. And you hate that you do, which is probably the worst part of all this. She knows you’re wound too tight for your own good, and she’s infinitely more relaxed about everything, like the world bends to her will instead of the other way around.
You finish your cortado, now cold. “You realise you kissed the barista on the way in, right?”
Alexia nods, grinning wickedly. “She made my coffee right”
You groan, but you’re laughing, which only encourages her. “I’m never letting you set foot in the UK again”
“That’s fine,” she says, leaning in, all confidence. “Spain suits you better anyway. You just don’t know it yet”
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unspoken | jude bellingham
pairing: jude bellingham x reader request: yes /can you please write something about the reader being from italy and finding it hard to pronounce many english word, and shes out with jude and people they’re with start making snarky comments. like they are all making fun of her accent and at first she acts like she’s fine but then jude realises she is quieter than usual and jude just comforts her pls author’s note: thank you so muchhh for the request! hope you liked it! 👀
It was a warm evening, the kind where the air buzzed with energy, and we found ourselves sitting around a table with some of Jude’s friends, laughing and chatting over dinner. I hadn’t met all of them before, but Jude made sure I felt included, keeping me close with his arm draped casually over my chair.
The night was going well, everyone swapping stories and jokes, the conversation flowing easily—until it didn’t.
Someone cracked a joke, and I tried to jump in, tossing a comment that made sense in my head. But the words stumbled out, my accent thick on my tongue. I saw one of the girls across the table glance at her friend, stifling a laugh.
"Sorry, what did you say?" she asked, her smile a little too sharp.
I repeated myself, slower this time, making sure I was saying it right. The sound of my voice, though, felt wrong—like I was standing out in a way I didn’t want to.
“That’s adorable,” one of the guys chimed in with a chuckle. “Your accent really does all the talking, doesn’t it?”
There was a round of light laughs, and I forced a smile, even though it felt like I’d been slapped.
“Yeah, I guess so,” I muttered, trying to laugh it off.
The conversation shifted, but the feeling lingered. Every time I opened my mouth after that, I could hear the way the words didn’t quite fit, like puzzle pieces forced into the wrong spots. And every once in a while, one of them would make another subtle remark, like they were amused by the way I spoke.
Jude was talking to one of his teammates, his hand still resting on the back of my chair. He hadn’t seemed to notice yet. I didn’t want to make a scene, so I played along, acting like the jokes didn’t bother me. But they did. Each one chipped away at the confidence I’d built up, leaving me quieter than usual, sinking into myself.
I stared at my glass, swirling the drink around, nodding along when I was supposed to, but feeling like I wasn’t really there.
It wasn’t until we left the restaurant, walking towards the car, that Jude seemed to pick up on it. He slid his hand into mine, glancing down at me.
“You alright, love? You’ve been quiet tonight.”
I shrugged, hoping he wouldn’t press further. “Just tired.”
He didn’t buy it. Jude stopped walking, gently pulling me aside so we weren’t within earshot of the others.
“No, something’s up. You’re not yourself.”
His eyes searched mine, concern etched on his face. It was one of the things I loved about him—how he always paid attention, even when I tried to hide things.
“It’s nothing, really. Just… they kept making fun of my accent.” I forced a smile, but my voice cracked. “It’s not a big deal.” I sighed, my shoulders slumping.
“Who?” Jude’s expression hardened.
“It’s fine, Jude. They didn’t mean it like that. It was just jokes.” I shook my head quickly.
“They upset you,” he said simply, his jaw clenched now. “That’s not okay.”
"I just… I try so hard. I know I don’t sound like everyone else, and I don’t want to embarrass you—” I bit my lip, trying to keep my composure, but the frustration bubbled up.
“You think you embarrass me?” He cut me off, his voice gentle but firm. His hands came up to cradle my face, forcing me to look at him. “Babe, you could never embarrass me. I love everything about you, including the way you speak.”
I felt my eyes sting with tears, the weight of the evening pressing down on me.
“It’s just hard. I don’t want people to think I’m stupid because I can’t say things the right way.”
Jude’s thumb brushed a tear from my cheek before it could fall.
“You’re not stupid, and I don’t care what anyone thinks. Your accent is beautiful. You don’t have to change for anyone.”
“Thank you.” I let out a shaky breath, leaning into his touch.
"Next time someone makes a comment, you tell me. I don’t care if it’s a joke—they don’t get to make you feel like that.” He kissed my forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment.
