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nordschleifes · 4 months

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life is what happens to you

➝ the life of a mother is not simple but it does not surpass that of the mother of a child who, in theory, does not exist to the world

➝ word count: 5,8k

➝ warnings: mentions of smut, coparenting.

➝ author's note: let's just say the idea of a formula one driver having a secret son gave me ideas.

The doorbell made you jump from the couch, relief filling your chest. As you walked to the apartment door, the sound of laughter made you smile. Finally your heart was home. When you opened it, you found a man and a little boy standing in the doorway, both with huge smiles on their faces.

— Mamá! — the boy exclaimed, throwing himself into your arms as he laughed.

— Hi, my love — you replied, pressing a kiss to his brown hair — How are you? I missed you so much.

— I missed you too, mamá — he murmured, his head nestled against your sternum, his hands resting firmly on your back, as if he were trapping you between his arms. After what felt like an eternity away from him, you never wanted him to let go.

— How was your week? — you asked.

— It was good — the boy replied, turning his head toward the man behind him — I biked a lot, didn't I, papá?

You looked up into a pair of brown eyes that were similar to your son's. The man in front of you had a tender, soft expression. One of his hands gripped the handles of a carry-on bag that you’d packed, and the other was stuffed into the pocket of his dark jeans. He looked exactly the same as the night you had met a Richard Mille event, seven years earlier.

You had been working as a designer for the watch brand for a few years at that point, and had gained a reputation for creating some especially bold pieces. At that time, you were celebrating the launch of your newest creation, the RM 19-02, which featured the first automatic movement for the brand, featuring a magnolia flower that opened and closed as the internal mechanism moved.

Seeing people enchanted by your creation, praising the little details, felt incredible, but all of it became background noise when an incredibly well-dressed man stopped to look at the display. You had seen his face before, but you couldn’t recall his name.

— This is yours, right?

— What? — you asked, half confused by the vagueness of his question, half captivated by how smooth his accent was.

— The design. It’s yours?

— Yes, it's mine.

He smiled.

— I can tell.

— Why? — you said, raising an eyebrow at him.

— It's beautiful like you.

Before long, he had introduced himself as Fernando and that he was a longtime friend of Richard Mille himself. You had a feeling that he wasn’t just any ordinary guest at the party. As the two of you continued talking, he started talking about cars, but you’d long stopped paying attention. His lips were of much more interest to you than the words coming out of them.

Ending up in bed with Fernando felt inevitable. Later that night, you didn't care about the marks on your neck or the volume of your moans. You didn't care how tightly he held your hair or how your hips bumped against his. You didn't mind when he mumbled something about the condom, his words were all lost in the post-orgasm haze.

Three months later, you realized that maybe you should have cared a bit more.

Finding yourself calling Fernando and then showing up at the front door of his house in Lugano with a positive pregnancy test in your purse made you feel like you were in a bad serial drama. You were fully prepared for him to humiliate you and tell you that it couldn’t have been him, that he would have never gotten a woman pregnant on a one-night stand. A pit formed in your stomach as you braced yourself for the inevitable paternity lawsuit you would have to file.

To your surprise, though, he didn’t take the news badly. He didn’t look angry or shocked, but contemplative. He asked you a few questions about birth control and the morning after, but when you told him that you’d forgotten to take the morning after pill in the blur of the hangover the next day, he sighed.

— Well, I guess we're going to have a baby, then.

Your mouth dropped open in shock.

— What…?

He looked at you, his gaze serious.

— You don't want to? I mean, don't you want to continue with the pregnancy? Of course, I'm not forcing you to do anything, if you don't want to continue, we can look at our options and, and I’ll help you pay for the procedure, of course…

— No, no, I want to have this baby... In fact, legally I can't do anything at this point — you stuttered, shaking your head — I mean... Aren't you going to ask for any proof?

He knit his eyebrows together.

— Do you want me to take a paternity test to verify?

— No, not because I have any doubts, you were the only guy I had sex with in the last few months. It’s just — you said, letting out a nervous laugh — It’s just thought, I thought you’d react in a very different way.

— Different?

— I thought you would be pissed and that I’d have to leave here and find a lawyer — you said softly.

Fernando smiled, taking one of your hands.

— I always wanted to be a father. It’s not the most conventional way, but now that I have the chance, I won't waste it. You can count on me, Y/N.

He had been sincere in offering his support. It wasn’t just monetary, either; even from the first few doctors appointments, Fernando was nothing less than the best co-parent you could have asked for. He was sincere in his willingness to wade waist-deep into the world of pacifiers, dirty diapers, doctors’ appointments, and toys.

However, the joy of having him around didn’t come without a lot of sacrifice and sadness.

Before long, you realized that Fernando was incredibly famous, especially in Spain, his home country. Because of this, and his incredibly public persona as a Formula 1 driver, a lot of legal rules had to be established with regard to the baby. His best friend and business partner, Alberto, diligently drew up a document outlining a custody schedule, restrictions on posting any identifiable images of the child, a future move — paid for by Fernando — when the child came of school age, and an agreement not to disclose the child’s paternity. It was all to protect the privacy of you and your baby, Fernando said.

However, it was worth it, and still was, especially when you saw the sparkle in your son's brown eyes. He was named Leon Alberto Luis, after Fernando’s best friend and father. All the effort was worth it when it came to your little boy, the greatest love of your life.

— Yes, we biked a lot — Fernando replied, looking up at you after dropping your son's bag on the ground — We went all around Parco Ciani, didn't we, Leon?

The boy nodded excitedly.

— And what else did you do? — you asked, as you stroked his hair.

— We played football and papá ordered Japanese food for us...

— Calamari? — you asked, looking up at Fernando again.

— As always — he replied, putting his hands in his jeans pocket. Even after seven years the similarity between Leon and Fernando still caught you off guard. It wasn’t just the physical similarities, either, but their personalities were almost identical. They both were shy at first, but had a great sense of humor once they were comfortable with someone. Both of them were also incredibly witty, with intelligence and mischievousness in equal measure.

— That's good, my dear — you replied, kissing his head — Now, say goodbye to your father and go straight to the shower.

— Do I have to take a shower now? — the boy questioned.

— Yes, you do. I could smell the sweat as soon as the car pulled up.

— I told you she would smell it — Fernando said to your son, ruffling the boy's hair — Now come here, let me give you a kiss.

Leon walked over and hugged his father tightly, his face pressed against his belly. Bowing down a little, Fernando placed a kiss on the boy's forehead and murmured something in Spanish to him, who nodded his head.

— Don't forget to ask, okay, papá? — the boy said, toddling off to his room with his overnight bag. As you looked back up at Fernando, he seemed to have a sheepish look on his face.

— You have something to ask me? — you asked, giving a small smile.

— Yeah, you could say that — he murmured.

— And what would it be?

— I wanted to know if you could... Not that, it's... If you'd like to bring Leon to a race at the end of the month — Fernando stuttered, running a hand through his hair — You know, it's going to be my birthday on the weekend and … You know…

You clenched your jaw. It was a tense subject between the two of you.

The first and only time you took Leon to a race track was, in short, a disaster. It was at the end of 2018, when Fernando had decided to retire from Formula 1 to dedicate himself to other projects, and to spending more time with Leon. The last race would be special, and he wanted his entire family to be there, including you and his son.

However, the steps that Fernando and his team had taken so that you and Leon could enjoy the race in peace was all for naught when journalists began to speculate who the woman and child were who were accompanying the Alonso family around the paddock. In the end, the plan to watch the race from the McLaren garage went down the drain and you ended up hiding away in a small room inside the McLaren motorhome, trying to calm down a screaming four-year-old boy because he wanted to see his father on the track and not on a screen.

— Fernando…

— I know Abu Dhabi was a disaster, I know — he interrupted you — But it was stupid of me to take you to a place where I would be the center of attention, but this time it's different.

— Different how? As far as I know, your season has been brilliant.

The shadow of a smile appeared on his face.

— Are you watching it?

— Leon keeps me updated. He’s watched every single race. Six podiums in eight races, right? — you said, leaning against the doorframe.

— That's right — Fernando said — The last few races weren't so good, but I believe we can recover, and having you and Leon at the track would be wonderful.

— That's why he told you to ask me, right?

He pursed his lips before letting out a heavy sigh.

— Yes, Y/N — he replied — But, like I said, this time it will be different. My parents and sister won't be there, so it will be easier for you to blend in with the rest of the team’s guests…

— Look, Fernando, I would really like to…

— I asked for normal credentials, without my name, so that you can enjoy the weekend — the driver continued — Please, Y/N, it will be so good to have you there with me, and on my birthday...

— Fernando…

— He even told me what he's going to wear, it's going to be that lime green Kimoa sweatshirt...

— Fernando! — you exclaimed, interrupting him — I know you love Leon, that you want him around but, as you said when I got pregnant, we have to protect him from the media circus.

— I know…

— So you understand that taking him to the middle of a paddock for a race is not the best way to do this, right? I know you both love Formula 1, but we can't risk his safety and privacy because of this.

— But I want him to watch me race…

— And he watches you, Fernando, every weekend. He loves watching you on television, he screams every time you make an overtake. But we have to face the reality of it, and you know that it’s too much of a risk to his safety and privacy. You know that more than anyone.

— I know, which is why I took so many extra steps this time — he replied, running a hand through his hair — Forget about it, okay? When I get back from Spa, let's see about doing something together, okay?

— As long as it's not on a go-karting track — you said, laughing a bit.

— I can't promise that — Fernando said, putting his hand back in his pocket — See you, Y/N.

— See you, Fernando — you replied, as he turned and headed towards the elevator. After a few seconds of staring at his back, you finally closed the door, letting out a long sigh.

It was hard to be the person who said no. However, it was often necessary to curb the impulses of both Leon and Fernando and bring a rational view of the situation to make decisions. Of course, you wanted them to have the most normal coexistence possible, to be able to do normal things that fathers and sons did, but, above everything else, you needed to protect him, even if it meant having to deny what would probably be an amazing experience for the boy.

— Are we going? — Leon's voice broke you out of your thoughts. You turned around to see him in the hallway, looking hopefully at you.

— What?

— Are we going with papá to the race?

— Leon…

— Come on, mamá, it'll be nice. I swear I will behave, I will stay only with you...

— My love, you know it's not just that. There are other things…

— Is it because of Andrea? — he asked.

You swallowed hard, feeling your shoulders tense. It wasn't like Fernando's love life was any of your business, after all, your romantic relationship with him never went beyond the night Leon was conceived. However, you couldn't help but feel a certain distrust every time he showed up in the paddock with a new girl on his arm.

His most recent girlfriend was Andrea, a journalist who covered Formula 1 for an Austrian broadcaster. Even though Leon thought she was kind, and loved playing with her dog, a yellow Labrador named Bodhi, you always felt uneasy in her presence. There was something in the way she looked at you that made you uncomfortable, as if she was studying you, trying to understand your relationship with Fernando and Leon, if there was something more.

— No, it has nothing to do with your father’s girlfriend…

— Papá said she's just his friend now.

— What? — you asked, confused.

— Bodhi wasn't at papá's house when I got there, so I asked where he was and papá told me that he went back to Austria with Andrea — the boy explained — I asked if he was going to Austria too, and papá said no, because he and Andrea are just friends now.

You couldn't help but notice that Leon looked a little upset. You knew he loved dogs, but the fact that you lived in a small apartment prevented you from having a big one, which were his favorites. It also didn't help that Fernando had plenty of space to have a big dog, but wasn’t home often enough to care for one.

You brought a hand to your son’s face and stroked his cheek.

— You liked him, right?

— Bodhi was nice, mamá — he said — He was always happy to see me. Did you know he liked to lick my face?

You laughed, lifting the hair that fell over his forehead.

— And you loved letting him lick your face, didn't you?

— Yes — the boy said with a mischievous expression — I also liked playing ball with him and Andrea...

— Did he bring you the ball? — you tried to keep up the conversation, ignoring the mention of the woman.

— Yes, he would look for us and ask us to play. I always managed to throw it further than Andrea — Leon said, until his face lit up — Mamá, what if we go to the race and ask Andrea if we can visit Bodhi?

You paused, unsure of how to answer your son’s question.

— We’ll see, my love. Now, go take a shower.

With a hopeful smile on his face, the boy obeyed.

His smile was what made you want to kick yourself. Leaving the possibility of going to the race open was fueling the expectation that Leon had already cultivated within himself for a long time. Doing that just to break your son's heart made you feel like a terrible mother.

“Would it really be so bad if we went to a race?”, you thought as you dropped onto the sofa, looking at the photo on the end table. It was a photo of you and Fernando holding Leon when he was just a few months old, both of you looking at the boy with pure admiration and love. It was as if it was impossible to believe that you had been able to create something as beautiful and pure as Leon. It was precisely that innocence that you wanted to protect from the media monster that prowled the circuits, sniffing out stories and devouring its prey without mercy.

Leon couldn't become another victim. You wouldn’t let it happen.

Over the next few days, you managed to avoid talking about the race, dodging the question any time Leon asked. However, your efforts were in vain when Fernando made a video call with the boy, directly from his room in Budapest. He had no restrictions on seeing Leon, quite the opposite. There were very few days that Fernando didn’t speak to his son somehow. Most of the time it was through calls or text messages, and you were proud of them for managing to become close in spite of Fernando’s insane workload.

During the conversation about what Leon did during the week and in his football practices, your son asked the question you were most afraid of.

— Will I see you next week, papá? — Leon asked.

— Ah, well — Fernando stammered, his eyes seeming to search for your image on the phone screen — You know I'd like to see you, but it's your mom who decides that.

The boy turned to look at you, his face full of hope.

— Can we, mamá?

— Leon…

— Please, mamá, I'll behave, I promise!

You sighed. Something inside you told you that this wasn't a good idea, that it was too risky for his privacy. However, what kind of mother would you be preventing him from seeing his own father? What kind of mother would you be if you kept him trapped in a bubble? What kind of mother would you be to deny something so simple?

— Do you want to go see your papá race?

— Yes, mamá!

— Are you going to stay by my side the whole time and not talk to strangers?

— Yes.

— I mean it, don’t talk to anyone other than me, your papa, and your uncle Alberto.

— I won't talk to any strangers, I promise, mamá — he said, while Fernando smiled on the device's screen.

— Then we can go, my love — you said to Leon, who immediately looked at the cell phone screen with a giant smile on his face.

— Papá, I'm going to the race! — he exclaimed.

On the other side of the call, Fernando laughed at the boy's excitement, but the way his dimples framed his smile indicated that he was overjoyed with the news.

— Yes, you are! And we’ll have that waffle filled with chocolate sauce I told you about instead of the birthday cake.

— With candles for us to blow out?

— Yes, we will find some candles to put in it, okay?

The boy talked about what he would like to take with him and whether he could sit in the car, which Fernando was happy to confirm. At the end of the call, he blew several kisses to his father, telling him he would see him in five days.

Those five days that seemed to pass in the blink of an eye.

On the private flight that Fernando had hired to take you and Leon to Belgium, you couldn’t help but feel restless. Even with all the assurances that you wouldn't have any problems, you couldn't reassure yourself. Terrible scenarios came to mind, unprompted, each one worse than the last. By the time the plane approached the small airport in the region, your anxiety had reached a fever pitch.

— Mamá? — Leon's voice bringing you to reality — Are we there yet?

— Not yet, my love — you replied, looking at him — There’s still a little bit left.

— Is papá going to pick us up at the airport? — your son asked, as you took off the hood of the sweatshirt he had chosen that morning to fix his hair.

— Yes, along with Alberto and Fabri. And we will go straight to the circuit.

The joy on Leon’s face when learning that information was only exceeded by the joy on his face when he saw Fernando waiting for him on the landing strip, a slight smile beneath the hood of his black Boss sweatshirt. The hug between the two made something warm fill your chest, and so did seeing them laughing and joking like any other father and son.

— Thank you for agreeing to come, Y/N — he said, as Leon pulled his father's credential from his sweatshirt pocket and showed it to Fabri.

— It's the least I can do, Fernando — you replied, crossing your arms — And, considering he's your biggest fan...

You both looked at Leon at the same time. The boy was questioning Alberto relentlessly, wanting to know where his credential was and if it was the same as Fernando's. When your eyes met again, you knew that your concern was more evident than you would have liked.

— Look, I — you started, only to be interrupted.

— I know you're scared, especially because of what happened in Abu Dhabi. But rest assured, nobody will bother you.

— Are you sure? — you asked.

— Absolutely — Fernando said, before being interrupted by his son clinging to his arm.

— Let's go, papá! — Leon exclaimed, anxiously — I want to see the track!

The trip to the track was fairly short, with Leon excitedly talking about playing games on the Nintendo Switch in his backpack.

At the entrance to the paddock, you decided to separate, in order to avoid unnecessary attention. Giving Fernando one last kiss, Leon made him promise that they would meet inside so he could show him the car.

— Your passes are inside — Alberto said, handing you an envelope — I'll send you a message when Fer is free, ok?

— Perfect — you replied, before getting out of the car with Leon, as he waved to his father one last time before Fernando disappeared through the turnstiles.

The last time you’d come to a race, the paddock was incredibly crowded, but the fact that this was not the final race of the season and the weather was cold and dreary seemed to be keeping the crowds down.

— Where is everybody? — Leon asked you softly, gripping the pass around his neck.

— Well, there's nothing on the track today, so there aren't many people around here — you said — Which means we can make the most of it.

The boy nodded, holding your hand as you both walked past the rows of paddock buildings. However, when you were passing the structure set up by Red Bull Racing, you felt your phone vibrate in your purse. You let go of Leon’s hand to paw through the contents of your purse in search of your phone.

— Where, where… Here! — you said, as you unlocked the screen and saw that the call had gone to your voicemail.

However, that became a secondary concern when you realized Leon had run off somewhere. You felt your heart pounding as you started looking for the boy’s brown curls and gray coat. You had only let go of his hand for a second…

— Leon, Leon, my God, Leon — you stammered, about to scold him for not staying by your side even though he promised to do so on the phone call with his father...

— Mamá! — you heard Leon calling out — Here, mamá!

You turned around and found the boy waving at you a few feet in front of you. He was next to a woman wearing a pink coat and her hair in a ponytail, who was sitting on a bench. You walked toward him briskly, your words for him dying on the tip of your tongue when you realized who he was standing next to.

— My love, why…

— Remember I said I was going to talk to Andrea about Bodhi?

You blinked, looking up at Andrea, who had an embarrassed smile on her face and a cup of coffee in her hand.

— Good morning, Y/N — Andrea said softly.

— Good morning, Andrea — you replied, trying to mask your apprehension — I hope Leon isn't bothering you.

— No, never. Leon was just asking me about Bodhi…

— Can we go visit him, Andrea? — the boy asked, expectation shining in his eyes. Placing a hand on your son's shoulder, you were thinking about the best way to say that it wouldn't be possible to go to Austria to visit a dog when the woman gave a warm smile.