I smiled up at him, feeling a little lighter.
“You’re not going to punch anyone, are you?”
His lips curled into a smirk. “Only if they deserve it.”
We both laughed softly, the tension melting away as we walked back to the car, hand in hand.
#jude bellingham#jude bellingham x you#jude bellingham blurb#jude bellingham fluff#jude bellingham x reader#jude bellingham imagine#jude bellingham oneshot#jude bellingham imagines#jude bellingham blurbs#football blurb#football imagines#football imagine#footballer imagine
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424
All right, listen. It’s pretty damn funny that two weeks ago I posted all like, “oh I don’t really comment chapter-by-chapter, I’m waiting to see what happens next,” but this one broke me.
This chapter was everything I wanted for bkdk, and it’s so much more tender than I ever dreamed it could be.
This post is not going to be like most of my posts, because I am a flood of emotion. If you’re wanting some detailed, well-researched analysis of this scene, that ain’t coming for a while.
I don’t have some kind of comparative linguistics to show you. I just have my visceral reactions as someone who speaks Japanese and has absorbed Japanese media for many years. I have shared my heart with others in Japanese, I’ve sputtered out words between sobs and felt the many kinds of comfort different people try to offer. I have comforted others who let themselves be vulnerable with me.
In all these moments, just as in English, I wondered if my words and feelings reached them. Each time, I felt the warmth of connection when they looked at me, and I decided that they knew I did my best. They accepted me, even if it wasn’t perfect.
I’m gonna tell you the truth, and I wouldn’t normally say this so directly, but it matters to me: the fan translation for this specific scene is not good. The tone is wildly off in some ways and it outright omits a number of very important words.
The official translation gets so much of it right.
But that’s not really what I want to talk about right now. I want to talk about how people are reading this scene.
I have seen a ton of, frankly, oblivious interpretations of Izuku’s side of things.
Listen to me. Izuku is not making fun of Katsuki for crying, he is not telling Katsuki that crying isn’t like him, that isn’t in the text at all. He is not rejecting Katsuki’s feelings, or belittling them, or ignoring them, or any of that.
Izuku has seen Katsuki cry in-canon a number of times, but every time it was over his own personal failures, and the frustration, anger, guilt, and grief associated with them. We see it in the aftermath of Deku vs. Kacchan 1. We see it during Deku vs. Kacchan 2.
Izuku is shocked to see Kacchan cry because this is the first time he has cried for Izuku.
When Katsuki apologized in 322, he looked Izuku in the eye and told him his feelings with conviction and poise. He was gentle and vulnerable, but strong, because he was asking Izuku to trust them and rely on them. To come back with them and believe in them, like they believe in Izuku. He bowed his head to show his remorse. He caught Izuku when he fell, and he accepted Izuku’s own apology.
He embodied dignity, sincerity, and strength of character. He was a true hero.
This?
This is the raw, honest sorrow of a young boy. It is a tender, earnest, unguarded display of how much Izuku means to him.
These are the tears you shed for someone you cherish. These are tears for when you think you are losing something you can’t live without. Because Katsuki isn’t just crying for the loss of Izuku’s dream—it’s their dream, the future they dreamt up together as kids.
Izuku is almost pathologically incapable of understanding how other people see him and feel about him, but this is unmistakable. He is stunned because there is no other explanation.
There is unmitigated heartache and longing at the core of Katsuki saying, “I just thought somehow we would be together like this, competing and chasing after each other, forever.”
And Izuku is reeling, but so, so touched, and filled with fondness. Look at how his shock shifts to this overwhelmed, affectionate smile.
He’s right—this isn’t the usual Katsuki, and that is precisely why it means so much. We as the audience have been privy to Katsuki’s feelings, but until now Izuku himself has never really grasped the depth of them. This is all the tenderness Katsuki has kept locked up inside, and he is letting Izuku see it for the first time.
To see Kacchan—strong, fierce, and absolutely unstoppable—shed these innocent, helpless tears for him and tell him through sobs that he wanted things to stay this way forever, I can’t blame him for being blown away.
I think Izuku expected Katsuki to be shocked and a little sad that he gave up OFA, both for Izuku’s sake and because it is the legacy of their hero. Before Katsuki even starts crying, Izuku has this small smile on his face, like he was ready to reassure him that he had made peace with his own choice.