— Of course, I can talk to your father and we'll see a day for you to go play with Bodhi — Andrea said, looking up at you. As if she sensed your hesitation in the air, she added quickly — If your mother agrees, of course.

— Let's see, maybe during your school vacations, right, my love? — you replied, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder, forcing a smile.

— Yes!

— Perfect. Now let’s go, we have a long day ahead of us and so does Andrea — you said, looking at the journalist with the hope that she would follow your lead.

— Yes, media day is always busy for me — she said, smiling — See you later, Leon.

The boy waved goodbye to Andrea and allowed himself to be led toward the Aston Martin motorhome as you gripped his hand extra firmly. During that short journey, you tried to focus on your own breathing and not on the anxiety that took over your chest and made your stomach turn.

— Mamá…

— Not now, Leon — you replied, trying to remember what color the facilities of the team Fernando was racing for that season were.

— Mamá, you're crushing my hand — your son protested, making you stop suddenly and bend down in front of him.

— Why did you do that?

— What?

— Why did you leave my side?

— Because I saw Andrea and you said we could talk to her...

You let out a long sigh.

— My love, you said you wouldn’t leave my side, remember?

— She wasn’t far from us…

— I know, but you can't run off alone here — you said, placing a hand on the boy's face — Imagine if it were a day with more people, how would I find you? You know that I love you more than anything and that losing you would be the worst thing in the world for me.

Leon pursed his lips, looking upset about what had happened.

— Sorry, mamá — he murmured.

— It’s okay, my love — you replied — Now let's go to the motorhome.

The rest of the day was divided between watching the activity around the track and catching glimpses of Fernando as he circulated around the paddock giving interviews, checking the car's assembly and meeting with the engineers. The highlight of the day was the trip to the garage with Alberto, who introduced you and Leon to the mechanics and allowed Mikey, their leader, to explain the car to the boy.

— Can I get in? — he asked with his eyes shining.

The red-haired man looked at Alberto, who gave a positive nod.

— Of course you can — Mikey replied.

With Leon settled in Fernando's seat and with his hands on the steering wheel that had been positioned just in front of him, the boy seemed completely ecstatic. It felt like he was finally in the right place, where he should have been all along. It was no wonder his grandfather, Luis, was so insistent that they consider getting him into karting as soon as he was old enough.

— You can't see anything from here — he said, looking at you. The mechanics working on Alonso’s car chuckled.

— The drivers are a little taller, so they can see the track — Alberto explained — But, when you're a little older, you’ll be able to see just fine.

Leon smiled, before looking ahead again and pressing his fingers on the steering wheel. It was impossible not to notice how much he looked like the pictures you’d seen of Fernando as a child, so much so that you made a point of taking a picture of him to show Fernando at dinner later.

However, you didn't have that opportunity.

Leon was already lying in bed, watching a cartoon on Netflix. Despite what you had agreed on, Fernando hadn’t been able to leave his meeting with his engineers in time to have dinner with you. His message fell like a bomb on his son's mood, and he barely touched the ice cream that Alberto had offered to share with him.

— Mamá?

— Yes, my love?

— Is papá coming?

You swallowed hard. The last message you had received from him stated that he was leaving the circuit, and it had been right after you arrived at the hotel suite. At that point, you had no idea when or if he would hit there, especially after that day.

— I don't know, my love — you said, running your hand through his hair — You know that this is still papá's job and he's very dedicated...

— But didn't he say when he's coming? — the boy questioned.

— He texted — you started, only to hear the sound of two knocks on the door. Looking back at Leon, you found his excited expression — Wait here.

You got up from the bed and went to the entrance of the room, feeling relief take over your chest when you saw that it was Fernando.

— Can I come in? — he asked softly, running a hand through his hair.

You nodded and stepped aside so he could come in. Smiling, the driver walked by you, kissing you on the cheek as he passed, before walking over to the bed. Leon had an enormous smile on his face.

— Papá! — he exclaimed, as Fernado lifted him up into an enormous hug.

— Hola, mijo. I came as soon as I could. Did you have fun today?

— Yes!

— What did you do? Tell me everything.

— Yes, it was really cool. Mamá and I stayed with Melina in the morning and she showed us everything inside. She even got us waffles!

— Does that mean you got the waffles? I always ask them, but they always say they don't have any waffles — the driver said, as you walked around the bed and sat on the other side of Leon — I think I'm going to have a serious talk with them.

— Maybe the waffles are just for the VIP guests, right, my love? — you suggested with a wink, which made your son laugh.

— Yes, only for special guests!

— But I'm their driver! — Fernando exclaimed, in mock indignation — I deserve waffles too!

— Don't you have a weight to keep, Fernando? — you asked.

— Yes, but that doesn't mean I can't eat waffles, especially with my son — he replied, before pouting — But I don't think he likes eating waffles with me...

Almost immediately, the boy laughed.

— I like eating waffles with you, papá…

— You mean we can eat waffles together?

— Yes! — Leon exclaimed.

— With chocolate sauce or honey?

— Hm — the boy thought for a few seconds — Mamá, could it be chocolate?

— Don't you think you ate too much chocolate today?

Leon looked away from Fernando, looking embarrassed.

— It wasn't that much...

— Yes, it was. And I have a photo to prove it.

— You do? — Fernando asked, raising himself on one elbow.

— Yes, I do — you replied, taking the phone that was on the bedside table. A few taps later, the plate of waffles was on the screen in front of Fernando, who seemed somewhat impressed.

— Did you eat all of that? — he asked looking at Leon.

— Yes, every last bit — you replied — He didn't give me any.

The driver laughed.

— I can imagine the sugar rush you had afterwards…

The conversation between you continued for some time, until Leon began to slowly close his eyes while his father stroked his hair. It wasn't long before he was fast asleep, with his face against Fernando's chest and one of his arms resting on his waist in a hug.

— Y/N? — Fernando asked softly.

— Yeah?

— Was Leon very upset that I couldn't have dinner with you?

You pursed your lips.

— Well, a little. He was really looking forward to seeing you and telling you everything but…

He snorted, looking at the boy.

— I didn't want to stay late — Fernando murmured — But tomorrow there's only one practice session before qualifying for Sunday, so I couldn't avoid it...

— He knows that — you said — I told you that, as much as it's fun, it's still your job and you're very dedicated to it. And you can't win if you don't dedicate yourself, so we have to understand and support you, even if it means you're far from us.

The driver looked up at you, his expression completely unreadable.

— Do you think I'm dedicated?

— That's a stupid question, Fernando.

— I just want to know your opinion — he smiled.

You rolled your eyes.

— Yes, I think you are dedicated and I admire you for that.

— You admire me, huh? — the driver asked in a suggestive tone.

— Professionally speaking — you said, the emphasis in your words causing a giggle to escape his lips.

— I also admire you a lot, Y/N.

— Professionally speaking?

— Personally speaking.

You stared at him in silence for a few seconds, trying to read between the lines of his words. However, the smile on his face made you completely lose your train of thought. It always did.

— Well, thank you — you managed to say, before your eyes found the face of his watch, which indicated that it was already past 11 o'clock at night — But I think it's past your bedtime

— No problem, I can stay a little longer…

— I'd like to rest, since I've had to deal with your son all afternoon.

Fernando laughed.

— He's also your son, in fact, he has a lot of you in him — he said, as he carefully got up from the bed, placing Leon's arm close to his body.

— I know that. But I prefer to highlight your participation so you can understand why I need a good night's sleep.

— And you will have it, I'm sure — Fernando replied, before heading towards the door of your suite. However, before leaving, he turned and smiled at you — Good night, Y/N. See you tomorrow.

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vainvenus · 2 years

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⌲;꒰ Head over heels. ꒱

Pairing(s): Vance Hopper x Gn!Reader

Summary: You're the only person Vance can stand being around or talking to.

Includings: No Grabber!Au, best friends to lovers, chill x hothead dynamic, kinda ooc vance, jealousy, bit of a slowburn, mutual pinning, happy ending tho!

An: First post for Vancey boy! 💪🏾

I don't like the ending bc it was rushed a hard to write

"And now I'm the one who's in trouble! Me? Because that fucking dipshit and his stupid ass friend bumped into me!"

You hummed in response so that he knew that you were still listening to him as you were looking for your dark blue lighter.

You were listening to Vance rant, having just learned that he was now banned from the Grab-And-Go for a week for starting a fight all because some boy's bumped into the pinball game he was obsessed with.

"It's fucking stupid and I should've kept pounding his head into the floor until he passed out."

You had found your lighter and grabbed a lavender scented incense, lighting it and letting the flame burn before you blew at it and put it in the incense holder.

"It was an accident, Vance. You should've handled it more responsibly and walked away from the situation."

He had furrowed his brows, he knew that you were right but he was still too stubborn to admit it at the moment so he rolled his eyes.

"Whatever. The fuckers should've watched where they were going." He said, crossing his arms over his chest.

You nodded "Yes, they should have. I'm sorry you got kicked out, Vance. I'll make sure no one beats your high score."

Although Vance was in the wrong for him beating the boys up over a something like that you didn't want him to feel like the way he felt about the situation was invalid or him overreacting.

You walked over to your record player, going through a few of your discs to find something to play so that he at least wouldn't be in such a bitter mood.

You smiled softly as you pulled out one of the discs and put it into the record player, placing the stylus on it as it had started playing 'Dancing Queen' by Abba and you turned your head to smile at Vance.

"C'mon..I know you want to." You said, walking towards him and chuckling softly as you grabbed his hand and tried to pull him up from his spot on the bed.

"I don't fuckin dance... especially not to Abba." He said and you knew for a fact that he was lying because the last time you borrowed his mixtape player it was one of the first songs that played.

"Dancing is a good way to free your body from negative energy. Something you seem to have a lot of." You had said as you swayed to the music, the sound of the multiple bracelets you wore shaking together.

Vance narrowed his eyes up at you "That's bullshit."

"Is not! Works for me whenever I'm angry."

He furrowed his brows "I've never seen you angry before though."

"That's because I don't show it. I don't let my emotions control my actions or mouth. I find better ways to release my anger."

Vance had thought about that sentence for a while. He wondered what you were like if you were to finally snap like how he does, furrowed brows and shouting profanities like a sailor.

"Dance with me, Vance! C'mon!!"

He groaned as he rolled his eyes and stood up from his spot on your bed and stiffly moved to the song like he was a robot and you couldn't help but laugh.

"What's so funny?!"

"You dance like we're at our first dance together and the slow song just came on!" You had giggled. "Loosen up!"

Vance had glared playfully at you. "I thought this was a judge free zone?"

"Oh it is...just not for stiff dancers."

The boy had chuckled at this, a genuine one that showed his teeth and he couldn't even be mad about the situation that happened earlier.

It was always like this when he would go to you to rant for a bit, you would talk to him and make him feel like his feelings were completely valid, you reassured him every single time but scolded him rightfully.

You were the comfort he longed for constantly. That missing peace in his life. You felt like what home should've felt like for him.

You were sweet and caring. Not once could he think of a time where you yelled at him even if he was screaming his lungs out at you. You were understanding and he loved that, he love that you knew his better than he knew himself.

Vance loved you.

"Hey, Vance!"

He snapped from his thoughts as he looked over to you who was back at the record player, going through your discs once more. He was sure you had every song under the sun with the stack you had.

"Any song requests?"

"Hotel California."

"Gotcha!"

♡

When you heard your door swim open an slam shut you hadn't even questioned it at this point, already knowing who the culprit was.

You turned your attention away from the painting you were working on as you turned to look at Vance who looked like he was already angry if you couldn't tell by the door slam.

"What's the matter now?"

"Nothing. What're you doing?"

You had knew that he was lying but you would take care of what was bothering him when he wanted to talk about it so you gestured to the canvas.

"I'm painting. The sky's really pretty right now so I'm trying to capture it while I can." You had told him and he had rolled his eyes.

"You should try it. Painting can help let off steam." You said, dipping your brush back into the light pink paint.

You always tried to get Vance to paint or draw with you, telling him it was a good way to express his anger without yelling or breaking something but art just wasn't his forte.

"i don't paint. It's hard to work with and I'm not good at it." Vance had complained as he crossed his arms, standing beside you while staring at your painting.

"Oh c'mon, the last time you painted with me was a finger painting."

"I don't care."

You shrugged as you turned back to the canvas, glancing back at the sky before you went back and had glided your brush against the canvas, letting the music playing fill in the silence.

Vance shifted in the spot next to you, eyes glancing from the painting before back to the sky which was a mixture of soft purple, blues and pinks with the sun peaking from them.

He looked back to you as you were back into focus mode. Your eyebrows knitting together whenever you were like this and he couldn't help but smile a bit at the expression.

"Starings rude, y'know."

His face immediately shifted and he had scoffed "I wasn't staring, asshole! I was looking at the painting!"

"Mhm..you sure you don't wanna give painting another go? You don't even have to paint the sky you can paint your emotions and-"

Vance swiftly cut you off "Just give me a canvas and brush before you start with your hippie emotion bullshit."

You had giggled softly as you went to grab another canvas and easel, setting them beside your own as you gave Vance an empty pallette and set the paints between the two of you.

He picked up the blue paint and looked back over at you who seemed to be caught up in finishing up your painting and he had smirked.

He had opened it as turned his body a bit as he squirted it onto the palm of his hands, rubbing them together and pressing them against the canvas.

He watched as you turned to him with a smile before your smile had dropped. "Vance, really?! C'mon! I thought you were behind finger and hand painting! You're gonna make a mess!"

He had smirked, reaching out to touch you as you had backed away. "Vance Hopper! Don't!"

"Don't what? Do this?"

He had grabbed you arm to pull you towards him as he pressed his palm against your cheek now leaving a blue handprint there as he pulled away laughing.

"Asshole!" You had playfully shouted as you grabbed the pink paint and rubbed it across your palms, now pressing your hands against his face and he had laughed loudly as he pressed his hands back against yours.

You both pulled away to reach for more paint, a childish game now being played between the two of you as you were grabbing different colors.

Red, blue, pink, purple and yellow handprints were plastered all over your faces, arms and even shirts. Neither of you were mad at the mess though now on the floor and laughing at how idiotic the two of you looked.

"You're an idiot, Vance! I'm gonna have to take like four showers!"

"Oh stop complaing! You literally fought back."

You giggled as you looked at the red paint on your finger and rolled closer to Vance as you lazily drew a heart on the back of his hand.

Vance stared at the red heart with wide eyes before he looked back at you who had that same bright smile on your face that made his heart skip a beat.

"See, you could've just drew that on me but you wanted to be a childish asshole." You hummed, pressing red paint again this nose and Vance stared at you.

Yeah.

Vance had already fallen in love but he was falling harder.

♡

The next time Vance had came over he had noticed that you had the music playing again but he could also make out the sound of another person.

The two you seemed to be laughing together, the sound overbearing the song that was playing at the moment and he furrowed his brows.

He stomped up in the stairs and made a B-line for your room, gripping onto the doorknob, twisting it and pushing the door so roughly that it slammed against the wall when he entered the room.

His eyes glanced from you who was staring at him with wide eyes gore he glanced over the person you had been laughing with.

Bruce Yamada. somebody he wasn't too fond of just because he was everything Vance wasn't. Popular (for the right reasons), kind and caring, not a bad bone in his body. Everyone either wanted to be him or be with him.

He noticed that you were holding his hand with a bottle of blue nail polish in your other hand as the two of you were staring at him with wide and confused expressions.

"Vance. Stop entering my mom trying to catch me doing drugs."

"The hell is he doing here?" He completely disregarded your statement, glaring at Bruce and oh if looks could kill the Yamada's would be having a funeral.

Bruce had only smiled that award winning smile at Vance though "We're painting nails! You-"

He had cut him off swiftly, venom dripping from his tone as he spoke "I wasn't talking to you, asshole."

You had frowned as you looked up at blonde, placing the nail polish back in the tube. "Vance you shouldn't talk to him like that. He hasn't done anything to you."

You were right, Bruce was innocent and all he did was answer his question but Vance was acting on his emotions right now which were pure jealousy and fury.

"And? I wasn't fuckin' talking to him so why did he even reply?" Vance spat and Bruce awkwardly sat there.

You had narrowed your eyes slightly at Vance before inhaling and exhaling softly, looking back to Bruce with a small smile.

"Bruce, I'm sorry to cut this short but can we continue another time? I think me and Vance need to have a talk."

"Yeah..of course. Sorry for..uhm.."

"No, don't apologize. You didn't do anything wrong. You told him, glancing back to Vance back to him.

"Get home safe, mkay?" You commented and he had smiled and nodded at this. "I'll call you when I get home. Thanks for having me." He had waved you goodbye, slipping past Bruce and out the door.

Once you heard the door from downstairs close you had gathered up the nail polish and put them back into your box.

You turned to turn off the record player and looked back at Vance who was giving a distasteful look to the wall.

"Wanna tell me what that was about?"

He hadn't answered, keeping his eyes away from yours and after a short while he had just shrugged.

"Don't just shrug at me." With the way you were talking with him he was sure you were irritated and it only upset him more when he realized he ruined your mood.

"That was completely uncalled for." You stated, gesturing to Vance who looked like a child being chided for the first time.

He shrugged again, his words being stuck in that lump in his throat and he watched as you crossed your arms, shaking your head like a disappointed parent.

"I don't know what made you so upset before you came here but it gave you no right to call Bruce names and get angry with him."

Vance knew this, he knew he was in the wrong all the way this time but he couldn't help it, always thinking with his mouth and fists and never that head of his.

He huffed "Yeah? Well, he shouldn't even fucking being over here....with you...alone."

You raised your brows, holding back the urge to scoff "So you're the only one who gets to be alone in my room with me?"

"No! I...I'm not saying that but-"

"Then what are you saying, Vance?"

And there it was, that word vomit that he had been trying so hard to hold back.

"I'm saying that I love you, okay?! I fucking love you and every time I'm around you I just fall harder for you!" He shouted, voice cracking like he was on the verge of tears.

"So yes when I saw you alone, painting nails and giggling with Bruce 'Hearthrob' Yamada I was a little pissed off!"

It was silent after that.

Not even any music playing in the background to fill it up, just complete silence and the heavy pants of Vance.

It was probably four minutes of silence before you had spoke up.

"So you mean to tell me..you were rude to Bruce because you were jealous?"

Vance had gave a small nod, biting on the inside of his cheek.

You had let out a huff, chuckling a bit "Vance...that had got to be the most idiotic thing you've ever done. I don't even like Bruce like that, we're like siblings ."

"Oh.." Vance mumbled, now more embarrassed than before. He would definitely owe the boy an apology at school tomorrow.

"And plus, I'm not really into baseball players, I like people who play pinball."

His eyes widened slightly as he pointed to himself "You're... You're talking about me, right?"

"No Vance, I'm obviously talking about Moose. Yes, you."

"Why me?"

You tilted your head in confusion "What do you mean?"

"I mean, why me? I'm not definitely not a dreamboat like Bruce or-"

He was cut off by your lips on his, that vanilla flavored ChapStick you always wore now glossing over his lips and he stared at you like a deer in headlights when you pulled away.

You tilted your head and shrugged "I don't want dreamboat Bruce or any other person you're about to name."

You grabbed his hand and held him softly while grinning up at him "I want been my best friend for years troublemaker Vance."

It was quiet for a bit and Vance rubbed his thumb over the palm of your hand after you made it pretty clear that you weren't letting his hand go.

"You sure?"

You placed another kiss on his cheek, pretending to think for a moment before nodding.

"Positive. Couldn't see myself with anyone else."

He had smiled and brought you close to wrap his arms around you and decided that walking over to the bed would just be too much and he slid down the wall onto the floor with you.

With you laying on his chest and playing with his curls that definitely needed a good wash or brush he had heard you mumble;

"Well...maybe Keanu Reeves..."

"[Y/n]."

"Joking! Joking! You gotta admit he's pretty though"

He gestured to himself "Am I not?"

"Oh you are! Prettiest boy in Denver. But have you seen Keanu Reeves?"

Sure he had competition with Keanu Reeves but at least he knew that he outranked everyone in Denver.

#the black phone #the black phone x reader #the black phone x you #vance hopper #vance hopper x you #vance hopper x reader #bruce yamada #finney blake #griffin stagg #billy showalter #gwen blake #donna the black phone

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aemondsbabe · 4 months

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The Queen

summary: dairy/letters & lingerie kink || alicent stumbles across a secret of yours and is more than happy to make it come true

pairing: modern!alicent x f!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, wlw, pre-established relationship, dom!Alicent, sub!reader, queen honorifics used in the bedroom, lingerie kink, use of a leather crop, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, thigh riding, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 3.3k

a/n: happy day seven of 12 days of smuff!! i went into a fugue state and wrote 10 pages in 2 hours. the hold that olivia cooke has on me should be studied by science. anyway.

12 days of smuff masterlist!

gif creds to @olliviacooke

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

Alicent’s POV

She was humming, swaying her hips to a new album she’d downloaded earlier that week as she smoothly moved the duster along the wooden surface of your nightstand, careful as she guided it between the lamp and the small potted plant you loved so much. Getting a bit too into the music she was listening to as she tidied up your shared bedroom, though, she accidentally bumped against the growing stack of books on your nightstand.

“Shit!” Alicent hissed as a few went tumbling to the ground. Sighing, she bent down to grab them, half-heartedly cursing you for insisting on buying new books before you’d finished the ones you had.

“Huh?” She wonders outloud, pausing the music on her phone when she sees her name scrawled in your familiar handwriting. Her fingers brush over the soft, leather bound book as she picks it up, her lips pursing as she reads the words “Personal Journal” embossed on the front in fancy gold lettering. Her brown eyes widen and quickly glance around the room, despite the fact that she knows she’s the only one home. Biting her lip, she runs a finger over the spine of your diary, weighing her options. On the one hand, she knew it would be a horrible invasion of your privacy to look but… well, what if it was something important?

She shook her head at the thought. She wasn’t going to be one of those snooping partners! You already told her everything anyway, it’s not like there would be anything in your diary she didn’t already know! You were basically an open book, in fact, it was one of the things she loved most about you – your willingness to be so honest and transparent.

No, she thought, carefully setting the diary back on your bedside table, I’m not going to! I’m simply –

Okay, sue her. She’s only human and her name was right there! She’d make it up to you.

Glancing around one more time, she flipped open the leather-bound book, flipping through it to the page she’d spotted a moment ago. She found it pretty quickly and nervously bit on a nail as her eyes scanned over the page, noticing the date first. It was from only about a week ago. She read on.

I’m not even sure how to bring up the topic, it doesn’t really seem like something you’d just bring up at the dinner table? Like, “Oh, honey, yeah work was great today! Kevin from accounting is finally getting married, I know! Can you believe it? Oh. yeah, one more thing! Can you boss me around in the bedroom like a drill sergeant?” I mean, come on.

What if she isn’t even into it? What if she wants to be the submissive one? I don’t think Alicent’s totally vanilla, I mean, there have been so many sparks of… something. Sometimes she tells me to do something, usually innocuous like making sure the door’s locked before we leave or to get the laundry hamper from the closet but… God, the way she says it makes me shiver. And when she’s talking on the phone to someone at work? That authoritative voice makes me melt.

Sigh. I just need to find the courage to ask.

Alicent finally finished the entry and looked up from your journal, blinking as thoughts raced through her head. After a minute, she closed the notebook and placed it carefully back on your bedside table, just like it was before it fell off the table.

She could barely keep the smirk off her face as she grabbed her purse and keys and shut the front door behind her, a devious, delicious plan quickly forming in her head.

She knew exactly how to make up for her actions.

Reader’s POV

You sigh as you unlock the front door, quickly tossing your keys into the small bowl on the entryway table before kicking off your shoes.

“Babe?” You called, furrowing your brows at how unusually quiet the house was. Alicent’s car was in the driveway and normally she’d be playing music by the time you got home but today… nothing. You’re about to call out again when the sound of heels clicking down the hallway makes you stop in your tracks, your bag falls from your hand as your girlfriend finally appears from around the corner.

“Good day at work?” Alicent asks coolly, tilting her head as she leans against the doorway. Meanwhile, you feel dumbstruck as your eyes scan over her appreciatively, taking in every dip and curve as if you’d never seen any of them before. Your eyes skim over her outfit, a black, lacy bustier perfectly framing her chest, with a matching black thong clinging to her soft hips, fishnet stockings held up by an enticing garter belt, all the way down to black, pointed toe heels. She’d even taken the time to straighten her usually curly hair, smoothing it down into a clean, nearly intimidating style.

She smirked, brown eyes sparkling at your awe-struck expression, smiling when your eyes finally landed on her face; you couldn’t help but swallow when you saw that she was wearing that expensive red lipstick she only brought out for special occasions, the one you love so much.

Her heels click on the wood floors as she strides over to you and it’s only then you realize that she has something in her hand – a black leather crop. The sight of it makes your knees weak.

“I asked you a question, baby,” she says gently, locking eyes with you as she gently cups your cheek with in her hand, “It would be rude not to answer.” There’s a hard edge to her voice that makes you lose what little train of thought you had.

“I… uh,” you stutter, blush rising to your cheeks as you stare helplessly at her, fighting to keep your gaze locked on hers, “W-Work was good, yeah. Same as… as usual.” You finally finish, your chest already heaving as you rub your thighs together, desperate before you even know what’s going on.

“How wonderful,” she smirks and leans in, giving you a sweet kiss like she normally would, but today it has your head spinning, “What do you think of my little surprise?” She asks, though there isn’t really a question in her tone – she already knows your answer.

“I love it,” you breathe, hardly giving her time to finish speaking as you let your gaze wander over her yet again. “What, uhm,” you cough nervously, “What gave you the idea?”

She smiles again, shrugging; you nearly jump out of your skin when she softly runs the leather crop up the inside of your thigh, starting at your knee and stopping tantalizingly close to your core. “Just got the sense that maybe you’d be into it…” She says casually, like you’re talking about the weather, “Was I right?”

All you can do is nod your head, but that’s not good enough, apparently. Her eyes narrow and she wraps a hand around your neck, not too harshly, mostly just sitting it there but it’s enough to make you whimper in the back of your throat, breath catching as her perfectly manicured red nails just barely dig into your delicate skin. “I don’t think that’s the proper way to address me, is it?” She coos, a faux pout to her lips.

“N-No,” you say shakily, your eyes searching hers, “No… ma’am?” You try, inwardly cringing at how your voice squeaks.

She clicks her tongue like a disappointed mother, the sound going straight between your legs, as she fixes you with an intense stare. “Baby, you know how I sometimes call you princess?” She asks, smiling proudly when you eagerly nod, “Well, tell me. Who’s more in charge than a princess?”

Your throat goes dry and you swallow thickly, darting your tongue out to wet your lips before speaking. “T-The queen?” You ask softly, pride feathering out in your chest like the train of a peacock when she smiles and nods again.

“That’s right!” She praises, almost as if she was speaking to a child; perhaps you should be offended at her condescending tone, but, if anything, it just makes your heart beat faster. “The queen. Do you want me to be your queen today, sweet one?” Again, you nod, so she continues. “So, address me properly.”

“Yes, my queen.” You breathe the words, core clenching softly around nothing.

“Very good,” she praises, leaning in and lightly brushing her lips over the pulsepoint on your neck, “Do you want to keep being a good girl for your queen?”

“Yes, your grace, please.” You say with an eager nod, feeling like you’ll explode if she doesn’t touch you, or so something soon.

“Then be good for me and go to the bedroom,” she nods as she speaks, her big brown eyes looking directly into yours, “And strip.” She finishes coolly, leaving you no room to argue.

You nod quickly and practically leap down the hallway, blushing when you hear her giggling behind you. As soon as your feet hit the soft rug in the bedroom, you tug at your clothes, quickly shedding your sweater and work trousers before unclipping your bra and sliding your underwear down your legs, haphazardly shoving everything into the hamper because you just know she’ll say something about the mess if you don’t. Finally, not knowing what else to do, you stand by the bed, arms clasped in front of you.

She doesn’t make you wait long and you bite your lip in anticipation as her heels click slowly down the hallway, smiling shyly when you finally meet her gaze again as she enters the room. Just like you knew she would, her eyes immediately dart to the hamper and her smile widens when she sees your clothes from today resting on top.

“What a good girl I have,” she praises as she saunters over to you, her hips swinging enticingly as she moves. Without another word, she sits on the edge of the bed and gently places the crop down next to her on the bedspread, before she beckons you over with a crook of her finger, “You like your queen’s special surprise for you, huh?” She questions, tilting her head as she peers up at you, her hands resting gently on the curve of your hip.

“Yes,” you nod, your eyes trailing down to her cleavage before you can help yourself and it’s only then that you notice that she’s breathing nearly as hard as you are, a blush extending down her pale neck and chest, “I love it, my queen, so much.” You nearly whisper, dizzy at the thought that she might be enjoying this just as much as you are.

“Don’t you think you should thank me for your surprise, princess?” She asks coolly, smirk widening as she sees a look of realization in your eyes.

“Yeah, yes, please,” you nearly beg, already tempted to sink to your knees.

She smirks at your eagerness, all but laughing when you whine as she pushes herself back further, out of your grasp and into the center of the bed, making enough room for you in front of her. Again, she crooks her finger and you hastily follow after her, kneeling between her fishnet-covered legs. With another smirk, she silently spreads her legs, bending them at the knee enough that the heels of her shoes dig into the bedspread.

Something between a gasp and a whimper escapes your lips as you let your gaze travel down, between her legs, where you’re met with the shocking realization that the black thong she has on is indeed crotchless. Your eyes stay glued to her center, now beautifully framed by two strips of lace fabric; the sight makes you lick your lips without thinking, taking in the way her folds shimmer, even in the low light of the bedroom. Finally, you manage to rip your gaze away and lock eyes with her again, your blush deepening at the hazy look in her eyes as she leans back on her elbows.

“Go on, princess,” she breathes, that familiar, aroused rasp finally present, “Thank your queen.”

You spring into action, wrapping your hands around her soft thighs as you lean in, kneeling between her legs. Your eyes flutter as you look up the length of her body while you press soft, sweet kisses to the inside of her thighs, your eyes widening when you see her lean over and quickly grab the crop.

You jolt as she brings it down, smacking one ass cheek with it, not enough to hurt but enough to leave behind a pleasant little zing. “I don’t believe I asked you to tease me,” she admonishes, a playfulness to her tone still as her other hand brushes into your hair, red nails scratching soothing against your scalp, “Thank me properly.” She commands, guiding your head to exactly where she wants it.

You’re more than happy to obey and you press a kiss to the center of her folds, right on her clit, moaning against her as you feel it twitch against your lips. She lets out a breathy moan as your tongue licks a long, straight line up her center, right down the middle, before your lips gently seal around her bud.

Your eyes flutter closed again as you softly suck at her clit, moaning lowly in your throat at her familiar sweet taste. You move in just the way she likes, kissing and licking over her heat with a practiced ease, pride blooming in your chest with every moan, whine, and sigh of your name. You shake your head against her, attempting to bury your tongue in her twitching core as the tip of your nose teases her clit, your chin dripping with her when you finally pull back.

“Princess, fuck,” she breathes above you, head tilted down so she can watch as you feast on her, “Fuck me, come on.” She orders, giving another sharp little spank to your bum with the crop.

You do as she says, smiling as you flick your tongue over her bud while you glide two fingers through her folds, making sure to get them nice and wet before you slide them carefully into her, relishing the long moan she lets out as you do. You can’t help but whimper as her walls clamp down tightly, pulsing around your fingers as you crook them up in the way you know she loves, your lips sealing softly around her clit again, eyes fluttering as you watch her chest heave.

“Good fucking girl,” she whimpers, accentuating each word of praise with another slap of her crop against you, the pleasant sting you clench around nothing, “Make your queen come, princess, good girl.” She moans, tilting her head back as you redouble your efforts.

Your arm aches as you fuck your fingers into her, keeping them quirked up against that small rough patch within her, but you pay it no mind, focusing only on the hand in your hair and the taste of her in your mouth, your hips canting desperately in the air.

You flick your tongue against her bud once more, in just the right way, and it sends her over the edge with a gasp. You moan into her as the hand in your hair tightens and her walls rhythmically squeeze against your fingers, nearly tight enough to push them out. You move steadily, bringing her through her high as you have so many times before, only stopping when she finally goes lax against you.

You press kisses against her thighs and hips as she comes down, breathing heavily above you. Eventually, the hand in your hair tightens once more, and you sigh happily as she pulls you up.

“You did so good,” she praises softly, her voice breathy as she presses her lips against yours; she moans softly as your tongue licks into her mouth before she pulls away to trail kisses down your neck, “So good for your queen, my sweet princess.” You sigh happily, eyes fluttering shut as you straddle her, one of her legs between yours.

Your eyes shoot open as she bends her leg, pressing her fishnet covered thigh firmly against your center with a knowing smirk. “Goodness,” she gasps, her beautiful brown eyes widening once she feels how wet you are against her, “I think you deserve a reward too, for treating your queen so well.”

“Please, holy shit,” you gasp, your hips already moving on her leg, the pattern of her stockings adding a delicious friction, “P-Please, your grace.” You quickly correct yourself when she brings her crop down once more, making your back arch.

“Good girl,” she whispers, mouthing at your neck. She lets the crop fall to the bed again as she cups your ass with both hands, guiding your hips as you move against her, “Take what you need, princess, you earned it.” She breathes, smirking as you shudder above her.

You nod mindlessly, swallowing thickly as you already feel the knot in your stomach tightening dangerously, each drag of your clit over her stockinged thigh sends shockwaves up your spine. Your breathing gets heavier and heavier as you get closer and she smiles happily, bouncing her thigh against your wet core in the way she knows drives you insane.

“My beautiful little princess,” she whispers, red lips ghosting over your chest, “Behaving so well for her queen.”

You fall apart once her lips seal around one of your nipples, sparks of pleasure bursting behind your eyelids as she carefully sucks the sensitive bud into her mouth, gently teasing at it with her teeth. Your body tenses up as your walls clench again and again, your fingers grabbing at the sheets as you gasp her name.

Finally, your eyes flutter open as your high subsides. Thankfully, you have just enough presence of mind to roll to the side, cuddling against her as your chest heaves.

“Holy shit,” you breathe through a small laugh, your face flushed as your eyes meet hers.

“So, you liked it?” She asks, a shy lilt to her voice now that both of you have had the chance to come down.

“Liked it?” You question, staring at her wide-eyed, “I… I loved it. That was incredible.” You breathe, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder, “Where on earth did all that come from?”

She giggles softly, a guilty look appearing on her face. “Promise you won’t be too upset with me?” She asks softly.

“Of course,” your reply is instant as you card your fingers through her soft hair, “Just tell me.”

“I was cleaning a few days ago, when I had that day off,” she explains, swallowing as you nod along, “And I… may have accidentally knocked your diary off the table and then got curious when I saw my name and… yeah.” She finishes, teeth biting at her lower lip.

Your face reddens a bit, instantly knowing which entry she must’ve seen, but you merely shake your head, about to tell her not to worry about it when she starts speaking again.

“I do feel really bad about it,” she sighs, continuing quickly, “I know it’s a breach of trust but I saw my name and then… I’ll make it up to you, I pr – !”

She gasps as you cut her off with a sweet kiss, shaking your head dismissively, “Consider it made up.”

“You aren’t mad?” She asks hesitantly.

“Mad?” You echo, laughing softly, “My sexy girlfriend bought ridiculously hot lingerie, and a riding crop, just to surprise me and fucked me to within an inch of my life and I’m supposed to be mad at her over a little diary?” Both of you dissolve into a fit of giggles as you finally finish, nuzzling happily against each other, “I think not.” You quip, smirking as your eyes search hers.

“Okay, yeah,” she says with a small eye roll, “I am pretty great, huh?”

“And oh so humble,” you laugh, pressing kisses over the curve of her shoulder before leaning back to smirk at her, “Your majesty.”

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @alerisc @fan-goddess @wickedfrsgrl @moonriseoverkyoto @echos-muses @schniiipsel

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

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arlecchno · 8 months

Text

everything has changed (alhaitham x gn!reader)

ONE. i just wanna know you better

masterlist next

SUMMARY - alhaitham was positive that he was not worthy of anyone's love, nor was anyone worthy of his. but after bumping into you on a random wednesday morning, he was ought to be wrong in many ways. also; in which you attempt on asking alhaitham out a grand total of three times; three different ways, three different places, and three different situations, in hopes of him reciprocating your so called love— people do say that third time's the charm, right?

A/N - i have delayed this for far too long. i have maybe slept while editing this draft for around 4 times. i was supposed to post this last week. forgive me pls

“three times.”