But he clearly didn’t expect for Katsuki to weep openly in front of him about it or to confess to wanting him by his side. Izuku had so enjoyed just being allowed near Katsuki, allowed in his life at all—to think that Katsuki could want the same and want it this much, to the point that he worries that things would change, that Izuku would abandon him or deny him? How could that ever be?
In what world could Izuku ever stop chasing Kacchan?
Izuku is a bit of an idiot. He has always thought that Katsuki understood how much he cared for and admired him—that’s why he is so shocked during DvK2 to hear that Katsuki thought he looked down on him for years. Izuku thought Katsuki understood his feelings and simply rejected them.
The way he loves Kacchan is natural and unquestionable. Even now, he can’t understand how Katsuki doesn’t know. It’s baffling to him.
But he still accepts Katsuki’s vulnerability and responds to the intimacy.
This is such an affectionate, loving thing to say. Izuku is being so sweet. I cannot convey to you strongly enough how Izuku telling Katsuki, “C’mon, stop it, this isn’t like you!” reaffirms their closeness.
If Izuku had not said this line and instead skipped straight to this nervous, awkward little attempt at comfort here:
It would have read as so much more distant.
With his tears and his confession, Katsuki pleads with Izuku to not leave him. To be with him always.
And in response, Izuku unabashedly stakes his claim on their bond by being bold enough to affectionately scold him and even assert authority on what kind of person Katsuki is. Remember these?
Chapters 202 and 319
This is such a staple in Japanese media for showing close bonds. Your loved ones know you. They tease you. They scold you. They have that right. You gave it to them.
The people you love cheer you up by reminding you that you’re strong and brave and that even if things feel hopeless and like you can’t go on, that they know you can. Everything will be okay, and they know so because they’ll be right there with you. Of course they’ll be there.
Symbolically, throughout the series, Izuku’s response to Katsuki trying to be closer to him has always been: “Of course.”
He has always accepted Katsuki as much as he is able to, as much as he had awareness for. He is wildly lacking in self-awareness, so it’s certainly not perfect, but by god does he try.
What Izuku is really saying is a mixture of “Really? You want that, too?” and “Don’t be silly!”
One part is him being shocked and touched; the other is him being absolutely certain of his own heart, and showing it as best he can.
He does get flustered and self-conscious, though—because it’s overwhelming to see Kacchan this way, and this is kind of new territory for them. So he switches tactics to reassure Kacchan about how things are now, and make sure he doesn’t feel embarrassed about this outburst. He still has the embers, so it’s okay for now. And their bodies are weak, so of course their heads will be in a bad place too, it’s easy to get low spirits. Of course Katsuki would be feeling vulnerable. It’s normal.
He gives Katsuki so many things here. He gives him as much as he can.
Izuku doesn’t know how long he’ll have the embers for and, frankly, he doesn’t have any guarantee that he will be able to satisfy this longing of Katsuki’s after he loses them. This, too, is a staple of promises in Japanese media: “I don’t know if I can satisfy you, but I want to try. I hope you can accept me.”
Things will be different—the future is always uncertain, now more than ever for their world. But what will never change is what they feel in their hearts.
After this scene, I honestly don’t care if we get something other people see as “bkdk canon.”
What Katsuki says is as good as a confession to me. What Izuku says in return is genuine and pure. This is a messy pair of teenage boys figuring out how to reach each other with words, when they have always been so damn bad at it. This is the two of them both reaching a new point of intimacy and reaffirming everything that came before.
#bkdk#bakudeku#mha 424#meta#mha spoilers#mha manga spoilers#I swear to god I will fight everyone#my heart is dying at the LACK OF APPRECIATION FOR WHAT'S HAPPENING HERE#some of us need to learn how to love Izuku the way Kacchan loves Izuku
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Rooted Connections Pt.2
Charles Xavier x Reader x Erik Lensherr
the gender of the reader is not specified
Note: I will not make a third part, I hope you like it. Also reminder that English is not my first language, let me know if there are any mistakes I didn't notice (especially with pronouns).
Summary: feelings come out, plants love romance and you are still as blind as in the first part.
Finally, peace.
After supposedly saving the future from great chaos, Charles decided to reopen the doors of his school, offering you to stay with him. You accepted because you didn't want to leave him alone, feeling his sadness through the earth. Although in reality, he wasn’t alone; he now had his students, but the connection the three of you had created was so strong that you feared that if you also left, he would break again.
Years have passed, and now the school is full, and you are a teacher.