“pardon?”

you smiled at the gray-haired man at his desk, holding up three fingers as you repeated yourself once more. “i'll only ask you out three times, and if you decline all three of them, i won't ever bother you again. you can trust me on that.”

if there's one thing about you that alhaitham could describe, it's that you are… maybe a tad bit weird.

no, scratch that, you're insanely weird.

it's silly, he thinks. you're a well-known and respected scholar slash biologist from the amurta darshan. there's no one in the akademiya who doesn't know you, not when you're widely known for your eccentric researches and experiments. no, alhaitham definitely did not look into your work profile after that little incident. and even if he did, it was purely for work purposes, he was mainly doing his duty to report about it to the higher ups, lest he craves punishment or a lecture from grand sage azar.

anyway, frankly speaking, you should be professional, at the very least. hell, you have a doctorate. the title itself should be written all over you.

so why are you speaking to him like… well, he doesn't know. like you're a fool? a desperate moron in love? whatever it is, it's anything but professional to him.

see, this all started due to that sudden incident from a few weeks ago.

nothing ever beats the rush hour in the akademiya on a wonderful wednesday morning, it seems.

as a full time worker at the prestigious institute, it was just another day for you and your overworked colleagues. however, getting errands done during this time around would be a death wish, everyone within the akademiya walls knew of that, and of course, you do too.

yet it seemed like you had just dug your own grave.

honestly— who wouldn't? you needed to head over to your lab immediately, the specimens in the crate you were currently carrying needed to be experimented on within the fifteen minute timeline you had mentally set up in your head, so it was obvious that you had no time to lose.

and to speak; the crowds in the house of daena honestly weren't that bad— maybe a little less spacious than usual, but still merely nothing for an experienced scholar like you. see, that's what you had initially thought before getting back to your private lab.

you just need to head on over to the biology section of the house of daena to retrieve a book titled ‘fungi and its extraordinary lives’, and you'll be set to continue conducting your ongoing research project. look— you did think of snatching the book way earlier before you even set out on an adventure of getting your crate of supplies, but it would've been too much work for you to go back and forth from your lab, as it was already close to the house of daena.

you figured it was best to do it on your way back instead, which, in full honesty— was not even a bad idea. it was just that things just had to escalate a whole lot differently than you had intended to.

see— your first mistake was keeping your eyes busy on your task instead of what's in front of you. which, in another sense, is what any other normal person would do. well, you know your way around the akademiya like the back of your hand. the shortcuts to aisle number thirty-six in the house of daena, the bathroom to the end of the hall on floor two, the shortest route to the archive room of the akademiya, you name it. so you thought you could just waltz your way through the library easily. again, your first mistake.

your second mistake was that you were clearly doing anything but walking, understandably so. you're well aware of the akademiya rules: no running in the institution, no careless mistakes, no idle chit chat and gossip— among many others. right, the handbooks weren't a stranger to you. there was even a point in your life where you were forced to memorise it from a to z by one of your professors because you were unfortunate enough to have unintentionally broken one of the many minuscule rules that one time, which in your opinion was quite the torture for a mere student like you back then. you may or may not still hold a grudge against the said professor.

as you were double checking your to-do list with a pencil and piece of paper on your beloved crate, you hadn't realized that you were walking towards someone. okay, maybe the correct word for your actions right now would be sprinting, but you'd hate to admit that you were in the wrong.

now, this is your last mistake. the person that is about to bump into you is not a mere scholar, whom you can't just apologize to once or a few more times and move on with your day.

next thing you knew, you collided into the person's chest that was so hard it felt you just crashed into a wall, and much to your dismay, caused you to harshly fall on the pristine floors from the impact, along with your precious, precious crate, which is now most likely a lost cause as your specimens and other important stuff you had worked so hard to look for earlier were all over you and the extravagant floors of the house of daena. disgusting, you know, but that was the least of your worries right now.

as if that wasn't already downright embarrassing enough, you're now covered in gooey fungi, you have totally made a fool out of yourself, and all eyes are currently on you, scholars and students alike whispering amongst themselves at the scene they were witnessing. a monstrosity, truly.

you were sure that you'd be the main topic of gossip for at least a week. maybe two weeks at best.

the house of daena was silent, with only the chit and chatter amongst the scholars as an exception. at first sight, you wondered why everyone would pay so much attention to you instead of continuing on with what they were doing just a fleeting second ago. surely this happens in the akademiya at least once, no?

you've made two revelations to this; one, you were so ungodly hideous that everyone just had to stare. or two, you had probably just bumped into some hot-shot akademiyan.

of course, the first thing any sane person would do is look up to the perpetrator who had cause you this much damage. (it was your fault to begin with.)

so you did.

and of course any normal person who had just been bumped into would have thought of the same thing: have every reason to be angry at the person who bumped into you, whether they were in the wrong or not.

so it was only natural that you too, had the same thought in mind.

but the second you laid your eyes on him, it's as if the whole world stopped, and you finally understand why everyone was so adamant on just standing there and whispering about your little incident instead of helping you out like any decent human being would. and the latter of your revelation was definitely on spot. you would've done a victory dance if you were in any other situation except this.

because the person you had just bump into is none other than the scribe of the akademiya, the one and only, alhaitham.

you've heard of him a few times— apparently he's quite the reserved man, yet would not hesitate to call you out on your wrongdoings or foolish mistakes. well, that's what you heard anyway; as a mere worker who is trying to make ends meet, you are in no position to judge people based on what your fellow juniors run their mouths about these days.

for as long as you've been both an alum and full-time employee at the akademiya, it's truly a wonder that you've never actually seen the scribe in person. right, that's also what you've heard people say— that the scribe can hardly be spotted, nor can he be found easily to begin with. he's never in his office, and it's not often that you'd find him within the akademiya walls; the man is anywhere but at his working place, and somehow gets away with it because he's the scribe, whose presence is not of importance unless he deems so.

and if you are granted the position to say this; it is mainly because the higher ups of the akademiya takes great pride in their respected positions, so it is not a shocker that someone with an official title like grand scribe can frequently get away with such things.

egocentric, blunt, unambitious and many more— those are the few descriptions you've heard over the past few years from scholars about the scribe.

but out of all of the mysterious things you've miraculously heard about the man, you've never seen or heard people point out how attractive he is.

how could they not? he’s got a broad frame that could actually knock the breath out of you (which in this case, quite literally did knock you down), a set of clothes that somehow just screams him, despite the fact that you know next to nothing about the guy, tuft of gray hair that bounces graciously and looks luscious enough it makes you envious how he even manages to take such great care of it, and lastly, a pair of turquoise eyes that looked like an oasis from the sumeru desert, one you could just stare into forever, ever and ever.

this man is a whole package.

it was like the gods had granted you the perfect opportunity to present yourself in front of an attractive man, like the gods have finally decided to fill a bit of colour into your hopeless romantic and workaholic life, and gave you this blessing— except for the fact that this, this might be the most embarrassing way possible in doing so.

oh how you want the ground to swallow you up right now.

after what seemed like forever (it was less than thirty seconds), the man of the hour finally speaks, startling you with his voice. “would you rather sit down there like a fool or will you stand up?” ouch. maybe it's safe to say that at least one of the things people say about him are, in fact, true.

you blinked, once, twice, before you could pick up on what what he said and hurriedly stand up, glass jars of your specimens that were previously all over you clinking to the floor a little too loud, some already having been broken and shattered, but you could care less when the man in front of you was currently glaring at you like you have committed one of the six cardinal sins.

before he could even jab you more with his next few blunt words, you decided to bow down to a complete ninety-degree and started profusely apologizing, all previous thoughts of wanting to blame everything on him for ruining your prolonged experiment were thrown out the window (again, it is your fault in the first place.)

sure, this might hurt your pride and ego, but you'd rather do this than having the possibility of listening to the scribe giving you a lifelong lecture on the basic rules of the akademiya, or yet even worse, you get sent to the grand sage and have your doctorate and title revoked for being unprofessional, unethical, or whatever nonsense grand sage azar would demote you for. call yourself dramatic and insane, but you'd rather not inflict any chances of ending up humiliated or jobless. or both.

a beat passes, and you're still mumbling out apologies, causing alhaitham to clear his throat in order to cut you off.

“you… you can stand upright now,” he said, and it takes you another few seconds before you reluctantly do as he says, and the first thing you see is him looking at you with a puzzled expression plastered on his face.

“i apologize once again, scribe. it was my fault, i wasn't looking,” you looked down as you spoke, staring at your ruined materials on the white tiles.

alhaitham all but sighs, and tells you to look where you're going next time. you couldn't help but only nod, not even glancing at him once out of embarrassment. “you are fully aware of the akademiya rules, are you not? act one-o-three; no running in the institution unless–”

“–an emergency occurs, or and if ordered to by either of the six sages, grand sage included,” you finished his sentence with the slight of an eye roll, before remembering that this was the scribe, not your annoying biology professor who countlessly had you memorise the five-hundred-page worth of akademiya rules. truthfully, there was no need for a teaching institution to have that many rules.

then, he prompts another question: “do you perhaps need any help…” he seemed to have trailed off, and you flickered your eyes to him just for a fleeting second to see what he was doing. “amurta scholar?” he finished his question as he stared at your lab coat, a small badge to your left with the amurta logo pinned on it, indicating which darshan you are from.

“uh… no– it's alright,” you say sheepishly as you quickly crouched down, already starting to pick up your glass jars and whatnot. “you should get going, scribe. you must have a lot of work to do here in the akademiya.”

alhaitham could only nod as you tell him that, not even minding the fact that you were not able to see him as of the moment. he merely tells you to watch where you're going next time and starts to walk away; which in your opinion was maybe just a tad bit rude— the least he could do was help you out. but knowing him, as per what people talk about, that'd be nigh impossible. also, you did say that you didn't need any help, so you couldn't blame him per se. honestly, if you were in his shoes you'd probably have done the same.

so you hurriedly finished cleaning up your mess and ran to your lab, all in your splattered–with–gooey–fungi glory. as you sighed behind closed doors, you prayed to the gods above that your project would go smoothly and peacefully. fingers crossed.

well, maybe after yet another exhausting trip to the avidya forest for another set of fungi, that is.

but of course, it was only wishful thinking, there's not a lot to hope for when alhaitham pretty much occupied your mind the whole day. it has even gotten to the point where your fellow juniors had to snap you out of your daydream so that you could actually focus on your research.

sure, call yourself a hopeless romantic (maybe a crazy lunatic in this case), but who wouldn't fall for him at first sight? and who the hell cares about the things scholars gossip about him? a man with that sort of pretty privilege could run over your toe and you would gracefully thank him for it.

and, point in case— alhaitham isn't that bad. okay, sure, maybe a little too blunt and too uncaring for his own good, but he is not as bad as people make him seem.

maybe you should get to know alhaitham more, right? not because you're interested in him (you are, but that could be pushed aside for now), you merely want to debunk the bad rumors about him going around (they aren't even half as bad, just highly exaggerated and overall childish) and make sure that everyone knows that alhaitham is not just the egocentric and arrogant guy people always see (he probably is just exactly that, but it's worth the try).

you firmly believe there's more to the scribe than what meets the eye.

so, you make it your mission and goal to get to know alhaitham better, even if it may be the worst idea possible.

spoilers: it absolutely is the worst idea possible.

after the minor incident you had, you tried your very best to encounter him during work hours, which honestly wasn't as challenging as you thought it was. sure, he's not around much, but after maybe a week or so of hanging around the house of daena (stalking would be the ideal word you're looking for), you finally got to know his routine— well, only for when he's around the humongous library, but that will suffice for now.

evidently, alhaitham would only visit the house of daena on wednesdays, and weirdly on saturdays, at ten in the morning sharp. for what reason you quite have no clue, but he's frequently around the linguistics section, reading a book or two about ancient runes and that sort of stuff, sometimes even seen squabbling with a certain architect from the kshahrewar darshan too. you don't know kaveh much— but apparently he's acquainted with alhaitham, of all people.

but now that you know a part of his routine, you can probably catch the opportunity to get to know him. so ever since then, you have been, quote unquote, “bumping„ into him nonstop.

the first few times you bumped into him, you had greeted him a couple of times, and after a bit of coaxing, you somehow managed to drag him into small talk. you've even gotten to the point where you're asking him when he's free— reason why? of course, you just want to take him out for a bit during lunch break to make up for the incident you two had just a few weeks ago, definitely no ulterior motives whatsoever; which unfortunately, alhaitham kept declining because he quotes that “it would be a waste of time,” and that “things should just be left in the past.”

but that clearly didn’t stop you from trying, again and again. your guardians clearly didn't raise a quitter.

one thing you did find out about alhaitham after a few conversations with him is that the man is anything but fond of small talk, which was expected. and after countless attempts on trying to get him into one, you eventually had to go on a different route to get his attention.

so, here you are now, somehow having managed to reach your way to his office— and miraculously enough, alhaitham just so happens to also be present at the time, which gives you the perfect opportunity to raise the deal that has been dying to escape from your throat.

look— there's no denying that you are here for work purposes; you were requesting for one of your documentations to be cited and reviewed, and although alhaitham is mainly responsible for documenting data regarding the akademiya and the six darshans, he offered a helping hand during one of your small talks you had successfully managed to coax out of him.

and you did come here for that, but you just couldn't help but blurt everything out.

and it doesn't really help that alhaitham is looking at you like you've submitted the worst thesis possible. you haven't even handed it to him yet.

alhaitham continues to frown. “would it not be a hassle to be asking me out that much? why would you even be interested in me?” he had asked, and he didn't bother waiting for your reply as he continued speaking. “you could use those three times right now and i'll decline all of them instantly. that way, you won't have to bother me again.”

“well aren't you quite rude, scribe,” you huffed, retracting your hand back to your side. talk about rude; you're here for the sole purpose of asking him out. “give me a chance, would you? i'm confident that you'd have changed your mind by the time i'm on my last chance,” you grinned as you quirked your eyebrows up and down, and alhaitham almost rolled his eyes as he folded his arms over his chest and leans back on his chair. almost.

“i highly doubt it,” he says.

you tucked your files closer to your chest. “have you ever heard of the saying ‘third time's the charm’, scribe?”

“i believe so, yes,” he nods, then adds: “you'll only ever hear obsessive gamblers say that sort of nonsense when they've lost their current gamble, in hopes of winning the next round.”

in an instant, your jaw drops. “are you implying that i am gambling my love life?” see, if you look closely— alhaitham was this close to smiling.

“i am just saying that there is no point in pursuing something, or someone, in this case, when you've already failed the first time, biologist,” well, now you understand why scholars say he is unambitious. “it would be a waste of time to be around me, or be with me, for that matter. i doubt that i could ever reciprocate your feelings.”

ouch. you'll probably have to double check your list of alhaitham's personality chart again.

“please?” you plead, and alhaitham stares at you for a little too long that you eventually had to break eye contact to avoid his intense gaze. “i promise you that i will never bother you again, you can trust me on that. you won't even see my face on the grounds of the akademiya.”

he looks at you confusedly. “are you not the famous biologist with fifteen awards on their name? i am bound to bump into you in the near future, in one way or another.” he says, tapping his finger on his forearm.

huh, how did he know that you have won fifteen akademiyan awards? as far as you know, this guy knows nothing about you, the fact that he had to check which darshan you are from during your incident was enough proof.

maybe you're not the only one who is interested in the other.

“that's not the point!” you groaned, rubbing your temple with your free hand. this may or may not be directed to both your thoughts and him.

okay, maybe this was a bad idea after all— alhaitham is an impossible man. you'd think that you were capable enough to break his façade, to see the true him after a bit of pestering, but nooo, you're pretty damn sure this is him. there's no such thing as a façade. he's just… alhaitham. which could either be a blessing or a curse, if you ever manage to steal his heart. that, or maybe both. but then again, it still doesn't change the fact that he is one tough nut to crack.

alhaitham sighs. “will you really leave me alone?”

“huh?”

“will you really stop bothering me once you're over with your… shenanigans?”

you blinked. then, you widen your eyes, nodding. “of course. i won't pursue you again, scribe. all i am asking is for you to lend me your time for the duration of— uh, actually, i'm not sure what i am supposed to call this,” you mumble the last few words, but still audible enough for the gray-haired man to hear.

“say, hypothetically, what would you do if i were to agree to one of your three chances of asking me out? what will you do then?”

“oh,” you shift from one foot to another, awkwardness coursing through your veins at the lack of answer you could think of at the top of your head. “i… i am not quite sure. that's for future me to worry about, i guess?”

alhaitham raises a brow, but doesn't question your uncertainty. instead, he says something else in return: “alright, then. i will indulge in your antics for as long as you'd have me as your… social experiment.”

social experiment is just an over exaggeration, right? it has to be. no rational person says it like that.

“what?”

“i'm saying that i will agree to the terms you have given me, but you will stop bothering once your chances are up. do you understand?” he enunciates his words carefully, and you almost dropped your files, right then and there.

gulping, you nod, a small grin tugging at your lips, and alhaitham already regrets his words when you say: “of course.”

well, be prepared for a rollercoaster ride.

extra note - ok guys please keep me in your thoughts and prayers 🙏 writing slump is crazy this is the first work i’ve posted in over 2 months. that is ridonkulous. hope i don’t disappear again

taglist; @isotofl @dancinghillary @heartswonder

taglist is still open!! :D

#alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x you #genshin x you #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact reader insert #genshin x reader #al haitham x reader #genshin alhaitham #h✧˖— writes #h✧˖— everything has changed #i went through the five stages of grief writing this #yet somehow i still hate it

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lazycats-stuff · 10 months

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Damian Wayne x male reader

Okay, this idea came out of nowhere, but imagine this. Damian Wayne x shapeshifter reader, but the reader can turn into a cat... Also, I got a few asks about Damian Wayne fics, so why not? Short but sweet, hehe. I will post the second part to MWII 141 TF soon, just need to get it written.

Also, feel free to send requests.

Summary: (Y/N) has a secret, one that even Damian Wayne doesn't know. Damian finds out by complete accident.

Damian was a very observant person by nature. He could tell when somebody was lying to him or hiding something. It was a skill that he was proud off, but realized it could be a bad thing when in a relationship. Now it has become a problem.

He started dating (Y/N) (L/N) about 6 months ago and Damian didn't think he could have found a better person to date. They met at school by complete accident in the library. From that moment on, their friendship grew and grew.

(Y/N) was also Damian's gay awakening, which was no small feat. And yes, (Y/N) did know that Damian is Robin. Damian could tell that (Y/N) was the one.

And the rest of the family loved him. Bruce and Alfred approved of (Y/N), which was the best thing that could happen to him.

But something was happening to (Y/N). He was... Jumpy and there was something off. He could quietly move, almost like he was trained to do so. Damian was confused about that. There wasn't anything wrong about that, but still, to walk that quietly...

Also, he likes scratched all over his body. Especially the cheeks and under the chin. Nothing unusual, people liked to get scratched, but this was... A bit odd.

There were also times where it seemed like (Y/N) was just bouncing off of walls and then there were times were he crashed down and just slept for a long time.

Also, there were nap times. (Y/N) could sleep through anything and when he slept, he would sleep for a long time. Sometimes it would surprise him how long he could sleep and still get work done.

Also, recently, he liked to bump noses with Damian and just nuzzle around his neck. Damian thought it was just something about him, you know, just physical touch or rather love language.

" I don't know how to approach this guys. I don't want to be that invasive boyfriend, but there is something about (Y/N) that's off. His behavior reminds me of a cat. " Damian admitted to his family.

" Well, if it worries you, you should talk to him. " Bruce said.

" Wow, you are the one to talk about communication. " Jason remarked from the side, making Bruce roll his eyes.

" Either way, talk to him. "

Damian didn't say anything, instead he sipped his coffee. Maybe his father is right. Talking is a good idea. If only he wasn't a Wayne and an Al Ghul. Maybe it would be easier.

Damian came home earlier than he said to (Y/N). He needs to talk to (Y/N) now.

" (Y/N)? " He called into the apartment. He heard a soft chirp. A chirp?! He saw a cat on the couch, just curled in. It was a black cat and Damian was in shock. How did a cat get in here?!