You walk through the halls, searching for something, maybe someone, though you’re not sure. The mansion’s plants have warned you but haven’t specified anything, so you proceed cautiously, trying to find some intruder.
"Professor Y/N,” you hear, a voice you know well.
“What is it, Jean?” You turn around; you can’t see her clearly, but you can feel her nerves and hear her heart beating faster than usual.
“Someone is approaching from the backyard.”
Before she finishes speaking, you are already running to the backyard. The plants don’t want to reveal anything, and for some reason, you don’t feel any unusual presence, leading you to assume that the earth doesn’t want you to know who the intruder is on purpose.
Once your bare feet touch the green, damp grass, you stop feeling the presence of everyone at the school except for the person sitting on the grass a few feet away from you, and Charles, who is coming up behind you.
You take slow steps toward the seated person, hearing a gasp behind you. You sit down next to him and wait for Charles to come closer until he is on the other side of the man.
“What are you doing here, Erik?” Charles asks. You can feel his conflicting emotions through his voice. On one hand, he is happy to see him again and that it isn’t to stop him from killing all of humanity and condemning mutants. On the other hand, he’d love to punch him again for prioritizing revenge and abandoning him.
But you focus more on the absolute pain you feel from Erik through the earth. You can feel him mourning, yet also very angry, seeking comfort to avoid vengeance.
When Charles doesn’t receive any response, and you can assume he also starts to feel the man’s emotions, you wrap your arm around Erik’s shoulders, pulling him into a side hug, enough for him to start crying.
“I tried,” he sobs into your neck, while Charles sits on the ground, leaving the chair aside and firmly holding Erik’s hand between his own. “I tried to live like them, to blend in, and they… they killed my wife and daughter.”
You don’t know what to say; you don’t know how to comfort him with words, so you just rub his back. You know Charles is afraid of saying something wrong, something that will only make the situation worse, so both of you remain silent, comforting your old friend (and the third missing piece of the puzzle) through gentle touches.
“I didn’t know where else to go… you’re all I have left.”
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You weren’t born blind; you had the privilege of seeing the color of the sky and vegetation. You had the privilege of having a favorite color, but an accident occurred, and it was no longer worth thinking about things like a favorite book or a favorite flower because you couldn’t see anything anymore.
Plants are very talkative; they always have been. They love to gossip, and they love drama. The day before the accident, they were very hysterical, sensing something bad was coming, but they couldn’t say what.
Then the accident happened, and you were hospitalized. The plants felt guilty, apologizing over and over, even the plants you didn’t know but who knew you, apologizing and feeling ashamed that they hadn’t been useful, that they couldn’t prevent the tragedy.
It was when you lost your sight that your powers began to manifest: control of the earth, the ability to feel through it. Your mentors were the plants, the trees, and the earth itself. You learned that you could see through the roots of trees, and that was an easy way to find something or someone.
When you met Charles, even before the man arrived at your house, the plants were more talkative than usual. They told you everything they knew, like how Logan was from the future and needed help, your help. But they mostly talked about Professor X and a puzzle. You couldn’t understand them, but their excitement amused you.
When they freed Erik from that cell, the plants began talking non-stop again, once more about a supposed puzzle and Erik’s entire life, about how angry they were with some of his actions but how much they appreciated him.
The first time they fell completely silent was when Erik shot Raven; the second was when Erik fled to avoid being captured.
The third time you didn’t understand the silence; you were listening to Charles reading to his younger students, and out of nowhere, the plants fell silent, a mourning silence.
And the fourth time was the day after the third when Erik appeared unannounced at the school. Although it was more for drama—did I mention they are dramatic?
Erik stayed at the school, purposely obtaining the room that was between yours and Charles’.
If before the plants always talked about Charles, Erik, and his family and the children at school, now, whenever you entered your room, they only talked about Charles and Erik. You only heard about the children if you went outside.
A couple of years have passed. Erik is visibly better, happier, and that makes you happy because it’s real, he’s not pretending, and you’re the first to know that.
-------------------------------------------------------
Your room is a madhouse; you feel like you’re losing your sanity. They won’t stop talking about how handsome, intelligent, and kind Charles is, or how hot, serious, and cunning Erik is. They have the audacity to tease you for not being able to see them, those bitches. When did they go from remorse to mockery?
“What time is it?” you ask, tired, sitting on the edge of your bed while putting on your sunglasses. They all ignore you, except for some jasmine flowers Charles gave you for your birthday along with some heart-shaped sunglasses.
You leave the room, grateful for the silence the hallway plants give you. You don’t know what to do; maybe you’ll go to the kitchen and eat some ice cream, you’re not sure.
When you arrive at the kitchen and take out a tub of ice cream and a spoon, you’re surprised that no plant has told you not to eat something so cold in the middle of the night, raising your suspicions.
You focus on the earth, sensing how all the children and adults are sleeping, everyone except Xavier and Lensherr, which makes you sigh tiredly.
Lately, the plants not only wouldn’t stop talking about them, but they also did everything possible to ensure you spent most of your time in the same room with them, and you only complied because deep down, you wanted that too.
You finish the ice cream and walk through the halls to Charles’ office, without any obstacles in the way (the children make sure not to leave anything lying around that might hinder you, even though they know you could easily avoid it; they fear you might get distracted and have an accident).
—“Come in”— you hear in your head, making you jump in place, and some nearby flowers laugh.
You open the door, and for some reason, they’re both sitting on a three-seater couch. Charles’ wheelchair is set aside to not get in the way, and the plants laugh conspiratorially.
«Speak of the devil…» a flower murmurs, sparking your curiosity.
“Can’t sleep?” Xavier asks. You shake your head. The other man is silent; you know he’s watching you, his intense gaze on you. Sometimes you think he has the power to read souls and keeps it a secret.
Charles laughs at your thought, but you don’t notice him elbowing Erik to stop being so obvious.
“Come sit with us, darling.”
The flowers and plants in the room react as if the pet name was directed at them, as if expressing what you don’t dare express even in your own head for fear the telepath might discover your feelings.
Smiling, you approach the couch. Erik, the closest to you, takes your hand and guides you to sit between them.
“What were you talking about?” you ask.
“Nothing important; we were just planning to take the older kids on a field trip, maybe,” Charles responds, and you know he’s not lying, but from the booing of the plants, you can tell that wasn’t what they were discussing before you arrived.
Erik remains silent; you can’t figure out why. Lately, you can’t sense his feelings, only his emotions, and you can guess that the earth is hiding them on purpose—or maybe the metal?
What you do sense is his knee brushing against yours and his gaze trying not to linger on you for too long.
You tilt your head to one side, sharpening your hearing, trying to pick up something more; you don’t know what, but you want to hear all their movements and, above all, the beating of their hearts.
Just when you perfectly hear their rapid heartbeats, the plants start making a ruckus, making you frown.
“What’s wrong?” Erik finally speaks.
“Why don’t the plants want me to hear your heartbeats?”
Unbeknownst to you, Erik and Charles share a wide-eyed look of complicity.
—“We should tell her”— Erik.
—“Now?”— Charles.
The silence between the two men creates a lump in your throat. Since that day on the plane, you felt like you were missing something in the dynamic, all because you couldn’t see. You felt out of place in moments like these, where they might be communicating with just a glance—or worse, telepathically. You hated the thought that they were having secret conversations, thinking that they were using the fact that you couldn't see to communicate in secret. And you hated knowing they were communicating because you could feel the change in emotions through the ground, but what you hated even more was that now you couldn't even feel the emotions of the two men because nature decided to turn its back on you this time.
Tired, you get up from the couch.
"Sorry for interrupting your time alone, I'm going to bed."
You avoid the obstacles you can't feel now but know are there.
"Y/N, no, wait! It's not what you think, let me explain," Charles says, while Erik gets up and runs towards you, grabbing you so you won't escape (and without you knowing, preventing you from bumping into the closed door).
"Listen to them, listen to them, listen to them," the plants chant in unison as you squirm in his grip. The earth allows you to see through your feet again, finally letting you feel the emotions of the two men, which makes you stop struggling and fall into shock at what you're sensing.
"You two are in love," you whisper.
Erik leads you back to the couch and sits you down so that you're facing the telepath, while he hugs you from behind and hides his face in the crook of your neck. He's embarrassed.
Charles gently removes your sunglasses, and you can feel his emotions not just through the ground but also inside your head. He takes your hand in his.
"We’ve been debating whether or not to tell you; we didn't know how you'd react, darling."
"So much secrecy just to tell me you two are dating? I'm not homophobic if that's what you were worried about," you say with an amused smile.
You're sure both men are rolling their eyes.
«Don't be an idiot» a flower says.
"Shush."