Once the cat realized that Damian was here, it got up on all fours and the hairs stood up. Damian moved slowly towards the cat, jumping at it when he got close enough. Something was off. Why did the cat respond to (Y/N)? Could this be?

" Is that you (Y/N)? "

The cat relaxed and all of a sudden, (Y/N) was beneath him now, looking away. Damian could see tears in his eyes.

" Oh habibi, there is no need to cry. It's okay... Do you think that I would break up with you? " Damian asked, cupping (Y/N)'s cheek.

" Yes. "

Damian's heart broke at the mere thought of that.

" Oh habibi. I love you, every single part of you. Maybe I love the cat side more, but still. " Damian said, giving him kisses all over his face.

And once his lips landed against (Y/N)'s Damian felt at peace.

" You can always change into your cat form. And that explains a lot of your behavior. " Damian said, nuzzling (Y/N)'s neck.

" Now you are becoming a car Dames. "

Damian chuckled, gathering (Y/N) in his arms. (Y/N) shifted into a cat, finally nuzzling his neck, making sure to mark him. Damian chuckled at the nuzzling.

" I love you (Y/N). "

He got a meow in return, but he knew what that meow stood for.

#dc comics #dc x male reader #x male reader #damian x male reader #robin x male reader

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deepouterspacecandy · 1 month

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Ink and Paper Hearts: Part Two

This is the second part of an earlier piece that I absolutely loved writing and had posted for Valentine’s Day. Like its predecessor, this one is over 8k words. We’ve got a bit of everything here. Light angst, fluff, a slice of smut. Violence, gore, and sexual themes. Heavier in tone than the first, for sure. 18+ only.

Dogs barking at a murder of crows outside jolt you awake—their high-pitched caws cutting through the dawn. You suspect the birds have homed in on a corpse beyond the fences or food scraps someone has carelessly left behind for them to scrounge.

The sounds of paws hitting the pavement echo, signalling that someone has already taken the four-legged crew out for their morning walk. The exhaustion in your body is grateful.

Five more minutes to curl up in this stark, sterile cell Isaac has forced you to call home for the past two months.

The hardest part of getting out of bed is no longer the lack of sunshine, but the shock of the frigid floors against your bare feet. Heating a prison that was probably already in disrepair long before Cordyceps hit is a gargantuan task.

Abby’s letters and dried flower trimmings adorn the plain walls, filling the space with a bright fragrance. Nobody at the prison dares read them, every soldier respecting the already dire lack of retreat the barren walls provide.

That doesn’t stop them from teasing you for being the only one in camp brave enough to journey beyond the walls for office supplies.

It also doesn’t prevent them from offering generous trades for a few pens and some paper of their own when you return.

A chilly nose nuzzles against your palm, urging you to confront your troubles and venture outside so that she can serve with her comrades.

“No sleep for the wicked, eh?” you groan, your voice causing her floppy ears to rise. “Oh, no—don’t even think about it!”

With a joyful whine, she eagerly tackles your tired body, making quick work of reducing all your blankets into a messy heap on the floor.

“Troublemaker,” you giggle, letting her spin into oblivion over the soft material before giving her a gentle shove so you can put your bed back together.

“Should we shower first or write to Abby?”

The familiar name triggers Navigator, causing her to bark and spin with enthusiasm. To be certain, you break it down for her one more time, making sure she comprehends.

“Shower?”

She lets out a tiny, impatient whimper.

“Write to Abby?”

Her shrieking bark echoes through the prison, and you wish you had the means to share it with the girl in question. The dog hasn’t even met her yet, but she knows.

Abby is a beacon of light to her handler.

“Alright, alright, you win,” you say, the hazy cloud of your breath reminding you to grab your coat.

Writing to Abby during sunrise would be a beautiful way to start the day. You glance into the hallway to make sure the pathway is clear and turn to your pup.

“Navi—who’s there?” you ask, the command changing her demeanour instantly.

She stiffens and lowers her head, listening.

Before panting in your direction to give you the all clear, she attentively scans her surroundings but detects nothing out of the ordinary.

“Good girl, Navigator—yard,” you say, and she’s almost too thrilled to compose herself.

She bumps into the chair beside your desk, giving the object a quick sniff before moving through the familiar doorway. Her shoulders graze the steel bars, but only enough to help her right herself and course correct.

Your hand instinctively searches for a pen, but catches on a delicate bracelet, its intricate chain hindered by a broken clasp. It didn’t arrive to you that way, but after many sleepless nights constantly clutching it under your sleeve, it eventually gave in.

It makes you miss Abby even more.

Chilly air stings your lungs as you look out at the most recent delivery spilling from an eroded shipping container just outside the gates. These intermodal containers clutter the field, creating an unsightly and hazardous environment.

The level of chaos seems to be escalating, and it’s unclear if Isaac is fully aware of it.

The prison is evolving into a central hub for storing resources, and speculation about Isaac turning it into a medical facility is increasing.

Someone forgot to close the hatch on the one closest to the entry gate, the dented door of the container left ajar. You whistle for Navigator. Two of her more seasoned companions join her on either side, ears perked at full attention, watching her six.

“Navi—check,” you command.

It’s a new obstacle, and her busy nose finds the perimeter first. You swallow against your racing heart, praying that nothing has crept inside overnight. Navigator is capable, but she faces unfavourable odds, and everything in this world happens fast.

You have conflicting feelings about helping her develop into a stronger soldier, yet wanting to keep her close to you.

She wags her thick tail as she maps the object and waits for your command.

“Good. Check,” you repeat, and she slows to a silent crawl, her ears on a swivel.

She clips her hip on the rusted lock as she disappears inside the metal box, her nails clicking against the wooden floor. You draw your gun and wait.

A full minute goes by before her nose cautiously peeks out again, and there’s a rush of relief as the tension drains from your body.

“Good, Navi. Good job,” you exhale, crouching to touch her face and run your hands over her in search of injury.

A soldier, who you can only assume arrived with the shipment, makes his way towards you through the mud.

“Who left this open?” you ask, your tone garnering the attention of others in the field, still nursing their morning coffee.

The crew within earshot nonchalantly shrug their shoulders, and the indifference stirs up a storm inside you.

“I guess we’ve got ghosts!” you laugh humourlessly. “If you leave room for trouble, trouble will find you—and then it will find me and my crew. You must close the damn—,” but before you can finish, you’re plunged to the ground, a rancid jaw snapping at the back of your neck.

Gunfire sends every crow to the sky, the blast leaving a deafening buzz ringing in your ears. Your chest heaves on the damp ground as you try to gather your bearings, sweaty palms pressing into the soil against the rotten weight on your back.

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

Abby,

I don’t know what it would look like for you to leave it all behind, but I know it would be better than this.

With enough force to chew through it, you gnaw on your pen cap while reading over the start to your letter. Paper is a precious resource and you’re not above scribbling out the odd mistake, but this requires a new sheet. Considering the stress Abby is already facing, it’s best not to add anything more to her plate.

Abby,

What was the first thing you did when you woke up?

Give me details—what did you eat for breakfast? Did you go to the gym?

I’ve got your letters up on the wall beside my bed and it’s the first thing I see. The first thing I feel… well, that would be Navi’s cold nose. Usually, it’s somewhere at the back of my neck, but today it was my hand, so I’d say all in all, it has been a decent morning.

She’s doing better. We had a minor mishap earlier, but it’s no different from any other dog I’ve trained, really. They all have their quirks. I know she’ll be able to handle everything with a little more practice.

She already likes you, and you haven’t even met. You’ll see what I mean soon. I talk to her about you a lot, she’s a good listener. I still can’t believe we found each other the way we did.

It’s getting crowded around here. I’m starting to appreciate the long walk to town! There’s this abandoned gym I pass by sometimes and it makes me think of you. Maybe I should grab a set of weights and start training. That would only make me miss you more, though.

Oh, any chance the stadium has adopted a jeweller? I accidentally broke the bracelet you sent me and I’m rather grumpy about it. Still makes me smile as much as the first time I saw it.

Maybe you’ll be here whenever it’s fixed, to put it back on for me. Or take it off. The choice is yours.

Is that too much? I’m going a little stir crazy.

It’s too quiet here at night!

P.S.

Did you have someone before this? Another Dragonfly Firefly?

Abby’s next letter arrives after just a week, and you sprint up the stairs to the top of the guard tower to absorb it. As Navigator curls up beside you, her solid jaw rests comfortably on your lap, creating a soothing weight as you pet her. You notice her spine feels different under your touch, no longer as bony as it was when you first brought her back.

Maintaining a connection with Abby is helping you stay grounded while you cope with life outside the stadium, and so is the growing bond with your affectionate pup. You’re counting down the days until those worlds collide.

Dragonfly,

You make my face hurt. In a good way, obviously.

Bah, should I rewrite this? I’m running low on paper, so I guess I’ll embarrass myself.

Hi, pretty girl.

That slip up was super cute. Did you know dragonflies can live under water for like two years after they’re born?

Do you like to swim?

I bet Navigator loves the water. Can I take her to the lake sometime? Mama, too, of course.

I never thought I’d say this, but I’m jealous of your dog, big time. The thought of waking up next to you does things to me.

Breakfast? Well, I wolfed down a salmon bagel this morning and hit the weights early. I didn’t go to the gym, just me and my dumbbells today. I enjoy working out on my own, gives me time to think. Mostly about you.

If you’re serious about working out, I know an excellent trainer who would love to help you. (It’s me.)

They served me a glass of wine tonight, so I’ve got the warm fuzzies going on. Sitting here with your letter, I’m realizing that this is how you make me feel—like the edges of everything, somehow hurt less. I think about that night on your living room floor, and it gives me butterflies.

Hitting me with the big relationship questions, are we?

Do you remember Owen? He was still around for a while when you got here, I’m pretty sure. He was the only Firefly you speak of. A chapter I’m glad to put behind me. There’s a new one I’m reading and I’m thinking this book might be a keeper.

Nothing you say is too much. Sometimes I worry you’re holding back, like maybe you don’t want me to know how bad things are out there. Please tell me everything, even the bad stuff.

I’m dying to see you all grouchy, but I’ll still fix your bracelet. Don’t need a jeweller for that.

I think you know what I’d vote for, but I’m down for either of those things.

(Just in case, the answer is off. I’d vote for taking it off.)

I made myself blush when I wrote that.

Think of me.

Yours,

Abigail

You crunch the letter against your face with glee, the pup on your lap tilting her head quizzically at your outburst.

“I like her so much,” you say, releasing Abby’s letter in favour of squealing into your cupped hands. “I like her so, so much.”

Navigator searches for them, nudging at your fingers to gauge your emotional state.

“These are happy sounds,” you tell her, dropping a smooch on her snout.

She takes your word for it, cozying back up next to you.

After rereading Abby’s letter, you find yourself lost in thought as you stare out at the quiet grounds, your mind overflowing with things you want to write to her.

And some things that you don’t.

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

The Stalker who attacked you didn’t breach the protective layer of your clothing.

You still find yourself obsessively checking your reflection in the D-Block bathroom mirrors throughout the day—running your fingers lightly along your shoulder blade, feeling for any cuts or abrasions.

Close calls happen, but this has niggled inside the darkest corners of your mind, dive bombing into your nightmares.

As idiotic as those soldiers were, and maybe as green as Navigator is at surveillance, this is how easily it goes down.

A random, insignificant day, before the sun has even risen above the treeline, another human ceases to exist. You’d never considered it before—how you’d prefer it to happen. You know one thing for sure, you’d rather it didn’t shake out at the hands of someone too lazy to keep the area secure.

“Shit, sorry,” a voice groans out. “I didn’t think anyone used these showers.”

As you turn, your eyes meet those of a stranger. She stands before you, a towel tucked neatly under her arm, hair pulled back to prevent her glossy curls from getting wet. Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and you can see it’s because she’s exhausted.

“No, it’s okay,” you say, rushing to slip your shirt back on. “I normally don’t use them, but you’re more than welcome.”

“What’s got you back here, then?” she asks. “You good?”

With her narrowed, inquisitive gaze, she reminds you of the importance of conducting thorough investigations on everyone you come across.

“I’m fine,” you say, pointing to the rusted handles protruding from the wall. “Crank it to the left and you might get lucky, but hot water isn’t really a thing around here. Decent pressure, though.”

“So, I’ve heard.”

You hesitate, and she extends her hand with a low laugh.

“Nora,” she says. “I’m a medic. Isaac’s got me here setting up shop.”

“Right, makes sense,” you say, feeling the tightness in your muscles dissipate.

“Did you want me to take a look at that?” she asks.

She’s pointing to the spot where you had the closest contact with the infected and your stomach churns, blood rushing into your ears. You spin in the mirror, yanking your shirt collar down.

“I’ve checked a thousand times! I swear there’s nothing.”

With a calm demeanour, she places her hand on your arm.

“I believe that. But I’m thinking maybe you don’t,” Nora says.

Her touch is enough to keep your heart from ejecting from your throat, but only barely. Her bedside manner alone sets her apart as one of the best medics you’ve encountered.

“Keep focusing on your breath,” she continues. “Are you comfortable lifting your shirt?”

You nod, and she assists you in bunching the fabric under your chin.

Nora slips a knackered flashlight out from her towel, placing her sheathed knife onto the countertop. Clicking on the flashlight, she illuminates the ominous bathroom, casting eerie shadows in the mirrors and around the room as she moves it from side to side.

“I heard about what went down,” she explains, pressing the pads of her fingers into your skin. “Not cool.”

You can’t help but let out a chuckle at her casual evaluation, but your own mistake in the incident quickly comes to mind. You wiggle your fingers into Navigators’ fur; the pup quietly leaning against your leg.

“Shit happens, I guess.”

“Yeah, well,” Nora says, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze before letting the shirt fall to your sides. “Some mistakes shouldn’t happen twice.”

With your head dipped, you shuffle towards the entryway, hesitating at the threshold of the haunted corridors.

“Thank you for this.”

“You’re welcome. Let’s not make it a habit,” she smirks, the faucet screeching under her grip. She raises her voice above the rush of water. “I can think of one person who’d be rather livid if she found out her girl was in danger. That would be all bad.”

Abby’s reputation for being tight-lipped about personal matters makes you suspect that they’re friends, and your chest constricts.

“I shouldn’t tell her, then?” you ask.

Nora plunks a bar of soap onto the partition between shower stalls.

“Not what I said,” she grins, undoing her belt buckle. “Hey—do you mind leaving him?”

She tips her chin at your dog.

“Navigator?” you say, sending the dog’s tail into a helicopter spin. “Uh—yeah. Of course. But she’s not really—she still needs time.”

With tenderness, Nora bends down and cradles the dog’s head in her hands.

“A little lady, huh?”

She runs the pads of her thumbs beneath Navigator’s eyes, whispering something into her ear that is overpowered by the sound of water tearing into the tile ground.

“We’re good,” Nora says. “Now, what’s it going to take to get a little privacy around here?”

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

Abby,

Is the new chapter with me? Please tell me it’s me.

I can’t put a face to Owen. That time was a blur for me, but I remember Mel. She examined me when I first got there. I hope everything went well with the baby.

Uh oh, now you’re asking me all the hard hitters!

Promise not to laugh, okay?

I have no fucking clue how to swim. I could probably… not drown… for a solid minute or two.

When we were little, my siblings told me there were infected in the lake. After that, I always felt too scared to try. When I got older, I’d go in on horseback because they really loved to swim. Luckily, nothing grabbed my feet. That was always my biggest fear.

I miss the smell of horses. That probably makes me a weirdo, right? I’d like to have one again someday. They’re such gentle giants.

Reminds me of you.

Speaking of which, all this gym talk has unlocked fun new cravings in my brain. You could ask me about them, or I could show you.

You make my face hurt, too.

I want to be that for you all the time, which is why I’m scared to tell you this next part. Please try not to worry either, because I swear, I’m okay.

I got jumped by an infected. The fucker laid me out. It’s getting hectic around here and someone forgot to close the shipping container. It was an accident, and nobody got hurt, thankfully. Everyone is being more careful now, I think. But the deliveries are constant and it’s getting a bit out of hand. It doesn’t feel secure here the way it does back home.

On the plus side, I think I saw a radio being carried in today! Do you figure they’d let us use it? I’d really like to hear your voice.

Please be safe.

Dragonfly

From the porch of the administrative building, you hear the unmistakable sound of an engine starting up, followed by the sudden beam of headlights cutting through the darkness of the field beside you. It’s not common for groups to travel after dark, but you make your way to the fence to satisfy your curiosity.

“Where are you guys headed?” you ask.

A woman with pigtails and a wicked scowl casts a sharp, sidelong glance in your direction. “What’s it to you?”

“Are you heading into the city, by any chance?”

She braces herself against the truck’s hood and analyzes you.

“It’s classified,” the woman mutters, tearing apart a strip of jerky before tossing a piece to Navigator. “What’s the matter—she got something against beef?”

You whisper a command, patting the grass in front of her. The pup easily locates the source of the incredible smell, but you can feel the weight of the woman’s scrutinizing glare.

“We could really use some better lighting out here,” you say, holding up your folded letter. “If I ask you to take this to someone at the stadium, what would you want in return?”

She works you over for a moment, nodding at the multi-tool on your belt.

“Done!” you say.

As you busy yourself with taking the tool off its leather strap, she grunts, “Who’s it for?”

You survey your environment for any potential eavesdroppers, heat creeping up your neck.

“Anderson.”

With a contemptuous snort, she propels herself off the hood.

“Abby? What’s your deal with her?”

“I’m sorry, but that’s classified,” Nora interjects from the shadows, grabbing the letter from you through the fence.

The paper lands against the woman’s vest with a sharp slap. You suddenly feel a wave of concern that she might crumple up the letter and fling it out the window before the convoy moves ten feet from the prison.

Nora turns on her heel to load a crate onto the truck before raising her brow at the disgruntled soldier.

“I’ll make sure she gets it,” the woman says.

“Great!” With a wink, Nora begins her slow, determined walk toward the main gate.

You get to keep your Leatherman, too.

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

During morning training, Navigator’s keen sense of hearing allows her to mimic the movements of her peers closely, effortlessly blending in with them. The day kicks off on a high note, as every dog under your care triumphs in their practice missions.

Under the cloudless blue sky, the sun casts its vibrant energy into everything it reaches, including you. Perfect timing since you’re already needing to make another run into town.

It’s an easy trek for the first while until you get closer to the roadways. Rusted vehicles marred by fallen trees make it a challenge to explore.

“Navi—up,” you say, keeping your voice low. She sniffs to find her obstacle and seems to recognize it as the mossy log it is. “Careful, it’s slippery.”

You should heed your own warnings, but alas, the ground is so uneven that you stumble and slip about ten times before reaching your destination.

Although there is no post office, there is a pharmacy that shares its premises with a convenience store. You’ve had good fortune in locating supplies, particularly towards the back where someone has stacked boxes in front of the door marked Staff Only.

They act as a barrier, and you have no desire to uncover the mystery of what they’re obstructing. You take what you need and scram.

You notice a city mailbox and contemplate attempting to pilfer what’s inside. When you pull at the drop box handle, it gives out a loud, metallic creak that reverberates through the streets. Navigator goes rigid, her ears pinned as she notices something you don’t.

With your pistol in hand, you carefully sweep your gaze across the area, straining to discern any movement amidst the jumble of abandoned cars. The dog growls, a quiet rumble in her chest at a Runner, rocking unsteadily in an alley. As your blood chills, you quickly backtrack, moving the both of you to safety.

It takes longer to reach the prison, but the detour keeps you whole.

You release your companion to lounge leisurely in the sun with her friends and decide to face the dreaded ice shower. It demands serious mental toughness to withstand being both cold and wet in a cement dungeon, and you’re not quite conditioned for it.

The system you’ve come up with is laughable and miserable, but it somehow convinces you it’s the optimal solution. A bucket, filled to the top, that you can pour over your head to prevent fully submerging yourself.

With a sense of desperation, you lean forward, silently hoping that today will be the day when someone fixes the water tanks.

After subjecting yourself to hygiene torture, you wrap your towel snug around your frame, contemplating the idea of building a firepit inside the bathroom.

A voice unexpectedly pierces the dark and startles you.

“That is a great outfit.”

In a state of shock, her powerful physique and honeyed tone instantly bring you warmth.

“No freaking way!” you shout.

“Get your butt over here, smoke show. Don’t make me wait,” she says.

With a sprint and a leap, you throw yourself into Abby’s arms, your towel slipping from your hand. She holds you so tight it doesn’t shift an inch.

“How?” you ask, your body trembling. “How are you here right now?”

“I took a leave of absence,” Abby murmurs into your damp hair.

She giggles as you wrap your arms snugly around her neck, your legs a vice around her waist.

“Tell me this is real,” you say, voice breaking as you inhale her deeply. “God, you smell so good.”

Abby shifts her weight in a rhythmic sway, soothing you in her embrace as you suddenly crumble.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” she whispers, hushing you gently as you sob against her shoulder. “You’re safe now.”

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

Abby decides you’ve been cold, and towel bound long enough so you throw on your clothes and lead her outside, where you emerge with the sun’s last kisses appeasing your icy skin.

The golden light transforms into a hazy cotton candy glow, casting a celestial hue that electrifies every blade of grass beneath your feet.

With a bright, lopsided grin on her face, Abby lingers a few paces behind you, adding a pleasant energy to the air. Her army fatigues, rugged and worn, serve as a reminder of her toughness, yet her movements with you are graceful, as she effortlessly synchronizes her steps with yours.

“You’re too far away,” you say, keeping your pace. “I’m all alone up here.”

The moment she tackles you, a boom of surprised laughter escapes from your throat. She seizes the opportunity to launch her attack as the last hours of sunlight hit your eyes, raising you carefully above her head to place you on her shoulders.

“Don’t you dare drop me,” you warn, her grip on your legs helping you defy gravity. “I’m slipping!”

With a sigh, she cheerfully tickles your thighs, poking fun at your theatrical antics.

“You’re fine,” she says.

“I can see everything!”

“Now you see what I see,” she murmurs, launching into a series of small hops to readjust you above her.

Her words settle within you, and it’s clear Abby is making her father proud, bearing an uncanny resemblance to his sentimental ways.

The years you spent on horseback have honed your core muscles, enabling you to toy with her earlobes as she trudges on. When you take full advantage of your special access to her neck, the sounds she emits are soft as peach fuzz.

Striding through the vast field, she exudes a sense of purpose, as if leading you both home.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You talk too much,” she teases, pressing her lips to the inside of your thigh.

You feel it consume your body, leaving you breathless. Abby circles her thumb over the spot her lips met your leg, like maybe it was having the same effect on her.

She moves through sparse brush to a crumbling shack, its bones tilting above a flowing creek, summoning the earth to wash it away.

Abby easily adjusts to the incline of the muddy bank while you clumsily flail about. Extending your hands in front of her, she grabs hold of them and steadies you.

“Everything good?”

“I can walk,” you offer.

“Is that what you want?”

“No,” you confess.

She smooths her hands over your calves, before stepping onto the sunken pebbles.

The bubbling stream welcomes her steady boots, and you close your eyes. Up the trunks of the trees, small claws scamper, accompanied by the fluttering of wings that turn the forest into a harmonious amalgamation of nature.

“I’m not hurting you?” you ask.

She knows what you’re really worried about. With a knowing huff, she easily scales the other side of the bank, as if to prove a point.

“I could deadlift you in my sleep.”

“Move over universe—Abby’s ego is coming through!”

You feel her body vibrate with laughter, and you’re thrilled to be connected to her gales of happiness. But truthfully, the strain of trying to keep your equilibrium and extend your hand to touch her is causing a dull ache to spring up in your back.

When you tap out, it’s in one swift motion down the length of her back. Your feet hit the ground and you wobble for a few steps before becoming reacquainted with your sea legs.

“I like how strong you are.”

“I like that you like how strong I am,” Abby says, her brows arching suggestively, adding a mischievous twinkle to her eyes.

You catch sight of a towering white wall, its grandeur diminished by years of wear. It’s supported by the framework of sturdy steel truss, not intimidated by time or extreme weather the way the rest of the place seems to be. As wildflowers merge with a mob of ancient vehicles, the lot becomes a kaleidoscope of colours against the sunset, bridging the gap between the past and the present.

A weathered marquee sign stands as a charming centrepiece, teeming with prosperous vines. The wind has stolen away a significant number of the movie titles—what remains evokes a profound wave of sadness.

Look for the light.

“Abby,” you whisper, reaching for her hand. She laces her fingers with yours. “What is this place?”

With her hand still tightly woven in your grasp, she steps in front of you, passionately describing the nostalgic charm of a Drive-In movie theatre. Although she had never been, her dad had shared numerous stories of them.

“So, you’d just sit in your car and eat snacks and stuff?”

“Well, the families did,” Abby snorts.

She plucks a purple flower from the wheel of an RV before slipping it into your hair, her warm breath tickling your face. Your scalp tingles pleasantly at her touch.

“And the others?” you ask, reaching up to feel the soft petals of her affection against your fingertips. “What would they do?”

You weren’t born yesterday, and she quirks a knowing brow at your play of virtue. Your lips moisten with anticipation. Abby tilts her head, her gaze flitting to your parted mouth.

“It’s hard to explain,” she lies, scrunching her freckled nose. “Want me to show you?”

A shiver at the base of your neck sends your temperature rising.

“I think that’s probably best,” you say.

As Abby moves closer, your foreheads accidentally collide, causing both of you to break into hushed laughter, becoming even more enchanted as you feel your breaths mixing.

She swallows, and it’s a loud squeak at the back of her throat, your heart thumping erratically at how timid she has become. It empowers you to tease her, brushing the tips of your fingers along her jaw, tracing the corners of her smile. Your forefinger dips below her chin and drags along the column of her neck.

You gently explore the hollow of her collarbone until her yearning drives her to lean into you.

“The way you look at me,” Abby whispers. “You make me weak.”

“I wonder what happens if I do this, then.”

Your lips skim hers in a slow, teasing sweep until she whimpers against your mouth.

“Please,” she begs.

The taste of her full lips and the sweet glide of her tongue leaves a forest fire burning deep inside you.

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

The moon’s glow penetrates the dense foliage, causing hallucinations that morph ordinary plants into nightmarish beings, making the journey back to the prison a sensory maze.

Your body longs for Abby’s touch, but your mind advises against begging her to pin you against a nearby tree.

“Speak, chatterbox,” Abby teases, pulling you against her side so you can both stumble through the dark. “You’ve gone quiet on me.”

“I’m really turned on right now,” you blurt, and Abby barks such a rich laugh into the peaceful forest that it instantly becomes your favourite tune. “I think I’d put Manny to shame.”

“Wow. I’m that good, huh?”

You imitate the piercing static of a HAM radio, holding up an invisible mic. Your juvenile behaviour nearly causes her to collapse with laughter.

“This is Dragonfly calling Abby’s ego,” you say. “Can someone put my girl back on the air?”

Abby comes to a halt at the edge of the field, her wide eyes transforming into an inky sky. Her gaze bursts with ethereal stars.

“Can I see that for a second?” she asks, gesturing to the invisible mic in your hand.

Your cheeks sting with euphoria as you hand it to her.

Pretending to adjust the coiled cord, she puts on quite a show, and you’re smitten.

“This is Abigail calling Dragonfly,” she says, her confident voice dripping with authority.

When you don’t pick up, she playfully lambasts you.

“But you took my mic!” you squeak.

She cups a hand over the one she stole from you, to whisper, “Grab another one—they’re all over the place out here.”

Your adoration for her leaves you entranced, enabling you to produce another microphone out of thin air. You feel a rush coursing through you, from the roots of your being to the tips of your extremities. You’re not sure if you’re walking or floating.

“Dragonfly here. Standing by,” you say.

As Abby pulls you close, a glaring flashlight steals your vision, its blinding beam eviscerating the little world you’d built together.

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

Nora paces the makeshift medical bay as Abby braces herself on a bedrail.

“She was by my side the whole time,” Nora explains, her face twisted up in anguish. “The delivery squad pulled their truck through the gate and forgot to secure it. Navigator must’ve slipped out. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” you say, feeling the anger well up inside you as you think about the lax protocols of the prison. “There are too many people coming and going.”

“She knows where home is, right? I mean—it’s wherever you are,” Abby says, rubbing your back.

“Not sure,” you admit, fear taking hold. “I have to find her.”

You gather a small bag of supplies and Abby stops you before you reach the door.

“It’s not safe.”

“You don’t understand, Abby. She isn’t—she can’t be out there alone.”

“Where do you want this, Nora?” a soldier asks, his arms loaded to his chin with boxes.

Abby marches across the room and slams him against the wall.

“Who left the gates open?” she roars.

“Christ, Anderson! Chill out. I don’t know,” he wheezes. “We got the orders to unload and go. Where’s your gate patrol?”

“We’re a skeleton crew, there is no gate patrol,” you say, hands shaking. “There’s a sign out front for a reason.”

“Isaac hasn’t sent anyone yet?” he asks, shouting over his shoulder as he ambles back into the passageway. “That’s suicide out here.”

“Tell me about it,” you groan.

Abby’s jaw clenches and she balls her fists. “Enough of this shit,” she says. “We’re finding your dog and I’m taking you back with me.”

“Isaac won’t like that. You know it,” Nora warns, pressing her palms into her eyes. “Let me try him on the radio.”

“Wait, did you hear that?” you ask.

Navigator’s familiar, lancing bark reverberates through the prison yard, prompting the three of you to sprint after the sound. Trapped outside the fence, she paces restlessly, her nose sniffing the ground in search of a way inside.

Nora disappears to take matters into her own hands, assigning someone to patrol the gates for the night.

“Will you meet me in the guard tower?” you ask Abby. “There’s something I want to show you.”

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

Flames crackle and hiss inside the base of a small metal drum that Abby hauled up the stairs. Standing in front of the window, her silhouette watches over the field she had explored with you only a few hours earlier.

The fire radiates so much heat in the tower that Abby has abandoned her jacket altogether. You watch from the doorjamb in awe as Abby takes tools off the carabiners on her cargo pants one by one and arranges them neatly in a pile.

Up here, it’s usually silent except for the occasional visit from a curious barn owl. The dilapidated space comes alive under her presence.

“Someone wants to meet you.”

Every movement Abby makes is sluggish, as if she’s drained of all energy, but her smile makes your heart stutter. With a gentle gesture, she kneels and raises her bent arm towards your pup, presenting the relaxed knuckles of her hand.

With the jitters still lingering from her unexpected journey in the woods, Navigator moves slowly, searching for her new friend.

“Hi, sweet girl,” Abby says, her tone softening as she takes a seat and crosses her legs. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”

Startled by the unfamiliar voice, the pup cautiously inches forward, her nose quivering as she takes in the scents of the surrounding air.

“You’re okay,” Abby hums tenderly.

Navigator settles into her gentle palms as Abby carefully examines her face, tracing the patterns of freckles that decorate her cheeks.

Abby looks up at you with benevolence.

“She can’t see me,” she whispers.

Upon shaking your head, you immediately feel a tightness building in your throat. You wrap your arms around yourself and take stock of how this indestructible woman can so easily tap into an ocean of empathy.

“But you can hear me, can’t you, sweetheart?” Abby says.

As Navigator’s tail blurs, merrily slicing through the air, it leaves a trail of embers that float and twirl toward the open window.

“Tell her your name,” you suggest.

Bending her head, she meets Navigator halfway, voice brimming with affection.

She murmurs her name as she reaches for her coat, ensuring that her scent lingers for the puppy to recognize.

When she repeats her name a second time, Navigator lets out a buoyant bark, spinning across the floor and back onto Abby’s lap in a heap of excitement, her paws barely gaining purchase before covering Abby’s face in hyper kisses. She braces her arm behind her to keep from toppling over, chuckling through the battering. As they become acquainted through cuddles and play, the tension within you fades.

“You never mentioned it in your letters,” Abby says, encouraging the dog to settle between you.

It’s not long before the soothing ambiance of the fire lulls her to sleep.

“I couldn’t take the chance. If someone intercepted them, you know?” you explain, mind racing with the consequences. “It ends badly in the wrong hands.”

“Isaac, you mean?”

“Isaac—really anyone with his intolerance for weakness,” you say, messing with a piece of kindling before adding it to the fire. Within seconds, the flames engulf the tinder. “He was always intense. But he’s cruel, now. Power blinds him and he just doesn’t care who it burns. There’s no way he’d let her stick around if he thought she couldn’t fulfil her duties.”

“He’ll find out,” Abby utters, intertwining her hand with yours on Navigator’s back.

“I know,” you confess. “That’s why I can’t stay.”

Abby takes a deep, concerned breath before straightening up, crossing her arm sheepishly over the other. Her chin trembles and tears well up in her eyes.

“There’s something I have to tell you.”

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

When Abby speaks about the regrets of her past, she does not mince words. She gets candid about her missteps and how the loss of her father confused her relationships. Abby tells you about Mel, her father’s surgical protégé, a girl who was supposed to be her friend first—instead of becoming a shoulder for Owen to cry on.

She alludes to their covert flirtation building over time and tells you about the painful day Owen asked for her blessing.

He still sheepishly proclaimed his love for Abby, which tipped her world upside down until she launched herself into work and training to keep from falling apart.

Abby faced great difficulty in dealing with her grief, and it was particularly hurtful for her to witness her own people capitalizing on her vulnerability during a time when her world was in chaos.

While recounting the events of their transition from Fireflies to the WLF, she doesn’t overlook the trauma experienced by her friends. But she allows hers to matter, too, and you respect her immensely for it.

She reaches for your hands when she tells you about that night, almost as if she fears you’ll get up and leave.

A regretful one-night affair tinged with a jar of rank hooch and unrequited love. A night which offered Abby closure but only served to open the floodgates for Owen and a world of heartache for Mel.

When Mel was in her third trimester with their unborn child, Owen made a plea to Abby to stay with him—help him make it work.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t in love with him anymore,” Abby sighs. “I cared about him, but I could never give him what he wanted. Not after everything that happened. He needed to get his priorities straight.”

“You deserved better,” you say.

“So did Mel. You should be upset with me.”

She lays her imperfections bare before you, and you only see her resilience. A woman forced to learn how to rebuild herself with bricks made of loss and betrayal. You shake your head and press a kiss to her palm.

“Would it have happened if the roles were reversed? If it were your pregnant girlfriend waiting around for you?”

“Never,” Abby states, her piercing gaze locking with yours. “It’s not even a question.”

“Exactly. It sounds like he was trying to escape his situation, with or without you.”

Even before the affair, Mel griped Owen wasn’t content, and she wasn’t the only person who shared that belief. The gossip had turned into a string of hushed rumours after Isaac had offered Owen a place to stay in Section Ninety-Six. A dedicated area for young families—a home with Mel he’d never set foot in.

In his pursuit of a different path, he seemed to prioritize his own needs above all else.

Perhaps they all had their own personal demons to confront.

By immersing herself in her responsibilities to the WLF, Abby could keep her mind off things until Owen’s desertion caused everything to unravel. The chain of events ultimately resulted in Abby defying orders, Isaac losing his most skilled surgeon to another faction, and Abby finding herself trapped further in the WLF because of her perceived debt to Isaac.

“Owen went AWOL?”

“Yeah,” Abby responds, her brows furrowing as she recalls the memory. “He got himself into some trouble and hid. When I found him, he was trying to fix his boat so he could leave.”

Absentmindedly reaching for Navigator, you mumble, “I’m noticing a pattern.”

Abby’s gaze softens.

“I did the wrong thing,” she says. “There’s no excuse.”

Her fingertips trace a soothing circle on the back of your hand. Your vision blurs as you reach for the imaginary HAM radio once again.

“Dragonfly to Anderson,” you say, barely audible to the human ear. “Do you copy? This is Dragonfly for Abby—over.”

“This is Abigail.”

She anxiously chews at her chapped bottom lip, and you gradually pry it from her teeth with your thumb until it glistens against the firelight.

“Welcome to being human, Abigail,” you say into the mic, and she stifles a teary laugh, patiently waiting for you to release the invisible button.

Giving her time to process it, you carefully study her features.

“You’re allowed to make mistakes,” you continue, one hand on the mic, and the other on her cheek. “And you’re allowed to be loved as you’re learning to let them go. Don’t let them be the reason I can’t love you—over and out.”

Her eyes dart between yours, and the frown on her face dissolves into something so fragile you cup her jaw to keep her from shattering.

“Isaac blames me for what happened,” Abby says. “He won’t let me go without a fight.”

“Neither will I.”

Swiftly, she maneuvers you over the sleeping dog until you rest comfortably on her lap.

“I know who you are now,” Abby murmurs.

“Who am I?” you ask, captivated by the woodsy scent of her hair as you carefully untangle her braid. “Debrief me.”

You quiver as her hands skim the hem of your shirt; her nails leaving a trail of heat at the small of your back.

“You’re the one I want to dance in the kitchen with.”

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

Moonlight seeps through the crevices of the tower, and Abby is angelic in your arms. A thin film of sweat draws light to the hard edges of her muscles and the depth of her scars. She’s a work of art.

The sleeping bag she unrolled for two tangles between her legs and your sated body as she sleeps.

The woman is a devout soldier, but she’s also a voracious lover. Your skin hums as tiny bruises bloom across the tender surface. You smoulder in the afterglow.

You reflect on her closemouthed moans, and the hungrier ones that slipped through. How she readily poured pleasure into you, yet she was reluctant to let herself feel any in return. It was a profound and intimate moment when she entrusted you to unravel her, powerful hands guiding your mouth across her tight body.

“Quit wiggling,” Abby whispers.

A knowing smirk lifts her drowsy face.

“Go back to sleep, bossy.”

“I can’t,” she groans, her hand kneading your hip. “Your thoughts are too loud.”

“First, I talk too much, now I think too much. What do you want from me, woman?”

She snickers against your ribcage, her lips leaving behind a hungry ache with every lazy, peppered kiss.