Charles laughs while Erik raises an eyebrow in a questioning manner towards him, knowing he's missing something.
"We're not just dating, Y/N. We love you as much as we love each other, and we want you to be a part of what we have because you're the missing piece of the puzzle," says Charles.
"And we want you to be officially ours," adds Erik.
Their words take you by surprise, making your heart race a thousand miles an hour. You're sure you're blushing, and loose words echo in your head.
The missing piece of the puzzle... ha... that sounds familiar.
At some point during the evening, you moved to Erik's room (the one furthest from the other rooms, with only one flower that you gave him a long time ago), where you shared kisses, hugs, words, and feelings. Where you expressed the great love you share, making grand plans for the future. And where you realized that you never were out of place; rather, you had always been missing, so they could feel complete.
The End.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
@djlnkaled @kindlover @only-nope @larissa1379 👋❤️
#x men x you#x reader#x male reader#x female reader#x men x reader#erik lehnsherr x reader#charles xavier x reader#magneto x reader#gender neutral reader#polyamory
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𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚
miguel can’t control himself when you get hurt in the field —a ficlet featuring an irritated (lovesick) miguel and a flirty, distracted spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. requested he re, fem!reader, 2.5k
tw. fighting, injury, blood
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
Miguel watches the screen in front of him unhappily.
"Spider-Girl," he says. Two people answer him. He sighs. "Y/N," he amends, "you're being reckless."
The little droid camera that follows you around circles your head as you swing from one place to another. "I'm being good," you deny.
Miguel would never tell you this, but he loves how you speak. Sure, almost every word you say annoys him, but the cadence of your voice is melodic and addictive at once. And Miguel knows you're nice to everyone, but it's him alone that has you speaking so softly.
You do it to torture him, he's sure.
"You're doing well, but you'd be better if you didn't free fall for so long. Mechanical failure can happen at any minute," Miguel says.
"Then one of the others will catch me."
"And if there's no team member close by? I'm supposed to come and scrape you off of the sidewalk?"
"Miguel," you say gently. He can tell what mood you're in today. "They have people for that."
"Could you just do as I asked you to?"
"Ah, but you haven't asked me anything."
"Please," he says, "focus on the task at hand, and use your webs cautiously."
You make a chirping sound that feels more laughter than affirmation, but you do as he requests, reducing the length of time between each web shot. You're in New York, Earth-1844, attempting to send home an unhappy Doc Ock variant whose mechanical arms are immensely technologically advanced, even when compared to Nueva York's futurism.
Miguel had sent you along with a rather large team, one. because a big team was necessary for the task, two. because you'd asked and he has trouble saying no to you, and three. because if you'd spent another hour in his office today he actually might have given into temptation, which wouldn't be good for anybody.
Miguel is used to doing what needs to be done rather than what he'd like, these days. So while he wants to indulge you and your fanciful suggestions —I'm not heavy, handsome, please, you won't even notice I'm in your lap, your thighs are so wide— he can't. He has things to do. Things that cannot endure distraction.
"Woo!" you cheer through laughter, letting your shoes skim the floor in an especially dangerous manoeuvre. The adrenaline turns you giddy. "Holy crap."
Oh, right, that's why he resists temptation —he hates you. (He doesn't hate you.) He hates you and your disregard for your own safety, he hates your rejection of his authority, and he hates the stupid sweet sound you make when you're excited.
"Do you listen to me and then forget what I've said, or do you not understand the English language?" he asks.
You land on a rooftop overlooking the centre of Future Doc Ock's destruction. "Well, I've been learning Spanish. We could always try that," you suggest.
"Why have you been learning Spanish?" he asks.
"Coquetear contigo," you say, your pronunciation all over the place. To flirt with you.
"Qué maravilla," he mutters.
"I don't know that one, handsome, so I'm going to assume it was a love confession or something similar." You sound so overly fond he has to tense his jaw. "Gwen, where are you?"
"I'm over here?"
Gwen is wrapped up tightly in a metal tentacle. It shakes her around fanatically. Miguel swears and zooms in on her location, watching in apprehension as she attempts to free herself while the arm creaks, tightening, tightening.
"Woah," you say, taking a running jump off of the rooftop. "Can you believe it? I'm not the first one who needs rescuing."
Hobie Brown reaches Gwen before you can, and he makes an impressive rescue. You divert your path, shooting a web at the glass dome covering Future Doc Ock's head. Miguel crosses his arms across his chest. Wannabe Mysterio loser, he thinks, and then, when you've smashed a hole into the dome with a generously momentous kick, Nice.