“I want you in my fucking bed,” Abby grumbles, and the gravel in her tone makes you shiver.

“Whoa, your filthy mouth is really doing it for me,” you tease.

Abby hides her bashful face in the crook of her arm and giggles. It’s so sweet you can’t help but wrap yourself around her.

“Tell me a story,” she says.

“I don’t have any stories,” you gripe, playfully wrenching her from her hiding spot to poke at her bottom lip. “What are you in the mood for?”

Abby traps your finger between her teeth and sucks at the tip. It makes a wet sound as she pulls off and moves to the next finger.

“I’m trying to be serious here,” you say, a throb pulsing below your navel at the sensation of her tongue. “You need rest.”

Abby hums, pressing her thigh between yours as she torments your knuckles with her mouth.

“Recovery is important,” she grins. “But you make it so tempting to over-train.”

When she finally acquiesces, she gives your ass a slap of defeat.

“How am I supposed to behave myself when you look like that?” she pouts.

“Where’s your discipline, girl?” you ask.

There’s a split second where you can almost hear the growl of her dominance, making you wonder if she’ll charge at you and assert it. Part of you hopes she will.

She tucks a flyaway behind your ear and kisses your forehead.

“Tell me about the day you found Nav.”

Right off the bat, you know she’s going to wince through most of it. Abby puts herself in danger daily, but the thought of you being in harm’s way leaves her dangling restlessly on the edge.

“You sure?” you ask.

“I can handle it.”

You stagger to your knees to tend to the fire until the wood crackles. As soon as you’re within arm’s reach again, Abby pulls you into a tight hug, her arms clinging to you as if you’ve just returned from war.

“Okay, but you’re not allowed to be mad,” you say.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Abby says, pulling you on top of her.

You nestle into the inviting space between her breasts and clear your throat.

The area you frequently scavenge had been a bitch to navigate your first time around.

The constant rumble of delivery trucks and the sight of patrol vehicles passing by on the nearby highway attracted infected, but the soldiers never ventured inside the nearby towns to eradicate them. Your intention was to gain a strategic advantage by exploring an area that was avoided by everyone else.

But even your innovation and quick-thinking left you at the mercy of a deranged, agitated Runner.

In a state of panic, you found yourself inside the grocery store, desperate for a hiding spot. You ultimately ended up cramming into a stand-up freezer, watching the decaying cadaver pace back and forth, inches from you.

“That’s horrifying,” Abby balks. “You must’ve been so scared.”

“I was,” you admit.

You thought you were out of the woods, but on his third round past the doors, he saw you through the glass. He almost collapsed his own skull, attempting to break through it with his head.

“How’d you handle it?” Abby asks, her fingers tracing a delicate path along your spine. “I can’t imagine being trapped like that.”

“Took a deep breath and prepared to fight for my life.”

“Good girl.”

“He was loud as hell, making so much noise,” you continue. “I thought I was toast for sure—and then I hear this huge crash. Navigator tore a flat of bottles off a shelf a few aisles down. Started barking and running laps, luring that fucker away. She saved me.”

Abby reaches out her arm to stroke the dozing dog, who remains blissfully curled up by the warm fire, before she presses a slow kiss to the top of your head.

“You want to know why I even bothered with those boring letters?” Abby asks. “The property debt and the mortgage stuff?”

You look up at her as she plays with your hair.

“Humour me,” you tease.

“I thought they might help me find the cabin my dad always promised my mom.”

Your heart squeezes.

“Abby.”

“I found it,” she whispers.

#abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #abby x you #tlou abby

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ladylooch · 7 months

Text

How Would I? - Nico Hischier

A/N: I am going to be honest and say I am actually nervous to post this. I went back and forth on if I needed to soften this up. Ultimately, I feel it is much better as is. But this is definitely dark, so please read at your own discretion!

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Robbery, assault, broken bones, pregnancy talk, violence.

“Hi.” I whisper to my husband via FaceTime. My feet gently rock Lucie and I on the rocking chair in her room. Nico smiles excitedly when he sees my face. He is leaning against the brick wall of the Prudential Center. The team is having a Dine with the Devils charity event at the arena.

“Hi.” Nico murmurs back. “She asleep?”

“Yeah.” I flip the camera so he can see Lucie’s angelic face. She had a big day playing with Lio at an indoor play house, then having pizza for dinner.

“Good. Her and Lio have fun?”

“So much.” I smile, turning the camera back onto me.

“Cause trouble too?”

“Of course.” I roll my eyes. “They conspired by hiding in the upper slides. Only came out when Emma started yelling at them in Swiss German.” Nico chuckles. “The other parents gave her quite the look.” Emma holding her pregnant belly with each heavy inhale added another layer to the picture.

“I’m sure.” He sighs, glancing up and giving a polite nod as a group of fans walks by to the locker room for their tour. “I should be home in an hour or so. Things are wrapping up.”

“Sounds good.” I adjust the screen in my hand. “Can’t wait.”

“Me too, babe. See you soon. I love you.”

“Love you too.” We pucker our lips for smooches, then click off. “Okay, Luc.” I whisper, then stand. My almost five month bump protrudes out as I maneuver Lucie into her bed. She startles a bit, gripping onto her penguin pillow pet. I back away quietly, then shut the door completely behind me.

I hold my belly as I walk back down the stairs. I feel so huge this pregnancy. With Lucie, it seemed like I stayed small until the very end when she began gaining a pound a week. But with this daughter, I’ve been popping since last month. I scratch at the itchy skin around my belly button then head into the kitchen. I finish loading the dishwasher, reaching around for the detergent in the bottom cabinet. I hear the front door open and foot steps on the rug in the entry way. I stand up, closing the dishwasher and pushing the on button.

“Wow, that had to have been record speed.” I say making sure the light turns on for the wash cycle. There is no response. I move to turn around but a hand clasps over my mouth. This is not Nico. Fear jolts through my body and I try to pull away.

“Stop. If you do what I say, you and your daughter won’t be harmed.” It’s a man. A voice I don’t recognize. My heart lurches into my throat. I stiffen. “I am going to release you now. The last thing you want to do is scream. We wouldn’t want your little daughter upstairs to wake up, Mrs. Hischier.”

I can sense he has been watching us. He knows Lucie is asleep. He knows where her room is. He knows who I am. Who Nico is. It’s all panic inducing. The baby kicks against my abdomen as he releases me.

“Go to the table.” He presses something cold to the back of my neck. I have never felt a gun against my skin before, but it sure feels like one. I purse my lips together and slowly move to the dining area. I glance around, looking for a weapon, cursing earlier me that cleaned up the kitchen. The knives are across the kitchen. The vase is too far away to grab. And the very real possibility of a gun being on my neck stops any other thoughts of fighting.

“What do you want?” I ask, surprise at how still my voice is.

“No questions.” He presses the cool metal even deeper into my skin. The more he talks, the younger he sounds. He rips out one of the dinning room chairs and harshly shoves me down onto it. My stomach bottoms out. The baby kicks harder and I push a hand over her. “You’re lucky you’re pregnant. Otherwise you’d be dead.” My mouth crumbles as he touches my hair. I pull harshly away. “I’m going to tie you up. You’re going to be quiet. I’ll grab what I want and leave. You scream, I take your daughter with me.”

“Please. Let me go to her room. We’ll stay there together. You can take whatever you want. Please. Just… don’t hurt her.” I am sobbing now, thinking of this man upstairs alone with my daughter sleeping. I feel helpless, incapable of protecting her from the greatest danger.

“Your daughter’s safety depends on your cooperation and yours only. Keep your mouth shut and Nico won’t see your dead bodies when he gets home.”

The way he talks about Nico drips with disdain. A gloved hand comes around, grabbing my wrist and forcing it behind my back. I try to fight against him for the other one, but he yanks down on my shoulder which causes a sharp pain through my shoulder blade. No other words are shared as he duct tapes my feet together. Tape gets slapped over my mouth too. Tears immediately trace over the grey strip.

His retreating footsteps can be heard going up the stairs. I’m stuck. I can’t move the chair. If I tip over, I’ll fall onto the baby. I dig my finger nails into my palm, more tear tracks falling down my cheeks. I listen intently for Lucie. She will scream if he goes in there. I know she will. But no sounds come from upstairs. Nothing except the muted foot steps that I’ll never forget the sound of.

His boots hit the hardwood again. My whole body tenses as I feel him approach from behind. I grit my teeth, trying not to show any fear outwardly. Wanting to swing at him with everything in me and rip his fucking eyes out for invading our home.

“One last thing.” He sneers into my ear, reaching for the wedding bands on my left ring finger. I make a fist, trying to keep them on. “Release or I’ll cut your finger off.” He forces my fingers apart, tugging the rings harshly off. As he is pulling back, I’m able to get my finger nails on him. I press hard then drag, drawing blood. “Bitch!” He grabs the back of my head and throws me to the ground. I land hard on my side. I cringe, feeling the pain shoot through my collarbone. He steps towards me. I turn, looking him dead in his masked face. He stands over me. “All you rich bitches are the same. Ungrateful sluts.” He leans down, grabbing my face, pressing his fingers in. “Should untie you and teach you a lesson.”

“Dude! Lights are coming down the street! Let’s go!” Someone else yells into the house.

“Guess I’ll have to come back instead. Maybe on your husband’s next road trip.” He releases my face, stepping over me towards the front door. The voices disappear and the house is quiet again after a click of the front door. His final words hang violently in the air.

I close my eyes, heavy tears running down from my eyes. I pant heavily, struggling to stretch my feet to loosen the tape. I don’t want Nico to find me like this. Every movement makes my chest and shoulder shoot with pain. It isn’t long before the pain is unbearable. I fight back the nausea from it. With the duct tape still on my mouth, I’ll choke If I puke.

“Nico.” I sob against the stickiness over my mouth. Panic is bubbling up, tightening my throat. I stop fighting, eventually growing still, trying to minimize the damage to myself and the baby by becoming calm.

I focus on my breathing. I go to the happiest memories I can think of with Nico. I imagine I’m in bed with him in the morning. He is holding me close, placing soft kisses along my face, waking me up from a light sleep. I hear soft baby giggles coming from Lucie as he whispers for her to give me kisses too. It works. The sound of the garage door opening breaks through my safe place. Then the door opens. Nico tosses his keys on the counter. He walks beyond it, shrugging his jacket off.

His gasp rocks my body when he sees me.

“Oh my god, Lex!” He exclaims, his Nike’s slapping the wood floor as he rushes to me. His hands grab my tired hands. I yelp. He stops, then grabs the tape. “Sorry, sorry, sorry! Oh my god, baby what happened?!” His brown eyes are wild, mouth dropped open in shock, breathing rapid. “Are you okay?” He reaches down for the baby, then goes back to my hands.

“Don’t pull my hands. I think my collar bone is broken. He gently works my hands apart. Then goes into the kitchen to grab some scissors. When he has me untied, he works me onto my back.

“Go grab Lucie.” I say.

“Baby, what happened!”

“Go. Grab. Lucie!” I scream back at him. “Make sure she is okay.” Nico backs up, then runs up the stairs, two at a time, barreling into her room.

“It’s daddy, baby. It’s okay. Just daddy. Let’s go help mommy.” He comes back into view, holding her close to him. His eyes meet mine and his face distorts in pain. He brings Lucie to the couch, then comes back to me.

“Call the police. Someone broke in, tied me up, and took who knows what. All I know for sure is they took my wedding rings.” I hold my hand up, Nico looks at the vacant space. A darkness I’ve never seen before crosses over his features. “Can you help me sit up?” I give him my good arm, then sit up with his help. I run my hand over the baby, anxious to feel her move. Nico watches as he pulls his phone out.

“Hi, I need to report a break in… and um, they hurt my wife.” He is stuttering, barely able to form English words.

The police come. EMTs too. They want me to go to the hospital for x-rays and and an ultrasound for the baby. Nico scours through the video systems we have, including the baby monitor. No one entered Lucie’s room after I did, which is a relief. It also makes it difficult to give a description of the suspect because they cut the wires leading to our security system. The police believe with the quickness of the break in and the retelling of my story that they had been casing the house. They waited for me to put Lucie to sleep. For Nico to be gone. For me to be at my most vulnerable.

Nico’s fingers gripped mine so tight when the police officer said that, I had to make him let go.

The x-ray confirm my collarbone is broken. They put me in a sling and schedule me for a follow up appointment next week. I can’t take pain killers; they tell me to monitor my Advil intake because of the baby.

It is hours before we return home. Nico’s car pulls up to the house, but it looks different. Dangerous and dark in the early morning hours.

“We are moving.” Nico says as he walks behind me in the garage with Lucie in his arms. “You are not staying here without me. Every time I am gone, you are leaving too.”

“Nico.” I sigh.

“No Lex. He told you he would be back. I’m not willing to take that chance. Do not argue with me on this.” He shuts the door behind him. “I already sent a text to Steve in hockey ops. He’s grabbing us a place in Hoboken while we search for a new house. We will move into Timo and Emma’s gated community.”

“But this is our home.” I start to cry. He brings Lucie to the couch, then engulfs me into his chest, careful of my sling. He presses kisses along my head, then tilts my face so he can kiss my lips. “This is where we said we would bring all our babies home from the hospital. Where they would take their first steps. And grow up. And be in a safe place. They took that from us tonight!”

“I know, baby. I’m so sorry.”

Holding me isn’t going to make any of this better, but he tries as hard as he can.

- - -

Nico watches Lexi and Lucie sleep next to him later that night. Lexi is propped up on pillows, the elbow of her broken collar bone supported by them too. To Nico, she looks fragile, with a sling and a growing belly. He reaches out for her bump, then skims that same hand along Lucie’s head where she sleeps cuddled into her baby sister.

He’s tried to fall asleep numerous times already, but he can’t.

He is fiercely angry.

Angry that someone robbed his house. Irate that some piece of shit hurt his wife. Poisoned by the visual of his pregnant wife tied up and in pain. Terror still fills his veins on what he imagined he would see of their daughter as he ran up the stairs.

All these images and emotions run through his mind. He can’t let it go. The police officers had been gentle yet realistic that they may never find the people who did this.

Fine, then Nico would. If they can’t do their job, he’ll hire someone better. The best money can buy. He’d bring investigators from Switzerland. He didn’t care. He was going to fucking find them.

None of the cameras in the neighborhood caught them. Yet, they were able to pull DNA from under Lexi’s nails of whoever tied her up. That was enough for him. Nico wants five minutes in a room with him to do permanent damage. He understands now how people can be capable of murder.

Him and Lex should have never picked this house. They had other options that provided a security presence, but they thought they were safe. Well, now he knew better. He should have been a better father and husband by forcing the gated community house.

Lexi stirs again her pillows, letting out a soft groan. Nico reaches out for her face, brushing her cheek lightly with his thumb.

“I need something.” She gulps down a tentative sip of water. “Can I take Advil yet?” Nico looks at the time on his watch sitting on the bedside table.

“Yeah, sweets. I’ll be right back.” He gently leaves the bed, careful not to rustle Lexi or Lucie. Their daughter immediately stretches her little feet out to take over his side of the bed. Normally he hates her feet against his back because she kicks him throughout the night. Tonight, it’s everything to him.

Nico comes back to Lexi with two Advil. She sits up to take it with Nico’s help. He rubs her back, anger intensifying at every flicker of pain on her body.

“Baby, I am going to find who did this.” He whispers to his wife. “They’re going to pay for this.”

“Neeks…” Lexi murmurs back, reaching for his face with her good hand. She strokes his skin, eyes wary with worry. Nico looks back at her, gaze hard, until he loses it completely. He drops his gaze to her belly when he feels the tears.

“I almost lost my whole world tonight.” Lexi sniffs because she is crying too. “How would I live without you, baby?” Lexi shakes her head, not sure what to say to her husband.

Gradually, with Lexi’s guidance, Nico lays his head into her lap. His nose presses into their growing baby while Lucie’s hand twitches against his hair. Lexi and Nico join hands on her bump.

The room is silent. The heavy thoughts of their night hanging over them.

Lexi finally gets Nico to sleep by gently stroking his hand, continuously murmuring to him that she’s still here.

#What my world spins around au #Lexi X Nico Hischier #Nico Hischer Fan Fiction #hockey writing #NHL Fan Fiction #hockey fan fiction

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laxmiree · 6 months

Text

[CN] MLQC's Lucien Binding Knot Date English Translation

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!! ⚠️

This post contains a detailed spoiler for a date that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free to notify me if there are any mistakes in the translation~

She told me that a person's life is too short. In the blink of an eye, it's five years, and then another blink, it's ten years.

That's how she and her husband lived their lives, bickering and muddling through, and they ended up spending their whole lifetime together.

Looking back, the bumps in the road and trivial matters along the way don't hold much significance compared to being able to harmoniously live together for a lifetime.

Translation under the cut~

[Notes from Lux: Here's the CN video link if anyone want to follow along his Voice Acting. VERY recommended to re-read S1 chapter 9 and his Chinese Wedding SP Bound By Love/A Love Not in Vain because this date specifically references these two stories. AND perhaps Sacred Mountain Date regarding his belief in God(s)]

[Part 1]

Lucien: Today is Saturday. Didn't we agree not to work?

Lucien places a bowl of freshly washed blueberries on the coffee table and casually feeds me a few. I sit on the sofa, engrossed in the documents on my laptop.

MC: Kiki has sorted the photography registration form; I need to quickly finish reviewing it so that I can contact them earlier.

Recently, our company launched a charity project called "Taking Family Portraits for One Hundred Elderly People." After the announcement was made, we received dozens of registration forms in just two days.

MC: By the way, Lucien, if any professors from Loveland University are interested in this project, you can invite them as well.

MC: We've rented the best photography studio, and the photographers are top-notch, so you can rest assured about the photo quality.

Lucien: With so many people applying, I think we should try to avoid giving slots to people we know, right?

MC: Don't worry. Even though we're promoting it as a hundred people externally, we've discussed it internally and will try to accommodate as many as possible.

MC: We're willing to help strangers, let alone the people we know.

Lucien: In that case... I do have an idea.

Lucien points to the peace knot hanging on my wall- a knot that Grandma Wen taught me to weave, and it still hangs on one side of Lucien's bookshelf.

MC: Are you talking about Grandma Wen?

Grandma Wen is an elderly person who lives alone. Lucien and I have a close relationship with her. We've learned how to weave knots from her and even borrowed wedding attire. So, we visit her whenever we have free time.

She is also very hospitable to us, always arranging snacks for us to enjoy. She also advises us young people not to focus only on work but to remember to take care of ourselves.

MC: Actually, I did consider inviting her at first, but Grandma Wen's husband has already passed away, and having her take a family portrait alone might be a bit…

Lucien: Are you worried that it might make her uncomfortable?

Seeing me nod, Lucien leans back on the sofa, tilts his head, and smiles slightly.

Lucien: [chuckles] I think she won't mind at all.

Lucien: How about we ask her? One never knows.

After a lengthy discussion, we decided to call Grandma Wen. I carefully choose my words and extend the invitation, but Grandma Wen laughs heartily and readily accepts.

We finalize the shooting schedule. Lucien and I will pick her up together when the time comes.

However, Grandma Wen suggests she'd like to bring her cat, Baby, along for the photoshoot.

[Part 2]

On the agreed-upon morning, we arrive punctually at Grandma Wen's doorstep. While Lucien parks the car, I take the initiative to go and knock on the door.

The black-and-white spotted little cat lies under the eaves, rolling around playfully and occasionally pawing at something in the air, looking quite content.

MC: Baby~ Come here kitty for a hug~

But the little kitty pays no attention to me, completely engrossed in rolling on the ground. It rolls several times and ends up a meter away from me.

Lucien: (gently calls the kitty) Baby, come here.

Just as Lucien approaches, Baby suddenly gets up, takes two steps, and runs to Lucien's feet. It raises its paw and paw at the cuff of Lucien's pants, meowing incessantly.

MC: That's quite a contrast in treatment!

MC: Although I've played with it plenty of times before, it still prefers you. That's unfair!

Lucien lowers his gaze and sighs at the cat.

Lucien: [chuckles] You see, I didn't do anything, but she's angry just because you like me more.

Lucien: If you could talk, I'm sure you'd also think this is even more unfair to me, right?

Lucien crouches down and strokes the cat's head, using his fingers to rub its cheek gently.

Lucien: Please remember to be a little more coquettish with her later. Otherwise, I'll be in a tough spot.

MC: ...Hmph, you're not in a tough spot at all!

Lucien can't resist laughing and takes out a sealed bag of cat treats from his pocket, feeding them to Baby.

Lucien: Baby is actually relatively easy to please. Just give it some treats a few more times, and it will be circling around you.

Grandma Wen: MC, you're here…

I turn around and see that Grandma Wen is already standing at the door.

MC: Grandma! You look so beautiful today!

Grandma Wen is wearing a short jacket with a standing collar and a diagonal button today. It's evident at a glance that the craftsmanship is exquisite.

The satin fabric is smooth and lustrous, while the embroidery is lifelike with intricate stitching.

Grandma Wen sheepishly waves her hand.

Grandma Wen: These are old clothes I haven't worn in seven or eight years. It's rare that I've taken them out.

MC: Old clothes? I can't tell. They look just like new…

MC: Is the embroidery on the hem here the Lotus Pond? Each lotus is transitioned with several colors... It's really beautiful!

MC: Did you embroider this yourself, Grandma?

Grandma Wen touches the hem, smoothing the embroidered threads of the lotus leaves.

Grandma Wen: My husband made this for me when he was still alive.

Grandma Wen: From pattern drafting to embroidery, he did every step himself, insisting that his craftsmanship was better than mine.

Grandma Wen: These embroideries used to be even more beautiful, but unfortunately, the thread colors have faded over time.

MC: I can't tell that the thread colors have faded. I think it looks incredibly beautiful.

MC: Your complexion looks great today. When it's time for the photo shoot, we'll have a hairstylist do your hair. We must create a hairstyle that compliments this dress perfectly.

Lucien walks over carrying a cat carrier and lets Grandma Wen check Baby's condition.

Lucien: I used some cat treats to coax it into the carrier, and it didn't make any fuss and was very well-behaved.

Grandma Wen: Baby~ Baby, today we're going out for a photoshoot. After we get in the car, you must be good and not cause any trouble for your brothers and sisters, okay?

Grandma Wen claps her hands toward the cat inside the carrier, and Baby starts to scratch the carrier, about to meow. But Lucien offers a cat treat, and it immediately quiets down.

I give Lucien a thumbs up - only he can do it.

Lucien: How about you sit in the back with Grandma Wen later? If Baby wants to come out, you can feed it some cat treats.

MC: Mm, no problem~

Grandma Wen: Is it time to leave? Let me grab a few things.

Grandma Wen goes back inside and returns with a Chángshān covered in a dustproof cover. I have a vague idea of who the owner of this robe might be.

Grandma Wen: I made this Chángshān for my husband when I was young. It was his favorite outfit. I'll bring it along for the photoshoot. So, it's as if he's also accompanying me.

Lucien takes a half step forward, probably thinking that the gown in the bag is not light and wanting to help Grandma Wen get it into the car. However, when he catches my gaze, he takes a step back.

Lucien: Let's get in the car, Grandma.

Lucien opens both car doors, assists Grandma Wen into the car, helps her fasten the seatbelt, and then checks that the cat carrier on my lap is secure before closing the car doors.

[Part 3]

After arriving at the photography studio, the makeup artist has to apply makeup and do the hair for Grandma Wen.

I'm worried that Grandma Wen might hesitate to communicate her needs with the makeup artist, so I am constantly accompanying her, talking to her, and helping her with her makeup.

Lucien is responsible for taking care of Baby, who starts running around as soon as they enter the photography studio.

Grandma Wen: When we first found Baby in the wild, it was only as big as the palm of a human hand. I made a nest for it with a towel, and it slept under the dining table.

Grandma Wen: In the blink of an eye, it has grown so big.

Grandma Wen: When it was little, it wasn't this mischievous. It used to lie in the corner every day obediently and didn't let anyone approach. As soon as someone got close, it would run away.

Grandma Wen: Now, it plays with birds, teases dogs, and does all sorts of daring things. There's nothing it's afraid to do.

Grandma Wen gently squeezes my hand and says.

Grandma Wen: You should go outside and take a look. It's not easy for Professor Lucien to keep an eye on Baby all by himself. There are machines everywhere here. Don't let that smelly cat cause any trouble for you.

I nod and walk out of the makeup room.

In the living room of the photography studio, there is a bright lounge area. Lucien is holding a cat teaser toy, playing with Baby as it pounces back and forth on the sofa.

MC: You even brought a cat teaser wand?

Lucien: Not just that, I also have a cat jingle bell ball and a laser pointer in the trunk.

Lucien: I consulted my colleagues who have pets, and they said that if you want your pets to behave well for photos, you need to let them play for a good hour beforehand.

Lucien: Once they get tired from playing, they can cooperate more.

I walk over and sit down on the sofa, gently petting Baby's head. It doesn't resist and tilts its head up, allowing me to scratch its chin.

Lucien finds a moment to rest and casually picks up a book from the bookshelf, leaning back on the sofa.

MC: (smiles) It seems like this method is working. It's already behaving quite well now.

Lucien: It's probably just temporarily tired from playing. After a short rest, it will be jumping around again.

Lucien: After all, it's the most mischievous kitten I've ever seen.

Lucien gently taps the top of the Baby's head, and the kitten raises its front paw, quickly grabbing his finger.

Lucien: It climbs trees, catches birds, and even fights with stray cats... When it's full of energy, there's no stopping it.

I recall not too long ago when Baby went missing again. When we found it, it was in the middle of a fight with a stray cat outside, and its face was scratched up.

We were afraid that Grandma Wen would worry if she saw its condition, so we didn't return it directly. Instead, we told her that we were taking it to the hospital for a check-up and would bring it back once it recovered.

MC: (smiles softly) Do you remember what you said the last time we took Baby to the hospital?

Lucien: Hm?

MC: You said that despite its many escapades, Grandma Wen never considered keeping it indoors and always let it go out to play.

Lucien: I remember, if it were up to me, I wouldn't let this little cat run wild everywhere.

I pick up the cat teaser toy and start playing with the little cat, swinging it on and off.

MC: As soon as we mentioned taking a family photo, Grandma Wen immediately thought of bringing the cat along.

MC: It's clear that in Grandma Wen's heart, it's her most important family member.

MC: That's how it is among family members. No matter how worried or concerned we are, we still want the other person to be happy and do what they want to do.

Lucien: ….Our Great Producer has something to say and found a good way to start the conversation.

Noticing that I had a hidden agenda, Lucien had already guessed what it was.

Lucien: Grandma Wen already told you, didn't she?

MC: Right before the makeup session, Grandma Wen pulled me aside in a corner to talk.

MC: She said that you've been to the Matchmaker's Temple alone several times before and also visited her along the way.

I sigh meaningfully.

MC: Professor Lucien, have you encountered a problem that materialism* can't solve?

[T/N: Materialism in this context is more of a philosophical belief that only physical matter exists and that everything can be explained through the physical world and natural laws.]

Lucien leans back leisurely on the sofa, wearing only a light smile.

Baby rolls over under his palm, purring contentedly.

Lucien: Gods don't solve problems. I'm a researcher, and I still have to uphold certain principles.

Lucien: But when it comes to matters of the heart, it's just too complicated... variables abound, and there's no optimal solution.

Lucien: So, I often wonder if a certain little fool occasionally worries about me or gets angry for me. Is it because I haven't done well enough?

He lifts the corner of his eyebrows, seeming not to be troubled by this matter, just candidly sharing his feelings.

The unbridled sunlight streams through the curtains, illuminating the tenderness in his eyes with exceptional clarity.

Lucien: Questions without answers are better left to metaphysics.

Lucien: Even if the problem doesn't get solved, you can still find some comfort in it to some extent.

As Lucien speaks, he no longer plays with Baby. The cat feels neglected and keeps nudging Lucien's palm with its head.

I stroke its fluffy head and realize that it's been a very long time since the first time I saw this cat with Lucien in the wheat field.

Some things probably don't have answers in either science or metaphysics; the experiences of life are what will eventually reveal the truth.

MC: Lucien, do you know what Grandma Wen just said to me?

Lucien: Tell me.

MC: She told me that a person's life is too short. In the blink of an eye, it's five years, and then another blink, it's ten years.

MC: That's how she and her husband lived their lives, bickering and muddling through, and they ended up spending their whole lifetime together.

MC: Looking back, the bumps in the road and trivial matters along the way don't hold much significance compared to being able to harmoniously live together for a lifetime.

Lucien straightens up, seeing that there's no one around, and then suddenly leans down to place a kiss on my forehead.

The warm sunshine reflects in his eyes as he looks at me. He smiles a little and casually picks up the kitty, holding it in his arms as if nothing happened.

Lucien: Grandma Wen is right.

[Part 4]

After the lighting technician adjusts the lighting, Lucien and I stand in the corner of the photography studio.

Grandma Wen sits on the mahogany bench, spreading her husband's Chángshān flat across her lap. The photographer holds Baby and places it on the Chángshān.

The naturally mischievous cat is being incredibly well-behaved at this moment. No matter how the photographer handles it, it's willing to cooperate and even knows how to look at the camera.

Photographer: Grandma, please reach out your hand and gently touch the cat's head—yes, that's right, just a natural touch will do.

Photographer: This cat is so well-behaved, cooperative and calm.

Grandma Wen: Good Baby, I'll make you some fish to eat when we get back tonight.

Photographer: Grandma, let's maintain this pose and take two more shots.

Lucien gazes at the scene before him, momentarily lost in thought.

Lucien: From the first time we entered her house, I noticed that there were no photos of her and her husband displayed in her home.

Lucien: Upon careful inquiry, I discovered that they had indeed never taken any photos together.

Lucien: ...Two people spending a lifetime together is something worth commemorating. They should have had a photo together.

After he says that, he turns his head slightly and whispers in my ear.

Lucien: Thanks to the producer's help, at least Grandma Wen has a family portrait now, regardless of the circumstances.

For a moment, I'm unsure of what to say.

He's truly humble for someone who has doubted his understanding of love.

—--------------------------------------------------------

After the shoot, Lucien and I accompanied Grandma Wen back the same way we came.

Grandma Wen: Stay for dinner. You two don't be so polite…

Grandma Wen: I feel bad that both of you have been busy all day. Having a meal together is no big deal, just a few extra pairs of chopsticks.

We don't want her to have to deal with cooking after a long day of photoshoots, so we politely decline.

Lucien: Grandma, it's still early. MC and I plan to visit the Matchmaker Temple, so we won't stay.

Lucien: You've had a long day today. Remember to rest well.

MC: Yes, Grandma. After the photos are developed, I'll bring them to you right away. We'll have the meal you promised then.

Grandma Wen didn't insist on keeping us any longer, but she promised that the next time we visit, we must stay for a meal. We quickly nodded in agreement.

—--------------------------------------------------------

On the way to the Matchmaker Temple, the sun gradually sets, casting a beautiful array of evening colors between the trees and stone steps. It's hard for anyone walking through this scenery not to feel relaxed.

MC: It's quite rare for this place to be this peaceful.

Lucien: Festivals have yet to happen recently, so there are very few tourists. The Matchmaker God can take a break too.

MC: With no incense burning at the Matchmaker Temple, does it mean that everyone hasn't been facing relationship difficulties? It seems like a good thing, doesn't it?

Lucien: (shushes and whispers) Shhh... with a troubling view like that, you might upset the Matchmaker God. Be careful not to displease him.

I can't help but laugh at his teasing, and I also find his words reasonable. I quickly pull Lucien to pay respects to the Matchmaker and offer incense.

I hope that the Matchmaker is understanding and doesn't take my words to heart.

After offering incense and making a donation, Lucien and I found a couple of chairs inside the temple and sat down. We plan to watch the sunset for a while and leave when the temple closes.

The faint scent of sandalwood here blends with the natural aroma of the forest, creating a tranquil and enduring atmosphere that instantly soothes the heart. I lean closer to Lucien and ask softly.

MC: Lucien, what wishes did you make when you came here alone before? Have any of them come true?

Lucien bends slightly, brushing away a cluster of dandelion seeds that accidentally caught onto his shirt cuff. He then leisurely curves his lips into a smile.

Lucien: I don't even remember the specific wishes I made anymore.

Lucien: They were probably just about small things, like planning to meet up but then having something come up at the research institute, causing me to break the appointment.

Lucien: Another example is when I promise to sleep well, but then accidentally stay up for a few nights and get caught by you.

Lucien: (laughs softly)....

Lucien: Now that I think about it, they were indeed all trivial matters, and you've always been very understanding.

Lucien lifts his gaze, meeting my eyes.

Lucien: Although we quickly forget these minor disagreements.

Lucien: But occasionally, I do pay attention to these little disagreements that fill our lives. After all, even the smallest things have their own meaning.

I can't help but let my lips curl up slowly, and Lucien lifts his chin, revealing a somewhat helpless expression.

Lucien: It's evident that the Great Producer is very pleased with my introspection.

MC: …..Pfft, not exactly 'very'.

MC: I'm just marveling at how Professor Lucien sets such astonishingly high standards for himself.

MC: It seems like I don't reflect on my actions much when I make you angry... But from today on, I'll try to change that.

Lucien: [chuckles] It's okay.

Lucien changes the topic, and a smile spreads in his eyes.

Lucien: Now that I think about it, these little bumps and trivial matters aren't really that important.

He takes a knot from his pocket and hands it to me. The way the knot is tied resembles the peace knot that Grandma Wen had taught me before, but the weaving method seems more intricate.

Lucien: This is a knot that Grandma Wen taught me to weave as a special thank you for us.

Lucien: She also said that the name of this knot is yí shì yíjiā (宜室宜家).

Lucien: Today, it seems like I have a clearer understanding of the meaning of this word.

[T/N: 宜室宜家 is a Chinese idiom that means "live harmoniously; make a harmonious and orderly home." It is often used as a congratulatory message on a wedding. The idiom comes from a line in the poem "Tao Yao" in the Book of Songs, which reads, "之子于归，宜其室家" (the son is returning home, where he should live harmoniously with his wife and make a harmonious and orderly home). And it fits with the date theme of living harmoniously together for a lifetime despite all the small bumps🥺.]

Suddenly, my heart feels soft, and I take a small step closer to Lucien's shoulder. I pick up my phone and open the front camera.

I put both of us in the frame.

The setting sun casts a gentle glow behind us, and the breeze is light, creating a tranquil and beautiful atmosphere.

MC: The sunset today looks beautiful. Let's take a photo together.

MC: 3, 2, 1–

My trailing voice fades away in the warm breath as Lucien lowers his head and kisses me.

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

[Bonus Call - "Family Portrait"]

Lucien: Hello, it's me. I have some good news to tell you.

MC: What is it?

Lucien: Didn't you put Grandma Wen's family portrait photo on the company's public social media account?

MC: Um... Grandma Wen said it was okay, so I posted it. What's the matter?

Lucien: A professor from the university recognized Grandma Wen's clothes and said he had seen the person in the photo before, right at the West Moon Street intersection.

Lucien: This professor was a photography enthusiast when he was younger, and at the time, he noticed Grandma Wen's well-dressed appearance and couldn't resist taking a photo.

Lucien: Later on, he always wanted to give the photo to Grandma Wen, but he went to West Moon Street a few times and never encountered them again.

MC: "Them?"

Lucien: Mm, that's the good news I wanted to share. The photo the professor took is a picture of Grandma Wen and her husband.

MC: That's quite a coincidence!

Lucien: There's an even greater coincidence.

Lucien: I just got my hands on this photo, and in it, Grandma Wen is holding a tiny kitten the size of her palm.

MC: Is it Baby?

Lucien: Judging by its patterns, it seems so.

Lucien: Although the photo is quite old, I've contacted a professional photo restoration expert, and if all goes well, it should be restored within about a week.

MC: So, we can bring this photo to Grandma Wen next weekend?

Lucien: Exactly. They're real family portraits, and I hope it can truly make up for her regrets.

MC: ...It's really amazing, it feels like there's something guiding us in all of this.

Lucien: Who knows, maybe it really is.

Lucien: Let's go together to get the photo restored later. I know you're eager to see it as soon as possible.

MC: Um—I'll finish up what I'm doing, and then I'll come find you right away!

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

[Lux's Short Rambles]

I didn't expect this date to be this good huhu. It's far better than last pet date where it feels like a plot that got way longer than it should 😂. It's also nice to see old NPCs getting mentioned again. The story of Grandma Wen with her husband is touching.

The theme of spending a lifetime together, despite how short life is, never fails got my heart clenched. And I love how this date highlights what a sensitive person Lucien is (in a good way, well, most of the time). He doesn't mind her getting angry at him because he knows that she does it because she cares about him. But he also genuinely fears that she might not be happy; so he goes to the Matchmaker's Temple alone and cares about these small conflicts, believing that they also have meaning :". But in the end, such trivial things and bumps on the road don't matter compared to being able to live their whole lives together, so rather than getting caught up in minor conflicts or trivial matters along the way it's better to priotize living together harmoniously for a lifetime.

He also noticed the smallest things, like how Grandma Wen and her husband never had their photo taken together since the very first time he and MC met Grandma Wen back in S1 Chapter 9. To quote MC, for someone who claimed he doesn't understand what love is, he's truly humble; perhaps back then, he already understands what love is in his heart by loving MC.

#FINALLY SOMETHING TO HEAL MY HEART AFTER PAIN FROM MAIN STORY AND HALLOWEEN DATE #and touching too; i tear up a little reading this #mlqc lucien #mr love queen's choice #mlqc cn #mlqc spoiler #mlqc #mlqc translation #mr. love queen's choice #mr love lucien #mlqc xu mo #mlqc spoilers

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