He doesn't suppose Doc Ock was expecting a kick to the jaw today.
You hiss as you propel yourself away from him, another web shot at a nearby lamppost. It does something funny to his chest when he hears you whine in pain, but he's too distracted to ask what's wrong —he scours your droid's view for an answer, finds it red and saturating the fabric of your suit.
"Why are you bleeding, Spider-Girl?" he asks, gaze drawn to the main screen where Dock Ock shouts belligerent threats at an approaching Spider-Man.
"No biggie," you say, hissing again, "I think I cut my leg on the glass. I need a better suit."
"Can you walk?"
"I'm fine," you say with a sniffle. From the amount of blood, the cut is deep. "Is it me, or is it dusty in here?"
It definitely hurts if it's making you cry, though maybe you're unprepared. This was a bad idea, you aren't as seasoned as the others, and he knows you don't know what you're doing yet. You need more time, more practice. You've hurt yourself in the field on your very first mission, and you don't have the pain threshold or the super-healing necessary to cope.
It's his fault for letting you go.
"Prepare for extraction," he says.
"No! No way, are you kidding? I'm fine, I– I can do this."
"Y/N," he warns.
You fling yourself from the lamppost with impressive grace considering your injury and join the fight once again. Miguel can't keep an eye on you like he wants to, as the alarm that indicates an anomaly begins to sound. He's forced to rush together a second team while the elite strike force are preoccupied, yanking members of Spider-Society from their goings abouts, Lyla in his ear recommending effective combinations and fighting styles. From that point on, he has to supervise two different missions, his head pounding with effort.
His hands itch. He should be out there. Miguel is the cream of the crop and he isn't shy to admit that. He's a good fighter, but he can't be everywhere at once, and most of the anomalies they face require multiple sets of hands to fix. So he forces himself to stay put and guide the teams through each fight, sick to his stomach with every bloody footprint you leave behind.
He's following Hobie Brown and offering rejected instruction when he sees you go down. He toggles your voice channel and catches the end of a high-pitched, "Oof," the air-knocked from your lungs forcibly as you hit the ground. The tentacle that propelled you veers up for a finishing blow, and three different webs catch it and pull it backward.
It's a blur. One minute Miguel's in the control room at Spider-Society headquarters, the next he's breathing in the smoggy air of New York, Earth-1844, concrete and asphalt torn up under his hands. Lyla speaks in his ear and he's deaf to her, his focus pointed with only one thing in mind.
The restraint it takes not to wipe Doc Ock from the face of the dimension is incalculable. Miguel can't quite believe his own moderation as he orchestrates the return of the anomaly, your body on the ground in the corner of his eye.
The second the situation is under control, he runs to you. His gloves hit the ground with a thud by your hip, as do his knees. Spider-Man, a Peter Parker from Earth-751263, has already set nanobots over your prone figure, tiny spider-like creatures that leave webbing bandages in their wake, closing the sluggish wound on your calf. But nanotech won't fix a broken spine, not in the field. Miguel needs a stretcher. He needs to get you home.
"Miguel," you say, drawing his gaze from your slow-rising chest, "I can't breathe.
He slides his thumb as gently as he can into the seam of your mask and eases it off. "You're winded."
You cough. The sound is disturbingly wet, but your lips remain unsullied. Miguel can't look at you in this much pain, and he won't: he stands, and he takes control.
—
You're not in nearly as much pain as you should be, because Doctor Spider-Man gave you the good stuff. "Your healing isn't nearly as expedited as most of us," he'd said.
"Is this medical discrimination?" you'd asked, faking a serious concern. "Do I need to talk to Spider-Lawyer?"
You found it funny. He maybe didn't, but he gave you an extra dose and told you to rest up before leaving. Resting at the Society medbay isn't easy because Spider People are constantly filtering in and out of the ward for check-ups, medication, and corrections.
It's also not easy because most Spider People are incredibly lonely in their home dimensions, and incredibly friendly here. When Miguel finally comes to visit you, you have a Spider-Girl from a few dimensions over who has the same biological mother as you but a different father sitting to your left —she's trippy and adorable, if you do say so yourself— two Peter Parkers to your right, and a melting pot of currency lost in the white linen sheets over your legs.
They get one good look at Miguel and put down their playing cards.
The Peter Parkers slink off together promising to come and see you again sometime, and your variant stops just shy of Miguel's position to look him up and down affectionately.
"Go away," he says.
She beams at him. "Okay."
"You can't help it, can you?" he asks after she's gone, picking a rogue playing card up from the end of your bed. He twiddles it between his index and middle finger, the card shushing with each turn.
You sit up in bed and try to straighten out the sheets, hoping to entice him. You don't bother answering his question. It barely sounded like one.
"I'm hurt, you know?" you ask.
"I know. I told you to retreat."
"No, I'm hurt it took you so long to visit me," you say. You're putting on airs. Truthfully, you genuinely are a little hurt, but your voice is soft and dreamy as always. "I thought we were friends."
"Ah, because you need more of those."
You sink down into your pillows, your knees hiked. "I really can't help it if people like me. And you'd know."
Miguel surprises you by sitting down. He faces away from you, his thigh just shy of your feet below the sheets, and it's only then you realise he's tense. He's in civvies for a change, a t-shirt stretched tight across his broad shoulders and chest and regular black sweatpants. He's wearing converse.
You look at him through a squint. "Did you hit your head, too?"
"I'm off-duty."
"I just never pictured you in sneakers."
"How do you picture me?" he asks, neck craned to look at you, his chin touching his shoulder. He has dark circles under his eyes and his brows are ruffled on one side.
You let your knees fall to one side and pull your legs to your chest, hoping to entice him closer. "You're not sleeping well?"
Miguel doesn't answer your inquiry. In fact, he falls silent. His eyes are on your hands where they're bunched at your chest, his dark flush of lashes twitching as his gaze tracks along the column of your throat, your jaw, and finally, your face.
"If you were anyone else," he says eventually, "you'd be benched."
"I'm not benched?" you ask.
"You disobeyed a direct order," he says, "and your actions affected the people around you. Someone else could've been hurt protecting you. You have to listen to what I'm telling you to do, or this is never going to work."
You look at the hospital bed railing rather than face his disappointment.
"But it's my fault."
"What?" you ask, startled.
"It's my fault you got hurt. I knew you couldn't handle it, and I let you go anyway. I'm… I'm weak."
"What are you talking about?" you ask. "Weak? You're the strongest person here, with or without Rapture."
He flinches at the drug's name.
You lay there, paralysed by your own mistake, your big mouth ruining everything for the thousandth time. If there's one thing you know about Miguel, it's that you never mention his weaknesses. His drug. His last attempt at a full life. You might be light-hearted, a free spirit, but you're far from stupid usually. Your emotional intelligence must've got lost somewhere on Earth-1844.
"Sorry," you murmur, looking at him from under your lashes. "I didn't mean…"
Slowly, so slowly, he puts his hand on your leg. It doesn't hurt, you've been medicated and stitched and his touch is far from cruel, but you're so startled that your breath gets caught in your throat. Miguel doesn't touch you unless he's giving you a vague reprimand, moving your hand from a button you shouldn't touch or a door you're not allowed to open.
"I let you go on that mission, knowing you weren't ready, because you asked me to let you. I put selfish motivations over your safety. It won't happen again."
You're not as brave as you think you are. You try to hold his hand but it looks so big, and you've never had him this close to you of his own accord. You're a moment away from nervous goosebumps.
He looks up at your touch, your pinky finger wrapped over his, smaller and shorter but with the same pattern of calluses, skin abraded by tight gloves and rough surfaces.
"Selfish motivations," you repeat in a murmur.
"I don't– like saying no. To you." He couldn't sound more unhappy to admit it.
"You say no to me all the time," you say. You don't mean to, but suddenly you're folding your fingers over his, forcing him to hold your hand. He doesn't stop you. He doesn't let go. "Like, ten times a day."
"It's difficult." Your complaint is a blessing for him —the atmosphere around you shifts to something less vulnerable, and his permanently chagrined personality rears its head once again. He raises his eyebrows. "You make my life extremely difficult," he says flatly.
"You make my life difficult, too," you say.
You can't help but give him your fondest smile, your lashes kissing in the corners of your eyes.
He visibly softens. His thumb rubs the back of your hand, just once.
"Fantastic," he says, looking firmly away from you. "Great."
"Isn't it?" you ask happily.
He squeezes your fingers gently. It's almost imperceptible. "Yeah, it is," he says.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! also, im sorry if you already speak spanish i realised after that that detail was subjective to the reader, sorry!
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